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Zuko knows that Katara has been not-so-subtly glancing over his way from across set all day. He knows because it has taken every ounce of his effort not to look back over at her. He’s forgetting his lines. Falling mid stunts. This is almost the tenth take of this scene already, where he should be showing the cameras some obvious and unresolved sexual tension between him and Mai, but the director keeps cutting, telling them to move closer, telling Zuko to focus, look at her more, fix his face, do something, other than be painfully stiff next to an objectively beautiful girl.
But Katara is watching him, and yesterday, they almost… well, nothing happened. He stopped it from happening. They didn’t even kiss. He doesn’t touch her, either. But she’ll come into his hotel room and give him those eyes. She’ll reach for his hand and grasp it in hers. Then, somehow, her fingers are threading through his hair or running up and down the skin of his stomach. Then lower. Until she’s reaching the tops of his pants. And she’ll give him those eyes again, the ones that signal he’s in danger of allowing something horrible to happen. Illegal, even.
It’s not right. Whatever’s going on between them. He knows, but she doesn’t because she’s so young. He’s a piece of shit for even wanting it. Those brief moments when he considers what she might do, if he let her, if he hadn’t pulled her hands away from the button of his pants, how the skin of her might have felt on his. Yeah, he’s going to hell.
“Cut!” the director yells, again, with an exasperated groan. “Zuko, take a ten. And then come back when you’re ready to act, alright?”
He storms off to the breakroom, half hard in the canvas material of his Fire Nation costume.
-
“You’re doing really bad out there,” she tells him, leaning against the door frame so he can see the curve of her back above her low-rise jeans. She’s looking at him with those fucking eyes again. Her lips turned up in a smile that looks more like a taunt. She doesn’t even have any scenes today. She’s just here to torture him.
“Thanks. I know.” Zuko sips on a bottle of water, one arm wrapped around his chest. He can’t look at her. Even that feels inappropriate.
“You could loosen up, you know. It’s not like you’ve never had a girl touch you before.” Her smile widens enough that he can see her teeth, the sharp point of her fangs and the slight rotation of her little lateral. God, he’s in trouble. She could kill him on the spot.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Katara.” He lifts his chin up and turns from her. The makeup around his eye feels suddenly itchy, but he won’t touch it.
She pouts, pushing herself off the doorframe. For a moment, there’s a flicker of vulnerability on her face. He wants to capture it, put it in a cage and keep it safe. He wants to kiss the soft wetness of her jutting lower lip.
“Am I that forgettable?” she asks.
Silence stretches between them, pregnant with all the ways he knows a better man would handle this situation. He says nothing, gripping the cylinder of his water bottle with all the strength of his self control.
“Whatever, Zuko.” She rolls her eyes, walking away from him.
“Katara, wait–” He reaches an arm out. An assistant walks into the room to get him back on set.
-
That night, Katara is back in his room. He should lock the door. Crazy fans, the risk of stalkers, and all that. But if he locks the door then he would have to answer it when she comes. He would have to choose whether or not to let her in. That would be a decision.
If he forgets to lock his door. If she decides to walk in on her own accord. If she comes over to him when he’s laying on his covers, exhausted from a day of filming, with his eyes closed. Asleep, almost. And if she presses her lips to his jaw and then palms his cock over his pants. Even if he grunts, even if he presses his hips up a little.
That wouldn’t make him a bad guy, right?
“Zuko,” she whispers, into the bend of his ear. “I really like you.”
Why? What has he ever done to deserve this? What, except for picking up her dinner, holding her while she cried, the kindesses he showed her during those first, terrible days on set, did he do to deserve this intensity of torture? He never meant for this to happen. He just wanted to be a good guy. He was good to everyone.
“You’re seventeen, Katara. I’m twenty-two,” he begs her to see reason. His words don’t even seem to phase her. He stares at the innocent look on her face as she climbs on top of him, sitting with her knees spread on his crotch.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” She stares right into his soul, and he pushes his knuckles into his eye sockets to get the wicked insanity of her out of his view.
She grinds herself down onto him, whimpering when the tab of his zipper catches on the spot between her legs that he pretends not to dream about.
She bends down, kissing his unresponsive lips again. Pulling his hands away from his face. She presses her whole body on his, the peaks of her chest rubbing into him through the thin fabric of her tank top and his t-shirt. The warmth of her tongue swiping into his mouth.
She intertwines their fingers as she moves harder, faster onto him. He knows the exact moment she’s pushed over the edge, when her breathing comes in light, quick pants, and she shoves her face into the hollow of his neck to cry out.
He moves only then, letting go of her hands to gently grab her hips as she twitches, just to make sure she doesn’t accidentally fall.
