Archive of Our Own

The bar was dark and hazy, crimson-shaded lamps accentuated by low candlelight. Katara swirled the golden straw through her forgotten drink, teeth nipping into the plush cushion of her lower lip. A lone cherry bobbed through the glass, capsizing against ice cubes.

She was staring.

He was deliberately ignoring the rake of her eyes over his face, down his neck, lingering on the exposed skin of his taught chest muscles where they peeked from the lapels of his shirt which was unbuttoned just one button too far.

Katara knew from the tense vein in his hand, though, running up his forearm and disappearing under the rolled up sleeve of his shirt, that he was well aware of her eyes on him.

Her gaze drifted lower. In her head, she could undo those buttons lining the placket of black silk and know exactly the precise inch of skin each one would reveal.

Katara could still remember the first time like it had happened five minutes prior. The tickle of the faux fur rug against the skin of her back. The distant clattering topple of the bottle of merlot when they'd rolled into the coffee table. The splash of cold wine across her chest and the way he'd licked it off of her, his golden eyes, molten and lust-blown, finding her own when he'd grazed her nipple and she'd sighed his name.

That first time had been a fluke, a fling, one night on her living room floor. It had been a stupid idea, the fear of losing the one person who knew her best lingering like a specter, but it had been a while and the wine had made her bold. She'd made a joke about practicing her skills so she didn't get rusty. His index finger had trailed the line of her wrist, his eyes dragging from her mouth to her eyes. And she'd made her move.

He hadn't stayed the night and she hadn't asked him to.

The rug had been stained beyond hope and thrown away.

She'd thought about him for days afterward.

As for the second, third, twelfth, twenty-third times… There was little to no excuse for any of it, but they'd kept up the pretext of practice.

And the way he liked to practice was filthy.

He knew exactly what that exposed forearm of his was doing to her. How many times had her nails scraped at that exact vein? How many times had it made him moan?

Crossing her legs, Katara shifted against the burgundy leather chair, her tongue drifting across her upper lip as she considered a plan of attack. There were obstacles to getting him alone. Surrounded on all sides by their raucous group of friends, the two of them were playing a dangerous game.

It was a surpise they hadn't gotten caught out at this point.

The last time she'd had him was on a group getaway almost a month ago. He'd stolen into her room in the middle of the night, two dark ties in his pale, long-fingered hands. One strip of silk had bound her hands to the headboard and he'd slipped the other over her eyes, whispering, "You have to stay quiet tonight," in her ear.

It had been hell of the best kind. And he'd liked it. He'd nipped at her inner thighs, chuckling when she'd let out a sound like a sob and begged to touch him. The dark, nearly demonic reverberation of that raspy laugh still tingled through her body when she thought of him days later. Even now, with him sitting at the opposite corner of the bartop, two friends and her brother between them, Katara could replay with lurid clarity the depraved words he'd growled as he'd taken her. It should have been impossible that nobody had heard him.

And yet…

Toph hadn't said anything. Aang still made eyes at her. Sokka hadn't tried to kill his best friend.

The threat of getting caught made her wet.

She was just as shameless as he was.

Katara had only one rule for these encounters: No kissing. Not on the lips. She'd made that mistake the first night and it had stirred something in her sternum, a jittery, shaking nervousness that felt a lot like a crush. The feeling had not left her alone in the aftermath, seeking ways to grow like a plant setting root in rocky soil. She was desperate not to cross the thin line they were walking and lose him altogether. Aside from the obvious mutual physical attraction required of a hookup, Zuko had never indicated any other kind of feelings of the romantic variety, so she didn't want to encourage herself.

Thus, initiating contact became a puzzle.

There was the dance floor with its highly polished surface and mass of already-writhing bodies. If she could get him there, his hands skimming her stomach and hips, her ass grinding against his groin, he'd be finding an excuse to get her out to his car within minutes. But nobody else in the group was dancing tonight. All eyes would be on them. And if she took to the floor solo to get his attention, she might end up attracting the exact pair of eyes she didn't want on her.

The cherry bobbed in her drink. Katara speared it with the golden straw and popped it between her lips. The bit of fruit exploded in her mouth, a burst of whiskey hitting her tongue.

His mouth ticked up in the smallest smirk. Beneath the dark strands of hair that grazed his forehead, his eyes were honey and decidedly not fixed on her.

Still, she knew he was watching.

Tease.

If there was anything she'd learned over months of fucking him, though, it was that she played the game of teasing better. He let her get under his skin so easy.

Sticky and sultry, the thudding beat of the song muffled the scrape of her stool as she shoved away from the bar. His shoulders stiffened just enough for her to notice. A trill of easy victory sang through her chest. She had him in the palm of her hand.

