you'll be the death of me.

zuko is clueless-and shy-when it comes to dating. uncle and azula try to help. and, in other, unrelated news, zuko learns there are some real benefits to facetiming his hook-up.

aka: why can't i just write porn without plot (it'd be so much easier)

The bell above the door chimes as Zuko steps into the Jasmine Dragon around 11:45 in the morning. It's a quaint little shop, set on the corner of a busy intersection in downtown Seattle. Uncle never would've been able to afford the rent, but Zuko took it upon himself to buy the place. It was his way of repaying the man for everything he'd done. Grand gestures always make his feelings clear, especially when Zuko can't vocalize them.

And telling Uncle how grateful he is… it's impossible.

He smiles fondly around the space. The windows offer a view of the bustling, rain-slick street, providing readers with plenty of natural light. Towards the back, soft lamps and couches give a space for customers to lounge and talk. There was always Zuko's favorite place, particularly the ugly, orange chair where he'd challenge Uncle to chess on slow, Saturday mornings.

Glancing somewhat longingly at the spot, Zuko wonders if Katara would like it as much as him, then ventures past the counter. The grad student at the register, Jin, beams at him.

"Morning, Zuko. How are you today?"

"Good. Thanks."

He blushes brightly, in spite of himself—Azula told him a month ago that Jin's interested and he can't forget it—before gliding past her into the kitchen.

"Uncle?" Zuko calls, rubbing away the pink tint on his neck. The swinging door squeaks shut behind him, signaling his arrival. "Uncle? Are you back here?"

"Well, there he is, late as usual." Azula breezes out of the pantry, carrying absolutely nothing but an air of self-importance. "Nice of you to join us, Zuzu."

"Hey, you're late just as often as me."

Uncle appears behind her, juggling jars of tea leaves and wearing a smile, "Oh, leave him be, Azula. He worked the register yesterday. Your brother's exhausted."

"Really?" Azula props a hip against the counter and crosses her arms, eyeing Zuko skeptically. "Is that why you look like you didn't sleep last night? So stressed from giving customers change?"

He scoffs at her. "Believe it or not, I was busy last night," Zuko says, helping his uncle with some of the jars. He deposits them on the steel countertop. "I might not have a bustling social life like you, but I still have things to do."

"Pay-per-view?"

"I don't pay for porn," Zuko snaps. "And, she was rea—"

"That's enough," Uncle cuts in, mock disappointment on his brow. "My word, if you two insist on behaving like children, you will be treated like children! Go find the jasmine blend, Azula. Zuko," Uncle scoops up three jars, leaving the same amount for Zuko, and bobs his head, "come with me. I'm sure customers are waiting and it seems I have to keep you under my thumb."

Zuko does as he's told, following his uncle back to the front, though he senses a smile in the old man's tone.

It took years, a third of Iroh's life, for his family to pull together like this. When Zuko's cousin died at eighteen, his world fell apart. Then, Zuko's father went to prison, leaving two angry teenagers with a bloody empire and no parents, and Uncle took them in. He began rebuilding, stone by stone: their home, their happiness, their souls.

Half a decade later, when Zuko was twenty-four and Azula was graduating from Harvard (nothing but the best for her), their mother turned up. All over again, the careful existence of their found family began crumbling. But, Uncle held them together. He held them all— Zuko, Azula, Ursa. Uncle stitched up the wounds left behind by Ozai, mended their hearts as best he could.

Whenever he gets choked up about it, Zuko makes a joke about tea: "You go to a lot of effort for some hot leaf juice, Uncle."

Zuko swears Uncle grumbles something about betrayal as he puts away the jars of tea leaves. He's wearing a frown when he pulls his head from the cabinet and closes the door.

"Do not think you can distract me with the fundamentals of tea brewing, nephew. You've known them since you were nineteen." His finger wags sternly, then his eyes twinkle with mischief. "What was that I heard about a she?"

"She. Right."

He looks away shyly; his hands itch to be busy. Snagging a wadded dish towel, Zuko begins wiping down the countertops, then moves on to the espresso machine. It doesn't matter that Jin already cleaned it to a shine.

"I- I made a friend," Zuko says. "I think."

"Last night?"

