Katara has had limited experience with men, but she can already say that Jet is the most fascinating one she's ever met in her life.

He runs his own guerilla resistance group, commanding all of these ragtag orphans into a fighting force. He's lost his entire family to the Fire Nation pig-dogs— understands what it's like to sacrifice and grieve, work for a better future. He's so confident and smart and—

handsome? Definitely.

The treehouse they've slipped up to is dark, and she shivers as he traces her collarbone with a callused fingertip— his pupils are blown larger than usual. Her breath hitches, and she leans closer towards him, unthinkingly.

"You're really pretty, you know," he drawls, his tongue darting out from between his lips. "The prettiest girl I've seen in a long time."

She blushes, in spite of herself. No boy has called her pretty before— Katara, with her big jug-ears and frizzy hair and still-small breasts. Awkwardly, she folds her arms over her chest, but Jet shoves them aside. "Hey, don't be embarassed. How old are you?"

"I'll be fifteen in a couple of months."

"That's almost a woman," he says, and then his mouth is on hers, hot and needy and gasping. Her first— her first kiss. It's wetter and softer, more exhilarating than she'd expected, and there's a strange prickling sensation starting to build between her legs. One she's afraid to name.

We need to stop almost spills from her throat, because she remembers Gran-Gran's all-too-firm talks about how good Water Tribe girls stay chaste until marriage... but she's left her tribe far behind, abandoned it in so many ways. "Do you trust me?" Jet murmurs, trailing kisses down her neck. "You're amazing, I mean it. We could be more than friends."

"I don't know what to do," she admits, cheeks so flushed they seem to pound with their own heartbeat. She feels dizzy, as though the temperature in the treehouse has suddenly spiralled upwards.

"It's natural. Most natural thing in the world," he says, his laugh low, and then he gently pushes her onto the bed, supine. "Just relax, and I'll take care of you."

She wants this— wants him, wants to be a woman and not a little girl so much that lust drives out her rationality. Her hands trembling, she fumbles with the sash on her dress, and arches her hips when Jet bats them aside and takes over the task.