[There's no shaking off his iron grip to take back control of her hand; she adds just a little bit of nail to her strokes in revenge. The harsh tug on her hair and the force of his kiss make her dizzy, and it's hard to tell if she's more excited or scared at the violence they promise.
...excited. Definitely excited.
She feels him tremble and opens her eyes, pulling back just enough to get a good look at his face. She wants to watch him as he comes.]
[ It happens in stages solid enough to map -- although realistically it's just a few seconds. His head tips back against the lip of the tub, throat taut, whole body sharp all over -- ridges of ribs and rise of veins -- and he comes into the palm of her hand, slick and pearly white over their twined fingers even as he keeps her fist moving, showing her how to ease him through with longer, slower strokes. There’s a flush on the arc of his cheekbones now, his hair damp on his forehead and mouth red and swollen; he's almost breathless, but he seems -- satisfied. ]
[ Humming, he circles her tighter with one arm as if there's a remote possibility of her pulling away. Kisses her again -- not tender but rough, her lip sucked up beneath his teeth, feeling her pulse there, letting the kiss wrap them up in a prolonged moment of silence broken only by his gasping breaths and the bubbling water. ]
[ The lull is a deceptive one. He wonders if Korra can sense the energy of impending motion simmering under his skin. ]
[She loves the way he looks right now -- flushed and sweaty and satisfied. She lets go of him and the bubbling water soon rinses her hand clean. As he wraps his arm around her, Korra circles his neck, the better to press herself against him. This is good.
She lets out a little hum of protest when he presses a little too hard on a cut on her lip (when did she get that?). She can feel his marks all over her body -- the lingering sting of scratches and the dull aches of bruises -- but the night has hardly begun. The thought makes her lips twitch with barely-repressed excitement.
She pulls away, keeping her arms around his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair.]
[ Despite the nerve-singing release, Hei's hunger -- sharp-toothed -- hasn't even begun to subside. Instead it resonates, the exact pitch and color of rain and desert thirst. He sees that matching light in Korra's eyes, and well, there's enough filth brewing in his head that he'd prefer inflicting on her sooner rather than later. Eyes dark, mouth a wry curl, he presses his thumb against a bruise in the hollow of her hip -- hard enough to hurt. Leans in to set his teeth against her pulsepoint. ]
And here I planned to drag you out upside down by your ankles. Mop your hair along the tiles and see what I'd pick up...
[ He'd do it too. But right now he settles for gathering her in tight before he rises, all at once, water splashing and rolling off them. He holds her balanced, her legs dangling, one arm under her and the other around her back. Not so simple to carry someone out of a slippery tub, but Hei has practice, so once he strikes the right balance, it's nothing. His feet track puddles from the mosaic tiles to the bathroom's marble, cool and white in counterpoint to him and Korra. Instead of hauling her to the bedroom, he plunks her down on the vanity next to the sink, the porcelain a hard chill on warm skin. ]
[The poke to her bruise hurts, but she doesn't even flinch. She just gives him a Look at his words. ]
Ow. Yeah, I bet a concussion would be really sexy.
[She tenses when he gathers her up -- WHAT IS HE THINKING SHE CAN GET OUT ON HER OWN GEEZ -- but she resists the urge to yelp or flail, not wanting to make this situation any more precarious than it already is. She doesn't even breathe until they're safely out and he sets her on the vanity.
That little stunt earns him another Look and a poke to his stomach.]
I know you're a big, strong man. Showing off's not necessary.
[ That Look again ...which one would it be? Oh right. Expression #243. The Knock It Off You're Being A Shit Face. He takes it, and the poking, in good part. (Sometimes he suspects he pulls these juvenile stunts only for the dubious pleasure of that look. It's too disquieting to get to know her on any other level, so he opts to spark the intimacy of her annoyance instead.) Smoothing her wet hair back from her face with both hands, he tucks it behind her ears. In the mirror, he's drippy and sloe-eyed; he enjoys the view of Korra's smooth planes of back, the curve of one breast and the snarls of dark hair weighed down by water against her skin. ]
[ Eyes skipping from her reflection to her face, he murmurs, mildly, ] If you hate being carried around, you might want to use a safe-word. [ Because he does like dragging and hauling his playmates around. Except. She probably wouldn't know what a safe-word is. ]
[She doesn't mind being carried around, really (she stubbornly refuses to acknowledge the fluttering panic of muscle memory). But seriously. WET TILE. All's well that ends well but people accuse HER of being reckless.
