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Katara’s breath catches.
Azula’s hoarse sigh resonates in the hollow of her ear.
Her nails dig deeply into the firebender’s burning back. She feels a little guilty leaving marks. She’ll tend to them later… like all the others, on her shoulders, her hips, the small of her back.
For now, she can think of nothing else but Azula’s fingers arching inside her, the thumb pressing gently on her clit. The shivers that run through her, her mind on pause, her toes curling, the sheets tangling beneath them.
Rain lashes against the windows, and she hears footsteps in the inn’s hallway.
Katara catches her breath. A moan escapes her lips. Her arms tighten around Azula’s neck. Her body trembles, slick with sweat; she clings to her again and again, until she no longer knows where she ends and Azula begins. Their bare chests press together, their stomachs brushing, Azula’s lips pressed against her neck, her burning arm coiled like a serpent around Katara’s waist, almost suffocating her.
Azula’s heat catches her skin, burns her, and she lets it happen. She doesn’t mind the pain. She will keep the mark. She won’t heal it. When Azula is gone, Katara will still have proof that she was there, that she had been with her, that they had fucked.
Then there’s a knock at the door. They freeze. It’s the housekeeper, asking if she can come in to clean.
“L-later,” Azula replies in a hoarse, trembling, almost annoyed voice.
Katara’s mind is too empty to respond. She lifts her hands to Azula’s loose, damp hair and gently tugs. Azula hums in pleasure.
They kiss hard, grinning between breaths. Hands roam, nails scrape, teasing turns sharp—sighs break into moans.
Again, and again, and again…
Then Katara loses track of everything; Azula has rolled her onto the mattress. Nails scratching her ass, teeth sinking into her sweaty shoulder. And then, she feels her even deeper, her face pressed into the fabric, hands clenched in the sheets. Azula keeps whispering, breathless into her ear:
“You’re divine… a fucking waking dream… you feel so fucking good Katara.”
Katara comes again, her cry half-muffled, her hips searching for more contact. Her body would never want to separate from Azula’s burning one.
(Even if it hurts
and Tui and La,
it hurts so fucking much.)
She wishes it could last forever. She also wants to touch Azula, make her feel the same… but Azula doesn’t like being touched. Despite everything, she doesn’t fully trust her.
It breaks Katara a little more each time. But that’s how it’s been for weeks. It just is.
Then it softens. They lie together. Rain still falls outside. Katara’s thumbs trace Azula’s perfect cheekbones, and Azula’s fingers slide gently over her hips.
Everything is so tender, so intimate, it overwhelms her.
“I love you,”she says.
Warm fingers freeze suddenly. Katara’s heart tightens. Fuck. Azula looks at her, moistens her lips, and turns away. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. When Azula moves away, Katara is cold, uncomfortable.
“Azula,” Katara sighs, watching her put her clothes back on.
Azula tugs on her pants without looking, pulls on her t-shirt with a brisk gesture.
“Azula,” Katara whispers, voice breaking. “I’m sorry… I…”
Azula freezes. “Stop talking.”
Katara stops. She watches Azula rake a hand through her hair, eyes heavy, body worn down. So tired.
“You know I can’t.”
“I… I know,” Katara breathes, biting the inside of her cheek until it hurts. “Just… forget I said anything.”
Azula exhales slowly, turns to look at her. And it hurts. Fuck, it hurts like fire in her chest—the way Azula is looking at her, like she’s already gone, like she’s saying goodbye before she even leaves.
Katara can’t hate her for it. Azula had warned her: she could give no more than the warmth of her body.
And Katara… she loves too fast, too hard, every single time, like a storm that never stops.
“Maybe we should stop this,” Azula says finally.
No. No. No!
Katara wants to scream no—wants to grab her, pull her back—but deep down she knows. She knows Azula is right. She will never be enough. Azula will never love her.
“Maybe,” Katara whispers, voice hollow.
Azula looks away. Katara’s chest breaks in two.
Azula leaves. The door clicks shut.
Katara is alone. Her hands clutch the sheets like they can hold her together. Tears streak down her face, hot and slow. The room is silent, except for the rain drumming against the window… and the soft wetness of her tears on the sheets.