Summary: Katara and Aang share their first time and underestimate the forces created by friction.
Rating: M
Words: 1882
AO3: link
...
Aang was excited. It was hard to miss. Granted, she was too, but his excitement manifested in a way that made him sweat and shift and tug at his pants for a very noticeable reason.
That morning with company was torture. So much talking. Katara had picked at her food, eating bits and pieces but too caught up in the fizz of the upcoming night. Her hunger laid elsewhere. Her saving grace was that Aang talked the most of them all. She stared at her plate and let his voice roll over her shoulders, down her back, over her hips and into the pool between her thighs. She crossed her legs. Aang held his drink a little tighter and bounced his leg beneath the table.
She saw him once in the hallway on the way to their bedroom, and she also saw why, stiff and hard between his legs. He froze on sight, like what he did next mattered entirely on what she did.
She stood by the door to hear him groan, and she hid behind the corner when he came out. She slid into their bedroom soon after and laid out in the turn of tossed sheets that he had left behind. He didn’t leave a mess. Her disappointment manifested in a whine and was only bandaged by the scent of him, so thick, lightly dampening the sheets. She touched herself and fisted the sheets that were still warm with his heat’s shadow. She could almost imagine him against her back, panting down her neck, damp with sweat and desperately thrusting his way towards his own climax.
She came with a gasp and could have sworn she heard shuffling outside their door between the heavy throbs of her racing pulse.
...
Sparring before bed was both the worst and best decision they made. Aang had never been so determined to pin her, and she had never been so eager to be pinned down. They started with their elements and ended in hand to hand. It was another huge mistake that nearly cost them all their planning. There was something about looking up at him and him looking down at her, so close, that their natural instinct was to get on the ground where a height difference would never matter. They were sweaty and kissing by the time they stumbled into their room. They were alone, but still he locked the door as he pressed her against it, and the small click sent a shiver up her back that had her gasping against his jaw.
“Aang,” she said, reluctantly, in a tone so much like an encouragement that she feared (hoped) he would keep going. “We need…We need to slow down. Calm down. Relax.”
She said it as she tugged his pants down, so she listed different ways to say it until he blinked with her message’s clarity. “Slow? Right. Slow.”
“Yes, slow.”
His eyes drifted to her lips. “…Slow,” he said again, as he slowly rolled himself against her, letting her feel the soft skin of his arousal dragging up the front of her belly.
Katara licked her lips. “Yes.” She wanted to kiss him again but settled with pressing her forehead to his. “Just like that.”
Before he could thrust against her front and spoil their fun, he clenched his jaw and forced himself to stop. He kneaded her hips. Then he nodded his head to their bed. “On the bed,” he said, in a tone like a direction but with the weight of an order.
His breathing, though heavy, evened into the eye of a storm. He paused on her small fidget, and concern grew into his features. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Aang tilted her chin up. His eyes were searching, finding everything that she was trying to hide and then some. It added guilt to the pebbles in her belly and moved her hands from his middle to his chest, as if she could hide from him by hiding in him.
“We can stop. You know that right?”
“I’m fine. We had a plan—”
“I don’t give a damn about what we wanted then. What do you want now?”
“I want this. I want you.” She ran her attention across his heaving chest. “It’s...I’m a little embarrassed. I think. I grew up in the South Pole. It was strange enough to get used to wearing just one layer of clothing, but without that too…”
“And?”
Of course she couldn’t hide the rest. Not from him. Not when they were already so open with each other, and especially not while they were becoming so raw—so vulnerable—in that moment.
She looked him in the eye. It was like looking into a shadow in the corner of the room and knowing that something was about to jump out. She couldn’t begin to put it into words. She could hardly put her feelings into thoughts. “It’s just…”
“Is it because it’s me?”
“Yes,” she said, immediately. “Your love can be scary sometimes. I can’t see the bottom of it. I still haven’t gotten rid of the feeling of when we first kissed. When you look at me, I see it happening over and over. If this is anything like that, I’ll never be able to look at you and hope to get anything done.”
Aang laughed, bringing his smile close to hers just as he tugged her from the door and towards him. “You don’t have to be on your back,” he said, and Katara grew breathless right alongside him from hearing the words said aloud. “You could lie down on your front.”
“But I want to see you when you’re in me.”
Hearing her say it put a pressure into his grip and a strength to his jaw that made her weak at the knees. “I do too. I want to see you. But we can work up to that. You helped me before. Now it’s my turn to help you. Okay?”
...
She opened her legs for him, and she didn’t realize how unconsciously shy she was until she saw that what felt like spreading her legs was actually hardly holding them open. She already felt so exposed. She couldn’t imagine being any moreso. Aang patiently waited for her to open up for him, crawling into the ground that she gave. Once he was close enough, he kissed the insides of her thighs, traveling high and higher. His kisses each opened her a little more for him until he reached where her thighs met her sex. She nearly took back all her progress and closed her legs together, but he had been sliding his hands into the pits of her knees and so kept her open, despite her straining, giving a push to her pull that made the tight ball of pleasure somehow grow even tighter.
The sheets still smelled like their shared pleasure, filling the air with a taste of what was to come.
...
He positioned himself and propped up on his arms, looking between her face and where they were aligned before settling his eyes on her.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She swallowed and tried to catch her breath. “Slow?”
“Slow.”
“Just inside. Nothing more.”
“Okay. Inside.” The word made his eyes darken and filled Katara with clouds and fire.
True to his word, he moved slowly, though he fisted the sheets by her head to keep himself steady. It was all they were doing. Just him going inside her. No movement. They had discussed it. She was desperate to have him, and he was desperate to be hers, and this was their hormones-laden master plan. It was all they were doing, so he made it feel like forever. His entry should have been just a blink and maybe a pause, just a moment before a true joining or whatever a first time was supposed to mean. They were caught in the causeway between pleasure and bliss, caught in the moment of feeling each other for the first time and dragging on that moment forever.
Katara tilted her head back, so far that it nearly hurt her throat. Aang descended on the invitation like he had always done, but the scrape of his teeth to the base of her jugular was almost enough to break them.
What to do now. They had planned on kissing and touching, but not moving. Everything but moving. They didn’t realize just how badly moving was fed by everything else until they tried it and Aang groaned, pushing beyond the point of filling her.
“I think we overestimated ourselves.”
Aang laughed against her neck, and the sound had never felt so good. “No kidding.”
“What do we do now?”
Sex made him honest to a fault. “I really want to move. You have no idea how good you feel.”
“Not as good as you.”
“No. Not even close. You’re better than I ever imagined. So much better.”
They had no idea what they were doing. This was quite possibly their worst idea. A hormonal decision was about to make another hormonal decision, and they felt just a bit guilty with how breathlessly they welcomed it.
“…One thrust?”
“One thrust.” She licked her lips. “Slowly.”
“Slowly.”
They had never laid like this before, but he moved like he had always been there. It was instinct, and it was exciting, especially when he found where to breath and where to balance his arms to cage around her.
Then he made his first thrust, and Katara knew they had lost any semblance of a plan. It was the strike of fire to dry brush inside him. She could see it. Feel it. He flexed and shifted and dipped his hips lower, ready for speed and force, and the alignment had her legs opening and raising before she could formulate the thought to accommodate him.
“…Slow?”
Katara nodded. “Slow.”
Slow was torture, in the best ways.
Aang flexed, burying his face in her neck. One of his hands pressed between her shoulders while the other found the back of her head. He drew her closer to him, tugging her down and under him, anything to get as deep into her as he could get. She became his anvil, and sparks flew and crashed against the rim of her insides with each heavy thrust he made.
...
His last few thrusts were the slowest, getting slower and shallower as he tensed and curled over her. Then he pressed, tensing all over, and she felt the first spurt of his release. Muscles flexed, jerking into her, unloading him with heavy twitches and long pulses. He trembled, falling apart and falling into her, and Katara held him tighter so she could catch all of him.
Her satisfied sigh was a breathy sound that caught his attention and put new strength into his next shiver.
The sheets were damp and quickly growing cold, but he was slick and still warm above her. They kissed. And they laughed softly, sharing their dying desire and sinking into shared bliss. And he tasted her neck slowly, like something sacred, blessing her name on his way to her lips and worshipping the taste of her.
“I love you,” he said.
“Hm.” Katara smiled. “Slowly?”
His grin was paradise and sounded like the stories. “Never.”
(Just some tender Kataang first-time drabble smut)
-----
They had planned every move of this day, and still, it felt like it couldn’t possibly be happening. It couldn’t possibly be real. The feel of him pressing against her and the hungry whimpers he drew out of her were heavenly. A roll of her hips upwards was more than enough to ensnare his full attention. She smiled into his lips as he jumped, bucking and pressing her into the bed.
This part was a bit nerve-racking for her, and Aang knew it, too. She didn’t care about any kind of pain. It was the vulnerability that put her on edge. On her back and spread bare was bad enough, let alone to surrender control of her body’s every reaction.
But she trusted him. More than anything in this world, she trusted him. Aang kissed her so deeply that it left her a bit dizzy, and her disorientation was just what he needed to position himself. Hard flesh probed her inner thigh, dragging wetly towards her aching sex. Katara shook, and pushed herself away from him while also trying to pull him closer.
His kisses were distracting, but not distracting enough. She pulled back with a gentle gasp when he pushed the beginnings of himself into her. His whole body tensed and flexed in a way that foretold just how badly he wanted to shove himself inside her, desperate to join them, but he waited, kissing her face, for her to give the unspoken okay. When she was relaxed enough to kiss him again, he made his next move. He split her open with languid slowness, savoring the sensation. Katara squirmed from his intrusion. Her inner muscles struggled to push him out and pull him in at the same time, creating a push and pull that made it increasingly difficult to not thrust into her without abandon.
