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[ 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?)]

[ Competitiveness is hardly a foreign concept for him. At seventeen, he was just as ruthless -- fanatical -- at pushing himself to succeed. But it wasn't a matter of glory or approval. It wasn't even about maintaining his reputation, already cemented in hostile glances and nervous whispers, as the Black Reaper. He had to be the best, because to be anything less was like being a carcass on the battlefield. ]

[ Worse, he wouldn't be able to protect Pai. And that was unacceptable. ]

[ He watches her face carefully, something like mischief in the dark upward flick of his eyes. Gnaws gently at the seeping fabric, swarming kisses through it. Eventually he slips the panties down, leaving them to dangle from one ankle as he presses in between her legs. For once, he doesn't get straight to business. He teases her with his fingers, spreading the moisture that's collected from inside. Breathes into her curls, a warm ruffle, lipping along the edge where they give way to bare slick flesh -- and then enveloping her, all at once, in the wet heat of his mouth. ]

Edited 2013-01-17 01:15 (UTC)

[She'd been trying so hard to control herself, focusing on her breathing, letting every sensation pass through her without holding onto it, like Tenzin's meditation lessons. And for once, it actually works. (Her mind, detached from physical sensation, sees herself as others would see her: sprawled naked on a couch in the apartment of a guy she knows is dangerous, his head between her legs. There's a brief urge to cover herself from invisible eyes.)

She cries out as the wet heat of his mouth pulls her back into her body, drowning thought in sensation. She grabs onto his hair and pulls hard. If he even thinks about pulling his mouth away, he's going to have a fight on his hands.]

[ Hei's hands rest on her knees. Dimly, he notes the quality of Korra's breathing, the energy vibrating beneath her taut limbs and smooth skin. Miles away, yet so focused, and he can't help but think she's still so vulnerable and small -- the whole span of his palm covers the round of each knee. Easy to bruise. Easier to break. That train-of-thought derails when she cries out. (Oh, he definitely wants to hear that noise again.) ]

[ He holds his tongue against for a motionless moment, pressing her knees open with firm insistence. Hums at that sharp hair-pull; it stings but he's hardly bothered by it. Frantic manhandling is often a good sign -- the best. His lips are crooked into a bit of a smile when he starts back up on her, long slow licks upward, then a soft nibbling descent, sucking and teasing. But he doesn't build a rhythm, doesn't give her anything familiar to catch onto, to stop his gathering momentum. ]

[ It's cruel. But he wants to know how far she can go. Wants to test her patience and demarcations, before she falls apart. ]

[There's a lot about Korra that's easy to break. Her temper. Her concentration. Her patience. He's broken those plenty of times -- is breaking them right now with teeth and tongue. (Other parts of her are not as vulnerable or easy to break, but they are harder to see, often getting lost in the noise and pathos of being 18.)

Her eyes water, more a physiological reaction than tears (though a few of those may be sneaking out as well, blending in with the gamut of emotion and sensation already overwhelming her. She locks her legs around him, her heels digging into his back, demanding.]

Uuggggh you suck! [She's too far gone to notice the inadvertent terrible pun.]

[ Hei doesn't laugh at the poor word choice (No, that was you, not ten minutes ago). But there's a low rumble of amusement against her skin, making everything thrum. He lets her sharp little heels pummel his back, easy to ignore in favor of what's slicked and pulsing under his mouth -- right before he grasps her knees and pushes them back, opening her wide. ]

[ He holds her so she can't buck him off. Presses closer, his wet mouth tight against her, licking words on the point of her clit, alphabet by alphabet. Dipping lower, chasing into her with his tongue, a hum vibrating in his throat as he presses in and out rhythmically despite any ache in his jaw. Slow, maddening, inexorable. Still not giving her what she wants. Still keeping her trapped, at the edge, of an unwavering precipice. ]

[ If she wants to come, he's not going to let her take the easy route. ]

[Oh fuck this and fuck him ~~soon~~. She's had more than her fill of being teased and toyed with and waiting. She hates waiting.

She lets go of his hair and anchors her arms on the couch. She might not be able to buck him off, but she's not planning on doing that anyway. She's not in a great position, but with her arms as leverage, she's hoping to twist her hips hard and flip him over, putting herself on top.]

