Work Text:
If Katara maneuvers her body just so, the buckle doesn’t hurt. But the choreography isn’t always up to her. So sometimes, even in the heat of the moment, when both the sweat on her body and a heady combination of chemicals in her brain are begging her to take off her shirt, she has to take a moment from beneath Zuko to breathe out, “Buckle.” And Zuko always takes a little longer than a moment to process what she’s saying, to realize that the word she’s spoken isn’t his name, or a pet name, or some variation of “Fuck” or “Spirits.”
And only then is when he’ll say, “Shit—sorry—” and gently flip her over, or shift her to the side, or sit up and take her with him so she’s straddling him—anything to get her back away from the offending seat belt buckle.
This time, Zuko shifts her slightly to the side a beat after she whispers “Buckle,” just enough to move her away from the protruding seat belt buckle, but not so much of a change in position that Zuko has to stop sucking her neck insistently or pressing his hips into hers. Katara feels lightheaded, her insides singing, but she can tell that Zuko is more affected than usual. His breathing is jagged and fast and his eyes are squeezed shut, and with the way his mouth is latched onto the spot just under her jaw, she’s certain she’s going to have to wear a scarf tomorrow.
She shifts her own hips against his, frantically searching for more friction. They haven’t gone much farther than this, but Katara isn’t complaining. She does want more with Zuko—soon, but not yet—and for the time being, what they’re doing now, isolated away in his backseat in the parking lot of an old baseball field, feels amazing.
Zuko’s hand moves not altogether slowly from its position on her shoulder to squeeze her breast over her sweater. Katara gasps. He was the first boy to touch her there, just a couple weeks ago—and she cannot believe no one told her how good it felt, even over her clothes. (Suki had seriously betrayed her.)
Zuko squeezes again and he grunts in appreciation, noticing, Katara guesses, that she’s not wearing a bra—intentionally, on her part, in anticipation of something like this. The noise of Zuko’s grunting vibrates against her neck, but then his lips are back on hers and his tongue is frantically searching her mouth.
He takes a breath to whisper “You’re not wearing a bra tonight,” and she nods against him before realizing she should use words. “I’m not,” she says into his neck; she’s always surprised how breathy she sounds.
Zuko groans again and pulls his hand away from her breast, and Katara whines from the loss of contact. Zuko continues kissing her and trails his hand down her side, and suddenly he’s pushing her sweater up, and his hand is on her stomach.
He’s touched her stomach before—but Katara’s breath still catches. She has a feeling—and yes, Zuko’s hand is slowly sliding upward. “Is this okay?” he whispers softly, voice impossibly wrecked. Katara nods again stupidly before remembering herself. “Yes,” she says, high on anticipation.
Immediately, Zuko’s hand is stroking and squeezing a bare breast, and Katara thinks she might actually explode from this contact alone. He moves to the other breast, pushing it upward as he plants kisses all along her jawbone.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says in a husky voice, thrusting against her. Katara can feel how hard he is through his jeans, and she wants so, so badly to feel nothing between them at all.
But they’d decided not yet. They would take their time.
They didn’t have a timeline or anything, but she knows tonight—the first time he feels her up without clothes between her skin and his hands—is probably not the night they both get naked.
She moans when Zuko takes a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and squeezes. “Does that feel good?” he rasps.
She almost wants to swat at him, because it’s a little embarrassing just how good it feels. She whines her agreement.
“Let me kiss you there,” he says pleadingly. “Please.”
Katara pauses her kisses and opens her eyes, and Zuko’s looking at her too, his golden eyes impossibly dark and filled with desire.
“You can—you can say no—it’s okay if you’re not ready—”
“I want you to kiss me there,” she says automatically.
Zuko’s gaze doesn’t flicker, though he does rub her pebbled nipple between his fingers again. “Are you sure?” he asks, almost gently. The affection in Katara’s body is overwhelming.
“Positive,” she says, and nearly instantaneously Zuko has leaned back and is pushing her top all the way up. She sits up to give him easier access and he pulls the whole thing off and tosses it aside.
For a moment, he just stares at her naked chest, his breath heaving. And then he reaches out with both hands and palms them, feeling their weight.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says again with reverence, meeting her eyes.
Katara bites her lip—even though his gaze is more than appreciative, it still feels so strange to be bare before him, on display, her back arched. But she doesn’t have much time to feel awkward, because in the next moment Zuko has leaned forward and begun to plant kisses on her naked chest, still palming her breasts.
“So beautiful,” he sighs. And then his mouth is on one of her nipples, and Katara wants to scream as he sucks and twirls his tongue around it. He moves to the other nipple, and she watches this time, watches the way his tongue circles the peak.
