Work Text:
i.
Zuko is twenty-two years old, recently started grad school, and already has a position lined up at his emotionally distant father’s law firm.
Needless to say, Zuko is stressed out.
All he wants to do is go home, lie down face first in his quality mattress, and just exist. No thinking, no worrying, just complete nothingness to the point where his problems disappearing for an hour or five.
Hopefully, his roommate isn’t home so he can get a semblance of peace and quiet above the rumble and bumble of the city below their apartment.
Turning the key in the lock, he should’ve known that it was too good to be true, an empty apartment where he can finally be alone.
That isn’t to say that he dislikes Sokka’s sister. She simply feels the need to invade his living space at the most inconvenient of times, and almost always when Sokka isn’t home. Katara is friendly enough, but he doesn’t necessarily feel the need to be friends with her.
And he really isn’t in the mood to play the good host.
She’s on his couch, her feet curled under her and a thick book in her hands. Her thick hair is pulled back into a messy bun at her neck, and she looks completely at ease.
In his apartment.
He really does not have time for this.
Katara looks up when the door closes behind him, her smile slightly drooping. “Oh, I thought you’d be Sokka,” she says, and for some reason it annoys him.
“Yeah, well, I’m not. Sorry for the inconvenience,” he mutters back, stalking towards his bedroom.
Her brows furrow. “What’s your problem?” she sounds like a bratty teenager, which she kind of is, but that’s beside the point. “Do you want to talk about it?” she corrects, sounding nicer, more gentle, the voice she uses on Sokka when something doesn’t go right in one of his engineering classes.
Zuko thinks about it. He can storm into his room like an angst-riddled teen and sulk for hours since he isn’t home alone, or he can talk to Katara, mothering Katara, and try to feel better through verbal therapy.
He continues to walk to his room.
“Hey!” She calls out, and he can hear the soft padding of her socks following behind him. Zuko ignores her, and his hand is inches away from his bedroom’s doorknob when a small hand squeezes his shoulder and turns him around. “Why are you being such a jerk?” Katara asks, a furrow in her brow.
He leans his head back, looks at the ceiling, and groans. “Katara, I really don’t have time for this.”
“You know you can talk to me about it, right?”
He groans again and rubs his face. “Katara, look, I’ve had the longest day today, and I’m tired, so, no I kind of don’t want to talk to you about it.” He shrugs her hand off and turns back to his door.
“So you’re stressed? I can help with that, if you want.”
His hand freezes on the doorknob, and he chokes on nothing. “What?” he wheezes, begging for air to fill his lungs once more.
Katara turns him around again, slow and gentle, as if he was a scared, wounded animal, and dips her fingertips into his waistband. “I can help you. If you want me to.”
Zuko’s face heats up, because if he’s being honest with himself, he’s never thought of Katara more than as the sort of nuisance who randomly appears in his apartment and Sokka’s kid sister. He never thought of her as anything more, because that felt like overstepping boundaries.
Red-faced, he feels himself nodding his head. The smile she gives him is radiant, and he realizes that she’s actually very pretty when she isn’t hogging his couch space.
Katara comes into his space slowly, her hands settled on his hips. “Just relax,” she breathes, and her mouth sweeps across his jawline as her handles unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants.
His head rolled back when she lowers to her knees. He’s afraid to look down, because that would make this real and Zuko likes to think that denial can keep him alive for awhile longer
He can feel her breath on him, and he screws his eyes shut.
In retrospect, he should have considered the possibility of Sokka coming home. Zuko isn’t too sure that they can mend their friendship if he catches his roommate pressed up against the wall, pants rucked down his hips, with his beloved baby sister on her knees in front of him.
When she’s finished and he’s a standing pile of putty, she fixes his clothing and presses her lips to his cheek.
“T-thank you,” he stammers, and he still can’t look her in the eye. “I can, uh, help you out, if you want me to.”
Katara laughs, clear, and shakes her head. His eyes are drawn to the movement. “No, I’m okay. Consider it a freebie.” She pats his cheek with a grin and heads back into the living room. Zuko hears the front door open. “And tell Sokka to call me when he gets home,” she calls out.
The door closes, and Zuko slides to the floor.
ii.
Zuko can count on a single hand how many times luck turned in his favor. There was that one time in the seventh grade where he scored only because the goalie had an untied shoelace and tripped when he ran to block the ball. Then there was that one time he was in the kitchen and accidentally caught Azula sneaking back in the house. That led to a col war between the siblings, and that was better than the scathing, biting comments she’d usually send his way.
But this, this is something he’d never expected.
He presses his face into Katara’s neck and adjusts his hand over her mouth. She shifts in his lap, and he swallows a moan.
When he happened to come across her on his way back to the apartment with takeout, he only thought it was a common courtesy to invite her up rather than have her show up unannounced again.
He may have mentioned the meeting with his father and sister earlier in the day, and she is more than aware of the situation with his family. She promptly dragged him into his room and straddled him.
Not that he’s arguing.
Still, it feels kind of weird since they both are essentially still fully clothed, with the exception of his pants pushed down his hips. In her rush, she didn’t even bother to take off her underwear, choosing to push them aside instead.
So yeah, while he kind of wishes for more skin on skin contact, he isn’t going to complain about her “help.”
iii.
“Why me?” he asks when they’re lying in bed. He looks over at her, messy hair and finally undressed, and doesn’t think he’s seen anything better in his bed before.
“Hm?”
“Why’d you want to help me?” He gestures to their current state of undress.
Katara laughs and rolls over on her side, a curtain of brown hair falling over part of her face; she combs it back with her fingers. ”Because I wanted to,” she says, as though it’s the obvious answer. “I wanted to, and you let me.” She grins and swings a leg over his hips. “Sokka’s going to be gone at Suki’s for a few more hours. What do you want to do?” She bites her lip, and Zuko rolls her under his body.
“There’s a pretty good documentary on, if you want to watch that.”
“Shut up,” Katara laughs, and pulls his lips down to meet hers.
+1
Zuko opens the door to find Katara sprawled out on the couch. “Hey,” he greets and is met with a groan. “Are you okay?” He drops his bag on the floor and rounds the couch, takes a seat. His hand hovers over her body, and his mouth opens and closes a few times before he settles his hand on her back. “Do you, ah, do you want to talk about it?” His voice pitches on the last word, and he winces.
Katara giggles quietly. “Not really. This sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”
Zuko cracks a smile. “I can help, you know, if you want me to.” She rolls over at this. “Really, whatever you want. I more than owe you.”
Her smile is radiant, like the one that started it all. “Well, I think I want to have dinner. With you.” Her smile is shy, and he thinks that while he might not be in love with her, he thinks he could happen.
He leans down to press his lips to hers. “Yeah, we can do that.”