.: breathe again :.
.
.
.
"I swear, when I get my hands on him he'll never breathe again. I won't stop tearing him limb from limb. I drove to the river and I threw the body in. No one else will be paying for his sin. Judge me all that your hearts desire, but I can breathe again"
Keep your head down. Mako ducks, arms collapsed around his face, a warm breath of scorching fire blazing above him. Quick. Fire two shots. The orange glow leaves his clenched fists in quick succession, connecting with two opponents from the other team. Mako recognizes the splash of the drink, remembers the water rushing through him, humiliation drowning him. Not tonight.
Mako relies on his agility to twist turn around the last one after the zone buzzer sounds, a firebender, like him. But not nearly as skilled, Mako thinks, allowing himself a bit of arrogance. Shun, he remembers. Three wins. Two losses. Always leaves his chest clear. Mako evades the heat once more, then a kick square in Shun's abdomen. Thwack! There is the drink again.
And the crowd goes wild!
#
Mako is blinded by the camera flash light show, brining his arm up to shield his face from the wall of noise awaiting his team when they leave their locker room. Bolin runs to them, like always. Bright smile and verdant eyes basking with the attention. Mako slips away, quiet and unnoticed, observing Bolin who tips his head over his shoulder, knowing him, knowing to watch him leave. Mako nods once, Bolin nods back. Mako hears the, 'See you upstairs, bro.' in the gesture.
Mako knows something is amiss the moment he hits the second stair, watching the dust particles float through air, illuminated by the moonlight filtering down the ceiling glass.
When he opens the door, (it's unlocked), nothing seems out of place. He inches his bag down the wall and pads against the wood planes of the floor, silently erasing his footprints. Careful not the hit the creek, two steps from the kitchen.
Mako snaps the light switch, it doesn't give. Mako sighs. Bolin forgot to pay again. He was wondering where the extra dumplings came from. He keeps his ears open for any sudden movement, none come. But then thereis a snap of fingers, before he's on his back, groaning when his already throbbing head connects with the ground.
"Spirits, Shin." Mako sits up, rubbing his head, eyes narrowed.
Shin laughs, doubled over as he cleans the ice patch from the floor, bending the water back into the sink drain. "You shoulda seen your face."
Mako isn't amused. "Why are you in my apartment?" He asks, standing shoulder to shoulder with Shin. "I cut ties months ago. I told you I'm done."
Shin tsks, waging his finger from side to side. "You thought Zolt was just gonna let you go? After all he's done for you."
(Zolt pats Mako on the shoulder, making him cough, inching away a bit. "This kid's got moxie. I want to see him in the match lineup."
The booker is Mako's height, looks young but older than him for sure. He runs a hand along his five o clock stubble. "I don't know Zolt." He trails off, looking at Mako unsure, who straggles to keep the permanent scowl off of his face. "He looks scrawny."
"Would I lie?" Zolt puffs smoke out of his cigar, "Besides there's a little something in it for you.")
Mako pinches the bridge of his nose. Yes, he knows. He was young and desperate. He remembers how he got to his first match, it was a huge payout and he can still see browning blood pouring from the man's nose. He remembers how easily it came when he first started. Even with his unsteady wobbling and lackluster punches, he won time and time again. But then he got better and better. He didn't need them anymore. He left. Mako began to wonder if it was finally time to pay up.
"What does he need me to do?" Mako asks, walking past Shin into the kitchen.
"That a boy." Shin says, throwing himself into the ratty couch, Mako doesn't say anything about his current living arrangements and Shin doesn't bring it up. "Knew you'd come around."
"Just tell me what the hell he needs me to do."
"Straight to business like always. That's why I like you, 426. No bullshit." Shin leans over the length of the couch, watching Mako move about the kitchen. "Simple job. Needs you to collect some money for him."
"And why does he need me to do it?" Mako turns, "Can't he just get one of the 49ers?"
"He asked for you specifically, didn't tell me why. I didn't ask." Shin walks beside Mako, grasping a peach off the counter, taking a bite. "You doin' it or not?"