She'd worn heels tonight, purple suede stilettos that gave her just enough pretense to get her way. The bathrooms were a fair way from where the group had set up for the night and she had to walk past him to get there. It was all too easy to feign a stumble at just the right time, her hand landing high up on his thigh, her breast brushing his shoulder. Between the shoes and the drink she'd forgotten about (that hopefully nobody had noticed go to waste), the contact was a sin easily forgiven.

Not that he would.

"You good?" Sokka shouted over the music.

"Totally fine!" Katara shouted back. She gestured toward her destination. "Bathroom!"

As she wove through the throngs of people, she counted. He'd wait a minute to follow her, enough time to distract Sokka, but no longer.

Mercifully, and she didn't know how given how busy the bar was, the hallway that led to the bathrooms was deserted. One long wall was lit by a never ending cascade of sparks. The other was an endless trickle of water that fed a trench of water lilies and koi fish. Polished gold railings prevented patrons from edging too close. She was leaning over, watching the fish, when his hands found her body, sliding down her ribs to grasp her hips.

"What the fuck was that?" he demanded, voice hot on the shell of her ear.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

It should have been shameful the way his fingers catching against the velvet of her skirt made her breathless.

"Do you want the others to know?"

"You're the one who followed me."

She leaned into him, her back against his torso, watching with fascination as one of his hands slipped up the exposed skin of her stomach. His fingers teased under the cropped edge of her shirt, just under the hem, but no higher.

"Katara," he said. The way he said her name was stern in a way that said he might slap her ass in rebuke.

"Zuko," she said, pressing closer to him and nudging his other hand toward the waistband of her skirt. She'd take whatever punishment he wanted to give if he'd just touch her.

He wanted to. She knew it. He was hard already, his breathing tremored with restraint.

"Anyone could walk into this hallway," he said. There was no worry in his voice, no shame. Just a low grumble of heat.

Katara whimpered as his hand slipped beneath her skirt and past the lace of her panties. The first brush of his fingers across her clit made her keen, her knees giving out. He caught her, his hand slipping between her breasts and holding her tighter to his body. Katara tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder, wanton mouth open as he touched her, fingers dancing along her core.

"Fuck." The word was a hiss on his lips. One of his fingers nearly slipped into her and she grew impossibly wetter with the anticipation of it. "You're so fucking wet. Tell me what you were thinking about."

Words had fled her already. She moaned.

Zuko's mouth skimmed her throat, teeth nipping at the fragile skin near her collarbone, a warning. "Tell me, Katara," he commanded.

"Last time," she managed to whisper.

Her answer was rewarded with one finger sinking into her heat and stroking.

"Last time," he mused. "You liked being tied up?"

"Yes."

"You liked not being able to see?"

"No."

"No?"

"Like watching you fuck me."

That one lone finger was working wondrous miracles in her, but she didn't miss the way her response elicited a thrust of his hips against her rear and a quiet moan. Katara ground down on his hand.

"More," she insisted.

"I'm not going to fuck you in a public hallway, Katara."

"Zuko, please." She was rapidly losing the upper hand and she didn't even care. She needed him in a way that felt insatiable.

"How drunk are you?" he asked.

"I'm not. Are you?"

"No." His hand slid, cupping the weight of one of her breasts in his palm, his fingers teasing her nipple through the fabric of her shirt and bra. "Don't you think you deserve better than a quick hookup?"

His fingers rolled and pinched. A shock of insanity hit Katara's brain and she moaned. He shushed her, but the digit he'd slipped inside of her slid deeper, reaching for the spot they both knew would pull his name from her mouth on a loud cry. The ring he wore on his third finger nudged her clit and she heard him groan when her walls pulsed around him.

And then, just as suddenly as he'd snuck up on her, he stopped touching her altogether. Empty and frantic for release, Katara whirled on him. The wall of sparks reflected in his eyes, turning them into live fire. When he backed her into the railing, the effect consumed her. She reached for him, pulling him close by the lapels of his shirt, crushing the dark silk under her needy fingers. He dipped his head, nose trailing up the length of her neck and he took in her scent.

"You wear jasmine because you know what it does to me," he whispered in her ear. "Don't you?"

In response, she slid her hands down the broad, hard planes of his chest, nails scraping over his nipples. "As if you don't know what you've been doing to me all night. You wouldn't even look at me."

"I didn't realize my attention was so important to you, Katara. But I can assure you," his teeth nibbled at her earlobe, "I've been watching you closely."

His hands slid along the railing, penning her in closer as his gaze found hers again.

"Leave with me."

"You want the others to see that and question it?"

"Would you rather have your brother walk down this hallway and find me with you bent over the railing?"

