Title: Generator
Summary: That one night the power went out. — Tahno/Korra. AU.
Word Count: 6,138
Author's Notes: 10/29/12. Guess whose school day was cancelled and who spent the last gazillion hours trapped inside due to Hurricane Sandy?
To any of my readers that may be affected by Hurricane Sandy, I hope for the safety of you, your family, your friends, and belongings.
Musical Inspiration: "Generator First Floor" by Freelance Whales.
"Sorry, it's all I could find—"
"Don't worry about it," Korra assures him, again, as she takes the pile of warm blankets from his arms. "From the looks of all of this stuff you've brought me, I'll suffer from a heatstroke before anything to do with the storm."
Bolin still looks uneasy. "Are you sure you don't want to stay with us tonight? We've got plenty of food and cards and candles and—"
"I'll be fine," she says. Gentle, but firm.
There's a light trickle of laughter that sounds from the door behind him, masculine and feminine, and the unease grows. Korra has half a mind to invite Bolin over, just so that he doesn't have to put up with it all himself... but she knows what message that will send. She's not prepared to deal with that.
"Well, if you change your mind... we're right across the hall, you know."
"I know," she smiles, one hand already on the door. "Thanks again."
And when the door clicks shut, she's left alone in the dimly lit room, alone with nothing but the sounds of the raging storm.
She's not doing anything in particular, but the noises upstairs have finally grown to be too much.
Tahno.
With a gusty huff, she rises from the couch and, after a moment's consideration, she leaves the crude blanket wrapped around her shoulders. When she steps into the hallway, the noises from 4B filter into the narrow space, loud and cheery. Part of her wishes she had joined them; what was she trying to prove by staying all by herself, just a few feet away? She didn't know what kind of message she was sending to Mako by avoiding him so carefully, especially if he didn't even notice.
Even outside her apartment, she can hear the dull thuds roaring from upstairs.
"Inconsiderate jerk," she mumbles into the empty hallway and storms toward the stairs.
"The girl from 4A," he drawls, giving her a slow once-over. He's leaning his side against the doorframe, a glass of some amber liquid in his other hand. "Surprise, surprise."
"Enough, Tahno," she tightens her crossed arms, refusing to look below his chin. Does this guy not own any shirts, or what? "If you don't get a carpet or something soon, I'm going to Katara. Again."
She can feel the heat radiating from his apartment, and without meaning to, her toes wiggle inside her fuzzy boots. Her hoodie is warm, but worn and thin from her college days, and it can't compete with the radiator she spots sitting in the back corner of the living room behind him.
"You know as well as I do that old granny Katara has a soft spot for me," he slyly reminds her.
"She wouldn't if she knew what you were really up to most nights," she counters dryly. Or the sort of company you typically keep.
"A guys' gotta eat," he smirks, raising his glass to her. "And I rather think that Katara would get a kick out of seeing a show of mine. You're know you're always more than welcome to come along, too."
Before she could help it, Korra's mind was full of images from the bar down the street: dark stage, too-loud music, and half-drunk women throwing themselves at half-naked men.
"No thanks," she deadpans, suddenly wishing she had just stayed downstairs and sucked it up. "I think I'll pass."
"Don't knock it until you've tried it," he takes a sip from his glass, leaning more heavily against the frame. She's standing tall and proud—ready to take a swing, if necessary—but there is a glint of something playful in his eyes that makes her feel uncomfortable and, strangely, a little guilty.
"Just keep it down, all right?" she mutters with a scoff, eyes falling to the stairs. Tahno considers her carefully, perplexed; she usually puts up more of a fight than this. According to their routine, she should be up-in-arms right about now, in his face and shouting while he makes offhand remarks about her love life, and she should have insulted his hair. Twice.
Tahno glances down at her threadbare blanket and wonders absently why she hasn't yet gone over to her friends'.
"All right," he says quietly, hesitantly, suddenly unsure of how to play the game. "I mean, no promises, but... all right."
She glances up at him in surprise and maybe just a little bit of hidden gratitude, maybe just a little bit of tired disappointment, and releases a short breath. "All right," she says quietly, pulling the blanket closer under her chin. "Have a good night, then."
