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Azula exited her office, thankful the day was over. While being the CEO of her own company had many perks, it was also a bit of a headache.
“Busy day?” Asami asked, seeing Azula leave the office with a look of relief.
“You could say that.” Azula replied with a sigh. “You run future industries, and you don't even look tired. What's your secret?"
Asami offered a knowing smile as they sat at a nearby cafe. "There's this place i go to many nights to unwind. It's like a strip club..."
"A strip club? Asami, what the fuck?!" Azula exclaimed, raising an eyebrow.
Asami pulled out her phone, showing Azula the club she was talking about.
"It's very classy and discreet. It's called 'The Velvet Whisper'. It's not your typical strip club, I promise," she assured her, scrolling through the website.
Intrigued despite herself, Azula took a closer look at the elegant images on the screen. The club was dimly lit, with luxurious velvet curtains and gold accents. The dancers were well-dressed and the atmosphere looked more sophisticated than she had imagined.
"It's more like an art form, really," Asami explained, noticing the shift in Azula's expression. "The dancers are all professionally trained. They're not just stripping, they're performing."
Curiosity piqued, Azula leaned in closer to the phone screen. The images were indeed mesmerizing—beautiful men and women moving with a grace that seemed almost unreal. It was clear that this was a place where the elite of the city came to let their hair down. "Okay, I'm listening," she said, her skepticism giving way to intrigue.
"The Velvet Whisper caters to a very exclusive clientele," Asami continued. "It's all about the experience—the ambiance, the music, the dance. It's not about getting sloppy or ogling half-dressed people. It's an escape from reality, a place to appreciate beauty in its purest form."
Her words painted a picture in Azula's mind. The stress of the day began to melt away as she imagined herself in such a refined environment. "Alright," she conceded with a smirk. "You've got me curious. Take me there tonight."
Asami's eyes lit up with excitement. "You won't regret it," she promised.
Azula called her girlfriend, Katara inviting her along as well. Katara agreed, intrigued by Azula's sudden interest in nightlife.
Night quickly came, and with it the thrill of the unknown. They arrived at The Velvet Whisper, the outside giving no indication of the opulence within. A doorman in a crisp black suit checked their invitations before opening the heavy door to reveal a staircase leading down to the club's entrance.
The air grew thick with anticipation as they descended the stairs. The dim lighting was a stark contrast to the brightness of the office they had just left behind. The sound of a saxophone played a sultry tune that echoed through the walls, setting the mood.
"Are we early?" Azula asked, noticing how sparsely populated the place was.
"Not at all," Asami assured her, leading the way. "This is the VIP entrance. The real show doesn't start for another hour. It's the perfect time to grab a drink and get comfortable."
As they entered the main lounge, the soft glow of pendant lights reflected off the polished mahogany bar. A sea of plush velvet booths filled the space, each offering a sense of privacy for its occupants. The air was scented with a delicate blend of sandalwood and vanilla, adding to the allure of the place.
"So, anyone we should know?" Katara whispered as they slid into a booth, the velvet upholstery cool against her skin.
"There's this one dancer, Aang. He's amazing—his routines are like watching poetry in motion," Asami replied, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
The first act began with a whisper of fabric and a spotlight. The stage was set with silk sheets hanging from the ceiling, and the music started, a slow, sensual melody that seemed to coil around the room. A dancer emerged from the shadows, her body moving like liquid fire to the rhythm.
Azula took a sip of her unidentified cocktail, the coolness of it a stark contrast to the heat building within her. She couldn't take her eyes off the performance, the way the dancer's body told a story with each move. It was mesmerizing, a dance that was both erotic and artistic, leaving the audience in awe.
The night grew darker and the whispers of the club grew louder, the beat of the music increasing with the energy of the crowd. More dancers joined the stage, their bodies intertwining in a display that was both tantalizing and beautiful. Asami leaned in closer, her breath warm against Azula's neck.
"Better get settled in." Asami whispered, her eyes still glued to the stage. "The best is yet to come."
"Is it Aang? He's the only dancer you told me about."
"Patience," Asami said, smiling slyly. "The anticipation is part of the experience."
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their drinks, the clinking of ice against the glasses adding to the symphony of sounds in the club. The scent of the drinks mingled with the intoxicating aromas already in the air, and Azula took a tentative sip, the taste exploding on her tongue—a delightful mix of sweet and bitter that seemed to dance with the rhythm of the music.
