When you have to go there...

[mortemscintilla]

WHO: Korra & Hei
WHAT: Korra moves in to Hei's place.

[ He's found an old loft not too far from the beach, strangely customized by a few generations of previous tenants. Tucked away among the sand dunes and flapping palms, it takes a while to find the strange cedar building, low and spread out like a child's blocks jumbled into the hillside, windows flashing like jewels. There's a set of wooden steps up the side of the building, turning from flight to flight like a fire escape, and a boarded genkan walkway along the bricked side that brings any visitors (or intruders) to an open area of the roof, enclosed by low walls. Deck furniture, crates, a few legacy plants that survive on rain. A good place to sit out at night and watch the stars -- or to spring a well-placed trap on trespassers. ]

[ Inside it's bigger than expected, but it's sectioned off by shoji, and the sections are cozy. (Well, cozy is what came to Hei's mind the first time he saw it, dry and ironic because any other meaning was too complicated to explain.) A dark-laqured kitchen area with an antique keyaki-wood hibachi; a livingroom made airy and pale by the paper blinds of joined squares of crumpled washi; a narrow bedroom with sea-blue walls and a moon-window with dark bamboo lattices, but bare of anything except a wide futon and a nightstand. Everything runs together except where retaining walls and counters and furniture and a few stone columns mark one part of the loft from another. ]

[ Further down, there is a lot of empty floorspace that once might have been a tatami room. Had the loft been occupied by a family, this would have been the location of the kotatsu, its heavy quilted skirt draping to the floor and an electric brazier radiating cheerfully, their legs tucked comfortably under the quilted skirt as they gossiped about the neighbors and griped about the household bills. Now, it serves as a training room. A floor of polished but pitted boards covered by dull gray mats. A weight bench. A punching bag. A pommel horse. A trapeze rig with a bright tangle of aerial silks. The only truly bizarre item in the mini-dojo is a wooden wing-chun training dummy, about the dimensions of a large man, which Hei has placed in the corner. It keeps his reflexes sharp and the striking surfaces of his hands callused and hard, and allows him to practice some of the deadlier strikes and blocks he'd neglect to some degree while training in a real dojo. ]

[ It would make an interesting conversation piece, if anyone ever visits the apartment. But mostly, Hei's hoping Korra won't find it too unnerving. ]

[ He's already sent her a passcode to disarm the security system at the door. (It only works once, so if it falls into the wrong hands, it's useless.) He's also taken tomorrow off work. Half to help her move any extra stuff in. And half because, well ...  he's planning to say hello to her until they can't say hello anymore. ]

Comments

[anatural]

[Hei, who do you think is moving in?

Korra stands outside the building, a sack slung over her shoulder with a few changes of clothes, her toothbrush, and some books that Tenzin forced her to bring with that she'll try to read and then promptly forget about. Her stomach churns nervously. They've lived together before, but this is different. There's no Xing here. There's no Jinora. It's just the two of them — a fact which had made Tenzin explode. It was disgraceful — she's the Avatar — they aren't married — she should be focusing on her training and not playing around with a boy. But the more they had argued about it, the more Korra felt like leaving was the best idea. She's stagnating at Air Temple Island. She spends most of her time in Republic City anyway. And Pema surprisingly had agreed; between the two of them, Tenzin had to cave.

Still, standing here she kind of wants to run back to the safety of Tenzin's rigid order. But then Naga nudges her shoulder.]

At least there are no vines here, right?

[She pats the polar bear dog on the shoulder and then while Naga curls up on the deck, she puts in the security code and heads inside.]

Hei?

