[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. ]
[ At the look, his smile widens a fraction, mouth settling at the curve of her jaw. His bottom row of teeth scrape sharp against the skin, a bite that leaves faint red marks. His tongue flicks out to soothe the sting, before he murmurs in her ear, ]
I can think of a few ways.
[ Still holding himself on one hand, the fingers of the other stray down the line of her body to between her thighs; dabble lightly in her moisture, then push inside, crooking after just a moment's consideration against that spot she showed him earlier. ]
[ Hei's weight shifts back on his knees, and with a palm on her sternum, legs slotting hers, he keeps her from unbalancing him. Her teeth leave a pleasant sting against his skin; he can feel the languor burning away as if under a wash of acid, leaving everything raw and unbearably sensitive. That same hand drifts to her breasts; fingers seizing one nipple to give it a sharp pinch, equal parts warning and playful. His mouth is tipped in something of a vicious smile. ]
Like I need encouragement.
[ He dips in for a kiss against the round of her shoulder, hiding his smile. Trails lower, leaving wet traceries of stars on each nipple with his tongue, and darkish marks of bites -- not painful but skirting the edge -- before relocating so the length of her skin becomes a map of bitten spots and a curlicue trail of cool moisture. When he reaches the juncture of her legs, he nudges her knees apart to settle between them, gnawing up the tender inside of her thighs and licking a wet stripe, right at the crease between leg and groin, but not quite at the seam of her. ]
[Jerk. She squirms, trying to dislodge him... but not too hard. The sting of his teeth offers her plenty of incentive to stay right where she is. She grips his hair and tugs fiercely.]
Your aim's off.
[She pulls harder on his hair, drawing him toward the place his tongue really belongs.]
Didn't know you had a day-job as a drill sergeant.
[ Arch, the words spoken right at the juncture of her thighs so she feels the vibration of his voice, the hot breath ghosting over slicked skin. The smile has given way to the smallest quirk of his lips, but it's felt rather than seen as Hei starts a light circling of his fingers across her clit -- slow whorls that turn into a sharp pinch, the bright shocks of pressure edging on rough but not. He wets his lips before he shoulders properly between her knees, the fingers of his free hand making a v to spread her open before he licks her first with the flat of his tongue, then, teasingly, the pointed tip, flicking at her clit on the upstroke. ]
[ He doesn't build any rhythm, or if he does, it's tortuous enough to be cruel. He has no plans to let her come too soon. Not when she's being such an amusingly bratty baggage, not when he has all night. If he can help it, he's not planning to let her come just once either. Let's see how long she can stay at a simmer. Let's see how many ways he can deny her before giving her what she wants. ]
I call 'em like I [the pinch makes her gasp monkey feathers on an arctic sea turtle!] see. Them.
[She digs her heels into his back and thrusts her hips up. Oh come ON! He's doing this deliberately. He always does. Touching her just so, little teasing hints of pleasure but not enough to build on. Little bites of a feast that never make a meal.]
[ At the gasp, Hei flicks a quiet glance up at her and smiles. A little dangerous, a little sharp, a little knowing. (The truth is that he likes the way she boils when he takes his time with her. Likes the restless squirming of her body and those short frantic sounds as he coaxes her outside of herself. Likes, especially, the way she shrieks like a teakettle when he finally lets her tip over.) Unraveling puzzles is something he's always enjoyed. Unraveling people -- that's a thrill of a very private sort. ]
[ Outwardly he remains on point, seemingly unimpressed by the way her heels dig and her hips buck. Instead he keeps going, unhurried, exacting, alternating between wet laps of tongue and slow probes of fingers and little whorls around that small bundle of nerves, but never quite touching like he does before. Just a little pressure, then none, then more pressure, then none. Sixty seconds of this, then two minutes, then five. ]
[ He's developed a taste for merciless and subtle patience at this. Particularly where Korra's concerned. What's the point of a feast, after all, when you finish too soon? ]
[She's going to die. If he keeps up at this torturous pace, she is literally going to explode from frustration. Another lap of his tongue pulls her up, curling over him, her still damp hair curtailing him. Her breasts ache for attention but if she lets go of his hair, she's pretty sure she'll fall apart.]
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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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I can think of a few ways.
[ Still holding himself on one hand, the fingers of the other stray down the line of her body to between her thighs; dabble lightly in her moisture, then push inside, crooking after just a moment's consideration against that spot she showed him earlier. ]
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Then why don't you try it?
[She twists her hips hard, intending to flip him over and reverse their positions.]
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Like I need encouragement.
[ He dips in for a kiss against the round of her shoulder, hiding his smile. Trails lower, leaving wet traceries of stars on each nipple with his tongue, and darkish marks of bites -- not painful but skirting the edge -- before relocating so the length of her skin becomes a map of bitten spots and a curlicue trail of cool moisture. When he reaches the juncture of her legs, he nudges her knees apart to settle between them, gnawing up the tender inside of her thighs and licking a wet stripe, right at the crease between leg and groin, but not quite at the seam of her. ]
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Your aim's off.
[She pulls harder on his hair, drawing him toward the place his tongue really belongs.]
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[ Arch, the words spoken right at the juncture of her thighs so she feels the vibration of his voice, the hot breath ghosting over slicked skin. The smile has given way to the smallest quirk of his lips, but it's felt rather than seen as Hei starts a light circling of his fingers across her clit -- slow whorls that turn into a sharp pinch, the bright shocks of pressure edging on rough but not. He wets his lips before he shoulders properly between her knees, the fingers of his free hand making a v to spread her open before he licks her first with the flat of his tongue, then, teasingly, the pointed tip, flicking at her clit on the upstroke. ]
[ He doesn't build any rhythm, or if he does, it's tortuous enough to be cruel. He has no plans to let her come too soon. Not when she's being such an amusingly bratty baggage, not when he has all night. If he can help it, he's not planning to let her come just once either. Let's see how long she can stay at a simmer. Let's see how many ways he can deny her before giving her what she wants. ]
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[She digs her heels into his back and thrusts her hips up. Oh come ON! He's doing this deliberately. He always does. Touching her just so, little teasing hints of pleasure but not enough to build on. Little bites of a feast that never make a meal.]
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[ Outwardly he remains on point, seemingly unimpressed by the way her heels dig and her hips buck. Instead he keeps going, unhurried, exacting, alternating between wet laps of tongue and slow probes of fingers and little whorls around that small bundle of nerves, but never quite touching like he does before. Just a little pressure, then none, then more pressure, then none. Sixty seconds of this, then two minutes, then five. ]
[ He's developed a taste for merciless and subtle patience at this. Particularly where Korra's concerned. What's the point of a feast, after all, when you finish too soon? ]
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You. Are the. WORST.
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