[This is quite possibly the first time he's come before her. The thought pops into her mind, one more explosion among the thousands as he breaks and sends her tumbling over the edge.
Panting, she sags against the wall. Her rough grip on his hair softens until she's just combing her fingers through it. She's chilly, sore, and a little drifty. She can feel some kind of realization hovering on the edges of her consciousness, but she lacks the strength (the will?) to reach out and grab it.]
[ Hei lets his forehead rest against Korra's shoulder, quietly snuffing the humid aroma of her, letting her combing fingers make tufts of his hair. Just sagging there, a lewd tableau of two bodies connected at a fulcrum point of wet, twitching heat. And when the tension melts, he's too breathless for gentle kisses. Instead he noses her neck, nuzzling the warmth behind her ear, before he straightens and steps back. A moment to tie up and discard the condom, and then he sets his clothes to rights. Already he's feeling the chill on his exposed flesh, the sweat of their exertion drying. Around them, the fans whirr in an industrial din. It's almost unbearable -- but somehow it's better than examining the dizziness, the unfamiliar skitterings of something in his chest. ]
[ Without meeting Korra's eyes, he scrubs a hand through his hair. Kneels to scoop up her jeans, the lacy bit of underwear, before depositing them in her lap. ]
[Korra sits up with a groan. He...really had pounded her. Every movement hurts.]
I like how you think I'm going anywhere. [Even as she says it, she pushes herself to her feet and carefully pulls her clothes back on. Oh, look at that, he ripped more than a few buttons when he pulled her shirt open earlier. Wincing a little, she ties the bottom edges of the shirt to hold it together. She's a debauched mess... but hey, there's nobody at home to judge. That thought doesn't sting.]
[ Not the appropriate response. But talking around Korra's remarks is sometimes a very circuitous process and other times as simple as taking shortcuts through innuendo and literalism. In the dimness, he watches her drag her clothes on. Her movements are heavy with a soreness that might as well be sister to satisfaction. She looks voluptuous, stirred up. Beautiful. Gathering her boots, Hei strides over. Kneels to fit each one over Korra's toes, then pulling it neatly over her foot. He doesn't look like he's being friendly or helpful. Not with his mouth in an absent twist of concentration, his gaze faraway. But his knuckles skim the jutting bones of her ankles; fingers sneaking up under the hems of her jeans and pressing warmth into her skin -- a deliberate caress. ]
Done.
[ Getting to his feet, he slips his hand in Korra's. Tugs her outside, away from the hellish din of the generator room -- and into the expanding not-silence of the chilly night. ]
[Korra's heard of fairy tales that go something like this, and the thought of Hei as a prince almost makes her laugh. She can tell his mind is far away, but she doesn't mind -- a part of her longs for a retreat as well. Between the noise of the crowd, the intensity of the fuck, and the scare he gave her earlier, Korra's feeling massively overstimulated. She wants to curl up somewhere quiet, rest her aching muscles, and chase down the realization that continues to hover at the edge of her awareness.
She feels a little better when they leave the generator room. The night may be far from quiet, but it's noise that Korra knows. Still, the further they walk, the more Korra realizes that she just doesn't have the energy to make it all the way back to the Beach House.]
[ The fairytale connotations were the furthest things from his mind. As it is, he can feel something flitting in the darkness of his thoughts. Something he refuses to grasp his fingers around. One glance at Korra's face confirms that she's in a similar state. Drained yet overstymied, longing to withdraw into the solitude of somewhere dim, quiet, chaos-free. Leaves skate across the street, pushed by a swirling wind. He stares into the sky, each star a bright pinprick. One more thing he'll never have at home, he realizes. Not these stars, not Pai, not walks hand-in-hand with the girl at his side. A wave of dark red bitterness washes over him -- and he forces it back. ]
[ When Korra asks Is it okay if I stay at your place tonight? he hesitates. Part of him is desperate to be alone, to shower, eat, curl up on the couch and play with Pai's hair, mind lulled to a baseline hum of tranquility. But the other part ... it wants Korra with an intensity that defies language, clichéd as this is, true as it is. The realization almost fossilizes his tongue. When the hell did that happen? He'll analyze it. But later. ]
[ To Korra, ] Sure. [ He squeezes her hand. ] We can pick up something to eat on the way.
