You have nothing left to squander

[mortemscintilla]

WHO: Korra and Hei.
WHAT: An attempt at Good Fun Couple Times.

[ He's infiltrated the Equalists' gang. Gotten close enough to seep between the gaps, to merge with the leader's inner circle. He's memorized their faces, their patterns, their backgrounds -- and accordingly sketched an outline of their weaknesses. Most importantly, he's learnt their leader's daily routine. After watching him for some time, Hei has discovered that he likes working out at an exclusive dojo downtown. Frequently, he varies the times of his workouts, sometimes arriving at the place early in the morning, sometimes at night. Probably he assumes the resulting unpredictability will make him hard to get to. ]

[ He is half right. Unpredictability is the key to being a hard target, but the concept applies to both time and place. Half measures like this guy’s will protect him from some of the people some of the time. But they won't save him for long from someone like Hei. People, even smart ones, can take strong security measures in some respects, while leaving themselves vulnerable in others. Like double-locking the front door and leaving the windows wide open. ]

[ One more week. That will be enough for Hei to crack the layout of the dojo -- inside, outside. The hit has to look like natural causes, like they always do, so he plans to carry it out here, in a venue where it is far from unthinkable that someone might keel over from a fatal aneurism induced by exertion, or suffer an unlucky fall onto a steel bar, or undergo some other tragic mishap while using one of the complicated exercise machines. ]

[ All told, it's a relatively simple job. The details whirr through Hei's mind, on calm standby -- while the rest of him stays focused on Korra. It is well into her second trimester -- and by that time, he can honestly say none of his worries have receded. Nothing seems to have changed at all, really, except the phases of the moon, and her body. She's gotten round -- alarmingly so, in his opinion -- and has begun to suffer aches and irritabilities and other symptoms of distress. Although she peevishly keeps assuring him that those things are quite natural, they worry him and keep him hovering about her and trying to resolve the perceived issue like it's a rusty blade or a faulty machine, all of which makes her more peevish still. ]

[ Today, though, he'd found a note from her before leaving for work. (Not at the factory; he'd quit months ago, for a more invigorating position with Future Industries, handling some of their mecha-weaponry.) On the late-evening streets, Hei takes out the folded piece of memo paper with its girlishly-scrawled characters. It says: ]

Meeting with the President. Will be back by seven. Be in bed.

[ Hei won't deny his confusion. Or the way his eyes keep bobbling back and forth between president and bed. It is her writing, though he can't imagine pregnant-Korra scribbling those words with him in her mind. Not unless she is under some kind of seriously heavy drug. Their sex life has been sporadic these few months. Korra seems to have learned not to question any willingness for sex that he might show her. ]

[ Except it's clear she's far from resigned to the dry spell. ]

[ Exhaling, Hei drifts home at a measured pace. Between the Equalists, the impending baby, the new job and ever-cropping domestic dramas, his brain crackles like dead television static. But that's no excuse for neglecting Korra the way he knows he's been doing. They both need a good leg-over. It has been...well, a hell of a long time now since the last time. Usually it's just a vague concern; he's always had a low-level libido, which spikes into a cumulative rut-fest only if he finds someone who clicks well with him. But with the recent events, there hasn't been much time for ... clicking. Of any sort. ]

[ Maybe it's time to remedy that. Korra's note is like both a rebuke, and a plea, and a motivational promise. Once the baby arrives, they'll probably have no time for anything -- let alone sleep. Better to indulge in their free time, instead of squandering it. ]

Comments

[anatural]

[That note? 100% Asami. Well, 90% Asami. Korra will admit that she's been bitching pretty relentlessly to her friend about the lack of sex in her & Hei's relationship since getting pregnant. She's been bitching so much that Asami won't even sleep with her anymore to take the edge off. You need to work this out between the two of you.

After more complaining, Asami dragged her lingerie shopping and, when Korra insisted that she couldn't cancel the meeting with the president, got her to write that note.

Korra hesitates at the doorway to the house. It's ridiculous how nervous she feels. She knows he loves her. She knows this is just a phase and it will pass, but her heart just doesn't seem to get the message. His lack of interest in her makes her feel grotesque, even though she knows it's stupid. The idea of wearing that outfit Asami talked her into buying, going to their bedroom, and him not being interested... She doesn't want to deal with that.

You need to work this out between the two of you, she reminds herself. Clutching the bag in one hand, she opens the door.]

Hei? Are you home?

[mortemscintilla]

[ He's reread the note. Be in bed. That would mean, presumably, being naked. On reflection, though, Hei decides that isn't such a good idea. He can't fathom what mood she was in when she'd scribbled the note -- well, he can, just as he can picture how she'd have looked writing the note, hunched over a table like a child, her sleeve rolled up her arm, the pretty point of her tongue stuck out with the effort. The mental image tumbles through him with a burst of affection -- but also uncertainty. Maybe she'd been amorous when she'd written Be in bed -- but there's no guaruntee she won't come home tired and grumpy and bloated with cramps and cravings. And, well, she is the Avatar, isn't she? Best to measure her mood with a conversational litmus-test if he wants to go on breathing and see this through. ]

[ Anyway, he is too habitually restless to just lie down and look pretty. After a steaming hot bath, he's whipped up a meal of carmelized roast duck, sweet and sour pork, and egg tong sui as a not-too-saccharine dessert. The practiced rhythms of kitchenwork are always soothing -- and rewarding. No matter what disaster is manifesting in his and Korra's lives, they have to eat, and he's learnt long ago that he enjoys feeding her. ]

[ The duck is still fragrantly steaming in its tray, glazed and blackened as if dipped in sweet tar, the side-dishes a colorful assortment, when he hears the beep of the alarm, presaging Korra's return. The tread of her footsteps is anxious; her soft little Hei? Are you home? sends a frisson of concern through him. ]

[ Wiping his hands clean with a towel, he peers around the kitchen: ]

Here. [ His gaze alights on the bag, idle curiosity. ] I hope that's not take-out.

