Chapter Text
“I need you to take my virginity,” Aang says quietly, and Katara chokes on air.
“What?” She stops flicking through Netflix on the TV, remote hanging out of her hand in midair. She wonders for a second if it was just a movie trailer on autoplay, if she heard the words correctly. A horn honks outside through the open window, and someone shouts, and Katara doesn’t understand how the world is still moving when she herself is so… still. Frozen.
Aang repeats himself, kind of, and Katara can’t bring herself to look at him.
“I think that you should take my virginity,” he says, slightly louder than earlier. Katara gently places the remote on the coffee table and places the back of her hand to her head. Is she feverish? Is that what’s going on? She doesn’t feel very feverish.
“I’m not sure I heard you correctly,” Katara replies unsteadily, and Aang sighs a little, which seems kind of unfair. He can’t say something ridiculous, something absolutely nonsensical and then sit there and expect Katara to understand it immediately.
“I don’t really know how else to say it, Katara, I–”
“You’re a virgin?” she interrupts, and his mouth falls shut. She didn’t know that about him; had no idea.
Katara had just… assumed that he’d slept around before. Not a lot, but… she’d seen him with girls, seen him disappear into corners to make out. Had tried not to get all weird and jealous and standoffish with them and then had failed terribly, but it’s because she was pretty sure that they’d had sex with Aang before. The idea of it, of Aang on other girls, around them, inside of them—it was too much for Katara to bear. Normally, she just blocked it out entirely.
But he’s saying now that he doesn’t have sex, that he’s never had it before. It’s a little heady, really, the sense of victory that Katara feels. A little ridiculous. She brings herself to look at him finally, finally, and he’s staring down at his lap, cross-legged on the couch and facing Katara. His face as far as she can see is slowly turning red, embarrassed at the whole situation. She doesn’t know if he’s smiling or frowning or if his eyes are doing that thing where they go big and wide and he looks like a kicked puppy, which makes her melt every single time.
“I– yeah, I am,” he says, and blushes further. “And I’m a little sick of it, and I was wondering if—and you can say no, I swear—if you’d take my virginity. Have sex with me, like, once and I can get over it.”
“Get over it?” she repeats, the hand on her forehead pressing against other bits of her exposed skin rapidly, trying to see if she’s feverish anywhere, if maybe her forehead was lying but her chest can tell the truth. It’s a hot Summer night—she has a lot of exposed skin. Maybe this is heatstroke! Anything makes more sense than this, than her best friend asking her if she could take his virginity, even though he’s perfectly handsome and also the Avatar and plenty of girls fawn over him enough.
Aang nods and Katara wants to die a little bit.
“I know it’s a weird ask–”
“Understatement of the fucking century,” Katara mutters, and Aang stills.
“I–” he begins, and she suddenly feels terrible. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice quiet. He still won’t look at her. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s… that was unfair of me.”
Another car horn honks from the window and Katara is wondering what the fuck is going on outside that could possibly justify interrupting this conversation.
“No, Aang,” she says, and then stops. Starts again. “It’s– you’re okay. It’s okay that you asked me that, I just– I think I’m just trying to catch up.” Understatement of the fucking century. Again. Maybe she should make a list. “Why– why are you asking me for this? And why now?”
Aang keeps staring at his lap and Katara groans in frustration, needs to see his face; she’s known it for so long, knows every emotion the second it flashes across his eyes. She hates that he’s hiding it from her now.
She shifts to sit on her knees, facing him instead of the TV, and reaches forward and grabs his chin with her hand, lifting his head to meet her eyes. Aang makes a slightly choked sound, and she pulls away immediately, apologetic, hands flying to her own lap.. He’s doing that damn puppy-dog thing, because of course he is.
“Sorry, I– sorry,” she tries. “I just– I need you to look at me during this conversation.”
Aang nods, and swallows, and Katara’s eyes follow its path down his throat. She’s dizzy again. Wants to look up heatstroke symptoms. His voice grounds her a little bit.
“Katara… I’ve never had sex before, and– and I’m not scared or anything, but… I don’t know what I’m doing. At all. And I just thought… Maybe you could teach me? Or familiarize me or something, because…” he trails off at that, puts his head in his hands. “This is so embarrassing.”
