writing prompt #1: break me — korrasami — 459 words — requested by ckrets
“I’ve never told a lie, and that makes me a liar.”
You’re dressed to kill, I’m calling you out—
Don’t waste your time on me.
Galas were dull affairs, not at all the sort of thing Korra preferred to spend her precious time attending. The time spent at the stuffy events draped itself around the hapless, agitated Avatar in a loose, floppy robe that tangled itself around her feet when she tried to move away from too-eager diplomats and inconveniently bound her arms close to her when she was making nice with industrialists and aristocrats, smile so false it was a wonder no one had asked if she felt ill.
“Fancy seeing you here, Ms. Avatar.”
The robe fell in a blessed pool at her feet that she could step out of with ease. “Asami! How are you?”
“I’m well,” she said with a smile that reached her glittering eyes. Light caught in the drink in her shining glass, turning it jewel-bright. “How about yourself? You look bored out of your mind.”
“I am,” Korra said bluntly. “I’m not very good at talking to these people. I don’t know how you managed it for all those years.”
“Practice,” she said lightly, taking a careful sip of her drink.
They found themselves spending most of the night in the secluded corner near the punch bowl, wrapping themselves closely in silly conversation, their laughter warmer than any blanket. Korra found herself legitimately smiling for the first time that evening as they caught up, answering Asami’s questions about her life and firing back inquiries of her own.
She was beautiful, Korra reflected for hardly the first time in their oddly woven friendship. Wild, familiar thoughts swirled through her mind in eddies of nauseous yearning, urges to take one of Asami’s deceptively rough hands and lead her out into the cold, loaning her Korra’s coat as the made their way to any small, private room with an inviting fire and a place to curl up in her arms, brushing raindrop-soft kisses against her neck and massaging the balm that was Asami into the ever-present ache in her gut.
It was the deep red dress that really did her in, though, a rich burgundy number that shone warmly in the spots where the candlelight kissed Asami’s gentle curves. She found her hands itching to trace its path down Asami’s body, slip innocently past too-delicate buttons that may or may not snap under the tension of her bowstring-taut desire to seek out the easy rhythm of her heart tapping out its approval against Korra’s fingertips. Instead, she allowed her nails to bite tiny half-moons into her palms and wondered if Asami believed her for a second when she told her that she wasn’t interested in anyone at the moment.