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There are boots sticking out of the snow.
The narrow alley is dark, illuminated only by faint, flickering streetlights and the sliver of a distant moon above. The boots themselves are recognizable even in the darkness: sealskin, fur-lined and as baggy as the pants that tuck into them. Familiar. As Mako approaches, dread coils in him, as he already seems to know what lies below when he kneels into the soft, cold powder.
His movements are mechanical, automatic, a familiar rhythm as though he has lived through this precise moment before. Mako doesn’t feel in control of his body as he begins to scoop at the snow with his bare hands, digging in with weak fingers that flush red and blanch white in turns. As he breaks through a layer of ice, pulling sharp chunks away and letting this nightmare unfold before him, he is simultaneously nauseated and not surprised by the grisly scene that is uncovered.
He knows the signs of a cold death, remembers the frostbite that marred the face of a nameless vagrant left forgotten in the streets, their skin waxen and turned a sickly gray-green. Rigor mortis stiffens the body in time, but perhaps it was simply the chill that turned their flesh to ice, freezing solid as hours or days passed and no one reached down to help them.
The boots and body he found back then didn't belong to someone he loved, and some deep, instinctive part of him already knows that this isn’t real. Still, he can’t stop himself – he has to dig her out. There is a gnawing pit in his stomach as he hopes against hope that it’s not her lovely face he will find. When he unveils her, his fingers brush against soft lips that have turned bluer than those sky-blue eyes, now lifeless and devoid of color entirely. Mako's breath catches in his throat, a desperate gasp that turns into a sob as he fumbles to grab and shake her awake.
Desperation claws at his chest, hot tears welling in his eyes when she doesn’t stir. He knew she wouldn't. The ice-covered stranger hadn’t woken up back then, either, in the same way his parents hadn’t.
The anguished cry that escapes him now is not the broken scream of a child, though it feels no different. He isn’t screaming for Bolin to look away. Even if their parents had died by fire and not ice, these dreams and the moments that inspired them always feel the same. Always end the same.
Mako jerks awake from the awful sound crawling up his throat, the horror from the dream ripping him from sleep in an instant. The force of it leaves him gasping, heart slamming against his ribcage as the room spins, adrenaline bursting through his veins. He’s not eight or nine years old anymore, not destitute in some forsaken corner of Republic City. He’s twenty-one and resting in his own home, teetering just on the edge of his worn sofa and struggling to breathe.
It’s not real, certainly, but the terror feels real enough. The bile rising in his throat proves real enough.
Maybe it’s liquor more than ghosts to blame for the way his stomach turns. His feet hit the floor before his mind catches up, stumbling toward the kitchen, retching without substance. His hands grip the cold metal edges of his sink as he tries to steady himself.
Other deaths flash through his mind as quick and sharp as lightning strikes. The armless waterbender he electrocuted – her body was soft when he nudged and rolled her onto her back, not stiff like ice. Ming-Hua had a gaunt face, a scratchy voice. She was slim and frail with dark eyes. Nothing like Korra, who still lives. Ming-Hua died by his hand so Korra could live.
There’s water on his face, he thinks. Mako wipes at his cheeks and only belatedly realizes that tears from the dream still linger, his fingers numb as if still digging through the snow.
Korra may be surrounded by white now, but she’s not half-buried in a Republic City alley. She’s safe, cradled in the compound in the South Pole half a world away, surrounded and protected by the White Lotus, healing at her own pace. Growing stronger every day, he hopes and sometimes prays. Mako is not the faithful sort, and doesn’t believe spirits can intercede in such ways, but he has faith in her. In whatever path she’s taking now.
Breaths shudder out from Mako’s chest as he tries to collect himself. Vaguely, he’s aware of movement in the bedroom, a shuffling of fabric and a creak of bed springs as someone draws themself off of the mattress. He doesn’t have to struggle to remember who’s with him; with Bolin away, there’s no one else lingering in his life, save for the one person who has yet to leave.
Trying to clear his expression, he’s caught mid-motion when she finds him. As if wiping his face could hide anything from her.
“Hey,” Asami whispers, her features colored by newfound concern. She's wrapped herself up in his blanket, her bare shoulders visible in the darkness as she comes closer. Her touch is feather-light as fingers trace the tense line of his back. “What happened?”
Mako’s throat is parched, the bitter taste of alcohol churning and mixing with the remnants of his dream. His tongue flicks over dry lips as he tries to piece together why they’re here, why they’re together in the apartment he barely lives in anymore.
Today was a holiday. Important and not joyous. They’d shared drinks earlier, as they often do, entertaining one another if just to escape the weight of the rest of their lives. Then they went home together to ease their stress and sadness further.
“You were sleepy,” he rasps, his voice rough until he clears his throat. “I let you have the bed.”
She gives him a strange look. Her hand lingers on his back, trailing lower before slipping away. “I meant the screaming,” she clarifies. “Was that a nightmare?”
Mako takes a deep breath. His fingers are dug into the countertop, knuckles turning white from the strain, and he forces himself to loosen his grip. “Yeah,” he admits after a silence that stretches too long. “It’s nothing.”
He avoids her gaze as he eventually shuffles away, heading back to the bedroom. He can feel her watching him, feel the way she stands in the doorway, clutching the blanket tighter around herself as if unsure whether to push him for further details.
“It didn’t sound like nothing,” she says, decidedly pushing further.
Mako sighs as he takes a seat on the bed. "It's not important, Asami."
Her frown deepens, but her eyes shift to the floor where clothes lay scattered. Her blouse, bra, and skirt had been carelessly tossed aside earlier in the night. This was an evening that should’ve been comforting for her. Maybe the fancy silk sheets he’d purchased specifically with Asami in mind helped her fall asleep, even without him resting beside her.