[Korra smiles and bumps against his shoulder.] Thanks. [She noticed the hesitation, of course, but it's not followed by any tension or apparent reluctance. That's a good sign, right?]
[ Hei doesn't acknowledge the Thanks. Or the shoulder bump. His face remains entirely without expression, but there is a tension in him as if he might smile. The possibility feeds a singing pitch to the air, making it vibrate. Or perhaps that's just his mind's fingers, closing tentatively around that one whirling thought: ]
[ He wants more moments like this. Hours, minutes, split-seconds, where the City blurs on the fringes of his vision, and nothing else matters. ]
[ He doesn't tell Korra that. Near the marketplace, the food stalls are crowded with carnivores. Selecting the most popular, he lets Korra's hand drop to squirm his way through, in a fashion that anyone on Topside would find incredibly rude. But if he waits politely in line, they'll never get served; someone is always hungrier, pushier, more determined. (Funny, how that principle applies to so many aspects of his life.) He returns with a brace of satay sticks, a white styrofoam container and two plastic bottles of fresh-squeezed mango juice. Tugs Korra's sleeve -- and guides her down the street toward the safehouse. ]
[Better him than her. She has no problems being pushy, but she's pretty easy to fluster too, particularly when she's hungry. And the moment she smells that satay stick, her stomach grumbles loudly. She reaches out to snatch just a little piece of the chicken.]
[ Hei lets her pluck a morsel out, with a dry indifference reminiscent of outings with Pai. When they trudge up into the safe-house, the rooms feel unnaturally quiet, the darkness providing the air with its own private fog, only dimly alleviated in the shafts of red neon light drifting from the skylight, drawing psychedelic rectangles on the walls and floor. Shrugging his coat off, he shuffles towards the low table, unpacking the ubiquitous white cartons and setting the bowls and flatware out. As he washes his hands in the kitchen sink, the clock behind his head sounds like it's ticking too fast. Chopping up time and interrupting his thoughts, making his blood hum restlessly in his skin. ]
[ It's not anxiety or anticipation. It's something else. Something he's felt before -- years ago, with Amber. But different too. ]
[ Glancing at Korra, he remarks, ]
Shower first if you want. [ Or hold it off until later. He has a suspicion that he's only going to get her dirty again, as soon as he's shoveled enough food down his belly. ]
Are you coming with me? [She says it with a straight face -- which quickly breaks. She chokes down an awkward giggle and covers the blush by reaching for the food. Flirty conversation -- has yet to get easier.
[ To his credit, Hei doesn't snort or fire off some sly innuendo. But there's a quirk to his lips as he settles crosslegged at the table. His elbow lightly brushes hers, body angled towards her. It's an unspoken Like you need to ask. The thrumming urge to reach for Korra is still hot beneath his skin, not even slightly diminished from the earlier encounter. But his energy seems contained, unruffled, as he focuses on stripping the meat off the skewers, bite by bite, before finishing the stir-fried pork. The black oily-looking plum sauce is delicious, and he finds himself competing with Korra, wielding chopsticks with quiet alacrity, to spear the last bits of food. ]
[ It feels so fucking domestic, this whole thing: sitting crosslegged in the middle of the room, the table crowded with open white cartons, his eyes trying to catch the exact color of the surprising red light, the way it glints off Korra's hair. Something weirdly intimate -- a pantomime Hei's only ever done when wearing aliases and false faces. But it comes easier than expected. An experience he'll be glad to recall later on -- if there is a later on. ]
[ When they're both full, he sets his empties aside with a matter-of-fact movement. When he leans in to kiss her, under the halo of the burnt-red light, the chili oil on his lips seems to burn hotter. He's never been someone who could be satisfied with anything so reliable as this. But like so many other things ... it comes far too easily with Korra here. ]
[She lets out a little hum, equal parts pain & pleasure as the oil burns her lips. The domesticity is both strange and wholly unremarkable; unexpected, but too comfortable for comment. (Or maybe it's more accurate to say that she doesn't want to look too closely at it, in case it breaks.)
