A/N: This chapter went up at the same time as the previous one. Thanks for reading!
Previous chapter: Kwan announces his retirement. Korra and Noatak find a private place to eat, and it ends up as a date. Noatak suggests that Korra return his bending to him, and she does not take it well.
XX
Refuge
Shortly after they return to their table, the server surprises Noatak and Korra with two bowls of a shaved ice dessert and yet another bottle of wine, and the mood livens considerably. Conversation begins to get silly as the sugar and the alcohol sneak up on them. Korra tells him about the time she slipped away from the Avatar training compound to chase a fox-hare and caused a night-long panic among the Order of the White Lotus. Noatak tells her about one late drunken night when the girls at the brothel insisted on dressing Kwan and him in drag for giggles, but it ended in an explosive argument, and Noatak stormed out into public forgetting that he was wearing a dress.
By the time they leave the restaurant, they're both flushed and laughing. The streets are already starting to empty, even though the moon is still low in the sky. Noatak leaves a generous tip for the restaurant staff, and the manager is beaming so widely that Korra no longer feels guilty for putting him out. Truthfully, she doesn't feel anything over the glow of the alcohol. The street lights are hazy, and she stumbles against Noatak as they walk, hearing shrill giggles leave her mouth.
"We have to be stealthy," he reminds her, and she nods solemnly and tries to slink close to the ground. Then her world pitches, and she's lying on cold cobblestone, laughing, staring at blurred stars in the sky. Noatak's face comes into view above her; he smiles as he speaks. She can't make out the words, but he's clearly mocking her, and she swings a sloppy fist at his face, missing wildly.
His arms scoop beneath her, and she tries to protest that she can walk, but he carries her down the street. Korra has never been a fan of the idea of being a damsel in distress, but his strong arms are comforting, and warm, and she leans her head against his shoulder and relents.
Then he's laying her on her bed.
"No, lay me on your bed instead," she slurs. "Then lay me." She laughs at her bawdy pun.
He clumsily pulls the covers up to her shoulders. "You're drunk."
"No, you're drunk."
"Indeed I am, so I am returning to my own bed like a gentleman. Goodnight, Avatar Korra." He turns to leave.
"Wait! You gotta kiss me goodnight."
Turning back to her, he arches a brow. "Is that so?"
"We had a date-"
"A business dinner."
"-so we have to kiss. It's the rule." She tries to smile sweetly at him, but her face is too numb to obey her demands.
"Far be it from me to break rules." He braces himself on the wall for support as he bends down and plants an unsatisfying kiss on her forehead.
"Asshole," she mutters, and her eyes close, and that's the last thing she remembers before falling asleep.
.*.*.*.
Korra opens her eyes. Her head is pounding, and she rolls over, sparking a bolt of flame so she can view the clock in the dark. It's just barely after one. She's surprised; it seems much later. Her head is still spinning a little, but she feels much more in control now. She hasn't been that drunk in years, and she cringes as she remembers flashes of bad jokes and embarrassing behaviour.
As she shuffles toward the bathroom, she glances at Noatak's room. The door is closed, and even though the light is on, she can hear faint snores from the other side of it. She's disappointed. It's been a strange day with wild extremes, and she hoped one of those extremes might lead to them sleeping together again.
You blew that when you agreed to open that third bottle of wine.
She runs the shower hot and strips, then steps in and closes the door. The steam caresses her body, rejuvenating her. Experimentally, she tries to pull the water into her skin, and her heart leaps as she discovers that she can heal again. It seems the food really did do her some good.
She uses her healing on her shoulder, then her wounded thigh - it's weak healing, at best, but it's better than nothing. While she's at it, she also uses the healing to get rid of the early stages of her hangover.
Now she has an excuse to wake up Noatak. Her heart pounds.
"Don't get your hopes up," she mutters aloud to herself. "After that awful 'lay' come-on, you'll be lucky if he ever wants to touch you again."
But just in case, when she steps out of the shower, she takes the time to brush her teeth and pull her hair into its ponytails. Her hands are shaking.
