Disclaimer: Dude, I got like five bucks to my name. I obviously don't own it and suing me would be a big, fat waste of man-hours and resources.
Warning(s): Implied sexual content, slight OOC-ness (Though, they are older so…)
Scars, need, empathy
When she comes to him under the cover of darkness, she always finds understanding and detached fondness in his ember eyes.
Hard to believe they were once mortal enemies.
She shares an odd bond with him. The knowledge of what it took to survive in a cruel, cruel world and the battle scars that proved it. The acceptance that she cannot merely forgive and forget what was done. The ability to push past the anger, the hatred, and the tears and learn how to heal the festering wounds. But most of all, the fact that there was no strings attached. No sweet nothings, no mind games, no obligations.
It was something she liked, something she needed.
Sweat, hands, heat
It's wrong but Katara can't help but lose herself in it all.
The passion—the fire—sweeps her up in its sweltering embrace and electrifies every worked, frayed nerve in her being, bringing her to a high that makes her feel alive in a world that had taken so much from her. She couldn't help but let out a hissing smile as roughened hands ghosted down her slim flanks.
Any feelings of guilt for her crimes are fleeting.
Morning light, rumpled sheets, reality
She wakes in a tangled heap of soiled sheets, content but the bed's cold.
He's already up and dressed, sitting at the edge of the bed strapping his boots. He looks over and smiles a lazy smile at her and she smiles back because he hasn't left yet.
He never leaves until she wakes and she's thankful for that.
She stands stiffly and hunts for her own clothes.
When the moon slips away and the ashy pink tones of dawns light begins to coagulate in the east they part ways, back to their homes to live honest lives—or that's what they tell themselves.
Katara was always careful. Always.
She tip toes into her sleepy little house like a thief and locks herself in the bathroom.
Meticulously, she scrubs her skin and hair clean of her of the night's activities—of her betrayal.
Before she slips back into her own bed she fastens an orange band back around her neck, adjusting it. She tries to ignore the air symbol so lovingly carved into its wooden pendant.
A/N: Very short and bittersweet. I didn't do a final edit on this thing but I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are always lovely, my dears. :)