Contractors don't dream...

[mortemscintilla]

WHO: Korra & Hei

WHAT: Down with the sickness.

[ Ever wondered what happens when the deadly Black Reaper is felled by the common cold? Look no further. ]

[ There is a lull in his search for Yin and Mao. He can't stand a lull -- he is het up, that fizzy-hot impatience crashing down his spine every hour on the hour -- he wants results on his search. He wants something solid -- a clue, a lead. Or, unable to have that, something to tear apart. Quiet makes him seethe. Quiet gives him a chance to think about whether or not Yin is alive, or sprawled facedown in a ditch, a tangle of broken white limbs and glassy eyes. Or worse, installed in some filthy den of vice like the thousands littering Republic City's bowels, where there is a nice little trade of girls who are frail and unwell in that unique way Yin is -- at least until she is cracked open, her life-force squeezed out like yolk, the remnants of her body flung aside like broken shards of eggshell. ]

[ The idea makes him grit his teeth. Yin and Mao have to be out there somewhere. If only he can be granted, for just one hour, a bird's-eye-view, an aerial perspective far above the city's rooftops but short of the obscuring clouds; and if only his teammates could wear unknowing red bullseyes, so that he can point down and say, Found you. ]

[ But stupid fantasies are not the way the world is. So he glowers at the dead ends his search yields, and stews and schemes and waits under his ten tons of dread. ]

[ While contending with his latest setback: a hellacious cold. ]

[ Sulky, mouth dry and nasal passages stuffed and aching, he tries to go about his routine. But when he walks he is dizzy, and has to grab the wall for balance. It's pathetic: it's been years since he's felt this shitty. Ordinarily he is defined by his jarring solidity, the sense he can weather any storm, forge onwards while others fall and die. ]

[ Look at him now. Weak as a kitten and slumped in bed, surrounded by sheaves of snotty tissues. Oooh, sexy. ]

[ Korra is in for a real treat when she gets back home. ]

Comments

[mortemscintilla]

Veh - looh - tay.

[ He corrects her pronunciation automatically. Food plebeian. ]

[ Pleasantly warm, but with a still-gurgling belly, he follows her gaze to her empty bowl. Her forlorn little sigh pings off his brain. Still hungry too, huh? Gently, he reaches out and pries the bowl from her fingers, before gathering up his. ]

I'll make something to go with the soup.

[ ...

...

Sneeze. ]

[ Hopefully something that isn't the texture and consistency of snot. ]

[anatural]

[She'd say Thanks, but then he sneezes.] I'm not eating anything you sneeze in.

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei glowers at her squintily, with that special headtilt. (Awwww. They are each others' television.) ]

What? You probably sneezed on the soup, too.

[ Count your blessings, you thankless brat. ]

[anatural]

Of course I didn't! Don't be such a child! [And remember, sir, that you lost a good chunk of the age advantage on her with your three year time adventure.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Oh, he remembers. Not that it's stopping him. ]

You first.

[ He would say more. But right now it's a miracle if he can't go two seconds without having to wipe his snotty nose or grumble-mutter about petulant Avatars and inadequate cooking skills and how the world is ending. ]

[ Or how it just feels that way, with his half-empty stomach. Potato. Potahto. ]

[ He sniffs a few times, clears his throat, and hauls himself up, bowls balanced precariously in one hand. ] There's germ masks in the first aid drawer. I'll use those. [ In another moment he can be heard galumphing down the stairs. Blame the cold: it has displaced his natural grace somewhere. He's gone flat-footed. ]

[anatural]

[Fuck you asswipe that was some GREAT five flavor soup she made and you're an ungrateful little shit.

If he's galumphing down the stairs, it's probably a little in part due to Korra hitting his butt with some airbending.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ It's a good thing his coordination is (mostly) intact, Korra. Otherwise he'd be tripping down the stairs and sprawling in an ungainly heap, bowls rolling away. Or else lying at the foot of the stairs with a broken neck and a facefull of shattered glass. ]

Hey.

