poly_chromatic | ♦ ♦ 13th Contract

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darker than black - hei

♦ ♦ 13th Contract

[ The weekend has come and gone. ]

[ Familiar faces have come and gone with it, leaving him feeling like an animal who's been taunted through the bars of a cage. Ugly memories, dormant for so long he expected to be free of them, emerge now as if risen from the dead. Horrors worse than what lurk in a crate of vodka have his head pounding -- tick tick tick like the City Clock. Like a time-bomb. Sometimes he sees Amber, free-floating, whispering riddles in his ears. Sometimes it's Yin, watching him with blank eyes and a sad not-smile. Pai is almost always closeby: never quite visible, calling out to him from behind a spray of blood. ]

[ Barely able to distinguish sleep from wakefulness, he isn't sure which is worse. The City feels twice as surreal after the atmosphere of the weekend, the atmosphere of his mind. ]

[ Fortunately there are ample distractions. ]

[Audio]

~~So this place has taken its 'prison' aspects a step further.~~

...Is this a practical joke?

[ Options For Run-Ins: ]

[ Shed: Pent-up energy and a mind for solitude have him trekking through the woods. He's in no mood for the chatter and music of smoky bars. He can't muster that effort to be On tonight -- to handle human faces and prying questions. Worse, the City's full of pests and spies. He'd rather not be out in public, where he could be recognized. The outdoors are a better bet, particularly so late at night. Holed up in an unheated shed, a flask of something foul in his coat pocket, he can lull himself into imperfect numbness. ]

[ If he doesn't freeze to death, locked and stranded, first. ]

[ Houseguest: The moon is pale in the sky. Masked and armed, Hei slinks through rooftops in the early-night darkness. Passing like a shadow past signboards and sloping tiles -- graceful, nearly weightless. He's alert, keeping track of everything. But his mind is fixed on Pai, on Amber and Yin and all the possibilities wasted. The thought-pattern is irrational. A time-waster. Dropping into an empty flat, he tries to snap out of it. It's chilly in here. He doesn't bother switching on the lights. Changing into civilian clothes in the bathroom, he splashes cold water on his face and resolves to head home. ]

[ Until he realizes he's stuck in. ]

[ What now? ]

[OOC: open to action and network replies. I'm cool with assuming he was stuck with more than one person during this curse. On that note, those he's trapped with are welcome to threadjack any network responses! Hei's in a tetchy mood after 4th Wall, so GIVE HIM HELL<3 ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Yes, she is. For all the horrible things that have happened to her, leaving scars both visible and hidden, Korra still trusts her gut instincts about people. She's been betrayed -- Tarrlok, pretending to be her friend, and Mr. Sato, pretending to be against the Equalists -- but she had been suspicious of both of them before their betrayals came to light.

She knows Li's dangerous, and that he uses violence to solve his problems even more often than she does (which is saying something). But she also knows he won't hurt her without a reason.]

Why not?

[The teasing tone cuts off as he takes her hand. Even through the gloves, the warmth almost burns her. There's no breath to catch in her throat, but she still finds herself unable to speak.

It's weird the things you feel, even after you're dead and shouldn't be able to feel anything. Confusion. Hesitation. Shyness. Wistfulness. A strange sort of longing. Her feelings have always been so simple (which did not make them easy to deal with). Nothing as complex and mixed as this.]

[ Li wouldn't kill her. But BK-201 would, because his sole deliberating system relies on cold logic. Except there's nothing logical about the City. Or this. He hears a voice suspiciously like Mao's: Deep-six the deep thoughts. Just go with it. Even if it's a mistake -- he's 99% positive it is -- there's only so much self-abnegation in the world, and he's used all his up. Morality is a complicated mess. ]

[ He moves nearer to her. This close, he radiates a tightly-wound energy. He thinks he feels her pulse vibrating between them, but of course that's just his own. A free hand tips her chin up. It'd be easy to stop this. Just one cold word, one sarcastic jibe, and the tension will re-coalesce into another fight. That's her call, though. ]

Because it'll get you in trouble.

[ The double-meaning couldn't be clearer. ]

[He's going to kiss her.

Korra doesn't know what to do. She's never been in a situation where she's had time to think about these things. All her other kisses have been impulsive (and/or curse related). There was no tense expectation, no air thick enough to cut with a blade.

She thinks about Mako, and realizes with surprise that this is the first time she's thought about him all evening, when generally he's never far from her thoughts. The realization hurts, like she's betrayed him somehow, but there's hope in it too.

Maybe she doesn't have to be in love with him. Maybe she can recapture those two weeks where the sight of him and Asami together didn't cut her up on the inside. Maybe she really can move on.