[ Hei feels her thighs close tight around his head; feels her surge and twist as if to upend him. A girl -- a Contractor -- once clapped her thighs together and attempted to strangle him that way. But that was hand-to-hand combat, not sex. He's not fighting for his life here. ]

[ That doesn't mean he's giving up without a fight, either. ]

[ He grabs her knees, pushing her legs back further, a slight bite of his nails against her skin. Keeps her pinned at this new angle, almost doubled up, before pushing two fingers of one hand into her, slicked and fast, crooking them in a hard counterpoint to his tongue. It's more direct pressure than would be friendly, but he isn't scared of hurting her. ]

[ He wants her to come -- and come hard -- wants to hear her get loud. His mouth stays on her, open and merciless, while his fingers push in and out, the spare arm hooking around her thigh now to keep her from going anywhere. ]

[She growls when her ploy doesn't work, struggles hard against the press of his arm, but as strong as she is, she doesn't have any leverage in this position.

Still, there's victory in defeat. He slides his fingers inside of her and the pressure is almost hard enough to hurt but it feels amazing. She wants to fight him, to buck up against him, to dig her nails into his skin and touch him all over. Adrenalin floods through her, pushing her over the edge. She almost screams as her body shudders.

When her voice dies down and her body stills, you'll finally be able to hear an angry pounding on the floor. Korra may be happy with you, Hei, but the neighbors sure as hell aren't.]

[ Her half-scream fills the narrow flat and climbs up his spine with a hot thrill. He's still there, tracing her so slowly now as she winds down from the peak, before he lifts his head to regard her face, between the tips of her breasts, across the expanse of her belly. His smile is soft, but with a smug edge. Mission accomplished. ]

[ The angry thudding ("Keep it down. People trying to fuckin' sleep here.") makes the floor vibrate and door-frames rattle faintly. Makes him chuckle; he knows she'll both hear and feel that, because his head is resting on her thigh, and his fingers are still inside her. Instead of dignifying the killjoy with a response (neither 'Li's sheepish S-Sorry about that! or his knee-jerk Fuck off. I'm busy) he slowly draws his fingers free, leaving a smear of residual wet and want. ]

[ Leaning up, he presses a kiss to her with his slicked mouth, slow and lazy, letting her sink back down. ]

Edited (y u post before I wanted to 8( ?) 2013-01-17 05:48 (UTC)

[Korra falls back against the couch, panting and boneless and content. Her mind is shrouded in a happy fog; at first she doesn't even register the angry pounding, only the vibration of his laugh against her leg.

But eventually, she does.

She yelps and sits up abruptly, convinced there's someone at the door. Oh no oh no oh no... The panic recedes when she finally realizes it's the neighbors, to be replaced by embarrassment. She clasps her hands against her mouth and groans. How many people heard her?

She resists slightly when he draws her hands away and kisses her. But the warmth of his lips, with their strange tart taste, works to distract her from self-consciousness.]

[ The corners of Hei's mouth twitch. He can't help it. She's all nervous energy and whirlwind panic, as if she's a schoolgirl who's snuck out after curfew. Who, exactly, was she expecting at the door? One of her friends? The eagle-eyed Miss Bei-Fong? It's a distant reminder that the simple things he takes for granted -- inviting a girl to his place, treating the neighbors an obnoxious noisefest -- are still a big deal for her. ]

[ At length, the thudding fades. The neighbor has given up in favor of precious sleep. Slowly, Hei breaks from Korra's lips, a hand lifting to cover her heart. Amused, he murmurs, ]

Sounds like rush-hour in there.

[ Too bad. He's planning to wring a few more cries from her tonight, if he can help it. Still on his knees, he edges in closer, all crooked half-smiles and dark eyes and fairy-light bites down her throat. His unfastened jeans are slung just low enough to be a semi-restraint; his erection, renewed and aching unattended, curves up against his belly, brushing the warm inside of one of her thighs. Catching her head in both hands, he pulls her in, fingers in the tangle of her hair, for another probing, possessive kiss. ]

[ Clearly telegraphing his agenda. ]

[One of her friends? No, none of them know she's here, or that she has any kind of association with him beyond casual acquaintances. But. Come on. When your panties are around your ankle, your pants on the floor, and your t-shirt in the kitchen, the idea of anyone being at the door is nerve-wracking.

Okay, maybe not for him. But she really doesn't fancy the idea of someone standing in the doorway while she's completely naked (not even a blanket to cover herself with!).]

Huh?

[She has no idea what rush hour is (there aren't enough satomobiles in Republic City for that to be a thing), but she doesn't really care, not with him pressing close, trailing kisses down her throat. His erection brushes against her thigh and she grins, wrapping her hand around it as he pulls her in for another kiss.]

