Katara lays back in the bed chosen for her by Zuko's servants. It's been years since she came to visit the Fire Nation – the last time was right after the war, when Zuko was inducted as the new Fire Lord. It's strange to think about, how young they were the last time they saw each other. Even now, after being in the Fire Nation for several hours, Katara has yet to see him. Urgent business, the servant girl told her. Katara had to hold back a glare at the girl's words. It wasn't her she was angry with. It was Zuko for inviting her and not even being there when she arrived.
Katara turns over and shoves her face in the fluffy white pillow supplied for her. The bed is too soft, too cool. She isn't used to silk. It sticks to her soft, dark skin in strange ways. She misses fur, but can understand why they don't employ it in the Fire Nation. She smiles into the pillow, hardly able to imagine standing the feel of fur against her skin in the heat. She hopes for Zuko's sake that it's only so hot because it's the middle of summer.
There is a knock on Katara's bedroom door. She rolls over and rushes to unlock the door.
All of the air whooshes out of her when she sees him standing in her doorway.
Zuko… Fire Lord Zuko… he's certainly grown up.
He towers over her. His pale face is turned down toward her, a small smile in his golden eyes. His full lips are curved just the tiniest bit upward on the side that holds his scar. His shoulders are broader than she remembers; he is broader than she remembers. Larger. Stronger. Katara stares at him, suddenly self-conscious of any feathers that may have gathered in her hair from her cuddling with the pillow. Her thoughts are wiped blank when he speaks.
"Hello, Katara," he says, and his voice, oh spirits, that voice.
He certainly didn't sound like that four years ago. She wants to taste that voice on her tongue. Husky and low, she thinks, it would taste rough on her tongue, maybe even scrape a little. She imagines herself scraping her teeth on those broad shoulders of his.
"Zuko," Katara says with unbidden enthusiasm. He may be beautiful, but he is still one of her oldest friends. Her arms are around his neck before she can question the gesture, and he chuckles into her throat.
She steps back, his smoky scent now embedded in her brain. "Well, how are you?" she exclaims. "Come in, tell me about everything I've missed," Katara says, leading Zuko into her bedroom with a tug on his hand.
Zuko's face grows red. He places a hand in his hair, down to the middle of his back now. "Actually, I should probably not come in. There are eyes everywhere, here. We wouldn't want them to think… you know," Zuko says.
"Oh! Spirits, are you with someone?" Katara blurts. Something about him makes her feel like a foolish fourteen year old all over again. Real smooth, Katara.
"No, no, it's not that. It's just, Fire Lord and all. Wouldn't want to give the press anything to print," Zuko says, his joking manner surprising her.
"Can we go for a walk?" Katara asks. She places her hands on the curve of her hips, and watches his golden eyes follow the movement. At her words, his eyes meet hers, and she feels a pull in her chest. That jaw line, those cheek bones… they feel so familiar, but so new, too, under Katara's gaze.
"Certainly," Zuko says curtly. He leads the way down the dark hallway, lighting the way with small bits of fire as they walk. He does this more for her benefit than his own, having memorized the maze of hallways in his youth.
In his mother's garden, Zuko and Katara discuss business. He tells of how he has shifted the education program to reflect the new values of the Fire Nation. She tells him about her healing practice. She travels and works to heal a variety of ailments, she says, but does so disguised. She is afraid of being taken advantage of, she says. Zuko asks Katara about her lack of her own betrothal necklace.
"No one came along," Katara says quietly. "So I wear my mother's."
"You do not pursue anyone?" Zuko asks. His words are quiet, and his voice soothes her. He eyes her carefully, and Katara tries to imagine herself as he sees her – eighteen years old, built more like a woman than the girl he remembers, her face bare of makeup and baring several freckles from time spent traveling.
"I'm not sure I would say that," Katara says, her voice low. The air seems still around them. Katara feels that she would shock the silence if she speaks too loudly.
"So you pursue someone?" Zuko says, and Katara stops walking.
"I'm not sure I would say that, either," Katara says. Zuko continues walking until he reaches a small stone bench beneath a blossoming tree. He gestures that she sit, and when she does, he tilts his head and leans in toward him. Katara gasps. His hand comes to rest against her cheek, his thumb resting at the base of her chin.
"You have a scar," he says, his voice soft. His words wash over her, causing her to shvier.
"I got in a fight," Katara says. Zuko's eyebrow raises comically, but his hand on her face makes it impossible for her to consider laughter.
"What?" he says.
"After a healing. Some jerk tried to steal my bag," Katara says, moving closer to him. She moves slowly, centimeter by centimeter, terrified to frighten him away. He has never been so intimate with her.
Zuko's hand brushes over her scar, a jagged shape of light skin. "He cut you?"
"It was just a small dagger," Katara says.
"You could have healed yourself," Zuko says, pointing out the obvious, and Katara smiles. The motion brings her bottom lip closer to his thumb. He feels her breath on his finger and represses a tremor.
"I didn't want to waste my energy on myself," Katara says. "Besides, I'm proud of my scar," she says.
"But it's…" Zuko pauses, looking for the right word. His golden eyes look lost. "It's an imperfection," Zuko says indignantly, looking more like a Fire Lord than ever.
"There is nothing wrong with imperfection," Katara says. A beat passes before Katara gathers enough courage to raise a tentative hand to his face. Her palm rests against the rough skin of his scar, and Zuko leans into her warmth.
Katara and Zuko take a moment to breathe deeply, inhaling and exhaling in a breathy sync. They can both feel what is about to happen.
All at once Katara pulls Zuko's face to hers. Zuko leans forward the rest of the way, and his lips come to rest on hers. A slow buzzing sensation exchanges between the pair, the energy pushing and pulling as their lips move together in careful, planned movements. Hesitant, Katara's tongue peeks out from between her lips and slides along Zuko's bottom lip. He gasps, and everything speeds up.
Zuko's mouth opens to her, and Katara moans at the sensation of his tongue against hers. He grips her thighs, and she reaches a hand behind his ear and tangles her hand in his hair. Her fingers massage his scalp and Zuko slides his hands beneath her thighs and tugs her forward. Katara presses her mouth harder against his as her center comes to meet his roughly. Zuko grinds up against her and Katara lets out a breathy sigh. Her legs wrap around his waist, holding him for firmly against him, and she begins to roll her hips against him. Zuko lowers his face to her neck and cusses against the damp skin. Placing kisses along her shoulder, Zuko raises a hand and palms her breast gently. Katara's head falls back, and her back arches, pressing her closer to him.
The sunset disappears as darkness falls, shrouding the pair effectively. In the garden, Katara discovers that licking the shell of Zuko's ear makes him moan so loudly she has to clasp a hand over his full lips, and Zuko leans that gripping Katara's waist and sliding his thumbs across the skin of her stomach makes her move more crudely against him. In the garden, Katara gives in and moves Zuko's hand under and up her shirt so he can grasp her more firmly, and she realizes that nothing feels better than his mouth against her breast….
… until they move out of the garden.