a dance of doves & crows ( jonathan crane )

radicals and REM cycles .

notes : BOOOOOY we're in too deep now ! no going back !

seriously though. start of the chapter, we get vague nsfw. nothing graphic and cut off before we get to anything good, but i still feel like i should warn yall before dunking you into the ice bath :D enjoy ! no real warnings because nothing is too serious, same vibe as last chapter.

song of the chapter: it's only sex - car seat headrest

The man above her clearly knew what he was doing.

Strong hands fixated on her body, silently praising and complimenting her in a way she knew he could not verbalize. He hardly let go of her. His hands were controlled, skilled, keeping her warm in a way that she hadn't felt in so long. Not since Crane kept her from leaving.

Of course, this was ten times better than feeling someone else's body warmth. This was - this was perfect.

Funnily enough, not once did she consider murdering this man for getting into her bubble and touching her so sweetly. She didn't consider harming him for letting his hand fall underneath her waist-band, or even debate lashing out at him for staring down at her with so much adoration. She liked this. She liked what this masked man was doing. She dare say she even trusted him for being able to do it so well.

Why? She hadn't even thought about intimacy in half a year. And yet - This is just what she needed. Jules is safe, held in the mystery man's arms. She can't be hurt here. The man with the burlap sack won't hurt her. She doesn't have to question it, she knows it deep down. Not a doubt or paranoid idea in sight.

His suit was classic and pristine, complimenting his broad shoulders and nice figure. It's so familiar, but her brain is too foggy to question it. She couldn't smell his cologne and only his hands remain uncovered, strong and perfectly calloused. If she were to look up at him, she would see a mask. A burlap sack with two cut out eyes, reminding her of a scarecrow. All she can see through the eye holes is brilliant blue. Bright, familiar, beautiful blue. But where - ?

The man's free thumb ghosted over her lips, gentle yet possessive - as Jules continued to just stare up at him, treasuring the safety and warmth the mystery man was giving her. Her own eyes met his, carrying each other's gaze. He can't be read. She can't see her love through the mask. Can't tell if he wants this. Can't even tell if he wants to take the suit off and go further.

Jules parted her thighs, welcoming him closer to her by hooking a leg over his hips. She wants to encourage him, but her mouth won't open. She might've been a little nervous, only because of the lack of practice she's had lately.

He leaned up, taking his hand away from her separating the pair for a moment. The steady hold of her hip was gone, leaving her feeling weightless and drunk. With their newfound distance, he tugged at the top of his mask with his right hand, his left being used to unbuckle his belt. Jules helped herself up onto her elbows to keep him close. She wanted to stay warm so badly.

Her eyes cast to his belt ; Anticipating what came next, as hurtful to the pride as it was to admit - Her own hand covered his, helping him with his trousers. No doubts, no paranoia. She hadn't felt this grounded in so long. She's giddy, basking in the joy intimate safety gave to a person, before looking back up with soft shyness to see her very own Doctor Jonathan Crane staring down at her.