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Ironically, Bolin is dreaming about something other than Amon for the first time in days when Korra bursts through his attic door.
That fact doesn’t stop him from shrieking like a little girl, of course, flailing his limbs and blindly reaching for bedsheets to clutch to his chest, as if the intruder were some rabid fangirl intent on compromising his virtue.
Hey, it’s been known to happen.
“Who’s there?!” he demands, hating the way his voice cracks. “I’m warning you, my ferret bites—”
“Calm down, Bolin. It’s just me.”
Korra’s voice shoots through Bolin like a jolt of electricity.
“Korra! You’re here—how—where’s Amon? Did you…is he…?”
The Korra-shaped silhouette shakes its head. “No. I failed. He got away.”
“Oh.”
The tone of Korra’s voice is deeply unsettling. He can’t really see her expression—the moonlit attic is a study in contrasts, brilliantly illuminated patches clashing with pitch-black shadows—but her voice isn’t panicked, or frustrated, or even particularly sad. It’s just…flat. Detached.
Bolin scratches at a dry trail of drool caked to his chin. Squinting around, he realizes that he must have fallen asleep at the window. His cot remains untouched in the far corner of the room.
Bolin slides off the windowsill and pads over to Korra, eyes widening when he gets close enough to notice her clothes. They’re wet. Bolin knows that Korra uses Waterbending to travel between Air Temple Island and the Arena, but she’s always bent herself dry upon arriving at her destination. Her failure to do so now fills him with dread.
“Here.” Bolin grabs a nearby blanket and hurriedly wraps it around Korra before leading her over to his cot.
“Tenzin told me you came by tonight,” she says, sitting down next to him.
“Oh. Yeah, well…” Bolin silently prays that Tenzin neglected to mention the tantrum he threw upon being expressly forbidden from following Korra to Avatar Aang Memorial Island. “I just wanted to see if you needed any backup.”
“Why would you do something like that?”
Bolin raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “What do you mean? You saved me from Amon! I wasn’t about to let you fight him alone!”
Korra gives him an odd look. “But after what he almost did to you…how could you bring yourself to face him again?”
Bolin cocks his head to the side, uncertain of what she’s getting at. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly be happy about it…but that’s what friends do, Korra. They take care of each other. Me and Mako and Asami…we’re your friends.”
Korra visibly deflates at the mention of his brother’s girlfriend.
Bolin’s not an idiot. He’s seen the way Korra looks at Mako when she thinks no one else is watching. She always wears the same heartbreakingly vulnerable expression, gaze locked on the older boy, longing and lost. Mako never notices, but Bolin always does.
He wonders if she’s fully admitted it to herself, yet. Korra’s fond of presenting a stiff upper lip to the world, and to Mako in particular. Perhaps her denial extends inward, too.
“But they didn’t come to offer me backup. You did,” she points out, matter-of-factly. “Only you.”
“Oh. Well…Mako wasn’t here when I heard the news on the radio. I don’t think he even knew about it. If he did, I’m sure he would have come!” Bolin exclaims, hoping to cheer her up.
Korra’s gaze bores into him, unflinching and eerily hollow. Bolin’s never seen her like this, completely drained of the infectious energy that makes her presence so magnetic.
“I’ve been going over and over it in my head,” she says, finally. “You would be crazy to even consider facing Amon after what he almost did to you. And your gift from the other day…that cupcake must have cost you a fortune.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say it cost a fortune—”
“And I keep coming to the same conclusion,” Korra plows on. “You like me. Don’t you.”
Bolin’s heart leaps into his throat.
“Of course I like you!” he exclaims, acutely aware of his voice cracking on that last syllable. “You’re smart and funny and a great bender, you’re the perfect addition to our team and you have a polar bear-dog. What’s not to like?”
“No.” Korra shakes her head. “You like-like me.”
Bolin’s never been afraid to tell a girl he liked her before. Grand romantic confessions have always come so easily to him; perhaps a little too easily, now that he really thinks about it. When there’s nothing to lose, it’s easy to take the ultimate risk.
With Korra, there’s everything to lose. Bolin knows that he would be content to never hold her in his arms, never run his fingers through her hair, never go to sleep with her head pillowed on his chest or wake up with her body curled snugly against his—so long as she remains his friend. He just wants to be near her, to support her and make her laugh and, yeah, to fight at her side in the many battles she’ll inevitably face as the Avatar. He can do that as a friend, just as easily as he could as a lover. If she can forget about his confession, if nothing between them changes…Bolin would be content with that.
But what if she can’t forget? What if the very thought of him liking her in that way makes her feel so uncomfortable, so totally grossed out, that she never speaks to him again? What then?
