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[ Her nails hurt, but it's a bright, sexy pain, pushing a low grunt out of him and into her mouth. Maul him. Claw him. Bite him. He's never afraid of the spice of violence, especially when he likes the person dishing it out. That's the best way she can return the favor tonight. His thumb doesn't let up, just continues those slick, tight circles. There's an unmistakable edge seeping into his thrusts, short hard strokes, then slow deep ones. Each motion sifts more loose hair across his face, bringing out a sheen of sweat on his body. Turns the slide of skin on skin into something wet and dirty-sweet. ]

[ 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. ]

[Violence is the one thing he won't be getting from her tonight -- even knowing he likes it, even knowing he can take it. There's too much fear and shame for her to dish it out like she normally does. Rough tugs on his hair and gentle scratches are about all she's capable of with Chekov's ghost still haunting the back of her mind.

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.]

[ Maybe it's that violence he misses, more than her sparking nature and quirky smiles. He's dished and taken a lot of blows on this strange short road that's ended with her in his bed. There's an honesty, somehow, in that mode of communication. At least between them. A fragment of truth where everything else is evasions and lies. ]

[ 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. ]

[His pace changes and Korra clings tight, letting out little whimpers of pain as he pounds into her. It hurts -- just a hair more than what she finds pleasurable. At any other time she'd whack him and demand he slow down a bit. For tonight, she swallows her complaints and rides it out until he collapses against her. Only then does she remember how to breathe.

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.]

[ His face buried in her neck, Hei doesn't answer her right away. Reality resurfaces bit by bit. He feels like he's resurfaced from drowning; drenched and gasping. He doesn't trust his body during these moments -- the easy languor that's otherwise impossible, the brief peek into a psyche that's usually rigged in steel bars. But he's learnt long ago to recover fast. ]

[ 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?

[Not again. She winces at his words and gives him a look that's equal parts angry, hurt, and betrayed. She's still enough herself to know she can't deal with this right now, and that she shouldn't have to. As guilty as she is, as awful as she feels about herself, as much as she questions her worth, a part of her still knows she doesn't deserve that.

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.]

[ Yes, life is pain. There are facets of the world that are bigger than your wants. Your don't always own your choices. Reality is cruel and unrelenting. These are constants in Hei's existence, and he's profited from hard lessons. But just as it's true that 'normal people' inhabit a landscape that has little to do with truth, logic, or quotidian reality, he's aware he exists in a reality tunnel of his own. He doesn't know everything; his past experiences color his perceptions. Everyone falls into that pit from time to time. Believing their interpretations on life are what life truly is. ]

[ 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. ]

[She feels the bed move as he gets up to leave, and meets it with a queasy mixture of anxiety and relief. She's scared of him leaving and not coming back -- or worse, coming back as something else -- but at the same time, a part of her aches to be alone. Her shields worn down, she's forced to deal with everything she's feeling, and her instinct is still to curl up somewhere to process on her own.

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.]

[ He doesn't miss the petulance. It is a good sign, but he's already exited before she sees the quirk in his lips. It fades a moment later. He knows, of course, that the psyche doesn't work in terms of fixed and broken. Emerging intact from any trauma is almost impossible. But functionality is good enough. For Hei, giving up or giving in to anything means losing -- and if Hei loses, then there is nothing more for which he can live. His whole life has been structured around trying to be unbeatable. Not for himself. For Pai. ]

[ 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. ]

[She's already three quarters asleep by the time he comes back, too tired for even her swirling thoughts to keep her awake. She lets out a sleepy sound -- complaint? greeting? -- when he slips into bed, and instinctively skooches so their backs are touching.

(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.)]

[ It's a long time before Hei's eyelids droop. His sensorium has narrowed to nothing but the sound of her breathing, the nocturnal not-noises throughout the flat. Floating between consciousness and oblivion, the doors of his mind begin to open and let out the little secrets and rusty blades that are usually safely stored. ]

[ 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. ]

Edited 2013-03-21 02:34 (UTC)

[Mercifully, Korra doesn't dream. (A rare and precious gift from Aang -- one night free of nightmares.) So it's a few hours before she actually moves, rolling over and thwacking him with her arm.]

[ Even before Korra's arm hits him, dragging him to past the surface of sleep, his dreams are about nothing but thirst and lead-limbs and staying still so Pai isn't disturbed. At the touch, he doesn't jerk awake. But his eyes snap open to dark hair spread out on the pillow next to him, tickling his throat, the brush of a knee against his own. For a moment, half-drowsing, he's almost peaceful. But it only takes a split-second to recall where he is. ]

[ 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. ]

[When he gets back to the apartment, he'll find that Korra has cycled through at least five other positions while he's been gone, ending up on her stomach, legs dangling off the side of the bed. She stirs, almost waking when he writes on her arm, but doesn't quite make it to consciousness.

It's fairly late in the morning when she does finally push herself out of bed -- slowly, reluctantly. Her muscles scream in complaint, and for a brief moment, she hopes that Li feels just as sore. She peeks in the laundry basket after forcing herself to shower, but her clothes aren't there. She wouldn't have wanted to wear them anyway, but...what is she going to wear out of here? She wraps the towel more tightly around her and heads out to the kitchen to snag some of Li's food and figure out what to do.

Except he's already thought of everything. She finds a cup with some strange mark on it, a hot breakfast, and a bag of clothes. She slips into the clothes, amazed at how well they fit, and scarfs down the food.

Rested, clean, fed, Korra feels more like herself. Queasy, anxious, guilty, grieving, but no longer bowled over. It's time to face reality.

Before leaving, she stops by to get a better look at the lizard.]

Tell him "thanks" for me.

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