poly_chromatic | ♦♦ 33RD CONTRACT

Entry tags:

darker than black - hei

♦♦ 33RD CONTRACT - ANONYMOUS TEXT/ACTION

...Back again.

I could do without the psychic jetlag. No worse for the wear, despite it.

[ Anonymous Text ]
Sing A Song of Sixpence The Child's Rhyme A Lie 1 & 20 Blackbirds Baked As They Die

[ Do not be alarmed. It's a code, not threats of animal abuse. Simply Hei's way of testing the Network-waters. ]

[ Private to Yin ]

~~Are you all right ...?~~

Status?

[ Private to Pai ]

I'm at the safehouse.

[ Options For Run-Ins ]

Cafe: He's assumed 'Li's persona -- timid and dopey-faced. A walking chameleon. But right now, blending with the scenery isn't his priority. The opposite. He's utilizing the freedom afforded by the City to stick out. To play chicken with himself -- after months of paranoid caution. You'll see him seated at the corner, with an unobstructed view of the cafe's interior. Elbow-deep in several platters of fried food, gorging like it's his last meal on earth.

It's his sixth. But fugitive life does wonders for an already freakish appetite.

Dojo: Avoiding the facility’s tangle of Life Cycles and Cybex machines, he's focused on a series of punches, blocks, and kicks to the air that, to the uninitiated, might look like a martial dance routine. It's a kata, but nothing formal or stylized. He has no interest in revealing the full scope of his abilities. Even so, his moves are good -- smooth, practiced, and powerful. They would be impressive in any grizzled combat veteran, but this guy seems at least half that age.

His visit to the dojo isn't an indulgence, or a way to burn off energy. It's a way of reassuring himself that his enemies-- his real enemies -- really are all back home. Or it could be a way of saying come out, come out, wherever you are.

The Underground: In his absence, things have moved around. Locations have changed; reigns of power have switched hands. But it's nothing too drastic. Masked, alone, he propels himself into his first patrol of the year. He feels almost like a kid, a high school student, gone away during summers -- not to visit family and friends but off to anonymously toil in some big city. Now he's back from big travels -- big character-altering, mind-boggling travels. And somehow, the cliche is true: everything in the City seems slightly tepid after having experienced all that disasters and miracles back home.

Of course, it's never a good idea to imagine there is anything tepid about the City. Not so long as it brews with such indefinable magic. Things that pour out of it, or gravitate to it, large or small, are never harmless. In that department, even Hell's Gate has nothing to boast of in comparison.

Anywhere Else: Invent your own setting! You know the drill! c:

[ OOC: Officially off hiatus, and Hei is back in the City, after a brief canon update! Post is anonymous and unhackable as always! Tags will be sporadic so your patience is appreciated<3 ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ What can he say? Contractors are notorious cheaters. ]

[ She arches into his hand, fingers plucking at his shirt, and Hei almost smiles. His heart is beating faster now, the throb of it against Korra's body somehow keeping time to hers. He tests her with the tip of one finger, then two, getting them slippery, then pushing them inside, only halfway, while his thumb rests on her clit. It's a moment before he remembers the right rhythm, the right pressure, the kind that gets her stirring under his hand. His head dips to seek her throat again, pressing warm, wet, sucking kisses down the vulnerable stretch of skin, while he uses his trigger finger, giving her a slow clit massage; finger-fucking her until his hand is slick with her. ]

[ Only then does he draw back, clutching at his shirt, yanking it up and off. It's not measured and unhurried like usual. There's no meticulous folding, no obsessive neatness. He can't connect with her skin fast enough. Breath fluttering, shallow, he shifts on top of her, heavy and close, but that feels all right, comforting. He wants to slip his arms around her, but they're both tangled in all those bedsheets. He almost wants to get out his knife. Slice everything off her. Not now. Soon. In the meantime, it's enough that he's able to kiss her face, and her mouth, her neck. Her skin feels hot and powdery; his lips leave cool trails of moisture across it, as his erection hardens against her belly. ]

[ Korra. The word makes him close his eyes hard while the whir of his brain threatens to shake his whole frame. ]

[Shirt off. Good ~~first~~ ~~third~~ ~~who would bother counting?~~ step. She moves onto his pants, stripping off his belt and chucking it aside. It clatters almost painfully on the hard wood floor. She can feel new scars against her arms, and she'd like to take her time exploring his skin, but she can feel his impatience, like a dog trembling to be given permission to hunt, and she knows if she's not careful, he'll have her fully naked and be fucking her with his pants on, which is one of her top 3 sex peeves and not something that'll change just by whining about it. You want something done? Do it yourself.]

