"It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right. I hope you had the time of your life."
She is fast asleep when her ears register the creaking door. By the time she hears Noatak's footsteps, the auditory signals have fully roused her from her slumber.
She yawns as her limbs stretch awkwardly beneath the sheets. She forces herself to sit up, her eyes blinking in the morning sunlight as she turns to look at her boyfriend: his eyes are bloodshot, his clothing disheveled, his face weary.
"Rough night?" she asks.
"The worst," he groans. She opens her mouth, but he puts up a hand. "Don't. Even if I wanted to tell you, I couldn't."
He slumps down next to her and sighs in relief. "Are you free tonight?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure." She notes an edge in his voice. "What did you have in mind?"
"Nothing...well, I mean, I want to do something..." He huffs in frustration. "You know what? I'm too tired to think straight. You pick what we do tonight." He kicks off his boots. "Make it something special," he adds. "Wear something nice," he finishes with a smile.
He's asleep within moments.
She runs her fingers through his hair. Something's up. Something big. But she's not in the mood to figure it out.
She drags herself out of bed and grabs an apple from the kitchen counter, munching on it as she quietly slips out the door.
She tiptoes down the stairs and onto the street, finding their usual delivery of the Republic City Times on the bottom step.
I should check the arts section, she thinks, turning towards the back of the paper. They had gone to a lovely sungi horn concert last week. Maybe there'll be another performance.
But the sungi player had apparently moved on to tour some of the smaller Earth Kingdom cities. Shoot.
Going to a dance hall was out - too public. Not that she was a great dancer anyways. She'd heard that Aang was, though.
Would be nice to call on the Avatar State, learn a few moves, she joked.
Then she noticed a small blurb in the bottom left corner of the last page. It had a picture of her on it - her and Noatak! Well, technically of Amon.
It was their faces mashed together, one half hers and the other half the imposing porcelain mask.
"Ember Island Pictures presents the riveting, untold, unauthorized tale of the War for Republic City"
She didn't know whether to be flattered or outraged. Obviously this was unauthorized as she'd never been asked permission to use her likeness (or they'd asked, been refused by someone other than her, and did it anyway). No way they asked Noatak for his permission.
And yet...
She neatly folds the paper back up and tucks it under her arm, grinning triumphantly.
"Make it something special, huh?"
When she returns to the apartment that evening, she opens the door, catches Noatak's eye and smirks as his jaw falls open.
She's wearing a royal blue evening dress with lacy black sleeves; the dress shows the perfect amount of decolletage. A blood-red sash hangs around her waist, finished off with a large bowtie. The ensemble is capped with black heels, a stunning pair of crystal earrings, and a crystal necklace with spread wings, obviously meant to be a bird of some kind.
"You look...well...wow," is all he can say.
"It's just something I threw together."
"Please give my complements to Miss Sato. She has impeccable taste."
"What makes you think-"
"The jewelry gives it away. They're real diamond, not crystal. I recognize the design and know that that jeweler caters almost exclusi - she didn't tell you where it really came from, did she?" he realizes, grinning.
"She told me it was some random thing she found in the department store," she says in disbelief. "That sneaky bitch," she mutters. "In a good way, in a good way!" she adds quickly after he shoots her an astonished eyebrow. "Okay, so maybe I had a little help getting ready."
Noatak is dressed in the same black and red suit, the same facial alterations in place - and he's made dinner, from the looks of it: a beautiful looking fillet over a bed of rice and a small portion of vegetables.
"What is it?" she asks excitedly.
"Fillet of snakefish served over sesame, jasmine scented rice with a side of bamboo," he says, smiling. "Once I had a nap, I made the most of your absence."
"I can't wait to eat it." She moves for the chair, but Noatak beats her to it and pulls it out so she can sit down.
"Mmm, a good cook and a consummate gentleman."
"Ah, so you're just now realizing it?" he teases as he takes his seat., but she is already biting into the fish: it's flaky and buttery and if she could ever seriously claim to have an orgasm from food, it would be at this exact moment.
She's too happy right now to give her usual retort.
But not happy enough to quiet the anxious tugging of her heart.
They quickly finish their meal, and after a couple "thank you" kisses they head out the door and climb into the satomobile.
"Your driving's gotten much better," he remarks as they drive along.
