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Wu leans on him in the car, too, shoving his face into Mako’s shoulder for a moment. He’s still talking, and Mako has stopped pretending to listen. It’s all the same stuff: how great Wu’s life is, what a big deal he is, how different his life is from Mako’s. 

He doesn’t say the last part—Mako’s pretty sure Wu has no idea what his life is like, nor does he care—but it’s true all the same.

It’s a normal night, up until they get back to the hotel. As soon as the door closes Wu turns, strangely quiet, his eyes locked on Mako’s face. He wavers close to Mako, his hands sliding down Mako’s hips. His eyes flicker down. To Mako’s mouth, he realizes, his skin prickling with awareness.

“Wu,” Mako is frozen. Wu touches him all the time but there’s an intent here, behind his eyes, and something hot jolts through Mako when Wu shifts closer still. Their noses are almost touching. Mako’s breathing is the loudest thing in the room.

Then Wu’s lips touch his, just barely. 

Mako has no idea what comes over him. Maybe it’s the months of small touches and overt flirting. Maybe it’s that Wu has been especially frustrating for weeks now, calling Mako over to do the smallest things for him that definitely aren’t part of his job, and for some reason Mako does them anyway. Maybe Mako’s just lonely.

But he kisses Wu back.

Wu groans against him when he does. His hands grip Mako’s hips and he kisses Mako insistently. It’s sort of wet and messy and Mako can taste the alcohol on his lips, which are all very good reasons that he should stop this before it gets farther, but he doesn’t do that. He wraps his arms around Wu instead, and pulls him closer, falling back against the door, and then they’re kissing sort of desperately and Mako stops thinking altogether.

His jacket falls open and Wu’s hands slide over his chest, his lips following them, kissing Mako through his shirt. Warm darkness crowds close around them. Mako never switched on the lights, and Wu is pooled in shadow at his feet. Mako’s hand got into his hair, at some point, he doesn’t know when, he can barely think for the fire under his skin.

Hands tug on the waist of Mako’s pants, and then Wu is on his knees, lips pressing to his stomach. Something jolts through Mako like lightning. He makes a breathless noise, low and wanting, and then Wu’s lips slide down and Mako realizes all at once that he is uncomfortably hard in his too-tight uniform pants.

Wu’s lips press over his erection, trapped in his shorts, as he slides Mako’s pants down to the floor. Wu moans softly, and he looks up, eyes barely visible in the darkness. “I want,” Wu says, his voice low, hands dragging Mako’s shorts down slowly.

“Yeah,” Mako gasps, tightening his hand in Wu’s hair. It’s so soft, under his fingers, and Wu’s eyes are huge and dark in the gloom, and Mako wants him. Wu moans softly, and pulls Mako’s shorts down. His cock bobs against his stomach.

Wu’s eyes drop to it, his mouth fallen open. “Fuck,” Wu breathes. Mako’s never heard him curse like that before.

“Fuck,” Mako repeats, letting his head thud back against the door behind him. It’s the only thing keeping him up. 

Fingers slide along Mako’s cock, light at first, then Wu’s hand grips him tight, jerking slowly. It’s torturous. He think Wu might say something, but he can’t make out the words. Mako holds onto his head, trying to stop himself from pushing Wu closer, rocking his hips into Wu’s hand.

He feels a puff of breath, then lips slide along his cock and Wu’s tongue presses against the head. Then Wu’s lips wrap around him, and Mako has to grit his teeth against his own voice. His head is spinning with this is Wu and fuck I want this and this is Wu, on his knees like this, making tiny noises in the back of his throat. Wu, who is royalty, who Mako had to drag out of the spa earlier, who talks Mako’s ear off about nonsense.

Who takes Mako’s cock into his mouth, sliding his tongue along the underside, lips tight around him. Who moans softly and holds tight to Mako’s thigh, one hand still around the base. 

Mako shoves his hand into his own teeth, biting down as he shoves his hips forward, too-fast, and almost pulls them back but Wu groans around him and keeps Mako’s hips right where they are, tugging him like he wants that, and then Mako is lost to the heat and wet of him, the slide of hot fingers on his skin.