[ Hei ignores that sharp, nauseated jolt when his belt clatters against the floorboards. The noise pings off certain nerve-points in his memory -- the bark of gunfire, the metallic tink of fallen grenade pins -- and makes him feel like he's hurtling in the dark with blank white adrenaline racing in his veins. ]

[ With effort, he shuts it off. Gets her message and strips off his pants, leaving them draped half-inside-out across the bedsheets. Extra precautions are unnecessary. But he wants the weapons in his pocket closeby. Even in the gloaming, he's visibly leaner. His ribs are prominent, and there is a convexity under his abs, even though the muscles themselves are so hard they resemble a turtle's belly. There are a lattice of deep cuts, pink and healing, on his arms and back that were never there before. It doesn't matter. He's not a model aiming at picture-perfection. The scars aren't important. Nor is the whippishness. He still has all of his muscle tone. ]

[ In the field, knocking opponents down, he moves as if his strength is indisputable. ]

[ Arched over Korra, Hei touches her tentatively through her clothes. Tank top tapering down towards the waistband of her panties; scant wedges of cotton. How Korra wears clothes is sometimes sexier than nakedness. And how she undresses is sexier than what she wears. Hei could watch that interplay -- sheaves of fabric against smooth skin, shadowy dips and ripples of bunched up cloth begging to be smoothed out -- all day. Except he doesn't have all day. At the base of his skull, along his spine, he can feel the curled up energy, the power, the tension. After eight months of being the perfect spy, something in him aches for wild, senseless freedom. ]

[ On instinct, his hand goes for the folding knife, tucked in his pocket. A snick, a glint of metal, and the blade is out. ]

[The changes in his body... "worry" isn't quite the right word, but they concern her. Bodies tell stories, and the story his tells isn't good. His muscles are too hard, there are too many new scars.

There's also a knife.]

What are you doing?! [She shoves him off and scrambles back. Does she think he's going to hurt her? She has no idea. She'd known Hei before he left, but the man in her bed might as well be a stranger.]

[ She shoves him off. And there's fear, buzzing in the atmosphere and etched into the canvas of her expression. Everything about Hei diffuses before her question hits the air. His grip slackens on the knife, his shoulders straightening as he leans away from her space. He can read people with ease, but he and Korra have never operated within any clear divides. Speech and touch -- his especially -- so easily go awry. He'd thought -- it isn't exactly clear what he'd thought. Why he'd decided to go for the blade. A game? A paranoid precaution? He isn't sure. Inside, the Reaper is clamoring, and it had seemed like a good idea to tip her off, and how better than with a little edgeplay, to his present mood. ]

[ A good idea to the Reaper, anyway. Who, after months in ascendancy, is revving at full-speed. Unwilling to surrender the reigns, to go dormant. ]

[ He can't tell Korra that. He's tense, face lined with exhaustion, all muscle and sharp edges. But his expression is soft -- half apologetic, half hurt -- even if it's a sort of mask. ]

Nothing. I -- [ He inhales deeply. Sets the knife aside and holds up his open hands. ] Didn't mean to spook you.

[ Except that's all his presence is doing. Maybe coming here was a bad idea. ]

[Yeah, sorry, Hei. The girl you left behind would have felt bad about seeming to hurt your feelings, but this one is just incredulous and a little angry.]

Didn't mean to -- you pulled out a KNIFE!!! How did you expect me to react?!

[ The words -- maybe the tone of her voice, the sizzling energy in the air -- send a sort of blind flash through him. Of irritation and -- something else. A different colored emotion. Sadness. Futility. He doesn't know. He isn't going to pick it apart. A part of him is almost surprised by the anger in her gaze. He'd like to say she's changed. But it's not all that much. At least, not in ways that are terribly obvious. She's been jumpy and tense and volatile plenty enough before, so it stands to reason she'll be more so now. ]

[ None of that blurs the shape of how he feels for her. ]

[ The worst change is in himself. He feels like a shipwrecked spar, washed up on the City's shores. Being taken back home, and the journey there, had forced him to rely on brutality -- to be more of a Contractor than he'd ever been -- just to make it through, to keep himself and Yin alive. It is that, more than the physical challenges, that've gnawed away at him, so when he's been spit into the City like some seaside flotsam, he's nearly feral. ]

[ Of course Korra will sense that. She's not going to just fall into his arms. She's not going to act 'normal.' She's going to be wary of who he is this time. ]

[ Sighing, Hei lets his eyes slip shut. His voice is worn out and lacking any rancor. ]

I'm sorry.

