poly_chromatic | ♦♦ 32ND CONTRACT

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darker than black - hei

♦♦ 32ND CONTRACT - ANONYMOUS TEXT/ACTION

Oh perfect. A light show. Just what's needed after a month of witches and possessed goats. Sure, everything seems mellow now. No zombies or general epidemics. But distractions are just that. Distractions. No amount of Burning Man rituals and fireworks take away from the fact that everyone is still stuck here. That's not exactly something worth celebrating. Still, it could be worse. Pai could be gone. I could be back home. This 'perpetual darkness' theme could last more than 24 hours. Then there'd be no end to the belly-aching. Of course that's a mixed blessing. Some of you are only tolerable in the pitch dark.Options For Run-Ins:

Cafe: You'll find him behind the display case, sliding in a fresh tray of pinwheel cookies, a sprinkling of flour on his nose. Canapes, bonfire toffee, sausage roll-ups, sticky chocolate pudding, baked apples with cinnamon ... It's like he's trying to kill the City with saccharin-induced diabetes. Maybe he is.

Hey. At least it's a tasty way to go.

Xanadu: Crunching on a toffee-apple, he drifts through the park. Watching, not the brilliant displays in the dark sky, but his periphery. He's still in the habit of thinking operationally, and is as matter-of-fact about it as he is effective. But that doesn't mean he can't stop, for a moment, to listen to the crack-snap-pop of sparklers, or watch the glittering streaks of color exploding like supernovas above.

Anywhere Else: The dark is his element, and he utilizes the opportunity to explore. He stops by the City's outskirts, looking out at the sweep of the lakes, the glittering buildings, the glittering fireworks blossoming in the sky. Festivities seem to be dwindling, and who could've anticipated that he'd feel so rueful about that. Then again, all tonight is, is a lull, before some new curse threatens to snatch everything away in one big explosion of chaos. Whatever intervals of quiet he indulges in are irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

Still he doesn't mind this pause. It makes things better and worse at the same time -- but sometimes it's necessary too.

[ ooc: Don't be fooled. Despite the general grumpiness, Hei is actually rather enjoying the fireworks. Backtagging friendly forevermore; I'll be very slow this week<3 ]

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[It's not a grief thing, Hei. Not entirely, anyway. Korra comes from a world largely without clocks -- a world that barely has the concept of a second, much less milliseconds or nanoseconds. It's why she struggled with punctuality when she first started working; not because she didn't take her responsibilities seriously, but because measuring time that precisely was a wholly foreign concept to her. She's adjusted somewhat, but now that she's freed of the obligations that tied her to the clock, she's slipping back to what feels most natural.

She's a little surprised they make it up the stairs to the living room. Maybe they'll make it up to her --

Nope. She tumbles onto the couch, Hei covering her like a blanket and they aren't going anywhere, which is fine by her. She hooks her legs around his waist and wraps her arms around his neck, tugging him even closer.]

[ What was that phrase Amber liked? Time doesn't exist; clocks do. Except Amber's mind seemed to tick as steadily as the clock at Greenwich Observatory. As a teenager, Hei had kept time by her -- because any watch fastened on his wrist in those days would inevitably be drowned or smashed or dissected within a week, and in a war, your internal time-keeping was never quite so accurate. There was usually no need to ask; Hei would only have to poke his head into the tent Amber was in, or tug her shirtsleeve mid-stride, and Amber would immediately reel off the time without looking around. ]

[ He doubts Korra has that sense of innate impeccability. But who knows? Maybe she'll surprise him. It's what she's done, over and over, since he's first let her close -- not by design or artifice but just by being. It makes everything Hei knows about the natural and true and alive look like glittering pyrite jewelry on corpses. ]

[ She feels like an eel wriggling beneath him, a million dazzling volts going through her. He kisses her over and over, equal parts greedy and precise, his neurons fucking singing, his blood gone all foamy under his skin. When he breaks away, it's with a quiet inhale, ragged at the edges. His knees slotted on either side of her, he half-sits up, shrugging off his coat in a neat movement. Tugs at the scarf swathed around his neck -- (not red, thank you very much) -- then pauses. ]

[ Leaning close, he kisses her again, tongue gliding sweetly into her mouth. Murmurs, with his lips on hers, ]

There's something I want to try.

[ But not if she's uncomfortable with it, as he senses she might be. ]

[His clothing is coming off first -- always a good sign. Less good when it stops at the scarf, and she's not sure what to think about the Something I want to try. Sometimes it's fun, like chocolate and anal. Sometimes it's not. She glances, a little suspiciously, at the scarf.]

You don't want to tie me up with that, do you?