The music suddenly changed into a slower more sensual beat, and the spotlight grew brighter, focusing on a solitary figure standing in the wings. The dancers on stage parted like a curtain drawn aside, revealing Aang, the dancer Asami had spoken so highly of. He was dressed in a skin-tight red leotard that accentuated every muscle in his lithe body.
"Wow. He's—" Katara began, but the words evaporated as Aang stepped forward. His movement was liquid precision, each shift of his weight deliberate, each extension of his limbs like a brushstroke against the air. The music pulsed, low and hypnotic, as he slid into the center of the stage. His eyes, lined with kohl, locked onto theirs briefly—just long enough to send a jolt of electricity down Azula's spine—before he turned, arching his back in a way that made the fabric of his costume shimmer under the lights.
Azula's fingers tightened around her glass, the condensation dripping onto her knuckles as Aang's hips rolled in a slow, deliberate circle. The way he moved wasn't just seductive—it was calculated, like he'd mapped out every possible reaction from the audience and was now executing them flawlessly. When he dropped into a split, the muscles in his thighs flexing, Katara's sharp inhale beside her was almost comical. Almost. Because Azula wasn't faring much better.
"Goddamn. I'd love to take him to bed." Katara murmured, her voice husky with admiration—so unlike her usual composed self that Azula nearly choked on her drink.
Aang's fingers traced the curve of his own collarbone, the movement slow and self-indulgent, before he rolled onto his knees with the grace of a predator. The music swelled as he rose, his body undulating in time with the deep bass, his gaze never leaving their booth. Azula's throat went dry. There was something unnervingly deliberate about the way he watched them—like he knew exactly what he was doing to them, and worse, *enjoyed* it.
Aang’s performance shifted—what had been a slow, hypnotic tease became something sharper, more commanding. His hands slid down his torso, fingers hooking into the waistband of the leotard as the music pulsed into a faster tempo. The audience held its breath. With a single, fluid motion, he peeled the fabric down until he was only wearing a pair of bright red panties that matched the club’s aesthetic, the edges embroidered with delicate gold thread.
"Holy shit," Azula muttered, her grip tightening around her glass. The leotard pooled around Aang's ankles, revealing toned thighs and the tantalizing curve of his ass barely concealed by the panties. He stepped out of the fabric with deliberate slowness, one foot then the other, before kicking it aside with a flick of his toes. The crowd erupted into applause, but Aang's eyes never left theirs—dark, knowing, and utterly shameless.
Aang sauntered towards their table, his hips swaying with each step, the golden embroidery on his panties catching the light like sparks. He stopped just inches from the edge of their booth, close enough that Azula could smell the faint musk of his exertion mingling with the club’s heady sandalwood. His fingers trailed along the rim of her untouched cocktail before he lifted it to his lips, taking a slow sip without breaking eye contact. The condensation dripped down his throat, and Azula’s jaw clenched.
"Enjoying the show?" he teased as he sat on the table, opening his legs wide open into a straddle split, allowing them to see the way his panties strained against his bulge. His smirk was positively sinful as he rocked his hips back and forth, the wet spot on the fabric undeniable.
"Keep going." Katara suddenly blurted out, her fingers digging into the plush velvet seat beneath her. Aang's smirk deepened as he rolled his hips again—slow, torturous circles that made the fabric cling obscenely to every ridge and curve. Azula could see the outline of him now, thick and unmistakable against the sheer red silk, a damp patch darkening the front where precum had already soaked through.
Aang continued to grind against the table's surface until he suddenly climaxed right then and there—his back arching sharply as a muffled groan escaped his lips. The wet spot spread visibly across the silk as he shuddered through the aftershocks, still maintaining eye contact with an almost defiant satisfaction. Azula's cocktail glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor with a sharp *crack* that went unnoticed by anyone but the three of them.
The silence that followed was thick enough to carve—Azula's pulse hammered in her ears, Katara's fingers now gripping her thigh with bruising intensity. Aang exhaled, slow and deliberate, before languidly peeling himself off the table, the fabric of his panties clinging obscenely to his spent cock. He didn't bother adjusting them. He cartwheeled away, his body arching like a bowstring before landing in a handstand on the stage, his legs scissoring open in a perfect split. The applause was deafening, but Azula barely heard it over the rush of blood in her own head.