Pleasure spirals higher as he thrusts into Wu’s mouth, who’s moaning and taking everything that Mako gives him like that’s all he wants. His hand lets go of Mako’s cock and he grips Mako’s ass, encouraging him to thrust harder until Mako’s not even leaning on the wall anymore, holding onto Wu for support. The world contracts, and Mako stutters out a warning but Wu just grips his thigh and tugs. Mako comes in his mouth with a yell that he forgets to muffle.

When he comes back to himself, Wu is still on his knees, his head pillowed on Mako’s thigh, breathing hard.

Mako feels sort of hazy, like it’s someone else who lifts his hand out of Wu’s hair and lets it drag down his face just to feel the shape of it. He’s still panting, too, his legs shaky. 

But it’s him who tugs Wu up off his knees and into a messy kiss. Wu isn’t hard anymore, although he was. He must have come just from that. The thought makes him dizzy. This whole thing makes him dizzy. It feels like they’re in the spirit world, closed in by stifling heat and wrapped around each other. 

The next day, Wu is weird. Not weird as in any weirder than his normal self but weird as in he’s completely normal. He acts like nothing happened. He acts like Mako didn’t come in his mouth last night.

He flirts with Mako, but he’s always done that. Only now, Mako realizes that’s what’s happening, and also that he should have realized it earlier. Some detective he is. When Wu whines about something or when he asks Mako to do something silly, he’s flirting. He’s trying to get Mako’s attention.

Today, Wu drags him to the zoo. Again. Even though they went last week. After about an hour of doing the exact same circuit, looking at the exact same animals, he grabs onto Mako’s arm and drags him forward with a too-loud shout of “Mako, the badgermoles are out!”

Mako takes a second longer to shake off his arm than he normally would. 

This is weird. This is very weird. He feels like he’s still in an alternate world, or more, he feels like he should be, but he’s been pulled back into this one, where Wu is yanking him bodily around the zoo like a child for the express purpose of looking at giant blind animals who can’t even look back.

Mako has to admit the earthbending is pretty cool. But Wu isn’t even an earthbender.

“I don’t get it,” he mutters as Wu presses himself as close as he can get to the giant things, cooing in a sort of sing-song. 

“Don’t disrespect the badgermoles, Mako,” Wu tells him with the biggest smile on his face.

“I’m not disrespecting anything,” Mako says. One of them is slowly digging into the rock. “I just don’t get,” he waves a hand at the two of them. They’re so slow. 

“What is there to get? They’re huge! And impressive! And they’re earth benders,” Wu sweeps an arm at the creatures, “they’re amazing.”

“They’re just animals,” Mako says, flipping around to lean on the rail. He doesn’t know why he’s being stubborn about this. Maybe because he keeps catching himself staring at Wu’s lips, remembering last night. But that was nothing. Wu was drunk and clearly just needed to relieve some tension or… something. If he’s not making a big deal out of it, Mako isn’t going to either. 

“How dare you,” Wu breathes, and he turns on Mako, hands going to Mako’s chest. “They are not just animals. They are majestic creatures! Would you call a sky bison ‘just an animal’?”

“Yes,” Mako says, raising his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t?”

“No!” Wu shakes his head quickly. “They’re our heritage. Humans would be nothing without them.” Wu’s palms are still braced on his chest. Mako swallows, and steps back out of his space.

“Earthbenders wouldn’t be,” he says, but something in Wu’s expression stops him from going on. “The earthbending is cool.” The one pressing earth aside with its massive paws, making the ground rumble, is almost into the rock face. Mako blinks. “Why don’t they just… tunnel out of here?”

“Because they like it here,” Wu assures him with another flash of a grin. “I talked with the zookeepers a few weeks ago, and they said that the badgermoles choose to stay because it’s safe here.”

“They’d probably be safe anywhere,” Mako points out. “They’re three times the size of anything else.”

“No,” the grin finally drops and Wu shakes his head slowly, “there are poachers in the Earth Kingdom. Now that no one is enforcing the law that says the badgermoles can’t be hunted, people are… well. It’s much safer here.”