"Yeah. She, uh…" His thoughts drift ever so briefly to Katara's mouth around his dick in the shower. Zuko bites down on his lip. Hard. "She made me late."

"Ohohoo! A sleepover." Uncle jabs him in the ribs, whispering conspiratorially. "An adult sleepover."

Air hisses through Zuko's teeth. He twists the towel in his hands before dropping it next to the espresso machine, unable to help how his face heats. "I am an adult. A fully-grown, single man, in fact. I'm allowed to have women over for the night."

"Women? Plural? My goodness, Zuko, pace yourself."

His uncle laughs. Jin snickers, too, having overheard the comment; the shop is small and quiet, after all. Customers' headphones are the only reason Zuko's spared the embarrassment of everyone eavesdropping. He leans back against the counter and folds his arms, eyes focused resolutely on his feet.

"It was just one woman, Uncle. One very pretty, very far out of my league woman. She took me completely by surprise, and I think… well, I think I might see her, again."

"You might?" Azula's pointy, red flats tap into his line of sight. "Did you make plans with her?"

No pretense. Just straight to the point. How very Azula.

Zuko shrugs. "Sort of…?"

"That's a no," Azula snorts.

"It's not a no! It's a—Ugh." He grumbles under his breath, rubbing his eyes before glaring pointedly at his sister. "We left things open, implied a future date. She's a surgeon, so she's constantly busy, and I didn't want to put any pressure on her. But, she took my phone number before she left."

Uncle makes a small, excited sound. "Has she texted you yet?"

"Um." Zuko frowns, shifting off the counter and fishing in his back pocket. He's almost too nervous to check, but it's the kind of nervous that lends more towards excitement than dread. Zuko taps his phone, scrolls down the list of notifications from ESPN and NBC on the lock screen, and tries to control the way his thumb trembles.

Messages:
3 New Notifications.

Butterflies flutter around in his stomach. It's a number he doesn't recognize and that makes his breath catch more than he'll ever admit. He hits the notification and punches in his password when he's prompted. The phone's quick, but it still feels like forever before his messages open.

I want another waffle.

Zuko smiles, an unabashed, genuine, smile—

This is Katara, by the way. Probably should've led with that.
Wouldn't want to end up as Waffle Woman in your contacts.

—then he laughs. "Yeah, she has."

His attention drifts to the timestamp on her first message. 11:23. Not even fifteen minutes after he waved goodbye to her. Something about that makes Zuko's heart warm, makes him feel like she's just as excited to explore things, and maybe not just sex things. He bites his lip to prevent his smile from turning to a full-on grin, but one leg bounces up and down, his heel tapping the concrete floor.

What should he say? Does he ask her on a date? Zuko looks up to ask for help, but his uncle and sister are gawking at him. His cheeks burn until they're bright pink.

"What?"

Azula raises a single brow, "You really like her."

"Katara… and, yeah," he chuckles under his breath, slowly lowering his phone. He slips it back into his pocket. Texting her will go better for him when he's not shaking. "I do. She's amazing; super smart, funny and dorky… outrageously beautiful. I—"

"—you're smitten," Uncle finishes. He's giddy and disbelieving.

"I am?"

"I don't think you smiled this much on your wedding day." Azula quirks a brow. "Then again, Mai is a sour bitch."

"Is that crazy?"

"What? That you married Mai? Yes."

Zuko grimaces at her, "No, asshole. Being this excited about her, about someone new. Already." he emphasizes. "I finalized a divorce last week. I should be upset. I can't… I can't be falling for someone else."

"Who says?"

"What?"

"Who says you can't be falling? Is there some kind of divorce rulebook?" Azula pushes.

"I just… I don't know," he shrugs. "I woke up this morning with her right next to me and I… I felt something. I felt happy. Naturally, it took me about three seconds to panic. So, I texted Uncle." An embarrassed smile tugs at the corners of Zuko's mouth. He blushes again, and drops his eyes to his black Nikes.

"Turns out that was dumb. We had breakfast together and talked all morning even though we were up all night and…" His hand subconsciously settles over the back of his jeans, where he feels around for the familiar shape of his iPhone. "She texted me."

Uncle laughs, "We have a smitten kitten on our hands, don't we, Azula?"

"A lot of good that does when he's hiding out here instead of texting her back." His sister's stare is sharp and knowing.