Once she’s caught her breath, she rolls off him and onto the other side of his bed. From the corner of his eye, he sees her staring up at the ceiling. If he could turn onto his side, he could look directly at her. He might be able to tell if she’s angry or hurt. He wishes he could cradle her in his arms. That’s what he would do if she was older.
He would never let her get on top, unless she wanted it. He’d have her on her back, his face buried in her thighs. He’d worship every centimeter of skin that she’d allow him. He’d roll both her nipples between his fingers, suckle them, so she knew how utterly perfect her body was. He’d make sure she was satisfied, the right way, multiple times. He’d make sure she was cleaned up before putting her clothes back on her. He’d kiss her open mouthed, with her cheeks in his palms.
“Would it kill you to be nice to me?” She turns toward him instead. Again, she reaches out to intertwine her fingers with his right hand. The hand that he’ll be using to jerk himself off to the thought of her later.
“I think you’re pretty, Katara.”
-
Next month is her birthday. Actually, twenty-three days until her birthday. She’s a Taurus. He didn’t look it up or anything. It’s just that she went around a few weeks ago and asked everyone for their birthdate and time and location and started telling all their co-stars what the constellations say about them. He’s a Leo. Apparently, he’s dramatic and likes attention, but that’s okay because he’s very compatible with someone like her, who’s stable and loyal.
She batted her eyes as she told him. He told her that he doesn’t believe in astrology. She said that’s exactly what someone with a Capricorn rising would say.
He’s looking for a gift. So is Aang. At first, they were all going to get her a joint gift, but then Aang said he wanted to get Katara something really special so he split from him and Sokka and Suki and Azula’s present, which is going to be a little bag from an upscale brand that she’s been lusting over. It was the girls’ idea, and he’s just chipping in part of the cost.
But the other day he saw Aang come back with a little blue bag from Tiffany’s, and now he’s irrationally pissed. Does she have something going on with Aang, too? Technically, they have a smaller age difference than he does with her. Technically. Does it matter if they’re both under eighteen?
Does it matter when she’ll be turning eighteen in twenty-three days?
Does Aang like her? Yes. Obviously. But does she like Aang? Does she do with Aang what she does to him? That little kid with the eyebrows?
He swings his fists into Aang’s face, and the director yells at him to leave some room for the CGI fire.
“Wow, great work today, buddy,” the kid smiles up at him, so stupidly oblivious. “I was actually scared up there. You looked like you really hated me.”
Zuko forces a smile. “Yeah. I was really in the zone.”
-
The problem is that Katara doesn’t like many things. She’s into crystals and tarot cards, but she has a million of those already. Everyone else is already getting her that bag. If he bought her jewelry, wouldn’t that give off the wrong impression?
What would she think, if he presented her with a stupid fucking heart shaped locket necklace like Aang? It’s not like that between them. He’s not trying to profess his love or something. He just wants her to know that he sees her. That this place is better because she’s here.
It was bad at first. Multiple changes to the cast and crew. The ever rotating door of producers and executives stepping in or stepping down from their roles. The changes to the script. The disagreements on their characters’ romantic relationship.
Once, she was almost cut from the cast. Well, they were all almost cut. This whole thing nearly didn’t happen so many times that it feels like a small miracle that they finished filming the first season at all.
He found her when she was on the brink of a panic attack hiding in the far corner of the dressing room. He watched her flee from an explosive argument on set. He followed her because it seemed like no one else had even noticed.
She was taking deep breaths with tears in her eyes. Her hands shook as she pulled out her headphones, fumbling and unable to slot the silver metal into her phone jack. Her phone and the white wires crashing onto the floor.
He crouched down to pick it up for her. He tried to hand it back, but she jumped when their fingers touched, nearly dropping it again. He untangled the wire in her hands. Plugged it into her phone. Pushed the little triangular play button to start her music for her.
She stared up at him, wide eyed. “Sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled him down to sit on the floor and held an earbud out to him. Their shoulders had to press together for them to both listen at the same time.
Soft folk rock music sounded in his ear. It wasn’t his usual genre, but it was easy and soothing in a way.
“Lovers in the Cave,” she said.
“What?”
“They’re my favorite band. None of my friends like them, though.”
“I like them.”
She smiled at him, and that was the first time he had to look away from her.
He started watching out for her more after that, afraid of what might’ve happened if he hadn’t followed her. Maybe nothing. Maybe she would have picked up her headphones by herself and listened until she calmed down. Until she was ready to come back. But maybe not.
That other maybe kept him mentally and physically aware of her at nearly all times.
The fact of her turning eighteen doesn’t change anything between them. She’ll be older, but so will he. The rate of their aging is the same. Zuko knows this.
