love, or something

It goes like this:

Girl meets boy. Boy meets girl.

Flirtations and dates ensue, preferably with a big, heaping dose of flowers and chocolates. Handholding, shy embraces, first kiss, first "I-love-you" confession.

Boy proposes to girl. Girl accepts. A glorious wedding banquet ensues, followed by a romantic night of first-time lovemaking.

And so the couple lives happily ever after.

Love goes like this.

At least, that's what all of Jinora's sappy romance novels say.

But then again, Korra's never really been one to follow the rules.

They've already kind of messed up the order of the first half, according to the books.

Korra still remembers their first kiss, and it always fills her with a funny feeling, somewhere halfway between wanting to Earthbend herself into a cave out of mortification, and defiantly holding onto that wispy memory from where it all started.

On the other hand, Mako's ears never fail to turn an alarming shade of red whenever that kiss is brought up, so Korra tries to remember to keep some things to herself.

Besides, they've got plenty of other kisses to make up for a clumsy first.

It's almost like a startled afterthought, like remembering that your tax forms were due the day before yesterday, when Mako asks Korra out on their first proper date, inexplicably flustered although they've already been official for nearly a month.

(Bolin explains later that it's a Mako thing; Korra just takes his word for it.)

Their first date is a disaster.

The silent film is some romantic drama that makes both of them squirm uncomfortably throughout the heavy, passionate kissing scenes as the actors attempt to devour each other's faces. Korra swears she hears Mako breathe a sigh of relief as the film burns through halfway into the movie.

Rain is hammering down on the pavement when they exit the theatre, and plans of having a nice walk around the park are shot to pieces. Mako suddenly remembers he forgot flowers and chocolates.

"Let's just go back to the Arena," Korra suggests, trying hard not to smile, because Spirits, the man is adorable when fussing over such trivial details. "C'mon, I'll make us dinner."

He eyes her skeptically. "Korra. Last time, you tried to Firebend the stove."

"Wow, what a killjoy. That was ages ago."

"That was last week and I still haven't fixed the burn hole –"

She cuts him off with a swift kiss, tugging him down to her height by the scarf, and laughs out loud at his dazed expression as she bends the rain around them and beckons for him to follow.

It takes a few seconds, but he follows her in the end.

He always does.

They don't say "I love you" much.

It isn't for lack of love; they've saved each other's lives and sanities far too many times for either of them to doubt.

Rather, it's in the little things: the softness in his eyes when he watches her fix her hair; the brushing of their fingers when she hands him another one of her ripped shirts for sewing; his large, steady palm on the small of her back when they stumble through dance steps on rainy Sunday afternoons.

Korra tries her best to keep up her half of the affections too, though it frustrates her at times because she's not as good as Mako at showing rather than telling (she learns the hard way that arm punching doesn't exactly translate well into "Let's make-out").

She gives up after a while and decides that if Mako can show her, then she can just tell him.

"Thanks. I love you," Korra says, casually awkward but sincere as Mako slides her a bowl of noodles one night, initiating for the first time rather than returning.

It's worth seeing the look on his face, and even more so for the making-out that follows.

It's their one-year anniversary, and when they make love for the first time, it consists mostly of sharp elbows and tangled clothing that seem extremely reluctant to come off.

By the time they sink down onto Mako's bed, she's laughing into their kisses, breathless and ticklish as he skims his fingers across the flat planes of her stomach, calloused thumbs grazing the undersides of her breasts.

"We have– ah! – to be – quiet!" She smacks his arm. "Hey! That tickles!"

"Mhm," he hums distractedly, capturing her lips for another kiss, open-mouthed and hot enough to set her skin ablaze. When Korra starts squirming beneath him, wrapping one leg around his waist, Mako pulls back, self-assured grin in place as he traces circles into her hip. "Relax. Bolin's with Asami."

Oh. Korra supposes they won't be seeing the Earthbender until morning, then.

"Then what are you waiting for, you tease?" She leans in for another kiss, palm smoothing down Mako's chest and lower still. Mako groans, shuddering as his voice hits somewhere between regret and bliss, and suddenly drags Korra's wrist to a standstill.

"Are – are you sure about this?"

She blinks, tongue and mind heavy with reckless abandon. "Huh?"

"We can still stop."

It takes her a moment to process his words, and when the fog finally lifts, leaving an aching absence in its wake, Korra wriggles her wrist free from his grasp, props herself up on her elbows, and scowls darkly. "What do you mean 'stop'? Of course I'm sure about this – aren't you?"

"Yeah, but I thought you might want to wait –"

This whole situation is so very Mako-like that Korra can't help but to laugh. "Until what? Marriage? When we're old and grey? Look at me, Mako." It might have been the adrenaline, or the heaping dose of sexual frustration throbbing dully between her thighs, or a combination of both that causes Korra to surge forward and grasp the young man's face between steady hands. "I want this. I want you. I love you, but Spirits help you Mako – if you don't take your pants off right now, I will burn them off of you myself."

That seems to do the trick. Mako grins crookedly, making her breath hitch as he leans in, tangling his fingers in her hair and resting a warm forehead against hers in a chaste, yet infinitely intimate gesture. "Love you too."

Korra smiles back, letting bravado smooth over the nervousness for both of them. But there is trust in that nervousness, and love in that trust.

So screw the sappy romance novels.

"Alright then, Mr. Hat Trick." She hooks fingers under her panties and pulls, relishing the way his eyes follow its path off her legs. "Show me what you got."

He gladly obliges.

