A/N: Lemony-fresh times ahead. I should probably hike the rating up by now...
Their bedchamber is heady with incense, dark and humid as moist velvet, but that is the last thing on Zuko's mind.
Katara clutches his tangled mop of hair and deepens their kiss, forcing her way through lips and teeth. She's no shrinking violet when it comes to love, determined to get what she wants; this doesn't bother him. They're both very determined people, after all.
Gently, almost as though he's afraid to come too close, he traces down her collarbone, the firm swell of her breasts, taut abdominal muscles, silky tendrils of hair, before reaching the warm, slick place at the apex of her thighs; she makes a half-desperate moan and he crooks two fingers within her entrance, listening to her breath grow more and more ragged...
She sheathes him without warning- he bites his lip, tastes coppery blood in his attempt to keep from crying out at the sudden rush of stimulation. It's pure, distilled fervency- the way her back arches, the needy press of her hips against his, how utterly hot and tight and Agni-
He finds sublimation in his orgasm; her walls spasm around him and he's gone, digging his nails into her shoulder blades as he rides out waves upon waves of sharp, golden pleasure. Nothing- nothing- that feels this good can possibly be allowed to him.
After a time, his eyelids flutter open. Katara is still lying on top of him, idly tracing constellations with the pores on his torso. She's smiling a little now, afterglow-high. He reaches out to clasp her hand and smiles back.
These are the moments he likes the best, he thinks.
