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[ Hei quirks an eyebrow faintly. ]

Depends on the meat.

[ Of course, he has a feeling they're discussing two extremely different types. Guiding her toward the sunlit kitchen space, he lets her perch on the stool at the counter. Brings out a plate with one of those bran muffins from the paper bag, and a sandwich slathered in thin slices of turkey and tomatoes. ]

[ Perching across from her, elbows on the counter, he devours the rest of the muffins in the bag, in addition to two toasted bagels, one fried egg sandwich, and one of the tall glasses of strawberry smoothie. He keeps shaking his head all the while, as if he can't believe the depth of his own hunger. ]

[Korra pokes at the muffin, not feeling up to more than little nibbles.]

How do you manage to eat that much?

[Just watching you is making her queasy.]

[ Hei pauses mid-slurp on his smoothie. Notices that Korra isn't really eating much, isn't really engaging. But she needs to get light solids into her belly to end the wooziness. Almost encouragingly, he nudges the plate closer to her. His own is already empty. ]

[ He doesn't answer right away. Just slurps the glass dry in one gulp through the straw, before setting it aside. His expression isn't thoughtful, just blank; the sunlight strikes an elongated rectangle of brightness on the table between them. ]

There was ... never enough to eat, when I was younger. I don't mean an occasional missed meal. I mean food was doled out in rations. You had to fight over it like dogs. I was eleven years old, but I realized how dangerous that was. Not just to your body, but your mind. [ He pauses, like he's self-conscious of what he's saying and how inappropriate it is because words don't mean anything to him. They're just a tool, but -- ] I learnt to eat whatever I got my hands on. Fast as I could. I guess the habit has stuck.

And it doesn't make you feel sick? [Korra can understand eating quickly because you're afraid the food will go away, but the sheer amount that he can shovel down confuses her. Stomaches only have a finite amount of space. How does he cram it all in?]

Not if I burn in off.

[ Really, it's not like he's one to sit idle unless he's stuffing his face. If anything he's gained a few pounds since coming to the City. Going from a fugitive life to this Livin La Vida Domestica is pretty much a sixty to zero. Gathering up the empties, he carries them over to the trash. Glances at her over his shoulder, and adds, ]

Besides. The skinnier you are, the more room you have for extra.

That doesn't make any sense. That's not how bodies work.

[ They do if you're an anime protagonist, ok. Or if you have a freakishly high metabolism. Or suffer from tapeworm. ]

[ Hei just ticks on shoulder in a shrug, rinsing his hands at the sink before he steps closer to Korra, sifting a damp hand through the moist tangled nest of her hair. ]

You want to go back to sleep?

[ She can borrow one of his T-shirts if she's tired of lounging around in a clammy towel. ]

Nnnn. [She shakes her head.] I'm awake. Where are my clothes?

I burned them.

[ A beat, before something in the set of his eyes shifts, turns itself into another smile. There's a certain care in his hands as he combs the fingers through her hair, smoothing out the tangles. A few beads of water cling to her cheekbone, and he smoothes them away, his palm warm if not dry against the side of her face. ]

[ More seriously, he amends, ]

They're in the laundry. I have extra clothes if you want something to wear in the meantime.

That'd be great, thanks. [She doesn't seem in any hurry to move, though, or to have him move. She leans back against him and closes her eyes as he combs through her hair. It's been awhile since he -- or anyone else for that matter -- played with her hair; she'd forgotten how much she likes it.]

[ A layer of fondness seeps into the way Hei looks at her. The yellow shards of the afternoon light, the shadows on Korra's face, every fleck of dust spiraling between them: it is soft-edged, diffused. Part of him wants to ask if she'd rather forgo clothes altogether and slip back into the futon with him. Instead he musses his fingers through her hair; it feels weird at first, like she's a cat he's petting. But he does like the way she leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed, just as a cat does when caressed. He slides his hand down along her nape, pressing against that sensitive spot above the shoulderblades. The muscle flexes beneath his fingers; warm on cool skin. ]

[ It's still a novelty, contact for no reason but because, instead of viewing someone as a network of blood and veins and bone to dismantle. ]

[ After a long moment, he draws his palm away. ] Wait here. [ He pads out of the kitchen, returning with an XL black T-shirt he keeps lying around mostly for Pai's use. The strange scab-like textures on it are embossed silver letters for some Underground metal band, already half disintegrated. 'Hand-wash only' -- the merchandise says, but let's face it, who hand washes T-shirts? ]

[ Depositing the material in Korra's lap, he hesitates a beat, then mutters, ]

Don't tell anyone, and I'll fix up that rat's nest you call hair.