Mako can imagine. “That’s awful.”

“It is!” Wu agrees emphatically, and then he takes Mako’s wrist again and yanks him closer to the enclosure. “When I’m King, I’m going to make sure that they’re protected again. That all badgermoles are as happy as these badgermoles.”

So he has some plans, at least. Mako’s pretty sure it’s the only part of being the Earth King that he’s actually thought about, but it’s something. “I’m sure they appreciate it.”

Then Wu ruins the moment. He starts singing, his voice scratching and off-key, a sonnet to the badgermoles. Mako feels like he’s heard this one before, but Wu makes up different lyrics every time about different parts of the badgermole: their snouts, their tails, their paws, their earth bending. It’s obnoxious. And loud. And makes people stare at them.

“Wu,” Mako groans, when Wu starts in on another verse. The badgermoles are sitting strangely motionless, their snouts and tiny ears pointed up toward them both. Almost like they can hear Wu. Creepy. Mako doesn’t trust them. “Let’s go.”

Wu waves a hand at him, too intent on his singing. The few other patrons of the zoo are giving them a wide berth.

For once, Mako is the one to wrap a hand around Wu’s thin wrist and drag him somewhere else.

They end up in the Fire Nation section of the zoo, full of salamanders with slow heavy eyes and preening birds, and Wu keeps on touching him. Like normal: his hand in Mako’s to pull him around, little grins flashed his way when Mako can’t quite hold back his groan. Wu thinks he’s hilarious. Most of his jokes are terrible, and still make Mako snort, and he hates it. 

When the sun is setting, Wu finally lets them leave, only to drag Mako to a fancy restaurant nearby He complains about the food and touches Mako’s arm and steals food off his plate. Mako’s annoyance and confusion builds and builds until the candle in the center of their table starts blazing, and he realizes he needs to cool it.

Literally.

Afterwards, Wu decides he wants ice cream, and Mako is fine with that too, he loves ice cream. One of the few perks of working for Wu is that he gets to have things like that more often now.

The stars are out, and Wu has pressed himself to Mako’s side on the bench because he’s “so cold!” and is running his tongue over the ice cream. 

Mako knows he’s staring. He does. But he can’t help it: Wu has to be doing that on purpose. He even m oans a little as he licks it, the same way he did with his lips around Mako—

Wu glances up at him and catches him staring. He grins and offers his cone. “I told you you’d regret not getting chocolate.”

“Mine is fine,” Mako insists, maybe a little too defensively. “Vanilla is classic.”

“Vanilla is basic,” Wu says lightly and takes a very suggestive lick of his ice cream.

“You’re basic,” Mako mumbles like a teenager. His face is hot. He swirls his tongue around his own ice cream, trying very hard to pay attention to it instead of Wu.

“Aw, Mako, don’t be like that,” Wu teases, leaning toward him. He offers his own ice cream cone. “Here, have some.”

“I don’t—mmph!” Mako’s saying when he leans in too far and Wu’s ice cream cone smushes into his face, smearing chocolate over his mouth. 

“Buddy,” Wu laughs, patting him on the back, “you could’ve just asked.”

Mako narrows his eyes as he wipes his mouth clean. 

It has to be on purpose.

Mako tells himself not to notice Wu brushing against his side on the way back to the hotel—in a Satomobile because Wu doesn’t walk if he can help it—but spirits help him, he absolutely does. 

Wu’s long fingers slide over Mako’s thigh at one point, ostensibly so he can lean over Mako and see something out the window. Mako’s breath catches, and Wu has the audacity to grin at him about it.

They just need to get it out of their systems.

So as soon as the door is shut behind them, safe in the room, Mako steps into his space, watching his eyes go wide. Wu swallows, and smiles, and Mako pushes him against the wall and kisses him hard. 

Wu’s lips are sweet with the remnants of chocolate, but he’s kissing Mako wet and open-mouthed. Mako’s been half-hard for the entire trip home and apparently so has Wu, he discovers, grinding their hips together. Wu shudders against him, kissing Mako back with a need that Mako can feel.