The moment he hilted into her, so deep into heaven that he nearly forgot how to breathe, Katara froze, but only for a moment. A shiver ran through her from head to toe that made her arch and bow in a roll of her body that Aang matched with his own. She scrambled, clawing and clenching with her arms and legs, aimlessly trying to get something. She settled with a swift bite to his shoulder and a rake of her nails down his left side while her legs—spread open and flat for him—hooked her ankles around his thighs.
“M...Move.” Katara pawed his back some more. It was Aang’s turn to groan, the sound a long and low roar, as her squirming did delicious things to the part of him buried in her. “Aang...Aang, move.”
Aang lifted himself on his forearms and descended on her without needing to be asked twice. He controlled himself to long, slow thrusts that had her gasping at every apex so he could burn the memory of this moment into their minds.
His own urges were running away from him. He shifted, spreading her wider for him. He hid his face in her pool of hair and hissed into it as he found a rhythm.
Katara sighed, nearly purring, and put her arms above her head. Any semblance of vulnerability was gone. He had her, now, wholly and completely. The sensation wasn’t just hers, though. Aang felt completed with the same feeling. The realization made him curse and struggle not to show her just how much the gesture meant to him.
“How are you feeling?” he mumbled against her throat. They were wet with sweat and slick and pressed tight against each other, and he was sure to angle himself to give his attention to the bead of her sex. “Is this too much?”
“Don’t you dare pull out,” Katara quickly said. Aang laughed. He pushed himself up some more so he could look at her. Katara was flushed, panting, and beautiful right beneath him. Something like pride blossomed in his chest at the realization that he was able to make her feel so good.
Aang’s thrusts were slow and measured but gradually inching up speed. He peeled away just enough to look down between them. The sight of him disappearing within her drew a groan out of the deepest parts of him. This was happening. And it was happening with Katara. Instinct took over as he lowered himself and bit along her throat. She easily opened for him, and he threw his weight into his movements until every plunge into her left her breathless.
Katara lost track of time and space after the second time Aang did whatever he did to make pleasure fill her from head to toe. She was struggling to stop her tender shivering when he groaned, holding her tighter, and bearing down with all that he was. Sudden anticipation flipped her stomach and had her doing everything to bring him closer. His thrusts were erratic, and Aang was on the brink, and Katara never wanted to leave this dream world made of pleasure, especially when warmth pooled into where he was moving within her and that wound her lower belly closer and closer to the edge for a third time.
He was kissing her when it happened. His frantic thrusts suddenly stuttered, the whole of him shuddering and desperately crawling closer like he couldn't get deep enough inside her. He was suddenly flexed and pressing down, breathing hotly against her neck as he rolled in short, jerking thrusts that sheathed him completely within her. "Oh...Oh fuck...!" His gasps led into a large inhale as he pressed, tensed all over.
His small curse was more than enough to undo her. Katara dug her nails into the hard muscles of his back and writhed breathlessly beneath him. She didn’t expect to feel the heavy jerks of him deep inside her or the dull pulses of his hard flesh splitting her open. Aang allowed himself a gasp amidst it all, his hands thankfully pulling up the sheets and not her hair. Ohhhhhh... Katara froze from the intimate moment, too overcome with the myriad of sensations. Aang—her boyfriend of six years, her best friend, and the Avatar—was cumming inside her and shivering with the pleasure that she brought him. She gasped twice and held her breath, too, just as stunned by the moment as he was. She melted and made a humming sound, nearly purring with the sensation.
The seconds stretched on, and his rigidity bled into slow grinding that eventually unraveled into weak thrusts. The gentle rocking cradled their friction and was just barely light enough to keep Katara from biting through her lip entirely. When he finally collapsed, Aang’s weight was warm and comforting and forced her breathing to sync with his.
She scratched his back—she had to do something—and enjoyed the soft touches he gave to every mark he had left behind. She guided his head to the soft spots where he did whatever the hell he did that made them feel so good. "That...was…,” she paused to swallow through her panting, “...amazing."
He was kissing her before she could say more. "You're amazing," he said between tastes of her. Katara smiled and welcomed the smile he answered her with. She was exhausted like she had just fought the entirety of the 100-year war in just the span of a few minutes, but she had never felt more alive.
She felt one of his hands slide over her chest, his other curling around her head and lazily playing with her hair. "How do you feel?" he asked, tempered with concern.
"Perfect," she said.
Aang laughed, his thrusts simmering in the background such that he remained sheathed inside her. She envied his energy. "You feel so good, Katara."
She blushed terribly. "What does it feel like?"
His next thrust was slow, the exhale that followed drawing out a shiver with it. "Warm. And tight. Really tight." Katara didn’t know if he was saying it into her ear on purpose, his words thick and heavy with something that dripped into her. She stretched her arms behind her head again and arched, completely content.
They must have been laying there for longer than she thought. Or she had severely underestimated him. His little thrusts grew faster, and Katara didn't mean to make the sound that she did when she felt him harden inside her. She nearly whined when he pulled back, but she blushed hotly when she saw him watching himself slide in and out of her. Their movement made a wet squelch that had them both blushing.
“How does that feel?” he asked, looking directly at her and curling over to bring their faces closer. “Can you feel me inside you?”
Yes. Spirits, yes, yes, yes, yes—
Katara struggled to make an affirmative noise. “Feels...full,” Katara struggled even harder to remember her words. “I can feel you move. And the stretch is nice. Really nice.”
Aang had mercy and slowed so she could work through the pleasure and think clearly. “Could you feel me cum inside you?”
Katara groaned and didn’t bother stopping it. He spoke like he was stating the obvious and impatient for her to admit it. “Yes.” She said it like he had asked her for permission to do it again. She watched him tense and felt him buck into his next thrust. “I could feel it. I could feel everything.”
He looked between them again and stifled a curse, controlling his breathing with hissing breaths. Katara's breathing ran away from her without him over her to control it. He watched her lose it as he moved, shifting angle just a bit and marveling at how she reacted. Katara sunk into the sheets and tried to forget about how very much she wasn't in complete control of herself. The vulnerability was as exhilarating as it was intimate, but his look of hunger and humor had her scowling at him. "Aang." She hooked her ankles around his waist so he couldn't move that far out of her. "C-Come on."
He smiled. "You want to go again?" He was solid within her, now, and throbbing heavily, and Katara squirmed when he slowed down to a snail’s pace.
"Yes! Please!" She was hypersensitive from just orgasming, and he seemed to be no better off. The plea in her voice made his face turn to something that made him shudder. She clenched spitefully around him, and he sucked in his next breath. He bit his lip beautifully and cursed like a sailor that even her father would have scolded.
She was forcing herself to get up and push him back so she could move for him, but luckily, he surrendered to instinct. He pressed her flush to the ground and picked up like they had never stopped.
"Aang!" She cried his name and almost wished she hadn't. He set off on a brutal pace, fueled by her cry of his name, alone.
She pulled him into a kiss, even though neither of them could properly catch the other. She needed more of him. She needed all of him. She was starved for him, and when he scooted closer, threatening to roll her backwards, she thanked every spirit that there was.
They were both too sensitive for it to last long. Their groins were so slick that his speed could be merciless, and Katara writhed when she came. Aang grabbed her wrists and held them down to keep her from clawing the still fresh welts on his back. She pulled back and gasped into his mouth, swallowing on her breaths like she was chugging gallons of pleasure.
Aang pressed his slack-jawed groan into her cheek as he stilled and shuddered again. The ecstasy was tamer than before, from muscles too exhausted to express the euphoria they found in each other. They marveled at the fullness and the feeling until they, at some point, lost all strength and melted into a pile of sweaty limbs and heaving chests.
“Katara?”
“Mhm?”
“I don’t wanna pull out, yet.”
“Then don’t,” she said with a slur, happy and lazy and content, “You feel good.”
“Good doesn’t begin to describe it.” He tried to kiss her but couldn’t find the energy to move farther than her jaw, so she met him half-way with a smile. “I love you,” he mumbled.
“I love you, too.”
Katara blushed when she felt how wet everything was down there because of them. She was thinking about how to clean up when Aang made the decision for her. He pulled her close like he wasn’t going to let go until the morning, his arms strong and reassuring around her.
"Goodnight," he slurred.
Katara rolled her eyes. They could clean up later, she supposed. Besides, she was too sore to move. And she felt so blissful that she didn't want to disturb the fuzzy feeling that they had wrapped themselves in just yet.
He tugged on the blanket, not that she needed it with him to warm her. Katara eventually allowed her eyes to close, noticing just before she passed out that Aang was already out like a light.
When she woke up in the morning, he was just as happy as her to realize that it hadn’t been a wonderful dream.
They took their time celebrating their new reality. Most of the morning, in fact.
The rebels attack Katara and Bumi. Aang is furious.
Rated: M
Word count: 1520
Read here on ao3.
ooo
Aang is angry. The ripples of his fury sizzle through the earth and rock the ground Katara stands on. His hands are balled into fists so tight that his knuckles are bone white. His eyes are a dark typhoon that rage and turn from gunmetal gray to flashing silver. His thick robes fly with him on currents of sharp gashes of air, and Katara's parka is rendered useless with the chill he creates.
The two of them stand at the precipice of a cliff, of all places, and at the mouth of a gaping cave overlooking what used to be Yu Dao. It is now a bustling city with a new name and part of a new nation. It is a half day's flight away from Republic City by flying bison. A light dusting of hours-old snow coats the ground and the tiles of the roofs below. The sky is bleak and brewing with turbulence, and that is highlighted more by the leftover pillar of smoke rising from the now far-off city hall that looms toward the back wall.
