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[ Hei's expression is pleased and lazy as he regards her. Gaze dipping from her face down the length of her body to where their hips meet. He tries not to think of how often in the past he'd done this exact thing with Amber. (Well, the arrangement wasn't exactly spontaneous -- this position is an old favorite of his). He doesn't want to think of Amber right now. The associations aren't unpleasant -- far from it -- but they don't belong here. ]

[ He watches her find the right rhythm, the right angle -- focused as a tightrope walker, jittery as a kid learning to drive a car. Humming under the scrape of her nails, all susurrus, no displeasure, he lets his hands roam as much of her body as he can reach. Fintertips skimming up her hips and sides, counting her ribs in their upward climb. He cups her breasts in his hands, warming them. Leans in to trace the shape of an X on each nipple with his tongue, biting and then sucking with the same rhythm she's using. ]

Edited (never edit on your phone NEVER NEVER) 2013-01-18 05:41 (UTC)

[Yes, please don't think about your ex-girlfriend while Korra is naked and on you, Hei. This may not be love, may be just a way to ignore pain for a few short hours, but she still wants to be the only person you're thinking about (if you're thinking at all). Casual sex isn't that casual for her.

Fortunately, she has no idea where his mind is trying not to go. She only knows that he looks happy and she really likes the way he cups her breasts. She whimpers softly when he takes them into his mouth, each movement sending spikes of pleasure through her. Her hands comb through his hair, alternately soft and sharp, and she looks down at where their skin meets. She's so dark compared to him. She kind of likes the striking contrast.]

[ It's not something that can be helped, not for a mind that functions on the blueprint of stock-taking and clarity. Everything is stored in little padlocked boxes, intact and valuable, to be examined at another time. But certain scents, sights, sensations have a way of springing those locks open, triggering a vibrant Rolodex of memory, so he's there yet not. Except he knows it's unfair; this isn't Amber but Korra, and this is now, and it will never be exactly like this again. ]

[ He scrapes his teeth along the puckered surface of each nipple, pulling her breast away from her body, matched by his grunts as she tugs his hair. Eventually, one hand shifts from her breasts, mapping a curving path along her side to splay across her lower-back -- a warm anchor. The other hand drops between their bodies. His fingers tease the damp hair between her thighs before his thumb rubs against her clit, slow circles and tantalizing pressure. ]

[ Just as she can't track the highways his mind is on, he can't chase after hers. But right now, in this moment, he can make sure there's one thing between them that stays entirely mutual, equal. ]

[Someday that'll be something that Korra understands. Once she's stepped on that landmine and had it pounded into her head. She's a fast learner, but only by experience.

There's a gasp and a choked moan when he reaches between her legs, and she curls onto him, her forearms resting on his shoulders, giving her the extra support she needs to pick up the pace of her hips.]

[ Her moan dangles in Hei's ears -- stuttered and sweet -- dictating the rise of his heartbeat. As she intensifies the pace, he breaks from feeding on her breasts with a little hitched gasp of his own that leaves icy cold where his mouth was. The hand between her thighs continues its work, urging her higher with slick fingers. His skin is warming fast against hers, a temperature that feels just ten degrees above hell -- sheened in sweat, flushed in the cheekbones and dip of throat. His eyes -- blown pupils and thread-fine irises -- fix on her with a stoned intensity. ]

[ When Korra leans in, he tips his head at an angle. Mouths nudging, then connecting -- sneaking hot little kisses between hungry hums. Meanwhile his palm against her spine exerts a hard pressure. Presses her tighter against him, torso to torso, sweat gluing their bodies together. Every movement makes her breasts catch against his skin, creates an electric friction where her nipples brush his chest. He responds by rocking underneath her, tight hot jabs, letting the rhythm build, a sweet repetition. ]

[Cold! She hisses, a shiver running down her entire body. Every other part of her feels like it's burning. Her kisses are breathless and distracted, and her hips push faster, harder. She doesn't care about control anymore, or competition, or anything except reaching that peak.]

[ Hei breaks from her lips to regard her, exhaling in staccato breaths and gasping words -- then slipping from slurred curses to low, repeating hums. They've changed the rhythm somehow, short hard stabs, again and again; he isn't sure if it's her or him, only that she seems on the verge of exploding, and each motion works to bring him to where she is, angles that make him shudder and tense in kind. ]

[ The shadows cast by lamplight cut her in half: he can see one arm, one shoulder, one breast, one eye. Her hair spills down around her face so the light doesn't catch her eyes; the effect makes her look exotic and a little wild. So fucking sexy -- he may have said that out loud. Except he's teetering close to the edge now, outside himself with pleasure. Working her harder, harder, fingers whispering slickly between her legs and face buried in the curve of her neck as peripheral vision blurs into red-noise. ]

[She catches the words -- slurred as they are -- and buries her head against his as though to hide a blush. That thrill again of being desired. It reaches inside her, soothing aches she forgot she had, putting bandages on wounds she didn't realize hadn't healed. It doesn't fix anything, but that doesn't mean it doesn't help.