[The dummy immediately catches her eye. She has no idea what it is, but she's fascinated by it.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Korra's steps are a familiar -- reassuring -- tread on the floorboards. ]

[ Peering from around the kitchen-space, Hei sets aside his knife and the cutting board with slabs of red meat. He's aware of a dull flutter in his belly. Nerves, or anticipation? He tries not to think about it. This whole peculiar entanglement with Korra is completely beyond the inertial frames of logic. Closeness isn't his strong suit at any time, unless he's acting, using a persona to get what he wants. But this forces him to be honest, and he's spent so long being the opposite that he has no clue how to go about it. ]

[ What, for example, is the key when a girl moves in with you? Romance? Frowning, he thinks about romance. Dinner. Wine. Candles. Tablecloth. Does he own a tablecloth...no. He hasn't bought anything beyond rudiments. No bedsheets with embroidery and fringes. No pretty crockery, like the type he distantly remembers his mother owning, and that his father had always ordered her to wash obsessively after each use. No fancy liquor. No scented candles. Do they really need romance? Probably not. Good. The effort of choosing tablecloths and crockery from memory has already tired him. Casual is good. Good, good. He's found a mantra. A simple goal, to keep everything good, and to keep this simple. It can be simple. Sure. Why not? ]

[ Carefully, he steps out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. (It used to be white, maybe.) Setting it aside, he approaches Korra. ]

Hey.

[anatural]

[She's already dropped her sack and is examining the training dummy from all sides.]

What is this? Some kind of training tool?

[And thank goodness for it; she's so intrigued that she doesn't remember to be nervous.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei tips his head to one side, a smile creeping onto his lips. Korra's look is pure cat and curiosity, and he's grateful for it, because it savors of the ordinary. Earlier this week, scrounging through suitable locations for a new place, keeping Korra's instructions in mind and obliging himself to endless shitty meals from vendors and sleepless nights in cramped safehouses, he'd questioned over and over the pragmatic value of letting Korra move in with him. ]

[ And right now, stepping closer to Korra, he has the kind of epiphany that blooms once a year, that he'd never have agreed to move in with Amber, that it is odd for a killer of his talent and caliber to be shacking up with a teenager, much less one born into the spotlight. It is a mild but complicated epiphany that absorbs everything into its grasp for a moment, the watery sunlight in the dojo, the salty, sun-baked smell of Korras skin, the training dummy with its grotesque appendages and creepy painted face. It all means something, it all means nothing. ]

[ Introspection irks him. It is an itch to be scratched, if not ignored. ]

[ Shaking it off, he sets both hands on the dummy. ]

It's to practice strikes on. Especially if live targets are scarce.

[anatural]

[Korra's familiar with the concept — a lot of her training has been done with dummies — but they were designed differently than this. She's looking at it, trying to see how it resembles the human form...and she's just not finding any similarities.]

How do you use it? [She looks like a kid with a shiny new toy — show her how to place with it!]

[mortemscintilla]

[ She looks so ridiculously pleased with the damn thing, the power of her grin seeming to send a current all the way out to the tips of her bouncy ponytails. It used to make Hei see images of child-Pai, superimposed. But now all he sees -- past, present -- is Korra. ]

[ Stepping away from the dummy, he shakes his limbs loose, then draws two coins from his pockets. Slips into a combat stance. Flat-footed, legs apart, arms out, palms down, parallel to the floor, with the two coins balanced on the backs on each hand. He counts to three -- and in a blur, flips his hands over and catches the coins. But at the same time, the dummy jerks back, its head and torso snapping against the springs that hold it in place. ]

[ Slipping the coins back into his pocket, Hei shows her the fresh dents on the dummy's surface. All the vital spots: forehead, shoulder, diaphragm. It's an old technique he'd learnt in Heaven's War. Perfecting the speed to not only catch the coins in an eyeblink, but also to strike the dummy at the same moment, a movement so swift it had to be undetectable. ]

[ The only difference is that in the old days, he'd practiced on fresh corpses -- or live enemies captured after battles. ]

[anatural]

Woah. [It's not that she forgets what a badass Hei is — she's seen too much of him in action, fought him too many times herself — but it's still mind-boggling to see him in action. She wishes she could move that fast.]

