[ As it is, he feels he's sitting on the edge of his chair, even though he isn't. The whole house smells like Korra -- muted by other aromas, cooking smells, detergents, pets. The air sings with a peculiar low-pitched anthem of warmth and domesticity. Yet Hei doesn't feel remotely at home here, in the too short time he's stepped inside. He's familiar with every nook and cranny of the residence, via his monitors. But it's surreal to be welcomed in through the front door, to sit down and watch Korra devour a meal. He's supposed to be a visitor here. He feels instead like a thief. A confused muddle of detachment and unease bubbles up in him as he takes everything in. Korra's contentment, though, is apparent, startlingly so, given all she's had to mourn during her stay in the City. ]
[ He finds his focus returning to her, over and over. He's too distracted, anyway, by the clean geometry of how Korra looks. The angles of her, the shapes. The thought of -- beyond all that clean trigonometry, or, no, happening concurrently --- the folds of her clothes, warm from her body, the gloss of her skin, the way her jaw works and how the silky line of her throat moves, the warm puppyish angles of her bright, open face... He wonders if she'd protest if he laid her out on the table, interrupting her meal, tore her clothes off and fucked her right here. ]
no subject
[ As it is, he feels he's sitting on the edge of his chair, even though he isn't. The whole house smells like Korra -- muted by other aromas, cooking smells, detergents, pets. The air sings with a peculiar low-pitched anthem of warmth and domesticity. Yet Hei doesn't feel remotely at home here, in the too short time he's stepped inside. He's familiar with every nook and cranny of the residence, via his monitors. But it's surreal to be welcomed in through the front door, to sit down and watch Korra devour a meal. He's supposed to be a visitor here. He feels instead like a thief. A confused muddle of detachment and unease bubbles up in him as he takes everything in. Korra's contentment, though, is apparent, startlingly so, given all she's had to mourn during her stay in the City. ]
[ He finds his focus returning to her, over and over. He's too distracted, anyway, by the clean geometry of how Korra looks. The angles of her, the shapes. The thought of -- beyond all that clean trigonometry, or, no, happening concurrently --- the folds of her clothes, warm from her body, the gloss of her skin, the way her jaw works and how the silky line of her throat moves, the warm puppyish angles of her bright, open face... He wonders if she'd protest if he laid her out on the table, interrupting her meal, tore her clothes off and fucked her right here. ]
[ Instead he says, remarkably neutral, ]
I can send you more, later.