Chapter Text
Stepping out of the shower, Katara caught sight of herself in the foggy mirror across the huge bathroom in Aang’s house—their house—and froze. A lecture from med school floated up from the back of her mind like a soap bubble, bursting in a shower of remembered sensation—the voice of a tired, droning professor, the taste of stale coffee and cheap pastries, the dull ache of not enough sleep after a long hospital shift.
“During pregnancy, maternal blood increases by up to 50% while elevated hormones cause vasodilation to accommodate the extra flow. This combination causes the superficial vascular network across the chest and breasts to become engorged, making the veins visibly prominent beneath the skin.”
Katara stepped slowly closer to the mirror, naked and dripping on the tiles, dreamlike in the steamy aftermath of her shower. Slightly dizzy, she traced the prominent blue lines that curved like tree roots across the flat of her chest and around her breasts. Bile rose in her throat as she started rapidly counting the days backwards in her head.
The math didn’t add up—or rather, it added up perfectly.
They had been so busy recently. With Aang in his first UFC bouts, ping-ponging across the country, and Katara taking on more patients at the clinic…she had lost track of things. Things like her period.
Feeling faint, she tipped forward and braced her hands on the cool, rough stone countertop, meeting her own wide-eyed stare in the mirror. She was pale and shivering, ghost-like in the residual steam.
“Oh god,” she said with feeling. “Shit.”
-
-
-
Silla arrived an hour later with a plastic Walgreens bag dangling from her elbow and two cups of coffee in hand. When Katara reached for hers, Silla pulled it back with a smirk. “You can have this after we confirm whether or not you are currently with fetus.”
“Hilarious,” Katara said flatly and snatched the drink from her hand, taking several long pulls that burned down her throat. Her hair was still wet, and she’d thrown on a random pair of shorts and one of Aang’s t-shirts, feeling disconnected from her own body. “We both know pregnant women can have coffee.”
“200 mg of caffeine a day, baby.”
Silla riffled around inside the bag, there in the entryway on a random Saturday morning that had taken on the quality of a movie scene in Katara’s head, and proffered a pregnancy test. It appeared she had bought several. “So, uh, how sure are you?”
Katara took the test in her free hand and pinched her lips together, trying to ignore the way her heart was trying to claw its way out of her throat. “Honestly?” She held Silla’s stare for a moment, trying to be realistic with herself. “Let's call it 90%.”
Silla’s eyes widened. “Well, shit.”
“Yeah,” Katara agreed. “Shit.”
They reconvened in the hallway bathroom, Silla hovering near the sink as Katara peed on a stick, the sound loud in the expectant silence. When she was done, Katara stuck the clear plastic cover back over the white, porous end, cleaned it off with toilet paper, and then pulled up her underwear and shorts.
With a sense of gravity, she placed the test facedown on the counter between them and met the other woman’s stare.
Silla arched a brow. “So…what do you want to do for five minutes?”
Katara snorted. “Figure out what I am going to tell my boyfriend, who is currently fighting in a UFC match across the country?”
“Right. Uh, have you guys ever talked about having kids?”
Katara gave a single shake of her head. “Nope,” she said, letting the ‘p’ pop loudly, the sound echoing off the tiles.
There was something nostalgic about this particular bathroom. Something that felt…like coming full circle. She’d gotten changed in this room and come to gather herself when her deeply inappropriate feelings for her patient had become too much. Now she lived here. Slept in his bed, stole his clothes, set her toothbrush beside his, and chastised him for not putting his socks in the hamper.
Silla winced a little. “Do you, well…do you want to have children?”
Katara let out a long breath. The answer felt simple, but the reality was anything but. She and Aang had only been back together for around four months, and they had only moved in together the month prior. Things had been good…amazing, even. The happiest she’d ever been in her life.
This was…another complication, after having already overcome more than their fair share. A massive wrench thrown into a machine she was only just starting to understand.
“I do, just…”
“Maybe not yet?”
Katara shrugged. God, she didn’t know how to feel. She hadn’t been able to piece two coherent thoughts together since she’d called Silla and then sat at the end of the bed she and Aang shared, staring off into space. “I mean, it certainly wasn’t planned. But…I love him, and I know he loves me.”
It felt profound, saying it aloud, and her throat constricted. She had never been more sure of anything in her life than she was of Aang. The thought gave her courage.
Silla smiled, expression softening. “That man is head over heels for you.” She hesitated a little. “It’s okay, though, not to want to have a baby right now.”