[ He's been doing his best to discourage her from eating out, lately. Germs, uncooked beef, expired ingredients, stale oils etc. ]

[anatural]

[He's not in bed. She wasn't expecting him to be, not really, but it's still not a good sign. She doesn't want to be fed and coddled like an invalid. She wants to be fucked.]

What? No. This is a surprise. [She hides it behind her back.] Dinner smells good. [Not that she's particularly interested, but considering how disinterested he's been in sex recently, she's pretty sure the duck would be more appealing to him than her.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ It's not that he's repulsed by her. Disconcerted, certainly, by the changes in her body, the breasts so dark-tipped and swollen, the belly so hard and tight, those mysterious networks of blue veins scattered here and there across her thighs. It's hard not to see her as ill, somehow: there is still no concept of the baby, because whenever he tries to conjure up a vision of what is in her belly, his mind's eye plays him an x-ray of a pelvis that could be anyone's, speckled with cryptic lucencies that could be a grub-like embryo, could be gas, could be cancer. ]

[ None of it makes her unbearably sexy, the way she always is to him. More like she was after her battle with Zaheer, her frailty filling him with an unbearable tenderness, a gnawing ache to cradle her against him the way a child might hold a baby bird in their cupped palms. ]

[ He knows he hasn't conveyed that sentiment to her. Can't, because she'd hate the idea of being regarded as helpless in some vital way. She's the Avatar: she is powerful and graceful. A force of nature. She won't stand for being thought of as a sickly girl white-knuckling staircase banisters, struggling through life one wobbly step at a time. Pregnancy doesn't mean everything in her has melted to goo. ]

[ He quirks an eyebrow when she hides the bag behind her back. Maybe it's a sex-toy -- god knows they haven't been firing on all the cylinders lately, and she needs to let off plenty of steam. Her drive has always been higher than his. Or maybe it's nothing sexy. Just a toy for the brat-bun in the oven. ]

[ He doesn't ask. But he does notice how unenthused she sounds about dinner. ]

You don't have to eat if you're not hungry. [ Why inflict heartburn on the poor girl? ] I brought those seaweed crackers you like.

[anatural]

And let you finish this all by yourself? Please.

[She sits down at the table, pushing the bag underneath her chair. The food does smell good, and if she tries hard enough, maybe it can distract her from how horny she is. She ladles some of the food onto a plate and starts stuffing her face. It's delicious... and not at all what she wants.]

So how do you like your new job? [We could be fucking RIGHT NOW. She wonders if the baby can feel her sexual frustration.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ He hopes the baby can't feel her sexual frustration. He can just picture what sort of monstrosity that would spawn: an unconvincing new arrival into the world, with a darkness in its brow, a slyness in its eyes, a set to its drooly mouth, which make it look like it is an adult already, as if Korra's womb has been some kind of seedy bar where it's already spent half a lifetime sipping whiskey, swapping grievances with its pals, ogling women's tits or doling out the ol' come-hither smirk to men. ]

[ Forcibly, he shakes the idea off. Reminds himself that it's just a baby inside her. A brand-new, soft-skinned baby who will be composed of all the wonderful rich ingredients of sweetness within Korra. Maybe one or two leftover fragments of his own. ]

[ He's heartened when she settles across from him. He doesn't realize how much he's come to like the comforting routine of breaking bread with her. Whether impeccably dressed at lunch or half-naked at breakfast, still disordered from bed, he could watch Korra cram food into her mouth, his pleasure undiminished day after day. Their first flagstone on the path to doomed domesticity, an echo of that night in the City, when what was Hei's personal space became suddenly theirs, shared. ]

[ He eats with his usual neat quickness. Glances up at her question, chewing slowly, his face lit with a brighter glow than a moment ago. When he swallows and speaks, the words come with an unforced enthusiasm. A rarity -- but this position allows him to channel his knowledge of war and tactics, complex machinery, to a large-scale purpose. ]

We're working on designing a quantum stealth drone. Sort of based on an aircraft from my homeworld. It's going to have adaptive camouflage. A special material that renders anything that sits behind the object invisible, by bending the light around it. If there's a threat to Republic City, it will be a game-changer. It could incapacitate enemies while sitting in plain sight.

[ Etc etc. Geek babble and mouthfuls of duck. (Maybe if he knew how seethingly impatient Korra was, he'd shut up.) ]

[anatural]

[His enthusiasm is adorable. Or would be if she weren't so damn horny. She wants to be excited, seeing him actually excited about something. She IS excited. Too often he settles for the familiar, and never takes a chance on something that might make him happy. He acts like happiness is impossible for him. Korra was shocked when he actually went for this new job that combined both his talents and what she knows ate his secret passions.]