Relax, she tells herself. Just going to try to seduce the man who was once your greatest enemy. No big deal. She tests out a few sexy pouts in the mirror, then takes a deep breath, gathering her confidence.
.*.*.*.
Noatak jerks upright as a knock sounds at the door. "Korra?" he asks, his voice croaking with fatigue.
"I can heal again." She sounds surprisingly sober.
The bedside lamp is on, and as he looks down, he realizes that he fell asleep with his hand down his pants. Charming. He quickly withdraws it and crawls under the covers. Thankfully she knocked before she entered, or that could have been awkward.
Combing a hand through his hair - he can feel it sticking in all directions - he invites her in. The door swings open, and she steps into the room carrying a glass of water. She's dressed in her shirt and her underwear, and his eyes are drawn to the strong curves of her legs.
"I know it's late," she says.
"It's fine. How are you feeling?" He moves over to one side of the bed, leaving room for her.
"Much more sober, and a bit sheepish about some of the things I said." Her cheeks darken.
He knows the feeling; he can't believe he told her the story about the dress.
She sets the glass on the bedside table and bends the water out of it. "It's really weak, but it's still healing, so it's better than nothing."
As she settles on the bed beside him, her proximity makes every hair on his body stand on end. She smells of mint and soap, with a faint aroma of wine beneath it. Neither of them speaks as she heals the goose-egg on the back of his head, then the wound at his neck. Her hands rise to his temples, too, and he's surprised to feel the after-effects of the wine fade away.
She pulls away. "I can heal some of the bruises from our sparring match, too."
"Thanks." He allows her to heal the bruises on his forearms, then crawls out from under the covers and rolls up his pants so that she can heal his bruised knee.
He studies her face as she works. She's so expressive that he has rarely seen her face in a state of calmness, and he finds himself admiring the rhythm of her features: the snub of her nose matches the angle of her lips and the curl of her dark eyelashes. One brow is just slightly creased with focus, and he has the urge to soothe the wrinkle with his fingertips.
Then her tongue darts out, subconsciously dampening her lips, and he's reminded of the way her lips looked around a cigar. His thoughts begin to take an inappropriate turn, and he feels himself hardening so quickly that he would suspect she was using bloodbending on him if he didn't know how averse she was to the art. She must notice - the fabric of his pants isn't heavy enough to hide himself - but she doesn't react.
When she finishes healing him, her eyes flit up to meet his, and he feels his cheeks flush, knowing he has been caught staring at her.
"Done," she says. "Unless..." After a moment's hesitation, she finishes, "there are those scratches on your back."
"No, that's fine." Truth be told, he likes having them there.
She doesn't leave, and he doesn't want her to. His eyes search hers as he tries to gauge how she'll respond if he makes a move. "Did you heal your shoulder?"
"Yeah."
"Mind if I take a look at it, just to see how it's coming along?"
Her eyes squint a little as she tries to read his intentions, but she nods again. "Okay."
"Sit cross-legged and upright," he says, and he settles to a seat behind her, his folded shins pressing against her rear. His hand smooths the healed shoulder, then slides down the length of her arm; his fingers interlock with hers.
"What kind of examination is this?" she asks, and he can tell she's trying to sound playfully suspicious.
"Chi flow analysis," he says, not bothering to hide the blatant fabrication from his tone. Slowly, he raises her arm with their joined hands. He gently tests the full range of motion with her straightened arm, then guides her through a series of slow, arcing motions. The only sounds are their breaths and the occasional whine of a mattress spring. After a few minutes, the fingertips of his free hand rest gently on her elbow as he guides her to bend her arm. Their interlocked fingers guide her through the motions again, this time with her arm bent. It's calming to move in unison with her; it feels as if they are training or dancing together.
He leans close to murmur in her ear: "Any pain?"
"No."
He keeps his lips by her ear as his hand releases hers; he trails fingertips up the inside of her forearm. "How about now?"
"I'm definitely feeling something."
His fingers slow. "Pain?"
"No. A warm tingling."
"That's good." He slides his palm along her biceps and then delicately squeezes her shoulder, his other hand rising to the other shoulder to mirror the motion. "Do you feel any difference between the two?" he asks as he slowly rubs both of them.