[ Untangling the scarf, Hei keeps it looped in his left hand. Slips the other hand under Korra's shirt, skimming over the dips and rises of her ribs, his fingers skating the edge of fabric at her bra. He pitches forward so his forehead rests against hers; chest rising and falling slowly, as if trying to soothe her where it would be completely understandable -- justified -- for her to be the exact opposite of soothed. In the gloom, his eyes are clear when he looks at her, not tender but a quiet kind of warmth making his smile soft. Or maybe it's a new look just reserved for her. ]

[ The space between their mouths is barely there; enough that his lips brush hers as he speaks, ]

Not tie you up. Blindfold you. [ A breath, almost a kiss but not. ] As long as you're comfortable with it.

Oh. Okay. [She's not uncomfortable with it at least? Mostly she's just confused.] Why?

[ Why? ]

[ It makes Hei pause. Why is he doing this? He could say it's to develop her patience. He could say it's a test, to see how honest she's being about holding no grudges. He could say it's just something light and innocent; a chance to spice the evening up. But there's no simple answer. At one level, he knows where all this care for Korra is coming from. All his experiences with her have been slotted into the crystalline, cool compartment labeled 'experiment' in his mind. But it's also in others, overlapping with the irrational, messy, desperately human edges of him. He's covering all his bases, paying close attention to her receptiveness, monitoring her reactions, being deliberate and in some respects, almost methodical. Because that's how Hei takes care of things that are valuable to him. Because he has a superheated drive to succeed, but more than that he has an analytical mind, focused with a prism-sharp intensity on the details. Being with Korra is a mix of safecracking, of examining fascinating foreign substances on a slide, but it also stirs the senseless, pig-headed, immovable, obsessive valves of him. ]

[ It sounds strange. But it's how he cares about things. And people. To ensure the best possible results. It means that it matters. ]

[ Eyes half-shuttered, he kisses her, warm and languid. ] An experiment. [ Because it's too compromising -- too dangerous -- to say I need you to trust me for just a few minutes, if not always. ]

So this is in the name of science. [Dry, but with good humor. (Hard not to feel good when you're being drowned in kisses.) She draws his lower lip between her teeth before whispering.] Okay, let's do this. [It's already pretty dark in here. How much difference could a blindfold make?]

[ Hei's eyes stay on her, almost measuring. ]

[ But then his half-smile reaches his eyes a little more. He tilts his head, nose brushing hers in a slow caress -- before he straightens. Keeping the scarf looped around his palm, he turns his attention to her jaw, the well of her throat, the rise of her collarbones -- lazy, half-biting kisses, before he laps over that tic of pulsepoint in her neck with his tongue. Fuck, part of him wants to peel her clothes off like the skin off a fruit, to nudge between her thighs and just -- feel her quake around him. But once he has a goal in mind, a puzzle to solve, Hei is too honed and direct to waver off-course. ]

[ He skins up the fabric of Korra's shirt, murmurs Arms up into her ear before he tugs it off her, exposing her belly and ribs and the expanse of brassiere. He's careful to untangle her blouse from her hair-pieces (he'll slip those off later) before he peels off his own shirt, as if in a semblance of mutual involvement, setting both garments neatly folded on the floor. ]

[Korra wastes only a moment wishing she had worn a bra instead of her sarashi. She has plenty of bras, after all, and only one sarashi. But, like her sense of time, Naga's death and her retreat from the City has made her crave the familiar. She hasn't dug out her clothes from home, but every day she thinks about it.

Another worry for another day. He sets the shirts aside and she tugs him back in for more kisses.]

[ Homesickness is unfamiliar to Hei. He's learnt early on to put on the tight masks of stoicism, to build walls around what is too raw and shocked; the better to survive. The comfort of things, places, sensations ... none of that matters to someone in flux. Sentimentality has no place in his repertoire. With Korra, though, he's always making allowances. It's easy to whenever Korra looks up at him, so full of wanting but with a bright aura of anxiety shimmering around her edges. Anxiety that he'll revert back to coldness and distance, that she won't get what she needs. ]

[ He tries to dissuade her of that. The kiss, when she draws him in, is a slow burn. A lull for both of them. Korra to relax under the familiar pressure of his mouth, his coasting palms, and Hei because he wants to parse out any prickles of doubt in her. His knees, straddling hers, squeeze a fraction closer, his hips settling better against hers with a small shift of weight. His fingers are on Korra's sides, feeling how the scratchy swathe of her sarashi is molded to her, warm from her body in the dark evening cool. It's only a moment before he's reached behind her, fingers fumbling before he finds the knot and undoes it. ]

[ Half-sitting up, he takes her with him, letting the bandages unravel in stages. Gathers them up to set aside, before he murmurs, ]

I'm going to tie the scarf around your eyes now.

