This is how I imagine canon happening, after Bo defects from Kuvira and helps everyone, and apologizes. After he makes up and Opal and him are good again, I imagine the pressures of war and the desperation to never loose each other again- because I've heard rumors that some bad stuff is gonna happen-that they'd want to cherish what they have and take the next step in their relationship...
I hope this makes sense. It's my headcannon, anyway. Please review! :)
This moment is nothing like he dreamt it would be.
It is nothing like how the Traids described it: the gangsters draping lacy underthings from their yellow fingers, with greasy smiles and coiled lips. Yuans passed, and high laughter accompanied with cactus juice and beer in dark corners of HQ, girls in short robes gaining kisses and rough touches from men with beady eyes and putrid breath, and groupy hands. Legs tangled under tables until sunrise; words and phrases that a young Mako told his even younger self never to repeat.
He knows he romanticizes a lot; but honestly he's wondering if people are all liars, or that they just get too fucked up in the moment to care.
His mother and father's voices, long forgotten, creep up on him during the strangest times. Now, though, his father's smooth voice whispers in his ear: when you meet a girl, son, you have to treat her like the jewel she is. When you find the right one, you'll know.
But, Daddy, girls are icky.
Oh, my little buddy, you won't be thinking that way for long. Trust me on that.
He's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, and deciding would take far too much effort, so he lets the thought fall from his head like another drop of sweat crashing down to slide along the slope of her breasts.
He thought it would be in his own bed, at least. Somewhere where he can make the memory his own, and have her scent wash into his sheets. His illusions of candles and rose petals have long since fallen prey to cynicism, but he assumed that the first time he had sex, he wouldn't be this nervous.
She makes him nervous, in all the right ways.
They had all but pulled each other into the dimly lit room, exchanging words for grunts and gasps. He tries to remember his own name, and knows he truly is a monster that cannot be caged.
A younger him would have been a mumbling mess at even the thought of the 's' word, but now he just wants to grow old with her, and hear the sound of their one-day-when baby's laughter, and get a nice house that they can call home.
It started with a kiss, at least, desperate as it may have been; at least in that one thing, his expectations and reality coincide. But rather than the sweetness he hoped for, this kiss tasted of copper where she had bitten the inside of his check, and salt. The lavender from her shampoo is making an intoxicating cocktail for his nostrils.
In his perfect world, where they were not separated by war and duties, and the world turning to shit, this would all be planned out better. He remembers the past years in their relationship, where everything was so easy and pure: the nice dates, walking her hand and hand back to his place with some slow music playing on the radio and the comfort of his own sheets. It was all slow, gentle, romantic. Everything that the stories tell you about love, sugar-coating it with all the bows and sighs.
But now he can't lose her again. Not when war makes every second so fragile.
But in reality, he wishes, at least, that he had thought to bring a condom tonight. The blinking light sways above them back and forth from the ceiling in the little room they booked, casting ugly light and shadows unto their silhouettes. Bolin blinks, and she's still there, under him. This is really happening; not some dream. He hopes she's not a virgin, because that would make him feel even more sick with himself. (He's a virgin, too, and he wants this to be perfect for her) But then again, she's way too hot for this to be her first time, and she knows what she's doing-oh, dear agni, she knows what she's doing. His sweet, innocent little Opal...
Her whispered exhortation of not to worry about it was sufficient enough for his adrenaline- addled mind at the time, and now, there is nothing from keeping them from feeling every inch of each other. It's so wet and hot, and Spirits, her breathing is so in synch with his.
They told each other, in all the years they've been together, that they'd wait. They'd wait for the right time, when they were older. No rush, take it slow.
Now, they can't stop.
And despite her whimpering pleas to go harder, faster, he does his best to control his pace, to not succumb to the temptation to send a hand between them and send her over the edge. He doesn't want this to be over so soon.
Because when it's over, it's really over. When she leaves, she'll go back to her family that is splintering at the seams, back to the Airbenders and righting wrongs, and he'll go back to...what? Kuvira is in jail, the Air Temple is full, and he can't go back to Mako. He has nothing now.