Katara closed her eyes, letting herself feel for the first time since she’d looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. A baby. Their baby—hers, and Aang’s. A swell of warmth rose from her stomach and up through her chest, and she instinctively pressed a hand low against her belly.
She was going to be a mother—gentle hands in the dark, a warm embrace that smelled like home, a life cut too short.
Mom.
When she opened her eyes, they were misty, and Silla was looking at her with a gentle, knowing expression. She held the pregnancy test in her hands, turned upside down, stretched out between them.
With a shaking hand, Katara took the little piece of plastic. When she turned it over and saw the two unmistakable lines, she smiled.
-
-
-
The three days between peeing on a plastic stick and Aang returning home from his trip were maybe some of the longest of her life. Plenty of time to wander listlessly about the house, imagining every possible scenario. Restless hours spent agonizing over how to tell him. Should she buy him a… balloon? Flowers? Make a sign?—Congrats, you’re (accidentally) a father!
What if he was upset? What if she was upset? Her emotions had been in a wild state of flux since finding out she had a little passenger in tow, and she never knew how she was going to react to things between one moment and the next.
Aang knew something was going on.
Katara wasn’t a good enough actress to behave convincingly unaffected, and he had always been annoyingly perceptive. But she flat refused to have the conversation over the phone, so she side-stepped his probing inquiries as best as possible during their nightly calls.
When he finally opened the front door and found her standing in the space between the living room and kitchen, he froze, and his shoulders tensed like he was anticipating a blow.
Looking at him made something click into place inside her. His baggy saffron sweater and dark gray sweats, familiar tattoos, and gentle gray eyes.
She didn’t want him to be afraid, at least not of her, and she hurried forward to pull him into a kiss. It was meant to be a brief, quick greeting, but as his mouth slanted against hers, her body remembered how much she had missed him. Remembered that she had spent the last several days in a constant state of quiet terror, alone and unsure, and she hooked an arm over his neck to pull him deeper.
Aang caught her around the waist, duffle bag sliding to the ground with a loud thud that she barely heard as the kiss deepened. A soft sigh, the slide of his tongue wet and sure between her lips, the taste of mint and something sweet—chocolate maybe. The tension eased out of him as her hands slid up his neck, across his cheeks, and then down again. The familiar smell of him, the taste of his mouth, and the way he held her—like a part of herself had returned. God, she loved him.
Desire, quick and unexpected, shot through her, and she recognized its origin—comfort, connection. But it would be wrong to delay further, to drag him into their bed and use him like that when he didn’t know. He deserved to know.
With a shudder, she pulled away, ducking her head and stepping back. His hands stayed at her hips, fingers grasping. When she looked up again, his brow had furrowed, and his jaw was tense. Eyes wary, worried.
“Katara…what is it?”
She wet her lips and took one of his hands in hers, fear fluttering against her ribs, trying to break free. “I–I need to tell you something.”
She pulled him to one of the couches, and they sat side by side, sunlight streaming through the glass roof, dust motes dancing, warmth pressing against her skin. He was watching her with careful stillness, tired around his eyes, fingers gentle against hers. She looked down and drew a long breath.
“I…I don’t know how to say this.”
She watched his thumb sweep over her knuckles. Once. Twice. The familiar lines of his tattoos, the flex of his tendons, and the roughness of his palms.
Say it. Just say it.
“I’m pregnant.”
The words hung in the air, caught in amber, thudding against the peaceful silence of a house that had become their home. She felt as though she’d dropped something priceless, fragile, and it was up to him to catch it before it came crashing to the floor.
“You’re…pregnant?”
She forced herself to lift her chin and meet his eye, setting her jaw. “Yes.”
His fingers tightened reflexively against hers, and she felt the shock roll through him—straightening his spine, tensing his shoulders as his eyes flew wide.
“A–Are you sure?”
She nodded, heart racing, a sick twisted feeling in her gut. I got you, little one, she thought. Hang in there with me.
“The three boxes of tests all agree.”
He wet his lips, still impersonating a deer caught in headlights. “Do you know how long you’ve been…”
“Knocked up?” She shrugged—a disjointed, awkward jerk of her shoulders. “If I had to guess… a few months? I, well, I should have realized sooner, but we’ve been so busy.” She was getting anxious, waiting for his true reaction. For the shock to wear off and the reality to set in.
Silence stretched for a moment, and she could see him fighting for composure. His hand shook against hers.
