...and, even, its mechanistic nature. Any other ordinary girl would have grown tired of it but not Katara.
She could not grow tired of it.
As if the titillation of the forbidden was not enough, it was the power of watching – making – the boys tremble and cry, almost like babies, while exposing their intimate and vulnerable moments.
Sokka was already in bed, in sleep. She did not want to disturb him but that could not be helped. The ruckus of her stripping out of her clothes, crawling into that mattress, startled the teenager.
"Sorry, Sokka," she said. She kissed his cheek which blushed.
"You're back," he said, half in and out of sleep.
"Yeah, hm, I thought you'd be awake for me," she teased.
"Well, I was, then I quit," he replied, folding his arms behind his head. After everything that passed between them, again and again, he did not know why he could be so awkward around her. Maybe it was the bending? Maybe he feared she compared him to the rest of the boys? "So, how was work today?"
"Five. Just five."
Katara settled her head onto her pillow. She thought about that moment she realized the gift. She remembered being a bit scared and thrilled. She was twelve, he was sixteen. Her mother chose the boy because of his tempera...