The pressure inside her increases, almost painful. (She's going to be so sore in the morning. So sore. Walking is going to be pretty interesting...) It pushes her higher and higher --

-- until finally she's tumbling, shuddering and crying out.]

[ Sore, bruised, marked -- and it's all. His. Fault. ]

[ He feels her tense as she crests -- a beautiful shuddering ululation. The cry wings through his head, delicious and tortured, taking him to the turning point and past it. A growl catches sharply in throat, and he shudders all the way down his spine. Both hands splayed wide across her hips now, fingers digging in a constellation of darkening bruises as he jerks up under her. ]

[ His body sings, sparks, erupts, then melts -- a boneless sexed-out sprawl against the couch. Wet skin on wet skin, and Hei lets his head loll back, the arch of neck exposed, dragging in air through his parted lips. His hands, no longer gripping, trace Korra's sweat-slick spine down to the curve of backside, up and down. Writing idle lyrics on skin. ]

[ He lets his eyes close, his sensorium narrowing to become nothing but the slowing thub of heartbeats, and the half-smile flitting across his lips. ]

[Worth it. That better be smug pride and not some weird kind of guilt. Pretty much everything she really likes to do involves getting sore and bruised. This is just something new to add to the list.

She doesn't have the energy to roll off. She puddles against him, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder.]

Mmmm.

[She sighs happily, little contented purrs as he strokes her back. Nothing like that first time. She's not afraid of him going cold and pushing her away. Whatever fluke had caused it doesn't seem to be coming back. (If only she knew. But there's no way for her to know unless he tells her, and that's not happening any time soon, is it?)

The sweat quickly cools on her skin, making it pebble and tremble. Her damp hair sticks to her in clumps; some of it gets stuck in her mouth, and she's faced with a dilemma: move her arm to take it out, or keep eating sweaty hair? She goes for a third option, wiggling her jaw and trying to spit it out. Yeah, real sexy, Korra. But the thought just makes her smile against his skin.]

I'm disgusting. [said matter of factly, and with no attempt to do anything about it. She's a pretty do-it-herself person, but right now the only way she's moving is if somebody carries her.]

[ It's a bittersweet pride. What's that joke again? Sweetie, if I can still walk to the kitchen after sex, you don't deserve a fucking sandwich. Sexist, but the punchline's in the right place. For a moment, like Joe Normal, he drowses. Korra's hair, damp and sweet-smelling, tickles his cheek. He shifts to burrow his nose into it. Women knock him out that way, redolent of fruit bowls and Chinese herb shops. Amber had always smelled of countless different things, but most strongly of cordite, apples and mint. A small part of him still thinks of her like that. Cordite. Apples. Mint. ]

[ Unexpectedly, a wash of green hair and a witchy smile surfaces through the waves of his subconscious. Hei inhales, shaking off the tide of both memory and sleep. ]

[ He's dead-tired. But still alert. Thoughts and tension are like caffeine -- he has enough to write a dissertation on. Against him, Korra feels like a gluey second skin. The weight is unwelcome -- his left leg is cramping and pins and needles jolt up the right. He should slide her off. Doesn't want to go soft and lose the condom inside her. But when she starts working her jaw and spitting, he can't help a half-smile. Never a dull moment with her, is there? Dryly, he says, ] Yeah. Absolutely vile. [ Lazily, he lifts a hand to smooth the hair from her face. Tips her head up for a kiss. She's sticky with him, skin, hair. But she still looks good, all tawny and tossed-about. There's a temptation to carry her to the bathroom, share a hot shower. ]

[ But playtime is over. Her roommates will miss her if she hangs around longer. ]

[ Lips feathering hers, he whispers, ] Korra [ and his free hand meets her backside in a swat ] don't fall asleep on me.

[Oh, Hei. You were doing so well. She had been all languid and content and enjoying the kiss.

And then he just had to swat her backside. She yelps in surprise and abruptly straightens.]

Hey! [She scowls and swats his shoulder.] Don't. Do that.

[It gets the desired effect, though -- she rolls off of him and to her feet. (Wouldn't recommend trying it again, though, unless the goal is to turn her off.) She stretches, sighs, and picks her panties off the floor.

................................................ew.]

You're not hiding one of those laundry box things anywhere, are you? [Because she is not walking home in come-and-spit crusted panties. No. Not happening. Argh, and her shirt probably needs washing too. She doesn't mind getting dirty, but she doesn't want to go home in clothes that shout "Hey I just had sex!" That's not something other people need to know. Particularly Chief Bei Fong.]

