It's your first Pride, and you're more than a little nervous.
Not because of your girlfriend, or anything - she's the best thing that's ever happened to you, and you wouldn't trade her for the world. You just grew up hiding, shoving down your feelings for the sake of propriety, and "pride" isn't exactly how you'd describe your feelings about your sexuality, even now.
That's not how it's ever been for Korra. She's all boisterous confidence and excitement. She's always worn her heart on her sleeve, and her feelings for you are no different. Sure, she worries about what other people think, but not like you do. Her fears are about letting people down, about her best not being enough - they're all about her professional life, not personal. You've always been sort of opposites, that way.
She bought the two of you matching grey t-shirts, with "She's With Me" plastered on in bold black letters over an arrow. Yours is close-fitting and paired with black shorts and matching flats. She took scissors to hers right away, cutting off the sleeves so that her sports bra shows on the sides and cropping the bottom seam so it hangs loosely over her worn jean shorts. The first photo you took with the shirts on, the arrows were pointing away from each other - now you're careful to stay on Korra's right, even though Korra's infectious laughter overshadowed any embarrassment over the mistake.
Her hand almost never leaves yours. She knows you're nervous but doesn't say anything, just puts extra effort into the little things she knows will calm you down. Letting her take the lead means that you're running to catch up with her more often than not as she pulls you from stand to stand, eyes sparkling as she takes in the colors and the sounds and the infectious air of excitement permeating the area.
She makes it so, so easy for you to love her.
It doesn't surprise you for a second when she spots a tacky merch booth and eagerly drags you to it. She buys a leather rainbow wristband and adjusts it over her forearm, making you laugh when she flexes her bicep at you with a wink to show it off, and ignores your half-hearted protests that you don't need anything by buying you a multicolored beanie. Her blue eyes smile as she adjusts it on your head, trying to get it to slouch just right, and you can't find it in you to do anything but smile helplessly back. Hands still at your neck, she pulls you down for a kiss and tells you that you look perfect. You think maybe your heart will burst.
There's food, so much food, and she has to try it all. Everything is fried or on a stick (and sometimes both), and it's everything she could ever want. You think maybe she's never been to a festival like this before. You buy her a mixed plate of deep fried cookies and cakes, knowing that the two of you won't finish half of it after eating so much already, but the way Korra's face lights up when you bring it to the table she's saved lets you know it was money well spent.
One of the main streets is closed for the Parade, and you know Korra can't wait to see it. It's not often that you call in favors from work, but for her you made an exception - you surprise her by taking the lead, pushing through the crowd to a roped-off streetside bar under a "VIP" sign. The bouncer recognizes you and waves you in with a smile, and Korra gushes her delight when you pull out a chair for her right at the curb. She shakes her head and says you didn't have to do this but you did, you did, you did, if only just to earn that smile.
You're glad you're sitting because the way she kisses you makes you feel dizzy. The well-meaning wolf-whistles and cheers you get from the surrounding crowd make you blush, but for some reason you don't feel the urge to pull away.
Maybe Pride isn't so bad, after all.
A scantily-clad older man comes by with a tray of complimentary jello shots in every color you can think of. Heat rises in your cheeks and you look everywhere but at his spandex-covered crotch, but Korra takes one look and gives him a whistle and a high-five of approval. He gives you a wink and tells you that she's a keeper (spirits, you know), and leaves the whole tray at your table. She says she won't when you warn her not to drink them (eat them?) too quickly, but her eyes tell you otherwise, and you can't resist when she has you try them with her. Strawberry and vodka, lime and tequila, lemon-drop with a dusting of sugar on top - you've almost finished the rainbow before the parade even starts.
Korra cheers along with the crowd when the Dykes on Bikes ride by, engines roaring and drowning out everything else. She points out that you ride and could join them for next year, smirking when your eyes go wide. Float after float of people pass by, waving flags of all sorts of colors and celebrating just being themselves. You let yourself ride the joy of the crowd, taking three bead necklaces offered by an ostentatiously-garbed drag queen and placing them around Korra's neck with a laugh.
You quickly learn that Korra's been doing her research. She's always been more LGBT-savvy than you, but it never occurred to you how multi-faceted a group it was until you found yourself surrounded by it. One question about a flag you don't recognize and suddenly she's pointing out several more, filling your head with names and definitions for sexualities and gender identities and types of attraction that you'd never known existed. You do your best to remember, and when you snag a pink, yellow, and blue flag from a man passing them out and present it to Korra, she gives you a sideways smile and a kiss on the cheek.
The parade ends but you two stay at the bar, trying more shots and resting your feet. The buzz of alcohol flows in your veins, slowing your thoughts and loosening your smile. You're suddenly aware of Korra's tongue as she slides it around the plastic cup of another shot, using it to pull the jello free, and this time you're the one kissing her. A soft moan escapes her when you nip on her lower lip, tugging on it just slightly as you pull away. Her eyes dare you for more, but you aren't thatdrunk. The wink you give her says maybe later.
When you finally leave the bar, Korra again takes your hand and leads you through the sea of tents dotting the park. She can't get over the amount of free things being given out, and she takes them all. Soon she has a drawstring backpack from the Republic City LBGT resource center filled with stuff - pencils, keychains, business cards - in addition to three plastic bracelets on her wrist and two buttons pinned to her shirt (one with two stick figure girls holding hands and another with a smiley face reading "I can't keep a straight face"). Even you can't resist stopping at two of the booths - one for out women in business and another for LGBT people in STEM fields. She watches you with a proud smile as you talk shop and put your name on their mailing lists, even though she teases you for working on your day off.
There's live bands scattered over the grounds, and late in the afternoon Korra drags you to one of them. It's a newer band and you don't recognize the name, but when they start playing you recognize some of the songs from the playlists Korra likes to blast when she works out. She brushes your wrist and tells you to wait before walking off through the crowd, returning in a few minutes with a pair of drinks in hand. She hands you a whiskey sour and raises her plastic cup to yours before taking a long sip of her beer, swaying lightly to the music.
You think you could've stayed for hours, drinking and dancing and laughing with Korra. If anything the air becomes more electric, filled with the free energy of people throwing themselves to the wind and enjoying a night made just for them. It emboldens you, lets you close the space between your bodies like you'd normally be afraid to do in public. Your free hand brushes her hair to the side and you trace the back of her neck with soft kisses, rhythm of the music throbbing in time with your hot pulse and aching hips. When the set ends she turns to you with dark eyes, a hunger in them that makes your head spin.
The door to your apartment is barely shut before she collides into you roughly, all hands and teeth and those dark, dark eyes. You meet her move for move, earning gasps and moans and whispered curses as you explore her powerful body and mark her as yours. She fucks you hard, holding you up against the wall with her mouth, teasing out every inch of you again and again and laying you bare in a way you could never do with anyone but Korra, Korra, Korra. Her name is a mantra on your lips, a lifeline in a heady fog of pleasure, a wish and a promise wrapped tightly over your heart.
When you make it to bed she falls asleep wrapped around you and curled into your naked breast, your fingers splayed languidly over the dark skin of her back. Your head is clouded in a haze of musky sex and whiskey and joyous energy.
As you fall asleep, you think that maybe the feeling bubbling in your chest is pride, after all.