[She drops the towel so she can pull the shirt overhead head and rolls her eyes at him.]

It's just a little mussed up. Do you get some kind of sick pleasure in saying things in the meanest way possible? [She's not offended, just unimpressed.]

[ Mildly, Hei hitches his shoulders. ]

Better than lying.

[ As it is, he's distracted from the actual content of her complaint by the way she looks, the fabric molded so snugly around her breasts and shoulders, the thighs and bottom amply covered by the hem. On Pai it just looks like a baggy dress of the ragamuffin persuasion. On Korra it acquires the air of something both rumpled and sultry. Of course he's not lost on such a cloud of Lusty Boyfriendiness that he doesn't acknowledge there's more to her than that. Being around Korra is always like picking up a book to find that the volume does not match the dust jacket. Hers is a sleek girl-next-door porn cover, but the opening paragraphs are something else entirely. ]

[ Reaching out, he toys with the hem of her shirt, almost but not quite lifting it away from her skin. ]

So? Yes or no?

[Way to remind her of other things you could be toying with, Hei. Geez.]

Sure. [Although the way she leans in to kiss him is more distraction than encouragement. But that's his fault for messing with her hems.]

[ Hei's teeth snag at her lower-lip, a wet biting peck. His hands hover before her, wanting to be back in contact with her warm skin, because they tell their own story so well. Instead he tucks one hand, with an air of patience, into his pocket, slipping the fingers of the other through Korra's. He guides her to the low dresser with its narrow mirror by the futon. Settles crosslegged behind her, picking up the comb and dragging its teeth in slow rhythm through her tangled burnt-black halo. ]

[ The air, weighed by sunlight and dustmotes, feels curiously still as he draws the comb back from her forehead, gathering the hair around it, smoothing it through his fingers. He is keenly aware of the futon in the corner of the room, the sheets still rumpled. The sweetsharp tang of Korra's body heat lacing the air. ]

[ Strange, how bit-by-bit, she's seeping in everywhere. Leaving hair tangled, not just in his pillowcase or jacket, but in the teeth of his comb. Humming, a bright ferocious essence, in his lungs and sinews. ]

Edited 2014-02-23 03:36 (UTC)

[Korra closes her eyes as he combs her hair, feeling her body slowly melt like taffy left in the sun. Limbs heavy with contentment, muscles relaxed and pliant. Funny how she used to fight him, how everything used to be a competition and a struggle for control and now she is putty in his hands.]

[ If there's one lesson Hei has learnt, it is this: Given long enough, everything crumbles. It's a matter of pragmatic realism, not pessimism. This is how life is, and whether that dissolution comes in the form of a knife to the back, or with your windpipe crushed under the palm of a loved one is all about how you play the cards. Hei knows this because he's been that loved one -- morphed that emotion under his hands until it became mangled and deadly. Because trust, the thing Korra is so readily giving to him, is anyone's best weapon. He's not sure what to do with someone who hands him such a heavy anchor of it. Not sure how to treat someone whose hardness has turned to goo. His first instinct will always be to exploit and abuse, because he's so seldom known anything better. ]

[ Still. There's a part of him that wants to try. (How foolish.) ]

[With every sweep of the comb, he watches the luxuriant mass of hair fall against Korra's dark nape, only to be swept up again a moment later. One hundred good strokes, until it is one heavy silky sheath falling over his hands. Bringing his face alongside hers, Hei mouths softly at the point of her jaw. ]

Don't tell me you're asleep again.

No. [The response comes a beat too late to be really believable. ] And I was sick! You're supposed to sleep when you're sick! [She elbows him lightly, scoldingly, before wriggling back and reaching out to wrap his arms around her. Because cuddles.]