He was so close, his face a whisper away from hers. She could count every fragile lash clinging to his scarred eye, every beat his pulse ticked under the skin of his neck. Her eyes darted lower, tracing the line of his upper lip. If she tipped her head just right, she could break her own precious rule and pull him in. It would be all too easy to conquer him. He likedkissing her. He'd mapped her entire body with his lips and tongue at this point. He'd begged her to kiss him the ninth time as she'd ridden him slow and dirty, his dick buried so deep within her that stars exploded across her vision. If it hadn't been for the feel of him without the barrier of a condom for the first time, she might have given in to him, seeking his mouth for additional stimulation. But the knowledge that she was in control, the feel of every inch of him slipping into her unimpeded, and the way he'd moaned at the feel of her hot and dripping around him had left her feeling greedy and uncompromsing.

The rule existed for a reason after all.

But sometimes, when his eyes were like soft autumn sun or his thrusts turned tender and his hands touched her with reverence, she thought the rule was very, very stupid. Sometimes her most vivid fantasies about him revolved around the part of his lips, the taste of his tongue, the way she remembered him sighing her name when she'd kissed him for the very first time on that very first night.

And then he did it—the most subtle adjustment of his head as he said it again, "Leave with me." The formation of the words resulted in the faintest, softest capture of her upper lip between both of his. It was barely there. Just a fraction of a fraction of time, but it was enough to make her lose the upper hand entirely.

Hands still curled into the fabric of Zuko's shirt, Katara pulled him in and relented, mouth crushing against his. Distantly, she could hear the crackling spray of the sparks behind her, but the sound of it faded away when he pressed a needy yes against her lips, the word hissing and hot. His palms found her face and she could smell her arousal on his fingers, feel the stickiness on her skin. When he moved to deepen the kiss, his tongue parting her lips, she pulled away, heart in her throat.

She nearly choked on her pulse when she told him, "You'd better make this look believable to the others."

He was gawking at her, mouth open, chest heaving. "What?"

Katara stepped away, eyes roving his body, his disheveled shirt, the painfully obvious bulge in his pants. The thought of him inside of her, splitting her open and making her scream had her flushed. She doubted they'd make it out of the parking lot. If she could get her way, she'd pull him into the backseat of his car and watch him try to retain control as his thick cock slid into her. She could almost hear him coming undone now, the way he had in the past.

"So fucking tight. Feel so fucking good. Wanna make you feel good. Wanna feel you cum."

Her blood was boiling like lava through her veins and she almost had half a mind to just tug him into the restroom and let him fuck her into the wall.

She'd rather not think about the logistics behind doing it somewhere so unclean, though.

"Make it look like an argument," she instructed him.

Arousal was all to easy to disguise as anger and frustration. She would blame her flushed skin and hazy eyes on tense words. She could blame her desire to flee the scene on a need to escape a heated exchange. And while it had been a good many years since Katara and Zuko had had a fight bad enough that they'd taken it elsewhere so as not to annoy the others, nobody would be surprised if something exploded between them.

Storming through the crimson shadows of the bar, Katara clocked her obstacles. Sokka and Suki were kissing, too involved to notice her approach. Toph was at ease in her own seat, fingers drumming on the bartop as she listened to the handsome dark-haired man who had sat down next to her.

But it was Aang with his always-watchful eyes that was going to be the problem. He spun on his barstool, staring as she approached in all her haste.

"Katara," he tried, hand reaching out to prevent her from grabbing her coat and bag.

"Don't touch me, Aang!" she snapped, shrill.

And then she was breezing for the door, hips swaying as she swirled her coat around her body and over her arms.

"Katara!" a different voice, a deeper voice called.

That was the voice she wanted calling her name. A smirk crawled across her face.

"Don't worry," Toph said to either Aang or the man she'd been talking to. "Mom and Dad are arguing again. I'm sure they'll bang it out soon."

If only she knew.

"Katara," Zuko called again.

She left dark leather and gold finishes behind her, stepping into the rainy night. The storm had mostly slowed, turning into a fine mist that clung to her skin. It was cool, but not cold enough to tame the desire she felt for him. That feeling lived under her skin, pulsed through her veins, thrummed with every beat of her heart. Slowly, it was becoming part of who she was on a daily basis. It was like Zuko had made a home inside of her and that thought frightened her.

She shouldn't have kissed him.

Now more than ever, she needed him to take her apart, needed him to fuck her so hard all she could think of was the feel of him inside of her, so that she could forget what was lurking in the shadows of her head and her heart.

Before she saw him or even felt his touch, she heard the zip of his leather jacket.

"Where did you park?" she asked.

In response, a helmet was held out in front of her.

Katara glared at Zuko. "You're shitting me."

Now he was the one smirking. Fine droplets of rain were sticking to the fringe of his hair. There was one larger drop rolling slowly down his neck and she wanted so badly to trace it back to where it first landed with her tongue.

"What?" he said, voice all dark innocence. "Did you think it would be as easy as getting me alone in my car?"

She felt herself turn a furious shade of red.

His smirk deepened. "Not tonight, Katara."

"This isn't funny, Zuko."

"You wanna talk about things that aren't funny? I just had to hide an erection from your brother and Suki because you couldn't wait five minutes before putting on your little show."

