Title: Touch.

Rating: K

Word Count: 2,453 Words

Notes: Mako and Korra get used to each other's touch. It's a slow process but its so natural, its effortless. (AHH I have to get this all out of my system before Friday!)

It starts slow, and he doesn't push it. She smiles at him tentatively, like she doesn't know where they stand—he doesn't either—but it's a start.

The first time 'Team Avatar' parts after their 3 year hiatus, Bolin can't help it; he envelopes her in an bear hug. Korra is smooth, she laughs it off as he lets go. Suddenly, Asami is there also, her long arms entwined around Korra's shoulders. Korra squeezes back reassuringly. Mako stands there, for a moment—is he supposed to hug her too? Trying to minimalize the awkwardness as best as he can, he kind of clasps her on the shoulders, hugging her stiffly without letting their bodies touch. He realizes that he made it a million times worse as she grimaces back—but he can tell she understands.

The second time they make contact is...perhaps more awkward than the first.

Prince Wu, who Asami has labeled "oogie" (Which is apparently, a cross between icky, gross, creepy, and disgusting, all in one girl adjective—Korra instantly understood), has turned his advances onto the Avatar.

The three of them are standing in an elevator, on their way up to Beifong's office. Prince Wu's laser-like vision is glued on Korra's chest, and Korra, who has decided that all Earth Kingdom royalty are scum, has not flown off the handle and bashed said Prince's head with the wall of the elevator. Yet.

In an effort to interrupt the Prince's line of sight, Mako takes one deliberate step to his left and loudly starts asking the Prince about his future Kingly duties. He gestures wildly and distracted, Wu looks up.

The elevator pings and Wu prances out of the doors. Mako sighs, and as his arms come down from his last grand gesture, one of his hands brushes upon something rather soft…he freezes and turns back—his hand is directly on Korra's chest. Her eyes are wide and his breath is caught in his throat.

He quickly retracts his offending hand and leaves to find his charge—seriously, why is he so bad at this?

The third time is the easiest—Prince Wu is an imbecile and has let himself get kidnapped. Korra and Asami are assisting the recovery but it isn't easy—the kidnappers are well trained and well funded.

Asami is making hard turns, breaking sharply as she throws the car around obstacles. Mako and Korra are doing their best to aim their bending—moving targets combined with innocent bystanders is tricky.

Suddenly, the van with Prince Wu's body stuffed in a box comes into sight—but it's about to disappear.

Without a word, Korra looks at him and he nods. She braces herself with one hand on his shoulder before she pushes off, releasing a blast of fire towards the van's tires. Mako knows exactly where to aim his next bursts so that they compliment hers; in the back of his mind, he's thinking of their pro-bending days. After 3 years, they still seem to be perfectly in sync.

Prince Wu is safe, not that anyone was that worried for his well-being, and the three of them are walking home from the luxury hotel that they dropped him off at (which Asami's company apparently owns).

Asami breaks off to check on her office after an afternoon away, so he and Korra walk back in the direction of Air Temple Island, in silence.

"If he looked at me like that, one more time," groans Korra, who has decided that the only way to get the feeling of Wu's unpleasant gaze roaming her features was a SCALDING hot bath. "I swear I would have cracked him."

Mako laughs, "If you would have, the Earth Kingdom would have given you a medal."

"A medal! That'd be nice," she laughs back.

The distance between them has slowly lessened until they're walking shoulder to shoulder. He can feel the tips of her whispy hair tickling the sleeves of his jacket.

They pause while she collects her glider staff from a locker at the docks.

"Glad you're back, Korra," he says. He hopes his smile is friendly and doesn't betray the other things he's been thinking about, lately.

She smiles in response. Her hand comes up to brush the side of his arm, before twisting the staff open. "It's good to be back."

Korra is practically gasping for air, almost like a fish out of water.

Mako double checks that they're alone now, and seals the door. Korra's doubled over, her hands shaking as she braces herself on her knees.

"Hey, hey," he says, softly. Without hesitation, he rubs her arms, slowly moving to her back as the gasps turn to broken sobs. "Korra, we're safe. We're safe."

Eventually, he finds that her head is nestled in the crook beneath his chin. He moves to pull her sticky hair away from her neck and she flinches.

He's not offended. He knows it's too soon to go anywhere near that area, especially when it's only been minutes since she's felt the ever-too familiar sensation of heavy tendrils of air, stroking her neck.

Asami has thrown a party on her balcony. To the Satos, a balcony means thousands of feet of manicured, open-aired and draped space. Mako is absolutely sure that the bar area by itself is bigger than his entire apartment.

The timing of such a party seems particularly odd (especially with all of the political ridiculousness that's floating through the air), but Mako slowly realizes why she did it.

For one night, just one—everyone throws their worries aside. He's off to the side, leaning against the rail while he nurses a glass of something strong.

Bolin and Opal are dancing on a table. Asami's hair is down, and she's listening to the joke of a red-headed socialite. They are laughing up a storm. And Korra, she's decided to try one….of everything. In quick succession, she drinks three drinks in a row—slamming the last glass down hard enough that he can hear the sharp clink of the glass cracking from where he's standing. Of course, this makes her laugh even harder.

Korra gets up, a bit wobbly when someone suddenly pulls her into an embrace.

Mako jerks to attention but he doesn't intervene—even slightly inebriated, he knows Korra can hold her own.

As expected, Korra throws said offender off….it's a well-dressed young man, wearing a Navy suit. Around one of his arms, he wears a cuff, striped in geometric white and blue patterns. His eyes are also...blue.

Korra's eyes grow wide—Mako waits for the sound of cartilage cracking—but it never comes. Instead, Korra yells something in delight and hugs the Stranger back.

