Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You must understand us if you are to bring us back to the knowledge of the world and care for our young. Your fate, for a time, for three whole months, must be partially intertwined with ours. You must learn to think like us, be like us. We must ensure our protection if we are to be exposed. Do you agree, Fire Lord?”

The voices of Ran and Shaw are blindingly loud in his head. The dragons’ eyes gleam as they await an answer.

“Yes,” says Zuko, bowing his head respectfully. “I agree.”

His body suddenly feels as if it’s consumed by fire.

Something that he doesn’t understand settles in his bones, but he does know that it’s magic.

“Hold on. Back up,” Sokka says, looking as though he’s been whacked in the head by his own boomerang. “How did this happen exactly?”

“I, uh…guess I agreed to pretty vague terms,” says Zuko sheepishly, as the baby dragon curls tighter around his neck and lets out a happy little squeak that sends furls of ash-colored smoke out of its nose. “I thought they meant I had to study dragons to understand them and be worthy to keep him, not—”

“Literally transform into one sometimes?”

“Well. Yeah.”

“I’m going to write Katara and tell her she’s needed here right away,” says Sokka. He eyes Zuko’s freshly bandaged arms, legs, and torso.

“I have plenty of healers here in the Fire Nation,” Zuko says. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to come stay here.”

“Do you want word to get out that the Fire Lord is cursed to turn into a dragon for the entire summer?”

Zuko scowls. “No. And I wouldn’t call it a curse. It's a—misunderstanding.”

“Right,” says Sokka, “well, this ‘misunderstanding’ causes painful transformations.” He gestures over the bandages wrapped around Zuko’s extremities for emphasis. “If you don’t want people to take notice or be stuck in bed all summer, you’re going to need Katara.”

A general sense of unease rises up and claws at Zuko's chest. “Fine.”

Druk, perched on his shoulder, lets out a happy little roar that is half a hiccup.

Zuko is only half surprised that when Katara arrives, he feels an almost painful rush of longing.

It isn't like he hasn't noticed Katara before. He certainly has. He’s been helplessly noticing her for years. Since before Sozin’s comet; since she dated the Avatar and since they broke up; since she’d gotten with someone else, some guy from the Earth Kingdom, and since they’d broken up, too. But he’d had Mai, and she’d had the previously named others, and he’d pushed all thoughts of Katara in that way far away, both because Zuko had cared about Mai, and also because he isn't delusional enough to think anything could happen with Katara. But repressing impossible desires is regrettably not working as well today.

Zuko has a horrible feeling this has less to do with his most recent break-up with Mai and more to do with the curse.

Misunderstanding. Whatever.

“Zuko!” Katara’s big blue eyes are filled with concern as she sweeps into the room. She is by his side in an instant, running her healing hands, covered with water, methodically over his bandages. She carefully unwraps his arms and passes over them. Relief flows through Zuko immediately as she goes about her work. He sighs, leaning back further into the pillows.

“Katara,” he says, giving her a small smile. “Sokka filled you in?”

“Yes." She shakes her head. "Honestly, Zuko, what were you thinking?”

“Well I—” But his words are cut off by Katara letting out a sudden scream and stumbling backward from the windowsill, where Druk has just landed with a loud thunk. The baby dragon pushes smoke out of his nostrils with a little snort that means he is pleased with himself. “It’s okay,” says Zuko, grinning. “See, this is Druk. He won’t hurt you.” He whistles low between his teeth, and Druk soars over and lands contentedly on Zuko's shoulders, his tail curling around protectively. His yellow stare fixes with an intent curiosity on the newcomer.

“Oh wow,” Katara says. Her voice is much higher than usual.

“You can pet him if you want,” says Zuko. “He really likes it on his snout.” He demonstrates, wincing as he moves. The dragon’s eyelids half-close in appreciation.

But when Druk opens his eyes again fully, his piercing gaze latches back onto Katara.

“I don’t think he likes me,” says Katara nervously, as Druk continues to unabashedly watch her.

“That’s not possible,” says Zuko. “I like you. And Druk feels things like that.”

“Does he?” Katara’s face lights up with fascination. It makes Zuko’s blood run a little quicker.

He hastily looks away from her face. “Yeah. I’ve been doing research. Unfortunately there’s not so much information on my, uh…condition. None that we can find so far, anyway. But I’ve been reading about dragons.”

Katara shakes her head again and bends more water to continue healing him. She seems viscerally aware of the dragon curled on him, because she moves slowly, clearly apprehensive, but she continues her work. “Again, what were you thinking?”

“I was just thinking that I wanted to keep him, I guess,” Zuko says, letting Druk curl up tighter into his neck. “And I didn’t think this was what they meant when they told me that I had to learn to think like them and be like them. I just thought they wanted me to learn about and help the dragons. And I wanted to do that. After my ancestors…you know.”

“Of course you did,” she says softly. Her fingers shift the bandages on his torso so that she can heal underneath; he sucks in a sharp, involuntary breath when her hand brushes his bare skin. “Oh—did I hurt you?” Katara bites her lip.

Zuko moves his eyes up to the ceiling in order to avoid staring at her mouth. His self-control feels much flimsier than usual.

“It’s okay,” he mutters. “My muscles are just sore. It’s like they’ve been stretched out and stomped on all night.”

“Not surprising,” says Katara, hovering her hands in soothing, circular patterns over his torso.

Zuko sighs. “That’s nice, though.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she says kindly. “I just wish I could do something to stop the transformations.”

“I agreed to learn about them for the summer,” says Zuko. “I don’t think there’s a way out of it. With you here, at least things can be mostly normal except for that one night a week, I guess. Thank you for staying.” Something briefly flickers in her eyes, something that makes Zuko’s chest blaze with traitorous hope.

And then it’s gone.

“I’m always happy to help you, Zuko,” Katara says, squeezing his hand.

As the first week goes by things are not, as Zuko predicted, mostly normal.

Things are decidedly not normal.

Oh, there’s the concerted efforts at normality in public, and thankfully those efforts work splendidly. Katara comes in every morning and night to soothe his muscles. They keep this discreet, so as to keep the secret of the Fire Lord’s curse. There are already plenty of people who don’t want Zuko as their Fire Lord.

They really don’t need even more fuel.

Katara joins diplomatic meetings and acts as ambassador, as she always does when she visits the Fire Nation.

So far there’s no evidence to suggest that anyone suspects a thing.

The big problems are the side effects. Side effects that he is supposed to be reporting to Katara and that she is supposed to be documenting, because as far as they know, Zuko is the first to enter a curse contract with dragons. At the very least, if it has happened, there has been no record of it anywhere. Despite regular healing sessions, Zuko’s muscles feel worse with every passing day; like he’s being ironed out, pressed flat and rolled out as far as he can go and then some. He aches all over and he’s irritable—more irritable than usual, that is. Over the course of the week, it becomes painfully obvious why this is happening.

He’s growing. He’s becoming abnormally large, and still shooting up at an unnatural rate. And…bigger.

Zuko has always been careful to keep in shape. Training sessions are a way to calm his mind and to release stress when dealing with politics and the pressure to restore the Fire Nation’s honor. He’s always been muscular. But now his hands are nearly as large as plates. He’s had to have all his shoes made new. One morning, getting dressed with distinct difficulty—his robes are too snug in the shoulders and along the upper back, he needs a tailor—there’s a rap on the door.

“Just a second,” he calls.

Katara has come to his room to dutifully write down details of his first week.

Zuko has always been taller than her, but now he positively towers over her. This doesn’t fail to escape her notice. Zuko can see by the way she tilts her head back to look up at him, how her eyes drag up and down him, blinking a few times as if stunned, as if fully realizing the impact of his growth spurt for the first time.

“You’ve gotten gigantic,” Katara says bluntly. “I doubt this is escaping people’s notice.”

“Yeah,” says Zuko, sitting on the edge of his bed and massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Let’s just hope no one makes a clever guess about why.” Maybe he can have his tailor cut his clothes so it hides his bulk somehow, but there's nothing to do about the soaring height. This is getting ridiculous.

Katara pulls up a chair. “No wonder your muscles hurt all the time.”

“No kidding.”

“Should we have another healing session? How do you feel now?”

“I’m okay,” says Zuko, which is mostly true. He’s gotten accustomed to the persistent ache that no amount of healing sessions will fix. He has to stop getting larger at some point soon, right? Agni, he hopes so. He gestures to her parchment where she’s been documenting his progress. “What do you have so far?”

“Well, I’ve noted your rapid growth spurt,” says Katara. She glances up, over his hands and following the line of his chest, and a dazed expression flits across her face before she looks resolutely at the parchment in her hands again. “And the...bulking up. I’ve noted the pain, of course. Are you having problems moving your joints? Is this affecting your bending?”

“No,” says Zuko, thinking of his training sessions that week. “If anything, I feel…better. Stronger.”

Katara dips the brush and writes it down. Zuko is fascinated by the way her lips scrunch when she’s concentrating. She does it during diplomatic meetings.

Heat floods his body and he tears his gaze away, heart thumping hard in his chest. He really needs to calm the hell down.

“What else?” asks Katara.

“I feel restless,” mutters Zuko. “It’s hard for me to sleep.” As she writes, something else occurs to him. “Oh, and I crave meat. Red meat, specifically.”

When she’s finished writing, Katara looks up. She’s gnawing on her bottom lip again. “I’m really worried about you.”

“It’s just a few months. And it could be worse.”

“Maybe I can make a tea that can help calm you,” says Katara. “We’ll try that tonight. For your restlessness.”

“You’re the best.”

The next transformation goes as well as Zuko could have hoped.

He’s ushered out of the palace in the night to a nearby forest, where he can fly freely without too much trouble, so long as he moves away from the palace, Caldera City, and the surrounding villages. He spends the night flying with Druk, enjoying the sensations of it; the wind on his face and the smells in the air. When dawn comes, he returns and begins the painful process back to his human body. It cracks and bruises him. He’s exhausted and in extreme pain by the time he’s back in his room. Katara is already waiting. “Oh Zuko,” she whispers, as he staggers to the bed and collapses onto it with a deep, tired groan.

She takes a long time with this session, asking him over and over how he feels, if it’s a bit better now, if she can do anything else for him.

Despite his exhaustion, Zuko finds himself struggling with a powerful desire to yank her to him and nuzzle into her neck. He’s thankful when Druk flies in with a soft little roar and curls up beside him as a distraction, nudging Zuko’s hand with his nose. “You kept me great company last night, buddy,” Zuko tells him weakly.

“Drink this,” Katara says. She nudges tea into his hands and helps prop his head. “You need to sleep.”

Zuko takes a sip and grimaces; it’s awful. But he finishes every drop and lets his head fall back onto the pillow. His eyes droop. Katara’s face swims in his gaze. When he speaks, he slurs. “K—Katara…” Black spots dance before his eyes, swirling confusingly with images of her face, her beautiful face, leaning over him.

A hand sweeps carefully through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes.

Zuko gets a brief, clear vision of brilliant blue.

“Sleep,” whispers her sweet, soft voice, and he listens gladly.

Chapter Text

Zuko thought the accelerated growth of his body would be the worst side effect.

While his swift increase in size seems to have finally evened out in his second week, something else took its place.

Something much worse.

It starts just two nights after the transformation. He’s been drinking the calming tea nightly during his healing sessions with Katara, and it’s been helping. He still feels fidgety during the day, thrumming with excess energy due to the sun, but at night, at least, he can sleep. Tonight, however, he wakes, and it takes him mere seconds to know what has woken him. It is, after all, difficult to ignore the intense throbbing of the erection pressing painfully tight against his breeches.

Zuko curses and sets to work pulling them off, groaning in relief when his cock springs free from the confines of the fabric, hard against his stomach. The growth spurt has affected him here, too, which—okay, sure, he was rather pleased about that at first, because who wouldn’t be? But now Zuko’s realizing this may come with its own consequences.

He isn’t sure he’s ever been this hard. It’s actually physically painful.

This is not a standard middle-of-the-night erection. It’s far too intense and demanding for that.

This, too, has to be the work of the curse, though Zuko can’t imagine why the hell that might be. He’s certainly not going to be able to figure it out now, not with a massive, aching distraction below his waist. And there’s also no way he’s going to be able to just ignore it and go back to sleep.

Resigned, Zuko reaches down and curls a hand around his cock, swiping a careful thumb over the leaking head. Just this simple movement sends a hard pulse through his system. He jolts involuntarily, his jaw tightening as a low hiss exits between his teeth. He's immensely sensitive. He tightens his hand and his brain goes blank with pleasure as he starts to pump.

Slowly and carefully. Eventually he moves to firm, steady strokes.

It’s not long before it gets desperate. Zuko’s head tips back against the pillow, emitting a soft groan every time he drags his hands down and reaches the base, squeezing lightly. He picks up the pace, jerking his hips, fucking frantically into his hand. The pressure builds and builds. He’s so close. His thighs tighten and tremble, his fingers clawing in the sheets.

Unbidden, an image of brilliant blue eyes suddenly flashes behind his closed eyelids.

Blinding pleasure erupts through what feels like every nerve ending in his body.

His breath catches before he chokes out a long, low moan. His cock twitches and hot, thick spurts splash into his palm, over his knuckles, onto his stomach. It goes on and on and on. All he can do is shudder and ride out the waves of euphoria, to try to keep his sanity, until it finally ends. He’s breathing like he’s just run miles, and he’s left with the trickles of shame for what—or who—appeared behind his eyelids. He’s also left with more come than he’s ever seen before all over him.

“What the fuck?” Zuko breathes out loud. He’s still shaking from the ferocity of the experience.

His muscles go limp and he lies still, willing his heart to stop racing. He has to calm down so he can finally clean up and get to sleep; tomorrow is a very full day of endless meetings. He can think more about this problem later, though he hopes it won’t be a recurring one. Finally his heart slows and his body starts to relax.

But drowsiness eludes him.

Not even five minutes later he’s rock hard again, throbbing insistently.

“Oh come on—you can’t be serious!” he sputters, staring down in dawning horror.

Needles to say, it’s a recurring problem.

That night he had to finish himself off twice more before he could finally sleep. He still woke up in the morning with yet another raging erection.

His sex drive has spiked so much that he knows, without a doubt, this is the curse’s doing. Nothing seems to satisfy it.

It becomes his main source of frustration, which is saying something as the leader of a nation. He can barely concentrate on anything else. Multiple times a day, the dreaded and familiar, traitorous twitch below his belt swoops in, begging for release. It’s impossible to ignore it and go about his other business. His sleep suffers again. His appearance gets haggard as the days go by, dark circles appearing under his eyes. He feels wild, untamed, completely out of control.

It’s torture.

Katara, empathetic and observant as she is, does not miss that something is wrong with him.

Normally this is incredibly endearing, but right now Zuko wishes she would, just once, not care so much.

“Are you okay?” she asks him one day during a healing session.

She touches his arm and Zuko jerks away violently, not looking at her. He doesn’t trust himself to look at her. “Yeah,” he lies hoarsely. All of his healing sessions with Katara lately have been occupied by a valiant attempt to think of the least sexy things he possibly can, and also not to think about the fact that she is so near to both him and his bed.

In order to stay sane Zuko clings to the notion that this has to be temporary. It can’t possibly go on like this the whole summer, can it? The severity of it has to fade.

Maybe this is just this week’s hell. Maybe after his next transformation, he’ll have some other unpleasant thing to deal with.

Right now, any side effect would be better than this.

The next transformation is slightly easier on Zuko’s body than the ones before it.

Katara is there as promised at dawn, ready to heal him.

The abatement of the pain is almost instantaneous. After her healing, Zuko only feels that his muscles have been pulverized to dust. And his head as well. He’s so groggy he can hardly think straight. Druk is quieter than usual, curled up dutifully beside his master on the bed, occasionally bumping his head affectionately with Zuko’s.

Zuko falls asleep to Katara’s hand pushing his hair soothingly from his face. When he wakes up several hours later—he has another busy day today, and he can’t afford to sleep the day off—he’s sore, worn out, but, delightfully, without an erection. Zuko is cautiously elated; could this mean that this part of the curse is over?

Now there’s just the other symptoms—the exhaustion, the soreness, and a new, persistent itching on his arms and neck.

The next day there’s a diplomatic gathering at noon, and Zuko discovers just how very wrong he is.

Katara arrives at almost the same time, and before they enter the room she takes his arm and pulls him aside. “Something is going on,” she says, looking stern. “After this if you have time, we need to discuss your symptoms.”

Zuko, alarmingly, feels the beginnings of arousal stirring his blood. It is not helped when he sees what she is wearing: a dress with water tribe colors, design, and trimmings, but cut in Fire Nation style to combat the sweltering summer heat. It’s sleeveless, made of thin, translucent silk that billows over her hips. When she moves it’s like she floats.

There's a little twitch below his waist.

It’s not over. Shit, shit, shit.

Zuko looks away and stares resolutely at the hideous tapestry across the corridor.

“Okay,” he manages, because it will end the conversation sooner.

He hears Katara sigh. She releases his arm and he follows her inside, determinedly not watching her walk.

He wins the struggle with himself for the first ten minutes of the meeting when he has to greet everyone and speak.

The problems begin when he has to sit down and listen to others drone on and on about numbers and economic problems.

The room is scorching. A trickle of sweat runs down the back of his neck.

His brain wanders, fuzzy from warmth. It unhelpfully settles on an image of Katara. In his mind she’s watching him, batting her eyelashes as she slowly reaches up to untie the straps of her dress from behind her neck. Her lips curve into a smile. His cock twitches again, more forcefully this time, and Zuko slams his fist hard on the table, gritting his teeth.

It takes him a moment to realize the room is silent. Everyone around the table stares at him with wide, shocked eyes.

“Is everything all right, Fire Lord?” The question comes from one of his financial advisors.

“Yes,” says Zuko, uncurling his hand and trying to stay calm. “I apologize. Please continue.”

He knows Katara is trying to catch his eye, but he avoids it. He stares down at the wood of the table and tries to concentrate on the lull of the words, or even the uncomfortable itch building up in his neck underneath his heavy, stiff Fire Lord robes. Zuko is brought back to reality more sharply after a few moments, when he hears Katara’s voice.

“…do you mean, can’t send aid?” Her eyes spark menacingly at the man speaking.

Zuko has always loved when Katara gets feisty in diplomatic settings. She has no regard for formalities or rules if she feels someone is being selfish or greedy. She interrupts. She snaps, and she points out vicious truths. She cowers from no one. It’s insanely attractive. He wonders if her eyes would blaze like that if he were to undress her.