How does it bend light? [She can't help picturing miniature light-benders, which is most definitely not what he means.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ It's easy to imagine it's impossible. Because happiness has no place in a profession like his. There's only life and death. These are the consequences of existence as a perfect spy. Survival and self-protection calls for the annihilation of ties with society, ties that most people need the way they need oxygen. You give up friends, family, romance. You walk through the world like a ghost, detached from the living around you. If you were to die in, say, a bus accident, you'd wind up buried in an obscure municipal graveyard, just another John Doe, no flowers, no mourners, hell, no mourning. For Contractors, that's a natural end, an inevitable progression. But no-one mentions the way it leeches every ounce of brightness away from you. ]

[ But here, Hei is slowly -- so slowly -- coming to terms with his past. Being around Korra allows his whole being to concentrate on happiness, on remembering what that word is, on reinventing it into new words that'll suit his altered self. ]

Consider it like this. [ He leans forward and brings his hands up, the fingers splayed and palms forward, as though framing a photograph. The relatively fluid body language is new, as if he is revealing a different part of his personality, a part he ordinarily keeps hidden. A demonstrative facet. ]

It uses something called optical metamaterials. They have refractive properties -- like the way reflections in mirrors or in water are reversed. But the way they're made, it's like a structured texture. It guides light around some parameters. Makes it unseen over a certain band of wavelengths. They're called 'spatially varying optical parameters' -- a special type of invisibility.

[ He doubts she's getting any of this. Asami might explain it better. Little Miss Sato has a talent for breaking down dry jargon into an easy-to-absorb smoothness. Maybe because of her upbringing: he can imagine Hiroshi Sato simplifying the technicalities for his wide-eyed, knee-high daughter. ]

[ For the first time, he wonders if he'll be able to share this aspect of his interests -- stargazing, mechanics, weapons -- with his own child. ]

[anatural]

[It is new, and adorable, and super arousing. She has no idea what he's talking about, but at least she's no longer picturing miniature light-benders. It's almost like he's deliberately drawing attention to his hands — hands that can do wonderful, amazing things to her body. Things that she misses feeling.

His energetic demonstration has brought him closer; their knees are almost touching. She could lean over and kiss him so easily... She does. Well, she tries. She just forgot to account for the round swell of her belly. She bounces off the edge of the table and back against her seat with a little oof. She's not sure whether to laugh or scream in frustration.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ He blinks as she bumps against the table, in a floating helium balloon sort of way. Wonders what dish she'd been trying to reach across the table, then realizes: Oh. She'd wanted to kiss him. There is a flinch of guilt, a quiet zing of self-reproach. He's been so caught up in his own life, the transitions and transformations, that he hasn't taken into account the full weight of her loneliness, the changes in her life and her body that she cannot control, can only endure as a natural force, like foul weather or a disease. Not something that can be reasoned with or negotiated with or otherwise influenced, but rather something that can only be ridden out. ]

[ His hands descend slowly back into his lap. When he regards her, it's clear-eyed, self-contained, as if he's contemplating how to slide out a move from the line of pawns and distractions arrayed between them, a weak proxy for an apology or simply an excuse. But there's no need. Instead, palms still splayed across his knees, he leans in. His warm breath feathers across her face, a beat before his top lips brushes hers, bottom lip fitted against her bottom lip. He inhales the scent of something, complex and fermented and hormonal, but still so much like home. ]

[ Tenderness and want catch like barbs in his throat. In the next moment, he is kissing her -- soft and openmouthed and hungry, the press of his fingertips against her neck as he shifts his weight, close enough for their knees to overlap and wedge together. ]

[anatural]

[Finally. Korra scoots forward, now mindful of the table's edge, so that his knee is crushed against her labia. A small bit of friction to tide her over while she heats up the kiss. He can be so blind and stupid sometimes, she wants to bang his head against a wall — but he's still an amazing kisser.

Her foot brushes against the bag under her chair, reminding her of the little surprise Asami had pushed her into getting. She's torn — she doesn't want to break the momentum they have going right now, but she also really likes the lingerie she got, and she wants to see how he'll react to it. But should she save it for another time when she's having trouble getting him to get it up?

While her brain's busy fussing, her hands have dragged his down to her breasts, making the decision for her. She can bring out the surprise if he asks about it. In the meantime, she's not going to do anything that will break contact between them.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ There will always be a strangeness to living with BK201: he can be scarily perceptive at times, or touchingly thoughtful. But he is also, as Korra is agonizingly aware of, obtuse, silent, morose, and inconsiderate. But Hei finds those episodes of his own faulty boyfriendliness more reassuring than off-putting. Strip away his masks, and he is a flawed, miserable man, not a prince charming. But living with Korra ensures that he'll never relapse into a monster. ]

[ With her thighs curled around his knee, he gets the message. Rocks the joint slowly against her, the bone as hard as shell against that vulnerable softness, a whispering friction of fabric on fabric, while his breath escapes in a gust, the kisses growing hotter, more insistent. It's like igniting a shimmering charge: Korra's need broils through his own veins in a galvanizing, all-consuming, full-barrel rush. ]

[ Fuck -- why had he been denying himself? Denying her? It is idiotic. And, not for the first time lately, he has to acknowledge that when he goes to long without the restorative mojo of their fuckings, a healing physicality, his senses bend themselves out of joint. It has been more or less this bad for the last several months. Nature's way of telling him something, but he'd been so pathetically slow to pick up on the message. ]

[ Then she's caught his wrists, dragging his hands to her chest. Hei's breath hitches in his throat: excitement, want. But his hands are gentle as they explore her clothed breasts. They've plumped shockingly, deliciously, but the nipples feel tight and tender, even through the layers of cloth. He kneads them carefully, thumb rubbing across the pooched tips. Breaks the kiss, but only to marshal his catapulting thoughts, to get a grip on the wildly-flickering shape of his hunger, which began as a tiny spark fed by tinder, and has transposed into a quiet supernova. ]

[ Nuzzling her neck, he kisses the flush creeping across it. His words are a rasping slur against her pulsepoint. ]

We should take this somewhere else.

