poly_chromatic | 三十三

Entry tags:

legend of korra: korra

三十三

[ action - morning through afternoon ]
[Naga knows before Korra does: Mako's gone. While Korra's at work at the Welcome Center, the polar bear dog sniffs around town, just to confirm it. But all his scents are old over a day old, and she doesn't need to see the Hall of the Missing to know that he's nowhere in the City.

[ voice - filtered to Chekov - supremely hackable ]
[For once, Korra remembers how to do a filter, even when upset. It helps that, by this point, the pain is familiar enough to practically be normal. With Mako gone, she's once again alone in the City.

Except the weirdest part is, she's not actually alone. At this point, she's been in the City longer than she had been in Republic City; she's known Chekov and Hei longer than she had known Mako and Bolin. She doesn't feel as stranded as she had the first time all her friends had left.

That doesn't stop her from feeling lonely in the large Beach House, even with three dogs, eight cats, and five sheep to keep her busy. Which is why she dials Chekov.]

Can you come over tonight? Bring some of that vodka stuff.

[Sadness. Happiness. Sadness again. Her emotions are cycling around so quickly, she can hardly see straight. She's not a drinker by any stretch of the imagination, but right now she'd give just about anything for the world to just stop for a minute and let her catch up.]

[ooc: Open action with Naga during the day! Come run into a lonely polar bear dog.]

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A key.

[ He supplies the explanation in a terse, almost businesslike tone. Stares for a moment at the glinting metal in Korra's palm, concentrating on it as if it holds the answer to the whole conundrum of Right Now. The unfamiliarity -- the inherent threat of compromised -- disquiets him a bit. No professional offers a civilian access to their private hideaways. It's practically taboo -- unless you're springing a trap, or planning to use them as a decoy. What delicate work it is, this business of navigating an affair that has neither strategic nor emotional boundaries. No wonder he's ever attempted it before ... ]

[ Brushing it off, he continues. ]

I have a loft Underground. That key's for you to use, whenever you want to drop by. Or if you want to escape a curse.

[ Because Pai doesn't like when I bring you over and Because I'll never be comfortable somewhere like the Beach House. Not stated, but vibrantly palpable. ]

[She catches the subtext of that pretty clearly. (Not completely, though.) He doesn't want her back at his home with his little sister. Which works out pretty well, since she has no desire to be around Xing.]

Mako's gone, you know. [AKA This really isn't necessary, because his discomfort with the Beach House is something she missed.] You can come by any time you want.

I know.

[ As if she's telling him what the date is. He could say I'm sorry, and blah blah blah. Could ply her with polite platitudes, though he disdains them. He knows she must feel like it's something surreal, a disorientation akin to the tail end of a powerful bender, realizing that she's alone again. Except someone like Korra is never alone. Not really. She's one of those people who makes connections -- however brief or whimsical -- that are always warm and solid. Human. ]

[ She'll be all right. She always is. It's what he likes about her. ]

[ He shrugs off her offer, hesitating by the doorframe, his expression partly to mostly cloudy. I'm not the sort of person to invite into your house, he'd tell her, but she wouldn't understand the careful stratagems that go with defense and protection against volatile elements. She wouldn't understand that the intimacy of letting anyone slip between her thighs is nothing compared to having a space of her own. Somewhere to be alone, to think, to regroup. Somewhere BK201's corrosive bilge won't seep in. ]

[ Instead, ] You never know when he -- or anyone else -- might return. [ This, at least, is true. ]

[Somehow, she doubts that's what this is really about. He's never shown any signs of caring who was in the house before. She doesn't understand where his head is at right now...but when does she ever? She's learning, bit by bit, to just roll with his eccentricities.

She fingers the key again before sliding it in her pocket.]

So where is this place? Other than "the Underground."

[ Hei watches her, calm-eyed, reserved, like he always is when he's unwillingly been tossed into a situation that leaves him, for a heartbeat, flat-footed. Not uncomfortable, but holding himself back somehow. The sleeves of his shirt are crumpled; he straightens them in precise tugs, not with an air of fidgeting so much as finality. Watches as Korra slips the key into her pocket, and feels the tension drain slightly. His shoulders lower, though he still looks a little shuttered as he opens mouth, saying, ]

I'll send you the address, later.

[ Old habits -- except it's not a habit, it's a survival mechanism from back home -- die hard. He'd sooner announce a location of his safe-house than he'd tell Korra his real name. ]

.....or maybe you could show me? [He's really doing his best to make this awkward and unappealing, isn't he? It'd be funny if she weren't so tired. As it is, she really just wants some kind of touch, but with the way he's acting, she doesn't want to make the first move. (That's a lie -- she does, because she'd always prefer doing to waiting, but she's learned that sometimes waiting really is the better option.)]

