They say it’s blind they say it waits, but every time it seals your fate

[mortemscintilla]

WHO: Korra and Hei

WHAT: Korra gets a front-row seat into Hei's dreams. Specifically his relationship with Amber.

[ Anger burning under the surface of his skin, clouding everything around him, Hei had stormed off after wrenching his photos away from Korra. He hadn't stopped to consider if the photos were loaded with a special brand of City-magic. Hadn't realized that after she'd touched them, memory-fragments had clung to her fingertips like ragweed pollen. Seeping into her pores, germinating day by day. ]

[ And of course he had no way of knowing what she'd dream of, several nights later. Or that the dreams wouldn't be hers. ]

[ Like most of his dreams, it's a vivid one. A forest unfurling like a dark green sea. Autofire and muzzle flash color the night. Tree stalks and bones shatter with hot plashes of fluid. The air is heavy with a shrill sound and scent that is somehow primal, hostile, terrified. It is like being enveloped in blood. ]

[ Everywhere, there are bodies. Acres upon acres of them, piled atop one another like split logs. Armless, legless, headless corpses, fields of little rag dolls pulled apart, liquid, stuffed with streaming redness, flowing out and away. Hei's, Pai's, and Carmine's handiwork. The result of a successful night-raid. From the corner of his eye, Hei glimpses a Contractor, one of Amber's squad, drifting through the blazing camp with the flayed corpse of a girl draped around his shoulders. The girl’s skinless body shimmers, blood-glazed tissue reflecting firelight the way moon rays reflect off a placid lake's surface. The Contractor is whistling, dreamy-eyed. ]

[ Hei isn't sure if that's his Obeisance -- or if the man is insane. He doesn't care. The war is like that: it gets inside you, under your skin and into your bloodstream, plants roots in your heart and mind and soul. You surrender to its cruelty as a matter of survival. ]

[ A starburst of light. Another memory -- one that makes his nerves jump. Pale skin and a curl of parted lips. Green hair tangled across a red uniform. He feels the humidity of the Brazilian forest, hears buzzing mosquitoes, sees gossamer netting. It's nothing compared to the global warming between Amber's thighs, the clamor in his head, his thoughts tissuey, friable, as he arches over her. Wait… hold on, Hei. Scrambling around in her pockets. Taking out a swiss army knife, extending the nail clippers. She giggles, Your fingernails are like knives. He gives her his hand and she trims his nails. Then files them down smooth. Her voice, singy-songy, Don't need a female circumcision. When she finishes the strange manicure, she eases his hand back between her legs. ]

[ Ohhhh. Her soft cry tastes like butterscotch against his hungry mouth. ]

[ Little details pinwheel through Hei's brain. The way her pulse flutters when he curls his fingers around her throat. How her hair feels like a wash of green seafoam as she bends her head, taking him with such gorgeous smoothness into the cool-hot vacuum of her mouth. The taste of her on his tongue, tart and rimey yet somewhow sweet, like biting into a dripping peach. How, each time, he has to fuck her with his eyes closed -- because the way she looks, lying beneath him, flushed and gasping, wisps of that pale hair sweat-plastered to her body, she is hypnotic, and he knows he can lose himself in gazing at her, lose the urgent rhythm of his cock in her slick wet sex. ]

[ Burying his face in the hollow of her neck, inhaling her cordite-and-mint scent, Hei drifts -- in the cradle of his dream-body, yet outside of himself, watching from a great distance of space and time. 

