[ Her gratitude is the last thing he deserves. It feeds something queasy inside him, a bad feeling that slowly coalesces into disgust. Then something else. Almost... regret. How odd. He's accustomed to expressions of gratitude, even declarations of undying love, from a mark. But beyond a certain satisfaction with successful progress, he'd rarely allowed himself to feel anything out of character until after the op was done. This is different -- yet not. It is his own ass he saved, not Korra's. His efforts were stirred by nothing but self-preservation, so that his most valuable, most vulnerable memories wouldn't be used against him further. A miser clutching at gold straws. ]
[ Selfish, self-serving, and yeah, fucking right, he is all those things. Exhausted, confused, brimming in self-loathing. ]
[ And hungry. ]
[ Watching Korra move off the bed, the urge to reach for her, to trace his fingers across her skin, is like the Reaper gloating: You'll never be better than that. Never be anything more than a born user, ready to chew up and spit out whoever is convenient to you. ]
[ Forcibly, he shakes it off. He refuses to think of it that way. (Even if it's the truth.) Korra is wired and tense; needy. He knows a trick or two, at least, to relieve her of that. The best way to apologize for the recent trouble. And the only apology he can bring himself to offer at all. ]
[ Quietly, his gaze flickering to hers, ]
You could stay. There's a few other ways to tire you out.
no subject
[ Her gratitude is the last thing he deserves. It feeds something queasy inside him, a bad feeling that slowly coalesces into disgust. Then something else. Almost... regret. How odd. He's accustomed to expressions of gratitude, even declarations of undying love, from a mark. But beyond a certain satisfaction with successful progress, he'd rarely allowed himself to feel anything out of character until after the op was done. This is different -- yet not. It is his own ass he saved, not Korra's. His efforts were stirred by nothing but self-preservation, so that his most valuable, most vulnerable memories wouldn't be used against him further. A miser clutching at gold straws. ]
[ Selfish, self-serving, and yeah, fucking right, he is all those things. Exhausted, confused, brimming in self-loathing. ]
[ And hungry. ]
[ Watching Korra move off the bed, the urge to reach for her, to trace his fingers across her skin, is like the Reaper gloating: You'll never be better than that. Never be anything more than a born user, ready to chew up and spit out whoever is convenient to you. ]
[ Forcibly, he shakes it off. He refuses to think of it that way. (Even if it's the truth.) Korra is wired and tense; needy. He knows a trick or two, at least, to relieve her of that. The best way to apologize for the recent trouble. And the only apology he can bring himself to offer at all. ]
[ Quietly, his gaze flickering to hers, ]
You could stay. There's a few other ways to tire you out.