[ There's a moment's blinking, before he says, ] What? Right now? [ the words bursting from him abruptly, a little incredulous, a little bemused. A little terrified by the idea of saying any of the other things which seem to be packed tight into the silence between them. Dimly, he can feel the evening sun beating down upon them, feel a butterfly sweat-stain spread on the back of his shirt, feel the cotton fabric sticking to his skin. Can feel too, a peculiar burn at the back of his throat, in his fingertips, in his sinews -- a zinging itch to reach out and touch Korra. ]

[She's not sure whether she's amused or embarrassed by how surprised he seems.]

Is there a reason not to?

....No.

[ Hei exhales in a short rush, succeeding in making it sound exasperated rather than relieved. His pulse is hammering erratically, jumping in his chest, but it seems far away from what he's saying and doing; okay, fine, he doesn't really know what he's meant to be doing right now, but he's found a strand of conversation to follow. It will do to stave off the silence. ]

No reason. [ He repeats it, more halting than he'd meant to sound, rubbing two fingers at his temple and suddenly horribly conscious of his own body language. After a beat he gestures vaguely. ] Unless you have more cats to feed.

No. They're all taken care of. [It'd be funny seeing him so uncomfortable if it wasn't making her uncomfortable too. Mostly because she doesn't understand where it's coming from. There's no Mako. No Xing. The last night they spent together ended without any dramatics. This should be simple.

So why does he look like he wants the earth to swallow him whole?]

[ Because none of this is simple. ]

[ It has nothing to do with Pai, or Mako. It has, instead, to do with that unpronounceable feeling trapped inside Hei's chest. He isn't sure what it is -- just that it makes the world suddenly very simple and very hard. He'd had plans, before coming here. To drop the key off, to check on Pai at home, to head Underground and meet up with a few contacts. The white-noise of his impending activity was vast in the night. His plans hadn't involved the alcoholic carelessness of Korra's presence; they hadn't involved going to the Underground so early, or Korra joining him, or the idea being as potently exciting as it is absurd, or -- Fuck, Hei thinks, quite calmly and with dark dissatisfaction. He's making a mistake, mucking up his unswerving schedule for a goddamn girl. Yet Korra is right there, asking What's wrong with her eyes, her whole face, her whole body... ]

[ Hei opens his mouth like he's going to say something, and then leans in. For a moment he seems like he's analyzing something on Korra's face. Or perhaps trying to make some remark he can't risk being overheard -- ]

[ Instead he kisses her. Hot, slip-sliding lips, then teeth and tongue, as if he has a mouthful of barbed secrets cutting him up inside. But after a moment, the kiss slows, becomes lingering, almost wistful. When it breaks, Hei stays close, as if warming his lips at hers. ]

All right. [ It's barely a murmur. ] Let's go.

[She waits, and for once doesn't even notice how much she hates waiting because she's watching him so intently. Every moment brings a new possibility.

There's a half-hearted noise of almost protest when he first kisses her, his teeth scraping hard across a cut on her lip, but she hums as it softens. She wants to wrap her arms around his neck and drag him inside. (Then she hears two of the cats getting into a fight, and decides it's probably best to get out for a bit.)]

Great. [She reaches for his hand with only the slightest hesitation.] Naga, watch the animals for me. [The polar bear dog wuffs acknowledgement.]

[ Always alert, Hei hears the caterwauling indoors. A dog barks in a distance, and across the sandy curve of beach, there is the hubbub of sloshing waves and far-off trills from seagulls. Yet, with Korra's lips on his, none of that matters. A circumambient silence makes him feel like their little spot is the only animated thing in the world: everything else just lies there, still and soundless. ]

[ He tries to ignore it when she addresses Naga like a person. Lets her curl her warm fingers through his, instead, squeezing them before he slips their linked hands in his pocket. He guides her past the stretch of crunching sand, to the flat pavement, and out on the street. The evening is warm and thick, orange and blue and grey; people's shadows precede them everywhere, slipping over the floor. Around them, buildings vie to block out most of the sky, pressing in tight. The whole City seems vivid; not bursting with light like the extravagance of Tokyo, but possessing a glittering whimsy. ]

[ Choosing the nearest exit, they drift Underground. The shadows deepen as Hei leads her through a warren of pitted streets and sooty buildings. They cross the Gyshal, then the Arena, slip down near a canal, before emerging into the 'Little Macau' section. The streets stink of fish, sidewalks crowded with people jostling along, multicolored wares spilling everywhere. Lightly pressing Korra's fingers, Hei wonders if she remembers coming her -- cursed as a toddler. ]

[They walk in silence, but it's nice. Her hand is warm in his, and the shadows settle around them like a blanket. She's amazed by how the tension leaves her shoulders when they reach the Underground. Noisy and crowded and violent as it is, she feels at home here. In the Underground, nobody's bothered by how rough she is, or her temper, or the million ways she falls short. She fits in down here.