"Yeah," he agrees absently, watching her tip-toe down the stairs. "Have a good one."
It's less than an hour later when she hears a knock at her door.
"Bolin," she groans, aggravated, as she swings open the door. "I told you, I'm fine—"
Only it's not Bolin.
"Tahno," Korra begins warily. "Hi."
He's wearing a hoodie of his own this time, though she can tell from the look of his collar that there's still no shirt underneath. The glass is gone and in its place is a bag of marshmallows and a half-eaten king size bar of chocolate.
"Hey," he greets her, which is already strange. Add the almost human look in his eye and the slightly higher lilt to his voice, and Korra almost doesn't recognize him. "I was thinking... it's still early, and the power's probably going to be out for a little while yet, but I've still got this stuff from a camping trip last—"
"You?" Korra can't help herself. "You go camping? Mr. High Maintenance, I-Only-Buy-the-Finest-Italian-Leather, Never-Caught-Without-My-Eyeliner-Alive Tahno?"
He sends a stern glare from under his well-managed brows. "You done yet?"
"Maybe," she mutters cautiously. "What's the deal?"
"I wasn't aware that I was going to have to bargain you into my apartment. I figured the lure of chocolate and a generator would be enough to entice you."
"Very funny, Tahno."
"I find nothing funny about chocolate."
"I meant the part about you inviting me over," she says stiffly; she's not in the mood to play games.
"Huh," he comments, rocking back on his heels. "Well, that's interesting."
"What is?"
"You see, even from the threshold, I can tell that your apartment is wicked cold." He glances to the couch behind her, just visible beyond the space of the open door. "And it doesn't look like those blankets are doing you much good."
"Your point?"
"What part of generator do you not understand?"
Korra hesitates. She doesn't want to consider this. "What's the catch?"
"Catch? What catch? The catch is that you get to spend the evening in my apartment making s'mores and not freezing to death. What more do you want?"
She wants him to put on a shirt.
Ugh.
No, she doesn't.
"Look," she says fiercely, stepping closer. "I'll go, but don't get any ideas. I'm still pissed at you for all the racket you were making earlier, and I don't particularly like you, anyway."
"Perfect," he smiles, and Korra's heartbeat sounds in her ears. "Because I don't particularly like you either."
"Your big idea is to stick them on top of the radiator?"
"You have any better ideas?"
"What if the paper plates catch fire?"
"Relax, girlie. We'd smell it long before it set the complex ablaze. Though I guess it wouldn't hurt for some extra heat. And what's the deal with you? Aren't you supposed to be into this kind of stuff? Spontaneous and adventurous and whatnot?"
"Melting chocolate is hardly spontaneous."
"Forgive me, I must be out of practice."
"What is all this stuff, anyway? I never thought you'd have so much crap in your apartment."
"You expected me to be tidy?"
"Well, no, but—"
"You seem to expect an awful lot from someone you claim to dislike, especially someone you don't know."
"Hey, man, I don't have any expectations of you. Besides, you seem to enjoy living up to your entertainer hype well enough. At least your company certainly does."
"I wasn't aware that you took note of the company I've kept."
"The whole complex takes note; it's not like you give us any choice. It's impossible not to hear, you know."
"Unless you're Land Lady Katara."
"Whatever, she's going hard of hearing, anyway."
"And you wonder why I'm her favorite."
"My point is that it'd be a lot easier to not to want to punch you in the face if you weren't such a sleaze."
"Well. Thanks for the tip."
"Ugh, you know what I mean."
"Do I? I know that you're not exactly up for Neighbor of the Year, yourself."
"Me? What do I do?"
"Do you remember the first time that we met?"
"Uh, yeah, you were being creepy and leering at me!"
"Firstly, you were at one of my shows. That's part of my job. Without the creepiness. Secondly—"
"I mean, I never should have trusted Bolin in the first place, especially since he didn't know this area any better than I did yet, and I already told you that I never would have set foot in there if I'd known that the main dish was living right upstairs—"
"Are you telling me that you wouldn't be opposed to this kind of establishment otherwise?"
"Hey, I never said that."
"You didn't deny it."
"I never suggested it."
"I disagree."
"Tahno, you're talking in circles."
