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Katara’s never been an early riser. She’s always preferred late nights; preferred the cool breeze of dusk over the bright reflections of dawn. Sometimes, when Aang asks her to watch the sunrise with him, she spends the whole night awake and then sleeps through the day, pulling Aang into bed with her.
Compensation, she’ll demand, and he’ll fall into the mattress without too many complaints and wrap his arms around her, Katara murmuring sleepily into his chest as he draws cool breezes over her until she drifts into unconsciousness. He’s an early riser and a light sleeper; likes to say that he spent enough time asleep in ice to make up for the rest of his life. Katara doesn’t let him skip out, though; makes sure he’s tucked in with her whenever she’s gone to bed. Whines and complains and flutters big doe eyes until he gives in.
(He always gives in. He loves her, which she’s known for years and years and years. It’s still weird to wrap her head around the fact that the Avatar is hers, in her bed and under her hands whenever she wants him to be. That he’s right beside her, fingers digging into her waist at diplomatic meetings and voice in her ear on battlefields.)
But now it’s a hot summer night, the kind where even Katara doesn’t crave his closeness as much as she usually does, favoring whatever cool breeze is floating in through the open windows. There’s a dip in the mattress where Aang is, and Katara’s half-conscious and dawn light’s streaming through the windows when she realizes that the dip is slowly disappearing, her own weight dragging the mattress down on her side. She whines a little, a small involuntary sound, eyes still closed. She receives a chuckle in response, a soft kiss on the cheek.
“Gonna go meditate, baby,” comes Aang’s voice in her ear, low and tinged with the last dregs of sleep. “Find me when you wake up.”
Katara’s arm flails around, unsuccessfully attempting to drag Aang back into bed with her, but he kisses her forehead and steps away easily, pushing a cool breeze in her direction instead. It feels… nice. Comforting. She’s back to sleep in seconds, dreaming of strong tattooed hands tracing lines across her body.
It’s hours later when Katara wakes up properly, the strong sun of mid-morning blazing through the window and casting light around the near-empty beach house bedroom on Ember Island. The house (absurdly sized beachfront manor, really), Zuko’s residence by default of his Fire Lord status, is filled with the inherent noise of several young adults with too many responsibilities and a week away from all of them. Their annual beach trip usually goes this way, all loud and raucous and bursting with love and laughter no matter the time.
No one’s clamored into Katara and Aang’s shared bedroom yet, which means it’s not too late, but Katara’s vaguely aware that she only has so much time left before someone bullies their way in and drags Katara out of her sheets, forces her onto the sandy beach. Aang never returned, either, which means that he got dragged away by someone else after meditating, and Katara considers getting annoyed with him for leaving her before she rolls over in bed, finds a pleasantly warm patch of sunlight, and stretches like a cat.
She can still find him and spend the rest of the day with him. She can take her morning slow, take her time to get ready. Dress up to do nothing; tan on the beach until her skin starts to sting. Aang’s probably already on the beach and waiting for her, she realizes, parsing through the voices that are audible inside the house and not hearing him. He did say to find him when she woke up.
So Katara takes her time. She rolls out of bed languidly, showers off the sweat from the night before, bends the water away from her body and hair as she steps out. Wraps herself in a towel as she sorts through the clothes she brought, decides that it’s far too hot for anything other than a bathing suit. She’s starving by the time she steps into the open kitchen, clad in her favorite new bikini and a sheer wrap skirt, beach towel in hand.
“Look who’s finally awake,” Suki calls out when Katara makes her appearance, and it’s too hot for Katara to do anything but laugh, wordlessly accepting the bowl of fruit shoved into her hands. “We’re starting a volleyball game in, like, five minutes if you want to join.”
“Way too early for that,” Katara replies, shoving watermelon into her mouth and hastily wiping the juice as it drips down her chin.
“It’s noon,” Suki deadpans, and Katara just grins.
“I’ll cheer you guys on.” She picks up her fruit bowl and fork and starts making her way towards the front door, out onto the beach before she stops for a second and turns. “How’s the outfit, by the way?” She does a little twirl, skirt and hair flaring out around her. She knows she looks good, but she loves the validation anyway, smiles when Suki nods approvingly.
