[ Hei knows she's better off without him. Ordinarily he handles things with a chilling clarity, given the shifting, ambiguous world he lives in. But with Korra, his mind is a mess. Part of him is always keyed up, spilling over with reasons he should keep away from her -- with questions demanding to be asked, resentments to be aired, grey areas to be cleared up. But his body shares none of his mind's ambivalence. Desire is constant -- and comes with a large dose of confusion, because she wants him despite his cruel behavior and vacillating status -- and because he wants her too. The thing that bothers him is Is Korra getting to me? And something else bothers him even more: He's starting to entertain the probably stupid notion that he might be getting to her. Not to mention the skin-crawling comprehension that one of them is behaving like an idiot, and he's afraid he knows which one of them it is. ]
[ Unless it's both of us? ]
[ He doesn't think about it. Not now. Instead he sets the ice pack aside. He wants to ask if she feels better, but she's leaning in, and her mouth is right there to feed on. The kiss is soft, openmouthed, but it makes something hum and stroke chords in him. Only in moments like these, he feels, does the shape of their relationship resolve into something which makes sense. ]
no subject
[ Unless it's both of us? ]
[ He doesn't think about it. Not now. Instead he sets the ice pack aside. He wants to ask if she feels better, but she's leaning in, and her mouth is right there to feed on. The kiss is soft, openmouthed, but it makes something hum and stroke chords in him. Only in moments like these, he feels, does the shape of their relationship resolve into something which makes sense. ]