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Can you kiss me more?
We’re so young, we ain’t got nothin’ to lose
Boy, you write your name
I can do the same, oh, I love the taste
All on my tongue I want it
- Kiss Me More, Doja Cat ft. SZA
Katara takes a tipsy stumble along the sand, away from where her raucous friends are still drinking by the bonfire. A distance away, a smaller fire is petering out by their makeshift campsite.
Camping had been Suki’s idea. The weather on Ember Island was perfect—cool, but not humid, with a nice breeze coming in from the sea. The gang had set up some cots under a cluster of coconut trees, and a station to barbeque and drink closer to the waves.
An alcohol-laced game of Truth had sent Zuko to bed early. The bottle had not spun in his favor, but he remained frustratingly opaque, choosing to drink rather than answer the questions thrown his wqy.
“Is there a girl you like?”
Drink.
“Is she pretty?”
Drink.
“How did you meet her?”
Drink. Drink.
“Does she like you back?”
To that, he deigned to answer, “Definitely not.”
He might as well have just answered yes and spared himself. Or perhaps he should have lied. The Fire Prince, strong as he was, was no match for over ten swigs of hard liquor. He ambled off an hour ago in search of somewhere to crash.
That’s how Katara finds him, sprawled out on a cot next to the one she’d claimed as hers. To her annoyance, he's appropriated her pillow, and is hugging it tightly to his chest.
“Zuko,” she grumbles, tugging hard at her pillow. “Give that back.”
He releases it with a heavy sigh, and rolls over to lie on his back.
Katara lays her pillow down next to his head and tucks herself in. The pillow is warm, but she doesn’t mind. The air has gotten colder, and over here, the fire is no longer enough to sustain her. She buries her face in the soft fabric. It smells like spices and tea. Like Zuko, but with a little bit of alcohol mixed in.
She smiles. She doesn’t know how she noticed in the first place, but Zuko always smells nice. Right after he showers, of course. But even when he’s been sparring. Even, apparently, when he’s been drinking.
She looks over at the prickly prince. In the light of the dying embers, his face is relaxed, peaceful even, as he rests. It is in complete contrast with his waking expressions, which are harsh, withdrawn, and often tumultuous.
It’s funny. She’s learned over time that Zuko’s face is the total opposite of his nature. One would never know it by looking at or speaking to him, but he is... surprisingly gentle. Outside their fierce sparring sessions, he’s always courteous and cautious towards her, and sometimes it makes her want to yell at him that she isn’t fragile. He had no problem with treating her like a filthy peasant in the past—at least, until he defected and joined their cause.
In her tipsy state, she thinks to herself that the girl he likes is a lucky one. She tries to put a face to his crush. Likely it is the broody girl with the throwing knives. Well, Zuko has that in common with her, at least. But that's all.
She's being petty, she knows. She can also admit Zuko is damn handsome, especially in his sleep. Right now, he looks every bit the kind, dashing prince from the folk tales. Maybe the sort that a peasant girl could wake with a—
“SOKKA AND SUKI SITTING IN A TREE,” Toph and Aang sing their lungs out, snapping Katara out of her trance. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”
Katara chuckles. Good for them. Those two were dancing around everyone else for weeks.
She sighs and turns over in her cot. She’ll just have to ask them about it in the morning.
The night is much darker when she wakes with a small jolt. A warm leg is rubbing against hers, and it feels... nice.
The fire has definitely died out, and judging from the silence, so has the party. Katara sits up and looks around. It seems none of the gang ended up joining them. It must have been the cold, she surmises, but she can’t be bothered to wake her companion and trudge back to the house. Anyway, he makes for a good heat source. She lies back down and closes her eyes.
She doesn’t know how many minutes or hours have passed before she stirs again, this time because a muscular arm has wrapped itself around her midsection.
“Zuko!” she hisses, but he doesn’t stir. Instead he pulls her closer, bringing his other arm beneath her neck and embracing her against his chest. So, he’s a cuddler. Remembering how he’d stolen her pillow, Katara thinks she should have known.
But she is too lazy to struggle. Besides, this is... even nicer. To be cuddled for warmth by a very, very hot boy is far from the worst thing in the world. She curls up against him. They fit together just right.
Zuko buries his face into her hair and then sighs, “Katara...”
Her eyes fly open.
What did he just...?
“Zuko?” she tries again. “Zuko, are you awake?”
He inhales swiftly, and she turns to look. He blinks, trying to comprehend the position he—they—are in.
“Sorry,” he mumbles hoarsely, pulling away. “I didn’t mean to.”
Katara grabs his hand. “No, it’s okay.”
He peers at her questioningly.
“It’s cold.” She could blame it on the alcohol later. She pulls his hand closer, nestling it beneath her breasts.
