“You’re going down, Asami.”
“Bring it on, Avatar.”
For the second time in as many minutes, Korra wonders how she ended up here, across the table from Asami, upraised hands clasped together, tension racing down her arm and into the air around them. She can’t quite remember why she agreed to an arm wrestling contest, but she finds that it doesn’t really seem important anymore, not when all she can feel is the contact of skin of skin, not when all she can hear is Asami letting out little puffs of air that are just so damn cute and are making her think of things that are not entirely appropriate because she’s pretty sure Tenzin’s kids are just next door. Or were they? She can’t really remember.
Maybe she should just let Asami win. Because then she can go take care of these illicit (impure) thoughts and she’ll get to see Asami smile and then everybody wins.
… Oh, who is she kidding? When Korra competes, she competes, even when it’s Asami and her perfect hair and her perfect eyes and her perfect face (god she loves that face)—
When she wins she won’t lord it over Asami or anything. … Okay, maybe just a little. She’s not above a little bragging.
“Hey, Korra?” Asami simpers. Or, wait. Did she just simper? Because Korra swears she detected a distinct note of simper in her voice. She removes her gaze from their clasped hands and drags it to Asami’s face (which she had been trying so very hard not to look at) and when their eyes meet she decides that focusing on anything but Asami’s hand (which is still wonderful to look at, just the lesser of all evils) was a big mistake.
“Y-yes, Asami?” Is she blushing? She shouldn’t be blushing. Asami wouldn’t be blushing. Asami never has anything to be shy about. Certainly not when she looks like… well, that.
But there’s a gleam in Asami’s eyes that she’s pretty sure is not normally there (it’s not like she’s stared into those eyes for inappropriate amounts of time or anything—) and is she just imagining it or is she actually fluttering her eyelashes?
But Korra’s always been terrible at reading signals (or people in general, really) so she thinks that maybe she’s reading too much into this, maybe she’s—
“I win!” Asami shouts.
For a second, Korra just stares at her. Then her eyebrows draw together and she finds herself feeling flabbergasted. Which is a word she’s never had occasion to use before because it just sounds so ridiculous; she wants to burst into laughter and ask Asami what she’s talking about. Like, “What do you mean, you won?” But then she looks down and there lies the evidence of her defeat: arm underneath Asami’s, pressed flat against the table.
For the third time in as many minutes she wonders how she ended up here today.
And oh, it’s on.
She’s like a woman possessed (oh god, it’s like she’s channeling her inner Naga, this is so embarrassing—). But she’s already sailing out of her seat and knocking the table away and entering Asami’s orbit (when did this even happen) and she has no time to second guess her (maybe ill-conceived) decisions before she’s tackling Asami and they’re both on the ground.
And in that moment, her world is nothing but hair like silk beneath her fingers, eyes so green she swears they’re unnatural, the smell of jasmine perfume overpowering almost all of her other senses. Why can’t her world be like this all the time? Just herself and Asami and no Avatar-duties or bad guys or Meelo barging in every time Asami hints that she wants a little more—
Korra realizes that they’ve probably been in this (admittedly compromising) position for at least a full five seconds (it feels like it’s been hours), and she hasn’t said a word or moved a muscle even though she’s the one who put them in this position in the first place, but Asami’s just so damn distracting. And Korra is not insecure—she’s never not been a confident ball of reckless energy (except maybe after she fought with Zaheer, but those were most definitely extenuating circumstances)—but when she’s with Asami she can’t help but imagine how anyone could not pale in comparison to her.
And great, now she’s getting all flustered. She’s sure that with the insane amounts of heat coming off of her face and the way she feels her nostrils twitching and she’s licking her suddenly very dry lips (really Korra, really with the tongue now?) is making her look like a maniacal serial killer. So she’s about to extricate herself from their tangle of limbs (even though she really, really doesn’t want to,) but then something else distracts her. And this distraction is much more distracting than all of the other distractions put together.
Asami is blushing. Like really blushing. The red on her cheeks sticks out like Lin in a dress and it’s almost as dark as the shade of the lips that Asami’s now worrying between her teeth, making Korra suddenly feel like it’s a million degrees in a way that has nothing to do with the hot summer day.
And she thinks that maybe Asami is just as uncertain as she is.
It’s now been a full ten seconds since Korra Naga-pounced Asami, and Korra is no longer flustered. She leans down until she’s nose to nose with the girl beneath her, hitching her thumbs in Asami’s belts loops until their bodies are flush with one another. Their hearts are beating a million miles a minute and she’s pleased when Asami’s cheeks defy science and surpass the reddest of reds.
So Korra smiles. Or smirks, really. Her smile is too devious to be called anything but a smirk. “Time for your punishment… cheater.”
And that day Korra learns many things besides arm wrestling that she can do with her hands.