“This would be so you could… fuck other girls?” Katara asks, knowing that she was completely missing the point. The familiar tendrils of jealousy creep up again. She slaps them away, tells herself that she has no right to be doing all of that. She still wants him to answer.
“No, I– well,” he stammers, hands moving away, and she doesn’t even have it in her to feel pissed off. He’s so damn cute. “It’s not like that, not really, I just… I want to learn. And also I read somewhere that maybe sexual relations could help unblock something, and also you’re my best friend and there’s no one I trust more than you, and—” he cuts himself off to take a breath. Katara wishes she had a mirror right now, wants to see what expression she could possibly be making. She also wishes that he would stop saying the word sex. It sounded a little obscene out of his mouth.
“Okay.”
What?
“What?” Aang reads her mind. She feels a little shocked by her own statement, but…
Aang’s her best friend, right? He said so himself. And maybe she stopped seeing him as a friend a while ago, remembers when his body filled out and he hit that damn growth spurt that made him tower above her, thinks about him sometimes when she’s alone at night; but… he’s her best friend. Friends help each other. A favor here, another there. And sure, Katara’s been stupidly, embarrassingly in love with him for a long, long time, and is terrified to do anything about it, but… it’s just sex.
What’s a little sex between friends? Best friends?
“Okay,” Katara repeats. “I mean… it’s for your bending, right? And you trust me?” Aang nods dumbly. “Then I’ll help you. Teach you.” Take his virginity, or whatever.
“Sifu Katara all over again,” he jokes terribly, and his face falls. “I don’t know why I said that.” Katara laughs a little, and it’s still awkward right now, but… fuck. She really does love him. It’s crazy.
“Don’t call me that during sex,” Katara says, smiling, and Aang nods.
“We’re having sex,” he says, a little hushed.
“We are,” she agrees. Feels like she’s dreaming, really, still can’t believe he’s never had sex. But Katara has done casual sex before, and this was no different. Aang just wants it once, wants to get it over with, wants to learn. She can do that for him. She’s taught him things before. This didn’t have to be different. Where do you want to start?” she asks, and shifts her knees to be closer to him, and Aang chokes.
“We’re doing this now?”
Katara looks at him, taken aback slightly.
“I mean… Did you want to schedule it?”
“No, I– I just didn’t realize–” he splutters, and Katara is swept up in fondness again.
“Aang, it’s okay!” she reassures him, and wonders why, exactly, she’s doing the reassuring here. “I just figured that since we’re here already… we might as well?”
“Oh,” he says, and she laughs a little as his face changes, flickering through emotions. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, sounds good.” He nods perfunctorily, bracing himself, and she scoots herself a little closer to him, still on her knees.
“Where do you want to start?” she asks, voice low.
“I, uh– I don’t really know,” Aang replies sheepishly, and Katara grins.
“Then we’ll take it slow. Kissing first,” she says, then pauses. “You’ve, um– you’ve kissed people before, right?” she asks, and he narrows his eyes a little.
“Yes, Katara. I’ve kissed people before.” She rolls her eyes.
“I didn’t ask for this attitude.” Before Aang can reply with something else, before he can call Katara out on her bullshit, she brings her hand to cup his face. He lets her, shuts up entirely. His lips part, a little bit, and Katara can’t stop staring at them. Her tongue darts out to wet her own, and she feels a little bit silly, unfathomably conscious of where she is and what she’s doing. “I’m going to kiss you now,” she says, hushed, and Aang just nods. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move his hands or touch her or anything, but it’s fine, because she’s here to teach him. Tell him how to do it.
Katara leans forward and presses her lips to his, and suddenly everything is a lot and she doesn't know what to do with it. Aang is moving against her gently, kissing her back, and he’s warm and soft and persistent, and it’s good. He’s a good kisser, and Katara is a little jealous that he’s gotten this far already, enough that he knows what he’s doing. She pulls away.
“Okay?” she asks.