But it’s not like she ever wants him at her side. There is a reason he took to the sofa instead of his own bed.
They didn’t make it far tonight. Asami's comprehension of that fact dawns on her face as she takes in the way he’s half-dressed. When she speaks again, her voice is almost questioning. “We didn’t…”
“We didn’t,” Mako agrees.
If he’s remembering right, her panties are still on in the same way his pants and boxers are. Even if he’s shirtless, Mako feels that his fly is half-unfastened with the belt undone. They must’ve stopped rather abruptly.
Sighing, he lazily pulls the belt free from his pants, wanting nothing more than to disappear into the bed and shut out the world. His head is heavy, the alcohol still dulling the edges of his thoughts, but he’s not certain he could fall asleep again after everything.
They need to stop doing this. All of it. The drinking, the late nights together, the comfort they seek in each other that only leaves them feeling emptier the next morning. Among the many unhealthy habits they share, the need to drink together might be the worst of all. Using each other as a physical release is bad enough, but the alcohol erodes their judgment and restraint.
Mako trusts himself to treat Asami well, but he doesn’t entirely trust himself to not kiss her someday, to not say something stupid if his heart decides to overrule his brain. The desire to care for her with words of love always lingers in the back of his mind, just under the surface, writhing and wishing to break free. Asami only trusts him in this capacity because he is able to restrain himself from acknowledging any of that. He's desperate not to ruin what little good they’ve got going for them. She knows his heart, ignores his heart, and trusts him to never act on it, in turn.
Lately, though, something has begun to feel different between them. He sees it in the distance in her eyes and the hesitance of her touch. Time seems to stretch between their phone calls with each one becoming increasingly transactional. It’s becoming clearer with every passing moment that this arrangement will not last.
Someday she’ll tire of his company. One day she will find someone better, someone who will put her on a pedestal, who will never put her second in the way that he once did.
Asami steps in front of him deliberately and casually. With suggestive intent, she loosens the blanket from around her torso, revealing a bit more of her skin. “You don’t want to do anything tonight?”
Mako’s gaze drifts across her chest and shoulders. A little lower, he knows there’s even more pale skin to be bared. In his drunken haze earlier he’d helped her out of that blouse and bra, her fingers tangled in his hair as his lips traced the places she craved. But he hadn’t followed the path all the way down.
“I didn’t say that,” he murmurs, thinking of her taste, her scent, the way her body responds so receptively to his touch. The belt slips from his fingers and its metal clatters harshly against the wooden floor. As much as he wishes to continue where they left off, he needs another moment to clear his head. “Give me a minute.”
Asami doesn’t press. Instead, she steps away, letting the blanket fall in a soft heap on the floor. The dark lace of her panties clings to her hips, barely concealing her. That visual is more than enough to make his body stir with desire.
Without a word, she disappears into the kitchen. He can hear the clatter of cups, the faint sound of running water. Mako drags his hands over his face and tries to shake the muddled fog from his mind. The alcohol lingers in his veins, making his skin both hot and clammy, his limbs heavy and sluggish.
They both drank far more than usual tonight. They hadn’t even intended to meet up today, but by some twist of fate, they’d found each other by the statue in Avatar Korra Park.
It’s Avatar Day, a holiday of celebration for most, but for them it’s a day of reflection and mourning. This is the third time they’ve spent Avatar Day together without Korra. Over two and a half years have passed since she was injured and left Republic City to heal somewhere far away. Mako had taken today off from his guard duties, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to focus with his mind drifting elsewhere. Needing space from Wu was only a small part of it.
In the park, Mako had lingered near the statue, admiring the bouquets and gifts left by strangers paying their respects to Korra. For as much as the greater world misunderstands and under-appreciates their Avatar, others nevertheless understand the weight and severity of her sacrifice. Asami had been writing another letter to Korra on a bench nearby and called Mako’s name when she noticed him by the statue. They’d sat together after that, casual and friendly, but then it began to sprinkle rain and they left to get dinner.
They didn’t head to Narook’s, Korra’s favorite noodle restaurant that’s a bit too far away from the park, but instead found a cozy little spot that offered both privacy and comfort, with a booth to settle into and watch the rain together. Somehow dinner lasted hours more, with sake and conversation pouring easily between the both of them. Asami hadn’t been willing to call for a chauffeur and was in no condition to drive, but Mako’s apartment was close enough to walk to.
Somewhere along the way, she’d started clinging to his arm, her breath warm against his neck. She finally pushed him against a wall in an alley, palming at him through his clothes and mewling as his thigh wedged between hers. Her skirt had been hiked up, her body welcomingly wet and hot beneath his fingers, but he stopped before they went too far. He carried her away before they truly got carried away, with both of them laughing at the way his arousal made it harder to walk than the alcohol. Mako joked that he was using her as an umbrella, shielding his back with Asami's body draped over his, then carried her up three flights of stairs just to prove he could.
From there, the night becomes more of a blur in his memory. Mako remembers her heels digging into his back as he pressed her down into his bed. Remembers shucking her bra over her head and kissing as each bit of skin was revealed to the air and to him, tasting the rain on her.
Kissing parts of her, anyway. He hasn’t been allowed to kiss her lips in more than two years. That would be romantic, and none of what they do is allowed to be romantic.
Giving up trying to remember anything more, Mako eventually forces himself to stand, restless energy pulling him toward the bedroom window. Outside the streets shimmer with freshly fallen rain, the orange glow of street lamps reflecting off of wet asphalt. It’s fall, not winter, and there are no bodies buried in snow tonight.