[ Hei gathers her hair at the nape of her neck and wrings the water out. It's not deliberate so much as idle, half-distracted. Something curls quietly in his chest at her look, a vague feeling on the fringes of his awareness. (It's unease, maybe. She's still so naive about so many things. Outraged at being carried on wet tiles -- but perfectly happy to share a hotel room with a vicious stranger. Someone who's threatened her and her friends enough times.) ]
[ When he speaks, meeting her stare, his expression is dry. ] A safe-word. It's for a situation where you can't say No in the heat of the moment. But that word signifies that you want everything to stop. [ He doubts she'd understand the concept. Korra enjoys a rough-and-tumble, but on the whole she's dismally vanilla. The kinkiest she'd let him get would likely be anal sex -- actually, wait. In light of their tussles? Bloodplay. Give the girl some credit, she's growing up. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Hei's known people who had different degrees of safewords. Others who claimed never to need them. They're not just common in bedrooms. He's used them on assignments too to categorize the level of risk in an environment. Red. Yellow. Green. ]
[ He remembers, dimly, an old joke he'd heard as a teenager: Why did Jesus die on the cross? Because he forgot his safeword. Korra wouldn't get that either. ]
[Little known, perhaps, but hardly a stranger. Korra has an intuition about people, a sense for who she can trust and who she can't. It's the same intuition that told her younger self the snarling, angry, seemingly vicious (but in reality, frightened) polar bear dog cub was going to be her best friend. It's far from infallible, but on the whole, it's served her well.
She frowns at his explanation, puzzling it over.]
So, like, a random word? Like jackalope? [assuming he nods] Why would jackalope be any easier to remember than no?
[ Hei isn't a polar-bear dog cub. Animals are straightforward and simple. People rarely are. Certainly, a few positive encounters with strangers have done nothing to reshape Hei's experiences and worldview as a whole. Unpredictability is the underlying theme of all interactions -- in the Syndicate and elsewhere. At Korra's earnest question, he gives her a look -- a soft, strange look, as if to say, Tsk. When you start to trust a guy... ]
Sometimes people play games where No is part of the act. It doesn't actually mean No. Instead there's an alternative word that does. [ He spans a palm around her breast, thumbs the nipple lightly. The bathroom light is bright and stark, so that he can see faint red marks of his teeth around her skin. On her face, each hair of her dark brows and eyelashes is distinct. Some women owe their looks to shadows or posturing, but hers are true, even the unforgiving glare, and each warm curve corresponds to the press of his hands. ]
[ He's eager to resume their physical conversation, but at the same time, he's piqued by where the conversation is going. He wonders if he can redirect it to a path that suits him. A Let's try something new. ]
[ Hei hears that catch in her breath. His eyes dip, to his hand curled around her breast and then up again, a wry half-smile on his face. At her question, there's a pause. Twining the fingers of his free hand into her damp hair, he watches a water droplet glide down to the edge of her shoulder. Stoops slightly and catches it on the tip of his tongue, then retraced its path as far as her earlobe -- not seduction so much as pretend-playfulness, while he tries to marshal his thoughts. ]
Different reasons. For absolute control. For the absolute lack of it. Some of them want pain because it's cathartic. Others want to see how far they can take themselves -- or others -- to a. Subspace, I guess you'd call it. [ His fingers drum lightly against her breast. ] Sometimes it's not even about sex.
[She leans into his touch and instinctively hooks her legs around his, tugging him closer. She's too thoughtful for it to be a proper come-on, still distracted by trying to understand this game where "no" doesn't mean "no".]
Weird.
[She wraps her arms around his neck. She really doesn't understand the appeal, but she's always game to try new things.]
