Super Duper Sideblog for Fictional Bi Babes

The telephone on Asami’s desk, nearly buried in forms and files, clattered in its metal housing. She picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

“Hello, Miss Sato,” her secretary returned. “Avatar Korra is on the line. Shall I connect you?”

“Please.”

“Very well, Miss Sato.”

  The earpiece clicked momentarily with static. Then a pause, before Korra’s rich voice flowed in. “ ‘Sami?”

“Hi, Korra.” Asami propped the phone against her shoulder, freeing both hands, and resumed sifting through her paperwork. “How’s your day been?” she inquired.

On the other end, Korra groaned. “Long story short-- busy. Yours?”

  The businesswoman laughed once, languidly. “A lot like yours.” She slashed her signature across the bottom of a document, and set it aside. “You missed lunch.”

“I know,” Korra lamented. “Things have been so crazy lately. It seems like whenever one of us gets some time off, the other’s completely booked. When’s the last time we spent the night together?”

Three weeks and a day, Asami thought. She said, “A while.” She’d begun to despise the morning sun that spilled through her bedroom window; its slanted light only emphasized the vacant space in her bed.

“Why don’t we fix that?” Korra offered. “Tonight.”

  Asami set the pen down and reached for a small book, bound in black leather, in the top drawer of her desk. “Let’s see.” She flipped to the day’s date and reviewed her agenda. “I’ve got a meeting with one of the state’s consultants at three to discuss our urban planning collaboration. I should be free by five thirty… Make that closer to six. How’s that work for you?”

“Sounds great,” Korra asserted.

Asami drew another paper from the stack.”Do you want me to send a cab?”

“Nah, I’ll walk. I have a council appointment later at City Hall, so I won’t be too far.”

“Wear a jacket.”

“You’re funny.”

“See you tonight?”

“Count on it. Have a good day at work, President Sato.”

She smirked. “You too, Avatar Korra.”

  Asami buttoned up her jacket as she entered the corporate parking garage. Evening air, turned brisk as autumn waned, wafted through the open structure. She fished her keys from her pocket. A maroon Satomobile coupe-- next year's luxury model-- sat in wait.

In her mind, she dredged up the advertising department's proposals for the new line. Our engineers at Future Industries know that it's what's under the hood that matters-- ours are the best motors on the market-- but it doesn't hurt to package it nicely. It's got a classy chassis, and an incredible engine. Power. Panache. Satomobile.

She opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. Though it'd been her daily for several months, the interior still smelled like fresh leather. She retrieved a pair of calfskin gloves from the glovebox, donned them, adjusted the rearview mirror, and fit the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life at her behest. 300 cold cranking amps for a strong start in any weather. She gripped the shift knob. "Snazzy," she mouthed.

  She would admit that the splendor of the 95 ostrich horse-power engine was squandered on the rush-hour traffic in which she was now muddled. Vehicles bearing her name idled in every lane of the freeway. She feathered the clutch, creeping forward in first gear, only to reach the bumper of the next car inches later. She thrust her other foot to the brake pedal.

In the side mirror, the sun began its slow dive into Yue Bay. Beside it loomed the spirit portal, whose bright column stood ready to cleave the approaching night. She’d been firing on all cylinders with restoration efforts, but her city would never be the same-- and like before, she must learn to harmonize with the change that Korra had effected. In front of her, the traffic began to crawl; she lifted the clutch eagerly.

  The first stars of the evening burned overhead as Asami ascended the private drive of her estate. Korra was already waiting on the front steps when she coasted into the carport of the main house.

She rose to greet her, a water tribe-blue bundle under her arm. “How was traffic?” she asked as Asami stepped out of her vehicle.

The engineer twirled her keyring on one finger, quipping, “It’s the only constant in these hectic times." She pocketed her keys along with her gloves, and joined the other woman on the porch.  “You could’ve waited inside.”

  Korra took her lover's chin between her finger and thumb, and planted a gentle kiss on her lips. "It's a nice house," she maintained, “but it’s better with you in it.”

Asami squeezed her around the shoulders. “It’s good to see you...” She glanced at the bag. “You staying the night?“

Korra cracked a smarmy grin. “Only if there's room."

"Where's Naga?"

"Back on the island."

"Great-- then the doghouse is wide open."

They shared a laugh. Asami nodded to the door. "C'mon, I'm freezing."

