[ Hei doesn't have anything against sports training as such. It has benefits for the practitioner. However, none of these matches are proper self-defense. Hei's interest is in pragmatic methods to eliminate a target, not in showmanship or competition. Any Contractor is devoted to realistic self-preservation, not to whatever ego gratification MMA enthusiasts feed on. You can learn from them, sure. You can tweak your style and amp up your fitness. But the techniques Hei considers worthwhile aren't based on sports competitions. Assassins don't waste their time with them -- because they have nothing to prove to anyone. ]
[ Killing isn't a match between two equals; it's a spontaneous test in the dangers of real life, which include the presence of weapons, of cheating, of traps, and the necessity of battling on less-than-ideal terrain. ]
[ Still, he can feel Korra's energy buzzing along his flank. It overlaps with the vervy hum of the crowd, making the atmosphere surreal. Gripping her hand, he weaves through the tide of humanity, converging on the octagonal stadium. A hand-lettered notice says Beware of Pickpockets -- obviously a joke, considering the Underground's populace. Walking up to the ticket collector, he shakes hands (or maybe there's tickets and betting money passing from one palm to the other; it's hard to tell, isn't it?) The tin can of the stadium is bright golden. Inside, it's chaos. Jostling, chattering, laughing spectators perch on rickety chairs on the concrete stands that surround the illuminated ring. High on the ceiling, fans spin furiously to stir the thick air. It reeks of sweat, tobacco, incense and a beady-eyed, greedy kind of hope. Every human ingredient. ]
[ Squeezing Korra's hand, Hei guides her up concrete steps to a pathway lit by forty-watt bulbs set behind meshed screens. Sure, they could have seats ringside, but that's not the real world of this place. From the stands, you can see everything from the glittering sprays of blood to the whites of the fighter's eyes. ]
[Tall as Korra is, she's even standing on tiptoe, peering over people's heads, taking in every detail of her surroundings. She's practically vibrating with excitement and excess stimulation.
She doesn't actually hear his question, too wrapped up in her surroundings and the noise to register his words.]
[ It's like that time he took her clubbing. The excitement is infectious, seeming to zing off Korra, crisscrossing in luminous spiderwebs across the room. From the stands, he watches a small band of wizened old men in shabby violet uniforms. They pick up instruments -- java flute, drums, tiny glittering cymbals -- and begin to play music that, in its own way, is a cacophonous nightmare. The horns are shrill and crazy, weaving in and out of each other's trance-inducing melodies. The resonating gongs, the thumping drums, interspersed with the delicate tinkling of chimes -- they're like snake charmers on death row. The music slithers into Hei's brain -- makes his head as well as his heart pound. ]
[ Casually, he sidles closer to Korra. Positions her so she's standing in front of him, his arms draped over her shoulders like a flesh-and-bone barricade. The crowd around jostles and elbows them; but their eyes are on the bright ring where the two sinewy boxers are receiving the blessings of their stable masters. They wai deeply to their trainers, and then to the judges, before leaping into the ring. Festooned in their multicolored head ropes, garlands dangling around their necks, they perform the formal, individual wai khru ram muay -- the fight prayer dances. ]
[ Hei watches with a critical eye as they step, knee, step, knee their way around the ring. Each boxer chooses his own way to express loyalty to his fight stables through body-language, stopping here and there to pose in an emulation of mythical creatures. One dips in a bow to one knee, arms rising into the air as a bird. The other sways side to side, then expands his chest and arms wide like a snake. Meanwhile, the music clamors on, piercing through the rumble of the crowd. On a practical note, the wai kru is a narrow window to observe your opponent's abilities, via their ritual dances. ]
[ But Hei focuses on other details. Placement, center of gravity, favored footwork, weak points in muscle telegraphed by subtle movements. Resting his chin on the top of Korra's head, he says, ]
[He wraps his arms around her and she leans into him -- for a moment. Then they start doing poses and she's leaning against his arms as she tries to get a better view.]
[ Hei dips his head to hear her over the clamoring music and the indistinguishable hubbub of the crowd. Lips near her ear, he says, ]
It's a prayer dance. It's called wai khru ram muay. A way to pay tribute to the fighter's teachers, and to consecrate blessings on them. Each camp has their own styles. [ He indicates to the boxer in the blue shorts, a dreadlocked kid barely seventeen years old. Bare-chested, his arms are ropey, leathery. Tattoos crisscross the ribbed musculature of his stomach; dark curlicues encircle his extruded bellybutton, giving it the look of a monster's eye. ] That one's taking on the style of a demon bird called Garuda. [ Then, pointing to his opponent, in red shorts -- a whippet thin twenty-something, hair plastered to his skull in black ropes. ] That one's emulating the Naga -- a cobra-like beast that supposedly spits fireballs.