Zuko’s body is tense, and he pulls away from her. She thinks he’s about to argue with her, but then she hears the soft crackle of fire from behind them. The light and warmth that she feels next confirm that Zuko has kindled the flame anew. Then he reaches back over to hold her. She places his hands back where they were before, though he is terribly rigid. He eventually relaxes into the spoon. Slowly, his leg nudges its way between her thighs, and she allows it. Katara brushes her fingers against his arm, enjoying the way his skin prickles beneath her touch.
“I'm dreaming again, aren't I?” Zuko murmurs gruffly. His hand flexes, involuntarily, she thinks, and his thumb brushes against the underside of her bare breast. Her breath hitches, and he closes his fist. Even half-awake he has restraint.
“No,” Katara says slowly. “This is real.”
He chuckles. “You always say that.”
Staying in his embrace, Katara shifts around to face him. “What do you mean?” His golden eyes are sleepy and half-lidded, and he’s gazing at her thoughtfully.
“It’s how I know I’m dreaming.”
She can tell he is being serious. He smiles, and it’s as disarming as the words that spilled out of his mouth, so different from his usual discourse.
Does he mean what she thinks he means?
He breathes out a sigh. He seems... content. Perhaps it’s due to his own lowered inhibitions that he pulls Katara in closer so that she lays on him sideways.
Katara suddenly grows conscious of her breasts as they press against his hard body. It feels too late to get out of his grasp now. Zuko is falling back asleep. She watches the flames as she presses her ear to his chest and listens to his breath. Slow and even, each one introduces a faint, new warmth to his body, and by extension, hers.
She likes it.
Tui and La, she realizes. She likes him. She like-likes him, even.
Her secret makes her head spin. She stifles a nervous giggle.
“What’s funny?” Zuko asks blearily.
“This,” Katara replies.
“Hmm,” he murmurs. “I like your laugh. You don’t, usually...”
But Katara laughs plenty around him and their friends. “In... your dreams?” she clarifies.
“Yeah.”
Katara considers this for a moment. “What do you dream about, Zuko?”
He clutches her tighter. “This,” he mumbles. “You.”
“And... what happens in these dreams?” Katara braces herself to hear a manner of lewd things. She bites her lip. She wouldn’t hate it, honestly...
“I just rest,” he says. “You happen to be there. And we’ve got nowhere to be, nothing to do.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all. Sometimes, we talk. Those are the best ones.”
His answer makes her heart hurt a little. “Why?”
Zuko sighs, and Katara thinks he must know he’s awake. “We all dream of things we can’t have, don’t we?”
“Have we ever...” Katara blushes. “…kissed?”
An amused huff. “Even some dreams are too crazy.”
“Because I’m a peasant?”
Zuko’s chest rumbles in annoyance. “Because you’re too good for someone like me. I keep telling you.”
It’s the first she’s ever heard him say on the matter. And Zuko still thinks he’s asleep, despite his lucid conversation. Or perhaps because of it.
“Zuko.” Katara drums her fingertips on his chest. “You aren’t dreaming.”
“Mmm.”
Suddenly Katara isn’t sure she isn’t the one who’s dreaming. Maybe she is. It makes her feel bold.
“What if... I wanted to kiss you?” she asks.
“That’s not the best way to convince me I’m not dreaming.”
His sleepy sarcasm makes her think. The idea of kissing someone who was probably only half-conscious is a bad one, and she won’t do it. No matter how endearing he is currently being. But...
“What if I wanted you to kiss me?”
Zuko stills. “Why would you want me to do that?”
“Because…” Katara pauses. “You’re different from what I expected you to be. You’re... you're someone I’d like to kiss.”
“Well, keep talking like that and I’m definitely not gonna wanna wake up.”
Katara purses her lips. What is she even doing? This is silly. They’re drunk. He thinks he’s dreaming. Maybe she’d be better off going to sleep, too.
“Forget I asked,” she whispers. She turns to lie on her back and closes her eyes.
But then Zuko shifts and embraces her, one hand caressing her bare waist. His face buries itself in her hair. He moves his leg to cradle her, and its weight over her womb is distracting. Down below, their feet tangle in a mess of warmth.
Damn him, Katara thinks, and damn her for liking it so much.
She bites her lip. Then she makes up her mind.
“Zuko,” she says, turning to face him. She shakes his shoulder gently. “Zuko, let me go.”
He goes still, and she thinks he’s really woken up. But he simply pulls away respectfully, and lies on his side. “Thank you,” he murmurs, looking at her plainly.
“For what?”
“For talking to me. For making it a good dream.”
Katara nearly laughs. “Was there an alternative?”
He is quiet. She looks over at him and his brows are knit tight together. “Zuko?”
“The alternative is that you stay as far away from me as you can.”