"Thanks. Asami's been giving me lessons," she says while indicating for a left turn.
"So, where are we going tonight?"
"You'll see," she says coyly.
"You can't be serious," groans Noatak.
"It's perfect," she insists.
"How that troupe ever came up with the capital to finance a movie is beyond me. They're terrible," he huffs.
"They're a Fire Nation treasure," retorts Korra, "well known, well traveled and well resp...well known."
He gives her a look that clearly says I can see right though your bullshit, but he sighs and exclaims "Let's just get this over with."
There is quite the crowd gathered outside, so as they approach the theater she draws her shawl over the lower half of her face, hoping to retain some measure of anonymity
As it turns out, the shawl was completely unnecessary.
When they reach the ticket booth and pay their entrance fee, the attendant hands them two familiar-looking masks.
"Here you go," says the reedy-looking employee. "Enjoy the show."
She stares at the Amon mask.
She turns to stare at Noatak.
He stares right back at her.
She places the paper face over own and sticks out her tongue.
The two of them burst into a fit of giggling.
The lights dim, and the advertisements are quickly flashed across the screen. Noatak chuckles at the clearly misplaced ad for Sato Industries (or maybe not, she thinks to herself). Then his eyes widen, as if he just remembered something. He disappears towards the lobby and then reappears just as the Ember Island Pictures logo appears.
"Bathroom?" she whispers to him.
"Lychee nuts," he whispers back. "I saw a small food cart on the way in."
"What, no popcorn?"
"Grease," he says, pointing at her dress.
"Fruit juice," she counters, pointing at the bag.
"They're dried, they have no juice!"
The "Shhh!" comes from several directions.
Whoops, she thinks sheepishly as she (quietly) grabs a handful of nuts and settles down to watch the picture.
The first image appears onscreen: it's a dark, cloudy city skyline.
"In Republic City, a war has been raging for a long time. A war of principles and passions," begins the narrator.
The city scape fades slightly as an image of her and Noatak's actors is superimposed over it.
"A war of hearts and forbidden love."
The image is replaced with a shot of Amon wreathed in silent flames.
"Amon," the narrator says menacingly. "A man of mystery...is he a movement...or a monster?"
Noatak just shrugs his shoulders and bites into a nut.
"His origins are unknown, his purpose clear, his will absolute..."
The picture fades to white, finally focusing on a ridiculous-looking tent that she realizes is supposed to be her parents' home. The camera zooms through the wall to show her "parents" (who are shades lighter than they are in real life, she fumes) lifting her infant body into the air like she was some trophy.
"Look, the Avatar is born!" exclaims the narrator, filling in Senna and Tonraq's dialogue. "We are honored to give birth to one such as her."
"I think they whitewashed my parents," she murmurs to Noatak.
"At least they got your complexion right."
The film then spends the next twenty minutes painting an elaborate and not entirely accurate portrait of her upbringing, with more than a few digs at Water Tribe culture.
"The more things change, the more they stay the same," she grumbles.
"Yes, but it's so blatant that it's...kind of adorable, really," Noa remarks appreciatively.
She wants to respond, but then her teenaged self finally appears onscreen.
At least my color's still right, she thinks gratefully...but that actress has no muscle tone at all – it's like they didn't make her train or anything...and her boobs are bigger than mine, she realizes, her eyes widening. Way bigger!
"That girl is not me!" she hisses in Noa's ear.
"I know. Your bosom is not quite as generous..."
She feels a hand on her breast and has to suppress a squeak.
"The perfect size by my estimation."
The next shot is a juxtaposition of movie!Korra stowing away to Republic City against Amon staring menacingly at a photograph of the Avatar.
"How would you even have that? The White Lotus guards never let the press get anywhere near-"
"Shhh," he cuts her off. "I'm trying to enjoy the movie."
Well, at least one of us is enjoying this travesty.
The movie plods through the chaos and confusion of her first weeks in Republic City: her performances in the probending ring, the smoke-filled mess of the rally until it comes to the night on Aang Memorial Island.
In the film, Korra barely takes one step into the building before she is rushed by an army of chi-blockers and menaced by Amon in a scene that lacks any subtlety regarding the palpable sexual tension between the two parties.
Well, there should've been palpable sexual tension, except that the wooden, over-the-top acting made it seem hammy and trite.