When Bolin raises his eyebrows at their bruises the next morning, they have to clarify that Korra actually threw the both of them off the bed with her enthusiasm, and no, they would not be interested in borrowing his handcuffs for tomorrow night.

"Suit yourselves," Bolin grins, adjusting the bracers of his Metalbending trainee uniform before departing for work with a solemn salute and a knowing smirk.

Mako's face stays an interesting shade of red for the next fifteen minutes.

Since they've already got the prescribed fairy-tale romance ass-backwards anyway, Korra decides to go ahead and move into the Probending Arena's attic two days after Bolin officially moves into his new apartment with Asami.

In reality, it's less moving in and more leaving bits and pieces of her belongings over until eventually enough is accumulated for Mako to hand her a spare set of keys with a familiar crooked grin on his face.

And because Korra never backs down from a challenge, she slingshots her panties across the room and into his lap as they unwind after dinner.

Neither of them gets much sleep that night.

Their first real fight happens a few weeks before Mako's twentieth birthday, which is an impressive feat that surprises everyone who is familiar with the fiery duo, though none would admit it out loud.

It's one of those arguments that escalate so far beyond the starting point that Korra can't even remember the root cause. What she does remember, however, are the cutting remarks and the telltale anger flaring in her gut that makes her lash out with words she never really means.

They had spent the last week trying to avoid each other at all costs, and by the ninth day, Korra was all burnt out of fight and full to the brim with unspoken apologies.

The apartment is filled with the aroma of sizzling stir-fry by the time she opens the front door, and with a jolt in her chest, Korra realizes Mako's made enough for two.

She crosses the room in three strides and flings her arms around his middle. He starts, but then reaches to cover her hand with his own.

"Hey." Korra thinks she hears a smile in his voice.

"'M sorry," she mumbles into his back. "I didn't really mean any of those things I said."

There's sincere regret in his sigh. "Me too. It's my fault for getting worked up so easily."

She shakes her head jerkily. "No. We both made huge asses out of ourselves this time."

"Well, that's a little harsh." Korra knows for certain that he's smiling now.

They sway in silence for a while, and she loses herself in the moment, in the familiar scent of wood smoke and soap on his skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

(In the afterglow, Mako breaks the silence first. "But seriously Korra, try to separate your lights from the darks on laundry day.")

Korra is terrible at handholding.

It's silly, considering how much more they've done than mere hand-holding, but she can't help if her thumb locks and wrist angles the wrong way.

Mako notices, and she thinks he might be amused by it, though he knows much better than to show it at this point.

Instead, she feels his fingers brush her wrist, then skim the tips of her fingers, before slipping into place, palm warm against hers.

It's a strange feeling, but Korra holds fast anyway, because she likes the sparks between their fingertips, and because she likes the way their hands fit: rough with callouses and far from perfect, but as easy as breathing.

The next time they go out, Korra bumps his hand first.

Their marriage proposal goes like this:

"Korra, I know we've both forgotten our anniversary again, but I –"

She thrusts the betrothal necklace out, dangling by its string.

"Mako, will you marry me?"

He gapes.

Korra falters, uncertain for one of the few times in her life, feeling a defensive pout starting to form on her lips. "Well, I mean you don't have to give an answer right n–"

"You too?"

She can hear her own brain short-circuiting. "Huh?"

And then she's seeing double, staring at the other betrothal collar dangling from Mako's fingers.

It takes a moment to sink in.

And when it does, she can't stop laughing.

A hot flush spreads over Mako's cheeks, but he's smiling too, and, Korra thinks, looks a little relieved. "I thought the suitor was supposed to carve the necklace."

Korra chokes back her giggles long enough to manage a reply. "A lot's changed in the last seventy years, City Boy." She wipes a tear. "And look at you, learning to carve that on your own like a pro," she teases.

"It's called a library," he retorts, throwing an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close to plant a kiss on the crown of her head. "So how does a belated fifth anniversary dinner sound right about now?"

Korra gives him her sleaziest smile. "Bed first." She waggles her eyebrows suggestively, just in case he didn't get the point.

Their next kiss proves wholeheartedly that Mako got the point, spot on.

(Later, Korra will realize that neither really gave a proper answer to the other.

Except, when Mako leaves for work the next morning with the necklace hanging around his neck, Korra decides that she got something even better.)

"You do realize we totally messed up the order for this?"

He brushes a strand of hair from her forehead. "For what?"

"Falling in love and cheesy things like that."

Mako raises an eyebrow. "There's protocol for falling in love?"

Korra pouts, pulling the sheets around her to a more comfortable position. "You know what I mean. At least you would, if you've ever gone through Jinora's library."

"Hm. Can't say I have."

"Lies. I saw you flipping through one at the Island once. I'm the Avatar, Cool Guy. I see everything." She presses her cold feet against his calf for emphasis, and cackles as he jumps at the contact.

"Real mature, Avatar." Then he lunges for the soft, ticklish spot under her ribs, and they collapse into breathless laughter and ample amounts of kicking from Korra's end for the next fifteen minutes.

When they finally settle down again into some semblance of normality, Mako grins down at her, propped up on one elbow. "Well, we got to the end in one piece, didn't we?"

She snorts. "Almost. You forgot the last part."

"Oh?" He leans in.

"Y'know, 'happily ever after' and all that fun stuff," she mumbles, before he kisses her once more, slow and sweet.

Mako smiles against her lips.

"We'll get there."

And they will.

When they kiss for the first time as husband and wife, it's just as clumsy and imperfect as all their other firsts.

And so Korra thinks that the books were wrong, all along.

This is how love goes.

End.