"They attacked you while you were feeding Bumi," Aang growls. "They attacked my family and then called you...they called you—"
"A snow savage," Katara finishes with a tired sigh. Her shoulders slump. "And Bumi—"
"They called him that too!" snarls Aang. His eyes are fully on her now, seething. "It's a good thing Suki took Bumi to safety before we had to fight because I don't know if I could stand it if they got any closer."
Katara sees her husband, the way the anger rolls off of him in waves. There's a bruise on his cheek from where he had taken a punch for her. She had been protecting their baby boy with her body. She hadn't had time to waterbend.
It had happened all in a rush, and the next thing she knew Bumi was being taken by Suki away from the fight with the Fire Nation rebels and they were beating them into the ground. Aang had carried her away not long after that on his glider, leaving even Appa behind.
She is not sure what compelled him to leave it all behind after barely removing the threat. She thinks she sees the reason under his brows, in the crease between them.
She sees how tense he is, how tense he had been. His lips are caught in a sneer, and not one line of him is soft. He is rigid, a solid rock.
She tugs his arm. “Let me heal you,” she says with earnest. Her fingers brush against the purpling bruise and he grimaces.
He tries to fight it, but she insists. “Aang,” she says his name, and then they are going into the cave entrance where there is shallow light to guide them.
Katara sits him down. She takes the snow from the ground, and it becomes liquid at her touch. When she presses it to his cheek, she notices the way his gaze lights up, just for a second. A gentler gray with quieter blues. But the anger is still there, and so is the resentment.
She bends the water back to the ground and for a while they sit and stare at each other. His cheek is clean now with nothing to mar it. She sees the ghost of his fury just beneath his skin and she leans forward to kiss it away.
When he turns his face quickly towards her so that her lips are pressed on his rather than his cheek, the way he moves against her burns hot. There is desperation that comes with him, a scorching poker plucked fresh from a furnace. She feels him suck on her lower lip, itching for her tongue and her taste. He wants to bruise her too, to mark her, and somehow, she wants it too.
It isn’t easy to pull away, but she needs to know. So, she does, and his hands are still at her hips while hers are still firm at his chest.
“You took me away because you were scared,” she remarks. Her lips are swollen. She licks them and watches as his pupils dilate as they linger on the wetness left behind.
“I took you away because I was angry,” he snaps back. His fingernails dig into her sides. She can feel it through the piles of fabric.
But she remembers how the men taunted her, called her and their son names. ‘Snow savage’ was not all. They called her a perversion, an exotic bitch. “Your tits would be better in my mouth rather than that wind wanker’s spawn. How about I take you on instead?” one had spat at her. She had shuddered in righteous fury. That had been right before Aang had found her with Bumi, their child who had still been suckling on her breast.
She is sure he had heard everything.
“You took me because you didn’t want them to have me,” Katara adds. She knows she is right. The way he sags tells her enough. She grips his chin and lifts his head, so he faces her fully. “You know I wouldn’t have let them.”
He gulps. She is entranced by how his Adam’s apple bobs. “I know,” he replies. His voice is husky. They come closer together.
“You didn’t let them either,” she says. Her lips part over his, just a whisper away, an infinitesimal distance apart.
Something shifts in the air between them. It is stark, it is messy. He is crashing upon her and his teeth graze along her bottom lip again, but this time she moans when he bites into them. She breathes, heavy and with surprise. He separates from her enough that she finds herself pressed up against the cave wall.
“Take what’s yours,” she whispers hoarsely.
That is all the permission he needs.
The grainy, rough surface is a mere distraction. She lets him yank the parka off her torso in quick succession. She is cold and shivers, but he is fierce enough that she is ablaze.
He cups her breasts, lets his thumbs smooth over the fabric where the dampness of her milk still seeps through her tunic. She knows that Aang finds what he is searching for when his thumbs circle around her hardening nipples. She grips at his collar, urging him along.
“Your leggings,” he practically growls now, and goosebumps rise across her skin. She likes the commanding tone of it. How precise, how different.
She slips them off without preamble, including her underwear, only leaving her tunic on. He does not complain, merely tilts forward to play with her breasts, moves his tongue over where their son had done the same.
She trembles at the way he grips her in his arms, holding her fast against the shaking wall. And she notices with delight that the wall shakes because he is making it so.
Her hands are on his pants, and she tugs, insistent. He pulls her up now, drags her really. It is slow and languid and sensual in a way she does not think is possible. His face is still at her neck, kissing her from chest to earlobe, and then they are standing.
He steps back for a moment only to finish the job she started. His pants pool on the floor. He kicks them away, eyes never leaving hers, and dips into her again.
She feels his stiffening bulge against her leg as she waits for him to realize what she wants.
And he knows when she embraces him tighter. Her knees dig in between his legs, and she bucks forward.
She gasps when he has his mouth next to her ear again. “Flip over,” he commands. He sounds like a general in an army. It’s possible he was in a past life, and she wants to ask him if he has any more demands of her. She will comply without question.
She thinks that she likes this Aang, this Aang that orders instead of asks. She likes that he thrusts into her from behind, how his fury and frustration are a force to be reckoned with when all he wants is to keep her his.
He makes the earth move with them, and the thrusts are that more powerful. Pebbles fall from the ceiling, tickling her spine as they come trickling down with sand.
She shouts and shouts and begs.
But of course, in a fashion that is only Aang, he breathes down her neck and demands something of her that only he could. “Tell me they didn’t hurt you.”
It is hard to breathe when he is going so deep into her, hard to move when he is pleasuring her with reckless abandon.
Her eyes screw shut, her arms flat against the wall. “They didn’t,” she grunts. She starts to buckle when he hits just the right spot. “Aang I just want you.”
She bites her own lip and blood starts to pool, and she breaks apart when he forces himself inside her another time and another.
When a new beauty trend starts to increase in popularity, Katara struggles with her image of herself.
Rated: M
Word count: 1891
Read here on ao3.
ooo
It starts out as a new trend, mostly in the larger cities where more people reside, and in the areas where news comes quickly. Katara hears it first in Ba Sing Se, because of course she does. Of all the places she has been, this city is by far the most baffling. She guesses that she should not be surprised when she hears the first giggles and whispers on the streets.
"Oh Liling, your breasts are so big! They look so much better than mine," exclaims a rather prissy-looking woman. "I bet Diu will love them, especially in that dress you're wearing tonight."
At first, Katara thinks it is ridiculous. She thinks nothing of it. Then, she passes the winding districts in the Lower Ring on her way to help heal at a clinic with neglected funding. She sees drawings and pinups for sale in back corners, lewd imagined pictures of women with breasts popping out of their blouses, cleavage bigger than she has ever seen in person. Men salivate over them, turning in coin for a picture or two, and some of the wealthier ones even commissioning paintings of women in provocative poses through their servants.
She hates it, thinks it is demeaning to women. She scoffs at the idea. Still, she cannot help but notice that as the months pass by, more and more women walk with their chests puffed out, backs straighter, shoulders high. Everywhere she and Aang travel, she sees padding in local markets and shops for enlarging breast size and giving the illusion of a heftier bosom. Dresses with extra pieces of fabric sewn into the front become heavily advertised.
By the time half a year passes and summer arrives, the trend has even reached Kyoshi Island, a feat that Katara thinks could have never happened. Girls in their battle armor compare sizes and snicker when something looks particularly flattering on one of them. Katara is shocked when she hears one of Suki's girls say, "I only like women with breasts big enough for me to squeeze, of course!" when she is asked for her preferences. "If they're too small, it's not fun at all!"
She is not bothered by it except for at that moment, ever so briefly. She thinks that this could not be the new standard of beauty now, not when no one has cared about this before. But she supposes seven years after the war should be enough for people to find other things to worry about.
Aang latches onto her hand as the two of them walk through the streets of the capital city in the Fire Nation. The caldera rises around the buildings and pavement, casting a perpetual shadow upon them that serves as permanent shade in such a hot country.
She is content, her arm swinging with Aang next to her. They pick a place to eat that serves Aang’s favorite spicy potato curry.
She hears it then, the whispers that she dreads, the judging ones. They have followed her for years since she and Aang began dating. Sometimes, it is Aang they criticize. An Air Nomad taking a Water Tribe woman as a significant other, and he is bald at that. Other times, it is her they make snide remarks at. “That Water Tribe wench is only with him because he’s the Avatar. She’s taking advantage of his status,” is something she has heard.
Usually, they do not bother her. They bother neither of them. She and Aang love each other too much for things so trivial as what other people think to cause them to wedge apart.
But Katara listens anyway when a gaggle of people at a nearby table make their presence known.
“How crude of the Avatar to take such a hideous woman to bed,” laughs someone. The voices sound like they belong to young adults or teenagers, and perhaps of noble birth.
“Yeah, imagine Shi bringing that home!” laughs another. “Her boobs are the size of my pinky finger!”
“A piglet couldn’t even suck on one,” adds someone else.
She sees how Aang reacts first. His fingers start to curl, and she can tell he is trying to hold his anger in. The other table is not exactly subtle. But before he can say or do anything, Katara stands, her chair toppling over behind her.
A fire burns in her chest, her cheeks are hot with embarrassment, and she storms out of the restaurant without another word.
She makes it back to the palace, unaware that she has thrown open the doors to their chamber until she has already gone to the bathroom to furiously untangle her hair from its braid. She hears footsteps run behind her, and then Aang stands behind her. She can see the worried expression on his face in the mirror.
“Katara,” he starts, but she cuts him off.
