Date: 2014-03-22 03:25 am (UTC)
mortemscintilla: ∅  And puts a gun up to my head (Default)
[ Hei will never admit it, but he loves that thrill of danger mingling with want. Loves the chance to transform her into one great vibrating skein of Korra-fiber for him to play sweet arpeggios on. It's what his teenaged psyche has been shaped by -- the horrible risks committed as terrible deep pleasures, and then the horrible torment of constant tension, before-during-after. Her muffled scream -- muted by the thud of an overturned vase in the next room -- moves him like something seismic, deeper than an earthquake. Ignoring her thwacking palm, he spreads his mouth wider, stroking her clit with those hard sloppy licks that always make her frantic. ]

[ But even as he lets her climb, he has another agenda. One-handed, he scrabbles for a decorative tin box at the table -- the sort for toffees. The box falls quietly, lid popping. A handful of small silver squares scatter across the sheets. (Like any post-industrial world imprinted on the 1930s, contraceptives exist in Korra's world. The fact that she didn't know about them, when they'd first fucked, says volumes about how cloistered her childhood was.) It takes him a moment to slip the sheath on, his mouth working wet and greedy between her thighs. The material is rougher, more ribbed than he's used to. But it's palatable enough. ]

[ On a sharp gasp, he drags himself away before she can peak. Catches himself above her, and pulls the cloth from her mouth, with the sort of flourish of hand that a magician uses to pull scarves out of unexpected places. In the next breath his mouth is pressing hers open, swarming in fierce kisses. The tip of his cock is cradled in the juncture of her thighs -- so close yet not close enough. ]
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