[ He's not exactly sorry. It was either that, or the risk of spillage-and-slippage. That'd replace the cute-fun-pissy look on her face with real horror, he's sure. He takes her swat in good part, letting her climb off. Stretches to work the kinks from his legs. With the same absent coordination that slipped the condom on, he discards it in the adjacent wastebin. Slips back into his pants with a relaxed shift of weight. On his feet, life always has a way of crashing back on him, with the cold slap of a wave breaking. But he's willing to let that bleakness coexist with this agreeably elastic buzz. ]

[ There's a quiet thrill in watching Korra, backside appled up, scavenge for her clothes. A moment later, he puts all pleasant distractions aside, his expression butter-wouldn't-melt. Laundry Box Things? Oh. Right. ] I'll handle it. Take your shower. [ The washer/dryer is in the kitchen. But given her rocky romance with technology, he's not letting her near it. Hair mussed, barefoot in wrinkled trousers, he pads across the floor to scoop up her breadcrumb trail of clothes. Congratulations. You got him to feed you and do your laundry. He's not sure whether to feel like a whipped pathetico or a glorified babysitter. ]

[(Back in South America, Maxley used to sneer that Hei was both. But that was before he'd developed a reputation for perfect cruelty and ruthlessness. All for Pai's sake.) ]

Thanks. [She quirks a smile at him before heading to the shower.

You don't have to be a whipped pathetico or a glorified babysitter, Hei. You could just be a (sometimes) nice guy. Or sensible. Considering Korra's relationship with technology.

She doesn't dawdle in the shower, but she doesn't rush either. The hot water feels blissful on her sore muscles, after the chilly air, and the soap smells like him. Simple little pleasures, the kind she likes best. The events of the past week feel like a distant nightmare. Things will be okay. Things are already okay.

Fifteen minutes later, she walks out of the bathroom, hair dripping, wrapped in a towel. She pokes her head into the kitchen.]

Shower's free, if you want.

[She shivers a little -- the air feels so cold after the warmth of the shower -- and wraps the towel more tightly around her. The smile she shoots him is a little bashful. It's a strangely exotic feeling: standing in his kitchen in only a towel, waiting for her clothes.]

[ A Nice Guy. That's 'Li's role. Not Hei's. But the very thing that makes Li so convincing is that he has a kernel -- a fraction -- of truth. It solidifies his persona. Gives it a backbone. Some mornings, right before Hei opens his eyes and shakes off sleep, he feels like Li. Not the timidity or stupidity; all that is windowdressing. But the core sense of decency -- of being a cohesive human being, blessed in his wholesome ignorance. ]

[ (Then reality creeps in, and, as with all extra fluff, that is enough to make him vanish. ) ]

[ There's a glance at Korra, calm and appreciative, at the sight of her in just his towel. Again, he feels that strange sense of intimacy in this Livin La Vida Domestica -- just as when he was feeding her. Then he realizes the strangeness is familiarity. It's why his memory keeps resurrecting Amber. The essentials in this hook-up are different -- he's willing to give, where with his one-offs, he'd only taken. Fucking these few years, had been only about his satisfaction, temporary obliteration of tension, temporary access to feeling, the rougher the better. The girls were just the means to that end. ]

[ The realization confuses him. Makes him a little uncomfortable. ]

[ He doesn't take as long as her in the shower. A hot soak first, then turn the water off, then meticulously apply the lather, then turn the water on again to rinse the soap and shampoo off. Five minutes in total. He's all about efficiency and saving resources, the freak. Returning, hair toweled dry, he extends a thick bundle at her. ] I think this is yours. [ Her coat. The one she'd left in the shed. He'd revisited two days ago (a criminal returning to a crime-scene?) to scope the area for a safe-house. The coat was still there, sullen and browned and gathering leaves. He isn't sure what prompted him to pick the filthy thing up and wash it. But he offers it to her now like an old book left in his safekeeping. ]

[Korra can be a little decadent. Hei also has less hair to wash, though.

While he's in the shower, she takes a seat at the kitchen table. She fingers her hair pieces, but doesn't try to put them back in yet. Her hair's too wet, and she likes having her hair down.

She looks up when he comes back into the kitchen, and her eyes widen in surprise.]

My coat.

[She hesitates before taking it, not knowing what to feel. How did he get it? How long has he had it? Why is he giving it back to her now? Touching it brings up a dizzying rush of memories, most of them painful. She can still taste the fear, the hurt, the shame. She still doesn't understand what happened, and she's already tried asking.

At the same time, that jacket is more to her than just that night. It's a piece of home; it's a piece of who she is. She cradles it to her chest.]

Thank you.

