[ She moans -- and Hei is sure Korra can hear every contraction of his aorta in response. What, he wonders, is she dreaming of? Sometimes, during the nights she's stayed over, he's heard her make tiny vocalizations like those. Sometimes it sounds like she's trying to say something. Sometimes it sounds like a whimper of fear. Sometimes a sigh, like she's fucking someone, and he always wonders who it is. Like he wonders now. With her mind busy in its own interior landscape, he knows it'd be easy to take this further. He could skin her jeans off. Could slide between her legs right now, ease himself into her, and take her quietly, furtively, secretly. He could come in her and pull out. Could leave her until morning, returning as if from having been out all night, to see with a malicious curiosity how she might react to waking up with rumpled clothes and her thighs stuck together. ]
[ Ghoulish, risky, reprehensible -- yet he still thinks about that as he kisses her, one hand starfished at Korra's lower-back, the other lifting to thread gentle fingers into her hair. With his knees, he pushes her legs farther apart slowly, carefully. But it's only to slot his weight more comfortably against her. He's not going to sneak. Not going to do anything terrible. He's caused her enough damage as it is. But he's not going to wake her yet either. ]
[ He sees her hands twitch, a sea anemone's quiver. Bites back a half-smile, before he sits up. Gathering her in one arm, he bunches the fabric of her shirt up and off, lifting her gently to free the cloth, while the weight of her skull and dark waves of hair pull her head down over his arm, her mouth parted just a little. He springs the catch of her bra and sets both scraps of cloth aside. Divests her next of her boots, then her jeans -- so neatly and meticulously. Peeling her like this -- like a gift-wrapped sweet -- is doing something to him. He doesn't know what. But the uncoiled thing inside him roils around, looking through the rubbish of his mind, whispering filthy suggestions. Something about blades. Something about shredding her clothes off. ]
[ He doesn't listen; his fingers stay rock steady. Some things he wants, some things he never will. And he doesn't want to hurt Korra. Warmth. Skin. Closeness. That's all his goal is tonight. ]
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[ Ghoulish, risky, reprehensible -- yet he still thinks about that as he kisses her, one hand starfished at Korra's lower-back, the other lifting to thread gentle fingers into her hair. With his knees, he pushes her legs farther apart slowly, carefully. But it's only to slot his weight more comfortably against her. He's not going to sneak. Not going to do anything terrible. He's caused her enough damage as it is. But he's not going to wake her yet either. ]
[ He sees her hands twitch, a sea anemone's quiver. Bites back a half-smile, before he sits up. Gathering her in one arm, he bunches the fabric of her shirt up and off, lifting her gently to free the cloth, while the weight of her skull and dark waves of hair pull her head down over his arm, her mouth parted just a little. He springs the catch of her bra and sets both scraps of cloth aside. Divests her next of her boots, then her jeans -- so neatly and meticulously. Peeling her like this -- like a gift-wrapped sweet -- is doing something to him. He doesn't know what. But the uncoiled thing inside him roils around, looking through the rubbish of his mind, whispering filthy suggestions. Something about blades. Something about shredding her clothes off. ]
[ He doesn't listen; his fingers stay rock steady. Some things he wants, some things he never will. And he doesn't want to hurt Korra. Warmth. Skin. Closeness. That's all his goal is tonight. ]