His Name
His name is a shortened version of the word, "makoto," meaning "faithfulness." He wonders, in those moments when he is alone and he can be a boy for once, that his name emerged from some parental premonition. An omen that foretold the eventual death of his parents. A name to bless the trait that would keep their children alive—faith. Faithful to his brother, Bolin. Faithful to the memory of his parent's love as he grips his red scarf, a talisman of protection.
Faithful to his name.
He shaped his very essence to the expectations of his name. Honed his fire bending skills and his no nonsense character to it. In the end, he prefers the shortened version, Mako. No distracting diphthongs. No sly, silent letters. It is short, his name, vowels controlled in its consonant constraints, passions tamed within the trochaic simplicity of two, balanced syllables.
Yes, he likes his name.
But he loves how she says his name.
Mako.
Ma-ko.
Ma. Ko.
He watches her mouth as she mulls over the M, and he is mesmerized by the movement of her lips molding together to mhmm - mhmm,the sound of suspended satisfaction through their scrumptious kiss. But it is merely a prelude, this kiss which will meld into something more, more, ashe feels her mellifluous hum melt into her body. It muddles his mind and he's surprised how easily he allows control to slip when she moans, a low, smokey note.
She tastes like melons and mirth, like midsummer nights mellowed with music, like molten moonshine as his hot lips gravitate towards hers again and again and the thick warmth of her breath burrows into the very marrow of his bones.
Memory and muscle and mystery all merge together in their lips.
"Ma" - soft vowel of the ahh, as soft as her lips when she parts them, allowing his tongue to plunge, the sound she makes as his kiss meanders across her maple skin to skim the raging pulse that rivers down her neck. His mouth marks her with a blossoming bruise even as her mischievous hands possess him.
There is no Avatar, no equalist, no world to balance.
They are marooned in a moment, stranded on an island of whispered, white sheets and silent sweet nothings.
Ahh as they tumble to bed and the ache anchors him into her arms. Ahh, as her back arches into the heat of his hands, his hands which now languorously peel back the layer of clothes that only inhibit their hunger.
She helps, adventurously pushing him onto his back and settling on his hips, a wickedly assertive smile teasing her lips even as she teases him with an agonizingly slow strip. With each inch of dark skin she grants his gaze, he is arrested by her beauty - the angles of her agile body, the sensual surplus of flesh that shape her almond breasts, her dark flesh waiting to be appeased. This affection for her, he realizes, is an addiction, as his heartbeat accelerates with each revelation, matching the beat of his own hardening member, and with each beat everything about her, about him, about them is augmented, alighted like kindle to a flame and it snatches the very air. Their fingers tangle together.
And he takes her all in before his appetite becomes abandonment.
"Mak" - the K, a voiceless consonant, the consonant she can only voice before it is cut off in his consuming kiss and his calloused hands cup her breasts and he craves her, oh how he caves into each curve and cove of her body. He wants to crawl into her shivers, to converge at the point where their lips collide, to commit himself to her. And when he spreads her legs and reaches the most secret cavern of her body, he is captivated by the chiaroscuro of her undisclosed desires, a chrysanthemum quivering with want. When he caresses her clitoris, it's a catalysis, this simple touch which causes her to quake and when he curls his fingers into her core, she's clutching onto him as tight as any kiss. She's clutching onto him, heat cascading throughout her body. She's ready to catch fire.
Then, O.
A vowel as hard as him when she opens up and he finally he enters her.
The shape of her lips when she cries for more.
The sound she chants in rhythm to the thrusts of his body.
Close, come
close, ooh.
Ooh.
"Korra."
"Mako."
Author's Note: Fanfiction is usually grounds for me to play around with language and experiment with my writing style. This piece was written in an attempt to intertwine lyrical form and function by using alliteration and manipulating syntax to convey the motions of sex (not, you know, express my Makorra feels or anything). Mako and Korra were perfect for this exercise considering Mako has a hard and a soft vowel. It would be an...amusing ordeal if I had to do this with a g or a w.