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[She feels different with her hair down -- a little naked, even with all her clothes on, a little lewd.

She likes it. Likes the feeling of his fingers in her hair, and likes even better his thick voice and heavy breathing. It bolsters her confidence, so she sinks down on him a little more, and runs her tongue along the thick, throbbing vein. She tries to remember what he had done to her; the anatomy is different, but similar principles could be applied.

She looks up at him uncertainly when he tells her to use her teeth. The White Lotus guards she had overhead gossiping about their sex lives had made it seem like teeth were a Bad Thing. But he would know his body best.

You should probably learn to be a little clearer with your directions, though, Hei. She does bite down a little -- not hard, but definitely a bite. It feels good everywhere else, after all, and he'd said she wouldn't hurt him.]

[ Hei knows what does his own body in, and it's the friction and tonguework, more than anything. There's a sharp inhale and a flex of fingers in her hair as she slides lower, a half-bitten grunt as she takes him in deeper. Moist heat. Slick, smooth suction. Still not enough, not by a long shot, but fuck does it feel good. ]

[ Except, by this point, he should know better not to anticipate surprises, not with Korra and not with this, because the sensation of teeth teeth teeth is a bright unexpected shock. Shit. He hisses between clenched teeth, twitching like hot wax is being dripped on his flesh. (Demonstrative with pleasure, but his unconditioned reflex is to always choke back any sound of discomfort). His fingers dig into the base of her skull -- not brutal, but a very clear warning. ]

[ A little too much. ]

[ It's not completely her fault, though. He chokes back his irritation and takes one of her hands. Lifts it to his mouth, sucking the first two fingers in. A wet flick of tongue. A delicate edge of teeth. Demonstrating what he meant. ]

[The moment his grip tightens, she pulls away. ]

Sorry! I'm so sorry. [stupid stupid stupid stupid] Are you okay?

[She bites her lip as he takes her fingers into his mouth and demonstrates. She can tell he's irritated - who wouldn't be? - and it makes her nervous. She can never tell when the annoyance will pass or when it will cause him to shut down. The last thing she can handle right now is him shutting down. She watches his face for any sign.

When she's reassured herself that he's still there, she slowly leans down and tries again. She runs her tongue apologetically over the place she bit, and then very, VERY carefully scrapes her teeth across the top. Her eyes stay on his face, looking for any sign of discomfort or irritation.]

[ Hei's eyes still express a cool disengagement. But that's his kneejerk if he's skirting the line of adrenaline or potential pain. It's a hard concept to get across in words, but the war has tattooed into his psyche that rapid heartbeats, buzzing nerves and graying periphery equal total detachment and a readiness to Fight-Kill. But that's not what it is here. It's still an effort to remind himself that sometimes B (excitement) feels like A (hyperarousal) without being anything at all like A. ]

[ He takes a deep breath, lets the tension seep out nice and slow. Korra's hand is still gripped in his. He presses a kiss to the palm -- a silent Press start to resume. So timid again, so self-conscious -- he has to remind himself if this is going to be A Regular Thing, he needs to be the patient one here. ]

[ When she takes him back in her mouth, his eyes flutter shut, lips parted on a sound that's both loaded and relieved. It's not the ultimate sexual experience: he's worried about scaring her, she's worried about hurting him, but he's very flattered and turned on that she's giving this to him. Lips against her palm, he murmurs, ] You're doing good. You're doing so good. [ The More is implicit in the tight curl of his free hand in her hair,in the incremental shift of his hips. ]

[She relaxes at the praise. As much as she likes the feel of his lips against her palm, it's an awkward angle for her arm, so she gently disengages and resettles herself on the floor. Blows cool air across the warm, damp flesh before taking him back in. Just a little deeper, her teeth scraping just a little as one hand massages him at the base.

It's amazing how frightening having power can be. It doesn't make any sense to her. She's always been the strongest, one of the most powerful. She'd thought that meant not having to be afraid of anything. Fear is for when you're helpless -- asking the boy you like on a date, knowing you can't beat him into liking you; facing a man who can take away your ability to move and your very identity. Being handed something vulnerable to pleasure shouldn't frighten her. Knowing she's capable of killing to protect other people shouldn't make her want to hide.

