Notes: For dupreerose, in thanks for organizing the My Peeps Exchange this holiday season. You didn't get a fic, but you certainly deserve one for your hard work!

His lips press softly into the hollow of her throat, lingering, pulling goosebumps out of her skin that ripple downward, making her toes curl in her fur-lined boots. Her fingers dig into his wide shoulders, branding him, pulling him closer as she tips her head back to expose herself to him. His hands clasp her hips, sliding boldly to her ass and back again, as if she might not approve of him lingering.

But she doesn't care, needs his touch like a dying man needs water.

His teeth score her flesh, nipping along her pulse point with a startling pressure that sends a gasp tumbling out of her lips, and a bone-deep aching sailing along her nerves, igniting her with a crackling whiplash of desire. She expects him to bite down, to make it hurt—and she almost wants him to, needs him to, but he doesn't. His nip turns into a deep, hard suck, drawing the skin of her neck into his mouth hard enough to make her whole body shiver.

She's conscious of moving into him, of molding her body to his lean frame with wanton abandon, all decorum lost in the onslaught of his slow devouring of her. The air around them feels sticky, charged with electricity, like a storm might break around them at any moment.

But the dark skies are clear, the moon a fingernail hung low in the sky, the stars like spilled salt in the vast abyss of black vaulting high above them. The temple wall at her back is cold and smooth as he presses her against it.

The last thing she remembers is drawing water for Appa, who is balefully watching them from a sad patch of grass nearby. How they got here, against the wall, furiously kissing like they're starving for each other is a mystery to her.

All she knows is that she craves him in a way she has never craved anyone or anything before. The gentle kisses, the caresses that have come so close to being too far, but were never far enough, those nights when they have teetered at the brink, at the whim of their hormones, touching and tasting, but never venturing down that path to its inevitable end, all seem unimportant now in the wake of their desire.

Her arms encircle his neck, fingers spreading on the back of his smooth head, pressing him to her neck as he releases her rapidly purpling skin. Leaving his mark on her for all to see. She finds she doesn't care. Let them see. Let them know.

His tongue slides along her aching neck, signing his work with a sensual flick that sends a moan shooting out of her mouth. He catches her jaw with his teeth, the tiniest nip that turns the moan into a groan of longing so deep she fears she might never recover from it.

When she turns her head, capturing his gaze with her own, she can see his desire as well. The furrowed brow, the wet lips, the burning eyes that take her in. His hands tighten reflexively on her hips, pulling her toward him while pushing her back against the wall at the same time.

She feels him, every inch of him. And it thrills her, to know what she's done to him.

"Katara..." he breathes against her lips, his tattooed forehead against hers. Her heart is pounding out of control, her whole body radiating with a heat that cannot be quenched. "Tell me to stop."

But she can't. She won't.

There's no one between them now; no big brother's watchful eye, not Toph's intrusive feet, no mission, no father to be wisely, correctly, vigilant about leaving them alone together for too long. They've left her father in the South Pole, her brother in Republic City with Toph. It's just them, here at the ragged, run-down Southern Air Temple, with nothing to stop them from the things they want but themselves.

And she has no control, nothing telling her to slow down, to stop, to think.

She's tired of being responsible, of waiting, of kisses that don't satisfy the ache in her belly, the need in his eyes.

She answers him the only way she knows how, turning her head and capturing his mouth. A shudder goes through him, bone-deep and full of longing she knows too well. It's not a sweet kiss, but full of passion, messy, wet and deep. She pulls herself up against his body, pressing into the hard planes, along the muscled expanse of his chest.

One of his legs knifes between hers, and she finds herself being lifted against the temple wall. She wraps her leg around his, gasping into his hot, hungry kiss until he seals her mouth with his, a groan pushing up out of his throat like a prayer.

His hand cups her breast through her thick blue shirt and she curses every single thread keeping his skin from hers. When he gets his hand up beneath it, she's so relieved that she gasps aloud at the shock of pleasure that explodes through her. And he's done nothing but smooth his palms up her stomach.

It's like her gasp is a shock of cold water on his nerves, because he draws back, gives her a panicked look and slides his hand out of her shirt.

