mun is playing Arkham Knight

[hoodforhire]

Dude, maybe you should, I don't know, finish the fucking game before you get all grabby hands with old muses? Yeah, and don't think I didn't see you creating a new account for the Arkham Knight either. It should piss me off, but whatever.

I've got bigger things on my mind than some juvenile urge to play video games.

Comments

fffffffffffffffffffs

[hoodforhire]

[Jason catches Tim's wrist, cruelly twisting it to use his momentum against him. He hadn't come here to spar, but jesus if it doesn't get him wound up to do it.]

Hah-predictable. Didn't he teach you not to let anger consume you or some Yoda bullshit?

[He twists and twists, until he can get Tim's face up against the wall, arm behind his back an an angle that begs for just a little more so he can snap the bones in half. Jason lowers his mouth to Tim's ear.]

Such a disappointment.

[redripoff]

[it's more embarrassing than he would like to admit, being caught--being predictable. So Jason hums up against him, and Tim goes with something unusual for him. The pain that spikes up through his shoulder comes out his mouth as a stickier sound than it should. It rolls out in his hips, a sure, practiced motion that's meant to rock through kevlar and between the legs, Jason will feel it.

[And if he stalls at all, he'll have a skull bashing against his nose, Tim's whole weight shoving back at him from against the wall--a hand fishing back for the nearest knife, gun, whatever he's got in grabbing distance.]

[hoodforhire]

[Oh. He feels it all right. Feels it through his body like a wrecking ball (don't even start singing that song). It's a good move, admittedly. Shows Tim hasn't let his guard completely down yet. And let's be honest, if Tim didn't fight back, this would be so boring.]

Ahaaa - that is a gun in my pocket if you want it.

[Jason doesn't dodge his reach; instead, he lets him take it. seeing Tim with a gun in hand will be worth it. When Tim gets sight of him, Jason's a mangled bloody nose in front of him, sneering.]

[redripoff]

[not allowed to use one on the field, but that doesn't mean he's dumb about the weapon. Neuters it quick as he can, though, ejecting the clip and double-checking the safety in a second or two before turning the barrel into his palm. Just a blunt object, but certainly fiercer than just the heel of his hand when he jams for the soft at the bottom of Jason's ribs, back up, back off]

[hoodforhire]

Ooof!

[Okay. Should've seen that one coming, right? Still. Tim wielding a gun. Sexy as fuck.]

Haha, oh my god, you're so off limits tonight. Fine, fine. Calm your tits. I just wanted to poke and see what fun we could have.

[redripoff]

Break a limb, poke around--po-tay-to, po-tah-to, right? [shoulder rolls, mouth sneers back--eyes take an admiring look at the blood. He might normally offer to check it, but fuck that, frankly.] For the record, I'm off-limits to anyone who calls me a punching bag, you asshole. Have you had fun?

[hoodforhire]

[Rubbing the sore spot Tim hit with precision, Jason shrugs.]

If I wanted to break your arm, it would be broken, kitten. And are you really disagreeing that you're a punching bag? I mean come on. Look at you.

[redripoff]

What does that mean?!

[hoodforhire]

[God this is FUN. Isn't it FUN!?!]

Do I have to get a mirror for you to see it? You're. A. Punching. Bag.