|
Post by Scarecrow on Dec 29, 2012 0:24:44 GMT -5
Jonathan Crane felt as if he were a whirling dervish, a hurricane of strange and foreign novel emotions that this woman seemed to incite within him. He had never fooled himself to believe the likes of Poison Ivy could hope to have genuine affection and love for him, or that any of what they had done in the past had been a love match, he knew what she did was what she did with near every gotham rogue, and even the bat himself, it was her, it was her weapon and identity, this woman however seemed to be affectionate for affections sake, or perhaps even because of a genuine desire for him. It must have been a novel experience, outside of those exceptionally idiotic hens that sent him all manner of love letter when he was incarcerated.
It couldn't have been how he imagined this day going by any means, and yet this woman seemed to be pouting, saddened and more moved by his derision as if it genuinely hurt her. And even more shocking was the fact that he felt some measure of remorse for making her feel such a thing. Remorse? really!? what the hell was wrong with him? His inexperience, his woes with the fairer sex was all the more obvious and an achilles heel he had exposed to his enemies now and with the goddess of the green and the white rabbit. If he'd recognized it he'd be disgusted, as it were he was hardly disgusted as again her lips pressed against his, and she nibbled on his lips, her desire, craving, urges couldn't have been more tangible, palatable as if he could reach out and touch it as he wanted to touch her, as she touched him when she so pressed against his form.
The Scarecrow felt as if he was losing himself, suffocating in the heat, the warmth and lust she seemed to exude as if it radiated off her like steam. He had never felt so desired perhaps in the entirety of his life, and the desire and want with which he returned the kiss seemed as if it contained any and all of the feelings, desires and wants of his life left unfulfilled by the women who had scorned him in his life before absconding. The "No." he murmured seemed as if it was insistant, like a child threatened to have his favorite new, shiny toy taken, desperate or pleading, needful and near an exasperated hiss.
He had not yet drawn from her as the kiss broke and his voice seemed low and curious as he let out a simple "And how is it you think you could help me...rabbit?" there was genuine curiosity as his gaze began to wander, looking for his mask clearly as she so hid it, be raked his dark hair back ever lightly as he did as his desire for his accouterments was beginning to take priority now absent the more licentious distractions the busty bunny brought to the table.
|
|
|
Post by Jaina Hudson on Jan 5, 2013 23:27:53 GMT -5
The White Rabbit found it rather easy to turn the Scarecrow in a delight-filled pretzel. His reactions were delicious as she wrung him through every other emotion knowing how his claim to fame was that he was not afraid of anything. He was like a beanpole lending support as she clung to him, tasting and teasing him with each penetrating kiss as if her intent was to wear down his defenses like the sea did against a rocky cliff eroding it away bit by bit. Although, it was not very difficult as she felt him waver a few times, but she would never give up intent on making him putty in her warm hands. The trick was to ensure he never had any ground to stand on.
His response pleased her immensely and her violet eyes brightened with light and something that would read as lust at how insistent it was. Him not pushing her away as well as a good sign as the kiss broke and she looked up at him adoringly. His voice low and curious as he took her bait yet she was the prey. “First, your mask.” She murmured as her lips nuzzled his neck, her white hair soft as silk tousled as she continued to play with him.
“Then notes that were stolen from you to start with the lies.” Her hands slid down his back, nails raking across it.
A mischievous little smile curved her lips as she kissed his earlobe and tugged on it between her teeth. “Then retribution.”
Her hands moved down his sides as her body pressed up against his front as he was trapped between her and sink. “Lastly, everything that you desire and dreamed of.” All the while, she wanted him to catch her scent, know the feel of her and have thoughts and details of her clouding his mind like a haze despite his clear, cold, calculating thoughts. “Oh say, that you want to play with me.” She murmured as her eyes met his eyes in a soulful gaze that grifters used to make it impossible for their prey to escape, captivated, breath-stolen, her lips were bruised from each kiss while her cheeks were flushed as if she was actually aroused. Her head tilted upwards with innocence and adoration. “Please?” She begged prettily laying out the bait out while properly hiding the strings attached to the honeyed trap. The White Rabbit was the prey and he the predator.
|
|
|
Post by Scarecrow on Jan 11, 2013 1:18:27 GMT -5
To say it was novel an experience for the Scarecrow to be perturbed and disconcerted by being given the attention of the opposite gender, by being lavished with lasciviousness, endowed with unending and overwhelming affection of a woman well out of his league would not be wholly correct. It was certainly a novel experience for him to be so pressed, so seemingly genuinely lusted after as she did, so plied with unerring and overt sexuality and beguiled by the with wiles of a woman. He tried ever harder to mitigate the reactions he displayed more and more clearly and pronounced they became, he was enjoying this ever more. Had he found a woman who cared for him so many years before there may well have not been a Scarecrow at all, but as it were he let out a vexed and exasperated breath, his chest and breathe heaving with lust as she pressed hers to his and with each touch he felt as if he were closer to taking flight off the very ground he stood upon.
"...My mask..." he let out with a darkened drone that carried with it a more violent, macabre lust of it's own. Certainly a differing kind than that which was being slaked when she pressed her lips to his neck and he felt what would best be described as some kind of pleasing electricity sparking down his neck and creating all kinds of feelings within, namely goosebumps forming on his neck as she nuzzled him so.
"You're being a complete idiot."
"No I'm not." he shooed from his shoulder the darkened, craven crow that had taken hold there, in the darkest recesses of his mind in which there was but an abyss of black where love had never truly lit a torch or burned more than a stick match..the crow.
