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

[anatural]

[One track mind is how things get done. If she didn't keep her focus on Hei's state of dress, he'd never get undressed. And she thinks it's pretty darn impressive that she's able to keep any kind of focus when he's mouthing her like that.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Oh, he plans to dissolve all remnants of that focus. The melting popsicle touches the bisecting indent of her ribs, and slips downward. Streaks a cold wet line across the pulsing shoal of Korra's belly, before dipping it into that little nub of her navel. Then lower, rubbing icy wet circles across her abdomen, the juts of her hips, painting a chilly swathe above the skewed band of her underwear. Then his mouth is back, hot tongue lapping at her, suckling the taste from her. ]

[ His eyes are closed, but each touch is unseeing, unerring, as if he's carved the map of her curves in bright relief into the back of his eyes. And in his mind, he can see her, her skin a shade of milky coffee in the watery sunlight of the blinds, pink smears on her body, splotches of the same on the white sheets beneath her. Slowly, Hei opens his eyes, Skates the tip of the popsicle lower, the juice shining on her skin, then soaking through the cotton gusset of her panties. His pores prick in anticipation of offering her a slow descent into heatless, blissful hell. ]

[anatural]

[And oh, she's descending all right, sinking into the bed, melting into the maddening heat. Her breaths come hard and heavy... then just hard. It's not arousal — it's snot. She tries to ignore it, but the congestion gets too bad. Groaning, she pushes herself onto her elbows.]

I can't breathe. [She finds an angle that helps clear her sinuses, but there's no way she can maintain it all by herself, especially while being worked over by Hei.] I need pillows.

[mortemscintilla]

[ Those slurpy little sniffles would be off-putting, if he weren't so fucking turned-on. For a moment he lets her contort herself this way and that. Trying -- then failing -- to find an angle that suits. Amused, he pops the ice lolly in his mouth. Clutches the curves of her peach-soft ass, fingers dimpling the flesh as he drags her until she's sitting up at the foot of the bed, sinuses obstructed. Tipping her a tiny, half-lidded smile, he lowers himself down her body, the cloud of dark hair tickling her breasts, the folds of her belly, until he's at the right angle between her widespread thighs. ]

[ Cupping the underside of her right knee, Hei coaxes her open wider. Draws the popsicle from his mouth -- a wet smack, quietly lewd. His knuckles skim her mound; the panties are moist and warm. Nuzzling the tiny crease of her navel with cool, red-stained lips, he runs the tip of the popsicle along her underwear. Across the line where her legs meet her groin, then touching her lower, dampening the already-soaked fabric as he slides the ice up her center line, between her lips, teasing up and down between her entrance and her clit. ]

[anatural]

Hei — I can’t breathe! [She thwacks his head, not that it seems to have any impact on him. He's nuzzling her belly, nipping her belly button, and acting in general like a pervy cat. It's annoying and arousing all at once.

He slides the popsicle against her damp panties, and she screams, briefly forgetting about the sickness and congestion. She kicks her legs, a frantic release of energy and tension.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ He's not sure he'll ever get tired of it -- that moment when her breath finally transmutes into voice, and starts melodiously climbing, her needy cries almost a shocked sound, a thrilling soprano. Gripping one flailing thigh, he wrenches her legs wider open. Digs his thumb down to feel the steely muscle underneath, a reminder of the fierce energy vibrating beneath all that curvy, mouth-watering softness. ]

[ With his other hand, he strokes the melting popsicle up over to where the stained gusset sits just above her clit, hidden in that tangle of damp curls -- before he pushes her panties to one side, exposing the plump lips of her sex, a furled peek of those obscenely slick pink folds beneath. Exhaling a humid gust of air across the sensitive skin, Hei slides the popsicle up, right up her slit, and back down again. Cool red liquid drips down the crack of her buttocks, staining the bedsheet beneath. He can't help a low, raw noise that scrapes his throat as her scent hits him, raw and tangy and oceany, a perfect foil to the cloying sweetness of the watermelon. He can't wait to test the melding flavors on his tongue. ]

[anatural]

[Korra would be amazed you can smell anything, Hei, considering the number of used tissues she came home to. She's fallen back to another angle that clogs up her sinuses, but his teasing has sapped her of all strength to hold herself up in another position. Panting turns to coughing turns into serious coughing when a little spit goes down the wrong pipe.]