"Then stop me."
She glances up from her marshmallow-coated fingers, and looks at him. They're sitting close to the radiator, bathed in the light from their hefty battery-operated lanterns, covered in dabs of melted chocolate and bits of graham crackers, and Tahno is looking more serious than she's ever seen him look in the short year that they've been living on top of one another.
His eyes are glued to the soft, but still solid marshmallow on his plate; no amount of poking or prodding is ever going to give it that campfire feel, but Korra doesn't think she's really going to mind. The air smells of dusty heat, autumn rain, and warm chocolate.
And Tahno.
"Thank you for the s'mores," she says quietly, taking a bite into her dessert sandwich. It's not what you'd expect from a summertime snack, but it's sweet and she's here. "And the heat."
He stops fiddling with his marshmallow, and looks up.
"You were right," she smiles softly. "It is much better than freezing to death in my apartment."
Tahno considers her for a moment, as if trying to pin her angle. What's the catch? she can almost hear him asking.
There is no catch.
"You're welcome," he says back, and they eat their s'mores in peace.
"You can stay here tonight, if you want."
Korra looks around the room, takes stock of the piles of blankets he's got laid out, plus the ones she's brought—not Bolin's or Mako's, because as considerate as the gesture was, she doesn't know where they've been—and for a split second, it's almost too easy to imagine herself saying okay.
"I'm not so sure about that," she laughs, trying to keep it light. "What would the neighbors think if they caught sight of your latest guest?"
"That I was in need of a good electrician? That I needed you to kill a spider? That I was the luckiest man in the world?"
"Shove it, Tahno," and she does. Shoves him right in the shoulder. He grins.
"Just tell me where."
"Pig," she shoves him again, and nearly slams his head straight into the corner of the coffee table.
"Hey, now," he pulls up quickly, looking at her with wide eyes. "Careful, woman." But then he takes hold of the table and gently slides it off to the side.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking the necessary safety precautions."
"For what?"
He shoves her back.
"Hey!" she gasps, affronted, but her disbelief worms itself into a wicked smile. "Careful, pretty boy. You're asking for it."
Tahno's smirk stretches to the far corner of his cheek, and Korra can already feel her blood starting to rile. Quickly, before Korra has a chance to ask, Tahno yanks the mountain of blankets and pillows from the couch and before she knows it, they're surrounded by barriers on all sides, trapped in a makeshift stadium of multi-colored fabrics.
"Seriously?" Korra asks wryly, raising a disbelieving brow. Tahno leans forward, dropping his elbows to his knees.
"Go for it," he nearly whispers, making all the hairs along Korra's arms stand on end. "I'll give you the first shot."
Korra turns away, laughing to herself. "This is ridiculous."
"This is war. You know, I think I'm going to implement a new rule. In exchange for the use of my heat, all payments must be made in—oomf!"
So much for her recent vow to have a little more class and maturity, she notes absently, as she places Tahno in a headlock. Whatever, Korra thinks. So what if Mako likes a girl who is refined, elegant, and sophisticated? She can try all she wants to emulate that, but that...
That isn't Korra's style.
And although she might have been a little confused before... she's knows now that she doesn't want it to be.
"This—is—cheating!" Tahno grits through clenched teeth, grasping onto the forearm that is blocking the movement of his neck.
"This is war," she scolds, and pulls up his hood over his head with a laugh. She releases him, and scoots herself backward in a flash, kicking her feet out in preparation of the attack she knows is coming.
Tahno rips the hood back from over his face, breathing heavily, and looks across the open space at her with wild, feverish eyes. Her heart beats fervently in her chest, pounding against her lungs in time with the rain rolling against the windows, and she coils, prepared to duck or dodge or do whatever the hell necessary.
"Come on, little girl," he crouches low, aiming to pounce. His hoodie is riding up and his hair is a mess—she bets hers is, too—and nope, she definitely doesn't have to worry about the cold anymore. Korra's breathing is ragged, and somewhere deep in the back of her mind there is a voice telling her that she's not supposed to be wrestling with their sworn enemy, but she's not about to stop.
Besides, she's already spotted a weakness.
"C'mon, give me your best shot."
She does.
