Who cares what picture you see?

[mortemscintilla]

WHO: Korra and Hei
WHAT: Two crazy kids catch a movie. This thread is about a millimeter deep.

[ A new Mover. Faster Nuktuk! Kill! Kill! The title alone doesn't bear thinking of. Scorpions crawling around in his boxers sound more fun. Hei has no idea why he agreed to go. But Korra assured him it wasn't a four-hour epic, and that if he got too bored they could slip away. With reluctance, but aware of certain unpaid debts of boyfriendly attention, he agreed. ]

[ Since Yin's return, he knows he hasn't been spending as much time with her as he ought to. Too busy setting up living arrangements for his friend, trying without words to bridge the gap of three inexplicable years, to make sure she's safe and -- yes, happy. Because she's wasted eerily away since they've been apart, a dull-eyed washed-out husk of herself. Too Doll-like to fill him with anything but dread. ]

[ The past few weeks, he's compensated by paying her steady attention. Until she understands that he's not going anywhere, until she feels entitled to his time as a friend should. He encourages her to listen to radio broadcasts for events, so she'll be prepared with suggestions about what they might do. He gets her audio books in cassettes, a small, ornately-carved zither to play tunes on, practices his increasingly-spotty German on her, gently coaxes her out to eat all sorts of unthinkable things: arctic hen testicles, jelly of turtleduck, thousand year old eggs. He's not sure the outings make a lick of a difference. But last week, Yin was actually the one to initiate their always-brief, one-sentence conversations, rather than the other way around. Hei takes that as a good sign. ]

[ Tonight, the air carries a chill, and Korra is sunshine temperature, a little waft of summer walking at his side. Hei lets his hand curl around hers, tucking them both with a habitual air into his coat pocket. Also with a habitual air, he scans the street as they drift through the crowd, checking ambush positions, logging exits and hideaways, with the practiced nonchalance of an ex-Syndicate op. Everything looks fine. ]

[ By degrees, he allows his tension to thaw, until it is no more than a small shard lodged in his guts. The theater lies ahead, its marquee of lights boxing in the words Nuktuk like the moral of a Sunday sermon on a church sign. A knot of people wait outside; families jawing amiably, children squealing, teenagers boiling over with hormone-driven energy, giggling and jostling one another. Surrounded on all sides by normal, Hei feels wariness tugging his brows like needle with a thread. But Korra's scent is a sweet tickle in his nose, her fingers delicate, yet comfortingly strong in his, and her soft prattle laps richly at his ear, grounding his scattershot senses. ]

[ Squeezing her hand, he edges in closer. His voice is wary, interest hidden under a hard shell. ]

Is this the theater where they use real butter for the popcorn?

Comments

[mortemscintilla]

[ Moodiness. BK201 has it bred into his bones. He can be amazingly calm for long periods of time, lull Korra into a sense that all is right with the world. If they fall asleep blissed on sex and pillow talk, he knows Korra expects to wake up to a humming, content-eyed bedmate. It isn't always the case. Sometimes -- especially lately -- Hei opens his eyes and meets Korra's and he doesn't smile; looks bitterly tired instead, disturbed by his own dreams, by existence, by the trajectory of his life. He'll get up and won't say much to her, bathing and dressing with sharp precision and leaving for work pissy and on edge. ]

[ It's awful, because he wants to be steady for Korra, a rock. But he's not perfect by any means. He's only human, and not immune to the infection of lurking doubts, small inadequacies. There are days when he'll be at work, and he'll catch himself wondering if, while he's broiling in the factory-heat, Asami is visiting the Beach House, clean-scrubbed and radiant, hanging out with Korra, talking and...talking. ]

[ It's hard to admit he's jealous, that his tightly-wound bitchfest is all about that. Because it's not so simple. It's also the wrenching awareness that he's not right for Korra. That no matter how much she loves him -- love is no guarantee of suitability. He watches her with Asami, sometimes. He notices the tender rapport there. It doesn't spark his resentment, exactly. But. Well. There is sharp-edged rue and wist. Definite wist. ]

[ He tries not to think about it. Grouchily, he inches toward the counter through the crush, neck craned at the price board. One extra-large, he tells the clerk -- and squints dubiously at the brimming bag he's offered. Not extra-large enough. He ends up buying three -- two for him, one for Korra -- along with a dizzyingly sweet bottle of condensed-milk tea. ]

[ Cradling his booty, he asks Korra, half-distractedly, ]

No special seats up front, right?