Mako wants to tell him he knows what Wu was doing, but he can’t stop kissing Wu long enough to do it. Anyway, he has other goals, which are: shove Wu’s soft pants down, and get a hand around him, and Mako’s never wanted that so badly before. Wu is hot and hard and already thrusting against his palm.

Groaning, Wu grabs onto Mako’s head, holding him there so he can kiss him harder. Mako bites at his lower lip, wrapping his other arm around Wu’s waist. Wu’s cock is leaking over the top of his hand, and Mako swipes his thumb through it, gasping against his lips. 

Mako’s never touched anyone’s cock but his own. The feel of someone else’s in his hand, hard and hot and slick at the tip, makes him dizzy. 

Unlike yesterday, Wu doesn’t lead. He thrusts into Mako’s hand and kisses him hard and biting, but seems content to let Mako do what he wants . It’s the only time that he isn’t trying to get Mako to do something for him or go somewhere: he just takes it, gasping, arching into Mako’s hand. 

“Please,” Wu breathes, rocking against him, his voice thin and desperate. That one word goes straight through Mako. He grabs at Wu’s ass, yanking him close until he’s trapped between Mako’s hand and his arm. Mako likes him like this, likes how much he seems to like it, his head dropped on Mako’s shoulder and his breath coming fast. He doesn’t want to stop touching Wu, but he can feel the desperation in the roll of his hips, how close he is.

He turns his head, biting at the shell of Wu’s ear. 

Wu gasps and whimpers, his hips bucking short and quick, and then his comes, a breathless groan escaping him. Mako pulls him through it, touching him until Wu whines and shoves his face into Mako’s shoulder, shuddering. 

“Fuck,” Mako whispers, barely above a breath. He can’t seem to let go of Wu, and Wu doesn’t seem to want to move. He stays close, his breath slowing. He can’t pick a single thought from his head.  

Then hands slide down Mako’s stomach and Wu has his pants open before he quite realizes it. 

They’ll get it out of their systems, and then it will go back to normal, Mako thinks as Wu drags a palm down his cock. This time Wu is facing him, and Mako can drag his head back up and kiss him as hard as he wants to. It’s very different. Wu’s back is against the wall and his tongue is in Mako’s mouth.

Mako’s been on edge all day and now Wu’s thumb is sliding over the tip of him. He comes like that, sharp and fast and shaky.

But it’s fine.

Mako is sure when he flops bonelessly into his bed that night (in the room right next to Wu, so he can be there if anything happens, even though nothing ever has) that things will go back to normal. 

They don’t.

Wu kisses him again the next night, and they end up sprawled on the couch with Wu between Mako’s knees, dragging wet kisses along his skin. Mako shivers and shoves a hand into his hair and drags Wu up to kiss him afterwards, tasting himself in Wu’s mouth.

Mako wakes the next day, makes himself coffee, and immediately throws himself into training.

They’re in the Presidential Suite, so of course there’s a little training area in the actual suite opposite the two bedrooms. The hotel also has a full gym but Wu says it smells like feet so Mako has stopped going down there. It means Mako has to hold back on the fire quite a bit, but at least he can keep himself in shape.

It’s easier to move through his bending forms than to think about what’s happening with Wu, because Mako has no idea how to approach it. 

Well. He does. They shouldn’t be doing anything. Mako is supposed to be guarding him, not hooking up with him. It’s a bad idea, and if Beifong ever found out she’d probably fire him.

Scowling, Mako aims a fiery kick at the little punching bag, sending it flying back. Sweat is already beading his skin, but his breathing is still easy. Mako needs to push himself harder.

He just needs to ask Wu about it.

“Whoa, buddy,” Wu’s voice startles him out of his stance. Mako whirls around to face the prince, who’s leaning in the doorway in his fancy pajamas. “I like this hotel. Wouldn’t want you to burn it down.”

Narrowing his eyes, Mako straightens up and waves out a tiny flame that sprouted on the punching bag. “I’m not going to burn anything down. Firebender, remember?” He makes a smaller flame in his palm and snuffs it to prove the point. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Show me,” Wu says, smiling at him, arms crossing over his chest. He doesn’t look like he wants to move anytime soon.