They lay panting on the floor, twisted and tangled among the ocean of blankets and pillows, exhausted and prone against the hardwood. It's a miracle neither of them took a splinter to the elbow.
She glances over to the side, only to find that he has already done the same. Korra swallows hard, letting her eyes rake over his long face, and turns back to stare that the ceiling, willing her heart to slow.
When the meteorologists on television told her this morning that she should remain on high alert, this was not how she'd expected her evening to go.
"I think your hoodie is on backwards," he observes quietly. Korra looks down and, sure enough, it is.
"I think that might have happened while I was trying to get out of your hold on the couch," she muses, trying to scoot and shimmy the sweatshirt back into its proper place from her spot on the floor. "I think did a number on your hair though. Sorry about that."
Tahno reaches up to gingerly comb his fingers through his hair. "Can't be any worse than yours."
She scowls at him, but just ends up laughing when she finds that she can't quite get her arms back into place. "Uh... Tahno? I think I'm stuck."
"I am not falling for that again."
"No, really," she shifts, proving her point. "I think I totally am."
He glances over at her in exasperation, but it quickly gives way to amusement. "I think I almost prefer this."
"Tahno."
"Fine, fine."
He picks himself up and drops down right in front of her, then holds the sleeves and the hem of the sweatshirt until she can extract her arms from the wrong holes. She's about to twist the sweatshirt the right way so that it's facing the front, but before she can slip her wrists in the sleeves, the whole thing is being pulled over her head.
"What's the deal?" she asks, suddenly feeling bare and exposed in her blue tank top. She's never been afraid of showing a little skin, and her shoulders rarely meet fabric anyway, but this is different; it feels like little electric shocks are rolling down the exposed skin at her back and neck and arms in waves.
"It's too hot for these anymore," he says, slipping his own hoodie off. Korra opens her mouth to protest, a knee-jerk reaction borne from the fear of what she'll do when she sees that well-sculpted chest that she hates to love, but he tosses the sweatshirt to the side of the couch with hers, revealing a black muscle shirt, and she is left feeling strangely disappointed.
Only not.
Korra clears her throat, suddenly very, very much in agreement about the heat. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she looks at the chaos around them, and says with utter certainty:
"We're gonna need a fort."
"You seem more like yourself."
Korra pauses cleaning her fingernails—a fidgety habit she's picked up since moving into 4A—and let her hands go still.
"Oh? Compared to what?"
He shrugs from his spot beside her and, even though he's a good foot away and practically surrounded by layers upon layers of blankets on all sides, she swears she can feel the movement all the way down to her toes. "You didn't seem like yourself earlier tonight, when you first knocked on my door. Like there was something bothering you."
She considers his words carefully, turning them over in her mind. He's right, of course. Bolin had noticed as well, although she hadn't given him much of an opportunity to ask. And she wasn't really sure she wanted Tahno to have one either.
"Technically, you're always bothering me," she smiles, gently whacking him with a pillow. He catches it easily, tugging it away from her hand... but neither of them let go. They let the throw pillow drop between them, clutched in their warm fingers.
"This isn't so bad, is it?" he asks, and she wants to hear the arrogance in his voice just as much as he does, but it doesn't quite land that way. She looks up at the curtains surrounding them, suspended by couch cushions and backs of chairs, and thinks, if she's supposedly acting more like herself, then in what way is he acting?
She surrenders a small smile. "It's not terrible," she hedges.
He scoffs, but it sounds suspiciously like a laugh. "So what would make it tolerable?"
Her smile widens.
"I feel like I'm back in college."
"Just do it, Tahno."
"Fine, woman, just give me a minute, will you?"
She does, but not very patiently. Korra only has one hand left in the game, so the other is free to raise the glass of wine to her lips, which she does at least twice before he's able to come up with another statement.
"All right," he begins, a devious look entering his eyes. "Never have I ever pined over one of my best friends."
She glares viciously. "That is low."
"And nowhere near a secret, so quit your whining."
"One, our neighbors are off-limits. Two, commenting on something you already know defeats the whole purpose of the game! You've gotta try to dig stuff up, man. Geez, what did you even do in undergrad?" She blinks. "Never mind. On second thought, I don't have nearly enough alcohol in my system for that yet."