“Okay,” he says, and leans back into her, wanting more. She doesn’t stop him, parting her lips this time, letting the kiss intensify. He tastes bitter, like green tea, and she savors it, pulling him into her by the back of his head and grabbing his hand and placing it on her waist. The angle’s still a little awkward, but she keeps pulling, unfolding her legs and guiding him down until he’s on top of her, kissing her into the couch, one knee between both of hers.
“Touch me,” she instructs when they pull away for air again, and Aang reddens. He looks slightly terrified, slightly kiss-drunk, and Katara is trying very hard to take it slow, to not flip him over and pull his pants down and ride him into oblivion.
“Where?” Katara grins a little and guides his hands, presses on the one at her waist and moves the other one up to cup her tit over her tube top. Aang stares down at it, and then tries to move, tries to be respectful, and Katara doesn’t let him.
“Stay there,” she commands, and pulls him in to kiss her again. “Do what feels right.”
He does, keeps moving his lips against her, changing angles and approaches and turning the kiss into something messy and wet and sloppy, and then he groans into her mouth.
Katara loves it. Loves the sounds he’s making and the way he’s moving and his hand on her tit, thumb beginning to shift over her nipple, pebbling under fabric and his skin.
She pushes his head away and begins to kiss down his neck, ignoring his noise of protest so that she can find the spots where he’s sensitive, where he gets marked easily. Her nails are digging into his shirt and she’s getting possessive again, but she doesn’t really care because Aang’s asking her if he can pull her top down and his fingers are running across the upper seams of the fabric, and she’s nodding, mouth still pressed to that spot under his ear that’s making him moan so prettily.
Aang pulls her top down in one smooth motion, then sits up on his knees, looking down at her, head bowed. He’s on top of her and she’s the one splayed out, half-naked, and she’s still in control, which feels… heady and strange and wonderful. He’ll do what she asks. She can see it in his eyes.
“Katara,” he says, and she loves her name in his mouth, how reverently he says it. “You look…” he swallows. “Really good. Really, really good.”
They’re just friends. Friends compliment each other. He’s called her pretty before, she’s sure, when she’d dress up to go on a date or ask him how she looked in the new skirt she got that made her ass look fantastic.
“Thank you,” she says, because she doesn’t know what else to say in the face of the raw desire crossing his expression. She looks down and he’s hard in his pants, which is insane because all they’ve done so far is kiss. “Have you… have you ever gone this far with someone?” Aang shakes his head. “Are these the first tits you’ve seen?” she teases, and he reddens instead of answering, which is a yes, a victorious yes. Katara sits up a little bit, still leaning on the armrest of the couch, and tilts her head, considering. “Take your shirt off.”
Aang listens to her wordlessly and throws the fabric to the ground, and Katara takes a second to admire him shirtless, all filled-out and broad and muscular. She loves his shoulders the most, the expressiveness of them. He’s hunched over slightly, waiting for her next command, waiting for her to tell him to move, what to do next. He’s staring down at her tits.
“Do you want to… suck on them?” she asks awkwardly, and cringes. “That sounds weird,” she corrects, but Aang’s already nodding hungrily and leaning down, putting his mouth to a nipple and wrapping his lips around it. Katara’s hand wraps around his skull and pulls him further into her, and she’s struck again by how good it feels, how good he looks, eyes darting up to glance at her face, to see if she’s enjoying herself. His free hand is teasing at her other breast, and Katara wonders how, exactly, he’s figuring all this out if he’s never done this before.
Fucking prodigies. She snorts at the thought and Aang pulls away to look at her, mouth wet and messy.
“Am I doing okay?” he asks, and Katara melts a little.
“You’re doing very good,” she reassures him, and he grins a little as he moves his mouth to her other tit. Katara lets out a low moan, and he returns it, lips pressed to her. “You like doing that?” she asks breathlessly, and Aang nods against her. She pulls him off of her, drags him up towards her mouth, kisses him senseless again because she just can’t take it anymore.
One hand crawls down his front, reaches where he’s hard between his legs, and squeezes. Aang groans, lurching forward and into Katara’s shoulder. He looks at her desperately.
“I– I didn’t– I–” he stammers, and she grins.
“What are you trying to say, Aang?” she asks him calmly.
“I don’t know,” he says, eyes blown wide. She wants his eyes on her forever, wants him to keep staring at her like this. She’ll keep her hand here for as long as it takes.