But age is a strange concept around people you spend nearly every waking moment with for months at a time. It’s not as distinct as it seems when you’re in school and every person is branded by their grade level. It’s like, when you hang out with a younger cousin without an external construct, and even though you’re different ages, you’re both on equal footing. Not that Katara is like his cousin. They’re close like family, sure, but… Well. Nevermind the cousin thing. It’s just different with her.
He’s comfortable around her. She’s intense in a lot of ways, which he likes because it feels nice to see her smile. Her smile is pretty. Her hair smells nice. But it’s not just that. She’s really smart, too. She memorizes lines so fast. She always seems to know how everyone else is feeling. How he’s feeling. It’s easy for her to get a laugh out of him. When she’s not trying to torment him, of course. Which seems to be all the time nowadays, but that just proves his point. She can get a rise out of him as easily as she can break him down, and that scares him in a way he’s never felt before.
He’s not saying he likes her. What he’s trying to say is that there are a lot of reasons why he needs to get her a good birthday gift that have nothing to do with making sure she doesn’t fall for Aang’s childish crush on her.
-
She decides to get dinner with everyone the night before her birthday because the actual date lands on a Monday when they have a shoot scheduled. It’s a nice place, and they’re all dressed up. She has a fake ID, and Zuko doesn’t doubt that the restaurant staff will turn a blind eye if she orders a glass of wine or two.
Everyone is fawning over her. She looks… Zuko has been avoiding looking at her directly. On set, they usually put her in blue. Those are her tribe colors. And she wears that color the most often for PR. Even her prom dress, not that Zuko’s the type to pay attention to what color someone wears, was blue.
But tonight, it’s impossible not to notice. She’s in a deep red silk dress that hugs her in ways just outright indecent for public consumption. The top half is a corset that pushes up her chest, and the skirt flows down to just the tops of her thighs. He can’t tell whether he’s hoping she’ll bend over or not. Her heels are thin and pointed, and he’s afraid she might trip over the waxy tile of the restaurant as the group is led to their private table.
It’s one long rectangle, and everyone files in. She sits in a middle seat with Azula and Suki on either side of her, Ty Lee sitting next to Azula. On the opposite side, it’s Sokka, then Aang, then him. He’s seated directly across from her. Mai sits on his right hand side.
He’s pretty sure she invited Jet tonight, too, but it’s just like that bastard not to show up. Zuko knows there was something going on between them, but he doesn’t know what, and he shouldn’t care anyway. It’s just, Jet is even older than him.
Maybe that’s her type. Guys who are too old for her. Maybe she’s doing all of this because it gives her some sort of thrill despite how his head’s spinning. She must know what she’s doing tonight, in that dress, with her wavy hair down her back, and how she’s trying to meet his gaze.
The waiter brings out the menus, and everyone chats as they’re figuring out what to order. Mai asks him what he’s thinking of getting, and he tells her the first thing that catches his eye. She tells him what she’s interested in, and then they’re having a conversation about her vegetarianism and how hard it is to find restaurants with good options and what was your day like today? and are you excited for the shoot tomorrow?
The waiter walks in, and for a second, Zuko looks up directly. Katara’s eyes are flickering between him and Mai before settling on him, and her expression is… distraught? He doesn’t understand. He tries to ask her, silently with his eyes, but then the waiter gestures to her and asks what she would like tonight, and her face clicks into a perfect PR smile.
Everyone orders, and Sokka and Azula both get a glass of wine, since they’re old enough, but surprisingly, Katara tries no such thing.
The entire meal, Aang is fidgeting in his seat, which is irritating Zuko. It seems like he’s fumbling with something in the pocket of his jacket, no doubt the gift he bought for Katara. Zuko wants to tell the kid to just calm the fuck down, the same words he desperately needs to hear, because Zuko is silently having his own internal crisis.
Zuko’s present to Katara is folded up in an envelope, burning a hole in his back pocket. He’s nervous that she won’t like it. It’s not something material or expensive or outright impressive. He even wonders if it might be presumptuous.
The meal comes and goes, and then the cake is brought out with eighteen sparkling candles all lighting up the space between them and reflecting from the dark of her eyes.
He pulls out his phone, like everyone is, as they sing happy birthday to her, and he snaps a photo of her the exact moment she looks over at him. Her expression in it, coy and sweet and shy at the same time, is so entrancing that his mouth slings open. His voice drops out of the song early as his mind empties out to nothing except for her. Her, in that dress, with her hair framing her face, and the nervous, hopeful look of someone becoming an adult for the first time.
Then, she’s blowing out her candles. Everyone’s clapping and cheering. The waiter takes the cake away to cut it in slices. Suki acts as the group representative and pulls out the box with her present in it from everyone.