A little curl of heat flares in Mako’s gut. He watches Wu for a moment, then shrugs and shifts back into his training routine, kicking up the heat a little bit. It’s the only time of day he really moves , now, and that’s still strange to him. He’s spent his life more or less in the thick of things. Wu has no idea what that’s like. 

He engulfs the punching bag in flame and then yanks the fire down again before it can do any real damage, conscious of Wu’s eyes on him the whole time. Working like this, with his fists and his fire, falling into familiar forms, is the only time Mako feels like himself these days. It’s similar to whatever is happening with Wu: he can sink into it, let himself go, quiet his mind with the movement of his body.

Mako lets himself get lost, moving through his old pro-bending forms and then into some of the more traditional firebending forms, finishing with a move that Toza helped him develop, a strong-rooted punch that sends fire spiralling out from his fist to slam harmlessly into the ground. 

Wu claps with a laugh, “it’s too bad you don’t get to do that more often! I’d love to watch you show everybody up out there like bam,” he throws a very weak punch, “bam!” and another one, grinning hugely.

Panting, Mako pulls himself to his feet and shoves a hand back through his sweaty hair to get it out of his face. “It’s a good thing for you that I don’t have to,” he points out, biting down on his own grin. It’s been a while since he had an audience. Sometimes he misses all the applause from pro-bending, the chance to show off the skills that for a while were all he had.

“Well, yeah,” Wu says, waving a hand, “but it would be more fun if you did. More exciting.” His eyes skim over Mako’s body, biting his lip. “You look good.”

He’s said stuff like that before, too, but there’s a new heat to his words, or maybe Mako’s just aware of the intent behind them. Has Wu been really, actually flirting with him this whole time? No just for fun, but because he wanted Mako? 

Mako’s skin prickles with awareness like static. He glances away, pushing his fingers through his hair again to dry it with a puff of heat. “I—should shower. Weren’t we going somewhere today?”

“Oh, yeah!” Wu brightens. “The mover premiere. It’s not til this afternoon, but that means that you and me, we should look as spiffy as we can. Maybe slick your hair back.”

“Spiffy,” Mako repeats, fighting a smile. Wu’s the only person he knows who uses words like that regularly. They make him sound exactly as painfully upper-class as he is.

“Spiffy,” Wu agrees, “well. You keep,” he does another terrible punch, this time with a sound effect that is supposed to be fire, Mako guesses, “I’m going to order breakfast.” His eyes drop, dragging down Mako’s body again.

Mako’s mouth goes dry. “Wu.”

Wu turns back on his heel to look at Mako, a small smile on his face. “Mako?”

There’s no way to ask this casually, but Mako has to know. “What’s,” he waves a hand at Wu, “What are you…”

“What am I… what?” Wu asks, tilting his head.

Embarrassment tightens Mako’s stomach. He swallows, and says, instead, “What are you wearing? To the thing?”

Wu’s brows shoot up, but then he grins. “Oh, I was thinking my bright green suit. You know, the one with the little buttons. It really makes my eyes pop.”

All of Wu’s bright green suits have little buttons on them, but Mako nods anyway, his cheeks strangely hot. “Sure. Yeah. Thanks.”

“If you need help finding an outfit, you can just ask,” Wu says, “I’d love to take you shopping! I never said you have to wear that uniform, even if you look cute in it.”

Cute is not the word Mako would use.

“It’s professional,” he says with a frown, and shakes his head before Wu can try and convince him, even though Mako is the one who put the idea in his head in the first place. “It’s fine, I’m wearing my uniform. We really don’t need to go shopping.”

“If you’re sure,” Wu sings out, and then he’s out the door.

Mako goes into his cooldown with a little more force, and fire, than strictly necessary.

Wu changes his mind about what he wants to wear about three times before they have to leave, and eventually settles on the exact thing he said he wanted to wear in the first place. Mako has to physically steer him out the door to get him to stop fussing about his necktie.

“It’s going to be dark anyway,” he tells Wu as the elevator doors slide open, and finally lets his hand drop from the small of Wu’s back. “No one’s going to be able to see you.”