Bolin gulps. She knows. Might as well fess up to it.
“Yeah,” he admits, voice embarrassingly unsteady. “Yeah, I do.”
Korra bites her bottom lip, and says nothing.
Bolin twiddles his thumbs.
Bolin taps his feet on the floor.
Bolin bobs his head to some imaginary beat.
“Soooo,” he says, putting an end to the most awkward silence of all time. “How do you…feel…about…that?”
Korra flicks her gaze away from him, scanning the room. “Mako’s not here?”
Thrown by the abrupt change of subject, Bolin takes a moment or two to recover. “Uh, no. He’s out with Asami. I’m kinda surprised he’s not back yet, actually.”
“Do you want to spar?” Korra asks, randomly.
“I—what? It’s the middle of the night! You should be resting, not sparring—”
“You’re right. I’ll just go.” Korra pushes herself up off the cot and heads toward the door.
“No no no, that’s not what I meant,” Bolin says quickly, standing too. “It’s just…first you break down my door in the middle of the night, then you force me to admit that I’m completely crazy about you, then you ask me to spar? I’m sorry, but I’m a little confused!”
“Sorry,” Korra mumbles.
Under normal circumstances, Bolin wouldn’t hesitate to put his arms around Korra, to offer physical solace in addition to verbal support. He’s always been that way: open and demonstrative, the inversion of his brother’s reserved stoicism.
Now, though, some newfound sense of self-consciousness stops him from touching Korra at all. He doesn’t like feeling this way—lost and confused and worried about the uncharacteristically somber girl at his side.
“What happened tonight, Korra?” he urges, softly. “Did he hurt you?”
The look Korra gives him is almost enough to make Bolin sprint out into the night and issue a challenge of his own to Amon. She draws a long, shaky breath. “He ambushed me. There were dozens of chi-blockers there, waiting.” Bolin splutters, rage temporarily interfering with his ability to speak. “Honestly,” Korra continues, interrupting his incoherent gurgling noises, “I—I don’t really want to talk about it. If I talk about it, I’ll just cry again.”
The thought of Korra crying makes Bolin’s heart ache. He shakes his head, forcing himself to calm down. Korra’s here and alive and she still has her bending—that’s enough. More than enough. “We don’t have to talk about it. I’ll do whatever you need me to do, anything to help you feel better.”
The look Korra gives him makes his heartbeat speed up. They’re standing closer together than they were a minute ago—had he moved, or had she?—and Bolin can smell the seawater still clinging to her skin, wild and clear and brilliant blue.
“Whatever I need, huh?” she whispers, and her eyelids flutter shut. She leans in, slowly, with extreme care and unmistakable purpose.
When she kisses him, her lips are cool and soft.
Bolin’s first thought is, I didn’t brush my teeth before falling asleep tonight.
Bolin’s second thought is, This is wrong.
“K-Korra,” he stammers, pulling away. “We shouldn’t. You’re in a really vulnerable place right now…I am, too. We’re not making the—”
Korra cuts him off. “Who cares? So what if we’re both feeling vulnerable? I know I want this.” She closes in on him again, invading his personal space. When she speaks, he can feel her breath ghosting over his lips. “I need this.”
Bolin swallows.
Korra kisses him again. It’s less perfunctory this time; her lips slide slowly over his, sensual and persuasive, and when she breathes a shaky little sigh into his mouth, Bolin’s heart skips a beat.
“Please,” she breathes, “please,” cups his cheek with a trembling hand, lightly presses her lips to his again and again. She runs her other hand up his chest, hungry and insistent. His heart pounds against his ribcage, thrilling to her touch; he wonders if she can feel it.
“Okay,” he whispers against her lips, “it’s okay,” and he rubs his hands up and down her back, desperate to ease the palpable tension in her body. Spirits, she feels good, better than he could have ever imagined, an intoxicating blend of muscle and curves.
He’s wanted this for so long, since the first day he saw her—no, since before he saw her, some latent, primal part of him crying out for what he’d never felt but hoped to one day feel. She’s like some blazing star that he can’t help plummeting toward, and Bolin dimly acknowledges how utterly screwed he is.
She moans softly into his mouth, and he feels a certain part of his body twitch in response. He runs his tongue along her bottom lip and she gasps, parting her lips and returning the favor, eagerly if not expertly. Bolin flicks his tongue against hers, lazily, trying to keep things at a slower pace than she clearly intends to set. She moans again, louder this time, the sound reverberating through his body and causing blood to pool between his legs in earnest.
Her hands slip beneath his undershirt, and Bolin flinches at how cold they are. “You’re freezing,” he murmurs, dragging her over to his cot without breaking contact. They lay down so that they’re facing one another, and Bolin pulls a blanket over them, completely shutting out the moonlight.