“Gorgeous. Barely there. Aang’s going to die, probably,” Suki says, and Katara laughs.
“That’s the goal! Where is he, actually?”
Suki shrugs. “I haven’t seen any of the boys all morning, but they promised they’d be here in time to play. I think they left early, because Sokka was gone by the time I woke up.”
“Weird.” Sokka and Katara, by virtue of genetics, were both late sleepers. They’d stay up together some nights, especially during their annual beach trip, collapsed on the couch well past midnight and chatting while their friends dozed off or disappeared to their bedrooms. Suspiciously enough, they hadn’t done so the night before.
“Very weird,” Suki agreed. “But they should be back soon, I think. Mai and Toph are already outside, by the way. I’ll join you in a bit?”
Katara nods and heads out the door, still trying to figure out Aang’s whereabouts. Seconds later she’s barefoot on the beach and setting her towel down by the ones already laid out, feet sinking into hot sand. She has a clear view of the volleyball net, and grins and waves when she sees Toph and Mai walking towards her, in the opposite direction of a nearby cave.
“You’re finally up,” Mai says by way of greeting, and slowly eases herself onto the towel beside Katara’s. Toph seats herself directly in the sand with a huff, and Katara notices sweat streaming down the back of her neck. It really is irrationally hot; the midday sun beating down and making the whole day hazy, blurry.
“We’re on vacation,” Katara says. “Let me sleep in.”
“Not being on vacation has literally never stopped you,” Toph jokes, and Katara leans back on her towel, lays herself down with a sigh.
“No. No, it hasn’t.” She closes her eyes. “You can’t blame me, though. This weather…” she trails off, already drowsy. Mai and Toph hum in agreement. “Why were you guys at the caves, by the way?”
“I needed real ground under my feet,” Toph explains.
“And we were looking for the guys,” Mai replies. “They’re nowhere to be found.”
“Suki said they should be back soon, for volleyball or something. Are either of you playing?” Katara’s eyes are still closed, mind hazy and sleepy and her fruit bowl forgotten as she speaks to her friends.
“Spirits, no,” Toph snorts. “Sand is bad enough.”
“Way too pregnant for that,” Mai deadpans, and Katara grins. She’d checked in on Mai’s baby the night before, did a quick examination and found that it was strong, healthy, right on track in development. Mai herself was healthy, too. Mobile, capable, in the phase of pregnancy where she’s glowing and thriving and looking wonderful. Katara glances at where black fabric stretches over the swell of Mai’s stomach, at the ring-clad hand resting over top; feels something twist in her heart.
She and Aang have discussed kids before. A few times. Katara’s wanted it for a long time: motherhood, children, babies. Someone to hold and cherish and love. As she grew older, fell in love with Aang, it became clearer: mini versions of him and her running around, wreaking havoc. All of her and Aang’s traits, bottled up and passed on. She told Aang about it once, how she wants kids that look like him, wants him to give them to her, and he smiled and kissed her and promised her that he will, one day, when the timing’s right. And then he made her come twice on his tongue and once more by fucking her into the mattress, whispered filthy things into her ear about how he’ll give her babies, keep her pregnant and barefoot at home, how he’ll take care of her through it all. The timing wasn’t right though, and both of them were grateful for it since they were too busy taking care of other things: Diplomacy and meetings and building a new city.
“You sure you don’t want to know the gender?” Katara asks, and Mai shakes her head.
“Not for a while, at least. I need it to feel real, first.”
Katara’s about to ask something else, something oddly vulnerable before she’s interrupted by a loud shout. Her eyes fly open and roll on instinct at the sound of her brother’s voice, and she turns onto her stomach and lifts a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she gazes off in the direction of the shout. Her skirt’s all twisted around her legs, but she’ll take care of that later.
Three shirtless figures are walking towards the group gathered on the towels, each of them carrying large crates of… bottles? Glass clanks as they set the boxes down, and Suki emerges from the house carrying balls, a tube of sun cream, and a large straw hat.