[ Spoilers: He has a crappy hair-dryer. Somewhere. Maybe he'll let you use it. (If he can find it.) ]

[ He watches her face as she takes the jacket, trying to parse those volatile facial expressions of which she has a whole wardrobe. He wouldn't be able to answer any of her questions -- not honestly. Especially not what happened and why. It's as if he'd lived the past few months -- in the City, back home -- in a hallucinogenic blur. Ideas distorted, colors inverted, space and time surreal. Now he's gradually seeing the real picture. In full clarity it's something else entirely. He can look back at all the points at which he could've explained himself better, not shoved her away and into such a state of confusion. ]

[ The idea of opening up, of being right with himself and the world is still anomalous to him. But in picking up Korra's jacket, he'd had a sense that he owed something to her. Owed her at least an apology, if not an explanation. Except both are nonexistent in his vocabulary. This will have to do. Shrugging a shoulder, his eyes cut to the side to determine when her clothes in the spin-cycle will stop. A beat then he murmurs, with a practiced nonchalance, ]

I couldn't exactly pawn the thing.

[You really need to work on your apologies, Hei. Korra has no idea what he's trying to convey by returning her jacket. He's only managed to give her more confusion. (What does that even mean, I couldn't exactly pawn the thing?) She tries to find some kind of answer in his face, but it's unreadable.]

How long have you had this?

[ Work on apologies. On kindness. On being human. There's an entire laundry list. His expression may be unreadable, but hers isn't. Fading from happily startled to deflated, like he's said something wrong (You did). She's got so many tells, this girl. But they're not simple and one-dimensional -- more like a complex weather system. You can read them, but you can't control them. ]

[ His gaze softens. It's subtle but it happens in degrees slow enough for her to map out. ]

Two days now. [ re: I meant to return it sooner. ] I thought you'd feel better if you had it back.

[Two days. Well, that's better than two months. She wonders what prompted him to go back for it. Did he see her post about Naga? Was he trying to comfort her? (Coincidence doesn't occur to her. You could say it's because she's still self-centered, but his phrasing certainly didn't help.)

She holds it more tightly against her chest.]

I didn't think I'd ever see it again.

[ That's the problem with words, isn't it? Too many distortions, misunderstandings and misconceptions. People hear only what they want to hear. Still, like white-lies, there are some misconstruals that he can let sit between them. She clutches the coat like it's something precious, and he decides he's done Something Right. ]

[ Notably dry, he says, ]

Be glad I didn't return it as it was. Something was building a nest in there.

[Not the problem of words. Silence and touch are just as easily misinterpreted. All types of communication are riddled with flaws. It's the problem of being human -- even when you're not fully so.]

Really? [She frowns, confused.] It's pretty early for nest building, isn't it? [Seasons here are a lot different than in the South Pole, which means the animals behave a lot differently too, but still, it doesn't make sense for an animal to start building a nest in the midst of winter.

Figure of speech, what?]

[ Hei's still more comfortable with bodies than with words. What's that saying? Words are like loaded pistols. He'd prefer the efficiency and finality of an actual weapon. You're far less likely to step wrong with a gun than with a remark. ]

[ Case in fucking point. This. ]

[ For a moment, his eyebrows crawl into his hairline. Jesus, Korra. What is he supposed to do with you? ] It's just a phrase. [ It's these moments where she reminds him impossibly of her child-self. Of Pai as a child. The girl could make his head spin by asking why the grass was green or if demons could steal your bellybutton or would butterflies live in your tummy if you ate caterpillars. Questions he used to be pretty good at answering. Back when he was a different person. ]

[ Shaking it off, he gives her a pointed look, ] Anyway, the only nest right now is your hair. [ Where did he put that goddamn hair dryer? ]

[What? It was a legitimate question. Just be glad it isn't closer to spring, otherwise she would've asked if you made sure to move the nest to somewhere safe. Nests are a lot of work to build.]

Oh. Thanks.

[She raises her hand self-consciously when he mentions her hair. It's pretty gnarly, and still heavy with water. Without her waterbending, she's taken to just letting it air dry.]

I didn't want to use your comb.

[ He ... would have no idea what to say to that. It'd be like conversing with a flower-child. A violent one. ]

I have a spare. [ Spare combs. Spare soaps. Spare toothbrushes. Semper paratus, as always. It beats the alternative of admitting it's not the first time a stranger's long hair have gotten tangled in his combs. He exits to retrieve a wide-toothed brush and set it on the sink, next to -- oh, there it is (this was beginning to feel like a scavenger hunt) -- the elusive hairdryer. Returns to hook a thumb in the direction of bathroom, to let her know the requisites are there. In this state of casual dishabille, engaged in quotidian tasks, the illusion that's created -- like they're two normal people -- is so three-dimensional and convincing, that he can almost forget their unique circumstances, or the zombies roaming the streets below. ]

[ Almost. ]

[ Try not to fry the hairdryer, Korra. ]

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