"I'm not sure." Her voice is barely a whisper. "Keep going."
He squeezes a little harder; he has never felt such muscular shoulders on a woman before. "Flex, then relax," he instructs. As she complies, he briefly closes his eyes to focus on the sensation. Spirits, is she strong.
"Feel any difference between them?" he asks.
"About the same."
"Good." His fingers graze either side of her neck, then back down to trace her collarbones through the fabric of her shirt, and she gives a low hum.
"Sorry; it slipped out," she says, and he can see her ears darken.
"That's fine. There's no need to restrain yourself." He repeats the motion, and he revels in the way her breath changes pitch.
"Are you still testing my shoulder?" she asks, her voice low and relaxed.
"It seems to be healing well. Do you want me to stop?"
"No," she says softly.
He unfolds his legs and stretches them along either side of her body, then edges forward until his abdomen nestles against her back. He fans his fingers and traces lines between her shoulders and neck, and she gasps.
"I'm really sensitive there."
"Here?" He retraces the lines, and she gives a small shiver.
Once upon a time, he clamped his hand to the back of her neck out of hatred, but now he gently rests it there to bring her pleasure, his thumb stroking her skin. She gives a moan so faint that it's barely audible. His other hand tugs her collar toward her shoulder as he bends forward. His lips gently close over the ridge of muscle between her shoulder and neck, and this time, her moan is louder and a shiver runs through her body.
Intrigued by her responsiveness, he drags his mouth up her neck, releasing hot breath against her skin as he goes. She squirms, and the friction makes him ache so painfully that his hands drop to her waist to hold her still. There's a spot just below the nape of her hairline that makes her gasp, and he discovers she wasn't lying about being sensitive - as he lingers there, suckling at her skin, she cries out, and her abdominal muscles start flexing wildly beneath his hands. When his mouth finally pauses, he pretends it's to give her a break from the torture, but it's really because he's seeing spots in his vision from holding his breath with her.
"Don't stop," she whispers.
His hands rub the curves between her hips and waist; he means for the motion to soothe her, but her shape makes him throb. Hips have always been his favourite part of the body; aside from showcasing each gender's unique beauty, they house raw power and strength. Korra's are especially shapely and dense with muscle. He wants to tell her how beautiful they are, how attractive he finds them on a primal level, but the words get stuck in his throat and escape as a groan. Instead, he kisses her neck again, and he's rewarded with a soft whimper.
Eager to feel other curves, he slowly slides his palms up her abdomen. When he reaches her breasts, she suddenly cries out. Her hands drop to either side of her body and grab his thighs so hard that he's sure he's going to bruise.
He expected traditional bindings beneath the shirt, but he's surprised to feel the shape of a modern brassiere through the fabric. He squeezes a breast in each hand, and she arches into his grip, her fingertips clawing into his thighs. The motion presses her ass firmly between his legs, and his eyes flutter closed as he begins to grind against her before he knows what he's doing. That same raw instinct as last night is demanding to take control.
But this time, he wants to savour her. He wants to see her reveal her body to him, one article of clothing at a time, taste her breasts, her navel, her groin. He wants to breathe in the sweet scents that are unique to a woman's body, to hear her cry out for him over and over. And before any of that, he wants to touch her properly, the way he couldn't from his awkward angle last night.
One hand stays on her breasts, and the other nestles between her legs. He carefully kisses the length of her neck, giving her an opening to show hesitation if she needs to, but she only squirms a little with impatience. Two fingers begin to move in small circles on the fabric. Her head lolls back onto his shoulder, mouth open, eyes closed. As his fingers persist, her body weight slackens. He leans forward to support her better, and his legs bend to hug either side of her body. He can't quite kiss her properly while he's sitting behind her like this, but there will be time for that later. Right now, she's so warm, leaning up against him, that he's content to envelop her.
But he doesn't want any more barriers between them. His fingers slow and drift back up to her hip. As he edges his fingers beneath the waistband of her underwear, his heart beats so strongly that he wonders if she can feel it pounding against her back.
"Korra-" he whispers, but she cuts him off.