[ The bedroom, for instance. Or the couch. Or a fucking carpeted floor. (As he shifts, the better to gather her closer, his boot nudges against the bag in a crinkling rustle. What, he wonders, is in there?) ]

[anatural]

Bed. [Definitely bed. Their couch does not offer enough room for her pregnant body, and their house is short on carpeted floors. (Korra chucked what rugs they'd had in a rage due to Cat's constant hairballs.)

She stands up, stumbling a little in their tangle of limbs. The bag tips over, and a tantalizing piece of white lace peeks out.]

Oops! [Giggling, clinging to him, stealing kisses]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Her giggles are like improbable music, a glittery valse. It matches the way he's waltzing her delicately backwards toward their bedroom, one hand laddering under her blouse to palm the warm swell of her breast, to thumb circles across the nipple, while the other one cups the curve of her ass, practically lifting her so she's plastered against him, a full-body press. Doesn't matter that she is rotund and deliciously meaty, a muscly girl-fighter. In his arms she always feels like a curling lightness, a beautiful wet feather clinging to skin. ]

[ He barely notices when the bag tips over. His mouth is buried in her neck, gnawing at the pulse that thumps so gloriously hard there. But at the fluttery sound of her Oops, he detaches to regard the spilled contents: a foamy filigree of lace. A dress? Lingerie? ]

What's that?

[ A dark curiosity thrums through him, his eyes smoky but interested. ]

[anatural]

[He lifts her up against him, and she slides her hands down his torso, past the waistband of his pants to the thick warmth between his legs. She rubs it through the fabric of his underwear, loving the way he twitches in her hand, the little hitches in his breath.

And then he asks about the bag. Well if he's going to ask... guess she'll get to try it on after all.]

It's something I picked up to surprise you with... do you want to see?

[mortemscintilla]

[ When she rubs at his thickening cock, Hei hums and surges against her palm, letting the usual mask of impassivity across his face loosen, his eyes slip shut, his chin drooping a fraction lower. He's parting his lips on a word he doesn't say, lashes fluttering, head canting to one side, the right, the side so often weighed down by headaches. ]

[ This is absolutely the opposite of a headache, though. It is dizzy-making and intense, his body like a cold shack creaking as fire-heat flexes the joists. Their feet have stopped moving, he notices, but feet are a far distant worry, feet are the South Pole and this is some kind of northern-pointing pole where he is fucking open Korra's mouth with wet, hungry stabs of tongue, rubbing the twitchy heft of his erection shamelessly against her palm and making himself breathless. ]

[ At her question, there is a mass of conflicting impulses. No. Yes. Take a breather. Keep going. He squeezes his eyes shut, but he can still see that lace frippery peeking from the bag. Can imagine how it would look on Korra, milky and pristine and intact for only a matter of moments before he tears it to shreds. ]

[ A jittery inhale, a slow exhale. Then he reaches, one-handed, to scoop up the bag, hefting Korra close in the other arm. Kisses her hotly in lieu of Okay, before bearing her with a smooth hurried speed to the bedroom. ]

[anatural]

[She's giggling again — it's almost embarrassing, but she's just so fucking relieved and happy and it feels so good. She bites his lip and squirms just to feel the friction.]

In that case — [She grabs the bag from his hand and tries to tug herself free.] You get undressed and I'll be right back. [It just seems silly to change into into it in front of him, when he'll be taking it off of her. She plans on changing into it in the bathroom.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Reluctantly, Hei allows his arms to slide away -- but not before hauling her in by the nape of her neck, mouth catching hers. The kiss takes shape in gulping wildness, wet and scorched, but grows gentler as he lets his lips play with hers, a warm sweet pliancy, as if talking to her in some secret way, trying to convey words he can't conjure up with voice and breath, but with the imprint of lips and teeth and tongue. Her eyes have that irresistible sparkle to them; she's aglow all over, giggles floating like bubbles through the air -- and he can't begin to pretend at indifference. ]

[ When he draws back, his face is formed into its usual bedroom-eyed look -- sharp in all its knowingness. Dark-eyed and sly. But there is something else there, a raw spike of yearning, not yet submerged beneath a cool, wry exterior. ]

Don't take long.

[ It should feel like Lovemaking 101 -- the playfulness, the bedroom-bound waltz, the lingerie. It doesn't. You don't see the banality of cliches when the excitement, the underlying dramas, are so uniquely yours. ]

[anatural]

[It is ridiculous. The lingerie, the Don’t take too long, like those romance movers they'd sometimes catch on the television back in the City, and not at all like the sex they usually have. Korra feels like she's playacting.