She pushes herself up and into his lap, straddling him now and feeling the full weight of his clothed erection. She rubs herself on him as he continues to suck on her nipples and squeeze her breasts. Katara has the dim thought that she should take his shirt off too when she sees Zuko’s tongue lightly stroke one of her nipples, and the pleasure that’s been slowly building inside her suddenly surges at the sight.
“Oh,” she breathes as she grinds on him. “I like that so much.”
Zuko removes his mouth from her nipple with a vulgur pop. “I love your tits,” he groans. And it’s this—the single dirty word spoken by her boyfriend—that sends her over the edge. Katara moans loudly as she continues to grind on Zuko, chasing her pleasure and seeing stars—her moans increase and Katara is too lost in the feeling to be embarrassed.
She can tell that Zuko knows what’s happening even without her telling him, because he increases his thrusts, sucks one nipple harder and brings up his other hand to tweak the other.
“Come on, baby,” he says. “Come on, Katara. Come for me. You’re so beautiful,” he says.
Katara’s vision goes white and it’s like her insides are sneezing as she shudders on Zuko’s hardness.
“You’re so hot,” Zuko moans around her breast. And then suddenly, just as her high peaks, Zuko starts shuddering too.
This hasn’t happened before.
Zuko’s hips are stuttering against hers and he’s sucking her breast violently—just above her nipple, sure to leave a mark. He’s groaning, and then he bites into her breast, lightly, a brief pinch that sends shockwaves through her oversensitive core.
And then he’s breathing heavily and looking up at her. “I’m so sorry,” he says immediately, desperately. “Shit—I’ve never—that’s never—fuck,” he says as he scoots backwards and stares at his jeans.
It’s dark, so Katara can’t see anything different, but she has a feeling that if she turned on the light, there would be a wet spot on the denim. She’s pretty sure Zuko just came in his pants.
Which is flattering, considering she knows he’s had actual sex before.
“It’s okay,” she soothes, because even though she can’t see Zuko’s blushing cheeks, she can tell when he’s embarrassed. “It’s okay—I like that you finished.”
Zuko doesn’t say anything, so Katara speaks again. “I have baby wipes—they’re in my bag in the front seat.”
At this, his head snaps up. “Really? You brought baby wipes? For—?” he trails off.
“Yeah,” she says with a little smirk. “For something like this.”
The joy on Zuko’s face is palpable even in the darkness. “Oh, wow,” he says. And Katara knows that it is a big deal, that she has baby wipes she’d planned to use for cum—his cum. That she brought them specifically because she thought they might be dealing with cum today or sometime soon. But it doesn’t feel like a big deal. She just likes to be prepared, and there was a good chance this would be happening soon (even if she had imagined something a little different than Zuko finishing in his pants). And it can keep happening too, Katara thinks to herself, and can keep escalating, now that Zuko’s decided to stay in the city and attend community college. At least until Katara graduates.
Instead of waiting for Zuko to grab the baby wipes, Katara leans forward into the passenger seat herself, noting how her breasts swing comically. Zuko, for his part, reaches out and grabs one.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says again, and then looks up at her, a question in his eyes. “Was it okay—was it okay when I—um—”
“When you said you liked my “tits”?
Again, she can’t see him, but she’s sure he blushes. “Yeah.”
“Yeah,” she says. “I liked it. I think I like dirty talk.”
“Okay,” Zuko says, a smile visible through the darkness as Katara hands him a baby wipe. He lets go of her breast and turns away from her. He fiddles with his pants, valiantly trying to wipe himself without taking his pants off.
“You can, um, pull your pants down if you need,” Katara hears herself saying.
“Isn’t that a little far? Full-frontal nudity?” Zuko says with a laugh, still fiddling away from her.
“Well…I kind of want to see,” she says.
Zuko stops fixing his pants and turns his head back to look at her. He watches her for just a second, his expression difficult to read.
“I love you,” he says seriously.
“I love you too,” she says, though a little curious. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” he says, throwing the used baby wipe up front so he can toss it later. “I’ll show you later, okay?”
Katara sends him a nod and shy smile as she tugs on her shirt.
When she reemerges Zuko is beaming at her, and he leans in and kisses her once, chastely, on the lips.
“Let’s take you home,” he says.
Katara groans. “Not yet—”
“Nope, you’re making curfew, because I have a Gran Gran to continue to impress.”
Katara rolls her eyes, though he can’t see it, as she climbs back into the passenger seat.
“Fine,” she says. “But only because she says she’s making you five flavor soup next weekend and I want some too.”
Zuko laughs and opens the back door to change seats instead of climbing into the front as Katara did. He relaxes into the driver’s seat and buckles his seatbelt, turns on the car, shifts gears, and then puts his hand on Katara’s thigh—a practiced routine.
She thinks, as she often does, that she could get used to this.
And also, she never will.