"So, what do you think?" Asami asked, as the show ended. Her voice was barely audible over the fading applause, but her grin was positively wicked. Azula didn't answer immediately. Her fingers were still curled into the velvet upholstery, her knuckles white from the grip she'd maintained throughout Aang's performance. Katara, usually so composed, had a flush creeping up her neck that matched the club’s crimson lighting.
"Where can we see... see him?" Katara stammered, her usually steady voice betraying the effect Aang had on her. The words came out half-strangled, as if she'd been holding her breath the entire time.
"He has his own private lounge downstairs," Asami murmured, her fingers tracing the rim of her empty glass. "But you can't just go and pop in. You need to be invited by Aang himself."
The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken tension, until Azula finally unclenched her fingers from the velvet booth. "So how do we get invited?" she asked, her voice rougher than usual.
Asami leaned back against the booth, swirling her empty glass with a knowing smile. "That’s the fun part," she said. "Aang picks *you*. Sometimes he slips a card into your drink. Sometimes he sends a whisper through the staff. But it’s always—" She paused as a sleek, black-clad server materialized beside their table, placing three fresh cocktails in front of them with silent precision. Nestled against Azula and Katara's glasses was a matte black card, its edges gilded in red.
Azula picked up the card with deliberate slowness, her fingers brushing against the embossed lettering—a single word: *Downstairs*. Katara exhaled sharply beside her, her own card trembling slightly between her fingers. Asami merely smirked, swirling her untouched drink like she'd expected this all along.
"He didn't invite you, Asami?" Katara asked, puzzled by the absence of a third card.
Asami chuckled, taking a slow sip of her drink. "My wife, Korra will be joining me," she said smoothly, nodding toward the VIP section where a muscular woman with dark skin and piercing blue eyes was watching them with a smirk of her own. She raised her glass in a silent toast before turning away, clearly expecting Asami to follow. "But you two—" Asami winked as she stood up, adjusting the hem of her dress. "—have fun."
Azula’s thumb traced the edge of the card, the gilded letters catching the dim light. The weight of it—of the invitation—settled in her chest like a live wire. Katara’s breath hitched beside her, her fingers tightening around her own card. "You think this is—" Katara started, but Azula was already standing, her drink abandoned, the condensation pooling on the table like a confession.
The hallway to the private lounge was a study in calculated seduction—low lighting, walls lined with dark velvet that swallowed sound, and a scent like expensive musk and something sharper beneath. Azula’s heels sank into the plush carpet with each step, the silence between her and Katara thick enough to taste. The card had been a key, handed wordlessly to a staff member whose smile didn’t reach their eyes before they gestured them down this corridor.
The hallway seemed to stretch forever, the rhythmic throb of distant music pulsing beneath Azula’s ribs like a second heartbeat. Katara’s fingers brushed against hers—accidental or not—and neither pulled away. The tension between them crackled, a live wire neither dared to name.
The door at the end of the hallway was unmarked, just sleek black wood with a single gilded handle shaped like a serpent’s tail. Azula hesitated for a fraction of a second before gripping it—cool metal biting into her palm—and pushing it open.
The door swung open without resistance, revealing a room bathed in deep crimson light. They walked inside to see Aang doing the splits in the middle of the floor, his bare chest gleaming with sweat under the dim glow of a single overhead spotlight. He didn't acknowledge them immediately—just rolled his hips slowly, the taut fabric of his panties straining obscenely against the motion.
The door clicked shut behind them with finality, sealing Azula and Katara in a world of velvet shadows and whispered promises. Aang then lightly bounced up and down while in the splits, his thighs flexing with each subtle movement, the fabric of his panties pulling tight enough to outline every contour. His breath hitched—deliberately, theatrically—as he arched his back, letting the spotlight trace the sweat-slicked lines of his torso. Only then did his gaze flick up to meet theirs, dark and knowing.
The air in the private lounge was thick with the scent of sandalwood and something warmer, muskier—Aang’s sweat, Azula realized, as he rose from the splits in one fluid motion. His fingers trailed up his own thighs, slow and deliberate, before he finally spoke. “Took you long enough.” His voice was a purr, rougher than she’d expected.
Aang's fingers hooked into the waistband of his panties, thumbs tracing the delicate gold embroidery as he took a step closer. The fabric strained against the growing hardness beneath, the damp patch from earlier now glistening under the crimson light. Katara’s breath audibly caught—Azula could see her throat work as she swallowed hard, her fingers twitching at her sides like she was resisting the urge to reach out.