Mako slides the window up a few inches to allow a cool breeze in. The air is thick with the scent of petrichor, something Asami loves, though Mako has never found comfort in it. He remembers shielding his little brother with his own body, pulling off his only shirt to keep Bolin warm and dry in his stead. Bolin had suffered from pneumonia too many times in their youth; rain was a survival challenge for him and Bolin, dangerous, not peaceful or entertaining.
In recent months, the bird spirits that once roosted in Mako’s bathroom have moved on, but other spirits still linger nearby, perching on rooftops and power lines, beneath awnings and around the spirit vines that choke the streets. Each one is a nuisance and a lovely reminder of the lasting change Korra has brought to their world.
His thoughts linger on Korra for a while, probably still far away in the compound, maybe dreaming of this same rain. He wonders if she misses this place, if she misses him, or if the time they spent together is now just a sad and distant memory. His eyes fall on his empty desk nearby, where pens and paper once held the words he used to write to her. It’s been months since his last letter, not because he doesn’t miss her but because there’s nothing left to say. The truth of his heart was spoken to her in-person, just after Harmonic Convergence: a promise to always love her, even if they had to let each other go. Even if he wasn’t right or good for her.
But letting go of any loved one has never come naturally to Mako. Maybe he can’t let go at all.
Asami returns and hands him a glass of water, her expression soft. He takes a slow sip, grateful that at least one person is still by his side. For however long this may last.
‘Friend’ is a slippery word, though – it implies a trust he’s not sure he’s granted. ‘Lover’ suggests something deeper and warmer than anything either of them are allowed to feel.
When her eyes linger on his bare chest, fingertips reaching out to dip into the top edge of his pants, he knows what she ultimately wants. It’s the only thing Asami ever wants from him. Mako pulls her gently away from the window, not just to avoid the prying eyes of neighbors, but because he wants to see her and lose himself in her. It’s easier if he just stops thinking about it.
The bed welcomes them, their movements practiced, effortless, rehearsed over the years. He could close his eyes and let instinct guide him and it would be no different. They’ve done this more times than he can count, not that he's the type to count his lucky stars.
Asami pulls him down, her breath catching as his lips follow the line of her neck down to the curves below. Her skin is warm as her legs part to let him in between, her fingers in his hair a familiar sensation, like muscle memory. He presses a kiss to the valley of her breasts, letting the weight of his body sink into hers, knowing this is the only kind of closeness she’ll ever allow.
If this is all she wants, he’ll never ask for more. He respects her enough to respect that.
His lips find one nipple, teasing it with a slow kiss, his hand sliding along her thigh. But before he can properly lose himself in the motions, her voice cuts through the quiet.
“You can talk to me, Mako. If you want.”
Mako freezes, lips still grazing her skin, unsure if he’s heard her right. He pulls back slightly to search her face for some clue of what she means. Her cheeks are flushed from the alcohol, her eyes heavy-lidded but focused on him. There’s a level of concern and sincerity there that throws him a bit off balance.
She means about the nightmare, of course. Asami never stops searching for answers, solving problems that don’t need to be solved, and maybe tonight his silence feels like a puzzle to her. But his love for Korra is not a conversation they can have again – not here, not now, and maybe not ever. Certainly not while Asami is lying beneath him, tangled in his bed with desire in her gaze.
He can’t really tell her about the dream, about how he still wakes with the ghost of Korra twisted up in his grief. He can’t confess that no matter how much time passes, he’s stuck in place, perpetually unable to move forward. Two years ago he barely had the courage to tell Asami that he still cared for her, too, and even then, the words only built walls between them.
He hesitates with one hand resting on the curve of her hip as he tries to figure out what he could possibly say.
“I’m fine,” is all he can come up with.
Perhaps it falls too easily from his lips and she’s too smart to believe it. He lowers his head again, pressing his mouth to her skin, hoping she’ll let it go. But she never lets much go.
Her fingers slide through his hair and she sighs, an exasperated sound that he knows is from irritation and not any sense of pleasure. But she allows him to continue, the familiar rhythm returning as he presses closer, trying to bury himself in her warmth and not his own emotions. Perhaps his excessive caution in not wanting to scare Asami away makes him sad and pathetic, but he’s kind of always been that.
“Was it about Korra?” Asami asks, and Mako wants to curse at how unfailingly perceptive she is. A disbelieving laugh slips from him before he can stop it, his forehead pressing into her chest as he's unsure of how to respond.
“Mako… It’s Avatar Day,” Asami continues calmly. Just seeking confirmation of what she already suspects. “You’re allowed to think about her.”
Allowed… He doesn't feel allowed to remember the best parts of Korra when he never treated her the way she deserves. His love for her has always burned hot, its embers glowing faintly even now, long after they should have gone cold. His fear of losing her as well as Asami keeps him locked in a cycle of love and grief that never seems to end.
“You know I still care about her, too,” Asami says. Her voice is stilted, almost hesitant.
Mako doesn’t question that. They were very close, far closer than he was to Korra in those final days. It’s not shameful for Asami to admit she still cares about her dearest friend even in Korra’s absence; their bond had a healthy grace that Mako couldn’t grasp with either woman.
“Are you still writing weekly?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. He’s seen Asami’s desk, neat and organized, with sheets of fine paper reserved for her letters to Korra. She writes everything by hand, each line carefully composed before committing to a final draft. The little doodles she adds in the corners of poorly drawn faces and animals are as charming as they are clumsy, reminiscent of Bolin’s drawings but somehow a thousand times more endearing.
“Yes,” Asami replies. “Every weekend. Did you stop?”
Mako hadn’t stopped writing intentionally. It wasn’t a conscious decision. But just because he can’t seem to move on with his life doesn’t mean Korra is expected to do the same.