Katara presses his lips to her again, swallows each groan as she palms at him through his pants, and then lets out her own sounds when he kisses down her neck again, back towards her tits.
“I like these,” he murmurs, taking one into his mouth again, and Katara laughs a little bit.
“You’re being so good,” she says, heat coiling in her stomach, and Aang grins up at her as he begins to kiss lower and lower. One of his hands moves up her thigh, and he stops when his fingers are just an inch away from where she wants them, right at the seam of her shorts.
She has to teach him how to do that, she realizes, and feels a bit lightheaded, a bit selfish. She loves his hands, has to stop herself from staring at them whenever he’s bending or cooking or doing anything at all, really. She’s pictured them inside her before, and the possibility of it actually happening is almost too much for her to bear.
Katara glances down and thinks that it might be the same for Aang. He wants her, evidently, at least for now. Would she be so terrible if she took advantage of that?
“Katara,” he pants, nosing his way down her stomach and towards her center. Her tube top has been pushed into a thin band right under her tits, and it looks ridiculous, but it doesn’t matter. Her thighs clench a little as Aang kisses across her skin, then looks up at her, blinking. “Can I? Please?” He’s asking so sweetly, and he’s looking up at her with those puppy-dog eyes, and his hands are gripping her thighs and Katara knows exactly what he’s asking for, and she wants it, of course she does, but this is about him.
“You don’t– have you ever?” she asks, and he shakes his head no.
“But I want to,” he pleads, “I want to learn,” and Katara thinks she deserves medals and awards and accolades for resisting, for turning down the sight of Aang’s head between her legs.
“Next time,” she breathes, and he groans against her stomach and it travels straight down to her core.
“Katara,” he whines, and she almost relents, almost lets him eat her out clumsily and enthusiastically—and she knows he’d be enthusiastic, that he'd savor it. She could picture it; him staring up at her from between her thighs, his strong hands digging into her flesh and mouth pressed to her cunt, his hips moving wildly against the couch, searching for friction and desperate to bring her to her peak, to please her. She wonders, deliriously, if he would come just like that; untouched and in his pants, rutting against couch cushions. She almost wants to find out.
Almost.
“No,” she says emphatically, and pulls him back up towards her. “Next time,” she whispers into his mouth, and he hums.
There probably won’t be a next time. She doesn’t dwell on it.
“But you can use your hands,” she says instead, “I’ll tell you what to do.” Aang nods enthusiastically, hands flying to the waistband of her shorts. He looks at her, waiting for permission to pull them down, and Katara lifts her hips a little bit, helps him; pulls off the remaining band of her top where it was gathered around her waist. She’s left in nothing but blue cotton panties that definitely have a wet patch in them, and she darts a glance towards Aang, who’s staring down at her hungrily. Worried, too, and Katara pulls him down to kiss her again.
“Are you nervous?” she asks gently.
“A little bit,” Aang murmurs, “But I want to learn. Want to make you feel good.” He’s so eager and it’s sending Katara reeling, leaving her lightheaded. She should end things right here, not take them too far.
“Okay,” she says instead of telling him to stop. She grabs his wrist and spreads her legs a little and guides him to where she’s wet and warm and gushing, and he makes a choked sound as his fingers press against her, right over her panties.
“Oh.” Katara agrees entirely. Oh.
“Move slowly,” she instructs, slightly breathless. Aang’s breathing heavily too, and she knows he’s pent up, that he’s desperate for release, so many new sensations occurring to him. She’ll deal with it soon, she promises herself, but Aang’s moving his fingers up and down her cunt gently and softly and she’s a bit too distracted by that to think about anything else. She tries pushing into him, getting some more friction, but it doesn’t work. She groans a little in frustration and moves his hand off of her, and Aang frowns, brows knitted together.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, and Katara shakes her head as she’s swinging her legs over to the floor, standing up to take off her panties. Suddenly, Aang’s staring at her open-mouthed and she’s naked in front of him, and she doesn’t even have it in her to feel nervous anymore because now she’s on a mission. She has so much to teach him, and they’re getting nowhere.
