Chapter Text
“A few minutes. I’ll be back.” he had told her, but she did not think she could wait.
All flushed and warm, she waits a minute, then two. The third minute is when she cannot hold, not when she is like this.
The comfortable sheets twist around her legs, slightly damp from her own hurried touch, and she draws in rushed breaths in an effort to steady the rapid flutter of her heart.
A lingering ache pulses between her thighs. There is a warmth that circulates in her, one that she cannot control.
The memory of mere minutes ago in the bath connects to her, so she uses this to her benefit.
She can see her husband’s lean form submerged in warm water, his tense muscles beneath her fingers as she strokes him to fulfillment.
The soft gasps from his mouth, the arch of his back, the warmth of his seed spilling over her hand. It all becomes a memory, one that she is able to recall perfectly.
This raises an intense emotion within her, and not even she knows the method behind it.
The need for him persists, but so does her need for release. A blush is evident on her face when she glances over at a mirror, and she looks like a mess.
The room is lit by the soft glow of a single lantern on the bedside table. Outside, the night air carries the distant hum of various animals.
Since the two of them became married, she has never been one to hide her desires from him. Countless moments of him beneath her, or him behind her, she still cannot contain her lust for him.
The touch of her own hand reigns in her focus, and she stifles a subtle moan that flees from her throat.
The door creaks open with a soft wail from the hinges, pulling her from her reverie. Aang steps inside as a towel drapes loosely around his waist, “Sorry, baby. It was one—”
He hesitates at the entrance, his gray eyes widen as they land on her disheveled form.
The flush on her cheeks, the way her nightgown has bunched up to reveal the smooth stretch of her thighs, her hand resting innocently near the edge of the sheet.
The situation hits him in an instant, she can tell with the subtle look of awe on his face. She has been witness to that look before, but not too often.
“Katara,” he breathes, his voice low and laced with a mixture of surprise and unmistakable desire.
There is a moment where neither of them moves, and the air becomes rich with assumed tension. The scent of him is obvious once he nears her, a herbal aroma that mingles with the smell of soap from the bath.
She does not scramble to cover herself or feign embarrassment. She allows him to see her and decide his next move.
A subtle smile curves on her lips as she watches him stare, and heat blooms anew in her chest.
“I couldn't wait for you,” she confesses, a hint of fulfillment evident in her voice.
Aang's expression softens, but his eyes darken with intent. A surge of affection mixes with her growing hunger. She does not hide, not from him.
A rush of wind closes the door with a rough slam, and a silent click follows soon after. The sound echoes in the immediate silence, but his concentration is still on her.
The towel slips from his hips and pools at his feet as he kneels beside the bed. His naked form is illuminated with distant lanterns, the lean muscles of his shoulders crossed with blue tattoos noticeable in her view. There are faint scars from their past adventures, reminders of how close she was to a world without him.
Aang moves his hands to her ankles, fingers wrapping around them with a tenderness that does not match the haste in his touch.
“You will be the death of me,” he mutters as he focuses on a certain spot near her calf, “One of these times, I won't make it out of the room because of a heart attack.”
He slides his palms upward slowly, tracing the delicate bones and the soft swell of her calves. The contact sends a shiver that causes her skin to become sensitive under his touch.
“It’s much too soon for that. You still owe me a few more decades of this.” Katara muses, her breath catches from the warmth that spreads from his fingertips.
Aang's touch is reverent; it is measured as if he wanted to remember all of her. He pauses at the backs of her knees, thumbs pressing lightly into the sensitive hollows, eliciting a soft inhale from her.
“I've thought about this since last week,” he murmurs, his voice a warm rumble against the silence.
This has been on her mind since the moment he left on Appa, waving goodbye to her.
His lips follow his hands, brushing feather-light kisses along the path he's traced, each one ignites sparks that travel straight to her center.
Katara watches him through half-lidded eyes, her breath quickens as he inches ever so higher. There is a method to his actions; he takes his time with his movement, as if she were someone to worship.
A swell of emotion tightens her throat.
The inside of her thigh is found with his mouth; he nips gently at the tender flesh, then soothes it with his tongue. The sensation rouses her, a blend of tease and devotion that makes her toes curl into the sheets.
Aang parts the fabric of her nightgown with careful fingers, exposing her completely to him. She feels exposed, vulnerable, but most of all—safe.
There is a hunger in his eyes, one that rivals the one in her own.
“You see how much I want this, don't you?” she whispers, but she does not foresee a reaction.
While he takes his time, his lips map the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, each scar that she tries to dismiss, but she knows he does not.
Aang kisses her stomach, his tongue dips into her navel before it trails lower. Both of his hands roam freely now, one slides up to cup her breast through the thin cloth, thumb circling the hardening peak of her nipple until she arches into him. The dual sensations of his mouth on her skin, his fingers teasing her breast—she becomes overwhelmed and her free hand clenches the sheet.
“You look so beautiful, baby.” he whispers, his breath hot against her skin as he kisses the crease near her thigh.
One of his hands grips her hip, steadying her as he presses open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. Katara's fingers reach for the skin on his head. She does not steer him forcefully; she holds on.
A certain tension builds low in her belly as her body relaxes into the mattress. Aang's mouth ventures closer, his nose brushes against the soft curls above her mound, before his tongue makes its first tentative swipe along her folds. The taste of her draws a low hum from his throat, and she tries not to tremble.
Aang explores her with a deliberate slowness as his tongue parts her gently, lapping at the slick warmth that collects on his tongue.
There is a sense of entitlement in his motions, but the pleasure of it causes her to moan out, “Spirits… Aang, hold on.”
Katara seeks more, and he obliges, flattening his tongue to cover her fully, then focusing on the swollen nub at her apex. He circles it with precise, unhurried strokes, the same way she taught him.
