#cancel pabu 2023

[beifong-brainrot]

More dumb things because im sick and bored

Part 1

[samekoblogs]

Say Yes to Heaven (Say Yes to Me)

Written for Amorra Week 2023 @amorraweek2023 for Day 3: Political Marriage.

Rating: E.

Tags: Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Finger Sucking, Resolved Sexual Tension, Clothed Sex, Korra is 18, Sensory Deprivation, Praise Kink.

Summary: (...)does she fear him, or does she fear getting closer to him?

Notes: I don't know if I'll post other stories for the Week, so I want to thank you all for the support shown! Special thanks go to the organizers of the event, who had the commitment to planning an Amorra Week after all this time! Thank you so much, it's been a fun ride!

The fanfic is under the cut if you're more comfortable reading on Tumblr.

NSFW content below.

~~~

“I’ll never get used to this.” 

Korra sags on the plush sofa she’s sitting on, her bored eyes traveling over the crowds of high-ranked public personalities passing by. None of them approach her luckily – she can’t deal with having the same conversation again for the bazillion time while the press tails her at her every step.

The ballroom shines from the illumination of a dozen electrical chandeliers decorated with crystal pendants. Reds, greens and blues apparels traverse the hall, mingle with each other, form and leave groups like oil that floats in the water following its currents. The chitchat and the heat produced by the lights would make for a comforting atmosphere, if it wasn’t for the tension that kept gnawing at her shoulders despite her attempt to ignore it.

She had to behave, Tarrlok warned her. A few more public appearances and the Council will be ready to announce the engagement to the press.

Too bad the novelty of galas long wore off and she would gladly spend the evening at Air Temple Island babysitting the kids for Pema.

Bolin, her one shoulder to lean on most of the time, hums sympathetically at her. 

“It’s not that bad though,” he says, putting on an encouraging smile. “We can see each other outside of training at these parties.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to eat out together to this?” she asks, gesturing at the packed hall.

“Of course I would,” Bolin says. He’s fidgeting with his hands on his lap, petting Pabu’s head from time to time. “It’s just… I’m glad me and Mako can be here for you, and in the end, I don’t care if we aren’t having fun. I want to be a good friend to you, regardless of where we are.”

“You are being a good friend, Bolin,” Korra reassures him, brushing his arm. She gets past his mention of Mako. “Really, don’t worry about me. I’m doing fine all in all.”

It’s Tarrlok’s comments ringing back in her head from time to time that make this situation unnerving.

Maybe they’ll be popular enough to be crowned ‘Couple of the Year’ by every tabloid of Republic City.

Korra scoffs at the memory of those words, at how much malleable the rest of the Council had been when the motion had been presented and approved. Back then Korra had thought the Council was comprised of reasonable people when the Pro-Bending final match hadn’t been canceled. What a bunch of spineless fools, the attack at the stadium should have been proof enough that the Equalists had violent intentions in mind and public commotion in the future. Even as sheltered as she is, she saw it from a mile away. And yet… here she is. Forced to play their game on their behalf, just to keep peace. She wouldn’t back out, not with how much is at stake, but she wishes, now more than ever, that peace could be achievable by fighting, not by stepping back and arranging her life, her entire future. Is this punishment for having retired from Tarrlok’s task force? Is this what her refusal and fear led her to? If she had been brave enough when the situation asked for it, would that have spared her from this?

Perhaps it wouldn’t have made any difference. Tenzin feared an escalation since the attack at the stadium and, for how much unbearable he is sometimes, deep down Korra knows her airbending master is usually right. And this marriage could save lives. 

Perhaps she didn’t fight enough. Perhaps, if she had known what the future reserved for her, she wouldn’t have been such a… coward. A coward.

Korra gulps down a sip of her champagne. It tastes sour on her tongue, with the regretful thoughts clouding her mind and blocking out the sounds from the reception.

Likely sensing her ill mood, Pabu hops over to her lap, squeaking to get her attention. Korra rubs the fire ferret under his cute, little muzzle, the fur there white and soft. How she wishes she could have brought Naga. But a polar bear dog is too massive of a pet and, she has to admit, she’s not as well-behaved as Pabu when it comes to big crowds.

“Korra?”

She blinks, brought back from her musings by Bolin.

“Sorry, I wasn’t listening,” she mutters, trying to not let it show on her face the longing veiling her heart. “Did you say something?”

“I just said that… we could get us something to snack on,” Bolin proposes with a cheery smile, extending his arm to pat Pabu on his back.

Korra shakes her head.

“I’d like to but,” She looks around, trying to spot some journalists among the guests. “I can’t be seen with you for too long at this event.”