“I’m going to bed,” she states, finally throwing her hair tie on top of the countertop. She pivots into their room and grabs her sleep clothes.
“It’s still sunset,” Aang speaks again. The door to their bathroom shuts. “Please, Katara. You know they were out of line. You’re—”
She swivels around to face him, mouth in a scowling line. “You heard them. I’m ugly and my breasts are too small and—”
Aang tries to grab for her flailing hands. Her sleep clothes fall to the floor. “You never cared about looks before,” he says. His eyebrows are scrunched together. “And you know that no matter what you say, you’re still the most beautiful person in the world to me.”
A tiny part of her wants to burst with affection for him because she knows he is right, and she knows he means it. Yet, all those months of being shown that she is not desirable enough, that she isn’t pretty enough—sinks into her head and suddenly all she knows is that all those things are true. And if they are true, she is not enough for him.
She wants more than anything to be enough for Aang.
Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes before she can stop them. She hastily begins to wipe them away, but Aang is there again. His hands on her face, thumbing her cheeks.
“You’re beautiful, Katara,” he murmurs. So soft. “I promise.”
Her breath heaves. “But what if I’m not?” she asks no one in particular. “I am small-chested, and people are more attracted to larger chests and—”
“And nothing,” Aang insists. His eyes are upon her. They sparkle with adoration. “It doesn’t matter to me. You’re perfect just the way you are.” He pauses to press a kiss to her forehead. Then, lowly, he says, “I can show you exactly how perfect.”
Their gazes meet, and she remembers just who she is with.
He guides her in a slow circle, a gentle dance. The sun sets through the window, and they move to their own tune. His hands are on her shoulders, asking for permission. She shudders when he makes his promise to her again, that she is beautiful no matter what.
He slides the fabric of her tunic down one of her arms and kisses her shoulder. He slides the other sleeve down to her elbow and his lips are on the crook of her neck. Her tunic pools on the floor and she is left with her trousers and undergarments on.
He looks at her, the fading sunlight lining his face, his strong jaw, and there is desire there. She feels it.
Still, she crosses her arms over her chest, covering the bindings that hide her breasts from him. She should not be afraid to bare herself to him. They have done this and more before. The lingering notions of shame grasp at her thoughts. She looks away.
“Katara,” Aang says. He brings her face closer to his until they are but a breadth from each other.
And that is all it takes.
He moves her so that she sits on the edge of the bed. His fingers find the fasteners of her bindings and unlatch them. In his hands he cups the sides of her, trails butterfly kisses in between her breasts, hovers over her stomach.
His touch is magic, melts something inside of her that she did not know was festering. He makes her feel like a panda lily that blossoms in its rarity on the cone of a volcano. A pinprick of loveliness even in the depths of destruction.
He lavishes her with his fingers, moves up her torso so that he kisses every part of her. He gently sucks on her nipples, one at a time, until they are swollen and wet and turgid with want.
His teeth graze her chest, and she feels him smile into her. He enjoys this, and it fills her with glee.
“Do you see how perfect you are?” he mutters, “How lovely you are?” The tip of his tongue then subsequently peeks out to the side of her breast.
She bites her bottom lip, trying not to moan her delight.
He has always made love to her well, but something about this time is different. He focuses solely on her, emphasizing the parts of her that she had started to hate. When he touches her, it is both with ease and affection. He does not move to remove her trousers, and somehow, that makes her want him more.
“Aang I—” she begins, quivering, “Please.”
His hands are on her back, and he finally moves so that she is laying down on the mattress. His body is so close to hers that she can feel his hardness against her leg.
His nibbles her breasts again and she groans.
“Tell me how beautiful you are,” he gently commands. He kisses her wrist, the inside of her elbow, her thigh. He moves up again, so they are looking each other in the eye. “Tell me,” he practically begs.
She shivers and shakes her head. “I can’t.”
Aang sucks a nipple again, teasing at the drawstrings of her trousers. He glances upward, waiting for her reply.
Katara feels the warmth building in her core, the wetness between her legs. She sees the pleading in his expression, the ripe and raw emotion in the way he looks at her. He holds himself back from her, and it is all she can take. She wants more.
She rises in a rapid motion until she crashes against him. Her arms are around his neck, her lips locked against his. She pulls away only for a second to say, “I’m beautiful,” before she is on him again.
She says it because she needs him. She says it because if anyone can see the magnificence in anyone it is Aang.
They fall to the floor, and he laughs because he has won. She believes him wholeheartedly now as her underwear and trousers disappear below her knees, and he adores her again. The way he loves her at this moment makes her remember that this is one of the many reasons she too loves him.
Aang makes her love herself.
When her back arches and she is thrumming with pleasure on the floor that evening, she forgets for a moment that anyone could make her feel inadequate when she has a man that can make her feel everything but that.
Aang and Katara get caught in a typhoon on the way to Ba Sing Se.
Rated: M
Word count: 958
Read here on ao3.
ooo
The rain pours down on them like a curtain of beads cascading endlessly from above. Each drop gets thicker and thicker, each strike on his skin sharper with every passing moment. Aang can't see through any of it as he hastily lands Appa on the outskirts of a forest somewhere in the Earth Kingdom. He coughs his way through it, sputtering out water and rubbing it from his eyes. Not even waterbending can do much when a typhoon disrupts nature.
He latches onto Katara's hand as she slips off Appa, damp fur clinging to their clothes. The bison roars his disapproval, but all they can do his hide under the canopy. There is no shelter nearby as far as Aang can see, but Appa tries to find it anyway.
They end up in a copse of trees with thick branches and leaves, just barely enough to keep the three of them moderately dry. Aang supposes it's better than nothing, but he knows that he needs to make an earth tent. He steps on the ground with a huff, and one springs into existence for Appa, and another for he and Katara. They enter it hand-in-hand.
"So much for a quick trip to Ba Sing Se," Katara laughs, wringing out her hair. It is loose across her shoulders in waves. "Sokka is going to be so mad when he realizes we won't be coming until the day after tomorrow. He didn't want to be alone with the Earth King."
Aang nods, agreeing. "Poor Sokka," he says with a sarcastic grin. "He has the entire palace and its buffet to himself. Whatever will he do?"
They chuckle together, moving to the back of the makeshift tent and furthest away from the entrance to keep warm. They both shiver.
Though Aang and Katara try to waterbend as much water from their clothes as possible, they are still soaked to the bone. The harsh rains and the howling wind outside does not do much for them, and Aang finds himself taking off his upper robes. His rubs his arms, trying to flatten the goosebumps that appear there.
Then, he feels lips on his shoulder. He tilts his head downward to find Katara pressing the warmth of herself against him, her eyes closed. The top of her robe has already been undone. He can see her bindings peeking from underneath. He lets his fingers graze the edges of them and her lips move to his neck. He sucks in a breath.
“I just…want to thank you for today,” she whispers against him. “For supporting me when I wanted to help that village.”
He feels the tip of her tongue at the back of his ear and bites his bottom lip. “You saw that they needed a women’s clinic when no one else did,” he remarks. “You always see what other people can’t.”
She presses the palms of her hands to his chest, and he is slowly being brought to the ground. He sees the way her azure eyes look at him, and the sparkle of want. A bright feeling explodes in his chest that settles between his legs and spreads.
“…and you’re wonderful,” Katara says, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’re kind,” she adds as she lets his hand cup the side of her breast. She leans into it. “You’re selfless,” she says another time as she slides her way down him, rubbing against his growing hardness.
He moans into her jaw, her hair, her skin. She touches his face and caresses it, butterfly kisses littering his body as she moves hers along his.
The fabrics of their clothes cause friction between them, a barrier that somehow is but isn’t. They tell each other of beauty without words, without hesitation.
Katara’s hands are on his chest, his back, wiping the rain from his bare skin. She seeks him, she tastes him.
The first rumble of thunder shudders through them as she pulls down his pants. It’s as if lighting shoots through him when he feels her lips close around his erection. Her free hand moves with her, and he is suddenly so overwhelmed at how good she feels that he does not realize that he is practically shouting it.
When he finishes, he is met with the captivating view of her thumbing what is left of him from her lower lip.
He rises to meet her, grasping to her back and putting his whole self into her. His mouth is on her temple when she lets out a contented sigh.
“You’re all those things you think I am and more,” he murmurs, and she holds onto him, ever closer. Nearer and nearer. Two halves of the same whole.
Seven years together and he is still amazed by her.
“I know you’re all those things,” she quakes. She tugs at the sleeve of her robe until it’s completely off her.
He smirks on her jawline. He pulls as the drawstring that holds her breasts together in their bindings. “We can agree to disagree,” he says reverently. The bindings fall into their laps. “You are so much more.”
He brings her to the ground this time. Her hair pools around her head like a halo and he thinks she is the most beautiful person he has ever seen.
Katara shakes her head, and there is a soft smile on her face as he descends upon her. “You’re my equal,” she responds, panting. She’s shuddering with ecstasy as finally, Aang repays her.
His fingers are inside, and then his tongue and his everything. Aang takes joy in giving the love of his life the happiness he knows she deserves, and even the roaring of the typhoon that churns outside cannot deter him from that.
summary: “From now on,” she breathed, “your name is Kitten.” One manicured finger dragged over the dip of his collarbone and up his bobbing throat, tilting his chin up to the point just before pain. “Do you understand?” (Katara has some fun at Aang’s expense and then rewards him)
Rating: M
Words: 7331 (chapters 2/2)
AO3: link
...
“What did you—?” He froze, cold realization climbing in icy webs from out of the pit of his stomach.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh no.