The next moment, Aang makes a growling noise in his throat, half-animal, half-pained and pushes himself away from her, letting her down with a jarring movement that sends her back into the wall. He stomps away from her, rubbing his hand up and down his face, back along his tattooed forehead and around to rub at the back of his neck in agitation. His shoulders are shaking, his hands trembling with a manic edge.

"Aang?"

"I...I didn't mean to push you..."

She nearly laughs at that, because the absolute last thing she'd wanted was for him to stop. "Push me? Are you kidding?"

"I...I just don't want to be that guy, you know? Who pushes his girlfriend to do something she doesn't want to do. I..."

He cuts off his shaky words, turning around to face her as a soft, husky laugh leaves her, echoing in the courtyard of the temple.

She bites down on her lower lip for a moment and then grins at him. "Aang, no one makes me do something I don't want to do. Not even my boyfriend, no matter how cute and sexy I think he is. If I didn't want this, it wouldn't happen."

Aang's Adam's apple bobs up and down, his eyes widening at the implications.

"Are...are you sure?"

"Yes," she says without hesitation.

But Aang doesn't move toward her. He seems frozen, caught between the hormones driving him and the good sense that has always marked him. But she's never been the shy one, the one to wait for others to make decisions for her. If she wants something, she grabs it with both hands.

She walks to him, nervously combing her fingers through the hair his eager hands have tangled, her blue eyes telling him everything. She knows he can read her. He knows her so well. And hasn't this been coming for a long time? Too long, really. Years.

She aches for him, for that next step, that leap into something more. And she's tired of waiting.

Her face pushes into his neck, breathing in the scent of the wind, of fire, of earth, of ice, of other-worldliness that clings to every inch of his delicious skin. Her lips slowly move along his skin in little kisses, caresses of her tongue, nibbles of her teeth, until she can practically feel him vibrating under her touch.

One of his hands slides into her thick hair, tangling it again, fingers finding her scalp as he practically pants in an effort to control himself. But there is nothing to control. Not anymore.

"If this isn't what you want, we can stop," she breathes into his ear, and he turns his face, eyes hooded, glassy with desire.

"I want you," he says between heartbeats, and that is all she needs. All they need.

They come together again, all limbs and lips and eager hands, clever fingers, nerves and need. He kisses her even harder than before, because this time, this time there will be no end, no holding back. And the force of him rocks her, quakes her in his arms until she's limp against him, a cat in heat begging for the stroke of his hands, the nip of his teeth.

When he scoops her up and carries her into the temple, she doesn't protest, isn't thinking about much of anything but the way her blood is thrumming in her veins, and the sticky heat between her thighs that begs for attention, to be sated and slaked.

He lays her down on the blankets they'd spread earlier, upon their arrival. She'd known even then that the air between them was different, heavy with the things they weren't saying, with the things they both needed, wanted.

He settles over her, his body pushing against hers in all the right ways, fitting there like he belongs. And he does. Always and forever, he will be hers.

Slowly, little by little, they undress each other between kisses that seem to go on for hours, and caresses that stoke the fire within her until she is an inferno trapped in the skin of a girl, begging to break free and blaze out like a star.

Her lips learn every inch of him, the dark cavern of his mouth, the familiar haunting grounds, and the parts she hasn't dared before. Her fingertips trace the tattoos on his back and follow the line down his buttocks, grasping and pulling him into her.

His fingers have found her, and he pushes in deep, sending thoughts and gasps of pleasure tumbling through her in a maelstrom of intense feelings she cannot sort out, and doesn't want to. His mouth carves fiery constellations on her dark skin, nibbling, tasting, claiming. When he draws her nipples into his mouth, one by one, it is all she can do not to explode on the spot.

He leaves her aching and wet, ready for more, so much more.

"Aang..."

His mouth trails back up her neck, his chest lowering down against her heaving breasts. She pulls him between her thighs, grasping him tightly, every instinct sending her hips upward, seeking to join them, but his penis glides along her wet, swollen sex, rubbing against her clitoris with a rough dig that curls her toes into his thighs. Sweat breaks out over her skin. She kneads his flesh, fingernails digging in as he pulls back and meets her gaze.

And then...