She screams when she pulls out the bag inside, jumping up and down with joy. She’s saying how it’s exactly what she wanted, she loves it, and it was so expensive, and they spoiled her so much, and oh my god, thank you, thank you, thank you.
There are other, smaller items in the big present box. Scrunchies from Suki. A nail polish from Azula. Her favorite spicy chips from Sokka. Something from each of them, except from Aang and Zuko. When she reaches the end of the gifts, her smile wavers just slightly, before Aang is standing and pulling out the Tiffany box from his jacket.
She gasps as she sees what’s inside. A diamond encrusted heart on a silver chain necklace. The type of gift only the star of the show could afford.
This is so pretty, she says with her mouth turned down in a pout, and Thank you so much, Aang. She goes around to his side of the table and gives Aang a long, swaying hug, and the kid has the stupidest, dopiest expression that Zuko has ever seen. He has never felt worse.
Everyone sits back down, and the cake is served. The night is nearly over, but he can’t get himself to pull the envelope out in front of all these people. He’s missed his chance. He should have gone before Aang, so that his nominal gift wouldn’t have needed to follow something so extravagant.
The rest of the night, she doesn’t look up at him again once.
-
Zuko’s in his hotel room, kicking off his shoes, pulling off his tie, unbuttoning his dress shirt. He hates himself. For getting her a stupid gift or for not having the courage to give it to her, he can’t tell which. This whole thing has gone too far and for too long. He can’t keep pulling his sanity apart trying to make sense of her when it’s clear that she’s happy enough letting Aang pursue her.
He needs to put an end to this. He never should have let it begin at all. He should have clarified the boundaries between them the first night she came into his room.
He could make excuses. He could say that he was worried for her at first, that he just wanted to make sure she was safe, emotionally and physically, and that he wanted to be that space for her. He could say that she became progressively more intimate with him over time, so slowly that he didn’t know how their friendly grazes turned into the sticky, heated groping happening between them now. He could say that he never expected this to happen, and that it’s all caught him so off guard that even months later, he’s still having trouble wrapping his head around it.
He could make those excuses, but he knows he only has his own moral failings to blame.
He decides that tonight, it’s over. She won’t be coming into his room late into the night for any reason. He won’t let her blur the lines of their relationship. They’re friends, as two people their age only ever should be.
He walks over to his door, shirt undone and emotionally wrought, with every intention of turning the lock to the side and making sure she understands that she can’t just waltz in and strike mayhem in his life whenever she pleases. He’s making this decision for himself, too, so he knows where he stands in all of this.
His fingers are on the handle when she bursts through, the angle of the door hitting him in the chest and wisps of her hair swishing by his face as she pushes past him.
“Zuko,” she shouts, standing in front of the empty bed, not even realizing that she passed right by him. The door clicks shut, and he takes a few tentative steps toward her. What can he say? What is he supposed to do in this situation? The universe is laughing in his face.
He stares at her without speaking as she holds her arms around herself, looking as small and vulnerable as ever. Her makeup is smudged beneath her red rimmed eyes, streaked down her cheeks. Her hair is wild, like a storm around her head. One of the straps of her red dress has slipped down her shoulder. He notices for the first time that she’s completely barefoot.
“Katara…” he starts, but doesn’t know how to proceed. Her lower lip wobbles as she turns to stare at him.
“Do you like her?” she demands, hurt painted across her features.
“What are you talking about?”
“Mai. It’s obvious. You were flirting with her all night. Right in front of me. On my birthday. You know she likes you! You knew, and you… you rubbed it in my face.” Her eyebrows scrunch together and real, wet tears slide down her cheeks, following the dark streaks that she came in with.
Zuko almost reaches out to her but thinks better of it. “Katara, I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”
“I hate you. I hope you know that. I hate you so much. You don’t care about me at all. About anything that happens between us. I’m clearly a joke to you!”
“Katara, that’s—“
“You couldn’t even get me a birthday present. It could’ve been anything, anything at all, and you got me nothing. Is that what I am to you? Is that how little you think of me?” She’s gulping in big breaths of air. Her shoulders are shaking. She swipes away the tears from her cheeks. “I know I’m young. I know I’m just an inconvenience to you, okay? So just… just forget it.”
She shakes her head, muttering something underneath her breath that sounds a lot like God, I’m such a fucking idiot, as she tries to make a run for it out of his room.
But Zuko’s still standing by the door, and he grabs her by the arm before she can make her exit.
“Katara, stop for one second.” He tries to catch her eyes, but she’s still blinking away tears, hiccupping through her quiet breaths. “First of all, I don’t like Mai. I definitely wasn’t flirting with her.”