[ He'll never be comfortable in a crowded venue -- unless it's at the very end of the room, his back to the wall, a perfect vantagepoint of exits and entrances. ]

[anatural]

We're way in the back. [She even deliberately picked a night when she knew Bolin wouldn't be there so he wouldn't try to drag them anywhere to talk to anybody. She'll have lunch with the bending brothers tomorrow and talk to Bolin about the mover then.

She's gotten better about understanding him and the way his mind works, but there's still plenty that slips by her. His moods are as much of a mystery as ever; she can sometimes pin down the cause (usually nightmares) but frequently they seem to just come out of nowhere. Like right now. Did that one little affectionate tease really put him in this grumpy a humor? When did he get to be such a delicate flower?

She doesn't say anything about it, or roll her eyes, however tempting it is. She leads them to the back corner of the theater, close to the exit without having their backs to the door. A poor position to view the film, but a great one for keeping an eye on potential threats (which is as much for her peace of mind as it is for him). Nobody seems to have noticed the Avatar in the audience; she's hoping it stays that way.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ He wishes she wouldn't do that. Be so calmly mindful of his seething tantrums, his undeviating sulks, as if she's humoring a child. It makes him more uncomfortably aware of them. Even as he knows that he is being a shit, that he is behaving like a child, ill-tempered and ornery for no good reason. Her kindness makes him grateful -- yet disgusted by that gratitude, because he knows he doesn't deserve an iota of her affection. Not really. ]

[ I am a dumb man-child, he thinks acidly, following her into the black gloom of the theater, specks floating in his vision, obscuring his view of the back of her shiny head. Popcorn flings itself like pudgy butter-slathered suicides from his bag as he weaves between narrow aisles and treads carelessly on peoples' feet. They shuffle into seats near enough to the rear wall that his ears won't bleed, and he settles warily, stretching out, working his long legs into a soft pretzel of approximate comfort. ]

[ In the dark, previews flash across the screen. A miasma of awful effects and wooden dialogue, low on quality acting and high on cheese. Hei pays half a mind to it, tossing kernels in his mouth and chewing slowly, He'll never admit he finds these schlocky movers more palatable than the state-of-the-art, ultra-HD and surroundsound of his world. He doesn't miss the way they'd magnify explosions and gunfire and gore. In the early days, it meant hours of sitting on his hands so no one could see them shaking. Hours of gnawing on the inside of his cheek to try and keep himself grounded because It's not real. He'd learnt, with a bit of geeky research, that IMDb was his friend -- and learnt to skip premiers where he knew the content would feed triggers. ]

[ This isn't triggering. It's pitiful -- all hokey dialogue and tinny sound-effects. ]

[ It doesn't matter. The popcorn is delicious, the angle of their seats is near-perfect for repetitive scans, and Korra is close enough that if he wants, he can lift a hand to curl his palm around her delicate nape, to feel the warm beat of her blood. He doesn't. But he can feel his prickliness seeping away, bit by bit. ]

[anatural]

[Well, her being in-calmly mindful of them never did either of them any good. She's found that steadiness in herself is the best counter to instability in others.

The one thing Korra hates about movers - and she goes to them so infrequently that she always forgets - is the expectation that you'll keep still. Pro-bending matches are all about jumping out of your seat and cheering wildly, but you're not supposed to do that in the theater. As interesting as she finds the (okay, yes, EXTREMELY hokey) previews, she can't help jittering her leg. Then the mover starts and Bolin appears.]

There's Bolin! [She whispers this excitedly to Hei... And is promptly shushed by the woman sitting next to her. Oops.]

[mortemscintilla]

I remember what Bolin looks like.