If she thought about it any more, she would panic. So she tossed all thoughts aside and bridged the distance between them, pressing her lips against his in a shy kiss.]

[ Her kiss is shy. His is not. He presses her against the wall, tips her head back. The hand cradling her head spreads to tangle in her hair, gentle but with the potential for roughness. His other pries the flask loose from her fingers, letting it drop with a thud. The sound echoes through the shed, though his head, firing a snap-crackle-pop of images. Carmine's mangled fingers. Yin's tear-bright eyes. Amber's wicked little smile. Too much left unanswered. Too much to process. ]

[ He stops trying. ]

[ He dips his head and skims her lips with his, once, twice, again, testing the difference in heat and chill. His mouth is hot, with a strange energy to it, almost like licking a 9-volt battery. His tongue slips into her mouth. It's not really his thing -- kissing. It's too intimate, too emotional. But there's a funny thing about kisses. They seem so natural and easy once you're into them, you wonder how they were ever something to be refused. ]

[She lets him take the lead, feeling like she's been caught in a riptide. She doesn't know what she's doing, or how to react when his tongue slides in. Her hands hover uncertainly before they settle on his hips.

Everything's awkward and strange and electric. She's painfully aware of how inexperienced she is, and the idea of breaking away and hiding under a rock for the rest of her life is tempting except for the part that involves breaking away. Every time he pulls back, a little whimper escapes her throat and her fingers clutch at his shirt as though to keep him from leaving.]

[ Hei knows his grasp isn't what it should be. Complicated. This is getting complicated. Each alcohol-tinged kiss -- all teeth and tongue -- complicates things further. The little sounds she makes send various parts of him skittering up to the ceiling, and down into the gutter. Enthusiastic. And innocent. No one who's had many men would be as open as she is right now. ]

[ It's easy to let his hand spread across her back, to slide it up and down, before bringing her hard against him. Her hair is soft and cool on his other hand as he cradles the back of her head, supporting her against his force. There've been so many women since Amber -- marks, quick flings, furtive encounters in hotel rooms, back-alleys of bars and clubs. Nothing serious. This is different. The tension, anticipation, it's familiar and strange at the same time. ]

[ His jaw coaxes her lips open to suck hot and slow on her tongue. An exploration and a question in itself. More? ]

[Half gasp, half whimper as he pulls her against him. Her body tingles all over, like a limb that had gone to sleep and is finally waking up.

She chokes back a giggle when he starts sucking on her tongue -- it tickles! -- but at the same time her hands are pulling up his shirt, craving the heat of his skin. An ache builds up below her belly and she instinctively rocks her hips against him.

She's not literate enough to understand Hei's unspoken question, or to understand what her body is saying in response. She's operating purely on instinct and an intense desire not to think.]

[ He feels the vibration of her giggle. Bites at her lip, half-smiling against her mouth. Though the rhythm of his inhale and exhale doesn't change, his breath deepens when she rocks against him. The effect is instant, almost painful -- bloodrush and adrenaline, like a switch flipped On. He lets her pull at his shirt, exhaling a heavy Hmm. The sound is his shorthand, giving permission to invade his territory and be friendly. ]

[ Her every response reads: Yes. Okay. But you don't just barge in without preliminaries and such first. He tightens his hold on her, palm splaying to feel the shape of her, marveling at the architectural curve of her ribcage to her waist and hips. Not a caress so much as a weapon-sweep. It's reflex. He doesn't go anywhere without concealed blades or frags. The priorities are nothing to laugh at. And since she's so close anyway, he might as well test the temperature differential properly. Both gloved hands slip under her shirt, splaying second-hand across skin, warm on cool, before bunching the fabric higher. ]

[ He fully plans to pull it off if she lets him. ]

[She stiffens as his gloved hands meet the bare skin of her ribcage.

How far is she going to let this go?

She remembers the talk her White Lotus masters had with her after she developed breasts. They had impressed upon her the seriousness of sex, how it was not a decision to be taken lightly, and how badly it could interfere with her duties as the Avatar. They had made it sound terrifying. Her mother had laughed and told her not to be afraid, that with her husband it would be something joyous and fun.

Master Katara, who had travelled all over the world since she was 14, slipped her a bundle of herbs. "You'll find many people have different ideas about what a woman should do with her body," she'd said. "But in the end, it's your choice. You have to do what feels right to you."

It had sounded so profound at the time, but now, in the heat of the moment, she realizes what a difficult thing this is. A part of her wants to slow things down. Another part of her is appalled at how far things have gotten already. Yet another part is afraid of being left with her own thoughts, and the awkwardness that would ensue if she stopped things and they ended up still being trapped here. And the physical part of her ached for his touch. How can she do what feels right when all the parts of her were in disagreement?

