[ Why did he let them go this long without touch? It makes no sense. (Except it does -- because thinking about the baby, about whether he truly wants it, can truly love it, feeds a smoldering, killing stress, it's as if he's operating a machine-gun, the judders of each report working deep into his bones. He battles it in his workshop outside, cutting and sanding things, blasting noisily through wood -- or by slitting throats at night, with the easeful flex and burn of muscle and adrenaline, fists smashing and wires ripping until sometimes he's hard afterward, a rageful hardness that he doesn't ever bring home to Korra, refuses to feed to the passing barflies in the taverns, the passerbys who are transformed unwittingly into sirens, each unfamiliar body becoming suggestive of its social shadow, the prostitute. ]
[ Those hard-ons, he's eased with his hand, rough jerks as he imagines the perfection of freedom and emptiness in different ways. Climaxing always on unspeakable violence, left hollowed-out and queasy afterwards. ]
[ Korra curls her hand around his cock -- and Hei growls his breath out, his body taut from shoulders to heels under her. His arm tightens around her waist, and, with careful maneuvering, he spills her off him. Flat on her back across the futon, her hair like rich dark smoke pluming from her skull, the lingerie like seafoam across the mouth-watering brown of her skin. ]
[ Propping himself on an elbow, he rubs the pad of his thumb over her kiss-pinked lips, palms down her neck to cup one breast through the lace and squeeze. Gentle, then rougher, before the heat and softness of his mouth engulfs her breast, the sharp prickle of his stubble pressing into her skin. Thirsty, relentless, feeding tugs -- rooting from one nipple to the other, until they're wet-tipped and puckered, painfully distended. A cruel tenderness, seeing how far she'll let him go -- without doing so of his own volition. ]
no subject
[ Those hard-ons, he's eased with his hand, rough jerks as he imagines the perfection of freedom and emptiness in different ways. Climaxing always on unspeakable violence, left hollowed-out and queasy afterwards. ]
[ Korra curls her hand around his cock -- and Hei growls his breath out, his body taut from shoulders to heels under her. His arm tightens around her waist, and, with careful maneuvering, he spills her off him. Flat on her back across the futon, her hair like rich dark smoke pluming from her skull, the lingerie like seafoam across the mouth-watering brown of her skin. ]
[ Propping himself on an elbow, he rubs the pad of his thumb over her kiss-pinked lips, palms down her neck to cup one breast through the lace and squeeze. Gentle, then rougher, before the heat and softness of his mouth engulfs her breast, the sharp prickle of his stubble pressing into her skin. Thirsty, relentless, feeding tugs -- rooting from one nipple to the other, until they're wet-tipped and puckered, painfully distended. A cruel tenderness, seeing how far she'll let him go -- without doing so of his own volition. ]