[ A dryness tugs at his lips -- more ironical than cutting. He's not sure what he finds more amusing. The way Korra gets shushed -- or the energy rising in gleeful bubbles from her skin like uncorked champagne. An energy that reminds him of the teenaged girl he'd met in the City. All vibrant and sprightly, full of an almost kittenish charm, an innocent curiosity fed in equal parts by playfulness and boredom -- yet he'd felt the charge of her maturing sexuality and been both intrigued and disturbed by it. ]

[ The movie begins. Feeding himself handfuls of popcorn, Hei gives himself over to the narcotic of entertainment. Or whatever its equivalent is. The storyline is bad. So bad it's almost good -- at least once, he surprises himself with a fleeting smile. For nearly an hour he is diverted, only tangentially aware of Korra next to him, his eyes unblinking with the focus of someone whose sense of satire is tickled more than his boyhood funny-bone. But as the movie goes on, relocating to a painted backdrop of Laghima's Peak, the balance changes. ]

[ He remembers Korra's battle with Zaheer. Her poisoning, the dark weight of her illness that nothing could lift. He grows more detached from the events onscreen, considering the details with a critical and interested eye, glad that nothing he sees resembles the events of real life. The action on the screen disturbs the edges of his mind, but doesn't draw him in at all. ]

[ Yet, after a beat, almost unthinkingly, he reaches out to touch Korra's wrist, the curve of his fingers a soft question mark. ]

[anatural]

[Shut up she's excited, okay? This isn't just a movie Bolin's starring in — it's his brainchild. He's the one who came up with the idea of filming in various Earth Alliance states to help bolster their flagging economies. He's made it his life's work to help people lift themselves out of poverty and he's found a way to do it that's still fun and creative for him.

Even if, yes, okay, he's not very good at the actually art part. Regardless, she's happy for her friend, and the popcorn is good, and Hei is a warm, solid presence at her side.

The touch on her wrist makes her glance at him, curious and bordering on concerned. In the dark, it's hard to get a read on his mood and whether there's anything more behind the touch than simple whim. She leans over to whisper in his ear.] What?

[mortemscintilla]

[ Her What? isn't a transmission of stymied anxiety. In the dark, her face is bathed in film light, flickering colors in the glints of eyewhites. No flowing tension, no wariness. His own hand stays there across hers, palm molded loosely to the web of bones beneath her skin. Her hand always feels so small in his, vulnerable, that it is weird to think he might be the more fragile one. She doesn't dwell on old regrets and traumas the way he does. Her emotions move like a sea-current, strong and unyielding: like saltwater through cut fingers. Not like his: knotted, unknowable, a serpentine entwinement of drives and dark dreams. ]

[ But then, she's had three years to heal from the piling disasters of the past. For him, it's been closer to one. ]

[ He doesn't say anything, On impulse, liberated by the darkness, he leans in. Kisses the concern reshaping her sweet little face -- brow and then mouth. A silent It's nothing. Or at least, nothing worth dampening that fizzy excitement of hers. ]

[anatural]

[Korra doesn't dwell. Not since those four years after her poisoning where she nearly lost herself to dwelling on regrets and traumas. Strangely enough, she's embraced Zaheer's advice to let her suffering go.

She leans into the kiss, taking his bottom lip between her teeth. Sorry, Bolin, this is much more interesting than your mover.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Her lips taste of butter -- and are buttery-soft and salty against his mouth. Letting a fragment of his attention drift toward their surroundings, Hei focuses the rest on her kiss, letting fer feel the evening bristles graining his chin, his tongue linking between their parted lips and tracing hers. A little juvenile, to be doing this here, as if they're one of the countless spooning couples in the darkened theater, whose smooches and murmuring compete with the soundtrack's quieter moments. But her mouth is more transfixing than the music, the cheesy dialogue, the fast cutting and loud flashes. ]

[ He keeps his hands to himself. But he doesn't stop the kiss until he's tuned in in that familiar, excessively sensitive way, until he can feel Korra's breathing and heartbeat alter, in sync with his own stiff attentiveness. Only then does he draw back on a soft inhale. He's lost a few moments of incomprehensible dialogue in the lull. He doesn't care. Moving his hand off hers, he slips it around her ribcage, up under her arm, fingers spidering her breast. Tugging her closer. ]