Even as she was still pinned, on her back beneath him, Katara managed to look up at him like she was looking down at him. “Suki was in town. She gave me a few lessons,” she drawled, her voice thick and deceptively warm. Aang stiffened. Fight or flight flipped his stomach and fought to pull him away from her even as her gravity pulled him closer. Katara leaned up, arching beautifully, and rolled her front against his. “How are you going to fight without your bending, Avatar ?” she asked, tasting his title as if she owned it.
Her words were warm against his chin. Her kiss was chaste, soft, and barely there, and it toyed with the last pin holding him together. She kept her distance, just barely, just enough to make his pulse pound rapidly against his temples. He was caught in her crosshairs, and she moved slowly to stay on target, looping him into her web and reminding him too much of how Koh spoke softly and danced around him in a too-tight circle.
Aang swallowed on nothing. Magma slid up the tender bellies of his inner thighs and throbbed so hard and so hot in his groin that he bucked and skidded the legs of the furniture on the hardwood floor. The shift of her tone was a turning of the tides that collected the dripping melt of his frayed nerves into a bucket and poured them out in a sudden splash, collecting in his legs and in the pool of his belly. He whined without meaning to. Katara smiled like she made him do it.
The next moment was long, quiet and heavy, broken only by her purr and his held breath. His futility was a poison that she thrived on, and she savored, maybe too much, his quick glances rapidly looking for escape.
Sweat slid down his temple. Katara wetted her lips.
Aang dove for her free hand but was too late to stop it from making a tugging motion, such a simple movement, that took the abandoned water, pooled beside her, and wound it around his arm.
Aang ground his teeth and tried to ignore the tremble that suddenly made it harder to breathe. He glanced between her eyes and her other hand, that he still had pressed against the vanity. He didn’t dare let her go. That would assure his downfall.
Katara laughed. It was a sound that turned his insides into liquid, a molten kind of ore that pooled so hot between his legs that he couldn’t help but stutter on his groan.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Katara asked, too innocent. Aang tugged the ice, useless as it was, as she rolled her wrist. Her element wound up, over his shoulder, around his neck, binding him tightly. She hummed as if the chilly lick to his jugular was one that she could taste. Her ankles dug like spurs into his back and tugged him flush against her. The buck of his hips and the small, hungry yelp he let out were completely involuntary. “You were just getting to the part where you said you were going to make this night a long one, just for me.”
“I…” Aang looked her in the eye. Big mistake. The look she gave him wrapped him in chains that strung him up like a puppet. It was strange, not having his bending. The temperature of the room was suddenly bearing down on him without anything for him to do about it. Certain parts of him puckered from that one change, alone, much to Katara’s delight. “I-I don’t...um…” He found enough dignity to scowl, even though his face was a red pout that bordered on a plea. The smallest shift of her against him made him desperate like he had never been before. “Katara, that’s not fair.”
“Fair?” Katara rolled her head back with a laugh, giving him a spectacular view of her neck that he could do nothing about. His next groan was a pouting noise that dragged itself, low and dark, out of him. Katara’s smile turned amused. “Don’t go feral over being a sore loser. Whining is unbecoming of the Avatar.”
Her hand moved again, and Aang could only stand there, helpless, as streams of water danced around his ankles. Her curled fingers made the water freeze over, just slightly, and seep into his pants. Their slow crawl up his calves was torture. It was cold. Probably not very cold, to a normal person, but very cold to him, an airbender, suddenly cut off from his ability to regulate his world’s temperature.
Too soon, the liquid extension of her senses found his arousal, still pressed firmly against the apex of her thighs. He closed his eyes with a guttural whimper that tied itself into a knot and left him as a tight choke. He was a passenger in his own body, humping pathetically into her trap. “N...No fair...”
Katara held his mandible. He whined but couldn’t stop her. It took only a little tug to drag him towards her. “Look at me,” she said. Aang did, for some reason, and Katara’s smile sharpened into a grin. “Good boy.” Her breath left her as a mist, carefully bent into dragon’s smoke. Aang had seen a blue dragon before. He would have preferred the dragon again. At least he had a chance of escaping a simple firebending master. His fate was reflected in a sharp glance down his body, down to where his groin ground pleadingly against her. Katara hummed, her eyes half-lidded, thoroughly pleased with how he danced for her.
He was better than a puppet. He was her favorite toy. She kept looking down, between them, at his abdomen, as she rolled her hips against him. Aang would have fallen forward if she wasn’t holding his jaw. She watched his muscles tense and flex as his hips bucked beyond his control. Her sigh tugged his strings and drew a shiver that destroyed him.
Katara’s laugh was impossibly darker as she pushed up, onto her free arm, locked at the elbow, with her legs trapping him in her vice. Too soon, she was above him, looking down at him, and still grinding. She palmed his jaw in her hand like he was a ripened fruit she was admiring. He braced himself on the edge of the vanity. He curled forward—so tense —and did nothing but lower himself even more.
She bit her lip and drank in the sight of his unwilling yet perfectly obedient bow. “Hmmm… ” Her hum slurred with a laugh as she rolled just a bit slower. Two of her fingers pressed firmly into his jaw just as her eyes grew distant and dreamy, looking through him. The same two fingers dragged a long, slow circle on the curved bone curling upwards, to the hinge. She shivered almost as badly as he did as she drew closer, a little taller, brushing her breasts against his chest. She kissed him as if to consume him. It was all Aang could do to keep up. “ Very good boy...”
Aang didn’t mean to tremble as badly as he did, especially not when she rolled her lip between her teeth. Her look darkened as if the shadows were her element. Aang felt suddenly bound, in the dark, from head to toe, like the night truly was hers.
The worst part about losing his bending was becoming starkly aware of just how much power he lost once the full moon’s effect was tugged away from him. Katara had no such reservations. She knew it just as well as he did. It gave her enough power to move a mountain, and he was hardly a mound of sand.
Katara tugged the tie on the foot of the bed to test its strength before crawling back to her still struggling Avatar. Aang glared at the ice that trapped him, like he might melt it if he concentrated hard enough.
They hadn’t done anything, really, and already he was covered in sweat. Every slight movement rubbed his sensitive arousal against his stomach, and Katara could have sat there forever just admiring how that gentle friction made his eyes flutter.
Katara shifted and bit her lip. The mounting pressure between her legs created a tightness that was nearly unbearable. Just a little bit longer. She had waited all day, and she could hold out for just a bit more. Her hand hovered just above her heated sex. She hadn’t touched herself since she woke up that morning, without him beside her, with desire threatening to drive her mad. She wouldn’t be surprised if she unwound before they even started. She felt like she was ready to pop, and their escapade to get him into their bed had used up the last of her patience.
“Such a good boy, you are,” Katara purred, her voice as dark as the plush blindfold she snugly tied around his head. Her nose brushed his. Her arms wrapped around his neck and teased the tails of his blindfold. “A very good boy...”
Aang’s groan bled out and died as a whimper, high and pleading. Humming a low laugh, Katara brushed away from the kiss he was after and spoke directly against his ear. “From now on,” she breathed, letting him believe that she was going to touch her body completely to his but pulling away in a luxurious arch at the last second, “your name is Kitten.” Aang held his breath so he could hear her whisper, and his resulting shiver took him apart in a deliciously disarming way. Katara bent back and arched like a cobra spreading its hood. One manicured finger dragged over the dip of his collarbone and up his bobbing throat, tilting his chin up to the point just before pain. “Do you understand?”
It would have been silent if not for Aang’s haggard breathing, shallow and choppy, through his nose. A dribble of sweat ran down to his lip, and he tried to lick it on reflex, forgetting that he was gagged with the same deceptively soft material that had him blind to the world.
The finger tilting his chin was suddenly a hand under his jaw. Katara squeezed just enough to make him whistle on the air he weakly sucked into his lungs. He surrendered his element, going limp, and was rewarded with fingers digging into his throat that threatened to cut off his air entirely.
Katara was glad that she wasn’t touching him so much, lest he might have spilled cum all over himself before she had a chance to paint him.
“I’m waiting, little lion.” She bent forward, draping over him, touching him everywhere but where he wanted her. “Well?” She teethed the still fresh line of bites traveling from his shoulder to the dip of his neck. “What will it be, Kitten?”
Aang nodded so quickly that his head nearly came clean off.
Katara tried not to shake as she raised her hips, impatiently aligning him to her. She kept a hand on his muscled chest just in case she lost all ability to support her own weight, which was becoming more and more of a possibility.
Aang’s thrashing had died as soon as she wrapped her hand around him. Whimpering, he thrusted into her fist so insistently that just imagining him being inside her—desperate for her, wanting to fill her, panting like he would cease to be if he didn’t have her—forced out a moan so deep that it left her as an exhale with no sound.
Her own shakiness and his weak thrusts made his tip slip around her aching, dripping center, probing her very slick thighs. Katara didn’t trust her voice to scold him. She moved her balancing hand from his chest to his hip, finally pinning him down.
He still tried to move, squirming like a numbing throat trying to swallow. It was useless and adorable. His next sound was almost a weep.
“Do you want this?” Katara asked, just barely able to keep her compounding need from her voice. She rubbed him in tortuously slow strokes around where he was desperate to fill her (and where she was desperate to be filled). His slit was incredibly sensitive, and when she dragged it over her clit, they both tensed with crippling flinches. Aang nodded and muffled a novel of pleas. “Are you sure?” she asked, more tense and between clenched teeth, despite her efforts.
“Mfhh! ”
Katara laughed a little too loud. She stroked him in apology. “Then be a good boy and sit still .” She kept her eyes locked on his, hidden under his blindfold, even though he couldn’t see her. “You shouldn’t have stayed out so late. I’ve been waiting for you all day. Have you forgotten where you belong , Kitten?”