Without waiting for her, he sauntered across the parking lot, leaving her there with the helmet in her hands. She could see his bike sitting under one of the flood lights in the lot. He was there in moments, one long leg flinging over the seat. When he realized she hadn't followed, he looked back at her, eyebrow cocked.

"Do you want to come or not?"

As if she needed him for that!

But she knew that if it was a choice between her dignity and an orgasm at Zuko's incredibly attentive hands, then her dignity had gotten left behind a long time ago.

Besides. Whether or not he'd realized it yet, he'd placed himself in a very vulnerable position. There was only so far she'd push it on the back of a moving bike, especially with the way Zuko liked to test speed limits, but if her hands wandered, that was his own fault.

She mounted the bike behind him, velvet mini skirt hiking up around her thighs. Zuko had the audacity to reach one hand behind himself, fingers squeezing into the muscle of her leg before he tugged her closer. The stitching on the seat of the bike teased along the nerves at her core and she hissed. His hand slid away from her, a heated caress that would keep her riled up until she had his hands on her for good.

"Hang on," he said.

Katara jammed the helmet over her head before sliding her hands around him. The bike roared to life beneath them, drowning out all sound, but not before she heard him moan at her touch.

They rocketed through the streets of Caldera City, neon lights a blur in the air around them, color blown out by speed and the haze of water in the air. Zuko's body was a tense line of responsiveness that jolted at her slightest movement, and he was entirely at her mercy. Katara slipped a hand beneath his jacket and shirt, and his abs jumped as she skimmed her fingers over each defined ridge and dip. Her fingertip dipped around his bellybutton and he shuddered. The reaction made her think about the times she'd taken him into her mouth—his hazy eyes on her, the shiver of his chest, the gentle brush of his own fingers across her cheek.

The man was a masterpiece.

As the bike reached a straightaway, Zuko put on a little more speed, and Katara took the opportunity to change the focus of her hand. Before he could react, she'd found the waistband of his pants and flicked his belt open. His hand clamped around hers, but the bike didn't falter. She watched through the foggy visor of the helmet as his jaw ground and twitched. Hot satisfaction speared through her core.

He set her hand on his hip with deliberation and she knew she was in for it if she kept provoking him.

Teeth digging into her lower lip, she pushed the useless visor up and gave him just enough of a false sense of security when she hooked her fingers into his belt loops that he actually relaxed a little bit into the curves of her body.

Katara nestled closer to him. He was always so carefully controlled, so quietly self-assured. It had been years since she'd seen an outburst of anger from him. There had been intense work going on behind the scenes for that. She knew as much from Sokka who had a bigger mouth than anyone cared to admit. Zuko had been in therapy. He'd cut ties with his father and sister. It had brought a sense of peace to his attitude. Still, even with all that work, he kept all other emotions close to his chest. The only time he unraveled was when he was buried deep within her. Even then, there was some kind of wall he kept up.

Tonight, with the midnight moon hanging behind storm clouds, she wanted him a little wild. She wanted his careful grip on control to loosen enough that she could forget about how kissing him made her heart skip a beat.

No more foolish slip ups tonight.

She slipped her hands around his waist once more, littlest fingers teasing along the top of his pants.

Zuko took a familiar turn. The bike's exhaust reverberated off the buildings surrounding them. They were a few short blocks from his place. Just two stoplights and an elevator ride stood between the two of them. Katara knew from her own late-night excursions to his place that they'd breeze through the first light but not the second.

Another burst of speed for the first light. Zuko must have been hoping to not get caught at the second. Katara had never found that to be the case. The timing on both was so exact. Still, her fingers were deft, the button of his pants slid through its slot with ease. He didn't even notice. Ahead of them, the second light shifted yellow.

The bike rumbled to a stop and Katara squirmed. Her hand plunged.

The zipper of his pants gave way just enough to let her palm his erection through his underwear.

Zuko's hand, previously white-knuckle on the brake, went slack for half a second and the bike gave an inelegant lurch forward. The movement shifted him deeper into her grasp and she squeezed.

"Fuck," he bit out, loud enough for her to hear over the sound of the engine.

She squeezed again.

He didn't move her hand this time, but his heel bounced impatiently against the asphalt as he waited for the light to turn green. When it did, they took off like a shot, hitting such high speed in such a short amount of time that Katara was almost worried they'd miss the turn for the underground entrance to the garage.

Zuko didn't say anything after they'd parked. He stood in silence next to her as they waited for the elevator. But when the doors dinged open, he guided her inside with one hand on her ass. After punching the button for his floor, he cornered her, hands on either side of her head against the walls of the elevator as he stared down at her.

"What has gotten into you tonight?" he growled.

Katara reached for him, her hands sliding down his chest, fingers catching around the zipper of his leather jacket and tugging it downward. She was rewarded with the eyeful of chest he hadn't bothered buttoning his shirt enough to hide.

"It's been too long," she said.