A shivery gasp they both share escapes into the air between them, so soft that even the echoes cannot steal it and fling it away. This is only for them.

He fills her, deep and thick, but it doesn't hurt, not really. Not after months of his fingers easing into her in stolen moments, of her own hands finding her pleasures in the dark. But it's unlike anything she has ever felt and she clings to him, her thighs tight on his hips. He moves slowly, as much for himself as for her and she feels tremors going through his body and vibrating into hers. She tilts her head back into the blankets when she feels the earth beneath her rising, buckling a little, responding to his subconscious command.

Their skin sticks together, his scent invading her, tumbling her into a state of bliss that is both numbing and leaves her too aware of every part of her blazing body.

She lifts into him, easing the ache within her with each thrust of his hips against hers. His mouth is on her neck again, but he merely breathes her name. A prayer. A promise. A thousand love songs that no bard could ever sing.

She clutches him, tightening as something deep within her clenches, and he gasps, slamming a hot, hard kiss to her mouth that seems to flash-boil her on the spot. She kisses him back, a wave of pleasure rolling through them both. The earth buckles again, stones cracking beneath them, but she doesn't care, doesn't care, doesn't care.

The world could end and she wouldn't care.

His breathing becomes ragged and he pushes into her, harder, faster, taking her in strokes that turn her breaths into little gasps that seem to have no end. Her head digs into the buckled earth, back arching, every bit of her clenching, clutching, waiting for the wave building within her to break, to swell, to drown her.

"I love you," Aang says roughly against her neck and then she's gone, spinning into orgasm. The wave breaks like a tsunami, tumbling her along in a current too strong to fight and it rips through her, batters her, soothes her until she's a trembling, shivery, wet mess pinned to the rioting earth beneath him. His hips slowly still against hers and she feels the hot gush of his own orgasm inside of her. It surprises her, the feel of it, and she finds herself staring up at the crumbling ceiling of the temple.

Tears trickle from her eyes and down her temples, soaking into her her tumbled, tangled hair, though she can't account for them. This isn't sadness she's feeling, or regret. She feels...happiness doesn't seem to encompass it; it's too small a word, so she decides to stop trying to name it. She decides that feeling it is just enough, and maybe that's the point.

Her fingers caress his shoulders, tracing his tattoo as he tries to catch his breath. Every move of his hips sends little runnels of pleasure through her aching loins and she bites her lip to keep her cries at bay. She doesn't want him to pull out though. She wants this to last as long as possible, wants to remember every detail.

Eventually he starts to grow soft within her, and he makes a defeated little sound, slowly pulling out of her with another shared moan. Wetness follows and she sees it glisten on her thighs as he pulls back and sits up, licking the sweat from his upper lip.

Her fingers touch her swollen flesh, sliding along her wet slit and dipping inside as he watches. When he looks up at her, she blushes a little, though why she can't say.

Aang captures her hand, kisses her knuckles and then cleans them both up with a cloth from one of their packs. She's content to lie there and let him do all the work. He doesn't say anything and she finds words are inadequate at the moment anyway.

A sated smile curls her lips though and as Aang sets the cloth aside, she reaches up and grasps him, tugging him back down along her body. His penis nudges against her sex and she feels him twitch and harden again, but he doesn't attempt to join with her.

He just looks at her, as she encircles him with her arms, her legs, her heart. His hazel eyes are shiny in the darkness. Sounds she hadn't been aware of before, so lost was she in him, assault her ears. Somewhere outside she can hear Appa ripping up grass to eat. Crickets are chirruping in a noisy chorus and the wind blows through the empty temple like the ghosts of the long-forgotten dead. But there is no sorrow here tonight, no ghosts, no regrets.

Aang cups her face and kisses her, slowly, sensually, sparking that ache within her she had thought would surely be dampened by their lovemaking. How wrong she had been, how wonderfully wrong. She knows, as he does, that it will never be enough. Not now. Not ever.

He is hers. She is his.

Katara kisses him, pulling him to her, into her, until she doesn't know where she ends and he begins. And afterward, when words are still failing her, the only thing she can whisper, so soft for fear of the thieving echoes, is, "I love you."

(end)