A/N: I have never thought that I would be writing this, but here it is – I am presenting you my first lemon. This story – the first scene, really – wouldn't leave me alone, so I started writing and let the story unfold itself. I can only hope I didn't messed it up badly. I do use some artistic license in this – I am stretching the time frame little, having the GAang spend one more night in the White Lotus camp – a night Zuko doesn't spend kneeling by his uncle's bedside.
The title is a reference to the musical RENT – not to any song in particular (even though this sentence is present in at least tow songs, Another Day and Finale B), but to the underlying theme of the musical – that you have to live your life even if everything seems to be crashing on you. That you have to make the most of your time. Carpe diem, so to say.
As a final note: some things aren't stated clearly in this story – you'll have to put them together yourself. Read between the lines.
Rating: M
Word Count: 6701
Disclaimer: [Insert funny text here that tells you I don't own Avatar – the Last Airbender]

Katara simply couldn't fall asleep.

She kept tossing and turning, trying to find a spot, a position that was comfortable, but in vain. She blamed her too thin bedroll, those soft voices coming from the White Lotus camp outside her tent, the flickering shadows on the canvas, reflecting the people outside and the warm summer night, but deep inside she knew that none of them could be held responsible for her insomnia.

No, what kept her awake was the fact that Sozin's Comet was coming, and it was to arrive the next day. In a few hours' time they were to fight a battle.

This might have been her last night on Earth.

She tried to reason with herself, pointing out to the darkness, pushing her blanket down to her hips and then pulling it back up, that she needed sleep even more than any other night, that she needed her strength for the coming day, but she was still unable to cross over to the realm of dreams.

Letting out a frustrated moan, she turned to her side, facing away from the entrance of the tent – that's when she heard the rustling of the flap covering of the said entrance.

She sat up instantly, ready to face whoever was in her tent, ready defend herself (because even though with her conscious she knew that it could only be a friend, the months spent roaming the world, often running from somebody, had made her a little jumpy, always ready to counterattack, before her mind could have a chance to really analyze the situation).

But looking at her visitor her posture relaxed just as quickly as it went rigid only a moment earlier, and her heart rate picked up only a little bit.

It was Zuko, his mop of black hair a mess, as if he had just gotten out of bed – which was more than possible –, his clothes crumpled, a solemn, thoughtful expression on his face.

Katara smiled at him, that typical, kind of mothering, soft, reassuring smile of hers.

"Couldn't sleep?" she whispered and he shook his head, stepping to her and kneeling beside her bedroll.

"No. But as I see, you couldn't either," he whispered back.

"Too much on my mind. This could be…"

"…Our last night," Zuko finished for her, nodding. "I know." He let out a heavy sigh.

"Why did you come here? Not that I mind you here, not at all," Katara asked after none of them said anything for a long time, mostly because she saw in how Zuko held himself, in how his shoulder slumped forward and how his eyes seemed to bore into hers, that he had something to say.

"I…" he hesitated. "We might die tomorrow."

"I know."

"And there are things I don't want to leave unsaid. Things I don't want to die without you knowing," He swallowed. "Katara, I…" He started, but never finished the sentence. She placed her hand on his in encouragement; she couldn't see, but felt the goosebumps appearing on his skin.

"Yes? Tell me," she said softly.

"Promise me that you won't interrupt me? Even if you don't like what you hear, even if it makes you feel uncomfortable?"

Katara nodded, not trusting her own voice, and squeezed Zuko's hand. She was only a little bit surprised when he squeezed back. Then he started speaking, avoiding looking into her eyes, staring at their hands instead.

"So… I don't even know how to start. Katara… you are very important to me, even more so than you'd think. I don't know when it happened, how it happened, it's just… there. And this is why, first of all, I have to apologize. For everything I've done to and your friends and family, every misery I've caused and–"

"I thought we have had this settled," she said, leaning closer and tilting her head in a way so she could see his eyes. Their faces were mere inches apart. "I forgave you, Zuko, for everything, and you know it."