That silk fabric she’s wearing is so light. He could easily rip it right off.

A long, intense pulse of desire runs through him.

He wants to grab her and lick every inch of her and make her moan his name. He wants her trembling.

He wants to kick out all of these stuffy politicians, bend her over the table, and take her right here until she screams.

Abruptly, Zuko stands up. He’s shaking, his heart is pounding, and he’s on the verge of losing it.

“Apologies,” he mutters, as the eyes in the room fly to him again. “I—feel unwell. Please continue in my absence.”

Zuko all but runs to his quarters. By the time he’s there and getting into his shower his cock is upright and uncomfortably stiff. He starts stroking before he’s even turned on the water. He’s too distracted to heat the water with his firebending, but he hardly notices. The freezing temperature does nothing to reduce his lust. He puts one hand against the wall for support, panting softly as he fists himself hard and fast.Katara’s face is waiting behind his eyelids as she always seems to be, no matter how hard he tries not to think of her.

“Fuck—” Zuko bites out, his body convulsing as he releases.

A haze of bliss washes over him. Just like always it goes on for ages. Longer than feels possible or natural.

He’s fully slumped against the shower wall when it ends, his chest heaving.

Familiar shame strangles his chest. It’s even worse this time.

He just had to run out of a fucking meeting to get himself off.

When he emerges his room there’s a furious barrage of knocks happening on the door. Zuko braces himself. He knows who it is before he even hears her. “Open up, Zuko! I know you’re in there! I’m very worried about you, I—”

Zuko swings the door open and she falters, surprised at the suddenness. Then she puts a fierce, stern expression on her face that probably would have sent him spiraling again had he not literally just came less than five minutes ago. “I’m coming in,” Katara announces, booking no room for argument as she steps past him.

As he closes the door and turns to her, she crosses her arms. “What’s going on, Zuko? Are you sick?”

“No,” Zuko mutters.

“What’s happening to you? Why won’t you talk to me? Your growth spurt seems to have tapered off. And you don’t seem to be in as much pain as last week. The transformation even seemed to be easier this time. I thought maybe your body was getting used to it. I was so relieved that things seem to be improving. I don’t understand. You're avoiding me.”

Zuko winces, but doesn’t correct her about the pain. Being deliriously aroused almost all the time is not what one could call comfortable. He doesn’t know how to explain to her what is happening to him. He really doesn’t want to. But at this point he’s not sure he has much of a choice. It’s taking him over and it needs to be fixed. "I'm sorry,” says Zuko. His voice is hoarse.

Katara sighs impatiently. “How is your sleeping? You look so tired again. Is the tea not working?”

“The tea works,” Zuko tells her honestly.

Katara looks as though she doesn’t believe him. “Everything else is still normal? Bending?”

“Yes,” says Zuko, avoiding her eyes. “Still more powerful than before.”

“What else?” Her voice gets gentler. “Zuko, please. I’m here to help you. Please talk to me.”

“I’m itchy a lot,” he says, to put off the worst. “Especially around my neck.”

This gives Katara pause. “Hm. Maybe that has something to do with scales?”

Zuko blinks at her in horror. “Do you think I’ll develop scales?”

“I’m guessing that it’s just a reaction you’re having because you transform between scales and skin weekly. And you’re having other dragon-like symptoms…the size, the increased power of your firebending, the meat craving. So your body might be expecting scales. And since there aren’t any, your skin gets itchy instead. Is it really bad? Should I get you something for it?”

“Yeah, maybe. It’s not exactly comfortable,” he mumbles, thinking of the Fire Lord collar and how it digs into his neck.

“Okay. I’ll get a salve to try. What else?” Katara reaches out to touch his arm but Zuko jerks away again, an automatic reaction.

When he has the courage to look at her she’s staring down at the floor, crestfallen.

“Uh…” Heat flares up in his face, fanning across his cheekbones. “I’m—I have too much—energy.”

“You told me that last week. Is it worse?” Katara’s eyes go wide. “Did you forget telling me? Maybe your memory—”

“No, I—I remember. This is a—” Zuko cringes “—a different kind of energy.”

“What kind?”

She looks so bewildered. Zuko tilts his head up and groans. He’s going to have to come right out and say it, isn’t he? “Sexual,” he rasps finally, voice low. The heat in his face is unbearable. There’s a long silence in which Zuko contemplates the ceiling as if it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“Oh,” Katara says, an octave higher than usual.

“Sorry.” Zuko coughs awkwardly. “I can find another healer if—”

“No, no,” she says, and he finally finds the courage to look back down at her. She looks flustered, but determined. “It’s not like I can’t talk about—I mean, I deal with this plenty,” she says, then clears her throat. “Medically. So it’s perfectly fine, don’t worry. If you want talk to someone else I completely understand, but you don’t have to worry about me. It’s just that I’d have to ask you some very, um, intrusive questions.”

“It’s okay.” Zuko sighs. As horrific as this is, a stranger would be exponentially worse.

“Well.” Her fingers fidget repeatedly with her dress and she’s no longer looking at him either. “How much energy do you mean? Is that why you just ran off from the meeting?”

“Yes,” Zuko mutters, hating his life.

Katara’s brow furrows in concern. “So this is really interfering with your ability to live your life?”

“Yes.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I can’t concentrate. I feel—out of control.”

“Okay,” says Katara. She sounds rather breathless. “How many, um, erections do you have a day?”

Zuko lets out a slow exhale. “Five. More. I don’t know. Too many. It wakes me up at night. It’s relentless.”

“And you’re…taking care of it?”

“Trying.” This is horrendously mortifying. Or at least it is for normal Zuko.

The sex-crazed part of Zuko is currently feeling almost pleased about this turn in the conversation, even if it's medical. That part of him likes that she’s a little breathless talking about this. He wants to see how breathless he can make her when she’s stripped and lying underneath him. He wants to make her writhe and thrash under his touch and—

“It’s not really working,” Zuko says hoarsely.

“Is there anything else unusual about it? Something different from standard sexual desire or experience?”

Zuko sends her a look of supreme mortification.

“I know,” says Katara, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry. I told you it would be intrusive.”

“Everything is more—intense,” he says haltingly. “And just, uh…more. There’s even more when I, um—”

“More sperm?” Her tone is matter-of-fact.

“Yeah,” he says, shoulders slumping. “I’m going crazy. It’s definitely the curse.” There’s a long pause.

When she speaks, her voice sounds small. “Yes. I think maybe you have to write Mai and get her to come back early.”

Zuko is shocked that he almost forgets how badly he wants her. “Mai? Come back early?”

“Yes,” says Katara. She gives him an almost queasy smile. “I think I might know what’s happening. The dragons are almost extinct, right? So I think what you’re feeling is a strong biological urge to repopulate. But you can’t reproduce alone, so…so that might be why it’s not working so well alone. Maybe a partner will help.”

The truth of her words hits him like an earthbender just struck him with a boulder. He should have guessed that.

Then again, having to frantically jerk off every few hours isn't exactly optimal for prime brain functionality.

This is so fucking messed up.

“Mai isn’t going to want to do that,” says Zuko, once he regains use of his voice. “And neither do I.”

Katara looks confused. “But she’s your girlfriend.”

“Not anymore,” he tells her. “We broke up almost three months ago. For, uh, for good this time.” He and Mai had broken up so often over the years he’s lost track.

Katara blinks rapidly. “I’m sorry, Zuko. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” says Zuko, shrugging. “It was falling apart for a long time. That’s why we…you know. Kept breaking up.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again. Her voice is very gentle.

“Don’t be. We’re both happier this way.”

The air in the room is heavier. Zuko doesn’t dare look at her.

“I should go,” Katara says abruptly. “I’ll brainstorm more solutions to this, okay?” She heads to the door. “I’ll see you for the healing session later? And I’ll bring the salve too.” She stumbles in her haste to make it to the door, her fingers still fiddling with the fabric of her dress. Zuko stares, bewildered by her apparent desire to flee the room.

“Okay,” he says, and Katara gives him one last smile before she ducks out, closing the door.

When Katara arrives at Zuko’s room at dusk, she appears agitated.

“Hi,” he says when he opens the door and steps back to let her in, feeling more than a little jittery himself.

“Hi,” she replies. “So, I’ve been thinking—”

“Katara—” he begins, at the same time.

They both stop and laugh nervously.

“You first,” he offers.

She looks as though she wishes he wouldn’t have offered. She bites her lip repeatedly and wrings her hands together. “Well,” says Katara, “I have the salve for you, so I hope that will help with the itching.” She hands him a little container, which he accepts gratefully. The air grows thick between them again as he waits for her to continue.

“And,” Katara says, clearing her throat and straightening her spine, “I tried to come up with some solutions to your other problem. I looked into tea or herbal remedies that might repress sexual drive.” Her eyes drag over his chest as she says it and dart away. It’s clear she’s trying to remain calm and poised, though there’s a slight glimmer in her eyes as she speaks. “But I could only seem to find things that enhance it, so that’s obviously not helpful." She tucks a curl of hair behind her ear. Zuko trails the movement, his pulse increasing. “I also,” she continues in a wavering voice, gesturing to a piece of paper in her other hand, “made a list for you of, um, respectable brothels, if you wanted to make an appointment with—”

“No,” Zuko says immediately.

“Right, okay. Sorry,” Katara says. She looks mortified. “I just thought I’d check into all the options.”

Zuko groans. "Is that the only other option?"

One option that he really, really doesn’t want to do. But he has to do something.

He has to concentrate to be Fire Lord.

“I do have one more suggestion.” Her throat contracts on a hard swallow. The next words come out in such a rush he can barely catch them. “You and I could—take care of it.”

Zuko’s entire body freezes and he stares at her.

Is she saying…?

No. That isn’t even within the realm of possibility. He’s dreaming. The sex-crazed part of him has finally taken over and launched him into some sort of vivid, lucid fantasy.

The room has gone strangely blurry. “Uh,” he says, extremely eloquently.

“Never mind,” says Katara. She actually physically backs away. “I—I knew it was a bad suggestion. You broke up with Mai not too long ago, and—and your friendship matters to me so much, the very last thing I want is to make things weird between us.” Her eyes are positively frantic. “I just thought that since we know each other that might be better than a brothel, a casual arrangement for the situation, maybe, but obviously that’s—forget I mentioned it.”

Zuko’s brain is still not working. He can’t comprehend what is happening.

“I—don’t—” He manages to say before his throat promptly closes.

Katara’s face falls and panic swells in him at the sight. It only makes the throat closure worse.

He’s somehow managing to ruin this even though he’s barely saying anything.

“I’ll leave you to put on the salve in peace,” Katara says. She gives him a strained smile, clearly trying to return to some semblance of normality. She turns to go, her movements stiff.

“Wait. Katara, wait.” Zuko steps toward her.

“Oh right, I forgot,” she says, turning back. “You had something you wanted to say earlier too.”

“No, I—well yes, but—” Zuko lets out a growl of frustration at his complete and total incoherence. For fuck’s sake. He’s the ruler of a nation. He’s gotten talented at public speaking. But Katara expresses physical interest in him and he has a meltdown. “Yes,” he says, more steadily now. “I just wanted to apologize if I made you uncomfortable. Earlier.”

Katara gives him a thin smile. “Zuko, back home, couples come talk to me if they’re having intimacy or reproductive issues.” She shrugs. “It's not a big deal. Really.”

“Right. Okay. And, um…” She stares up at him, waiting. “It’s not that I think it’s a bad idea,” Zuko says. He’s still having difficulty speaking over the lump in his throat. The sudden and very intrusive image of Katara disrobing right in front of him appears in his traitorous mind. He aggressively shoves it away to focus on using words. “It’s just that I don’t feel right about it.”

“I mean…I offered,” Katara says.

“You’ll do anything to help people. I don’t feel right that—”

“Zuko,” she says, with a head shake and a sigh. “Of course I’ll do anything to help you.” She takes a deep breath, and then pointedly looks him up and down with a shy smile. “And I wouldn’t exactly mind having sex. Frankly, it’s been a while for me, and you’re attractive.” She shrugs again, as if she’s trying to be casual and can’t quite manage it.

Thoughts and impulses wage war on him.

The most primitive part of him wants to reach out and grab her. Zuko's blood rushes in his veins and his heartbeat speeds, and inwardly he preens at her compliment in much the same way Druk preens when he’s done something he’s particularly pleased with himself about. She wants him. She desires him. It’s almost unimaginable to him, but she’s just said it.

How long has it been, Katara? that part of him growls. Let me make it better for you, I can take care of it—

“Still in there?” Her breathy little laugh brings him back to reality. When she laughs again, it's definitely forced. “You seem surprised that I am, in fact, a sexual being,” she says.

“Uh, yes,” Zuko says, clearing his throat. “And no! I…well…” He doesn’t know how to properly tell her that he’s actually very, very aware that she is a sexual being.

“It’s okay. We’re friends. I know it was strange to suggest. I'll keep brainstorming. You think on it too, okay?” says Katara, while Zuko thinks wryly that he may never be able to think about anything else ever again. She forces another smile, squeezes his arm once more, kindly, and then she’s gone. It’s only after the intoxication of her presence is away and the door has closed behind her that his brain chugs along and catches up. Zuko realizes he probably just made her feel rejected in his attempt to assure she wasn’t making her offer out of obligation.

“Zuko, you fucking idiot,” he mutters furiously, and rushes to the door.

Chapter Text

Zuko wrenches his door open. Katara is retreating down the hall.

After checking left and right to ensure no one else is in sight, he sets off after her, his steps quick and purposeful.

“Katara,” he calls. His voice is low and rough. He reaches out to catch her wrist and she turns, eyes wide with surprise. “Katara,” he says again, desperately. “Listen, I was just surprised, and—and you’re very pretty—” Zuko doesn’t really know what he’s saying. Perhaps he should have planned this better. He just wants to assure her that he does indeed find her desirable, but his mouth just seems to produ­ce inane babble. He cuts himself off, drawing a ragged breath, and his eyes drop helplessly to her lips.

His mind is slipping away, emptying, creating a void that steadily fills with a desire akin to starvation. Some instinct is taking over.

Vaguely, he knows it’s the curse. He wants to let it take control. He wants to let it, but he’s incredibly wary of it, so he pushes it away.

Katara’s lips part appealingly, and Zuko takes a step closer.

She’s so much smaller than him. Something inside him, that same instinct, reacts powerfully to this. It imagines picking her up and carrying her to his bed.

Curling her up, encasing her, guarding and protecting her.

His heart hammers so hard against his chest it hurts. Time grinds to a halt as they stare at each other.

Zuko has to remind himself that she’s waiting for him to keep speaking. He swallows hard. “I just didn’t want you to feel obligated.” His voice is still gravelly as he forces the words out, and as he also forces himself to think of something other than how exactly he would go about undressing her. “That’s all. Of course I—I mean, I can’t believe you would want—”

He's cut off when Katara clutches at the front of his robes, yanks him down, and kisses him.

Zuko freezes for approximately half a second before he reacts.

His hands fly up to hold her face. His large hands cradle it easily. Katara curls her hands around his neck, rising up to her tiptoes to meet him properly. Zuko tilts his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue glides across her bottom lip and she makes a low, surprised gasp from deep in her throat. She lets him slip it into her mouth, weaving it with hers. Her lips are so soft.

His cock is already stiff and throbbing painfully. He wants her so much it hurts.

Zuko’s thumbs run over her cheekbones and he nibbles gently on her bottom lip. She reacts with a breathy little sound that very nearly ends him. He kisses her harder, one hand curving down and around to the small of her back and pulling her until she’s flush against him. Katara’s fingers explore his chest, his abdomen, and then reach up to weave through his hair.

Tingles spread from every spot she touches him right down to the tip of his toes.

“Bedroom,” she pants against his mouth.

Zuko suddenly remembers they are out in the corridor. He hadn’t thought about where they were. He hadn’t cared.

The entire world shut off completely as soon as Katara kissed him.

They stumble backward, still kissing furiously. Zuko never wants to stop kissing her.

Mine, chants the instinctual, animal voice inside him. She kissed me. She wants me to take care of her. Me. Mine.

Zuko fumbles with the knob on his door and they stagger inside. He kicks it closed behind him and drags a hand slowly up her spine, bringing her closer, his fingers tangling in her hair.

Her hair. He’s always loved her hair. The way it moves when she fights, how thick of it is, how much of it there is. In the humid air of the Fire Nation it becomes beautifully unruly. It’s loose right now, cascading down her back, and it’s both soft and delightfully chaotic between his fingers. Katara arches toward him, a blissful sigh escaping her.

Zuko ducks to press his lips to the inviting skin on her neck. She tilts her head further, exposing it for him, and he runs his hands down her sides, pausing to firmly hold her hips as his lips sweep up the line of her throat. He listens carefully to her breathing patterns, pays special attention to the spots that get a stronger reaction—a gasp, her breath catching, or an involuntary shiver against his body—and he stays in those places longer, nipping or sucking or kissing. Katara grips at his biceps for support, half slumping against him and moaning quietly when he sucks on a spot just below her ear.

Fuck, the sounds she makes. He’s going to lose it. He has to be careful. He has to keep control.

His lips sweep a pattern to the other side of her neck, teasing her with his mouth and tongue. He finds every sensitive spot and exploits it, basking in her reactions. Eventually his hands start to pull at the ties and folds of her dress. Her eyes are glazed when he pulls back to look at her. She’s just as dazed as she is. Seeing it makes his chest ache.

He thought the last week of arousal had been overwhelming, but this—this is excruciating in all the best ways.

“Keep going,” she breathes. She pushes at his robe and captures his lips again, even more urgently than before.

Mine, insists that voice inside of Zuko, full of victorious triumph.

Katara pushes his robe off his shoulders, leaving him shirtless. This time she’s the one that pulls away from his lips.

She pauses to stare at the scar permanently etched into his abdomen.

She reaches out, her fingers dancing gently around the edges, something flitting across her face.

Zuko’s chest is heaving, his heart in his throat. He knows she’s thinking of the day he got it and now so is he. He stays silent, waiting for her; she eventually glides her hands higher, places her palms on his chest and tilting her head up to look at him. All the repressed longing makes him feel as if he’s about to burst. His body is actually vibrating.

Katara kisses him again, yanking him down to her almost possessively.

Zuko’s hands return to her dress, finally shedding it to the floor. He’s surprised his brain can function enough to get it off her.

She’s left in just her wraps, and he immediately runs his hands over them, over her ribs, and feels her shiver.

