Fic: "I’ll Take You Where The Water’s Deep"
Title: I’ll Take You Where The Water’s Deep
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
redbrunja
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Rating: R for sexual themes.
Author’s Note: Sequel to “Or Else This Heat Might Turn To Frost”
Prompted byrashaka’s reminding me of how awesome and apropos this song is. Written for zutara100, prompt 002. Ends
Summery: “When she was a child, she used to play with the lamp flames.” Katara tries to do the right thing.
Author:
redbrunjaFandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Rating: R for sexual themes.
Author’s Note: Sequel to “Or Else This Heat Might Turn To Frost”
Prompted by
rashaka’s reminding me of how awesome and apropos this song is. Written for zutara100, prompt 002. EndsSummery: “When she was a child, she used to play with the lamp flames.” Katara tries to do the right thing.
“This was a mistake, and it’s over.”
And it was, and it is, and Katara knows she made the right decision.
When she was a child, she used to play with the lamp flames, before she realized that it caused the oil to vanish faster, and they didn’t have oil enough to spare, not just so she could get her fingers sooty while she waited on the endless Southern Winters. But she remembered how to do it; the trick was quickness. Katara would drag her fingers through the flame, fast, and there would be only a flicker of warmth over her unburned fingers.
Zuko was the same; the longer she circled around him, let herself be tempted and worse, let herself succumb, the more likely it would be that instead of walking away with sooty lips and hair snarled into knots from his hands, it would end badly, Sokka furious, her father disappointed, Aang betrayed.
She was a Master Bender of the Southern Water Tribe, and there was a difference between making a former enemy a begrudging ally (“Well, fine, if you really want to, you can heat up the dish water and I suppose it couldn’t hurt if you heated up the bathwater too–”) and willingly taking him (his lips on her neck, his exhale hot enough to raise blisters, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise) to her bed.
No, it was better to end it now, while no one knew, while there would be no awkward looks, no questions, no recriminations.
She lasted a week and a half.
Then Katara was slipping into his room as the sun first creep over the horizon, falling into his arms while light the color of honey filled his chamber.
He kissed her like she’d been years away, gone to fight in some horrific war, instead of having seen her ten hours ago at dinner.
This was a betrayal, she knew it was, but when Zuko was moving over her, as slow and steadfast as the sea on a summer day, she couldn’t care.
She choked on her sobs when she came and Zuko kissed the tears away from her cheeks and murmured promises she knew he’d die to keep.
Somehow, that just made it worse.
And it was, and it is, and Katara knows she made the right decision.
When she was a child, she used to play with the lamp flames, before she realized that it caused the oil to vanish faster, and they didn’t have oil enough to spare, not just so she could get her fingers sooty while she waited on the endless Southern Winters. But she remembered how to do it; the trick was quickness. Katara would drag her fingers through the flame, fast, and there would be only a flicker of warmth over her unburned fingers.
Zuko was the same; the longer she circled around him, let herself be tempted and worse, let herself succumb, the more likely it would be that instead of walking away with sooty lips and hair snarled into knots from his hands, it would end badly, Sokka furious, her father disappointed, Aang betrayed.
She was a Master Bender of the Southern Water Tribe, and there was a difference between making a former enemy a begrudging ally (“Well, fine, if you really want to, you can heat up the dish water and I suppose it couldn’t hurt if you heated up the bathwater too–”) and willingly taking him (his lips on her neck, his exhale hot enough to raise blisters, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise) to her bed.
No, it was better to end it now, while no one knew, while there would be no awkward looks, no questions, no recriminations.
She lasted a week and a half.
Then Katara was slipping into his room as the sun first creep over the horizon, falling into his arms while light the color of honey filled his chamber.
He kissed her like she’d been years away, gone to fight in some horrific war, instead of having seen her ten hours ago at dinner.
This was a betrayal, she knew it was, but when Zuko was moving over her, as slow and steadfast as the sea on a summer day, she couldn’t care.
She choked on her sobs when she came and Zuko kissed the tears away from her cheeks and murmured promises she knew he’d die to keep.
Somehow, that just made it worse.
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