“I ran out of things to talk about,” Mako says honestly, but it sounds like an excuse. “I can’t really tell her much about my life now. Everything with Prince Wu is confidential. The places we go, the people we meet. I can’t say anything just in case the mail gets intercepted… But six days a week, every week, it’s all Wu. She wouldn’t care for that monotony even if I could tell her about it.”
There’s an emptiness in his voice, a quiet resignation to how much his world has shrunk. His life has become smaller, defined by routine and confined to these few places – his tiny apartment, his duty to Wu, the fleeting moments he has with Asami. There’s no room for anything else.
“Except for the time I get with you,” he adds. “But even that is something I can’t write about.”
Two years of this – two years of casual sex with no strings attached and no words to define it. Neither of them have shared a word of this with Korra. With as much as Mako cares for them both, the last thing he’d want is to hurt either woman or to taint the bond they share with each other.
Asami is not willing to openly acknowledge her nights with Mako to anyone, not to Bolin nor any other friend. Not even to the butler who has witnessed them stumbling into rooms with hands tangled in each other’s clothes, always graciously pretending that Mako’s visits are strictly for police business.
What they’re doing isn’t something that could or should fit neatly into letters, anyway. It’s… physical, just a release, a way to cope with life’s great stressors and nothing more.
Asami doesn’t respond right away. When Mako looks up at her again, there’s a flicker of something in Asami’s expression – pity, maybe. But her understanding how pathetic he is only worsens the ache inside him.
He closes the space between them in the only way he can.
“I get it,” Asami says as his mouth finds her skin again, but her voice seems almost resigned. “I’m glad I can be a… stress relief for you. Spirits know you help me.”
Her words make him smile, but there’s a sadness behind it. Asami has always been clear about her boundaries. To break them – to fall asleep together, to leave a visible mark, to act too tender – if he slips up, she makes sure he feels the consequences through her wrath. ‘Stress relief’ for her is always stressful for him in some ways.
“I like helping where I can,” he replies, his voice low as his lips travel further down her body. His smile grows into something more sincere as her abdomen tenses beneath him, the faint ticklish reaction she can never quite suppress.
“Why don’t you ask Lin to give you more time off?” Asami suggests.
He wants to groan. Of all the moments to talk about work… Asami never seems to lose track of practicality even when they’re wrapped up like this.
“Shift changes are dangerous,” he murmurs against her, his hands sliding to her hips, fingers toying with the thin lacy border of her panties. “Wu requested to keep me full-time… It was hard enough negotiating just one day a week without him.”
“It’s not fair to you,” Asami insists, propping herself up on her elbows. Her eyes follow him as he moves down to her panties now. He kisses her clit through the fabric, the warmth and heady scent of her arousal filtering through the thin barrier and making him hum appreciatively, but even this isn’t enough to steer the conversation away. Determined as ever, she says, “You’re not invested in the Earth Kingdom monarchy. Why do you care so much about Wu?”
She’s right, as she often is. Which royal ass sits on the throne of another country shouldn’t be his concern at all. He doesn’t continually work in this way just because it’s ‘his job’. As a detective for the Republic City police, it was never really his responsibility to be a bodyguard, particularly for a foreign nation’s political pawn, and Beifong insisting he had no choice in the matter did not truly mean Mako had no choice. He could have returned to pro-bending, or the powerplant gig. Anything else.
“Because Korra cared,” Mako says simply. “The Red Lotus wanted to tear down everything – world leaders, institutions, all of it. Korra fought so hard and gave up so much to make sure the world didn’t fall apart. Helping to ensure the Earth Kingdom stabilizes is the least I can do for her vision.”
Mako avoids Asami’s eyes, his lips floating back up to meet the dip of her hipbone as he begins tugging her panties down. She lifts her hips to help him.
“You’re very loyal,” Asami says slowly. “It’s been two years and you’re still…”
She trails off, unable or unwilling to finish the thought.
'Loyal' sounds like a joke. His disloyalty is precisely what landed him here.
Grateful for what might be a lull in conversation, Mako slides backward to pull her panties free. After a beat, he decides to remove his own pants and boxers in a single practiced motion. It isn’t that he expects this night to go in any particular direction. He’s content just to be with her like this, with his mouth on her, giving her all that she wants and expecting nothing more. But when there’s no barriers of clothes or words between them, it’s easier to pretend they’re closer than they really are.
Even if he could walk away from this life, Mako feels bound to do right by the few people he still cares about. If Bolin doesn’t need Mako to protect him anymore, if Asami no longer needs him to love her, and if Korra doesn’t need him at all... the world still needs him. Protecting some promise of stability in this world gives him a reason for being.
Mako moves back between Asami’s legs, the tension in the air dissolving as they spread for him. He pauses with hands resting against the smooth softness of her thighs, gaze lingering low as he tries to memorize every inch of her skin.
He’s always appreciated her like this. Every bit of her. In these moments when they’re removed from the complications of their world, it feels intimate to him, even if it never quite reaches that level in her mind.
His mouth finds its place, teasing at the sensitive inner sides of her thighs, and he relishes the way she shifts and tenses beneath him.
Mako watches his fingers as they spread her lips open, marveling at the heat that radiates from her body, the way her wetness trickles for him even at the lightest touch. The ease with which her body responds to him is always intoxicating. His fingertip spins circles around her clit, teasing the sensitive skin before it slips downward, his mouth taking over in silent reverence.
She’s soft beneath his lips, her body pliant and inviting. Every breathless moan and quiet gasp form a melody he never tires of. Her words are sultry, filthy whispers, encouraging him and urging him on. He kisses her gently, mapping her skin with his tongue, savoring every aspect of her.
