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Not this time. My neighbor thinks I'm malnourished, that's all.

[ He waits a moment after she swallows. No harmful side-effects. Cautiously, he tries a piece of shrimp himself. It is good (although the cook in him says it'd taste better with X seasonings, Y spices, Z veggies). The first touch of food on his palate stirs an unexpected hunger. He inhales the rest in a matter of mouthfuls. ]

[ He does, however, make a point to feed her between bites. You're lucky, Korra. He's evidently pleased to see you. ]

[After a bite or two, she gets the hang of it and doesn't have to take the food so carefully. It's such a surreal moment, she almost laughs.]

What am I, your pet catowl?

[Her hand darts out to snatch a piece of shrimp -- she can feed herself, thank you very much. But she's enjoying the little game.]

[ He'd fed Carmine this way in apology for breaking her fingers. But the dynamic here is very different. It doesn't feel surreal to him, so much as weirdly intimate. (For once, that intimacy is genuine rather than manufactured.) Were their positions reversed, he wouldn't be half as amiable; he's never trusted anyone enough to mouthfeed him. ]

Please. A catowl [ whatever the fuck that is ] would be less trouble.

[ But the tone is as flippant as he gets. She's not affiliated with any enemies (so far). She doesn't lie compulsively. Doesn't talk forever about nothing. She's not a psychological vampire. Not on drugs. No Daddy Issues that he can see. That's simpatico enough in his book. He sets the empty dish aside, popping one of the crinkly red peppers in his mouth. Leans in to kiss her, all at once, letting her taste the sizzle on his tongue. ]

You're the one who's trouble.

[Half that sentence is lost against his lips. She smiles and slips her tongue inside with a little hum of pleasure. The pepper tingles at first, building up to a burn and she breaks the kiss. She wiggles her tongue in the air and makes a face. It's not bad, just unexpected. Not a lot of spicy food in the South Pole.]

Ack!

[She can't help it -- she starts laughing.]

[ He watches her face cycle through that roulette of expressions. His mouth quirks into a subtle curve; he can't help but think, indulgently, how unsexy she looks with her face pulled out of shape every five minutes. He's used to women who express the equivalent emotions and expressions of mannequins. ]

[ The laughter though. That makes him want to kiss her again. Instead, he reaches for a bottle of water at the counter and hands it to her. ]

You look like a cat [ catowl? ] hacking a hairball.

[She opens the bottle and takes a long sip.]

I wasn't expecting it to be spicy!

[She leans against the counter. The unexpected laughter, now faded away, poked holes in her defenses. It's hard to let only one emotion out. She looks away and takes another sip of water.]

You were right, by the way.

[ Hei tilts his head, gaze steady, as her laugh fades to pensiveness. He understands the cyclical nature of trauma; how grief can zagzag in like sparks, jarring you with unhappy recollection in the midst of conversation, work, sleep. Not all the smiles and snacks in the world can mask the craziness in the air with the recent curse. ]

[ But he knows it's more than that, for Korra. Something big has gone down. She is shaken, down to her vitals. Quietly, he asks, ]

Right about what?

[ Although part of him already knows. ]

The monsters. [She almost says My friends.] I had to get rid of them.

[She says it casually. It's just something that happened to her. Like Amon taking her bending. Unpleasant, but no big deal.]

[ The monsters. Of course. Except he almost hears that aborted word. My Friends. Hard not to, when she was so sold on the idea that they weren't illusions puppeteered by the Deities, but remnants from home. He won't say I told you so -- she had to learn for herself to believe it. He won't say Want to talk about it? -- she has walls, and he does too; there's no need to break hers down and pry for details when the threat is over. ]

[ But he recognizes her brand of nonchalance. He'd felt it as a child-soldier; the constant mental turmoil or erasure of turmoil or deliberate suppression of turmoil. I'm fine. I'm okay. The zombies may not have been her real friends. But dead is dead and killing is killing. There is no aggrandizing or prettying it up. He wants to say something kind, but he's the last man who has any right to attempt it. He doesn't feel pity or shock. Still, he understands, which is good enough. ]

I see. [ A moment's pause. Exhaling, he holds a hand out. ] Come here.

[She looks at him uncertainly, doesn't reach out to take his hand.]

Why?