She scoffs, trying to pull herself away from him, but he doesn’t release his grip. He has no idea where she would even get that idea. He’s had maybe three conversations with Mai since they started filming this season, and two of those had to do with their disastrous flirting scene.
During the dinner, he was mostly just responding to her questions to get his attention away from Katara. He had his eyes trained on Mai so they wouldn’t stay deadlocked in front of him.
“There’s nothing going on between me and Mai,” Zuko repeats.
Katara doesn’t look convinced.
“And I did get you a birthday present. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you. But Aang stole all the thunder and… I don’t fucking know.” He reaches into his back pocket to pull out the envelope and holds it in front of her. Her face softens then, and she grabs it, opening the unsealed flap easily.
“Don’t get too excited. They’re tickets. Lovers in the Cave is going on tour, and they’re stopping by at a city near where we’re shooting next month. We’ll have to—I mean, whoever you decide to go with—“
She cuts him off by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. Surprised, he freezes, stuck in a moment of indecision. But then his resolve shatters. There’s no scenario in which hurting her any more than he already has is an option for him.
So he’s kissing her back, nipping at her bottom lip, wrapping his arms around her waist, gripping the flesh of her hips the same way he was her arm.
Her hands find their way to his jaw, feathering down his neck to rest on his bare chest. The touch of her fingers on his skin is searing. She grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him down to deepen their kiss even more.
They stand like that, for how many minutes he doesn’t know, kissing each other, exonerating every raw emotion through a battle of tongue and teeth, the lines of their bodies melting into one. He can feel how her chest lifts with every breath she affords herself, her hips pressing into his. He knows she can feel how hard he is for her through his slacks. She must understand how much he wants her.
He lets his hands travel down to her ass, catching the fabric of her underwear beneath her too short dress, holding her to him ever more tightly. They kiss some more like that. They kiss until she’s somehow pinned to the wall and her legs are wrapped around his waist.
She’s the first to pull away because Zuko can’t be trusted to do what’s right.
She looks so small and so shy as she fidgets with the point of his collar that it wrecks him. She makes it even worse when she sucks her swollen bottom lip into her mouth, preparing herself to speak. “Tell me that you like me. I want to hear you say the words.”
Zuko sighs, pressing his lips to her brow bone. No, he doesn’t like her. What he feels for her is more than that trivial word. What happens to him when she’s near has nothing to do with liking.
Zuko likes sour candy and shirts that are slightly baggy. Liking something infers a type of enjoyment. He doesn’t enjoy whatever it is that takes over him when he sees her sad or hurt or scared or vulnerable. He doesn’t enjoy the idea that he can be so taken by someone he has no right to claim.
“You’re too young for me,” he says, even as his hands are still full of her ass. He knows he’s a piece of shit.
“No, I’m not. I’m eighteen now. I get to say whether or not I’m too young for you.” Katara’s staring at his lips again, eyes full of want, and he knows he’s not strong enough to deny her any pleasure.
He glances over at the clock. “You’re not eighteen yet. You have thirty-two more minutes.”
She shrugs a little bit. “What are you gonna do in thirty-two minutes that you can’t do to me now?”
“I can think of a few things.”
-
Zuko has her held down to the mattress and is sucking on the skin at the crook of her neck. Katara is whimpering, clawing at his exposed back, lifting her hips up into his.
Despite all her desperate squirming, he won’t let her take off her dress. Not for another twenty-six minutes at least. He needs this distinction for himself, for the voice in his head that condemns all his most basic urges.
Forty-five minutes ago, he thought he was prepared to lock the door on her. He thought, without any outstanding evidence, that he could somehow resist whatever magnetism that she’s had on him since the moment they met. He was wrong, obviously. He didn’t get the chance to even try.
The truth is that he can’t pretend to fight this anymore. Trying to resist Katara has been like standing at the edge of a cliff and willing lightning to strike. He’s just not capable of it. Wanting to be a good guy and actually being a good guy when the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on is laying underneath him, debouched and begging to be fucked are two unfortunately separate things.
“Zuko, please,” she pants, as his hand rests on the inside of her thigh, his thumb at the edge of the gusset of her underwear.
“What do you want, Katara?” he breathes into her ear, making her shiver beneath his weight.
“I want you inside of me,” she begs, her hands tugging at the waistband of his pants.
“Has anyone ever been inside of you before?” Zuko skims his fingers over the warm, damp fabric between her legs.
Her face flushes at the question. She shakes her head in a No.
Zuko lets out a soft fuck, replacing his hands to cup her her face, leaning his forehead on hers. This makes it so much worse, knowing that he might get to be the first to feel her in this way. A terrible, possessive thought crosses his mind before he can tamp it down: he wants to be the only person who ever gets to have her like this.