[ There's an understandable dryness in his tone, because this sort of ritualistic superstition has no place in Hei's life. He watches the fighters meet in the center of the ring, where the cigarillo-smoking promoter runs down the stakes. The sharp, sinuous music cuts through the noise like barbed wire. It’s faster and more frantic now, designed to pump up the boxers, to spur on their aggression. ]
Naga doesn't spit fireballs. [Yes, yes, she knows, not the same Naga -- but the coincidence is enough to make her smile.
She's entranced by it -- not just the moves themselves, but the whole ritual. It reminds her of her bending training, the few moments where she came close to feeling some kind of spiritual connection. When she used the most ancient moves & techniques, it was like she was connected to her past lives.]
Are the tattoos part of it? [They remind her of the airbending master tattoos...]
[ Hei's never been an enthusiast of body-art. For his profession, he's honed every point of his musculature into a weapon, not a decoration piece. The symbolism, the safeguarding powers, the storytelling behind the tattoos -- all that is lost to him. In the past, his training catered more to the grapple-and-grunts mindset: kickboxing, krav maga and the full-contact martial arts such as judo and jiu-jitsu. Very little of it dealt with abstractia: choreographed forms -- dancelike katas -- intent only on perfecting the technique, and in understanding the spiritual history behind the motions. The same went for the supernatural elements associated with the arts. ]
[ Still, he has a basic knowledge of the sak yant. ]
The idea is that the tattoos offer the fighters protection. Good luck. Success. All that. Traditionally they're done by monks using bamboo needles. It's considered bad luck to get a tattoo from someone who doesn't grasp their significance. [ A beat, before he amends, ] Those fighters would know more about it than me.
Cool. [Korra's always liked the look of tattoos, and secretly thought it was too bad that she couldn't get the airbending master tattoos. (Even though the Avatar had to master all four elements, only Avatars from the Air Nomads got the mastery tattoos.) The Southern Water Tribe's tradition of body art had pretty much died out after the Fire Nation attacked.
She quickly forgets any thoughts about body art when the fight actually begins. She grabs his elbows, squeezing them in excitement as she strains to catch every move, trying to get a snapshot of each one to imitate and incorporate into her own style later.]
[ Hei's lips twitch as she grips his sleeve. Korra's energy is a warm sensation, the color and temperature of a burnt orange conflagration. It matches that of the crowd -- but without the acrid shades of greed and voyeurism. He places his hands on her hips and brings them around, fingers knitting over her bellybutton. In the ring, the first succession of the fast, vicious shin strikes begins. The music ratchets up as the fighters clinch and tug at each other's necks, trying to force their opponents' head lower. Sharp knees jab to connect with ribcages and the vulnerable points of kidneys. Torsos flex and protect just before impact. Around the stage, the air shimmers, shards of filigreed luminescence from the spotlights raining down like shiny foil in a tickertape parade. ]
[ He watches the boxer in red dry-gulch the blue, a hard sucker punch glancing off the high ridge of cheek, splitting bone. The blow drops him to his knees, blood dribbling -- but he's back on his feet in a twinkling. Hei admires the resilience, the finesse, the blind dedication. But this isn't his field of interest. Combat is about treachery and deceit as much as about courage and skill. ]
[ Still, part of him is envious. Reach a certain experience level, and you can tell who fights for a reason -- and who fights because he has nothing to lose. These men are dedicated to something. It's beyond the money or the rush or the fifteen minutes of fame. It's something much more intangible. Something almost fiercely serene. ]
[ Glancing at Korra, Hei feels, dimly, like she has the same emotion glowing in her eyes. ]
[She squirms a little as he moves his hands, inadvertently tickling her. Don't distract her -- she's trying to memorize their moves! It's interesting to watch the sheer violence of the fight. It's much more up close & personal, you could say, than the fights she's been in. In a bending fight, you not only attack with your element, but you negate the damage of it; one of the first things she learned as a firebender was how to keep fire from burning her. The probending matches could get rough, but that was all bruising. She's not disturbed by the blood & bone by any means. It's more a reminder of how much more she needs to learn, and can learn, to protect herself & the people she cares about without her bending.]
[ The fabric of Korra's shirt -- the heat radiating under it -- makes Hei's palms tingle. He keeps his arms clasped around her, drawing her closer against him. Their bodies don't fit together the way his and Amber's did; they cut into each other at unlikely, intimate angles. It's good, better than Hei could have ever expected it to be. Keeping one hand splayed on her belly, he slides the other across her hip, scraping his thumbnail along cloth and denim, until his thumb is hooked neatly in the waist of her jeans. Around them, no one notices. The spectators hurl cheers and insults as the fight continues. On the edges of the ring, bright orange, flashing halogen discs are screwed to the horizontal beams. The intermittently blinking lights brighten the spectators' faces in ghostly yellows: a pack of bloodthirsty crazies waving money. ]
[ High above, moonlight pours through holes rusted in the roof, silver shafts gilding the crossbeams and glossing feathery shapes roosting in the latticework. The hypnotic sound of music underlies the hollering crowd. It matches every muscle poised; every strike of elbow, of hand, of shin, of knee; each place the blow lands and leaves its ruddy mark. ]
[ Wrapped around Korra, Hei is lulled by the crowd's buzz and frantic ocarina music. Watching the diminutive but deadly bodies -- machines more than men -- and the thrill of close combat. The pureness of it all. ]
[ But perhaps equally mesmerizing is the look on Korra's face. Her eyes, he thinks, are the blue life would be, if it got to choose a color. ]
[She doesn't notice the tingle that runs through her as he tugs her closer. She's wrapped up in the fight, cheering loudly as each one lands a blow. It's the same thrill she felt the first time she actually got to see a probending match, and a part of her wants nothing more than to dive into the ring and join in.]
