In all fairness, it's pretty easy to get distracted while cooking.

He wakes up to find Korra still in his arms, still clinging to him for comfort, and he's immediately wracked with guilt.

He didn't know about the baby, and from what she'd babbled to him, she would've made sure that he'd never known. But in saving Korra's life, he'd ended another. He was sure of it.

I killed our child. I did this to her.

But he shakes himself out of it. He can't make this about him. This has to be about her.

So he carefully gets out of bed and goes over to the stove. He mixes a bowl of dough and seasons it with onions, salt and garlic. He's making pancakes – something Lieu told him that he should always do the first time company spent the night.

He has just about finished the first batch when he hears Korra stirring in the bed. He turns back to see the Avatar walking over towards him, a sad smile on her face. He turns back to the stove and feels Korra's lips press against his neck.

"Good morning," she says softly, resting her head against his cheek.

"Good morning to you," he replies in turn. "Are you…"

"Okay? I honestly don't know. I'll work that out in time." She fiddles with his shirt collar. "So…this is – new."

"I assure you I've bought nothing consequential since your last visit, Avatar."

"I mean the whole 'spending the night' thing."

He flips the circle of dough currently in the pan. "It was…refreshing. I could get used to it."

"Well don't get used to it," she says defensively, though he can feel her skin heat up.

"Hmmm," is his only reply, and he continues to cook.

She remains behind him for a minute or so, her fingers gently tapping against his sides.

"Thank you," she murmurs, "for last night. I mean, you didn't have to – I didn't think you'd even-"

"Why wouldn't I?" he says, turning around to face her, surprised that he is legitimately offended at this slight against his character.

"I mean, you're..." She looks away, flustered.

But he catches her by the chin, turns her face back towards his own, and peers at her.

The look in her eyes is unreadable, unknowable, as if she doesn't know what's about to happen or what she should do next.

And then something makes her lean forward.

She kisses him, slowly and gently, until her hands creep up his body to cup his face.

They work their way backwards towards the dining table. She grasps the hem of his shirt and lifts it over his head, resting her hands on his weathered chest.

"Is this…too soon?" he murmurs.

"No, no, it's…I mean…we're – I'm – fine."

Korra takes off her jacket and shirt, and he helps her unwrap the swath of cloth from around her breasts.

"You know, they sell some lovely brassieres at the department stores," he says as the last turn falls away. "Surely it's much easier than all of this."

Korra wrinkles her nose. "Those are too girly for me...are you making a request?"

He takes a nipple into his mouth and she gasps. "Oh no," he murmurs between sucks, "I like your wrappings just fine. More foreplay. More...excitement."

They lay on top of the table for some time, his mouth traveling between her lips, face, neck and breasts; he savors each sound: every sigh, every gasp, every hitch, every moan; he delights in every scratch of her fingers across his back, the arousal he feels as she wriggles her hips against his leg until she can endure no more and slides her hand down his pants.

He arches his back as her hand glides up and down his length.

"Avatar," he barks harshly.

"Please," she utters meekly, "I know you don't like it but...please."

Every rational thought screams at him not to yield, not to relinquish control.

But still he yields.

He nervously pulls down his trousers and underwear and kicks them to the side. He then adjusts himself as Korra shifts on top of the table until her torso is at his waist and her pelvis is at his shoulders.

She lowers her head and takes him into her mouth.

He had only let her do this once before - he'd had just enough rice wine, and she'd been curious.

He believes in giving pleasure, not receiving it - he revels in the power that (he thinks) it gives him, real or not, the control he so desperately craves.

But he found her inquisitiveness endearing, and so he indulged her that one time.

But now the world shrinks to the warm flesh around him.

He feels the head of his cock press against the roof of her mouth; her jaw clenches as she tries to keep her teeth in check. She hesitantly runs her tongue along the sensitive skin of his shaft, stopping whenever he gasps or moans, as if she's taking notes for future attempts - as if he'd ever let her do this again.

Will I let her do this again?

He's not sure that the answer is no.