[ Ignoring the simmering irritation that threatens to boil into an uprising, he stomps into the kitchen, trailing a huffy cloud behind him. Fluttering around the white-tiled floor, ignoring the glare of fluorescent lights and his pounding head, he scans the cabinets. Dried noodles. Dried soup stock. Cans of soup. Dried pancake mix. Everything unhealthy and unappetizing. He closes the cupboard door and feels for a moment the kind of tiredness that makes you sigh. He doesn't let himself sigh. Not exactly. ]

[ Should have gotten a flat in downtown Republic City. More options for takeout. ]

[ Still, it's no great hardship to start a meal from scratch. Quietness settles in as he gets to work, the throbbing aches of his head and body offset by the gentle thud of knife on chopping-board, the comforting hiss of the stove, the cheerful bubble of the water. It's not long before he's whipped up a toriniku dango soup: lightly fried balls of chicken -- crisp outside, soft inside, pungently flavorful -- swimming in a thick broth of marinated wild greens and seaweed. As a side dish, he makes shrimp that are rolled in noodles, topped with prickly leaves of citrusy red shiso, then wrapped in seaweed and deep-fried. He has no energy to contrive a proper dessert; he just tosses out a couple of watermelon popsicles to soothe his and Korra's prickly throats. ]

[ Bearing the laden trays of hot food back to the bedroom, he grouches, ]

Now I'm not going to move for the next three hours.

[ It's your own fault for going overboard with the meal, Hei. Normal people find yoga therapeutic -- not cooking up a three-course supper. ]

[anatural]

[Oh please, she didn't bend him that hard. She's not that stupid. And he is taking foreeeeeeeeeeeeveerrrrrrrrrrr with the food shit she could've just gotten herself another three cups in the time it's taking him. But of course she doesn't want to go to the kitchen while he's cooking to sate her hunger.That would be silly. Besides, her clothes are feeling kind of icky. She decides to change into her pajamas.

She's stripping out of her underwear when he comes up with the food.]

You're the one who decided to spend ten lifetimes cooking.

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei's initial twitch of irritation fades to a grudging interest, then a slow, subliminal appreciation. In most circumstance his aplomb is enviable; he can take a stairwell gangbang like a pro, barely bat an eyelid at a Venda girl performing a python dance -- how much should a naked bratgirl in the bedroom faze him? Ideal answer: not damn much. But the truth is a tricky creature. He's already fevery, but he can feel his temperature rise a notch. ]

[ Carefully, he sets the tray down on the dressing table. The mirrored closet door is open, half shielding Korra from view, but he can see tantalizing bits and pieces of her moving as she hangs up her clothes, unravels her sarashi. She has such a flawless back. Not to mention that satiny, cotton-clad backside. Cat-quiet, he edges closer. Comes up behind her, an experimental sidling, and cups Korra's left elbow in his palm, then slides his hand down until their wrists overlap, their fingers meshing. ]

[ Quietly, ]

You looked hungry.

[ It's not an innuendo. But his head butts briefly, almost teasingly against her shoulder, heavy and furry and warm as a cat demanding attention. ]

[anatural]

I was. Twenty minutes ago. [She doesn't sound annoyed anymore, just amused. The smell of food makes her stomach rumble, but not enough to break out of his grip. She loves the moments like this, when he's just like an affectionate big cat. Even sick as they both are, she leans back so she's nestled against his chest.]

We really should just eat & rest.

[mortemscintilla]

We should. Eventually.

[ But right now, as his gaze slews toward hers in the mirror, he doesn't bother to conceal that renewed spark of dark interest. ]

[ She melts back against him, fevery-hot and delicious, and he nuzzles the unruly crush of her hair, letting his hands roam. Down along the sweep of her shoulders and her well-formed back -- a display of lushly articulated muscle that tapers gently to a neat waist, following the long stem of spine down to where it clefts her ripe ass. The way he's pressed against her, all the way down, her bare skin against his clothes, he's sure she can feel him, his erection like a gun at her spine. ]

[ Fuzzy-headed, helpless, Hei gathers her hair out of the way, pressing a kiss to her nape. An invitation, but also a question. There's no pressure for her to indulge him if she's not in the mood. ]

[anatural]

[Korra has a sexy, flirty, funny response all ready — and then she sneezes. A wet, disgusting, run-for-a-tissue sneeze.]

Excuse me — [She pushes past him to grab a tissue and wipe her nose clean.] Ugh. Not the sexiest bodily fluid. [She tosses the tissue in the trashcan.]