Things heat up quickly after that. Korra’s lips and tongue immediately find his, hot and demanding. Her hands resume their ministrations beneath his shirt, skittering across the hard plains of his stomach with voracious enthusiasm. The rational part of Bolin’s brain regrets the speed at which this is progressing, wishes he could spend all night worshiping every inch of Korra’s body; the hedonistic part of his brain is happy to go as fast as she wants.
Korra slips a knee between his legs, and stars explode behind Bolin’s eyelids. The blanket is doing a fantastic job at insulating all the heat generated by their movement, and Bolin feels dizzy and over-stimulated and painfully aroused.
Suddenly, Korra’s lips and hands vanish and Bolin’s world is no longer doused in darkness; he blinks, eyes re-adjusting to the moonlight that fills the room, and finds her hovering over him. His hands instinctively grip her hips as she settles atop his waist, straddling him. Then, in one fluid motion, Korra crosses her arms, grips each side of her tunic, and tugs it up and over her head.
Bolin stares.
He can’t help it; she’s so fierce and wild and beautiful like this, wet hair hanging loose around her face, smooth brown skin tinted moonlight-silver, full breasts peaking tantalizingly over their tightly-wound wrappings.
Korra must see something in his expression that makes her pause. “Are you…is this the first time you’ve done this?”
“Um,” Bolin manages, mouth dry. “Yeah, actually.”
“Oh.” Korra lays the palms of her hands flat on Bolin’s stomach, hesitant. “Me, too.”
“Are you sure…” he begins.
Korra leans down, kissing him softly. “There’s no one I’d rather be doing this with,” she whispers. Her lips flutter over his cheek, down to his neck. Bolin breathes in deeply, attempting to center himself. He doesn’t know if he believes her; he doesn’t think he cares. She’s like some great tidal wave, threatening to sweep him into oblivion.
Korra’s kisses grow bolder. She sucks his earlobe into her mouth, laves her tongue experimentally over it. Bolin bites back a surprised yelp; he had no idea such an obscure body part could be so sensitive. She releases his earlobe to reposition her mouth, breathing in and out—and Bolin does yelp this time, her hot breath shooting into his ear, down through his stomach and straight to his dick.
Korra pulls back, staring at him; her eyes are wide, her mouth slack and glistening wet from her efforts.
Then she rolls her hips, and Bolin nearly expires.
“Oh, woah,” he thinks he says, but he can’t really be sure because his brain has officially stopped functioning. Korra grinds down on him again, harder this time, and Bolin experiences a moment of primal fear because there is a very real possibility that he is about to come in his pants.
“Korra,” he groans, and Korra says nothing, just continues to roll her hips, up and down over the length of his straining cock. Bolin forces his eyes to stay open, not wanting to miss a second of this—
And then Korra reaches her hand down her pants, throws her head back, and there’s nothing Bolin can do to prevent his climax from ripping through him, sudden and quick and devastating.
Eyes clamped shut, he allows himself a few private moments to bask in the comedown. Pure, unparalleled bliss spreads through every inch of his body, turning muscle to mush.
When he finally forces his eyes open he finds Korra still hovering above him, frozen in place.
“I am so, so sorry,” he croaks.
“It’s…it’s ok.”
“You’re just so incredible…you make me really, really…ah, excited.” His voice is thick and he doesn’t quite know what he’s saying and this is officially the most embarrassing moment of his life.
“Do you…do you mind if I…keep going?”
Whatever he had expected her to say next, it certainly wasn’t that. Bolin’s jaw drops open and, in spite of the odds, his cock twitches with renewed interest.
He gulps. “No. No, I definitely would not mind that.”
Korra lets out a relieved little sigh, eyelids fluttering closed. Her hand stirs beneath her pants, and if Bolin quiets his breathing he can actually hear the soft, slick noises that accompany her strokes. Slick, wet, delicious noises that reveal just how turned on she is.
Yeah, his cock is definitely interested.
Sitting up fully, Bolin lays a hand over Korra’s busy arm, stilling it. She opens her eyes.
“Can I help?” he asks, heart pounding.
Korra licks her lips and backs off his lap, and for one wild moment Bolin is certain that he’s ruined everything. But then she scoots closer to him and turns around so that her back is pressed flush against his chest. He feels a little apprehensive about the position, but then Korra reaches back to grab his hand, guides it around her waist and down the front of her pants, and Bolin stops questioning everything.
She’s incredibly wet, and hot, and Bolin furrows his brow in concentration as he strokes two fingers experimentally.
