(Prompted by Cosmodicy on Tumblr to write something based on Tove Lo's Talking Body. I'm aiming to do something a bit like my Tomb Raider Swear Jar stories. Fluff pieces, sometimes dark mostly light, that fit into the larger world but aren't a part of bigger stories.)
There was a thousand ways to love a woman. A thousand languages that a body could speak.
Asami sometimes thought that Korra was the heavens and the earth all rolled into one. She could move the earth beneath Asami's feet, manipulate the air in her lungs, turn her skin to fire and her legs to liquid. She didn't even need to be the Avatar to do any of those things. Asami was falling, had fallen, was always going to fall for the beautiful water tribe girl. She'd lived with the feelings for so long that she didn't remember what it was like to not have them.
After so long hiding her heart, she was eager, even greedy for Korra's touch. She couldn't shake the feel of Korra's skin under her fingertips. She craved the calloused texture of the Avatar's hands on her body and sometimes it felt like it just wasn't enough. She wanted to breathe the air from Korra's lungs and drown herself in the sound of her voice.
Korra was perfect, even in her imperfections, and Asami could spend hours learning every
curve and every muscle, or kissing each and every new scar. She took every opportunity she could to do so. Months, even years of being together was not enough to shake that feeling of awe. Korra, this beautiful, kind woman was in love with her. She was hers. Oh Korra was the Avatar and she was the world's but at night when no one else could see, she was Asami's to comfort. And she never made any effort to hide her affection or their relationship in public, for better or worse. The people that mattered understood.
She was always so eager. Eager to learn, eager to please, eager to love. Korra laying on Asami. Her hair dangling like a curtain around their faces, blue eyes blown wide by lust and love. Hands searching, touching, stroking taking. Asami pinning Korra to the wall. Lips soft on her clavicle, nails trailing marks down her breasts. Taking. Claiming. Letting herself be claimed in return.
Asami was creative. An inventor. Learning the map of Korra's body as well as she knew the city she'd help rebuild. Little jolts of electricity in all the right places. Ways to be closer, closer, closer. She could never be too close to Korra. There was a thousand miles of skin to taste. Ten thousand words to say.
Korra proved to be a biter. Teeth marks on Asami's neck, and her stomach. Thighs. That little spot where her leg met the curve of her rear. The small of her back and all along a hipbone. And then Asami gave as good as she got. Smudged lipstick on her bicep, a deep, mouth shaped bruise above her navel. A bright red hickey on her neck, just before a press conference.
Then there were the nights filled with slow burning passion. Caresses and kisses, trailing touches and overflowing emotions. And sometimes it fizzled out, Asami content to lay in Korra's arms. And sometimes it burned relentlessly until she was crying, crying, Korra's name in her mouth, Korra's name in the air, Korra's tears searing at her skin.
There was a thousand ways to love a woman, and they explored every one.