Suddenly, she pushes firmly on his chest. He stumbles back, surprised. She only smiles at him and keeps at it until he’s at the bed, nudging him until he’s forced to sit. She proceeds to climb right into his lap and kiss him fiercely. His hands come automatically to wrap around her waist again. His mind is somehow both blissfully blank and buzzing incessantly.

He still can’t believe this is happening.

Their hands run all over each other. It’s fast and passionate and Zuko gathers her closer.

He can’t ever be close enough to her. She’s so warm. So soft. Fits so well in his arms.

Katara grips his shoulders and forcefully grinds her hips down. She gasps as she slides along the thick length of him. Zuko lets out a stuttered groan into her mouth, a shock wave of nearly blinding pleasure rippling up his spine. Katara rolls her hips again. This time her head falls forward into the crook of his neck when his hard cock rubs between her thighs. Another breathy moan tumbles over her lips and his grip on her hips tightens, using his arms to rock her roughly against him. Each time they find the friction they both need he can feel her shake in his arms. Her hands claw at his chest and the room is full of their desperate sounds, kissing and panting.

Zuko isn’t sure how much more of this he can take. He needs to rip her clothes off and sink into her. But he must be careful.

This new instinctual part of him is powerful, and he doesn’t trust it. Especially not this first time.

So it hovers on the brink of his consciousness, informing his actions but not controlling them. It has to stay that way.

When Katara grinds on him again with a whimper, Zuko hisses between his teeth.

Enough.

He takes hold of her and easily flips her over onto her back. He presses against her, pinning her into the mattress.

The feel of her underneath him is—indescribable. Zuko takes hold of one of her legs and pulls it around his waist before he pushes his hips down and forward, sliding his cock against her.

Katara throws her head back with a strangled moan and clings tighter, squirming under him.

“Fuck,” he manages, pushing against her again. She juts out and up to meet him.

The rhythm of their hips becomes frantic. Zuko slides a hand up her stomach, brushing lightly over her wraps, over her breasts. She pushes further into his hands, encouraging the contact. His hands work at her wrappings, pulling at them, stripping them away. His breath stops and his mind reels into near delirium at the sight of her topless under him.

He leans back to stare at her.

Her hair is mussed and sprawled out on his sheets, her lips are swollen, and her eyes are hazy with want.

It’s like all of his fantasies from the past week but so much better.

A flash of unbearable heat spikes through him and he again struggles with the feeling that he needs to push into her right this very second. He must be careful. He must keep control.

He says the only sentence his mind seems capable of stringing together right at that moment. “You can’t be real.”

Zuko dips to kiss her stomach, then kisses up her slowly. He savors the feel and taste of her skin on his lips, the increasingly desperate movements of her hips, the way her muscles contract under his mouth when she tenses. He kisses and licks between her breasts but moves past them, back up to her neck. He buries his head in it and inhales her.

Fruity. Flowers. The sea. Katara. He could stay here, this close to her, forever. He’d never tire of it.

His mouth maps her neck again. One of his hands gathers her left breast in his hand. He lightly squeezes and massages, savoring the softness, the weight of it in his head. He rubs over her pebbled nipple gently with his thumb and she moans deep in her throat, scrabbling at the hem of his trousers. There’s a determined blaze in her eyes as she yanks everything down enough to free his cock. Her hand slides down and brushes him. Just this simple touch has him jerking his hips toward her, dropping his forehead to hers with a strangled sound.

It’s so much better when she touches him. How did he think he could do this alone?

Katara goes still, and Zuko hears her breath catching in her throat.

Zuko opens his eyes to look down at her. She is staring down at his cock in her hand, her mouth open.

Her face is a mixture of awe, desire, and—he thinks—nerves.

“Oh,” Katara breathes finally. “That’s…wow.”

“The growth spurt...” Zuko’s voice is husky; he brings one hand to her cheek. His eyes search her face. Her apprehension is evident underneath the lust. “We don’t have to.”

“I want to,” she tells him, with a fierce look.

Zuko leans down to press his lips very slowly into her collarbone. “I’ll be careful,” he murmurs. “Slow.”

Katara melts under him, relaxing into the sensation of his mouth on her skin.

“Okay,” she whispers back, shuddering in bliss as his warm fingers ghost down her body.

Her small hand curls around as much of him as she can and gives a light stroke. A sharp tremor ripples through him. Katara slides her hand along him slowly, squeezing gently—once, twice—but Zuko reaches down to take her wrist and pulls her away. He has to make this last. He has to. She has come to him and he will take care of her.

So he teases her instead, running his hand along her inner thighs until he can feel them quaking. When his fingers finally brush her clit through the fabric of her bottom wraps her back arches all the way off the bed, a desperate, strangled whimper rising from her throat. He glides his hand lightly over her again and Katara spreads her legs wider.

“Oh, please,” she begs. She sounds hoarse and only half coherent, her eyes glazed. “Please touch me.”

Zuko doesn’t comply immediately, even though the way she begs and the distant look of pleasure in her eyes almost makes him snap. He pulls her wraps tantalizingly slow off her, leaving her completely bare under him. Katara puts her hips out, squirming desperately, and he finally presses his thumb against her clit. She mewls, clawing at his arms.

He rubs slow, careful circles, muffling her moans with his mouth, before dipping a finger lower.

“Shit…” Zuko drops his head into her neck again, panting harshly. He can’t believe how wet she already is. So much slick has accumulated between her legs.

It activates something deeply primal in him.

He drags a finger up before resuming his little circles on her clit. She bucks helplessly into his hand. He nibbles on her earlobe, and she whimpers faintly again. “Please. Zuko, please."

This is officially too much. Her name on his lips. Her begging him to take her, wriggling and bare under him. He wanted to drag it out, taste her, kiss every inch of her, but she’s so ready. She needs him so badly, and that primal part of him surges forward; Zuko hangs onto himself now only by a very thin string. His answering words spill out without input from his brain.

“Yes. I will," he says roughly. "I’m going to fuck you now. I’ll take such good care of you.”

A stunned look settles over her face. Then her eyes darken and her fingers slide over his chest.

Zuko drags his hand along her upper thigh before he sprawls it across her hipbone, holding her firmly down. His heart is racing and he’s tingling in anticipation. He’s painfully stiff and leaking. He kicks his clothes the rest of the way off his legs and impatiently tosses them away. His knees come to hers, nudging her legs further apart, pinning them wide.

He aligns himself between her thighs. She lets out a pleased sob when the head of his cock brushes against her.

He takes her chin in one hand, tilts her face up to kiss her, and slowly starts to push in.

Katara gasps low against his mouth. Her fingernails dig marks into his chest as he slides into her inch by inch.

She throws her head back and Zuko presses kisses along her cheeks and her jaw. He can feel her walls clenching and fluttering around him, stretching to accommodate him. She’s so tight. So hot and wet. She’s gripping him in a snug embrace and he pauses to regain his control, to keep from losing himself and slamming into her with reckless abandon.

She’s perfection. He’s shaking with the effort of holding back, his jaw clenched.

Underneath him, he can feel her trembling too.

“You feel—so good—” Zuko can barely get the words out. He stares down at her as he pushes in a little more.

Katara’s face is scrunched and her chest is moving very rapidly. She’s struggling to take him. He doesn’t know how, but he’s still sliding into her. “So—big,” she chokes out.

Zuko feels a flare of jubilation at this comment but pauses with a great effort. He sprinkles kisses up her jaw again. “Stop here?”

“No,” she gasps. “Just—stay slow.”

Zuko kisses her gently, his tongue swirling with hers. He obeys and continues sinking into her, careful and deliberate.

When he’s finally buried all the way to the hilt she tilts her head back and moans, wrapping her arms around his upper back. Zuko waits, savoring it. Savoring her. He can feel her fluttering around him again. He groans, leans down, and peppers kisses across her right breast, giving her time. He sucks very lightly on her hardened nipple and hears her keen.

He kisses his way back up to her neck and looks down at her.

Her eyes are open now, staring up at him with unbridled lust. “Feels so good,” Katara tells him, breathlessly.

Her comment blazes through him. He has pleased her. He’s made her feel good.

Mine. Mine.

“Good,” he growls suddenly, from deep in his chest. “So good.” Zuko has never once said anything remotely similar in bed. He's never actually been one to say much of anything. He has no idea where it came from. Well—that’s a lie. He does know where it came from, but right now his mind is too foggy to really think about it. There’s only a fraction of a second where he has enough of his wits about him to worry it's too much, but then he sees Katara’s eyes dilate and feels how she clenches tighter around his cock, and he knows that she liked it.

He kisses her hard. “You take me so well.” That layer of husky command is still in his voice. “Can’t believe how perfect you are.”

Again the words just pour out with no conscious input. And again, Katara doesn’t seem to mind.

She grips him tighter and makes a pleased sound in the back of her throat, her brilliant blue eyes searing into his.

He withdraws all the way, still slowly, still testing. Keeping careful control, he slides smoothly back in.

Katara’s eyelashes flutter and her mouth drops open when he bottoms out again.

When he thrusts again, faster this time, he catches her lips with his and kisses her, because looking at her like this is too much. She feels mindbogglingly good. Snug, warm, soft. But Zuko is adamant that he will outlast her. He will make it happen. It won’t be easy. Not only is there the desperation that comes with his curse, but there’s the desperation that comes with Katara, specifically. Even before this entire mess Zuko likely would have given his right arm for a chance with her like this. Now he has it. He’s going to make sure Katara comes so hard.

He clenches his jaw and moves faster. Long, steady strokes. Moving in her is glorious. Warm velvet. Every quiver of her inner walls tightens around his cock. Each time it happens he can't hold back a rumbling growl. Soon he’s fucking her with hard, deep thrusts. With each snap of his hips her fingers press into his back and she whimpers. Katara rolls her hips to match him.

The heat overtaking him is scorching now. He’s climbing steadily higher, spurned on by Katara’s delicious little sounds and the feel of her around him and her hands clinging desperately at him. She wraps her legs around his hips and they both gasp at the deeper angle. His fingers come down to rub at her, and Katara tenses up. “Oh—fuck,” she wails, closing her eyes.

Zuko picks up speed, pounding into her relentlessly. The bed rattles.

His lips capture hers and he speeds the movements of his hand. Faster. Tight, rough circles on her swollen clit as his cock fills her over and over. She makes a faint sobbing sound.

He feels her start to clench and he can tell by the way her body twists that she’s close.

Zuko's other hand flies up to her neck, sliding possessively up the length of it before coming to her chin and holding it firmly. “Open your eyes,” he rasps. He tilts her chin up higher and she obeys, her stare meeting his—it's bright blue and pleading and fixed on him, clouded from the pleasure. He is doing this to her. He’s making her feel this way. Him.

His balls tighten and his thighs start to shake. His mind finally slides all the way away, into the avaricious fire.

“That's it. So good,” he growls again, deep and silky and forceful. “Come.”

Katara’s face contorts and she curves up and into him with a long, loud cry.

He grips her chin and looks into her eyes as she comes apart. Her cunt throbs and clenches around his cock so hard that Zuko breaks immediately.

He thought coming the entire past week had been intense. But it was nothing, nothing compared to this.

His vision goes dark. His entire existence in this moment is just this. Her. Pulling ecstasy from every cell in his body. It’s fire burning over his skin and it’s water, wave after wave of endless, burning rapture. Hoarse gasps are torn from him and his hips continue to thrust into her, stilted and erratic. His body convulses and keeps on convulsing.

Zuko’s head falls to her shoulder and he pulses deep inside her, over and over and over, for what feels like an eternity. Every time it feels like it’s crested and coming to an end he just comes more inside her. She’s still gasping and clinging to him as it finally trails off to an end, her own orgasm prolonged by his. Zuko slumps against her but is careful not to crush her, bare skin sliding against hers, pressing her deeper into the mattress. His arms encircle her and tighten. His head is pounding uncontrollably. So is his heart. He’s warm and content.

He’s never felt so whole.

It feels as if the world has been tilted the wrong way on its axis all along without him noticing, but now it’s upright.

Something is telling him to kiss every inch of her right now, that it will finalize it, make her his.

Intoxicated by the barrage of feelings from the curse, he listens.

Chapter Text

Katara sways back into consciousness peacefully, with rays of sunshine tickling her face.

There isn’t a single worry on her mind. There isn’t anything on her mind at all.

It’s like her muscles have been meticulously wrung out, every single last drop of pleasure squeezed out.

She drifted off to the most exquisite feeling of warmth the night before. Warmth and a tranquil feeling of utter security.

Even when Zuko slipped out of her he’d stayed on top of her, his hips resting gently against hers, his skin burning like flames. Zuko has always been a warm person, obviously, but the post-climax afterglow encased in his arms was something else entirely. The last thing she remembers is the feel of his lips ghosting gently along her skin.

More details flood back as she slowly starts to wake up.

He kissed all along her neck, both sides. Her earlobe, behind her ear, across her shoulder. Down her arms. Her fingers. Every inch of her stomach. Her legs. He moved slowly and deliberately, seemingly determined not to miss a single spot. It was almost like he was grooming her. It was delightfully soothing.

She didn’t mean to fall asleep here, but she was so safe and warm, so drowsy and happy.

Katara’s eyes finally flutter open, and she squints in the sun. It’s too strong to be early in the morning.

It has to be at least midday. She’s naked in Zuko’s bed and alone.

She shifts up to her elbows. A tray of tea awaits her on the bedside table. It’s likely cold by now, but she immediately recognizes the distinct tar-black color; a method of pregnancy prevention. Even though Katara is always sure to bend any lingering fluid out of her and last night was no different, she gulps it down. Never a bad idea to be extra safe. And then she flops backward again, her curls sprawling out over the pillow, and stares at the ceiling.

Should she leave before Zuko returns? She doesn’t really want to, but she doesn’t know the etiquette of the situation.

She’s never had a casual partner.

And technically she doesn’t even really want Zuko to be casual.

Last time she visited the Fire Nation on an ambassadorial trip, Katara planned to tell Zuko how she felt. Which is to say that she has feelings for him. Feelings that are certainly not merely friendly and that have been developing for quite a while; possibly months and months without her explicit knowledge. But the timing had been almost comically poor. The next time rolled around and he’d just gotten back together with Mai—a tumultuous relationship with long off periods. And so Katara waited. And waited. She tried dating others over those months.

And now she was here, and he was single, and she’d gone and told him she wanted to sleep with him.

Katara actually hadn’t intended to suggest this arrangement. Not because she doesn’t want to; she certainly wants to do this, especially after the earth-shattering orgasm last night. It actually felt like the bed and floor had crumbled out from beneath her and she’d sunk into some sort of abyss of hazy pleasure, from which she’d only just blearily crawled out.

She’d done the opposite of what she was supposed to do: namely, give Zuko time and space after Mai and as he sorted out the whole dragon situation and then confess her real feelings at the end of this long visit. Well. She can still stick to the rest of her original plan. She can still give him some more time—for Mai, for the curse—and tell him when this is all over.

That way she can also be certain she’s getting an answer from real Zuko, and not…cursed dragon Zuko.

Dragon Zuko may have slightly clouded judgment. Dragon Zuko likely just wants to put a baby in her.

The thought that he's only sleeping with her because he’s cursed is extremely depressing, but she swallows hard and pushes it away.

Katara slips out of the bed, which she notes smells deliciously like Zuko: eucalyptus and another herb, something she can’t quite place. She pads to the bathroom and takes a cold shower because she can’t figure out how to heat the water and suspects she has to be a firebender to do so. Because it’s cold she’s quick about it, and she’s dried off and has just wrapped herself tightly in a towel when she hears the door click. Heart fluttering, she clutches tighter to her towel. She makes her way across the bathroom and silently pushes open the door.

Zuko stands over by the windows, directly in the sunlight, looking outside.

Druk perches majestically on his shoulder.

Katara allows herself a brief moment to discreetly observe him. She prefers to use the term ‘observe’ as opposed to ‘ogle’, though technically the latter is probably much more accurate. Just thinking about the way those arms and legs had pinned her down and his biceps had bulged when he had his way with her last night makes her nearly incapable of speech.

He’s wearing his formal Fire Lord robes, top bun and crown in place. He looks beautiful and regal.

She wants to pounce him again.

Katara ignores this urge and clears her throat. “Hi,” she says.

Zuko starts and whirls around, golden eyes wide. Druk flutters his wings irritably at the rapid movement. “Katara! I thought you left—I looked for you—” He looks positively flustered. The fact that Zuko can go from being so delightfully awkward most of the time to whatever he'd been last night only endears her to him more. She gives him a shy smile as she moves across the room. He smiles back at her as she approaches, and some of the nervous tension in her chest eases.

Only when it fades away does she realize just how many anxieties she’d carried about facing him in the light of day.

“I had an early meeting.” His voice is raspier than usual. “And it lasted three whole hours longer than it should.”

“That’s terrible.” Her mouth feels dry. It should not be this dry. “Do you need a healing session this morning?”

“You mean afternoon?” he says, amused. His eyes flick over her, wrapped in one of his fluffy bath towels.

Her cheeks turn warm. “I suppose I do.”

“I don’t need one. I’m feeling really good today.” His voice is husky. The look on his face makes her stomach swoop.

Before she can reply they’re both surprised by Druk, who takes off from Zuko’s shoulder with a delighted little screech and settles on Katara’s shoulder instead. Astounded, Katara twists to look up at him. “Hi, Druk,” she says. She tentatively touches his snout and Druk preens happily under her affection, letting out another little snort of contentment. Even young, Druk is massive. The weight of him presses into her bare shoulder and his talons lightly dig into her skin. It isn’t painful, and if he were lighter she might be able to bear it easier, but as it is, she finds herself stooping under the weight. Druk bumps his head with hers.

“I told you he likes you.” Zuko is grinning.

“I like him too,” says Katara. “He’s just a little heavy."

“Oh, right, sorry—here.” Zuko lets out a low whistle and Druk immediately flies to his shoulder instead, delicately flapping his wings as he settles in. Zuko doesn’t seem bothered at all with Druk’s weight. “You can’t just go around landing on people, buddy.” Zuko tries to sound stern but he doesn’t quite manage. Druk snorts smoke out of his nose and ruffles his wings and Zuko, chuckling, walks over to the window and opens it, letting Druk soar out before he shuts it securely once more. “He was stuck inside with me,” Zuko tells her. “At the meeting.”

“You took him?”

Zuko’s eyes are dancing, and he steps closer. She has to tilt her head back to see him properly and her heart rate increases at his proximity.

“Yes, I did,” he says.

“Why?”