“Sit back,” she commands, and Aang listens to her immediately, planting his feet on the floor and settling his back against the couch. He lets out a small noise when her hands travel to the waistband of his pants, then shuts up immediately when Katara glares at him, lifting his hips silently so she can pull his pants and underwear down in one swift move.
His cock springs free and Katara gasps a little bit at the size of him, at how he’s leaking, all desperate and hard and needy. She wants him in her mouth immediately, but… not today.
“You want to learn how to fuck me, right?” she asks and Aang whimpers pathetically. She’s a little obsessed with how needy he apparently is. She crawls into his lap, straddling him, and he lets out another sad and desperate sound, hands immediately coming to her hips, her waist, large and encompassing her.
They aren’t in the right place.
“You have to– to open me up first,” Katara instructs, grabbing one hand and moving it to where she’s wet and warm and waiting. Her cunt clenches around air, and she wills herself to calm down a little bit, breathe through the desire.
She guides his fingers through her folds, and they’re gentle as ever, his hand as familiar as her own. She applies more pressure, and her clit catches on his palm, and she lets out a low noise, stares down at Aang’s big eyes where they’re stuck on her face, watching her expressions.
“Look down, Aang, watch what you’re doing to me,” she commands, and he listens, he always listens to her, which alone is enough to drive her insane. She’s sure she’s far past that already, hips beginning to grind against the callouses on Aang’s palm and breaths coming short and fast.
“You’re really wet,” he observes, a little bit breathless, and Katara laughs, still moving.
“Yeah, yeah I am,” she agrees, arms draped over his shoulders. “Means I’m really into this.” Aang just nods a little bit, jaw dropped open as he keeps staring at where his hand meets her center, and she kisses him sweetly, makes him look into her eyes.
“Hold on,” she says and he stills. “Take two fingers and– and slowly put them inside.” She feels a little ridiculous guiding him through these steps, but… he’s doing so well for her. So good. Exactly what she’s been dreaming of.
“Inside?” Aang asks, choked, and Katara nods, guides his already-slick fingertips to her entrance with one hand. “I don’t want to–”
“You won’t hurt me,” she reassures him, and moans as he dips inside of her slowly. “You have to move a little bit,” she instructs, and he does, slowly drags his fingers in and out of her, and it feels good, sure, but Katara needs more. “A little faster, baby, you have to open me up properly. Can’t take you otherwise; you’re too big.” Aang whines at her words, at the name baby, at the implication that she can’t take his cock. Katara notes it down, how he keeps getting all soft and big-eyed whenever she praises him. “You’re doing so good,” she says, checking her work. He lets out another whimper, hands moving faster, just the way she likes it. He curls his fingers slightly, and Katara groans, head falling forward onto his shoulder.
“Is that okay?” he asks her, and she nods against his skin, kisses into the crook of his neck because she doesn’t feel strong enough to reach anywhere else.
“Good,” she murmurs, and reaches down to wrap a hand around his cock. “You’re doing so well. My good boy.” Aang keens at that, at the sensation, and his fingers stop moving. Katara raises her head to look at him. Did she go too far? Did he not want that? “Was that too much?”
“No, it–” Aang struggles to pull himself together. His fingers are still inside of her, and Katara involuntarily grinds onto them, pushing them in deeper. “I– it’s okay,” he manages to get out. “I like– like when you call me that.” Katara kisses him again.
“Are you sure?” she asks, and he nods. “Then keep going, baby.”
He goes back to fingering her, and Katara keeps stroking his cock in long, slow passes, and reaches her other hand towards her clit as she begins to feel pressure build inside of her.
“You wanna make me come?” she whispers into his mouth, and at Aang’s answering whimper, she tells him to keep going, harder and faster, and she’s rubbing her clit in circles, so close, so close, and there– there!
She comes apart quickly, biting into Aang’s shoulder and hand stuttering along his length. She tells him how good he feels, and he keeps making sad little noises into her ear, and it keeps her going, helps her ride out the wave a little bit longer, until suddenly it’s all too much and she needs it to stop.
She pulls his fingers out of her and rests his hand back on her hip, his fingers damp against her skin, and kisses him softly, slowly.
