NaNo "Merits" back-up (please to be ignoring this... I'm not sure if the formatting's working)
Katara couldn’t help it.
“What?” asked Zuko self-consciously as he noticed her glancing away from him for the enth time that evening.
“Nothing,” she muttered, refocusing her attention on the TV.
Frowning a bit, he gave himself a quick once-over, and shook his head to get his hair out of his eyes again.
And caught her staring at him again.
“What is it!”
“It’s… your hair’s in your eyes,” she explained awkwardly.
“I haven’t exactly had time to go out for a trim,” his long fingers reached up and pulled his bangs clear, and Katara’s blue eyes were locked on the interplay of his woven fingers in the thick, dark locks.
“Hold on a second,” she said, and pulled her ponytail free of its elastic.
“You don’t have to-“
His eyes widened as she came to stand behind him, already pulling his shoulders back gently but firmly against the chair.
Her long hair fell forward and tickled his ears, mixing with his own hair, as she settled him within reach.
“Just stay still while I-“
“I’ll just go out tomorrow to-“
Then he felt her fingers sliding through his hair, and his voice caught in his throat as his words evaporated.
“It’ll only take a second,” Katara murmured helpfully, already focused on gently gathering his silky, shaggy layers.
Unable to speak, and unwilling to move, Zuko sat with his back straight and his stomach tight.
Her nimble fingers drew the dark curtains back from his eyes, over his ears and behind him; she didn’t take the longer sections at the back, just the front, and tied them back with practiced ease.
Without his bangs to hide behind anymore, he saw clearly… and felt vulnerable.
He heard her shuffling to the side, and moving around to the front of him to stand between his knees.
Peering down at him critically, she lifted his chin gently with her hand, leaning him this way and that to check her work. “I think I got it even on the first try,” she teased.
Her blue eyes shone down at him in mild triumph; as if she’d been expecting him to keep fighting her.
She was beautiful.
And for the first time, she was touching him, of her own free will.
Zuko’s throat went dry as his stomach tightened further; longing curled low in his belly, accompanied by its frequent companions loneliness, and fear. He was riveted on his seat, now staring at the fabric of Katara’s t-shirt as it fit snugly over her torso. He was sure he could see the play of her abdomen and muscle beneath it, could feel the warmth coming off the hands that were slowly dragging down his skin and away from him.
He glanced up once more, saw her smiling to herself.
Felt ashamed, closing shut his eyes as he tried to reign in his low-simmering emotions.
But as her fingers trailed those last few moments against his skin, their softness leaving searing trails in their wake, he felt his desperation feed on his longing.
--and without even realising it, his hands had already risen to rest his hands on the swell of her hips.
Katara stilled.
She would hurt him now, he knew. She would tell him off, push him away, rip his heart from him. It was a torture he would bear, though, because he had to. He just… he just needed just a little bit… just the tiniest piece of her… the lightest touch… just… just enough. Something. Anything. Gods, spirits, anything. He didn’t care how pathetic that made him sound. He would take anything she would grant him, he was just so desperate for her.
He waited.
Any minute. Any minute now, he knew, it would come. She likely wouldn’t even say anything, she’d just pull away. She’d pretend it hadn’t happened, wouldn’t even acknowledge it. And that would be worse.
Zuko couldn’t help the way his grasp instinctively tightened the tiniest bit as he mentally hung on to her more tightly. It wasn’t nearly as tightly as he held his emotions in check in that moment, though.
It was a full minute before he realised that she hadn’t pulled away.
And he was sure he heard her swallow-or perhaps it was his own?-and he felt her hands shift quietly to his shoulders, tentative, cautious.
The trembling in his arms and hands, perhaps through his whole body, became evident to him; oh how long had he waited to touch her? To hold her in his arms?
To be in hers?
He was not going to ruin this.
He wasn’t going to speak.
He wasn’t going to risk anything ruining this perfect moment.
He felt Katara’s hands give a faint squeeze on his shoulders. Acceptance. Peace. Encouragement, dare he assume?
Tension and hesitation fogged between them, making it difficult for them to see each other clearly. Terrified he would make a mistake, Zuko let her take the reigns-he wasn’t sure he could have let go of her in that instant anyway.
His breath rushed out of his lungs, next, when she took a half-step closer to him.
And, after a painful, tantalizing, excruciating minute more, a full step, until his nose brushed her belly.
Now it was her arms that trembled faintly, just like his, and he heard her take a breath, whether to steady herself or fortify her constitution, he didn’t know.
Biting his lower lip as the emotions rose a bit higher in him, he swallowed to wet his throat when he felt her hands lift, just a little, and settle again. Lift, shift a bit, settle again. Hesitantly. Unsure.