She leans into him, tangling her fingers in his hair so she can pull him closer.]
[ Hei's eyes flutter shut as she threads her little fingers in his hair. His hand skims up the expanse of Korra's thigh, resting about halfway up; it's a neat movement as he distributes his weight, leaning into her, kissing with teeth and tongue and the burn of spice at the roof of his mouth. His free arm jostles the table, and an empty bottle rolls off the surface and hits the floor with a quiet clink of glass. Not that he cares. For what they share, it's a short kiss. When he parts, it's with a tug of Korra's lower-lip between his teeth. ]
[ Then he's rolling to his feet, a hand already outstretched, an open invitation for her to fit against him, to head to the shower as she'd suggested earlier. ]
[She doesn't need the hand to get to her feet, but she uses it to pull herself up anyway, because it feels nice. Feels nicer still when she presses against him and leans in for another kiss.
You'll have to take the lead on that shower thing, Hei. She's a little too wrapped up in your lips to remember a conversation that happened that long ago.]
[ She melts against him for another kiss, and Hei's mind starts sticking and shuddering like a stuck record, his heart thumping against his ribcage. Strange, the effect she has on him, over and over -- a song of call-and-response that never ends, a dance with no let-up. His fingers are quick and precise at the buttons of Korra's shirt, and then with one hand he unsnaps the catch of her jeans. The other palm, he pushes between her legs, a friction of denim against the lace of her underwear, moving the fabric against her, stroking her through it. Rough but almost playful, as his free hand traces along the dip of her spine, hooking two fingers into her waistband. ]
[ Without breaking the kiss -- or letting up the rubbing pressure of his palm between her thighs -- he tugs her, and then they're moving towards the bathroom door in a way that's like a halting backward foxtrot. The blue tiles give off a dull disinfectant sheen, matching the scent in the air. Peeling paint, curling off each of the walls, has left tiny mounds of detritus at intervals along the floor. The ceiling is veined with threads of dark seepage, but everything's clean enough. The square cube area, glassed in, with the lonely spigot set high up on the wall designates it as the shower stall. ]
[ Here, Hei breaks the kiss with a thready inale. Presses Korra against the sink, and slides down. His fingers, tucked into her waistband, peel off her jeans in the same movement. ]
[She huffs in amusement as they fumble their way to the bathroom. Not quite stumbling, but they're usually more graceful than this. She lands hard against the sink (there's another bruise) and grips the edge hard as he peels off her jeans. She shrugs off her shirt impatiently as it slides down her shoulders.]
Don't forget your clothes. [She tugs on his shirt.]
[ It's an absent murmur. He's distracted, predictably, as Korra peels her shirt off. Under the lace of her bra, he can dimly make out the dark circles around her nipples. Heat seems to roll off her like a radiator into the chilly night. Reaching up, he undoes the bra and peels the fabric away from her breasts. Kisses the damp undersides as they sag down against her ribs. His hands skim lower. Tugging off her boots, he lets them drop heavily on the tiles before skinning down the tangled rope of her panties. The bathroom is so cramped that he stays kneeling, lips grazing at Korra's bushy pubic hair. He leans in, trailing kisses across every inch of her that he sees -- smooth thighs and belly, juts of hipbone and creases of groin, her hairline ticklish against his nose and cheeks. He can smell her, strong and dark, good. A raspy noise tumbles from his throat, and his chest tightens as if they're underwater. ]
[ But this time there's no need to rush. He presses a moist kiss below her navel, just above the crest of hair. Straightens and toes off his own shoes, kicking them to one side. He proceeds to unbutton his jeans, pull them off and step out of them. Shaking off his shirt, he folds all his and Korra's clothes neatly before hanging them over the rusty towel rail. ]
[ The shower space is narrow. But the water's hot, lots of pressure. Tugging Korra's wrist, he draws her into the spray. The burning needles seem to match the temperature of the simmer below his skin. ]
[She squirms impatiently as she watches him take the time to fold their clothes. (Does he REALLY have to do that now? Seriously?!)]
