[ You sound like such a fucking princess, Mako. Every man alive and in possession of an erection has questioned his sexuality at one point or another. (All right, maybe not every man. But the circumstances Hei grew up in were far from PG-rated and heteronormative -- or even strictly normative.) ]
[ His gaze flicks between Mako and Korra. Tweaking receptivity, mapping sensations. The boy seems to be a dozen thrusts away from blowing his load. Hei can tell from his expression -- lost and quietly desperate, coasting the edge. He knows from experience how the kid must be feeling, hilted so deep in Korra: the snug combination lock of her body and his, the rough-soft, slippery sensation of her gripping and flexing around his embedded cock, as if trying to squeeze all pleasure, all breath, and all sanity from him. ]
[ Between them, Korra feels delicate, so small and pinned, so at their mercy. He's amazed she can stir even if she wants to. He keeps his thrusts steady, deep, his hands traveling up and down her body, sometimes clutching unconsciously here and there in bruise-blotchy prints, other times encountering some part of Mako's arms or shoulders or torso. But there's nothing caressing about it -- more a rough, instinctive grappling. They seem to come together across her skin, to meet, to fight, like gladiators -- with Korra as both the amphitheater and the empress who can curb them with the smallest word or look. ]
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Date: 2014-11-01 04:10 am (UTC)[ His gaze flicks between Mako and Korra. Tweaking receptivity, mapping sensations. The boy seems to be a dozen thrusts away from blowing his load. Hei can tell from his expression -- lost and quietly desperate, coasting the edge. He knows from experience how the kid must be feeling, hilted so deep in Korra: the snug combination lock of her body and his, the rough-soft, slippery sensation of her gripping and flexing around his embedded cock, as if trying to squeeze all pleasure, all breath, and all sanity from him. ]
[ Between them, Korra feels delicate, so small and pinned, so at their mercy. He's amazed she can stir even if she wants to. He keeps his thrusts steady, deep, his hands traveling up and down her body, sometimes clutching unconsciously here and there in bruise-blotchy prints, other times encountering some part of Mako's arms or shoulders or torso. But there's nothing caressing about it -- more a rough, instinctive grappling. They seem to come together across her skin, to meet, to fight, like gladiators -- with Korra as both the amphitheater and the empress who can curb them with the smallest word or look. ]