[ Those light scratches make Hei's breath hitch, and there's nothing to inhale but Korra. He keeps it slow, his lips and tongue languid against hers. A slow-crackling heat he's not yet ready to fan into a brushfire. (He can taste so much uncertainty in her kisses. Not because she wants to stop but because she's half-adrift. Changed, broken up, but ... He won't feed her that cliche, But you are still here. It might be true, but Hei doesn't operate on bromides. ]
[ (Then again, five years ago, that was how he felt about teammates too). ]
[ Humming, he rocks up against her, full length, skin to skin. Lets her feel his erection prodding her cool belly, as his fingers splay over her ribcage, drumming out a xylophonist's cadence, before roaming up to her breasts. He cups them, rubbing the pebbly nipples. Traces her lips with his, dipping a tongue into her mouth. Light kisses between hints of teeth, like blades in whipped cream. Her hair -- still a little damp from the shower -- falls down around them, tickling the sides of his face, bare slivers of the room visible through it. ]
[ He wants so badly to move from contiguous to connected. It's as if he hasn't been touched in weeks, or months -- the patient languid kisses stir him up, sending his mind racing ahead, past the sex, to the climax, the one-minute afterglow he might be willing to permit, straight on to the next cruel thing he'll inevitably say that'll erase this sweetness. ]
[ Don't let it happen. ]
[ Eventually, he abandons her breasts to put her hair back from her face, caress her cheeks. With one hand, he strokes the soft skin of her neck, the jut of her shoulderblades and the arch of her spine, all the way down to the dimples flanking her lower-back. The other rubs a thumb back and forth along the crease of her right thigh, just below her buttocks. He curls it forward, fingers stroking over her moist seam from the back forward, before slipping inside. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ (Then again, five years ago, that was how he felt about teammates too). ]
[ Humming, he rocks up against her, full length, skin to skin. Lets her feel his erection prodding her cool belly, as his fingers splay over her ribcage, drumming out a xylophonist's cadence, before roaming up to her breasts. He cups them, rubbing the pebbly nipples. Traces her lips with his, dipping a tongue into her mouth. Light kisses between hints of teeth, like blades in whipped cream. Her hair -- still a little damp from the shower -- falls down around them, tickling the sides of his face, bare slivers of the room visible through it. ]
[ He wants so badly to move from contiguous to connected. It's as if he hasn't been touched in weeks, or months -- the patient languid kisses stir him up, sending his mind racing ahead, past the sex, to the climax, the one-minute afterglow he might be willing to permit, straight on to the next cruel thing he'll inevitably say that'll erase this sweetness. ]
[ Don't let it happen. ]
[ Eventually, he abandons her breasts to put her hair back from her face, caress her cheeks. With one hand, he strokes the soft skin of her neck, the jut of her shoulderblades and the arch of her spine, all the way down to the dimples flanking her lower-back. The other rubs a thumb back and forth along the crease of her right thigh, just below her buttocks. He curls it forward, fingers stroking over her moist seam from the back forward, before slipping inside. ]