His “lady’s man” persona isn’t a ruse, exactly; he’s never been one to ignore an interesting, beautiful woman, and in his opinion most women are interesting and beautiful in one way or another. But when it comes to sex, Bolin’s never felt comfortable enough with anyone to go beyond making out.
With Korra, his own comfort level’s never been an issue—he’s just worried about his ability to please her. As his fingers slide over the folds of her sex, exploring, he finds a small, raised nub just above her entrance. When he brushes up against it, Korra drops her head back onto his shoulder, letting out a pleased little whimper.
Bolin’s cock throbs against the curve of her ass, and it’s all he can do to stop himself from grinding up against it. He wants this to be all about her. His fingers concentrate on the little nub that made Korra whimper like that, rubbing in gentle, methodical circles. She’s practically hyperventilating now, moaning with abandon, and Bolin discovers the reasoning behind this particular position when Korra grips his arm and grinds herself down on his hand.
He can’t believe how wet she is. He can smell her sex from over her shoulder, heady and mouth-watering, and suddenly Bolin remembers a tattered “adult” magazine he once found hidden in Mako’s pillowcase. One of the illustrations had depicted a man using his tongue to pleasure a woman between her legs.
Struck by inspiration, Bolin removes his saturated fingers from below Korra’s waistband. She makes a frustrated little noise at the interruption, opening her mouth to protest, but Bolin beats her to the punch.
“I wanna try something,” he murmurs into her ear, pleased when he feels her skin erupt in goosebumps. “I saw it in a magazine, once.”
“Does it involve you touching me in any way?” Korra replies testily, wiggling her ass against the prominent bulge in his slacks. Bolin’s eyes roll into the back of his head.
“Y-yeah,” he stutters.
“Then I think it’s safe to assume that I’ll like it.” She turns toward him, shooting him her trademark pout.
Utterly charmed, Bolin kisses her once on the lips. “Lie back,” he murmurs. Korra readily complies.
Positioning himself over her, Bolin pauses to marvel at the vision laid out beneath him. Korra’s bare, toned stomach rises and falls with her labored breathing, catching the moonlight. His heart contracts unexpectedly, and suddenly he’s hit with the devastating certainty that he would be perfectly happy to spend the rest of eternity like this, just looking at her.
He leans down and kisses her stomach, trailing his lips lightly over her bellybutton toward the waistband of her pants, making her squirm. He glances up; she’s watching his every move, eyes hooded and inscrutable.
“Bend your knees,” he prompts.
Korra obeys, and Bolin slowly tugs her pants down past her hips, over her knees and off her legs completely. Starting at the ankle, he trails wet kisses up her left leg. Korra’s breathing is alarmingly erratic now, and when he sucks gently on the supple skin of her inner thigh, she lets out a long, low keen.
“Please,” she gasps, “please, please,” jerks her hips up into the air. Bolin places his mouth on her soaked undergarment, approximating the location of the magical little nub, and blows hot air from deep within his chest.
She wails.
Her scent is infinitely more intoxicating from such close range, and he removes her undergarment quickly, the need to taste her negating his earlier resolution to make this last as long as possible. Her sex is dark, slightly swollen from their combined attention and crowned by downy black hair. Bolin thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful.
He starts at her entrance, licking tentatively at the glistening folds, enjoying the way her sweet, slightly tangy juices coat his tongue. Korra groans incoherently, and that groan morphs into a full-blown scream when Bolin strokes his tongue upward, finding the little nub. He flicks his tongue over it, slowly at first, then faster and with greater pressure.
At this rate, it won’t be long before his neck cramps up from the awkward angle. Bolin couldn’t care less. The noises Korra’s making are driving him out of his mind, and when he adds a finger to the mix and Korra grinds down on it, growling, Bolin’s free hand flies down to grip his cock, still sticky from his earlier orgasm. He pushes a finger inside her, slowly spreading her apart, imagining that suffocatingly tight heat pulsating around his cock instead.
He feels like he’s flying and dying at the same time, like heaven could come crashing down around them and he wouldn’t care, or even notice. “You’re perfect,” he gasps, “you’re perfect to me,” and she heaves a great sob, ecstasy and agony all rolled into one, and Bolin pumps his finger in and out of her, flicks his tongue against her sweet spot over and over again, ruts into his own hand harsh and fast.
Korra cries out once, sharp and piercing, and suddenly Bolin’s finger slides in with remarkably increased ease. She fists a chunk of his hair and yanks, grinding down on his face, and that’s enough to send him over the edge. Waves of pleasure stack higher and higher and just when he thinks he physically cannot handle any more buildup the waves crest.
And existence as Bolin knows it is obliterated.
***