mortemscintilla | IC Contact

You sure?

[ Don't bullshit a bullshitter, kiddo. ]

[ Still, he doesn't tease her further. Gently, carefully, he draws the curve of her body over his, cocooning her with his arms and the damp web of her hair. The patient vibrator, deep inside her, metes out wave after wave; he changes their rhythm, tight hard stabs, so the bulk of him rubs against that good spot inside her. Seeing how fast it takes to build her, get her on the verge of exploding, only to hold her off. ]

[ To see how fast it takes before she's going up in fireworks with him. ]

[She is not bullshitting damn it! She's just never looked in a mirror while scowling like that. Let's be honest -- most of the time, she's looking at him.

It never takes long to get Korra worked up, particularly with her mind insisting on playing out little fantasies of a phantom third partner (the vibrator felt nicer that way, when she imagined it as a person and not a wriggling chunk of plastic in her ass). Every time he stops just short of her release, she growls and pulls hard at his hair. Jerk. She's going to get him someday, she really is...]

[ Each sharp tug of his hair sparks pink dots behind Hei's eyes. His whole body is electric; tongues of blue static seem to lick and pop out his pores. But he keeps her close. Forcing himself another inch inside her, then pulling halfway out. In again. Another inch -- his cock twitching with each jolt the vibrator feeds. Out again. Creating a syrupy rhythm that keeps her poised on the edge. So she feels herself riding, sliding, gliding along his shaft. Cupping a hand around each of her kneecaps, he runs the palms up her thighs. They feel so cool against his burning skin. It's as if his whole body is alight, thrumming like a high-tension powerline. ]

[ Almost lazily, his lips feed on hers. His hands continue roaming; caressing her with widespread palms, running the curve of her back into the swell of the buttocks. Pinching her breasts, stretching her nipples one at a time, letting them go, then stretching them again, in sync with his movements. The weight and softness of her, the warmth, is delightful. He could easily spill just from that. ]

[ But he wants to wring as much pleasure out of this as he can. ]

How come it's always like this? [The words are breathless against his lips.]

Like what?

[ He's close enough to dissect the scent of her sweat and shampoo. To measure the breadth of her ribcage, her breasts and hips, with his palms. She feels impossibly slick and tight, the toy still in place, dispensing measured bolts of pleasure; his prick scrapes it through the thin membrane dividing them. ]

You only get off once. [Okay, so maybe it's not always like that, but more often than not, he's getting her off multiple times and himself only once. She's not experienced enough to know what a novelty this is, so it just confuses her.]

[ The sound Hei exhales is almost a laugh, wavery at the edges. A hand, gentle, comes around to lift her head so he can just look at her, cup her face. His lips twitch as he traces a thumb across the rise of her cheekbone, back and forth. ]

Biology. [ Angling his head, he nips her bottom lip, drawing it between his teeth to lave away the tiny sting before hungrily sucking it. ] Boy parts. Girl parts. Not ... exactly the same.

[ Strange, that she doesn't know this. But given her background, not surprising. Half her life, she's been holed up in a compound. As if that kept the Avatar safe; as if brick and mortar wouldn't do anything to damage her. As if it wasn't a cage, but a monument. (God -- why did people want to build altars to those they valued, when all they had to do was support them? ) ]

Well duh. [The sarcasm is ruined a little by a little whimper of pleasure.] That much is obvious.

[ He nearly teases, Then why ask? But he understands the gist of her curiosity. He shifts under her, thrusting up in rougher increments. It's like a carousel, working in stops and starts. One hand cradles the back of her skull, widespread fingers in her hair, keeping her lips close to his as if warming them. The other wriggles between them, finding the patch of damp curls that frames her sex, tracing and pressing and thumbing her clit. Through the curtain of her hair, he watches her eyes, such a brilliant shade of blue, sunlight turning the tips of her dark brown eyelashes into gold spikes. ]

I like watching you come.

[ It's matter-of-fact, but she'll never know what a rarity it is for him. After Amber, he was rarely generous with his girls, during or after. But something about Korra sparks alight that completionistic voyeur in him. ]

I like watching you come too. [Also matter of fact, in the way that old married couples go "I love you" "I love you too."] But somebody likes to distract me.

[ He makes a face at that, but what once was the predictable inner-response of Don't be all gooey and disgusting paired with a visible eyeroll has turned into -- well, it's not acceptance, but he tolerates the closeness all the same. This is, he assumes, what actual lovers do. ]

Not my fault you make it so easy.

[ There's a smile in tone, the half-lidded eyes glittering up at her. Blindly his fingers sift through damp, springy pubic hair. He rolls her swollen clitoris between his thumb and forefinger, before pinching it lightly, seeing how she reacts. He can feel the pulse beating inside her. Around his cock. Between his fingers. The vibrator, meanwhile, releases its relentless secret bursts -- both counterpart and counterpoint. ]

[As though to prove his point, that last pinch sets her off. She tips over on top of him as her body quakes and her vision goes white.

Jerk. The thought is more affectionate than it should be, though who knows if it makes it out of her lips.]

[ She breaks, and the gorgeous sight feeds a deep sighing euphoric tremble all through him. He keeps up the steady rocking, for as long as he can, before it dissolves into something like discordant music, starting and stopping and shuddering. Within seconds he's lost sight of everything but those brilliant watts of Korra-fuelled greed: slick heat, slates of sunlight and huffed hot breath. When he comes it's absolutely silent, the aftershocks washing in fine rolling spasms through him. Everything goes black. He is shivering. He is blind. ]

[ Then, tinge by tinge, breath by breath, the colors start seeping through again. ]

[And she misses it. Again. Too lost in haze of her own orgasm to do anything more than bury her head against his neck.

At some point, the vibrator becomes uncomfortable, and she reaches back to carefully pull it out. ...now what's she supposed to do with it? It's been in her butt; she can't just put it down on the dresser. The sheets? They'll have to be washed anyway, but she doesn't want to wash them right away... She lifts her head up just enough to look at it.

Those are definitely poop smears. EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.]

[ Hei comes down slowly, his breathing evening against Korra's hair. Arms still bonelessly clasped around her, so she straddles his lap, with his cock, softening, still inside her. When his legs begin to cramp, he finally nudges her off him, disconnecting their bodies with a little pop. She's regarding the smeared vibrator like it's a tentacle she's just extracted out of her bowels. With a clinical fastidiousness, he reaches out, and plucks it from her hand, using a dry patch of the sheets to protect his fingers. He turns it off and drops it onto the spread, before slipping off the bed itself to yank the sheets out from under her. (Sorry, Korra. Clean-up always trumps cuddles in his book). Balling them up, he dumps them in the wicker laundry basket. ]

I'll show you how to clean things up.

[ Anti-bacterial soap, five minutes of boiling water, a daub of disinfectant, and the special cleaning solution in the silver case, and it'll be good as new. (Next time he'll slip a condom over the toy if he sticks it up her back passage.) ]

HEY! [Korra rolls awkwardly off of the sheets and glowers at him.] You could warn me first, you know. I would've gotten off.

Faster this way.

[ There's a moment's pause to knot up and toss the condom in a dustbin, before he regards her. Bright sun inundates the warm still air. Captivated by Korra's gentle glow of vulnerability, he wants to reach out and discover her all over again. But he needs to shower and get started with breakfast. Instead he leans in, head tilted, to plant a kiss on the bridge of her nose. Then the corner of her mouth. Then her jaw. He never tires of that salty taste, the spicysweet sweat. Only she could boast of such a thing. Capable of being so fucking sexy you want to lick her clean even when she's filthy. ]

[ His expression is warm and half-shuttered when he draws back to regard her. ]

Take your shower. I'll wash up downstairs.

[ He always keeps his things -- neatly in their places, more than three-quarters of the space allotted him still empty -- in a separate room. There's a strangeness to living in the Beach House. For all his familiarity with its interior, he always feels like a stranger passing through. Like someone who's booked a hotel room for a few weeks. Sooner or later, the time will expire, and he'll move on as always. ]

[Faster, maybe, but not very comfortable for her. She rolls her eyes and shoves that in the box with all the other petty grievances she has with him. It's not worth lingering over, particularly when he's kissing her and the soft touches fill her with a fizzy warmth.]

Okay.

[She hasn't noticed or cared about how separate he keeps his stuff. She senses, sometimes, his discomfort here, but she figures it will pass. Things always do.]

[ It'll pass -- or pile up, layer after layer, until something ignites it into an blistering explosion. His dissatisfaction with the City; Korra's gathering grievances with him. Sometimes he finds himself daring quick glances at her, afraid to see the hatred, the anger she might one day unload on him. Everything he's done, everything he expects every minute. All those accusations, pure justice. (Sometimes he has terrible nightmares: he finds himself inside Korra's head, shrunk to microscopic size on the teeming surface of a brain eaten away to the size of a chimpanzee's by parasites -- eight-legged tick-looking creatures with needlish mouths -- and Hei powerless to stop them. This is better, of course, than the dream in which he himself is a parasite feasting on the jelly of her brain.) ]

[ He tries not to think about it. Instead he draws her in until he can feel all of her skin, supple and warm. Sucks her lower-lip gently between his teeth, a parting sting, before he lets her go. Slipping on a pair of baggy shorts, he hefts the laundry basket and exits the room. ]

[ Time for a shower and pancakes. Lots of pancakes. ]

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