She swirls her tongue around him, trying to make up for the earlier pain.]

[ It's not a difficult concept to comprehend. Power comes in different shades, often zigzagging between a tenuous sense of invincibility and vulnerability. Unless you're a sociopath, taking a life never feels natural; unless you're a megalomaniac, the acquisition of power -- in any form -- comes with the weight of consequence. Comprehending your own dimensions, realizing the darkness and ugliness you're capable of -- it's like edging on a precipice, unable to see the terrifying bottom. Not knowing where it ends. ]

[ It's not something Hei particularly dwells on. If he thinks about it, ponders it, becomes too human, if he becomes less than a killer on the battlefield, that's no good. Better to be detached and aloof. Aloof is smarter. Aloof is strategic. It prolongs the length of your life. (Even if that aloofness doesn't last beyond the night.)]

[ The air feels brisk on the slicked skin of his erection, and each brief pause draws a quiet, frustrated noise from his throat, just in time for a sibilant groan when she starts again. She reminds him of someone playing with a weapon -- one that's never been used before, and she isn't quite sure how to handle. Cradling her skull on the cage of his hands, he tangles his fingers through her hair, a play at tender rather than the real thing. Abruptly, he tugs -- not hard but definitely forceful. The order is clear. Faster. ]

[ His control is already poised on a jittery edge. If she keeps this up, it will buckle in no time. ]

Erk!

[The tug takes her by surprise, but she gets the message. She increases the tempo in rhythm with her hand, heat and suction and gentle scrapes. She's nervous still, but there's excitement, too, at the idea of bringing him off.]

[ Not bad for a beginner at all. She's hitting all the right angles, just the right blend of wet friction and the bright edge of teeth. It's not artfully choreographed, but the enthusiasm is enough to nearly have his eyes rolling back in his head. He fights it off, because the sight of her like this -- bright eyes and spit-slick lips and the way her hair brushes his legs and spills over his widespread fingers -- oh, it's worth it. ]

[ His chest has an abbreviated rise-and-fall; a quiet shiver rolls in the muscles of abdomen. His lips part in a semi-circle, but he doesn't make a sound (or if he does, it's at a frequency only puppy-ears can hear.) Then -- ] Don't -- [ Don't swallow. Don't swallow. Doesn't matter how healthy his diet is or how loaded he is on fruit smoothies. If this is her first time, she won't enjoy the taste. But whatever he's about to say is lost in the headspinning blur of sight and sensation, and there's no way he can't jerk his hips up, hard, into her mouth. He's almost sorry, but the apology has fizzled into a blind dash toward the finish. ]

Blerch!

[Okay that hurt. She pulls back as fast as she can, coughing and hacking and ugh oh wow it's in her mouth and on her face and her shirt. She spits and wipes her face and coughs some more.

At some point, the coughing turns into laughter. She can't help it. At some point, things stop being embarrassing and are just hilarious.]

[ Hei's shoulders shake in soundless laughter. He can't help it. The orgasm was so sudden -- faraway one moment and everywhere the next. The lines of his body melt into a quiet relaxation -- head lolling back, eyes dark and half-lidded, mouth parted around slow, ending gasps. God, it was impossible to know just how tightly-wound he was until he let her unravel all those knots. This... This is a definite step up. ]

[ Lazily, he straightens to regard Korra. There's a wry twist to his mouth, both sated and amused. ]

Don't think I've met anyone who finds a Milky Lewinsky outfit funny.

[ On that note... He stretches up, with a crick in his spine, arm reaching for -- oh, there it is, a wad of napkins on the counter. Practicality at its most slothful, he dabs at the mess on her face, wanting to help her clean up, but also willing to let her do it herself, because he doesn't feel like moving too much just yet. ]

A what? [cough]

[She takes the napkins and cleans her face. Her shirt is not so easily taken care of. And...did it get in her hair? Gross.

