[ 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.]
[ When she curls her fingers around him, Hei's breath hitches and the muscles along his abdomen grow rigid; he was obviously not expecting the sudden attention. He glances up at Korra in the spray, his hair the color and sheen of an oil slick, the steam bringing a slight flush to the rise of his cheekbones. All the color's washed out of things, the blue tiles, the green walls, the yellow light, all diffused into neutral pastels. Yet in the haze, the blue of Korra's eyes -- as though cut from the sky -- stays crystal clear. He hesitates, then hands the block of soap over to her. Every movement carries on as normal. But the more she touches him, the more the atmosphere feels stretched thin, liable to crack at the lightest touch. Even the bulb-glow seems brittle. ]
[ His hand wraps around her soapy one, setting a slippery, languid pace. He presses a kiss to her shoulder, and murmurs, dryly, ]
[She lets him set the pace of the strokes, but the bar of soap is hers. She runs it along his sides, curlicues and strange patterns across his back, his rear, his legs. She kisses his neck & cheeks clean with a little teasing hum.]
[ When was the last time he let anyone get this close? Hei can't remember. He and Amber hadn't done these things. He'd only ever fucked her in abandoned houses and musty campsites; their few meaningful moments took place in borrowed spots, on borrowed time. Being here makes Hei different, but only in the smallest of ways; he leans into Korra's touches, without tension or wariness. Lets his eyes flutter half-shut, the lashes spiked wet. His hand stays wrapped around hers, setting a sloppy pace, down and a twisting up, the muscles of his abdomen fluttering, a hint of slippery pre-cum mixing with the water. The City's changed him, or maybe a better way of putting it is -- is that the City makes Hei do things differently. ]
[ (Still, part of him wonders how different it'd be -- if Pai hadn't arrived. If he'd never met Korra. The idea twines around his brain, a thread fine as catgut slowly tightening.) ]
[The soft kisses get sharper, becoming little bites that get progressively sharper as she moves from his chin down his neck to his shoulder. She slides the bar of soap over his ass, between the cheeks.]
[ A vague tension ripples though Hei; in Korra's soapy grip, his cock softens a shade, then twitches. After a beat, he relaxes into the touch with an exhale, tipping his head sideways to let her gnaw at his torso. She's not prodding anywhere with her fingers. It's fine. ]
[ In the pelting spray, Korra's her wet hair is plastered to her scalp. Such a small pretty head she has; he dips his chin and kisses her. Foamy bubbles crisscross their skins, swept away by the water. One hand between their bodies, letting Korra's hand slip up and down, jacking him with a tight knife-grip, he slides his other hand over the small of her back, her ass and the cleft of it. One finger circles the puckered opening there, pressing against it gently. Dips lower, back to front, tracing along the damp seam of her sex. ]
[ Hei pauses a moment, then closes his eyes against the water. Bringing his hands up with Korra's caught in them, he shakes out the soap, letting it skitter down to the tiles. Exhales, and looks at her. ]
It's nothing.
[ Not an evasion so much as a shrug-off. He can be notoriously pliant in the hands of a mark, if he has something to gain from it. But off-duty... it's unpredictable, the snake-strike stress response. He never knows when he'll lash out or tense up, or when something will trigger a bad memory, or when he'll feel ... overexposed, if not defenseless. It's not something he can explain to Korra. Instead he guides her hand back to his erection. Shows her how to pull the skin of the shaft tight, first up, then down, with her fingertips, until it fills and hardens again. ]
[ Quietly, both alleviating the mood, and changing the subject, ]
You want to get out? Or --
[ Or we can fuck right here. Shower-sex isn't high on his list of favorites. Too much water, slippery tiles, space shortages ... someone ultimately ends up far from clean, and far from satisfied. But right now he wants Korra too much to care. ]
[She hates those words. It's nothing. Those words mean that there's something stirring under the surface that could bite her in the ass later. But she doesn't push it. That way leads to Not Good Things. She just lets him show her another way to touch him.
At the aborted question, she presses a quick kiss to his lips.]