It's more common than you think. [ But he doesn't press the topic further. It's not the sort of activity you jump into all at once -- but cultivate in degrees. Hei operates on stealth and subtlety for moments like these; for spinning patient skeins of webs. He's willing to let the idea fester in her head for awhile. If she's still intrigued by it, they'll revisit it in a practical sense later. He lets her draw him in, arms and legs and bright-blue eyes. Dips to catch a few more clear droplets from her collarbone, then licks a line down her chest. Addresses himself to one nipple, then the other, biting gently, then harder. It's easy to get lost in this, to indulge in the number of whims skirting his mind regarding her; he isn't terribly interested in chatting anymore. ]
[ But he does draw back to murmur, ] You can stick to trying a safeword for now. If I do something you're uneasy with, say 'Jackalope.' [ Let her test the concept out, in an atmosphere she's familiar with -- sex on a rougher scale -- before they step into the complexities. ]
Jackalope. [There's a bit of a laugh in her voice.] Okay.
[And as nice as the attention he's paying her breasts feels, the cold tile is making her butt hurt. She slips to her feet, her hands running down his back to cup his ass while she leans up to kiss him.
She grins against his lips, hit with a sudden fit of mischief. Her hands slide from his ass to the back of his thighs and she lifts him up. (He's not the only one who can carry people around, after all.)
She makes a beeline for the bed. Will Hei let her make it there?]
[ She hefts him up and he bites back a curse at the suddenness of it, hands flying to her shoulders -- nothing dangerous or warning, just a moment's steadying. His eyebrows are knitted, seemingly unamused, but there's humor, unwillingly apparent, ticcing in the corners of his mouth. Even as she steps forward, he stretches back, something in his spine popping and he curves, his palms hitting the floor -- a backward somersault that tugs his legs free from her grasp, pinwheeling over his head and to plant neatly on the floor. Straightforward, no flourish. ]
[ Lots of others would've looked ridiculous, so much flexibility and no clothes on. But not Hei. He gets more comfortable with every layer he strips off -- even if those layers are only literal. The canopied bed is large and plush, the stained-glass lamps on either endtable lit, casting multicolored light on the expanse of white linen. Hei stands at the foot, one arm wrapped around one tall post. There's something sharp and playful in the tilt of his head. ]
This is the part where I complain about feeling emasculated. [ Except he's not, really. ]
Hey! [She has to admire that flexibility, though, even as she's tempted to laugh at the little pose he strikes. She crosses her arms and feigns a distinctly unimpressed look.]
I've carried tougher men than you around.
[Okay, maybe not tougher, but bigger, yeah. It was one of her favorite pranks to play on the big tough White Lotus guards.]
[ He settles at the foot of the bed, leaning forward, arms braced on knees. The look he offers her is remarkably innocent, no hint of a smile, but eyes brimming with quiet amusement, ] Were they all naked? [ Even as he mocks her, he extends a hand, gesturing her closer. Damp skin and hair and eyes glinting, his manner is arch, indulgent, in a way he knows won't last. He's rarely this unselfconscious outside of battle. Except that's what his mind is wired for, and the reminder will surge with full force later. ]
[ He may as well make use of this moment -- its novelty -- while it lasts. ]
Ew. I was nine. [She makes a face at him and plops down on the bed next to him, disregarding the proffered hand. (If she took it, she knows he just would have tugged her down. He's going to have to work just a little bit harder to take her by surprise now.)] The only naked man I've seen is you.
[ He was planning to let her straddle his lap, the way he did in the tub. But there'll be enough opportunities for that. In many ways, this meandering, leisurely dance -- not building yet toward anything -- should be disconcerting. But the final act is always the buzzkill, where Hei shutters himself off and the doubt returns. He's in no hurry to get there. ]
[ When she makes that nonchalant admission -- something he's already guessed but never cared to confirm -- there's a tiny jolt of deja vu. Not at her words, but the abysmal naivety of them. This whole scenario is hopeless and strange but in a way that's not wholly different from how 17-year-old Hei was with Amber. The offhand secrets whispered in the dark, heads on the same roll of bedding -- words in the spirit of The only person I've done X or Y with is you. The verbal and physical fireworks that were half-display, half-contest -- You're not as tough as you think you are and I can do better. ]
[ It makes Hei uncomfortable, like he's been saddled with goods billed as too pricey for him to afford. He wants to say You'll see plenty of others but that's cruel, even if it's true. Instead with a press of his palm and a little maneuvering, he pins her flat on the mattress. Arched over her, he regards her from under half-lidded eyes. It's not a seductive gaze; it's assessing, his knees bracketing her body, hands splayed right above her shoulders before he pitches forward to kiss her. ]
[ It's not for him, the kind of things other people would say in these moments: I'll share my secrets if you share yours. Not anymore. ]
[She hadn't meant to share any secrets. She doesn't even think of it as a secret -- just a statement of the fairly obvious. An off-hand comment.