He will be gone before she wakes up, and never have to ruin her life again. He will not hurt her anymore than he already has. And it's not like she'll ever want to see him again after all the trouble he's caused with the 'Earth Empire' and Zaofu. It's safer this way, anyway. Staying apart. And, he guesses once she wakes up alone and puts the pieces together that he ran, she'll run to, back to the city. And he's not worth chasing after.
"More..." Her teeth nip his ear, and he's aware he's gone hard, and he breaths out slowly, making himself her canvas.
Her hands travel everywhere, and he lets her. After a while, they rest, and she brings her curious gaze down to his face.
And in that grimy, motel room, with dirt caked on every corner and probably bodily fluids of other lovers smeared and scrubbed off, she wouldn't have realized that it was supposed to mean anything special. That he was saying sorry for all he couldn't do for her.
"Why does it have to be our last?" she murmured, as if reading his mind, and her voice hitching as his lips wandered down towards the dark bruises he had left on her neck. "We've only just found each other again. Everything's just settling down. Come back to the City, to the Temple. I don't wanna leave you." She sounded pleading; pleading and desperate, and pathetic.
Her hand snakes along the inside of his thighs and he moans. He doesn't want to leave either, Spirits he doesn't want this to end. But he's not good for anyone. He'll only hurt her. She's too innocent, too pure-
"Opal..." He whispers. Her flushed face is looming above him; her short, cropped hair falling around her features like some kind of Spirit Goddess.
"Shhhh..."
She kissed him harder and let her right leg cross over his, his left finding a spot between her warm thighs as he realized, somehow for the first time, just how little there was between them. In the scattered moments they'd had alone like this, they had developed a kind of protocol. It involved kissing, which led to hands slowly but hungrily making their way under clothes. From time to time, one of them would blaze a trail to new patches of unexplored flesh, and they would add that to the list.
It was the first time he realized that, maybe, lists could mean something good.
No, they are together/ one. The bed is memorizing the shape of their bodies, the heat sticking the sheets together. Their breathes are making his mind dizzy, and her body's pressed against him like a cocoon. Her sweaty face looms above him, begging for him. He presses his lips into her's, gentle at first, afraid to break her( but this is Opal, and pity the fool who dares to call her anything but strong) then more firm when she grumbles low in her throat. She pushes into him, and a wonderful heat flushes his body. One of her hands is on his chest, right above his heart, and the other is tangled in his hair, scraping his scalp, holding him in place. He feels like an animal in a cage for all the wrong reasons, and only Opal can tame the monster that he has become; betrayal, lies. He's not who he used to be since working for the Earth Empire. He chases after redemption but finds her instead. She smirks, his lips two cherries parting to show her curious tongue.
His hands (for once he is unashamed of them) are on her slim, but firm waist and she squirms slightly as his fingers glide up and down her hips. He pulls back slightly, afraid.
"Tickles." She moans. "More."
He snorts and works his way under the uncharted territory of her shirt, feeling the soft flesh of her breasts. He looks up for a moment, as if to ask, is this okay? She just nods and closes her eyes, letting him explore her.
"I want this." she hisses, like everything she says are words from the mouth of a goddess, and he most obey. And they are. He is. "Go there with me."
"Spirits, Opal..." He breathes in, and let's himself go. He aware he's gone hard, and doesn't give a damn. Weeks ago, he'd have blushed and been a spluttering mess of gibberish after blowing raspberries on her stomach and hearing her giggles. Months ago, he'd have been too embarrassed to even touch a girl that way, let alone look at anywhere but her face. Now, he just doesn't want to lose this moment, lose her.
They've both changed. And not for the better.
His hands find smooth, flesh. He thinks how two such prominent, strong, life-giving wonders, can be so soft and sooth at the touch. As if their tenderness is a shield of some sort, and he is finally let in. He cups them both, smoothing his thumb over her nipples and she gasps in delight. She presses her mouth into his, like she's trying to steal his soul. Their tongues play for a bit, a game of cat and mouse, before she nips his ear, and he hisses. She kisses him on the neck, the jaw, his chest, making him as her own, as each other.
"I'm never going to let you go," He tells her, "I promise."
"I love you so much, Bolin."
"I love you, too, Opal Beifong."