No Shrek jokes, please.
She can still taste the onions from dinner on his lips – the flavor is sweet and smoky, but with just enough bitterness left to set a tingle in her mouth.
She feels Amon's hands ghost across her ribs, just itching to get at the skin underneath, and she smiles when they disappear underneath her shirt.
"Avatar," he whispers in her ear.
It hurts her, the word "Avatar." Hurts that after all this time – almost a year gone by (has it really been that long?) – he still can't bring himself to call her by her real name. And though he has long since ceased to wear the mask (that is, unless she wants him to wear it), he has still not told her his real name. Which is understandable, she supposes. He wants to remain safe. He wants to remain anonymous. And if I were in his shoes, would I trust the Avatar to keep such information a secret?
And in truth, she doesn't know that she would keep his identity a secret.
Still, the mistrust hurts her even more.
But you don't trust him either, comes the voice.
I let him bed me, she retorts.
So you trust him with your body, it snorts. And he "gets" you. Not to demean the significance of either one, mind you, it adds hastily. But you still don't trust him. Not where it really counts.
And she doesn't really have a defense for that.
Amon's chest is bare by the time she finally wrestles him over to the bed and collapses atop the rumpled sheets, his upper garments having long since been disposed of during the intervening makeout. She helps him pull her shirt over her head, then slides her pants and pelt over her legs, leaving her in just her undergarments and armbands.
She holds Amon for a few minutes, taking in every one of his features under the dim glow of the electric lights.
She rubs his chin.
He gently strokes the underside of her breast.
She breathes gently onto his collarbone.
Amon leans in to kiss the hollow of her throat, and his lips travel lower and lower as his hands begin to unwind the cloth around her chest.
She wishes she could just go without her chest wrappings, but she is too well-endowed for such luxuries. A bra would make this go much faster – she's almost certain that Asami would be more than happy to take her clothes shopping if she ever worked up the courage to ask. But to be honest, the idea of a bra…it just doesn't work for me.
And to be even more honest with herself, she gets quite a kick out of watching him unwrap her like this.
That is, until his fingers get wedged between two particularly tight bands.
"I seem to be stuck," sasses Amon.
"You would do that, wouldn't you?" she replies dryly.
She decides to help him after that – row after row after row. So many layers, she ponders. Just like the onions. Just like our relationship.
Just like him.
He runs kisses all along her chest, circling around the swell of her breast, under and over; her skin feels cool in the wake of his lips. Then…
The spark travels from the tip of her skin straight to the tiny ball of nerves between her legs; she can feel it swell and pulse every time Amon draws his tongue across her nipples – first one, then the other – gently pulling and nipping, and she enthusiastically clutches him to her chest.
Mmm…my nipples feel nice. So do my breasts. Big. Round…like onions. Onions with layers. Like this man buried beneath many identities. Wait, why can't I stop thinking about this? questions Korra, trying to keep her focus on the heat of them moment, on enjoying the pleasure the two foes are sharing together.
But the itch just won't go away. And so she reflects.
She remembers the Revelation, the first time she ever saw him in person – the night he depowered Lightning Bolt Zolt and delivered justice to an arguably deserving bunch of criminals.
That night, she met Amon the Champion, the savior for whom Republic City's nonbenders had been searching for ages.
She slides off her smalls and feels the cool rush of air across her curls as Amon leans in to breathe in the musk from her loins; no matter how many times he smells her essence, the gesture never fails to make her blush. Then finally, finally his tongue touches flesh, working up and down her slit; the tip rolls around and around her clit, pressing down at just the right points to elicit the most noise from her; then it pokes through the lips and teases and nudges the sweet flesh inside, the forceful yet caring movements a foreshadowing of greater things to come.
She remembers their first real meeting, the ambush at Aang's memorial – she'd been so stupid and arrogant – she remembers the fear of being subdued by the chi-blockers, remembers the terror of seeing him up close for the first time
That night, she met Amon the Fearmaster, the man whose gaze could strip your soul bare.
So many things could've gone differently that night. He could've killed her. He could've stripped her of her bending. He could've forced her, left her sobbing and broken against the memorial floor – and yet, all he wanted to do was talk.
That night, she also met Amon the Politician – a man of great power, but surprising pragmatism.
She presses her thighs against his head as tightly as she dares and grips the bedsheets on either side, bracing herself for the coming wave.