[ He's not quite sure where the afternoon is progressing, which is disorienting. Usually he has such a diagrammatic chart splashed in red and black behind his eyelids -- the How-Where-When. Against him, Korra gives off a fevery glow. But he doesn't mind it. It makes it cozier, spooning her, and adds a languor to the moment that is not at all unwelcome. ]

[ With a half-smile, he puts the comb away. By small increments and the slightest shift of posture, he allows them to spill sideways across the futon. Outside, clouds move away from the sun, slats of light burning deep golden through the skylight, throwing bright rectangles on the scene. Propped on an elbow, half-sprawled across Korra, Hei takes her in. Circled by a froth of cream sheets, the T-shirt riding up and her mussed dark hair on the verge of avalanche. ]

[ Dipping his head, he draws her into a warm hungry kiss, his palms stroking her through the cotton shirt. A little pushy, but mostly restrained. ]

[She grips his hair and pulls him in harder, kissing him with a passion that's languid and yet burns her veins. With one leg hooked around his, she hitches him closer and starts tugging at his shirt. He's already got a headstart on undressing her; she doesn't plan on letting him keep it.]

[ Hei hums, an approving little noise as her hand tightens in his hair. The kiss heats fast against Korra's mouth. But there's a lassitude in his movements as he lifts one hand to cradle her skull, the other wrapped around her waist. His hand travels down from her hips, greedily palming over her ass, before stroking the hot soft skin at the back of one thigh, right along the sensitive crease between leg and groin. ]

[ When she starts tugging at his shirt, his lips twitch faintly at the edges. He detaches long enough to strip the fabric over his head, then dives back in to slide both hands underneath Korra's tee. He licks a stripe up her neck, then nips at her ear, pressing a steady stream of kisses across her face as he slowly rucks up her shirt, rolling her under him as he goes. ]

No. [She pushes his hands away, laughing a little against his lips.] You still have too many clothes on. [Pants and underwear versus her one flimsy t-shirt. Korra reaches down to fix that problem.]

[ He grunts -- an irritable sort of good humor -- as she knocks his hands away. His palms itch with the urge to grab, squeeze, take. It is too much -- the sight of Korra, with her mussed up hair and bare breasts, the shirt bunched under her armpits, looking so wild yet soft. Too much, the smell of her and the warmth, dark and syrupy, making him dizzy as if he's had too much alcohol. Too good, this feeling of ridiculous, impossible sanctuary. ]

[ As if anyone can ever actually be safe when they are so close to someone. ]

[ Hauling in his breath, he half pins her under him. Gorges on her mouth in kisses, while he struggles with his fastenings. There's the click of the weighty belt buckle against the buttons of his jeans; the icy metal strikes their bellies as he flicks open his fly, shedding the pants, then the boxers, with a slow twisting kick. His erection juts against her hip, already half-hard. But there's no clamoring urgency in his movements. More as if he wants to tangle them up, to chase away every empty gap inside him. ]

[No fight this time. That's a nice surprise. Korra rubs herself against him, a reward for good behavior, and her hands run up and down his back. Her nails trace patterns across his skin -- sometimes hard, sometimes soft, but always governed by whimsy.

She doesn't know where this is going. Well, obviously it's leading towards sex, but she doesn't feel the greedy impatience that usually characterizes sex with them. Her blood burns, yet at the same time, she feels like they could just stay like this, like she could fall asleep in this tangle of limbs, wrapped in his warmth.]

[ With each drag of her nails, a fine tremor runs through Hei. He nudges his nose against her cheek. Sucks on her throat, her jaw, before catching her mouth with his. Gasping, biting, sloppy kisses with too much spit; he stops to swallow and tastes the lingering hint of muffins and sticky sleep. He'd had plans (lovingly cultivated between the removal of her T shirt and his clothes): lapping his tongue along every curve, sinking into her for a deep rolling fuck, listening to those pretty gasps and cries of hers. Working her over the way he hadn't been able to last night. But he can't seem to get away from her mouth, and the friction-hot rub of damp skin is too good. ]

[ It's a long moment before he breaks the kiss. Between them, the skylit air is heavy with the deep-gold warmth of noon. There's a dreaminess in Korra's eyes, an unresisting serenity. Amused, Hei dips to press a kiss to the divot between her collarbones, a hot sucking kiss over the pulsepoint at her throat as his hand travels up from her hip, skims the curve of her side to almost playfully pinch a nipple. ]

Don't fall asleep on me.

[ A half-scold, as he circles her nipple with the edge of his nail. ]

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