She punctuated her words by guiding him— finally —into her. She was so wet that he slipped inside her almost too quickly. Katara, startled and suddenly weak in her legs, nearly dropped from shock, almost taking him in all at once.
It was almost enough to undo her. She shivered and scowled weakly. The emptiness was an ache like a mortal wound, a starving beast. It took conscious effort to relax her inner muscles, so eager to grip him that they gasped on nothing, as she lowered. The push split her open like fresh bread being torn in half. Steam left her in her next exhale.
Aang’s groan was loud , even through his gag. It trembled her with its weight, rivaling that of a waterfall.
Her hips met his with a soft wet sound that gave Aang the ability to breathe again but also cursed him to squirm, impatient, trying to follow his body’s command to thrust until he filled her, to ruin her for anyone else.
Katara closed her eyes, shaking with the effort to not move. She wanted to make this last. She wanted to milk this moment, and him, for everything they had. She stretched her back and found some of her tension released, running down her back and out of her heels in a shiver. Her hands, at the flares of his hips, kneaded them with her content. “That feels goood , Kitten...” She peeled her eyes open to look at him through trembling lashes. “How about you? Do I feel good for you, too?”
Aang’s chest heaved, his head tilting into the pillow, as his restless legs tugged the bonds that kept him anchored in place. He desperately flexed his hips in sporadic, rhythmic bucks that vainly tried to move within her.
Katara smiled through her laugh. His desperation was adorable, and it flexed against her quite nicely, like a muted ocean tide. “If you’re good, little lion—,” the pet name made him grunt and give a particularly hard effort to move. His lack of progress drew out a long whine that gave her butterflies and didn’t exactly help her resolve to not ride him like her life depended on it, “—I might let you play with me.” She arched her back, careful to keep her hips steady and flush on his, and dragged her nails down the firm muscles of his abdomen. His response was immediate and gorgeous, shivering so violently that she felt it within her. She struggled to stay away from the blissful edge of release that he, without even moving, was quickly pushing her towards.
Inches at a time, Katara’s tracing fingers made the journey from the lean muscles of Aang’s chest to the base of his swollen need for her, finally dragging upwards and over the subtle bulge at where he ended and she began. His nostrils flared. He chewed his black gag, once soft but now as ruined as he was, like a racehorse chomping its bridle. The sporadic changes in air pressure threatened to pop her ears.
Katara laughed, thoroughly amused by his valiant attempt to be demanding. Always the optimist. It was adorable.
She shifted, just a bit, all too aware of his presence inside her, and cloaked herself in his stuttered groan that her few meager hairs of movement drew out of him.
She struggled not to give away how excited she was.
Oh, she was going to enjoy this.
“That’s it, Kitten. Just like that,” Katara lazily said, aloof, welcoming his next impatient sound and swallowing one of her own. Try as she might, she couldn’t look away from the slight changes of expression that washed across his face, dipping into mystery underneath his sweaty blindfold. The possibilities under there were endless. The windows to his soul made her feel everything all at once, and the mere thought of the glossy look he must be wanting to give her — undoubtedly to supplement his growing plea for her to move — made the melting parts of her drip and pool low in her seat, where he was buried snugly within her and stretching her in all the right ways.
Katara bit her lip, chewing it and enjoying the display before her, until the tension became too much. Thoughts too vulgar for a temple clouded her mind as something else, even darker, clouded her view of him.
As if of its own accord, her shaking hand stumbled around the apex of her thighs until it found the bead of her sex, oddly exposed with how widely she had spread her legs to straddle him. Slowly, almost painfully so, she peeled apart her lower lips and tugged back the thin hood protecting her clit. The faint touches to his cock had him writhing anew and far more desperate. Her aching clit’s sudden exposure to the air was cold and made her hiss, though the first touch to her sensitive sex had her tense so quickly and so suddenly throughout her entire body that Aang had no choice but to tense right along with her. Her gasp was slack-jawed and filled an eternity. He arched from the bed like a too-tightly strung bow, and he stayed that way until her creeping calm released her sudden tightness and allowed his spirit back into his body.
His struggles came back with a vengeance. Watching his mind fight through lust to perform basic cognition would have been hilarious if it wasn’t so alluring.
She did this to him.
She did.
Katara.
The Avatar was a writhing, sweaty mess beneath her and buried to the hilt within her, bending to her force like a sapling to a hurricane.
“You’re doing…,” her throat, suddenly dry, forced her to swallow before continuing, “Y-You’re doing so well, Kitten.” The direct touches to her clit’s raw bundle of nerves made her shiver in a way that Aang could feel both from her and in her.
Panting like she had her hands around his throat again, he squirmed — gorgeous — against his bonds, indifferent to any chaffing, increasingly desperate for any movement. Katara saw black spots and flashes of white from the friction he made for her. “Ah—! ” She just barely kept herself from rolling her hips to welcome him to move like that again. Aang’s whine was the world’s most perfect purr, and Katara closed her eyes through its duration, bathing herself in his desire.
“J...J-Just like that,” she slurred, no longer caring about her stutter and not having the control to keep the words from clumsily spilling out. Her muscles, starting from her neck and working towards her toes, each relaxed like she was a puppet being cut off of all of its strings. She limply leaned back, supporting herself with one arm behind her to prop up the melt that her body was quickly becoming. Aang was stiff and quivering and sheathed to the hilt inside her, and Katara marveled at how his desperation was echoed in how much he twitched deep within her. She closed her eyes again, just for a moment, rubbing harder and gasping on her moan as she allowed herself to indulge in the feeling.
She swore she felt every vein and every curve of him. His stillness, so alien to how he was usually thrusting whenever inside her, was absolutely maddening. She stood on the giddy cliff of anticipation that she would cling to in the block of time after he first entered her and before he made his first thrust. It was like she was frozen in that moment that felt so much like the mere hours before Christmas morning, when her imagination was at its wildest and most free, filling her with the pleasures of infinite impossibility.
She quietly cursed and hoped Aang didn’t hear it. She bit her lip a little harder, adding the inside of her cheek for good measure as to not bite all the way through, and barely managed to pry open one eye. Thick beads of sweat dribbled over the other.
Aang, bless his hopeful heart, still cradled an expectant aura to his features, like she was surely going to start moving any second and relieve him of the compounding ache that he felt.
Katara’s smile was sharp and dangerous, and Aang shivered, somehow feeling it, even though he couldn’t see through his blindfold. Her quickening circles pressed harder into her clit, pressing against his cock, as well, by consequence. The friction commanded her breathing to its rhythm and made her arm, holding her up, shake until her locked elbow was all that kept her from collapse. Spongy walls tightened around him as pleasure rose in an ember-filled simmer that bubbled just beneath her stroking hand. Her voice was a half-hearted reassurance as her attentions instinctively shifted to the part of him currently stretching her perfectly and teasing her with the promise of Nirvana. “N-Nicely done...little lion. You’re doing...You’re doing so well...Feel so good—” She groaned and caved in to closing her eyes again, swallowing the hard twitch that he made inside her. “Oh, yes …g...good boy...such a... a-ahhh… ”
Aang froze, first confused and then horrified. Katara grinned something evil and dug against her very sensitive clit just so she could see his face when her pleasure suddenly clenched, merciless, around him. A broken gasp escaped her that her chewed lip couldn’t hope to muffle, and he twitched, heavily, much harder this time, taking his whimper with it as he writhed against his restraints. The sight was mesmerizing. Katara rubbed herself faster, not realizing it until the trembles fluttered her eyes and her words. “Hmm…” Her next exhale was slow and satisfied. “So good, Kitten...Just like that…” She was quickly growing breathless. “Y-You’re...You’re such a good b-boy...”
The instinct to close her eyes and ride the length buried inside her was exceptionally hard to resist, but Aang’s storm of whimpers and whines amidst creaks of the bedframe made it well worth it.
His chest heaved like he would never get enough air. He was jealous. Very jealous. He shouted her name so loudly that it was almost an actual word squeezing through the dense fabric of his gag. His shivering was back with a vengeance, crippling his efforts to move his hips even a little bit. It was torture, being still and inside her, when he was so close that all he needed was a thrust or two to find his release.
“F-Fuck. ” A bolt of pleasure crawled up Katara’s back and let the curse slip. She spread her legs wider, sitting on him more firmly. Her slick was leaking onto both of them and making it hard to keep her hand’s speed under control. More than once, her fingers slipped down, onto him, and the little lion beneath her made a whine so high-pitched that it broke into a dull roar. She didn’t dare slow or stop in order to tighten her tucked legs around him, not that she needed to. Her anchor proved true, especially when the heat in her belly tipped over and turned her tender inner thighs into jelly.
“Oh, yes,” Katara panted. Her eyes locked first onto Aang’s beautifully contorting face and then onto his spasming throat. “Oh, yes, Kitten...Good boy...You feel so—N-Nngggghhhh…So good—” She bit her lip and tucked her chin to her chest. The solid, still length within her felt like it was growing larger, even though it wasn’t, because of how tight her pleasure was winding her. Katara shook like she was something made of sand about to fall apart. Sweat dribbled thickly down her face, her belly, and her arm. Her mouth hung open, wide, desperate to catch enough air.
Aang whined pathetically. Oh, how Katara wished she could open her eyes to see it. She rolled her head back, to the ceiling, with her jaw hanging loosely and her arm threatening to give out. Aang’s squirming was beaten and broken until all the poor man could do was shiver with what energy remained in him. Katara curled her tongue on itself and scowled so deeply that it ached the muscles of her brow. She was tightening around him. The voice through his gag was practically weeping, begging her to move, begging her to take him with her.