It was always a struggle, he remembers, to control himself with Amber. But she'd sense that; brace her hands on his shoulders and ease the shakes out of him, coaxing him with her voice and body and kisses to take it slow. He only had to listen to her and obey. He'd sometimes 

wonder what she was thinking in those moments. Part of her, maybe the deepest part, was always locked off -- even when they were that close. Maybe it was because she knew things about the future that he'd never be able to grasp. She had purposes -- for him, for Pai, for herself -- that Hei couldn't even imagine. ]

[ He remembers other things too -- less important, yet somehow more precious to him. The way Amber could be so hard to please, a kakuru puzzle in equal parts tantalizing and mystifying -- but when he got it right, it was like cracking the vault to something blissful: her skin filming like melted butter under his lips as if she were running a fever or a marathon, her wordless mewling cry as she came apart, a wavering song that melted into a scream. ]

[ Nights in the jungle, blackness so absolute it becomes a living entity, Hei remembers those stolen moments with her as a respite from everything. Being with Amber made the brutal truths of the war bearable. When she held him, he believed, however briefly, that there were no such things as hatred, or cruelty, or pain. And when she kissed him, he thought he'd never want to kiss anyone else again, ever. ]

[ Except he should've known -- even then (especially then) -- that Amber was mapping out the starchart of a different future for him.  Everything they'd shared -- at a depth and breadth both thrilling and terrifying. But it was never enough. Especially in the wake of war and politics, carnage and tragedy. Two people could never share the same psyche. ]

[ Afterwards, he remembers, Amber would always let out a jittery sigh -- satisfied, yet somehow wistful. That was nice. You're always such a quick study, Hei. A girl appreciates that. ]

[ A girl appreciates that. It was as if she was giving him advice for down the line, when he'd find himself years and miles away from her, in bed with someone else. Knowing Amber, she probably was. ]

Comments

[mortemscintilla]

[ There's a lot of things he's not capable of anymore. Genuine smiles and laughter are the least of them. When the war ended and Pai was gone, it was like bits of him were emptied out. With his scar-pocked skin and his tombstone gaze, it was evident, beneath Li's camouflage of sweetness-and-fluff, that he was someone with gaps to his name, but the physical holes weren't the dangerous ones. It was the other pockmarks, the other wounds in him, that you had to look out for. ]

[ He doesn't want to dwell on that right now. There's a charge in Korra's kisses, as if unspoken words are tucked at the roof of her mouth like explosives, swallowed down before detonation. He wants to ask -- but what's the point? Better to focus on the sweet sting of her teeth against his neck. On the feel of her, so small and lush and pulsing, a simple body that is yet full of a fiery life that warms him each time, making a precarious sensation like contentment bloom in his chest. ]

[ For a moment, he nuzzles her hair, enjoying her soft mouthing bites across his throat. Inhaling the scent of her, incongruously sweet and crisp like greenery and falling leaves, his blood pressure nudging up a notch. Then, slowly, he reaches behind her and tugs her shirt from her trousers. Peels it off with a brisk efficiency -- but also an indulgence, kissing the newly revealed skin beneath: her ripe dark arms, the points of her shoulders, the hummingbird's sweep of collarbones, the hot, pink-mottled space between her breasts. ]

[anatural]

[He takes off her shirt and she gets to work on his, fumbling in her haste and need. Of course his arms and kisses get in the way. She lets out a little sound of frustrated amusement and pulls back.]

A little help here? Unless you want me to rip it.

[Which she wouldn't mind doing... He'd look good in ripped clothing, frayed fabric exposing the muscles he hides so well. But she's still wary of doing anything that might set off his temper.]

[mortemscintilla]

Don't. Hobo chic isn't a good look on me.

[ A reasonable objection despite the low, facetious tone. Letting his hands slip away from the blooming-wild heat of her, he takes a moment to peel off his buttondown shirt and his tee-shirt -- (he remembers Amber had teased him once, saying that boys look ridiculous in shirt-tails and undershorts) -- then wraps his arms around Korra again. He cradles her tight for a moment, feeling her soft breasts squashed against his bare chest, the press of her ribs and belly against his whipcord muscles and sharp, weaponish bones. Breathes in the scent at the crook of her long dark neck, where her pulse visibly tics, before sucking a kiss-shaped blotch of redness against the skin. ]