[Poorly feigned confusion. She's aching for comfort, but she doesn't know how to accept it while still pretending that everything is okay. Safer to pretend she doesn't know what he's offering because she doesn't need it.]

[ Hei's eyes stay on her, measuring. Her reply is so transparent, but again, it's understandable. She's being careful to show as little emotion as possible, because if she lets go of that control, he suspects she won't be able to talk at all. Showing emotion in this world gets you trampled. No respect for the weak. ]

[ Except, away from the Syndicate, with the freedom to dictate who and who not to keep as allies and enemies, he can relax that very control. This is what happens when you're given the choice to call your own shots -- you can afford a degree of softness. He catches her arm, draws her in. Tucks her face into the crook of his neck. The hug is solid but not confining. ]

[ She can draw away if she wants. Or accept it for what it is -- a moment of simple contact. ]

[There's a shuddering breath, the slightest resistance as he pulls her in. She doesn't need this, really, and she can prove that at any moment by pulling away.

It's just, it feels nice, being held like this. He's solid and warm and she likes hugs, has always liked hugs. Pressed against him like this, she can hear the steady rhythm of his heart. She focuses on her breathing, inhaling and exhaling in time with his pulse, every breath a reassurance that he's warm and alive and human.

She wraps her arms loosely around his waist, as though it's just something to do, but the rest of her presses against him like she's trying to become a part of him. She nuzzles his neck, trying to block out every last bit of light so she can pretend the world consists of nothing more than the physical sensation of his body against hers.]

[ Hei hears the catch in her breathing. Feels her tense, then melt against him. Arms threading around his waist, soft hair under his chin, the same Korrasmell that's grown as familiar as the thub of her pulse. He strokes her hair with one hand, the other spanning the small of her back, folding her closer against him. Little by little, he lets her give in to it: into his silence, into the tightness of the embrace. ]

[ He's done this enough times for Pai. For Amber. For Yin. She doesn't feel like any of them, but she sparks the whole gamut of responses. Control. Consolation. Closeness. It's surreal, how time blurs everything. She'd started out half-terrified of BK201 and his mask. Now here she is, trusting him enough to hide her face in his neck. No fear of strangulation or electrocution -- although he can dispense both so easily. (He still would, if he needs to. But he doesn't have to.) ]

[ After a long, long moment, his grip loosens. He tips up her pointy chin to look into her face. ]

Any better?

Mmhmm. [It sounds like a 'yes', but no, not really. He pulls back and all of her problems are still there, chipping away at her defenses. She can feel the cracks.

Tenzin had held her like this once, after she had gone to face Amon alone, stroked her hair as she cried. But when she thinks about Tenzin, all she can see is his rotting flesh. The beating of her heart sounds like the shovel as she severed his neck.

She leans up and kisses him, closing her eyes so she can't see his knowing look. She doesn't want him to understand. She wants her pain to be special and unique. (She doesn't want anyone else to hurt this way.) The kiss is meant to be a distraction so he can't see the cracks, even though a part of her knows it's a vain hope. She's never been able to hide anything from him and that scares her, even more than the mask.

Maybe she's just trying to distract herself.]

[ (The Any better? was rhetorical, for the record.) ]

[ In her place, he wouldn't want understanding either. It's another word synonymous with jimmed locks. It's something people step in to steal, to use against you. It's too intimate, understanding. Lets a stranger see all of you, even without trying. ]

[ Her kiss is easy to interpret as smokescreen. If she was aggressive about it, covering his mouth to simultaneously press him into service and shut him up, he'd feel a stab of irritation. I'm not your damn whore. But. Come on. He's used her twice as a fast-track out of feeling shitty. Even if it didn't work long for him -- she's entitled to try the same thing. ]

[ His breath is steady, but his slow exhale against her mouth carries the faintest soothing edge. He tries to keep his lips soft, the tongue smooth -- a slow build-up instead of the preferred quick-&-dirty shortcut. Circling her closer, he spans his hand down her back, scraping his thumbnail along fabric, until his thumb is hooked snugly in the waistband of her jeans. He twines the fingers of the other hand into her hair, rough pads of fingers massaging her scalp. Trying to make her feel safe. Trying to make it mean something. ]

[ Ridiculous, of course. But isn't the illusion everything? ]

[She shivers as he runs his hand down her back and tightens her grip around his waist. His fingers coax out a quiet sound of pleasure.