He wonders how long he should make her wait and how much he can draw this out. He loves the anticipation, with tension building in her body as her legs shift restlessly. There have been nights when they’ve lost themselves in each other, pushing one another to the limits of pleasure and stopping only when exhaustion overtook them. But with the haze of alcohol weighing on their minds and bodies, he’s not sure if they’ll be able to reach that kind of intensity tonight.
“Mm. Mako…”
Her voice is soft, but the approval in her tone is unmistakable. When his tongue runs zigzags over her clit again, her breath catches and she pulls at his hair, then pushes him more firmly into her. He knows he’s doing something right by the way she grinds needily against his mouth and chin.
Her hips move a bit too jerkily. When he makes a point to hold her still with one hand flat to her belly, that makes her exhale a laugh.
“How are you still single?” she teases, and the question catches Mako off guard.
He doesn’t know how to answer that honestly, if he wished to answer it at all. It’s not like there are hordes of women vying for his attention. His life is too far removed from normalcy for that, tied up in duty and in the past, his emotions twisted into a complicated web that he’s never really tried to untangle. He knows his own demeanor can be cold and standoffish and that certainly doesn’t catch others’ interest.
“Do you wish I wasn’t?” Mako asks, letting his voice vibrate teasingly against her clit. He laps at her as she shivers, two fingers finally slipping inside her entrance, her walls tight and gripping him as she breathes out a soft moan.
He’s grateful she still chooses to spend nights with him after everything they've been through. It’s only fair, then, as he returns, “Why are you still single?”
And it’s fair as she also doesn’t deign to reply to that. That's good, since he really doesn’t want details about whether other men have tried to win her heart.
As Mako continues his ministrations, he focuses on the sounds of her and the way her body moves beneath him. He curls his fingers deeper within, coaxing, exploring her depths with steady, precise movements.
“Mako…” Asami moans again, and he adores the way her hips instinctively rock up against his face, seeking more. “Please.”
Her neediness ignites something primal within him. He increases his pace after that, tongue dancing over her clit in relentless strokes while his fingers find a smooth rhythm pumping and pressing inside her. The taste of her heat and sweetness floods his senses, urging him faster onward as he watches her back flex and face transform, eyes closed, full lips parted.
“Just like that,” she gasps, her fingers twisting through his hair to grip him tight, almost enough to hurt. A life raft.
He leans into her touch, closing his own eyes as he burrows in and feels her desire radiating through every inch of him. He knows her body well – knows the exact pressure and rhythm she needs to reach the precipice. Asami’s moans grow louder, her body arching off the bed as he loosens his hold on her hips, and he feels a surge of satisfaction at his ability to read her so well.
The gentle rain tapping against the windowsill provides a lovely background noise to accentuate the carnal sounds of her pleasure, the cool breeze a soft relief compared to the heat radiating from her skin. He feels her tightening around him, with the breath catching in her throat becoming the most telltale sign that she’s close.
Within moments he feels her climax wash over her. Her body writhes, hips bucking against him as waves of pleasure pulse through her. She squeaks loudly, her voice choked with ecstasy, fingers falling to twist into the silk bed sheets at her sides, an investment Mako now sees was well worth it.
Asami cries out his name, and the sound sends a thrill coursing through him, reaching all the way to his aching cock. But he doesn’t stop. He knows she can take more, a second orgasm able to quickly follow the first if he continues now, and as her body trembles beneath him, riding the crest of her release, he keeps going, determined to take her higher.
“Again,” he murmurs, coaxing her toward that edge once more. Soon enough, she’s unraveling again – with laughter bubbling up, breathless and sweet as another orgasm grips her.
He withdraws for just a moment, licking at his lips and drawing his digits free from her. As wetness seeps out, he plays in it with his fingertips before spreading it up and over her clit, then leaning back in to lick all of her clean.
“Why are you still single?” she asks between gasps once again, mischief sparkling in her eyes even as pleasure courses through her.
Mako chuckles at that. It's not that he's particularly talented at anything, but years of knowing her in this manner have made him an expert in reading her cues, and tonight he’s determined to please her again. His fingers slip back inside, curling upward as his tongue runs stripes over her. A mixture of pride and affection swells in his chest as he watches her begin to come undone for a third time. With every flick of his tongue, he feels her body tighten, her breath hitching as another climax builds.
“I haven’t found anyone better than you,” he teases, his words almost inaudible as they're spoken against her skin. By now Asami is too lost in sensation to respond. Her laughter blends with her cries of pleasure as her third climax crashes through her.
Asami's eyes have rolled back, fluttering, thighs clamping firmly around his head as she quakes. Mako settles his cheek against her thigh after she relaxes, watching as aftershocks make her clench and release, inwardly preening at the sounds of her joy.
There are tears leaking from her eyes as he finally crawls up the bed, but he knows they’re just from the intensity from her back-to-back climaxes. It’s not every time he can satisfy her so well. She’s smiling wide and wiping at her face as he settles in beside her.
After catching her breath, she looks over at him, staring as though she can’t believe he’s real.
Her gaze slowly drifts down to his cock. Freed of any confines and neglected this entire time, his cock is painfully hard and swollen, reddened, with precum dribbling from the tip down over the foreskin and shaft. When she reaches out to take him in one hand, squeezing firmly and testing his sturdiness and girth, he has a hard time catching his own breath now.
Maybe it’s the alcohol in her system making her actions more playful tonight. She stretches out her hand beside his cock as if measuring its length.
“Seriously…” she mutters, looking amused.
Then her hand falls to his thigh, gently stroking the soft hair there instead of his cock. Mako sighs, bobbing and aching with desire even as his brain still feels foggy, her teasing only amplifying his need.
For a moment, as she pets him, there’s a bit too much silence.
