Domestic Life
Asami Sato hadn’t really considered the mansion home from the moment she’d electrocuted her father. His betrayal had tainted every inch of the place. It had been easy, and necessary, to leave it all behind to head south. It had been even easier, and rather less necessary, to leave it for an airship and an undefined trip across the earth kingdom. And for those three long years, after it had been filled up with long lost relatives of Mako and Bolin, it had been all too easy to move into the Future Industries Tower penthouse and not come back home for days on end. Now though, Asami had a reason to come home.
She pulled into her spot in the garage, the door closing automatically behind her. Naga’s saddle was out on its rack, smelling strongly of the balsam Korra used to keep the leatherwork in good condition. Asami crossed the garage, entering the main house.
She could smell the cooking from the moment she walked through the door. Asami followed her nose to the kitchen, opening the door quietly. She saw Naga at first, curled up in a softly snoring heap on the kitchen floor. Korra had her back to her, working at kitchen counter. Something was bubbling away on the stove, a pan of oil gently heating up, and Korra was chopping away at the onions without a care in the world. She paused to stir the pot with a casual flick of her wrist, before dumping the onions into the pan to soften, head bobbing along to the beat of some unheard song. Her hair was pulled back into a short wolf tail and unless Asami was very much mistaken she was wearing the apron she’d bought her last solstice. Asami crept forward. Naga opened one lazy eye, rolled over and started snoring again. She waited until Korra had put the knife down before wrapping her arms around her from behind, making Korra jump a little.
“Well hi there,” She laughed. “Wasn’t expecting you til later.”
“I didn’t feel like hanging around the office.” Asami tucked her chin over Korra’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. “Smells good.”
“Me, or the dinner?”
“Oh, both. Generally both.”
“It’s an arctic hen casserole, had to get it started now so it would be ready for dinner.”
“What would I do without you?”
“oh, I don’t know, go back to living off those instant noodles you invented and end up with scurvy?”
“One time, Korra, that was one time!” Asami protested, but she didn’t really mind. It wasn’t like she’d actually got all the way to scurvy anyway.
Korra slid them down the counter a little, so that when she turned to face Asami she didn’t set her ass on fire on the hob. Asami’s suspicions were proven correct; Korra was indeed wearing the apron with “I’m the chef and you gotta deal with it!” emblazoned on it. There were smudges of flour on her apron and a splash of sauce on her cheek, which Asami wiped away.
“You know, I could really get used to coming home to this little scene.”
“Yeah well, don’t push it. Artic hen’s a mother clucker to prepare.”
Asami rolled her eyes.
“Not that, specifically. You. Us. I kinda like it.”
“Oh, just kinda, huh?” Korra snorted, taking Asami by the waist. “Well it’s a good thing you like it, because I’m not planning on going anywhere any time soon.”
Korra had to break up the cuddle to rescue the onions.