"Please."
As he slides his hand beneath the fabric, he listens for her response; her breaths are harsher, faster. His body quivers, so impatient that it's painful, but he clenches his teeth, determined to take his time. He plants a kiss on her temple, and his fingers settle into a steady rhythm. Korra's head is rolling now, her mouth slack.
"Noatak," she whimpers.
His fingers halt.
Noatak. He closes his eyes and takes in a long breath, holds it, then releases it. No one has ever used that name, not in this context. He has always been Amon, since the very beginning. Amon is safe: Amon can be rejected, and that's okay, because Amon is a persona. Noatak is a vulnerability.
Korra must realize her mistake, because she's tense in his arms. "I'm sorry." Her voice wavers, and he realizes he is shutting her out. You're afraid of love.
He decides to give the name a fair chance. "Say it again."
A bit uncertainly, she says, "Noatak."
The word rises to his head like champagne bubbles. "Like you mean it," he growls, and his fingers begin to move.
She moans his name this time, and again, and his other hand plunges beneath her waistband to join the first, because he needs to reach into her soul the way she is reaching into his. This is the most perfect acceptance he could ever have: the Avatar panting his name, her body tightening around his fingers.
Her cries begin to rise in pitch, and her body stiffens. His name is fading now, blurring into instinctive yells. He hangs on to every sound. This is the first time that someone will come for him, for Noatak, knowing all his secrets and downfalls, and she looks so pained and tortured and beautiful that he needs to release her, he needs to release her...
She lets out a shriek and doubles over. He folds tighter around her, his eyes squeezing shut as he almost loses control with her.
There's a long pause while they sit doubled over together, his hands unmoving. He's having troubles thinking; his mind is caught on her shriek, replaying it over and over.
Korra gives a soft groan and stirs, bringing him back to himself.
His hands slide free of her underwear, and he absently brings his fingers to his lips as disentangles himself from behind her. As he stretches out beside her, he feels her eyes tracking him. He can't figure out what she's staring so intently; it takes him a moment to realize that he's still suckling his fingertips. Embarrassed, he drops his hand.
"Did I see that right?" she murmurs. "Did you just lick your fingers?"
He feels his cheeks warm, unsure if the gesture came across as sensual or perverted. His brain is too sluggish to think of a charming explanation, so he just says, "Yes."
"Fuck," she whispers, as if it's the hottest thing he could have done, and he feels a wave of relief. She rolls to face him and grips the tip of his chin, pulling him in for a lazy kiss. He's still coiled so tightly that he groans into her mouth, and she gives a surprised hum at his enthusiasm.
Then she rolls on top of him, her hands raking into his hair as she deepens the kiss, and it's his turn to be surprised, because he expected her to need a minute to recover. His arms wrap around her as he slides his tongue along hers. Every tiny squirm and twitch of her body sends heat rocketing through him, and he's quickly coming to the realization that in spite of all the day's self-stimulation, he's not going to be able to last long enough to do everything he wants to do with her.
He breaks the kiss, and his lips move to her ear to warn her. "I want to keep you up all night, but my restraint is failing."
Propping herself up on one elbow, she studies him, her eyelids low. "Then we should take care of you now, then give you a little time to recover. You brought the condoms and lubricant, right?"
"Back pocket of my bag."
"Wait here." She gives him a heavy kiss, her teeth digging into his lips. Then she moves to his bag, propped neatly by the door, and begins to rifle through it. He waits, anticipation dancing in his stomach.
When she stands up again, a change comes over her posture. Her shoulders and hips are in heavily angled contrapposto, and her brows are low, her lips open an alluring crack. He props himself on an elbow to watch her; she walks confidently toward him, her body swaying, and he feels his throat tighten. It's as if he is her prey, and he has never, in forty-six years, felt this strange mix of lust and helplessness. At this rate, he's not even going to last until she touches him.
She sets a condom and the lubricant on the bedside table, then pulls out her ponytails, messily raking her fingers through her hair. Her hands curl into the bottom of her shirt. "Should I take this off?"
Still caught off guard by her sudden confidence, he can only nod.