Or even at the next ones, maybe not until the union will be officialized. She frowns with disappointment, unsated vexation forcing her to press her tongue against her palate. Her betrothed is nowhere to be seen, and she’s supposed to wait for him already like a good wife. She’s no wife, she didn’t plan to be, her whole life had been devoted to training, her sole wish was to be the best Avatar she could ever aspire to become. Marriage never had been in her foreseeable plans. What will she tell her parents? She left the South Pole to learn airbending and, right now, she’s not close to bending any air and instead betrothed to a man that promised to take away her ability to ever bend again the three elements she mastered, let alone air. Part of the accord is that he, under no circumstance, can take away her bending, and she doesn’t doubt he has enough honor to carry out that term of the agreement – he gave her proof of that at Aang’s Memorial Island. Spirits, how she wishes that night never happened.

“I know we can’t do much about it,” Bolin sighs, his green eyes searching hers. “I’ll bring you something from the buffet then. Anything you particularly want on your menu?”

“Y’know, you wouldn’t be so bad as a waiter,” she jokes, with a sly grin. Bolin snorts, and she clings to that carefree sound, just as much as she clings to Bolin’s presence altogether. She doesn’t know how she would have distracted herself otherwise.

Then Tarrlok – damn Tarrlok – steps in between them, with his shit-eating grin and his sickening stench of cologne.

Annoyance comes back at the center of her chest in full force anticipating what’s about to come.

“Avatar Korra, I’m pleased to see you are mingling with the guests. And such in an intimate way too,” Tarrlok says, looking at Bolin with an affable expression holding a hint of disdain. Bolin cowers a little under that gaze, and it makes her loathe Tarrlok just a tad more than she already does. “Shouldn’t you be doing this with your companion? You came at the event together, after all…”

Korra juts out her lip. She disregards Bolin’s hand tightening around hers.

“Yeah, what about that? What about my companion, who’s nowhere to be seen?” she replies with bite. She doesn’t care if other guests will turn their heads in their direction. She’ll speak her mind however and whenever she likes.

Tarrlok doesn’t falters, doesn’t do much more than briefly lowering his eyes with a patient smile, as if she is being the unreasonable one, when it was her they gave up like a sacrificial lamb. The fact she was trying to adapt to the situation didn’t undermine the vileness of their actions, nor did her increasingly intruding thoughts about… about…

“Why, your companion is delightfully securing himself a place in the high society. He’s charming them all with his rather eloquent way of speaking.” Tarrlok places a hand on her shoulder. It’s not an amiable gesture, since his fingers are resting firmly on her clavicula. Pabu hisses quietly in her lap. She wouldn’t stop the fire ferret if he jumps on Tarrlok’s perfect hair and scratches that smug expression from his face. “You should try to show some of your charm too, Avatar Korra. The public goes into rapture when your speeches get heated.”

“My speeches…?” She tries to stall when Tarrlok gently but forcibly makes her get up from the sofa. Pabu scurries over to Bolin’s lap the moment she’s forced to, squeaking disgruntled. “This isn’t a press conference.”

“It doesn’t mean that you can’t spare a few words for a different type of audience,” Tarrlok insists, dragging her along.

Korra shoots Bolin a desolate glance. He looks back helplessly at her. Tarrlok didn’t even acknowledge his presence, as if he was just some passerby boy from the streets. Unimportant. Unwanted. A sensation Bolin must have grown painfully familiar with in life.

Korra glares angrily at Tarrlok. She shrugs away his hand from her shoulder and plants one foot down to halt his saunter.

“I accepted the agreement for peace’s sake. Not to be Amon’s little tick,” she challenges the councilman with bitter venom flooding her mouth.

“And you shouldn’t be, Korra. The role of the dutiful wife doesn’t suit you, between you and me.” Tarrlok smiles, as he so much did when he feigned to be on her side. Instead, he had been always looking left and right for a way to exploit her. He found one and, still, he wouldn’t leave her alone. “You’re not meant to be on his side. You’re meant to pose a threat to Amon. And you can do that by staying closer to him.”

“I understand this,” she manages out between her teeth. 

Or maybe I could be a threat to you, her mind warns, loud and fiery.

“Then, this is your chance to start doing your part,” he says, nodding with his chin toward the mildly dense crowd gravitating around a single man. Tarrlok nudges her forward, enough to bring her a little closer to the side of the ballroom where Equalist’s masks are hovering in between the maskless faces of intellectuals and businessmen and women. “Don’t you agree?”

Korra represses her urge to frown back at Tarrlok. She pushes into his hands her flute of champagne.

“Keep it warm for me, will ya?” she recommends, bitingly sarcastic. She then makes her way through the guests. The crowd parts as soon as she’s recognized as the Avatar. Whispers reach her ears in between some snippets of conversation. She presses forward relentlessly, mumbling excuses until she’s face to face with Amon’s second-in-command, the Lieutenant.