“That’s when you need to be at your best!” Wu protests with a pout. “It’s for the before and after, Mako. Yes, no one sees you during the mover, but you’re there and that’s what matters. Weren’t you at your brother’s premieres? You should know this!”

Mako winces. “I wasn’t.”

“Oh,” Wu eyes him, “well. Then I’ll show you now. Just do what I do.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that,” Mako says dryly. 

“Suit yourself,” Wu shoots him a grin, and Mako groans, “but don’t come running to me when some hot dame tries to ask you about your uniform.”

Mako glances sideways at him as he piles into the Satomobile, shaking his head. “I’ll manage. Somehow.”

“I bet you will, buddy,” Wu laughs, looking completely at ease in his nice suit in the nice car on his way to a mover premiere with the upper crust of Republic City.

Admittedly, he does look good. The suit is tailored perfectly for him, of course, flaring over his shoulders and clinging to his narrow hips. It’s a little fancier than the normal (also very fancy) clothes he wears.

Mako is staring. 

He tears his eyes away, scowling out the window at the darkening sky. He swears that he sees a hint of a smirk on Wu’s face reflected in the window.

The mover is okay. Admittedly, Mako hasn’t seen many of them. He saw Bolin’s a few years ago, when things settled down, before Bolin joined up with Kuvira and when Mako was still doing his actual job. But aside from watching his brother dressed up in next-to-nothing, he hasn’t seen any others.

This one is a too-sweet story about a fire nation princess and an earth kingdom peasant who fall in love desite the barriers between them. He sits next to Wu, who is rapt the whole time. He even leans in when the couple is about to kiss, and gasps when they do.

It’s cute.

Mako doesn’t know where the thought came from, but it’s true. Wu is really invested, and keeps shooting Mako wide-eyed looks like he wants to make sure Mako’s paying attention. He should be paying attention to the mover, but Wu’s shoulder presses up against his when the couple is dramatically separated, and his mind goes back to the past two nights, to Wu’s face, flushed, with Mako’s cock between his lips.

His own face is hot. Again. He’s suddenly very grateful for the darkness of the theater.

The afterparty—apparently all mover premiers have them—is exactly what Mako expected. Wu shmoozes with the “important” people in Republic City. People who seem to be famous for being rich, and who seem to only care about Wu because he’s a prince. Wu is laughing and talking, too-loud as always and with a smile that looks too wide to be real.

Mako wonders if he’s actually enjoying himself. If any of them are, really. 

Wu swings by where Mako stationed himself in the corner later in the night with a plate of finger foods. “Aw, why do you look so glum, Mako? Have a lobster-crab cake.”

“I don’t look glum,” Mako protests, but he does accept the little cake, his fingers brushing Wu’s as he hands it over. It’s tiny, and very tasty. He’s been hungry for the last hour and a half because the caterers keep ignoring him. There never seems to be enough food at these things. Mako doesn’t get the point of having food at all if it’s just going to be tiny and useless. 

Wu is still looking at him, frowning like he’s personally offended that Mako isn’t having fun. 

Mako shifts uncomfortably. “It’s just not my thing,” he continues once he’s swallowed the tiny cake. “Parties. Like this. These people don’t even like each other.”

“Some don’t, but that isn’t really the point,” Wu says, shifting to stand next to him, looking out at the rest of the party. “People come to these parties to be seen and to see. Who got invited, what you’re wearing, who you’re with. That kind of thing! I don’t really need to play that game, of course, but I still enjoy it. See,” Wu puts an arm around Mako’s shoulder, tugging him down a bit, “see that woman over there?” His voice is hushed, his breath washing warm and wet over Mako’s ear. “That’s Madam Chen. She’s a widow of a very rich man, Mr. Chen. She’s making her way back onto the scene with a splash. That dress? Very expensive, from Mr. Hu’s.”

Mako follows his gaze to a very distinguished-looking older woman laughing with a flute of champagne in one hand. Her hair is tied back into a complicated knot dripping with pearls and gold, but the dress, when Mako looks at it, is a plain emerald green. Mako frowns. “It doesn’t look that fancy.”

