Dedicated to a tumblr friend for her birthday. I wanted to post book 2 fluff stuff. And I ended up liking this one. So here you go.
I believe in you and me and everything we'll ever see and do
~.~
When ice is thrown into fire, it melts.
It's captivating, entrancing. It takes a new shape and the fire dwindles down when it meets the puddles of the ice's despair, and then the water rises up in beautiful vapor. Unseeing to the eye, but bendable to those willing to look close enough.
Ice and fire work together and they create new things.
Mako isn't sure which he is, or what Korra is; they both burn, in theory. They both have the ability to inflict a pain so unbearable. They can both hurt.
But when they meet, it's beautiful.
It's taken awhile, and there's still so many scars left over from before, but they've come back together. They've found each other through the haze of hurt and betrayal and pain – the smoke from fires left over from past mistakes. It took too long to extinguish, and too long to prove that he could, but they made it through. The smoke still settles in their lungs, but they're each welcoming the fresh air with new chances and promises of better tomorrows.
He's caught her for the day, letting the fires of pleasure burn in his bed. He doesn't care how they meet and she doesn't either; they breathe deeply, releasing moans of long awaited desire with each push and pull. She grasps skin, hair, anything she can, nails raking up and down his torso. Her lips melt against his when the noises get too loud and they grasp each other's palms with a tight need when they feel themselves in the freefall. It's a wish to fall together and never let go when they touch the ground.
And when they do come down from the high, they don't release their hold on one another.
~.~
When he finally awakens, embarrassed by his low stamina from such a long separation, it's nearly dusk. He rubs the sleep from his tired eyes, bleakly looking around his room as the dropping sunlight gives its last goodbye to the sky, filling it with a shade of dark orange, ready to let the stars take their place. It reminds him of a dying fire, beautiful and controlled, even with its last breath.
He stretches sore limbs under his worn white tank top and hears a stir next to him, closer to the long window. Korra, in her wrappings and her tight blue shirt, turns around to face him, eyes still closed in a deep sleep. But her smile brings a matching one to his face, and he can't help but reach out to fiddle with the lone hairs that lay on her face. Her nose wrinkles, a scowl settling, and he chuckles lightly when her eyes open to peer up at him.
"Good afternoon, sunshine," he jokes. "Or night, however you want to look at it."
Her arms reach up to pull at tight muscles, and he hears the pops in between her bones, "Already?" She turns her head toward the window, then plops her head back down with an annoyed exhale of air. "Jeez, we suck."
"In my defense, you fell asleep first."
"Oh please," he can just imagine her eyes rolling, even though her eyes have closed again. "Your stamina is as strong as a meadow vole."
"Rude." Her smirk is coy and he's torn between ripping it off her face and kissing her.
"So while you were asleep, I was thinking about some things," he begins, one blue eye cracking up at him.
"About your rodent-like ability to hold an orgasm, or something else?" she tries the joke again. It doesn't quite catch on.
"More or less our communication etiquette. Especially since we just got back together."
She raises herself on her elbows cautiously, guarded. He knows the sensitivity of the topic. He understands the unwillingness. But he's tired of uncontrolled fires. He wants them to balance in the best way they can.
"I think the whole stamina thing would be a better topic of conversation."
He laughs lightly, catching her lips in a light, chaste kiss. It's quick, fleeting, and he wants more, but he lets go because he's always been so tight and controlled but whenever he's with her, he breaks apart. He wants them to hold each other together.
"We need to talk, though," her eyes downcast and he immediately catches her chin with his fingertips, drawing her back to him. "Nothing bad, I promise. Just talking."
Her fingers meshed into the scruff of hair that stuck out behind his ears, weaving and tangling through each strand until the feeling went from foreign to familiar. Until the tingles in the tips of her fingers stopped sending shivers straight to her core. "We've never been good at 'just talking,'" she whispers with a joking smile, but he knows she's completely serious. Putting together words that would avoid any type of pain seemed nearly impossible, and they've come to accept that; it wasn't about how the words were produced, but rather the meaning behind them – the one saying them. There was so much more to just a simple conversation, and they were learning that each and every day.
"Practice makes perfect, doesn't it?"
She hums, then pulls him down gently (yet, oh so forcefully, in that special Korra way) to her lips, sighing when they meet. "Or," she suggests seductively, wrapping both of her arms around his neck, "We could just lie in bed all night like this." He breathes deeply, pulling away from her with eyes drawn closed and she brings him back to her like a dragon, with a kiss as hot as one's flames. "Making up for lost time."
"You just don't wanna talk."
"No," she drawls out, breath hot and mingled. "I just have…other things in mind."
"Well," his forehead falls against her nose, "That just won't do."