Why don't we eat while the food's hot and then see how we feel. [She's pretty much always up for sex, even now, but she's sick enough that lust isn't overwhelming practicality.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Wow. The human body really is disgusting. The messy gunshot of a sneeze is enough to chop down a mighty oak at fifty paces. But Hei refrains from making any snide remarks, because Korra is closer in proximity to his balls than that. ]

Sure.

[ Feed a fever, starve a cold, isn't that the saying? Placing the dishes on a small tray table by the bed, he settles there crosslegged, patting the space beside him. Ladles out a thick dollop of the stew into a porcelain bowl, with a few plump morsels of seaweed-wrapped shrimp -- she really needs to introduce more greens into her diet -- and hands it to her. ]

Let's see you eat that up

[anatural]

[She got this far on her current diet. Besides which, she ate enough greens for several lifetimes while living on Air Temple Island. So there.

She settles down next to him and takes the bowl. Mmmmmmmm... One sip and she's letting out a moan just shy of orgasmic. She's learned how to be a fairly decent cook, but Hei really does have a talent for it.] This is amazing. [Om nom nom nom and oh she can feel her sinuses clearing up a little because of the spices magic food is magical]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Oh, you hopeless carnivore. Haven't you ever watched Bambi? Eating greens is a special treat, long ears and great big feet notwithstanding. ]

[ He's not sure whether it's a point of pride or shame that his cooking can wring noises from her at such a melting pitch that not even quality rutting accomplishes. Even so, a smile of grudging affection escapes him before he can flatten it. These few weeks, ever since returning, he's felt logy and slow-headed as a winter bear. Sparring and fucking are the only things that make him feel like there is some sense to this world. They pull his thoughts together, seeming to pull even the objects around him into a new, more manageable alignment. ]

[ The second activity is the weird intimacy of eating with Korra -- a silent ritual they'd established years ago in the City, and what was the catalyst of their actual affair. Half-naked at the bed, wearing nothing but her panties, all deliciously disordered and liquid-eyed, Korra crams food into her rounded mouth with the same enthusiasm as when she was seventeen. From over the rim of his bowl, Hei watches her, his quiet pleasure undiminished. ]

[ Fishing a red crinkle of cayenne pepper, he hands it to her. ]

Try this. It'll unstuff your nose.

[anatural]

[Oh come now, it's not like food ever makes her scream in that good way, or whimper with agonized pleasure. There's plenty of noises she only makes in bed...and usually only with Hei.]

I can't remember the last time I was sick. [Said conversationally, while she pops the pepper in her mouth and prepares another tissue to deal with the fallout.] Can't remember the last time you were sick either.

[mortemscintilla]

I don't get sick.

[ It's bitten off in a sulk, as he unpeels the popsicle wrapping and hands her one. It's true, at least, that he rarely develops the symptoms of illness or infection. Those that manifest burn themselves out in an eyeblink. He's always had a solid constitution. Even when he was a teenager in South America, just plain knobby-elbowed, scrape-kneed Hei, not yet the Black Reaper, diseases and choler passed him but rarely left a mark. As if he'd learnt the trick for switching off the pain in every part of his body, except the hunger gnawing at his belly and the blisters on his hands from handling weapons and ropes and wires. ]

[ A junkyard dog, Maxley would sneer. Mangy, stringy, half-feral -- but such dogs weren't frightened by pain and illness. They were frightened by thunder and fireworks and the vacuum cleaner, all the things their tiny brains couldn't quite comprehend. But their bodies were bred for a brutal utility. Even bloody and cleaved open, wounds festering with maggots, they would toe the scratch against a dog twice their size, with nothing in their minds but the flat and unflinching assurance of either death or victory. ]

[ Lately, though, Hei wonders how long this resilience is going to last. Would all this vigorous near-invincibility catch up to him suddenly one day, turn into some cancer that will rip through him in a month? He isn't sure. ]

[ Keeping the thoughts off his face, he mutters, ]

It's probably just a fluke.