The man, him too in formal attire for the occasion, stops her as if she’s some kind of menace, or unwelcomed heckler. His stare doesn’t soften even when he recognizes her. Korra doesn’t wish for it to do so, their history of electrocuting and kicking each other’s asses – mostly her kicking his ass – isn’t something she intends to forget this easily. Especially the part in which it was her who mostly kicked his ass.

“Avatar. State your business,” he says, cold and professional.

“Getting around you, since I’m your boss’ companion for this gala,” she responds, drily. “In case even he forgot this.”

The Lieutenant nods at her, unblinking behind the goggles. She doesn’t believe for one second that seeing her doesn’t cause any emotion in him.

“Amon thought it would have been best for both of you to first sort out your most urgent affairs,” he says.

“Lucky for Amon, all my affairs are sorted out,” she says, proceeding to get past the Lieutenant. The man, however, doesn’t leave her be and escorts her to his leader, watching meticulously her every movement. It stresses Korra a little, but it’s a beneficial kind of stress: at least, she knows what to expect from a circumspect Lieutenant.

Amon is flanked by two equalist fighters whose identities are hidden under layers of uniform. They’re meant to be his guards beside the Lieutenant. Amon is the only Equalist present who donned himself up for the gala. He’s wearing a double-breasted black coat rather long on the tail. A burgundy sash is fastened around his middle as décor, on the hem of it the Equalist’s symbol is embroidered in white and golden threads. He didn’t leave his mask at home, so the ghostly whiteness of his public face reflects the gala’s lights, the hood of the coat furtherly hides his features. He’s elegant, no doubt, but still too recognizable as the leader of the Equalist, whose masked visage is disseminated across the city. Mere weeks ago, wanted posters had been plastered on all the newspapers. Once the agreement was sealed, their propaganda posters came back in full force; Korra must suppress a shiver every time she happens to meet those papery eyes in the streets.

Amon is conversing with Mr. Sato and what she guesses is one of Sato’s clients or close friends, judging by the warmness of Asami’s father. Korra still can’t believe that Mr. Sato seems a good candidate for being an Equalist sympathizer, when taking into account that he sponsored their Pro-bending team. Perhaps she’s jumping to conclusions, but him being so at ease around the equalists doesn’t sit well with her.

Amon’s mask turns toward what she presumes is her direction. He’s the first to notice her approaching, followed by his two interlocutors. Korra meets his stare right away, despite the slight heat spreading in her stomach. He still has this effect on her, since that terrifying encounter at Memorial Island.

“Miss Korra, it’s good to see you,” Mr. Sato salutes her, almost making her regret having suspicions about this man.

“Good evening, Mr. Sato,” she says, glancing then at his friend slash client. “You too, sir…?”

“There’s no need for sir, Miss Korra,” said man replies, taking her hand in one of his. He has Earth Kingdom’s features and a color palette to his clothes that matches them. “I’m simply honored to meet the Avatar.”

Korra shakes his hand politely, while Mr. Sato smiles friendly at the man.

“I told you Jing, that you would have your chance to meet her. He’s a big fan of yours, Miss Korra,” he adds, almost in a confabulatory manner.

“I’m happy to hear this,” she says, more sincerely this time. After quitting Tarrlok’s Task Squad, she feels like she has no supporters at all left.

Korra looks over to Amon, who’s been silent from the moment she appeared. Steadying her shoulders, she puts a hand on his forearm, gentle and discreet. It’s what she’s meant to do. It’s what she has to do. His muscles flex a little under the smooth texture of his coat. Her heart speeds up for a second, going back to a mostly normal pace once he finished bending his arm as if to welcome her hand there. As if this is a natural gesture for them. They did this at previous parties. Yet, the gesture doesn’t feel familiar enough for her. Will it ever be? Does she want it to be?

“Gentlemen, will you excuse us for a moment?” Amon says. Korra quirks an eyebrow at him. “I must discuss some private affairs with the Avatar.”

“Of course, sir,” Mr. Sato replies, raising his flute. “The gala is far from over and there will surely be more chances for us to talk. Right Jing?”

“Yes,” Jing says, nodding. Maybe with too much nodding.

The Lieutenant makes a move to follow them, but halts when Amon raises a hand.

“There’s no need for your presence, Lieutenant. Rest.”

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes stay unmoving on Amon. Korra can see from his stance alone, tense and rigid, that he’s thoroughly unhappy about that order.

“Yes, Amon.” He obeys nonetheless.

