She moaned into his passionate kiss, eagerly telling him she wanted more. It tasted of many water fights, loneliness and flame, of sheer desire. His unsure hands fumbled amidst her hair as he gently cradled her neck to the side, giving him wondrous access to her neck as he began trailing kisses down it, he relished in the joy of tasting her after he hadn't the opportunity to for so long.

When was it that a simple friendship became something more?

The hanging light bulb above them was dim and occasionally flickered on and off as she shoved him against the shelves behind him, her impatient hands scrabbling at the many buttons of his shirt. His back banged into a can of paint while his left hand searched for some sort of object to give him better balance. Aha, the long handle of this mop would do.

Their reunion was only three months ago. It's a small world after all.

After an eternity, she finally got his shirt off, peeling it steadily off of his warm body. It smelled of his intoxicating scent of tea, ash, and a hint of cologne. His shirt was discarded on top of the crooked broomstick. He pulled her roughly against him, his senses taking over his body, and was rewarded with her sensuous moan; he began unraveling the complex puzzle of corset strings, cursing its existence in every language he could think of.

Who knew that four years could change someone so much?

She traced the scar on his left eye with the gentlest of kisses, her glazed over eyes revealing their sharper depths as she remembered his past. The accusations. The problems. The pain. The loneliness. She had missed out on so much. She drowned her thoughts in a deeper kiss, drinking him dry, biting his lower lip to remove the taste of his hurt and to replace it with the hints of sweet dew she could offer. Her eyes closed, her senses were heightened. She tasted more, felt more, smelled more; he sent delicious jolts of desire to her yearning core. Today, she would make him forget all about the past.

Who knew that four years could make one miss someone so much?

The corset twirled in mid-air until it finally landed on the cold concrete floor, in between the mop bucket and bleach. He fumbled with her bra straps while she kissed his muscular shoulders, nipped his collarbone. When he finally got her bra off, he could only hold it—his body froze as her tongue flicked his soft earlobe. His involuntary shudder caused her to smile into his skin while she continued her work. It wasn't until he felt the slick warmth of her mouth encase the shell of his ear, tongue seductively invading the canal, that he remembered to drop the bra and use his hands for more than just a clothes rack.

Their first encounter with one another was filled with many smiles, of many recounted memories, of many awkward silences. How could they just pick up where they left off? Who knew that four years could keep them as separated as before, despite the fact they were a mere foot away from the other?

Who knew she'd be dating Jet?

Who knew he'd be dating Jin?

Her knees buckled briefly and she moaned louder; his tongue teased her nipples, her hands encircled around his neck, hanging on was all she could do for the moment as he continued his own work on her breasts. His left hand claimed one, his mouth engulfed the other. With the right lick of the tongue, the smallest hint of teeth, and the exact pressure of lips, it was enough to elicit a slight, begging whimper—she never did that for Jet. Her breathing became mere animal-like pants as she nearly crumbled before him right then and there.

Instead of picking up where they left off, they simply recounted their lives ever since the fire.

Becoming more sure of himself, it was his turn to send her banging into the opposite shelves two feet away. The string of the light bulb swayed from side to side as the crowns of their heads brushed past it; the light was estranged and roaming, it casted new and unfamiliar shadows on their bodies while he kissed her firm belly and began removing her medieval gown. Her hand was lost in his hair, tangling its black locks, but she didn't care. She hadn't felt this way in a long time. Just gazing down at him, on his knees before her, was enough to make her weak at the knees. Thank the gods the broom to her left was there to support her. Her left hand grasped the broom's handle tighter, knuckles turning white, just as her dress landed with a dramatic whisper on the floor. She pulled his head up hurriedly to hers, delving into the sweet recesses of his lips again.

Ever since they'd been near inseparable—as much as they could be without Jet and Jin noticing anything "out of the ordinary." They compared Spanish notes, joked in the hallways. They took trips to Starbucks where she quizzed him on vocabulary and he taught her the cheat codes to their ancient (yet favorite) Avatar game for the PSP. They didn't start venturing into forbidden territory until two months later.