That feeling doesn't diminish as she slips into the bathroom and extracts herself from her clothes. She almost never has the chance to take off her own clothes for sex; even after almost a decade of fucking, his first priority is to get her naked. She carefully slides on the lacy garment Asami talked her into getting — half because she needs to be mindful of her new size, and half because she's afraid of prematurely destroying the delicate fabric. It's almost a shame... she knows the outfit isn't going to survive the night, but she likes it. The fabric is just itchy enough to feel good against her sensitive nipples, and the pattern of the lace reminds her of frost on a window. It's a nice contrast against her dark skin.

Her eyes linger only a moment on her basically-naked reflection. A part of her wants to stick around and examine it; there's something fascinating about the new curves, and she hasn't really taken much time to get to know them. But Hei is waiting, and the mirror will still be there after she's fucked him to her satisfaction.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ 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.) ]

[anatural]

[...are you fucking kidding.]

What's wrong with this one?

[It looks perfectly acceptable for fucking, which is all she cares about right now.]

[mortemscintilla]

It will be uncomfortable when you're bigger.

[ At best, she'll need body-pillows and cushions for support. At worst, she'll grow so confined she'll either consign him to the couch -- or vacate there herself. ]

[ Glancing around, he tries to explain that to her, one hand still scrubbing idly at his jaw. A beat later, his fingers drop away. He stares, seized with a stupid speechlessness. Well - why wouldn't he? She'd probably expect him to sit up and react. Only a dead man wouldn't: the subtle bit of white gossamer lace, held together with crocheted florals and ribbon, seems to have been crafted with the full understanding that the woman will wear it precisely once, for a matter of minutes, before it is rendered to scraps, if not positively eaten, by her appreciative lover. ]

[ Who has been doing a stupendous job of ignoring her. Is this really the time to be discussing the futon? ]

[ Hormones build a twister up through Hei's body. He is both startled yet-not, by his own voice, saying, We'll talk about it later -- and by his arms, which are around her in a moment. She's put on weight, but it suits her: there is a voluptuous pair of hips now to support the pooch of her pregnancy, and her breasts are rounder than they've ever been, their areolas so wine-dark and large, almost too big for his mouth to encompass. When she's fitted against him, his head butting softly into the crook of her shoulder, he feels the almost equatorial heat of her churning cells. ]

[ Teasingly, (a gentle deflection, because his hunger is too keenly apparent), ]

You're like a soap bubble. With arms and legs.

[anatural]

[She grumbles just a little, but the shock on his face when he finally looks at her makes up for the delay. It's been awhile since she's knocked him speechless like this... She really should do it more often.

She wraps her arms around his waist and nibbles on his ear.]

Wow. That's a real sexy comparison. You should write poetry.

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei hides the curve of his smile against her throat. Her little teeth scraping his ear, the alluring plumpness of her body, turns his brain heat-warped and dizzy. He wishes he could tell her how beautiful she looks -- with those wispy little nothings on, or without them. But he's never going to have a career as a metaphysical poet. Words lie parallel to lies, anyway -- and right now he wants just this. Dusky smooth-polished skin, and spicy dollops of banter, and this sweet, empty evening, nowhere to be but here. ]

[ Sinking back against the futon, he gathers her in closer, so she's perched in his lap. Not pretzeling his legs with hers like always -- it would be uncomfortable with the swell of her belly in the way -- but just a heavy, heated plait of arms, her thighs straddling his, the pretty blue eyes a skylit opposition gazing down into his own. ]

[ Tipping his head up, he kisses her again -- slow, tongue-tracing, soft. Presses his mouth to her ear, her collarbone, the upper curve of her breast. Her scent overwhelms him: it's changed since the pregnancy, like the way she tastes. A tang that makes her blood run hotter, her skin more tart -- and which makes him teeter between greed and uncertainty. ]

[ Humming, he buries his face in her lace-swagged breasts, open-mouthed. Hot breath and bristles prickle her skin through the fabric as he takes a nipple between his lips, then his teeth -- teasing, testing. Rolling it between the softly-scratchy lace and hard enamel, laving it with wet tongue, seeing what sensations the combination creates, whether she likes it or wants it rougher. ]

[anatural]

[He could go rougher, definitely, but Korra's not about to complain. She's been so deprived, the pleasure is almost painful. Fuck, she's missed this so much. Her body is stretched taut, almost brittle, like it's been sucked dry from endless weeks of nothing but self-induced orgasms. She's never letting him go this long without touching her again. No more nights where they sleep on opposite sides of the bed. No more being pacified by half-hearted kisses.

She reaches down to wrap her hand around him. Please don't go slow.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ 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. ]

[anatural]

Oh... [She lets out a little noise of protest when she can't reach his dick anymore. But it's half-hearted. She's earned this TLC, and she's going to enjoy every last second of it.

Well. First.]

Keep doing what you're doing — but I need a pillow.

[She grabs his head to stop him from going anywhere and leans forward, fumbling around for a pillow to put under her back.]

[mortemscintilla]

Hmmm?