He fears she might press him with that odd question again, something he doesn’t have the energy or will to answer. Instead, she leans forward, expression shifting into something more focused.
Mako watches raptly as her fingers trail from his thigh back to his cock, this time with clear purpose. She wraps her hand around him, stroking slowly and confidently from base to tip. His heart thuds in his chest as she locks eyes with him, and without saying another word, she slides much further down the bed, situating herself comfortably before pressing her lips to the tip of his cock. Her tongue laps to clean up all that’s leaked from him.
Exhaling sharply, Mako resists the urge to buck up as Asami takes him deeper into her hot mouth, her lips sliding around his length with practiced ease. Her hand continues stroking the base, tongue swirling and teasing at the tip. When she pulls off, her wet lips trail down the side of him, only to slide back up the underside and slurp nearly the entirety of him into her mouth once again.
Mako grunts, his fingers threading into her thick hair as each stroke and caress pulls him closer to finishing. Her pace is slow, deliberate, drawing out the tension as her mouth moves over him, her bewitching gaze occasionally flicking up to meet his. He can see the glint of satisfaction in her eyes, knowing how well she’s undoing him.
When her hand slips over his balls, feeling their weight, gently tugging and rolling them in her palm before her fingers slip up and away toward his abdomen, Mako can barely think.
He’s entirely lost in the feel of her plush mouth enveloping him. The sensation is almost overwhelming, the pull of pleasure growing more intense with every flick of her tongue, every stroke of her hand, every long, noisy suck from her lips.
He feels himself nearing the brink as she works him with expert precision, and he groans when she sucks in more and more of him until he can feel the tight channel of her throat swallowing around him. Mako’s fingers shift to grip the sheets as she continually takes him deep, letting him nudge into her throat and moaning as he does. The sensation is too much, and with a final gasp, he feels himself give in, his release flooding out from him and into her in hot, thick pulses.
Asami doesn’t pull away, but settles her mouth over the first couple inches of him as he unloads. Each steady suck draws out every last drop of his release, her fingers gripped around the base of his cock, grounding him and ensuring nothing spills.
When she pulls back, licking her smiling lips and swiping a bit of white from the corner of her mouth with one pinky finger, he can’t believe she’s real either.
The silence that follows feels heavier, though. As Mako sprawls back onto the bed to steady his breaths, his body still buzzes, but there’s an unease creeping in that he’s learned to expect after these moments. This is the part where he would re-dress and leave. But their clothes are wet, they're at his apartment instead of the Sato mansion, she can't drive home and he doesn't know what should come next in this scenario.
He can sense Asami’s thoughts swirling, too. The tension builds again even as their bodies cool and wind down.
Instead of retreating to the bathroom as she often does after sex, she moves up, hitching a leg over his torso and settling herself over his hips. She's slightly too high to be sitting directly on his cock, though he doesn’t know if he could go again so soon, if that’s what she wants.
When her eyes fix squarely on him, he knows that isn't what she wants.
“Will you answer me?” Asami asks. “It’s been two years and you’re still here, doing this with me. Why?”
A bitter taste returns to his mouth. Maybe it is the drinks from earlier in the night making her unable to let go of this thought.
Why would Mako continue to not date anyone else, in any capacity whatsoever? To never cast his line into the water after two and a half years of this? Asami must know it’s not their physical chemistry alone that satiates him.
Honesty is surely undesirable, even as she presses him for it now.
“Guarding Wu around the clock means I don’t get the luxury of coming home to anybody,” he answers. “Who would want a relationship like that? When would I even have time to find someone new, anyway?”
Asami doesn’t break her gaze, her expression unreadable. “You have time for hookups,” she says. “One day a week includes the night, too.”
“I’m not interested in hookups,” Mako disagrees, searching her eyes for understanding. He's not quite sure where this is even coming from.
“What do you think this is?”
Mako swallows, feeling the weight of the question settle over him. He doesn’t want to diminish what they have, but the reality of it isn’t easy to explain. “I feel like ‘hookup’ implies that’s all I want from you,” he says carefully. “I mean, I’m never going to bars to scope out potential partners. Putting my neck out there takes more effort than I’m willing to spare for just a ‘maybe.’”
Asami raises an eyebrow. As her hands settle over his ribs, she presses, “So you know each time you see me, you get to fuck me.”
Mako flinches at the bluntness of her words.
“No,” he says defensively. “Like I said, this isn’t a hookup. We’re friends, right? Friends first. You’re the only friend I have right now, honestly.”
The admission slips out before he can stop it, and for a moment, Asami’s expression falters. But any tenderness doesn’t last long.
“A friend who’s a sure thing,” she says bitterly. “You never have to question whether I’m going to spread my legs for you. What does that make me?”
Her words cut deep, leaving Mako momentarily speechless. He sits up slightly, clutching at those bed sheets because he cannot clutch at her, unsure of how to possibly navigate this conversation.
“What do you want me to say?” he asks, unable to hide his frustration now.
There’s no way for him to win this argument. If this has just been 'hooking up', then he visits her for nothing more than sex. If it’s not just sex, that crosses all of the lines she’s painstakingly and explicitly drawn out for him.
“Do you want me to say yes,” he starts quietly, “we’ve been doing this for over two years, and sex is the only reason you ever want me around? It’s the only reason you call or come over.” When her expression morphs, he has to tighten his own face to keep himself from looking as irate as he feels. “Do you want me to say no, that I’m always questioning what it is you want from me? That I’m always questioning how much longer you’ll allow me to help you like this, walking on eggshells with you? Knowing all of this could end if I so much as breathe wrong?”
Maybe he’s being cruel about it now. But walking this fine of a line has been excruciating, and he's been doing it for so long.
She leans back, no longer looking so confident.