“You’re back!” she exclaims, and Sokka grins and rushes towards her, pulling her in for a hug and knocking the ball out of her hands. Zuko’s already crouched beside Mai, checking in on her and quietly asking about the baby, about her health, about how her day’s been going.
The ball rolls towards Aang, who stops it with his foot, and Katara follows the line of his tattoo up his swim-short clad leg, rakes her eyes across his stomach and chest gleaming in the sunlight, focuses in on his expression as he’s gazing down at her fondly.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he grins. “How was your morning?”
“Relaxing,” Katara replies, no longer shielding her eyes with her hand because Aang’s shifted to stand in front of the sun, blocking the harsh rays and casting Katara’s face in cool, pleasant shadow. She feels a light breeze rake up her spine, and sees Aang’s fingers shifting slightly, pulling the air over Katara’s skin.
She loves him. Spirits, she loves him.
“Where were you?” she asks, and Aang leans over one of the crates and pulls out a bottle, the glass catching the light. It’s warm when he hands it to Katara, and she wills the liquid in it to be cooler.
“Alcohol run,” he says flippantly, and seats himself down next to her, taking the bottle back and twisting the metal lid open. “We ran out.” She sees his gaze track over her form, taking in the swell of her ass where it was covered by her skirt, and he reaches a hand out to move her hair away from where it’s splayed out over her back.
“Leave it,” Katara instructs, resting her head on her forearms. Aang pulls away and takes a swig of his drink instead, and Katara watches the column of his throat as he swallows. Something twists in her gut. “You playing volleyball?” she asks, and she can see her friends begin to set up, adjusting the net and gathering equipment.
“I am. Wanna join?”
Katara shakes her head.
“Too busy tanning,” she says. “But I’ll cheer you on.”
“Better cheer hard,” Aang grins, “I’m relying on you.” He leans over and kisses her forehead, then clambers to his feet, drink still in hand. Katara rolls onto her front as he walks away, waves at him when he looks back at her, gaze dropping to her chest just barely covered in blue fabric. He falters for a second, tripping over his own feet, and Katara laughs, and Sokka lets out a low groan as he tells Aang to hurry up and stop ogling my sister.
Katara frowns. She’ll deal with Sokka eventually.
The teams are decided quickly: Aang and Zuko on one side, Suki and Sokka on the other. Someone argues that it’s benders versus nonbenders, and then promises are made to not cheat, and Suki commands that there’s going to be absolutely no fire, or so help me La, it’s too damn hot for all that.
(Suki gets the first serve, because they’re all scared of her after that.)
Aang and Zuko are facing away from the towels as the ball gets whacked between the two teams, and Katara doesn’t really have any complaints because within minutes there’s sweat dripping down Aang’s back and his skin is gleaming, stretched taut over the muscles on his shoulders. His shorts are short, and slung low on his hips, and Katara tilts her head a little when he jumps, the muscles in his thighs flexing.
For a second, her mind drifts, brain fogging up with memories of those strong thighs in bed, Aang thrusting into her, his ass under her hands and the steady thrum of her rising orgasm. He’s murmuring into her ear, and she’s taking him as well as she can, so long and deep, feeling so–
“Close your mouth,” Mai says, but her voice is distant, hazy. Katara glances at her and sees that she’s gazing at Zuko, eyes glazed over.
“You’re one to talk.”
“Pregnancy hormones,” she protests, and waves Katara off.
Katara just rolls her eyes, sends a quick thank you to the spirits for the excellent soundproofing in the beach house. She’s still thinking about that soundproofing as she reaches for the knot of her skirt, unties it with deft fingers and pulls it away from her legs, tossing the fabric somewhere to the side, eyes catching on Suki’s wide-brimmed hat laying in the sand next to the forgotten fruit bowl from earlier. Katara picks up the hat, brushes it off, and places it on her head, shielding her eyes from the sun and making it easier to watch the game. She grabs the fruit bowl next, picks up a peach slice and bites down, doesn’t bother cleaning it up when the juice drips past her lips.
Her mouth’s watering when she finally looks back at Aang, sees him roll out his shoulders before lobbing a serve at the opposing team. The muscles shift deliciously, and Katara wants to bite them, wants to scratch them up with her fingernails, wants Aang under her and her hands and inside and in her bed.