[ Hei mouths softly at her nipples, letting her wriggle beneath him until she's got a pillow wedged beneath her back. Her belly seems so tight-stretched, her breasts enlarged and tender, everything about her congested and heavy and swollen, a skin about to burst and splatter. He tries not to think of it that way. But as he skims his fingertips along the melony swell of her stomach, the nub of navel, he can't fight the twinge of concern hidden beneath his heavy-lidded, inexpressive facade. ]

[ Carefully, he rucks the lacy fabric of the teddy up onto her stomach, bunches it up under her chin, exposing the fecund length of her body. She's long since forsaken modesty with him; he's seen her naked enough times when she's dressing. Has observed, meticulously and with private disconcertion, the changes in her burgeoning body. But this is different. Curiosity and care wrestle with a sharp-toothed arousal. ]

[ When his lips brush her belly, it's a feathery flutter. Tongue whorling around her navel, which is almost like a ridiculous third erect nipple at this point, before trailing down the prominent seam to her mons, his humid breath ruffling the damp curls through the wispy frill of underwear. Not seductive, so much as exploratory. ]

[ Gently, he nuzzles the warmth of her inner-thighs, like a cat seeking heat. ]

Tell me what you'd like.

[anatural]

[What happened to ripping it off with his teeth? Come on now, don't get delicate with her now just because she needs a pillow for her back.

She gets up as best as she can on her elbows so she can get a good look at him. More importantly, so he can see her face, even over the gigantic swell of her belly.]

I want you. To fuck me until I can't move.

[It's that simple.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ It's such a pretty bit of frippery. Seems a shame to waste it. ]

[ Her words go through Hei in an exquisite knot of heat: his dick twitches and he uncurls a faint smile, ironical in its tender amusement. ]

If I did that, you'd just tell me to slow down.

[ Words murmured against the gusset of her underwear, a warm weightless tease of a touch. One hand roams across her body, up the swell of her belly to palm her breast, the nipple springy against his plucking fingers. The other dips lower, between her legs, dragging fingertips along the clinging dampness of the cloth there -- before he wrenches her panties down her thighs. Dragging his nails lightly through the damp curls at her pubis, he combs them apart. Lowers his head to lick soft-tongued right over her opening, down and up, the taste of her so tartly luscious, but with a hotter tang from point to point: sharper, almost acidic, near her vagina; thicker and muskier near her clit. ]

[ He'll give her what she wants. There's no denying that. But he plans to make use of his reserve of quiet patience, to enjoy her the way he hasn't been bothering to for weeks now. ]

[anatural]

Try me. [Breathless. She wiggles her toes and hums her pleasure. Something other than her fingers between her legs — good. Yet it's not so much hot as...soothing. Like when Naga licks her affectionately. Korra snorts a little at the comparison. Hei may not like it, but even now, he reminds her of her best friend in many, many ways.

Still, she doesn't want to be cuddling a polar bear dog.] Seriously.

[mortemscintilla]

[ She'd better not compare him to Naga. At least not out loud. Unless you have some sort of secret bestiality fetish, he can't think of a single charming aspect to commend that slobbering heap of white fur. ]

[ He hears the challenge in her voice. His erection pulses upwards from his belly, a pool of clear fluid caught in the opening. But he doesn't respond right away. His hands catch the hard jut of her knees, forcing her thighs wider open. Then his mouth is busy before she has a chance to react, a series of quick lush sucks to her clit that leave it wet and twitching, and then he's rubbing his face against the curly pooch, smearing her slickness across his cheek, nuzzling at her entrance before mouthing it hotly, worshipping with an artless hunger that is sometimes as effective as skill, but when his tongue returns he's got that too; hard rapid licks from the fringe of her inner-lips to her clit, polishing it with an exquisitely fierce pressure, stabbing into her with thick slurps of tongue, sucking, lashing -- ]

[ And then he takes his mouth away, the son of a bitch. ]

[ His erection tics at an urgent angle, darkish and slick-tipped, thick and heavy as something raised in anger. But his touch is no rougher than it needs to be -- just brutally efficient. Tipping her thighs back, he barely gives her a warning before he's speared his cock into her. Not in slip-sliding increments, but one jarring stroke. Loving that fluttering clench of muscle, the way he's enveloped all at once in liquid heat. Arching tensely over, he presses a messy, jerking kiss to the corner of her lips -- or tries to. ]

[ With her round belly in the way, it's not exactly the ideal position to be sucking faces like movie stars. ]

[anatural]

[Hey, she's loved that slobbering heap of fur for a lot longer than she's loved you.

She screams, first in protest as he pulls his mouth away, and then in shock as he pierces her. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK. It almost hurts. It's too hard, too forceful, too sudden, and yet she wouldn't want it any other way. She wants the ferocity. She doesn't want to be treated like something fragile. All the best sex they've ever had is when they fuck like forces of nature.

Then something moves inside her. Not Hei. Is it gas? Cramps? Maybe they shouldn't be fucking so hard so close after dinner. Another sharp pain hits; definitely not cramps.]

The baby. [The baby is kicking.]

[mortemscintilla]

What ...?