“Are you… do you want to, um—” He was trembling, a storm of emotion building behind his eyes that he was trying to hold carefully in check, and she realized in a rush what he was doing. He didn’t want to pressure her. To seem too excited or happy if she were unsure or upset. Affection, so sharp it stung, ripped through her chest, and she almost couldn’t breathe.
She flipped their hands and threaded their fingers together. “I want to keep it,” she said, voice firm. “The baby… our baby. If that’s what you want, too.”
The relief in his face was immediate, devastating, and his eyes were shining as he dragged her roughly into his arms. He was shaking harder, face buried between her neck and shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around him as he gathered her into his lap. His tears were hot then cold against her skin, and she started crying, too. Silent tears that leaked from her eyes and into her ears as she tipped her head back.
“I love you,” he croaked, voice strained. She’d never heard him so undone, and she gripped him tighter. “So much, Katara.”
“I love you, too.” Her voice was just as wrecked.
He pulled away, head angled down between them, and he set a shaky hand against her stomach, the warmth of his palm bleeding through her thin cotton shirt. The sight of his hand, knowing what lay between them, broke her heart in two.
“A baby.” His eyes found hers, glistening, brimming with joy and hope, but colored also by the long shadows of grief and uncertainty. They had both lost so much.
“Our baby.” She touched his cheek, where it was still wet. She felt foolish now, for having been afraid.
A smile tugged at his lips, sweet and tender, brilliant in the sunshine. “Our baby.”
She took his face in both her hands and drew him down towards her till their brows touched. “You’re not the last,” she whispered, and his tears welled again. “Not anymore.”
-
-
-
Within days of finding out she was pregnant, a shroud of exhaustion the likes of which she had never experienced descended upon her, and with it, the dreaded nausea. She never vomited, though she wondered if it might be a relief. Meat repulsed her—which made their grocery bills cheaper if nothing else. The smell of cooking onions had her running out into the yard. And anytime Aang worked up the slightest sweat, she forced him to shower.
They had decided not to tell anyone…not yet. Soon she would have to tell Sokka, her dad, Agna, and Huria, but for a little while, she wanted it to be just for them.
He was the perfect partner. He went to every appointment—or FaceTimed her from the road if he had a match—and read every book on pregnancy he could find. Anything she wanted, he provided without complaint. She knew she should be grateful, but mostly she just felt like she was living in a thick, inescapable haze: Get up. Force herself to eat a few crackers. Go to work. Put on a good front for her patients. Sleep through her lunch. Come home. Eat whatever she could stomach the smell of. Pass out. Repeat.
One night, as she dozed on the couch, and he rubbed a firm thumb into the arch of her foot, she asked casually over the show they were watching, “Do you think we should get married?”
His thumb paused, and he raised a brow at her. “Are you proposing to me?”
She shrugged, pressing her hands into the cushion to pull herself into a sitting position. He released her foot, expression neutral, assessing, difficult to read.
Was she? “Maybe,” she concluded aloud.
He considered this for a moment, casting an arm over the back of the couch and looking off across the room into the darkness of the night beyond.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked eventually, and he shifted uncomfortably where he sat, looking at her from the corner of her eye.
“Are you going to tell me you don’t want to marry me?”
He laughed, a real laugh, deep and smooth, and she smiled in response. “No, I’d like to revisit that topic in a moment.”
“Very well,” she said in a playfully serious tone and with a gracious wave of her hand. “Proceed.”
There was another moment of hesitation, and he seemed… embarrassed, maybe.
“The monks raised me without the concept of marriage,” he started, his voice quiet and thoughtful. “At least, not in the way most people think about it. Rings and white dresses. Ownership.” He said the word like it physically repulsed him. “The way I was taught, under the Dharma, a union isn't a status the government grants you. It's a daily, spiritual vow to walk the same path with someone.”
He turned his head to look at her fully, his gray eyes catching the soft, shifting light of the television. He was so beautiful to her—graceful and selfposessed. He had such a… presence of being. He moved so softly through the world in so many ways, but, like a pebble dropped quietly into a pond, he cast wide, far-reaching ripples.
“In our teachings,” he continued, “there’s this belief that the people who profoundly change our lives aren’t random. We are tied to them by karma.” He smiled, a small, self-deprecating curve of his lips. “We believe that we live countless lives, and the souls we love the most... we find them again and again. That we keep coming back to help each other.”
Katara watched him, the fatigue momentarily burned away by the slow, heavy thump of her heart against her ribs. She wasn’t religious; in fact, she was actively atheistic—her god was the rigors of the scientific method and the wonders of the universe. Wonders that didn’t require a shroud of mysticism and the hand of an unseen god to be fantastical and moving.