Soundproofing, Katara thinks distantly, and takes another bite of peach. She gasps when Aang hits the ball with a loud smack! and ignores Toph’s muttered ew as the ball flies into the air and almost crashes against the net when a slight breeze catches it, pulls it over the top before it drops straight into the sand with a dull thud.
Everyone freezes.
“I’m going to kill you,” Suki says calmly, and then the game erupts as she’s launching herself in Aang’s direction, limbs flailing wildly while Sokka’s holding her back, arms around her waist, and Zuko’s ducking under the net and grabbing the ball again, trying not to get hit. Aang’s protesting, claiming that he didn’t cheat, that he’d never, that it was definitely a freak breeze working in his favor, and Katara laughs out loud at his audacity.
“Got something to say, Katara?” Aang calls out behind him over the clamor of everyone else’s voices, not looking back. A thrill runs through her at the challenge in his voice. “I thought you were on my side.”
“Now why would I support a cheater?” Katara lobs at him, and Suki shouts a victorious ah-ha! and now Aang turns around, betrayal written into his expression.
It drops when he takes her in; all sunhat and tiny, tiny bikini, propped up on her elbows with one leg bent. Katara cocks an eyebrow, bites into her peach again, lets the juice drip down her chin, neck, sternum. Aang’s eyes track its path, wide and… hungry.
“No defense?” Katara teases, and sweeps up the juice droplet from her chest with a fingertip and sucks it into her mouth, trying desperately to maintain eye contact and not let her gaze travel down Aang’s chest. Her finger tastes of sugar and sweat. Aang’s panting from exertion, ribcage heaving.
He shakes his head a little, lips parted, and Zuko gives him a sad pat on the back before pulling him in, whispering something in his ear that Katara can’t hear. Aang finally tears his eyes away from her and looks down at himself. Katara tracks his gaze.
He’s hard. Or half-hard, or something, but definitely aroused and currently stalking towards her, steps unsteady in the stand. Mai’s looking away with a hand over her eyes and Suki’s laughing and Toph’s wildly confused, and Katara–
Well. She’s kind of in the same boat as Aang. Wildly turned on, more than a bit needy. Wet, if the lack of friction as her thighs shift is any indication. Aang crouches down when he finally approaches her, brings his face close. His breath is shaky and Katara’s pretty sure she can hear his heartbeat.
“Meet me inside,” he growls, and it’s an order. Katara shivers a little, rolls out her shoulders and pushes her chest forward enough that Aang’s eyes drop down to her tits and he swallows. Hard. Katara takes a deep breath, smells the sweat on his skin, feels a bit dizzy.
“What if I don’t?” she challenges, and Toph gags nearby. They ignore it.
“You will,” Aang says, and stands back up and walks towards the house. Katara twists and tracks him, tunes out Suki’s shouts to come back and play fair! and Sokka’s cries of disgust.
She gets up a minute later, after Aang’s disappeared through the screen doors, and follows his footsteps in the sand, sweat dripping down her spine. She leaves her stuff by her towel, not bothering with her coverup from earlier.
“Oogies!” Sokka calls out from behind the net, and Katara’s finger goes up in response.
When she finally steps inside, out of the sun, Katara sighs in relief. The house is designed to stay cool through the burning hot summers, all light wood and high ceilings; airy and pretty, and it’s a relief to feel the sweat dissipate off her skin. A slight shiver runs through Katara as she pads across the wood floors barefoot, tracking sand into the house. Whatever. She’ll clean it later.
Aang’s not in the living room, and Katara’s making her way towards the staircase to check in the bathroom when his voice rings out from the kitchen.
“In here, Katara,” he calls, and his voice is deep and gravelly and Katara follows it slowly, soundlessly.
Inside the kitchen with its large island and absurd number of cabinets, Aang’s pacing back and forth. There’s a half-drunk glass of water on the stone countertop, and it’s sweating in the heat, condensation beading along its rim.
Aang lifts his eyes and his breath catches as she fills the doorway, and when Katara looks down, she can see that he’s still hard. She grins, smug.
“Proud of yourself?”