She slowly peels the shirt up her body, revealing a defined abdomen, a dark blue bra, and the most beautiful cleavage he has ever seen. The swell of her breasts, the deep lines of her breastbone, the subtle ripples of muscle: all three meet and blend in perfect harmony. He raises a hand to trace it.
"Does this taste as good as it looks?" he rumbles.
Her cheeks darken, and she looks so shy for a second that he's afraid he has interrupted the mood, but then she says, "Come here and see for yourself."
His legs swing over the side of the bed and he sits up; his hands catch her hips, and he gently pulls her forward. He nuzzles into her breastbone. Her scent has gathered here, trapped between her breasts, and it's so sweet and heady that he feels his eyes roll back. He breathes in, his lips just barely skimming her skin, and he can't stop the moan that escapes when he finally exhales.
She reaches behind her back. Her bare breasts fall to either side of his face, warm and round, as her bra drops to the floor. He reaches up to squeeze them and kisses across to a nipple, taking it into his mouth. Her body suddenly writhes and she gives a soft moan, and he lingers for a few minutes, enjoying the sounds she's making.
When she eventually pulls away, she takes a step back. Her hands drop to the waistband of her underwear. She pulls them off and tosses them aside, then slowly stands upright, like a flower unfurling.
Noatak takes a moment to study her body. He has met many beautiful women in his life, but none has aligned with his idea of beauty so well as Korra. Her frame is thick and built with strong curves, and the lines of her muscles are deep and smooth. Her youth shows in her skin; it's soft and healthy, and he wants to touch all of her at once.
His eyes lift to meet hers, and he's surprised to see insecurity flickering in the blue irises.
"Is my scrutiny making you uncomfortable?" he asks. Long ago, when he was young and inexperienced, a lover complained that he was too intense in the bedroom, and he has never been able to shake that worry from the back of his mind.
"No, it's just..." She shrugs. "I'm worried I'm...unattractive."
At first, he can't figure out what she means, but then her eyes subconsciously flick to his groin, and he realizes that he has gone soft. He almost plays it off as an unwanted side-effect of age, or maybe even playing with himself too much, but this whole evening has been built on a foundation of honesty, even when truths were difficult.
"Intimidation can sometimes have unflattering side effects," he admits, both to her and to himself.
"Intimidation?" She looks bewildered. "Are you saying that I intimidate you?"
He strokes her abdomen with his knuckles, following the motion with his eyes. "Korra, my entire life, I regarded you as the most perfect and powerful being ever to exist, a human with one foot in the spirit world. Now you're standing before me in all your beautiful, natural perfection, but everything's backwards, because you're looking at me as if I am the spirit. As if I am the wild one, and you are here to tame me." He grips her hips and looks up at her. "Yes, you intimidate me, Avatar. You terrify me. You always have."
Her jaw quivers and she presses a hand to his cheek; her eyes are so glassy that he's worried that she's going to weep. Instead, she swallows hard and smiles. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but that's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me."
It doesn't sound ridiculous, because he knows their history as well as she does. He has formally yielded any power he ever held over her, washed it away by admitting that it never existed. His heart beats in his temples and he feels dizzy.
Her hands hook around his waistband, and she looks at him for permission. He nods, and she pulls off his pants, leaving him naked. "Lie on your back," she whispers, and when he complies, she grabs the bottle of lubricant and kneels between his legs.
"There's something I want to do for you," she says, "but I'm not very good at it." Her cheeks are darkening again. "So I need you to tell me what feels good."
"Of course." He can't help wondering how she could go six years in a relationship without developing the skill he thinks she's alluding to; he's intrigued by the idea of helping her learn. He has been a mentor in many capacities, but never in the bedroom.
"I, um, was also thinking I might," she blurts, and then she holds up the bottle. "If you're comfortable with...I mean...I know you probably sometimes...in the past...um...were used to a specific type of stimulation...and I've always wanted to try..."
She seems so flustered that he wants to rescue her, but it takes him a minute to figure out what she's asking. When she starts awkwardly miming a hooked finger in the air, his eyebrows shoot up. She's clearly more knowledgeable about male anatomy than she claims to be. He catches her wrist to interrupt her.