Amon takes his leave with her, guiding them through the room under the arched portal decorated with abstract patterns which leads to the doors. A doorman opens one for them. They’re out of the suffocating hall within a couple of seconds, and already the air feels cleaner, fresher. Since they’re no longer in the spotlight of the city’s elite, Korra leaves the man’s side, puts half of a foot distance away from him. The phantom touch of his arm brushing near her chest remains and gives her the chills.

“Private affairs?” she parrots him. “What do you want from me, Amon?”

She says his name as if just saying it could reignite the fire of her bravado and keep it ardent and at her disposal for a fight.

Amon clasps his hands behind his back. He appears much bigger, with his chest in full display like this. Korra tries to focus only on the holes of the mask shrouded in semi-darkness.

“Your behavior made it seem like you wanted something from me,” he replies, no fire, no discernible tone either. Just his voice stating a fact. “However, you presume too much. I don’t want anything from you.”

“Why are we here then?” she inquires, deeply furrowing her brows.

Amon’s head moves imperceptibly, his hood does too.

“An agreement was made, young Avatar,” he says, moving to one of the elongated windows along the hallway, which gives a view of the nocturnal landscape of the metropolis. “I have every intention to honor it and adhere to the terms presented to me. I don’t consider you my enemy much more than I did before, so don’t expect your hostility to be met with equal hostility.”

“I accepted that agreement too, you know,” she responds, joining him at the window to keep challenging him head-on. “And you’re not making it easy for me, if you leave me alone for the evening when we’re supposed to be seen together.”

“We already fulfilled that part of the agreement at this event, and at other events in the past,” he replies, after a second of pause.

If there ever had been one time she wished she could agree with this man, this is the one time.

“Tell that to Tarrlok,” she grumbles. “Just to be clear, it’s him that sent me looking for you. Just to be clear.”

It needs to be said, to put a barrier between them, however thin it might be proven to be. She already tried to build as many barriers as she could in the past, and despite the unfortunate end they met, she can’t give up. She can’t give up on getting a grip on herself.

Amon is surveying the faraway city lights, their reflections trembling over the sea’s waves.

“This phase will be over soon,” he says. “There will come times when the agreement won’t weigh as much as it does now.”

In the subsequent silence, Korra quietly urges those times to come soon, so she won’t have people breathing down on her neck and dumping expectations on her she wasn’t supposed to have. She then finds herself mulling over his words more carefully. The agreement does take its toll on her, but on Amon? Does it too, judging by his way of wording?

“What part of this weigh on you?” she asks, quizzically and much more accusatory when she resumes speaking. “You seem perfectly happy to be treated as a normal politician instead of a terrorist.”

“Not this part, of course. It certainly is advantageous to me and my movement,” he replies with unfiltered honesty. There wouldn’t have been any point in denying such an obvious fact anyway.

“So what?” she pries.

Amon’s eyes rest on her. Korra can make out their elongated shape, being bathed as they are in the moonlight, shining and as azure as marine gemstones. They have a pensive quality to them, which puzzles Korra together with his lack of a quick response. She had never been this close to him to see his eye color. It reminisces so much those of her nation. 

“I didn’t picture myself being a spouse,” he says in the end.

Korra clicks her tongue, dejected.

“Count me in,” she huffs. Maybe it could have been a nice thought in, let’s say, at least five years into the future. Right now, the perspective makes her nervous, and the sure fact that one day she will be married to Amon… it makes her queasy inside. Weak at her knees. Like the invisible bond marriage would put on her feels a little too much to bear, a sensation too strong unlike anything else she experienced. Much like the fear of him. Much like the weight of his icy stare on her own eyes and face. “Though, I guess… now it’s inevitable. I am in too deep to back down.”

“There will be the agreement’s terms to abide by,” Amon says, with the inflection of someone who’s starting a speech. “But, there will be also the marriage’s rules to abide by.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our rules. Rules made by you and me, to assure a peaceful coexistence,” Amon clarifies. 

Korra nods. That makes sense, of course.

“Okay, rule number one,” she says, raising her index. “Don’t make me go search for you again, I hate it.”

Mostly because of Tarrlok. A minuscule part of her, however, is embarrassed by the fact she had to search for Amon this evening and, on top of that, put a hand on his arm of her own volition to pretend something is going on between them. As if they’re really a couple in the making, or… something. She isn’t good with subtlety, it doesn’t bode well with her in general. She feels not herself, a liar, when hiding behind an act. She recognizes though, that it’s necessary to do in some cases. Such as this one. 

“I thought you would have enjoyed some time for yourself,” he says, and it sounds… thoughtful, almost. Korra isn’t sure if she’s projecting emotions that aren’t there on him.

“Well, I did,” she says, sincerely. “I wished it could have lasted longer, but alas, I did.”

“It won’t be the last time it happens,” he says, his words more akin to a promise than whatever she ever heard coming from his lips. “Do you have other rules in mind?”