Katara’s slack jaw managed to smile, feeding on his needy sounds. She moaned louder and made sure it echoed so he had to hear it twice. She would have felt guilty if the feeling of him writhing beneath her, begging her through his gag, unspeakably jealous of the pleasure she was dangling right before his face, didn’t fill her clit with warmth like nothing else had ever done before. “Good boy. J...Just like that,” she said, breathless, eyes closed, rubbing in harmony to his needy sounds and attempts to cry her name. Her voice was wavering on something whistle-like and windy, and Aang chased after it madly. “T-That’s it. Right there—,” she quickly stuttered. His weak attempts at thrusts did nothing but make her clench tighter around him, orchestrating his own demise.
Katara bit her lip and danced on the edge. His soft rocking was barely noticeable, but it made her feel like she was riding on the rolling shoulders of some large beast. Her head rolled so far back that the stretch on her throat started to hurt. “Right there...Ooooh, yes, right there, Kitten…” She trembled so hard that it was only by some miracle that her muscles obeyed her. Her clit throbbed mercilessly. So sensitive. So close. On the edge and looking down and waiting for the last piece to fall…
The muscles of her lower belly flexed in cruel, teasing waves to assist her frozen diaphragm in helping her breathe. It made her curl forwards while she tried to curl back, still. She was a buckling mess, panting and gasping and rubbing herself, unable to focus enough even to open her eyes.
For Aang, it was torture. The bedframe creaked, crying with him, but did nothing but urge her on.
Katara swallowed, wetting her lips yet again, drowning in pants when he twitched — so deep — followed by another whine that he squirmed to. “Just...Jus’ like that...,” she moaned, high and thinning and about to break. Her slick wetted his base and nearly her whole hand, making sloppy sounds with every increasingly frantic movement. Her toes curled, nearly cramping, and she would have lifted from the bed if her legs weren’t filled with static and jelly. “Just...J-Jus’ a little... m-more ...”
“Mpfhhh! Kafpphhh! ”
His next twitch was a desperate jerk that she felt even from where her fingers pressed her throbbing clit. “O-ooh—!” She concentrated on feeling it again and didn’t have to wait long to be rewarded. Wood creaked again and squealed as he drew taut, his dying whimpers begging it to stop because he knew that wherever he would be when she peaked wouldn’t be nearly close enough. Her thighs clamped around his hips, holding him in place as he thrashed and she tensed.
He struggled to breathe, like her tightening around his cock was somehow also tightening around his throat. The thought filled her with clouds and fire. She flexed her quivering inner muscles to swallow around his throbbing girth, feeling him in his entirety — all hers — until all she knew was the feel of her shaking self, stretched and trembling, and of his twitching manhood, filling her just right, stretching her, aching for her, jerking in anticipation almost as excited as her own.
Her hand slipped. She swallowed again, arching even more, shaking horrifically, feeling like she was driving him even deeper, even though their flush hips denied her from taking any more of him. Her bowed back arched more and more , pulling her unbearably taut—
Then she gasped with empty lungs.
“Ah—! ”
“Mpfffffh! ”
Katara’s jaw, frozen, hung open, and whatever poison that he had planted in her suddenly turned her to marble from heels to head.
She gulped air pathetically, frozen all over except for her hand. In her last beautiful moment atop his highwire, Katara felt bliss for a fraction of forever, feeling pleasure rush over her like it had been a scalding waterfall suspended in time, just above her head, and suddenly allowed to crash down. Perfection was full, hot, writhing, and desperately crying out her name, begging her to take him with her, wanting to feel good, too.
And then finally — finally — Katara tipped over, a sharp gasp being Aang’s only warning before she fell into bliss that tightened unbearably around him.
“A-Ahhhhhhh…! ”
Katara’s belly fell out from under her, spilling everything out in such a way that it spilled upwards, into her churning core, raw to the touch. It raced to fill the furthest parts of her with rolling, molten trembles and delicious electricity. Under her, Aang was rabid. Desperate. Moreso than before, somehow. His bonds strained audibly, testing their bedframe’s limit. Her sudden tightness was overwhelming. She gripped him so firmly that any point defining him from her melted into obscurity.
Where Katara was chugging on a gasp, he cried out as if being murdered. He was close. So desperately close. He twitched within her and didn’t stop, pulsing deep inside her like he was cumming with her but being barred from any actual release. His efforts to join her kept her from coming down, prolonging his torture in her hot, velvet vice.
Some part of her, feeding on his sounds, kept his hips held firmly in place, no matter how hard he struggled. Katara stayed on her cloud as a tense mess of a woman, on top of a writhing mess of a man, for nearly half of a minute.
Then, she emptied the rest of her lungs in a long, smooth sigh that riddled her with holes, helping her to deflate.
“O-Oooohhhh… ”
She didn’t realize that she was coming down until her locked muscles were freed, one by one, like the last leaves of a tree kissing the forest floor. She moaned weakly, savoring the soft seafoam that her waning tide of pleasure left behind, gently slipping down her nerves, leaving tender footprints in its wake. Her hum was low, content, and reminiscent of when she hugged him after not seeing him in a long while. Her hand moved of its own accord, daintily tending to her swollen sex. The small circles were born out of reflex more than anything, her hand having been lost to her for a minute and simply obeying its last orders. She was lathered with sweat and slick, almost embarrassingly so, if she cared.
She eventually found the energy to roll her head forwards, hanging such that her temple leaned against the shoulder of the arm that had somehow managed to keep her up. She smiled softly. Her eyes were still closed, but she was aware of every movement in Aang’s body, even the hush of his blood in the absence of the full moon. It was like she was living under his skin just as much as she was living within her own. He had yet to breathe since her orgasm, but survival forced him to sputter on shallow gasps through his nose. Katara floated in the cool harbor of intimacy as her senses crawled back to her, through him.
“Hmmm…” She found herself back in her body like the slush that Nirvana had melted her into was simply poured back into her mortal form. Her words were slurred and heavy. “Good boyyy…” She pooled, relaxing and catching her breath, lazily rubbing her clit, and grunting with every heavy twitch Aang made within her. “ Such a good boy…”
Warmth, fuzzy and soft, blossomed in her belly and slowly crept into all the places where unspeakable pleasure had once been. Her peace was broken only by the firm movements deep inside her that had made her pleasure possible. Katara hummed again, delighted with the feeling, and dragged open her eyes. Aang shook like he was filled with lightning and seconds away from combustion. She almost felt bad for him. Almost. He would get his turn, soon enough.
In the silence, he sang to her with tiny mewls and loud, dry swallows that drove the rhythm of her hand’s wet movements, so sensitive that some touches forced her to bite her lip until she faintly tasted iron.
“That was very impressive, Kitten,” she sighed, smirking. Aang startled at her voice. He could do little more than shiver and breathe, though he managed to make a few pleading sounds when she said his new name. “You did so well. You made me feel so good.” His gag was wet and glistening, bitten so tightly that Katara was almost afraid to remove it for fear of him biting his tongue off. She gathered the strength to clench around him, bringing life back into his limbs as he squirmed. “You must be simply exhausted .”
She shifted in her seat, holding her position more firmly, and slowly bent forward as to not excite him too easily or overload his surely sensitive arousal—twitching wonderfully within her and unspeakably hard—too much at once. He was ready to pop, but she wanted him to burst, like she had, not explode.
She caught herself on a locked elbow again, this time from leaning forward and over him. Aang swallowed thickly. Katara mutely rubbed herself, firm enough for him to feel it. Sweat covered him in a thick gloss that gave him highlights to all the right places. “Should we stop?”
Aang fervently shook his head, nearly breaking his neck, if not for the pillow being there to keep his skull from spinning three-hundred-sixty degrees. Katara’s hand sped up of its own accord, ignited by his eagerness. Aang was closer than even she had been when he first came home, and that had been after an entire day of denying herself. She could see it in all of his features and hear it in every rustle of the sheets or whisper of his breath. He was frozen. Trapped on the edge and unable to move forward, unable to let go of all the unexploited pleasure that filled him.
“You did so well, Kitten.” She kissed his chest, up to his jaw. “I’m going to make you feel good, too, don’t worry.”
She was fairly certain he was crying with joy, if not at least close to tears. She kissed his face and moved slowly, aware of the exposed nerve that she had turned him into.
Her legs shook terribly as she lifted her hips, and for a horrible second, she thought she might be shaking too badly to finish him off. She slowly dropped and rolled with the motion in the way she knew he loved. His response was loud and tripping over itself to show how grateful he was and how desperate he was for her to continue. His attempts to kiss her dragged his gagged lips across her cheek and down her neck, anywhere he could reach. She lightly laughed and kissed down his jaw to the vulnerable skin just behind it. Her second lift and slow descent tranquilized him well enough to make his head go limp into the pillow.
She hugged around his head, cradling it, and she read his reactions to find a perfect rhythm. “There you go...,” she hushed when next he squirmed. She hummed something like a purr and licked the hinge of his jaw, tugging the lobe of his ear gently between her teeth. She lifted and fell at a little faster, though even that was still a savored slowness. “Just relax, Kitten. You did so well. I’ll take good care of you.”
It didn’t take long, but she treated that precious time like these few thrusts were Aang’s last moments alive. She had made him vulnerable like this plenty of times before, when they had made love or had a rough fuck, but she had never peeled him quite as raw as he was now. “Does that feel good, Kitten?” she asked, her voice soft and drawing him towards her. “You sound like you’re enjoying yourself.”