[ She isn't Amber, but that doesn't stop him from reveling in the sweet idiosyncrasies of her body. The way she is a jumble of angles and muscular planes, half tomboyish in her tall solidity but with those heavy curves that are so warm and ripe against his palms, handfuls of flesh dimpling where he digs his fingers into them. ]

[ Humming low in his throat, he lifts her -- not as if she's light as a doll, but as if she's a warm sleek spill of fur draped around him. Rearranging her so she straddles him, against the hardening knot of his erection, restrained by his trousers. One hand splays across her lower-back, a cool anchor. The other unfastens the button of her jeans, his palm slipping between them and the slope of her belly, dipping low to curl around her sex, fingers tangled in the damp curls. ]

[anatural]

[Reasonable, and totally fun ruining. Okay, no, not totally fun ruining. But she really would like to be able to rip his clothing off one day. Just to be able to. He likes it when she's rough, but she can't be reckless with him. There are certain times, certain ways in which she has to be careful. She'd like to really — not let go, because it's so easy to let go and lose herself in his touch — but let loose. Be as wild as she wants. Which is strange, because up to this point, the sex they've had has been pretty wild. Intense. A little bloody. Loud. In many places that aren't a bed.

But she knows from her dreams what it could be like, and she's chafing at the bridle fear has put on her. She'd like to do so much more than grip his shoulders and grind against his hand. Yet she's stuck reacting, taking his cues.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ There are times when knowledge doesn't set you free; it restricts. This is one of them. ]

[ Hei has no idea what aspects of his sex-life she's been privy to. But he can sense how it's dampened the fizzle of her excitement. Even as she rocks against the heel of his hand, his fingers strumming the tight plumpness of her clit, feeling how slick she is for him, he's aware of a certain distance. A brittleness almost like caution. It's his fault, he knows. The triggers exist all across his psyche, his body -- razor-tipped springs waiting to loose. They're the kind of details that crackle with momentum in your head, but fall limp and obscure the moment you speak them. So he never does. ]

[ But it's unfair that Korra should suffer for them, too. He wishes he could give her free reign over his body. Allow her to be as wild as wicked as she pleases. But there's no trusting his own reactions. No gauging the mental minefields that are as blindsiding to him as those he's with. ]

[ So he hauls her up in one arm, pitching his weight so she's sprawled back across the mattress. So he's half-lying on her, half-hovering over her. His eyes are burning-bright and his lips are parted, but there's no aggression in his body's lineaments. The idea of taking a wrong step with Korra, of dampening that hypnotic flicker in her eyes when he kisses her, of hurting her, is like a blow to the sternum. ]

[ With a quiet uncertainty, as if he's trying to calibrate how far his lenience extends, he says, ]

Don't worry about holding back. You want me to tire you out, right?

[anatural]

Mmph! [Usually she'd laugh when he flips her over; tonight her lips just twitch in a smile. He's trying. She appreciates that. And that's why, despite kneejerk nervousness, she says, gently —]

Look how well that turned out earlier. [Admitting to fear, however obliquely, is more terrifying than the fear itself. But she wants to be honest with him. She wants this to be something a little more meaningful than "the City keeps shoving us together so we might as well have sex."

[mortemscintilla]

[ He'd argue, but -- She has a point. What's a pity is that Hei's inherent attitude toward sex involves commodifying it to the point where it’s just another thing to eat and shit out -- along with the object of sexual desire -- or to pretend with marks to mystify it and put it on a pedestal -- above crassness, in the realm of the sacred. Since Amber, he's fallen out of the habit of fitting both concepts in one package. ]

[ He needs to try. Korra is more to him than just a bukkake landing-site. He will admit that much. He can't put his finger on just when the shift from simple rutting to elaborate, unfettered pleasuring began. He only knows that it keeps knitting them more closely with the passing days, entangling them together with desire if nothing else. Knows that the more entwined their needs grow, the more difficult it is for him to pull apart afterwards and resume his cloistered routine of wary solitude. ]