“Katara, how far do you want me to go tonight?”
“I want you to take my virginity,” she whispers against his mouth before pressing a soft kiss to him. “Tonight.”
“Maybe we should take this slower. We’ve never even…” He’s never even gotten the chance to make her come on his own accord. He’s never eaten her out. Aren’t there supposed to be levels to this?
“It’s my birthday,” she says, suddenly whiny. “This is what I want for my birthday.”
“I already got you a birthday present.”
“I want another.”
He has a hard time arguing with that. He kisses her again. And again. And again. He kisses her nose. Her cheeks. Her eyelids. Her jaw. He kisses her until she’s smiling, squirming with her giggles.
Sixteen minutes until midnight.
“What if we didn’t have sex tonight but I eat you out and make you cum on my fingers instead?”
She takes in a squeaky gasp. He can tell that she’s conflicted. That she wants what he’s offering her, too, but it’s not enough.
Zuko doesn’t have the luxury of just taking whatever it is he wants. He has to bargain for his own decency. He can see the headline now, Zuko, star of Avatar: The Last Airbender, takes co-star’s virginity the night she turns eighteen.
“I’ll make it good for you.” He scrapes his teeth against her neck and moves his hand to squeeze her side. Katara lets out a shaky breath, lifting herself to him again and letting her eyes roll closed.
He hooks an arm under her knee to pull it up and away, exposing her. Her breath is hot and heavy as he runs his thumb down the center of her underwear, watching for the spot where she gasps and jerks.
“Zuko,” she begs again, her face twisted in something like agony. “Please. Anything. Do anything to me.”
Twelve minutes. He figures it’s close enough. If he just pushes her panties to the side without taking them off, she still counts as clothed, right?
It’s a stupid mistake. The moment he feels how wet she is, every shameful thought crumples in his head. He should tease her more. He should make her cum with her clit first. He doesn’t. He pushes two fingers into her, immediately to the second knuckle, and she cries out. She’s tight, but she’s also soft and warm, and if just the feeling of her around his fingers can make him nearly black out, he can’t imagine what it’ll be like when he’s actually inside her.
“Does it hurt?” He brushes away the stray hairs from her cheek and forehead, scanning her face for discomfort.
“No,” she pants, but he worries over the lines between her brows.
“Tell me the truth.” He presses his fingers up into her spongy flesh, and her mouth gapes open.
“It’s—oh my god—Full. Good. Zuko.” She pushes her hips into his hand, his two fingers sliding even deeper into her.
He starts pumping, listening to every sound she makes, trying to determine whether what she’s feeling is pain or pleasure, but it’s hard to tell when she’s moving so much, driving herself down into him as much as he is into her. The motion causes her dress to slip down her chest, exposing the brown of her nipples.
He puts one in his mouth without hesitation. Her puckered skin tastes perfect. She’s perfect. He’s losing what little control he had. He can’t remember why he was trying so hard to stop himself from giving her exactly what she wanted. Just touching her. That’s enough to nearly send him over the edge.
With a few more flicks of his tongue and his thumb pressing into her clit as his fingers curve upward, she shatters. She screams, gripping his arm with both her hands so that the half moons of her nails dig into his bicep, knees clamping together.
Her eyes are still closed, but he can’t help staring at her face. She’s so beautiful. Even panting with her makeup smudged. Just allowing himself to openly look at her feels like a revelation.
He presses a kiss to her collarbone as she calms down from her high. He gives her an open mouthed kiss, his tongue trailing across her bottom lip. When she finally opens her eyes, he pulls his fingers out of her, making her whimper at the loss of contact.
He glances over to the clock. It’s two minutes past midnight. She’s staring up at him with that same open, vulnerable expression, and something cracks inside him.
“I have feelings for you, Katara.”
Her face breaks into a slow, happy grin. “You like me?”
He feels his own mouth quirk up. “Something like that.”
She pulls him down toward her and then they’re kissing again. He’s shifting his legs between hers. He wonders idly how different her mouth tastes compared to between her legs, but realizes that he doesn’t need to wonder. He pulls away from her for a second to press his still sticky fingers against his tongue. Her mouth is sweet, but her slick is savory.
Katara gasps and tries to pull his arm away. “Don’t do that!”
“Why not?”
Her face flushes even more. “It’s gross,” she murmurs, staring at his shiny fingers coated in his spit mixed with her cum.
“Nothing about you is gross to me.”
She frowns for the first time since he resolved to stop punishing them both. “Don’t say things like that, either.”
“It’s true.”
Katara shakes her head. “I don’t want to like you more than I already do.”