You have weird priorities.
[It's not a complaint, though, since he's soon tugging her into the water. She hisses as the water hits her, little pellets of fire. She turns her back to it (a little too hot for her nipples, thanks), and wraps her arms around his neck.]
And I'm not a lobster. [Because wow, seriously, this is hot.]
[ ...Would you rather he'd ripped the clothes off? That would've been a glamorous Walk Of Shame style, for sure. ]
[ A smile flickers on Hei's face as she squirms under the spray. ] This isn't hot. [ Granted, his idea of hot would be enough to hardboil an egg. Reaching past her, he turns the cool tap on. The bathroom light limns the contours of Korra's body, thin golden traceries like the veins on a leaf. There's a scattered cadence to his pulse as she presses close, skin slippery and warm against his. But his touch stays light. Delicately he unhooks her hairpieces and sets them in the soap dish. Takes the bar of cedar charcoal soap, and sweeps the wet hair off her skin, tucking it over her shoulder to wash her back. His lips, meanwhile, play a game of hopscotch across her skin -- kissing the rounds of her shoulder, grazing along the arc of her throat, gnawing the hollow beneath her jaw before tracing his tongue across the shell of her ear, tongue hot on wet skin. ]
[She's from the arctic, man, cut her some slack. She hums and leans into him. Instead of letting her hands wander, she just closes her eyes and enjoys his touch, the feel of skin on skin, the electric shock of her breasts rubbing against his chest.]
[ A vague deja vu bubbles up. He hasn't done this since that night Korra stabbed Chekov. Over the aroma of cedar and oranges, he can almost smell the tang of metallic blood and spent stress that'd clung to Korra. She hadn't been willing so much as disquietingly pliant then. Tears pearling her face, mixing with the water, salty and muted on his tongue. ]
[ This is a thousand times better. Mouthing the crook of her neck, he scrubs her nape and shoulders briskly, working his way down and up her body. Runnels of soap crisscross her skin, white on dark. Nothing goes without attention; the delicate dents behind her ears, the pits of arms and elbows, the hollow at the base of her spine, the whorl of navel and slippery undersides of her breasts. One frothy arm winds around her waist, keeping her close. The other glides between her thighs, cupping between them, making sure everything's clean without slipping the soapy fingers into her. His cock is hard and nestled warm against her belly; he runs his fingers along her cleft with long, steady strokes. ]
[ Salt; bathwater; skin -- all alive on his tongue as he kisses Korra anywhere he can reach. What a strange summation of an evening. ]
[Korra's managing, somehow, to not think about that night, as grateful as she was for the comfort and distraction he'd given her. No amount of comforting memories can change the fact that she had killed her best friend that night. If she were into comparisons, she would rather compare this to that night in the hotel, when they were in the jacuzzi together.
But she's not into comparisons. She's focused on the way he's touching her, the tickle of the soap bubbles along her sensitive places.]
You need to get clean too.
[She reaches around for the bar of soap to suds up her hand before wrapping it around his erection.]
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Panting, she sags against the wall. Her rough grip on his hair softens until she's just combing her fingers through it. She's chilly, sore, and a little drifty. She can feel some kind of realization hovering on the edges of her consciousness, but she lacks the strength (the will?) to reach out and grab it.]
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[ Without meeting Korra's eyes, he scrubs a hand through his hair. Kneels to scoop up her jeans, the lacy bit of underwear, before depositing them in her lap. ]
[ Quietly, ]
We should get going.
