your boyfriend, jason todd, could break out of your pink fuzzy handcuffs whenever he wants to.
he's fought countless goons—
kicked guns out of their hands, strangled them, escaped without a scratch (besides red, chafed wrists)
—all while tied up
so to put it frankly, the cheap metal of your sex store purchased handcuffs would not hold up against the power of his arms pulling at them. that's why his arms are decidedly slackened as he looks up at you. a lazy, expectant smile plays on his lips. what's your plan here?
and to be honest, you don't really have one. you thought of the tying-him-up part.. but not much else. your brain gets a little fuzzy just looking at him.
you'd brought out the cuffs, and he'd been down enough to try, telling you that if he was tied back, you'd be given full control..
you'd been so eager that neither of you had even undressed.
how were you even supposed to actually do anything to him? jason's biceps bulged through his shirt sleeves, and the stretch you had him in resulted in his shirt riding up, exposing his stomach. a line of dark hair disappeared down into the waistband of his boxers, into the deep blue denim of his jeans.
thoughts of riding him flit around your brain, making your heartbeat grow louder in your ears. he's restrained. you could tease him, pull him dangerously close to the edge, so close that he's whining, begging you to finish, before stopping altogether just to listen to him pant. you could take a seat on his face, your boyfriend using nothing but his mouth to get you off. and he'd work hard at it too, never one to give low effort to a job like that.
his eyes are half-open, but you can still see how big his pupils are. the warmth in between your thighs grows, you're unable to ignore it as it unfurls into your belly. you can see your boyfriend notice the way you're shifting around, his canines practically glinting when his smile widens in response. your pulse quickens. restraining him almost feels like a mistake.
jason doesn't think he's ever been this hard in his life. he knows you. he can practically see you thinking, knows that whatever you plan to do has you squirming, and it's just making his cock strain painfully against the taut fabric of his jeans. he can tell you're trying to ignore how wet you are, and it's done nothing but send blood pumping into his cock faster.
but he's humoring you. he wouldn't say you had full control, and not give it to you.
you've driven yourself wild with all the possibilities and jason's driven himself wild with the present. the two of you aren't even touching, didn't need to be, with how hungry you are for each other.
you place your palms on your boyfriend's chest, determined in your actions as you straddle his hips. he barks out a strained laugh.
"it's about fuckin' time."
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