“Intimidation tactic,” he says. "Had to meet with one of the nobles that secretly wants my father back. Seeing his face when I walked in with a dragon made dealing with him bearable.”

Katara laughs. “So what does Druk do when he doesn’t like people?”

“Stares at them like he’s thinking about eating them,” Zuko tells her. “It’s a pretty effective way of getting what I want.”

Katara laughs again.

Zuko takes another step. She can feel the warmth radiating off him. It’s the sun’s energy—he’s thrumming with it. All his power and strength seem much more potent and wild in the light of day. His eyes blaze brighter than she’s ever seen them and his pupils are blown wide. He stares at her with such heated intensity that it feels as though all the air has been suddenly swept right out of the room. A slow, molten arousal begins to build and unfurl between her legs.

It’s impossible not to know what he’s thinking about. He’s looking at her like he’s ready to devour her.

He takes yet another step closer. “You fell asleep before I was finished with you,” he says. His voice is almost casual, but there’s a dark undertone to it that makes her shiver.

It takes her a moment to answer. “Oh?” she says. She sounds faint even to her ears.

His eyes trail up and down her as if deciding what exactly to do to her first. Katara squeezes her thighs together. She came less than twelve hours ago. He hasn’t even touched her yet. Hasn’t even kissed her. All he’s done is hover near her, look at her, exist in the same room and say one measly sentence, and she’s already dizzily aroused. She’s hopeless.

“Well,” she says, half breathless, half teasing, “it was never my intention to deny the Fire Lord something he—”

Zuko descends on her.

His hands are everywhere. They're hot on her face, her chin, and her neck. Waves of palpable, sweltering warmth roll off him and consume her. Just like last night, she can feel how his body vibrates against hers. She knew he held himself back yesterday; she’d been able to tell. And this morning—no, afternoon—he still is. But he’s also a bit more unbridled today.

More fierce.

His lips are more forceful on hers, his hands running over her and touching with desperation.

Katara rips off the Fire Lord shoulder pads and they fall to the ground. Then she pushes his robes off him, just as frantically. She needs him.

She needs to feel his hard chest under her fingers again and feel his skin against hers.

As soon as the robes are gone she touches and savors every crevice of his abdomen, the solid planes of his chest, the muscles tense and rippling under his skin. Her nails lightly scrape against him and he lets out a stuttered groan into her mouth, a deeply masculine sound that makes her clench her legs tightly again. He suddenly takes her by the waist and lifts her.

Katara lets out a little squeal of surprise and her legs tuck around his waist automatically. He carries her like it's nothing, still kissing her, easily supporting her with just his arms.

Just this simple show of sheer brute power sends an almost painful thrill of want through her.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to leave you behind in my bed this morning?” Zuko's voice is like gravel.

She whimpers quietly into his mouth.

Already. She’s already whimpering for him again.

He’s well on his way to melting her permanently into a gigantic, aroused puddle.

He reaches the bed and deposits her on it, pressing down on top of her. One of Zuko’s hands lingers on her jaw and he kisses her deeper. The other hand slides down her body and pulls at the bath towel as if it has offended him by being there. The feeling between her legs has built to an urgent, persistent throbbing. She feels horribly empty.

The towel falls away and his eyes dilate wider as he stares down at her underneath him.

She lets her eyes graze over him, too. He’s so exquisite. There’s a faint shaking in all his muscles.

He’s still keeping a careful, pained control.

Zuko swoops down to bury his face in her neck. He seems to really enjoy doing that. Katara makes a pleased sound to let him know the feeling is mutual, her hands coming to thread into his hair. Zuko presses his lips into her skin. “Half thought—last night—a dream—” He lets out a shuddering sigh before sucking lightly on a spot that makes her weak.

One of his hands suddenly snatches both her wrists and pins them above her head.

The other runs slowly, reverently down her naked body.

Katara moans faintly and squirms under his touch. He’s barely coming into contact with her skin, his fingertips teasingly brushing her. She moans again when he brushes over her pebbled nipples on his way to her stomach. They're already so hard they hurt. His large, warm hand splays out over her abdomen, and she juts up toward him, wanting him to go lower.

But his hand tightens on her pelvis, holding her still. She’s never been this turned on. Ever.

Zuko crackles with electricity and power, shaking with restraint as he kisses her. His free hand slides to cup her left breast and he rolls it carefully in his large hand, squeezing gently. His grip tightens on her pinned wrists with the other. Katara’s heart is pounding uncontrollably. Something about him pinning her like this is just too good. She tries to arch upward, testing.

A thrill darts through her when he presses the lines of his body harder against her.

“Be patient,” he mutters in a voice like velvet, with that undeniably seductive hint of command from the night before.

He nips at her lips before he trails down the front of her throat with his mouth, down to her collarbone.

He kisses softly at her breasts. Around the circumference. Along the bottom. The sides. All around her aching nipples but not over them. The very air in the room is painful on them. When he finally flicks his tongue lightly across one she tenses and a guttural sound escapes her. She writhes, pushing desperately against his grip on her wrists. But his fingers just tighten more, keeping her hands trapped. He gathers one in his mouth and gives a light suck. Katara writhes again, more violently this time. She’s completely mindless.

All she can think about is the incessant need and emptiness between her thighs, and how much she needs him.

But Zuko takes his time. He kisses and licks and sucks her nipples for long, drawn out minutes, his mouth warm and wet. He’s teasing. She wants to chastise him but she can’t even speak. He draws it out until her whole body is throbbing with need. He suckles lightly on her one last time and then pulls away. Now. Finally, he’s going to fill her.

But his body weight shifts off her, and Katara makes a protesting little sound.

Warm breath tickles her inner thighs. Hot hands come to hold her knees open.

Zuko places a delicate kiss on her right inner thigh. He kisses and nips higher and higher until she’s drawn so taunt she can hardly stand it. Her chest heaves.

The anticipation might make her explode. He’s so close…

But then he moves lower again and starts kissing along the other thigh.

Katara is too far gone to be self-conscious that his head is down between her legs, that he can probably see how soaked she is. She simply doesn’t care about anything anymore except alleviating the ache. She’s shaking violently. She can’t take anymore. She can’t. “Zuko,” she pleads, “I need—”

Her words are cut off in a sharp inhale. Her mouth falls open as the heat of his tongue laps at her; a slow, gentle swipe from her entrance up to her clit. The entire room goes blurry and a supernova of bliss erupts through her entire body. “Ohhh,” she moans. Her fingers fly down and automatically latch themselves into his hair, her hips tilting up toward his mouth.

This time he doesn’t hold her hips down and lets her chase the friction she needs.

Zuko growls into her, and the vibrations it sends through her core is like an electric current.

“You taste so good.” He slides his tongue lightly up her slit again before flicking her clit with it. Katara whines incoherently, pulling harder at his hair. “I knew you would,” he says. His voice is deeper than she’s ever heard it. One of his palms slides to her calf and draws it over his shoulder, spreading her wider before burying his face in her again.

He nips at her, laps at her, kisses her. Every once in a while he licks slowly and gently across her clit, carefully teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

His hands roam lightly over her hips and her stomach and her breasts.

Several minutes later, her hips are jutting up erratically, fucking his mouth, pushing his head with her hands, spurned on by his muffled moans. Higher and higher and—and—

Zuko pulls away.

Katara whines and tries to squeeze her thighs together, to find any source of friction. But his hands grip them and he holds her firmly spread open. He starts kissing and licking the arousal from her inner thighs. She’s so close to where she needs him. Her legs tremble in his grasp and she whimpers. After Zuko repeats the process two more times—coaxes her with his mouth and lips and tongue until she’s shaking and her whole body is clenched, on the brink of orgasm, only to pull away again to lick at her thighs, so close it hurts—she wants to die.

She barely recognizes her voice. “Please…”

“So good.” His voice is thick. “You’re doing so well. One more time.”

Katara sobs faintly. His tongue glides up her again, making her thighs clamp around his head.

He teases her to the brink all over again and stops just before she tips over. “Good,” he murmurs again. “So good.”

He dips back between her thighs and laps at her agonizingly slowly. Katara’s hips circle and thrust against his tongue and she whimpers with each movement. She’s so sensitive, everything is so sensitive. Zuko moans into her and the white-hot feeling inside of her rises to its peak. She’s right on the edge. So close.

Zuko curls his tongue around her clit and sucks, and Katara’s world implodes.

Chapter Text

She’s only half aware of her surroundings, but she thinks a scream came out of her.

She always thought screaming from sex was fake. She thought anyone screaming from an orgasm had to be faking.

She was wrong.

It’s like she’s been lashed with a powerful water whip except it’s inconceivably glorious. The wind is knocked out of her and she’s breathless. The swell of ecstasy bursts through her and overtakes all of her senses, fighting it’s way out of her body. She thrashes and shudders under its power, back arching sharply off the bed. When it eases and she leisurely floats down from the high she slumps back onto the sheets, her hands falling from his hair to her sides, unable to move.

“Beautiful,” she hears a rumbling voice say, as if from very far away.

It takes her a few seconds, but she registers that Zuko is still between her thighs, licking very gently at her.

Every time he curves his tongue along her she shudders, overwhelmed. But it’s not a bad feeling.

She may need to revise her earlier judgment.

Asking Zuko to have sex with her as soon as possible may actually have been the best decision she’s ever made.

He licks up every drop of her but still doesn’t stop. His tongue flutters lightly around her clit again and the muscles in her core clench and tighten.

Oh fuck, he’s not done, she thinks, stunned. I’m not done.

He sucks lightly again and she fists the sheets in her hands. Everything still feels so delicate. How he’s making that somehow feel good is beyond her. But just as she’s wound up again, her hips wriggling, his mouth travels back up her body. Over her pelvis and her stomach. Between her breasts and up her neck. And then he kisses her. He nibbles on her bottom lip and caresses his tongue with hers and all Katara can do is moan helplessly into his mouth. Tingles run down her spine and all the way to her toes. She’s ready again. She can hardly believe it, but she is.

“That was—the best fucking thing—” Zuko tells her between kisses. The tone of his voice, coarse and tense and low, makes the tingles increase. When he pulls back to look at her, his eyes are bright. For the first time, Katara sees the curse plainly etched into his face. It hadn’t been as easy at night, but by day it’s much more obvious. But she’s not afraid. And she can still see the tremors rippling through his muscles that tell her he’s practicing a careful restraint.

A sliver of Zuko still remains. He refuses to give in completely.

A wickedly curious part of Katara wonders what he’d be like if he were to give up his control; to let it take him over. He’d probably fuck her within an inch of her life. A dull throb of excitement runs through her at the mere idea of it.

She tucks that particular thought away for later.

She suddenly hooks her legs around his waist and scrambles to flip them over so she’s on top of him.

She never would have been able to flip him with her own force; he’d rolled to help her.

His eyes smolder at her as she rolls her hips against his clothed erection, and he groans through a clenched jaw.

She can’t get his trousers off fast enough. She scoots to the side and pulls at them, yanking them down to his knees. He kicks them the rest of the way off and she curls a hand around his hard cock. His body stiffens and his face twists, and suddenly one of his hands is in her hair, pulling her down to meet his lips.

Katara straddles him, her fingers still wrapped around him, and guides him where she wants him.

Zuko’s chest heaves. His eyes dart from her face to her chest to where he’s entering her.

Her hands fly to his chest to keep her steady as she sinks onto him. He’s so big. So thick. She has to take him slowly again, her fingers tightening as she trembles, eyes closing and small moans catching in the back of her throat. She feels so deliciously stretched. She still can’t believe how she can take him, how good it feels.

“Fuck—” Zuko's large hands come to span her waist, thumbs rubbing patterns on her hips as he waits for her to adjust. “So good…” His voice is a sultry purr.

Katara clenches around him. It’s entirely unconscious. Whenever he says things like that to her it just drives her wild. No one has ever praised her like that.

She never thought she’d be into praise like that. But apparently she really is.

The way his eyes gleam when he does it. The dominating undertone of his words. It turns her muscles into dust every time.

His hands trace almost mindless patterns on her hips, but his eyes are intent on her face. He slowly pushes his hips up, experimentally; she gasps and claws at his chest. His cock presses so deep inside her that she feels almost faint. She starts to ride him. Slowly. Rolling her hips sensually. He lets her control how fast and how deep, at what angle she moves.

She’s still tender enough that it borders on the edge of pleasure and pain. She bunches his pectorals between her fingers, gritting her teeth. She thinks it might give him bruises, but he doesn’t seem to care. Quite the contrary. Every time she opens her eyes and gets glimpses of his face he’s watching her with open veneration. She sits up further and takes a thrust.

Pain spikes at her. “Oh. Zuko,” she gasps, freezing, “I—I—”

“Does it hurt?” He is instantly still; it’s not the blazing heat of the curse in his eyes she sees now, but the warmth and concern of Zuko. Just Zuko.

Her heart flutters. “Yes. A little.”

A hot hand trails across her stomach. Soothing. Comforting.

“Come here.” His arms curl around her lower back and gently pull her down until she’s pressed against his chest. She releases a breath. This position is much easier on her. Plus, she likes the closeness, likes feeling his skin against hers and his chest move as he breathes, and how she can feel his arms tighten imperceptibly as he draws her even closer to him.

He buries his face in her hair and breathes deeply, slowly pushing his hips up again.

“Does that feel good?” His voice is ragged. She can feel him vibrating underneath her, the sun’s energy and the curse mixing to spark through his veins.

She nods and shifts up just enough to kiss him. One of her hands weaves into his hair and the other grips the sheets as she starts to meet his movements. Slow and easy. When he slides out it’s delicious anticipation, empty agony; and then he’s back inside her, rubbing tightly against her, filling her, stretching her, hitting spots she didn’t even know she had.

The pace speeds to something more frantic.

Katara shifts to sit up again.

“Katara,” he says, uncertain.

She ignores him, pushing until she’s sitting upright. She slides one of her legs out and plants her foot on the bed, spreading wider so she can take him deeper. She sinks even lower, bottoming him out completely inside her, and she releases a shaky sigh, biting her lip. No pain this time. This angle is just right. The feeling of fullness…there’s nothing like it.

Katara starts to move again, gliding out before pushing her hips back to take him again. She reaches behind her, gripping his thighs—strong and thick and tense—for leverage. She ruts on him, thrusting her hips back and forth, his cock rubbing tantalizingly in her. Planting her other foot for leverage, she rides him in swift, jolting bounces. Zuko’s answering growl is savage.

He matches her movements thrust for thrust, faster and faster.

It’s so much. He’s so much. His eyes are sparking with intensity.

“Look at you.” The sound of his voice sends ripples through her. She loves when he talks to her. She loves his voice, with that hard, claiming quality to it, just on the edge of losing himself. His hands grip tightly under the back of her upper legs, helping her bounce more forcefully on him. “I could fuck you all—fucking—day.” He punctuates each word with a sharp thrust.

“Oh god—" Katara squeezes her eyes shut as he holds her hips and pistons up and into her in a frenzy.

She clings to his shoulders for dear life, crying out each time he drives into her.

“I’m going to come so hard in you. You want that?”

“Yes…” His filthy words drag her up, up, up. She’s half delirious. “Yes—right there…”

“Look at me.” He snarls the words. She obeys, drops her gaze to his.

His eyes are pitch black and locked on her. His knuckles are smoking. The sun reflects off him and he palpitates with raw, furious power. “Yes. Mine— ”

“Yes—yes. I am,” she chokes out.

His hips stutter and his face goes blank with bliss.

She feels him twitch and the tense coil that has been tightening inside her stretches further, further. The inferno in her burns and blazes higher, consuming her.

“Fuck—!” Zuko’s hips jerk upward repetitively as he spirals, careens, crashes over his edge, low, throaty moans tumbling from his throat. The sounds he makes. The scrunch of his brow, the look of surrender on his face. The sensation of him spurting so deep inside her, his warm come filling her. It’s Katara’s breaking point, and the coil inside her snaps so hard.

Katara shatters with a loud wail. She clenches and flutters around him, pulling him deeper. Keeping him in her.

He told her he comes more than usual with this curse and he meant it.

The fact that he’d done it just yesterday doesn’t change it.

He keeps shooting into her, more and more, on and on. It feels infinite. She feels infinite.

She rides the wave with him, almost sobbing from how staggeringly good it feels, from how long she comes. When it finally subsides, her muscles go completely slack and all she can do is collapse forward onto his chest, breathing and shaking like she’s been sprinting for hours. Even after a few minutes to gather herself, Katara is still shaking.

She doesn’t even realize it’s with sobs until it’s too late to hide it and Zuko has realized it too.

She can tell when he does, because his hands suddenly pause where they’d been tracing circles on her back and his entire body freezes.

“Katara?” He sounds hoarse. Desperate hands find her jaw and lift her chin so he can stare at her face.

Pure horror flits through his eyes when he sees her cheeks are wet.

“Oh, shit,” he rasps immediately. “Oh no—I’ve hurt you.” He looks sickened.

“No,” Katara manages to say.

She’s being honest. She isn’t hurting. Nothing is wrong.

Zuko doesn't appear to hear her. His thumb swipes at her tears. “Just tell me what I did. Too rough? Did I say something wrong? Fuck, Katara, I’m so sorry, I—I try to contain it—"

“Zuko.” Katara cuts into his frightened raving and then sniffs, wiping at her cheeks with her hands. Her chest is tight with too many feelings to name. “I promise you didn’t hurt me."

It’s silent for a beat as he assesses her intently. “You swear it?”

“I swear.” She tucks her head back down on her chest to avoid looking at him.

Ugh, what a mess she’s made. What an idiot she is.

She feels him relax, but only slightly. “What is it? Are you sad?”

He sounds so bewildered and concerned.

“No. Not at all.” Her voice is muffled into his chest. “I…I think it was just…a lot.”

There’s another brief silence.

“A lot,” he repeats slowly.

“In a good way,” Katara says quickly. A humiliated heat crawls across her face. “I mean, that was—” She pauses. “Powerful. Really...strong.” She decides to leave out details of the emotional aspect. Telling him she was his. Feeling so close to him, so connected. His attentiveness and feeling so wanted. She isn’t supposed to tell him yet; she keeps quiet.

Hearing him draw a slow breath in and then waiting for his answer is agony. “You’re…so it was…good?”

“That,” says Katara, her voice still a little shaky, “is an understatement.”

Zuko suddenly takes her hips and slides her off him but gathers her right back into his chest His hands tilt her face up so that she has to look at him.

A very self-satisfied smile is spreading across his face. “Yeah?”