Even so, she smiles at him. He looks all sleepy and content, like Naga after a big meal. It makes her want to kiss him.]

Doesn't matter.

[ Pleasure continues to bounce through his body, limbs like wet noodles. He's KO'ed for the moment, but hardly down for the count; his mind may have aged in dog-years, but the body is still a twenty-two-year old's. Having an eager and bright-eyed Korra here -- even grunged up as she is -- is a delicious incentive. Still pleasantly buzzed, he leans forward and catches her head in both hands. Kisses her, languid and breathless, tongue rolling gently into her mouth. He used to be so squeamish about that as a teenager. ]

[ But now -- well, he’s done dirtier things. ]

[A happy little purr and she leans into him, her body tingling all over. It's a good thing he's not done, because she's no altruist, and he's not the only one she wants to get off tonight. One hand helps her keep balance, and the other she tangles into his hair, pulling him closer.]

[ It's fortunate for Korra that she's with the present Hei, not his counterpart in Heaven's War. The Black Reaper of then would've had no qualms about blowing his load into her mouth and shoving her out the door. He can still hear Reynard Maxley's advice for these encounters: Never fuck a girl once unless she's a whore. Never fuck her three times; she'll think you're in a relationship. ]

[ Part of him knows, from experience, how true the words ring. The other part wants to cut that gruff voice, the memory, into slimy bits with a blade. ]

[ His eyes drift shut as she draws him in, soft kisses melting to greedier ones. Her rumpled clothes against the bare skin of his torso are at once irritating and inciting. It's not chilly in the room but it's cool; her heat seeps into him, stirring him up. One hand stays threaded in her hair, cupping the round of her skull, thumb against that killing-point where neck meets jaw. The other slips down under her top, fingers stroking along her side and ribs, to the cup the swell of one breast. He squeezes lightly, then more roughly, feeling the nipple against his palm. ]

[ Wanting to rip each scrap of material off, but unwilling to break the languorous connection between their mouths. ]

Edited 2013-01-15 08:58 (UTC)

[They're certainly in something, although it's no kind of relationship that Korra understands; it falls well outside of her narrow world. For now, she's content to simply take it for what it is and not think too hard about it. Let sleeping wolves lie.

His hand climbs under her shirt and her nails dig into his scalp. She lets go to reach behind her and undo the clasp of her bra (worn deliberately for the occasion - it's not pretty and it doesn't match her underwear, but it's easy to get off). Her lips don't leave his until the clasp is undone. She pulls off her dirty shirt and slides off her bra. The chill in the air is slight but still makes her shiver.]

[ Avoidance and evasion. The best solution. Relationships breed expectations, after all. People start wanting too much of each other. He'd prefer to be with someone who is incapable of wanting more than he's willing to give. (Then again, she doesn't know him any better than the surface, and he's terrified of being known. Isn't that, in essence, the classic relationship?) ]

[ When she peels her shirt off, Hei regards her, his expression appreciative and open -- as open as it gets, anyway, in the semi-dark between two people. The hair tumbling around her face, the breasts pebbled in the coolish air -- she reminds him of an erotic travel ad. Tan skin and bouncy curves and eyes the color of the sea. He keeps that whimsy to himself, circling her in instead, enjoying the warm rub of her skin and the feel of her breasts pushed against him. ]

[ Attention drifts to her jaw, her neck, the slope of shoulders and breasts -- wet, gnawing kisses and slow laps of tongue, as if he wants to map out a bruised trail. Lightly he rakes the short fingernails of his hand along her back. Lowers his head to press kisses to each nipple, tracing their roundness in wet lines, before biting them in shocks of pleasurepain. ]

[ The last time he fooled around with anyone like this on his apartment floor, for the sake of fooling around was -- never, but that doesn't mean he's any less focused about it. ]

[The classic relationship? Don't ask Korra - she wouldn't know. Her parents are, as far as she's aware, happily married, but she's too young to see them as an adult would, to see beyond the facade that many parents present their children. And in all honesty, the Order of the White Lotus raised her more than they did. She has glimpses of her family and Tenzin's family as models of how relationships work, but no exposure beyond that.