“Why would I ever do that? You’re great.”
Zuko's expression is pensive. Softly, he asks, “Did you mean it, Katara?”
“Yeah,” she says. “If I haven’t told you, you should know. I’ll tell you again sometime.”
“No,” he says slowly. “Did you mean it that you’d like me to kiss you?”
Katara flushes. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” he replies too quickly. He cringes, scratching his head. “I just don’t understand why you would.”
She really does, she tells him. But she’s drunk, and he’s probably more so.
Yet as his face nears hers, she finds she can’t fight it anymore.
Zuko brushes his lips against hers, more gently than she ever thought he could manage. It’s soft and it’s warm, and it’s over before her mind can process it. But her heart has, and it’s beating a loud tattoo in her chest.
He pulls back and looks at her, really looks at her, until she feels her blush seep across her cheeks.
Katara’s about to protest when he whispers, “I’d like to do that again.”
She licks her lips. “Okay.”
He leans over and kisses her, this time more deliberately. His hand sweeps over her cheeks to cradle her face, and she can feel his own cheeks beneath her fluttering lashes. Her heart skips several beats as she holds her breath, and he presses his lips against hers until she is lightheaded and woozy.
“Breathe, Katara,” he whispers into her skin. She does, and her pulse comes back to life under his touch.
She tentatively nibbles his lip, and he growls with pleasure. He responds in kind, sucking lightly on her upper and lower lips. Katara grants his probing tongue access to hers, and they lightly touch as she finally reaches for his shaggy hair. The darkness has made them both bold, it seems.
It’s a wordless conversation, and Katara wishes it would never end. Because Zuko is remarkably communicative this way. His lips and hands do things to her she never imagined they could, and he’s breathing fire against her neck and sending shivers down her spine. She plants cooling kisses on his scar, his cheeks, his chin, and he trembles with pleasure. Yet their interaction remains strictly limited to their heads and shoulders. She’s not ready for more, and he does not push.
Eventually he pulls away, and his lips look pillowed and pink. She flushes, wondering if she looks the same. Because he looks so well-kissed. It’s awfully appealing, and she wants to kiss him more.
But then he speaks. “I don’t know how I’m going to face you when I wake up tomorrow. This is the best dream I’ve ever had.”
That sobers her. It really doesn’t sit well with her that he still thinks this isn’t really happening. So she does the only thing she can think of. She pinches his arm, hard.
“Ow!” Zuko exclaims, yanking it away.
“Do you still think you’re dreaming?”
Zuko stares at her for a beat, which extends into two and three. Then his face drains of color. He pushes away from her so quickly it’s offensive. “Agni. Katara, I am so, so sorry—”
“Don’t apologize,” Katara cuts him off. “I told you. I wanted you to kiss me.” Her lips feel dry now, but they tingle from where she had rubbed them against his stubble. She twists them into a grimace. “I should be the one apologizing. This isn’t something you wanted to do. Clearly I overstepped.”
“No,” he says hoarsely, shaking his head. “You didn’t.”
The silence stretches on between them, filled only by the snapping and crackling of the flames behind Zuko. Katara wishes it were dark again. She wishes she were an earthbender so she could will the ground to consume her. This is so bad.
It feels too late to fight, but it also feels too late to flee. They are at a stalemate, with neither of them wishing to continue the conversation.
She steals a look at Zuko’s face. He looks stricken, withdrawn yet again to the recesses of his own mind. She feels for him. He’s done nothing but keep in his lane, not only in his waking hours, but even in his dreams. And his focus has become abundantly clear—he’s been doing it for her.
Her heart warms exponentially, but her fingers and toes have grown cold. That gives her an idea.
“I think,” she says a little shrilly, “that we ought to go back to bed.”
“Y-you’re right,” Zuko stammers. “Uh. Should we return to the house?”
“No,” Katara says in a tone that brooks no opposition. “We might disturb the others. Just... lie down, won’t you?”
Zuko looks confused. Katara lies on her back and watches him from the corner of her eye. He lies flat as well, unmoving. She closes her eyes, and hears him hit himself hard. He lets out a soft, anguished sigh.
“Don’t do that,” Katara requests gently.
“Sorry.”
“I meant, don’t hurt yourself.” Katara leans over to look at Zuko. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his hands are in fists by his sides. She pulls on his sleeve and he casts her a worried glance.
“I really liked it,” she finally says. “Our kiss.” Zuko is still lost, so she continues, “I’d like to do it again.”
His mouth hangs open, and she laughs. “Breathe, Zuko.”
He shakes his head. “You tried to tell me. I’m an idiot.”
“We’re both idiots,” she replies with a small laugh, a little plan forming in her head. “Let’s start over,” she says, turning over. “Will you cuddle with me? It’s cold.”