  Korra set down her things inside the doorway of the posh foyer, ready to take the jacket Asami was shrugging off. “So,” Asami broached, precluding the silence of her own home. “Tell me about your day.”

“Ah, you know,” the Avatar drawled, “saving the world, one meeting at a time.” She took the jacket and disappeared into the coat closet. “This is the hard part,” she continued from within. “What happens after the fighting. I don’t know how you do it.”

“A little booze in the morning tea always helps.”

“Spirits--”

“Yeah, literally.”

“Ugh.” Korra emerged wearing her best annoyed look; Asami just smiled cutely. The Avatar grabbed her bag, and then her girlfriend’s hand. “Come here.”

  Korra led her to her own bedroom, and began to unpack the things she'd brought.

“What’s all this?” Asami wondered aloud.

“A present,” the other woman responded. She downed the electric light in favor of a whale-seal oil lamp, lit with practiced ease by a spark from her fingertip. She set the lamp next to her other sundries on the nightstand; the quivering flame furnished the room in a soft amber glow. She shook out a snow-white fur blanket and threw it over the bed cover.

  Korra removed her sleeves, exposing her brawny arms. Next came her boots. She undid the buckle of the belt which held her wrap.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Asami teased.

Korra fixed her with a pout. “This is for you,” she explained as the fur-fringed suede fell from her waist.

  The industrialist was equal parts amused and mystified. “Did I forget an anniversary? You’re not typically so--” The Avatar closed the space between them, reaching for her torso-- “formal.”

Slowly, measuredly, Korra unfastened the buttons of her blouse. “That’s because I’ve never done this with you before,” she confessed. A rosy tinge had spread across her cheeks by the time she loosed the last button.

  Asami hesitated a moment. She bowed her shoulders to ease the removal of her shirt, which Korra placed over the back of Asami’s vanity chair. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Korra returned to unclasp her skirt. Her movements were calm, but her voice faltered. “I’d like to give you a massage.” She met Asami’s gaze, and dropped it almost as quickly. “...To help you relax,” she added. Asami bit the inside of her cheek-- her girlfriend was adorable-- and summoned an appreciative smile.

  She tensed as Korra skimmed a hand over the sensitive skin of her abdomen, expecting her hands to be chilly from the outside air. But she was mistaken; Korra’s hands were never cold.

The other woman continued her persuasion: “I learned from the best healers.”

Asami brushed back the hair from Korra’s brow, leaving a little lipstick smudge in its place. “I’m looking forward to it,” she assured.

The Avatar flashed her signature lopsided grin. She knelt to slip off Asami’s shoes; her stockings soon followed, leaving only her underclothes. Korra hoisted her effortlessly into her arms, holding her close a moment before laying her on the bed.

  She pressed her lips softly to Asami’s collarbone, to the round of her shoulder, to her jaw. “You’re amazing,” she murmured into her girlfriend’s neck. Her fingers lighted on the tip of her breastbone, and traced along her ribs to ponder the fastening of her brassiere. In an instant, the lacy undergarment took leave of Asami’s body. Korra already had a thumb hooked in the waistband of her panties-- the other hand swept the pale length of her thigh.

  Asami braced herself-- but her hesitation did not go unnoticed. Korra sat back, helping her to a sitting position as well. She looped a brown arm around her shoulders. “Nervous?”

Asami took a moment to answer. “I’m not sure.”

  Korra drew a knee to her chest-- her own nervous tic. She studied the burgundy bedroom carpet. “I’ve seen you naked before, you know,” she said-- half jest, half reassurance.

“Yes,” Asami allowed, “but you’re usually naked, too.” It was the-- she figured the word-- intimacy that caught her off-guard. They’d been together for months, but she had yet to accustom herself to the intimacy.

  Korra worried her lower lip. “Would it make you more comfortable?” she offered. “If I undressed.”

Asami smiled thinly, kissing the concern from the other woman’s face. “I’m fine, K.” She slipped off her remaining garment, and pulled Korra down with her onto the fur blanket. “But I am a little cold.”

Korra beamed. “I can fix that.” She took a deep breath, then exhaled sharply; the temperature in the room flared around her.

Asami grinned, and wrapped her arms around Korra’s middle. “Nice trick,” she remarked. “You should stick around for the winter.”

  Korra regarded her with fondness. She leaned close, as if to kiss the place, just below the ear, that drove her mad-- but whispered instead. “Roll over.” Asami complied. Korra straddled her hips, careful not to bear down on her. She gathered the dark waves of her hair and brushed them neatly over one shoulder. Her knuckles grazed the skin of Asami’s now-exposed neck.

Having Korra so close was like sitting hearthside-- she radiated a tremendous heat. With her face to the fur, Asami noticed its faintly gamy scent. Korra smelled the same after a romp with Naga: wild, sultry, close-- and familiar.

  The water tribe woman ran a hand down the groove of her lover’s backbone. “Comfy?”

“Mm.”

“Good.” She reached over to the nightstand and snapped up a glass bottle. Loosing the stopper with her thumb, she dabbed a bead of oil onto her palm. Korra slicked both hands, and anointed Asami’s back in long, light strokes. After she’d spread the oil, she began to work it into her skin. Korra tried her with a slight pressure. Starting at the small of her back, she rolled her thumbs up the span of the muscles beside her spine; her fingertips savored every inch of flesh. When she reached her shoulders, she began the long journey in reverse. Neck to tailbone, tailbone to neck-- Asami lost count of the times that Korra crossed her body. Weight gathered on her eyelids.

  --*--

They had stood in the ruins of the city’s downtown, in front of the luminescent pillar which spiraled ever skyward. Even the earth beneath their feet hummed with quiet energy. She peered into the portal-- and surprised herself at the anxiousness that crept in with the thought of what lay waiting. Her collar itched, feeling suddenly too tight. Korra won her attention with a tilt of the head; whatever trepidations Asami had felt dissolved in the Avatar’s mild gaze.

A smile stole to the corners of her mouth. Each sought out the other, their hands met, and they stepped silently into the light. Their eyes never parted, though it was difficult not to look away; bathed in gold, and brimming with tenderness, Korra was too beautiful to endure. Asami's heart rose, beating, into her throat. It would stay there for the entire trip.

Their time in the Spirit World was monumental. They had marveled together at the infinite topographies, tumbled in vibrant meadows, waded through pure streams, ascended bright mountains, embraced in sunlit springs, and bedded beneath fantastic stars.

  The reverie ended too soon; when they returned, the obligations of the real world, so briefly deferred, rushed in like a winter draft from a door left open.

--*--

  If Chi Blockers could pinpoint the spots on a person that left them impaired, then the healers of the Southern Water Tribe could do just the opposite. The Avatar's fingers traversed the muscles between Asami's slender shoulders, erasing the tension therein with an even pressure. Each stroke drew out the stiffness which had settled in her. Asami hadn’t truly noticed the strain until now, as she thawed under Korra’s insistence.

  --*--

Hiroshi’s funeral was attended by few. Only the officiant’s steady benediction punctured the veil of silence which hung inside the temple. Asami had sat dry-eyed just a few feet from the casket, nailed permanently shut. The body within was shattered, she knew, but through the graciousness of others, she had never had to look. She chose instead to picture him whole-- smiling, inspirited, as she knew him in her youth-- though that conception hardly helped her to begin the mental burial.

The Avatar had sat beside her, expressionless, observing the liturgy. But she’d understood from the eyes that had flitted so briefly upon her; reaching out, she took hold of Asami’s hand, and squeezed. The warmth of Korra’s grip seeped through the black fabric of her glove, and lingered there as the service ended. The pall bearers rose and carried her father away. Asami followed. He would be cremated, and she would rest his ashes beside those of her mother, who was also taken by fire.

The night before the ceremony, she had wept over her kitchen sink, alone, until she quaked. A kettle shrieked on the stove. She cut the heat; the water went cold, and no tea was ever poured. She leaned on the counter, wrapped in fog, until dawn stole forth, lighting the lightless room. Then she went and dressed for mourning.

She hadn’t cried since; when she tried, she drew forth little more than a knotted sensation; a disconnection; a listlessness, dim and inscrutable. The knot inside her wound upon itself, and the ends cinched tighter. She kept busy; she compartmentalized; and eventually, she learned to ignore it. Months passed.

--*--

  Korra reached for the oil, and smoothed her skin once more. Asami’s flesh had soaked up her warmth; but now, Korra intended to melt her completely. She rubbed circles into the pale expanses of her back. Her fingers delved in, found the tautness, and led it out-- pushing, pulling, as rhythmic as the tide.

Nestled into the fur, and flanked by Korra, the heat was incredible. Asami sucked in a trembling breath.

Korra stopped mid-stroke. “You okay?”

  She let out a throaty hum in reply. Korra chuckled. The sound reminded Asami that she was naked; she buried her face in her arms. Korra brought her hands to the curves of her shoulders. “Relax,” she lulled; her voice was water over stones. She set into the nape of her neck with the pads of her thumbs-- starting soft, then pressing in firmly-- and worked up to the base of her skull. A pleasant prickle dripped down Asami’s spine. She sighed on the crest of a sensation so thorough she could feel it in her toes.

  --*--

Her father’s passing had not uniquely shaken her; the first time he left was when her world truly upended. She remembered the rage which darkened his countenance in the gloom of the hangar, and the powerful hydraulics poised to kill. She remembered the bruises around her body; the raw skin where the mech harness had cut in; the ribs that had cracked on the hard landing. She remembered the police questioning; the legal proceedings; her declension to testify against her only family.

She remembered agonizing to salvage the company-- the way she clung to the arms of her office chair to keep herself afloat. She remembered fine-combing her hair to oust the gray ones that cropped up. She remembered restless nights; the fevered, fleeting sleep; waking in a sweat, images of violence hot on her eyelids.

Most of all, she remembered loneliness. She passed among employees, politicians, and socialites, residing behind a counterfeit smile-- a shut-in, observing life through a tinted window. With her public veneer stripped away, she was slight, hollow.

  She learned to blunt the sting: by giving her kindnesses to any who wanted. And when she gave to Korra, her investment repaid with interest. In time, she learned that Korra's hands were just the right size to wrap her heart completely.

When Korra left for the South Pole, the hollowness, acute and abysmal, tore back in. The two years that followed were the emptiest she’d known. When the letter came, she was beside herself. She felt that she had starved for days and suddenly encountered food-- more than a shrunken stomach could possibly eat.

She sat at her desk for hours, fidgeting with a pen, anguishing over blank stationery. She wanted to tell Korra all of the things that weighed on her so heavily; she wanted to commandeer an airship and join her in the Southern Water Tribe; she wanted to give her all she had to offer; she wanted to cherish her, housing no fear of potential rejection; she wanted; she craved. Hers was a selfish hunger.

  But in the end, she did none of those things. Korra needed the space she sought in her homeland, and time to recuperate.  After a long bath and a hot cup of tea, Asami wrote her letter. The next week, she faithfully wrote another, hoping she wouldn’t have to wait another two years for a response.

--*--

  Korra's gifted hands continued to coax the stress from each muscle. With her eyes closed, Asami pictured those hands, capable and confident, working until her flesh was supple as taffy.

  --*--

Lately, she longed for Korra, but it wasn’t lust; just yesterday, when they met for lunch, she’d pounced the moment the other woman set foot in her office. Both had had their fill in that hot hour. But she’d gone home yesterday evening to an empty house, a familiar ache blooming between her lungs as she opened the door.

--*--

  From her neck, Korra meandered over the tops of her shoulders. Every muscle now laid laxly; Asami had eased the reins over her thoughts in the process. It struck her at once: here was the most powerful human on the planet, attending her with the softest touches, putting forward her undivided affection. She drew another deep breath, and held it in.

  --*--

“Hang onto something!” she’d yelled.

The airship was in a nosedive, and losing altitude-- fast. The cockpit windscreen, once blue, filled with the crests of the dunes below. “No!” Korra had shouted, skidding across the slanted deck to join her at the control panel. “You’ve got to let go!” Asami jerked the wheel in vain; it spun uselessly in the steering column. She knew better-- yet gripped it still, hoping. In seconds, they would collide. “A-SAMI!” Korra roared above the groans of the fuselage under strain. She secured an arm around her middle; her other hand pried at the engineer’s fingers, seized on the wheel. Milliseconds to impact. Asami could see each ripple in the sand.

Her hands went slack at Korra’s urging. No time to brace.

  In the same instant that the battens struck the earth, the Avatar crushed both arms around her, a blast of air erupting from the soles of her feet. For a moment, Asami was weightless-- the frame of the aircraft shrieked, warping-- and then the weight returned. She landed hard on one elbow, but Korra took the brunt of her fall, hitting the floor beneath them with a metallic thud; only when the vessel had ground to a full halt did she let go her hold.

Korra’s arms splayed out to either side, and she struggled to regain the wind that had been knocked out of her. Asami rolled off, gaining a shaky footing on the uneven floor, and offered a hand. Korra took it, and Asami pulled the other woman to her feet.

Her heart pistoned against her ribs; the rush of blood in her ears drowned out all but her own heavy breathing. They spent a moment gasping, relieved, recovering.

“Are you okay?” she panted.

Korra gulped, nodded, wiped her palms on her pants. “You?”

  A thousand-foot drop in an out-of-control airship, and at most, all Asami would have to show for it was a bruise or two. Minutes ago, she’d broken them both free; and minutes after, Korra had already returned the favor.

“I’m fine,” she said, mustering a tiny smile. “Thank you.”

Korra shrugged, then rubbed at her neck. “Sorry for wrecking the ship,” she grimaced.

Asami clasped the woman’s shoulder. “Hey--

  Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing.”

--*--

  Asami had never taken a good look at the knot inside her, could never scrutinize its twinings. She’d only held it fast, held it in, where it had no room to come undone. She knew what it was to cling. She gripped, knuckles bloodless, as if she were behind the wheel; as she would in all the sharp corners where a Satomobile lost traction; as she did when the airship came barreling down. Even when she couldn’t change the course, she clung; she’d never had another choice. She knew how things could sink in a moment of inattention.

Now, Korra was there again, closing in around her, prying at her hold. Her hands were firm in their message as they pressed Asami’s flesh-- Let go-- but gentle in their persuasion-- please. A lifetime ago, in a child’s body, she had felt the same; she recalled the face of a mother she knew better in photographs, a scraped knee-- Please, sweetie, just let me see it-- and the same nerves, the same wariness she felt now. It was only instinct, anyhow-- to cover the wound, as if holding it close would ease the rawness.

  She had clung to the knot for so long that her body felt cramped around it. But Korra tried her still, insistently. You’ve got to let go. Just like in the airship-- she couldn’t correct the course, and eventually, she would crash. A knot could only cinch so tight before the cord snapped; just last week, in Ba Sing Se, two engineers had died on the job when an electrical pylon’s cables broke violently loose under tension. Asami clutched the pelt, twisting her fingers into the fur.

  Korra made a few final wide strokes over her body; her hands came to rest at the small of her back. “Asami.” A second time, she asked, “Are you okay?”

Asami’s voice came out thick. “I’ve--” she cleared her throat-- “I’ve just been kind of balled up about everything lately. Never really had the time to process it all-- maybe I didn’t want to. It’s easy to keep busy, and… put it on the back burner, I guess. But this-- you-- gave me some space to think.”

Korra reached to the nightstand for a hand towel, and spent a few quiet moments clearing her skin of oil. “Do you want to talk about it?” she invited.

Asami let go of the fur. “Maybe,” she pondered, smoothing the blanket below her fingers. “...Once I figure out how to put it all into words.”

  Korra lay down beside her, and pulled her close. Asami nestled into the pad of flesh between her shoulder and breast. She breathed Korra’s scent, and nuzzled closer; the other woman kissed her hairline. They shared a cozy silence. This was a chief item on the long list of the things she admired about Korra: that, more often than not, she gave Asami what she needed without her having to ask.

  The knot inside her had, at last, unravelled. Disentangled from it, she was free to arrange and examine the pieces of her life with the poise of a pai sho master. And so, she laid it out, tile by tile:

  She must negotiate the purchase of a new manufacturing plant in Gaoling in a teleconference the following morning.

Asami was executive.

Future Industries stocks had risen 6.4 percent at the end of trading.

Asami was successful.

The fuel filter in her ‘mobile needed a cleaning.

Asami was technical.

Hiroshi’s legacy was now her own.

Asami was improving.

Next month, she would be twenty-three.

Asami was hopeful.

When Korra held her, they fit each other like cogs.

Asami was warm.

Korra wanted her; cared for her; valued her.

Asami was not alone.

  With an ear to her chest, she heard and felt the Avatar’s pulse: a strong, steady sound that could-- and, many nights, had-- put her to sleep.

She articulated her ultimate thought in four words: “I love you, Korra.”

Korra stirred; her skin blazed beneath Asami’s cheek. “I love you, too,” she echoed, her voice soft with adoration.

  To Asami’s knowledge, it was the first time that they’d said so aloud. It was not a realization-- nor a novelty. It was a reiteration of the physical language they had spoken for years. In her three years alone, she had rehearsed her confession. She’d had a plan; a ceremonial; a night of romance culminating in a heartfelt proclamation. But this had been a casual affair-- natural, reflexive, like drawing curtains to let in light.

  Asami was satisfied.