"I'm not hiding," Zuko protests quickly. "I needed some confirmation that I'm not insane."

"Well, I can't offer you that."

"You're really not helping, Azula."

She hums, pretending to inspect her fingernails. "I'm not trying to. You always do this. You go to people for their opinion and then you do what you think they want. That's how you ended up with Mai, isn't it? Trying to get Daddy's approval, even from prison."

"Azula!" Uncle scolds.

"What? I'm right," she insists. "He fucked me up, too. I'm allowed to say what I want about it." Her gaze flicks back to Zuko. "You have to figure out what you want all by yourself. You can't let us or Dad or anyone else make up your mind for you. This woman, Katara?"

He nods, and Azula goes on.

"The date of your divorce doesn't matter to Katara as much as you think it does. She's obviously determined that you're not using her for sex or some poorly hatched plan to make your ex-wife jealous. That's why she stayed all the way through breakfast and took your number. That's why she texted you."

Zuko squints slyly. "What if she's using me for sex?"

"Oh, god. Gross," Azula waves her hands in disgust. "Don't flatter yourself."

"What? I could be using her, but not the other way around?"

He laughs smugly as she scrunches up her face and disappears into the kitchen. In her absence, Zuko throws a smirk at his uncle, who's shaking his head with quiet mirth.

"And here I thought I'd have to drive you up a wall with riddles to make you text Miss Katara back."

"So, you're in agreement, then? I should go for this?"

"Oh nephew," The old man chuckles, his hands on his belly. "Life happens wherever you are, whether you make it or not."

Zuko keeps his phone carefully tucked away for most of the day. It feels like a rock in his pocket, constantly thumping against his backside with a beat that says 'text. her. back.' But, his stomach is a mess of knots. His legs shake when he walks. His heart stutters every time he reaches into his pocket, and at the least second, he chickens out.

What if he says something wrong? What if he messes it up?

He helps his uncle count inventory and restock the shelves. He buses tables with Jin, takes over the register, and sweeps the entire shop three times. In the background, his thoughts are running a mile a minute, coming up with different versions of the same basic text to send her, fumbling over the best possible option.

Whenever Azula or Uncle pester him about what he's doing, Zuko fires back about his greatest ideas coming when his hands are busy.

Around six, when the shop has slowed from the afternoon rush and only a family of four sits in the window, Azula grabs Zuko by the wrist. With force surprising for her size, she drags him out into the street.

"What are y—"

"You're going home," Azula says, demanding and domineering. Her hands curl into fists and she sets them on her hips like it'll add girth to her tiny frame. "You're not allowed inside the tea shop until you text Katara back and get a date."

"Since when?"

"Since right now. Uncle's orders."

Zuko looks past her. His uncle's hovering in the front window. As soon as he catches Zuko's eyes, he startles, quickly turning away and pretending to busy himself by wiping down a nearby table. It doesn't keep him occupied long; Zuko already cleaned it twice.

He growls under his breath and glowers at his sister. "Why didn't he make me leave?"

"Because you've always been a little frightened of me."

"Have not."

"Are you going to fight me on this?" Azula stares him down.

Zuko releases the set of his jaw with a groan, his head lolling back. "Goddammit. I'll go. I'll text her."

"See?" Her piercing laugh joins the sound of passing traffic, making Zuko's scowl deepen. Azula reaches for him, placing a hand on his arm and squeezing gently to show she's teasing. Her smile softens.

"Don't overthink it, okay? Send something playful, but sweet," she says. "Call Ty Lee if you're that nervous. Run a few lines by her. She's… something of an expert when it comes to flirtatious texting. How do you think she got me?"

"How you've managed to keep her around is more of the mystery to me."

"I can't even begin to fathom what you mean."

Azula winks. Then, with a short wave, she flags down a cab for him and sends him on his way.

He phones Ty Lee in the cab, but she offers the same advice as his sister.

Be sweet. Try a little flirting. Don't be suggestive unless she is first. Make sure to set a date and a time to see her again. Don't be surprised if she says she's busy on your first try; some women play hard to get. Zuko rattles off a few lines he's thought of, all of which make Ty squeal with delight.