[anatural]

[Korra pokes him with her toe.] Hey. You're sulking. No sulking. [She starts sucking on her popsicle in a way that may or may not be intentionally suggestive.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ First the breathless post-orgasmic moans as you slurped soup -- and now you're fellating a popsicle. You truly have an admirable talent for turning every innocent thing into a complex web of innuendo and mischief. ]

[ Blinking, Hei watches her for a moment, before his scowl melts into something a degree more intrigued. With the dull gnawing in his belly replaced by the heavy, comforting slosh of stew, and his sinuses marginally clearer, throat and head unclogged, he takes the chance to lean in and kiss her. The popsicle makes her lips slippery-cold. But her mouth is sweet and fever-hot. He can't help but burrow closer into the glowy heat she gives off, folding both arms around her to gather her in. ]

[anatural]

[Only sometimes!

It's hard to keep a grip on her popsicle when he wraps his arms around her and starts kissing. The popsicle ends up getting smushed between their chests, staining his shirt and dripping cold juice onto her breasts. She gasps as a particularly cold drop hits her nipple.]

You should...take off your shirt...

[mortemscintilla]

In a minute.

[ Hand in the middle of her sternum, gently shoving her flat. A smile flickers on his lips -- crooked, all-knowing. His shirt sticks wetly to his skin, the damp pink splotch like a small misshapen heart. But he's more interested in the splatter across Korra's breasts, their skin pebbled, one aureole already tight and darkly-springy from the shock of the cold. ]

[ Plucking the popsicle from her fingers, he crawls closer, legs on either side of hers, weight settling in. Then his mouth is there, the tongue a hot pointed wetness like a paintbrush, against Korra's neck, teeth tasting the arc, tongue laving it. One droplet of cold water drips from the popsicle, slipping down the warm cleft between her breasts, drawing a straight line down the indent of ribs, before trickling past her flank to stain the bedsheets. ]

[anatural]

Mmph! [Noooo seriously you need to have fewer clothes on, Hei. She whimpers and squirms at the twin tortures of his tongue and the cold water, but she's a woman on a mission. WIth her hands now freed, she reaches up to unbutton his shirt, trying at the same time not to get in the way of his mouth. He needs to have fewer clothes on, but she's not about to sacrifice her own pleasure for it. Not yet, at least.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Switching hands to hold the melting popsicle, icy drips of juice landing in little splatters across her torso, Hei strips off his gaping shirt as best as he can without breaking away from Korra's skin. Her soft sounds make blood beat strongly in his temples, his whole body seeming to burn with a smokeless heat, ]

[ Letting his shirt fall to the floor, too impatient to peel his pants off past his dangling belt ends, the undone top button on his fly, Hei props himself on one arm above Korra. With the other, he drags the melting tip of the popsicle delicately along the base of her throat, juice pooling in the hollow underlined by her clavicle. Swirls it along her breasts: the soft dent of her cleavage, the humid undersides, before tracing concentric whorls across her nipples, from the pebbly aureoles to the sensitive tips. When he's done, he leaves her sheened in juice, glistening obscenely. The sight makes heat chew into the wires of his brain: he can imagine replacing that stupid ice-lolly with his dick, a full-body rub, dirtysweet and playful. Straddling her and letting his dick skid across her face, her mouth, her neck and breasts, wherever it feels best to rub and thrust. ]

[anatural]

[It almost hurts, the icy popsicle against her burning skin. Korra whimpers, gasps, claws at the bed.]

C-cold... And you still have to take off your pants...

[She tugs on the fabric.]

[mortemscintilla]

One track mind.

[ But he obliges her, shucking out of his jeans with a bit of tricky one-handed coordination -- he's been trained to extricate himself from rappelling cords and parachutes, for crying out loud. He lets the denim fall with a heavy rustling thud, still gripping the dripping popsicle, juice making his fingers cool and sticky. He ignores the mess in favor of dipping his head, laving at the shining streaks across Korra's body, following with a hungry gnawing of teeth, his mouth a hot biting vacuum. Her skin tastes of cool watermelon, the sweetness muted by that salty, faintly alkaloid tang of her skin. Surprisingly tasty. ]

[ Head lowered, he worries at her nipples, licking them achingly stiff, biting, tugging them away from her breast then releasing them to repeat the process. Losing himself to the small, sweet crinkles of flesh under his tongue for a few unmeasured moments, before licking the traces of drying juice off the rest of her skin, until her breasts are moist with saliva, mottled with his blotchy red bites. ]