Her fingers crept up his chest, making for the buttons of his shirt.

"Since?" he prompted.

She paused, looking up into his eyes. He was unreadable. "Since last time, Zuko," she said. "You can't just leave a girl to fend for herself for a whole month."

Gold shifted amber. He cocked his head to the side. "I had a work trip," he said.

"You weren't gone the whole time." She teased another button through its hole.

"You've been working nights."

"You can't call in the middle of the day?"

"You can't call in the middle of the day?" he retorted.

"You're always so busy—"

"I'd make time for you," he said, leaning closer, pinning her hands between their bodies. "I'd make so much time for you, Katara. Stop by my office. We can make a mess of my desk and scandalize the entire staff with the way you scream my name."

Abruptly, Zuko bent his head, his lips and teeth finding the spot behind her ear that made her knees weak. Between his words and his mouth, Katara was fairly certain she was being incinerated. She'd been in his office. She'd seen his desk. It was all too easy to picture him fucking her across that clean glass surface. He bit again, this time harder, and she moaned.

"Zuko, fuck."

"Tell me how you spent the last month fending for yourself," he said, one of his hands beginning a slow, teasing crawl down her body. "Did you touch yourself? Did you use that vibrator you so innocently had on hand the third time we hooked up?"

"Both," she breathed.

His hand slid up her skirt, bunching it around her waist, and his fingers skimmed across her core. "You're going to have to throw these out," he said, running one finger just under the fabric of her panties. "You're so wet I can feel it on your thighs."

She was trembling with the need to keep touching him. "Your fault," she choked out.

"My fault," he stated. "Just like it was my fault you had to take care of yourself for a few weeks."

A game. He was playing a game with her.

"I thought of you every time," she bit out.

It was not the checkmate it sounded like in her lust-addled brain, but she was not so far gone that she didn't miss the deep flattery that flitted across his face.

Oh.

But the moment of vulnerability was gone before she could think about it more. Zuko grinned, his canines sharp in his mouth. One dark eyebrow slid up his forehead.

"And how did that work out for you?"

Truthfully, imagining Zuko was a lot less effective than the man himself.

He didn't need to know that.

Katara tilted her chin up proudly. "I made it a whole month."

At that, he laughed, the sound rich and deep, reverberating through her nervous system. "But you still came home with me tonight," he whispered in her ear.

The elevator bumped to a gentle halt, the doors sliding open. Zuko's hand slid into hers, fingers lacing together as he tugged her into the hallway. In her haste to pull her skirt back down around her lower half, Katara stumbled after him.

"Screw it," she muttered to herself, and paused to take off her heels.

Zuko watched her, an amused smile on his face.

"What?" she said.

"You're short," he teased.

Katara felt her face flush. Without really thinking about it, she drew herself to her full height. "I am perfectly average," she snipped. "Not all of us are freakishly tall giants."

An eyebrow jumped up Zuko's forehead. "Freakish?" he said. Then, he leered down at her, the grin returning to his face. "I thought you liked that I'm tall."

She turned redder, averting her eyes and giving him a small shove. "Shut up and get us into your apartment."

Zuko laughed, this time loud and joyous. His smile lingered all the way down the hallway and tingled all the way down Katara's spine.

Oh, she was in deep.

She needed to not think about that. She needed to not think about the fact that the concept of practice had turned a very deep and meaningful connection with one of her oldest friends into…

Into something that rattled her soul and made her want more.

So much more.

He didn't give her time to think about it.

As soon as they stepped into Zuko's dark apartment, he was on her. Katara was barely two steps through the door when his hand reached out and shut it swiftly behind her. The sound of the deadbolt chain rattling shut was the last thing she registered before his mouth was slipping hot kisses down her neck and he was hauling her up into his arms. Her legs coiled around his waist. Her bag and shoes hit the floor so she could slide her hands down his broad chest.

Somehow, she shrugged out of her jacket and it fluttered to the floor as Zuko carried her down the hall to his room.

She loved his place from its tidy symmetry and thoughtfully-selected art to the crack of the vintage floors underfoot. When he laid her on his bed, his sheets smelled of black tea and ginger.

Through lust-hazed eyes, Katara watched as Zuko threw his own jacket across the room and then knelt in front of her. His hands, strong and long-fingered drew her thighs apart. His forearms, exposed by the damn rolled-up sleeves of his black silk shirt, flexed.

"Zuko," she breathed.

His head disappeared beneath her skirt.

"What are you—"

Her words bit off into a long, loud moan as his tongue swept over her, dragging along the lace of her underwear. One of his hands slid up her thigh, pressing her skirt back up around her waist. Katara lifted her hips to help, prepared for him to loop his fingers around the waistband of her underwear and tug.

Instad, she felt several soft, shocking nips along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh before he traced the seam of her hip and her leg with his tongue.

"Want you so bad," he hummed. His fingers pressed against her clit with one torturously slow sweep.