Aang’s fingers lingered at the edge of his panties, his gaze flickering between them with deliberate amusement. "You’re both so tense," he murmured, taking another step closer. The scent of him—sweat, musk, and something faintly floral—filled the space between them. "Let’s fix that."
"So, who wants me to give them a lap dance first?" Aang asked, stretching his arms overhead with feline grace, the movement making his panties ride up even higher on his hips. Katara's nails dug into the velvet sofa as Azula crossed her arms, refusing to acknowledge how her pulse stuttered at the way the gold embroidery caught the light against his pale skin.
To her own surprise, Katara stepped forward first. "Me," she breathed, her usual composure shattered, her blue eyes dark with want. Aang's smirk deepened as he prowled toward her, his movements liquid and predatory. "Remove." was all Aang said to Katara, motioning towards her skirt. Katara didn't hesitate—she peeled off her dress in one smooth motion, leaving her in nothing but lace underwear that matched the flush creeping down her chest.
Aang ogled her beautiful body, noticing her curves, hips and breasts, all accentuated by the lace. He pushed her onto the couch and straddled her lap, his thighs pressing against hers as he rolled his hips in slow, deliberate circles. Katara gasped, her fingers digging into the velvet cushions as Aang leaned in, his breath hot against her neck. "You're gorgeous," he murmured before trailing kisses down her collarbone.
Katara’s hands flew to Aang’s hips as he ground against her, the friction of his panties against her lace-clad thighs sending sparks up her spine. His lips traced the curve of her shoulder, teeth grazing skin just enough to make her whimper. Azula watched, her own fingers tightening around the armrest of the plush chair she’d sunk into, the heat between her legs impossible to ignore.
Aang’s hands slid up Katara’s ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through the delicate lace. She arched into the touch with a sharp inhale, her nails raking down his back as he rocked against her with deliberate, torturous slowness. His panties were soaked now—Azula could see the damp fabric clinging to every contour, the scent of him mingling with Katara’s arousal in the thick air.
"Teasing bastard. You better make me pregnant," Katara growled against Aang's throat, her fingers twisting in his hair as she arched beneath him. His laugh was low and wicked as he dragged his hips back just enough to make her whine—then snapped forward, the wet silk of his panties grinding against her lace in a way that had her toes curling. Azula's cocktail glass trembled in her grip, the ice long melted as she watched Katara unravel beneath him, her usual composure reduced to ragged gasps and desperate grips.
Katara’s back arched off the couch as Aang’s teeth grazed her collarbone, her fingers twisting in his hair hard enough to make him groan. The sound went straight to Azula’s core, her thighs pressing together involuntarily as she watched Aang’s hips roll in a slow, filthy circle against Katara’s lap. The damp silk of his panties clung obscenely to every ridge of his arousal, the fabric sheer enough to leave nothing to the imagination.
Katara glanced down, seeing his well-sized arousal straining against the translucent fabric. She suddenly pushed Aang off of her lap, her eyes focused on his arousal though Aang initially thought she was rejecting him.
Aang barely had time to register the rejection before Katara's fingers hooked into the waistband of his panties, yanking them down in one sharp motion. His cock sprang free, flushed and dripping, the gold embroidery catching the light as the fabric pooled around his ankles.
"Wow. Aang has quite the well-sized dick." Azula smirked from her chair, watching Katara's pupils dilate as she took him in—the thick shaft, the flushed head, the way his hips jerked forward involuntarily at the sudden exposure.
Katara then pushed Aang onto the couch, her hands trembling with urgency as she straddled him. The moment their skin touched, Aang let out a sharp gasp—his fingers digging into her hips as she ground down against him, the heat between them unbearable even through the lace of her panties.
Katara's breath hitched as she rocked against Aang's cock, the friction sending sparks up her spine. She leaned down, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss, her tongue sliding against his as her hips moved in slow, filthy circles. Aang groaned into her mouth, his hands gripping her waist hard enough to bruise. "Fuck, you feel good," he panted against her lips, his hips jerking up to meet her movements.
Katara sank onto Aang's cock with a gasp, her body arching as she took him in completely. The stretch burned—just enough to make her toes curl—before the pleasure surged through her, liquid and electric. Aang's hands gripped her hips, his knuckles white as he fought to let her set the pace, but the way his jaw clenched betrayed his restraint.