Wu groans, squeezing his shoulder. “That’s the problem! You don’t see the cut, the artistry. You only see a green dress. Am I wrong?” His face is very close to Mako’s, wide eyes fixed on him. His eyes are greener than Madam Chen’s plain dress. This close, Mako can see little gold flecks around his pupils, like the buttons on his suit.

Mako backs away, lifting his head. “It’s just a dress. It doesn’t even have, like,” he searches around for something that would be considered fancy, and glances over at a man in a blue suit with a complicated-looking ruffly necktie, “frills, or anything.”

“Oh, oh Mako,” Wu sighs, patting his chest lightly. “Frills do not make the dress. Really, the opposite, this year. Frills are very out.”

“Someone forgot to tell that guy,” Mako gestures at the blue-suited man, who, now that he looks at it, is kind of hovering sadly at the edge of a larger group.

“Tragic, isn’t it?” Wu agrees, narrowing his eyes, “yes, he’s clearly on the outs. He probably won’t be at the next one of these.”

Mako glances down at him again. Wu’s face is deadly serious. “One fashion mistake and you’re done?”

“That isn’t his first,” Wu says, watching the man for another minute before he turns back to Mako. “Let’s go home.”

“Sure,” Mako says with a tiny twinge of relief. The more Wu tells him about these things, the worse they seem. Especially since Mako has never once seen Wu hang out with any of these people outside of the parties. There are lunches, occasionally, or dinners or cocktail hours, but Wu always leaves alone, with him, no matter how much he flirts and schmoozes and laughs.

Now that he thinks about it, he isn’t sure Wu has any friends.

Not that Mako is any better. It’s been months since he last saw Asami, and Korra hasn’t written to him once.

Wu seems as unconcerned as ever when they get back into the Satomobile and the driver takes them back to the hotel. “Did you have a good time?” Wu asks, head lolling on the headrest to look at him.

“I liked the mover,” Mako admits. He doesn’t want to think about the party anymore. “Bolin wasn’t half-naked on screen, so.”

Wu snorts a laugh, “I liked that part of the Nuktuk ones.”

“I could’ve done without it,” Mako says, biting down on a smile. “The story in this one was better.”

“I liked it too,” Wu agrees, and his eyes are flicking over Mako’s face, and keep landing on his lips. “I think it’s gonna be big, this mover.”

“What, you can predict that stuff now?”

“Just a sense,” Wu says with a grin, “it’s the kind of flick that people eat up. Love, strife, a hot dame, a muscley gent. What’s not to like?”

“The predictable ending,” Mako challenges, even though he’s pretty sure all of that is true. It was a good mover. “I saw that coming five minutes in.”

“Of course you did! It’s a love story. They can’t not get together,” Wu is leaning into his space now. Mako can smell his cologne, soft and kind of woody. It works. Strangely. He’s very warm. “That’s the pay off of it!”

“The part with,” Mako has to gather his thoughts up again, “her brother betraying them, though. You had to see that coming.” 

“No! I mean, if I thought about it, maybe, but that was such a surprise!” Wu laughs. “I loved that part.”

“If you had your eyes closed, maybe,” Mako says, snorting in laughter when Wu’s eyes narrow like he’s trying to be threatening. It doesn’t work. His eyes are too big and his hair too soft for Wu to ever look intimidating.

Wu sniffs and turns away from him. He changes the subject, talking about a new designer who he saw on several of the women at the party. Mako finds that harder to engage with, but Wu seems to content to fill the air himself until they’re back at the hotel.

In the elevator, when they’re finally alone, Wu’s smile turns wicked, and his fingers press into Mako’s hair. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you did something special with your hair.”

Mako had, in fact, slicked it back like Wu suggested in the twenty minutes or so before they’d left. He’d had to steal some of Wu’s pomade to do it, but given that it was his suggestion in the first place, Mako didn’t think he’d mind.

He also kind of didn’t think that Wu would notice. 

Clearly he did, because he’s crowded into Mako’s space, his fingers dragging through Mako’s hair, his face close. Mako’s mouth is dry. “Uh,” Wu’s eyes flick down to his mouth when he wets his lips, and Mako sways toward him, heat thrumming under his skin. “Yeah.” His hands land on Wu’s hips.