So she's confused when he pushes her down, the teasing look gone from his expression. Why would that one little comment change his mood? Weirdo. He leans down to kiss her and she decides not to worry about it; the change may be inexplicable, but he's still here. He hasn't shut down. Her arms reach up to wrap around him, nails sinking into his back as she returns the kiss, warm and leisurely.]
[ He envies her sometimes. Not for her naivety but for her in-the-momentness. With no past baggage goading her with expectations of disappointment and rue, she can luxuriate in the present, focus her mind on the pleasure to come. Whereas for him ... every other word or kiss is a minefield of ugly memory. It's why he keeps her at a distance even as he tries to be kind to her. ]
[ (17-year-old Hei wouldn't have bothered. To him, she'd have been a sweet lay on legs. That's all. Maybe if she'd proven to be a good fuck, he'd have thought, I'll keep you, but as a plaything. He'd never have respected her autonomy as a person -- let alone made the constant effort, as his 23-year old counterpart does, to be considerate.) ]
[ His breath catches at the sting of her nails, and he lets it out in a hum into their kiss. It's strange, the languor that's settled into his bones. It's not the wine or the absence of any tight schedules -- it's wanting to stay here, self-contained but otherwise happy to just share warmth. (Foolish doesn't come close to the level of recriminations buzzing in the back of his mind.) His spine bows as he eliminates any space between them, still holding himself off her, but feeling the press of her breasts against his chest as his pelvis rocks against hers. He's half-hard again already, his body eager for a redux even with the laziness curling around his edges. ]
[Korra sighs against him, running her hands slowly up and down his body. She doesn't know how long they spend just lying there, indulging in languid kisses and gentle rocking.
Eventually she pulls away, just far enough to ask] What do you want me to do?
[He may have a bad habit of doing what he wants, but that doesn't mean Korra minds indulging him. If he asks nicely.]
[ There it is again. That earnestness. That naivety. What do you want me to do? If he were anyone else -- scratch that, if he were the predator he's meant to be -- she has no idea what perverse tangles of favors she'd get caught up in. Something filthy. Something painful. Something humiliating. Even if she was prepared, if not to just completely give in, to negotiate, he wouldn't let her. That's how he's been with so many others. ]
[ Instead he regards her with an expression she can't read -- the kind that might make her nervous at any other time. But instead of suggesting any of the depravities stockpiled at the back of his memory, he deflects the question by closing the space between them to ply her with more kisses. ]
[ Eventually, on a crooked half-smile and a quiet inhale, ] I guess lying back and looking pretty is too much to ask for. [ But then, when has Korra ever been a Pillow Princess? It's what he enjoys about her. ]
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...excited. Definitely excited.
She feels him tremble and opens her eyes, pulling back just enough to get a good look at his face. She wants to watch him as he comes.]
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[ Humming, he circles her tighter with one arm as if there's a remote possibility of her pulling away. Kisses her again -- not tender but rough, her lip sucked up beneath his teeth, feeling her pulse there, letting the kiss wrap them up in a prolonged moment of silence broken only by his gasping breaths and the bubbling water. ]
[ The lull is a deceptive one. He wonders if Korra can sense the energy of impending motion simmering under his skin. ]
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She lets out a little hum of protest when he presses a little too hard on a cut on her lip (when did she get that?). She can feel his marks all over her body -- the lingering sting of scratches and the dull aches of bruises -- but the night has hardly begun. The thought makes her lips twitch with barely-repressed excitement.
She pulls away, keeping her arms around his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair.]
Now we can get out of the tub.