Katara's answering smile is demure. “Yeah.”

His body relaxes completely under hers and he pulls her under his chin again. “It’s the same for me too,” he says finally. He sounds careful. “That everything feels so…intense.”

Katara forces herself to swallow. “Some curse.”

A brief spasm of tension flits through his shoulders. It’s so quick Katara half thinks she imagined it.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “So…”

The word hangs in the air.

“So,” she says, forcibly light, “should we…lay out rules?”

“Oh. Uh. Sure. What kind of rules?”

Katara props herself on his chest. “Maybe rules that don’t get this spread around.”

Something like displeasure flits across his face. But then he says, “Yeah. We want to keep the curse hushed up.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“No—well. Maybe.” He looks sheepish. “I don’t think you should sleep over.”

Katara blinks. “Oh,” she says quietly.

“Just…a big part of the problem was that I was distracted from being Fire Lord and, well…” He smiles a little. “I really meant that it was hard for me to leave you this morning. I was physically at my meeting, but mentally I was…not.”

This admission makes her all tingly again and her cheeks warm. “Of course.”

“And if it needs to stay a secret that’s maybe another way to ensure it gets kept,” Zuko continues.

“That’s true. Anything else?”

“We have to be careful about pregnancy. I don’t know if it’s possible to have a half-dragon child and I don’t want to find out.”

Katara laughs. “Agreed.”

There’s another pause.

“Do you have more?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” says Katara slowly. “I guess, um…so are you…planning on seeing other people too?”

Zuko stares at her, his mouth slightly open. Katara’s heart thuds as she awaits his answer, tries to read it in his face.

A terrible darkness flashes in his eyes very briefly, and his voice is noticeably cooler when he speaks. “Are you?”

“No,” says Katara, then taps him on the chest and gives him a stern look. “But I asked first.”

Zuko raises an eyebrow, but the lines of his face have relaxed. “I don’t think it works that way for me, Katara.”

“What do you mean?” Her heart has sped up exponentially and she prays he can’t feel it against his chest.

“I know you didn’t miss how possessive the dragon part of me is.” He gives her a pointed look.

Mine.

Yes—yes. I am.

Katara’s cheeks flame and she looks away. “So you really feel there’s another part of you in there?”

“Sort of. I’m not...I mean, it’s still me. I just feel like I’m always having to regulate something. I say and do things I normally wouldn’t, I guess. It’s especially potent the closer I am to transforming. Or in the daytime. Or when we’re, you know…” He gestured vaguely up and down their intertwined, naked bodies. His eyes suddenly glint with a fierce little light.

“And the thing that has become clear to me about dragons," he says, "is that they really don't like to share.”

Mine.

The tingles increase, concentrating between her legs. Katara coughs hastily, but unfortunately he doesn’t change the subject right away.

“I think you know that too,” he continues. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have humored me.”

Yes—yes. I am.

Katara searches desperately for words that aren’t a lie. “I said what I thought you should hear,” she settles on finally, avoiding his eyes.

She feels his gaze on her face for a long time. “It’s not your job to do that for me.”

Briefly, Katara wonders what would have happened if she hadn’t offered to help him. Would he have gone to a brothel after all? Found some other willing participant? Would he be bringing them to mind-blowing climaxes instead, growling claiming things to them, complimenting them? Does it even matter who his partner is at all when it comes to the curse?

Katara feels suddenly cold even though Zuko’s skin is unnaturally hot against hers.

“Of course,” is all she says. She rolls off him, onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

“I think we should keep this restricted to nighttime," Zuko says suddenly. "I’m less powerful at night. I trust myself better. I really don’t want to hurt you.”

Katara look over at him, surprised. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me, Zuko.”

“You don’t know that, actually,” he says. “And neither do I. I'm not risking it, Katara.” His expression is very fierce.

“Okay. We can keep it restricted to nights if that makes you feel better.” She’ll miss the sun on him, its power on him. But if this makes it easier for him, she’ll do it.

“I have another meeting,” Zuko says. “I’m going to shower.”

Katara starts to get up too, intending to join him, but he halts her with an apologetic look. “I don’t have time to—to do this again. If you come with me…"

She sinks back into the sheets, trying to quell the hurt she feels. It’s so stupid. It's a compliment.

So Katara puts a bright smile on her face. “Right,” she says.

She slumps into the pillow further and her smile fades away after he's gone, and she hears the water start to run.

Chapter Text

The following weeks go by spectacularly fast, a blur of repetitious days.

Katara trains and keeps up on her bending, sometimes with Zuko. She attends meetings and writes up political plans. She reads in the archives to learn more about the history of the nation she's trying to work with, the nation Zuko has to lead. She writes things to store in the archives about the Southern Water Tribe to keep her cultural knowledge alive and for the scholars of the Fire Nation to appreciate.

On the nights that Zuko transforms she's always waiting when he staggers back to the room.

She immediately heals him and soothes his muscles, and she's there when he wakes again to do the same.

On the nights he doesn't transform she's often the one to slip to his room, staying a few hours before she regretfully leaves. Each time she it gets harder and harder to go. She's starting to wonder if she can make it through the rest of the summer like this. Katara is busy, but it can't quite quell the ache in her chest that comes from keeping her feelings a secret. She thought all the intensity from sleeping with Zuko would fade at least a little, but she'd been wrong about that.

Every single time it still feels like he sets her on fire.

So it's a bit of a shock when Zuko shows up one day to her room to announce a change. "I have to leave for a little while," he tells her.

His face is so anxious that she takes his hand without thinking. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"It's—I don't know," he says, shutting his eyes a moment. "There's too many rebellions going on. My advisors think it's time I go to some places personally to help counter some negative propaganda. Try and meet more citizens, offer personal aid, make sure less people join the underground groups trying to get me off the throne.” He scowls fiercely.

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"It's worth it," Zuko says. "And I can't hide out in my palace all the time and let the problems just affect others."

He's right, of course, but Katara can hardly stand the fact that he's leaving. "But—your next transformation—"

"—is in five days," Zuko says. "I'll be back before then. We're staying somewhat nearby. Once summer is over I can travel further, but for now this is what I can do."

Katara forces herself to speak calmly. "What if something happens with the curse? Shouldn’t I come with you?"

"Stay here." His voice is gentle, and he takes her shoulders and looks at her intently. "I'll be just fine. If something serious happens that is curse-related I'll come back earlier. If something happens while I’m gone that requires a hasty decision, do what you think is right and summon me back immediately."

"Me?" Katara feels rather dizzy. "But—but no one will accept—"

"They'll have to," Zuko says. "My top advisor is coming with me. The only other person I trust completely and that is currently here is you." He shoves a scroll into her hands. "It's in writing. Aang is on there too, in case you want to write him and have him come help you. But I'm sure nothing will happen. This is just for an emergency. Or if something happens to—" He pauses at her expression and doesn't finish the sentence. "It won't," he assures her. "These are just precautions I always have to take. I'm more worried about you."

"Me? Why?"

"It's no secret some of the nobles here don't like your influence," he says bluntly. Zuko’s hands tighten on her shoulders. "Look, I know you can take down anyone, Katara, but large groups might still be a problem if they’re organized, and you’re outnumbered here. I'm leaving Druk with you. It's safer for him, too. Take him with you everywhere. Please."

"Zuko—"

"Promise me, Katara." The look on his face does not accept further argument.

"I promise," she says. "I'll take really good care of him."

"And he'll take good care of you."

"You're making this sound so serious. Is it? Be honest."

"No," says Zuko, with a strained smile. "Everything just sounds dramatic when you're a monarch with a nation to think about. I'll be back before you know it."

And then he takes her face in his hands, leans down, and kisses her. She stiffens in surprise.

This is not something that happens during the day. They'd only had sex that one time during the day, at the very beginning, because she knows Zuko still fears his control. But she supposes this is a special situation, and already she can feel the excitement working its way through her body as he kisses her deeply, running his thumbs over her cheeks.

She reaches for his robe but he pulls away, his breathing ragged.

"I don't have time," Zuko says regretfully, and Katara realizes he'd only meant to kiss her goodbye.

She tries to think of a time that they'd only kissed without it escalating to more and she can't.

Zuko steps back, strides to the window, and lets out a long, low whistle. Druk appears in less than thirty seconds, beating his gigantic wings gracefully as he perches. It's lucky the windows are essentially the size of the entire wall, because Druk has become monstrous over the summer. His yellow eyes find Katara and he lets out a happy screech.

"Protect her. Do not leave her side," Zuko tells him. Druk shrieks again, gliding over to settle right beside Katara, his wings clipping a painting on the wall and making it wobble dangerously. He perches on the floor rather than her shoulder, for which she's grateful. He probably would have crushed her if he tried to sit on her like he does Zuko.

Zuko is back in front of her again. His lips press gently against hers.

"I'll be back soon," he tells her, and then he's gone.

Druk lets out a long, melancholy whine. Katara reaches over and pets his snout, and he pushes eagerly into her hand.

"I know," she tells him, with a little sigh. "Me too, Druk."

As dramatic as Zuko's departure was, Katara expected something more dramatic to happen while he was gone.

The truth is that things are just terribly boring.

Nothing even remotely exciting happens, and Katara is losing her mind.

She tries to do the same things that she always does, but finds that she can't stop thinking about Zuko. Worrying.

The best thing she can do is train, because it's something physical and she can do it until she's exhausted and mindless.

Druk, as Zuko instructed, never leaves her. He curls around her while she sleeps, flies to every room she’s in and waits for her to open the window, and sits menacingly nearby while she’s at meals or in meetings, causing all the advisors to throw him constant, nervous glances. No one seems intent on harming her, whether because of Druk's presence or not, but Katara does notice that without Zuko present, a few of the advisors are less than respectful to her during meetings. They interrupt her more when she speaks. They make snide or condescending remarks whenever she can actually get a word in. It gets steadily worse over the days that Zuko is gone, and by the time the final day has arrived Katara is so on edge that she snaps.

She hangs back after a meeting, requesting to speak with one particular advisor who treats her the worst.

"I want to know," Katara says sharply, as soon as the others have filed out of the room, "why you are so rude to me."

"Am I?" He gathers up papers without looking at her.

Katara's temper flares. He's a perfect target to let out her stress and rage. "You know very well that you are," she snaps. "I would think that you'd be more respectful to someone who helped saved the world from ruin. I fought alongside the Avatar and your Fire Lord. I demand your respect when we deal with each other, especially in front of others."

“You know nothing of the world.” He still doesn’t even look up at her.

Her hands curl at her sides. “I know much more of it than you. Have you even been outside the Fire Nation except for political trips filled with parties and festivals?”

He finally looks up, eyes glinting.

“Watch your tongue,” he says, full of malice. “You would do well to respect your superiors.”

“You are not my superior. I will speak to you however I please.”

“I see you have a false sense of importance.” His eyes flick over her with extreme distaste. Katara’s skin crawls when his eyes linger on the bare skin of her midriff. He’s not leering—in fact, his face pulls into a grimace—but it’s still the first time she wishes the Fire Nation clothes covered more. “Fire Lord Zuko may be a young man, unable to look past a pretty face. But I have not forgotten what you are. You are a foul, prideful, stupid peasant, and you do not belong here.”

Katara’s face screws up. She’s prepared to scream at him and hurl insults. And maybe use a few water whips.

But there’s a sudden roar that makes her jump. It’s accompanied by a scalding heat.

The temperature in the room shoots up several degrees, and she hears the furious beating of wings.

Druk has taken off, toward the door, and he's settling in to perch on—

Zuko.

Katara goes almost lightheaded seeing him again. Zuko's here. Zuko has come back.

Druk breathes a wave of furious fire into the room. It dissipates in the air, harming no one, but his wings beat and he roars loudly, over and over. Druk’s yellow eyes are trained on the advisor and he is in a high crouch, waiting for Zuko’s command to fly over and either reduce the man to ashes or simply swallow him whole. Zuko makes no attempt to settle him. The energy of the sun hurtles through him, his golden eyes sparking, his entire body trembling with palpable rage.

A faint warning whispers through Katara’s mind. His transformation. It’s tonight. He’s more unrestrained than usual.

Zuko slowly stalks across the room.

Katara can see waves of heat rolling off him and into the air. Dark, thick smoke furls off his shaking knuckles.

Druk roars again, and the advisor stumbles a few steps backward. “Fire Lord,” he rushes to say. “How good to see y—”

“Save it,” Zuko snarls, and Druk shrieks, louder this time, batting his wings threateningly and hurling fire toward the curtains.

They catch flame, and Katara rushes to splash water on them and douse the fire, her heart beating wildly.

The advisor is so frightened he can barely fall to his knees. “I—I meant no d—disrespect to you, F—Fire Lord!”

“Oh no?” Zuko is still prowling toward him. “And yet you see fit to disrespect Master Katara, which I do not tolerate.”

The man’s eyes widen. Zuko draws up, towering tall, formidable and terrifying.

Druk roars again when the silence stretches on too long. The man jumps and flinches, cowering lower to the ground.

"You are banished," Zuko says brusquely. "Get out of my sight.”

The man’s eyes bulge, his expression a mixture of terror and relief. He scrambles to his feet, head still bowed, and starts to back quickly out of the room. Zuko and Druk’s eyes follow him the entire time. When he’s finally gone, Zuko marches over to the window, wrenches it open and says to Druk, his voice still hard, “Make sure he leaves. Follow him until he is out of the Fire Nation. Make sure he’s aware of you. You are not permitted to hurt or eat him.”

Druk gives his master a reproachful look, but he bumps his head to Zuko’s and takes flight into the bright blue sky.

Katara stands stock still in the middle of the room, jaw hanging open.

Zuko turns slowly to face her. She watches him contract, relax before her, some of the simmering anger falling away, even if his eyes are still blazing.

Katara doesn’t even think. Her feet move independent of any conscious input from her brain.

She sprints across the room and launches herself at him. He catches her easily, surprise flicking across his face, but she only sees it briefly because then she’s kissing him, hooking her legs around his waist. The noise he makes against her mouth is pleased and shocked and he responds immediately, tilting his head to kiss her deeper. Katara’s hands forcefully grip his neck as she nips at his lips. Zuko groans into her mouth and staggers backward, colliding loudly with the table.

They don’t stop.

The kisses are bruising, fast, passionate. Her entire body is just painfully tense and they’re both already panting.

Zuko suddenly spins and sprawls her out on the table on her back, his hips pressing into hers. He leans down to keep ravishing her mouth. Katara moans as she feels his cock, hard against her thigh. She grinds upward against it and he chokes out a moan, jutting his hips harder to meet her, delivering delicious friction.

If she's feeling this desperate after their time apart she can only imagine how he must be feeling.

Dimly, Katara recognizes that they’re probably going to have at it right here. Right on this table.

That feels—dirty. Daring.

It’s thrilling.

Katara fumbles at his robe in her stupor of desire, needing to get his clothes off him right this second.

“Wait,” Zuko rasps. “Katara—” His protest is drowned out in a low moan when she slides against him again, her head rolling back with a low keen. “Fuck—hold on, just—” She rolls again, and a shudder ripples through him. “Katara—”

“What?” She stares up at him, at his disheveled top knot and the way his eyes have turned onyx.

“You know what,” Zuko says gruffly. “We can’t do this here.” He draws away with what appears to be tremendous self-control, takes hold of her wrist, and begins pulling her away.

Just as they are nearing the door, it swings open.

Zuko's top advisor hurries in, his eyes darting about wildly. Zuko immediately drops her hand and halts. Something flickers in the man’s eyes when he sees Zuko’s face, and he gives Katara a curious look, but then he bows his head low. “Fire Lord,” he murmurs, and then also bows at Katara. “Hello, Master Katara. I am happy to see you well upon our return." He looks back to Zuko. "Fire Lord, I heard that you have banished your financial advisor. Your dragon was seen flying over him as he was leaving Caldera City. It caused quite a stir.”

Zuko’s eyes gleam.

There’s a pause. “I came to see if you require assistance finding another appropriate person for the position," the man adds.

“That would be very helpful,” Zuko says. “Thank you.”

The heat and energy radiating off Zuko is palpable. His advisor looks faintly concerned. “If there is anything else I can assist you with, Fire Lord—if you are unwell—”

“I'm fine,” says Zuko.

“I am glad to hear it. Shall we discuss the new appointment for the position tomorrow?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He exits. Katara gives him approximately five seconds of a head start before she takes Zuko’s hand again and pulls him out the door and after her. They only make it two corridors before he yanks her to the left. She gasps in delighted surprise as they stumble into a small, deserted room that’s probably only roughly the size of two closets.

He closes the door behind him, locks it, and his lips are crashing into hers again before she can blink.

“You,” he tells her huskily, between kisses, “are a dangerous temptress.”

“Is that a problem?” she teases, delighting in the way his eyes spark at her. She realizes that she wants to push him.

She needs him to come undone and lose control. At least once. She needs to know what it’s like.

He suddenly curses and looks away determinedly, up to the ceiling.

“Be careful,” he growls. “It’s been too long. And you know I’m transforming tonight.”

“Yes. I do know that,” she says slyly.

He closes his eyes a moment. When he opens them again, they’re full black.

A quiver of excitement runs through her entire body. Her clit throbs insistently.

“Katara…” Zuko's voice is thick. Uncertainty flashes on his face.

She curls her hands around his neck and pulls him down to kiss him. “Please?” she whispers against his lips. “Let go?”

“What if I—I don’t want to hurt you—” A tremor runs through all his muscles.

“You won’t,” she tells him. “I know you won’t.” Her hands rush to push off his robe and move to the hem of his trousers, pulling them down. His cock is already hard and massive and ready. The tip is red and his need looks painful. “Let me help make it easier for you,” she breathes, running her hands down over his abdomen and over his strong thighs, dragging her fingernails lightly over his bare skin. His thighs tighten under her hands and he inhales sharply. She's never felt more powerful.

When she sinks slowly down to her knees, kissing down his torso as she goes, Zuko seems to finally fully comprehend her meaning.

His eyes widen. “I—you don’t need—”

“I know,” Katara says.

His head falls back with a groan and his fists clench at his sides when she curls both hands around his cock. Even with both her hands, they look tiny wrapped around him. She pumps him with slow, gentle strokes and he uncurls his fists, slamming his hands into the wall behind him. He lifts his head to watch her as she leans forward and starts kissing up his thighs, nuzzling into his skin between kisses. His eyes flash again, half hungry and half dazed, as if he can’t believe this is happening. Katara wants that dazed look to be there after he comes.

She wants those large, masculine thighs trembling when she’s done with him.

