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mortemscintilla) wrote2012-07-13 12:13 am
mortemscintilla) wrote2012-07-13 12:13 am
Entry tags:
IC Contact
ψ messages | ϑ text | ⊕ action
ψ messages | ϑ text | ⊕ action
ψ messages | ϑ text | ⊕ action
ψ messages | ϑ text | ⊕ action
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ (Certainly, she's no Chinese finger-trap like Amber. Knowing what got her off was a constant mystery -- a trick that worked one night could be a failure the next.) ]
[ He watches her with dark eyes and a quiet focus. He's rubbing the remembered spots inside her, but it's clearly not enough. He wants to ask her what she needs -- Less fingers? More stimulation? Faster? Slower? She's full of a pooling warmth -- fuck he can practically feel it -- but it doesn't seem to be going anywhere. Which isn't too far off from how Hei feels. ]
[ Before she ends up slipping deeper from fever to frustration, he changes tactics. Slipping his wet fingers free, he rolls her onto her back, making himself heavy between her thighs. Slides his hands under her torso until his fingers are curled around her shoulders and her breasts are crushed against his chest, the sudden ferocity of his kisses to her mouth almost frightening. His erection rides against her wet curly mons, and for a dizzying moment he nearly loses himself inside her. ]
[ Instead he breaks on a sharp inhale, barely shaking. Rubs his erection against the wet seam of her; pressing with his hips so that the thick vein and spreading head stroke along her clit, tight against the root. He'll always face any challenge head on: he doesn't know how else to survive. And right now there's nothing to deflect his focus: no time constraints, no adrenaline crash from a narrow escape, no paranoia that his location will be compromised, no fresh wounds. ]
[ He can allow Korra -- and himself -- the novelty of patience. ] How do you want this? [ What do you want? ]
Re: ⊕ march 15th, late evening
His question is met with a blank look. She's too tired, too aroused (and too inexperienced) to understand what he means.]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ Maybe another time he wouldn't care about what she wants. Maybe he'd just take what he wants, as he's accustomed to doing. It'd be different if this was an assignment; if Korra was a mark. It's easy for him to detach then. In those moments, he can appear to be in the zone, then go from a heated exchange to scratching his hair and casually answering his cellphone, all in one breath. Lust becomes a phantom. Self-control is effortless. ]
[ It takes a lot to put him in an uncivilized zone -- but this feels like an inexorable fall toward it. (And oh, how unnerving that is). ]
[ He reads Korra's blank look for what it is. There's something indulgent in the pitch of his half-smile. ] How. Do you. Want this? Do you want to fuck [ pronouncing it so the F is soft as bloodroot, the K quiet like a click of a trigger ] Or [ he kisses her again, a kiss that only lasts a moment, but there's such a crackle in it, a slow slip of tongue, that it can never pass as innocent ] do you want my mouth for something better than talking?
⊕ march 15th, late evening
She leans up to kiss him again, because kissing is easy, and grinds her hips against him. He can read whatever answer in that he wants.]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ (At the same time, he knows that's not her fault. But a tiny corner of his psyche admits he misses that brashness, that life, he's come to associate with her). ]
[ She kisses him, and there's a hot shiver, running down his spine and making his back dip and his hips cant. The way she rocks underneath him brings out a half-groan, breaking the kiss so he can breathe it out, quiet and strained. Suddenly he's too needy to be held off anymore. One-handed, he fumbles through the mess in his drawer -- I should clean it out -- and finds a condom. His fingers are a little shaky and it takes two tries to tear the plastic open. Finally he unrolls the cold thing and smoothes it over himself. It heats up remarkably fast. ]
[ He leans forward, supporting himself on one hand, and, guides himself into her with the other. Even with the condom, the slick tightness of her pulls his skin taut. Heat. Sweet, sweet heat. All of a sudden there is no air in the room. He hisses under his breath, searching inside for control, for some trick of breathing that will help him take it slow. Rocks again, grazes the edges, and sinks in deeper. Comes almost halfway out, and slides in completely. ]
[ God. God, fuck. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
It doesn't work. It's not a magic wand that can magically banish all her problems (physical, mental, emotional) and make everything better. But it still feels good, stretching her, massaging her. And she really likes the noises he makes as he rocks against her. There's a faint sense of satisfaction at his pleasure. That's because of me.