"You know, something I always wondered about: why didn't you rush me with an army of chi-blockers?"
"Oh, I was planning to," he admits casually. "But in the end, ego and intrigue won out over my usual brand of cold pragmatism."
"And by 'intrigue,' you mean massive boner."
"Intrigue."
They stare at the screen.
"You know, I remember it being a lot more exciting than this," he murmurs.
"You would say that," she mumbles.
She's been standing outside for what seems like ages. She's tired and cranky and ready to go home.
Suddenly two chains wrap around her wrists and she's yanked backwards into the darkness of the memorial hall, landing flat on her face.
She gets up and immediately summons flames to her hands – and the blood freezes in her veins.
"Hello, Avatar," says Amon coolly. "I received your invitation."
She launches fireballs at him, but he effortlessly dodges them, then yanks on the chains to send her to the floor again.
"You should be less agitated. I could've brought backup. But you're a teenager, and easily handled by someone such as myself."
"Asshole!" she spits. "Come and fight me like a man!"
He slides up behind her and knocks a series of points up her back; immediately her right arm goes numb and fireballs cease to appear from that hand.
"Careful what you wish for."
She flails wildly, launching flame after flame after flame, trying desperately to connect a hit, any hit, but he moves in front of her this time and pokes up her left side. That arm goes numb too.
"You-" He disables her left leg. "-really should-" And the right leg. "-stop fighting."
He gets the chains around her waist, and pulls her back against his chest.
The most feared criminal in Republic City has her trapped. And he did it alone.
What would've happened if had brought his army with him?
"Like I said-" He wraps one arm around her waist; the other comes up across her chest to grasp her throat.
"-easily handled."
She can feel his heart beating against her back. Being this close to Amon is terrifying.
No…that's not the right word.
There's fear, yes but there's also…a thrill.
What the hell is wrong with me?
"Now, Avatar, you could try and fight me and I would inflict serious bodily harm upon your person. Or, we can stand here and talk like civilized individuals."
"You have me tied up."
"You can bend, I can't. And in all fairness, you did try to roast me." He gently squeezes her throat. "Unless you prefer that I finish what I started."
"So…I guess we'll be talking for a while, then?"
"Until your idiot friends in the police department decide to show up. And don't worry...I promise not to do anything that you don't want me to."
"Besides keeping me tied up."
He yanks her around until she's facing him.
"Obviously. So," he says, his voice getting lower and surprisingly husky, "what
do you want, Avatar."
She stammers for a bit until she says "To talk."
And so they talk.
And talk. And talk.
And before she knows it, their conversation has gone on for the better part of an hour.
In the middle of a rant about the absurd hiring rates of benders in the service industry, he suddenly looks up and narrows his eyes.
"I believe your friends are coming for you, Avatar." And sure enough, she can hear some shouts coming closer and closer.
"Why don't you stay and I'll introduce you?" she responds sarcastically.
"Oh, we'll become acquainted soon enough – but on my terms, not theirs."
He gently unhooks the manacles from her wrists and unwinds her chains. She gingerly rubs the skin to which the metal was tightly fastened.
"This has been…enlightening, Avatar." He stares at her peculiarly. "In truth, despite your naïvety and obliviousness to the world past your own nose…there is…" Amon seems to be struggling with something. "I'd like for us to meet again."
She bursts out laughing, at least until she looks in his eyes and realizes that he's quite serious.
"You really mean it," she says, stunned.
"I believe that you can be reasoned with more than the other parties in this conflict. In truth, I would much prefer a private negotiation with the Avatar to brawling in the streets with Chief Beifong's finest."
Part of her is flattered, part of her wants to use it as a ploy to take him down herself, and part of her is telling her to run the fuck away.
In the end, flattery and guile persuade her.
"Alright. I'm in."
"There's a Cabbage Corp factory in the west end that was guttered by a fire; the company never decided what to do with it, so it lies there unaddressed and unattended. Meet me on the roof tomorrow night."
"When, exactly?"
"Don't worry. I'll show up…eventually. He retreats further and further away from the light of the doorframe.
"Good night, Avatar," he says as he vanishes into the dark.
"Are you still hung up about being tied up?"
"Yes!"
"Honestly Korra, you need to learn let things go."