She tugs at his shirt, her hands seeking skin. It's impossible to feel completely safe around him, not when he can see right through her. She's not used to dealing with people who can make her feel small. But right now, that's okay.

She's spent her entire life taking pride in her strength, in how quickly and thoroughly she could pummel anyone who stood in her way. She's never thought about or cared who she hurt. She was doing The Right Thing.

She doesn't know what to do when the Right Thing feels Wrong. Questioning her actions, she questions what she's always taken pride in, how she's always defined her worth.

Being with him right now isn't just an attempt to forget her pain. She wants to remind herself that she doesn't just have to hurt people.]

[ It's not his intention to make her feel small. But he deals too much with coldness and clarity not to see the disparities between them. Compared to her, he's the Creature From The Black Lagoon. Cut off from all light. It's odd to imagine that someone as young, as vibrant and well-meaning as her, should feel Wrong. That's the realm of the jagged and brutal. People like Hei. ]

[ He's seen monsters and been monsters. And she is, even now, as removed from that province as it gets. ]

[ He swallows her little hum into his mouth, each soft kiss making his blood flow in dangerous directions. Tugs her top away from her jeans, slipping his hand underneath to rub along warm skin, fingers tracing the rise of her spine, up to the strap of her bra, then down again. When she tugs at his shirt, he obliges, detaching just enough to make extra room, to lift his arms over his head and drag the fabric off. He sets it on the counter, balled up instead of folded -- the usual meticulousness forgone for better distractions. ]

[ Leaning in, he kisses her lips again, wet and fluttery, biting the bottom one. Breaks to kneel in front of her, to peel up her top almost her breasts. His eyes are dark, and he looks her up and down with a hungry heat, before edging in to bite her belly. Wet tongue tracing her navel, while he unfastens her jeans with both hands. ]

[ If she's aiming for distractions tonight, he has an entire mapwork of where to begin. ]

[Other people have looked at her with those eyes, like they wanted to eat her alive, and it made Korra feel slimy and gross. But Hei's left a warm, tingling trail behind them. Kind of funny how the person makes all the difference.

There's a hitch in her breathing when he bites her and she lets her eyes drift shut, focusing her attention on the hot trail of his tongue. She threads her fingers in his hair and holds on tight. She wants to touch him so badly, it almost hurts. She wants to make his skin shiver, to draw out moans and choked gasps. It's one of the things that drives her nuts about him, how he always seems to position things so she can do little more than hold on and cry out.

She's not a doll.]

Stop.

[Her clit twinges protest as she pushes him back. She's neglected it in the chaos of the past week, and it ached in anticipation. But Korra has other things on her mind.

Assuming he doesn't resist, she pushes him back onto the floor. Leans over him, her belly rubbing against his burgeoning erection, and nips his collarbone. Every bite is chased with a little kiss.]

[ It wouldn't do to tell Korra that there've been partners Hei has kept securely planted on their backs. Others he's rolled to their stomachs because he hadn't wanted to see their faces, had wanted to detach into a substitution of memory. In the end, sex is, for him, steeped in power-play -- a cold performance and a means to an end. Letting someone else take the reins is only possible with a degree of almost-trust. ]

[ But he's quickly learnt that no matter how much of a beginner Korra is, she approaches intimacy the same way she does a battle. Stumbling and still-learning, but refusing to yield. ]

[ He's able to press a bite to the slope of her belly before she pushes him back. There's a kneejerk urge to tense, to fight against being pinned down, so many hangovers from battle invading his mind. Instead he exhales quietly as he shifts his hips and relaxes underneath her. There's a dark, predatory sort of stillness to him, but the tilt of his lips is lazy. Spanning her shape in his hands, he presses his palms against the expanse of her back. Clasps her closer; enjoying the warm rub of her belly. The first touch of her teeth draws a gasp: louder, softer, almost inaudibly as if he's inhaling. ]

[ He's not one to relinquish control easily; this is more of a concession, a silent, You have the floor. ]

[She smiles against him and nibbles her way down his body, making sure her body never breaks contact with his. She kisses the skin right above his pants before undoing them. She pulls them down, just enough to free his cock and take it in hand.