She pumps him faster and his hands slam into the wall again, fingers grappling uselessly at the smooth stone. His breath comes in shallow rasps.

Katara looks up at him and very, very slowly takes just the tip in her mouth.

He inhales so sharply it sounds like he could have sliced a lung. His hands shoot out, one cupping her jaw, the other weaving into her hair. His eyes are stormy and intense, his mouth parted as he watches her curl her tongue around his tip and tease it. “Fucking hell—” His voice rumbles through his chest like thunder, loud in the small space of the tiny room.

“Be quiet, Fire Lord,” she purrs. “Someone might be walking down the hall.”

Zuko’s eyes and face darken even further. She hadn’t even known that was possible.

His voice is lower when he speaks, but no less intense. “You little—oh, fuck...”

Katara silenced him by suckling lightly on the tip and dipping lower on his cock, taking more into the wet warmth of her mouth.

Zuko’s hand curls more desperately in her hair and the other tightens on her jaw.

She bobs slowly, relaxing her throat to take more and more on each forward movement and using her hands for what she can’t fit. She glides one of her hands over his thigh, up his hips, over his abdomen. He feels so good, so hard and smooth under her fingertips. She moans around him, and he makes a harsh, guttural sound in response she’s never heard him make.

She ignores the need between her own legs and sucks and licks him faster, flicking her tongue around his head or dragging it along the underside of his cock, reveling in how his whole body jerks and a sound of utter abandon falls out of his mouth. She hollows her cheeks, taking him deeper and deeper until she chokes.

But she just moans and tries to take him further, keeping her gaze upward and locked on his.

His eyes are hazy. He can barely speak. “That’s…you’re…making me…lose my mind…”

Katara suddenly slows. The louder sounds of her gags and his cock hitting the back of her throat cease.

She starts to lick lightly around his head again, kissing and sucking it.

His shuddering fingers tighten even more in her hair. "You're tormenting me." Zuko’s face is full of desperation.

Katara reaches up and threads her fingers into his, pulling his hand back behind her head and placing it there firmly.

Her other hand digs into his lower back and pointedly pushes him forward.

Again, his eyes widen with comprehension. And then it’s replaced by something completely ferocious. Arousal accumulates between her thighs at the sight.

He hasn’t let go completely yet, but he will. He will when he fucks her. She’ll make sure of it.

“You want me to fuck your mouth? Is that it?” His eyes glint down at her.

She nods, and then pulls away to teasingly run her tongue along the underside, from the base all the way to the tip.

His eyes flash again. Both hands come to hold her head, his fingers bunching into tight fists in her hair.

“I can do that,” he growls, pushing against her lips. She opens just enough for him to slide in and he pumps roughly in and out of her mouth, using his hands to push her head down his cock and drag it back up again for more force. “You like this?” He grits the words out, and Katara gives a muffled moan in response. “Fuck…” He speeds up, bumping the back of her throat on each thrust. “Yes—can’t believe—your pretty little mouth wrapped around me—drive me wild—”

The words send Katara into a craze. She feels feverish. Her eyes water with the effort of taking him but she doesn’t care. The way his brow furrows and he bites his lip as he rhythmically fucks into her mouth makes painful fire pool in her abdomen. “That’s it…” His impending peak settles in his eyes, over his face.

He starts to draw away, but Katara pins his hands where they are, urging him on. Something like a furious snarl escapes him and he starts to roll relentlessly in and out of her mouth again. Faster. Then more halted. He’s so close. He stares at her with eyes dimmed from pleasure, lashes fluttering faster and faster.

“Oh fuck,” Zuko rasps faintly. His body spasms.

Zuko’s hands slide out of her hair and firmly hold her face as his cock twitches in her mouth.

It explodes, warm come splashing onto her tongue. She swallows and swallows as he empties into her mouth. Her hands rest on his legs and she can feel them shaking with the effort of holding himself up. His eyes squeeze shut and he emits quiet little moans with every pulse, running his thumbs over her cheekbones.

When it’s over he slumps backward against the wall, panting.

Katara drops her eyes and focuses on licking carefully up and down the length and around his head until she’s taken every single drop.

He lets out another helpless moan.

When she finishes cleaning him looks up into his eyes, her abdomen clenches and a shiver runs up her spine.

The look on his face is positively feral. He has finally snapped; his control is gone.

Chapter Text

Katara slowly rises to her feet.

Zuko watches her move without blinking, still panting. She expects him to step forward and pounce her, but he doesn’t. Instead he clothes himself, yanking up his trousers and stooping to get his robe and slip it back on, tying it loosely. And then he’s upon her, pressing her into the wall.

He ducks his head to ravish her neck and she lets out a breathy little whimper.

“Pick a word.” His voice has that dark, seductive quality to it that always makes her knees feel like water.

“A—word?” The room spins.

She can’t think properly with his head buried in the skin of her neck, his breath warm, but making her shiver.

“If I hear this word from you, I will stop immediately.” One of his hands traces the front of her throat. “Pick one. Now.”

“I don’t—ah—water,” Katara gasps.

“Water,” he murmurs. “Good. Try it first.”

“Zuko—”

“Try it,” he insists, pressing his body closer before curling one hand around her jaw and kissing her.

Katara barely manages to break away from his mouth.

“Water,” she pants, gripping his shoulders; but then he’s out of her grasp, stepping away, putting as much distance between them as he can in the tiny room.

He’s still gazing at her like he’s ready to devour her, but that’s all. “You say it, I stop. Do you feel safe?”

Katara appreciates this, she really does, but currently she’s so sexually frustrated that she can’t help but feel impatient. But now that the technicalities are out of the way—

She sets her shoulders and looks him dead in the eye. “I never felt unsafe,” she says fiercely. “Now you’d better fuck me, and don’t you dare hold back.”

Zuko snarls. His body starts shaking uncontrollably again. His fists curl tightly at his sides, releasing smoke as they always do when he's worked up. Waves of heat shimmer off him, like there's too much for him to contain. The little room gets warmer and warmer, and he shakes harder until—

Zuko jerks his head sharply upward and breathes a stream of fire at the ceiling, chest heaving.

His eyes travel back to hers. They're pitch-black.

In a flash Zuko has rushed forward and taken her by the waist, lifted her, and hoisted her right over his shoulder like she’s a sack of feathers.

“Zuko,” Katara gasps, hanging upside down and staring at the ground. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to my bed.” He wrenches open the door and steps into the corridor. “Where you belong.”

Katara’s breath catches. Dragons are territorial. Possessive. He’s going to utterly destroy her.

This is more like it.

She starts to smile as her stomach twists itself in anticipatory, excited knots. “Aren’t you worried someone will see us?”

“No. You are mine.”

His footsteps quicken.

They make it to his room without running into anyone, which is a small miracle. He kicks the door closed and sets her down; she stumbles, but he already has her pinned against the nearest wall again, a hand sliding up her throat. “I want you screaming my name,” he tells her.

Katara whimpers faintly. His hand tightens around her throat. Keeping her still. Tilting her head back to expose the smooth skin there further.

Katara aches to be touched. Her whole body is trembling.

He breathes her in and releases a shuddering sigh. “You have no idea…what you do to me…” He growls deeply into the skin of her throat.

“Everything is so good with you,” she whispers back. “Always so good, Zuko.”

Zuko pulls back to stare at her. His expression tells her that he wants to lay waste to her.

And then he’s kissing her relentlessly, his hands ensnaring her face, and her mind dissipates into nothing.

Keeping up with the pace of his lips is difficult. She grips his hair tighter, tight enough to pull. He holds her jaw and neck fiercely, tilting her head exactly the way he wants it to best explore her mouth. His searing hands slide down her dress, palming her breasts, thumbs running over her nipples, hard and tender through the fabric. She wriggles against him.

He shrugs off his own robe and Katara’s eyes drift appreciatively to his torso, her hands skimming his skin.

Without warning, both his hands come to the front of her dress. With a violent movement that makes the muscles in his arms swell, he rips it clean off her with a harsh snarl and throws it aside. He dips his head to swipe his tongue along her collarbone. She lets out a startled gasp—inflamed, incited. Katara doesn’t think she’s ever been more aware of the emptiness between her thighs as she is right then. She lets out another gasp when he does the same to her wraps, leaving her completely bare. “That’s more like it,” he purrs.

His hands run over her ribs, around her sides, and press into the middle of her back, lifting her. She scoops her legs around his waist, letting him hold her up against the wall as he kisses her with increasing urgency. Her fingers curve around his jaw, holding his face. She loves it so much. She’s become so used to seeing his face everyday. She runs her thumbs over his cheeks and cherishes the feeling of him under her hands. They break apart and for a moment they just stare at each other, inches apart, breathing hard. His eyes are flaming.

Then Zuko shifts his arms lower, hooking them below her knees and hoisting her up.

He lifts her higher and higher, his hands steady around her rib cage.

He pushes her up the wall with ease, until her legs hang over his shoulders and she’s straddling his face. She squirms a little. The feeling of his warm breath right on her center is unbearable, but he doesn’t make her wait long. He buries his face in her and she cries out, her back curving out and off the wall, her hands desperately sliding around the panels, casting about for something to hold on to. He sucks and flicks at her clit, nips up and down her, licks at the wetness flooding out of her. He hums into her and makes appreciative moans and she finds his hair to grip as she pants and tries to keep her sanity. His eyes never leave her. She can see their amber color turned up toward her face as he eats her cunt, mouth glistening.

She doesn’t recall ever feeling quite so—worshiped.

When he slowly slides her down until her face is level with his again, her legs still hang over his arms.

He kisses her and steps toward the bed, depositing her on it more gently than she’d expected. He crawls over her to kiss her stomach. And slowly upward.

His tongue laves at her breasts and swirls around her right nipple and she shudders.

“I missed you,” he murmurs into her skin. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes. I missed you.”

“Good.” He gives attention to her other breast with his mouth and a warm hand slides up to knead the other. “Did you think about me?”

His teeth lightly graze her nipple before he suckles on it and Katara thrashes. “Fuck—yes, yes."

His lips trail up to her collarbone. His hand travels lower. “Every day?”

“Every day.” Her legs tremble when his fingers ghost her inner thighs.

“Very good.” His voice has dropped an octave and it makes her instantly wetter.

He takes her hips and flips her roughly over and onto her stomach. His fingers curve around, between her legs, dragging through her arousal, and she hears him make a low, rumbling moan from deep in his chest. “Wet all for me. Aren’t you? Mine.” The unmistakable sounds of more fire fill the room. It streams out of his mouth and the room increases in temperature.

A rustle, and fabrics drop to the floor. Her legs clench together.

Zuko runs his tongue up along the indent of her spine before straightening. “Hips up,” he commands, nudging her knees apart with his until she’s sprawled out wide on the bed. She obeys, arms shaking with the effort of holding herself up. She presses her palms flat into the mattress, back arched. For a moment there’s only the sound of their harsh breathing filling the room. And then the head of his cock teases her entrance. She bites her lip. The anticipation is painful. It hurts to breathe.

He traces one thigh with his hand, tilting it out before he pushes into her; slowly, but all at once.

Katara gives a guttural cry, fingers bunching in the sheets.

The angle is so deep. Deeper than any other before this.

One of his hands comes to fiercely grip one of her hips, digging into the skin.

The other comes to the middle of her back, pushing her down until her upper body is pressed into the mattress.

She feels vulnerable and helpless under him like this. It’s such a primal position.

It’s incredible.

His hand stays there, keeping her firmly down. His voice sounds savage. “I missed this. Missed being in you. So tight. So fucking warm.” He starts to thrust. His fingers bunch into her hip and yank it back to meet each of his sharp movements. Every time he pushes all the way in, her body quivers. It’s just right on the edge of being too much.

“Ohhh—” Katara’s eyes roll back in her head. She lets out choked whimpers with each jerk of his hips.

She’s lost. Just lost in pure sensation and the sounds.

The loud slapping of his skin as he fucks into her. His erratic breathing, his low groans.

Zuko’s hand ghosts up her back, along her spine. It wraps into her hair and he yanks, pulling her up, lifting her torso off the bed until her back is pressed against his hard chest. Katara lets out a little whine at the new angle; he moves slower, rolling his hips instead of snapping, tilting upward to repeatedly hit a spot that makes her yelp. “You like that?”

His teeth scrape the side of her neck before his other hand wraps around it tightly. She makes an incoherent sound.

“Answer me.” He pulls her hair a little more, so her back curves further. “And remember your word.”

“I—I—”

“Do you like when I fuck you deep like this?” He stops moving.

“Yes—!” Katara cries. “Yes! Please, please don’t stop!”

The snarl he makes is inhuman. Another furl of scorching fire is shot into the air out of his mouth, this time above their heads.

He starts to fuck her again. Hard. Fast. Katara sees stars. “Oh shit, oh—oh, oh—” she sobs.

“Yes.” His voice is right in her ear, his hand moving from her hair to pull her wrists behind her back. The other still grips her waist. Rough and possessive. “I won’t stop. I promise. You’re mine. Every day I’ll fuck you until you come around me. However you want. Anything you want. Mine. Mine, mine, mine.”

It feels like the connections in her brain are unraveling. Disconnecting. All that matters are the things he’s saying, the pounding sensation he’s driving into her, over and over and over. His hips snap even more brutally. His hand reaches around and starts to rub her clit in time with his thrusts and her vision goes white.

“Zuko—” she chokes.

“That’s it.” His forehead presses into her upper back. “That’s it. Come around me. Clench around me. Only me.” His voice drops to a feral growl again, his hand tangling in her hair and pulling her head to the side to kiss her. “Say my name,” he orders against her lips. “Say it. Say you’re mine. You’re mine.”

“Yours,” Katara gasps. “I’m yours. Zuko—”

Katara throws her head back into his chest. The simultaneous sensations of him pummeling into her, his fingers diligently working her.

Her whines and cries build and build and build—

White flashes behind her eyelids again.

Katara’s whole body surges with heat and light and she convulses violently from the force of her orgasm.

And she does scream. Twice, louder the first time and then again, quieter, as she shudders uncontrollably.

“Fuck…” she hears him groan into her ear before he nips at it.

He pulls out of her, turns her over, presses her into the bed with his body, and kisses her.

It reminds her of the first time they had sex, the way he systematically kisses her.

He just kisses her slowly for a while, his tongue weaving leisurely with hers and one large hand holding her face until she’s almost moaning again from that alone. And then he repeats the actions that reminded her of grooming. Kissing down her neck. Across her shoulders. Down her arms. Her chest, her stomach, her legs. Katara lies very still, breathing heavily. His mouth on her like this, right now, is so gentle and ethereal. She’s pretty sure her eyes are glazed over.

He kisses and nibbles on her until she’s starting to press her thighs together again. He lowers himself until his face between her legs. “Spread for me,” he demands. His voice is deep and when Katara hazily finds his gaze she sees that it still looks feral. She inches her legs a bit apart, heat creeping into her neck.

Zuko’s eyes glint dangerously. “Wider.”

Face flaming, Katara does as she’s told. She feels completely exposed and at his mercy. She’s never let anyone else openly gaze at her so closely like this before. The look on his face is raw and animal and clearly not disliking the view, but Katara still tilts her head up to stare at the ceiling, squeezing her eyes shut.

His lips kiss softly along her core. He laves carefully at her and flicks his tongue in all the places he knows by now that she likes, until she’s whimpering.

He pulls back and mutters into her thighs, planting kisses on them. “I’m going to make you come again.”

Katara can’t answer. Her voice is gone, and the familiar heat has already built in her abdomen to something reckless.

Zuko lifts her and carries her off toward his bathroom. He turns on his shower, shoots flames at a boiler sitting on the wall to heat the water, and pulls her inside. She sags against him, putting most of her weight on him. He curls an arm around her waist and backs up, pulls her after him, into the falling stream of water.

She sighs when it hits her. It’s warm and pleasant on her skin. Her hair is damp and heavy, hanging forward, and Zuko brushes it back before he leans down to kiss her again, gliding his tongue against hers. His hands tease her, roaming over her body and rubbing her clit, first slowly and then in quicker circles.

It’s not long before Katara is gripping at his slick chest, tilting her head back with a low keen when he touches her.

Katara hooks one of her legs around his waist, pressing her toes into the shower wall to steady herself.

He groans into her mouth when she wraps a firm hand around his cock and guides it to her entrance.

He pushes forward and into her and her jaw goes slack, staring up at him with glassy eyes.

Zuko’s eyelashes have water droplets in them. His wet hair hangs in his eyes.

She runs her fingers through it, moves it away before she grips his neck and kisses him to muffle her cries when he starts to drive into her. His hands tighten, one of them drifting along the thigh of her outstretched leg and holding it up for her as he picks up the pace. His breathing is stilted. He’s getting close.

She knows his breathing patterns by now. His thrusts are more punishing and rough, even at this pace, rolling upward to bump her clit each time. The effect is electric. This is far more sensual here in the shower, with the water, pressed tightly against his dripping wet body, face to face and kissing him.

“That’s good,” Katara breathes. “Oh that’s…oh…”

“Yeah?” His eyes are still wild. They’re right in front of hers. They’re so close their noses are brushing.

Katara whimpers when he delivers a particularly harsh thrust. “Yes. So—deep.”

His eyes blaze brighter. His mouth claims hers, rough and wanting, and he rolls his hips faster.

Katara grips at his biceps, digging her nails in. They flex whenever he moves. She clings to him as he starts to ram into her, her body jolting upward and back, slapping against the wall so hard she might have bruises after. She doesn’t care at all. “Like this?” His voice is a snarl again.

“Just—like—that,” Katara tells him breathlessly, between slams into the wall. “Oh—fuck—”

Her whines build into a crescendo, echoing in the tiled shower as the heat in her burns. It can’t be contained in her much longer. Her eyes open, only just now realizing she shut them, and find his. They are locked hungrily on her face. His hand is still on her jaw, tilting it up to face him. His forehead comes down to hers.

Katara is so close. Almost there. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing herself closer to him.

Zuko’s jaw clenches. His eyes are getting clouded, his movements more erratic. There’s raw need on his face, and his voice is hoarse.

“You’re gonna—make me come. Wanna come inside you. You—fuck. Need you. Always you.” His moan when he breaks is one of surrender. His hips falter, and he lets out a low, hoarse shout before he stifles it in her neck, muffling it, both arms wrapping all the way around her. His body rolls against hers, pushing deep into her, pressing tight against her as he comes. At the feeling of him convulsing in her Katara tips over the edge again. She fractures. She disintegrates.