"You think I don't know you?! You think I don't know what you want? It won't last Jonathan. It never does. Remember Sherry? Becky? And your little Teacher's Assistant? Look at me Jonathan." For a moment Jonathan Crane looked into the mirror, that of his mind's eye and he saw the darkened hair and light eyes, a man who looked as if any other, unassuming and unremarkable in any and all ways. And the crow at his shoulder turned to the Scarecrow, straw bursting from the seams of his costume and his eyes sanguine as a fresh laceration.
He pressed his earthen colored leather gloves to the shoulders of the immaculate suit, it's abyssal black complimenting the dark features of his hair as he swept it back. Raking it harshly with his tendril like fingerss, black as a coffin inside and black as all that surrounded him.
LOOK AT ME! and before him the twelve foot behemoth stood, jagged claws, sharpened and piercing as reaper's scythes wrapped around the rail thin wrists of the man, embellished by the golden cufflinks he'd bought himself the first day of his tenure. The Scarebeast stared at him with gaping, foaming maw spewing of the poxy, contagious green of his most potent fear venoms and poisons.
And when it did, Jonathan's words were sharp and cold as a sword through the breast "Go away Crow. I'm in control. You don't frighten me. Nothing ever frightens me. Not even the bat." and with that the eyes of the Scarebeast set upon Jonthan contorted, shocked and perturbed as he was so usurped, and the real world came calling once more, and he hadn't even realized the internal struggle he'd taken had only elapsed naught but a second in the real world.
"My notes.." his voice sounding ever more fervent and lusting, his breath quickening and yet drawing out as if his heart were a flutter with excitement as he near stood on his toe's tips when she dragged fingernails across them. She was suffocating, intoxicating, perhaps more poisonous than his rose, his Ivy.
He even let out a groan as she bit his ear, craning his neck and form as she tugged him so, an enticing move; but one disarming as well and her control of him seemed ever highlighted by her backing him against the sink, feeling it's cold marble against his back as it were, and the warmth of such a woman as this pressed against him, more soft and feminine than any dream.
"And if I desire you?"his voice leading and mercurial, with dark intent and purpose. He thought such a question might well at least perturb her for the moment, his attempts at creating space between them stifled as the man himself for all the places such a dainty woman could be gripped to create such space were clear erogenous zones, a hand on her bare hip that radiated femininity, all the more obvious as his hand felt there for some measure of grip. Or her chest that heaved of accumulated warmth and aphrodisiac attraction.
Thankfully he hadn't opted to grip her there as he knew he'd have lost himself in the tide of his own lusting, it ever sweeping him to the depths of the abyss of his libido and the urges therein, and he'd say; do anything for her then, as brain dead as the majority of his "peers" in the rogues gallery.
And when Crane outstretched that hand to what she might feel was an ever more private and sensitive area his voice trailed with near mesmerizing properties "I...want...to..."
And like that his fingers brushed that most private of areas: the purple domino mask she adorned, stroking it as if it were something precious or worthy of studious concerns. He added "..And if I wanted more?" his voice had ever the measure of a dastardly purpose the conniving creature that he was, and yet carried with it the clear undertones of her yoke given he was still certainly under her spell. Perhaps more willful or more plotting than she might have expected. Knowing her, who she was would certainly change things, the offer of seeing her as naked as he without his mask seemed to titillate, scintillate the darker recesses of the man and he knew not what to expect from the mercurial rabbit before him. But it seemed he might be the marionette with fewer strings than she expected.
|
|
|
Post by Jaina Hudson on Jan 13, 2013 23:27:55 GMT -5
If there was a game being played by the white-haired woman it was not so readily deciphered as her act was so convincing to seem like reality. There might have been a bit of history learned before attempting such a ploy. It was not that she thought that Jonathan Crane was weak, no if that was the case she would not bother with the dream just easily crushing him under her boot while he babbled nonsensically.
No, she was here because he was more susceptible than most of the rogues. A delicious opportunity, while completing her objectives and causing chaos through various rogues with a proper amount of encouragement. It was too fun to pass up twisting someone around her little pinky finger as they begged and thought it was what they wanted. She could also be very convincing as his attentions made her ever more pleased and giddy.
His insanity seemed to thrum through him, his power exerted, but it was his vulnerability while he tried to remain powerful and violent attracted her like a moth to a flame. Jonathan’s reactions seemed to be all the more powerfully craved knowing a small amount of his history. She could hear his heart beating rapidly, his breath quickening as their body heat began to rise. The scent of soft vanilla and sweet honey mingled in the air with the dwindling heat from the shower that was just taken as well as the close proximity of their two bodies pressing up against each other.
Jonathan’s groan caused a delicious shiver to run down her spine encouraging her to keep pushing. His lust-filled tone asking her a question had a soft smile curving her lips showing off only hunger in her eyes wondering if she was supposed to run after such a question. Her arms went about his neck instead embracing him. “Then follow me without hesitation.” She whispered as she placed a kiss upon his lips. “Follow and fall.” The White Rabbit begged almost breathlessly in her excitement as she looked hopeful and eager.
Her breath caught as he said those words that she happened to misunderstand as his fingers touched her mask. The pale-haired woman hesitated for a moment as he asked if he wanted more wondering what more she could offer as he teased her wanting to reveal the rest of her face without mask. As she recalled, many believed their secret identity is valuable and very important. No one knew who she was and what her motives were if she even had any motives to begin with. What she wanted to show herself off as was an overly eager groupie quick to adore and even quicker to please.
“To destroy all those who dared to laugh at you.” She then said as her arms fell away from Jonathan to touch her mask. An act, her body language read hesitation and for once being uncertain and timid. Her lips parted as if she was going to protest, but she pressed them together and averted her eyes as she detached the domino to look up at him as if there was a possible thought that she might dislike how she actually looked using the domino to hide a majority of her face. “What is mine is yours.” She finally said with an ounce of adoration and awe in a subtle attempt to feed the ex-professor’s ego like any good little cultist.
|
|