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And here I planned to drag you out upside down by your ankles. Mop your hair along the tiles and see what I'd pick up...
[ He'd do it too. But right now he settles for gathering her in tight before he rises, all at once, water splashing and rolling off them. He holds her balanced, her legs dangling, one arm under her and the other around her back. Not so simple to carry someone out of a slippery tub, but Hei has practice, so once he strikes the right balance, it's nothing. His feet track puddles from the mosaic tiles to the bathroom's marble, cool and white in counterpoint to him and Korra. Instead of hauling her to the bedroom, he plunks her down on the vanity next to the sink, the porcelain a hard chill on warm skin. ]
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Ow. Yeah, I bet a concussion would be really sexy.
[She tenses when he gathers her up -- WHAT IS HE THINKING SHE CAN GET OUT ON HER OWN GEEZ -- but she resists the urge to yelp or flail, not wanting to make this situation any more precarious than it already is. She doesn't even breathe until they're safely out and he sets her on the vanity.
That little stunt earns him another Look and a poke to his stomach.]
I know you're a big, strong man. Showing off's not necessary.
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[ Eyes skipping from her reflection to her face, he murmurs, mildly, ] If you hate being carried around, you might want to use a safe-word. [ Because he does like dragging and hauling his playmates around. Except. She probably wouldn't know what a safe-word is. ]
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She blinks at him, confused.]
A what now?
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[ When he speaks, meeting her stare, his expression is dry. ] A safe-word. It's for a situation where you can't say No in the heat of the moment. But that word signifies that you want everything to stop. [ He doubts she'd understand the concept. Korra enjoys a rough-and-tumble, but on the whole she's dismally vanilla. The kinkiest she'd let him get would likely be anal sex -- actually, wait. In light of their tussles? Bloodplay. Give the girl some credit, she's growing up. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Hei's known people who had different degrees of safewords. Others who claimed never to need them. They're not just common in bedrooms. He's used them on assignments too to categorize the level of risk in an environment. Red. Yellow. Green. ]
[ He remembers, dimly, an old joke he'd heard as a teenager: Why did Jesus die on the cross? Because he forgot his safeword. Korra wouldn't get that either. ]
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She frowns at his explanation, puzzling it over.]
So, like, a random word? Like jackalope? [assuming he nods] Why would jackalope be any easier to remember than no?
[She doesn't get it. But color her curious.]
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Sometimes people play games where No is part of the act. It doesn't actually mean No. Instead there's an alternative word that does. [ He spans a palm around her breast, thumbs the nipple lightly. The bathroom light is bright and stark, so that he can see faint red marks of his teeth around her skin. On her face, each hair of her dark brows and eyelashes is distinct. Some women owe their looks to shadows or posturing, but hers are true, even the unforgiving glare, and each warm curve corresponds to the press of his hands. ]
[ He's eager to resume their physical conversation, but at the same time, he's piqued by where the conversation is going. He wonders if he can redirect it to a path that suits him. A Let's try something new. ]
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Why?
[She doesn't sound disgusted or judgmental, just...legitimately confused.]
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Different reasons. For absolute control. For the absolute lack of it. Some of them want pain because it's cathartic. Others want to see how far they can take themselves -- or others -- to a. Subspace, I guess you'd call it. [ His fingers drum lightly against her breast. ] Sometimes it's not even about sex.
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Weird.
[She wraps her arms around his neck. She really doesn't understand the appeal, but she's always game to try new things.]
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[ But he does draw back to murmur, ] You can stick to trying a safeword for now. If I do something you're uneasy with, say 'Jackalope.' [ Let her test the concept out, in an atmosphere she's familiar with -- sex on a rougher scale -- before they step into the complexities. ]
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[And as nice as the attention he's paying her breasts feels, the cold tile is making her butt hurt. She slips to her feet, her hands running down his back to cup his ass while she leans up to kiss him.
She grins against his lips, hit with a sudden fit of mischief. Her hands slide from his ass to the back of his thighs and she lifts him up. (He's not the only one who can carry people around, after all.)
She makes a beeline for the bed. Will Hei let her make it there?]