[ Hei wonders if this is how symbiotes feel. Cold needle-mouths latched against the heat and energy of a host. Korra's excitement oozes into his pores. The world rushes in his ears, then crystallises. Hei exhales quietly, and eases Korra tighter against him, feeling everything come together. Lines sharpen. Shadows clear. Even the spotlights in the ring are a hundred watts more brilliant. ]
[ It's what she does to him. Everything cold and shuttered, she brightens. A certainty he can't ascribe, but here is ample demonstration. ]
[ He massages the jut of her hipbone with the pad of his thumb, then dips lower. His eyes stay on the luminous ring as the third round begins. It explodes with swiftness and savagery; the boxers maintain enough distance to fire lightning shin blows to the arms and chests. Blue goes low, knees flexing, delivers a submarine shot. Red grabs him, pulling their bodies flush. Blue's gloves are high on Red's chest but he can't push him off. He brings them up into Red's face, rubbing the scratchy laces across the cheeks and eyes. Red reacts by bringing his left knee up into Blue's side beneath the kidney. Blue lets out a grunt. Red knees him again, putting all his weight into it. The crowd rises to a quick roar. In close, Blue shoves against Red's face, gets some separation and brings an elbow up into the gap, shearing it across Red's chin. The blood is a glittering ruby spray as it arcs in the spotlights. ]
[ Any minute now, Hei thinks. The match is going to end with a technicolor bang. ]
[The thumb sliding down from her hip -- now that manages to pull away Korra's attention, at least for a moment. She doesn't want to take her eyes off of the fight, but does squeeze his arm as a sign of Don't think I didn't notice that, buddy.
She's not telling him to stop, though. Not by any means. The fight has her blood pumping, and each blow that the fighters land sends a spike of pleasure straight between her legs. It's almost as though they're touching her.
She rocks back, discretely rubbing herself against Hei.]
[ When she squeezes his arm and rocks back against him, Hei stops. But only for a moment. Licking his lips, he breathes evenly. His thumb presses lower, stroking the sensitive crease of Korra's thigh and groin. The rough pad rasps across the lace of her panties and her smooth skin, warm and faintly damp. No script or choreography to this: there never is, with them, and he should know better by now. Keeping one arm locked around her, he flicks his gaze across their surroundings. No one's watching. Everyone's focus is on the match. Korra will feel a draft of cooler air across her skin as he tugs her shirt casually free from her jeans. Then his hand strokes her belly before driving down, between denim and flesh, cupping her between her legs. His fingernails graze the material of her panties, just above her clit. ]
[ Knowing that Korra's revulsions are instantaneous, he's startled at how she stands grottoed in the warm cave of his body. The brutality of the fight should sicken her. The bloodsprays, the adrenalined tang of sweat, the quicksilver violence of each blow. Women, he'd been brought up to believe once upon a time, weren't into that shit. But of course it's a lie. ]
[ He enjoys the knowledge now. As if, in the middle of the overheated crowd, it's a secret for him alone. ]
[Korra covers her mouth to stifle a yelp. NO WAY HE IS NOT -- Except he most definitely was teasing her, his hand inside her pants. She should grab his hand and yank it out because hello, IN THE MIDDLE OF A CROWD. She should, and she's totally going to.
Except nobody's watching. And when Korra thinks about what's happening -- being fingered in full view of everybody while watching a brutal fight -- she realizes that it's really hot. Ridiculously hot, even. And the thought of someone looking over and catching them like this makes her nipples stiffen and ache longingly.
She keeps her hand over her mouth, trying to pretend it's out of horror, and presses back against Hei, a silent plea for more.]