Amon's tongue has done its wicked work, and her patience is rewarded as the cascade of orgasm explodes in her groin before radiating out to the rest of her body.
She releases his head with a sigh of relief (and she swears that he gives one as well - she wasn't squeezing him that hard).
He licks his lips and slides back up her body to kiss her. The onions are still there, but now there is a new and quite familiar taste on top of it. As she kisses him, one of his long fingers slides inside her, making circles and massaging the inner muscles until she is in utter agony.
"Do it," she pleads in a strangled voice.
Amon pulls her in for a long kiss, and she relaxes as he spreads her legs apart and pulls down his trousers just enough to free his straining cock. With one hand stroking her inner thigh, he leans forward and slides inside of her. When his hips collide with hers, she lets out a groan of relief and satisfaction.
Together they move in-and-out, back-and-forth, yin-and-yang.
She feels her pleasure starting to take shape again.
She doesn't know if he was a virgin before they met – she had never worked up the courage to ask him – but with his good looks and entrancing personality, she'd be surprised if he was a virgin when they met.
She only wonders because of how good they've gotten at sex – really good. That's not to say that every night is perfect. There are slip-ups. Sometimes legs get tangled; tongues and fingers and toes end up in odd places; orgasms hover but never quite make their mark (for both of them). But while their lovemak- their fucking isn't always on target, he's been the perfect instructor.
And it's not just about sex - she thinks back to the kimchi lesson, and all the cooking lessons since then - he has a way of encouraging people, of making them acknowledge the potential inside of them - and to make them see when they're lying to themselves.
Amon the Sage.
And Amon the sex god.
He stills for a moment, and she takes this as her cue to roll them over, and now she's sits on top of him, his manhood stretching to even greater depths inside her, and the dance begins once more.
She slides one hand downwards to touch herself, and uses the other to grip his shoulder for support. Amon keeps one hand on her breast, the thumb running over the nipple in slow, insistent circles; the other hand joins her own to coax mind-numbing pleasure from her nub as cock and cunt beat out a steady rhythm towards their release.
The burning grows and grows and the sensation becomes so powerful that it forces her eyes open.
She looks down and sees Amon staring intently up at her.
The look of caring and tenderness in his eyes shakes her to her core.
This is an Amon she's never seen before.
This is something new.
And it terrifies her.
The fire withers and dies.
Amon freezes beneath her and she feels the warmth of his release inside her body; she feigns her own pleasure but he sees straight through her gambit. They've coupled too often now for her to deceive him – at least like this.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asks, concerned. "Did I not pleasure you for long enough before we began? I-"
She knows how he prides himself on leaving her drained and sated after their sex romps – as if his ego wasn't already straining his skull. "No, it was nothing you did," she says, feeling exasperated. "I just…sometimes it doesn't happen."
"I know that, but…" his voice falters. "Do you want me to use my tong-"
"It's fine," she says, laying down on top of him. "And ew," she adds, making a face. "You just came in there."
"Didn't stop me from kissing you on the mouth that one time."
"One time. The only time you've let me do that to you, I might add. And I had swallowed most of it, remember?"
"Avatar…"
"I just-" she sighs. "Look…just…hold me, okay? And don't think I'm getting soft on you," she snaps. "Although you have gone soft in me," she finishes slyly, using her walls to wiggle the softened flesh still resting inside her.
"It does that," he quips. "Give me ten minutes though, and..."
"No, I think I'm done for the night. Just..."
"I heard you the first time, Avatar." Amon wraps his arms across her back, resting one hand against the small thereof and gently stroking the top of her ass cheek with the other.
They lie there for a good twenty minutes before Korra finally works up the necessary courage.
"Amon," she begins hesitantly, "…what do you think of me?"
He looks into her eyes, his expression unreadable. "I'll answer you if you tell me this: what do you think of me, Avatar?" he responds softly.
A dozen different answers swirled in her head, each one containing a complicated mixture of memory, truth, fear, and uncertainty.
But fear wins the day.
"I think you have onion breath," she answers quietly, and stands up to dress herself.
Author's note: I was not happy with this chapter when I first wrote it, and even now it still kind of bugs me. But no story is completely perfect. You learn from it and move on.
This is also the first chapter that is told from Korra's point of view. It was refreshing to write (and in many ways necessary), and I decided to write more Korra chapters as things progressed.