Katara’s nails raked down Aang’s chest as she rode him, her breath coming in ragged gasps that filled the crimson-lit room. Every roll of her hips was deliberate, drawing out choked moans from him—his cock buried so deep inside her that she swore she could feel the pulse of it. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thighs, leaving crescent-shaped marks as he fought not to buck up into her faster, harder.
Katara's rhythm stuttered as Aang suddenly flipped them—her back hit the couch with a gasp, his hips pinning hers down as he thrust in deep. The angle was brutal, his cock dragging against her in a way that made her thighs tremble. "Fuck—*fuck*—" she choked out, her fingers scrambling at his shoulders as he set a relentless pace, each snap of his hips punching a broken noise from her throat.
Azula watched from her chair, her own arousal a live wire beneath her skin as Katara arched beneath Aang’s thrusts, her cries sharpening with every snap of his hips. The sight of them—Aang’s sweat-slicked back flexing, Katara’s fingers tangled in his hair—sent a pulse of heat straight to Azula’s core. She uncrossed her legs slowly, the ache between them impossible to ignore any longer.
Azula’s fingers twitched against the velvet armrest, her gaze locked on the way Aang’s hips pistoned into Katara—the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin drowning out everything but Katara’s keening moans. Aang’s back muscles rippled under the crimson light, sweat glistening as he braced one hand beside Katara’s head, the other gripping her thigh hard enough to leave fingerprints. Katara’s legs trembled around his waist, her back arching off the couch with each deep thrust, her cries fractured into breathless gasps. "Don't you fucking stop!"
Aang's thrusts grew erratic—his rhythm shattered as Katara clenched around him with a sharp cry, her body bowing off the couch. He buried himself deep inside her, his groan ragged against her throat as he came, hips stuttering in helpless jerks. Katara's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as she rode out her own climax, her thighs trembling against his waist.
Katara went limp beneath Aang, her chest rising and falling rapidly as he pressed his forehead against her collarbone, both of them slick with sweat. The air smelled like sex and salt, the silence broken only by their heavy breathing. Then Aang chuckled—low, breathless—and lifted his head just enough to meet her hazy gaze. "Still tense?" he teased, trailing a fingertip down her sternum.
"Tense? Fuck, that was amazing. Next time, tie me up and don't stop till I can't walk," Katara groaned, stretching luxuriously beneath him before pushing Aang off with shaky arms. She rolled onto her side, legs still trembling, and pointed a lazy finger at Azula. "Your turn."
Azula’s fingers tightened around the armrest as Katara’s smirk—dazed but triumphant—landed squarely on her. Aang rolled onto his knees, his cock still glistening, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His gaze flicked to Azula, dark and knowing, as he dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. "Your turn," he echoed, voice rough.
Azula exhaled through her nose, slow and deliberate, as Aang prowled toward her on all fours like a panther stalking prey. The red lighting painted his sweat-slicked muscles in molten gold, every flex of his thighs obscenely deliberate. He stopped just inches from her chair, close enough that she could see the pulse thundering in his throat—and the way his cock twitched against his thigh, still wet from Katara.
"If you don't mind, i'd like to try anal first." Azula said bluntly, her fingers already loosening her belt with practiced efficiency. Aang's smirk sharpened as he stood up in one fluid motion, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight. Katara let out a choked laugh from the couch, still sprawled boneless across the cushions.
Aang suddenly grabbed Azula and turned her around, pressing her against the wall with one hand on her hip and the other gripping her hair. She could feel his erection pressing against her ass through her pants—hard, insistent. "You sure?" he murmured into her ear, his breath hot against her neck as his fingers worked open the button of her slacks.
Azula's slacks pooled at her ankles with a whisper of fabric, her breath hitching as Aang's fingers traced the curve of her bare ass. "Very sure," she hissed, bracing her palms against the wall. His answering chuckle vibrated against her spine before he stepped back—just enough to drag his cock through her slick folds first, a teasing preview that made her nails scrape the wallpaper.
Azula gasped as Aang pressed the thick head of his cock against her entrance, the slickness from Katara still coating him making the push easier—but not gentle. He slid into her with one relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt in a single motion that punched the air from her lungs. Her fingers clawed at the wallpaper, the stretch burning in the best way as he bottomed out inside her with a groan that vibrated through her spine.