[ As her hand flies to her mouth, Hei awaits a signal. Some physical indication that he's overstepped, that she's uncomfortable with the line he's crossed. But as his fingers skate down, along the wetness seeping through her panties, he thinks -- Oh. When she presses back against him, the muscles in his free arm, looped around her waist, twitch almost imperceptibly. He isn't hard yet -- he's too alert, too absorbed with keeping watch -- but the curve of her backside snugged against his groin makes him very ... aware of his cock. He massages her belly with his free hand while the one between her jeans splays lower. He traces his index finger across her panties. Brushes at her clitoris in soft circles, letting the fabric add its own moist friction. ]
[ In the ring, Red reels into the center. Blue presses on, stance shifting to southpaw. He jabs once, twice, setting up an overhand right. Red's still groggy from the previous blow, stepping to his left with and throwing a right hook over the jab. Blue turns under it and, as he takes the punch above the ear, fires his own right return, carrying his weight onto the left foot, ripping another hard right into his opponent's face. Red reels, taking the blow right to the brow. His eyelids are already networked with scar tissue. He's a bleeder. Blood destroys some fighters. Since the death of that Korean, Duk Koo-Kim, who was blood-blinded from cut eyelids, paranoid referees always kibosh fights at the first sight of red. Some fighters have tough bodies but brittle skin -- exhale hard, they cut. But if that claret keeps flowing, the fight's over even if the boy's not really hurt. ]
[ Not so in Muay Thai. Matches are rarely stopped on blood, and trainers are permitted special measures -- double-strength adrenaline chloride, ferric acid -- to handle the uglier wounds. Of course, all the ferric acid in the world isn't going to help with detached retinas and pulped metacarpals, but that's come what may. ]
[ Anyway. There are other types of coming Hei's interested in right now. ]
[Her breathing is fast, and she has to fight back little whimpers of pleasure. Not that anyone could hear her in this crowd. She could probably climax with a loud, shuddering scream and only one or two people would notice. She doesn't care to test that theory...much.
She squeezes her eyes shut and can't hold back a whine as Hei's finger brushes her clit just so; when she forces them open again, she notices a man looking over at them. For a moment, she thinks that he sees what they're doing -- but no. He rolls his eyes and chortles to a friend, something about how girls can't handle a real fight. It makes her blood boil, and a part of her wants to grab him and go I'm not scared of this fight, you moron; I'M GETTING OFF ON IT.]
[ If Hei notices the man glancing at them, he gives no indication. Maybe it's the violence, or the smell of Korra's scent, or the entirely seedy thrill of having his hands down her jeans in public -- but he's entirely consumed by Korra's reactions. There is an inaudible fuzz, all around her, like the sonic equivalent of haze from burning wood. When she whines, he hears it clearly. There seems to be some hitherto unknown scientific law at work, causing almost all the hundreds of human exclamations to dissolve in the troposphere, while Korra's own soft sounds gather volume in exact proportion to the emotion bubbling in them. ]
[ Against her nape, he makes a slow exhalation. The hand, encircling her waist, settles itself just below her navel, gathering her in tight against his body. He holds her there, letting her feel the beginnings of his erection against the slope of her ass. The hard metal of his belt digs into her backbone as he rocks in close. Two of his fingers are between her legs, pushing the soaked gusset of her panties against her, making her feel how the fabric sticks to her. With his free hand, he strokes her belly, her ribs, then covers her breast easily. At first the pressure is warmly casual, but it grows quickly into something demanding and fierce. ]
[ All around him, shapes of people jostle and chatter. At the ring, Blue feints another roundhouse and, when Red drops his guard hand, sets both feet and jumps, right arm cocked like a pistol's hammer, fist slamming into Red's face. The deep gash splits wider over the eyebrow. Not knowing what to do, Red bear hugs Blue, tying his arms up. Blood's spurting out the side of his face and he's spat the mouthpiece out. They butt foreheads and, viola, the other eyebrow opens up. The kid's dribbling blood all over the damn place. ]
[ Only a matter of time, Hei knows, before he drops. ]
Hei! [The protest (if it could really be called that) is muffled against her hand. The hand down her pants could be considered discreet, but there is nothing subtle about the way he's working her breasts. She wants to reach behind and grab his burgeoning erection, try to get revenge for this terrible teasing, but the way they're positioned, she's just not in a good angle for it. All she can really do is try not to draw attention to them as he fingerfucks her where anyone could see.
This is harder than it sounds -- not because of what he's doing, but because how much a part of her wants to draw attention to them. She can picture herself with Hei in the middle of the ring, where the fighters are now, fucking each other's brains out. Their usual struggle for control, the fight to see who can make the other come first, but with an audience. Some cheering as he pinches her clit and makes her scream, others cheering while she blows him, driving him crazy with her tongue. The fantasy is so hot, so real, that she doesn't even see the fighters anymore. She doesn't care who wins; her attention is completely on the way he's touching her.]
[ Hei feels like he's unlocked a sequence of fibonacci numbers, set in a brilliant, bloodhungry musical composition. Part of him would like to pretend it's his proximity alone that has Korra in this state. But that's not true. He notices it all. The way Korra sucks in air and holds it through each fast, jagged attack in the ring. The way her nipples peak and stiffen into barbs that catch and chafe against her shirt as he works her breasts. The way her skin, despite the heat, prickles with goose bumps of both dread and anticipation. Dread that someone might see them. Anticipation that someone will. ]
[ This isn't normal. This isn't rational. But the solidity of his cock, snugged tight against Korra's body, grants him no anchor of logic. It only amplifies the madness. His free hand -- pinching, kneading -- abruptly leaves Korra's breasts. Taking her chin, he tips her head forward. Draws his face alongside hers, licking her ear before he speaks into it, ] Eyes on the fight. [ His breathing, not hard, is nonetheless uneven. Against him, Korra is immediate; vital, hot, sleek. Her whole face seems sweetly radiant with the sheer simmer of the frustration inside her. Between her legs, her zipper scrapes his knuckles before his hand maneuvers to slide down beneath her panties, until he touches springy curls, dewy with moisture, and the wet cleft they guard. ]
[ It's only a moment before he finds the slick tip of her clit, his fingers circling across it, before he pinches -- sharp and cruel and relentless. ]
[Eyes on the fight? How is she supposed to keep her eyes on the fight when he's touching her like this? Her hips squirm, butt grinding against his cock, body aching for release. Every punch the fighters throw just reminds her how badly she wants to be fucked.
