When you have to go there...

[mortemscintilla]

WHO: Korra & Hei
WHAT: Korra moves in to Hei's place.

[ He's found an old loft not too far from the beach, strangely customized by a few generations of previous tenants. Tucked away among the sand dunes and flapping palms, it takes a while to find the strange cedar building, low and spread out like a child's blocks jumbled into the hillside, windows flashing like jewels. There's a set of wooden steps up the side of the building, turning from flight to flight like a fire escape, and a boarded genkan walkway along the bricked side that brings any visitors (or intruders) to an open area of the roof, enclosed by low walls. Deck furniture, crates, a few legacy plants that survive on rain. A good place to sit out at night and watch the stars -- or to spring a well-placed trap on trespassers. ]

[ Inside it's bigger than expected, but it's sectioned off by shoji, and the sections are cozy. (Well, cozy is what came to Hei's mind the first time he saw it, dry and ironic because any other meaning was too complicated to explain.) A dark-laqured kitchen area with an antique keyaki-wood hibachi; a livingroom made airy and pale by the paper blinds of joined squares of crumpled washi; a narrow bedroom with sea-blue walls and a moon-window with dark bamboo lattices, but bare of anything except a wide futon and a nightstand. Everything runs together except where retaining walls and counters and furniture and a few stone columns mark one part of the loft from another. ]

[ Further down, there is a lot of empty floorspace that once might have been a tatami room. Had the loft been occupied by a family, this would have been the location of the kotatsu, its heavy quilted skirt draping to the floor and an electric brazier radiating cheerfully, their legs tucked comfortably under the quilted skirt as they gossiped about the neighbors and griped about the household bills. Now, it serves as a training room. A floor of polished but pitted boards covered by dull gray mats. A weight bench. A punching bag. A pommel horse. A trapeze rig with a bright tangle of aerial silks. The only truly bizarre item in the mini-dojo is a wooden wing-chun training dummy, about the dimensions of a large man, which Hei has placed in the corner. It keeps his reflexes sharp and the striking surfaces of his hands callused and hard, and allows him to practice some of the deadlier strikes and blocks he'd neglect to some degree while training in a real dojo. ]

[ It would make an interesting conversation piece, if anyone ever visits the apartment. But mostly, Hei's hoping Korra won't find it too unnerving. ]

[ He's already sent her a passcode to disarm the security system at the door. (It only works once, so if it falls into the wrong hands, it's useless.) He's also taken tomorrow off work. Half to help her move any extra stuff in. And half because, well ...  he's planning to say hello to her until they can't say hello anymore. ]

Comments

[mortemscintilla]

Oh.

[ Hei undoes their kiss on a gasp, a quiet rasp of desperation pushing out his throat. With her legs ribboned around him, the tight wet clutch of her sex turns his whole body into a bright, aching circuit of pleasure. He can feel his skin beginning to yield a sheen, hips jerking spasmodically with the effort to move, and then to stay still, the muscles across his back flexing and relaxing with alternations of urgency. ]

Korra...

[ The name fills his mouth, and he bites it down, afraid that if he lets other words tumble off his tongue, he won't be able to shape them into anything remotely coherent. Like that, whispers the dark, thready thing birthing in his consciousness. Yes. He sinks against her instead, a slip-slide of damp skin and prickling hairs, his hips grinding slow figure eights against her. Fingers threading grabbily into her lush hair, molding to the back of her skull, while he kisses her over and over, a licking fire inside her mouth. ]

[alittlebent]

[Her eyes flutter open as he says her name, waiting for him to continue. But he doesn't say anything more, nor does he really have to. The way he's touching her speaks volumes. She wonders what messages he can read from her body.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ It's not one message he can read, but dozens, a wild jumble that acts like hot little fingers delicately tracing his spine. She is a graphic novel taking him wholly in, a brilliant panoply of colors and bolded exclamation-points, and he can almost feel the imaginary page edges fluttering as if thumbed, down in the folds of her body where he moves. ]