Although...maybe not this specific block.]

Are you sure I'm gonna be welcome down here?

[ Perhaps, a year ago, Hei would've disagreed. Korra -- the original, shiny, sweet-seventeen Korra with the bouncy stride and bright eyes -- is tinted in primary colors in his memory, and would've stood out fantastically brightly in the Underground's murk. A walking bullseye. She's changed so much since then. At least on the surface. Atrophied by bitterness and disappointment -- but at her core, still glowing. Hei keeps his fingers laced with hers, his thumb finding her palm and pressing there as if imparting a secret. Around them, the street is sinking into blue; and into dark grey. The lanes are shadowed now as they drift past the bustling market, steeping slowly in the dark, nearing the pitch blackness of night. The streetlamps are floating, glowing circles on either side of them. ]

[ To Korra's question, he says, ]

The gangs have short memories. Especially with internal conflicts to focus on.

[ By now, the incongruous tale of the Baby Ballbuster is a distant memory here. Drifting through a warren of streets, he leads her to a soot-faced apartment. The area reminds him vaguely of Sengoku, near the remnants of old Tokyo, what the natives had called Shitamachi -- the downtown. The area has the same antique feel to it -- the cracked pavements, the buildings set out like crumbling but sturdy cakes. He leads Korra up a dark, damp-smelling staircase, to a corridor smelling of mildew and profound ennui. The door seems to sag in its warped frame -- but that's utterly deceptive. Everything on the other side is armoured and sealed tight. ]

[ Gesturing to an electronic slot, he says to Korra, ] Try your key out.

[She wrinkles her nose a little as they walk into the building -- okay, yeah, there are some ways in which she definitely prefers the surface. The door he leads her to is utterly uninspiring.

She glances at him uncertainly.]

I just slide it in? [She waits for an affirmation before trying it out.]

Right. And enter a code.

[ The keypad isn't numerical, but composed of symbols. He watches Korra press her key into the node mechanism. There's a beep and then a click as the first lock disengages. He punches in the code next -- ♦ ✦ ➛ ♆ -- making sure she absorbs it. There's a trill of electronic tones, before the door opens like a slow, growing smile -- if smiles creaked -- to admit them into a nearly lightless entree made less obscure by the pale shoji paneling. ]

[ The apartment, almost Tokyoite in its precise spareness, consists of two rooms that feel taller than they are wide. The first is occupied only by a futon, a cool patch of whiteness on the dusty floorboards, with a sliver of a window that looks onto a Kafkaesque air shaft and admits no light whatsoever, even at noon. The second is empty except for a rickety low table and a bookshelf. It has a perimeter skylight on the sloping roof, throwing pink illumination from flashing red signboards on the roof, across a grid of exposed wooden ceiling beams inside. The room tone is flat. Soundproofed. A bathroom, a workspace, and a kitchen with steel surfaces. All strangely subterranean, time and air moving sluggishly inside it. ]

[ Shutting the locks behind them, Hei mutters, ] I haven't had a chance to clean up in here.

What's there to clean? [The place is spick and span -- plain, but Hei's never been one to decorate (and she hasn't, either).

She smiles a little as she kneels next to the futon.]

I haven't slept on one of these in forever. Everywhere above ground seems to have raised beds.

Cobwebs. Mothballs. Sawdust.

[ The latter is a ticklish and harsh scent, threaded through with the faint aroma of incense. He'd burnt it the day earlier, to mask the acridity of the freshly-painted walls, and it's left a tang of smoke and incongruous sweetness in the air. He watches as Korra kneels by the futon. Watery red light disperses itself through the interior by bouncing off both the ceiling beams and the laminated wooden walls; in the reddish gloom, the whites of her eyes and her teeth are pretty glints. It's actually an aesthetic shock to see her planted in the middle of this minimalist nightmare of a safehouse. Whoever had designed the place would've kicked her out for being too colorful -- but Hei enjoys the bright incongruity she offers. ]

[ He kneels too, his shoulder brushing hers, a small smile nicking the corner of his lips. ]

I didn't bring you here to nap on the futon.