[ Hei's from a world where the circumference of privacy shrinks every day. If Big Brother isn't watching you, the Syndicate most assuredly is. Between the two, a string of spycams, bugs, wires and Doll networks practically ensures that third parties know your routine down to the brand of tea you drink and the color of your underwear. Anyway, the soldiers' barracks in Heaven's War, cramped and in-your-face, left him with a different concept of the word private. ]

[ (That said, it's no secret, not to the people that know Hei, that he prefers his business -- and recreation -- to stay out-of-radar.) ]

[ There's a low purl, pitched deep and greedy, as she wraps a hand around him. He keeps the kiss going for a long moment, sparking and teasing with tongue and teeth -- before he breaks away on a light inhale. Slowly, he unfolds himself to his feet. Draws a thin leather wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, before sloughing the denim off his hips in a quick two-step. He folds them at the edge of the coffee table, beside the wallet (snapped open to retrieve the essential foil square). But instead of urging her to maneuver so she's on her back, instead of climbing up over her, he settles on the couch. Draws her to perch on his lap, face to face, her knees splayed on either side of him, his erection pressed tight and hard against the seam of her body. ]

[ He's a little sweaty, a little sloe-eyed, and his hair's sticking up in wild angles -- but his smile is a wry one. Indulgent. He'd conceded earlier, You have the floor. That mood is lenient enough to extend here. Here's your chance to finally run things, Korra. ]

[She leans back, dizzy and breathless, and watches him strip off his pants, biting her lips in eager anticipation. Her eyes trace the lines of his body, the interplay of muscles and scars -- signs of a rough life. She's never been good at restraint -- it's only recently occurred to her to even try -- but she likes that she doesn't have to hold herself back with him.

She straightens when he pulls out the condom, curious.]

What's the trick for getting that on?

[She watches him put it on, making notes for the next time (she can't already be thinking about next time). She's surprised when he pulls her onto his lap. Control she doesn't have to fight for? What is she supposed to do with that?

She spends a moment just looking at him. The wry smile, the dark eyes. She reaches out and runs her fingers through his hair, smoothing it down. He might not appreciate the gentleness, but she's still a little nervous and gunshy. She traces his cheekbones with her thumb before leaning in to kiss him, soft and warm, a tactile thank you.

And then she reaches down between their bodies, positions him at her entrance, then slowly lowers herself onto him, inch by inch.]

[ There's a momentary pause at her question, as if it's something serious to consider. He's never thought of this simple routine as a trick -- but it's a reminder that what he takes for granted is still new and strange to her, disparate worlds and enchanted City or no. After a moment, he rolls one shoulder in the equivalent of a shrug. ]

A brain and a working pair of hands.

[ That's the secret to getting most tasks done, isn't it? His eyes flutter half-shut as she smoothes his hair down -- such a simple thing, but it's a softness he rarely allows. His mind is still wired to expect a killswitch sheathed in any tenderness. Purring, he pulls her lower lip into his mouth and scrapes the sensitive inside with his teeth. His fingers are fanned across her hips as she inches down on him, all slippery heat and pulse -- they tighten in a half-bruising clench at the slow, tortuous sink. His hips rock under her, more reflex than not, pushing up so he's all the way in. ]

[ Yes. It's nearly a groan against her lips. ]

[So helpful, Hei.

She lets out a soft cry when he thrusts all the way in -- no pain this time, only surprised pleasure. She stays down on him, rocking her hips instead of pulling out. She leans over and bites his ear.]

Easy now.

[You gave her the floor, after all. She scrapes her nails across his shoulders, a hot sting to whet his appetite.]

[ The most helpful. (She'll have better luck with a hands-on demonstration, more than likely). ]

[ He's perfectly still for an interminable moment as she settles around him. Belly taut, the long muscles of his thighs straining. He'd barely slept the last few nights -- or the few before that, or the few before that -- yet there's so much energy inside him, percolating, like he's had twenty cups of coffee. Yet hand-in-hand with that is a languor, a willingness to let her do as she likes. ]

[ A gasp escapes him as she rocks, a short gasp of gratitude. But her rhythm isn't his; he's in no danger of coming like this, can stay hard for as long as she needs him. The hot cat-scratches draw a hiss; his fingers dig deeper into her hips (the nails are short, but there will be marks) in retaliation. Her words make his smile widen a fraction, his gaze darken a shade. His head lolls back against the couch, a looseness -- almost a relaxation -- in the line of his shoulders. Not unglued, but definitely tipsy. ]

You're in charge.

[ For now, anyway. Make use of it. Let him watch. ]

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