"Please, don't interrupt!" he asked softly.

"Sorry! Go on," she said, ready to lean back, farther away from him, but he squeezed and hold her hand tight, asking her to stay without words.

"So, I am sorry. For everything." A short pause. "And you also have to know that right now I doubt that there's anything, or anybody, more important to me than you and that I doubt that it'll ever change. I don't want it to change."

Katara's heart raced and she could feel the blood rushing to her face, reddening her cheeks. She'd never been more grateful for the darkness. She wanted, oh, she so wanted to cut in again, but she promised not to and tried to keep to her words this time.

"And I know that it's inconvenient, that we're at war, that we might die tomorrow, that you could never feel the same way," he tilted his head a little bit up, finally looking straight into her eyes. "But this is the way I am, and I don't regret it at all. Because there are days when the only thought getting me through the day is your smile and the promise that I can help you in some way, and Katara, I…"

"Yes, Zuko?" She urged softly, ready to hear whatever he had to say, her cheeks flushed, her lips moist, her eyes teary, but he said nothing.

Instead, in the next moment, his warm, rough hands cradled her face as he pulled her forward and then his lips – hot, soft, pleading – crushed against hers.

Katara had been kissed before, but never quite like that. Jet kissed confidently, even a little brashly; Aang desperately. Zuko's kiss was desperate as well, only in another way. Aang's kiss said love me, with an undeniable demand; Zuko's was more like let me love you, let me offer myself to you, let me hand my heart to you. It was scary, way scarier than Aang's demand, but it was also wonderful.

His lips against hers were soft, careful, as if he was afraid he'd break her. They barely pressed against her, taking her lower lip between themselves in a delicate motion, not trying to coax her into opening her mouth, not trying to deepen the kiss, only being there, caressing, feeling, experiencing.

Stating. Telling things words couldn't.

But then as suddenly as it came, the kiss ended.

Zuko pulled away, taking his hands off her face, breathing heavily, looking shaken.

"I am sorry," he said in a deep, low, barely audible voice. "I-I, I really shouldn't have done that, it was a mistake, I am sorry," and he was already inching away, ready to stand up and leave her there, filled and yet left empty, scared but wanting more.

She acted without thinking.

Reaching forward she grabbed his collar and pulled him back before he could have left and joined their lips once more, her hands slowly travelling to his face, pressing against the strong line of his jaw, feeling the soft stubble under her palm, her right thumb caressing the edge of his scar.

He stiffened at first, startled, not having expected this kind of response from her, but then he relaxed under her touch, his arms, down by his sides only a moment ago, sneaked around her lithe form, finding a resting place on her shoulder blades, pulling her closer, but still not close enough.

This kiss was fiercer, wilder. It was not only a caress of mouths, but lips crashing against each other with bruising force. They weren't fighting for dominance, still – they were equal in this act of confession. He sucked at her lower lip and she opened her mouth; his tongue slipped into her mouth, but it was hers that darted out to meet his.

It didn't end when they ran out of air; instead of pulling apart they leaned even closer, Katara peppering his cheeks, eyes, yaw, neck with small kisses, Zuko burying his head in her locks, taking deep breaths to inhale her scent, imprinting it to his memories.

And then they were kissing again, neither of them really aware, really knowing what they were doing, but growing bolder.

His hands slipped from her shoulder blades, first down to her ribcage, then even lower, caressing her sides, her waist, her hips, then, when she didn't protest, didn't tell him to stop, they wandered down, cupping her backside. Meanwhile she fisted her hands in his hair, pulling it wonderfully, her elbows resting on his shoulder, her chest pressing against his, always getting a little closer. Before he knew it, she was straddling him.

He didn't protest (but maybe he should have had).