When he hangs up, Zuko opens the messages from Katara and types out the line that made Ty Lee squeal the loudest: Waffle Woman could work… but I'm saving you as Kit Kat and there's nothing you can do about it.

Her response is almost immediate: I'm not afraid to block you.

Zuko grins like a love-struck teen. Was she waiting to hear from him?

You'll miss me, he replies.

And your dick.

He buries his mouth behind his hand, stuck somewhere between laughter and a scoff of disbelief. The cab driver looks at him oddly; their eyes meet in the rearview mirror before Zuko can glance away. He feels the heat creeping up his neck and drags his fingers down it, tugging on his collar before texting back.

Fine. A chocolate bar by your name? He fights to keep his composure.

His phone vibrates before he can lock the screen. If you don't mind me putting a strawberry by yours…

That makes his breath catch with another quiet curse. The driver has to think he's having some kind of seizure by now, but god. Those strawberries. Another reason he was late to the Jasmine Dragon. Another contribution to their desperate need for a shower.

He chews his lip and stares at his phone, struggling to forget her tongue lapping sweet trails of juice off his skin, searching for the right response. His cock twitches, hardening enough that the shape's visible through his pants. Zuko lifts his hips from the car seat and tugs on the front of his jeans in a bid for some relief. He has to change the subject before he starts sweating in the back of a cab, but to what? His thumbs circle above the keyboard aimlessly.

Maybe it's just the texting. Maybe that makes her bold. He tries a new tactic.

I'm almost home. Can I call you?

There's a delay. A long one, long enough for Zuko to tip the cab driver and wave hello to the doorman outside his building. He steps into the elevator a minute later, worrying while simultaneously telling himself to knock it off. She'll text him back… unless he's scared her off.

He resolutely keeps his phone in his back pocket, all the while chanting to it under his breath. Just ding. Just fucking ding. It does, at the same time the elevator stops on his floor. Zuko practically skips out, and he's wearing a stupid, stupid grin all the way to his apartment. He unlocks his phone as soon as he's unlocked his door.

Facetime? her text reads.

That catches him by surprise. The good kind of surprise. He gets to see her face, again.

Quickly, Zuko closes his front door and rushes to his bedroom. It's still in disarray from their marathon of sex. Pillows are strewn across the floor and the sheets hang halfway off the bed. He manages to find a white t-shirt and sweatpants among the mess, which he tugs on after kicking off his jeans and shoes.

Dressed more comfortably, Zuko flops on his stomach in the middle of his bed and taps the video icon next to Katara's contact. It connects after one ring and she appears, smiling at him over a bubble bath.

"Charming. Nice to see you."

"Kit Kat…" He ignores her disgruntled snort, grinning back.

The bathroom's dim, candlelit. He spots grey towels in the background and an array of hair products and face things in a shower basket hanging above her head, She has a wine glass and candles on the ledge next to her. Little flames reflect off the water and the humid tiles. The swell of her breasts glisten whenever she takes a breath and when she leans forward to collect her drink, the bubbles barely hide her nipples.

Zuko catches himself ogling. His mouth snaps shut immediately, and he pointedly searches for a PG topic, one that doesn't involve her boobs or her bathtub or how he'd very much like to submerge himself in both. "Do you have your phone in the soap dish?"

Smooth. At least, it's a safe question. He thinks. He should know better, given how she's smirking.

"It's the perfect vantage point, isn't it?"

Vantage point for wh—? Zuko shakes the thread of hope from his head. "It's very nice…? But, you could've just called me."

"And miss out on those pretty eyes? I'd rather risk the nip slip."

"Right. Because I haven't seen them."

"Yeah, you've never sucked on them, either." Nonchalantly, Katara tucks a curl back into the bun on top of her head. "Not that I'm complaining. It's a rare occurrence to find a man who's so attentive to his one-night-stand."

He laughs shyly, glancing away. "Doesn't a one-night-stand imply never speaking to you again?"

"Oh. You're right. I'll hang up, then."

"No!"

He says it too urgently, and as soon as he realizes her teasing, Zuko tries to cover his outburst with a cool smile. He's sure he looks silly, but Katara does, too. Maybe she's nervous… like him. Of course, they could be jittery for entirely different reasons. In his case, he's scared as all hell to ask for a date, to question if there's something more than sex between them. They talked a lot, too; they had fun, in Zuko's opinion, even out of bed.