His eyes trace the curve of her pink lips, remembering how soft they felt against his. He can’t wait to kiss her again. “I don’t think you need to worry about liking me too much.”
Whatever she feels couldn’t possibly compare to the enormity that sits inside him labeled with her every glance, touch, and sound. He delves in again, pressing his mouth against hers. He remembers that they have a shoot to wake up early for tomorrow morning, but the idea of makeup and cameras seems so distant from the world of them in this room.
“Zuko,” she pants against his nose. “How long have you liked me for?” She nips at her bottom lip and looks away from him like she’s nervous about his answer.
He checks the time. 12:13 AM. “Officially, for about thirteen minutes now.”
She pounds her fist against his chest and he laughs. She glares at him until he answers again. “I’ve liked you for a lot longer than I’ve been allowed to.”
Those words seem to settle her. She relaxes a bit into the bed, and it occurs to him that it’s late now, they still need their sleep, and Katara is still in her tight little dress that he knows can’t be comfortable for her. For the first time, Zuko is the one climbing off of her and not the other way around.
“Wait,” she says, catching his shirt sleeve, her voice panicky. “Is it over?”
Zuko lowers himself down next to her, gently, and wraps an arm around the tops of her shoulders. “No, it’s not. But it’s time for bed now. We still have tomorrow.”
She looks down at herself, like she’s realizing for the first time that her dress has become a ring around her midsection and is suddenly aware of where she is again.
“Are you kicking me out?” The look on her face is devastating. She seems so scared at this moment, and Zuko hates himself for it. Because it’s true, he usually does tell her to leave afterward.
“No. No, Katara. I’m not kicking you out. You can stay the night. It’s just late and—“
“I don’t care if it’s late. It’s my birthday.”
“It’ll still be your birthday tomorrow.” He tries to calm her by caressing the side of her face but she shakes his hand away, pouting.
“No. Tomorrow, you’ll be different. You always are in the morning.” She sits up in bed and looks at him like he’ll disappear at any moment. “I don’t want it to be over yet. I want it tonight.”
It’s his own fault really, why she’s reacting like this. It’s what he’s done to her with all the ways he’s tried to protect her. Or maybe he was only trying to protect himself. He’s never known what the right thing to do is and still doesn’t.
“Katara…” he sighs. He looks down at his own still hard dick straining against his pants. “I don’t even have a condom.” He’s trying to plead with her to understand, but she doesn’t care.
She’s getting up off the bed and reaching behind to unzip her dress. Zuko can’t do anything but watch.
In a few motions, the dress is a heap around her feet, and she steps out of it easily. She wasn’t wearing a bra. All she’s left in is her black lace thong and all the curves of her body. He knows the image of her is already burrowing into some deep recess of his brain and making a home there. He gulps because he’s fucked.
“I don’t care if you don’t have a condom. I’ll take Plan B tomorrow if you want to come inside me.” She pushes onto the edge of the bed and stalks her way over to him. Zuko’s heart is beating in his ears.
“K-Katara.” Zuko shakes his head. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”
She sits on her knees at his side. Zuko is turned toward her and trying very hard to keep his eyes trained on her face. “Do you want me?” she asks him, like it isn’t an impossible question.
When he doesn’t answer, she throws a leg over his waist and kneels over him on all fours. She grabs one of his hands to put on her ass, and then he’s squeezing on his own accord. Fuck he thinks, but it comes out as a mutter.
She moves to sit on his legs, and then her lithe fingers are at the zipper of his pants. She stares into his eyes as she asks again, “Do you want me, Zuko?”
She pops open the button and pulls apart the first teeth of the zipper when he grabs her hands. He sits himself up, so that they’re chest to chest. “I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret later. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if—.”
“The only thing I would regret is not getting to lose my virginity to you tonight.” Her eyes are so determined, so sure. “Zuko. Tell me. Do you want me?”
He rests his forehead against hers, breathing in her hot exhales. She’s better than him. She’s too good for him. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“No,” she whispers. “It isn’t.”
“I want you, Katara. I want you so bad.”
-
He has her on her back, her panties thrown off somewhere on the ground. His dick is red and angry and weeping against her pussy.
If he moved even a fraction of an inch forward, he’d be inside of her.
He holds her face in both his hands and stares down at her. She’s waiting, albeit impatiently, but she lies mostly still while he works up the nerve. He knows he’s teasing her, sliding up and down through her wet folds but not in.
“If I do this, we can’t go back,” he tells her, in case she’s changed her mind in the past few minutes since she’s wrangled his pants off.
“I know. That’s what I want.” She cants her hips up, and the tip slides in just slightly. Zuko groans, shaking with the exertion of his control. Fuck, she feels even better than she did on his fingers. He’s never known anything as warm and soft and tight before.
“What if it hurts you?” It’s her first time. What if she bleeds?
“I’m a big girl. I can take it.” She pushes her hips up even more, just about an inch, but he can feel the barrier inside her.
Suddenly, he’s wondering what will happen tomorrow. What she expects from him. How much she wants other people to know. If this somehow leaked…
“Zuko,“ she says, pulling him out of his own head. She puts her hands over his, and he can see her scanning his face like she’s reading his every private thought. “No one needs to know about this. This is just for me.”
She kisses him, sliding her hands through his hair and down his neck in a way that soothes him. When her lips and her tongue are on his, it feels right. His hands travel down her body, caressing her smooth skin. She shivers, spreading her legs even wider, and it’s only natural when he slides in all the way.
-
Distantly, he hears Katara gasp, but the pleasure is stupefying. If he was more cognizant of himself, he would stop to wait for her to adjust, but he pulls back and thrusts in again immediately, groaning at the feeling of her body wrapped around his.
He’s not gentle with her, not like how he should be, especially not for her first time. She cries breathless, pitched screams into his shoulder, and it never once occurs to him to ask her how it feels.
Something about her activates an animalistic part of him. How little she is, how his body so easily overtakes hers. The way her fingers dig into his back. Her whole body tensing and trembling every time he pounds into her.
He’s always wanted this, he thinks. The dark part of him that he tries to keep restrained. He wants her subdued. He likes how feisty she is partly for the pleasure of taming her.
And he’s fucking pissed at her. For everything she’s put him through these past few months. For the sex eyes she’s given him in the middle of the day. For all the teasing. For how she accepted Aang’s necklace. For wearing that skimpy little dress for everyone to look at. For taking so long to turn eighteen that it felt like his sanity was getting ripped into shreds.
He isn’t trying to punish her, but she would deserve it.
“Zuko,” she whimpers. “Wait.” She puts a hand on his chest, pushing at him gently.
She’s taking shallow, shaky breaths, and there are tears in her eyes, a few trailing down her cheeks.
Zuko, realizing what he’s done, is horrified. “Shit. Oh, fuck. Katara. Katara, I—“ He shakes his head. He has no words for himself. He moves to pull out, but she wraps her legs around his thighs to stop him.
“No, no, I’m okay. I just—“ She gulps, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand, obviously trying to calm herself down. “It’s just a lot. You’re just really…” she trails off, taking more breaths.
“Katara, I’m so sorry.” He ducks his head, kissing her jaw in a worthless attempt to comfort her. “I didn’t expect you to feel so good. I don’t know what happened to me. I’m so, so sorry.”
She squirms beneath him, making noises that he can’t understand, repositioning herself so that he’s angled inside of her differently. He holds himself still, frozen by his guilt and regret. Her first memory of them together will be in pain, and he hates himself for that.
“I’m ready,” she says, moving her hips experimentally. He bites his cheek to hold back a groan from how good even just that feels. She kisses his shoulder, looking up at him again.
“No, Katara. I—I can’t hurt you again.”
“You didn’t. I was just overwhelmed. I… I liked it.” She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down toward her so that he can’t see her face anymore and her hair tickles the side of his cheek. “Please, Zuko. I wanna make you cum.”
He doesn’t know how she keeps doing this. Saying a few words, batting her lashes, and yanking him around on a mental leash. The worst part is that, even annoyed and frustrated, he doesn’t think he really minds. Not when she’s pushing her hips into his again and sighing into his ear.
When he starts thrusting, he can feel her smile against him. He hears her say thank you between soft moans, and it’s enough to make him lose himself in her.
This time, she’s pliant underneath him. He asks her if it feels good and she’s crying yes and yes and yes and please please cum.
“Where do you want me to cum?” he asks when he knows he’s close. He’s been very close the whole time, but it’s urgent now, and he knows he won’t last much longer. Not with her begging him for it.
“Anywhere,” she says, and he knows she means it.
The dam inside him, the one that’s held back everything he’s fantasized about, everything he’s wanted from her, all his desire from the past year, finally comes crashing down. He comes half inside of her, then a bit onto her belly, spurting up onto her chest and face. A drop of him lands on her lower lip, and she sucks it into her mouth.
He falls to the bed next to her, panting, exhaustion flooding him all at once. His eyes are barely open when he grabs his boxers from the floor and cleans her off with them. He wraps her in his arms and falls asleep with her scent in his nose.
-
The next morning they’re startled awake by his alarm, and even though they’re already late as it is, he apologizes to her for not lasting longer with his tongue between her legs.
Somehow, everyone seems to already know or assume what happened. They’re not allowed to sit next to each other during the promo shoots.