Title: Falling Farther In
Author: Kit Spooner
Rating: PG-13/T or maybe R/M for this section, ratings will be vary per chapter
Warnings: Zuko thinks naughty thoughts. Genitalia are mentioned. No sex. One four-letter word.
Disclaimer: Avatar: the Last Airbender was created by Bryan "Sokka" Konietzko and Mike "Aang" DiMartino and is the property of Nickelodeon. I simply support their efforts with my love and with the purchase of lots of merchandise.
Summary: Time's running out for our heroes. While Aang and the others are off planning an attack on the Fire Lord, Katara and Zuko are in charge of building an army for the Avatar. So much can change in just a few weeks.
Notes: Can we say AWKWARD?
Chapter 2: Something More Than This
My dreams, on those nights that I truly slept, were strange that summer. Dreams of fire had always been standard for me, but those summer visions of water were not.
Katara, my friend, companion and partner in the whole Avatar's Army scheme stood by me all those weeks. She was always at my side, day in and day out, keeping me steady (and fed). She determined our route, dealt with the gang of Earth Kingdom quartermasters who constantly bickered over supply trains, and organized the corps of officers. She made sure that all I needed to do was climb up on top of my wagon and charm the peasants.
Her attention was . . . gratifying, even if I knew that she was simply caring for a valued teammate.
It grew awkward, however, when my smoke-and-fire dreams turned to a more liquid variety: the wet coil of her freshly washed hair, the dampness immediately after moistening her lips, the soothing cool of her hands against my exhausted body.
So it was no great surprise to me when a particular dream about leading a legion of tin soldiers into battle suddenly shifted and my mind was filled with the scent of Katara's hair.
No, I won't tell you how I became so familiar with that particular fragrance.
So I'm inhaling that scent, that fascinating mix of clean herbs overlaid with a layer of road dust, and it's wonderful, because now I realize that it's one of those dreams because she's warm and soft, and surprisingly small in my arms.
Yes, I think. If I can't have the real thing, then these dreams really are the best kind of substitute.
My arms tighten their grip around her and she sighs in her sleep, head tilting so that her bare neck is right there in front of my face. I echo her sigh and begin kissing that bare neck, the fine curls escaping her braid tickling my nose.
Katara stirs and I can feel the muscles in her back shifting against my chest; it's one of the benefits of being curled around her like some sort of big cat. And soon her restless shifting becomes a sensual stretch, her shoulders and backside pressing back against me and, oh man, it's one of those dreams. Really.
I continue to kiss her neck, occasionally detouring up to explore the curving edge of her ear. It's something that I suspect I'll never tire of dreaming about. When I gently bite at her earlobe, she makes a quiet moaning noise that makes me instantly hard, and she's still squirming around in that delicious way . . .
Knowing that this tryst is purely imaginary makes me bold, as you might imagine. That arm that's curled over her hip? Well, it puts my hand within range of a number of really intriguing areas, areas which I immediately begin to explore. And judging from the continuing range of noises that Katara's making, she seems to approve of my actions.
At this point in the encounter, I come to the conclusion that I'd really rather have her facing me. I mean, yes, this position is extremely comfortable and it provides me with a very convenient angle for breast-exploration, but I'd kind of like to see her face. Dream sex is great and all, but watching Katara's facial expressions is really the best part, the part that reminds me that yes, it's her, even if it's only imaginary.
So I sling a leg over hers and lean in again, murmuring in her ear. "Katara?"
The reaction is instantaneous and pretty startling.
"Zuko!" Her voice is not the sultry whisper I'd been expecting and when she turns over to stare at me, it's not lust that's coloring her flushed cheeks.
It takes me a moment to realize what that mortified expression on her face means, and that's when I scramble back away from her and slam head-first into the wall next to my cot.
"Aah!" she says, now looking confused and worried. "Are you alright?"
"Oh, shit," I say, more worried about the explanation that I know I'm going to have to provide her. I know now that I'm definitely not dreaming and that I was touching her while she was asleep and oh, Agni, am I some kind of perverted deviant? She'll leave and never come back and then I'll be stuck with this gigantic army with no one to hold my hair back when I puke before speeches.
Worst of all, I won't have her here with me.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," I babble, trying to feign sanity while avoiding eye contact.
"You sure?" Her voice is now one hundred percent concerned and I feel like a heel for worrying her, never mind groping her.
"Yeah," I assure her. "I'm fine. Are . . . you okay?"
"Um," she says, her gaze dropping to the open neckline of her dress, the neckline that my roving hands had pulled open for easier access to her . . .
Okay, I need to stop thinking about her breasts. Better yet, stop staring at them.
"I was asleep!" I blurt.
She stares at me, her expression completely indecipherable.
"I didn't know it was you!" I add.
Now she arches an eyebrow and looks a little more severe.
"I'd never . . ." I pause, consider the options, and blunder onward. "I'd never have done anything to you, Katara!"
Katara's mouth opens, forms an 'o' shape, then closes with an audible snap.
"I swear," I add, for emphasis.
And she's suddenly scowling at me and sliding off the cot and closing the front of her dress.
"You know how much I respect you!" I say desperately. "You heard me promise your brother that I'd never let anyone touch you and I meant it, I was just asleep and dreaming and . . ." I had to pause when a new thought occurred to me. "Were you sleeping in my bed?"
For a moment, my only indication that she's heard me is the sudden tenseness in her shoulders as she faces away from me. Then she whirls and begins to yell, her eyes bright and liquid.
"I was most certainly not sleeping in your bed!" she declares. "I was sitting on that footstool waiting for you to wake back up!" She points at the little stool next to my cot, and then at the folding table bearing a tea service and covered bowl. "I made you dinner, you jackass!"
I stare at her for a long moment, wondering suddenly whether this whole mess is some sort of weird blessing in disguise. It's probably the perfect opportunity to really explain to her how and what I feel. Maybe I should just tell her that I've got this awful crush on her and that I dream about her almost every night and that she's pretty much the only reason I can manage to give those damned speeches all the time. Maybe I should tell her that lately I've been forgetting about the old reasons for the war (honor and truth and the hopes of the world) in favor of newer, softer reasons (making her happy, making her proud of me).
But I can be a bit slow at times, and I don't tell her any of this.
"Oh, dinner," I say stupidly. "Thanks."
Katara makes a wordless sound of rage and hurls a teacup at my head. I manage to duck it, of course, but it bounces off the tent canvas behind me and spills cold tea all over me and my bedding. Then the cup rolls slowly off the cot and shatters against a rock embedded in the floor.
By the time I've stopped staring like an idiot at the broken teacup, she's gone and the tent flap is swinging closed behind her. Damn.
I know I've made at least a couple mistakes this evening, but I'll be damned if I wouldn't make them all over again in a heartbeat.
