[ Hei's pupils dilate when she licks at his fingers. His desire is suddenly enormous, rearing up inside him like an black-mawed sea-monster. ]
[ He doesn't answer her question. Instead, hand-in-hand with Korra, he weaves through the crowd. Outside the stadium, the clean raw air of the night leaves a taste of winter at the back of his throat. It dries the sweat on his back, but does almost nothing for the frothing heat under his skin. Still, his stride is sedate, his gaze engaged in the surroundings, as if nothing is wrong. He's always been this way, resolute at not letting anything show. It's only the subtle tension in the grip of his hand that tells Korra anything has changed. ]
[ Carefully, he draws Korra down a winding alley. In the background, the Arena glows as brightly as the halogen lamps of a night baseball game. Eyes alert, he scans as they weave between slow-moving bikes, strolling pedestrians, cart-pushing fruit-sellers, street performers and working girls. Then he finds it -- the generator room that shares the conduit with the Arena itself. Elbowing the door open, he finds no one there. The huge room, a concrete honeycomb, is deafening -- stacked with heat exchanges, sucking air into the adjacent buildings. The fans, like the screeching wings of metal birds, push a windstorm through the narrow tunnels. ]
[ The hallway's lit by pale-yellow bulbs set behind meshed screens. The cement perspires, as do the oxidized copper pipes overhead. Rivulets of brown water spill from the joists. The place looks like a steelworks factory. Corkscrews of drilled iron crunch beneath Hei's shoes as he drags Korra in. The air smells of mildewed rock and ozone. ]
[ He doesn't ask her Will this do? Against a clear space of concrete, he crowds in against her instead. ]
no subject
[ He doesn't answer her question. Instead, hand-in-hand with Korra, he weaves through the crowd. Outside the stadium, the clean raw air of the night leaves a taste of winter at the back of his throat. It dries the sweat on his back, but does almost nothing for the frothing heat under his skin. Still, his stride is sedate, his gaze engaged in the surroundings, as if nothing is wrong. He's always been this way, resolute at not letting anything show. It's only the subtle tension in the grip of his hand that tells Korra anything has changed. ]
[ Carefully, he draws Korra down a winding alley. In the background, the Arena glows as brightly as the halogen lamps of a night baseball game. Eyes alert, he scans as they weave between slow-moving bikes, strolling pedestrians, cart-pushing fruit-sellers, street performers and working girls. Then he finds it -- the generator room that shares the conduit with the Arena itself. Elbowing the door open, he finds no one there. The huge room, a concrete honeycomb, is deafening -- stacked with heat exchanges, sucking air into the adjacent buildings. The fans, like the screeching wings of metal birds, push a windstorm through the narrow tunnels. ]
[ The hallway's lit by pale-yellow bulbs set behind meshed screens. The cement perspires, as do the oxidized copper pipes overhead. Rivulets of brown water spill from the joists. The place looks like a steelworks factory. Corkscrews of drilled iron crunch beneath Hei's shoes as he drags Korra in. The air smells of mildewed rock and ozone. ]
[ He doesn't ask her Will this do? Against a clear space of concrete, he crowds in against her instead. ]