Hours pass and Korra and the stranger talk all night, until he leaves with the rest of the crowd. Asami is passed out, lying on top of the bar; Bolin and Opal are softly snoozing in a corner. Mako is lying in one of those impractical bucket chairs—his limbs are splayed off the sides as the rest of him slouches towards the middle. His eyebrows are furrowed together—he is not in a good mood.

"Hey," sloshes voice over his shoulder. He slowly glances upwards—a pair of hazy blue eyes are peering down at him.

"…Hey," says Mako. His words sound clipped, even though he doesn't intend them to.

Korra garbles something which he roughly translates as, "Why do you have a stick up your butt?" He ignores this.

She tries to perch gracefully on the edge of his chair, but due to the fact that this is a bucket chair (and the base isn't fixed, why would you bring these dangerous chairs to a party with alcohol?), she ends up knocking the whole chair off balance, landing haphazardly on him as the base slides away. With a thud that makes him swear (and her to laugh), the base-less chair lands on the ground.

She elbows him until he's forced to scoot over, and he can't help but notice how their bodies seem to fit together rather well. After this, Korra finally manages to say something clearly. "Mako, you're so dumb." Her finger comes up to slowly jam itself into his cheek.

"…What?" Mako grimaces.

"You. Are. Dumb." Her finger prods on every word, for emphasis.

Mako has finally reached his limit. "Korra, just—"he hisses, but she cuts him off again—

"That was my cousin. Mom's side, Asami hired him because he does magic," her fingers flutter in the air, highlighting this word, "…with numbers."

Mako's lips are pursed into a tight line. "…Oh," is all he manages to choke out.

Korra sighs loudly as she rearranges his arm as a pillow. She's out cold in an instant.

The Airbenders are going off again, Bolin's going also. Korra elects to stay and she watches the bison drift off into the sunset. The sky is beautiful at this time of day; it's a painting of oranges and golds, delicately mixed with pinks and purples. This is Korra's favorite time of day.

She waves until the bison are a speck in the distance. When her hands finally come down, she slips her tired palm into his and squeezes.

The new Detective on his team apparently has never read the regulations. She drops her reports off at Mako's desk, leaning forward to draw attention to the fact that her uniform is halfway unbuttoned on the top, before strutting out of his office like its a catwalk.

Mako frowns. This is just too much. And to make matters more complicated, Korra strolls in next. She's not angry—she's amused. Her eyes are wide and she's wearing a dumbfounded smirk. "Seriously?" is the only thing she says, trying not to laugh.

He sweeps her out of his office until they're in a secluded hallway. "I can't take this anymore," he fumes, exasperated.

"Just talk to her about it," says Korra, "Isn't it kind of simple? You're her boss."

"I did—and I swear, every time I bring up dress code, she unbuttons another button. I'm going to be sick."

Korra makes a face, "Alright—I'm rescuing you. Right now, lunch Let's go."

They swing back by his office to grab his hat. Big mistake—the Detective has arranged herself on his desk— and all the buttons undone this time.

Korra yelps, "What the—" and her hands reach up to shield Mako's eyes. She ends up smacking him hard enough in the face that he sees stars. It's extremely painful but he feels that this is the lesser of two evils in this situation.

"This is clearly not working," says Asami. Her french-tipped nails are raking at his scalp, in vain.

Mako throws his hands up, "Oh c'mon, you aren't trying hard enough."

"No really," she says, "I think it's stuck."

"Okay, let me try," says Korra, stepping forward. Suddenly the nails are gone and thin fingers replace them. Her hands are dry, the chapped pads snag at his hair.

"SHUT. UP. Bolin," shouts Mako, who frowns even deeper. "This isn't funny. This is freaking serious."

Bolin, who is watching from a distance, laughs even harder. Tears are rolling down his face as he gasps for air. His cheeks hurt but he can't stop himself. This is so hilarious, he doesn't know what to do.

Suddenly, Mako feels warmth on his head—Korra has heated her fingers and he feels his head start to tingle…

There's an audible poof…and silence. Korra and Asami are looking at him in horror and Bolin is now rolling on the floor.

Gradually, Mako has both pairs of hands roaming his head but they give up within seconds.

"KORRA, what the hell?" he exclaims—does he have an afro now?! All he asked was that they try to arrange his hair back to what it used to be, this is DEFINITELY not what he had in mind.

"I guess we could….shave it off?" says Korra has stepped back to admire her handiwork. Mako's expression is priceless-she bites her lip and starts to snigger.

Asami's expert eyes appraise him before she turns away. "I'll go get the clippers," she agrees.

Her hands drag themselves down his back before coming back up to clutch at his shoulder blades.

Her skin is salty but he kisses her anywhere he can reach, nibbling on the sensitive places that elicit shivers when he presses his lips to them. He feels the bumps that have traveled up her legs in a sensual wave, the heat flushing from her chest as they press together.

She pulls him towards her, and he feels hot kisses on his neck. He shivers when he feels the sweet bite of her teeth on the edge of his earlobe.

It's Happy Hour. The bars are a glow with neon lights and happy people, enjoying a large draft to relax after a long day.

Mako expels the day's tension with a sigh as he strolls past the bars, his briefcase slung over his shoulder and one hand jammed in his pocket.

He definitely thinks he looks cool.

He continues until he reaches the Park (the four of them has decided that its a bit weird to call it by its entire name, especially since Korra is here, now) and stops to admire the view.

The statue of Avatar Korra is larger than life—he's thankful that he knows both the Avatar and the Person, and that he knows the difference between the two.

Mako hears laughter approaching him, and he drops his briefcase as two strong arms wrap loosely around his neck. It's automatic, he grasps her around the middle and spins her around as her feet dangle in the air. This is their favorite way to hug, he knows, it's what comes naturally.

He can't help but think that this is what he should have done the first time they touched.