There's a soundless rasp of expensive, silk clothing as Asami settles herself primly on the floor of her new living quarters. After Mr. Sato has been imprisoned for endangering the lives of others, this is the first time Asami's been compliant enough have guests on Air Temple Island, to spend time with someone other than Mako.

And she's all softly spoken tones in her girlish voice but stern commands as Asami verbally arranges Korra to pose at the end of her cot, one ankle tucked underneath her on the blankets. Korra feels silly along with feeling undoubtedly naked. She's not strikingly beautiful, not like the other girl, so why would anyone want to draw her or her body? Asami doesn't seem that interested in her physical appearance or in the Avatar reputation either. Not like others have been — Asami doesn't seem to find her company to be advantageous to some social or political cause. She simply wanted her company.

The orange, woven material of the robe isn't as rough in sensation as the wool of Korra's everyday wear, but isn't as soft as the fur.

Without her under-binds to her privates and breasts, her skin prickles to the exposure — and to someone else's attention.

Asami lays out her drawing materials. Korra's dark fingers lift up a moment to trace around the fire lily tucked behind her left ear, stem deep and hidden in the mess of her undone, brown hair. "Open up your robe whenever you feel ready," Asami instructs her, words still soft.

The young Avatar turns her face down to her lap — it's not a huge deal — and awkwardly maneuvers herself to slip off the robe. Korra's cheeks redden, embarrassed. She feels so out of character for her modesty when spring bud green eyes examine her limbs and her shape with a calculated, polite reservation.

Asami's fingers begin meticulously stoking a block of charcoal across her page.

"You're tensing up."

"Am not," Korra mutters, defensively.

A muscle in her jaw clenches. Oops.

A quiet and amused smile lights up Asami's features. The first genuine one Korra's seen in weeks.

The ex-heiress speaks up again after another couple minutes of sketching, "Would you feel more comfortable if I were to remove some of my clothing?"

Between Korra's legs, her center pulses at the sudden images — the padded, cycling overcoat sweeping open; ruby-red velvets and plum-colored cashmeres spilling away, one after the other; glassy, clean fingernails raking over an expansion of sweat-glistened, pearly white skin. Taking a deep, meditative breath, Korra subtly adjusts her knee to hide herself.

"You're not the one getting their picture drawn. So, what's the point?" she asks.

"Well, I don't want to scare you off." Asami's thumb smudges across her page, shading Korra's collarbone.

A scoffing noise. "Well, if I was such a chickengoose, then I wouldn't have agreed to any of this, right?"

"That's fair, I suppose," Asami muses, smiling again a little more widely, eyes trained to her drawing. "Perhaps I was mistaken in assuming you were nervous." Green eyes flick up and down between Korra and the sheet of page, holding seconds of lucid intensity, on her, on her nudity. The only people who have seen Korra completely naked before in her entire life were her parents and Katara, her mentor and childhood healer. They never stared like this, with unnamed earnestness in their nature and aesthetic pleasure. A small amount of fluid slicks and gathers from Korra's center, moistening the space where her innermost thighs meet.

Silence hovers, broken with separate paces of breathing — calm yourself, Korra… just be calm — and the lightest scratches of charcoal rubbing. Korra manages to not stammer any of her words, despite how her heart gallops, "Why don't you draw Mako?"

"I wanted to draw you."

She makes it sound like it's the most obvious answer.



The sternness in her voice freezes up the young Avatar arranged and highlighted in the thin slants of moon through the window shutters.

Asami's black-smudged finger, black and shiny like her gorgeous knot of hair, crooks towards herself. "Come here a moment, won't you?"

Thinking with some relief that the drawing session was over, Korra throws herself onto her feet and reaches for her robe. "Leave it where it is," comes another softer command from her friend. Korra's eyebrows burrow in confusion. Face-to-face, now standing with Asami, she understands.

Willowy, charcoal-coated fingers press into the hardness of Korra's right bicep, swirling jet black lines on her coppery skin. Asami continues down that muscular, powerful arm, using her charcoal blocks to renew the saturation on her fingertips. Korra doesn't stop her, doesn't bother to remember to stop gasping when those gifted fingers chart their new journey against her throat, to her sternum, and knead the curve of a breast before moving to the opposite.

Korra's nipples ache to the cool air, ache to be touched again. She glances down at what had been drawn to her flesh.

A phoenixdove, proud and regal, vividly stretched across her front with its beak aimed towards Korra's neck, talons under her ribcage, the plumage of wings spread as if meaning to take flight off her skin.


Asami laughs when the awed statement leaves Korra's lips, exposing her teeth. A pair of blue eyes catches the sight of a tiny jut of space between her two front teeth. It helps serve a reminder of how real this is moment is, how beautiful her friend is in her softness and imperfections and mystery. It's nice to see Asami smiling because of her.

"Not usually the response I get, but thank you, Korra."


Happy, happy late birthday to shadowinthedark13~~! *MWAHHHHH* You are one of the best things to ever happen to me, gurlfraaaand. I mean it.

Korrasexual prompt:

"Asami is quite the artist and convinces Korra to pose nude for a painting."