His efforts are rewarded with little whimpers and shallow, erratic breaths. There's a novelty in being wanted by someone. Mako had wanted her, but not enough to be honest with Asami. (Bolin had wanted her too, but she didn't -- still doesn't -- know what to do with unconditional love. She's always had to work for it before.) The thrill of desire intertwines with the thrill of being desired, generating a dizzying heat.

Her nails claw against his shoulders, his neck, in tandem with every bite and lick, but it's still not enough. It's been a week heavy in violence and barren of pleasure. She shifts, straddling one of his legs so she can grind against it, every part of her filled with need.]

[ Unfortunately, with the life Hei's led, his view of human interaction tends to be cold and jaundiced. It's like Elizabeth R said: "First comes passion; then trust; then death." Or, more fittingly, first comes romance, then mind-fuckery, then intimidation, then a knife in the gut. He's seen the game played too many times to know the outcome leaves only losers and headaches. ]

[ He makes small, approving noises as her nails bite into his torso. When she shifts to straddle his thigh, his smile is faint against the crook of her neck. Greedy. He has a feeling he's created a monster. One hand slides along her hip, the better to force her closer, to anchor her as his thumbs rub circles against the bones. The other hand slips into the narrow space between their bodies, along her belly, his palmspan covering the better part. He tongues the soft well of her neck as his fingers slide under the waistband of her jeans. He lets his palm rest against her mons, transmitting just the faintest hint of pressure: no flicking, no probing -- not yet. ]

[ He's in no rush for the rapid Point A to Point B right now. He wants to test her limits just a little, to see how she responds to a pace that's soft and inexorable. ]

[Hei's cynicism would baffle Korra. She has dark, bitter moments, but they always pass -- in minutes, days, or months, but they always pass. She's a study in contradictions -- stubborn & rigid in her thinking, yet able to let things go. Thoughtless & cruel yet thoughtful & kind. Easily wounded and yet impossible to keep down. Fitting that she should be born to the Water Tribe -- water, the only element that is less dense when frozen.

(Created a monster? Don't flatter yourself, Hei. You just unlocked the cage.)

Her breath catches in her throat when his hand slips down her pants, whines when he just leaves it there, a teasing pressure against her. She rocks her hips, providing her own stimulation. That the top of her thigh rubs against his penis is a bonus only partially intended. Her right hand scrapes down his chest, to pinch and gently twist his nipple.]

[ Unlocked the cage -- or maybe a Pandora's Box -- but seeing what's inside, what she's capable of, excites him the way he remembers being excited about new artillery as a boy. Certain playthings (he'd never call her a plaything to her face -- she's too human, too simple-complicated for a label) are so involving that he can't be pried away from them for anything -- except maybe meals or baths or sleep. ]

[ He's been meting out his breaths calmly, but her response -- the whine, the rocking -- knocks his focus just a little. The fingers on his nipple draw a sound, not approving so much as playful, a low nuh-uh. Stimulation there rarely feels sexy to him. But he does appreciate her incentive to give as good as she gets. There are few (in his opinion too few) partners who take such a positive role. However he draws a slow breath, keeping to his own pace despite her, enjoying the anticipation, refusing to let himself be rushed. ]

[ His hand slips lower between her thighs, teasingly warm. He strokes her slowly. Slides a pad of finger up and down the seam of her, again and again, until it's slicked, before his hand slips away completely, letting the absence of friction become an emptiness. ]

[ He knows what she wants. But he's not planning to give it unless it's at his own sweet time. ]

[She groans in frustration, a little at his lack of response to the teasing, moreso as his fingers pull away, leaving her insides empty and aching. She grabs the back of his head, leans forward and nips the top of his ear.]

Come on!

[It's both frustrated and playful. Her other hand moves down from his nipple, scraping her nails across his stomach.

Never a plaything. In love, in war, in work and play, in friendship and hate, there is one indisputable constant: she will not sit idly by.]