Hold — up —

[mortemscintilla]

[ This is such a comedy of errors. Letting her go, Hei moves to rub her back as he chuckles at her, a sly little lip-twisty moue that says he's never going to let her live this down. At least until he's consumed by a coughing fit too, only for it to transform into a series of wet sneezes bursting from his nose. ]

[ It's a long moment before his lungs feel clear. Dropping with his back to the bed, sniffling, he squeezes his eyes shut until he is breathing slowly and without too much of a rasp in his throat. ]

We are ... so attractive.

[anatural]

Yeah. Being sick is real sexy. [She pulls a few tissues out for herself, then tosses the rest at him.] Ugh my head is killing me. [As is the knot of unreleased tension between her legs, but right now the headache is bothering her more. She's used to dealing with backed up sexual tension — because Hei is teasing her, because a crisis interrupts sex, etc. Headaches? Not something she usually gets unless a concussion is involved.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Grabbing the tissues, Hei blows his nose, a quick trumpeting succession. He's too backed-up to be embarrassed; his nose is all stuffed up, eyes stinging as if he's driven through clouds of ragweed pollen, and his head swims, all the blood pooling in his groin, where his erection strains against his boxers, a hotly radioactive throb. ]

[ Still, he's game enough to show Korra an off-kilter half-smile. Smoothing a palm down her belly, he wriggles it past the band of her panties, right between her thighs, finding her slick, her clit a swollen little nub under the rolling pad of his thumb. ]

I know a good cure for that. [ As he speaks, he slips a finger between her lips, an effortless glide through slick warmth. ] Helps migraines... Clears the complexion ... Or so I'm told.

[anatural]

That so? [She rolls onto her side so his hand can stay where it is, doing the good work it's doing, but she can reach into his boxers and wrap her hand around his erection, already slick with sweat and precum.]

[mortemscintilla]

It's what they say. [ His breath feathers from his mouth, gently rasping. ] Whoever ... 'They' are...

[ Then she reaches down, and his dick jerks in her hand, prodding its confinement as his balls rise. He can do nothing but pant heavily and rub against her circling palm, the damp mess of precum not enough to soften the abrasive friction as he saws the thick roll of flesh back and forth. Withdrawing his fingers from her slickly clutching interior, he grips at the waistband of her panties. Tries to tug them off, loses patience, then tears them apart instead, the threads making tiny popping sounds as the fabric splits open. ]

[ Gripping one thigh, fingers digging into the thick muscle, he tips her leg up and back, spreading her wide. His nose is so packed that her scent is sadly muted; his lungs empty through his mouth in a ragged hiss, air singing across the tangled peak of curls between her thighs. Leaning in, he kisses her there -- a wet press of lips against her seeping folds, a slippery dart of tongue. Draws back, only to lift the half-melted popsicle, the juices staining his fingers a sticky pink. ]

[ Gently, he paints an icy wet line from the perineum to her unhooded clit, then back down, gliding between her pouting lips, before pressing the cherry-red tip through her threshold. ]

[anatural]

Hei! [Korra wriggles and kicks her legs as he once again teases her with the popsicle; screams when he pushes it inside. Too small to make her feel full, but its cold, invasive presence is much more demanding. Her inner muscles tense, trying to retreat but with nowhere to go. Her hands scramble to clutch anything in reach.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Her scream tears through the air, ringing through Hei's skull like a bullet ricocheting off concrete, the shockwave juddering him spine-deep. Denting the meat of her thigh with damp, brutal fingers, he keeps her surging body pinned down. With the other hand, he pumps the popsicle in and out of her, probing deeper and deeper, careful not to break it. Spreads her lips to lap at her clit, freezing cold on the inside, fever-hot on the outside. His lips are tingling, his tongue numb; it's hard to taste her the way he likes to. But the way she twists beneath him, all flailing legs and wildly-clutching hands, her face a needy, flushed cipher of exquisite agony -- oh it's more than enough. ]