[ Between juddering breaths, he feeds on her mouth, deep drugged-out gulps that somehow match the slick tight kiss of her sex around him -- a wet rippling swallow as he sinks in, a delightful squeeze as he withdraws. His hips spasm, his lashes fall shut, and in the spidered lilac-gray light of the window his face opens, as if something is crumbling from the inside. Whole body rocking with hers as if he can hear something her skin whispers, as if he has been a secret waiting for this moment, something pale and bright that you can discover, maybe, if you keep rubbing away at a dark surface. ]

[anatural]

[So poetic, Hei. Goodness knows her own internal atmosphere isn't filled with such colorful imagery. She's basically at the level of "Sex good." Yes, Korra can get a little caveman in her throes. She grunts with every thrust and tightens her grip around him. She doesn't want him to move, because if he keeps at it, she's going to come and she's not ready for this to end.

[mortemscintilla]

[ Who says it has to end when she comes? ]

[ She tightens around him, and it's Hei's turn to melt into incoherence, nothing in his brain except a loose pinball of a thought rattling around and hitting the blinking lights as it passes: good yes good. For a moment he's afraid he'll spill, a tightening pull in his gut, a coiling sensation of liquid energy, the kind that draws all breath from his lungs. His hips stutter-snap once, twice, then subside into a languid roll, becoming almost motionless. The blowjob from earlier has taken the edge off; he brims instead with a soft-edged affection, rocked by desires that are finally being fed. ]

[ His hands are the only things that move; skimming her body as if trying to find some ideal position that will hold them both fast, that will take him deeper. Dipping between them, palm on her mons to pet her, soft as a kitten and just as warm. Thumb flicking between slicked curls to tease her clit, as he rubs his jaw across the damp plushness of her breasts, his stubble like soft-sharp sandpaper, then laps upwards to her neck where her pulse jerks so hypnotically under the skin. ]

[alittlebent]

[Doesn't it always? After they both come, anyway. There are those moments of post-coital bliss and then reality sinks its claws in. She doesn't want reality; she's had more than enough of it these past few months.]

Don't — [No, he's not doing anything wrong or unpleasant...but the way he's touching her just makes it even harder to keep from coming. She bites her lip and digs her nails into his skin. It'll be any minute now.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ She says Don't, and Hei's flesh jerks, concern embedding itself in his bones. For a split-second he's afraid he's hurt her. But her nails are a web of fire against his skin, lip caught against her teeth and her sweet face damply-splotched. He can feel everything in her clutching tight around him, an exquisite slick pressure that throbs with her pulse. ]

[ She is congested, full-up. Wildly aroused and at the tripwire of climax. ]

[ Somehow, this affects him like nothing has so far. A feeling as right as all the things he's ever wanted, as perfect as being swung upward into the air as a child, a bright ball of giddiness blooming in his stomach; as nice as sprawling in the loamy grass to count the stars behind his home; as good as jerking off for the first time to a dirty magazine he'd fingertipped into free-fall while the storeclerk was distracted, catching it, folding it in half, and shoving it down the front of his trousers, the cold glossy paper sliding easily between the cotton of his shorts and the denim of his jeans; as surreal as finding a pink conch-shell at the blood-smeared seaside of Guaruja, a tiny trophy amid the carcasses of dead men, and feeling his sister's fingers curl around his own as she blinked in fascination; as dizzy-making as Amber's lips sliding with humid urgency against his own, so his nerves whispered a sweet susurration of Oh, yes; as excruciatingly correct as the belt strap he'd tried to hang himself with when Pai, and half of South America, blurred and vanished in whiteness, but which had not held him through to the end and instead punished him in the perfect way he'd needed, which was a truth he could only ever learn by living. ]

[ He stills, as much as he's able to. Kisses her, open-mouthed and relentless. His breath is stuck in his chest as he murmurs something quiet and hushed, an I love you, in whatever way the Black Reaper knows how. ]

[anatural]