With her slim, warm, amazing body above him, around him, filling his senses, it didn't him long enough feel his blood rush down and his manhood to harden, straining against his pants uncomfortably. Embarrassed, he tried to position himself in a way that she wouldn't feel it, so he wouldn't make her feel uncomfortable, so she wouldn't think that he wanted to go further (even if he did), but Katara was stubborn and insistent and went against what he wanted and ground against him, her pelvis pressing against his.

She stiffened, her eyes opening wide.

Zuko wanted to vanish.

"I am sorry, I can't help it, it's just…" he started, grabbing her waist to lift her off of himself, but before he could have she took his face into her hands once more and kissed him, stopping him mid-movement.

"It's okay," she said when she pulled away, her forehead resting against his. "Don't be embarrassed. I feel it, too."

And with that, she attacked his mouth again.

Zuko would have been content just to sit there with her on his lap and kissing her all night, until dawn broke and they had to leave to end a war, this way or another, but then, only maybe a minute later he felt her hands wander down to his waist, where a sash kept his vest and tunic closed. Before he fully realized what was happening, her deft little fingers were already working on undoing the knot.

"What are you doing?" he asked breathlessly, his lips swollen, even though he already knew where this was going.

"What we both want," she answered with her hands slipping under his vest, slipping the garment from his shoulders.

He caught her hands before she could have moved to his tunic.

"No," he said firmly, even though he desperately wanted her to go on. "It's not right. What about Aang?" He let go of her hands, which fell down to her lap.

She turned her head away, slipping down from his lap.

"He's gone. He might never come back. And if he does – don't get me wrong, I want him to come back –, well, let me worry about it then." She felt him place his hand atop hers, but didn't turn to look at him. "And anyway, let me decide."

So many things left unsaid…

With his other hand he cupped her face and gently forced her to look into his eyes.

"You'd regret it," he softly, his voice carrying his pain.

She let out a strange, humorless chuckle.

"We might as well die tomorrow, Zuko. And if we do – if I do –, the only thing I'll regret, I know, will be doing nothing. Not doing this now, not experiencing, not living." She closed her eyes. "And if I live… well, then I have time to decide if I want to regret it."

He leaned a little closer, so their noses almost touched.

"If it's only because of the Comet…"

Beautiful, cerulean eyes opened at his voice, glimmering in the darkness like precious gems.

"It's not just the Comet."

And it was decided then. He closed the small distance between their lips, kissing her again. This kiss was different from the previous ones somehow. It held more.

This time he didn't stop her when she reached for his tunic, and even helped her to get it off, just to have the garment join his vest on the floor of the tent. He relished in the feeling of her hands exploring his muscled shoulders and pectorals, skimming along the hot skin. This time he didn't shy away or tried to stop her when she climbed back to his lap and ground against him, eliciting a low moan from him. He did, however, stop for a moment when he reached for the belt that held her robe closed.

"We can stop whenever you want, if you feel uncomfortable or…" he breathed.

"I know."

"Just say a word, and I'll…"

"I know."

"Katara, I…"

She kissed him them with a hint of small uncertain smile on her lips.

"I know."

No turning back now.

He undid her belt, but she unbuttoned the button keeping the blue robe together. It fell off, revealing her silken, dark skin and white linen breast wraps underneath. Almost shyly, but so attuned to her responses, registering every whimper, every shiver, every soft sigh, he caressed her sides, from her hips up to the edge of her wrappings. He didn't rush forward; he wanted to savor the moment, ha wanted it to last. For the time being, he was completely content with the state they were in, but, apparently, she was getting impatient.

She grabbed his wrists – for a moment he thought she was going to push him away – and, lifting them, she placed them on her breasts.

Stilling, he looked at her, his eyes boring into hers, waiting for affirmation, a sign that it was not a trick, that she really wanted it. She looked into his eyes them, her pupils dilated in spite of the darkness. She nodded slightly.