"Oh my god," Katara groaned. "Don't tease, Zuko."

"Consider it payback," he said, "for trying to get me to fuck you in a bar."

She wiggled her hips, pressing her core down towards his fingers, urging him to keep moving, to drive her toward the edge she desperately craved.

"Just take my fucking underwear off," she commanded.

He was still working marks into the skin of her leg, but at her words, his golden eyes snapped up to meet hers.

"Okay," he said.

His gaze turned positively dragon-esque.

His teeth wrapped around the waistband of her underwear and tugged.

Katara's eyelids slammed wide open and she sat up on her elbows to watch as he took her underwear off with his teeth.

"Holy shit," she whimpered.

For one lingering moment, Zuko looked at her, her blue lace panties caught between his teeth, his eyes burning behind the fringe of his hair, his chest heaving.

And then her body collapsed as he surged back up, mouth meeting her core, tongue diving into her without ceremony. His name wailed off her lips and her fists twisted into his tea-scented sheets.

He'd been a quick study of her body. At this point, he knew how to take her apart with precision. But there was a certain need in the way he tasted her tonight, as if he didn't give her more than one hundred-ten percent, she might vanish off his fingertips like mist.

A moan ripped free of his chest and resonated throughout her whole body, lighting sparks behind her eyes and pushing her fingers through his hair. Then, his mouth moved to the nerves between her legs and he pressed two fingers deep inside of her.

"Fuck," he whispered as her walls rippled in response.

Katara bucked into his touch. She scrounged blindly for the comforter, hauling it toward her face, but Zuko's free hand shot out to stop her.

"Don't even think of hiding any sound you make tonight."

"Your neighbors—"

"Who gives a shit? I want to hear you when you cum for me. I'm going to make you feel so good, Katara."

She slid futher into his touch, her heels digging into his shoulder blades. "Then don't stop," she gasped. The blanket fell out of her grasp, forgotten.

"Trust me," one of his fingers twitched against the spot deep inside of her that he was entirely too good at finding, "I haven't even gotten started."

The precision of his touch turned positively sinful, his fingers slowly dialing up the pace of their thrusts as his tongue relentlessly fluttered against the nerves of her clitoris. Katara's orgasm rose slowly like a midday tide but slammed into her with all the force of a tidalwave. The release of it felt like drowning, left her gasping for air, Zuko's name a stammering curse of a word that wrenched out of her chest.

"Please," she rasped out, not quite sure what she was asking for.

His touch did not relent, and she watched, transfixed, as he shifted slightly where he knelt. She thought she heard the grating slide of a zipper and then his free hand plunged to where she could not see.

He was touching himself while pulling the dredges of her climax from her. The very thought of that sent her spiraling upward again, overstimulation making her shriek. And Zuko did not let up, his fingers sliding through her folds and back into her with almost embarassing ease. She could hear how wet she was, could feel her arousal and the vestiges of her release dripping out of her as his fingers fucked into her without remorse or hesitation. She was already so sensitive and had wound back up so tight that when she snapped, she did so without warning, her vision whiting out. The second release was warm, felt like a flood out evacuating her body, and she didn't even recognize what that must be, until she heard Zuko's voice.

"Fuck. Did you just—?"

Dazed and floating on a dream, Katara was vaguely aware of the wetness that soaked the sheets beneath her. Exhausted blue eyes fluttered open, catching the awed look on Zuko's face.

"Sorry," she offered up.

"Why are you… Why the fuck would you be sorry?"

"I didn't know I could—"

"That was the hottest… Fucking hell, Katara."

Zuko rose to his feet with a jerk of his whole body, hastily shucking his pants and underwear. He reached for the buttons of his silk shirt and Katara made a noise of protest. His eyes found hers.

"Your fingers," she said. "You're going to ruin that shirt."

"So I ruin the shirt," he grumbled. "Take the rest of your clothes off, Katara."

It was easier said than done. Even her core muscles felt weak. Katara stayed prone, shimmying her dark velvet skirt down her shaking legs. There was an impatient noise and Zuko's hand found hers. He pulled her to sit, his fingers soon sliding up her ribcage to ease her cropped white tee over her head. He stepped closer, reaching for the clasp of her bra where it rested against her spine, and their proximity brought his cock right in front of her lips.

Katara knew he wasn't asking. Zuko, in all of his impatience, was just finding the quickest way to get her out of her clothes. But it was like offering a feast to a woman who hadn't eaten all day. Her fingers curled around the base of him and her mouth sank deep.

"Oh, shit," Zuko growled, voice reverberating through his torso.

His hips snapped forward, driving him deeper into her mouth, the tip of his shaft reaching for the back of her throat. Tears sparking at the corner of her eyes, Katara worked her mouth wider, willing herself to accommodate his girth. A tentative hand landed on the back of her head. Her loosened bra drooped down her arms. Zuko's fingers flexed in a question and she released the grip she had on him, allowing him to press into the wet heat of her mouth.