"Yes, I'd like that," he says.
She looks so mortified that he sits up and pulls her in for a long, deep kiss. When it breaks, he presses his forehead against hers. He can feel her breaths trembling against his damp lips. Sometimes he forgets how much younger than him she is, how much less life experience and confidence she has.
"I'll talk you through it," he says softly.
"Okay." She still sounds a little unsure of herself, and he wishes he could give her back her earlier confidence to help her relax. She gives him another quick kiss, then pulls away. "Lay down again."
He complies, and she trails kisses down his abdomen. Her mouth is warm, and he can't hold back a soft, pleased growl. While she's initially a bit clumsy, her enthusiasm makes her a quick learner, and after she incorporates his few small suggestions, he finds himself losing the ability to speak at all. He wants to watch her work, but it feels so good that he can't hold his eyes open. Time becomes meaningless, and he loses all senses except touch; he can feel everything at once, in perfect detail - her mouth, the fabric of the blanket beneath him, the air against his skin.
There's a pause, just long enough for him to start to come back to himself. His eyelids part and he watches her open the bottle, then close it again and set it on the bedside table.
She presses too fast, and he winces. "A little slower," he whispers.
Suddenly, she moves across the spot she's looking for, and he cries out as a spark of electricity shoots through his insides.
"There?" she whispers.
"Back just a little-" His sentence ends in a groan as she finds it again. "There. Just a bit softer."
"Like that?"
He opens his mouth to reply, but he has forgotten every word he ever learned. She murmurs something - he can tell by the tone that it's erotic, but he can't grasp the meaning - and then he feels the warmth of her mouth again. It's too much for him to bear. He feels his head toss from side to side and hears himself cursing and groaning, and his fingers curl into the blankets. He can't keep his hips still, but she's working with his movements anyway, and he suddenly realizes that he's seconds away.
"Korra," he gasps, trying to warn her.
She gives an encouraging hum; it vibrates through him, and his world explodes. He tenses so hard that his back lifts off the bed, his muscles shaking. This is the release he has been chasing all day, burning white-hot through every inch of his body, wave after wave. As it finally begins to subside, he collapses into the mattress, hollow and panting.
After a moment, he feels the bed shift as Korra stands up. His eyelids crack open. She's standing by the handbag, using a handkerchief to clean up her hands. She gives him a shy smile. "Not bad, for a beginner?"
It's an understatement, but he hasn't regained control over his language yet, so he nods, and she beams.
Weakly, he sits up and runs a hand through his hair, then wipes his damp forehead with the back of his hand. He can't remember the last time he came that hard, and his fingers and toes are still tingling. As she returns to the bed, he studies her, searching for the shame that sometimes crushes him after climax, but instead, he only finds the urge to kiss her again. He grabs her hand and pulls her forward to sit in his lap.
They spend several minutes kissing, and it's freeing to explore her mouth and jaw without the urgency of arousal. Her hands smooth his neck and chest, and they feel like silk against his sensitized skin. Then she leans in closer, pressing her chest against his; the motion makes her shift in his lap, and she's so warm and soft that he feels his body reawakening. It's surprisingly soon after all the day's activity, even for him, and suspicion sparks in his mind, but he dismisses it. There's no chance Korra would abuse bloodbending the way he did.
Korra must notice his recovery, too, because she bites into his lower lip, then pulls back to look at him. "Ready for more?" she asks a bit shyly.
His palm slides slowly down her spine. "Yes."
Her head cocks at the bedside table; he reaches for the condom, and she leans out of the way to give him room to put it on. He originally planned to lay her on her back and spend some time exploring her the way she explored him, but that will have to wait, because she's already impatiently centring herself over him.
Their bodies lock, both still sitting upright, and he rakes a hand into the back of her hair and pulls her in close.
His lips find her ear. "Touch yourself if you want to." She seemed to be waiting for permission last time.
"Okay," she whispers.