[ His gaze returns to the movie. He feeds popcorn into his mouth with the other hand -- but his concentration forks between the B-Grade drama unfolding onscreen and the warm, delicious clasp of his and Korra's bridged bodies. ]

[anatural]

[There's no armrest, thank goodness, or this position would be very uncomfortable. As it is, the edge of the seat digs into her butt in a way that's not really all that comfortable, but the hand on her breast offers plenty of distraction.

It's not something they've done here, furtive public displays of physical intimacy. In the City they'd done it all the time, everything from enthusiastic public make outs to fucking on the table at his cafe to fingering her while strangers all but watched. They only got away with all of that because they were nobodies in the City; just two horny people who couldn't keep their hands off each other. Korra's body ripples a little against him... She's not really paying attention to the movie anymore. She's a little distracted by his hand and memories of the kinky things they haven't been able to do since leaving the City.

She should push his hand down to a more appropriate place. Instead she rests her own hand on his thigh, almost high enough to be level with his crotch.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ She lays her hand on his thigh, small and light, like a foraging little animal. The heat of her palm soaks through his jeans, making him very aware of the skin beneath, heartbeat vibrating softly through slabs of muscle. The flickering furor onscreen distracts him; not in a huge way, just a white-noise lurking on the edges of his mind. The moments where they succumb to desire in public, either blatant of furtive, either in the City or here, put his instincts into a quiet warring tangle -- boyfriend instincts saying, She wants you, don't refuse, you know it turns you both on, while the Contractor instincts snap This is the wrong time and place. Don't compromise your alertness. ]

[ No prizes for guessing which side wins. ]

[ He pays attention to little of what is playing out in front of him. Finishes his two bags of popcorn, and his drink, while his fingers tickle under her breast, weigh it in his hand, squeeze it lazily and rhythmically. Full and soft and warm, the nipple a hard little Hello across his palm. He tugs it, tweaks it in that way she likes, as he dips his head to kiss her again, letting it take shape from languid impulse into something greedier, his tongue a lewd delicate delving into her mouth. ]

[ His other hand, now unencumbered by snacks, rests on her lap. He traces nonsense shapes across her thigh, fingertips climbing with an idle purpose between her legs. What a pity she never wears skirts; it's too easy to picture the material riding up, exposing her calf, her knee, and a smoothness of thigh. But this is better, the obliqueness making them both simmer and stew. His palm splays across her leg, thumb skimming the line where her thigh meets her groin. Teasing the plump shape of her sex beneath the material of her pants in idle whorls, just the barest sweeps of pressure and friction. ]

[anatural]

[Korra focuses on her breathing to keep from making any noise. Luckily, the person sitting next to her is sufficiently engrossed in the mover that she doesn't seem to notice her shift in focus. She's able to press against him, slide her hand between his legs to fondle him through his pants.

This is crazy, she tells herself, even as she feels him getting hard beneath her palm. Anyone could recognize you! The press would have a field day if they caught her getting freaky in public. But that's the thrill.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Kissing her, Hei feels excessively receptive, in the style of a faulty radar. Picking up readings from too far away, blurring and corrupting relevant data. On the screen, scenes flicker and fade; he's aware of the tiny rhythms across the dark theater, the clumsy shifts of people in their seats, soft voices of children braiding with whispering adults, everyone's focus on the movie and Bolin's hammy dialogue. ]

[ He ignores it, feeding on Korra's giddy excitement, transmitted through her wicked little hand, her body seeming to unroll in one long heat-flush, his lips kissed by the warmth of her skin. He nips delicately at her plump lower-lip. Gnaws her jawline, sucks in the earlobe, then bites it. He worries at the skin, the way he might her nipples, while below his hand drifts higher, tracing her waistband, then knuckling into her trousers. He wedges it between cloth and skin, cupping her mound, feeling the coarse curls and soft flesh through her underwear, a fingertip skating across, through the wetness seeping down her center-line. ]

[ It's cramped, and awkward, and the maneuvering room leaves much to be desired. But this isn't about finesse. It's about testing how much she'll let him get away with. ]

[anatural]

Mmph! [Korra stiffens, biting on his lip to keep from crying out. Too much too much too much and yet she doesn't tell him to stop. She straightens a little so she can pull closer to him, mostly to avoid accidentally kicking the woman sitting next to her. Also so she can get close and whisper in his ear.]