“Did you do it for me?” There’s a teasing note in Wu’s voice, and he’s very close to Mako. 

Apparently it’s not out of his system.

Or Mako’s.

“Wu—” he starts, voice low, eyes wide, but before he can say anything else the doors slide smoothly open into their suite. Wu grins and tugs Mako backward into the living room by his uniform jacket.

“You don’t have to be shy,” Wu breathes, hands smoothing down Mako’s chest. “You look good like this.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to wear my uniform,” Wu’s suit is very soft. Softer than Mako’s uniform, for sure, and the shirt under his jacket is even softer. 

“You look good in your uniform,” Wu tells him, walking backwards until he can nudge Mako onto the couch. “And I bet you look good out of it.”

It’s such a stupid line, and Mako’s face goes hot anyway. He sits down hard, tilting his head back to meet Wu’s eyes. He’s smiling, his eyes intent, his hands braced on Mako’s shoulders. Mako should stop this, figure out what’s happening, except that Wu is so close and Mako wants to kiss him.

Wu slips onto the couch, knees on their side of Mako’s thighs, fingers petting back through his hair. He looks like he wants to say something else, just a short intake of breath, and then his lips are almost on Mako’s.

Mako is the one who pulls him into a kiss.

And then it’s just like the last few nights: Mako leans into him, curling his hands into Wu’s jacket to drag him closer. Wu’s fingers are in his hair, gripping his head, keeping him in place, and Mako’s uniform goes from a perfect fit to confining in a heartbeat. He wants Wu out of his fancy suit.

Wu lets him push it off his shoulders, the fabric dropping to the ground without a sound. His shirt is probably silk, even softer under Mako’s hands when he drags them back up along Wu’s spine. With a soft groan, Wu presses even closer, his chest to Mako’s, lips insistent on his. 

He’s good at this, is the thing. It’s so easy to get lost in grabbing at Wu’s hair, in the damp heat of Wu’s mouth on his, but then Mako’s fingers slide on expensive silk and he remembers where they are and what he’s supposed to be doing. He turns his face, so Wu’s lips collide with his cheek. “Wu, what—” his breath is coming hard and fast, and he can’t quite make himself let go, “What are we doing.”

“Uh,” Wu blinks at him, face flushed, lips parted. He shakes his head. “Making out?”

“Yeah,” Mako says, narrowing his eyes, “I got that. I mean,” he goes on, before he gets distracted by Wu swaying closer to him again with his kiss-swollen mouth and his heat-dark eyes, “Why?”

“Do you… not want to?” Wu frowns, and he’s slipping back off of Mako’s lap before the words are out of his mouth. “We don’t have to, Mako. I thought—”

“No,” Mako grabs at his hip, keeping him from standing up. He doesn’t want to stop. He’ll think about it later, the sudden and very pointed urge to keep Wu from going anywhere. “I—just want to know what… you’re thinking.”

Wu slowly relaxes back against him, but that frown is still there. “I, oh,” he presses his lips together, then goes on, “I think you’re very attractive, Mako. The other night, I’ll be honest, I was pretty drunk when I kissed you, but you. You kissed me too. I thought we were on the same page about this.”

Mako doesn’t even know what book they’re reading. “What page is that?”

“Uh,” Wu pauses again, which is so rare for him. He’s almost always talking, always ready with something to say. “I want to kiss you. And you want to kiss me. What else is there?”

A lot, Mako wants to say, but he doesn’t want to go there. He just needs to know what ground they’re even standing on. 

And if this is just something fun, for Wu, Mako can work with that. Mako wants to work with that, because his love life has been the kind of disaster he doesn’t want to repeat.

But he’s also been more or less on his own since then, and Wu wants to kiss him. “Casual,” he says carefully, watching Wu’s face. Wu nods slowly, his hands landing back on Mako’s chest.

“Yeah, casual,” he says, then a smile lights on his face. “Just two guys, living the good life and having fun.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Mako groans, and drags Wu back into a kiss to stifle his answering laughter.