disclaimer: disclaimed.
dedication: to Sofia, because she makes beautiful graphics and is an all-around flawless human being. that is all.
notes: I AM NOT WORTHY. I AM NOT. WORTHY.

title: seduction unlikely
summary: Really, he should have known that sneaking into the Avatar's bedroom in the middle of the night was going to end in a broken nose. — Tahno/Korra.

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The floorboards creak under light pressure. Footsteps—she doesn't know that gait, doesn't know the slight intake of breath, or the way the shoulders brush against the right side of the door frame.

Korra's eyes snap open.

She is an arc of freezing water, muscles bunching beneath the film of her skin as she vaults out of bed. The sharp cold edges of the ice blade bite into her flesh and there is pain, but it is not enough to pull even an iota of her attention away from the breathing at the door. Heavy. Male.

Well, then.

She slams her fist into his solar plexus, foot down burning against his boot, and head forward into his face. There is a sickening crunch of cartilage—she thinks she might have broken his nose. Good. The gush of blood is warm over her fingers.

He drops like a stone.

It's too dark to make out his face, but his breathing is quick, ragged, scared. Korra covers his mouth before he can make a sound. The knife curves around his throat.

"And just what do you think you're doing in my room?" Korra asks. She thinks of Asami sleeping in the next room; Jinora and Ikki and Meelo, the last airbenders alive are just down the hall; Bolin snoring, Mako watching the sky. Family.

Her voice drips syrupy danger. Korra is not afraid to kill.

But dead silence is her only answer.

"You have thirty seconds," she murmurs into his ear, and removes her hand. "If you try anything, I will burst your heart in your chest before you can scream. We clear?"

"Hello, uh-vatar."

"Uh." Korra blinks. "Tah… no?"

"It would be kind of you to let me up."

Korra squints down at him, blue eyes squinching into thin slats of blue-on-white. Shadows across the moon turn him flickering silver-dark, but she knows that Spirits-be-damned smirk.

"I guess it would," she snorts. The blade turns to water, sluices down her wrist to soak into the wood. Korra rolls off him, all liquid grace as her fingers whisper across the floor—she pulls herself up onto the bed, wraps her arms around her knees and stares, stares, stares.

"Sorry," she says shortly.

He looks up at her with his hand over his nose, blinking bemusedly.

"Ow."

"You deserved that," Korra grumbles. She refuses to give in to that pout. Why? Because—because. He's in her bedroom and it's creepy and she's tired and grouchy and—

"Ow."

The repetition has her rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. "Spirits above, you baby, get up here and I'll fix it."

He grins with blood in his teeth.

Korra contemplates punching him in the mouth, just to see if he would react. But she doesn't so he doesn't and he crawls up onto her sheets with his stupid hair in his stupid eyes and they just… just look at each other. For a minute. It's a little thing, a tiny spark when their eyes meet.

Her hand is still smeared with his blood. It glistens darkly out of the corner of her eye.

"Go on then, uh-vatar. Fix it," he says.

She hates the way the words leave his mouth. Violence is a pleasant fizz just underneath her skin. But violence—well, violence is overrated. There are worse things the Avatar can do to a man who's lost his bending that simple violence.

"Stupid," Korra says. "C'mere."

The water moves of its own accord to glove her fingers. A muscle in his jaw jumps; he flinches away, but his pupils dilate wide and hungry, and Korra knows exactly how this is going to go.

"Stupid," she says again.

She clambers into his lap.

Her hand glows, and she touches his face.

fin.