[ Raw and shuddery-voiced: his nerves jangling on a storm of aborted pleasure. He isn't sure what she means, except that those two words are enough to decalcify the fierce strain of pulse through his body. He rolls off, his cock going soft, the tight hard tingle in his balls backing up, a harsh ache. Terror and confusion blurring together until he feels both at the perfect equilibrium of numbness, and perhaps clinically insane. ]

[ Incomprehensibly, he lifts a hand to inspect her belly, palming its contours, half-expecting an alien life-form to burst out of it. Nothing so dramatic occurs. But he feels, very distinctly, something stirring inside her. Off and on, a secret movement, sharp kicks like hiccups. ]

[ The baby. The goddamn baby is moving. ]

[ A beat, then two. Hei blinks, not moving his hand, and his pupils dilate slightly as he gazes at the harmless swell of her belly. Now a ticking time bomb, a monstrosity and a miracle, making his thoughts waver as if caught darkly in a trance. ]

[ Disbelievingly, he lifts his head to meet her eyes. A silent Holyfuckareyoufeelingthis? ]

[anatural]

[He leaves, and she feels both empty & clogged up with frustrated desire. But she's distracted by the movement in her belly. She runs her hands over it. The baby's kicking like it's going through a kata — a thought that makes her smile. She almost laughs at the expression on Hei's face. Of course she feels it; it's in her body, dumbass.]

A fighter. [She places her hand on top of his and grins.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Under Hei's palm, her belly ripples -- mysterious little jolts. No rhythm that he can ascertain. But there is something inside her. Something alive. It sinks into him, as if for the first time: he feels a species of fear enter his heart that he hasn't felt since Heaven's War. Although he'd been scared most of his time there, it had at least been a coherent fear: fear that a bomb might come whistling out of the chalky dawn sky and through the canvas roof of his tent, or fear that some human grenade might dash inside their perimeter and pull the pin on himself. ]

[ But the fear he feels now is childlike, dreamy. There is no reference point to it. ]

[ Then he realizes it's not fear at all. It's awe. ]

[ Then Korra's hand covers his -- and he jerks himself to his senses. Strange, to realize that even as someone who has existed in the dark, he is so limited by the spectrum of what is visible. How many things are burgeoning and brewing unnoticed? Secretly blossoming into life, just out of sight? ]

[ He doesn't smile. His expression is quietly shocked, torn. But after a moment, he lets his hand twine with hers, fingers a curl of dry, hot kindling. A reassurance, but also a necessary anchor. His emotions are pinwheeling too quickly between overspillage and absence. He doesn't know what to settle on. ]

[ Finally, wrenching his focus on the practicalities, ]

Does it hurt?

[anatural]

No. I thought it was gas at first. [She snorts a little, but doesn't linger on amusement. She brushes her free hand through his hair, her thumb caressing his cheek. It's fascinating to watch the emotions flit across his face. She can't even really identify most of them, but that doesn't bother her. It's a reminder of how intensely he can feel things. Normally he's so self-contained... she knows he loves her, can feel that love in a muted way except when they're having sex. (One of the many reasons she likes fucking so much — it brings both their feelings into sharp relief.)

She leans in and kisses him, wanting to savor the moment, yet at the same time desperately needing him back inside her. She pulls the hand on her belly up to her breast, heavy and hard-tipped and aching for him.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei's gaze shutters at the touch through his hair, the thumb imparting its warm caress, and his expression begins to alter, like a door slowly shutting. The whirlwind of emotion inside him rages on. But his nerves tingle, shields and masks kicking in, because while it really is a sad thing, how readily he turns himself off, a prostitution of the concept of honesty in a relationship -- it's also a bleak fact. He feels -- intensely and destructively. There's no denying that. But on the surface, there is only a controlled absence. ]

[ Korra's attention is bright as sunshine -- but he'd blacken and disintegrate under total exposure. ]

[ He's grateful when she doesn't try to talk. Kisses are a sweet welcome. Touch is simple. The dark growth of his mistakes, his doubts, weighs everything down when they're apart -- but here he can imprint upon her the undiluted truth. Curling his palm over her breast, he eats her mouth first with a lascivious tenderness, then with a deepening hunger. Heat flares across his body up into the roots of his hair; his wilted erection fills by degrees to an urgent thickness. ]

[ Breaking the kiss, he nudges her back. Dips his head, licking the flat of his tongue across one pebbly nipple. Catches the other between pinching fingers, then, as he switches breasts, gnawing teeth. An ache pounds behind his eyes, and with it, a sense of surrealism seethes at the margins, the awareness of the baby and everything it symbolizes. But the aroma of her excitement blooms out into the still bedroom air, blotting all worries out. ]

[ Nuzzling between her breasts, one palm starfishing her mons, he murmurs, ]

You want to lay on your side? Easier that way.

[ The dresser mirror is right across the futon; he can watch her face as he goes into her, fan his gaze up and down the ripe length of her at leisure. ]

[anatural]

[Easier to watch herself, he means. She likes that idea.]

All right.

[She rolls over and wiggles until she's pressed back against him, his erection hot and pulsing against the cleft of her ass. The mirror cuts off mid-body, showing only a hint of her swollen belly. Her eyes are drawn to her breasts — shiny and discolored from bites. They should look like that more often.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ All of her should look that way: the sleek, voluptuous cascade of her body, the dark skin reddened by the force of his kisses, blotches of teeth-marks on her neck and shoulders and breasts, her lips so swollen they are almost pouty, hair spilling everywhere and eyes a misty blue glint between the dark tangle. Her entire pose from her bare feet to the wicked curl of her mouth says: I am yours, and you need to do wicked things to me. Now. ]

[ Well, Hei thinks, as he spoons her. Okay. ]