But she wasn’t beyond the touch of spiritual connection—of two hearts, beating in time.
Aang reached out, palm open like a question, and she set her fingers in his in answer. “I look at you, Katara…I look at the life we’re building, and this little one...” His gaze flicked down to her stomach before rising to meet her eyes with a striking, ancient sort of clarity. “And I know, with absolute certainty, that I have loved you in a thousand different lifetimes before this one. And I will spend a thousand more looking for you.”
The breath caught in her throat, the sheer magnitude of his devotion washing over her, heavy and warm. Some logical part of her was certain she didn’t believe in reincarnation or destiny, but it didn’t matter; what mattered was that he did. She could see the certainty of it in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders, and the steady grasp of his hand around hers.
Her eyes burned, and she felt immensely unworthy of it.
He let out a soft exhale, his thumb rubbing steady circles against the back of her hand. “So, to me, we’re already bound. You're it for me, Katara.”
He paused, his expression shifting from deeply philosophical back to the fiercely present, tender man who’d upended her entire world.
“But,” he added, a broad, utterly disarming smile breaking across his face. “If having the rings, and the ceremony, and saying vows in front of your friends and family is something that would make you happy... then there is absolutely nothing I want more in this universe than to be your husband.” His smile slipped slightly. “But…” he trailed off, and Katara frowned, almost grateful for the distraction, utterly overwhelmed by him.
“But?” she pressed quietly.
He studied her for a moment before angling himself towards her, eyes intent. “But—if you think we should get married because we’re having a baby, and that’s what people have to do or what we’re expected to do… I think maybe we should wait.”
She frowned, looking at their clasped hands, then back to his face, considering.
He was right.
She loved him; she wanted to marry him. She wanted the dress and the ceremony and the drunk speeches, but not because she was pregnant and felt she had done things out of some preferred order.
“It would be nice,” she said slowly, choosing her words with care. “To have them there.” She set her hand on her slightly rounded stomach beneath one of his T-shirts. “Have them be part of it.”
His answering smile was warm and so full of tenderness she almost couldn’t bear it. “Gives me time to come up with an amazing proposal.”
Katara lifted a brow. “Was my proposal in the middle of Seinfeld not romantic enough for you?”
His smile sharpened into a smirk that gleamed in his eyes. “Oh, I’m actually terrified I won’t be able to top it.”
Katara laughed and then squealed as he launched himself across the couch at her to steal several firm, joyful kisses.
-
-
-
During the entirety of her first trimester, physical intimacy was out of the question. But Aang never pushed it—not like he was always pushing water or food on her. Very concerned with her hydration, that man. Then, finally, after weeks and weeks, it was like a switch flipped, and she was reborn.
She woke up one morning and didn’t feel like a reanimated corpse. Her stomach was quiet, her head was clear, and she was actually hungry. It was Saturday, and Aang was already up, probably training in his studio. From outside, she could hear birdsong, and she found the remote for the roof shades on the nightstand. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she clicked a button and let in the bright rays of morning sunlight, basking like a cat as contentment washed over her for the first time in weeks. With the warm light painted across her skin, sinking into her bones, a different sort of hunger grew steady and insistent, driving her to her feet.
She was wearing another of Aang’s shirts and a pair of sweats, and she contemplated her own motivations for only a fraction of a second before giving in to impulse. From her side of their massive walk-in closet, she found a soft, dark-blue cotton nightgown edged in lace. She changed quickly and studied herself in the full-length mirror against the back of the closet—the dress fell mid-thigh, and the gentle curve of her growing stomach was pronounced. She smoothed a hand over her belly, and her skin tingled, sensitive, yearning, sending a rush of heat through her.
She bit her lip and quietly tried to convince herself that she absolutely was not about to try to seduce her boyfriend.
The house was quiet, peaceful, and warm as she walked out to the back patio, then barefoot through the grass. It was early spring, the wind a little chilly, but everything was starting to grow, the ground soft and moist beneath her feet.
Aang was working through his forms on the studio mat, movements fluid and mesmerizing. She loved to watch him, the shift of muscles beneath his skin, the ribbons of his tattoos as he moved, the quiet focus and perfectly executed intention of every gesture.
It turned her on. A lot.
Her breathing was already uneven as she made her way around the koi pond, the grass tickling at her ankles. The desire to feel him pressing inside her, stretching, filling, was so strong she almost moaned aloud. She was nearly to the wooden stairs that led up to the studio platform when he finally spotted her and froze mid-turn. He was shirtless, in a pair of loose linen pants the color of sunsets, and sweat gleamed against his skin.