“Very,” Katara says, and steps closer to Aang, draws him in towards her and drapes her arms over his shoulders.
“Where did you get that… this,” he says, and his hands are already on her waist, one of them dragging down to Katara’s hip and looping into the thin string that’s resting there. His touch burns, hot against her already warm skin.
“Bikini?” she supplies, raking her nails down his chest. Spirits, he smells delicious, all sweat and musk and cedar. Katara wants to eat him.
“Mm, no,” he murmurs. “That implies far more coverage than this.” It’s a fair point, really; the coverage on the back is… negligible, at best. The memory of that gives Katara an idea, and she twists around in Aang’s arms, places her pelvis against the solid edge of the counter and pulls Aang in behind her.
Rock and a hard place, Katara thinks distantly as he crowds into her space, presses himself firmly against her ass and grinds into her just once, enough to fulfill whatever friction he’s craving, letting out a soft moan. It’s not enough for Katara, though, and she reaches an arm behind her, lifts up on her toes and twists awkwardly until Aang’s slotted against her where she wants him and his lips are inches from her own.
He grins wickedly, grinds into her once more, and then swallows her subsequent groan with a kiss, fierce and bruising. He tastes of cider and salt, and it’s delicious, heady, all-consuming.
“I’m gross and sweaty right now,” he says against her lips, and Katara laughs and pushes her ass into him further. His fingers tighten their grip on her hips, digging into the soft flesh hard enough that Katara’s hoping it bruises, hoping he leaves marks.
“Does it seem like I care?” she asks breathily, and Aang’s mouth is back on hers, teeth tugging at her lip, nipping down, swallowing each weak sound that Katara makes as his hips move against hers, as he pushes her up against the counter.
Katara’s spine screams at the angle, and she pulls away for air, back still arched, and Aang takes the opportunity to place a hand between her shoulderblades and push Katara down, down, down until her breasts are pressed up on the granite, cold stone making her nipples harden, a shock to her system as her entire front is laid up against it. Aang’s nudging her feet apart then, still grinding into her relentlessly, and it’s all a lot, all friction and sensation and cold cold cold, and Aang’s moving Katara’s hair off of her back and kissing right at the nape of her neck, and then he’s biting. She moans when his teeth sink into her shoulder, sighs when he licks over the wound gently, places a light kiss against it.
“Can’t believe you were teasing me,” he’s whispering into her ear, still mouthing along her neck. “In front of all our friends, in these… these scraps, in—fuck—practically nothing,” he continues, and Katara’s gasping with each movement of his hips, the fabric covering her pussy shifting to the side, already feeling like she’s floating and he hasn’t even done anything hasn’t touched her in the way she wants.
“Not nothing,” she ekes out.
“Practically nothing.”
Aang’s hand presses down on her spine, keeping her pinned to the counter as he undoes the two small ties on the back of her top, string falling in opposite directions before he scoops Katara up backwards and pulls her to his chest with a gasp. The top stays splayed out on the table, the two deep blue triangles mocking Katara as Aang’s hands wander up her skin, tweak a nipple gently and then not gently, large hands cupping her, holding her firmly. Katara squirms in his grasp, tries to twist herself around so that she can kiss him properly, so that her back can stop screaming at her. He doesn’t let her.
“I should fuck you like this,” he groans out, “that’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s why you wore this?” Katara’s floating somewhere else, she’s pretty sure, and she whimpers in response. “That’s not an answer baby,” he says, and his movements slow down, grow gentler. “Tell me what you want, Katara.”
“Want you,” she says, and Aang just laughs.
“You have me, baby. What else do you want?”
“More. Need more,” she gasps. “Need to kiss you.”
“Fuck,” Aang groans. “Yeah, okay.” Hands gripping her waist, he spins her around so that her ass is pressed against the counter instead, then bends down and hooks his fingers around her thighs, drags her up, up until she’s seated on the stone, the cold of it seeping into her skin.
Katara pulls him in immediately, crushes his lips to hers in a bruising kiss, and it’s good, all lips and teeth and tongue. The air around them is hot and sticky and they’re both slick with sweat, but it doesn’t matter. Aang mouths his way across her neck, licks a bruise into her collarbone before trailing down to her breast and tugging a nipple between his teeth. Katara gasps in surprise at the feeling, hips rolling against stone and craving friction. She wants more, always more.
