To Zuko, Katara was like fire.
Hot, unpredictable, powerful. It will forever control him more than he controls it, and it’s just like her.
Like her hand over his chest. Like fire, he knows her by heart. Without even looking at her eyes, he knows the pain they carry.
So he held her hand there. Because, just like fire, he needed her closer.
To Katara, Zuko was like water.
Dark, deep, unknown. She could bend it, but never break it. She could try and try, but will never know it fully.
His scar goes way beyond his skin. She wished she could stick her fingers out and touch it all, take it all away.
Like water, he wrapped around her touch. Called her in silently, like the waves of the sea.
And like water, she knows him by heart. It’s better to follow the waves than fight against it.
She leaned forward and burned, like fire in a field. Zuko felt like burning with her breath over his face, with her chest over his chest.
Maybe she’s not like fire. If she was fire, Zuko would feel scared.
She can’t be bent, she has her own reasons. And Zuko was burned enough times to fear when fire got beyond control.
But she’s not fire. She can’t be bent, she has her own reasons. For her, he opened his arms, opened his chest, opened his neck. She’s fire but she won’t hurt. He trusts her to not hurt as she burns.
Katara wanted to taste him. Sip by sip, kiss by kiss, lines and lines and lines of his being. Zuko is made of currents of muscles and skin. He was warm, welcoming, comfortable as she went further and further inside his arms. Like water, he took her completely, meeting halfway between ties and blankets.
She wanted to taste him. He welcomed her to, sliding down the barriers that coated his body.
First, his chest.
Second, his shoulders.
Third, his lips.
Zuko wanted to feel her. Know if her skin was as hot as the heart that he felt at every touch of hers.
Her dress slided down her back easily, as if it was always to be removed. And Zuko could see her, feel her over all the length of his skin. She was drastically his opposite, soft everywhere he was rough, complete everywhere he was broken - and beautiful everywhere he was disgusting.
As she moaned against his cheek, he felt like fire once again.
Zuko’s back was wide. Katara found hers and his chins dovetailed like a puzzle holding herself at his back with her nails into his skin. His grip on her waist was firm and reliable, much like the man under her.
It took him years, a very, very long time, but he conquered her. She knew, she could feel, that inside her it was all his.
And she knew no one, not Aang, not anyone would make her numb with joy as he did.
Inside him, all kinds of thoughts and feelings ran around, colliding and breaking his bones.
Relief. Comfort. Familiarity. It all ran around his head before he recognized it was just the way Katara made him feel.
So he hugged her tighter and kissed her deeper. Because he needed to feel this healed again.