[ Apologies don't come easily to him. Why should they, when he never means a word? But the trajectory of his life doesn't run parallel to the Syndicate here. The rules -- the norms -- are different. He rolls his shoulders back, casts a brief look at her, then brings his hands, palms together, up to his mouth. ]

[ In the next breath, he's sliding to the edge of the bed. ]

Maybe I should go.

Don't.

[It's neither a plea nor an order; more an exasperated request. She starts to reach out for his arm, but thinks better of it. Considering he's already pulled a knife out during an otherwise pleasant encounter, there's no telling what he'd do.]

I don't want you to leave. I just want to know what's going on.

[ He's aware of her watching him. He wishes he could undo all this, roll back to the moment he'd arrived in the City. He knows now, how he should've proceeded, to tap the warmth and sweetness there should've been. That time is already expired. Instead they have these bursts of misconnection and misconstrual, culminating in this creepy raunchy vibe that circumvents all his intentions, that reminds him too much of the ugly past. There's an instinct to ignore her request. To get up and simply leave, to knit himself together in peace, without an audience. But it's too late for that, too. ]

I think -- [ His lips crumple and straighten. His face is cold-looking, immobile, like a statue on a frigid day, chafed at by decades of cold winds but staying clench-jawed through it all. He doesn't move any closer, but this is as close as he'll get to ever offering up an olive branch. ] I think you've already gotten a demo. I was ... in some bad places. Not for the first time. Probably not for the last. Being back here ... is taking adjustments.

[ He wants to say more. But his mouth is dry, the tongue stuck to his palate. How do you explain going off and having really awful prolonged ordeals -- war and genocide and betrayal -- and then returning to the setting and people of a previous life? Except that you're so altered by experiences that you can't really talk about or convey to those who weren't there. They you can't just fit back into things or begin to meet the expectations of those around you, or your own expectations. ]

[ You can't. ]

[Yeah, that was some demo. But at least he's talking about it. Not saying much, but it's enough to help her relax...marginally. And let's be honest -- she doesn't want the details. She'd take that darkness on in a heartbeat if it would actually help anything, but it doesn't, and she'd rather focus on the things she can do.]

First adjustment? No knives in bed.

[She doesn't move toward him, but the words are both a peace offering and a question. What do you want to do now?]

[ He's grateful that she doesn't press. It's one of the reasons he likes Korra. A cautionary tale of recklessness, she nonetheless has a solid practicality and innate good sense which steers her right. A compass, not moral, but pragmatic, which never fails to give her a direction in which to strive. In light of that, he still doesn't understand why she's with him. But he feels like explaining the outline of his situation to her -- outsized and barbed as it is -- is the least that he owes her. His mouth is dry, but he barely notices. It is Korra's mouth which is taking up his attention. ]

[ Without realizing what he's doing, he slips an arm around her. Waits a beat, then two. Carefully, he leans in and kisses her lips. The sweetest shiver. His left hand strokes from her shoulder to the warm curve of her back -- not pushy so much as tentative. Thinking of back home, of the looming death that's practically guaranteed there -- and comforting himself on her body. He reaches up and touches the bone of her forehead with the other hand. Tracing her soft furred eyebrows, the ridge across which they're so straightly and expressively drawn. Tunneling his fingers up into her hair. Soft and warm, a lush velvet tumble. Her eyelashes seem to dance against his thumb. ]

[ For a quiet breath, he does nothing but hold her stare. His expression is wistful. (Maybe sad, but it's too dim to tell). ]

I wasn't going to stab you. I think -- [ A wan flicker of a smile. ] I was in a hurry to get your clothes off.

[It's always a little weird when his touch turns tentative. It's better than the alternatives, at least. She kisses him back, solid and reassuring as earth.

His comment actually gets a little laugh.]

Generally? It's a good idea to just ask.

[She leans in to kiss him again. Hint. Hint.]

