The shed isn't as dark as Katara had hoped - there are holes in the roof letting the moonlight in - but it will have to do. She slams the door shut with her foot, shoves Smellerbee inside. Something falls down with a metallic crash when she hits the wall, but Katara doesn't stop. She presses up against her, fists a hand in her hair and pulls Smellerbee's head back for another kiss, all hunger.
Most days, Katara is happy. Most days, she can hold it in. She works and smiles and wants to be content, but her mind is stained with blood that won't wash out.
Smellerbee is thin and taut beneath her, arching back against Katara's hold, against Katara's thigh between her legs. She returns the kisses feverishly with half-bites and bruising lips.
It's in Smellerbee, too. Gritted teeth and burning eyes. Tip her just a little and violence spills out.
The air is cold on Katara's breasts. Smellerbee has her dress off her shoulders; Katara has Smellerbee's pants off her hips. They grind together, rough and fast, with no clear goal in sight. Katara's nails scratch Smellerbee's thighs and Smellerbee leaves stinging red marks on Katara's neck, but the pain is neither the ends nor the means.
Katara knows and Smellerbee knows. There are losses that can't be forgotten, crimes that can't be forgiven. Katara knows and Smellerbee knows that once awakened, the anger never goes back to sleep.
Breaking a kiss to come up for air, Katara falters. The shed is old and rickety, smelling of dust and murky wood. The sound of her own panting is deafeningly loud in her ears. She looks down at her fingers digging into the flesh of Smellerbee's breast and feels a twinge of shame. She moves to let go, but Smellerbee catches her wrist, squeezes it so hard Katara cries out. Her eyes burn.
"I can take it."
The paint on her cheeks is smudged and dark like dried blood. Katara tightens her fist in Smellerbee's hair and gives her everything she's got.