Go slow.

[Don't tease, or do anything that will make her noisy. She's resisting the temptation to unzip his pants and jerk him off here in retaliation, so really, he should be considerate.

[mortemscintilla]

[ Considerate? What gallant Disney prince do you think he is? ]

[ Even so, he doesn't go further. Just gives her a friendly wolf of a smile, a flickering curve against her lips. For a long moment he just makes out with her, kisses butterflying hungrily yet sweetly through soft palate and curling tongue, his erection a tight ache in his jeans, his body feeling the press of Korra's skin-warmed clothes more profoundly than nakedness. Meanwhile his fingers lick the edges of her panties, the fabric moist and warm. Carefully avoiding brushing her clit, pushing the soaked gusset against her with two fingers, letting her feel her own slickness and the almost frictionless pressure. ]

[ The darkness of the theater is its own freedom and trap. He wants something like this, but more, better. Not much better, though, because this is damn good, so close to perfect, in its imperfect way; they are close, the smell of buttery popcorn and Korra's flowing heat, her small movements that waft her scent to him, heavy forests and rain and the more complex delicacy of her arousal. ]

[anatural]

[No Disney prince, please. Just demonstrating the same level of consideration that she is by not pulling his penis out in public. It'd be kind of fun to blow him here, like when she'd sucked him off with one of Tenzin's acolytes in the room. BUt is she doing it? No.

And he is behaving himself. As hot as this is, as good as it feels, it's not building up to anything or filling her with (much of) an aching need. She could go like this for hours.

BOOM! Korra jumps as something explodes — on screen, fortunately, but ow, fuck.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ The explosion is a deafening clamor -- distracting but not overly-so. Hei tricks out a slow, lopsided smile as Korra jerks in his arms. His chuckle floats out of the darkness, barely a purl of sound against her neck. ]

Want to get out of here?

[ Face it. The movie isn't that engrossing. Not as much as Korra, who sparks a fire that begins as a prickling at his nape and is slowly sweeping through the rest of his body. A few bright memories from the City begin to resurge, and he sifts through them like a dragon hoarding its shiniest trinkets. How would she react, if he coaxed her for a knee-trembler in the back-alley of the theater, or in one of the bathrooms? ]

[anatural]

[She really should stay. Bolin's going to ask her what she thought about the end of the movie and and she doesn't want to tell him that she didn't stay for the end of it. He'd ask why and she'd have to lie because "I needed to go fuck my boyfriend" isn't something she could possibly tell him.]

Let's go.

[She'll tell Bolin she had to go to the bathroom. Grabbing his hand, fingers sticky with her, she gets up and squeezes past the other people in the row, ignoring their protests that she's ruining the BEST PART OF THE MOVIE!!!1!]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei lets her tug him through the darkened theater, carelessly trodding on people's feet again and sublimely uncaring. His eyes are on the curve of Korra's skull, the gleam of her shorn hair, then skipping down the line of her back to the sway of her hips as she moves, the sturdy grace of a pole vaulter. Excitement has been stirring heavily in his body, down-low and incognito. As they step out of the darkness, into the bright florescence of the hallway, Hei blinks the red spots from his eyes and lets that desire uncoil, by slow degrees, readjusting his grip on Korra's hand, a tight entwining of humid urgency. ]

[ It's too far a walk to the alleyway. Besides, he'd scoped it out earlier in anticipation of their visit. Overflowing with fetid trash, rotting crates and buzzing flies. Not the sort of venue that will brighten Korra's love-light any. Instead, gaze skating around the periphery to ensure no-one sees them, he tugs her toward the restrooms. Part of President Raiko's re-campaign has been to sign deals with Future Industries for the construction of handicap-accessible exits and entrances, special parking and modified restrooms. ]