[ It makes Hei pause. It's not for him, the kind of things other people would say in the dark: I want whatever you want. But then, isn't it true that he wants Korra because he's tired of all these people he has to either impress his will upon, or wrestle it from. He wants someone who has a certain wild softness, except Korra is young enough to leave fingerprints in the soft surfaces of her psyche. Sheltered enough to damage. It's not so easy to take some lovely, fresh girl in his arms who reminds him of all the vibrancy and trust people her age are so good at exuding, when he has no sense of them himself. Not anymore. ]
[ He wants to say something. Thank her, maybe, for putting up with all his strangeness and distance and sharp edges. Wants to do something that's all for her. Not an insidious way to gratify himself -- whether it's his ego, or his guilt, or his needs. There's a difference between giving Korra the reins and being a coercive barbarian who let his fuckpuppet try out cowgirl every once in awhile, after all. ]
[ But selfishness dies hard. Especially when it's what he's wired for. Instead of speaking, he sinks into the kiss -- biting and greedy. Draws back -- but just to extend an arm beyond the shower. The condoms are in the medicine cabinet. Water trickles down his hand as he tears the foil, rolling the rubber on. Then he's reaching for Korra, hands tangled in her wet hair, his mouth opening hard and cool against hers, warming as he presses into it. A low hum vibrates in his throat. He puts her back against the slick tiles, crowding in, one thigh up between hers, pinning her hands. ]
[ It's aggressive, but not forceful. Through the haze of urgency, part of him registers he isn't fully in control. ]
[Her thumbs rub circles on his hips as he reaches for the condoms; she knows he needs to move, but she doesn't want him going far. She likes the way he presses her against the wall, thigh hard against her, his lips fierce on hers. Control -- it always comes down to that between them. He always keeps such perfect control... She feels an intense accomplishment when she manages to break it, even a little.]
[ Control, right now, feels like one more thing that's going to melt and be sucked down the drain along with Hei's brain. The steam is thick in the tiny room; he can hardly breathe for Korra's proximity and the breathless sucking kisses, each one harder and harder. Water patters across their bodies; everything is wet and deliciously slippery. In a rough movement, he hitches her up. Lets her hang from his shoulders, legs slung across his waist, his widespread palms splayed across the moist curve of her backside, holding her steady. She's not light as a thistledown, but she's not heavy either. He nuzzles her moist neck with his face, grinding against her until he's poised at her entrance, the heavy darkish head splitting her open. Water has replaced some of the condom's lubricant; it's not as slick. ]
[ It would've been easier going to bed. But he wants her right now. ]
[ Inch by inch, he lets her fall on him. But when she's halfway down, a liquid noise escapes him, restraint pooling into nothingness. Catching her mouth with his, he slams into her, all the way in, almost bruising her with his careless speed, his necessity. ]
[She screams into his mouth, blinded equally by pleasure & pain. Her insides are still sore from the earlier fucking; he's getting rough on twice-tender skin.
Not that she wants him to slow down. Not by any means. She claws his shoulders, digs her fingers into his neck, and just does her best to give as good as she gets.]
[ Her scream pierces the room's awful somnolence, breaking its steamy spell. Korra's nails send shocks of pain through him, leave his skin raw and burning in the hot shower-spray. Hei exhales a noise into her mouth, voice ragged and dark with open hunger. Drives into her with force, a deep rolling fuck, biting at her lips and tongue, jouncing her body hard up against the cool tiles. His movements, unlike usually, are almost uncontrolled. With the water rolling off them, wet slaps of skin on skin, his mouth gasping into hers, he feels almost like he's swimming in her. Or drowning. The erratic quality would be unnerving. But the feeling of being helpless against his desire, against the heat and slippery flexion of her body, is much more terrifying. ]
[ Not that it stops him. Crushed between his torso and tiles, her sex fluttering around him, he feeds her rapid, punishing thrusts, letting her body be battered by his, ridden by his, as he draws the air from her mouth in gulping kisses, over and over. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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[ His hand wraps around her soapy one, setting a slippery, languid pace. He presses a kiss to her shoulder, and murmurs, dryly, ]
I'm sure you can help me with that.