“Right now, I guess not.” She takes a moment to think of activities and boundaries a normal couple should know about each other. Or basic info, now that she’s at it. It isn’t that she hasn’t any questions to ask him. It’s the opposite: she has far too many to choose from. “I had been wondering… how old are you?”

“Older than you are. I was a teenage boy I remember, when I heard the news of your reincarnation.”

Korra hums.

“So, you are a man,” she murmurs.

She swears Amon’s eyebrows furrow behind the mask, judging by the lines around his eyes.

“Yes. I am a man,” he confirms. Although there’s a questioning tone in his reply, which prompts her to stammer out an explanation.

“I-I always saw you masked, you could have been a woman with a very deep voice for all I know. Not that I would have had any issue with that,” she says, her cheeks warming a bit. It sounds a little stupid this thought she had, now that she’s exposing it out loud. “You’re in disguise even now. But I guess I’ll see your face, eventually.”

“Eventually?” he repeats, and Korra is starting to feel like she’s under some form of interrogation, which turns her tone quieter, her words more mumbled.

“Well… y-you know. Maybe we’ll be living together, in the same space in, in the future. To keep up with the façade. You’ll have to bathe at some point, or change clothes.”

She desperately keeps her attention focused on his pearly white mask to not conjure up images of a domestic life she’s nervous about having.

Amon stays silent for a couple of seconds.

“It makes sense,” he agrees. He was probably thinking she was an idiot and debating if he should say it. She doesn’t care if he considers her an idiot. Why she should? Her heart, however, begs to differ. Its beating is a little too quick for comfort.

“Just…” She thinks of Mako and Asami, and a shadow falls on her heart. “Just how much older than me are you?”

“Too old to be betrothed to you,” he says. As if this fact troubles him… makes him ashamed. Not at the Council, but rather at himself. His tone indicated such and he made no effort to hide it.

“Oh…” She doesn’t know what else to add to that. “Well… you didn’t choose to want me,” she says. Even as she feels inadequate inside, ashamed of herself for a totally different reason. She should be relieved that he sees the wrong in this forced arrangement, and she is in part. There has been a time in which she wished she had been enough for Mako. But she isn’t. Asami is enough for Mako. Now that the Council had made its decision, she’ll never be enough for anybody. They took her chances away from her. She looks up at Amon, her... future husband. “So, it’s alright.”

She tells this to herself too. That it’ll be alright. She’ll be enough in other ways. After all, her number one priority is being the Avatar. Everything else… is second thought.

“I didn’t choose to want you,” Amon agrees with her, repeating her exact words. “Never, I could have thought I wanted you.”

“Neither did I. After all, you…” She takes a quick breath. “You said you wanted to destroy me.”

Coldness runs down her spine, cooling her blood in its path. How small had she had been in his grasp, under his stare, he had seemed much more imposing shrouded in the deep shadows of the memorial. That experience brought with it the realization that her enemy is a man, tangible and real, not volatile and uncatchable and unchallengeable as the nightmarish Amon of her dreams. She can fight a human being, a man. Break his jaw with a jab. Touch his arm with a gentle hand. He can be spoken to and reasoned with, and her chest swells with a deep, powerful sensation, that prompts her to exhale softly. She had been thinking about it ever since. Perhaps even too much to admit it, without feeling her fingers tremble with the urge of closing them into fists, to suppress a surge of discomfort at the thought of someone finding out that she had been humanizing her adversary ever since, much more than it’s healthy. She tried to go back to the person she was before the ambush, but to no avail. Fear changed her. For better or worse, she can’t decide. Not when Amon’s presence puts her in a state of unrest.

“Yes,” Amon says. She hears the rustle of his hood, he’s no longer facing the window: he’s facing her. “And I should have remained on that path.”

His blue eyes are piercing in hers, through hers.

She gulps – she can’t help it, just as she can’t refrain herself from relying on her bravado to prevent her voice from abandoning her.

“If you think I would have made it easy for you to—”

“It wasn’t a threat, Avatar. I bore no killing intent towards you, and I always knew that our paths were meant to collide with each other. I never desired for them to converge at such an unfortunate meeting point,” Amon interrupts her, speaking with a grave tone. “It shouldn’t have happened like this. It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

“L-look,” Her voice trembles while she combs her hair with one hand. “I’d have preferred too if we could have battled each other tooth and nails.”

“Do you?”

His inquiry freezes her. He’s not letting her express herself, which is weird, not at all like him.

“W-what?”

“I remember a terrified girl, yet too stubborn to give in to fear and surrender. The last time I saw that girl, it had been weeks ago.” Amon draws nearer to her, not so suddenly to make her step back. “What did it change?”