[ Catching her clit with the gentlest edge of teeth, he sucks on it, licks the tip with the hot point of his tongue. Meanwhile his fingers, gripping the popsicle stick, rotate it slowly, testing different angles, tormenting her with a slipslide of icy-cold friction, her sex a quivering heated mouth around it. ]

[anatural]

[Her climax comes as a bone-deep shudder, a breaking in half. She melts into the mattress with a moan that almost sounds pained. Her eyes flutter shut as she gasps for air.

And what do you know? While her headache isn't gone, it's abated a great deal. Orgasms really are the best.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei lets her spill back across the mattress, a beautifully boneless puddle. The popsicle has melted down to a thin pink sliver. He bites the last chunk off the stick and tosses it into the dustbin. The sheets are splotched pink; their skins are sticky with the drying juice. He ignores it, crawling up the bed, across her body. Drags her head up by the hair to press their mouths together. Both their lips are rough and chapped with cold, and he feels, already, the dry-lipped vinegar-sting of too much, knowing his mouth will be raw tomorrow. He doesn't stop. Korra's pulse beats in every melted inch of her; her breasts are flattened against his chest, seeming to pulse with delicious heat, their legs a damp tangle. And everywhere they touch, Hei can feel himself remembering his own skin. ]

[ Wedging a hand between them, he shucks off his boxers with a little difficulty. Desire has diffused in a race along blurred nerves to reconcentrate in sharp knots at his chest and even more heavily in his groin, where his cock daubs wet smears as it jerks against her belly. ]

[ Nuzzling the moist pillow of her lips, he breathes, ]

Still got a bad head?

[anatural]

It's much better now. [She wraps her arms around his neck and shifts so that their pelvises are aligned, ready for him to slip inside. She's fighting off post-coital sleepiness, but she's not about to go to sleep when she's the only one who's found satisfaction.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ For a moment Hei thinks, with a logical clarity bordering on clinical, that they should do this with condoms. He's gotten a pack a week ago; yet everytime, instead of putting it to use, they let it gather dust, tempting haywire hormones and persnickety fate like a pair of suicidal idiots. Then Korra's arms slide around his neck, a warm delicious ribbon, and he can't help but nuzzle into the damp hollow of her neck and shoulder, tipping a kiss to the point of her chin. Lovestruck, cuntstruck cheeseball. ]

[ At the window, the sunlight is fading, butterscotch gold deepening to angled slats of purple and pink. A chill crawls in the air. Tugging the sheets over them, a warm tumbled cocoon, he can't help but think the fabric smells the way Yin does in his dreams: of lilac and talcum and dryer sheets. A brief melancholy wells up in him, bottomless and incurable. Shaking it off, he catches Korra's mouth with his. Makes the kiss fierce, lingering, her lips pliant as creampuffs against his -- and just as sweet. Sliding one hand down her spine, palming her ass, he angles her just right. With the other hand, he slowly, carefully probes his way past the slick, complex folds of inner labia, nudges across the tight, slowly-pulsing mouth of her entrance -- and slides all the rest of the way in, with a long, sweet push. ]

[ Oh. Just like that, his mind whites out, blank and empty as a cipher in space. ]

[anatural]

[Secret — Korra doesn't want to use condoms, not anymore. She likes the intimacy of this too much, the way she can feel him, nothing between them. She's got the herbs to deal with the threat of pregnancy, and they've both taken care to avoid STDs. So she sees no need to put themselves through the trouble of rubber.

