[ It is ridiculous -- but Hei doesn't waste his time knotting his brain over it. They've had a sex life full of vagaries and variegations. But almost everything they've done has been good and hot and fun, never really awkward. Or when it does get a little awkward, it solves itself without fights or trauma. They don't often have bad sex: Korra doesn't make him feel too brutish or too selfish or too inadequate. When someone gets called easy in a sex way, it's usually about whorishness, but with Korra it's a different kind of true. Her chemical signature syncs well with his,so that everything runs together, caramel tigresses melting into honey, and Hei can be savage or unhurried or playful or tender without feeling as though he's tailoring himself to match Korra's needs, switching masks so skillfully that she can't pin him on it. ]
[ With her, it's easy to just be ... himself. ]
[ He's stripped off, and folded his clothes. The lamp is on, one of Pema's gifts -- a brilliant red paisley scarf -- draped over the shade to make the light dim and pink. But Hei isn't in bed. He's regarding the futon with fresh, brooding eyes. He wonders why the hell he is still letting his pregnant girlfriend sleep on a futon. It had never struck him before that this might be inappropriate for someone in her condition. It's fine for him, sure. He's spent a lifetime sleeping in rocking trains or on chilly rooftops or damp grass or in threadbare sleeping bags. Rest comes with its moments of discomfort -- a lot of them, some nights -- but the futon's undemanding nature, its foldedness and lightness, had compensated for the aches. Now, it just looks flimsy, significant of latent self-denial rather than spartan sensibility. ]
[ Rubbing his jaw, he doesn't glance around when Korra re-enters. In a distracted mutter, ]
We should get you a proper bed.
[ Soon, before she gets bigger. There's no reason to prolong her discomfort. (He's so caught up in pummeling the futon to an adequately un-lumpy smoothness that it's as if he's forgotten what they were doing.) ]
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Date: 2015-03-05 12:25 am (UTC)[ With her, it's easy to just be ... himself. ]
[ He's stripped off, and folded his clothes. The lamp is on, one of Pema's gifts -- a brilliant red paisley scarf -- draped over the shade to make the light dim and pink. But Hei isn't in bed. He's regarding the futon with fresh, brooding eyes. He wonders why the hell he is still letting his pregnant girlfriend sleep on a futon. It had never struck him before that this might be inappropriate for someone in her condition. It's fine for him, sure. He's spent a lifetime sleeping in rocking trains or on chilly rooftops or damp grass or in threadbare sleeping bags. Rest comes with its moments of discomfort -- a lot of them, some nights -- but the futon's undemanding nature, its foldedness and lightness, had compensated for the aches. Now, it just looks flimsy, significant of latent self-denial rather than spartan sensibility. ]
[ Rubbing his jaw, he doesn't glance around when Korra re-enters. In a distracted mutter, ]
We should get you a proper bed.
[ Soon, before she gets bigger. There's no reason to prolong her discomfort. (He's so caught up in pummeling the futon to an adequately un-lumpy smoothness that it's as if he's forgotten what they were doing.) ]