(Zutara) Hold it Gently; My Heart Burns For You

Jet

Katara has known the tender heat of the sun, it's soft fingers on her skin. She has known the inner-melting of hot food, lovingly home-cooked spreading the gooey heat deeper into her bones. The flaring ignition of true laughter is a constant around Sokka and Aang. She's known the sharp, napalm burn of strong spiritous alcohol, cooling into a low burn. She's felt the soft fizzling of crushes in her youth that stark reality and grim responsibility quickly stamped out.

Yes, despite being born of the ice, Katara has never been deprived of warmth.

But the body next to hers, the arm a weight over her stomach, is a new warmth. It burns low, ignites before she realises. Like low coals, her gut shifts and sparks. Bursts of heat leave her light-headed. Flushes and lopsided smiles rob her of words. Molten eyes burn with a pain she's all too familiar with, a flickering candle within her own shattered soul. He's the flame, she the ice it reflects, casting a brighter glow.

She isn't familiar with this heat, and like the first fire she tried to light on her own, it burns out before she can be consumed.

~ ~ ~

Acknowledging Sokka's capability is possibly the worst mistake of Katara's life. Overnight her brother goes from moody man-child to bossy know-it-all. If he's not confidently taking them in the wrong direction, he's harping on about instincts, the trials of leadership, or mooning over missing Suki. Somehow, out of the three, his bemoaned whining about his love-life is her preferred option.

But she's seen now how much her opinion matters to him, so she makes her jabs as playful as possible, only striking for the ego when he gets out of control. Aang sometimes joins in, though the monk is so earnest, Katara thinks he's actually being sincere while she speaks sarcasm so thickly the poor boy can't tell the difference.

She didn't think Sokka could get any worse than grounding Appa before he walks them smack-dab into the middle of a Fire Nation camp.

"Let us pass and we won't hurt you." Sokka's voice trembles around the reverse threat.

"You're gonna hurt us?" An eye-patched captain cackles until Sokka's face is the same shade of red as his ornamented armour. Those cackles are cut short as the man stiffens. When he topples face-first into the ground, a slim dart protrudes between two links in his armour. An impossible shot.

"How'd you do that, Sokka?" Aang gasps.

"Uh... Instinct?"

Metal flashes. A shadow slips from the canopy above their heads, swinging down as if an extension of the branches.

"They're in the trees!"

A young boy lands on top of a soldier charging Aang and turns his helmet around. Blind, the soldier thrashes, and the boy rides him and laughs. Arrows zip past anyone not in armour, expertly finding their marks. It's all Katara can do to flood her target to the ground before one of the forest dwellers is helping her.

A huge boy drops from the trees, so massive it's a wonder the branches could hold him up. He hefts a log like Sokka used to swing sticks when he played warrior as a child. He swings it through the soldiers, denting armour, bending steel, turning flesh and bone to pulp the way Momo does to Lychee nuts.

Surprise and momentum means the battle is over in seconds, and when the hooked swords bring their leader down, he strides easily into the swing. Right up to Katara, and smiles.

"Hey."

Her cheeks ignite before the rest of her. "Hi."

~ ~ ~

"Katara," a husky voice breathes against her neck as hips shift and grind together.