Grasping the clasp of his belt, she opened and freed the sliver of metal in his belt buckle, finally tugging on it and dismissing the entire thing. It made a slight "slosh" sound as it landed into the mop's bucket—neither noticed. She was free to remove his pants, and she relished her turn to tease him by kneeling slowly, tortuously, pulling the pants down with her, an arrogant glint formed in her eye as she smirked up at his hungry, impatient expression. She stayed on the floor well after he kicked off his pants towards the paint cans, tracing the length of his foot, calve, inner thigh—

It had seemed so awkward at first. She had asked him. He was surprised and yet pleased with the change in their relationship; they dove into the secrets, the lies the world of balancing two relationships at once: one for sumptuous pleasure, the other for the sake of peace. For the sake of Jin. For the sake of Jet.

Hair disheveled and lipstick smeared. The car windows were down and I was applying lipstick when I hit a speed bump, okay?

The top buttons of his shirt were undone—and was that a hickey? I just came from sparring with Haru at practice, he got a lucky shot.

The other's company was always enjoyable, whether as friends or something more. Lately, they began enjoying the forbidden relationship much more than the friendly kind. They just had to make sure that Jin and Jet never knew, so they never went "all the way."

He closed his eyes at the immeasurable pleasure. Mouth agape, breathing irregular, knuckles white, the mere act of peeking down as she engulfed him sent shivers aplenty down his spine. His hands were entangled in her hair, pulling her closer to him. He threw his head back. The sound of her lips smacking beneath him drove him crazy. He moaned and groaned her name, he held on to the broom and the mop to support himself from collapsing on her as she began to gently knead his balls while she continued to follow the veins of his erection with just the right amount of teeth and tongue.

She was in the school play. Medieval themed. Her costume was of the softest silk, smoothest velvet—and the tightest corset. Her hair was in elegant, romantic curls, her make up soft and natural, her face flushed and nervous. She was forgetting some of her lines as she gave him a quick wave before resuming her script, any more than that would alert Jet, hovering nearby. He himself had just come from the Video Gamer Club's Dance Dance Revolution tournament. Making it to the finals, he was allowed a break. He had grabbed a bottle of a water from Jin before leaving to go to go to the bathroom. Nothing wrong with giving a quick hello to Katara, only a hallway and a room down. He noticed that her breath caught short at the sight of him, but she did well to hide it from watchful eyes. A natural actress.

He fell forward, barely catching himself in time on the wooden shelves opposite. The unfinished wood gave his hands a few splinters. He didn't care. All he cared about was staying right side up. His thoughts were swirling, his vision fuzzy, his chest heaving. He closed his eyes, later returning to the real world when an unexpected and yearning kiss teased his lips. Opening his eyes, his vision cleared at her familiar face, his thoughts became logical with her passionate touches, his chest emitted shuddery and shaking gasps at her elongated and rougher kisses. He traced a pathway from her waist down to her hips, tickling the goose flesh on her lower back.

He won the tournament of course. He had played that game plenty of times. With luck, he would be able to catch the end of her play. He told Jin he had to speak with a professor. He'll meet up with her at the car later. Hiding his pained face as he left the room, he made his way to the auditorium, where her solo performance blew him away. She was stunning. He forgot all of his guilt.

It was payback time. She had reduced him to a wobbly mess. He had splinters from her work. Splinters! Sliding off her cotton teddy bear panties, ("Gran-gran monitors my underwear, okay? So shut it!”) he began his own magic. Hopefully, he'll get her to do more than just tremble.

He wasn't sure how his congratulatory kiss became something more. Perhaps it was his perspiring body, or her breathless greeting. Or her skintight corset he just couldn't tear his eyes off of. It wasn't intentional. It wasn't planned. Their kiss led to her wanting to go to his home; to him replying that he had to take Jin home, to her arguing that Jet would meet up at hers. He concluded that they should wait; she concluded that she couldn't wait any longer, that she had waited long enough, something he agreed with. Her aggressive nature showed itself yet again as she dragged him to the nearest unlocked door she could find the moment Jet looked away. The janitor's closet would do. Pulling him by his shirt front, she nearly ripped off its collar when she yanked him into the closet after her.