Her body shivers as his hands brush against her skin. Desire and a fear of awkward silences won out over what could be considered her better judgement.

Permission granted.]

[ She stiffens, and he stops, breaking the kiss. He doesn't draw back. He rests his forehead on hers, breath warm and heavy, assessing her with half-lidded eyes. He's learnt enough from seducing marks to always try and keep a clear head. Intimacy is a head-game, not a sex-game. And she seems off balance. ]

[ Just how inexperienced is she? His conscience, inchoate, forms a question-mark. A rarity among Contractors, who reputedly have no morals at all. But what he feels isn't moral nausea. Age-grading is what helps to keep children childish -- and what reputedly creates clean-living adults. But Hei's childhood wasn't regulated in a series of developmental stages. It was fast, high-stepping -- then it was over. Or more fittingly it never existed. He was never assumed to have needs distinct from an adult. Nor was he shielded from any aspects of sex and brutality. Indeed, he grew up in the thick of it. On the basis of Want, Take, Have. ]

[ When she doesn't resist, he reads it as consent. ]

[ He kisses her again, a seal of lips, a taste of tongue, hands clutching at the material of her shirt. Breaks the kiss only as the material whooshes over her head, static crackling, before catching her mouth again. The shirt is forgotten on the floor next to them as his hands resettle on her ribs. Sliding up to cover her breasts, kneading and massaging before he works his way under wire and fabric to do it properly. Not gentle -- that's the wrong word for it. But ...careful. ]

Edited (edits a million hours and other tags later :\) 2012-11-15 08:11 (UTC)

[Her shirt comes off, and Korra feels strangely grateful that she decided to wear the bra set that she had gotten with Asami rather than her traditional Water Tribe undergarments, which cover more skin. She falls back against the wall with a loud thud, and lets his hands work their way up her body. Her fingers dig into the skin of his back as though she's holding on for dear life.

He touches the bare skin of her breast, and she makes a sound that's half squeak, half moan, embarrassingly loud. It feels so different from the way she touches herself in the shower. The bra clasp digs painfully into her back, and she lets go of him to reach back and undo it. A tricky endeavor, even when she's not pressed against a wall making out with somebody.]

[ Call and response. She cries out, and his grip gains pressure. One hand finds a nipple, squeezing it between two gloved fingers -- just tight enough to replicate the noise, the way it shoots through him like a hot chill. He even enjoys the bite of her nails through his clothes. Underneath, his back is a web of scars, from shrapnel to lashes to burns. Cat-scratches don't bother him. The exact opposite. ]

[ When she lets go to tackle the bra-clasp, he obliges, knowing his gloved fingers wouldn't be much use on hooks-&-eyes. ( ...you should take them off). His mouth breaks from hers to gnaw at her jaw, her neck, tracking kisses that are going to bruise, by intent, his teeth and lips forceful. A portion of his brain notes the advantage he'd have if they were opponents, since her hands are occupied, reciting a hundred techniques to adminster a death-blow. ]

[ The rest tells that portion to shut the fuck up. Just enjoy this. ]

[It takes her a few moments of fumbling before she finally manages to get the clasp undone. The bra is quickly wiggled out of and tossed aside.

His kisses hurt, but she's never been afraid of a little pain. Her hands now free, she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Her fingers play with the hair on the nape of his neck and tug on the collar of his shirt. He has on way more clothing than she does.

She's hesitant still, inexperienced and shy, but she lets go of his neck and reaches down to start removing his shirt. Or at least indicate that she wants it gone.]

[ The bra off, his eyes go dark and bright, tracing the lines of her exposed skin. The shed's still cold and the buzz of the low-watt bulb above is audible but he's more absorbed by how she tastes and how his hands seem to fit over the swell of her breasts. There's an awful lot of extraneous fabric between them though. When she starts tugging at his shirt, he gets the message. He draws back, his smile faint but wicked too, in a way synonymous with pleased, slightly breathless as his chest rises and falls. The gloves are shed first. Her jacket follows suit, tossed in a heavy pile over his Network device on the floor. Voyeurs need not apply. He will allow a bit of mess here, spontaneity, when ordinarily he'd neatly fold his clothes first. ]

[ Unbuttoning his shirt, he shrugs it off. No bogus physical modesty. He's done this enough times, undressed before strangers whose names are irrelevant, only their messier codes and significance to the mission of any concern to him. In the dim light, silvery scars run here and there on his torso and upper arms, bright by contrast with the darker skin. Starburst-shaped ones she can't see are on the back, looking like they were made by something nasty. The final step: he discards the knife behind his belt, hurling it at the adjacent wall. It hits with a thwock, blade in place, vibrating with the force of it. ]

[ Closeby. Just in case. ]

[She reaches out to touch the scars, not with horror or compassion, but simple curiosity. Her own collection is far less impressive, but you can't fling boulders around without getting a few cuts and bruises. She understands what scars mean and respects them.

