Hm? [ The smile hasn't faded off Hei's face. But his tone is measured now, almost offhand. ] What was that? Didn't catch it.
[ He continues kneading her breasts, but softer now, thumbs barely rasping across her nipples. When he lets go, it's completely without warning. His fingers smooth her hair back instead, lacing through the warm dark tumble of them, tipping her head back to get a better look at her. In the torchlight, Korra's features are delicate, hypnotic. He watches her ribs lift and settle as she breathes; senses the vibrating impatience fizzling under her skin. He leans in, keeping his weight off her. His lips touch her temple, a butterfly kiss. ]
I like the way your hair looks when you don't tie it.
[ Spoken as he grips a loose fistful of it, jerking her head back. Not rough, but playful. Inside his mind, a part of him looks at what he's doing with a What the fuck? sort of expression. He can conjure up prettier words, more elaborate compliments than this. But those are all lies, crafted to achieve a goal. Here, now, he's just ... talking to her. Angling his head, he kisses her -- a hungry, urgent slide of lips -- then draws back before she gets used to it. Still, he stays close, his breath hot on Korra's mouth. ]
[ He says, almost conversationally, ]
I thought it was a chapatsu job first. Tea-color dyed hair. But it's nicer. [ He's touching her face now, ] I like how round your viz is. Eighteen but still ... The phrase they'd use back home is é dàn liǎn. A goose egg. [ A beat. ] That's not a codeword for 'fat'. [ He kisses her cheek softly, like the kiss on the temple. ] And I like your eyes. I can't see them right now. But they're so expressive. They don't hide things. Which isn't always smart. But ... [ a shrug, unseen. He kisses her eyelids through the blindfold, feels them move under the cloth. ] I like your stupid turned-up nose ... [ another kiss ] And your tasty little mouth. [ A pause -- his lips butter-soft and melting against hers. He trails his tongue along their seam until they open to let him in. The couch creaks beneath them as he adjusts his weight, bent over her, knees folded on either side of her body. ]
[ Drawing back, he adds, as if there was no lull in between, ] Which I still have tricks to teach.
no subject
[ He continues kneading her breasts, but softer now, thumbs barely rasping across her nipples. When he lets go, it's completely without warning. His fingers smooth her hair back instead, lacing through the warm dark tumble of them, tipping her head back to get a better look at her. In the torchlight, Korra's features are delicate, hypnotic. He watches her ribs lift and settle as she breathes; senses the vibrating impatience fizzling under her skin. He leans in, keeping his weight off her. His lips touch her temple, a butterfly kiss. ]
I like the way your hair looks when you don't tie it.
[ Spoken as he grips a loose fistful of it, jerking her head back. Not rough, but playful. Inside his mind, a part of him looks at what he's doing with a What the fuck? sort of expression. He can conjure up prettier words, more elaborate compliments than this. But those are all lies, crafted to achieve a goal. Here, now, he's just ... talking to her. Angling his head, he kisses her -- a hungry, urgent slide of lips -- then draws back before she gets used to it. Still, he stays close, his breath hot on Korra's mouth. ]
[ He says, almost conversationally, ]
I thought it was a chapatsu job first. Tea-color dyed hair. But it's nicer. [ He's touching her face now, ] I like how round your viz is. Eighteen but still ... The phrase they'd use back home is é dàn liǎn. A goose egg. [ A beat. ] That's not a codeword for 'fat'. [ He kisses her cheek softly, like the kiss on the temple. ] And I like your eyes. I can't see them right now. But they're so expressive. They don't hide things. Which isn't always smart. But ... [ a shrug, unseen. He kisses her eyelids through the blindfold, feels them move under the cloth. ] I like your stupid turned-up nose ... [ another kiss ] And your tasty little mouth. [ A pause -- his lips butter-soft and melting against hers. He trails his tongue along their seam until they open to let him in. The couch creaks beneath them as he adjusts his weight, bent over her, knees folded on either side of her body. ]
[ Drawing back, he adds, as if there was no lull in between, ] Which I still have tricks to teach.