Aang grins up at her from where he’s sucking on her tits, and Katara gasps when he lets go with a pop! and sinks to his knees. The fabric of her bottoms is already askew, the gusset barely covering anything, and Aang’s gaze is locked on Katara’s face, watching her expression shift as his hands crawl up her thighs, leaving goosebumps wherever he touches.
“You’re so beautiful, Katara,” he says reverently, his earlier gruffness eased out of the way by hunger, by wide grey eyes. His finger traces along the string on her hip, toying with the tie, and Katara’s own hand comes up to cup his face gently. “Did you wear this for me?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” Katara whispers, her thumb swiping across Aang’s lips. He parts them for a second, bites down softly on the knuckle, his own fingers still tracing paths along Katara’s thighs and inching closer to where she actually wants him. “Always for you, baby.”
Aang places a chaste kiss to the inside of Katara’s leg.
“I love you,” he says, and then he’s moving again, finger hooking into the gusset of Katara’s bottoms and pulling them to the side while his other arm tugs her closer to the counter edge, closer to Aang’s face. “So wet for me already,” he muses, and then kisses directly on Katara’s clit. She gasps, hips rolling involuntarily, and Aang chuckles. “Patience, baby,” he says, and then licks a long stripe up her pussy before diving in properly, all lips and tongue across Katara’s core.
He’s always been a quick learner, made Katara come on his tongue the second time they tried this. He likes it too, Katara’s pretty sure. Likes being between her legs, licking into her ceaselessly, is happy to do this and nothing else. He’s begged her for it before, knelt at the edge of the bed with his wide eyes, asking Katara to please let him taste her, he’s had such a long day, and please, baby I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.
Spirits, does he make it worth her while. He’s uncommonly good, not that he or Katara have been with anyone else, but… she’s sure that no one else could make her feel like this, pressure rolling through her gut and building a the base of her spine, nails digging into Aang’s scalp and leaving little half-moons across the lines of his tattoo. She’s restless, rolling, gasping erratically as Aang feasts, as he tunes into each sound that comes out of her and makes her make more. He’s so attentive, really.
He pulls off for a second to catch his breath, and Katara whines a little, and Aang lightly smacks the outside of her thigh to get her to stop. It does the trick.
“So needy,” he says, throat hoarse. “Be good if you wanna come in my mouth, okay?” Katara nods, helpless and desperate and deeply turned on by Aang being mean to her, and then Aang’s back on her again, fucking into her with his tongue when his fingers come up to thumb at her clit, trace small circles and give Katara just enough friction to truly feel pressure coiling, building.
“Aang, baby, I– fuck,” she grits out. “I’m close, please, please, I need– I want–” she’s babbling, senseless against Aang’s ministrations, pretty sure she’s floating in another world when Aang finally pinches her clit, makes her come. Her hips are rolling against his face and he’s not stopping her, just taking it as she comes, as her orgasm stretches in waves and crests and then comes crashing down, eats her out through her sensitivity.
When Katara tries pushing him away, he doesn’t let her. Instead, with a flick of his wrist, he bends water out of the glass sweating on the counter and uses it to pull Katara’s hands behind her back, locking her in place when he turns the water to ice.
It’s a quiet command: don’t move. Katara knows that he’s using water because it means that she can break the cuffs if she wants, if she decides she can’t take it anymore, but… this is good, for now. Pressure’s already coiling in her spine again, and her thighs are shaking where they’re draped over Aang’s shoulders, and it’s all a lot, but it’s hers, he’s hers, on his knees in front of Katara and eating her out like it’s all he ever wants to do.
“Give me one more,” he murmurs, and his fingertips are digging into her thighs hard enough to bruise. “Just one, baby, you taste so good,” he whispers against her cunt, and then Katara’s gasping again, her second orgasm quick to rise and crash, and now she’s too sensitive, enough that it hurts, and she whines in protest but doesn’t break the cuffs.