But, maybe Katara's nervous because she actually does want a one-night stand.

"I—" His brows knit together. If that's the case, where does he start? Ty Lee's advice rings in his ears, however, saving him from just hanging up. "Did you have a good day?"

"I did," she says. "I went to the hospital for a while, did a little research. The interns were, per usual, out of hand, but I didn't mind so much today. Something had to keep me busy while I waited for a text back." Katara purses her lips over her wine glass, making Zuko fidget.

"Sorry about that… I honestly couldn't figure out what to say! I spent the entire day busing tables for my uncle while trying to come up with the perfect line."

A bright smile overtakes her face. "Zuko, that is precious."

"Yeah, if precious means lame. You've ruined all my game."

"I don't think I'm responsible for that…"

Feigning hurt, Zuko does his damnedest to keep his brow furrowed and lips pressed together, but his mirth is obvious. A laugh bursts through his nose, proving Katara right, and she cracks completely.

Her shoulders shake with subdued laughter and she draws her knees up, balancing her wine glass among the bubbles on them. Her head settles against the tiles as she wipes a tear from her lashes, then rests her hand on her chest.

"That reply took you all day? Am I that intimidating?"

"Do you think you're not? You're…" Zuko half shrugs, looking for the right word to describe her.

"A vixen?" Katara offers.

There's a blush on her cheeks, but her eyes are mischievous, secretive, like she's remembering something special, something for just the two of them. Zuko's thoughts immediately jump to the backseat of his car, to the smell of sex and handprints on foggy windows, and lust drops like a hot coal in his stomach. He'll never be able to glance over his shoulder without heat unfurling in his stomach, never be able to think about it, even.

"Yeah…" His voice is husky. "A vixen, a sex kitten…"

"I like that last one," Katara says. She downs the rest of her wine with a coy smile, then sets the empty glass on the tub's ledge. "Sex kitten."

"You do? Like, specifically, or just—?"

Zuko cuts off with an inaudible gasp, mouth hanging halfway open. Katara's no longer hiding beneath the bubbles. She's sat up, brought her arms above her head like she means to fix her hair; except, she's not. She's toying with a few loose strands that've fallen from her bun… and playing completely innocent.

"Specifically."

"Oh." He should look away. This is some private moment, something not meant for him to see—maybe she doesn't know she's above the water line—but he can't tear his gaze from her. He follows her hands, and her hands wander.

Forgetting the humid curls on her neck, her fingertips trail the length of her shoulders and swoop across her collarbones. She tickles down her sternum, leaving a path of sudsy water that glistens in the candlelight, and traces the curves of her ribcage back up to her breasts. Her nipples pebble up at the barest brush of her thumbs, then Katara cups herself roughly.

"Calling me anything else means I'd have to tone myself down," she says, eyes beckoning him. A smirk tugs at her lips. "And, I'd rather not."

"My god."

When her left hand dips below the water's surface, he bites down on his tongue to hide a groan. A tiny shiver runs through her limbs, a silent gasp quivering on her lips, and Zuko can't help himself. The sound escapes his throat, coming out like a suppressed whine, and his cock twitches between his hips and the mattress.

A less-than-innocent smile slides into place. "So responsive… Are you already hard?"

"I'm—" Zuko rolls onto his side, adjusting himself in search of some relief, but it doesn't help.

Nothing does: not his uncle's fat belly or Azula's snide remarks, not the tea shop or mopping floors or the taxes he needs to file, because all it takes is another glance at her and he's in pain.

Katara's touching herself, and she wants him to know it. Her eyes are slits of blue staring him down. Her lips are pursed, with a diamond of black parting them. Little whispers of bliss echo off the bathroom tiles. Ripples disturb the water, dissolving the bubbles around her. Zuko imagines her hips hitching upward, pictures her desperate attempts for more depth, more friction. It's how she fucked him all night, like he couldn't be rough enough or go deep enough and she could never get enough, but… everything about him was enough.

He can't take the strain anymore, no matter how he tries. She's a sight to behold, wrapped up in golden candlelight.