"Alright." Mako concedes, "I'll do it."
That's when the trouble starts.
#
The lock is an easy fix. He taught himself years ago, when he still had to steal bread loafs and medicine for Bolin. Always going in after business hours, his small body never tripped the alarm. No one expects a child to strip the place clean. That was their downfall.
Mako pushes the door open, easing his way into the loft. It's flashy, Mako expects no less. The grand floor to ceiling windows show the horizon, the sun disappearing with a blaze of orange, yellow and bright blinding white. Twilight sets in, edging purple into the evening sky. Mako whistles under his breath. He slips his fingers over fine china teacups and diamond figurines. Mako picks up a picture then places it back quickly. It finally sets in why it's him. Why he's been sent. His final test. Where do your loyalties lie, Mako?
"What the fuck are you doing in here?"
Mako jumps back in surprise before taking a moment to regain his cool. Khan is broad shouldered; narrow eyed and has always struck Mako as the definition of danger. He had a tattoo, a snake, winding up the tough skin of his arm and a scar down the side of his face.
"Answer my question?" Khan barks, moving himself into a fighting stance.
Mako walks behind the couch slowly, sliding his hand along the length of the wall. "I'm here to collect what you owe."
"Has it really come to this?" Khan laughs. "Get the fuck out."
"I'm not leaving until you pay what you owe the Dragon Head." Mako says, running his hands down to his knees as he sits down in the armchair, crossing his leg.
"You think you're hot shit don't you?" Khan curls his mouth into a wicked smile, it reminds him of dirty fingers and even dirtier jobs. Khan taught him everything there was to know. How to hide from the police. How to make yourself cry. ("They love it. They'll throw money at a face like yours. I'm tellin' ya.") How to hide a body once you've gotten too enthusiastic with your attacks. Everything.
Mako doesn't answer, just stands back up with purpose, and hands on his hips, waiting.
"Heavy is the head that wears the crown, you think you can handle it." Khan spits out. "You were just a blue lantern when I met you. I helped make you. Now you're gonna turn your back on me."
"This isn't personal." Mako says, adjusting his gloves, his body tense ready for the fight. They always fought. "It's business."
"Like fuck it is. You take out the Deputy and what happens after that? You're a lot of things Mako but you're not fucking stupid."
When Mako doesn't do anything but blink, Khan lunges. Mako sidesteps with practiced grace more fit for a dancer. But, this was a dance wasn't it. The twirl of his fire. The dip of his shoulders. The kick of his adrenaline. Then the music stops and his partner drops. (Dead? He isn't too sure yet.)
Mako steps over Khan's burned body. He takes the money from the second vase, like Shin tells him. As if he expected this. Mako takes a figurine for good measure. He walks out and doesn't look back. It's a clean job. ("Don't leave any evidence." Khan says as they push the body into frigid bay waters.) Mako places the figurine onto the coffee table on his way out the door. He's already had to become a murderer again; he didn't want to become a thief as well.
#
Mako shuts his door quietly. He feels ridiculous treading on the tips of his toes towards the bedroom. He doesn't want to wak -
"You're home late."
Mako stops, hears the loud whining creak of the floorboard. Bolin's head sticks up from behind the love seat. Bolin twists, taking in the brown blood washed across his chest, knows enough about his brother to detect it's not his own.
Bolin takes a sharp intake of breath and doesn't ask any more questions. Bolin has learned not to ask questions he doesn't want answers to. He walks off, without a word, his figure disappearing into the darkness of their living quarters.
Mako, in a rare act of impulse, punches the wall before sliding down, dropping his head into his palms. The stench of death stuck to him, it's a smell like no other. Death stunk. Oh and the shame, that stunk too.
#
He meets her at one of Asami's sponsor banquets. Spirits are high and laughter is wafting through the air, honeyed with the effects of hard liquor. Mako crosses his arms, shifting trying to get comfortable in his suit jacket. He wonders where Bolin disappeared to. Then rolls his eyes when he sees him flexing his arm for some arena doll.
"Mako." Asami's voice is clear, cutting through the haze around him. "There you are. I want you to meet Korra."