Aang pulls away anyway, grinning up as the lower half of his face glistens in the sunlight streaming through the large kitchen windows. Katara realizes that anyone could have seen them just now, and is about to say as much when Aang rises to his feet and licks into her mouth. Katara can taste herself on his tongue, and it’s heady, makes her buzz in anticipation. She’s far from done, she realizes.
“Open,” Aang says, and Katara does it instinctively, jaw dropping slightly and tongue coming out to rest against her lower lip. Aang spits into her mouth then, and it still tastes like her, and Katara swallows with a grin, smiling up at him before he kisses her again, desperate and hungry. The cuffs release, and Katara rolls out her wrists before placing her hands on Aang’s chiseled chest.
“The windows,” she murmurs against his lips, and he turns his head slightly towards the large glass panels.
“What about them?” Aang asks as he tugs at one of the ties on her bikini bottoms.
“What if someone saw?”
“Lucky them,” he whispers, and then kisses Katara again, digs his hands under her trembling thighs, and then lifts her up with ease. She laughs as he does so, tits bouncing a little as she adjusts herself in his arms. Aang’s head dips to take one into his mouth, and Katara jerks hard enough that he almost drops her, almost makes them both fall, and then they’re both laughing, and they’re kissing again, and Aang’s carrying Katara up to their bedroom. She knows that he doesn’t care if anyone catches them, and really all their friends are well aware of what they’re up to right now, but Katara does care about people knowing. And Aang knows that, and he respects it, and he’s so strong, carrying her so easily, and just the idea of all of it makes Katara moan into his mouth.
“We’re going to have to clean that kitchen,” she whispers, and Aang frowns.
“Not my problem right now.”
“Definitely your problem, though.”
Aang shrugs and shoulders his way into their bedroom, then drops Katara onto the mattress.
“Right now, my problem is making sure I fuck you properly, Katara,” he says. “Punish you for teasing me like that.”
“Oh, I don’t think I deserve that,” Katara pouts, loosened up by her two orgasms and wildly overconfident despite her near-naked status. Aang’s gazing down at her while she’s splayed across the bed, and she takes the opportunity to tug at the laces of her bottoms, finally take them off.
“Don’t,” Aang says, and Katara’s hand stills. “Leave them on. You don’t think you deserve to be fucked?”
Katara traces her fingers up her body, rolls her nipple between them and gasps at the intensity of Aang’s gaze as he’s watching her.
“Oh, I need to be fucked,” she replies. “Properly.”
And then she’s rolling over, on her knees with her chest pressed to the mattress, barely-covered ass presented up to Aang and a wide grin on her face. He groans, reaches out and tugs Katara towards him.
“Have I ever told you that you’re perfect?” he says, and he’s pulling Katara’s bottoms to the side again, pulling the hard length of himself out of his swim shorts. Katara wants to take him in her mouth, wants to put her hands on him again, wants to rake scars into his shoulderblades so that everyone that meets the Avatar knows that he belongs to someone, belongs to her.
But she also wants this. Wants Aang fucking into her from behind, strong grip on her hips and whispering filthy things into the room, ones that Katara can think about on long, lonely nights left alone when he’s off in other nations, performing his duties, carrying out his responsibilities.
“I could stand to hear it again,” Katara says instead, and she moans as she feels the head of Aang’s cock rub up against her, slide up and down the slickness of her cunt before notching in where Katara wants him.
“You’re perfect,” he says, and he’s pushing into Katara slowly, slowly, one hand gripping her ass and the other guiding himself into her. It’s a stretch; it always is, even after years, but it still feels like he was made for her. Katara loves him, she loves him, loves how he feels as he’s bullying his way into her and loves when he’s tucked into bed with her and loves him, all of him, his grin and wide eyes and big, broad shoulders.
It’s love she’s thinking about as he’s entering her, as he bottoms out inside her with a long, low groan, leaving Katara feeling impossibly full and stretched out and somehow still hungry for more.
“Are you gonna move?” she asks, and grinds her hips backwards. Aang chokes a little, grabs her firmly and holds her still.