"That can be rectified."
"Don't try to dodge your turn. Think of a better one."
"Perhaps an example is in order, oh, Wise Expert of the High School Drinking Games?"
"Fine," she says sharply, and immediately starts wracking her brain. This one has to be good.
"Not so easy now, is it?"
"Shut up and let me think," she shushes him. He rolls his eyes and takes another drink. Just as he's about to make another disparaging comment, she snaps her gaze to his. "Here's one. Never have I ever brought someone over for a meaningless sex."
His three remaining fingers do not move.
Confused, Korra looks across the short wall of pillows to where Tahno is sprawled, shoulders leaning over a stack of at least three or four, and another glass in his hand. He shrugs. Hmm. Perhaps she should have worded that more clearly.
"Seriously?" she asks, simply because—as she said earlier—she can't help herself. "What about all those one-night stands that keep parading themselves through the door?"
Tahno scoffs, swirling the liquid in small circles in his glass. "What makes you think that it'd be meaningless?"
Korra's mouth opens and closes, twice, but nothing seems to make its way out. "All right," she says, after a long moment. "Fair enough."
"My turn," he says, setting his glass down under the table off to the side. He turns his eyes on her with new resolve, and she readies herself. "Never have I ever lied to myself about being attracted to someone."
Korra tenses; she tries to squash the instant feeling of being played by a dirty trick, like she's walking straight into a trap, but... It's just a general statement. She'd made him promise to answer honestly, and yet here she is, struggling with herself over whether or not to put down a finger for what was honestly a rather vague, rather open, less-than-incriminating question.
Looking him in the eyes, she reluctantly folds a finger down.
"Never have I ever cheated on a partner," she says immediately.
His fingers remain upright.
"Trying to throw me to the dogs, are you?" He gives her a knowing look, but Korra, for all the chagrin that she can muster, doesn't regret asking.
"I'm playing the game," she counters reasonably, loftily. He scoffs a laugh and she turns to the side to set down her drink so she doesn't have to face him when she swallows hard. "Your turn," she reminds him, simply so that she'll have something to say.
"Never have I ever gone out of my way to flirt."
"Liar," she whispers, before she can stop it.
"Oh?" he challenges, looking up from the stack of pillows he's wrapped his upper body around. "I think that's for me to decide. Unless you'd like to change the rules?"
She bites the inside of her cheek, mulling over her options, then sighs. With a heavy plop, she snags one of the sturdier pillows from the pile, lets herself fall on top of it, laying her chest across it as Tahno is across his. When she holds up her fingers again, just a few inches away from his own, another one is down.
"Never have I ever threatened to remove a girl's bra with my teeth."
A dark brow rises in the shadows, and Tahno smirks. "I thought you said we weren't going to play with things we already know."
"Maybe I'm still just fired up about the night I met you on a crowded stage in a bar," she whispers, letting her lips curve into a smile.
They watch each other then, breathing quietly in the steady peace of their little tent, letting the sounds of the storm wash over them. And when Tahno slowly sits up and shifts his pillow next to hers and settles himself back down at her side, she doesn't back away. He watches for her reaction, trailing his eyes over her nose and cheeks, down her neck, back up across her forehead and down again, waiting.
But it's his turn.
"Never have I ever claimed to bothered by a lot of noise when, actually, I didn't really mind," he says quietly. Deep. Low. Smooth. "Especially the noise that comes from the apartment upstairs."
Korra breathes in, smelling the sugary scent of marshmallows still clinging to his skin, and feels her lips go dry. The warmth of the drink she'd been sipping earlier is still painting her cheeks, and from the look of Tahno's face—his jaw, his eyes, his mouth—it's the same for him.
She lowers a finger down.
For a moment, the idea of looking away seems impossible. All she sees are his eyes, pale blue even in the glow of the lanterns outside their tent, and for a terrible, beautiful moment, she's certain that he's going to kiss her.
But then he glances down to the hand between them, the one that has her single remaining finger left in the game, and breathes deeply.
"You're losing," he tells her, with grave seriousness.
"It's not over yet," she reminds him in a whisper, and she may or may not be imagining it, but it feels like they are actually getting closer.