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[ She hefts him up and he bites back a curse at the suddenness of it, hands flying to her shoulders -- nothing dangerous or warning, just a moment's steadying. His eyebrows are knitted, seemingly unamused, but there's humor, unwillingly apparent, ticcing in the corners of his mouth. Even as she steps forward, he stretches back, something in his spine popping and he curves, his palms hitting the floor -- a backward somersault that tugs his legs free from her grasp, pinwheeling over his head and to plant neatly on the floor. Straightforward, no flourish. ]
[ Lots of others would've looked ridiculous, so much flexibility and no clothes on. But not Hei. He gets more comfortable with every layer he strips off -- even if those layers are only literal. The canopied bed is large and plush, the stained-glass lamps on either endtable lit, casting multicolored light on the expanse of white linen. Hei stands at the foot, one arm wrapped around one tall post. There's something sharp and playful in the tilt of his head. ]
This is the part where I complain about feeling emasculated. [ Except he's not, really. ]
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I've carried tougher men than you around.
[Okay, maybe not tougher, but bigger, yeah. It was one of her favorite pranks to play on the big tough White Lotus guards.]
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[ He may as well make use of this moment -- its novelty -- while it lasts. ]
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[ When she makes that nonchalant admission -- something he's already guessed but never cared to confirm -- there's a tiny jolt of deja vu. Not at her words, but the abysmal naivety of them. This whole scenario is hopeless and strange but in a way that's not wholly different from how 17-year-old Hei was with Amber. The offhand secrets whispered in the dark, heads on the same roll of bedding -- words in the spirit of The only person I've done X or Y with is you. The verbal and physical fireworks that were half-display, half-contest -- You're not as tough as you think you are and I can do better. ]
[ It makes Hei uncomfortable, like he's been saddled with goods billed as too pricey for him to afford. He wants to say You'll see plenty of others but that's cruel, even if it's true. Instead with a press of his palm and a little maneuvering, he pins her flat on the mattress. Arched over her, he regards her from under half-lidded eyes. It's not a seductive gaze; it's assessing, his knees bracketing her body, hands splayed right above her shoulders before he pitches forward to kiss her. ]
[ It's not for him, the kind of things other people would say in these moments: I'll share my secrets if you share yours. Not anymore. ]
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So she's confused when he pushes her down, the teasing look gone from his expression. Why would that one little comment change his mood? Weirdo. He leans down to kiss her and she decides not to worry about it; the change may be inexplicable, but he's still here. He hasn't shut down. Her arms reach up to wrap around him, nails sinking into his back as she returns the kiss, warm and leisurely.]
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[ (17-year-old Hei wouldn't have bothered. To him, she'd have been a sweet lay on legs. That's all. Maybe if she'd proven to be a good fuck, he'd have thought, I'll keep you, but as a plaything. He'd never have respected her autonomy as a person -- let alone made the constant effort, as his 23-year old counterpart does, to be considerate.) ]
[ His breath catches at the sting of her nails, and he lets it out in a hum into their kiss. It's strange, the languor that's settled into his bones. It's not the wine or the absence of any tight schedules -- it's wanting to stay here, self-contained but otherwise happy to just share warmth. (Foolish doesn't come close to the level of recriminations buzzing in the back of his mind.) His spine bows as he eliminates any space between them, still holding himself off her, but feeling the press of her breasts against his chest as his pelvis rocks against hers. He's half-hard again already, his body eager for a redux even with the laziness curling around his edges. ]
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Eventually she pulls away, just far enough to ask] What do you want me to do?
[He may have a bad habit of doing what he wants, but that doesn't mean Korra minds indulging him. If he asks nicely.]
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[ Instead he regards her with an expression she can't read -- the kind that might make her nervous at any other time. But instead of suggesting any of the depravities stockpiled at the back of his memory, he deflects the question by closing the space between them to ply her with more kisses. ]
[ Eventually, on a crooked half-smile and a quiet inhale, ] I guess lying back and looking pretty is too much to ask for. [ But then, when has Korra ever been a Pillow Princess? It's what he enjoys about her. ]
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Then he speaks, and she gives him look #187 - You're Cute But Not As Cute As You Think You Are.]
And where's the fun in that for me?
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