She thrashes against the wall and his body as if an actual, physical wave is lashing through her.

The feeling of him coming in her—hearing and seeing him so unguarded, how he succumbs, feeling him spill in her—it’s always so intense, so extraordinary, that it sends her careening to an impalpable exhilaration every single time. Like she’s launched into a whole other existence; one with just the two of them, where only they exist and only they matter. His body is still jolting, still coming in her. His hands caress her back. His tone is worshipful, muffled in her neck. “Katara…”

He says it over and over.

When the currents have finished rolling through Katara’s body, her legs give out.

She would have slid all the way down to the floor and collapsed into a heap if his arms hadn’t tightened, holding her, pressing her between the wall and his chest. He gathers her up, turns, and slides down the wall with a shaky sigh until he’s sitting on the ground, Katara tucked in his lap, her head buried under his chin.

For a long time it’s quiet except the sounds of their labored breathing and the warm water gently falling on their bodies.

Finally, after Katara catches her breath, she says, “I did like that dress.”

Zuko’s raspy laugh rumbles through him. “I'm sorry. I did warn you.” He kisses her forehead.

Katara closes her eyes and sighs contentedly. She feels so whole. So warm, so at ease.

I want this every day, she thinks hazily.

The intensity of these emotions make a lump rise in her throat. She has to tell him. She can’t wait any longer.

She can’t have him say the things he does to her while he brings her to orgasms like that and just go on with her life.

She’s debating how to best broach the subject when his hand comes to her chin, tilts it up, and kisses her.

It’s not as though he never kisses her afterward. He does. But this feels different somehow.

He’s very gentle. Eventually it deepens, and she loses track of time, but she knows they kiss for a long time. Afterward, her eyes flutter hazily open.

When they do, Zuko’s already looking at her. He runs a hand through her wet hair, his eyes scanning her face. “Katara…”

Her heart has shot up to her throat. “Yes?”

“Is this—do you—” His throat moves.

“What is it?” His lips are still so close that she brushes them when she speaks.

“Did you…agree to this because I’m different this summer?”

She blinks, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m—you know. Stronger. And bigger. Is that why you wanted to do this? With me?”

Katara stares at him. It had never occurred to her that he might feel that way.

“No, Zuko,” she says earnestly, reaching out to cup his cheek.

A small smile creeps over his face, the kind that always warms her heart. “Yeah?”

“Yes. Really.” She tucks her head back under his chin, tracing a hand along his chest. “But you would have had to do this with someone no matter what, right? With the curse? Was I just—here? Does it matter that it’s been me at all?”

“Wait, what?”

Katara becomes flustered at the look on his face. It’s a mixture of appalled and angry. “Well, you know. With the whole dragon mating thing, it seems like it could be anyone, really—”

A series of sudden, loud booming sounds make them both jump.

It’s knocking on the door to Zuko’s room.

The bathroom door was left open in their blind haste to get to the shower.

The series of knocks repeats, louder this time. “Come on, Zuko," says a very familiar monotone. “I know you're in there. No one can find you around the palace. Open up.”

Katara almost chokes. Zuko has gone completely still against her.

“Is that…”

“Yes,” Zuko mutters. He stands up and sets her carefully on her feet. He scrubs himself distractedly, quickly, and then steps out, toweling himself off. “She wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. I’d better go talk to her.” Katara must have looked uncertain because Zuko suddenly pulls her to the edge of the shower and kisses her fiercely. "Relax. I'll be right back."

And with that he sweeps out of the bathroom, closing the door carefully behind him, leaving Katara under the pleasant spray of hot water and with her head buzzing.

She really, really hopes Zuko remembers to hide her torn clothes, or that he just doesn’t let Mai into his room at all.

Chapter Text

Zuko is fuming by the time he has dressed, cleaned up the evidence of his previous activities, and opened the door.

Mai stands there, arms folded. She raises a nonchalant eyebrow at him, glancing over his dripping hair. “I asked to see the Fire Lord, but no one has seen him,” she says. “So I figured you must be hiding out up here.”

“I’m not hiding out,” Zuko says tersely. He doesn’t step back to allow her in. “What do you want?”

“Why so testy? I’m here to help you, Zuko.”

Zuko softens. It’s not Mai’s fault she showed up at the worst possible time. “With what?”

“Politics,” says Mai. “Those uprisings you’re having a problem with? I have some helpful information for you.”

This gives Zuko pause. This is very important. He subtly glances over his shoulder.

Mai doesn’t miss this. “Am I not allowed in your room anymore or something? Zuko, what’s with you today?”

Zuko sighs. “Fine. Five minutes, Mai. If it takes longer, we can go over it later.”

Mai only rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

He steps back, listening carefully, but he can’t hear the sounds of falling water coming from his bathroom. He doesn’t necessarily care if Mai knows about Katara—if he’s honest he wants everyone to know about Katara, wants to proudly parade her around on his arm, really, and that's not just the dragon in him—but the look on Katara’s face when they heard Mai clearly suggested that she did not want to be seen. Mai steps after him, her eyes trailing about the room rather wistfully. “Oh, good,” she drawls. “You actually took down that one hideous painting that was hanging over there.” She gestures vaguely toward the far wall.

“Mai, for fuck’s sake—” Zuko begins irritably, but she cuts him off.

“What happened to you since I was here last?” she asks, frowning. “You look like a mountain or something.” She pokes at his chest experimentally. “I mean, my god. That actually hurt my finger.”

Zuko scratches the back of his neck. “Long story.”

“Well, since my precious five minutes are dwindling, maybe you can tell me later,” Mai deadpans. “So—”

Her words are drowned out by a bloodcurdling screech coming from the bathroom.

Mai jumps and her eyes widen. Zuko’s blood turns to ice. Something instinctive flares up in him. Danger.

He whirls and barges into the bathroom without thinking, pushing it open and looking wildly around. Katara is still in the shower, still very naked, pressed against one of the walls to avoid the falling water.

She looks mortified. “Sorry. The water went cold,” she says in a small voice. He can see her shivering from here.

Zuko steps in and closes the door, relieved. “I’m so sorry. I should have heated the boiler again before I left. Here, let me…” He raises his arm.

“No, I’d…really just like some clothes and then to leave.” She won’t look at him now.

“Mai is still here,” he says, lowering his voice. “I told her just five minutes…if you want to wait so you're not seen—”

But her face falls. He’d said something wrong.

“Not that you have to,” he says quickly. I’m not trying to—hide you.”

Katara looks up. She appears marginally happier.

“I’ll bring you some clothes,” Zuko promises. He exits the bathroom and shuts the door.

Zuko sweeps over to his wardrobe, trying not to feel Mai’s eyes burning a hole into his back. “What the hell was that?” she demands.

“The boiler went cold,” Zuko says shortly, pushing through his robes to find something suitable.

“You’re—are you seeing someone?” She sounds aghast. Zuko grits his teeth and ignores her. He fishes out a robe and turns around, but Mai is standing right in his path. “Zuko.”

“Mai,” he says, tone clipped. He deftly steps around her.

She sighs in apparent impatience but Zuko ignores that too, slipping carefully into the bathroom again.

“Here,” he says softly, handing Katara a towel and one of his robes. He watches her sheepishly, trying to think of something better to say. But he only manages, “I’m really sorry I forgot about the water.”

“That’s okay.” She gives him a brief, flustered smile as she dries off.

Zuko thinks it’s best he probably leaves now, before the remaining water droplets on her skin distract him further.

The little feeling of want in his gut hasn’t begun to careen out of control again quite yet but he figures it won’t take long. Stupid curse.

“Did that cut into my five minutes?” Mai drawls when he's back out in the room.

Zuko sighs. “Mai, just get to the point, would you?”

“It would really be better if we could sit down and I explain everything without feeling rushed,” she says. “It really is important. Do you want to eat together? We can talk it all out. And then I wanted to do some training afterward. I haven’t done any real throwing in ages.” Her eyes glimmer with the prospect of hurling sharp knives at things. He feels a surge of affection for her, despite their complicated history.

Some things never change.

“I can’t train with you tonight,” Zuko says. He avoids her eyes. “I’m busy.”

Mai raises her eyebrow again. “With your new lover?”

“No,” snaps Zuko. “With—other stuff.” With sprouting wings and flying all over the Fire Nation, he thinks wryly.

The door to the bathroom clicks open. Katara inches out, looking incredibly apprehensive.

Zuko’s very first thought—well, his first thought after his brain goes blank and he regains the ability to think properly—is that he should have known putting Katara in his clothing would ignite something in him. She’s swimming in them. They don’t hug her body at all, and the bottom of his robe drags along on the ground. The sleeves surpass her fingertips.

He wants to walk over, gather the fabric away until he can access all of her, and fuck her while she’s wrapped in something of his. The urge to do this is almost painful.

He hastily coughs and scrambles to think of something else.

“Um. Hi, Mai,” Katara says nervously.

Rather than answering, Mai just starts to laugh. “Well this,” she says, “is supremely unsurprising.”

Katara’s eyes dart between them as she lightly chews on her bottom lip. She doesn’t seem to know whether Mai is joking or not. Zuko understands that.

“Congratulations, Fire Lord,” Mai continues stonily, and Katara blinks.

“What?” she asks, voice even smaller than it had been in the bathroom.

“Mai,” Zuko growls.

“I’m congratulating Zuko for finally growing a pair,” Mai says. Her eyes trail over Katara impassively.

Zuko flushes. “Mai, for fuck’s sake—”

But there’s a loud clunk against the window, and this time it’s Mai that lets out a little scream, clutching at her heart. It’s rare to see her display so much emotion, but it’s understandable. Druk hovers outside the window, wings beating, clearly waiting to come inside. “That’s a—there’s a—” Mai sputters, eyes as wide as saucers and pointing at him.

“Dragon, yes,” says Zuko. He walks over and lets Druk in. The dragon nuzzles his master’s face with affection and then his eyes flick to Mai. “My dragon, specifically,” Zuko tells her, unable to keep from grinning at the look on Mai’s face. She gasps again when Druk flies over and perches before her, studying her intently. “He won’t hurt you,” Zuko says.

Mai still presses herself flat against the wall while Druk cautiously sniffs her.

He makes a happy sound, bumps his head against her lightly as a show of acceptance, and then steps back.

Mai's eyes are slightly glazed and her mouth is open in surprise, but Druk is no longer paying her any attention. He has spotted Katara.

Druk roars—a raucous, excitable noise that likely frightened anyone that happened to be in the nearest corridor—before he takes off and heads straight for Katara. Zuko expects him to stop and greet her as usual. When it becomes apparent that his momentum isn’t slowing down, Katara’s eyes widen. Zuko opens his mouth to shout, but it’s too late. Druk bowls straight into her, knocking her flat on her back and perching himself on her knees. He makes a happy roaring sound, bumping his head with hers, wings curling around her protectively.

Zuko rushes forward. “Druk! Get off.”

He whistles and Druk immediately moves away, though he only shuffles off to the side and stares over at Katara hopefully, wings ruffling, clearly still wanting her undivided attention. “What are you doing?” Zuko hisses at his dragon as he helps Katara gently to her feet. “You can’t just go flying into people like that! You could have hurt her.”

Katara looks a little shaken, but she’s also smiling.

“Don’t be mad at him, Zuko,” she says. “He was just happy to see me.”

“He still needs to learn he can’t do that.” He sends Druk a very stern look.

Druk looks cowed, but perks up when Katara pets his snout, pushing eagerly into her hand.

Zuko wants to tell her that it might not be best to pet him now and encourage his behavior, but she looks so soft and pleased that he can’t bring himself to do it.

“Okay, what the hell has been going on at this palace?” They both look over to see Mai watching them.

“Not much. Just got a pet dragon. No big deal,” Zuko says, shrugging.

“Oh clearly,” says Mai, eyeing Druk with clear distrust. He snorts happily at her.

There’s a brief silence.

“Anyway,” says Katara, her voice a little shrill as the awkwardness seeps back in the room. “I’ll be, um…going.”

“Does this mean I get longer than five minutes?” Mai says. “And we can go eat something? I’m starving, Zuko.”

“Yes. Fine,” Zuko mutters.

Katara’s eyes dart between them before she moves to the door. Druk lets out a little whine at seeing her move away, and she goes back to pat him one last time before she heads away again. Mai speaks before Katara can leave. “Hey.”

Katara pauses with her hand on the door handle but doesn’t turn it. “What?” She sounds wary.

“Any chance you want to spar tonight? Apparently Zuko is busy with ‘other stuff’ so I’ll be incredibly bored.”

Katara slowly turns and stares at her as if she’s again debating whether Mai is being sarcastic or not. This time Zuko knows she’s not, but Mai’s face expression changes so little that Katara seems very unnerved. “Um…so, just to clarify, when you say that you want to spar with me, you’re suggesting that we get together and you chuck knives at me?”

“That’s right,” says Mai.

“Um…”

“Unless you don’t think you can block me properly?” Mai’s lips curve upward with a hint of a challenge.

Katara’s eyes spark. “Sounds good,” Katara says, her voice harder now. “Nine o’clock? The largest courtyard?”

“I’ll be there.”

Katara turns again to leave.

“Katara,” Zuko says quickly, before she goes, and she peeks over her shoulder at him. “I’ll come find you before—my…other stuff.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Mai scoff and roll her eyes, but Katara just nods at him and gives him a small smile that makes his stomach flutter. Her eyes move between him and Mai one last time, and then she’s gone.

As soon as the door closes, Mai smirks broadly at him. “Don’t start,” Zuko warns her.

“You know what I want to hear.”

“Mai—"

“Come on, it’s easy. ‘You were right, Mai.’” She folds her arms.

Zuko scowls. “You were right, Mai.”

“Sweet victory,” she deadpans. She jabs her thumb at the door. “So, food? I meant it when I said I was starving.”

Come to think of it, Zuko is hungry too. He’d certainly worked up an appetite.

Katara knows it’s petty of her to care so much about Mai’s arrival.

She does not own Zuko. She's had plenty of time over the summer to say something. He isn’t a mind reader.

She knows it is ridiculous to let the image of them getting back together over dinner keep invading her brain and make her stomach tighten into knots. There seemed to be no more romantic interest between them. She also knows that, as the sun slowly starts to set and she has still not heard anything from Zuko, she has no right to feel as angry or as concerned as she does. He’s the Fire Lord. He’s obviously incredibly busy. Okay, sure, maybe she does expect to at least get a note from him considering he said he’d find her, but it's fine. Totally fine.

“Master Katara!” She turns to see one of the many Fire Nation servants trotting toward her through the corridor.

Katara only just realizes that she’s been pacing the wide space up and down rather than heading to any concrete destination.

She also realizes that she has no idea how long that she’s been doing this. “Yes?”

The woman thrusts a little envelope at her. “From the Fire Lord,” she says, bowing low, and Katara smiles at her, thanks her, and bows back before the servant rushes off.

Katara rips it open and scans it, shoulders relaxing a little in relief at the note’s contents.

Katara, it says, I’m so sorry, but I got held up. Mai brought a lot of political news so we were in meetings with advisors until the last second. I actually had to make an excuse so I could run off in time and not turn into a damn dragon right in the palace. See you when I’m back?

He hadn’t signed it, and for some reason Katara found herself expecting it to say more. She sighs.

Now she has nothing to do except for the familiar, excruciating wait that she has to do every time Zuko transforms.

Except, of course, her agreed upon sparring with Mai in the courtyard later that night, which Katara realizes in hindsight may have been a very bad thing to agree to.

But Mai’s little ghost of an amused smirk had goaded her.

Thinking about Mai’s face made her stomach twist with a mixture of emotions; nerves, jealousy, irritation. Still, Katara makes her way down to the largest training courtyard so that she’ll be there promptly at nine. Mai is already waiting with her usual detached expression as she casually twirls one of her knives around and around in a hand with perfectly manicured nails.

“Waterbender,” greets Mai. Her expression doesn’t change. She strides over to stand at the opposite end of the court.

It feels odd to not make any small talk at all, but seeing as Mai doesn’t really seem to be the type for it and that Katara wouldn’t know what to say anyway, she finds it a bit of a relief.

They square up, facing each other. A calculating glint flashes across Mai’s eyes and she crouches lower, getting into her stance. Katara copies her, showing that she is ready; she is just about to ask whether they should begin when Mai juts her arm out sharply and without any warning, tiny little daggers fly out of her sleeve and head right for Katara’s chest.

Katara reacts with all the swiftness of her warrior instincts, waving her hand to put a block of ice between the daggers and her body.

She darts out from behind her frozen shield and sends an icy dagger toward her opponent.

Mai easily dodges that with a practiced little side-step before hurling more knives in Katara’s direction, her eyes bright and her teeth bared. The spar is fierce. Almost bitter.

Every square inch of the space is hotly contested, with both women ducking and rolling and diving and executing harsh strikes that are normally avoided in a first sparring session. It is generally more acceptable to feel out the other person and their skill set so the spar can still be done safely—particularly when knives or ice daggers are involved. But Mai is relentless. Her expression gets more and more brutal as she heaves knives; at certain points Katara feels as though she is only on the defensive, dodging and ducking in order to avoid getting hit.

It’s during one of these defensive periods that Katara has her closest call yet. She is only just able to deflect one of the knives from her face with a water whip.

It’s close enough to actually frighten her, and Mai doesn’t even blink. In fact, she raises her arm to strike again.

“What the hell?” Katara shrieks, glaring furiously, and Mai drops her hand. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No,” Mai shoots back. “You blocked them all, didn’t you?”

“And if I hadn’t? Why are you aiming for my face and my heart?”

“What do you mean? Those are the normal targets."

"You’re angry,” Katara says stiffly, fists clenching. “You’re angry because I’m sleeping with Zuko.”

Mai just laughs. It’s a hard, mocking laugh, and this makes Katara even more angry.

“What’s so funny?” she snaps.

“I'm not angry, I'm sparring at my best because I know you can actually block me!” Mai shouts and Katara blinks, taken aback by Mai’s sudden and raw show of emotion. She has never heard her even remotely close to shouting before. “You can make shields from ice and stuff, I like the challenge! I usually can’t go this hard!” Mai gives her a ferocious, scathing glare.

“Oh,” Katara mumbles. “Oh, well—”

“Yeah,” Mai bites out. She huffs and stalks off to sit at the edge of the training yard.

After a long, curious minute in which Katara’s extremities feel like lead, she finds the ability to move and stiffly walks over. When Mai doesn’t protest, Katara tentatively sits beside her. “I’m sorry, Mai,” she says. “I guess it’s not every day that I have a lethal ex-girlfriend throwing knives at me. And it’s really hard for me to tell what you’re, um…thinking or feeling. I assumed."