[He stills, but it's too late. She's already arching back, screaming against his lips as her vision goes white. Her bones seem to explode into stardust, leaving her limp and panting. Even so, she clings to him with whatever strength she has left, clenching and writhing to help bring him over that edge.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ She crests with a scream, her whole body rippling and surging around him, and Hei's mind seems to dissolve like Jell-o in hot water, dribbling from the bowl of his skull to pool down between their bodies, where Korra is squeezing herself around his slick cock, working her delicious heat around its fullness. ]

[ Shuddering, he breaks the kiss, face in her hair, buried in its loosened waves; his rasping sounds labor from his throat to become muffled there. Her whole body is a buttery welcome -- all soft-slick and salty -- and he can feel his hips whipping her forward with brutal repetition as the tension swells, pulses, shatters. And then he is groaning, the movements of his pelvis spasmodic as he empties himself in her. ]

[ When he comes back to himself, panting, dazed, heartbeat throbbing below the span of his sweaty skin, he feels cut to ribbons. He draws out of Korra with an awkward carefulness, disposes of the mess clinging to his aching cock, then drops heavily back onto the futon. One arm and leg draped across her, thick and boneless as slabs of meat. Strange, how he's come to like this aftermath, the sense of intimate mess that is its own kind of bliss, a stupefied wallowing. But it isn't to be lingered over. After this nod to physicality, Hei still feels compelled to rinse clean -- shower or piss or whatever will break the spell of this brief, post-coital contentment. In his world, the physical mistake of happiness was not to be treasured; it was weakness, a window of vulnerability. ]

[ But this isn't his world. It's a knowledge that comes together surreally, with pangs of both relief and ruefulness. ]

[anatural]

[Korra snuggles up against him. They're both sweaty and gross so it's not like it's the most comfortable thing ever... but she still loves feeling his weight against her. His touch says more than his words ever could. She nuzzles his hair.]

Nice futon. [Perfect for fucking, and probably good for sleeping too. You chose well, Hei.]

[mortemscintilla]

Let's see how long that lasts.

[ Especially after they're done putting the mattress through its paces. ]

[ Absently, he scratches an itch on his jaw. His fingers still smell like her, damp and musked; he rubs his late-evening bristles with Korra-scented interest. Presses his face into the humid crook of her shoulder, his breath warm-tickling her skin. The sweat between their bodies is cooling in the chilly air; he can feel a damp prickle down his spine. In a moment of pheromone-soaked amusement, he notices he's still in his undershirt, a moist butterfly stained across the back, and that she still has her hair-pieces on, the wolf-tails loosening in a soft dark landslide. ]

[ With a crooked smile, he wrenches his shirt off, tossing it among the disordered heap of clothes nearby. Carefully disentangles her hair-pieces, setting them on the nightstand, and rubs his jaw against a handful of her hair, the texture wool-silky and warm against his skin and eyelids. ]

[ Drowsily, he murmurs, ]

New rule indoors. No shoes -- or ponytails.

[anatural]

[He takes off his undershirt and Korra curls up closer to him, letting him nuzzle her hair while her fingers idly trace the scars on his chest. Are there new ones? It's been so long since she's practiced her healing abilities, she can't be sure — and it's not like she memorized the patterns, that would be weird — but she thinks there are some new-ish ones. From the fight with Unalaq? From something else?

It occurs to her that she doesn't know what he does with his days. Yeah, he has a factory job, but that still leaves plenty of hours free considering how little he sleeps or relaxes. Plus, he has a safehouse... whether an old habit that dies hard or something that's actually a necessity, it has to be paid for. Factory work doesn't pay that well; she knows that from Mako. So how...?

Do you really want to worry about that? Not really. There may come at time when her duty as the Avatar requires that she meddle in Hei's business, but until then, she's content to let it be. Focus on the positive. Embrace the things that are going right.]

You don't like my ponytails?