Rather than being repulsed by the idea of his sweat as she had been for the better part of two months, she wanted to taste him—the salty burst of his skin on her tongue as she lapped at his neck or took him into her mouth, drawing him deep. God, that would be so good. She loved to watch him come undone as she sucked his cock, the way he lost control, hand fisting in her hair, expression broken wide open—desperate, reverential.
His eyes swept up her body, lingering on her bare legs, stomach, and breasts, before he found her eyes, jaw slackened.
“You’re up early.” His tone was stilted, a little unsure as he shifted himself out of form and came towards her.
“I was feeling better,” she said, voice laden with desire.
He stiffened a little, clearly assessing as she came towards him. A fist clenched at his side, and she bit her lip. She loved watching him try to control his desire for her. Loved how she could break him down piece by piece until he shattered in her hands.
She quirked a brow at him, a smile curling at her lips. “Should I let you finish?”
He shook his head, looking a little dazed as she set the fingers of one hand lightly against his chest. His heart leapt to meet her touch. “N-No, I was just about done.”
She hummed, tipping her head back to watch him flounder.
He cleared his throat a little. “Are you hungry? Can I make you some breakfast?”
Her fingers trailed lower, tracing over one pectoral muscle and down his sternum—lazy, unhurried, but full of purpose. “Maybe in a minute. I was enjoying watching you.”
She stepped closer, and he stepped back. “I’m sweaty,” he warned. Sweet, considerate man, but she didn’t want his consideration.
When she drew closer again, he held his ground and his breath as she tipped forward to press her lips to his skin, tongue flicking out to taste. He made a strangled sound, and when she looked down between them, his erection was already straining through his pants. Poor man. He’d been so patient.
She looked up again, and his expression was pained, hopeful. “I want you,” she said, reaching down to grasp his length, stomach fluttering at how hard he was already. “Please?”
Aang cursed and swept her up into his arms in one powerful, smooth motion. She squeaked, threw her hands around his neck, and he claimed her mouth in a bruising, demanding kiss—all tongues and teeth and growling sighs. Her legs wrapped around his hips, locking together against the curve of his back as his hands fell to her thighs, then up and under the hem of her nightgown. When he found the bare globes of her ass, he broke away.
“Fuck, Katara,” he croaked, fingers pressing, separating, and she gasped, arching back as he discovered the dripping heat of her.
His eyes were dark, burning, and his smirk was predatory. “You're sopping, sweetheart. That horny?”
She bit her lip, cheeks flushing as he teased between her folds, grazing her clit as morning sunlight bore down on her, giving her nowhere to hide as she whined, hips rolling, chasing his touch. “Aang,” she gasped as he pressed a finger inside her, watching her face with rapture.
He spun them around and strode across the wood floors, lowering her into the pillows and mats he used for meditation. He still favored his right leg, but he was so lithe and controlled you almost wouldn’t notice—Katara did, of course, even half-mad with lust, she couldn’t help but chronicle his movements.
He snagged a pillow to kneel on as Katara pressed back into another, already breathing hard. Aang was looking at her like she was something to be devoured as he reached for her ankles. Heavy hands, rough palms, gliding up her calves as he forced her legs wide, opening her to his gaze and the endless sky beyond the breadth of his shoulders.
“So fucking pretty,” he murmured, almost to himself, jaw slackened.
One of his hands dropped between her legs, thumb parting sensitive, swollen folds, and she shuddered, hips shifting helplessly. He smirked, looking at her face. “Desperate, aren’t you? Hold your legs open for me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
She fumbled to comply, clumsy with desire, looping her thighs under her arms, spreading herself for him. It was harder with the growing expanse of her belly in the way, but she managed, nightgown rucking up under her breasts. Aang watched her drunkenly, palming his erection through his pants, stroking himself through the cloth, and hissing between clenched teeth.
Oh, god. The sight of him…she felt wetness leak from her, spilling free, hot and shocking. Had she ever been so aroused in her life?
Aang was shaking with restraint when he reached for her, jaw clenched tight as he gathered the leaking moisture from the opening of her pussy and dragged it over her clit, circling with practiced pressure. He knew just how to touch her. How to tease her. How to drive her mad.
She moaned long and loud, back arching, head falling back. Heat burst through her, and her legs shook violently against her arms.
