Disclaimer: I don't own Legend of Korra.
A/N: Femslash time! Woohoo!

Title: Lorelei
Summary: Asami knows how to get what she wants.
Pairing(s): Korra/Asami Sato
Warning(s): femslash, smut

Xxxx

Korra eyes the fabric with malicious intent, "What is it?"

Asami's laughter is warm, like honey over bread: "It's a dress, Korra."

Korra snorts; whatever Asami is holding, it's not a dress; there's not even enough fabric for it be the bastard cousin of a dress. The fabric, Korra reluctantly admits, is gorgeous silver that gives off a metallic sheen in the heavy afternoon sunlight, and when Korra hesitantly runs her hands over the fabric, it feels light and comfortable. However, there's a ridiculously large slit where Korra assumes her leg is supposed to go, and where are the sleeves? Those strings can't possibly be the sleeves, and the neck is so low; Korra crosses her arms beneath her chest, acutely aware of how light (and small) her breasts feel.

"That's not a dress Asami."

Asami's persistent, "It's an evening gown, Korra."

"It's not a dress, and I'm not trying it on." Korra refuses to budge; she will not yield for anything on this one.

Asami's painted lips pull into a soft smile that could be read as a smirk; she's in a playful mood now. She sits next to Korra on her bed, and the sun highlights the rolling inky black waves of Asami's hair, softening it to something akin to charcoal. Korra's fingers twitch and she wants nothing more than to run her fingers through the soft tresses.

Asami inclines her head and offers Korra the white column of her throat, "Please, Korra; just this once, for me. You'll look so beautiful in it."

Korra knows how she looks: arms and legs sculpted with muscles that most women don't have, small breasts that barely fill the shirts and dresses she wears now, hair that spends most of the day in a high ponytail—out of the way and completely forgotten. More than once, village girls had told Korra growing up that she was never going to marry if she didn't at least try to act a little softer. At the time, Korra had laughed at them because why in the world would she ever want to get married when the world needed saving? She was the Avatar first; being a girl could wait (and wait and wait and wait).

Asami's beauty is cat-like in nature, mysterious and enchantingly so: green eyes that make Korra think of full lush trees in the park, soft lips always tinted a pale shade of red, even when Asami removes the lipstick with careful swipes of a napkin; lithe limbs and long hair that Korra loves to twine about her fingers and kiss and smell, full breasts that fill Korra's hands, long legs that a hidden strength when they wrap tightly around Korra's waist.

Blood puddles beneath Korra's cheeks, and she can't look Asami in the eye for some strange reason; so she opts to stare at her hands (peppered with callouses and scabs) instead, "I'm nowhere near as pretty as you, and don't try to say anything because you know it's true."

Asami sighs and presses close to Korra, tucks Korra's arms between the mounds of her breasts. One had comes up to cup Korra's cheek, and when they lock eyes, Korra finds herself unable to look away; her eyes are big and bright and glittering with reflected sunlight. Asami has to be casting some kind of spell. It's the only logical explanation why Korra can't look away.

"You're beautiful," Asami says and she kisses Korra's cheek, her lips, her eyes and neck. "You're so beautiful."

"No I'm not."

"Yes, you are." Asami's tone leaves no room for debate. Her hand runs down Korra's cheek to cup Korra's breast, a delicate thumb absently rubbing Korra's clothed nipple. "I love how strong you are; I love how soft you can be."

Asami's hand leaves Korra's breast and drops down to the hem of Korra's shirt. Korra automatically lifts her arms, and there's the vague sensation of fabric rustling over her skin before it falls to the floor like a crinkled autumn leaf. It doesn't help the heat.

"Asami," Korra murmurs and she sucks in a breath as one of Asami's hands splays across Korra's lower back while the other slips beneath the waistband of Korra's pants. A delicate finger gently rubs at Korra through the flimsy undergarments, and Korra feels herself throbbing.

Asami smiles against Korra's neck and removes her hand. Korra makes a small noise of protest; Asami hums lightly as she pulls at the fabric of Korra's pants. Korra lifts her hips and automatically and gives a small sigh of relief when they're shucked away and join Korra's shirt. The hand on Korra's back travels the length of Korra's spine until they hit they strip of cloth that holds the under-binding in place. Perfectly manicured nails pinch and pull at the fabric until it comes loose. Korra's breasts heave as she takes in a much-needed her breath; when did the fabric become so tight.

Asami straddles Korra, the skirt of her dress whispering of her intent. Korra hikes up the material to Asami's hip, gropes at Asami's yielding thigh, damp with sweat and flower-scented lotion.

"Korra," Asami's breath is hot against Korra's ear, "lift your arms above your head."

Korra obeys without a second thought and instantly regrets it because cool fabric washes over her, and her eyes fly open as Asami removes the bands holding Korra's hair out of her face. Korra can't stop the undignified squawk that explodes from her lungs as Asami's hands deftly smooth the fabric over Korra's breasts and curves.

"Asami! That's so not fair!"

Asami raises a slender brow. "Would you have put the dress on any other way?" Korra grumbles a petulant "no" and Asami smiles at her, "Well there you go."

"I feel silly."

Asami continues to smile, and she surprises Korra when she slides down over Korra's form like water over rocks. She lifts the material of the dress and settles between Korra's parted legs. Korra chokes on an aborted moan as Asami slips two fingers into the knuckle before crooking them and hitting that spot. Korra's hips move of their own accord, growls bubbling over her lips as Asami's fingers thrust at a maddeningly steady pace.

"Asami," Korra grits through her teeth, moans aborting in her chest before they can make it past her lips.

"My mother used to tell me stories about lands far, far away from here," Asami's voice is muffled as she presses her mouth against Korra's trembling thigh, her tongue tattooing the words into Korra's flesh. "My favorite was the ones about these creatures called mermaids: beautiful women with fish tails instead of legs. The water was a part of them as much as they were of it, and they supposedly had the most beautiful voices that would lure men to their deaths. One of them was named Lorelei."

Korra whimpers and gnaws at her bottom lips; her breasts feel painfully constricted beneath the fabric of the dress. The strings that serve as sleeves slip off her shoulders and lessen the tension, but Korra's nipples are still achingly hard beneath the fabric, and she blindly squeezes and rubs at them through the fabric. Asami's tongue flicks against Korra's clit, and Korra swallows the cry that threatens to escape.

"No," Asami's lips curl against Korra's hot flesh, "sing for me, Lorelei."

When Asami's lips close around Korra's throbbing nerve, Korra cries out high-pitched and wild. Her orgasm racks through her, pleasure spreading through her limbs as she clenches around Asami's two fingers. Her breath explodes from her lungs in short gasps, and she can't stop the tremors that rack through her frame. Asami envelopes her with her soft, perfumed arms and kisses Korra's temple, her eyes, her lips—long and slow followed by soft gentle ones. Asami's fingers, long and fragile, thread gently through Korra's hair and remove any knot or tangle.

Korra can't stop the laughter that spills over her lips, and she feels warm and sated, limbs heavy with post-orgasm content.

"See?" Asami's breath tastes of peppermint and candy, "I told you the dress would look beautiful on you."

"You always get your way, don't you?"

Asami's smile is the curve of the crescent moon, impish and wicked. "Kiss me."

Korra is more than happy to oblige.