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I like how you think I'm going anywhere. [Even as she says it, she pushes herself to her feet and carefully pulls her clothes back on. Oh, look at that, he ripped more than a few buttons when he pulled her shirt open earlier. Wincing a little, she ties the bottom edges of the shirt to hold it together. She's a debauched mess... but hey, there's nobody at home to judge. That thought doesn't sting.]
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[ Not the appropriate response. But talking around Korra's remarks is sometimes a very circuitous process and other times as simple as taking shortcuts through innuendo and literalism. In the dimness, he watches her drag her clothes on. Her movements are heavy with a soreness that might as well be sister to satisfaction. She looks voluptuous, stirred up. Beautiful. Gathering her boots, Hei strides over. Kneels to fit each one over Korra's toes, then pulling it neatly over her foot. He doesn't look like he's being friendly or helpful. Not with his mouth in an absent twist of concentration, his gaze faraway. But his knuckles skim the jutting bones of her ankles; fingers sneaking up under the hems of her jeans and pressing warmth into her skin -- a deliberate caress. ]
Done.
[ Getting to his feet, he slips his hand in Korra's. Tugs her outside, away from the hellish din of the generator room -- and into the expanding not-silence of the chilly night. ]
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She feels a little better when they leave the generator room. The night may be far from quiet, but it's noise that Korra knows. Still, the further they walk, the more Korra realizes that she just doesn't have the energy to make it all the way back to the Beach House.]
Is it okay if I stay at your place tonight?
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[ When Korra asks Is it okay if I stay at your place tonight? he hesitates. Part of him is desperate to be alone, to shower, eat, curl up on the couch and play with Pai's hair, mind lulled to a baseline hum of tranquility. But the other part ... it wants Korra with an intensity that defies language, clichéd as this is, true as it is. The realization almost fossilizes his tongue. When the hell did that happen? He'll analyze it. But later. ]
[ To Korra, ] Sure. [ He squeezes her hand. ] We can pick up something to eat on the way.
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[ He wants more moments like this. Hours, minutes, split-seconds, where the City blurs on the fringes of his vision, and nothing else matters. ]
[ He doesn't tell Korra that. Near the marketplace, the food stalls are crowded with carnivores. Selecting the most popular, he lets Korra's hand drop to squirm his way through, in a fashion that anyone on Topside would find incredibly rude. But if he waits politely in line, they'll never get served; someone is always hungrier, pushier, more determined. (Funny, how that principle applies to so many aspects of his life.) He returns with a brace of satay sticks, a white styrofoam container and two plastic bottles of fresh-squeezed mango juice. Tugs Korra's sleeve -- and guides her down the street toward the safehouse. ]
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[ It's not anxiety or anticipation. It's something else. Something he's felt before -- years ago, with Amber. But different too. ]
[ Glancing at Korra, he remarks, ]
Shower first if you want. [ Or hold it off until later. He has a suspicion that he's only going to get her dirty again, as soon as he's shoveled enough food down his belly. ]
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Food. Food is good.]
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[ Eat fast, kiddo. Or you won't get anything. ]
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Oh well. She manages to get some at least.]
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[ When they're both full, he sets his empties aside with a matter-of-fact movement. When he leans in to kiss her, under the halo of the burnt-red light, the chili oil on his lips seems to burn hotter. He's never been someone who could be satisfied with anything so reliable as this. But like so many other things ... it comes far too easily with Korra here. ]
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She leans into him, tangling her fingers in his hair so she can pull him closer.]
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[ Then he's rolling to his feet, a hand already outstretched, an open invitation for her to fit against him, to head to the shower as she'd suggested earlier. ]
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You'll have to take the lead on that shower thing, Hei. She's a little too wrapped up in your lips to remember a conversation that happened that long ago.]