“So impatient,” he growls, and then he’s fucking into her properly, thrusts fast and steady and relentless and all Katara can do is take it. He’s large and he’s thick and he’s perfect inside her, and she’s so wet and desperate that the slide of him is heavenly, frictionless. She buries her face into a pillow and Aang doesn’t let her, hooks his arm around her ribcage and pulls her to his chest as he keeps fucking into her.
“Fuck, baby, you take me so well,” he’s babbling, and this angle is fucking crazy, is so good that Katara already feels like she’s going to come, without Aang even brushing her clit. His hand’s resting on her stomach, pressing down so that Katara can feel him even more, and soon she’s nothing but feeling, sensation: Aang’s arms and hands around her, his mouth pressed into the crook of her shoulder, the gold metal tips of her bikini string beating lightly against her hips and thighs as Aang’s fucking her. His hand trails down slightly, stops pushing at her stomach, and then his fingers are on her clit and rubbing small, small circles, and it’s so good, so much.
Katara’s coming on his cock in a matter of seconds, all needy and desperate and gasping, and Aang’s praising her through it, telling her that she’s so beautiful, that she makes the prettiest sounds and that her body is gorgeous and that she’s made for me, baby, just so perfect.
When the waves of her orgasm subside, Katara collapses forward onto the mattress again. Aang pauses, begins to pull out; he’s okay not coming as long as Katara’s satisfied, but… she’s not going to be satisfied until he’s come inside her, until he’s fucked a baby into her, probably. Katara rolls over onto her back, winces at the sensitivity across her whole body but ignores it anyway.
“We’re not done,” she says, and it comes off a bit like a threat, but Aang grins anyway, clambers onto her and peppers kisses across Katara’s face.
“We’re not?”
Katara shakes her head.
“Not until I’m pregnant,” she says, and Aang pulls away, looks into Katara’s eyes, searching. His hand cups her face, and he’s ignoring how her legs are spread wide open, how she’s trying to nudge him into her again, already missing the feeling of fullness. “The timing’s right,” she whispers. “I want this.”
The engagement ring on her hand gleams in the sunlight. Aang looks over at it, then back at Katara, and grins.
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll get you pregnant,” he says, and then he’s sliding into her again and it’s wonderful. Katara’s so full, so boneless and stretched out that all she can do is take him, take his length as he thrusts into her over and over again, his pace steady.
“Use me,” Katara whispers, and draws Aang in for a kiss before he can say anything else. He dips one arm under her leg, braces his hand on the bed as Katara’s ankle rests over his shoulder. He does the same on the other side, and then he’s fucking into Katara at an unfathomably fast pace, and it’s too much, so much, Katara in a damn mating press and Aang fucking her like he wants it to take.
“Gonna get you so pregnant, baby,” he groans. “Fill you up, have me dripping out of you. You gonna give me cute babies?”
“Yeah,” she gasps out, “as many as you want. All yours.” And she means it. Aang could talk her into anything if he wanted to and she’d follow him to the ends of the earth; has done it once before and would do it all over again if he promises to keep her like this, keep her full.
Fuck, he’s so good. She loves him so, so much.
“I love you,” she whispers into his ear, and then kisses him as he groans in reaction, hips moving erratically.
“Love you too,” he murmurs, and then he’s coming, hot spurts inside Katara that have her rolling against him, squeezing around his cock and taking in the last of what he has to offer.
“Love you,” he says into the skin over her collarbone. “I love you so much,” he whispers against her jaw. Katara just grins, can feel his cum leaking out of her around his cock. Aang pulls out slowly but Katara whines anyway, then whines again as he leaves the bed to gather a towel to clean her up.
He’s gentle with her, always is, and Katara pulls him up to her the second that he’s done, licks into his mouth again and kisses him lazily.
“We should head back out,” she whispers, and Aang groans and drops his head.
“We definitely should. And we have to clean that kitchen.”
“Fuck. We do,” she says, and then she’s trying to roll out of bed but her legs feel like jelly. She can barely move. Aang pulls her in, tucks her up against him.
“Later. You gotta change your swimsuit before we head out, though,” he mumbles into the back of Katara’s neck.
“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to,” she says in response.
“Yeah,” Aang murmurs, and he’s sleepy, dozing off in the sticky heat. “Yeah, you’re right.”