Zuko realised then that his thumbs had spread, and smoothed small circles on her hips; his eyes focused on the small movement. He felt her hands on his shoulders; his breath caught as she slowly, almost in tiny baby steps, moved her hands a few inches now; then another few; finally, more smoothly they met behind his neck, pulling him closer; and he was already doing the same, wrapping his arms around her to pull her to him.
His face was in her stomach as she leaned over him, embracing him tightly; and he held fast, as if she were the air he breathed, the only thing he needed to live, filling him with life. So close to her, he breathed her in when he drew air; drew her closer and closer still, refusing to give up any inch that could bring them closer together.
They were both trembling, shaking, shuddering, but neither could let go.
Zuko thought he may have heard Katara gasping, or whimpering; he was breathing hard, hoarse, wishing he knew the right words but not daring to speak a word.
At least, not physically.
Mentally, though, he opened himself up to her, willed her to do the same, to beg her for entrance to her emotions, her spirit.
Oh gods I’ve missed you, he felt it resonate, reaching along the cord, offering himself to her.
He felt her skittishness as he nudged her through their bond, tentative to initiative anything closer than they already were. He retreated a second, and like a wave returned to nudge her again, letting her get used to the feeling of him.
Please? He begged, not bothering to feel shame any longer when with her. No more than this, but this? Can we be together like this, just this once?
Even just for a little while?
Would you have me?
…Any of me?
Like water, Katara flowed; but only according to her own course.
It started as a trickle, a soft glow. A door in a darkened room opening up just a crack to allow in the hint of light around the edges as Katara acquiesced to relent and release, lowering her iron barricades in unsteady, uneven increments. Her fear was ripe and tangible, but she pressed on, lowering another shield, one at a time. The glow became stronger around the door, and it soon crept open just a bit.
And Zuko gripped the floor of that darkened, abandoned room to hold himself in place, to do everything he could not to rush forward to rip the door off its hinges.
The silvery cord glowed on the path that lay between him and the door, and he reached for it as the door opened wider, inch by inch.
As he held his breath, he watched with hopeful, anxious golden eyes for what she would reveal, permit, unleash.
The pair of them were hardly aware of their physical bodies pressed together anymore; hadn’t noticed their arms straining with how tightly they clung to each other; how far Zuko had leaned forward from his chair as he tried to bury himself in Katara’s arms.
The door was opening wider now, faster, and Zuko felt Katara’s barriers dropping less carefully, almost being shoved aside as she tried to wade past them, to bring the light out into the open.
Not realising it, he’d moved forward physically even as he mentally tried to hold himself back; and as bot their knees buckled and Katara sank to her knees before him, the light flowed forward and blinded him in its brilliance, hidden for so long. She pulled him down with her, and he leaned over her, now, bracing himself up on one arm.
He groped blindly for the silver cord that bonded them together, found the tension on the line the greatest thing in existence, since it meant she was pulling on it, too, and tumbled towards her.
As their emotions surged forward, Katara looked up into Zuko’s wet eyes.
“I… I remember…” she whispered. And behind her eyes, their past rushed by, every moment spent together.
I know, he said, swallowing hard.
And they couldn’t help it, they both laughed, half-sobbing, half-hysterical.
Stay, he begged softly, and their gaze met, and held.
Before him-around him, inside him-Katara’s breathing was jagged, the emotions swelling further, and he held his breath. Her pulse beat frantically, and he was sure his own did, too, as he drowned in her eyes.
“Stay,” he breathed against her ear, as he leaned in close; huddled on the floor, the chair had tipped over behind him.
Stay with me, Katara.
Her chin trembled as she opened her mouth--
I…
His heart leapt.
I…
She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, still anxious but now with their trademark Katara spark of determination.
“Yes.”
I do.
I do.
I will.
I never go to say “I do,” to you before… did I? She asked with some amusement, and more than some remorse.
We have the rest of time to say it now, he said.
We do, she agreed softly.
And it was only a matter of time before he raised his hand, as did she, to the beautiful face that admired so longingly.
And neither was sure who dismissed that last inch into inexistence, but it felt like no time had passed at all as their lips slanted over each other, softly at first, and then with more passion, too long dormant, as they shared their first proper kiss in over a century.
Katara’s back was supported by the cushiony floor as Zuko pressed against her, lavishing her wish kisses as their hands ran loving trails over each other’s bodies; relearning paths and sighs and moans, eliciting arches and whines and gasps with each new rediscovery.
He felt his stomach clench as she touched the scar that marred his face; his heart flutter as she pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth; his head go light when she nibbled on the earlobe and kissed down his neck, under his collar.
And when she tugged at his belt, he couldn’t muffle his moan against her neck quickly enough.
“You… you don’t have to, if you …” another groan as she reached for him, inside, “if you don’t want to,” he said, trying valiantly to do the honourable thing.