Kissing her again, he started massaging her breasts – her prefect, amazing breasts that fit into his hands so wonderfully –, feeling them, exploring them, relishing in the soft sighs that were leaving her mouth as she leaned into his touch. With his thumbs he sought out her nipples under her wraps and teased them through the cloth, feeling them harden as her breathing slowly became labored.

She did push his hands away only a few moments later but only to reach for the knot securing her wrappings and undo it. Seeing what she was doing Zuko leaned back a little, giving her space, but when she had the end of the wrapping in her hand undone, he covered his hand with hers, moving with her, unwinding the cloth from around her torso, his hands brushing against her back, her ribcage, her breasts. When it finally came off, he pulled her against flush against himself, her naked breasts pressing against him, and kissed her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder, everywhere he could reach her. She let him to do it, nuzzling against him, trying to turn her body in way that gave him the best access, which still amazed him. He had no idea what he'd done to please the Spirits so much that they would grant him such a gift.

When she wound her hands around his neck only a moment later he hugged her close and, with a swift movement that made her gasp, he laid her down on the bedroll, she on her back, he towering above her, his knees between her parted legs.

He couldn't help but admire her for a few moments. Even in the almost full darkness she looked radiant. He could see as her eyes shone with something he couldn't quite identify; her lips were moist and swollen because of their kisses; her hair wild, tangled, beautiful; her breasts perky, the nipples hardened, like tiny pebbles.

He must have taken too much time taking her in, caressing her with his eyes, because she looked up at him them, slightly confused and unsure, and asked in a soft whisper:

"What now?"

His mind needed a moment to process her question.

"I…" He swallowed and bowed his head, his forehead resting against her shoulder. He was half aware of her fingers against his scalp, buried deep in his hair.

He had had no first-hand experience, but he had his fantasies and… well, it's impossible to spend nearly three years on a ship surrounded by rowdy soldiers and not to pick up a thing or two about what pleased women. And somehow everything came back to him then, every dirty, loud tale, every retelling of sexual conquest, but he was still so unsure, and slightly guilty for recalling those soldiers and their whores when this goddess was there with him.

But he still wanted to do it, just to see her unravel in front of him, to see her experience the pleasure he could only hope he could bring to her.

He exhaled.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

"Of course," came the breathless answer as she took his face in her hands and turned it towards hers so she could kiss him.

"Good," he murmured against her lips. "I am going to… Just tell me to stop, if you want me to stop, okay?"

"Okay," she breathed.

He needed no more encouragement.

He kept kissing her, his lips wandering lower and lower, first to her neck, then to her collarbone – an almost animal instinct deep inside him kept telling him to kiss harder, to mark her as his, but he resisted –, down to her breasts, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

At first he felt Katara stiffen for a moment and heard her gasp at the sudden, foreign feeling, but not a moment passed and she relaxed again, her hands finding their way to his head, not pushing him away, but encouraging him to continue.

After a minute or two he switched, going for her neglected breast, giving it the same attention, his hand gently kneading the one he'd just abandoned. But he didn't stop there – not long after his lips continued their journey southwards, his lips mapping out every dip and plane on her stomach, feeling her every shiver and every ripple of her muscles under his touch, even discovering a tiny, slightly raised mole next to her left hip – what a pleasant discovery.

When he reached the hem of her pants he stilled for a moment, his fingers ghosting over it.

She answered his question, even without him having to ask it.

"Yes, please, do it, please," she begged, even raising her hips to give him better access.

He did what he'd been told – not just because he wanted to do it, but because he could never deny her anything – and undid the strings that held her pants up. He slid the old, coarse, faded garment off her legs slowly, tenderly, taking her underwear with it.

There will be a time when I'll dress you the finest silks…

Pulling the pants and the undergarment off her, he settled between her legs again, caressing them from her ankles up to her hips, and looked at her now naked – gorgeous – form.

"So beautiful…" he breathed and she didn't disagree.