As smoothly as he can—he's scared she'll catch him; he's scared she'll stop—Zuko shifts onto his back. With pillows shoved under his head and his phone held up on his chest, he slips his hand below the waistband of his pants and grips his cock. He's so tortuously turned on, it almost feels good.

And, he's struck by the travesty it is that he's not in the bath, too. She'd be in his lap. He'd be chasing shadows from her neck to her breasts, lapping at the droplets of water speckled around her nipples. He'd trace the curve of her ribcage with his fingertips, leave a trail of goosebumps down her stomach. He'd be the reason she whimpers, the reason she begs.

There's no more denying it, no trying to hide it. Zuko pumps his cock once and his whole body quivers, making his voice crack around "—Yeah… I am."

"Good," she moans, almost silent. And, that's it.

With her pupils diluting nearly all the blue, her eyes stay on him. Her mouth is open, but she's quiet, secretive. Zuko doesn't dare do more than slow, shallow strokes, but even that's quickly becoming too much. A visible flush stains her cheeks. Sweat prickles his skin. Every time her lashes flutter or her lips twitch around a pleased sound, it makes his balls ache. From wherever she is, she could still make him come in minutes.

"Let me see," she says. "Show me how you please yourself."

Surprise flickers across his face, until Katara gives him a daring smile and Zuko has to admit, he wants this, too.

Using some of the pillows behind him, he finds the angle that allows Katara a full view of him, then props his phone up and reaches towards his nightstand. He finds an old bottle of lube in the top drawer, and with a glob deposited in his palm, Zuko stretches out and starts stroking himself again. Now, the sound of his hand, slippery and wet, gliding up and down his cock joins his occasional groan. He closes his eyes, and pretends it's the sound of himself sinking into her cunt.

She's so hot. She's so tight. Inhibitions lowered, he hisses, "I want to fuck you. God, I want to fuck you, again."

"Is that all?" Katara asks. "Do you want anything else?"

"I want you on top of me."

"Mmm… you like how my tits bounce."

"And, how you bite my neck." He peeks at her. Katara's sunk lower in the water, with her knees spread wider, pressed up against the tub's sides.

She cups her breasts with one hand, torturing each nipple to a hard peak. "Tell me what else you want, Zuko."

"Yes." Hearing his name sends him to an entirely new plane. He still watches her, but his mind drifts away, flicking through the fantasies he's always played close to his chest.

"The balcony," Zuko says. "I want to fuck you out there, above the city." He closes his eyes again, picturing it. "If anyone were to look up, they'd see us. They'd see how much you like my cock."

"You have such a good cock."

He whines and grips himself tighter.

"We can see how you like it in my office. I'll bend you over my desk and push your skirt up around your hips." He almost comes at the thought. Not yet. Zuko groans, staves it off. "You can drop by every day, and I'll spend my lunch hour with my head between your legs. You'll be begging me to stop; your clit will be swollen and throbbing… so, I'll leave your cunt alone, and I'll fuck your ass."

"Yes. Please." Katara's breathy moan sends a sharp jolt straight through him.

He wants to come. He wants to show her what she does to him, how hot she makes him. Zuko speeds up, grunting, rutting off the bed and into his hands.

But, she warns him off. "Slow… Slowly. Imagine it's me."

"Kat."

"I know… I know, handsome. You're so close, but you'll have to wait," she teases, "because I'd take my time with you. This is the best part, the part where you can hardly think. Your fingers leave bruises on me. You try to force me down, make me take every inch of your cock, or you thrust up, desperate to pump me full of cum."

His face contorts with pain. "Fuck, I need you."

"What would you do?"

"Flip you over. Pin your hands above your head. Put your legs on my shoulders." If he's not allowed to work his cock how he wants, he'll mimic her shallow strokes from last night, the movements that made him fall apart too quickly.

Katara makes a sound of approval. "Yes. Just like that. Just the head. Mmm—" she moans, playing with a nipple, pulling and twisting and mimicking the little pinches he made with his teeth last night. When it's pink and pert from the attention, her hand dips below the water to join her other, drawing more pleased noises from her throat. "Good. Good boy."

"You'd beg me every time I sink into you. Go deeper. Move faster. I wouldn't listen. I'd pay you back for this."

"Oh my god, Zuko…" Her words tremble; she bites her bottom lip.