He wants to soothe her, and his palms instinctively brush across both of her thighs. But he pulls away after that, knowing touch won’t be a comfort for her now. If it ever really was in the first place.
“How many times have you wanted to end this?” he asks honestly. He can feel the warmth from between her legs, settled slick against his belly, but her heart is as radiantly cold as ever. It's been cold for him ever since he shattered it twice over, and her resultant callousness and carelessness is precisely what he deserves. She’s spent years steadily breaking his heart in return, and he has no room or right to protest it.
Asami's lips press into a thin line as she considers that.
Finally, she asks, “Why have you never tried to end it?”
It isn't a fair question. She's brilliant and she can see depth and nuance in anybody. She's certainly learned and memorized the tune of his problematic heart by now, even if he can't bear to listen to what it's telling him himself. Even if he can't pull Asami down like he wants, can't kiss her senseless and smother her in love and apologies. Steeped in regret, he loathes every misstep he's taken to land here, but he can't voice any of that.
They are both masochists, she’s said before. Mako would hurt himself continually, without fail and without hesitation, if it meant he could spend more time with a woman he loves. Even if she cannot bear to love him back. Asami and Korra both remain lost to him, buried in snow all the same, and he knows shaking them with all his might could never restart their hearts for him.
Asami knows that he will always love Korra, as he's verbalized just that before. But it was never a competition between either woman. They were never wrestling over the same pieces of his heart when he’s always had love for both of them. But he treated them too poorly, callous and careless in his own way, breaking their trust through deceit and selfishness.
Maybe he’s treating Asami poorly now by keeping himself at her side in this way. Maybe this heartache is what she expects, and wants, and thinks she deserves. Someone to match her punches instead of just taking hers.
He's never meant to hurt her, but he does continually, just by being in her life. The only way to stop it would be to stop this.
“Fine,” he says flatly. “This is a hookup. Is that what you want? For me to see you as a quick fuck and nothing more? Is that how you see me?”
Sensing the conversation has shifted in a way she doesn’t like, she pulls herself off of him, letting him free. With one leg tucked beneath her and the other hanging off the side of the bed, her eyes track over him as though he is constructed of nothing more than puzzle pieces again.
“You should be dating other people,” she says, almost like a suggestion. “What about that coworker of yours from the station? The waterbender.”
Mako lets out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. Sakari is a close coworker, sure, but she’s also a decade older, married, and not remotely his type.
“And our compatibility is based on what? Her being a waterbender? Or simply because she’s a woman in my proximity?” When Asami’s mouth tightens disapprovingly, he adds, “She couldn’t be further from my type. I don’t believe I’m her type either, given that she has a wife.”
Asami looks surprised. “Does she? That’s…”
Her voice trails off, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something in her expression – curiosity, perhaps. Her gaze shifts away, then back, seeming uncertain. “Do you have a problem with that sort of thing?” she asks.
Mako’s face scrunches in confusion. “What? No. I… No. Do you?”
Asami shakes her head. “No.”
For a long moment, they both fall silent, their gazes drifting to the window. The rain has paused, and in the quiet a spirit can be heard squawking from down the street, seemingly yelling at a satomobile that honks back at it.
“Have you ever considered that sort of thing?” Asami asks. “Dating men?”
Mako blinks, taken aback by the question.
This is certainly not where he expected the conversation to go. He sits with it for a moment, genuinely thinking about it.
“I wouldn’t know where to start,” he admits.
Asami’s lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “That doesn’t sound like a no,” she teases, her tone gentler now.
“It’s not a no,” he confesses, at least feeling able to be honest in this way, even if his face begins to feel a bit warm. He slumps back against the pillows, trying to process this new direction their conversation has taken.
There’s something grounding about Asami’s question – something that makes the tension between them feel a little lighter. It’s a strange sort of relief, the way she can alter the energy between them with just a few words. As she moves to lie down beside him again, observing the ceiling instead of his face as he contemplates her newest question, their moods seem to have shifted yet again.
“It seems more intimidating,” Mako begins to explain, “but maybe it would be easier. Not the – um. Not the sex part, but the... understanding what someone wants from me. I’m obviously not good at understanding women.”
Her brow tightens as she stares upward. Even if she’s the one asking these questions, and claims to not be put off by such a concept, perhaps it’s different to hear a friend explain their heart in this way. It’s a sensitive thing Mako’s never really shared with anyone beyond Bolin, knowing his brother would be supportive in every way, but even Bolin didn’t really understand it firsthand.
But Asami is different. She’s smarter than anyone he knows, thoughtful, empathetic, more compassionate than anyone he’s ever met.
“Would you ever date a woman?” he asks her.
Her mouth falls open at that, but no words come out. She closes it, gaze not deviating from the ceiling as seconds tick past, and it’s clear she’s searching for the right thing to say. The right way to word it.
If she’s never considered it, the answer should be simple.
“That doesn’t sound like a no,” Mako says, intending to gently tease in the same way.
In an instant, Asami’s face crumples. Her eyes squeeze shut as she sits up abruptly.
When she curls into herself, knees drawing up and a hand covering her mouth to stifle a noise, he realizes she's begun to cry.
Mako’s heart drops in his chest in an instant, terrified that he’s hurt her feelings somehow, yet again. Did he step over a line by just returning her words? Was that joke too far?
“Asami,” he pleads. Mako reaches out, his hand hovering near her arm before he pulls it back uncertainly. “This is what I mean. I don’t know why I’m so bad at talking with you. Whatever I said, I’m so sorry.”
Asami shakes her head as she tries to pull herself together. “It’s me,” she croaks, trying to stifle her crying with little success. “I’m sorry. It’s just the drinks.”
Mako knows her well enough to understand it isn’t just alcohol to blame for such a strong reaction.