His attention focused on the dark patch of short, curly hair between her legs. Slowly, hesitantly, he lowered his hand, resting it against her mound, giving her time to pull away, to stop him, but she didn't; she just put her head on her pillow and sighed as one of his fingers probed about her womanhood tenderly, experientially, first only parting her outer lips slightly, then softly caressing her inner lips. When his finger dipped into her opening she let out the softest of moans.

It amazed him how wet he'd found her; her womanhood was warm and slick with her juices, what in itself was an arousing thought – he wished for better light, just to see her more clearly –, but knowing that it was for him, because of him, made his desire for her even greater.

He pushed his finger deeper inside, feeling her inner walls, their texture and the way they twitched when he touched a certain spot. This, and hearing her almost soundless sighs and whimpers, did nothing to temper his excitement. By then his erection was straining against his pants, almost painfully hard. It took all his willpower not to yank his pants down and pound into her right then, claiming her as his, but he knew that it wouldn't be good for her, that it would hurt her – though he was going to cause her pain anyway – and he wanted nothing more than pleasing her, helping her through the way to her climax.

He pulled his finger out – he heard her letting out a disappointed sigh – and then started to feel for that little bundle of nerves above her opening that he knew women especially loved to be touched. When he found the raised, swollen little nub he pressed his finger gently against it, rubbing it in a slow, circular motion.

When he did, Katara cried out.

It wasn't an awfully loud cry, but in the silence of the tent and the camp it sounded like one. Zuko was on her in a blink of an eye, covering her mouth with his, keeping her from crying out again.

"Hush, you have to be quiet!" He warned her in a whisper, their foreheads and noses touching. "We can't have anyone find us."

She nodded, seeing his point.

"Sorry, it was just…"

"Did it hurt?" he asked, concerned. Maybe those soldiers hadn't been that reliable at all.

"No, not at all," she shook her head, then looked into his eyes and, in a soft, shy voice she asked, "Could you do that again?"

"…Of course," he answered, smiling, even, because it was such a damn good feeling to know he'd done something right – something she wanted him to repeat.

He sat back between her legs once more, but, instead of placing his finger against her sex, led by a sudden idea and a dirty story he'd heard long ago, he lowered his head to her sex and, just as if he was kissing her mouth, he moved his lips against her lips, his tongue darting out, tasting her juices. He licked along her opening, even dipping his tongue into her for a moment, then wandered above, teasing her nub. A small, maybe too rational part of his mind was telling him that he should find this action less than appealing, but he didn't, not at all. It was an amazing, glorious thing to do.

As he teased her he felt her starting to shiver, her muscles twitching, and her thighs pressing against the sides of his head. He paused for a moment to look at her and his gaze met hers as she was staring at him, her pupils dilated, her face flushed. He saw her biting into her lower lip, maybe to keep herself from crying out again.

"Please, don't stop," she breathed. "Never stop. It feels so good."

He didn't answer her, but lowered his again and – terrible male pride blossoming in his chest – continued his ministrations.

He was getting bolder, picking up a fast rhythm, lapping at her vigorously, tasting her, his tongue once slipping into her, once pressing against that little ball of nerves, while his lips moved against her, caressing and sucking. He must have doing something right, because soon she started tossing around, her hips bucking against him, her thighs pressing him into her, her heart racing – he could feel her pulse against his lips –, her breathing turning into gasps as she kept sighing and whimpering and moaning.

"Oh, spirits above…"

He used his hands to push her down to the bedroll before squirming away from him seeking friction; he held her strongly but tenderly, caressing the soft skin of her hips with his thumbs.

He knew she was close and he was determined to push her through the edge. He quickened his pace even more, licking and sucking, and when he grazed his teeth against her clit it seemed to do the trick.

He felt her muscles locking up, she going rigid for a moment, only her inner muscles spasming under his mouth. Lifting his head he saw her arching her back, her head thrown back, her mouth hanging open, but no sound escaping.