She doesn't ask where he got them; he wouldn't tell her, and even if he might, she's pretty sure it would take more than one story.

Her hand traces its way across his chest, and she looks up at him, waiting for her next cue.]

[ No questions are good. He doesn't wear any of his scars as a Croix de Guerre. They're just there -- a byproduct of his job. His abdominal muscles flutter under her hand, reflex. Her coolness is a stark contrast to the heat he's exuding, a ghostly rime rising off his body in the chill air. His exhale is lost in the cool-warm touch of skin as he presses in close. Thigh wedging between hers, nudging them apart, the flat of his hand a hard pressure on her back. He presses his hot face into the curve of her neck. Flicks his tongue over the marks he's left, salve. Hei is capable of almost anything, but gentleness -- that's a rarity in his arsenal. ]

[ This position is familiar -- a replication of dozens of knee-tremblers and half-clothed embraces in back alleys. But it's hardly comfortable. He mouths out words into the shell of her ear, the syllables slurred and low, ]

... we should find a better spot.

[ Maybe he can spread her coat on the floor and have her lie down. ]

[She's a little embarrassed by the little keening noises she makes as she instinctively grinds against his leg.]

O-okay?

[ He lets his thigh press a little harder against her. A reward for good behavior -- positive reinforcement and all. Then he breaks away. Scoops her fallen coat and spreads it on the floor -- with a palpable zzt. Electric-shocks are only one manifestation of his ability. He can siphon a high enough voltage to turn sand to glass, or one low enough to heat the lining of her coat as if it's fresh out of a dryer. Which is why he was amused by Korra fussing about his alcohol. ]

[ As for the Network device -- it's kicked aside, landing facedown in the pile with his shirt and gloves. Glancing at her, he extends a hand. ]

[ Lie back. The material's quite toasty. ]

[The cold when he leaves is like an iceburg slamming against her. She suddenly feels ridiculous and exposed, standing there with no shirt and no bra while he spreads her coat across the dirty floor. The quiet zzt of electricity reminds her of their fights.

She'd never thought about how it could be used outside of a fight. She shrinks a little in embarrassment at how she had fussed earlier.

She hesitates before awkwardly lying down. ]

[ She's barely settled back before he's dropped down on top of her, his body heavy on hers. His skin is a wilder temperature now, his kisses to her mouth hot and hungry. It's for them both; Korra, so she can adjust, if she needs to, to the shift in their position, him because he wants to explore this just a little, take stock of the way she responds under his attention. His hands slide up the skin of her ribs to cup her breasts in both palms, pressing them together. He breaks from her lips to bestow hot kisses on each nipple. Teeth. Tongue. Wet suction as if he wants to draw her whole body in. ]

[ He's rough, but not so much to cause legitimate pain -- she can always sock him in the jaw and tell him Don't. He knows the line between aggressive and coercive. ]

Edited 2012-11-16 14:08 (UTC)

[His heat is a welcome release from self-conscious reflection. Her fingers tangle into his hair as they kiss, and pull hard as he moves down to her breasts.

Rough, it seems, is exactly how she likes it.]

[ The fingers in his hair, the tugging? All green light. He nudges the underside of one breast with his nose, licking the crease. Bites each place he touches, tasting her salt with his tongue. One hand strokes down her belly, open-palmed. Works at the clasp of her pants before his fingers slide under the waistband, between cloth and skin. ]

[Her whimpers turn into a soft cry as he reaches down into her pants. Her legs close instinctively, trying to protect that vulnerable part, even as her hips buck up to beg for more. Her fingers dig into his scalp, struggling for some kind of control.]

[ Her body-language is so deliciously expressive. He can read so much in that cry, desire and hesitation all at once. His fingers, warm and rough at the tips, stray lower. Dabble lightly in moisture, finding and exploiting nerve clusters with little flicks. Slow movements as he double checks his pace, her responses -- take it step by step, find a solution, work the problem. It's true for wetwork. It's true here too. ]

[ He raises his head, tracing her lips with his tongue before licking into her mouth. Still not partial to kisses. Yet the taste of her is becoming an addictive necessity. ]

[For Korra, the kiss is a reassuring anchor. It's something she understands, that she's done before. She focuses on his lips, nipping at them with shy playfulness, and gradually relaxes enough to open her legs just a little. The contrast between her cold body and his explosive heat is almost too much for her to bear.]

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