"Your turn," he breathes.
She inhales deeply, and now it is no longer a question; she can practically taste the chocolate lingering on breath, feel the heat of his lips, just a gentle push away from hers. She wants to keep her eyes on his, but they wander all on their own, tracing the lines of his brows and ears and mouth without any say from her, until they come to rest under the spot where his jaw meets his right ear.
She wonders what it would feel like beneath her teeth.
"Never have I ever purposefully disrupted the work of a neighbor," she whispers, her breaths coming short and shallow. "Just to make an excuse for her to come see him."
The heat between them grows—not like the surge of heat forged by the strike of a match, but the slow, steady burn of a fire eating away at the paths it has already crossed. Korra's lungs call for air, but her body has forgotten how to reach for it.
He lowers a finger.
"Looks like we're tied," she whispers, unable to move, unable to think; it is almost too much for her lips to form the words.
"We'll need to break it," he breathes. "How do you suggest we—"
But Korra has already shifted forward, and suddenly everything clicks into place.
There is no gentle entreaty, no tentative invitation; they dive into one another like lovers separated by war, pulling and thrashing and clutching on to one another with a fierceness driven by time and urgency and ever-inescapable longing. He drinks her in a like a wanderer in the desert, like a man who still cannot believe that he's found his oasis, who still cannot believe that it will not suddenly vanish again, right before his eyes.
She's on her back and his teeth scrape along her collarbone, sending shivers down her spine. She claws at the bottom of his shirt, tearing it up and over his head with gasping breaths, and twists, pulling herself up by his shoulder even as she pushes him down. His head falls back to the pillow with a heavy thud, but she has already straddled him, hovering low over his chest, far below the ceiling of their tent. He is reaching up to her face, cradling her jaw in one hand, ready to pull her back down to him, but her mouth drops to his chest, pulling his hand down with her.
She crouches low, spreading her fingers wide along the ridges and valley of his stomach, his ribs, his chest, and smooths them out over his burning skin, up and around the wide shoulders, back and down through his center, slipping over the sides, tracing the lines at his hips, all until it is too much—or perhaps no longer enough—and her mouth reaches down to claim what her fingers have already explored.
But she is interrupted by Tahno, who has stolen her mouth back to his own, open and hot with the pooling heat of their shelter, impatient and purposeful in its demand to keep her there. It doesn't take much.
Korra can feel the sweat trickling down her spine, gathering at her brow, dripping into her eyes. It makes their skin slide together almost dangerously, her whole body slick with sensation and heat and desire. It's not long until her top comes off, as with her leggings, his shirt, his pants, until it is but a few pieces of clothing that separates them, wet skin upon wet skin, even with all that has been removed.
Somewhere in between the bursts of stars dancing before her eyes, Korra has been twisted onto her back. Tahno's tongue is at her neck, at the hollow of her clavicle, in the space between her breasts, tasting the salty sweetness of her skin, the softness of her gasps. His fingers have caught hold of the straps encircling her ribs, and Korra feels the heat pulse through her body, rolling through her limbs with dizzying force at the intensity of his focus, the near mesmerization clouding his eyes as he toys with them, fingers sliding in smooth patterns beneath the fabric at her sides. With heavy-lidded eyes, Korra watches as his eyes travel upward, searing a path over her skin until they come to rest at the strap over her shoulder, loose and winding over her bones. With a slowness so intentional that it's painful, Tahno gently lowers himself over the crook of her neck, where he places a gentle, deliberate kiss.
Her toes curl from the tension tightening in her belly, the electric awareness of her cooling skin, and then Tahno's lips move against the cord in her neck, teeth and tongue and a deep vibration that she feels all the way through her bones.
"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this," he chuckles breathily into her neck, right into her very pulse, and then his mouth is curving down, sliding across her shoulder with the barest of touches, at so unhurried a pace that Korra might scream, might even beg, and then Tahno's teeth catch hold of the strap, sliding it down, down, down, until the tension disappears, and he lets it fall free toward the floor, relaxed and unrestrained. Korra's body shudders, a gentle sound escaping from her open mouth, and her fingers curl themselves around his biceps with vice-like grips, though whether it's to hold him there or to keep him away until her world stops spinning, she can't be sure.