A part of her is nervous. She knows what she wants to do, has the basic idea of how it works. It's a stupid, stupid thing to be scared of...but the instinctive discomfort is still hard to overcome. Her mouth hovers over his head, her breath warm and moist against him. She licks her lips, her tongue almost brushing against him. A breath for courage, and she takes him in her mouth.

Everything has a learning curve. She knows enough to keep her teeth safely away, but she doesn't know when to stop. She almost chokes on him and pulls back. People find this fun?]

[ There's a raspy hum in the back of Hei's throat as her mouth travels lower, leaving cool moist spots behind. But that coolness is a relief to the slow heat he's baking in. He's not used to this restrained patience -- with him, everything is almost always on his terms, fast and efficient and rough. Hints of frustration are already creeping into his expression. ]

[ He lets his fingers card through her hair while she slides lower, radiating uncertainty, but with a clear destination in mind. Whipcord muscles twitch under her palm as she trails south, undoing his pants to take his erection in her hand. The grip in her hair tightens; he props himself up on an elbow, the better to see her mouth up close. Her warm breath, the spicysweet sight of her, is enough to make him shiver; he swallows on a slow, heavy inhalation -- only to be abruptly cut off because-- ]

Fuck--

[ Then she's choking, and he is too, on a laugh that he can't stop. Sitting up completely, he takes her face in both hands. There's a tiny crook still at the corner of his mouth, the gaze both dark and warm. ] Take it easy. [ Even Avatars have a gag-reflex, need he remind you. ]

[Can she curl up and die now? Seriously. That would be fantastic. She's too embarrassed to look him in the eye, though she leans into his hand. She feels stupid and awkward. It's one thing to be inexperienced, and something else entirely to be so obvious about it. His laughter doesn't help. She can just imagine how young and stupid he thinks she is.

(At the same time, she's never heard him laugh before. It's nice. It'd be nicer if he wasn't laughing at her.)]

[ Hei tilts his head as her mood mysteriously deflates. It takes a while before he realizes -- oh. She's embarrassed. By the faux-pas. By the laugh. Her usual manner, so full of nervy verve, often makes it easy to forget how diffident and unsure and young she is under the surface. In need of encouragement. ]

[ The corners of his mouth are still lifted. But there's no roll of his eyes, no sarcasm or mockery. He draws her closer, printing quick hot kisses to her cheeks and chin and around her mouth. ]

It's all right. You were doing fine.

[ Don't stop now. If it's instruction she's after, he'll give it. It's a marked difference from his usual encounters. An even greater strain on his patience. But it doesn't matter. He has time; he can afford the playfulness. He doesn't want her to be any different than what she is. ]

[She closes her eyes as he kisses her, opens them as he speaks. She searches his face for reassurance and -- almost surprisingly -- finds it. He's rewarded with a trembling smile and a nod. Let's do this.

She takes him back in hand and strokes it a few times (a reminder that she doesn't completely suck at everything) before leaning back down. This time she wraps her lips around little more than the head. She traces the shape of it with her tongue. The flavor is salty, a mix of sweat and something she can't describe. Weird, but not unpleasant.

Of course, the real fun isn't in the taste. The real fun is in getting a reaction out of him.]

[ Hei's control is a steady thing, steel cords and cold delineations between muscle and mind. But the feel of her hand on him definitely gets a reaction: his breathing is ever-so-subtly knocked out of rhythm, tiny purrs that sound content and pleased. Both his hands spread through her hair. On impulse he tugs off one of the ties framing her face. The girlishness doesn't seem appropriate right now. Soon he's undone all the pieces, combing and gathering her hair, slipping it through his fingers, twining it into thick ropes. ]

[ When her mouth covers him, he exhales on a quiet groan, eyes closing halfway. There's an ingrained impulse to thrust up into her mouth, to yank her hair. But he doesn't want to scare her off. So unsure, so unpracticed; but her mouth is hot and her tongue is liquid, and it's a war not to let go before he can enjoy this a bit more. Swallowing thickly, he encourages, ]

That's good. Keep going. [ A ragged breath, and then, ] Use your teeth a bit -- you won't hurt me. [ Graze. Don't bite. As long as it's not Nosferatu going down on him, a little extra stimulation is always a plus. ]

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