She touched all of him that she could reach, giving tender care to every bite she had left behind—on their way to the bed—and every dark mark she had made as proof of having been there. “ Hmm… I can feel how close you are, little lion.” Her hips rolled in a luxurious circle that made his chest shudder, playing for her a string of sounds like he were a church organ. He sucked air and swallowed repeatedly, drowning and asphyxiating at once. “So full. You feel hot, don’t you? Like metal is going to burst from your belly.”
Sweat pebbled and dribbled down his brow, his arms, his chest — coating him in her element and flushing him red from the joy of wearing her. She didn’t realize that she was touching herself again until she rubbed herself a little harder. She put her lips to his ear so he heard her moan and how good he made her feel. She fought her own sensitivity to clench around him — hard — and send them both stuttering. His next muffled gasp struggled to show his appreciation, but his rough twitch from within her was more than enough.
Katara swallowed the bliss quickly rising in her belly. Just a little longer. She had to take him with her, this time.
She nuzzled his throat and muttered, very faintly, little praises in her Tribe’s language. Aang perked up immediately, nearly thrashing, if only he had the energy, as affected as he always was by her people’s silky tongue.
Katara smiled, sharp, against his skin and kissed a particularly dark bite. “Go ahead. Let it go,” she said, not meaning to sound as demanding as she did, though he didn’t seem to notice. Her clit was aching, now, and the knot just above it, hot like a cauldron in her belly and threatening to consume her, was nearly unbearable.
Her brow rolled into the dip of his neck and shoulder, eyes tightly closed, lip tight between her teeth, weakly grinding on him with her every trembling descent. She fought tooth and nail to keep her tone soft, more breathy and less words, as the ability to speak ran away from her again. “I-I want all of it. Every last drop, Kitten.”
Aang stiffened and relaxed in a strange, violent shift, like his body couldn’t decide whether to be stone or sand.
“That’s it...,” she purred, feeling him gather what strength he had to thrust up as she moved down. “Oooh, yes, Kitten...” It was her turn to gasp and swallow her needy sounds. Pleasure was defined by how he moved within her, twitching and jerking and teasing her with his impending release. His spell, even tied down beneath her, had her melting for him and rubbing herself so fast that her wrist ached. It wasn’t until he groaned, wanton for her, that she remembered to give him extra care. “E...Easy, little lion.” She swallowed dryly. “I’m not...going anywhere. I want you to feel good, too.”
Aang’s thrusts, trembling and weak, lost any ability to move at all, though Katara felt the lower pack of muscles in his abdomen flex, still trying to, anyways. Something like guilt layered with gratitude blossomed in all of her, all at once. At the same time, her own pleasure was eating away at her mobility until all she could manage were quick movements that could only ride him in shallow thrusts. Aang hiccupped pathetically on his element, drawing so taut that he was lifting her with him. “Such a good boy, you are...,” she said, breathless, right in his ear and as she kissed his cheek. All of her energy went into the ability to string words together for him, but there was only so much she could redirect since everything was pooling within her sex — fuck , he was twitching so deep — and threatening to tip over. “ So good...So good...” The duet of wet sounds from her frantic rubbing and thrusting affected him just as much as her. “And...And you’re about to cum for me, too. I can feel it, Kitten...”
The second time he tried kissing her, becoming confused in his haze as to why he can’t, she paused her own pleasure to undo his gag, careful to slowly release the tension so he didn’t strain his jaw. She caught his lips in a kiss before he could even breathe in his newfound freedom, and she gave him a tempo to chase so she could guide him into naturally working his jaw back into proper order.
Aang was and always would be the natural extension of her senses. His pleasure was always her own. And when she felt him, sweaty and trembling since he was too weak to writhe, on the absolute brink—suddenly tensing, sucking in his breath, shakily trusting her to guide him into where his bonds had kept him from following her before—she rubbed the abused bead of her sex hard , so he could feel it, until her sensitivity bordered on painful, just so she could clench around him — swallowing his heavy pulses, drowning in the feeling of the first throb about to gush inside her — and carried them both over the edge, together.
“Oooohhh …”
“A—A-Ahhhh! ”
Aang’s cry and heavy release became Katara’s entire world. He fell first and immediately dragged her with him. His groan was a beautiful roar, a dull rumble that shook through her almost as surely as he jerked within her. It was loud and so relieved that it echoed through their room like a church wail.
Katara fell apart, trembling everywhere , out and in, as he came. His load was hot and heavy, and she thought she had been full before . “Yeeeeees, Kitten...,” she groaned, breathless and scratchy. She tried to move her hips to milk him for all he was worth, but all she could manage to do was clench around him and grind in long rolls that rewarded her with his long sounds. “Give it all to me...” She spoke sweet nothings and soft requests into his ear, her one arm still hugging his head so that it crowned his face and held him close to her. “I want it all. You’re such a good boy.” His voice was broken and did things to her that her sensitivity was liable to kill her with. “Mmm...My handsome little lion...I love you so much, Kitten… So much . Give me all of you...”
The mess was warm and painted between them, at where he was growing soft inside her, but Katara would deal with that later. Aang was beginning to relax. He should know better.
The night was still young, and she was far from done with him.
Okay but, in all seriousness, let's talk about Katara having a feeding/stuffing kink @ Aang
Idk where the idea came from for me, but I really, really, REALLY love this kink for Kataang (ie, if you're unfamiliar with it, it's essentially where Katara feeds Aang until he gets full and he's like a bag of lazybones and Katara just wants to coddle him. Bear with me if your initial reaction is to find that odd).
I tend to think of this more as a soft kink than a hot kink, because this activity doesn’t necessarily have to be something arousing for them -- although it certainly can be -- but rather something that would give Katara an ungodly amount of gratification and can send her into a different headspace from the norm. I just imagine it would be in-character for her even to get comfort out of seeing her Aang all food-sleepy and lethargic, because he's her poor boy who works too hard and she just gets this urge to give him soft kisses and belly rubs while he sleeps off a stuffed belly. It’s really very soft. Honestly, the thought of Katara indulging Aang like that makes me extremely emotional.
This kink doesn’t have to involve anything inflation-y or long-term weight gain. Especially for Aang and Katara, I think they’d be cautious about not going overboard with it. It would be a temporary pursuit, with no aftereffects save for good feelings, and I imagine Aang's ingrained discipline as an Air Nomad would also help keep them in check so that it’s a safe activity they don’t do too often. I could see Katara trying to coax him into eating more than normal when she’s in that mood, and Aang picking up on what she's doing, but she'd just be so comforting and praising. He’d feel able to let himself go, do it every so often, as a treat for them both, not so much to an ungainly point but enough to wear him out. It's like a guilty pleasure. After all, food is a carnal desire just as sex is.
I really do love this kink for Kataang especially. Katara allowing Aang a chance to give in to something, a practice so simple and human, her reveling in that and loving him in his little food coma. Katara expressing how much she legitimately wants Aang to indulge himself because she loves him, and as he gets more drowsy her heart just swells and she coos that he needn't feel bad about it. Her loving the way she trusts him and has this behavioral effect where he’s like a sweet puppy, and she gets to see him all full and warm and happy thanks to her, and she gives him sweet kisses and belly rubs while telling him how much she loves him. Like, that's freaking cute.
It'd mess with her head, too, hence why it's something of a kink even in cases where it happens to not be arousing. Personally, I don't think Katara would be overtly mischievous about it, more so coddling. She’d really take the lead with it and want to see Aang like this. Imagine her making him special Air Nomad dishes for these occasions because she knows he’d love it so much and she adores the way his cute widdle face lights up. Idk, these thoughts literally make me wanna sob sometimes it’s so adorable.
But then uhhh if you wanted to make it a lil smexy on top of that...I mean that’s the perfect set-up for mommy kink, too, no? 👀 You've got a slow, sleepy bby on your hands, whatever shall you do? ;)
Anywhomst if you’d like an example, I’d suggest taking a look at Mod Nettie’s revolutionary new fic Stuffin’ Tattooed Muffins here, which is currently being updated and is both sweet and very hot. It's also the first of what I hope will be many stuffing-involved fics for Kataang on AO3 *nudge nudge* 👀🙏
They were alone. Well, mostly, anyway. They were the only people in the courtyard gardens at the moment, if that counts.
Katara eyed their dimly lit surroundings as they walked together, fingers interlaced, briefly escaping the festive chaos that was the ballroom of King Kuei’s palace. The solace of the gardens was most welcomed in comparison, except it only amplified Katara’s thundering heartbeat as she considered the many ways in which she and Aang could make use of their stolen time alone. She caught a glimpse into one of the small alcoves as they walked past it, bordered with azaleas and rhododendrons with a stone bench tucked away inside. Images flashed through her mind like lightning; of dragging Aang inside by his wrist, planting him on the bench as she hiked up her dress to straddle his lap, crushing her lips to his own and pushing her tongue past his to taste him. Or perhaps, she’d be bent over the bench, the skirt of her dress bunched up around her waist as she was thoroughly taken by him-- Katara shook her head to snap herself out of her fantasy, registering the sound of his voice in her hazy brain. He was talking to her, and she really should be paying attention. She looked up to meet his gray eyes, darkened in the low lighting, his soft smile and lidded gaze sending a wave of raw heat straight to her core. She glanced just past his head at the row of trees behind him, whose branches poured an inviting veil of dark shadows over the grass beneath them. Her mind was racing again, this time picturing disappearing with him into the cloak of darkness, meeting both the tree bark and the hard muscle of his chest simultaneously as his lips melded with hers, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist as he pressed into her harder, clutching her rear to hold her up against him, his arousal throbbing desperately against her center. Her trance was shattered and instantly brought back to life by Aang’s lips on her neck, the warmth of his arms moving her backwards, forcing a gasp from her when her back hit the tree trunk, hard, as if he read her mind.
