( asami leans back, bracing her hands against korra's thighs as she undoes the buttons of her blouse, each one separating from the taut fabric with a little pop. korra's hand is warm against her skin except for the ring, which is a chilled contrast to the heat of her. asami curls into her like a leaf curls inward in a fire, both her hands slipping to cover korra's one. )

Oh, I think we can call me Mrs. Avatar. Don't you?

( it's teasingly said. asami leans in to rub her nose playfully against korra's, and then to kiss her cheeks, her brow. her other hand slips down between them, fingers pressed up against korra through the fabric of her pants. it's nothing more insistent than a trailing stroke against her clit, slow and easy. )

I know you had this lovely evening planned for us, Korra, but... do you want to go back inside?

( it isn't that she's against the exhibitionism, it's simply that although she will roll around in dirt and grease for hours and never complain, one whisper of twigs in her hair is enough to be an instant and immediate turn-off. sorry, korra. picnic blankets in the middle of the garden may not be the place for love-making. )