[The cool air makes her shiver a little, and she's sore tempted to yank him back down. Oh. Right. The blindfold.]

Okay. [Should she close her eyes? She closes her eyes...then cracks one open to see if that's what she's supposed to be doing.]

[ She really is ridiculous sometimes. When she cracks an eye open, he smiles -- faint, brief, but there. Yes, like that. Smoothing her hair back from her face, he undoes the ties, setting the pieces on the adjacent table -- a series of clicks. There's something meticulous about his movements, as if he's disassembling a weapon. Next, he folds the scarf in half down its center. Holds it up, as if for Korra to examine, before he leans in -- slipping it over her eyes, securing it in place. The room is so dark there's really no need for it, but the fabric, he knows, brings its own claustrophobia. A feeling of everything cut off -- yet the sensations amplified. ]

[ Hei's lips are warm as they skim across Korra's. Quietly, he murmurs, ]

Same safeword, if you want to stop.

[She does rather feel like the room is closing in around her. Her muscles twitch, instinctively wanting to reach out and verify her surroundings. Nothing's changed.]

Got it.

[Nothing's changed, but everything feels different.]

[ Hei catches the ripple of tension in her body. Reaching out, he gathers her hands in his. Licks across her left palm and draws her index finger into his mouth. Letting it slip out with a pop, he murmurs, ]

Lie back.

[ Once she's settled on the cushions, he crawls easily over her. Not resting his weight against her, but hovering in a languid arch. Reaching out, he cards a hand through her hair, smoothing it off her face, trailing his fingers along her cheekbone. Quietly, ] You can put your hands on the couch. Or on me. Grab whatever you want. Scratch. Push me off if something's too much. But no pulling. [ He plans to take this at his own pace. Korra will hear an exhale, followed by a muffled little sound as he presses closer, his hair whispering across her face. He brushes his lips to the corner of her mouth in a cool kiss, while one hand skims warm fingers down her chest and traces the band of her jeans. ]

If you can't do that, I'll have to stop.

[ Nothing threatening in his tone. He sounds almost matter-of-fact. ]

Edited 2013-11-09 00:55 (UTC)

[She wants to lean into his hands, but they've moved on by the time she can move.]

You can't handle a little tugging?

[She digs her fingers into the couch, because she's pretty sure she can't stop herself from pulling him closer if she's touching him.]

You can't be a little patient?

[ Arch, but not cruel. There's a thread of unmistakable warmth in his voice. Slowly, Hei untangles himself from her, but it's only for a heartbeat. One hand flat against her sternum, he silently bids her to stay in place, maneuvering so he's at the far-end of the couch, between her legs. He undoes the catch of her jeans, lifts them over her hips, then pulls them down her legs and off her, dropping them to the floor. She has the thighs of a swimmer, so athletic and smooth. Her panties are a pretty triangle of fabric between them; they cover so little. Tugging off her boots, he slips his widespread palms under her body, across the smooth expanse of her thighs and the curve of her ass, squeezing gently. ]

[ His spine dips as he leans forward, his breath warm on her face, lips just barely brushing hers, ]

Okay?

[ As in: Everything all right in your head? -- Are you comfortable? -- Anything you want to do differently? ]

I can so be patient. [SEE HOW PATIENT HER VOICE IS? And how there's not even a whine when he pulls back and a part of her is convinced he's going to walk away. She's ready to hook her legs around him to keep him from leaving when he pulls her pants down.

Patient. She is totally. Being. Patient.]

Yeah. [Keep going!]

[ The epitome of patience. Oh yeah. ]

[ He doesn't smile. But there's a simmer of warm amusement bubbling in his chest. Outside, at the window, fireworks erupt -- brilliant stingrays and jellyfish blossoming then fading in an ultramarine darkness. The room swims, colours mixing and blurring, dripping down into each other; greying, brightening, then greying again. He feels like someone is holding the house underwater. It's a whimsical ambience. But he wants to see Korra. ]

[ Drawing back, he lets one hand rest at the dip of Korra's spine, thumb pressing circles into the taut muscle. A reassurance that he's still there. With the other hand, he reaches into the pocket of his folded coat. Fishing out a pencil torch, he flicks it on. Sets it on the coffee table, its glow a pale orange, buzzing quietly, creating fuzzy, spluttering shadows. He angles the torch forward, creating a glowing line from Korra's face down the center of her, leaving all beyond it in darkness. ]

[ She looks spectral, eerily beautiful, lit up in strange, angular shapes. ]

[ Korra will feel his weight make the couch whine, feel him shift positions until he's holding himself over her horizontally. With pursed lips, he blows across her skin, lips a quarter of an inch away. Moving slowly all along her body, careful not to touch it with his own. His tongue darts out occasionally to leave hot spots on her collar bone, neck, nipples, belly, hipbone, and inner thighs. Hot spots that he cools with another susurration of breath. One of his hands runs up the length of her thigh, then down to where it melts into her groin. The light skim of his fingers, down the crease of her leg and up, the heat and pressure of his palm settling on her mons, a dark starfish on the triangle of her panties. He rocks the heel of his hand almost imperceptibly against her clit, letting everything in Korra's body start pulling low at her stomach. ]

Do you want me to talk to you?