Her bra was barely half way off and her world was already collapsing.
"How... long," she manages between pants, peering up at him from beneath long, tangled lashes. "Is this going to take?"
Tahno smirks into her skin, and her fingers find themselves tangled in his hair.
"Lucky for us," he rasps, teasing his way across her chest with slow, lazy kisses. "The storm is set to last all night."
Through her haze, Korra finds the ability to laugh. "And if the generator runs out?"
Tahno's pinky catches along the lacy edge of a cup, but it's here that he pauses. He roves his eyes toward her face, and the smile she sees within them, the icy heat and the focus and the tension, it's almost enough to undo her, right there.
"Looks like we didn't really need one, did we?"
She laughs, he sweeps in, and she comes undone, anyway.
"Oh, Korra! I'm so glad I caught you."
Startled, her hand slips on the door handle with a yelp, which makes her drop her key... as well as everything else that was in her grasp.
"Sorry!" Bolin apologizes quickly, rushing to help her collect the blankets that have fallen to the floor. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"It's okay, Bolin," she reassures him with a laugh, carelessly tossing the different items back into her pile. "How was your stormy night?"
"It was great fun, but we wish you would have joined us," he offers a half-smile with another blanket. "We played cards, and chess, and watched really bad horror movies, and Asami baked cookies once the power came back on around four, and—well, you get the picture."
"It sounds like fun," Korra says cheerfully, smiling bright and wide. "I'm glad you guys had a good time."
Bolin beams. "You seem like you're feeling better. Did you get a good night's sleep?"
"Well—"
Footsteps sound from the staircase, and Korra's heart quickens. Bolin looks toward the figure approaching them first, confused as to why a shirtless Tahno is making their way toward them—especially this early in the morning and doesn't he work late nights?
Gaping, Bolin watches as Korra's face flushes, watches as she raises an irritated brow at their upstairs neighbor with fatal precision, and watches as Tahno carefully adds another blanket to the pile in her arms.
"Tahno," she acknowledges in a low voice, and alarms are screaming in Bolin's ears, but not for the reasons he might have expected five minutes ago.
"Morning, Korra," he drawls, deep and fluid in the lazy morning. The smirk seems to curl of its own accord, but neither Korra nor Tahno seem to notice. "You forgot one."
"Thank you," she says pointedly, her voice straining under the weight of her warning, and Bolin looks from one to the other uneasily. "How very considerate—"
Bolin thinks that there is nothing in this world that could have quite prepared him for this moment, this instant in which he'd expected to walk out his door and greet Korra good morning, only to be greeted with the shock of seeing Tahno casually bend down and gently kiss Korra full on the mouth.
"You're welcome," he whispers against her lips, just a fraction of an inch away, and when he pulls back, it's like Bolin was never even there. He almost considers clearing his throat, perhaps just a gentle cough to cut through the uncomfortable heat pouring from their gaze, except his whole throat has run dry and he has forgotten what it is to swallow.
Slowly, almost languidly, Tahno turns his searing eyes to Bolin, who immediately starts.
"Bolin," he nods his head slightly in acknowledgement, and it's all Bolin can do to nod back, busy as he is trying to put all of the mismatched pieces together in his head. Korra's eyes tighten.
"I was coming right back up," she reminds him through a clenched smile.
"And you still should," he cocks his head slightly to the side. "Don't take too long," he throws over his shoulder as he makes his way back to the stairs. "Your breakfast will get cold."
Bolin and Korra watch his retreating back disappear around the landing, but neither can quite seem to face the other after he's vanished from sight. Korra's hands are still full of blankets and Bolin's head is still full of shock, but right when she opens her mouth to say something, a very bewildered Bolin lets out a heavy, resolute, and gusty sigh.
"So," he smiles through the awkward, privately pledging to buy a blindfold for walking through the hallways while Korra tries to think of as many possible ways to let herself melt into a puddle on the floor. "I guess that's a no."
Korra blinks, trying to remember what his original question had been—
Oh.
"Ughh, man," Korra turns around, and lets her forehead fall against her door with a mortified thud.
Tentatively, Bolin offers her a double thumbs-up.