The argument would've continued, but onscreen Amon dismisses his chi-blockers, leaving him and Korra alone in the dark. Then, after making sure they're truly alone, he pulls the Avatar's lips to his own for a searing kiss.
"It's wrong…but I can't stop thinking about you, Avatar. You consume my every waking thought, and every dream is one of you," says the narrator in his best Amon voice. Movie!Korra pants heavily, seemingly overcome by the stunning turn of events.
She and Noatak snort derisively, but coos and sighs and squeals of delight come from about the theater.
"Wait a minute…I thought the filmmakers were just doing this for the controversy," she whispers to Noa. "You mean people actually like the idea of…us?"
"It's…alarming, but not surprising. Enemies turned lovers – it's one of the oldest and greatest romantic clichés. The opposite of love isn't hate, Korra, it's indifference. Having an emotional response to someone, even a negative one, shows that there's a basic connection there…it just might require a particular set of circumstances to turn that connection from rancor to rapture. People really respond to that idea."
"But why?" she asks, still not getting it.
"I thought you of all people would understand Korra."
They glance at the image of movie!Korra staring into the night.
"Because doing something forbidden is often the most rewarding experience of all."
This is the twelfth night in three weeks that they've done this, meeting on the factory roof.
There's still a sense of unease, a sense of wariness in her belly, but she has grown comfortable around her enemy.
She sits on the edge, her legs dangling over the lip of the building as she listens to Amon's explanation of how ineffective and corrupt the city council has become, and tries not to draw any parallels between her literal and metaphorical positions at the moment.
Because, in many ways, she is on the edge.
Something is there. Something is there.
There is something between them. Something buried beneath their arguments, beneath the pointed fingers, beneath the (barely) civil discussions and their mutual stuggles not to inflict their abilities on one another. Every moment that they spend together makes him seem less like a monster and more like…well, someone dangerous but extremely charming and intelligent and…attractive, even with the mask.
Then as she opens her mouth to cut him off and respond, the moon hits his mask just right and it doesn't look menacing at all, his eyes no longer cold and watchful but beautiful and inviting; then she notices that he's stopped talking, and he's staring at her and it scares her, and then he lifts the mask just over his lips and moves towards her, and then she's kissing him. She is kissing him.
She is kissing Amon.
The kiss is gentle and fragile, like a insect's wing. It's as if they can't fathom what they're doing, as though they want to deny the moment even as it happens.
She pulls away, and they stare once more.
Then he dives for her, and she does not throw him off, and as their bodies tangle and their hands wander, she realizes that sense of unease was the rational part of her mind trying desperately to compartmentalize the want, the need that had been bubbling beneath the surface, something that she didn't even know she was capable of.
He had sworn to destroy her; she had promised to kick his ass and yet here they were, tongues sliding back and forth between their lips.
It was so wrong, and yet it felt absolutely perfect.
The attack on the arena was done well enough, and the bomb effects weren't half bad either. But Noatak was grousing.
"Needs more blood. Needs more violence. Needs more explosions! Explosions make everything better."
The underground assault on Sato's factory ends with another clandestine meeting between herself and Amon, and the two make a tearful, honest confession of love (courtesy of the narrator).
"Okay, seriously, us falling in love is unlikely enough, but running into you when I was taking down Sato? Way too convenient. That's just lazy writing."
But the worst bit in her mind is the scene where Amon sneaks into her room on Air Temple Island and discovers the Avatar clad only in a risque nightdress. Amon advances on her, Korra automatically yields to him and the screen fades to black as the two of them fall onto the bed, kissing. "No way in hell that would actually-"
Noatak coughs and she realizes how hypocritical she sounds given that he's been in her bedroom twice.
"I mean," she says, coloring, "no way would I automatically spread my legs for anyone who was dumb enough to sneak into my room on a romantic inclination."
He nods as if to say "better."
Tarrlok's kidnapping is presented as the tragic consequences of two rivals fighting for the hand of the Avatar, where her one true love supposedly triumphs.
She covers her face when she hears the amorous sighs from some of the audience members.
"I don't believe this. I don't fucking believe this."
Fortunately Noa seems as uncomfortable as she does.
After ninety painful, gut-wrenching minutes, the faux-biographical romantic travesty ends with a poorly shot final battle (with even worse special effects) between Korra and Amon, resulting in the former killing the latter in defense of Republic City only to succumb to her broken heart a few moments later.
