She took a breath, a hard breath, and realized it was more of a gasp, anyway. And, oh, she did it again and her eyes, her oh-so-dark eyes, gleamed up at him from behind long eyelashes, whose shadows hung over her cheeks, fawning out and painting intricate lines in some sort of ink, an ink made of velvet skies and blood, caressing those faint freckles on her dusky skin.
His gaze went lower, slowly, slower than she would have thought it possible, because to him, they had all the time in the world, and she frowned slightly at that thought, in what he could guess was frustration. Anger. Impatience.
She wasn't sure having all the time in the world felt quite like this – like each passing moment made her lungs weaker, her body more and more unstable and her mind almost as clear as a foggy morning.
He watched her, her face, searching it for something unknown. He watched her dainty features, the graceful arch of her eyebrows, the frown on her forehead, the slight way her nostrils flared as she inhaled. Then, there was that look in her eyes, the dead-set look whose meaning he couldn't quite figure out. She had nothing to hide, her soul stood naked before him and it was strange and intriguing and he felt as if his windpipe was crushed because of the sheer, brute strength of her.
And yet, he looked all the same, marveling over her face, over her the freckles that painted her skin and the eerie glow the firelight gave her, shadows embracing the light on her cheekbones, the warm tones contrasting ever-so-strongly with her frozen eyes, ice which seemed to melt under his golden gaze. And she didn't flinch as the fire engulfed her, no, neither of them had moved for quite a while, as it felt impossible to back down.
It was impossible when she stared at him like that, her eyes holding a fire inside, a sort of heat he wasn't used to, but couldn't wait to get more of, to get burned, because no fire burned quite like the inferno of her soul. At that moment, she was the most beautiful woman, thing, person he'd ever laid eyes upon; each and every other wonder of the world paling and withering in comparison to her.
Katara knew him, she knew him well and knew what was to follow now, she could see it in the way his eyes burned and tasted every inch of her skin, making her want to melt and disappear into his warm soul, so that she would always feel him near.
But he was near her, so goddamn near, and he wouldn't lay a finger on her. The very thought of skin against skin made her tremble in a way that was so lovely and yet so painful and she didn't know whether to hate or to love it. She could feel the heat coming from his very bones, and it was as if the searing heat of that summer night wasn't enough. And it wasn't, she decided, as she gasped for the air she couldn't hold in her lungs for a long while, apparently. She couldn't breathe and it was his fault.
Attempting another inhale, she felt his fingers, his oh-so-warm fingers on her hips and that ought to have been support, but it wasn't, no, it was torture, because instead of slightly rough skin, she felt a dull pressure against the silk of her robe.
And then patience was not a virtue she was proud of, so she clung to his shoulders, nails biting into the harsh fabric of his collar, a cool arm snaking around his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. She pulled him against her, close enough to feel his breath on her ear, so she raised her chin haughtily, challenging his gaze.
The insufferable bastard did not scramble, pull her in or push her away, did not touch her. She felt a sound build up in her throat, a sort of snarl directed at him, and she almost let it out, when he focused his eyes, his beautiful, molten gold eyes on her and stared into her soul, burning holes in her skin and body, and then warmth pooled in the pit of her stomach, and his flames consumed her flesh, until she felt his eyes on her mouth and she moaned.
He took a step forward, forcing her to retreat, and her legs were like jelly and she was sure she'd fall of he weren't keeping her uptight, and his hands rose, they rose and rose, caressing her through her silken dress, wishing there was nothing but skin, when they finally reached her bare shoulders.
Then, his fingers danced around her skin, playing her expertly, pulling her strings, leaving goose bumps in their wake and waiting for her to sing.
Zuko's touch was electrifying and that should have scared her, but it didn't, it only made her crave more, more of his warmth, more of him, and he was all too happy to oblige her. In her daze, she thought it could barely be considered a touch, because she couldn't feel it that strongly, it was more of a graze, and it made her want to shout and her eyes shone brightly, luring him in their depths for a moment, enough for her to whisper hoarsely in his ear ("You bitch of a tease.").
A silent chuckle. Then, his fingers brush against her knuckles, hands intertwine, and he crushes her against him, eyes lock and when she was about to give him a piece of his mind, their eyes lock.
His lips are pressed to her frown, smoothing it out, and he peppers kisses on the line of her brows; her eyelids fall heavily over blue –blue eyes, iridescent seas for him to drink and drown into -, he kisses one lid, the other, and the anticipation is killing her slowly, and death had never felt quite so exquisite as the feel of his hot, open mouth against hers.
A/N: 'lo and behold. inspired by the song still by daughter. obviously, i own neither the characters, nor the song.
this fic should actually be known as 'when the fuck did i start shipping zutara" . yess, i'm pretty sure it's pointless to try and find out. also, this lovely bit happened while i was trying to move up my lazy arse and finish that age-old mingzan fic i'm writing. stay tuned, i might just finish it. soon. hopefully.
if any of you brill shippers out there has any request, prompt and so on, i'll be only too happy to receive it! :D
if you enjoyed this fic, y'all might wanna let me know in a review! ;)
merry christmas! or well, whatever. have an awesome day ! ^u^