[ The bite to his ear, the raking nails, earn her an exhale, fast and rushed like the wind's been jerked out of him. His skin feels hyper-receptive, as if it's gathering electricity in the air and wiring it in jolts to his brain. But he doesn't look undone; his half-smile is a dark one, tipped crooked with promise. While it's tempting to meet her squirming with force, to push her to the floor, strip the rest of her clothes off and ride her until she shakes, that's not his angle tonight. ]

[ Not yet. ]

[ Instead he dabs his finger, wet with her, across her lips. Swallows any protest she might make on a hungry kiss. He's comfortable enough on the floorboards -- he always is -- an offshoot of sleeping on futons and tatami mats in Tokyo and threadbare sleeping bags in South America. But sometimes furniture is a perk for these encounters. Gathering her up, he carries her toward the bedroom, but only makes it as far as the couch. He tips her into it, a little roughly, dropping to his knees before her. ]

[ He ignores the impulse to tear her jeans open like they're made of paper, to let the rending cloth sting her thighs. Unties her boots instead, calm and efficient, letting them drop heavily on the floor, before his fingers spider up to tug at her waistband, to skin the jeans down her legs, the panties in place. He leans in, close enough to breathe, hot and slow, on what is just under that thin cloth -- just a susurration of contact more than anything. ]

[Despite everything she's done with him (and put in her mouth tonight), she still blushes a little when he brushes his wet finger across her lips. Nips at it, half-hearted revenge for toying with her. She's sorely tempted to push him back to the floor and hold him down while she grinds against his leg until she finds release. She almost tries, except then he's kissing her and her eyes drift shut. She doesn't see him shift to gather her up, has no idea what he's planning until she's up in the air. She yelps in surprise.]

What are you doing?!

[There's an undercurrent of fear in her laughter. The last time she was carried like this -- one of the few times she'd ever been carried at all -- Mako had been running from Amon (why did he take her? he should have run and saved himself. Amon had already taken the only thing that mattered). It's not an association she's conscious of; she doesn't notice the fear, or the relief when he drops her on the couch.]

Ow.

[Just as he's resisting the urge to rip off her pants, she's resisting the urge to kick her feet back and forth while he undoes her boots. She's overflowing with restless energy and demanding need; the last thing she wants to be doing is waiting for her shoes to come off. More relief when he finally gets them off and pulls down her pants. A stuttered gasp as he breathes against her, and she inches her hips forward, a silent plea.]

[ She may not consciously recognize the fear. But Hei catches it in her body, her voice, as if she's willing a sense of flight to settle. For a minute he thinks she's worried he'll drop her. But -- no. It's something else, fleeting and vivid, a brushstroke of sense-memory. He knows better than to ask. He's never been Mr. Words; sometimes a tactile reassurance and a mutual agreement to pretend Nothing's Wrong is best. ]

[ The only light here is from the lamp adjacent to the couch. He watches her in chiaroscuro -- a yellowish glow and long dark shadows. Some women look good dressed up. But she definitely looks better undressed, all wild hair and love bites and reddened cheeks, camouflaging artwork in jeans and T-shirts. The twitchiness, the simmer in her body, are palpable. The tilt of her hips all but telegraphs her plea. ]

[ Too bad pleas seldom work on him. ]

[ Slowly, he skims his palms up her legs, parting them, fingers ghosting along the sensitive insides. Dips his mouth to explore her navel, and the smooth arch of each hipbone. Tongue tracing along the crease of her thighs, before he presses his humid mouth between them, against that strip of fabric. He teases her, scraping his teeth lightly along the material, tracing the panel over her clit with his tongue. Her skin through the thin cotton is hot. His warm breath traps a wilder heat there, a burgeoning dampness -- but doesn't grant her the relief of real contact. ]

[She claws the couch, whimpering and aching but not yet wholly desperate. It's tempting to grab his head and force him closer, but she's slowly learning to appreciate delayed gratification. (And she has a sneaking suspicion that he'd like it if she tried, so he could deny her. He can be so damn contrary.)

If he thinks he's the only one in control, he's got another thing coming. She won't be beaten that easily. (Competitive much, Korra?)]

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