[ Her nails hurt, but it's a bright, sexy pain, pushing a low grunt out of him and into her mouth. Maul him. Claw him. Bite him. He's never afraid of the spice of violence, especially when he likes the person dishing it out. That's the best way she can return the favor tonight. His thumb doesn't let up, just continues those slick, tight circles. There's an unmistakable edge seeping into his thrusts, short hard strokes, then slow deep ones. Each motion sifts more loose hair across his face, bringing out a sheen of sweat on his body. Turns the slide of skin on skin into something wet and dirty-sweet. ]
[ Yet even as his brain puts recklessness on a steel lockdown, the part of him that can't help but see everything under the sky as leverage and equations and Option 1, 2, 3, still hums on at a mile a minute. It's a default mode he's not even aware of slipping into, so between every downstroke, every swipe of his thumb, he evaluates and accommodates, because he wants so badly to see Korra trip off that precipice. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ Yet even as his brain puts recklessness on a steel lockdown, the part of him that can't help but see everything under the sky as leverage and equations and Option 1, 2, 3, still hums on at a mile a minute. It's a default mode he's not even aware of slipping into, so between every downstroke, every swipe of his thumb, he evaluates and accommodates, because he wants so badly to see Korra trip off that precipice. ]