Korra is small but strong. Dressed in a form-fitting gown that cups her breasts and shines shimmering silver. She's his age. Probably younger. He thinks. Dark umber skin, brown hair that's curled at the ends and striking blue eyes. She's a vision. But, what catches him is her smile. There's something hidden behind it. Something he can't place. For someone who has made a name for himself reading people, Korra intrigues him.
"Hi, I'm Korra." Korra sticks out her right hand and smiles again. Her tongue flickers out, a wet path along her bottom lip and it irks him how much he's affected by her slight movement.
Mako feels the electricity strike him down as he slips his hands through hers. It charges his senses and makes him more alive than he's ever felt. "I'm Ma -."
"I know." She interrupts him, lips curling into a smirk this time.
He echoes her smirk. Their hands linger, her thumb caressing the skin of his hand. She bites her lip, eliciting another response from him all together. Korra pulls her arm into herself when their hands break, laughter in her eyes. He surprises himself when he matches her with a laugh of his own.
#
"I need to let you know that I don't ever do this." Korra says in between their frantic kisses. She breathes out when her head hit the pillow.
"Well aren't I lucky." Mako pulls off his blouse, throwing it into a far corner of his room. "You don't have any sort of attachment to this dress right?"
"Umm - no." Korra shakes her head. "Wh -."
There's a disgusting ripping sound when the fabric gives way to his impatient fingers. Mako slides his hands up her body, resting his fingers lightly on the curvation of her collarbone, testing the skin there. Her breath hitches and he smirks. He traces the outline with his tongue, tasting her skin.
Mako feels as if he has no control over his actions. As if someone else is moving his hands. Someone else is pushing their face into the skin of the woman in front of him. Hot. Hot and slick and electric-sensation, vanilla and the warm pulse of blood beaten by a frantic heart.
He makes a hissing sound in the back of his throat, knowing his tongue flickers out over his lips but unable to stop himself, unable to think past the pounding in his head, the hard heat that flows like lightning in his veins. Every cell, every microscopic little part of him is screaming, screaming and begging, demanding and ordering to ravage the one in his arms, to impale and plunge into slick depths again and again, hard enough to make this other scream in unison with him, in sympathy for the almost-pain that throbs in his cock.
Without conscious thought – almost without thought at all – he circles her entrance with a fingertip. She gasps and jerks, thrusting forward with strong rounded hips.
Korra claws at his chest as his fingers grip her hips with bruising strength. She digs in harder as she feels the swollen head of his cock nudging against her entrance. Korra doesn't seem like the type of woman to shake and cry under him, she seems like the type to scratch, bite and fight him on her way down.
She screams as strong hips thrust forwards, screams, as she is torn open by the size. He sees the all-consuming pain rage through her, crashing through her lithe little body like a tsunami as she growls, clenching and twisting slightly.
Mako moans into Korra's hair, tightening his grip on the her as he thrusts again, unable not to, unable to stop, to retreat from the indescribable, incomparable heat, the tightness that sheaths him beyond-perfectly, and he must be leaving bruises on her skin but he just can't stop.
He no longer understands what was happening.
Pleasure. Oh god, pleasure like he never imagined could exist, starfire filling up his veins like wine in water, like liquid light, pumping through every nerve ending he had to make him moan, and make her thrash and writhe with the suddenly desperate pleasure.
Korra screams again as the world explodes – rainbow colors and firework pleasure and hot, slick white, and fire, fire inside her. A hot wave of pain pulsing and it hurts, it hurts but it feels so good.
Mako can't think, he's struggling just to breathe and not pass out, and it is as if some huge pressure is gathering, a tight knot below his navel that winds tighter and tighter, tighter until his skin shakes and trembles and each exhale is a moaning whimper. Each thrust is harder than the last now, and the world spins as he uses her harder, uses her for release like a toy, demanding and desperate and harsh. It is a knife-edge, deadly sharp and gleaming, and he is struggling to hold on and not to fall – trying not to lose his grip on reality, but – he – can't –
#
Korra lights a cigarette, flicking her fingers on her lighter, irritating his nose with the stench of gas. She inhales the black death into her lungs, exhaling with a satisfied expression. The sheets dip, revealing her full heaving breasts, a honey glow with the shadows and highlights caused by the flickering lamplight across his windowpane.