[ He tugs her into the closest one, with its deep shallow sink sticking out of the wall. Marginally clean -- apple-green paint on concrete walls, dull white tile, the overripe aroma of lemon cleaning solution. He ignores all that, too busy locking the door, then chivvying into Korra until she is scrambling her bottom onto the sink, nudging his own body between her thighs so she parts them. ]

[anatural]

[Korra wriggles until her butt is secure on the sink. Her hands go straight for the fly of his pants.]

This is crazy. [She just wants to make sure he knows this. They aren't hormone-addled kids anymore; they should be too old for fucking each other silly in a public bathroom. And yet here she is, wrapping her hand around him and coaching him to full hardness, her only excuse being they haven't had sex in a couple of days. (You realize most couples DON’T have sex every night, right? Asami had asked her once, and Korra had been surprised. They didn't do several-hour, multi-orgasm marathon sessions every night, but they both got off at least once before going to sleep, usually. Except when Hei was distracted by Yin, and Korra distracted by Asami.)]

[mortemscintilla]

[ They are too old -- but that amps up the sordid thrill. No one says years of intimacy, a hard-won bedrock of trust, should preclude the raunch of spontaneity. Not to say that he and Korra have plateaued to the tepid stage of old-marrieds' once-a-week sex. People have this idea that they are either constantly rutting -- or else are bitterly distanced from each other. Which is an easy assumption to make, either way, if you catch their interactions. They don't talk much, or make with the kissy-goo-goo faces. But there is always a racing current of something between them, carefully downplayed. ]

[ The idea that they're absolute degenerates with no self-control, though? Completely inaccurate. Oh, sure, when they first got together, they went through that phase every couple goes through where they couldn't keep their hands (or other parts) off each other. But these days? Between Korra's Avatar duties, helping Yin settle in, carving out a space for Asami, Hei's day jobs and his more illicit late-afternoon-shading-into-evening jobs, they're lucky to get five straight hours of sleep, much less five straight hours of anything else. The fact that they still manage, on such crunching schedules, to sneak in a late-night nookie, is just a reminder that their physical life ranks pretty high, and that they're determined to keep it flourishing. ]

[ Is that so wrong? ]

[ Hei doesn't think about it. His breath sings low and jittery in his lungs as she closes her hand on his unzipped erection, the thick column of flesh straining upright as she strokes it to a red-flushed hardness. Dizzy, a grateful rasping coming from his throat, he gathers her in past his heavy coat to curl around his body, to inhale that warm scent that is always leaking from her pores, sweet and spicy like dewy earth, to coax her lips apart and taste her slipping tongue, to mouth at the honey-dark smoothness of her skin. ]

[ Gnawing at her thrumming pulsepoint, a playful vampirism, he breathes, ]

Not as crazy as that time at Cafe Satine...

[ He still, in moments of wry satire, likes to tease her about how crazily she'd come that time -- a gorgeous neuromuscular meltdown, a muffled shriek that he was half-sure the whole building would hear. ]

[anatural]

[Just thinking about that time makes Korra groan in equal parts embarrassment and longing. Sprawled across one of the outdoor café tables, early enough in the morning that nobody was walking around outside but still very much in public... Korra had come so hard she couldn't walk afterwards. Hei had to help her pull up her pants so she could slide into a chair and pretend to be the café's first customer. She's pretty sure the head chef knew what they'd been doing anyway... There'd been something in his eyes when he opened the door and shouted for "Li" to get in there and help him.]

I can't believe we didn't get caught. [She rubs her palm around the head of his erection, smearing precum all over as lubricant.] Remember that time I blew you outside the bar, while my boss was looking for me?