She's in the middle of questioning his antics when his arms reach around her and pull her off the mattress, causing her to squeal in surprise. Once he gathers his bearings, he moves her downward to cast his arms underneath her knees and her back. He carries her the short distance to the window, where a large windowsill allows just enough room for the two of them. He settles himself against the wall adjacent to the frame, his torso leaning back and his legs bent out. He rests Korra's back against his chest, trapping her in his arms and giving a light squeeze. She lets out a grumble at the position, but relaxes into it anyway.
"Alright," she slaps a hand against his bare thigh, probably too hard, but she doesn't pay close enough attention. He figures it was payback. "You got me here. Let's talk."
"Hold on, I still don't know where to start."
"You didn't plan this out already?" She jokes, rolling her eyes. "That's just unprofessional."
"Okay, okay," he surrenders. "I got this."
"Do you?"
He cups a hand over her mouth to shut her up, and she muffles curses under his palm. He waits until she sags under his touch, finally able to question if she was done, and the annoyed sighs subdued from his hand allow him to let go.
"When my parents died, I had a plan," he began. She doesn't stir in his grasp; she waits and listens with controlled patience. "It was to survive and protect Bolin. It didn't matter how, or where; I just knew that those two things needed to be done at all costs. There wasn't any room for screw ups because I learned the hard way that life doesn't always give you second chances.
"Then I met you. And everything that I taught myself became jumbled. My list wasn't down to two things – it grew. It grew when I fell in love with you."
He hears her breath hitch, and there's a part of him that questions why. It isn't foreign – they both know how they feel. Maybe they'll never get used to it; and that's a scary thing, he thinks. But she's foggy and messy and unexpected and he knew that going into this. She knew it too; him being tight lipped, closed off from the world. But they're opening gates, and they're clearing the fog. It just takes time. They know that now.
"But I kept making mistakes when it came to you and me. And we kept pushing at each other, pushing each other away, and I wasn't reeling you back in. I just kept pushing because life only taught me how to push. That's it. And I screwed up."
"I screwed up too," she offers with a quiet voice.
"Not as much as me."
"Maybe." They're silent for a beat. And the air between them is cold, but comfortable. They've already made their apologies. They understand where they stood, and where they are now. They're past the blockade of grief and anger and have moved on to forgiveness. It's a cool, calming forgiveness, and he's glad that they've reached it, even if it took longer than they both wanted.
"I can't promise I won't mess up again," his gaze meets the headlights of a passing car three stories below, hearing it skid against melted snow and driving through puddles, letting the sound ring in his ears until it was too far away. Korra nestles closer to him, looking up toward his face, but too short to see his distant, amber eyes. "I've made so many mistakes. I had a tight, controlled plan for my life. It was all set – no loopholes, no catches. Just me, Bolin, and surviving."
She toys with the hands around her waist, "That's not much of a life, if you ask me."
"I know," he replies. "But I didn't realize that until I met you." He releases a sigh, head lulling against the wall. "Everything was set and done and straight and then you waltzed in, and suddenly I was an ostrich-horse with its head cut off."
"That's quite an analogy," she chuckles.
Mako smirks, looking down at her with lulled eyes, "It's a good thing."
Her head turns slightly to meet his gaze, their noses almost touching. "Are you sure?"
"Well," he pauses. "I may have been one hell of an idiot sometimes," Korra's snort causes him to send her a quick glare. She shrugs against him, and he can't help the smile that makes its way to his face. "But I've never felt so much for one person that wasn't Bolin. I've never been crazier over someone like this."
"So I drive you crazy?"
He grins at the nostalgic memories of the glow reflecting on Yue Bay and the stolen kiss that still leaves him scatterbrained, even though the action still makes him wince in his ugly days. He knows they've both had plenty of poor moments, and they've had others to make up for it.
"You do."
"But you think I'm pretty amazing."
"I do," he nods. "But you're scary too."
"Master of all four elements and balancer between humans and spirits," she says with a touch of arrogance, but he can tell her cockiness has long dwindled; she's become more aware of the world and what it offers to her. She's grown. "What can I say?"
"Not that part of you," he corrects, nuzzling his nose into her brown hair. He buries farther in, engulfing the scent of ocean water. "I think Korra is more fearsome than the Avatar."
"Why do you say that?" she asks warily.
"Because," he suckles in a breath of salt water. "Korra makes me feel things." When she doesn't respond, he continues. "Because the Avatar may have the ability to bend the elements, but it's Korra who's going to rush after a fleet of armed soldiers by herself to save one person's life. And the Avatar may be a figurehead to most people, but Korra lays under the politics to help those who don't receive help from anyone else. And it's the Avatar that represents peace, but it's Korra who ensures it.
"The Avatar has power, but you hold its strength. You're so much stronger than anything I've ever known. You hold so many things on your shoulders, and you make me feel so much. That's scary, for a guy who only knew how to protect one person in his life."
"You've never said anything like that before."
"That's the point," Mako responds. "That's why I wanna talk. I want to let you know everything, because you deserve it. Because you're Korra."