"You shouldn't smoke."
Korra shrugs, exhaling again. Mako doesn't cough when smoke clouds his face, but his eyebrows lower and he scowls.
"It's a bad habit."
She looks at him pointedly, but puts it out on the night table. "I've always had a knack for bad habits."
Mako chuckles at the irony. You have no idea. He thinks.
Korra inclines her head towards him, tilting in thought. "My mentor always says, 'You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.'"
Mako ponders the statement. "There are no heroes. Only monsters are real."
Korra makes a noncommittal, 'hmmm' sound. She curls up to him and he lifts his arm to receive her. "I'm surprised." She says after a comfortable silence. "I've heard stories that you aren't very nice."
Mako scoffs. "And you believed them?"
"Still do." Korra smirks, digging her finger into his ribcage. Mako laughs, really laughs, harder than he has in years. It feels amazing. Korra has always seemed to have that effect on him.
#
Zolt leads him to a back room, swathed in darkness, a far cry from the elaborate restaurant scene they entered in. He sits, making a motion for Mako to follow suit. Mako drops, then the unease sets in. This didn't feel like all the other times, when he was a soot nosed kid waiting for the payout. He was a man now, at least he thought himself one, and Zolt brought him here personally.
"I need you to do another errand for me."
Mako sees the glint in his eyes. It's a test. "No."
"What?" Zolt raises an eyebrow, giving him a once over.
"It seems you have mistaken me for one of your idiot lackeys you keep around to maintain your sense of intellectual superiority." Mako says, letting his eyes trail over expensive silks and glittering cuff-links that probably cost more than his year's rent.
Zolt stares, smirks, then laughs without humor, loud and long. "I knew I liked you for a reason kid."
"Why did you call me here?" Mako asks, crossing his arms. "I know you. I'm not here for a friendly chat."
"You're smart Mako." Zolt shakes a finger, Mako watches as the light catches the sapphire, a starting likeness to those eyes. "I mean you gotta be you got this far."
"But you helped." Mako says before Zolt can remind him.
"Of course but this is not about that." Zolt places his elbows on the table, beckoning him closer. Mako leans in, squinting his eyes as his head falls under the lamp. "I trust you and I need someone who won't fuck me over. I'm not going to be around forever."
"I know where this is going and I have no desire to be Dragon Head." Mako starts to pull his head away; Zolt drops him back down by the scruff of his collar, thrusting his face into the cold metal of the desk. Mako licks the metallic taste out of his mouth and bites inside his cheek to keep his tongue at bay.
Mako remembers the day he became damned. The sickening taste of wine mixed together with bull-pig blood. It was slick down his throat, scorching fire into his lungs. He gets sick right after, they laugh with him as he grips the bucket.
"You and Bo would never have to work again, huh? How does that sound?" Zolt presses his face deeper into the table, a small spark of electricity easing it's way up the knobs of his spine. Mako breathes when he's released in a huff. He rubs his neck, frowning.
"I need an answer." Zolt calls out to him on his way out.
"I'll think about it."
"Good enough." Mako is sure he hasn't made an appointment with death this week. When he closes his eyes, sure enough he sees his blue face, feels the cold punish him through his scarf and winter clothes. Mako is confused as to why, even in the face of death, he thinks of Korra above all else.
#
Korra wants to congratulate him for fighting his way to the pro-bending finals. She extends the invitation to Bolin as well, a courtesy. Bolin declines, glancing at Mako before making his way back up the attic stairs. Bo can't seem to stand the sight of him these days. Mako doesn't blame him. But couldn't Bolin see that this was for the better. That he was doing all of this for him, like always.
The dinner is grand and waiters address him like royalty. So, as per Korra's request, he forgets everything. Just for a night.
"You're not the average pro-bender are you?" Korra starts over the main course.