[ Complicated. That word had blossomed in his skull the first time he'd fucked her, too. Always so complicated. ]

[ Leaning in, he bites with a strangely tender roughness at Korra's lower-lip. A barely-there kiss that deepens into something wet, lewd, heavy -- but almost soothing. He wants to touch her, wants to make her come. But it's not just about wanting. It's -- trigger-loaded, full of stray bullets and bleeding wounds. Maybe it always will be. But it doesn't have to be right now. ]

Do you fantasize about this? About... how it could be better, I mean? [ It comes out in a rush, like it's better to say it fast before he loses the nerve. (BK201? Nervous about something?) He doesn't meet her eyes, but there's a dull click in his Adam's apple. ] Tell me what you'd like to do. Or what you'd like me to do.

[ He's spent so long juggling masks to put on, roles to recite lines for, patterns to mold his behaviors to. He can do the same for her. But with one pivotal difference: Because he wants to, not because he has to. ]

[anatural]

[Two weeks ago, the only answer she would've had for him was "more." Same sex, more often. She didn't have anything to compare it to before the dreams. Two weeks ago, the question wouldn't have hurt.

I want you to treat me like you treated her. Ignoring the implication, I want you to love me. It's not that she loves him, or that she wants him specifically to love her. She wants the feeling of being loved and loving in return. He's not the person to give her that. Sex, of course; orgasms, plenty; even comfort when she's frightened of herself and what she's capable of. But not love.

It's a long moment before she speaks, her voice halting.]

Did she really enjoy it — being choked like that?

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei blinks slowly, and his reaction is delayed, if only a little. But he doesn't pull away. Korra's question is a non sequitur -- yet not. He's been trained to read people like maps, drawn from an aerial view, with splotches of color to symbolize weaknesses, wants. Faint stripes of green translating into resentments, inadequacies. Bright red bullseyes aiming toward deep-seated terrors, unwitting triggers. And what he can read in Korra's words ... It makes him feel a stab of regretful sadness. Because she wants love -- and that's one thing he can't give her. One thing he's not even sure he's capable of anymore. His fondness for her -- the fragile intimacy spinning between them -- none of it undercuts the fact that theirs is an affair of ill-timed expedience. ]

[ And the question about Amber... His expression is one of blank, shuttered contemplation. But there's something dazed, almost firelit, in his eyes. It's always difficult for him, to describe Amber or anything about her in words. She eludes vocabulary; his memories of her are tactile, secret. He almost wants to tell Korra to drop the subject. He can't understand why she'd even care. But he also feels like offering her a crumb of background is the least that he owes her. ]

[ His voice is faraway, almost small, when he says, ]

She enjoyed ... anything that gave her a rush. Anything dangerous. I think it was her way of ... flowing with it, almost. It put her in a zone where she could switch her mind off. Just be.

[ The irony doesn't escape him that he's become the same person. ]

[anatural]

[Korra could understand that — she also likes the rush of danger, being able to shut off your thoughts and just get into the rhythm of a fight. But that's a fight. A struggle. A challenge. She doesn't understand how there could be a rush just lying back and letting someone choke you.]

I want to try it. [It's crazy. She's crazy. His temper is so volatile that inviting violence is complete madness. But she wants to understand the rush — wants to capture even a fragment of what she saw & felt in her dreams.]

[mortemscintilla]

Korra --

[ Her words pass through him like a static shock. The blankness clings to Hei's face, but his eyelashes flutter, a hand drifting up to his temples, as if getting halfway through a rehearsed movement and then struggling to remember how it should conclude. He drops it slowly back down to curl around Korra's cheek. ]

[ In the dimness, Korra's eyes, staring into his, are like two blue bruises. Hei can hear her breathing, his own. And he realizes that he feels sick, unsteady, dull and horror-struck. He isn't one to judge people on what gets them off -- unless it's pedophilia, which in his eyes isn't a kink at all, but a fucking perversion. Even so, it's terrible to him that Korra would want replicate the things he'd do with Amber. She's not Amber. He doesn't want her to be. ]

[ Quietly, ]

You shouldn't push yourself ... Especially into something that isn't you.

[ Choking her, getting savage with her, none of that will spark awake the fragile tenderness he'd once felt for Amber, and transpose it toward Korra. There's no need for her to take unpleasant risks, in the futile hope that he'll become a different person. ]

[anatural]

[She scowls at him.]

What if it is me and I just don't know it yet? [It's not about making him into a different person... It's about being different herself. Pushing her limits. If there was someone else she was also having sex with, she'd ask to try it with them. But he's the only one she has. And the only one she wants, though she certainly doesn't understand why considering how controlling and condescending he can be.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ I doubt it. He doesn't say that. She's surprised him before. Maybe she'll do so again. ]

[ Silently, he cards his fingers through her hair, mussing the heavy dark tumble of it before the other hand lifts to cradle her face. Framing it in both palms, he regards her for a moment, a mute scalpel-eyed inspection. Searching for signs that she's faltering, that he can call her bluff. But there's nothing there. Yet. On a resigned breath, he lets his eyes drift half-shut. Leans in, with a shift of weight, his top lip fitted across hers, like all he wants is to soak up her warmth, taste her breath. ]

[ Except that just reminds him how delicious it is to kiss her. ]

[ So he does, wet and openmouthed and hungry, his palms warm as they slide from the melony fragile solidity of her skull down to her neck. He lets both hands rest there, a proprietary curl, playing his thumbs up and down. No pressure, just the simmer of potential threat. A test, to see if she'll balk, or allow him to go further. ]

[anatural]

[He kisses away her annoyance. He kisses her and she can almost forget what she saw in her dreams. And then his hands drift down from her cheeks to wrap around her throat and there's no way to hide how her pulse judders. Even without any real pressure, she's suddenly more aware of her breathing, of how his weight on top of her makes it just a little harder for her lungs to fully expand — not to mention the difficulty of sneaking breaths in between kisses. It taps into fears she didn't even know she had, ones buried well below conscious thought.

She refuses to be beaten by them. She wraps her arms around his chest, pulling him closer, increasing the pressure, inviting more.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ She wraps herself around him, and it prods a live current at the base of Hei's spine. The kiss deepens, messily hot and hungry as he fits one hand completely across her throat, thumb against the soft point at the underside of her jaw. Her pulse is like a schoolyard skipping-rope, thrumming and jumping, a quiver of potential stumbling. It isn't the heartrate of a woman who flings herself into danger's path with a reckless frenzy. Instinct feeds him her fear. ]

[ Still, he doesn't stop. That's what BK201 does, he pushes and pushes -- with sly increments or crippling momentum. A snake coiling around its prey. He wants to know how long she'll hold out. How much she can take. ]

[ One hand trails down her throat, along her torso, palming the breast, the tender nipple rasping against his palm. He swirls his hand softly across it, a rough-warm friction to make the crinkled tip rise up tensely. The other hand rests firm at her windpipe. He keeps up the pressure, not relenting. Breaking the kiss to hover over her, lips almost touching, the glint in his eyes like sunstruck inky water. ]

[anatural]

[That's exactly what Korra wants to find out — how much she can take. She makes little noises of pleasure deep in her chest as he plays with her breast, but she doesn't get as loud as usual. Making noise just reminds her how difficult it is to breathe, and she's trying not to think about it. It's too unsettling to think about.

She slides a hand down, snaking into his pants to wrap around him. The best way not to think about something, after all, is to focus on doing something else.]

[mortemscintilla]

Hnn.

[ The feel of her little hand, wrapped around the jutting heat of his erection, affects Hei almost as much as her moan. Dipping his head, he kisses her again as if talking desperately into her mouth, subvocalizations that might be words muffled by his biting kisses. The rush of her arousal hasn't knotted itself into absolute terror yet. For that, he's grateful. If there was ever a moment for her to be uncertain what he could do, would do, this is it. She gave him this chance to reach it. He wants to assure her it was a wise gift to give -- but privately, he's not so sure. ]

[ When his mouth finally removes itself, his palm presses, harder still, across her throat, thumb digging almost cruelly into the soft flesh beneath her jaw. Danger -- isn't that nine-tenths the kick? Amber's body always said Yes. But Korra's, for once, is a cipher. ]

[ His other hand tweaks her nipple, clamping it between thumb and forefinger for a twist, by degrees tender, then wicked. When he drops his hand at last, it's to unfasten his trousers, to drag them past the expanse of his thighs and knees, gracelessly kicking them off. His cock, still caught in Korra's fingers, throbs drunkenly in the coolish air. He's aware of his hips stirring, trying to drive into the clasp of her palm, even as he slips his free hand into the waistband of Korra's trousers. ]

[ The fastening gapes open, her curls peeking in a wild dark triangle. Wedging his hand between them, roughly, Hei finds the slickness between her thighs again. Probes her with one finger, then two, thumb rolling across her clit -- while the hand at her throat squeezes tighter, thumb pressing the carotid arteries just enough so she can feel the throb against them. ]

[anatural]

[Ouch too hard too hard! Korra reflexively twists his erection in her hand, just barely managing to stop herself from digging her nails into the soft-hard flesh. She's not trying to scold him or send a message; her instinct, when she feels attacked, is to fight back with whatever tools she has on hand.

She reminds herself: This is what you asked for. Pride won't let her admit defeat. She refuses to be weaker than the delicate woman in her dreams. She's going to prove she can handle anything.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Delicate. That's the last word Hei would use for Amber. Even now, she springs fully-bloomed into his mind: dreamily beautiful, green-haired and pale, airy and impish. But never delicate. Always so unbreakable with those cool-warm, gold-tipped eyes, master of the scalpel-edged quip, keeper of all contingency-plans -- but with a deeply human bedrock of strength nestling just below the surface. Somewhere inside her there were a set of rules carved in granite. They weren't like anyone else's and she'd never enumerated them. But they'd kept her strong. Saner than anyone else in the war. ]

[ Korra isn't like that. She's still stumbling through the fog of possibilities. Still learning where her strength -- her self -- lies. It's not here -- in an anonymous hotel room, engaging in risky sex with a near-stranger, just to prove she's wired for the visceral Russian Roulette that had thrilled Amber. As if, if she lets him fuck her hard enough, it'll jolt something loose inside them both. As if the raw act will uncouple them from the sordid realities of what their affair truly is. ]

[ She twists his erection, and his breath goes jittery in his chest, heart attempting to scale his ribs and crawl its way up his throat. There's a feral part of him that thinks, darkly, Yes. His palm encloses her neck completely, a hard pressure that edges from foreshadowing to menacing. ]

[ Keeping her pinned, he curls two fingers deeper between the slick interior of Korra's sex. Rubbing, teasing, angling, until they are crooked against the roof of her, where the texture is rough-soft and slick against the pads of his fingers, thumb swiping over her clit. ]

[ His eyes, sharp and clear, are fixed on her. Not detached, but intensely, electrically there. ]

Is this what you want?

[anatural]

[It's not. It's what she asked for but she doesn't like it. The danger is too real to be thrilling. He could kill her and he might not even care. He could slip at any moment into that dark & cruel place in his mind. What kind of psycho actually enjoys this? That girlfriend of his must have been completely insane.]

Not...so tight... [She's too proud to call off the game, but this is too much.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ It's obvious she's not enjoying this. So why won't she call it off? ]

[ Pride, he suspects. Her main casualty -- because she's the Avatar. Or maybe because she's Korra. She is determined to hold out until the discomfort and fear become unbearable; that is the game. A test of endurance as much as a macho showdown. ]

[ If Hei were a better person, he'd stop. Apologize for hurting her. But he doesn't. The intersection of terror, resistance and resignation is a sublime thing. Some people fight and fight, as if their life depends on it -- although it never does, but how are they to know? Others resign themselves to what they believe is their fate from the very beginning -- a kind of suicidal apathy sets in. It's always fascinated him: the pleasure of knowing just how much terror and courage their individual hearts can hold. ]

[ He doesn't loosen his hold. Instead his thumbs rub at her skin, the veins slipping queasily beneath it. His lips press against her forehead, almost sweet. ]

If you couldn't take it, why did you ask for it? [ There's a tension of contrasts in his voice: a cold disdain and a warm husk of curiosity. ] What were you trying to prove?

[anatural]

[How was she supposed to know whether she could take it before even trying? He acts like she's already supposed to know herself — what she likes, what she can handle, what turns her on — already.]

I said [talking hurts] not so tight! [She shifts, ready to fight him off if she has to, hoping it doesn't come to that.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ He knows she can't take it. Had known, before she'd even made the request. She's not built for algolagnic thrills. Fear and pain don't make her breath stutter, her pupils dilate, or a ticklish clench bloom between her thighs. All he can feel is her pulse vibrating with mute anxiety against the palm at her throat. The other hand, curled around her sex, fingers dipped into the sticky heat of her, feels the tight resistance in her fluttering muscles, an impediment that can only be fed by fear. The emotion seems to crackle darkly in the air between them. ]

[ Hei doesn't let go of her neck. He settles against her, making himself heavy, a solid pinion. Adds the tiniest bit more pressure at her pulsepoint. Enough to intimate violence, to remind her how easily he could break her like a twig if he wanted to. Fair play holds no allure for him. ]

[ But he does nothing. Because whatever savage frisson this game is sparking in him, he hasn't lost sight of the bottom line. He doesn't want to hurt her -- not really. But her inability to either fight it or enjoy it needs to be remedied. She needs to know when to say when. Otherwise the recklessness will get her killed. ]

[ In a voice that's dry and brittle, almost indifferent, he sneers, ]

Why not just tell me to stop?

[anatural]

[He's not listening. He's playing his own stupid game, getting off on his own sense of power and condescension.

Fuck. That.

Korra takes as deep a breath as she can and twists hard, throwing him off with a strength that would surprise even those that know her. At the same time, she uses a little airbending to help propel herself off the bed in the opposite direction, rolling to her feet with her back to the front door.]

Put your pants on and get out.

[mortemscintilla]

[ The violent outburst, far from startling, is reassuring. Korra is, in many ways, a clueless child -- brash and out of her depth. But at least all the shit in the City hasn't shortcircuited her survival instincts yet. Because when all is said and done, she'd have to be a suicidal idiot, to trust him not to strangle her. Especially after everything she's endured at his hands. Especially after what she's no doubt glimpsed of his past in her dreams. ]

[ The fact that Hei, despite how much he wants to be different, can't be anything but ethically irredeemable... That is the real kicker. ]

[ Her shove displaces him, sends him tumbling back. He lands on his feet like a cat, graceful and balanced, unrepentent. Straightens slowly, not wary but coolly alert. His detachment is abrupt, seemingly absolute. Eyes like two dead ciphers, but with a piqued air of mockery simmering in the air around him. ]

You're lucky you don't do this for a living. [ It's a flat, bored tone that matches the measured neatness of his movements, as he shrugs into his fallen clothes, garment by garment, as if he's alone in the room. ] Hard to play chicken with yourself -- and back out when it's too much -- when you're not given a choice.

[ Just a scathing reminder, that she has the privilege of choice. Always will, as well as the freedom to be adventurous when she pleases, circumspect when she doesn't, and to look for broader horizons in the experience of her life and sexuality. Neither Hei nor Amber enjoyed those liberties -- which is why elements of danger, power imbalances, were such particular kinks for them. Not as enjoyable games, but as chillingly familiar structural orientations. ]