Her body relaxed a moment later, her muscles going limp. She lay on the bedroll, breathing hard, as if she'd just fought a bending battle. He sat back on his knees, wiped her juices off his mouth and chin and waited, even though even he wasn't sure for what, but he hoped that he didn't have to wait for long, because his desires were still raging inside of him, and he knew he had to take care of them this way or another soon.

"This was… amazing," she breathed once her breathing was under control again and her heart rate returned to more or less normal. "I've never… felt like this before," she admitted shyly and then sat up in her complete nude glory, facing him and reaching out to touch the left side of his face. "We are not finished yet, are we?"

He leaned into her touch.

"No, not if you want to continue." He didn't ask if she was sure of it, not again. He saw in the way she moved and the way she spoke that she was. She wanted to do this.

So did he.

She kissed him then – could she feel herself on his lips? –, and at the same time he felt her other on his knee, slowly sliding upwards, but not bold enough to touch him where he wanted her to touch him the most.

This kiss was slow and undemanding; reassuring, calming. A kind of kiss they should've shared a long ago, a kind of kiss he'd been longing to give her for such a long time, but it still made him shudder and stirred a part of him he wasn't even sure he had.

A minute or so later he felt him gently tug at his pants.

"Please, take it off," she whispered and he obliged.

It was… awkward, not graceful and sensual like when he undressed her or when she helped out of his shirt. He still had his boots on, too, and he almost tripped when he pulled his pants down, half-standing in the tent, bending at the waist. She chuckled at him, leaning on one arm, her other hand in front of her face, hiding her smile.

He hissed when his erection came free of it confines, standing proud and hard between his hips. He heard Katara's giggle die as she looked at his bared form.

He sat back down again, facing her. He was a little afraid that she would shy away from him, confused, maybe a little scared, but she scooted closer instead, one hand hesitantly reaching out for him.

"Can I… touch it?" she asked, her gaze moving from his manhood to meet his eyes. Not trusting his voice, he only nodded.

She lowered her hand then, still not really touching, but ghosting about him, then carefully tracing a raised vein with a single finger. It was just a simple touch – barely a touch –, yet it caused an explosion of feelings inside of him, but still, it wasn't enough.

He gently took her hand and curled her fingers around his member, guiding her how to touch him, based on the self-earned knowledge of what pleased him. He coaxed her hand to move up and down on his shaft in a slow motion, from the base to the tip. She didn't resist him, but was hesitant at first, her grip on him too light – maybe because it was so new to her, too, maybe because she had no idea how she made him feel. Maybe the mixture of both.

He leaned his forehead against hers, their breaths mixing.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered. "It feels great, you're doing great."

He saw her swallow as she nodded, her eyes fixed at her hand around him. She stroked him a few more times, then slowly let go, pulling away from him and lying down on the bedroll, her legs open.

"Come," she said, inviting him. It was the moment; they'd waited enough.

He followed her without question, lying on top of her but resting on his elbow so he wouldn't crush her, his face at the crook of her neck, her breast pressed against his chest, their hips touching, her legs bent, one of his hands on her knee, slowly sliding down. With one hand he sought out her center, caressing her again, feeling how wet and ready she was, while kissing her pulse.

"I know it's going to hurt you," he stated, "and I am sorry."

She turned his head so they were face to face, hardly any space between them.

"Don't be," she breathed against his lips. "Just do it."

He kissed her then, in a way that was the mixture of their first and second kiss – the gentleness and the desperation to be let to love was there, but so were the passion and the need as their lips danced together. As they kissed he guided his erection to her entrance, gently probing at first, trying to see if she could receive him and then, with a swift motion, he was inside of her, sheathed within her warmth.

In surprise and in pain, she bit into his lower lip, drawing blood, but he didn't care. He hardly felt it.

She pulled away from the kiss. He looked at her, her mouth closed, her eyes screwed shut, a single tear escaping from under her lashes. It took everything he had not to move, but he knew he couldn't; not until he knew he wouldn't cause her any more pain by pulling out and pushing back in.

