#queue on bitches

"Nah," he says, his tone a little too light. He tightens his grasp on her slim waist. "Let's get this over with."

"Oh, I don't intend to get it over with," Jinora says. "Flying is fun. You'll want to draw out the experience, you'll see."

"No, don't, I.. uh.. have to...." He falters, oddly enough; and he curses his fear-addled brain for hindering his perfectly honed ability to lie convincingly.

"You have to go somewhere?" Jinora supplies.

Skoochy nods, relieved. "Yup."

"I don't believe it." She can feel him fidget behind her. "Are you scared, Skoochy?"

Skoochy only scoffs.

Lin moves to Korra's bedside, setting the tray on the small table there.

"I must be dreaming," Korra finally speaks. Lin merely rolls her eyes in response.

When Korra is sure that Lin is, indeed, there- bringing her breakfast in bed- a slow smirk spreads across her face.

"What's this?" Korra teases. "Lin Beifong bringing her teenage lover breakfast in bed?"

"Don't flatter yourself." The words are a cross between a mumble and a grunt, and Lin refuses to meet Korra's eyes.

"I knew that you had a couple of soft spots," Korra continues. "It only took the Avatar to bring them out."

The corners of Lin's mouth quirk; Korra can see that she's trying hard not to smile. "Eat."

Smirk still in place, Korra reaches for a buttered biscuit.

"Skoochy... Skoochy please," she whines, her back arching off the bed as his tongue ghosted over her clit.

"Tell me," Skoochy commands; the thought of the well-mannered airbender girl doing so made him harder than ever. "Beg me, and I'll do it."

"Skoochy, make me come, please, I need it, oh Spirits fu-"

Her pleads broke off on a cry as Skoochy speared his fingers into her; he pumped them furiously, and it was only a few minutes before she clamped around him, coming undone.

"You used scarves last time," she pants, breathless from the force of her orgasm. She moves her arms, the cool metal chafing against her wrists. "No fair."

She moves forward; then frowns. Her limbs don't seem to want to cooperate with her; they move agonizingly slowly, as though wading through a substance more viscous than water.

"Father?"

She licks her lips; she shouldn't say it, she shouldn't, but she knows that she's in a dream and it can't possibly hurt if she indulges, just once, can it?

"M-mother?"

Asami holds her breath in her lungs, traps it there; and for a second, she doesn't dare to hope.

But then, there she she is, moving from the shadows into the light; a vision of beauty in red silk, ebony locks.

Asami stands still, shell-shocked for a solid minute; but this is a dream, her dream, and nothing can truly hurt her here.

She chooses to force that into the back of her mind.

Her mother extends her arms, mutely; Asami rushes into them, fearing her grin will split her face.

"Mama," Asami cries, the strong eighteen year old replaced by a girl reduced to a puddle of tears. "Oh, Mama."

"Shhh." Asami feels her mother's hand in her hair. "It's okay."

"I miss you," she sniffs, burrowing her head deeper into her mother. She feels so solid. "I... I miss you so much."

"I miss you too." Her mother's hand begins to stroke her hair, and the touch is soothing. "You're doing so well."

"I'm not," Asami says viciously. She turns her eyes up to her mother, wet and pleading. "I need you, back there. And father-"

She bites her lip, unable to continue.

"You're doing so well," her mother repeats, before pressing a kiss to Asami's forehead. She pulls away from her, leaving her daughter half crouched on the floor. "I'm proud of you."

"But-"

Her next words are cut off by a scream as fire springs from nowhere. Instinctively, Asami scurries backwards on all fours; but her mother is walking into the flame, and, despite the heat, Asami springs to her feet.

"Mother! No!"

But if there was an answer, Asami doesn't hear it; it is swallowed by the flame, along with the red silk, the ebony locks, the green eyes.

High-pitched, frantic screams fill the air, and it's a moment before she realizes that they're coming from her own throat.

"Asami?"

A voice rings in her ears; a voice she knows well.

"Asami! Asami, wake up!"

Her cheek stings; Asami lifts a hand to her face, confused, before noticing dimly that her arms have grown, her fingers are longer, her nails tapered.

Korra's face swims before her eyes.

"I'm sorry." Korra's lips move at the same time the words ring in her ears; Asami blinks, and with a lurch, the room comes into focus.

"I had to slap you." An undertone of panic is evident in Korra's voice. "You... you were screaming."

"Sorry," Asami offers weakly, and finds her throat is hoarse.

"Oh, Asami." Korra's arms circle her middle, and her warm weight is a comfort against her back. "I.. I really am sorry. I don't know how to react to this.. how to help. You're way better at it than me."

Asami's too tired to formulate a response, but she grips Korra's hand in hers.

"What was it?" Korra's tentative question drifts to her. "What did you dream?"

"My mother." Asami's voice cracks. "I saw her die."

She feels Korra's face burrows into the back of her neck. No words are needed.

"Sleep," Korra says eventually, her own voice tinged by it. "I'll protect you."

Eventually, Asami relents, yielding to the impending exhaustion; but she can't seem to rid herself of the lace tablecloth, the red silk, the scent of burning flesh-

She feels Korra, nuzzling her affectionately, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck.