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]

[ 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. ]

[anatural]

[It'd be scathing if she understood what that meant, but she still doesn't know enough about his past to put the pieces together, even if she weren't also exhausted, rattled, and furious. As far as she's concerned, he's just spouting holier-than-thou bullshit to cover up the fact that he just crossed a line.]

You didn't give me a choice. I made my own. [He was, after all, going to continue regardless of what she said or wanted, until she forced him to stop. She remains in a defensive stance, moving only to let him out the door.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ As far as he's concerned, she knew what she was getting into the moment she asked to be choked. It's her own naivete that prevented her from grasping the broader consequences. She knows he's untrustworthy. She knows he's a liar. She knows he has a malicious streak a mile wide. Yet she wanted, despite all the red flags, to gamble with her safety, in the guise of frivolous experimentation. ]

[ Had she forgotten whom she was dealing with? Forgotten what he was -- is -- dealing with? ]

[ Fuckheaded girl. Hei can taste his rage, bubbling in a cold effervescence in his veins. It really is true: the only people to seek out their endangerment are those who can afford to do so. It reminds him of those BDSM clubs he's seen in the West: watching all those white, upper-middle class twats from so-called developed nations beat, whip, and sexually objectify each other in a supposedly civilized fashion. Were they true aficionados of human degradation, they could have paid for a visit to a local prison, or walked through a slum. But no -- you can't brag about that in private chatrooms or public bars. ]

[ When he speaks, his voice is a hooked barb, ]

You've always had choices. Not my problem you're too stupid to make the smart ones.

[ (She had the choice to say Stop. At any time. But she didn't. She just expected him to handle her with kid-gloves, to treat her with the same regard he'd lavished on Amber, even though she's not Amber in any sense, and has done little to deserve such affection. Special treatment is earned, not bestowed for free.) ]

[ He doesn't say that. It's been a long night; all he wants is an icy-cold drink, a hot bath, and sleep. He's tired of dealing with pampered princesses, their moonbrained moods, and all the headaches they bring. When Korra moves, he steps past her and out the door. Not through it, and that is something -- but it slams into the wall, probably kicked, the crash echoing all the way down the corridor. ]