[ Her laugh makes something lurch in Hei. His lungs burn as if they're spasming in his chest with every sharp breath. But his kisses to Korra stay soft and openmouthed. Languid. By degrees, he tips her back, settling his weight against her. The warmth and solidity of her makes a bright curlicue of want coil low in his belly. Plucking motes of her skin between moist lips, he nuzzles her neck. Her shirt and the bedsheets are an extraneous froth by now. With would-be steady hands, he drags his fingertips over skin and fabric. Breaks away, creating a little extra room, and nudges her arms over her head to sweep her shirt off. ]

[ The sarashi is next: papery rustles and unwinding bandages the soundtrack to the unwrapping ceremony. A shadowy dip of navel. A xylophonic pattern of ribs. A dollop of one plump breast, then another. Dark nipples in the gloom, fabric laid back like gift-wrapping to display them. As he reveals more and more of her, he can feel his erection straining, trapped between their bodies, and there's a momentary embarrassment at how eagerly his hips rock against hers. Logic points out (actual logic, not Hei's special brand of it) that she doesn't realize how long it's been since he's had anything like this. Even when he was in Tokyo, with the Syndicate -- Well. He had other problems to focus on. Amber. EPR's convoluted agenda. The sunspot cycle and the threat of Hell's Gate vanishing. ]

[ But he's not thinking of that. Right now he's just focused on Korra -- flushed skin and steady pulse and tightened muscles and he hopes that's enough. ]

Or you could do that. [She'd really have preferred if you asked, but she'll push that particular issue at another time. She's missed this, having ~~him~~ someone else touch her, feeling desired. Maybe he's embarrassed by excitement in his hips; Korra likes knowing that she has that effect on him. She reaches down between their bodies to cup his erection. (Hey there, erection. She's missed you too.)]

[ (If boners could talk, Korra, he's sure it'd recite her a goddamn ballad.) ]

[ A low gulping sound bubbles in Hei's throat when her warm hand circles his cock. He's half-afraid he'll come, a hard spasm like a sneeze. Wouldn't that be one more disaster to add to tonight's list? As it is, gathering her in his arms, he feels even more self-conscious than when he'd been hovering at her bedside a few minutes ago. His kisses are almost adolescently spring-loaded. He breathes raggedly against her mouth, his body tense, pulse fluttering. A wave of unrestrained, almost nauseating feeling trips a switch in his brain; makes his fingers shake and his mouth dry. ]

[ Skinning down her panties, he crawls over her, knees between hers, braced on a straight arm. Between them, his shaft juts out, curved up towards his belly, wet-tipped. With one hand, he guides himself against her slit. He could be rough and reckless, now, slamming into her, grabbing her hair and yanking it into a fist, growling and cursing, keeping her disoriented until he'd sated himself like a madman. And that tempts him. But no. ]

[ He moves in closer, rubbing his erection along the damp length of her spread labia, the head nudging her clit with each upstroke. Getting her wetter. Gathering his own self-restraint. He refuses to screw tonight up any more than he already has. ]

[Premature ejaculation would hardly count as a disaster, Hei. She'd honestly be a little charmed. Or at least amused.

The heat of his erection against her clit makes her gasp, She remembers what it felt like to have him inside her, completely bare, nothing separating their skin. A part of her wants it desperately. But she also remembers how scary it was, those first few weeks after he left, not being sure exactly what the consequences would be. It's not something she wants to repeat.]

Don't stick it in like that. [Breathless, needy, but nervous too.]

[ Her voice -- that sweet breathless pitch -- prickles at Hei with a scrambling urgency. He forces it down, his voice a rasp. ]

Hmm. No premature fire ... until the weapon's in place.

[ Which is a terrible pun, but he can't bring himself to care. Every part of him feels excessively sensitive -- in the style of scientific instruments -- picking up readings from too far away, corrupting relevant data. He's distracted, for instance, by the hollows of Korra's collarbones, the soft pillow of her lips, the dark tickle of her hair, tangled like spiderwebs all around them -- whereas he should be focusing on the ambient noises, or how the dim light bleeds in through the shutters. Environment. Time. Other occupants. But his brainwaves are slow. Shifting. Like they're feeling out the room's edges, while every cell in his skin leaps to Korra's drugging warmth. ]

[ He nuzzles the soft, vulnerable jump of the pulse in her throat. One arm slides under her back to lift her. He dips his head, swirling his slick tongue across each nipple. Gulps them into his mouth one at a time, as if eating her alive. The other hand reaches for the discarded heap of his jeans. The sounds of rustling -- fumblings-in-pocket, the crinkle of foil and liquid roll of the condom -- are almost inaudible under his ragged exhalations. Nudging his sheathed erection between her thighs again, he continues to rock against her, the dark head and the thick vein on the underside smeared with her moisture. Even with the rubber, it feels so good. He knows he's going to come within minutes of sinking inside her. ]

Korra...

[ He's not sure if he's warning her or asking for permission. This is about as gentle -- controlled -- as he's going to get. ]

Huh? [The joke goes sailing over her head. But whatever. He's kissing her skin and biting her breasts and everything feels so good how did she go over a month without this she's pretty sure she's just going to nail him to her bed so he can't disappear again. No more disappearing.