Mako blinks at her with his beef inches away from his mouth. "Is that your special Korra way of giving a compliment?" He asks after chewing his food.
Korra looks serious. "I mean I've heard about your rise up the stat ranks. How did you get there so fast?"
Mako doesn't try to hide his smirk. Vaguely, he's glad they're sitting at a back table as he drops his fork to the plate. "You're not every skilled at this reconnaissance game are you?"
Korra's eyes widen in surprise, it's hard to take her seriously when she looks so adorable. Mako has learned not to underestimate anyone, so he keeps that last thought to himself.
"Am I that obvious?"
"Very."
Korra leans back, crossing her arms, a cleft of cleave spilling over the top of her blouse (that he wouldn't admit noticing if asked in later conversation) "Good I can stop pretending then."
Mako smiles.
#
Korra drapes her body over his. Mako holds her to him tight, steadying her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Kissing her, burying his nose into her neck, apologizing for the filth he whispered into her ear. She slips her hands over his shoulders, cascading her hair like freshly turned soil onto the side of his face.
"I don't understand." Korra mutters, "Every single part of my being is screaming at me to stay far away from you. But I - I just can't."
"Maybe you have a death wish." Mako runs his finger up and down the ridges of her spine.
"Maybe." She agrees.
Mako thinks she's asleep, her breathing evens out and her eyes close. Then she speaks again. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"
"Not sure yet." He says, pushing his face into her hair, smelling temple incense, polarbear-dog and Korra. "Let me get a second look." Korra lifts her head and hits him.
#
The crash bang at his door tears him away from sleep, forcing him awake. He looks down at Korra, who is muttering something incoherent. He shushes her back to sleep with a kiss on the cheek. Mako sees Bolin's bed empty, again. Probably hiding away at Asami's.
Mako slides on a pair of pants strew across the room. He walks out into his kitchen. His door is broken into two and his living room is a mess. Zolt lets out heaving breaths, standing in the middle of Mako's rug, the scar on his face illuminated by the streak of lightning sailing through the night storm.
"What are you doing here?" Mako asks confused, a little scared as well. He's alone. Zolt is never alone.
"I heard your brother's been schmoozing up to Beifong." Zolt accuses. He has?
"Where did you hear that?"
"I also heard you've been fucking the Avatar."
Mako twitches, his adam's apple bobs when he swallows thickly. "So you've been spying on me."
"I offered you everything." There's something missing, Mako thinks. He's slipping. "I trusted you. Now I can't trust anyone."
"I didn't betray you." Mako states simply, trying to keep his calm.
Zolt goes straight for his neck without pause and suddenly the world is disappearing. His arms go limp, he feels weightless and heavy at once. Zolt's nails sink into the deep muscle of his throat. Mako sees death again, the cold is closer, now he can taste it as it reaches out -
"Put him down."
Suddenly there's a bloom of orange heat beside his head. It's warm and comforting. Mako can breathe again when he hits the floor, massaging his throat.
Korra is standing through the archway in his shirt, shaking, with anger most likely. Zolt doesn't move again. Mako's eyes widen. No, no. This can't be happening to him. Not now. Not after everything.
"Do you know what you just did?" Mako yells, causing her to place her hands on her hips.
"I'm sorry I can't hear you. I'm sure you meant to say 'Wow thanks for saving my life Korra.'" She says.
"He was the head of the Triple Threat Triad."
"What?" That shakes her. She runs to the body, a fresh paint of red coating the floor, seeping over her hands and clothes. She presses two fingers into his neck, jumping back with a gasp, falling onto her bottom. She frames her face with blood-laced hands. This is the first he's ever seen fear on Korra's face. It doesn't fit her.
"What are we gonna do?" She asks, screaming and frantic. Mako drops down next to her, hushing her and throwing an arm around her shoulder, rocking back and forth.
'You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.'
He comforts her, silences her cries. Because she's one of them now. She's like him and all the other players in the chess game his life has transformed into. She made the wrong move. Now they're at checkmate. And for once Mako does know which piece to play.