[ As you get older -- or a little more experienced -- you'll learn a secret, Mako. Sex may be a lot of things. But it's not pretty. Nothing that addresses human needs at such a fundamental level is. It is messy, undignified, clumsy and imperfect. But it can also be strangely compelling to those who have developed a taste for it. If it's perfect angles, immaculately waxed pubes, lipstick-glossed lips gobbling sanitized dicks and prettified simulations of orgasm you want, go watch porn. Pleasure is on the inside, and the easiest thing in the universe to fake. ]
[ Hei's pleasure is real enough, though. Must be, because he's not making an effort to deliver the performance of a lifetime -- not for a mark's benefit, or with the exact same ruthless self-criticism a world-class ballerina applies when dancing in front of a mirror -- but he feels it nonetheless. ]
[ He's aware of Mako's yearning gaze. But the young man keeps his distance, his silence. Letting Hei focus on Korra. Not that it's hard. There is something witchy about her skin, her scent. Once his mouth is in contact with her, it is impossible to break away. Digging the fingers of his right hand into her hipbone, he holds her steady. The left hand makes a V to separate her lips; he teases the slick point of her clit with the tip of his tongue, unhooding it, giving it a relentless sloppy attention and then returning to languid laps across her entrance, sucking the delicate fringe of her inner-lips and humming as a strange sympathetic shudder passes from his nape to his groin in cold-hot ripples of need. ]
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Date: 2014-10-26 10:06 pm (UTC)[ Hei's pleasure is real enough, though. Must be, because he's not making an effort to deliver the performance of a lifetime -- not for a mark's benefit, or with the exact same ruthless self-criticism a world-class ballerina applies when dancing in front of a mirror -- but he feels it nonetheless. ]
[ He's aware of Mako's yearning gaze. But the young man keeps his distance, his silence. Letting Hei focus on Korra. Not that it's hard. There is something witchy about her skin, her scent. Once his mouth is in contact with her, it is impossible to break away. Digging the fingers of his right hand into her hipbone, he holds her steady. The left hand makes a V to separate her lips; he teases the slick point of her clit with the tip of his tongue, unhooding it, giving it a relentless sloppy attention and then returning to languid laps across her entrance, sucking the delicate fringe of her inner-lips and humming as a strange sympathetic shudder passes from his nape to his groin in cold-hot ripples of need. ]