He took her face in his hands, trying to comfort her, kissing her forehead, her nose, her eyes, whispering soothing words all along.

"It's okay, it's okay, it'll pass, just try to relax, I love you, I love you."

He didn't know if she processed his words – if she really got what he was telling her – but soon he did feel her relax, her arms sneaking around his neck, her eyes opening, her inner walls just a little bit less tight. She kissed him lightly on the lips.

"You can… start. It's better now,' she breathed.

He nodded, his forehead against hers, and started moving, pulling out slowly – she flinched a little – and then pushing back in.

It felt heavenly.

He kept on moving, keeping a slow, steady rhythm and soon he felt her starting to rock against him, meeting his movements. He watched her face, looking out for any sign of pain or discomfort, but he found none. Her eyes shut in pleasure, her mouth opened slightly, giving out soft moans, she was the most erotic sight he'd ever seen.

Encouraged by her apparent pleasure, he picked up the pace a little and tilted his lips to get a new angle. At his next thrust a gasp tore from her throat and she whispered "Yes, please, more…"

There were so many things he wanted to tell her then, but he simply couldn't – the words simply wouldn't come –, so he showed her through his actions – starting to go even faster, his desires spiking, he reached down to fondle with her clit. He knew he wouldn't last too long, but he was determined to take her with him.

Writhing and tight around him, her moans were beginning to get too loud, so afraid that they would wake someone, he covered her mouth with his, kissing her, while not breaking the rhythm, pulling out and pushing back in again and again. At one point he felt her legs sneak around his waist, her ankles locking above his backside, urging him to go even faster, harder.

He was close, so close, even painfully so, and he knew that she was, too, her nails digging into his back, maybe even breaking the skin, her mouth desperate, her skin slick with sweat, her walls contracting around him.

And that was it.

He wanted to pull out, to do the right – the sensible, the safe – thing, but as he jerked his hips backwards her legs tightened around him, keeping him firmly in place.

"Katara, I…" he groaned, trying to warn her, trying to make her release him.

She just kissed him.

"It's okay. Just let it go."

And he did; he didn't question her, her decision. Her offer – because that was it. One more forceful push and he was gone, his seed erupting into her, filling her. His mind went blank for a moment, getting lost in the sensation; he was only vaguely aware of her back arching under him, her breast pressed against his chest.

When the waves of his orgasm subsided he rolled off of her, pulling himself from her tight sheath – he could hear her slightly disappointed sigh when he did so – and lay on his back next to her, half on the bedroll, half on the hard ground, a rock wedging into the small of his back.

His breathing was labored and he was sweaty, but as he looked at her he saw she was exactly in the same state he was – chest rising and falling heavily, hair mussed, eyes half-lidded, completely sated. It was an oddly awarding sight, knowing that it was him who'd done this to her.

For a very long time – he couldn't tell how long exactly – the only thing breaking the silence in the tent was their breathing. They didn't have anything to say – or they were just too afraid to say anything, he wasn't sure.

When her breathing more or less returned to the normal rate, her heart didn't want to jump out of her chest anymore and she could trust her muscles again, Katara pushed herself to sitting position and, leaning over Zuko's body, she reached for her bag and water skin lying on the other side of the tent. She pulled a piece of cloth from the bag and opening the water skin, she wetted it. Zuko watched her movements, mesmerized, not really sure of what she was planning to do, but when he saw her nearing the wet cloth to her womanhood he understood it, and took it from her hand.

Surprisingly, she didn't protest, but lay back and let him touch her.

He caressed the top of thighs and he dark curl-covered mound with it, washing the sweat, her juices, his seed pouring out of he and that small amount of blood that signaled the loss of her virginity away. It wasn't a remotely sexual act, but an even more intimate one. When she deemed herself clean enough she sat up again and pushed him back to his back, taking the cloth from him. Wetting another part of it she used it to clean his manhood, now soft and limp again, as well. Then, throwing the dirty cloth to the furthest corner of the tent she reached for the water skin again, bending a little amount of water from it.