Then they begin to rock together, and the motion is gentle, almost soothing. He buries his face in her neck, and he can taste her sweat, its sweetness rolling across his tongue with each breath. Her head lolls against him, and one of her hands slides between their bodies and settles between her legs. His ears strain to hang on to every soft breath and gasp that leaves her mouth. They're almost musical, as if she's playing her body, making it sing.
Warmth is building between them, but this isn't the frantic build of last night; he feels himself losing focus, drifting with her away from their bodies. He clings to her, and as they are pulled further and further away, his teeth sink into the skin of her neck to anchor them together. Her free hand claws into his hair until his scalp aches.
Then her cries begin to rise in pitch, and she arches her back so violently that she pulls away from him. He can tell she's close, and he falls back on his elbows for a better view. She grinds into him, her speed increasing, and suddenly tosses her head back, giving a wailing moan. It resonates deep within his body, the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. He barely hangs on long enough to watch; her wail is just fading when he feels his mouth spread and his eyes screw shut. It's not the explosive climax he had earlier, but one as gentle and rolling as the lovemaking that preceded it.
Slowly, he remembers to breathe again. He sinks back into the mattress. Korra falls to the bed beside him. He knows he should probably remove the condom and wipe the sweat off his brow, but instead he rolls onto his side to face her.
Her eyes search his, and he sees a growing hint of worry there. His glow fades. "Are you okay?" he asks.
"Mostly. That was amazing."
"But?"
"A tiny part of me wonders what the hell we think we're doing," she whispers.
His throat tightens, but he speaks confidently: "We're taking a night to ourselves. Everything else can wait."
She hesitates. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the mood."
"It's fine," he says, and she leans forward to give him a soft kiss, but as their lips touch, he feels a wave of anxiety drown his contentment. It doesn't matter if they try to take a night to hide from it all; it won't make any of it go away. There's still Kwan, and Tarrlok's freedom, and inevitable separation. And above it all is the knowledge that she is being corroded from the inside, because of him - it's not his fault, exactly, but he is the seed from which the corruption has grown. He is the reason she's fading away.
His arms suddenly wrap around her and he pulls her against him so tightly that her breath escapes in a blast. She paws at his chest and pushes back so that she can study him; her brows are pinched.
"Noatak?"
The name makes the his throat twist even tighter. "You have to try giving me back my bending," he says with authority. "It's our best chance at saving you."
Her eyes narrow so faintly that it's almost indiscernible, but he's observant enough to catch it.
"If it doesn't work, you can take it right back again," he says. When her expression doesn't change, he adds, "I promise, there is no ulterior motive. I want to help you."
Her eyes flicker. "I'm exhausted."
"Tomorrow morning. We should sleep first anyway."
She holds his gaze for a few beats longer, then says, "Okay."
Her suspicion is bothering him - it doesn't seem to fit after how honestly they discussed his feelings about bloodbending at the restaurant - but it's his own fault for bringing it up when he did. Maybe, thanks to his poor timing, she's even looking back on this entire night, trying to decide if this was all part of some plan to manipulate her. You've tainted something amazing - you do have a knack for doing that, don't you?
Hesitantly, he leans in for a kiss, and to his relief, she is just as open with her kiss as she was before he brought all this up. When he pulls away, her eyes are warm again. She still trusts him.
Now her suspicion seems especially out of place.
He excuses himself to clean up. When he returns to the bed, she's already under the covers, snuggling into a pillow.
"Is it okay if I stay here tonight?" she asks. Her cheeks are glowing and she looks so content that he wonders if he was just imagining all the oddness a moment ago.
"I would like that." He crawls into bed and turns off the light, then spoons behind her. Her skin radiates heat, and he holds her close, planting a soft kiss into the sensitive spot at the nape of her neck. Their fingers lace together over her bare chest. As they whisper their goodnights, he marvels that it was only yesterday that a night of lovemaking left them with anger and tears; it seems so long ago. He feels as if he has lived years in the days since he was released from prison. He feels happy and safe.
But his mind won't stop lingering on the bloodbending. As he's just drifting to sleep, an image rises in his mind of the suspicious flicker in her eyes, and his paranoia whispers disconcerting words:
Maybe it's not that she doesn't trust your intentions.
Maybe it's that she wants to keep it.