“You did so good,” she tells him, and Aang smiles sweetly. “It’s your turn now.” Katara resumes stroking him, and marvels at the size of him in her hand, and Aang can’t stop staring at her hand wrapped around the length of him. He’s letting out soft, shallow breaths, and Katara knows that he’s really close, that just fingering her was enough to drive him insane. She wonders if he’ll come quickly when he’s inside her, if she’ll even be able to take all of him before it’s too much for him to bear, and the idea of it is making her dizzy.
“I think I’m going to ride you now,” she says, and Aang drops his head down onto her shoulder.
“Okay,” he says pathetically, and Katara lines herself up with his cock, slides the tip of it along her slit, revels in the sounds coming out of Aang as he’s getting used to the newness of it all. “Wait–” he jolts up, and Katara stills. “Condom?”
Katara frowns. “I don’t have any,” she explains, “but… I can’t get pregnant right now. And I’m clean. We should… we should be good.” She sees the hesitation in his eyes. “If you’re okay with it.”
“I am,” Aang says, and Katara sighs in relief. “I’m just worried about you.”
“Oh, baby,” Katara murmurs, lining him back up to her entrance. “Don’t worry about me.”
And then she’s sinking on to him, slowly, and he’s stretching her out wonderfully, and Aang’s staring up at her, eyes wide and pleading. She settles onto him gently and he’s babbling, words spilling out of his lips, saying that she feels so good and she can tell he’s trying desperately not to come right this second.
“You’re so–” Katara begins, hips shifting slightly, and Aang groans, head lolling forward onto her shoulder. “Big.” She starts rolling her hips a little bit, grinding against him, trying to find the right spot that makes her see stars, and there– there!
Aang’s panting into her mouth, loud and needy, and his hands are gripping tightly to her hips, fingers digging into flesh, and it feels good, feels so good.
“Katara, I–” he moans, hips bucking up involuntarily as she clenches her cunt, so full, presses one palm to his chest, rides him the way she’s dreamt of for so long.
“Yeah, baby?” she asks, feeling herself slowly come undone.
“Katara, I’m close,” he says, and she laughs in his face, at how eager he was to please her, to fuck her, and now, now he wants to come. He reddens slightly, in embarrassment, and she kisses his cheek, lips.
“Can you hold on for me?” she pants, and Aang attempts to nod.
“I’m trying,” he strains, breathing hot against her skin. Katara kisses him again, murmurs another good boy into his mouth, and then–
“Fuck– Katara,” Aang groans, and she feels him fill her up, come inside of her in hot spurts, hips bucking erratically and slamming into her. “I’m sorry,” he mutters as he keeps moving, keeps coming, “I’m– I’m sorry.” He stills, arms wrapped around Katara and head pressing into her shoulder. She runs her nails down his scalp, smiling at his release, at his apology, at how desperate he was to come.
“It’s okay.” She kisses the top of his head. “You’re okay, baby, you did good.”
Aang looks up at her, puppy-dog eyes brimming with tears.
“I’m sorry, I wanted– I told you–” Katara kisses him again.
“It’s okay,” she repeats. “You needed to come, it’s okay. You did well. Did what you needed.” She cups his face with her hands. “Was that good for you?”
“Yeah,” he says, breathless. “It was really, really good.”
“I’m glad,” she replies, kissing him deeply because she doesn’t ever want to stop, and then begins pulling herself off of him, because she has to. They’re both a mess, and Katara can feel cum spilling out of her as she stands up, and she feels terrible because Aang’s whimpering at the loss of touch, and as she’s pulling him off the couch and away to the shower, and then making him stand outside while she pees, it hits her: they’re just friends. Aang just came inside of her as a friend. And she’s still in love with him.
Katara’s head drops to her hands and she groans.
She cleans herself up and washes her hands and swings open the bathroom door, and Aang is still standing there, naked and waiting for her.
“We should probably talk,” she says, and Aang reaches for her face, kisses her deeply and reverently and soft and slow, the kind of kiss that feels like a confession, like a promise.
“What if we didn’t?” Aang murmurs against her lips.
Katara looks up at him, finding the question in his eyes.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Maybe we don’t have to.”
She kisses him back.