[ Not bedroom voiced, but almost conversational. A reassurance that she's not alone, not passive, not something he's pawing at while his mind drifts elsewhere. (Part of him is surprised for offering. Usually he couldn't care less.) ]

[She whines deep in her throat, and her fingers claw the cushions. What - why - HNNNNNG Why does he have to be such an evil, awful, terrible, amazing tease? When his hand reaches her mons, she locks her legs tight around it and tries to grind against it.

She's surprised when he offers to talk.]

What would you talk about?

[She's not actually worried now about where his thoughts are; she's struggling too hard to keep herself still to feel passive.]

Anything.

[ It's said with a half-smile, his eyes on Korra, watching the dim torchlight make her smooth, pointed shoulderblades glow. When she tries to trap his hand between her thighs, he draws it away easily. His fingertips are light against her shins, both legs. They slide up, feathery soft, following her knees and up the outside of her thighs. He knows she wants pressure against her clit again. Or something inside her. But he's not planning to make this easy. He skims his fingertips along her hips, up her sides, then sweeps up to barely brush the swells of her breasts. ]

[ Leaning in close, he breathes, a susurrus of cool-hot air, on one tight nipple. Does the same with the other. His left hand drops to her ribs, fingers slotted between the juts of bone, while his right hand hovers above her breast, lowering until his palm makes the barest contact with her nipple. The touch is so soft that it's easy to mistake for breath -- until he rocks it, slowly back and forth, touching just the tip of her nipple. ]

[ As he teases her, he murmurs, ] I could tell you how beautiful you look, just in your underwear. And how hard it's getting me. [ He dips his head, and licks her lips with his tongue, not bothering to hide something wry and darkly amused in his voice. ] Just logical, really.

[YOU ARE SO CRUEL AAAAAAAAAARGH. She whines and arches up, trying to press against his hand. She didn't say she couldn't press against him; he just said she couldn't pull. She is going to exploit every loophole she can find.

As for his words... she snorts, trying to cover up her blush. There's just something... really weird about dirty talk. It makes her feel a little self-conscious. (At the same time and, more importantly, it's really nice being called beautiful.]

Just biology. [Teasing back is hard when she's distracted by his refusal to touch her properly.]

[ Unfortunately, Hei's way ahead of her where loopholes are concerned. After all, he never said he'd grant her clemency. He smiles when she lifts her chest toward him, to force more contact, but he raises his palm the same distance. Faster, he moves, lowering his hand just a bit. It's so little what he gives her, but it's something, at least. Friction. Pressure. Even as she whines, her self-consciousness at his words is apparent. It's habitual for him, the instinct for silence during sex. Mostly he's never seen the point of talking. Who wants a running commentary of something that -- at least in his experience -- is mechanical and passionless and barely worth mentioning, half the time. Adding a verbal layer to that simply emphasizes what a performance it is. ]

[ Not so here. ]

[ Lowering his hand a fraction of an inch, he moves it harder. Almost just barely enough. Faster, then faster still, his callused palm rasping against her tender nipple -- before he cups her breasts in both hands, squeezing them roughly, pulling at her breasts, long pulls that end with sharp pinches to her nipples. ]

Yeah. [ There's an edge of gravel in his tone, each syllable teasing. ] Just biology. Blame that when I make you wait until you're a sticky little mess.

[Patience. Fuck patience. She hates patience. She's going to beat him with a stick named patience, and then she's going to break that stick in half if he doesn't --

He finally grabs her, hard and rough and she cries out in surprise and pleasure. If she could see him, she would have had maybe half a second's warning of the change, enough to anticipate, but unable to see it takes her completely by surprise.]

You're the one -- said it's just...logical... [She manages to gasp out.]

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.

[She's vibrating all right, with impatience and lust and embarrassed pleasure, like that one time she tried coffee. He never gives her compliments of any sort; getting so many all at once is practically an overload. She wants to pull him down and hide her pleasure in kisses. She can't keep her hands from grabbing his waist, fingers digging in hard, but she manages to stop herself before pulling. She's pretty sure he would actually stop if she broke that rule, and that would kill her.]

Your nose is stupid. [It's a distracted, half-hearted retort. She's trying to encourage him to touch certain places, to anticipate where he's going to touch next.]

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