[ Hei blinks. Because, even amid the glaring differences, the scenario is familiar. There's also something incredibly familiar about that tawny tessitura of a voice. The cadence of it, the stress on the syllables. He squints, carding a hand back through his dangling mop of hair. A pale frosting of light is building up at the window, diffusing the gray hues in the sky towards periwinkle. In the glow, he can see the lines of Korra's profile, starkly delineated in pale blue. Holy shit. ]
[ Hei takes a deep, jitter-stifling breath. Lets his eyes skate with a methodical sharpness over Korra's new body. Brawny frame. Mess of scraggly dark hair framing a surprisingly strong jaw line. Stubble. No breasts. As far as curse tallies go, he tells himself it's small. He's awoken with an aching bloodlust and fangs, awoken a stranger trapped in a cage of unfamiliar flesh and bones, hijacked by his own killer instincts. This is nothing. (But that doesn't make it less weird.) ]
no subject
[ Hei takes a deep, jitter-stifling breath. Lets his eyes skate with a methodical sharpness over Korra's new body. Brawny frame. Mess of scraggly dark hair framing a surprisingly strong jaw line. Stubble. No breasts. As far as curse tallies go, he tells himself it's small. He's awoken with an aching bloodlust and fangs, awoken a stranger trapped in a cage of unfamiliar flesh and bones, hijacked by his own killer instincts. This is nothing. (But that doesn't make it less weird.) ]
[ Then he notices Korra's blanket is saluting. ]
A hard-on, actually. But the distinction's slim.