Then he pinches her clit.
She strangles a scream, but the sound is still loud enough to draw the attention of the people right next them. Oh no they're going to see his hand and know exactly what he's doing... Shit Korra hopes they do. She wants to see their pants bulge as they watch Hei work her into a frenzy.]
[ She screams over the oscillating din, and Hei's smile is slow and faint, almost lazy. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees two young men stare in their direction. He ignores them, face pressed against Korra's hair, dragging in a breath as she rocks against him. Her pores seem to have opened in the swelter and released a veritable sea of beautiful chemical messages. Hard to imagine that once, in the awkward stammering and restrained politeness of their first meeting, she was, scent-wise, a cipher. Now, having met her at the molecular level, it's as if his cortex is hopelessly, painfully, permanently addicted. ]
[ He rubs his fingertips across Korra's clit, rolling and pinching it like a slick ball bearing. Then his palm slides lower, flattening against her pubic bone as he presses between the lips with his fingers, delving into her. Crooking, with an unstancheable pressure, against that spongy sweetspot inside her -- while his free arm locks tight around her. Across them, the young men's eyes dart from between Korra's legs, up to her face, before flicking to his. Their expressions change from surprise to something else. Hei holds their gazes for just a moment. Flat and unblinking -- long enough until they're ready to drop them -- before refocusing on the ring. ]
[ The boxers are weaving in tight figure eights, a ghostlike infinity symbol on a collision course. Red must be seeing black from the bloodgush. He's swabbing at both eyes to clear his vision. Seeing only the outline of Blue, darkly flashing arms and legs. He's lurching away, staring around at nothing. Now he jerks forward, but uncertainly, no finesse or conviction in his movements. He's a sitting duck. When the final blow hits him, it'll come very quickly. ]
[ As quick as Korra? Well. Hei plans to find out. ]
[Through a haze of lust, Korra can see the way the two young men are looking at them. It turns her on and repulses her, all at the same time. As much as a twisted part of her wants to be seen, wants to torment other people with jealous longing, there was something grossly entitled in their faces. Like they were certain they'd get to go next. It's an unwelcome splash of cold water until Hei manages to glare them away. And for once, she doesn't even care that he was the scary one (although she has memorized those guys' faces in case she ever happens to meet them on the street... she'll know whose nose to break). As his fingers hit on that sweet spot inside her, the only thing Korra cares about is that they're gone. She twists as best she can and grabs his neck, dragging his head down so she can speak directly in his ear.]
[ Unfortunately, fantasy and reality seldom walk hand-in-hand. The risks of public sex often outweigh the thrills. Hei's blackmailed enough marks to know. When a large part of your job involves following people surreptitiously, discovering patterns you can exploit, you see a lot of behavior that goes unnoticed by the outside world. Drugs. Prostitution. Gambling. Affairs. Incest. Pedophilia. Addictions and compulsions, cravings and lust. The real world, the id, the dark constants of human nature. But it's strange, how even though a logical Don't materializes when Korra says I want you, a choked sigh of needs worms its way free of his throat and he's plunged into a universe of flesh and impact and the heat and scent of her. ]
[ In casual stages, he slips his fingers free from their sweltering-slick trap between her legs. Brings them, wet with her juices, up to her mouth and smears them against her lips. Tipping his head, he kisses her -- hard -- sliding his tongue across her lips. In the ring, Blue plants his left foot on the canvas, pivots forward on his heel. His right arm uncurls like a whip as it comes around, arcing up, a spinning backfist that hits Red on the left temple. And down he goes, eyes shut. He thuds across the canvas openmouthed -- Hei dimly hears his teeth click shut. The referee kneels, counting, the kid's body lying there, writhing, trying to get up and failing. … nine … ten … ]
[ As the crowd roars, the bell ringing, Blue walks to his corner and sits on a stool. The trainer removes the mouthpiece and waters him, smoothing an icepack over his forehead. The crowd chants his name and he acknowledges them with a smile. His face is smoothly, childishly serene. A boy-Buddha. ]
[ Breaking the kiss, Hei reaches for Korra's wrist, fingers curling loosely. Tugging, he says, ]
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[ Killing isn't a match between two equals; it's a spontaneous test in the dangers of real life, which include the presence of weapons, of cheating, of traps, and the necessity of battling on less-than-ideal terrain. ]
[ Still, he can feel Korra's energy buzzing along his flank. It overlaps with the vervy hum of the crowd, making the atmosphere surreal. Gripping her hand, he weaves through the tide of humanity, converging on the octagonal stadium. A hand-lettered notice says Beware of Pickpockets -- obviously a joke, considering the Underground's populace. Walking up to the ticket collector, he shakes hands (or maybe there's tickets and betting money passing from one palm to the other; it's hard to tell, isn't it?) The tin can of the stadium is bright golden. Inside, it's chaos. Jostling, chattering, laughing spectators perch on rickety chairs on the concrete stands that surround the illuminated ring. High on the ceiling, fans spin furiously to stir the thick air. It reeks of sweat, tobacco, incense and a beady-eyed, greedy kind of hope. Every human ingredient. ]
[ Squeezing Korra's hand, Hei guides her up concrete steps to a pathway lit by forty-watt bulbs set behind meshed screens. Sure, they could have seats ringside, but that's not the real world of this place. From the stands, you can see everything from the glittering sprays of blood to the whites of the fighter's eyes. ]
[ Pitching his voice clear and low, he asks, ]
Okay?