Show me that again. [She's trying to analyze what makes his movement so fast — if it's just muscle memory, or if there's also a more efficient movement that goes with it. Something so that she can learn how to do it herself.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ It's a combination of both, to be honest. He's been taught from an early age not to rely on weaponry. And unlike his peers, he didn't have the luxury of a Contractor's abilities. So he'd had to layer his defenses. He'd had to learn how to inflict, in a limited time, irreparable wounds to the body without damaging his own ability to defend himself. ]

[ For that, the three major weapons which his body offered him, which didn't lose their ability to function even under the most serious impact, were the tip of his elbow, the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger, and the heel of his palm. ]

[ To Korra, he says, ]

It's a matter of speed, coordination, but most of all balance.

[ He repeats the move, this time with his back to the dummy. Catching the coins in a smooth blur, but at the same time jabbing back with his elbows, so the dummy rattles on its stand. He shows her the damage, this time only to the solar plexus, then maneuvers her to face the dummy. Puts her in the same stance as the one he'd adopted -- flat-footed to absorb the weight of her body, so her balance is solid. Extends her hands, palm down, and places one coin on the right, instead of two. ]

[ Satisfied, he steps back. ]

See if you can catch that coin, and land a blow on the dummy's torso.

[anatural]

[Balance. That word's just everywhere in her life, isn't it? She doesn't smile, though, just nods as he gets her into position.

Speed. Coordination. Balance. She's got all three...two and a half out of three... She can do this.]

Okay.

[She flips her hand over and punches the dummy's torso, moving in perfect time to catch the coin again... except for the fact that the force with which she flipped her hand sent the coin flying across the room.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ She gets into position, and idly, Hei lets his gaze roam -- less lustful than assessing. She's beautiful, Korra, but inmany ways her physique is the exact opposite of his. Not streamlined and whippish so much as physically solid. Workhorse legs. All those sleek muscles. Watching her, sometimes he wonders; what did the White Lotus feed her, back home? Cotton candy spun out of Dianabol? But that's cruel. The culture of most sports is one where female athletes are met derisively. But Korra is a dish, like a foxy boxer. Each sculpted angle is evidence of a successful training regimen. The tensile integrity that muscle attains amongst the very best athletes -- it's the very thing Hei had to work and sweat for, minus his collection of striations and burns and pocked scars. When there's only enough fat separating flesh from tendon that you won't die of hypothermia in cool springtime. Individual fibers present themselves as defined waves. Tendons rumble like gathering thunder over a body. ]

[ That's what Korra is. Rumbling and raging. ]

[ He bites back a smile as the coin goes clattering. Altogether it's not bad for a first attempt. Korra's one problem is -- ]

Too much force. It breaks things. Not always in the way you hope.

[ He would know. How often had he attempted to force from Korra, what he could so easily have gotten with softness and patience? ]

[ He tries not to think about it. Fetches the coin instead, before making her resume the stance. Placing the coin back on her starfished hand, he says, ]

Visualize catching the coin, before making your move. Thoughts are transmitted easily into action. There's no gulf between the mind and the body -- not really.

[anatural]

[Korra shoots him a look.] You sound like you've been talking to my earthbending master. [Or maybe Jinora, except Korra could never really believe the airbenders when they talked about no difference between mind and body. If there's no difference, then why do they so clearly favor mind over body?

She takes a breath, closes her eyes, and visualizes catching the coin. When she makes her move, the force of her punch sends the dummy rocking.

And the coin is in her hand.]

I did it!

[mortemscintilla]

[ A faint smile tugs at the corner of Hei's mouth. Though it's as much at her effusive delight as it is at her success. Of course she did it, because Korra is a diamond in the rough, unstudied perfection in the way Hei is all cold calculation and sly feints honed to a killing edge. She's a prodigy the same way Pai was. ]

[ Except it never benefits a teacher to let his student know how good he or she is. ]

Not bad.

