[ Hei lets his thumb rest where it is, gripped by her exquisite heat. Lets her work her hips, settling to the unfamiliar invasion. He doesn't prod or nudge; he lets it stay there, letting her feel gently full, while his pointer finger strokes the slippery cleft of her vulva, from clit to entrance. Her gorgeous eagerness makes him feel as if he's got something caught in his chest and groin, something prickly-hot and secret which the barest whisper of breath might dislodge. Hunger? Or is it something else -- a base gratitude? ]
[ He isn't sure. ]
[ By diplomatic stages, he withdraws his hand. His edged, detached manner hides what appears to be a genuine interest in making sure she enjoys this. (Why? Why should it matter if she does or doesn't? Why should anyone's needs matter but his own?) He doesn't know the answer to that, either. Rising, he pads into the narrow kitchenette of the villa -- chipped black and white tiles and an enormous metal ice box. There's a bottle of olive oil on the stained formica counter; he snags it before retrieving a second square of condoms from his discarded trousers. He doesn't have to worry about the oil degrading the sheath. His brand is non-latex; personally he's never liked that antiseptic scent in the generic variety. ]
[ He returns to Korra, a debauched spill of curves and sleek muscle across the bed. Just watching her stirs a distinct, blade-edged hunger that makes all his nerves heat up with a recognition of urgency. Dragging her closer by the hips, he softens his mouth, slides tongue and teeth luxuriously down her spine to the swell of her buttocks. Hands coasting up her thighs, he spreads her open, tongue a quick slippery dart across the bud of her ass, before he curls it between the plump folds of her sex, lapping her from front to back. With his other hand, he dips a finger into that tight origami crinkle of her anus, coaxing her open with a slow in-and-out subterfuge -- first one digit, then two, all the way to the knuckles. Meanwhile his tongue swivels all around her soft salt-seeping skin, over and over and over, alternating between her fluttering opening and the taut point of her clit, for as long as it will take to build that aching strain, that synchronicity between them. ]
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Date: 2015-04-08 04:22 am (UTC)[ He isn't sure. ]
[ By diplomatic stages, he withdraws his hand. His edged, detached manner hides what appears to be a genuine interest in making sure she enjoys this. (Why? Why should it matter if she does or doesn't? Why should anyone's needs matter but his own?) He doesn't know the answer to that, either. Rising, he pads into the narrow kitchenette of the villa -- chipped black and white tiles and an enormous metal ice box. There's a bottle of olive oil on the stained formica counter; he snags it before retrieving a second square of condoms from his discarded trousers. He doesn't have to worry about the oil degrading the sheath. His brand is non-latex; personally he's never liked that antiseptic scent in the generic variety. ]
[ He returns to Korra, a debauched spill of curves and sleek muscle across the bed. Just watching her stirs a distinct, blade-edged hunger that makes all his nerves heat up with a recognition of urgency. Dragging her closer by the hips, he softens his mouth, slides tongue and teeth luxuriously down her spine to the swell of her buttocks. Hands coasting up her thighs, he spreads her open, tongue a quick slippery dart across the bud of her ass, before he curls it between the plump folds of her sex, lapping her from front to back. With his other hand, he dips a finger into that tight origami crinkle of her anus, coaxing her open with a slow in-and-out subterfuge -- first one digit, then two, all the way to the knuckles. Meanwhile his tongue swivels all around her soft salt-seeping skin, over and over and over, alternating between her fluttering opening and the taut point of her clit, for as long as it will take to build that aching strain, that synchronicity between them. ]