(Not that she's doing much except hanging on. Maybe he'd feel this way regardless of who he's with. But right now she'll take every scrap of good feeling she can get her hands on.)]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ (Although as with anything, substitutions and surrogates are always there for the asking.) ]
[ The low noise that escapes Hei, between a groan and a sigh, encompasses every kind of blissed-out tension. Slotting his hips against hers, he slips his arms under her shoulders, trapping her head in both hands. Covers her lips in a kiss like a freefall -- his tongue chasing every corner of her mouth as if to find the key for perfect control. He's so turned on, he can finish in a few minutes of hard fast fucking. But he wants to draw this out, take his time with her. ]
[ Eventually his hands slide down to fit across her hips, then lower. Splaying over the curve of her backside and squeezing it greedily, before pressing her closer to him. His breathing comes heavy, all sharp exhales and low strips of noise as he rocks against her, slow and teasing, filling her up. A languid rhythm, that stops sometimes all together, letting her experience the weight of him, the pressure of his pelvic bone against her clit, all the while trying to cool the recurrent greed fizzling up and down his spine. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
It's soothing. Not a word she's ever associated with sex, or one that she would have thought desirable, but it's exactly what she needs right now. She can feel the heat building up where his pelvis teases hers, cresting towards completion. Not as high as she usually climbs; it won't be as powerful as she usually falls. Still, she has no complaints.]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ (Another time, this is where he would've fought -- narrowed out that scintilla of feeling under his skin and extinguished it like a virus, worn the scars as reminders of something deadly and unsafe that was caught before it could spread.) ]
[ Instead he covers her, flows like water with her, his damp hair swaying across their faces in time to the rolling movements of his body. Her nails prickle goosebumps across his skin; there's a catch in his rough groan, a restraint. Even now he keeps a measure of control. Threading the fingers of one hand in her hair, he tips her head to seek her mouth. The kisses he gives her are slow and trancey, yet somehow as satisfying as the languid atmosphere between their bodies, almost nothing at all, but with undercurrents of promise. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ The electric radiator makes the room hotter and hotter. Her hair gives off a heady scent of downpour that's half moisture, half shampoo, and half Korra. He breathes her in, deep inhales and exhales and the occasional skip in that pattern, a groan or a hum or a hitched sigh, like an overplayed 45. Eventually, one hand still around her lower-back to keep her close and leveraged, he slips the other between them. Pads of fingers slipping in circles, slickly massaging her clit. Lips butterflying in kisses -- urging her to that slow hot climb. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ Yet even as his brain puts recklessness on a steel lockdown, the part of him that can't help but see everything under the sky as leverage and equations and Option 1, 2, 3, still hums on at a mile a minute. It's a default mode he's not even aware of slipping into, so between every downstroke, every swipe of his thumb, he evaluates and accommodates, because he wants so badly to see Korra trip off that precipice. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
Her eyes water as she gets closer and closer to the edge...both a physiological response and a return of tears, neither of which she notices. She tightens her grip around him, almost clinging.
And then stiffens with a choked gasp as she tips over the edge.]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ His eyes are open, watching her crest: every spasm, the line of her throat, the wet eyes and disorder of dark hair spread out on the pillows, and it's a quiet masterpiece. Something odd glints in his gaze. This is not the unflappable BK201, so used to sex that he's almost grown bored with it. This is a look of pure absorption. ]
[ He keeps going, rocking steady to help stretch her climax out. Trying to ride the other side of exquisite agony, the friction a delicious torture -- before he flows deep, shivers, gasping her name in three octaves, and lets go -- a hard frantic barrage. After resisting for so long, the climax is stubborn, at the door, refusing to leave his body. It teases and recedes and drives him mad as he pounds her. Distantly, Hei hears the mattress whining. He knows his pace is punishing. He knows he must be making noise. He doesn't care. The After -- if not now, then soon -- will be hell; he'll take this moment for everything. Every last gasp. ]
[ The peak is hard and sudden, a series of waves, an undertow that displaces all logic. His gasps dissolve into a groan that softens, softens, and finally subsides. Panting, he sags against her, emptied, still hard but now so sensitive he doesn't want to move. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
She combs the fingers of one hand through the hair on the back of his head, a gentle, almost soothing motion. She can still feel him hard inside her.]
Are you okay?
[He's always pulled out so quickly before; she has no idea whether this is normal or not.]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ With a small sound, he rolls off her. Scoots to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, disposing of the condom in the wastebin. Slumping back into the pillows, he catches sight of the red numbers floating near him, the clock on the nightstand. It's not as late as it feels -- he's only been with Korra a couple of hours. But it already seems like a lifetime ago. His reply, when it comes, is terse, ]
Why? Because I went off like a poptart?
[ Immediately he works to soften his tone. This is the always-dreaded moment, when his mind defaults to its usual security setting -- an attempt to detach from unexpected vulnerability. For a second he pictures the way she'd held him, kissed him. It already feels secondhand. An unpleasant mix of resentment and longing bubbles in him, melded to a heavy dose of regret. And in a flash of insight, he realizes what he'd been unable to articulate all this time. The unease. It's this. ]
[ The Moment After -- when he comes face to face with knowing it will end badly, if not now then soon. ]
[ Stop it. It's not the time to jump to the next step in a chessgame, to strategize and analyse. He wants to be good to her for the time being she's here. Reassure her, after everything she's been through. And reassurance requires patience. Exhaling, he slides closer to her. Not cuddling, but draping a gentle hand across her shoulder, the arch of her foot against his ankle. A warm anchor. ]
Everything's fine. [ The expression on his face is strange, like an apology. His thumb makes a soft circling on her shoulder. ] You?
⊕ march 15th, late evening
So does he, maybe. His expression softens, becoming almost apologetic, and he inches closer.]
Fine.
