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[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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