The credits roll and the lights come up. She surveys the room and sees an odd mixture of happy tears, wide-eyed excitement, disapproving headshakes, looks of confusion and those who succumbed to sleep.
"That…was lame," she exclaims.
"Effects could've used more work," critiques Noatak, popping the last lychee nut into his mouth.
"The whole fucking film could've used more work," she counters.
As they walk out into the lobby, they overhear a gaggle of young teens talking animatedly about the film.
"Oh. My. Goodness," says a girl in red. "That was fantastic!"
"I wanted her to have more romance with Tarrlok! He's so dreamy," says a boy in blue.
"Meeting Amon in Sato's hideout was dumb," says a girl in green.
Ah, someone else gets it, she thinks.
"They should've met in a cave. A secret cave. Caves are dark and romantic," says the green girl dreamily.
Aaaaand I spoke too soon.
"Pssh. That's a dumb idea," says a boy in black.
"Only because you didn't think of it first." The green girl sticks her tongue out.
"Well, this has been fun," murmurs Noatak in her ear. "But I'm ready to go home. Shall we?"
No, she thinks. I want to interrogate those punks.
But she takes his arm, and they leave the theater, their masks still firmly in place.
The car ride home is silent, aside from some cracks Noatak makes about the film. At one stoplight she removes their masks and quickly reduces the paper toys to ashes.
They arrive and walk up the stairs to the apartment. It suddenly hits her as she puts her key in the lock: the truth that's been staring her in the face, the same unease, the same wrongness she felt all those months ago when he'd first caught her on the island, when they began the rooftop meets.
Only back then, it had signaled a beginning.
Now, it was signaling an end.
She has to steady herself on the door.
"Korra, is something wr-" begins Noatak, but she recovers and turns to face him.
"This is it, isn't it?" she says dully. "You're saying goodbye."
His eyes dim, his face betraying a mixture of guilt, acceptance, admiration and sorrow. "Yes, love. I'm saying goodbye." He takes her hand.
"When did you decide?"
"About three weeks ago. Things were at a point, and I could delay no further – well, no further than this." He chuckles bitterly. "The universe seemed perfectly fine to draw things out until it could be assured that neither of us would escape with our feelings intact. I can hear the spirits laughing at us from here."
"Yeah, they can be jerks sometimes," she says quietly, resting her free hand on the doorknob.
A pause.
"Do you remember the first time we went to bed?" she asks softly.
"Yes," he smiles. "I remember bringing you the spare uniform and giving you a time and place to meet me at one of the secret entrances – and telling you that you should learn to sneak around, just in case you weren't able to meet me personally."
She fingers the inside of her elbow. "I was terrified the whole time. Terrified that you were just using me, that it was all an elaborate trap. And I had never…I mean, I got pretty close with one of my guards…but this was all new to me." She looks down at her feet. "But you probably knew that."
"I had my suspicions."
"And I remember that you wanted to keep your mask on, and that you wanted to be on top. I let you have the first…and fought you for the second. And I won."
"I let you win," he smirks. "To reel you in, as it were."
"Fine. I would've won anyway," she insists, blushing. "The point is – it was awkward and strange but also an awakening, a realization…" She chokes back the invisible thing that threatened to silence her voice. "It wasn't perfect. I don't think I expected it to be perfect. I'm a messy person. Being an Avatar is messy. But we worked at it, and things got better. We got better. So…in spite of all the fucked up, messed up shit we've done to and through each other…I don't regret this. Regrets, yes, there will always be some. But this?"
She cups his cheek.
"We should be proud of this."
Noatak grabs the hand on his cheek and brings it to his lips, slowly kissing each digit.
"Well…" he says with false cheer, "…I say we should celebrate, then."
They are supposed to forget each other after tonight, but come sunrise the finger bruises on her back and the nail scratches on his will only serve as painful reminders, in every sense, of this last moment together.
She clings to him, and him to her, like drowning sailors scrabbling for a life preserver.
Her hips rise as his fall away, and now more than ever she is painfully aware of the tiny absence that forms every time he pulls back, only to drive into her again.
He's making love to her, and every thrust pushes her spirit higher and higher and higher until her whole body vibrates with unparalleled bliss and orgasm overwhelms her.