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She doesn't actually hear his question, too wrapped up in her surroundings and the noise to register his words.]
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[ Casually, he sidles closer to Korra. Positions her so she's standing in front of him, his arms draped over her shoulders like a flesh-and-bone barricade. The crowd around jostles and elbows them; but their eyes are on the bright ring where the two sinewy boxers are receiving the blessings of their stable masters. They wai deeply to their trainers, and then to the judges, before leaping into the ring. Festooned in their multicolored head ropes, garlands dangling around their necks, they perform the formal, individual wai khru ram muay -- the fight prayer dances. ]
[ Hei watches with a critical eye as they step, knee, step, knee their way around the ring. Each boxer chooses his own way to express loyalty to his fight stables through body-language, stopping here and there to pose in an emulation of mythical creatures. One dips in a bow to one knee, arms rising into the air as a bird. The other sways side to side, then expands his chest and arms wide like a snake. Meanwhile, the music clamors on, piercing through the rumble of the crowd. On a practical note, the wai kru is a narrow window to observe your opponent's abilities, via their ritual dances. ]
[ But Hei focuses on other details. Placement, center of gravity, favored footwork, weak points in muscle telegraphed by subtle movements. Resting his chin on the top of Korra's head, he says, ]
My money's on the one in blue.
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What are they doing right now?
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It's a prayer dance. It's called wai khru ram muay. A way to pay tribute to the fighter's teachers, and to consecrate blessings on them. Each camp has their own styles. [ He indicates to the boxer in the blue shorts, a dreadlocked kid barely seventeen years old. Bare-chested, his arms are ropey, leathery. Tattoos crisscross the ribbed musculature of his stomach; dark curlicues encircle his extruded bellybutton, giving it the look of a monster's eye. ] That one's taking on the style of a demon bird called Garuda. [ Then, pointing to his opponent, in red shorts -- a whippet thin twenty-something, hair plastered to his skull in black ropes. ] That one's emulating the Naga -- a cobra-like beast that supposedly spits fireballs.
[ There's an understandable dryness in his tone, because this sort of ritualistic superstition has no place in Hei's life. He watches the fighters meet in the center of the ring, where the cigarillo-smoking promoter runs down the stakes. The sharp, sinuous music cuts through the noise like barbed wire. It’s faster and more frantic now, designed to pump up the boxers, to spur on their aggression. ]
[ The fight's about to begin. ]
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She's entranced by it -- not just the moves themselves, but the whole ritual. It reminds her of her bending training, the few moments where she came close to feeling some kind of spiritual connection. When she used the most ancient moves & techniques, it was like she was connected to her past lives.]
Are the tattoos part of it? [They remind her of the airbending master tattoos...]
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[ Hei's never been an enthusiast of body-art. For his profession, he's honed every point of his musculature into a weapon, not a decoration piece. The symbolism, the safeguarding powers, the storytelling behind the tattoos -- all that is lost to him. In the past, his training catered more to the grapple-and-grunts mindset: kickboxing, krav maga and the full-contact martial arts such as judo and jiu-jitsu. Very little of it dealt with abstractia: choreographed forms -- dancelike katas -- intent only on perfecting the technique, and in understanding the spiritual history behind the motions. The same went for the supernatural elements associated with the arts. ]
[ Still, he has a basic knowledge of the sak yant. ]
The idea is that the tattoos offer the fighters protection. Good luck. Success. All that. Traditionally they're done by monks using bamboo needles. It's considered bad luck to get a tattoo from someone who doesn't grasp their significance. [ A beat, before he amends, ] Those fighters would know more about it than me.
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She quickly forgets any thoughts about body art when the fight actually begins. She grabs his elbows, squeezing them in excitement as she strains to catch every move, trying to get a snapshot of each one to imitate and incorporate into her own style later.]