“Change?” Korra sputters, indignantly. “What was supposed to change? Just because of that stupid agreement, you think I’m less wary of you? Or because you’re not trying to be intimidating on purpose, suddenly I’m not scared of you? Guess what asshole, I still am.” And she has no issue in admitting it to him, while her palpitating heart is making a steady climb to her throat. Her cheeks are hot as hell. “But I don’t want my fear to define me. I don’t want…”

She grabs the fabric of her dress, over where her heart is threatening to consume her breath. It’s a contest with herself she has been losing ever since, not willing to admit her defeat time and time again when she wonders, asks herself cornered by her own judging mind: does she fear him, or does she fear getting closer to him?

A phantom touch grazes her chin. She thinks she’s imagining it. Her eyes shoot open the moment she recognizes the feeling of skin against skin, the heat of someone else’s hand. She stares at Amon’s chest, much nearer than it had been mere seconds ago.

“This?” His question is a whisper. It makes her skin prickle where he’s barely touching her. “You don’t want this?”

She can’t speak. Mouth agape, her words are no more. She feels like she never learned to speak at all. She can only stare at the eyeholes of Amon’s mask, blue glinting back at her.

When he retreats his hand, a soft, whistling sound barely audible to her reaches her eardrums. It was his breathing, passing through the mouth slit of the mask.

“I will take my leave,” he says, his voice feels much louder to her than before, like a booming thunder shaking the darkness. “That was inappropriate.”

“Then why did you do it?” she asks before he could even think of giving her his back.

Amon’s face is slightly tilted to the side, an indication that he might not be looking her in the eye.

“To prove a point.”

Korra narrows her eyes.

“Oh y-yeah?” she sasses him. “To-to whom? To me, or to you?”

Amon stays mute. He always has words in his mouth worth three lifetimes, and now he chooses to be silent?

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he declares, tries to turn away from her.

Korra grabs him by one flap of his collar. It’s a habit she has when her nerves get the best of her… she didn’t expect herself to fall into that instinct with Amon too.

“Y-you…” she stutters, close to his figurative mouth. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare run away on me. I didn’t. So you don’t get a chance too.”

She bares her teeth, her heart is beating so loud she feels its thumps in her gums. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter anymore, as Amon eloquently said. No emotion she feels for him will ever be right. Fear isn’t what the Council, Tarrlok and the city expect from her. And neither is this urge she once felt for Mako. So why bother? Why bother hiding the real nature of her feelings and thoughts? No one bothered to care when they gave her up to what is supposed to be her enemy and number one fear. Too bad for them that Amon stopped being that a long time ago.

She grabs him by the remaining flap of his collar. Their chests are brushing against each other, Amon makes no move to back away, or press forward. His icy blue eyes are scrutinizing her, definitely larger than they normally are. He can’t feel him breathe, despite their proximity.

“Is this what you want?”

Too focused on her stubbornness and spite mixed with dizzying physical reactions, she almost missed him asking.

She nods, slow and unsure at first.

“Yes,” she says, to make her decision final.

For a couple of seconds, nothing happens.

It’s a pregnant pause before disaster. Before jumping over a line inside the jaws of uncertainty.

When Amon’s hands find her waist, his warmth filters through her dress despite his touch being light and respectful. He climbs up her torso, until his palms rest on the sides of her neck. She shudders all the way, keeping her eyes trained on his. He’s cupping her face, warming it, his fingers massaging her scalp, his thumbs caressing her cheeks.

Korra relaxes her hold on his flaps at his touch. It’s simple, yet it feels so intimate, unlike anything else in her everyday life.

She presses herself against him, giving in to that temptation she felt for Mako a lifetime ago. She kisses him on the slit of the mask, the next thing she has available for a mouth. It’s entirely different from that kiss with Mako. That had been impulse, newborn envy, and no thought. She had thought about this for a long time, trying to deny these thoughts even existed. Now they exist, and they are reality. This kiss is exciting, it’s unordinary, and it shouldn’t have ever happened. Yet it’s happening – and she loves it. She loves the smooth texture of the mask on her lips, she loves the quickening breaths transpiring through the slit, she loves how one of his hands buries itself in her hair.

She reaches to the side of the mask, trying to find a way to get it off or unclip it.

Swift as when using chi-blocking, Amon snatches her wrist.

Korra is startled. He doesn’t appear angry and he’s not trying to hurt her either, his hold is solid yet not harmful. The message, nevertheless, is clear: don’t remove it.

“I want to kiss you for real,” Korra protests, staring deep into those heated glaciers, trying to convince him, to be incentivizing. “Don’t you want it too?”

Amon’s fingers curl furtherly around her wrist. He makes her put it down, his glare regaining a placid light.