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[ Without breaking the kiss -- or letting up the rubbing pressure of his palm between her thighs -- he tugs her, and then they're moving towards the bathroom door in a way that's like a halting backward foxtrot. The blue tiles give off a dull disinfectant sheen, matching the scent in the air. Peeling paint, curling off each of the walls, has left tiny mounds of detritus at intervals along the floor. The ceiling is veined with threads of dark seepage, but everything's clean enough. The square cube area, glassed in, with the lonely spigot set high up on the wall designates it as the shower stall. ]
[ Here, Hei breaks the kiss with a thready inale. Presses Korra against the sink, and slides down. His fingers, tucked into her waistband, peel off her jeans in the same movement. ]
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Don't forget your clothes. [She tugs on his shirt.]
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[ It's an absent murmur. He's distracted, predictably, as Korra peels her shirt off. Under the lace of her bra, he can dimly make out the dark circles around her nipples. Heat seems to roll off her like a radiator into the chilly night. Reaching up, he undoes the bra and peels the fabric away from her breasts. Kisses the damp undersides as they sag down against her ribs. His hands skim lower. Tugging off her boots, he lets them drop heavily on the tiles before skinning down the tangled rope of her panties. The bathroom is so cramped that he stays kneeling, lips grazing at Korra's bushy pubic hair. He leans in, trailing kisses across every inch of her that he sees -- smooth thighs and belly, juts of hipbone and creases of groin, her hairline ticklish against his nose and cheeks. He can smell her, strong and dark, good. A raspy noise tumbles from his throat, and his chest tightens as if they're underwater. ]
[ But this time there's no need to rush. He presses a moist kiss below her navel, just above the crest of hair. Straightens and toes off his own shoes, kicking them to one side. He proceeds to unbutton his jeans, pull them off and step out of them. Shaking off his shirt, he folds all his and Korra's clothes neatly before hanging them over the rusty towel rail. ]
[ The shower space is narrow. But the water's hot, lots of pressure. Tugging Korra's wrist, he draws her into the spray. The burning needles seem to match the temperature of the simmer below his skin. ]
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You have weird priorities.
[It's not a complaint, though, since he's soon tugging her into the water. She hisses as the water hits her, little pellets of fire. She turns her back to it (a little too hot for her nipples, thanks), and wraps her arms around his neck.]
And I'm not a lobster. [Because wow, seriously, this is hot.]
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[ A smile flickers on Hei's face as she squirms under the spray. ] This isn't hot. [ Granted, his idea of hot would be enough to hardboil an egg. Reaching past her, he turns the cool tap on. The bathroom light limns the contours of Korra's body, thin golden traceries like the veins on a leaf. There's a scattered cadence to his pulse as she presses close, skin slippery and warm against his. But his touch stays light. Delicately he unhooks her hairpieces and sets them in the soap dish. Takes the bar of cedar charcoal soap, and sweeps the wet hair off her skin, tucking it over her shoulder to wash her back. His lips, meanwhile, play a game of hopscotch across her skin -- kissing the rounds of her shoulder, grazing along the arc of her throat, gnawing the hollow beneath her jaw before tracing his tongue across the shell of her ear, tongue hot on wet skin. ]
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[ This is a thousand times better. Mouthing the crook of her neck, he scrubs her nape and shoulders briskly, working his way down and up her body. Runnels of soap crisscross her skin, white on dark. Nothing goes without attention; the delicate dents behind her ears, the pits of arms and elbows, the hollow at the base of her spine, the whorl of navel and slippery undersides of her breasts. One frothy arm winds around her waist, keeping her close. The other glides between her thighs, cupping between them, making sure everything's clean without slipping the soapy fingers into her. His cock is hard and nestled warm against her belly; he runs his fingers along her cleft with long, steady strokes. ]
[ Salt; bathwater; skin -- all alive on his tongue as he kisses Korra anywhere he can reach. What a strange summation of an evening. ]
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But she's not into comparisons. She's focused on the way he's touching her, the tickle of the soap bubbles along her sensitive places.]
You need to get clean too.
[She reaches around for the bar of soap to suds up her hand before wrapping it around his erection.]
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