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[ He watches the boxer in red dry-gulch the blue, a hard sucker punch glancing off the high ridge of cheek, splitting bone. The blow drops him to his knees, blood dribbling -- but he's back on his feet in a twinkling. Hei admires the resilience, the finesse, the blind dedication. But this isn't his field of interest. Combat is about treachery and deceit as much as about courage and skill. ]
[ Still, part of him is envious. Reach a certain experience level, and you can tell who fights for a reason -- and who fights because he has nothing to lose. These men are dedicated to something. It's beyond the money or the rush or the fifteen minutes of fame. It's something much more intangible. Something almost fiercely serene. ]
[ Glancing at Korra, Hei feels, dimly, like she has the same emotion glowing in her eyes. ]
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[ High above, moonlight pours through holes rusted in the roof, silver shafts gilding the crossbeams and glossing feathery shapes roosting in the latticework. The hypnotic sound of music underlies the hollering crowd. It matches every muscle poised; every strike of elbow, of hand, of shin, of knee; each place the blow lands and leaves its ruddy mark. ]
[ Wrapped around Korra, Hei is lulled by the crowd's buzz and frantic ocarina music. Watching the diminutive but deadly bodies -- machines more than men -- and the thrill of close combat. The pureness of it all. ]
[ But perhaps equally mesmerizing is the look on Korra's face. Her eyes, he thinks, are the blue life would be, if it got to choose a color. ]
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[ It's what she does to him. Everything cold and shuttered, she brightens. A certainty he can't ascribe, but here is ample demonstration. ]
[ He massages the jut of her hipbone with the pad of his thumb, then dips lower. His eyes stay on the luminous ring as the third round begins. It explodes with swiftness and savagery; the boxers maintain enough distance to fire lightning shin blows to the arms and chests. Blue goes low, knees flexing, delivers a submarine shot. Red grabs him, pulling their bodies flush. Blue's gloves are high on Red's chest but he can't push him off. He brings them up into Red's face, rubbing the scratchy laces across the cheeks and eyes. Red reacts by bringing his left knee up into Blue's side beneath the kidney. Blue lets out a grunt. Red knees him again, putting all his weight into it. The crowd rises to a quick roar. In close, Blue shoves against Red's face, gets some separation and brings an elbow up into the gap, shearing it across Red's chin. The blood is a glittering ruby spray as it arcs in the spotlights. ]
[ Any minute now, Hei thinks. The match is going to end with a technicolor bang. ]
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She's not telling him to stop, though. Not by any means. The fight has her blood pumping, and each blow that the fighters land sends a spike of pleasure straight between her legs. It's almost as though they're touching her.
She rocks back, discretely rubbing herself against Hei.]
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[ Knowing that Korra's revulsions are instantaneous, he's startled at how she stands grottoed in the warm cave of his body. The brutality of the fight should sicken her. The bloodsprays, the adrenalined tang of sweat, the quicksilver violence of each blow. Women, he'd been brought up to believe once upon a time, weren't into that shit. But of course it's a lie. ]
[ He enjoys the knowledge now. As if, in the middle of the overheated crowd, it's a secret for him alone. ]
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Except nobody's watching. And when Korra thinks about what's happening -- being fingered in full view of everybody while watching a brutal fight -- she realizes that it's really hot. Ridiculously hot, even. And the thought of someone looking over and catching them like this makes her nipples stiffen and ache longingly.
She keeps her hand over her mouth, trying to pretend it's out of horror, and presses back against Hei, a silent plea for more.]
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[ In the ring, Red reels into the center. Blue presses on, stance shifting to southpaw. He jabs once, twice, setting up an overhand right. Red's still groggy from the previous blow, stepping to his left with and throwing a right hook over the jab. Blue turns under it and, as he takes the punch above the ear, fires his own right return, carrying his weight onto the left foot, ripping another hard right into his opponent's face. Red reels, taking the blow right to the brow. His eyelids are already networked with scar tissue. He's a bleeder. Blood destroys some fighters. Since the death of that Korean, Duk Koo-Kim, who was blood-blinded from cut eyelids, paranoid referees always kibosh fights at the first sight of red. Some fighters have tough bodies but brittle skin -- exhale hard, they cut. But if that claret keeps flowing, the fight's over even if the boy's not really hurt. ]
[ Not so in Muay Thai. Matches are rarely stopped on blood, and trainers are permitted special measures -- double-strength adrenaline chloride, ferric acid -- to handle the uglier wounds. Of course, all the ferric acid in the world isn't going to help with detached retinas and pulped metacarpals, but that's come what may. ]
[ Anyway. There are other types of coming Hei's interested in right now. ]
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She squeezes her eyes shut and can't hold back a whine as Hei's finger brushes her clit just so; when she forces them open again, she notices a man looking over at them. For a moment, she thinks that he sees what they're doing -- but no. He rolls his eyes and chortles to a friend, something about how girls can't handle a real fight. It makes her blood boil, and a part of her wants to grab him and go I'm not scared of this fight, you moron; I'M GETTING OFF ON IT.]