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I think so too.
[She lets him set the pace of the strokes, but the bar of soap is hers. She runs it along his sides, curlicues and strange patterns across his back, his rear, his legs. She kisses his neck & cheeks clean with a little teasing hum.]
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[ (Still, part of him wonders how different it'd be -- if Pai hadn't arrived. If he'd never met Korra. The idea twines around his brain, a thread fine as catgut slowly tightening.) ]
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[ In the pelting spray, Korra's her wet hair is plastered to her scalp. Such a small pretty head she has; he dips his chin and kisses her. Foamy bubbles crisscross their skins, swept away by the water. One hand between their bodies, letting Korra's hand slip up and down, jacking him with a tight knife-grip, he slides his other hand over the small of her back, her ass and the cleft of it. One finger circles the puckered opening there, pressing against it gently. Dips lower, back to front, tracing along the damp seam of her sex. ]
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Something wrong? [Did she mess something up?]
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It's nothing.
[ Not an evasion so much as a shrug-off. He can be notoriously pliant in the hands of a mark, if he has something to gain from it. But off-duty... it's unpredictable, the snake-strike stress response. He never knows when he'll lash out or tense up, or when something will trigger a bad memory, or when he'll feel ... overexposed, if not defenseless. It's not something he can explain to Korra. Instead he guides her hand back to his erection. Shows her how to pull the skin of the shaft tight, first up, then down, with her fingertips, until it fills and hardens again. ]
[ Quietly, both alleviating the mood, and changing the subject, ]
You want to get out? Or --
[ Or we can fuck right here. Shower-sex isn't high on his list of favorites. Too much water, slippery tiles, space shortages ... someone ultimately ends up far from clean, and far from satisfied. But right now he wants Korra too much to care. ]
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At the aborted question, she presses a quick kiss to his lips.]
Whatever you want.
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[ It makes Hei pause. It's not for him, the kind of things other people would say in the dark: I want whatever you want. But then, isn't it true that he wants Korra because he's tired of all these people he has to either impress his will upon, or wrestle it from. He wants someone who has a certain wild softness, except Korra is young enough to leave fingerprints in the soft surfaces of her psyche. Sheltered enough to damage. It's not so easy to take some lovely, fresh girl in his arms who reminds him of all the vibrancy and trust people her age are so good at exuding, when he has no sense of them himself. Not anymore. ]
[ He wants to say something. Thank her, maybe, for putting up with all his strangeness and distance and sharp edges. Wants to do something that's all for her. Not an insidious way to gratify himself -- whether it's his ego, or his guilt, or his needs. There's a difference between giving Korra the reins and being a coercive barbarian who let his fuckpuppet try out cowgirl every once in awhile, after all. ]
[ But selfishness dies hard. Especially when it's what he's wired for. Instead of speaking, he sinks into the kiss -- biting and greedy. Draws back -- but just to extend an arm beyond the shower. The condoms are in the medicine cabinet. Water trickles down his hand as he tears the foil, rolling the rubber on. Then he's reaching for Korra, hands tangled in her wet hair, his mouth opening hard and cool against hers, warming as he presses into it. A low hum vibrates in his throat. He puts her back against the slick tiles, crowding in, one thigh up between hers, pinning her hands. ]
[ It's aggressive, but not forceful. Through the haze of urgency, part of him registers he isn't fully in control. ]
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[ It would've been easier going to bed. But he wants her right now. ]
[ Inch by inch, he lets her fall on him. But when she's halfway down, a liquid noise escapes him, restraint pooling into nothingness. Catching her mouth with his, he slams into her, all the way in, almost bruising her with his careless speed, his necessity. ]
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Not that she wants him to slow down. Not by any means. She claws his shoulders, digs her fingers into his neck, and just does her best to give as good as she gets.]
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[ Not that it stops him. Crushed between his torso and tiles, her sex fluttering around him, he feeds her rapid, punishing thrusts, letting her body be battered by his, ridden by his, as he draws the air from her mouth in gulping kisses, over and over. ]
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