[ Then, to soften the aloofness of the remark, his hand seizes a spill of her hair, closes on the curve of Korra's skull to draw her near -- the sort of affectionate tussling you'd indulge with a kitten. (If this were a real spar, there'd be none of that. He'd be hard-faced, cold-eyed. All business. Because the crux of each spar would be to make her unkillable. Even if it meant she'd end up surpassing him.) ]

Next time I'll show you how to do it with both coins. While jabbing front and back -- with both your elbows and the heel of your palm.

[anatural]

[He says Not bad and Korra almost has an epiphany, remembering another guy who had responded to her accomplishments with those words. It says something, maybe, about the type of person she's most attracted to.

Any epiphany is derailed by him tugging her close, as well as any desire for more impromptu training. She wraps her arms around his waist and her chin on his chest.]

Sounds like fun. [And then she leans up to kiss him.] So. Give me the grand tour?

[mortemscintilla]

[ Korra's kiss is hot and slides straight down his body in a smooth ribbon, bittersweet. Exhaling, Hei wants to sink into her softness, prolong the contact. Touch is simple. Touch makes his anxieties blur, leading him through the jungle of rationalizations and wretchedness, trusting that he is going someplace safe. He doesn't need to vocalize his wishes; he can just be. ]

[ Except she's asking for a tour. ]

[ With a slow blink, Hei nods. Slips his hand into hers, and leads her deeper into the loft. The darkened interior has a dreamy echo to it. Diffuse light flows from the crepe-papered windows, making soft gray and blue shadows. He shows her the monotone oasis of the kitchen: dark fridge and stove, dark tile floor, marble countertops. The livingroom, bare of anything except an oversized black tansu and pale fusuma panels with a blue-and-red fish print. The utilitarian expanse of the bedroom, and the bathroom with its tiny black and white octagonal tiles around the narrow spotless tub. The moon window offers a view of the sea lying silver beneath a chalky pink sky. The backyard grass is petaled with the evening's gathering mist. ]

[ Leaning against the adjacent wall, he slips his hands into his pockets. ]

It's not exactly homey yet. If there's anything you want to change -- or add -- just say so.

[anatural]

[She's leaning out the window, soaking in the view, when he finally speaks. She almost laughs.]

Since when has "homey" been your style?

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei follows her gaze, stepping closer to the window with a hand on the glass. The sea is a churning slice between the sand and sky, but that doesn't interest him so much as Korra's reflection. He doesn't know, suddenly, how to reach over, across that gulf of centimeters, and touch her skin. It all seems so precarious, this unmapped adult world. No masks, no aliases, no Syndicate, the high drama and high stakes of espionage. He knows how to blend into that world, but not how to be an ordinary man; in his thoughts he feels more like they are children playing house, partners in subterfuge and fantasy, smarter than the grown-ups who punish them by dragging them apart, and better, but just that, just children. ]

[ Shaking it off, he amends, ]

I've never stayed anywhere long enough to have a style.

[anatural]

I'd say "minimalist" is your style. [Korra has no such difficulty reaching out to touch him; she turns around and settles her hands on his narrow hips.]

I like it.

[mortemscintilla]

'Minimalist?'

[ He smiles faintly, the shadowed angles in his face rearranging to accommodate the movement. She reaches out to him, and he presses in as if they are puzzle pieces, coming close, then disentangling with little touches, finding where they best fit. The kisses he presses to her mouth are like spun sugar. Pulling off into sweet threads and then breaking on wafts if air when it gets too thin. ]

So you're an interior designer now, too?

[anatural]

Hey, I can know things. I'm not just the brainless thug they make me out to be. [She says it jokingly, but there's a thread of hurt under the humor. It's hard to ignore the terrible things people have been saying about her after she opened the spirit portals... especially since she's not wholly convinced they aren't right.

But kisses. Kisses are good. She goes back to kissing him and ignores everything else.]

[mortemscintilla]

I know that.