"Show me your mouth," she asked and first he had no idea of what she was talking about, but then remembered how she'd bitten him, and at the same time he realized that his lower lip was indeed throbbing a little and that he could feel the salty taste of blood on his tongue.

He pushed himself up on his elbows as she sat next to his head, coating her hands with glowing water, lowering it to his lips. In its faint glow he could see that she, too, had dark smudges around her mouth.

"You have blood on your lips," he said softly, more like stating than informing. He reached out and tried to wipe it away with his thumb.

To his surprise, she giggled.

"What?" he asked, his lips curling into an involuntary smile as well.

"It's just… I have never thought that it would be this bloody," she chuckled, because it was absurd, simply absurd that she was there with him in tent, stark naked, the area between her legs throbbing and that they might die tomorrow, that the world might end tomorrow…

Her chuckles suspiciously sounded like sobs, awakening a strong urge within him to take her into his arms.

"Lie on your stomach," she ordered him when she was done with healing his lips. When he didn't move instantly, but looked at her with a questioning gaze, she added, "I just want to take a look at your back. Please."

He didn't see the point in it – her nails couldn't have broken his skin, there was no point wasting her energy on scratches like that – but he still complied, turning to his stomach, resting his head on his arms.

The water on her hands glowing again, he felt as she rested her hands on his back, just like a soothing caress. It felt nice, relaxing. The stiffness, that somehow was always there in his posture, leaving his muscles, he turned his head towards her, just to steal a glance at her.

The question rolled off his tongue before he realized he was speaking.

"Do you love Aang?"

There was a long moment of silence before she spoke, her water still glowing, still healing, even though he was sure that the scratches on his back had been already healed completely.

"I do," she said so softly he hardly heard her. "But not in a way I should. Not the way he wants me to."

He only nodded, acknowledging her answer. She finally tossed away her healing water, her hands suddenly off his back.

He missed her touch already.

He didn't move from his position on the ground, half on the bedroll, half on the cold ground as he watched her as she wordlessly reached for her robe and slipped her arms into the sleeves. He didn't understand why she bothered with getting dressed.

"Won't you ask?" she asked as she fought with her button.

"Ask what?" he said, sitting up.

"You know what I mean."

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn't dare to smile yet. He inched closer to her.

"And what about me? Do you love me?"

She hesitated only a heartbeat before she answered, raising her gaze so she could look into his eyes.

"Exactly in the way I shouldn't."

He didn't say anything, just kissed her.

There were so many things they still had to discuss, so many things to make sense of, to settle and make right, but right then, those things could wait – at least until after the comet.

(There was no 'if' now – no pondering if they survived tomorrow. They had to. They had to live to see another day and many more after tonight.)

He pulled away way too soon.

"I should go now," he said, pulling his pants up. "Before Uncle or somebody else notices that I am gone. And you – you should rest. You'll need your strength tomorrow."

As he reached for his shirt she grabbed his hand.

"Please, stay. Just for a little while," she pleaded. "Just until I fall asleep."

He nodded, staring into her eyes. He could do that. He could stay for a little while.

She lay back on the bedroll on her side, with her back to him and he settled down next to her, spooning her. With one hand he pulled the blanket up, covering her bare legs, then rested his hand on the inward curl of her waist. He pressed a soft kiss just under her ear.

"Sleep well."

Sated and exhausted, cocooned in his presence and warmth, smiling to herself, she was out within minutes.

When she woke the next morning blissfully rested and slightly sore, he was gone, but there was something wrapped up in a piece of cloth placed on her pillow. Pushing herself up to her elbows, she unwrapped it.

It was a golden hairpiece, maybe a crown, looking strangely familiar, the two sides forming small flames.