And then as body and soul come down,the respite is over, and her mind recalls the harsh reality of what's happening, and this shining moment becomes horrifying, unbearable. All of a sudden this position: her resting in his lap, his face buried between her breasts, his tongue licking and sucking and biting at her flesh, is too intimate. Too close.
She needs to get away.
"Stop, stop," she says, abruptly bringing her pelvic thrusts to a halt.
"What is it?" he asks.
She climbs off of him and, after taking a long breath, arranges herself on all fours atop of the sheets.
Without even looking at him she can see the look of astonishment, feel the disbelief radiating from his body.
She has always denied him this. No amount of convincing or cajoling had ever made her change her mind. But now it suits her desires, just not the ones she dares to explore only within her dreaming hours – the wants she thought, for the longest time, made her cheap and slatternly, wants that if acted upon might enslave her to a man who could use those wants so effectively against her.
She needs him to be rough. Needs him to be cruel. To unleash a part of him he'd worked so hard to change, or at least bury.
He tenderly runs a hand up her arm and across her back. She fears he won't press the opening.
But in a rare moment of triumph for her inner strategist, Noatak takes the bait.
He settles behind her, grabs her hips and slams into her.
He is not gentle. There is no warmth, no love in his movements. His noises are feral; grunting and snarling, no whispered platitudes of love, no careful communication.
This is about power and strength and speed.
This is about fucking.
It feels good.
She tries not to think about how good it feels, how he's making her cunt sing, how nothing coherent can come out of her mouth.
She bites into the pillow and tries to focus on the stinging pain of her ass and thighs.
Some seven minutes pass before he lets out a roar and squeezes her hips well past the point of pain and then hunches over her back, panting like Naga after a long run.
She disengages and slides forward till she's resting on her side. She can't tell whether the tears in her eyes are of pain, of shame or of disappointment.
Silence rules the night until a voice from behind her timidly asks "Korra, did...did that make it...make it any easier for you?"
He knew, she realizes. He knew what I was trying to do and went with it anyway.
"No," she mumbles to the air in front of her.
Noatak instantly curls up behind her, wrapping her lovingly in his arms. "Me neither," he confesses in a whisper.
They lie there in the dark until she feels him growing hard again, and she rubs her slit against his shaft until she slips and buries him in her warmth once more.
"Korra-"
"One last dance. Give me one last dance."
She hooks her left leg over his, and he leans over to nibble her neck; she twists her head so she can kiss him, and kiss him, and keep kissing him; their lips stay locked together as their fingers meet over her clit to twist and turn their way to pleasure.
At last they are completely spent; when she comes, the only sound she makes is a short, empty *huh*, and the sensation of his seed spilling in her cunt seems so small in comparison to the two bouts before it.
He doesn't remove his flaccid member and she doesn't ask him to.
"I came up with a new ending for the movie," whispers Noatak, running his fingers through her hair. "We don't kill each other in battle. We hold everyone in a giant room with no food and water until they break down and form a new government, a new society, one where benders and non-benders really are treated equally."
The tears start running down her cheeks.
"We go to the Pole – either one, it doesn't matter." His voice quavers. "We build a house. We have sex every night, twice a night - no, make that three times a night. We have a dozen bawling, messy, needy babies. We raise them to be twelve handsome, brilliant, productive members of the world. We grow old and fat and stupid together, and die in the middle of a marathon sex session. The end."
"Sounds perfect," she sobs. "But you're carrying all the kids to term. You ready to spend nine years of your life pregnant?"
"Anything for you, love," he answers.
She can feel something wet on the back of her neck.
She grabs his hand and squeezes, and at the same time squeezes her inner muscles – one final gesture, one last false assurance.
"Be here when I wake up?"
He squeezes her hand back and jiggles his hips, moving the softened flesh inside her.
"Where else would I be?"
In time, sleep finally drags her into darkness.
When morning breaks, she finds herself in her room on Air Temple Island, fully dressed and smelling like jasmine.
She buries her head into the pillow, screams and then tears at the fabric until a cloud of feathers erupts into the air around her.
Author's note: Give me your FEEEELS...*ahem*...I mean, your feedback (please), especially about the sex scene at the end. Was it too gratuitous? Too self-indulgent? Too dark?
The battle for Republic City begins next chapter.