[mortemscintilla]

[ She traces his scars -- a crosshatched pattern of shrapnel and razor wounds from recent scraps, overlaying the old arrow-shaped divots gouged in his back, and the starburst pattern behind his shoulderblade -- and he can feel her thoughts dipping to shady corners. It's true, factory work pays for less than one-sixteenth of his expenses. Once, at Air Temple Island, Tenzin had fixed Li with a suspicious squint and asked, Where exactly do you get your money from? Li had smiled beatifically and said, Not from Korra. He's always got yuan in his pockets, and sake in his flask, and food in the fridge. But while it's not torn from the bloody hands of elderly fruit-vendors trying to get their kids through college, he'll never deny his primary profession remains murder. ]

[ The only difference is that the people he tangles with now are like him. So you'd better strike first before you're gutted. ]

[ He doesn't look at Korra because if he does, she's likely to fix those bright, pretty and yet somehow cat-like eyes on him and ask about the new scars, which he is so not up to tolerating tonight, because they'd both agreed with good cheer that this is officially Relax-O-Night, not the night for Difficult Conversations that will likely result in screaming fights. ]

[ Fortunately, Korra is way ahead of him. She pouts about her ponytails -- and Hei exhales a silent laugh, as much relief as amusement. Nuzzling her shoulder, he peppers her neck with kisses, some of which are artfully calculated, some heartfelt, but how many of each, he has no way of knowing. ]

I like them fine. But I like your hair down more.

[ It makes her look older; more womanly. (More to the point, it diminishes that resemblance to Pai, which itself grows less and less pronounced as time passes.) ]

[anatural]

Mmm. [She trails her hand away from his scars so she can wrap her arm around his waist.] I like you better with your shirt off. Can we have a rule about you not wearing your shirt inside?

[mortemscintilla]

I could ask you the same question.

[ His mouth is smile-shaped against the warm expanse of her skin. He turns his head, covering her breasts with languid and sleepy kisses. Readjusts his body, so they conspire together on a shared pillow. They fit together well; like crescents in the sheets, instead of curled around each other like he and Amber sometimes used to, one set of speech marks. ]

[ (It's nice, that memory. But Hei's not interested in holding on to what no longer sustains him; he's more focused on surviving, on making space for new things in his life.) ]

[anatural]

I already have to take off my shoes and my ponytails. [She's whining playfully. She wouldn't mind going shirtless in the house either. Right now nudism sounds very appealing.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Appealing -- but ultimately not very advantageous. Even in her clothes, Korra has a body that could cause an accident. An accident or premature ejaculation. Either way, a mess that'd need cleaning up. Strip off even that protective layer and Hei doubts he'd get any work done -- indoors or outdoors. Somewhere in a tiny cell of his brain, soaked in irony and hormones, a voice narrates: Sorry, boss. Can't come to the factory tonight. I'm testing out my new futon with the Avatar, please don't send help until she's fucked every last ounce of come from my body and I've cored the heart from that tight little apple of her ass, thanks, oh, and by the way Fed-Ex a strait-jacket up when you have a chance, better make that two... ]

[ Shaking it off muzzily, he murmurs, ]

Take your pants off too, and I'll toss in a prize.

[ Food. Or certain sexual favors. Or letting her handle the lighter chores. ]

[anatural]

[Work is highly overrated. Besides, Hei still owes her from those 10 months he was gone.]

What kind of prize? [She settles her head on his chest and closes her eyes. Just for a little bit. ]

[mortemscintilla]

[ He'll make it up to her. Or try to -- the way he's trying, in stops and starts, to make up for all the other ways he's disappointed her, deprived her, damaged her. It may never be enough. It may never fix what has been broken. But debts and exchanges, owing and being owed ... That's pretty standard for Hei's existence. Pai, Amber, Yin, Korra: he owes something to all of them, to these strong, strangely stunning women. ]

[ It might be officially over between him and love. But he's saving whatever remains of the emotion for them, because whatever they gave him, he can never give back. ]

[ She settles against his chest, and Hei strokes her spine with a soft, rhythmic feathering, listening to her silence as attentively as he listens to her words. She's sailing out to the rippled surface of sleep. He can feel it. ]

[ With a twitch of a smile, he tips a kiss to her forehead. ]

I'll let you decide.

[anatural]

Mmmm. [She'd say more, but she's already drifted off into sleep.]