Her hands yanked him down of their own accord. Pulling and tugging incessantly.

They were undercover; Katara posing as a dancer, and Aang as a businessman – he'd grown his hair out. They were escaping a few Ozai loyalists, flushed together in a tight alleyway.

"Kata– " Her tongue tasted him, she had no control, she'd claim.

Her fingers were lost in his chestnut stands, long, unorganised – mostly due to her – and curly. Smooth and… so pleasurable to run her fingers through.

"Katara, we c-can't –" he protested.

Her fingers were in his hair again; she was kissing him.

He surrendered.