He decides that he needs to reassert himself, to regain control of the situation, and of himself.

He pulls down her pants and underwear to reveal her swelling labia; he grips her thighs and pulls her backwards until his nose brushes against her slit.

He tilts his head backward and slips his tongue between her folds.

She reacts by clamping down on the organ in her mouth, and pain courses from his groin to his skull. He grunts and she murmurs apologetically. Korra pulls off of his cock to press a few kisses to the faint red marks encircling his girth before engulfing him with her mouth once again.

He works on her, and she on him, until he realizes that climax is sneaking up on him, and he begins to lash his tongue against nub with ever-increasing speed, and he slides two fingers in and out of her slippery cunt, but it's too late; his balls tighten and before he can even think to bend the blood away from his loins the seed erupts from his body, his length pulsing with heat and pleasure. Korra makes a surprised noise and gags a little but he feels her tongue sliding and scraping and then come two quick contractions of her throat; she disengages and swings herself around, taking her dripping heat out of his reach.

She looks at him and he can see the nervousness in her eyes; a little dip of her head, then she's kissing him full on the mouth.

He is used to the taste and feel of semen in his mouth – he had lost count of the number of times he had brought Lieu to climax, his aide's hands pressed firmly against his head – the times he has pleasured Korra with his mouth after intercourse - but this taste, after this act…

It is strange and new to him.

"You could've warned a girl that you were about to cum," she says, half-teasingly and half-seriously.

He glances between her legs. "I didn't…you didn't let me…"

"You can finish what you started after things 'reset,'" she says with a coy look.

But he wants her now. His body – no, his soul – yearns to be joined with her.

He gets up from the table. "Stay there," he growls in his most authoritative voice; he grins to himself when he sees a shiver run through her enticing frame. He rummages in the kitchen cupboards and pretends to grab something from a tin and put it in his mouth, but in reality he is bending blood back into his cock (ignoring its painful protests).

After waiting several minutes (to main the illusion of taking an external aid), he returns to the table and is rewarded for his efforts when Korra's eyes bulge at the swift return of his erection.

"How…that's not-" She stares at him blankly.

"A certain herb I found in my travels. Surely you are familiar with it, yes?"

"I've…heard stories…but…" She can't take her eyes off of him. "Why haven't you used this mystery herb before now?"

He deflects the question by gingerly climbing on top of her and spreading her legs apart, running his slick glans against her clit. She squirms impatiently underneath him.

"You know, this could qualify as torture," she gasps in desperation.

The name spills out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

"Korra."

They both freeze.

In all their time together he has never uttered her real name aloud.

Always "Avatar." Never "Korra."

"Korra."

The word feels so strange on his tongue, as if there's taffy stuck to the underside, pulling against any movement.

He slides his arms under her shoulders, shifts his groin forward and slips inside her burning heat.

"Being in love with you is torture," he confesses, his voice filled with a rawness and honesty that has too rarely surfaced in their conversations.

There are no more words said between them, no more anguished truths or circuitous doubts about their relationship.

His thrusts are slow and sure, and she returns them with equal temperament.

Her legs are wrapped around his waist, and her arms embrace him, pulling him closer than she has ever done before.

His hands trace fluttering patterns across her face and shoulder, memorizing the sensation of her fingers against his skin.

Her lips taste the sweetest they've ever been.

Time loses all meaning, all relevance and all consequence: there is only Korra, and him, and their love, and their hips, and all things spoken and most of the unspoken worming its way to the surface.

His body sings, his body soars, and when they finally, finally can endure no more and reach their pleasure at the the same time, the fire consumes his whole being.

(***)

Back on the stove, the fire has long since consumed the pancake, turning it to unpalatable ash.

Neither person takes notice.

Author's notes: BAD, DIRTY SMUT AHOY

Though I hadn't consciously intended it, the talk about bindings became a callback to a mental conversation Korra has in "Onions."

Reviews, suggestions and other feedback are always appreciated. No seriously: if you read this, PLEASE leave a review, especially if you think I'm doing something wrong or think I can do something better (for this story or future ones).