[It's a lie, much in the way she's pretty sure his soft touch and quiet words are. She rolls over, not breaking contact with him, but not wanting him to see how vulnerable she feels. He's a lot like her, prickly & rough & prone to lashing out -- she with fists and he with words. She's hit with a wave of gut-wrenching sadness.
All people do is hurt each other. It's not even just Korra, pushing people around, stabbing Chekov. People hurt each other even when trying to help. Chekov, playing hero. Tohru, trying to give hope. Li, trying to give comfort.
Life is pain. She understands now what Tenzin meant when he said "Being the Avatar isn't just about fighting." It's her job as the Avatar to help free people from suffering, but not every hurt comes from an enemy. Not every source of pain can be beaten in a fight.
She feels lost.]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ But he's never been one to wallow in a puddle of weltschmerz. Whatever atrocity that hits, he takes it into himself, takes a breath, and keeps going. ]
[ Maybe that's why he stays a moment longer with Korra, fingers drifting down the slope of her shoulder, pad of thumb making soothing whorls. They're both wreathed in silence, until he counts backwards from thirty, then sits up. Korra may feel the mattress shift, and hear a rustle, if not the sound of his footfalls, as he finds a pair of shorts to slip into. He's driven to the doorway partly by hunger, partly by habit; he usually gets up almost immediately after sex to shower -- precise and ritualistic. (He hadn't even noticed until one of his flings brought it to his attention. She told him watching him run off to bathe made her feel dirty. Like he was washing the mess away like a whore with a john. Hei had retorted, matter of factly, that she was a Contractor.) ]
[ (He didn't understand until later why she'd looked like he’d punched her in the face.) ]
[ At the doorframe, towel looped around his shoulders, he pauses to regard Korra. ] I know you won't listen. But I'm not going to let you sink into yourself. The curse and your head are making you believe things that aren't true. [ Cold, but a factual statement. ] There's no such thing as a person without dirty fingers or a single dirty deed. But you're no monster. [ She has no idea what a real monster looks like. If she did, she wouldn't be slumped in his bed, for one. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
She doesn't make any response to him. Still, she does react -- with annoyance, at how he seems like he "knows it all" and is going to control her; gratitude, that he cares; and a desire to kick him, because she'll deal with this in her own way and on her own terms. She doesn't realize it's a good sign.]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ Even with her gone, it's become second-nature. ]
[ Reluctant to turn on the corridor light, lest he lose the cottony relaxation in body and mind, Hei pads to the bathroom, for a wash-up and toothbrushing, then heads to the kitchen. He returns in the incomplete darkness, with two bottles of water. One for her. One for him. It's odd, slipping into bed with her. Barflies and paid professionals don't share beds. Fellow Contractors seldom stay the night. But Korra is none of those things. For a moment he's uncomfortable, wants her gone. No, not gone. He's just unused to someone staying after the deed is done. ]
[ (But part of him doesn't mind that almost fevery glow she gives off. She smells very intensely of herself, of faded shampoo, of him.) ]
[ Slipping into bed, under the sheets, he shifts in unaccustomed confinement of not having it to himself. Sprawls on his side, his back to her. It may seem like a cold shoulder. But it's actually a trusting move. There are few people Hei turns his back on -- even (especially) in bed. He wonders -- dimly -- if she expects to be held. Wonders if she's a restless sleeper. He already knows he won't get much sleep. Nightmares are a fixture by now. Peaceful rest is a miacle. ]
[ He can only hope it's nothing too violent. He doesn't want to thrash awake in the middle of the night to find himself strangling her. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
(His questions will be answered in due time -- no and yes, respectively. If he's lucky, it will be his nightmares keeping him awake and not her tendency to throw herself about in her sleep.)]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ He drops off to sleep inhaling the greenery in South America. ]
[ (At the tip of dawn, in dreams, he'll see the earth yawning under his feet, the flare of fire and whirling dirt, and a girl standing in a pool of blood at her thighs, bodies floating around her. She'll drop like a ragdoll as he grabs her, and he'll carry her off the battlefield as he's done countless times before.) Beyond the dream, it's just the warmth of Korra's skin registering on him, easing his psyche to something more tranquil. ]
[ He'll fit himself to her back, still dreaming of Pai, and sleep on. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ And resolve he's slept enough. ]
[ The sun is up, making a white penumbra at the bottom of his drawn shades. Hei slips out of bed, out of the room, and out of the apartment without sound -- showered and fully dressed. He has to head to work in a bit, but it seems callous (not to mention shortsighted) to leave Korra alone at his flat. On the street, he detours to run a few errands, makes a roundabout trip to his flat, before heading out again. ]
[ When Korra wakes, it'll be to a message Sleep in; Gone to work, scrawled in sharpie on her arm. (He'd leave a sticky note, but he's averse to a paper trail, no matter how benign.) In the kitchen, she'll find a cup of still-hot tea set out in one of those take-out cups, a K scrawled on top. A box of bakery breakfast on the counter -- spinach and feta croissant, an omlette wrap or some such salty thing. And last: a shopper bag with a pair of folded girl's clothes. Not tacky, he promises. ]
[ Don't blow anything up while he's gone. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening