#amonsbooty

                  always she had spared with her 'brothers' and 'sisters'; most were reoccurring partners, though some days an unfamiliar face would request to face her. she never turned down a sparring partner, particularly in a place where she could learn the techniques of those she was attempting to bring to justice. what she had not expected, though, was for a sparring match well after most had retired to their rooms. at this hour, she normally only had the punching bag, and some other equipment, to vent with.

           never in a million years did she think she'd have to spar against amon, even if it provided a once in a life-time opportunity to familiarize herself with his style; his strengths; his weaknesses ( if any ). apparently, her plan to keep a low profile had, more or less, went out the window, and it drowned the second their stances & offensive techniques drew them into closer combat.

              korra isn't clear how it happened, exactly; she was physically exhausted, kept entirely on her toes throughout the whole thing. but, he was unexpectedly distracting for reasons he couldn't quite pin point, let alone wanted to. had she been giving signals? what even were signals to invite something like this? this, of course, being the dangerous situation of being pinned against a wall.

               for more than a few moments, she was so sure he knew; even though no one, save for two others, knew of her status of the avatar, he had to have known. why else would he be caging her in? fear morphed into panic, and it only escalated the closer he moved. heart thundering in her chest, she can tell he's speaking, but his voice falls on deaf ears, because she's convinced she's about to lose her bending, and more.

               but he doesn't hurt her. in fact, somewhere between her mental freak-out, he's dipped his head into her shoulder, and shifted the position of his mask, to brush his lips over a bruise that's started to form. all it would take is a single swipe of her hand to break the mask, & to learn his identity, before high-tailing it out of the underground base to, hopefully, report what she's learned.

                although a glorified risk taker, that is too much of a long shot, even with the opportunity at hand. and she's knowledgeable enough to know what he's doing, and what she should be doing, in return, to avoid any kind of suspicion. her heart is racing, thus it's plausible he has mistaken it for something else, something other than all-consuming fear, but it works in her favor.

                  she accepts his advances with a breathy exhale, determined to remain undercover, to gather the information she needs, so that the revolution can be stopped before it has truly had a chance to begin. it's that thought that makes it easier to mold her mouth over the pulse-point on his neck, cheek brushing against the mask that has instilled terror into the city above, and relax.