“Yes,” he says, a whisper that makes her yearn for that kiss even more. “Step back against the wall.”

Korra obliges. She didn’t expect though for Amon to stalk her every step back toward the wall farthest from the windows and the hall of the gala, his almost predatorial stance giving her goosebumps. The training ingrained into her body urges her to correct her own stance and prepare for an attack. That instinct is snuffed out by the hand Amon raises to cover her eyes during her last step.

Her back meets the wall and Korra can’t help the exhale escaping her. She’s blind, darkness overcoming her eyesight, so she strains her ears to figure out what’s going on.

She hears the rustle of fabric, the sound of leather being manipulated.

It’s her sense of touch that informs her of what’s happening next. A breeze fans over her lips, causing a shiver to run down her inert arms.

She parts her lips, craving him like water, like oxygen. Lips brush over her upper lip, soft and inviting. He gives her a chaste kiss that makes her heart skip a beat, that devolves into one full of greediness and want, so much of it. Korra closes her eyes, leans into his warmth, into the caresses of his lips and tongue. She feels around to find leverage on the man’s shoulders, deepening the kiss to the point she becomes breathless, lightheaded – and still wants more. 

Amon descends lower, tracing her jawline with his parted mouth, leaving kisses under her chin where her skin starts to prickle with pleasant goosebumps. She inadvertently exposes more of her neck, which grants him better access to it. Every touch of his lips on her tender flesh is amplified when she can’t see a thing and has only the feeling of his mouth, his nose and the faint brush of his cheek telling her he’s showering her with an attention that’s a bit overwhelming at times for how much pleasurable it is.

When Amon’s deft fingers push a little aside the collar of her dress to press kisses on her claviculae, she feels a sudden want for him to go further. Lower.

“W-wait,” she says, gently pulling him away. “Help me get the surcoat off, p-please. I’ll keep my eyes closed.”

Korra undoes the morbid belt around her waist, before reaching for the lower part of the surcoat. Amon helps her lift it over her head so she can slip out.

“Are you sure about this?” Korra stops her fingers over the first button of her dress upon hearing his voice. “You don’t need to overdo it.”

Somehow, that makes her neck and jowls hotter. Is he looking out for her? Does he think she feels obliged to do this?

“As long as no one busts us,” She smirks blindly up to where she guesses his face is. “We can do whatever we want. Can’t we?”

She doesn’t know a whole lot about erotic stuff or whatnot, but she’s eager to learn, to give in and discover more.

“Reckless girl,” he whispers, as he goes back to cover her eyes.

Something jolts in her stomach at his light reprimand, like a handful of embers caught fire in it.

Korra gulps, flattening her shoulders only when no more reprimands follow.

She unbuttons the first button, the second and so on. Her own nails and fingertips against her skin fill her with a never experienced anticipation tugging at her ribcage.

She rests her hands over where the last button is, at hip height, unsure where she should go next, if she should say something to the man she’s baring herself for. It’s not usual for her to be this… shy.

Amon’s stronger, larger hand covers hers, in a gesture of reassurance she guesses. It has this effect on her and it surprises her how well it works on her, how the nervous beating of her heart subsides as if it had been cradled by someone’s loving arms.

It seems Amon can tell when she’s ready and her mind completely made up, because his hand rises to her chest at the right time. His fingers skim over her sternum to her bosom, feather-light touches leaving streaks of shivers in their wake. He palms through the bra, her flesh plies so easily under his touch and she trembly exhales.

She puts her hand on his arm when Amon slips a hand under her bra to grope at her breasts, his mouth lowers from her shoulder to her chest and he- he takes her nipple into his mouth. Korra can’t help the small noise of surprise at the wet heat enveloping her, which soon morphs into a hum of appreciation as he suckles on it, slow and sensual and with the added scrape of teeth rendering her all too sensible, all too happy to place her other hand at the back of his head to spur him. His hair is on the longer side, soft thick locks that she treads along with her fingers. She wonders about its color, how it would feel to press her nose and face against it, and butterflies flutters in her stomach. Would it be possible such a scenario with him? With a man so reserved, so elusive? She hopes it is – she hopes this gentleness he’s displaying is just the superficial part of a whole thing. 

Her unconscious smile broadens when he moves to mouth at her stomach, her abdomen solid with muscles. He doesn’t stop there, goes further to where the dress barely covers the hem of her panties. Amon lifts her gown, the fabric pooling up her thigh exposes her leg to the air. Him, caressing the inside of her knee up to her inner thigh, mouthing at her jugular with faint breaths heating up her skin and agitated blood, is leading her mind to places she didn’t know it could go. He’s inching closer to her groin, contracting the closer he gets.