She swallows, deftly, before releasing herself from his hold, only to come back to his arms chest to chest. Her legs go under his folded knees, wrapping around his slouching torso, while his legs lock her in place. She places her hands on each one of his shoulders and his hold the sides of her thin waist. "Alright then." Her icy blue eyes burn brightly, even in the darkness in the room, her face illuminated from the low hue of the streetlights below. "My turn, right?"
He nods. "Your turn."
"I'm not very good at this."
"I'm not either."
"I'm not very good at any of this." She's delaying herself, and he forces himself to hide his chuckle.
"That's okay," he murmurs soothingly. "I love you. I can wait."
She frowns, "I don't want you to wait."
He's patient. He doesn't push. He's a fire lamp's flame and she's the fluid trying to get it to ignite a room in warmth. But he doesn't want to force the heat; he wants it to burn at a pace that leaves them warm for days, months, years. He doesn't want the flame to burn up with too much force. Fire needs control, and they're still both learning the basics.
He doesn't speak and she reaches up to cup his cheeks with both of her hands.
"I love you," She says. "Or I'm in love with you. I don't know. I don't know the difference." Her thumbs trace idle patterns on his skin and the hidden meanings leave burns in his flesh that tingle in just the right ways. "But I know that I plan to spend every day that I can with you. And when I don't, I'll wish I was with you because it hurts when I'm not. I still don't know what that means – I still don't get it and it's been so long and –"
Mako reaches behind her neck to pull her into a bruising kiss, cutting her off. He nibbles into her bottom lip and forces it open, just as Korra clutches his hair and releases a soft sigh. Mako's head nudges against hers, forcing her head up so he can easily tangle his bare hands into her hair. When he releases her slowly, the lustful, blushing look he expects from her is an irritated one, eyebrows pulled together in annoyance.
"You interrupted me, jerk," she says, pout set, bottom lip jutted out and plump from use. "I thought you wanted me to talk."
"You were rambling," he retorts, licking his lips.
"'Practice makes perfect,'" she mimics him from earlier. "And anyway, it felt good to get it all out. So shut up and let me finish."
He makes a motion with his fingers and lips, as if sealing his mouth shut. She shoves a hand against his shoulder a little too roughly, and he wonders if it may bruise, but he doesn't care. Because she's laughing through it all. They're not opening up behind red scarves, searching for lost siblings, or in sewers as bombs drop from above. They're opening up with smiles on their faces, and it's nothing like they've ever experienced before.
"You scare me too, you know?" she starts again. "I've lived in that compound my whole life, and I was forced to understand things in ways adults told me to, and I grew up alone. All I ever wanted to do was see the world, because I spent my time trapped behind those giant walls." She looks out the window, at the same spot he was previously lost in. "I mean, I understand why now, of course. But when I finally got out, and I saw Republic City for the first time, I was exhilarated." She smiles softly, looking out at the buildings that lit up the night.
"But there were so many things that were different from what I expected," the buildings twinkle in the deep shade of cyan. "The Equalists, the triads, the vagabonds, the politics…" she trails off, the memories catching on her tongue. "But there were things that caught me by such surprise and I didn't really get it at first. When I met you, I didn't think I'd fall for you, honestly. And when I did, I didn't think about how hard I'd fall.
"And when you told me you loved me, I got scared because I didn't know the difference between the Avatar and just Korra. Being with you, loving you, scared me," she kisses the light scruff just beneath his jawbone, the part that juts out in fierce angles.
"Losing you scared me," her head rests against his chest, listening to the soft pound of his heartbeat. She feels his chest clench at her words, and she laughs lightly. Raising her head back up to meet his eyes, softer than she remembered. "But you helped me through those tough times. You showed me how much you loved me no matter what. You made me believe in this again. And at first, it scared me. But I'm not scared anymore. And I understand things better now. I understand us a little more."
He places a soft, tender kiss to her forehead, and she hums at the feeling. It's soft, and full of love and promises and everything they can only try to be. It's okay, too, because love isn't meticulous; she understands that now. They understand so much, and they can make it work, just through that.
"We're not perfect."
"Never were," he replies with a quick wit.
"But I think we're perfect for each other."
His eyebrows rise, surprised at the comment. "Still? After everything?"
"Even more so," she suggests. Her arms hang off his shoulders, hands meeting behind his neck. "Because when we were apart, I still thought about how we were meant for each other. And you fought for me like I knew you would."
"Because we're meant for each other," he finishes, breathless.
"Exactly." She swallows the air caught in her throat, all while he moves in closer, his forehead resting against hers, lips close, but not yet touching.
"Do you think we're done talking now?" she whispers gently against his lips, eyes lidded, shining. His hands mingle through chocolate hair.
"For now," his lips meet hers once again, gentle and tingling and she doesn't ever want the feeling to stop.
"Besides, we have our whole lives to make up for lost conversations."
The fire burns dully, and the ice melts slowly, and the sight has never been more beautiful.