He wonders if this is part of why Asami remains so emotionally distant. Even though she seems to appreciate his body, she struggles to love him in any meaningful way. Maybe it's entirely his fault, or maybe there’s something deeper, something simmering beneath the surface, but he’s afraid to push her here.
Maybe a woman would be easier for her to love. They’re certainly easier for her to befriend and understand. Easier for her to lean on for emotional support. Her relationship with Korra highlighted all of that: their bond was easy, healthy, strong and supportive. Admirable.
But that only raises more questions in his mind. Asami doesn’t have many other women in her social circles. She’s close to those on Air Temple Island, but there’s no one around her age, no one who connects with her in the way Korra did. And as a CEO in a male-dominated industry, Mako’s seen firsthand how isolated she can feel at work. He’s been to enough of her galas and other business events, and he's heard enough of her rants to know that there isn’t any other woman on her level, in her domain. No one lingering in her thoughts or in her heart in a way that matters.
There’s only one woman who fits what Mako imagines Asami might want in a partner. The one person who’s been in her thoughts for years now, without relief, in her own dreams, in her letters. Cemented in her heart possibly forever like embers that have never faded in time.
“Is it her?” he has to ask.
The moment the words leave his lips, he regrets them. It’s not his place to ask, even if curiosity has begun to flare and roil in him. Who she loves is not his business at all.
She doesn't have to answer that, and it might be better that she doesn't.
Korra isn't something they should talk about if they want to keep this charade of a friendship going.
“Change the subject, please,” she whispers stiffly, her voice so soft it almost disappears. The rain returns to clack against the window, its dull patter doing little to drown out the tension between them both. Asami's hands wipe at her face, shielding herself from him as she tries to gather her composure. When a sob too harsh to be smothered rocks through her, she pulls away entirely.
In a flash, she’s up and off of the bed, escaping toward the kitchen, seemingly too overwhelmed to stay beside him any longer.
This time he hears the clink of not glasses, but bottles. Pouring herself another hard drink because she cannot bear to be sober in his presence.
His gut twists again. Pathetic, sad.
Both of them are too broken and blinded by grief to know what's good for them.
While Asami’s out of the room, Mako takes the moment to pull on a fresh shirt and boxers, then collects their wet clothes from the floor. He lays hers out to dry across his dresser. When he picks up the blanket next, he knows she’ll need some comfort, even if just from this.
Asami looks grateful when he approaches with the blanket, though her expression is distant and her eyes still red from crying. There’s a bottle of something dark on the counter, a gift that Mako’s never had an interest in trying.
Asami pulls the blanket around herself and wipes at her face with it. “I should go,” she whispers.
“You don’t have to.”
But Asami shakes her head, more insistent this time. “I should.”
He’s never been good at asking for what he wants – not with her, not with anyone – but the thought of her leaving now in this state makes him feel even more awful.
He desperately wants her to know he would never judge her for loving the same way he does. For holding her tongue, fearful of the fallout.
“I want you to stay,” he says. “I know I’m not allowed to say that. But… I'm here for you. I want you to be happy, in whatever form that takes.”
Any further words fade from his thoughts as she turns toward him, tears still brimming in her eyes. Before he can say anything more, she falls into him, wetting his chest.
She cries too much in his company. It wouldn't be like that with Korra, he imagines. Asami was always strong for Korra. Strong with Korra.
For a moment, Mako feels completely lost, unsure of what more to say or do. His arms hover in the air before he slowly wraps them around her and the blanket, holding her close as she cries into him. He presses his chin to the top of her head, feeling her shudder and wishing her heart wouldn't hurt this bad.
“I’m trying to understand you,” Mako says. “You understand me more than anybody, I think. More than Bolin.”
Asami’s crying slows, her breathing uneven as she rests against him, her head still pressed into his chest. Everything they do is messed up. She isn’t his to hold, now or ever again, and now it's clear that her heart lies elsewhere, resonating with and matching his own in all of the wrong ways.
“Bo asked me about us,” Mako admits, his fingers tracing soft patterns on her back. The last time Bolin visited, he questioned and teased about the soft look on Mako’s face when they spoke of Asami. For as much as Mako has attempted to tamp down his affection for Asami or Korra, he’s never been able to mask it well.
She pulls back slightly. “What’d you say?”
Judging by the trepidation in her eyes, he's certain he told Bolin the right thing.
“I said there’s nothing going on,” Mako answers. “Nothing between us.”
As she pulls away completely, the distance growing between them, Asami looks down with sudden confusion as though surprised she was in his arms at all.
“Right,” she says. “That’s right.”
He wishes he could say something more. But 'nothing' is a nice summation of all they have left.
For some reason, in spite of it all, she reaches back out to embrace him again. The alcohol makes him feel cold and hot in turns, but she’s always made him feel that same way; she settled into his bones long ago, fogging his mind, and he’s helpless to resist the intoxication.
But it's not healthy.
He leans against her, feeling the warmth of her breath against his skin, with lips so close that will never again bridge the distance.
Asami cares for Korra, he imagines, and not just as a friend they’ve both lost. Asami loves Korra the way Mako does: romantically, deeply, with painful restraint that haunts and burns no matter the distance. He recognizes it now in the way she so often cries for Korra, the way she smiles at her memory, the thoughtful look on her face as she contemplates Korra's growth and recovery and eventual return.
When Mako thinks of the letters, never ending, he knows that sort of love is the kind that endures.
They’re both trapped in the same cycle of not being able to love with their whole chest. When Mako looks at Asami's tear-streaked face again, he sees her more clearly than ever, like looking into a mirror.
When Korra comes back – when Mako learns that they’ve been writing to each other – it makes sense.