[The ache of those early memories — the emotional whiplash that was Hei post-sex, and in that case in particular how he'd disappeared for a week right after fucking her brains out in that elevator — that all has passed, leaving Korra with only the heated memories of how fucking sexy everything was. Surprising and exciting and new.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei deals too much with clarity for that era to blur into a rosy-colored landscape of nostalgia. Even so, as far as happenstance affairs go, what he had with Korra in the City was pretty unique. More than that. Exceptional. She'd ignored, in her blithe naivity, the ennui and soul-sickness that crackled around him in those days like ambient static. Dared to get close to him, without a thought for being infected with his bitterness, spending her affection out without reserve; just as he'd worked off his rage and numbness off on her without hope. ]

[ But then, there was something crazy-liberating and good about having no hope and yet making the most of the moment anyhow. The humid intensity of it, a quivering jelly of want and satiation, of being allowed to connect without repurcussion, no agendas or strings or double-dealing, come back to him with specific vividness now. His skin burns with a consuming itch that could be self-consciousness -- or gratitude. ]

I remember. [ His gaze slews across hers, a dreamy blue warmth surrounding ironic black pinpoints. A beat, then, wry and quietly honest, ] You weren't my type, you know. So innocent. Practically a child.

[ He draws in a sharp breath, her palm a delicious friction across his wet cockhead, and as if magnetized, all the heat in his body pours there to meet it. His hips jerk restlessly into her touch, while from waist-up, his movements remain almost languid, palms tracing her up under her blouse, then down into the waistband of her pants, while he rubs his stubble-grained cheek against the side of her face, moving to kiss her ear. ]

[ Softer, almost thankful, ]

I tell myself ... I should've kept away from you. Except if I had, I'd be dead by now.

[ Metaphorically -- but also literally. Which might still happen. But he's fucking lucky he got to carve out a solid decade of borrowed time. A decade full of misery, ambivalence and death -- but also brightness and naughty games and spirits and travels and delicious sex just waiting to be had, whenever he stops taking himself seriously for long enough. ]

[anatural]

You tried to, remember? But the City had other ideas. [He used to talk about Stock Home syndrome or whatever it was, because the City never let them get away from one another. It used to piss her off, how he'd act like her feelings were some kind of disease, but it doesn't bother her anymore. He doesn't see the world as clearly as he thinks; he has his own set of biases and traumas that color his perception. He can't define her feelings for her. (Better still, he's stopped trying.)]

I'm glad. [Murmured against his neck as she keeps stroking him, slowly, almost methodically, like she doesn't want to miss any opportunity to pleasure him]

[mortemscintilla]

[ No, he's stopped trying to define her feelings. He's even stopped trying to examine the gravity-well of his own love for her too closely, and it isn't because it doesn't bear up to examination; it is because he's been coaxed and then chained too close to it. That was the paradox of love. He'll have to wrench free to get a good look, and once you float away, you can't get close again. ]

[ He doesn't want to. He likes this. Likes being this close, seeing each detail, taste and scent and sight untranslated. You don't need a vocabulary for a woman who creates her own -- a soft and spinning orb, a tangle of glittering drives and desires. ]

[ He wants to say something, but words are stuck in his throat. Korra's breath moves in and out like tide, mingling with his, washing in and out of his ears. Her palm around his erection is exquisite, a gliding stroke of down-and-up that makes him ripple and shudder against her. But good as it feels, he wants more. One-handedly, he scrabbles for the clasp of her trousers, his movements rough and determined. Tugs off her right boot, letting it thud across the tiles, before yanking the right leg of her pant down. He leaves it unrolled inside-out, dangling haplessly, one gorgeously long leg exposed, swathes of fabric clinging to the other, until she's bare-assed on the edge of the sink. ]

[ The fluorescent light is bright and stark, so that her dark skin is almost olive-toned, each hair of her black brows and eyelashes distinct, the tuft of curls between her thighs glinting flat and decorative. With a half-smile, Hei descends back butt-on-heels for a moment. Kisses all over her parted inner-thighs, soft, intent kisses followed by loud, smacking ones -- the kind that usually make her cackle. Meanwhile the fingers of his right hand slide down, combing through her pubic hair, smoothing and spreading them, before he skims the pad of his thumb across the slick tip of her clit, peeking enticingly between her plump lips. ]