The door slammed shut. There was no lock.

Hearing her screaming his name got him excited again. He was proud of his work: he got her to do more than just tremble, he got her to—her lips crashed against his, disconcerting his thoughts. Her legs wrapped unexpectedly around his waist, forcing him to grasp her butt in order to support the weight. He let out an irrepressible throaty moan when his groin slid against her moist folds. She gave him a seductive smirk—it was her turn once again.

He still wasn't sure if they should go through with it. What if someone heard? What if someone wondered? What if the janitor had the sudden urge to mop up the campus with the one in this very closet?

What if Jet or Jin found out?

Her steady gaze told him the answer. Apprehension mostly abandoned, he remembered she had always been on the adventurous side. On the teasing side. On the side where others would be uncomfortable, but her being rash and stubborn, it never bothered her much. If only he had such a persona when he left for Uncle Iroh's.

"Do you not want this?" she asked, pausing at what she thought was hesitation, but was actually his reflective thinking. "You're always second-guessing."

She was right. He never tried to break the rules, to break the monotony of life. His relationship with Jin was ... different. He had learned some useful things. But he was still unsure, still worried, still distant. He was always waiting for his father's acceptance and approval, things which never came. She was always the one to set him straight. Perhaps he would take a risk. He would try out the code that she lived by. He would try and do something completely for the sake of doing it; he wouldn't worry about his past with an impossible-to-please father; he won't worry about his future with Jin and his unfaithfulness to her.

He only wanted her unpredictable and impulsive lifestyle. She was always sure, always ready, always calm and assertive. How she settled with control-freak Jet was a mystery, but her choices definitely beat the ones he had already made. With every kiss he stole from her, he tasted a bit of her entering him. He needed more.

He nodded his approval. Her assuring smile was all the affirmation he needed.

She cried out, gasping for air, as he slowly entered her. His hands gripped her lower cheeks while he nuzzled her neck, momentarily intoxicated with her sweet scent of water, perfume, make up, and a long history of blessed independence. She clung onto his neck for dear life, biting his shoulder while her body adjusted. It didn't take long.

Banging her against the shelves, he began to slowly and rhythmically thrust into her. He pushed her higher up with each movement, his hands keeping her in just the right spot. The bobbing nipples in front of him wouldn't leave his line of vision. He fixed that by capturing and suckling one, still steadily thrusting into her, sending her into oblivion.

The contents of the shelves shook and rattled, a few spray cans fell off entirely, and a couple of nails rolled and jittered, all of which sang their off-tune jingles with every friction-filled bump of the shelves as the tempo of their music began to pick up.

She began to repeat his name in a murmured chant, intermixing her constant moans as she arched her back to meet him in time with his thrusts. He was beginning to get weak-kneed, his strength was ebbing, and his mind threatened to lose all contact with reality with every cry and gasp for air he made.

He cried out her name mere seconds before she came with her own screaming reply. He collapsed to the already crowded and littered floor, landing on her clothes and a fallen paint can with her on top of him, her hand submerged in the mop bucket's water. Both panted heavily, speaking completely out of the question at the moment.

"I can't believe a girl like you would take such a risk, lil' Zuzu," she teased with a smile.

"Shut it, you know better than I do I am not a girl. That's from middle school! Why do you keep on using it?"

“Maybe I've been waiting for you to prove me wrong...”

A knock came at the door. Both froze, holding their breaths as they eyed each other with big, fearful eyes.

A muffled an unrecognizable voice seeped through the door.
“Um, I don't mean to interrupt, but do you think I could have my mop and bucket? I kinda need it.”

The mop bucket contained his belt and her hand at the moment, and the feeble mop had broken in half when they landed. Paint cans, nails, and who knew what else littered the floor; few survivors remained on their respective shelves, all on their sides and out of any possible order.

Never mind the fact that they were naked and were entangled in each other amidst the mess. The guy just needed his mop bucket.

And a new mop.