Zuko's aching. It's Katara's fault.
She's standing in front of him, shoulder to shoulder with a dozen strangers in a crammed elevator. He can smell coconut in her hair and peach perfume on her skin. When he bows his head, hellbent on kissing the supple curve of her neck, Katara chuckles under her breath.
She glances over her shoulder, winking playfully. She sways her hips, as smooth and strong as a dancer, moves right into him, backs him into the elevator's wall. Her hand moves behind her, flattening on his belly, sliding down to cup him through his pants.
"Not here," he begs, a subtle tilt giving him friction in her palm.
He doesn't want it to end like this, but it will. No matter his desires to devour her, to pin her down on his bed and bury his cock between her thighs, it will end here. He always falls to pieces at her whims. He can't help it.
Zuko hisses, the sound low and needy in his throat. "Please, Kat. Not here."
She doesn't listen; she doesn't care. She wants what she wants and it's him—
Katara lays her head back on his shoulder, an elicit hum vibrating from her chest. Her fingers blaze a trail of burning want, slowly untucking his shirt, imperceptibly slipping down the front of his pants, tormenting the length of his cock, brushing around the tip.
It's all Zuko can do not to moan, but a curse whispers free. "–fuck."
She meanders at first, playfully clawing his thighs, tickling his balls, collected the dew drops of cum that her teasing creates. Zuko has his eyes on the bright lights at the front of the elevator. He can just see the panel in front of the other patrons.
"Twenty-seven stops," he murmurs, burying his face in the curve of Katara's neck, nipping at her skin. "Get me there."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
She tilts her head to give Zuko free access to her neck, wraps her hand around his cock and starts stroking him. Fast. Hard.
His hips rut forward, quickening the pace. His breath is all but shallow gasps. His abdomen tenses and Zuko envisions her bare breasts, her nipples puckering as he plucks them. He pictures her eyes closing with a moan, her legs bending at the knee and falling open, her fingers circling her clit in an explicit display just for him. He imagines himself above her, sinking into her wet sex with tantalizing slowness.
She'd be soaking. She'd be trembling. She'd be whining his name.
"God—" Zuko grabs Katara's waist, bites her shoulder.
Three more floors. He's on the edge, seconds away. He's going to blow a load in his pants, with seven other strangers right there, and he doesn't even care.
Zuko's fingers dig into her side. He rocks his hips. He mutters her name, then holds his breath, waiting for that sweet, sweet release and the bliss that follows.
Ding.
The doors pop open and Katara stops, pulling her hand out of his pants. "Oh look, it's our floor."
She laughs, much to the confusion of the people around them. The sound is enough to make Zuko buckle at the knees. He can't take it. Everything aches now; everything's begging. He wants her. He needs her.
Katara takes his wrist and pulls him out. Zuko grits his teeth, waiting for the elevator doors to slide shut. When they do, he's on her.
Zuko hoists her up and Katara locks her legs around his hips. Their lips crash together as he stumbles forward, traps her between his body and his apartment's door. He fumbles with his pants. They're still unbuttoned, so it's a simple matter of adjusting, of sliding her panties aside, and—
"Yes," they breathe in unison.
Zuko thrusts deeper. Katara moans his name. And she's just how he pictured: flushed, tensed, blue eyes half closed and nipples budded up, straining against her dress. She's so wet, so warm. He tries to savor it, but she tortured him in the elevator and now it's all he can do to bring her over the edge with him.
He rubs a quick pattern over her clit. Katara whimpers in response. Then she's tightening around him, her legs and her arms and her cunt. She's milking his cock for all he's worth. Zuko fights to hold out, to draw out the pure heaven that is her orgasm, but he can't.
He comes with her, groaning, "So good. So fucking good."
As the high wears off, they relax together, catching their breath and stealing kisses. It occurs to Zuko that he could stay here for a while, just holding her, but they're in the hallway and he hears someone coming around the corner.
"Shit!"
Zuko pulls out of her and Katara scrambles for the keys at the bottom of her purse. They stumble into the darkness of his apartment just as the unsuspecting neighbor rounds the corner, laughing at the state of the other's undress, euphoric from the quick rush of sex.
"Life would be way easier if I were easier, wouldn't it?" Katara smirks and wraps her arms around his neck.
Zuko smiles against her lips. "I like my life just the way it is."