He hooks the hem of her panties, sheds them. Just as with everything that came before, Amon isn’t fretful, or impatient, which is better than okay for her. She’s glad he understands, thus sparing her from having to admit her inexperience. He takes his sweet time stroking her thighs, before he reaches her wet sex. She gasps, tensing for a split second before willing her muscles to ease back, the tender circles he traces around her labia aiding her.

Tension is tying her groin into a knot, mostly tolerable at the moment. That could change soon however, if he keeps this up.

“Korra.” She’s stunned by the sound of her name rolling down his tongue, in severe syllables. “Open your mouth.”

“Ye… yes…” she says, while her blood seems to be rushing to her cheeks, but much more of it is taking the opposite direction, plunging into her loins.

Feeling his digits smoothing over her lower lip, Korra parts her mouth more to take them in.

“Good girl…” he praises her – praises her – with a hushed, husky tone of voice. Korra is dumbfounded at first, giddy as soon as his words sink in. “Now, wet them.”

She nods, swirling her tongue around them. A saline taste hits her tastebuds, one she recognizes from the sporadic night she spent pleasuring herself. She sucks on them more eagerly, more excited and pleased, coating his fingers thoroughly with saliva.

Amon hums above her, a light rumble in his throat that sounds like approval, like satisfaction. So she seductively pops her lips while he slips his fingers out.

A few more motions around her sex and she feels him prodding at her entrance.

“Are you ready?”

“Y-yes,” she replies, limbs trembling from anticipation.

He pushes delicately into her, Korra takes a quick breath as he does. His digit slides easily inside and it makes her shudder, the thought a piece of him is inside such an intimate part of her, the fact he might be looking at her every movement, every expanding of her chest and widening of her lips, all of this is so hot to her.

Amon pumps inside her, slow and deliberate to spread her, the longer he does the more Korra opens her legs. His thumb brushes against her clit, causing her to buckle her hips, an incandescent gush of arousal slithers in her pelvis once his touches become intense.

Her breath itches, a delighted sound bubbles in her throat at the second finger he pushes inside and curls inside of her stimulating her inner walls in a way that makes her throb and moan softly. Amon seems to suppress a growl close to her ear, his powerful body is pressed flushed against hers as he pumps into her faster, harder.

She wets her lips swollen from their kisses, trying to speak.

“What a-about you?” she manages to ask.

“Don’t think about it,” he says, soft-voiced, his timber hoarse. “Is this good?”

“Yes, please.” It’s too late to stop that plea and, she realizes, she doesn’t care. “D-don’t stop.”

Pleasure is steadily mounting in her tingling, boiling core and she doesn’t ever want him to stop. Korra wraps her arms around his neck, she feels the hard muscles of his chest against her turgid breasts.

Amon breathes out against her hair, she almost misses the trembling in his breathing.

“Beautiful…” he purrs. Korra can’t believe at first she heard that coming from him, she just can’t fathom it. He suspires over her lips. “You’re so beautiful, breathtaking…”

Those words sink deep in her, cutting like a blade, tender and warm and enthralling like the embrace of a hot spring. They wash over her in a wave. And they echo.

Beautiful.

Beautiful.

Breathtaking.

She never knew she craved to be called that by anyone. Yet it brings such unbelievable joy to her. Such desire.

“A-Amon…” she calls him, she reclaims him with another frenzied kiss that’s met with unbridled need. He’s stroking her labia up to her pulsating clit, smearing her fluids to bring her to her peak. She’s close, so very close, her insides are coiled up in need, her heart is mercilessly hammering into her ribcage and ears, his tongue sliding against hers, him rubbing her clit, it’s too much.

It all comes crashing down on her in a hot, white flare. Her body arches, spams, her moan consumes itself against Amon’s assertive mouth.

She slumps, panting hard, and there’s an arm latching around her waist to keep her erect. Korra leans forward and lets her head fall against Amon’s shoulder, her arms embracing the expanse of his back.

He’s no longer covering her eyes; instead, that hand is now stroking her hair free from the hairdo. She can’t take a peek at his face from this angle, but she wouldn’t even try to. if that isn’t what he wants, she’ll wait.

She buries her nose into his coat, taking in the smell of his cologne, stark and crisp, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. She feels like she might belong here, where she is now. Perhaps she will, if things play out as they should. She hopes so.

“We should refresh ourselves and go back to the gala,” Amon says when she has come down enough to form coherent thoughts back. And the gala isn’t at the forefront of her mind.

“Let’s… do it again sometime soon… ‘kay?”

She has still the most delirious smile pulling at her lips. She wants him to say yes – she needs him to say yes.

Amon caresses the back of her head in a loving manner, he leans with his cheek on her wavy hair.

“I share the same sentiment,” he says, gracefully. Wishfully.

It makes her heart and soul soar.