He was always gentle with this, never greedy. The thrusts he made were shallow and slow. One hand drifted in a delicate caress across her flushed cheek.

"Need you so bad," he panted, the underside of his cock dragging against her tongue.

Katara's hands drifted down his muscled thighs, a stroking tease. She hummed her agreement and he stuttered a curse before his voice tripped over her name.

"I wanna…"

She swallowed around him, mouth tightening with the movement. The taste of him, salt and musk, dripped down her throat.

"Fuckgoddamn. Ka-Katara, I wanna…" He thrusted and she cried out around him. "I need to be inside you. Need you, baby, pleasepleaseplease."

Her eyes drifted up. Up past his stupidly chisled abs, up over his marble chest. Their gazes locked. His own eyes were supernovas in the dark of his room. She doubted he'd know his own name in this moment were she to ask.

"Can you— Can you take me? Do you think you can be ready?" he asked.

Katara hummed around him again, grinding her hips into the drenched bed, the sheets rustling up against her in a way that made her shudder.

"Fuck."

Zuko wrenched himself free of her mouth, pulling her up off the mattress only to spin her away from him and press her body back into it. She lost her bra to his bedroom floor somewhere in the frenzy. Chest pressed into the surface of the bed, ass in the air, she waited for the stretch of him burying himself inside of her, pussy clenching around nothing.

One fingertip trailed up the back of her thigh, a soft, almost tender, prelude to the loud, stinging slap he landed on her right butt cheek.

"How do you want it?" he asked, voice lust-deep.

"Slow," Katara whispered. "Wanna feel all of you."

He moaned.

And then he complied.

Oh, she'd missed him over the past month. Her own fingers had been unable to reach the exact depths he could with his dick. Even his own fingers tonight, slim and long, hadn't quite prepared her for the stretch she felt as she took him inside her body. They fit together so snug that Katara always felt a little like one shiver too much would break her in two.

It was something that never failed to turn him on even more. She could hear him babbling behind her as his hand stroked down her spine and he eased into her inch by agonizing inch.

"So goddamn tight so fucking tight around my cock so fucking wet can't believe you're this wet all for me oh goddamn, Katara, never wanna fuck another woman oh shit…"

Never wanna…?

Katara's heart skipped an inelegant beat in her chest. Her whimpers turned into a soft cry as he bottomed out within her. She almost swore she could feel his own heartbeat mingling with hers in her body. His palm spread with tender heat along the width of her back. True to her request, his thrusts were slow, the head of his cock dragging along her walls and drawing more arousal out of her. The vulgar squish made by their bodies when he pushed back into her made her eyes roll into the back of her head.

They moaned in unison, the sound rising high into the night.

"Talk to me," Zuko begged.

She did. It was so easy. So easy to tell him how good he felt, how big he was, how she wanted him, how she had missed him so bad. His hand tremored on her back at her words, but he maintained the pace she had requested, steady, timed-out thrusts that made him hiss and had her nearly sobbing into his mattress.

"Fuck me, Zuko, please."

"Still want it like this?" he asked.

Did she?

Katara pressed up on her hands, hips thrusting back to meet his. The force of their meeting made her scream and the tip of his cock brushed against her cervix. It was all the permission her brain needed from her body.

"Shit, Katara, don't do that if—"

"Fuck me, Zuko."

He faltered. "You want…"

"Hard," she demanded. "Fast. Please. Need you so fucking bad. Wanna cum on you."

He nearly roared. If he was capable of breathing fire, she thought he just might. His palm slipped around her side, gliding up her stomach and pushing at her sternum, propping her upright in his arms.

The pace was relentless and punishing, as if it were the last time he'd ever have her and he was losing himself in the frenzied notion. His right hand wandered across her chest, fingers tweaking her nipples and gripping tight into her tits while his left hand left stinging slaps on whatever bit of her ass he could reach. Katara did her best to meet each thrust of his hips, tilting her head to bury her face in his neck.

"Do you even understand what you do to me?" Zuko asked in a hoarse whisper.

"I have a pretty good idea."

"I don't think you do."

He drove into her with ferocity, the joining of their bodies filling the room. Katara could feel him starting to lose control, sloppy kisses landing on her cheek, a few wild jerks of his hips that threatened to push her off of him entirely.

"Are you close?" she asked, breathless.

One of his fingernails scraped across her nipple, a shock of lightning ripping through her body.

"Not if you need more time," he replied.

"Just a little. Please."

Zuko slid out of her, shifting around to lie on the bed, and beckoned her her to come closer. She did, following the subtle guide of his hands as he pulled her knees to either side of his face. One sweep of his tongue along her core had Katara's spine collapsing vertebrae by vertebrae. Her need for him did not dwindle. The loss of his cock inside of her was significant, but he made up for it with his undivided attention, once more working the bundle of nerves between her legs with a devotion that spoke to his need to please. Each flick of his tongue electrocuted her, stretching every single cell of her body out until she was more tightly wound than a violin string.