Azula’s knees nearly buckled as Aang’s hips pressed flush against her ass, her breath coming in ragged gasps against the wall. He held still for a torturous moment—letting her feel every inch of him stretching her—before dragging out almost entirely, only to slam back in with a sharp snap of his hips that made her cry out. His fingers tightened on her waist, anchoring her as he set a brutal pace, each thrust punching a moan from her throat.
Azula’s fingers scrabbled against the wallpaper, her knuckles whitening as Aang’s hips pistoned into her with relentless precision. Each thrust sent a shockwave of pleasure-pain up her spine, the friction igniting nerves she didn’t know she had. “Fuck—*harder*,” she snarled, her voice ragged, and Aang obliged with a guttural groan, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises.
Azula’s world narrowed to the sensation of Aang pounding into her—each thrust hitting a spot deep inside that sent white-hot sparks behind her eyelids. She braced herself harder against the wall, the friction of her bare skin against the textured wallpaper almost as sharp as the pleasure coiling in her gut. Aang’s fingers dug into her hips, his breath ragged against her shoulder as he fucked her with a rhythm that bordered on punishing.
"Don't stop! Don't you fucking—" Azula's command shattered into a gasp as Aang's hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back. His teeth grazed the tendon of her neck, his hips snapping forward in sharp, erratic thrusts that had her seeing stars. She could feel him everywhere—the sweat dripping from his chest onto her back, the raw power of each movement, the way his cock twitched inside her as his control frayed. Katara's low whistle from the couch barely registered over the wet slap of skin on skin.
Azula’s vision blurred at the edges as Aang’s thrusts turned jagged, his rhythm dissolving into desperate, uneven snaps of his hips. She could feel him trembling behind her—his breath ragged against her shoulder, his fingers digging bruises into her skin—and the knowledge that he was unraveling sent a vicious thrill down her spine. “Close?” she taunted, her voice wrecked, and his answering growl vibrated through her. His hand slid from her hip to her clit, fingers rubbing rough circles that had her back arching violently. The double sensation—his cock pounding into her, his fingers working her in time—was too much, too perfect.
Azula’s climax hit like a lightning strike—her body locking around Aang’s thrusts as pleasure ripped through her in blinding waves. Her cry was raw, unfiltered, nails raking down the wallpaper as he fucked her through it, his own groan muffled against her shoulder. She could feel him pulsing inside her, his rhythm stuttering as he chased his own release, his fingers still working her clit with relentless precision even as she trembled from oversensitivity.
Azula’s legs gave out the moment Aang withdrew, her back sliding down the wall as tremors still wracked her body. Aang caught her by the waist before she hit the floor, his own breathing ragged as he lowered her onto the plush carpet. Katara’s bare feet appeared in Azula’s bleary vision, followed by the cool press of a glass against her palm. “Drink,” Katara murmured, her voice hoarse with amusement. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”
Azula took the glass with shaking fingers, the ice clinking softly as she downed the cocktail in one go. The burn of alcohol did nothing to dull the aftershocks still coursing through her—Aang’s smirk from across the room told her he knew it too. He stretched lazily, muscles flexing under sweat-slicked skin, before sauntering toward the low-slung chaise where Katara had sprawled like a satisfied cat.
"Damn, Aang. That was the best sex I've had in years," Katara sighed, stretching her arms above her head as she reclined against the chaise's plush cushions. Her legs were still trembling slightly, the evidence of their earlier activities glistening between her thighs under the dim crimson light. Aang chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair before collapsing next to her, his chest rising and falling steadily. "Glad I could be of service," he murmured, his fingers tracing idle patterns along Katara's hip.
"So, mind if we stay the night with you?" Azula asked bluntly, rolling onto her side to face Aang, her fingers idly tracing the bruise forming on his hip where she'd gripped him hardest. The question hung in the air, thick with implications neither Katara nor Aang had anticipated. Katara's eyebrows shot up, her cocktail glass pausing halfway to her lips.
Aang was about to say no, until a thunderstorm suddenly hit—the power flickered out, plunging the lounge into darkness punctuated only by the occasional flash of lightning through the skylight. Rain lashed against the windows in sheets, the storm's sudden ferocity making Katara instinctively scoot closer to Aang on the chaise. "Well," he said dryly, fingers brushing a damp strand of hair from her shoulder, "guess you're staying."
Katara giggled as she snuggled closer to Aang. "And we wouldn't have it any other way."