[ Jason knows how she feels. To have had time play cruel games, to stop ceremoniously or rush them through their own life. Growing up far too fast before things were brutally ended. Second chances, third chances, fourth chances – it didn't matter. They were cut from a cloth of expendability but even the most relaxed must draw a line in the sand. C.C. claims to be a shield, offered up as a middleground between Jason's life and death... but she wouldn't do it unless she had reason.
And was this moment reason enough or just a humble reward?
She's thin despite the immense carbs she consumes, lanky with her arms seizing up to wrap against his forearm. C.C. starved herself of other things than food, denying herself connection to a world far too mortal for her. Far too alien.
The hitch in her throat becomes more apparent now that the masks were being pulled away. To breathe the hot steam that still lingers on the surface. ]
You shouldn't think about this.
[ They both know what it means. An attachment words fail both of them. At least that makes it easier. He's doing everything selflessly at the moment. Touching, groping, sinking with her in this well of uncertainty. When she gasps his name? It's to be expected. A scold and a sensation of consumes her. C.C.'s frame can't settle. The waters rock more violently, her knees clamping together and her backside pushing between the space his lap offers.
As much as she steels her demeanor on, she scrunches her nose all the same and clamps her eyes shut – the feelings overwhelming her.
Pleasure over pain. Companionship over loneliness.
It was a new formula to the same equation she's played out – where her contracts change now, revised in something other than ink. Her juices against his fingers offer that change, a different slickness to the water around them. Each nerve-ending feels enflamed, tortured by lingering wants when she's denied herself these moments before. If she allows herself to submit, what does that mean? ]
no subject
And was this moment reason enough or just a humble reward?
She's thin despite the immense carbs she consumes, lanky with her arms seizing up to wrap against his forearm. C.C. starved herself of other things than food, denying herself connection to a world far too mortal for her. Far too alien.
The hitch in her throat becomes more apparent now that the masks were being pulled away. To breathe the hot steam that still lingers on the surface. ]
You shouldn't think about this.
[ They both know what it means. An attachment words fail both of them. At least that makes it easier. He's doing everything selflessly at the moment. Touching, groping, sinking with her in this well of uncertainty. When she gasps his name? It's to be expected. A scold and a sensation of consumes her. C.C.'s frame can't settle. The waters rock more violently, her knees clamping together and her backside pushing between the space his lap offers.
As much as she steels her demeanor on, she scrunches her nose all the same and clamps her eyes shut – the feelings overwhelming her.
Pleasure over pain.
Companionship over loneliness.
It was a new formula to the same equation she's played out – where her contracts change now, revised in something other than ink. Her juices against his fingers offer that change, a different slickness to the water around them. Each nerve-ending feels enflamed, tortured by lingering wants when she's denied herself these moments before. If she allows herself to submit, what does that mean? ]
Close.