There was no shame in the way she rode his face or the way she cried his name like a deity she was begging to save her life. She delighted in the way his fingertips pressed into her thighs, hoped vaguely they'd leave marks as a souvenir of their night together. And when she felt his tense body thrust into nothing but air beneath her, she nearly came undone.

Peeling herself away from Zuko's face, Katara moved down his torso, right on the edge and ready to topple over. She grasped for him in the dark, grinning at the sound he made when her hand wrapped around his length.

He slid into her all too easy this time. She moved to sit up on her knees, but his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to his chest. Face pressed into the column of her neck, he fucked into her, the angle of their meeting nudging against her clit in the exact way she craved.

The world swam around her and she tightened around him, a shiver of want rocketing through her.

"Are you gonna cum for me?" Zuko asked.

Katara keened. Another tight flutter of her walls.

"Gonna cum on my cock?"

A whimper. "I-I need you to cum in me," she choked out.

"Fuck yes."

Zuko's thrusts turned erratic, his lips found Katara's pulse, working a mark deep into the skin of her neck. She could feel his orgasm building between them from the shiver in his chest to the tension in his stomach.

"Feel so good around me," he murmured. "I'm so fucking close. You gonna cum with me? Come on, Katara. You've been taking me so well, just let go with me."

He lost his composure first, a sharp cry exploding out of his chest, hips stuttering as his orgasm hit. She was not far behind, though, clamping down around him with a scream as his release shattered her body. Dedicated as ever, he rode her through it until both of their muscles gave up and she collapsed against him.

For a long time, Katara's world was Zuko. He was steady and warm beneath her, rooting her soul to her body even as her brain tried to urge her to drift into cozy unconsciousness. His fingers stroked lazily down the length of her spine.

"I'm gonna move," he whispered, the words muzzy in her brain.

The shift was slow and gentle, and she nearly cried when he slipped out of her. He gathered her in his arms, spooning his naked body against hers, lips dusting tiny kisses along her neck and shoulder.

Katara hummed, eyes drifting closed.

It was so familiar here, his arms were so tempting.

Her eyes shot open.

She really needed to leave before her stupid, vulnerable heart drifted too far from her body and right into his unknowing hands.

Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and did her best to scope out Zuko's dark bedroom for her scattered clothes. The memory of her panties trapped between his teeth sent an involuntary shiver through her.

"Katara," he said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"What are you avoiding?" he asked.

Katara almost froze. It took every cell in her body to not do so, to let his query roll down her back, still bare and dripping with sweat. She kept her eyes on the floor, scanning their scattered clothes for her underwear.

The mattress dipped, the sheets shifted, sliding against his skin.

Where the fuck were her underwear? Why was it so dark?

"If you think I can't see—"

"I'm not avoiding anything," she said.

"Katara," Zuko said. His voice was tender, his long fingers wrapped gently around her wrist. A kiss dusted her bicep.

"I should go home," Katara said, making the mistake of looking over her shoulder at him.

He was leaning on one arm, staring up at her. She could see a mark she'd bitten into his right pectoral blooming darker against the moonlight of his skin. The way he watched her was soft and made a flurry of sparrows take flight in her chest.

"It's almost two in the morning, Katara. You came here on the back of my bike. You shouldn't be walking home at this time of night."

"I can call a rideshare."

"Or you could stay." His eybrow quirked and, just for one moment, his tone deepened when he added, "We could go for round two."

"We don't do that."

He sat up, lips finding her shoulder.

The breath she exhaled was shaky.

His eyes found hers, vulnerable and somehow sweet. Even though the door was right behind her, Katara felt caged, trapped, drawn in deeper and deeper when he leaned in close, his forehead touching hers.

"Why not?" he asked. His nose nudged hers, breath fanning across her lips. "I wouldn't mind if you stayed the night."

Briefly, very briefly, his lips touched hers in a quiet kiss.

"I wouldn't even care if you stayed every night for a week."

Another kiss, this one firmer, his hand sliding up her neck, thumb nudging at her jawline.

"You could stay for a whole month, Katara."

She sank into his touch, moaning against his mouth when his tongue touched hers. He moved quickly, pulling her back to the center of the bed and rolling her beneath the long, firm lines of his body. The press of his mouth was steady and rhythmic, no demands or expectations. Without thinking, she slid her feet up the mattress, her legs bracketing his hips where he thrust shallowly against her.

One of his hands pressed both of her wrists into the sheets above her head and his mouth found her ear. "I wouldn't even mind if you never left."

Katara whimpered. "You— You're breaking the rule, Zuko."

"Fuck the rule, Katara," he whispered. "I was never in this for the practice. I was in it for your heart. Please stay."

And she did.