[ Hei can feel the dull blooms of pain as her nails rake pink furrows across his back. The sensation mixes with those little whimpers she makes, until he can feel his head buzzing, like a million wasps are zooming around trying to hammer a way out. His breathing is already thready, he knows that, and from the prickle of heat along his face, he has to be flushed. Certainly he's overheated. Excited. Buzzing all over. ]
[ Dragging his teeth against the bridge of Korra's collarbone, sucking up a reddish snake-trail of welts along her smooth skin, he yanks his hand free from between her legs. In the next beat, he's hooked both sets of fingers around her waistband, peeling her jeans off and tossing them somewhere on the floor, because the more skin the better, the better he can touch her and taste her. He does the same with her hoodie, yanking it off with a sharp jerk that probably snags her hair and jostles her breasts which are cupped in that satiny printed brasserie. ]
[ The fact that the underwear clashes like springtime and blackouts doesn't even register. He's more interested in the geography of Korra, in the smooth architecture of curves and its framework of bones. Ribcage, hips, wrists, thighs -- everything he's measured and memorized in his palms. Just before snapping open her bra and tossing it across the room, he thinks briefly that she looks like a pinup girl might. Although a pin-up girl wouldn't wear such frilly underwear; wouldn't have faint indents underlining her breasts where the underwire has dug into her soft, giving skin. ]
[ With both hands, he cups her breasts, full and pretty, slightly damp with heat. Takes them to his mouth, one by one, as if it isn't a nest of biting teeth and swiping tongue. ]
no subject
[ Dragging his teeth against the bridge of Korra's collarbone, sucking up a reddish snake-trail of welts along her smooth skin, he yanks his hand free from between her legs. In the next beat, he's hooked both sets of fingers around her waistband, peeling her jeans off and tossing them somewhere on the floor, because the more skin the better, the better he can touch her and taste her. He does the same with her hoodie, yanking it off with a sharp jerk that probably snags her hair and jostles her breasts which are cupped in that satiny printed brasserie. ]
[ The fact that the underwear clashes like springtime and blackouts doesn't even register. He's more interested in the geography of Korra, in the smooth architecture of curves and its framework of bones. Ribcage, hips, wrists, thighs -- everything he's measured and memorized in his palms. Just before snapping open her bra and tossing it across the room, he thinks briefly that she looks like a pinup girl might. Although a pin-up girl wouldn't wear such frilly underwear; wouldn't have faint indents underlining her breasts where the underwire has dug into her soft, giving skin. ]
[ With both hands, he cups her breasts, full and pretty, slightly damp with heat. Takes them to his mouth, one by one, as if it isn't a nest of biting teeth and swiping tongue. ]