[ He says it gently, the hurt in her words tickling across his nerves, small and quiet in a way that makes him ache. Circling her close, he sways a bit and then, almost tentatively, lets his face draw nearer, lips parting, tongue sweeping blurringly into her mouth. Crossing borders, opening territories. At first a soft exchange, a contemplation of tactics and possibility, the touch quickly becomes heated, personal, and then raw. His palm is a hard pressure against the dip of her spine, and the curves of her body seem like a grooved diagram for where his touches should flow. ]

[ Mouthing the crook of her jaw, he murmurs, ]

Any special requests?

[ It's a timeworn pattern between them by now. They get together, chitchat about nothing, start rubbing each other's issues away as best as they can. But that doesn't mean it has to be rough and fast and messy. With other couples, sex becomes routine because it's so comfortably tidy. With them, it's the opposite. But that doesn't mean tenderness and roughness shouldn't preclude one another. It is, he's discovering, a matter of flexing all the metaphorical muscles. ] 

[anatural]

[She sighs, her breath redolent with heady satisfaction.]

Surprise me. [A risky request, and not one she'd usually make considering his history with boundaries. But things have changed so drastically in the world and in herself; it feels like anything is possible. This is a time to be taking risks.]

[mortemscintilla]

Surprises?

[ Hei's smile dims several notches, but not the way a cloud takes sun. More like someone turning off a lamp in favor of firelight, if he can believe the tiny, elusive waft of trust that accompanies this. Gently, he skims his knuckles along her side, up under the hem of her shirt, fingers flirting with warm skin. His whole body has a silent, bunched tension, and the hunger and waiting only buoys his uncertainty. And buoys other things. ]

[ His free hand moves to settle across her breast, right above her beating heart. Lightly, he thumbs a nipple, times it to a wet, tender, probing kiss, before he asks, ]

Any kind of surprise?

[ It's both a gently-worded warning and an entreaty. That's a dangerous thing to say to me and Please don't set a trap for me, blended into one. ]

[anatural]

[Ugh no fair teasing her breasts like that and then asking her a serious question that she doesn't know how to answer. Because no, she doesn't really want any kind of surprise, but she doesn't want to make a laundry list of "don't do this." It's a reminder that, for all their sexual compatibility, they aren't a seamless match.]

No knives. Maybe try to keep away from anything that'd look like attempted murder to an outsider. [She smiles at him, both wry and a little uncertain.] Rabbiroo's still the safe word, right?

[mortemscintilla]

[ Korra's words imbed themselves in his mind, growing in fertile, tangled unison. It's true, they aren't a seamless match. But that's impossible, anyway. For all their awkward, bittersweet closeness, he and Korra are fenced apart by necessity and history; they've turned fence into light fencing. A sparring game that passes without commentary. When you have mutual want in common, misaligned kinks don't seem like too big a deal. Negotiations can be made entirely with eyes and bodies, with the way you bandage and breakfast with each other, in irritations and tiny exhibitions of jealousy and the way you sometimes flaunt how well you know each other. And even so, to move over the line takes a kind of courage that stuns the breath right out of him. ]

[ Somehow, he feels like this is one of those moves. ]

[ Rubbing the pad of his thumb across her nipple, warm even through two layers of fabric, he sucks her lower-lip delicately between his teeth. His smile is a faint one, more apparent in his eyes than his lips. ]

Jackalope, actually. [ Another kiss, like a smooth sharp bite to coax the rising heat from her. ] And you don't need a safeword. If you want to stop, just say 'No.'

[ That one crucial word he's never listened to, before. But maybe this could be a reparation, if not an erasure, of that raw breach of trust. ]

[anatural]

Right. Jackalope. [She hopes he's telling the truth about the "just say no" part. She wants to believe that he'll listen, even if history hints otherwise. Trust is a difficult, dangerous thing to give — but she'd rather give it to him and be wrong than play it safe.

She presses hard against him as she pulls him in for another kiss, like someone putting a key into the ignition and pressing the gas pedal to the floor.]