"Love That Was Not Strange" by Dr. Abraxas (2011-05-08)
The boy wormed into the blanket naked due to the climate. The girl sighed at the intrusion - chest heaving, fluttering.
Katara was not resentful ... only a little annoyed that the urge awoke as it did, then and there, at the call to sleep. That face. That eye. Gazing out of the blanket. Coupled with those hands tugging, tugging the cover. The longing was so reflective that the resistance shattered. Then came the whine that stirred the woman like a mother would be stirred at the plea of its young.
The truth was that she enjoyed the act.
It was a release ... nurturing, comforting. They both needed its fulfillment. They had been bonded thus at the start. Where the suggestion to consummate their need originated they could not say. Interaction planted the seed. Time allowed it to blossom. At the end their relationship simply evolved into that new and different normal...
At the cove where the group slept they were not free of danger. Despite that they could be caught their contact ensued. Perhaps they wanted to be caught? What would be the fallout... Theirs was an expression of love that was not strange, indeed, it was otherwise (freely) practiced. It was the most tender, most primal, most natural kind of love that cut across every facet of humanity. It should have been celebrated.
She sat atop the surf. He gathered onto her lap. Together, girl clutched boy, a hand to the neck, an arm to the waist, rubbing, patting all the while rocking back and forth. He sighed against her womanhood. She hummed a tune. Its melody was low. Its lyrics were winding slew of sound like the words of a language digested into lumps that only a baby could have understood. Then little by little the gown was tugged until those teats were freed.
Their souls were not strangers; and their ethereal intimacy found a way to manifest within the world of flesh and blood. It was love, of a kind too pure to contemplate, queer to anybody uninitiated by war and its all too real, all too inescapable consequences. To the girl it was empowering to know she was capable of the role Nature selected for woman alone. To the boy - a child beneath that mask of pain - it was a way to reconnect with his mother through a ritual of the motherhood ... to be soothed again ... to be naked again ... without fear of rejection or pain...
He stroked the contour of a teat. Then his hand pressed its bud. Then his fingers encircled its nipple. Then its milk filtered through his kiss like warm fluid silk.
She felt the teeth - biting, yanking, pulling...
They clutched hands, fingers interlocked. She provided. He drank. Their bodies vulnerable to each other...
Katara gasped, breaking the rhythm of the feed..
Zuko withdrew, milk dripping, arching down the crest of his chin.
She held tight, tight against his shiver while wave after wave crashed about her body. He gazed, full and exhausted, as the water sent their love into oblivion.
END