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[ Against her nape, he makes a slow exhalation. The hand, encircling her waist, settles itself just below her navel, gathering her in tight against his body. He holds her there, letting her feel the beginnings of his erection against the slope of her ass. The hard metal of his belt digs into her backbone as he rocks in close. Two of his fingers are between her legs, pushing the soaked gusset of her panties against her, making her feel how the fabric sticks to her. With his free hand, he strokes her belly, her ribs, then covers her breast easily. At first the pressure is warmly casual, but it grows quickly into something demanding and fierce. ]
[ All around him, shapes of people jostle and chatter. At the ring, Blue feints another roundhouse and, when Red drops his guard hand, sets both feet and jumps, right arm cocked like a pistol's hammer, fist slamming into Red's face. The deep gash splits wider over the eyebrow. Not knowing what to do, Red bear hugs Blue, tying his arms up. Blood's spurting out the side of his face and he's spat the mouthpiece out. They butt foreheads and, viola, the other eyebrow opens up. The kid's dribbling blood all over the damn place. ]
[ Only a matter of time, Hei knows, before he drops. ]
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This is harder than it sounds -- not because of what he's doing, but because how much a part of her wants to draw attention to them. She can picture herself with Hei in the middle of the ring, where the fighters are now, fucking each other's brains out. Their usual struggle for control, the fight to see who can make the other come first, but with an audience. Some cheering as he pinches her clit and makes her scream, others cheering while she blows him, driving him crazy with her tongue. The fantasy is so hot, so real, that she doesn't even see the fighters anymore. She doesn't care who wins; her attention is completely on the way he's touching her.]
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[ This isn't normal. This isn't rational. But the solidity of his cock, snugged tight against Korra's body, grants him no anchor of logic. It only amplifies the madness. His free hand -- pinching, kneading -- abruptly leaves Korra's breasts. Taking her chin, he tips her head forward. Draws his face alongside hers, licking her ear before he speaks into it, ] Eyes on the fight. [ His breathing, not hard, is nonetheless uneven. Against him, Korra is immediate; vital, hot, sleek. Her whole face seems sweetly radiant with the sheer simmer of the frustration inside her. Between her legs, her zipper scrapes his knuckles before his hand maneuvers to slide down beneath her panties, until he touches springy curls, dewy with moisture, and the wet cleft they guard. ]
[ It's only a moment before he finds the slick tip of her clit, his fingers circling across it, before he pinches -- sharp and cruel and relentless. ]
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Then he pinches her clit.
She strangles a scream, but the sound is still loud enough to draw the attention of the people right next them. Oh no they're going to see his hand and know exactly what he's doing... Shit Korra hopes they do. She wants to see their pants bulge as they watch Hei work her into a frenzy.]
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[ He rubs his fingertips across Korra's clit, rolling and pinching it like a slick ball bearing. Then his palm slides lower, flattening against her pubic bone as he presses between the lips with his fingers, delving into her. Crooking, with an unstancheable pressure, against that spongy sweetspot inside her -- while his free arm locks tight around her. Across them, the young men's eyes dart from between Korra's legs, up to her face, before flicking to his. Their expressions change from surprise to something else. Hei holds their gazes for just a moment. Flat and unblinking -- long enough until they're ready to drop them -- before refocusing on the ring. ]
[ The boxers are weaving in tight figure eights, a ghostlike infinity symbol on a collision course. Red must be seeing black from the bloodgush. He's swabbing at both eyes to clear his vision. Seeing only the outline of Blue, darkly flashing arms and legs. He's lurching away, staring around at nothing. Now he jerks forward, but uncertainly, no finesse or conviction in his movements. He's a sitting duck. When the final blow hits him, it'll come very quickly. ]
[ As quick as Korra? Well. Hei plans to find out. ]
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I want you.
[Him, a dark corner, and fewer clothes.]
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[ In casual stages, he slips his fingers free from their sweltering-slick trap between her legs. Brings them, wet with her juices, up to her mouth and smears them against her lips. Tipping his head, he kisses her -- hard -- sliding his tongue across her lips. In the ring, Blue plants his left foot on the canvas, pivots forward on his heel. His right arm uncurls like a whip as it comes around, arcing up, a spinning backfist that hits Red on the left temple. And down he goes, eyes shut. He thuds across the canvas openmouthed -- Hei dimly hears his teeth click shut. The referee kneels, counting, the kid's body lying there, writhing, trying to get up and failing. … nine … ten … ]
[ As the crowd roars, the bell ringing, Blue walks to his corner and sits on a stool. The trainer removes the mouthpiece and waters him, smoothing an icepack over his forehead. The crowd chants his name and he acknowledges them with a smile. His face is smoothly, childishly serene. A boy-Buddha. ]
[ Breaking the kiss, Hei reaches for Korra's wrist, fingers curling loosely. Tugging, he says, ]
I know a place.
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