Aang cursed, the sounds broken, almost a plea. “You’re already on fucking edge, just look at you.” He was breathing heavily, thumb pressing harder, and she cried out, undulating.
He shifted his weight and roughly shoved two fingers inside her, curling them and pressing deep. Katara’s mind collapsed in on itself like a dying star, compressing, disappearing as Aang thrust his hand against her rapidly. She could hear how wet she was, even over the buzzing in her ears, and could feel it coating her ass and inner thighs. Aang was chanting rough, filthy praises at her, and she was so close she could taste her orgasm, could feel it radiating in her teeth, could feel it pressing against his unforgiving fingers as she tightened.
She watched him through lidded eyes, mouth wide open and panting, legs shaking and toes curled as he bent at the waist and dipped his head to lap determinedly at her clit until she was all but screaming her release. Wave after wave of pleasure so sharp it burned flashed through her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only let Aang ease her through the blinding storm until she was a broken, quivering mess, sweaty and panting amongst the pillows.
Heart thudding loudly in her ears, body limp, she was only distantly aware as Aang shoved his pants down around his knees and gathered her into his arms. He turned them, sitting back against the wall, and guided her legs to either side of his hips. She collapsed against his chest, still trying to catch her breath, mewling at him. Chest heaving, Aang grasped his cock in one hand, pressing down on her ass with the other, and guided himself smoothly inside her with a devastated groan, head thudding back against the wood.
Katara whimpered, sensitive and boneless, shocked at the way her body responded immediately to the sweet stretch of him. Pregnancy hormones were clearly having an effect. She shifted against him, spreading her palm against his slick chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart as she pushed herself back, rolling her hips, feeling the perfect, sharp burn of him seated fully inside her. Aang gasped, hands grasping her hips like he was afraid she might slip away from him.
Wetting her lips, hair sticking to her sweaty skin, she lifted with her thighs and then sank slowly back down.
“Oh, fuck,” Aang gasped, lashes fluttering, fingers twitching, and she did it again.
But Aang was too far gone to allow for her slow, teasing pace. His hands grasped the sides of her nightgown, ripping it over her head and flinging it away, cool air prickling along her body, exposing her breasts to his hands—rough and demanding as his fingers pinched and tugged at her nipples.
She dug her nails into his shoulders, and he pressed upwards, wrapping an arm around her waist, grabbing her ass roughly, and slamming her down onto him. Katara cried out, raw pleasure arcing like a lightning bolt up her spine, and Aang froze, his entire body trembling. His head was pressed against her chest, and he took several deep breaths before lifting his face to hers, jaw clenched so tight she was surprised he could speak. “Okay?”
She nodded, grasping his face in both her hands, and kissed him with sloppy, eager abandon.
That was all the permission he needed. The floorboards creaked with the power of his thrusts, and tears burned at the corners of her eyes as she angled her body away, adjusting the angle of him inside her, shooting sparks through her limbs. Her head hung back, her hair dragging against the top of her ass and slipping down her back as her orgasm built steadily.
When she lifted her head, she found Aang’s gaze locked on her belly, lips parted, expression a mixture of pride and deep male satisfaction that made her toes curl and a whimper catch at the back of her throat. She wondered if he liked what he’d done to her—that she was pregnant with his child. That her body was changing because of him. The idea was certainly doing something for her, she realized as she tightened around him, making him shudder and lose his rhythm.
She reached out and clasped a hand against his sweaty neck, dragging him against her again. “Come for me,” she demanded, rolling her hips sharply and with purpose.
Aang whined, and the sound was so unabashedly needy that it brought her to the very brink, the cadence of her hips picking up speed. He arched away from her, slid a hand between them, and pressed it against her where she was slick and pulsing, sending her over the edge with a few clumsy swipes of his thumb. He buried his face in her neck and came, in hot, pulsing bursts that she felt deep inside herself, his entire body quaking against her.
They lay slumped together for many long, breathless moments, hearts pounding against one another, sweat cooling along their bodies in the breeze that cut through the studio.
Aang pulled away, looking like he’d run several long miles uphill, and gave her a self-satisfied smirk that made her want to pinch him and kiss him in equal measure.
“Glad you’re feeling better, love.” His voice was rough, and he slapped her lightly on the side of her thigh.
“Me too,” she huffed sleepily against him, tracing mindless patterns against his back. “Now feed us, the baby is hungry.”
He laughed and tugged her in for a languid, lingering kiss that she smiled into.
“Anything for you.” His tone was teasing, but his eyes gleamed with a sincerity that made her heart ache because she knew he meant it.