[ Slipping his right arm under her neck, he winds it round her shoulders, and palm brazenly spanning her neckline and then her breast, hefting its warm delicious weight. Hardness prods the curve of her ass, his dick a hot, satiny-hard push. With one hand, he draws her uppermost leg in, clasping her knee, to give himself better access. His erection glides along the cleft of her buttocks: then he hooks his hips, and the angle is abruptly optimal. Mouthing the crook of her shoulder, he enters her slowly -- tight and slick and hot and oh sweet fucking yes. ]

[ Hei's breath stirs the hair on her nape as he sinks all the way in. His hum is dreamy, the dreaminess a lie. Every inch of him thrums with impatience, nerve endings alight with the bright-red agony of glass shards grating over exposed bone. ]

[anatural]

Don't pretend. [Or don't hold back. It's hard to tell the difference with him. She clenches herself around him and rocks her hips as best she can. He's going to have to work harder than that to get her screaming again.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ She clenches all those girly-bits around him, perfect and slippery-sweet and playing his hot spots just right -- and for a beat Hei can't even pretend that he's doing the driving. ]

[ His breath bursts raggedly from his parted lips, catching the end of a repressed groan. Hitching his hips, he jerks closer, mouth buried in the crook of her neck. His cock, heavy and slick, stretches her open from behind: his fingers skim the round pooch of her belly in front, combing through the wet curls of her mons. He hooks one finger into the cleft of her sex, catching her clit with the rough tip. Teases her, little flicks of sensation, as he starts a tight, grinding rhythm. Not gentle but relentless, riveting her sweet-spot with cruel accuracy and repetition, while the right hand tweaks roughly at her nipple, the left rubbing a fingertip butterfly-rapid at her clit. ]

[ He doesn't care about pacing himself. Doesn't care if she gets breathless or oversensitized. He wants to watch the sensations play out across her face, to feel her body thrumming hard and deep along that corded fault-line of pleasure that becomes nearly pain. ]

[anatural]

[Is anyone doing the driving? Because Korra doesn't feel like she's in control. She's watching herself in the mirror without really seeing — her vision turns inward, away from the sight of her rippling flesh, sweat-slicked skin, because it's too much. She wants to focus on the way he feels inside her, and his hand on her breast.

She lets out a strangled cry and grabs the hand on her clit. Too much. It feels like a spike is being hammered between her legs, each thrust bringing searing pain, the rippling afterwaves almost orgasmic before another spike slams her again.

A very dim, distant part of her is glad they don't have neighbors, just before her orgasm hits and she screams like something is being ripped out of her.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ She comes, her body spinning tight as a drawn bowstring, clamping down on Hei's thrusts so fiercely that he snarls. That is all he can manage. No words, but beastly noises on cue, no fucking problem apparently. His thrusts turn sharper and shorter, his entire being narrowing to just the sensations spiraling between them, that needy wet congestion of perfect friction, on the way Korra ripples, the pleasure seeming to tear out of her in a shocked scream. His entire body spasms in demand to hers, thighs to cock to shoulder-blades, pushing deep, grinding hard, over and over, as he gasps against her ear, pressing shaky, messy kisses into her hair and onto her temple and cheek. ]

[ How, he wonders dizzily, had he gone so long without this? Without these lovely tart slices of Korra-ness? Just the sight -- the feel of her -- slides through him like a bell of red-hot brandy, which she might as well be, head to toe, except for that flower of secret glowy tenderness she nourishes in him. Impossible, unchangeable Avatar, dirtysweet little kitten, twisting him all around with her adorable mews and the wicked curls of her smile and her wild-foresty smelling skin and her -- ]

Fuck.

[ The curse tears loose in gratitude as he nears his peak, pure filth and coded love-lyrics as he is released. It hits hard, the undertow of darkness sweeping him under, brightness rising to hover above him as he goes down. ]

[anatural]

[Korra sags into the bed, feeling like overworked clay. It takes her a few minutes to catch her breath.]

Let's not do that again. [A moment later, realizing how that sounds] The going so long without, I mean. The sex was great. The sex is always great.

[She wraps her arms around his, holding him in place so he can't even pull out. His first instinct is going to be pulling away, she knows, but she's not about to let him. It's not like he has to worry about getting so soft the condom falls off. And as far as she's concerned, he owes her for the weeks of deprivation.]

But seriously. Let's not wait so long next time. [They don't have much longer to fuck whenever they want, wherever they want. Korra wants to enjoy it while she still can.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Sure enough, Hei tries to fall away from her and onto his back. But she keeps him in place: heat-puddled and sticky against him, his erection gradually softening in the twitchy grip of her sex. Too weary to resist, he spoons her, one hand cinching her breast, the other splayed across her round belly. Lets his eyes drift shut and buries his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her sweaty body, that heady whiff of pheromones and drying juices. It is good, and the change of late evening sunlight from minute to minute is good, and the prospect of a shower and a snack later. ]

[ Her prattle laps at the edges of his drowsy awareness. Sweet and heavy like sips of milkshake, but nothing he can make sense of. ]

Sure, [ he says it thickly, meaning it, whatever it is she's asking for. ( Somewhere in the rational honeycomb of his brain, unsoaked by exhaustion and hormones, a man styled after Taro Hirai's mystery fiction types ironically: He was a blind man with an armful of dynamite. He would have signed anything right now, even his own death warrant.) ]

[anatural]

[She rolls her eyes. He's not even really listening. But hey, he said sure, and she's going to hold him to that. Give him a little while to recover, and then go for round two.

He can always take off work tomorrow.]