He says her name and she sighs permission, even as she reaches down to position him. She's in no mood to just lie there and wait for him to enter.]

[ He half-wishes she would nail him down. Bright after-images of back home -- battles and bloodsprays -- keep floating in the darkness behind his eyes. He blinks them back, dizzy, throat searing, nose full of the smell of Korra's shampoo and skin and the scent of her arousal. Anchoring him. There is no artistry. No conversing or meeting her eyes. Pinning her under him, he draws her legs up, ankles crossed at his spine. Mouth buried in her neck, he pushes into her in a hot slippery-slide. ]

[ Oh. ]

[ Red spangles burst behind his tight-shut eyes. He shudders on a dark groan. Whole body enveloping her, engorging her -- inside and out. She's exactly as he remembers. Tight as a glove and gorgeously wet. Panting, he presses his forehead to hers, so she can see her blurred reflection in his dilated pupils. They're crowded so tight together, his body pressed heavily on her breasts and belly. Mashing his pubic bone against her slick lips, he grinds it back and forth against her clit. His control is already slipping, the urge to pound her lapping up into rapid snaps of his hips. ]

[ All he can think about is fucking her. Nothing else matters. ]

[Artistry is overrated. Or maybe it's not, but it's not what she wants right now. The tight grind is perfect. She locks her ankles behind his back and bites down hard on his shoulder, remembering how much he always enjoyed that (and maybe, unconsciously, hoping to leave some marks of her own on his skin. To counter the scars, perhaps, or just to anchor him here.)]

[ Arched over her, Hei exhales a satisfied hum as she bites into his skin. He doesn't care if she leaves marks. He wants them. Pretty reminders welting his skin; secret badges to signify time well-spent. ]

[ Grasping her right thigh with bruising purpose, he hitches it higher. She's so tight, it feels like she's squeezing him in two. Withdrawing the slightest, he pushes in deeper. Repeats the motion, over and over, until he's fully seated. It's a rapid rolling fuck when he begins. Too messy for precision; too greedy for finesse. Breath sings in his lungs. Somewhere inside, protests -- Go easy. Slow down. -- flare up and burn. But the ever-present monster in him doesn't care. Friction. Sensation. That's all he wants. Korra's sex is a sweet, hot trap, sending his heart rate amping up. He slams into her repeatedly, the pursuit for satisfaction unrestrained. Each motion sends his pubic bone bouncing off her clit. Each deep twisting motion filling her -- stretching her -- as if he wants to tear her deliciously apart. His face is buried in the damp curve of her neck. He mouths at her skin, gnawing on it each time he strokes up inside her. ]

[ I've missed you. I've missed you. He can't say it, even if, in its inexplicable way, it's true. ]

[No need to slow down anymore. The secret to their relationship -- she enjoys the way it hurts, like fight to be won or a challenge to be overcome. She gets kicked down and picks herself up again and it gives her someone to be. She tangles her fingers in his hair, holding on tight as she feels the storm building deep in her belly.

She can feel the words he can't say, his body more honest than his mouth could ever be. That's one of the reasons she likes touching him so much.]

[ Hei rolls his hips, a stuttering, sharp movement. Dangerously close to the edge. His body is hard against Korra's; a collection of joints and muscle and webbed scars. A worn-out whip made flesh. His movements are similar -- rapid and snapping. He slides back, to the length, until just the tip still opens her, then slams forward again, exhaling a drawn-out gasp. Slickness. Wetness. Heat. It's too much. Meltingly enveloping him, sending his brain fritzing, his thoughts shattering like a million bloodied starlings terrified into flight. He wants so badly to come. But he wants to wring as much from this moment as possible. Not just for himself. But for her too. ]

[ He bites at the sensitive spot near her ear, salt and pheromones tangy on his tongue. When he pulls out, one hand gripping his cock and the other braced above Korra's head, his mouth is inches from hers. His eyes are dark and feral. ]

Get up. I want to fuck you from behind.

[ Not to establish distance. Not for a disconnect. But the way she's lying beneath him, wisps of that dark hair damply plastered to her, she is hypnotic. He's half afraid he'll lose himself in gazing at her, which is cliched but chillingly true. ]

[It may not be his reason, but that's still what it feels like. She's been with him enough times when he's gone away into his own head, usually right after sex but more than once during. She knows it has something to do with his life back home. It only stands to reason that the same thing would happen now.]

No. [She'll have none of it. She tightens her legs around him and tries to pull him back in to finish business. Detach on your own time, buddy.]

>3 just as planned

ablublublu

<333

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