Not for the last time, he wishes he were there, wishes he could see the tremor in her thighs as she circles her wet, swollen clit. And her lips, too— he pictures her parting them, showing off the sensitive, slick flesh, slipping two fingers through them and gasping as she fills herself.

Her breath falters, and Katara stiffens, humming through what has to be the cusp of her release.

Zuko prays she'll fall; then, he can, too. He wants to, so badly. He's on the verge of coming, only holding back because she's required it. The movements he's making pick up just a bit, still around the tip of his cock, but he can feel the unrelenting heat in his stomach, the tautness in his balls.

"Don't stop," he urges her, sounding desperate himself. "Don't… don't stop."

"Are you going to come?"

"Yes. Yes. Katara, please. Let me."

It's as if his plea is all she needs. Her pupils dilate and her eyes close halfway. Color rushes across her skin and her back curves as a moan reverberates from her lips— it sounds very much like his name, but Zuko's too caught up in how she looks, how she shivers and shakes, how fucking good it feels to make those quick, hard strokes up and down his cock to really decipher it.

A second later, hot cum spurts onto his stomach, and it's her name that fills his ears.

As does his heartbeat. And the rush in his blood. Zuko shuts his eyes, splaying his arms across the width of his mattress, and rests in that perfect state of bliss for a moment. Katara was wrong before; this is the best part. He's finally let go, he's finally found some relief… and he feels good.

Excited, not anxious. Vulnerable, not overexposed.

That's new, he thinks, darkly.

Anytime he had sex with Mai, he'd immediately tense, throw walls up, and hide away. Laying here now, Zuko doesn't feel the need to move. Which, truthfully, is exactly why he should. If Azula finds out he just laid here 'til his dick went soft…

Gathering his last bits of strength, Zuko wipes his stomach with his sheets (he needs to wash them anyway, after their night together) and tucks himself back inside his sweats. The sound of splashing pulls his attention to his phone, which Zuko grabs as he rolls up on an elbow.

Nevermind.

He's wrong, too.

The best part is this; it's her smile and the way she's gazing at him with hazy, midnight blue. He likes that there's no urgency in her eyes, no awkward glances aside or underlying tension to say goodbye. Katara looks as content as him, slumped against the tub and the tile, playing with the remnants of bubbles. His own smile appears, lazy and tired.

"You'll be the death of me."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"Maybe not," he comments. "Unless…" And his heart jumps into his throat, thundering harder than it was earlier. As great as it was, he didn't call her to get off. He called her to— shit, his mouth is so dry. Zuko licks his lips, to no avail, but, at least he finds his voice. "Unless you want to do this again… then, it might be."

"This?" One of her brows forms a perfect arc. "Are you asking for more phone sex?"

He panics. "No. No! I- I want to—"

A laugh echoes in her bathroom. She's playing with him. Again.

Damn, he has to get used to that. He has to adjust to how forward she is, too, because he's stunned silent when Katara asks, "How does Wednesday night sound? Around eight? There's a hole-in-the-wall place by the hospital that has the best Chicken Parm."

"Okay…" He can't believe it. Did he land a date? That easily? His brain stutters back to life. "That sounds great. Where should I pick you up?"

"Well, assuming I get off on time, Harborview Medical Center."

"Oh, no way."

"What?" Katara asks.

"I have a view of that area from my office," he says, catching the follow-up question in her gaze. "I work in the Columbia building, off Cherry Street."

Immediately, her curious expression turns crafty. "That's close… maybe I will take you up on this offer to get fucked in your office over lunch."

"I'll tell security to put you on the short-list."

"Ooo, so sexy, so powerful. You've got me hooked, Charming." Katara smirks, then her usual smile returns. Sitting up, she collects her phone, ready to sign off. "But, for now, I should go. This water is getting cold… I'll see you."

He nods. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Goodbye, Zuko."

"Bye… Katara."

Zuko waits until she disconnects, then stares at the very short list of FaceTime calls. Katara. Uncle. Ty Lee. There's a missed notification from a year ago: Mai. Just seeing her number churns his stomach. I'm bored, her flat voice whispers. At some point, her complaint changed to You're boring. You're dumb. You're nothing. He swipes his thumb across the screen to erase her name.

She doesn't get to fill his head with doubts.

He's too happy to let her ruin this.