[ Of course, he hadn't planned to bring her here -- tonight -- at all. But now that she's here, ideas are clustering and solidifying at the edges of his mind. He has no calender, no timetable, no roadmaps for encounters between him and Korra. He only knows that being near her makes him feel at once hungry all over and yet deeply satisfied just to be watching her. ]

[The brush of his shoulder sends a shiver across her skin. She turns her head just a little to grin at him.]

Oh?

[She throws herself onto the futon and rolls onto her back, giving him a coy look.]

Too bad.

[ Hei stays impassive, but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards all the same. There's something endearing about Korra's attempts to play minxy, the eyes guilelessly blue; something eternally amusing about the sheer amount of scrubbed-clean innocence she can project while utterly failing to keep a straight face about it. The soft, childish lines of her expression are delightfully, misleadingly open. ]

[ Leaning in, he puts a hand to her cheek, enjoying the peachy warmth of her skin. The air in here is a little too cool to be doing stupid things like taking his hands off her, he decides. His thumb smears a light path over her lips, drawing a line down her jaw, before he closes the gap between them in a moist press of his mouth. He whispers into her parted lips, ]

In that case, get on with you stupid nap. I have other things to do.

[ He makes a convincing show of pretending to leave. ]

Don't you DARE! [She's pretty certain that he's joking, but Korra isn't about to take any chances. She grabs his shirt and tugs him back in for another kiss. If she manages to unbalance him enough for him to land on top of her, well, even better. It's getting cold, and bodies are even better than blankets for keeping warm.]

[ Korra yanks him in -- and in the weightless moment before she's flat out on her back on the futon, Hei's own body settling heavy on hers -- he's invaded by the beat of wings inside his chest, a flurry of feeling, not floaty but vertiginous. He closes his eyes and finds he can almost smell South America, and the join between Amber's throat and shoulder when they had been in bed together in, where was it? -- oh, God, in that awful garret where their team was hiding, while bombs rattled overhead and Amber held onto him so tightly that Hei was sometimes convinced he should still have marks on his arms. The dingy room where Amber's mouth had tasted of stale coffee and the pillow had been damp with sweat all through the night -- though how many days ago that was, Hei doesn't know. Enough to be far away. For him to be forgetting the details already. Brushing them clean in his mind, having to struggle to give them sharp edges. ]

[ Instead, in the forefront, there is Korra. Hei suddenly reels with the all the horrible possibilities that could come from this -- that could come without this -- pressing his face inwards against her. Korra's cheek is against his warm shoulder; his fingers bleed heat into the innermost curve of her spine as he slides his arm around her. His mouth finds hers again, and he explores the shape of her lips, lazy but also greedy, before heat flares in the way his mouth opens against hers. In the red darkness behind his eyelids, he feels the room hold its breath -- and then exhale with him as he breaks the kiss to study her. ]

What do you want?

[ He'd asked her that, on that last disastrous evening, and been unable to give it. This time, there's no reluctance. He asks with a flat, cruelty-free simplicity. ]

[She hums into the kiss and arches against him, encouraging his hands to roam. She's not ready when he breaks away, and she blinks at him, her eyes hazy and vaguely reproving.

What do you want?

The answer is so many things, most of which have nothing to do with sex. But this isn't the time or place or person for that discussion, and honestly, Korra isn't in the mood for it anyway. She tugs him back in for more kissing.]

Just don't go anywhere.

[ Don't go anywhere. ]

[ To someone like Hei, it hangs like a threat in the air, like the stillness of a cage, each syllable pressing him claustrophobically downwards with consequence. Looked at one way, their whole relationship, from the outset, is about him fleeing, or floating, away, and her yanking him back. But really it's about so much more than that. The gravity in her words -- the mass -- is a welcome anchor. He kisses her again, and verbal conversation seems unimportant now. Like they've let it fall into a lazy, natural muffling, like all those cliches of waves lapping at an evening seashore. A background wash-in wash-out of logic. Each touch of lips and tongue is slow and syrupy. Spaces are snatched between kisses for gulps of air. ]

[ He tugs at the fabric of her top, with both hands. Pulls it free from her jeans to snake his palms inside, fingers fitting easily into the slots of her ribs, then splaying higher to cup her breasts through her bra. He kneads slowly, then more roughly, thumbs rubbing at her nipples through the fabric. A slow corkscrewing hunger gnaws at his muscles, the scent of her eating tiny holes through his skin. His mind feels too full of Korra to think about doing anything but kissing and kissing her, while filthier ideas dart about his head like fireflies, dancing just behind his eyes. ]

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nsfw from this point

so much nsfw