She cries out as he pushes inside, tangles her fingers in her hair and pulls, but not hard like she normally would. She's too tired and melty-content for that kind of energy. She just wants it hard & steady.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei stays still for a moment, straight-armed, S-spined, head hanging, over Korra's breathing body. Grapples with his self-control, which climbs and spreads awry like a thrill of wildfire. One of these days, he'll have to insist on the imperatives of rubber. But in the meantime, it is ... strangely sweet to be trusted like this. To feel Korra opening like a soft, melting fire-flower beneath him. To feel the crux of his own desperate want sunk so completely into hers, nothing trapped between them but skin and heat and the drugging pulse of their blood. It feeds a familiar loosening in himself as his worries slide away; spine uncoiling vertebra by vertebra, tense muscles dissolving into an easy, slinky sprawl. ]

[ He lets off a sound, low and tar-scratchy in his throat. Starts to ride her in deep, goading jabs. Straightening his arms, he watches her as he pumps: visits each part of her reddened face with moist lips: the gasping mouth and the fever-hot cheeks, the fluttering eyelashes, the damp hairline. Trickles of salt cut down his spine; a drop of sweat falls onto her lips. ]

[ Kissing it off, he whispers, ]

I feel ... better already.

[anatural]

[Insist all you want. Korra won't say no, but she won't make it easy for you either, not after weeks of fucking like this.]

Good. [She rocks her hips to meet his, and nibbles whatever part of his body she can reach through his kisses.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei's eyes, fixed on Korra's, are crinkled and bright. Everywhere she bites leaves a splotch of heat, a phosphorescent burn. His breath hitches to the roll of her hips; he can feel his heart as a discrete part of himself, shuddering in his chest. Carefully, he wedges a hand between their bodies. Rocks inside her in a heavy, insistent pulse, like the bassline to some low-down club mix as it hits its filthy breakdown, half the dancers whiskey-sloshed and trying to find release against the seams of their jeans.]

[ He teases Korra gently, grinding the heel of his hand against her clit -- a ticklish-soft pressure that matches the ruffle of her damp pubic hair across his palm. Kisses her, letting their lips cling, his nerves buzz, as his brain blurs into a discombobulating loop between impatience and delight. So many times he's seen her like this, splayed out beneath him, her face so sweetly glowy in its mass of dark hair, and each time it feels so ... personal. Just like having a conversation with Korra is not like talking to anybody else. Like kissing her, the way it once was with kissing Amber. It's only a more intense and private synesthesia than their other modes of communication. ]

[ He wonders if all people in love are doomed to have revelations this dumb. ]

[anatural]

[Yup. Love does that. Like re-inventing the wheel over and over again, the obvious seeming remarkable each time. If it helps, Korra's as much in its thrall as he is. As far as she's concerned, sex is a language only they speak, a connection only they share. Anyone can have interlocking bits, but theirs are the only ones that really fit.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Breath sawing, Hei diverts his focus to her neck. Scrapes the soft skin with his teeth, feeling the deep reassuring thub of pulse in her jugular, his mouth wide open at her throat like a vampire or a cannibal. He can feel his own heart pounding behind his temples, a thudding pulse in his fingertips, his chest, his cock, each beat a miniature earthquake. Always on red-alert, his critical mind ready to disarm, dismantle, destroy -- yet in moments like this, it's as if he's phasing in and out of consciousness, sometimes rocking forward and other times snapping out of a dream state where the world is not so much different than this one, just warmer and safer. ]

[ How long has it been, since he's let go enough to feel that way? (Has it ever been possible at all.) ]

[ He keeps the tumbleweed thoughts close, a small, fizzy secret inside his chest, and kisses Korra deeply and carefully. Lets his thrusts gather speed and depth, the mattress creaking under their weight. Works the heel of his hand harder against Korra's clit, her pubic hair slicked against his palm, their bodies greased in sweat everywhere they touch, an obscene slipslide, as he listens for the right hitches in her breathing to know what is and isn't working for her. ]

[anatural]

[As much as he's focusing on her, she's focused on him, trying to build him up as quick and hard as she can, wanting to tip him over the edge and watch him break. Her own (second) climax feels like it's clogged up, which is annoying but she knows that becoming frustrated won't do anything about it. The best thing is just focus on what she can do — bring him off — and hopefully whatever's holding her back will work itself out.]