A whine escapes her lips as the pressure in her belly coils tighter. One of his hands remains on her breast, kneading softly, while the other slips beneath her to cradle her backside, fingers digging in just enough to lift her toward his mouth.
The room fills with the wet sounds of his affection, mingled with her hushed moans and the rustle of sheets.
Aang savors it all, the way her thighs quiver, the hitch in her breath, “All of this, for me.”
All of his movements come to be reassured, his fingers delve deeper, thrusting in a rhythm that mimics what she craves. He sucks gently on her clit, the pressure sending sparks of pleasure that radiate through her limbs.
She responds eagerly, her thighs tremble as she clamps them around his head, not too hard, but close enough.
“Aang,” she gasps, and her voice breaks on his name.
He glances up at her, eyes locked on hers. The sight of him between her legs, face flushed, lips glistening—pushing her closer to the edge.
It becomes too much for her to handle.
He doesn't falter, the intensity builds, and he moves faster. He adds a finger, sliding it slowly into her warmth, curling it to stroke that inner spot while his mouth continues to focus on the bead above.
The coil within her tightens unbearably, all her nerves alight with an unbearable sensation.
It becomes problematic for her to think as she rocks against his mouth, chasing her peak, “Aang. Aang. Aa—”
He meets her with fervor, humming encouragement, and the vibration from his mouth sends her over the edge. When the release crashes over her, it's intense and loud.
She arches off the bed as a cry escapes her lips, and waves of ecstasy pulse through her core.
Aang does not move from her, licking softly through the tremors, drawing out every last shudder until she's motionless beneath him.
There are final kisses to her inner thighs, her stomach, before he rises slowly, his own arousal evident in the line of his erection, flushed and leaking.
Their eyes meet, and she reaches for him; her hands slide over his shoulders to haul him onto her.
He climbs onto the bed, the mattress dips under his weight as he settles between her parted legs. The heat of his body presses against hers, skin to skin, and she feels the length of him nudge against her entrance.
“I need you inside me,” she whispers, her legs wrap around his waist to draw him closer.
There is no movement from him, but her heart swells when he leans down to rest his forehead against hers.
He nods, then kisses her as she tastes a mixture of her own arousal and his saliva.
She does not mind, not when he treats her like this.
A moment later, he enters her gradually, the stretch a delicious burn that makes her take a breath.
So full, so perfect. The two of them connected like this, no one else but them.
Inch by inch, he fills her; their bodies align perfectly, as if he were forged for this union. The sensation overwhelms her, and she can admit it always has.
The fullness, the warmth, the way he pauses when he's fully seated, allows her a few seconds to become acclimated.
Katara's inner muscles clench around him, and he groans softly, his hands framing her face.
“You feel so good,” he murmurs, “So wet and warm for me.”
Aang moves with shallow thrusts that tease her, rather than satisfy her. She envelops him, warm and tight, and she notices he combats the urge to thrust hard.
Their rhythm is slow, intimate, as each roll of his hips draws them deeper into the connection.
Katara's hands explore his back, tracing the ridges of his spine, the flex of muscles as he drives into her, alongside the blue arrow that reminds her of who she has married.
This was meant to be, she has no doubt in her mind.
The friction builds unhurriedly, her arousal eases his way, their joining slick and seamless.
Aang's mouth finds hers in a deep kiss, tongues tangling as he angles his hips to hit that spot inside her.
Years before, he would have been too afraid to take her like this. Now, she does not have to ask; he understands her needs.
Katara moans into his mouth, her nails scrape lightly down his sides, a silent encouragement. The kiss breaks only for her to breathe, their foreheads touch again, and he whispers, “I love you so much, baby.”
As the pace quickens, so does the urgency. His thrusts deepen, and the sound of soft slaps of skin fills the room alongside their ragged breaths. Sweat slicks their skin, and the two of them will need to bathe after this.
Aang hits so deep, but not so far as to harm her. Her hips rise to counter his movements, taking him fully with each descent. The pleasure coils tighter, and she now knows he is close as well.
His movements are not as measured but more sporadic in nature.
Aang breaks the kiss to trail his lips down her neck, sucking at the skin there. She understands that she’ll have a bruise there when the two of them awaken.
She enfolds her legs around him, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him impossibly closer. The angle allows him to reach down with his hand to circle her clit with each thrust.
“Don't stop,” she pleads, her voice husky and desperate.
Aang listens, because of course he would. His rhythm falters only slightly as he chases their mutual release.
Her concentration narrows to what she can feel: his body covering hers, the relentless drive of his erection within her, the heat that pools once more in her belly.
She can hear him whine against her ear, his release moments away as she whispers, “Cum inside me, baby. I’m here, it’s okay.”
Katara clings to him, and when the climax hits, it shatters her. Katara’s inner muscles flutter around him as he spills deep inside, hot pulses that trigger her own waves of bliss. She cries out, and he buries his face in the crook of her neck, his groans muffled against her skin.
In unison, the two of them come back to reality, bodies locked, breaths syncing as the intensity ebbs. Aang stays within her, softening slowly.
She savors the closeness and strokes the tattoo on his arm, her fingers soft in their movement now.
Aang lifts his head, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, then her forehead.
“That was, uh, fun.” he tells her, his voice full of the exhaustion evident on his face.
His weight is comforting, grounding, once she pulls him down to rest on her chest. Her heart is full when she remembers that he is all hers. The room settles into a calm silence, save for the sound of her slowing heartbeat.
A smile pulls at her lips as she mumbles into his neck, “You know you need to take another bath, right?”
A yawn falls from his mouth as he mutters back, “Oh well, it was worth it.”
In this moment, wrapped in each other's arms, she likes to think that she is exactly where she was supposed to be.