There’s a long silence.

And then Mai sighs. “That’s okay.” Her tone is back to normal. Bored and dismissive.

“So you’re…not upset? About…”

Mai looks at her, and her mouth twitches. “Have at him, waterbender."

“We’re not together," Katara says quickly. "We’re just…” Katara cuts herself off. “Well, it’s an arrangement. For something I can’t talk about.”

“Could it be the fact that he’s become part dragon, or something?”

Katara gapes at her.

Mai smirks. “Might want to close your mouth,” she advises. “The mosquito-flies here are massive.”

“How did you know?” Katara demands. “Did he tell you?”

“No,” says Mai. “It was obvious, really.” She heaves a bored sigh and holds her hand up to count. “He has a pet dragon that’s like—not a normal pet, right? It’s in tune with him, or something. It hates the people he hates, it likes me, it adores you. Zuko is monstrously huge. Oh, and I also watched him eat a plate—like, a stacked plate, more than I’ve ever seen—of red meat at dinner. And it was almost raw.” She shudders slightly. Katara laughs, and Mai shoots her a look that’s half uneasy, half mollified.

“You’re more perceptive than everyone else here,” says Katara.

“It’s one of my many gifts.” Mai suddenly scoffs. “Just an arrangement. Ugh, Zuko’s such an idiot.”

Katara doesn’t quite know what to say to that.

“It’s a curse,” Katara tells her. “He got it so he could keep Druk. It will go away at the end of the summer.”

A somewhat more comfortable silence settles over them, but Katara still feels twitchy.

“So are…are you…seeing anyone?” Katara asks hesitantly.

Mai rolls her eyes. “We’re not gal pals, you know. I barely know you.” Mai tilts her head up to the sky. “But maybe we can spar again soon and see where that goes.”

Katara finds herself smiling. “I’d like that. But won’t you be here tomorrow?”

“No,” Mai says. “I’m already heading back to Omashu. That’s why I had to meet with Zuko today so urgently.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I sort of infiltrated the meetings of Ozai’s supporters through an, ah, mutual acquaintance. I passed him inside information. I think it will help, but, you know…I don’t know. It takes just one act of war to break things down that were building up for a long time, doesn’t it? And the Fire Nation had a hundred years of war. I think Zuko will just always have problems to deal with.”

“That’s pessimistic,” Katara comments, not unkindly.

“No. It’s realistic.”

“Well. I think it’s brave of you, what you’re doing. And I wouldn’t mind learning to throw knives. Some day.”

“You know, you might be growing on me.”

“So does that mean we are gal pals?”

“No,” says Mai, but her mouth twitches.

Fifteen minutes later Katara starts scratching at her arms and realizes that the mosquito-flies are, in fact, numerous at this time of year, and she suggests they head inside.

Katara feels a sense of inexplicable relief that the sparring session with Mai had gone this way. Now all she needs to do is wait for Zuko to return.

Sleeping on the night of his transformations is harder than usual; Katara tosses and turns for quite a while before she is finally able to drift off.

The wind glides over Zuko’s scales.

The sensation has become incredibly calming. All these weeks of transformations and Zuko thinks that he may actually miss the little things like this when it’s all over. The feeling of the wind, the heightened sense of smell, the increased awareness of his surroundings. He knows the Fire Nation inside out by now—it is quite easy to cover large distances when one can turn into a dragon, after all—and he and Druk have their favorite spots to visit. He’s on his way back to one of them now, located in a jungle due north of Caldera City.

Druk has gotten large enough that he and Zuko no longer need to fly together the entire night, but they meet in the same spot at the end of it.

Zuko always has his transformation timed perfectly for when the sun’s rays rise and hit him.

He knows how long it takes to get to his transformation spot from almost every inch of the Fire Nation. Right down to the second.

Zuko has tried not to think of Katara too much tonight, so he’s done much more unnecessary flying than usual, trying to expend energy. It wouldn’t do any good to ruminate on her now, or the conversation they’d last had. How she somehow had gotten the impression that the words that came spilling out of his mouth with her were things he would say to anyone—

No, it doesn’t do any good. He’s a dragon right now and he can’t talk anyway, even if he were to fly back to her.

But as soon as he is back…

Perhaps he should plan what to say. He isn’t always good with saying the right things.

But he’s promptly distracted by his arrival in he and Druk’s favorite little clearing. More specifically, he’s distracted by the fact that Druk is not present, even though Zuko is actually a few minutes later than usual. Zuko blows a light stream of concerned fire and peers around the steadily lightening clearing. They need to start flying back soon; the sky is turning gray.

A heavy, frightened dread fills him. Where is Druk?

Zuko waits a few more excruciating minutes before he takes off, hovering carefully above the jungle.

His sharp dragon eyes scan, frantic, trying to find any sign of movement within the trees, because he fears Druk may be injured.

He has fifteen minutes before he’s going to transform.

Desperately, he increases the speed of his wings to cover the jungle as best he can. Nothing. No sign of movement, either on the ground or coming toward him in the sky. Zuko thinks about roaring, but he’s afraid that might attract unwanted attention, especially if Druk is injured somewhere. The panic rises. Seven minutes left until sunrise.

Seven minutes, and still no Druk.

Zuko swoops higher so he can see further. Even though the terrain is partially jungle, there are a few little villages and a dirt road winding its way through the foliage. Zuko knows that eventually this road will turn into well-kept stone paths that lead straight to Caldera City. Zuko looks forward as far as he can to skim the road. There are no movements.

It’s too late—or rather, too early—for anyone to be on the way with any trading carts quite yet. The trading street is quiet and lifeless.

Five minutes to go. Something is very wrong.

That’s when Zuko spots something moving along the road. It looks like a wagon, and Zuko can even make out ant-like specks walking around the sides that he assumes must be people.

The size of the wagon seems unnaturally large. The dread rises and consumes him.

Zuko speeds up.

One of his worst fears is confirmed as he flies closer and lower. The wagon is a heavily chained crate, and it is rattling.

The men walking along the outside are jeering and shouting, using whips to try and subdue and quiet down the very familiar shrieks and roars of Druk. These aren’t regular dragon hunters, the ones that used to follow the previous Fire Nation tradition of killing dragons for glory. If they were, they would have tried to kill Druk, not capture him.

Not caring anymore about keeping a low profile, Zuko lets out a booming roar. He needs Druk to know that he's coming.

His dragon's answering call is frightened. Zuko can smell his fear from here and white-hot rage almost blinds him. The jeering and shouting stops, and Zuko’s supernatural hearing picks up gasps and shouts. Zuko is almost there. Well, technically it’s still miles down the road, but for a dragon that’s just a few more seconds.

He’s going to land and use his tail to flip these men far away, and then use raw force to break Druk out.

Three minutes. That’s plenty of time. Plenty of time before the sun’s rays hit him, plenty of time to—

But then, abruptly, Zuko feels the undeniable sensation of his transformation burning through his limbs, through his lungs. It's early.

Zuko’s mind goes blank as the pain rips through him. The scales melt away, his body twitches and shudders and warps; he has human fingers again, and toes, and skin.

Zuko lets out a yell when his now very human body drops through the sky like a rock. He falls and falls until he crashes into a tree. It feels like it crushes his windpipe and breaks several bones, perhaps even crushes something internally. He’s struggling to breathe as he falls, rolling down through the tree and colliding with branch after branch. He lands hard.

Upon impact his head smacks the ground, and Zuko’s world goes black.

Chapter Text

Katara’s first thought as she drifts awake to sun rays spilling across her bed is how pleasantly warm it is. That particular tranquility lasts only seconds when she realizes that she shouldn’t be feeling them. She should have been awake long before the sun stretched to reach her bed.

Judging by that alone, she’s at least an hour or two late for—

“Zuko!” Katara scrambles to push the covers away and flies out of her bed. She overslept. She’s so stupid.

Zuko was probably in significant pain when he got back and here she is, snoozing away.

He didn't send for her, but she knows that’s because it’s Zuko, and that he probably thinks by waking her he’ll inconvenience her, no matter how terrible he might feel. Cursing under her breath, Katara fumbles in her wardrobe for the easiest thing to wear. Katara hurries to the door and wrenches it open. But she stops in her tracks with a gasp. She almost collided with Zuko’s top and most trusted advisor—the one that had nearly walked in on them that day Zuko had returned. The only one that knows about Zuko’s curse besides Katara. She assumes he has come to wake her so she can tend to Zuko.

But the grave look on his face sends cold dread trickling up her spine.

The advisor fills the rigid silence with some of the worst words that Katara can possibly imagine him saying. “The Fire Lord never returned last night, Master Katara.”

Katara can barely hear her voice over her pounding heart. “Are you already searching? What about Druk?”

The advisor bows his head. “Yes, we are searching. When he didn’t meet me at the usual spot at dawn, I assembled a search party right away. But I came to get you while they scour the woods for him. I thought that you may want to be notified, Master Katara.” He pauses solemnly. “And his dragon is also nowhere to be found.”

“Oh no,” Katara whispers.

Another wave of horror washes over her, and this time it’s so powerful she’s lightheaded for a few seconds. She steadies herself on the door frame. There’s an uncomfortable feeling creeping into her chest—like it’s being compressed from all sides, squeezed so tight that her lungs are collapsing. She takes long, steady breaths. She must try and keep a cool head.

Zuko needs her. So does Druk.

She must be calm and collected.

“Is Mai still here?” Katara’s voice trembles.

“She left the palace quite some time ago. It’s likely Lady Mai has already sailed out by now.”

Katara lets out a slow exhale. “Could you please send someone to check? She would want to know Zuko is missing.”

“Right away, Master Katara,” he says, bowing. “I would return to the waiting spot, if that suits you? I want to be available if there is news to report. Would you like to accompany me?”

“Yes,” says Katara gratefully. “Meet me in the largest courtyard.”

He doesn’t waste any time obeying.

Katara’s brain is too foggy with panic to notice how surreal it is that he has deferred to her for orders or permission.

Katara distractedly pulls her hair off to the side and starts to braid it as she walks, struggling to think clearly. Zuko wouldn’t have left the Fire Nation. He also wouldn’t have stayed out on purpose, and Katara is sure that Druk would have come to the palace to alert someone if his master was hurt. That meant Druk must also be in trouble somehow.

But from who? Dragon hunters?

Katara knows that those had been common in the Fire Nation before the dragons became nearly extinct. They’d been the reason that dragons had nearly become extinct.

The constricted feeling in her chest gets worse. Dark spots dance in front of her eyes and she has to stop for a moment and place her palm against the wall. He’s alive, Katara thinks, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and swaying a little. They both are. They have to be. She eventually takes a step even though it feels like moving through quicksand. And then another.

Each step feels easier than the last.

She makes a beeline for the palace archives.

Katara has spent plenty of time perusing the vast collection of records and knowledge that the Fire Nation has collected. Over the years she has spent time there to learn about many things—other nations for diplomatic purposes, or information on lost bending styles. Katara found more resources here about her lost waterbending culture than anywhere else, an incredibly depressing result of knowledge being either destroyed or hoarded by the Fire Nation during the war. Yet another valuable thing kept in the Fire Nation archives is medical knowledge, and more recently, especially over the course of the summer, that’s what she’s been busying herself with. But today it’s just maps of the Fire Nation that she needs.

The advisor and two komodo-rhinos are already waiting when she arrives in the courtyard. “I’m told Lady Mai’s ship has already left, Master Katara,” he tells her, and she just gives him a perfunctory nod, trying not to feel hopelessly alone at this news. He helps her up onto the back of her mount and hands her the reins before clambering up on his own.

He leads the way out of Caldera City. They stick to the main road, heading north.

The rocking of the animal beneath her is not comfortable.

Katara doesn’t like riding; she’s woefully inexperienced, in fact, and if the animal were to decide to buck up or start sprinting away she wouldn’t have a single clue what to do. But she keeps up with the increasing pace anyway and tries to ignore her discomfort. It’s the fastest way to travel without Aang here, without Appa. She doesn’t have much choice.

She grips the reins harder.

He should be dead.

That’s the first thing Zuko’s brain can conjure from the abyss of darkness and almost unspeakable pain.

He fell. Far.

And the fall should have killed him. The impact would have killed a normal person. Fortunately, Zuko is not a normal person. At least not right now. Perhaps he’d been close enough to his transformation to have a more dragon-like resilience to bodily damage. Perhaps because of the curse he had that in general. Either way, he survived, but he can hardly think straight.

His head is throbbing, and his vision is fuzzy. He’s lying on something soft.

Grass. He’s on the ground. Yes. The ground.

With a low groan, Zuko reaches a hand out, but a sharp jab of pain shoots through him, so intense that he cries out and his arm falls back. Something is broken in his arm. And his ribs.

Probably more.

He tries the other hand, and this one can move better, though it makes him wheeze with pain. His fingers scrape against leaves.

Though his eyesight is still clouded and he’s woozy, it’s impossible to miss the blazing source of light in the sky. The sun is high. It must be approaching midday.

Druk. He lost Druk. He let them take Druk away.

Tears of pain and rage gather in the corners of his eyes. He feels the separation from his dragon like it has physically severed him.

With one last burst of his remaining energy, Zuko jabs his non-injured arm upward, toward the blurry blue of the sky.

He barely sees the fireball that shoots out of his fist, launching high above the canopy of trees, before he passes out.

The summer Fire Nation sun is sweltering as it approaches noon, beating relentlessly onto the back of Katara’s neck.

She hears one of the riders shout. Some of the soldiers in her search party point, muttering excitedly. What is undeniably a fireball is making an arc through the air in the near distance.

It crests at the top of the arc and slowly sputters out before beginning its descent toward the earth.

“Zuko.” His name spills out automatically.

She nudges her heels into her mount and shakes the reins, ignoring her discomfort as a rider, ignoring the shouts of the rest of the search party behind her, calling after her. The spot where she saw the flare rising into the sky is burned into her retinas, and she needs to get there before she loses the location of it, because it’s Zuko. She knows it’s Zuko.

Hooves thunder around her as the others join her.

They stampede through the trees, ducking to avoid getting smacked in the face with low-hanging branches.

Something in Katara’s chest collapses when she catches sight of him. Zuko’s body is bent at a funny angle. He’s unconscious, slumped against a tree.

But as Katara dismounts and nearly falls over herself to kneel beside him, she immediately sees that his chest is moving. Miraculously, he’s alive. Despite her blurring vision, Katara’s hands coat with water and trail over Zuko immediately, trying to get a sense of the damage. As a healer, she must push away emotion. She’s quiet for so long that someone says, “Well?”

Katara swallows back a sob. “He’s going to be fine.”

He’ll need to be healed extensively, but he'll be fine. She knows time is of the essence, so she starts immediately.

Katara runs healing passes over his arms, his legs, and most importantly, his torso, which seems to have accumulated most of the damage. She takes mental note of it. Some broken ribs. Internal damage to the windpipe and his spine. Something is bleeding internally. He also has a concussion. She concentrates on each problem individually; cracks mend and wounds close. All signs and the sorts of injuries point to the fact that Zuko had fallen from the sky. Which meant that he’d been chasing something so desperately he’d transformed while flying.

“Go report,” Katara throws back over her shoulder. “The Fire Lord has been found, but his dragon has not. Search along the nearby road for tracks. Someone probably captured Druk, but it’s hard to transport a large dragon secretly. Ask along the road, in the towns. Hurry.” She doesn’t bother watching which footsteps hurry off to obey her without question.

Already her focus is back on Zuko’s injuries.

Katara has no idea how long she hovers over him in the forest. Long enough for the sun to move considerably in the sky. But the first healing session is the most important.

Luckily, she can tell that his body has healed itself considerably. The curse has its benefits.

“Bring something to transport him comfortably,” Katara orders.

Soldiers spring up from where they lounged nearby, clamoring for something to do.

It almost physically pains her, but she knows she can’t accompany Zuko back to the palace right now. She’s done everything she can do this session, and hopefully, if she’s lucky, she’ll be back by evening. Katara highly doubts Zuko will wake today, anyway, so he won’t miss her. Though his head injury really needs to be monitored once she returns.

But now that Zuko is found, safe, and stabilized, Katara’s most pressing matter is Druk.

She knows that if Zuko wakes to find Druk still missing, his distress will be unimaginable.

Katara does not intend to let that happen.

Coming into consciousness for Zuko is like wading through mud.

His head is heavy. Groggy. He struggles to lift heavy eyelids, but he can’t.

Experimentally, he tries to wiggle his fingers and toes. That, at least, doesn’t hurt.

A soft little wail sounds in his ear. Something wet tickles his cheek.

“Druk,” sighs a feminine voice that makes Zuko’s stomach twist with longing. “We’ve had so many false alarms.”

The voice sounds closer. “He’ll wake soon, Druk—” The voice halts abruptly, then shakes. “Zuko?”

Hands fly to his cheeks.

Zuko wants to answer so badly. He wants to see her. But he can’t move.

“Zuko? Can you hear me?” Her breath tickles his cheek and her floral scent washes over him.

“Ka—tara,” he manages, though he still can’t open his eyes. He frowns when his attempt to speak with her and reassure her is only met with the sounds of sudden, aggressive weeping. Directly after that comes the sound of another of Druk's wails, louder this time, and then Katara hugs his chest. Something leathery and large wraps around both of them.

Groaning, Zuko finally pushes his eyes open.

Katara stays on his chest. He knows it’s her by her smell and by the fact that his face is buried in long, brown hair, but he can’t see her face. She’s crying into his neck. And the leathery, large thing is one of Druk’s wings, protective and all-encompassing. Druk screeches softly when he sees Zuko’s eyes open, shrill and pleased and frightened all at once.

He bows down to tuck his gigantic head on the other side of Zuko’s neck.

On either side of their heads, Zuko can make out moonlight drifting in through the window.

“Zuko,” Katara was whispering between shuddering sobs, clinging tighter. “Zuko.”

“You—found me.” Zuko wants to wrap his arms around her, but he can’t lift them.

“Of course I did.” Katara lets out a sound that’s half a hiccup, half a wheeze, before she pulls back to look at him.

Zuko notes the bags under her eyes, how wan and scared she looks. “How long have I...?”

“A few days,” Katara whispers. Her nose is touching his. One of her hands comes to brush the hair away from his eyes, his cheekbones, and then she rests her palm on his jaw.

She’s staring at him like she’s never seen him before.

Druk roars this time, ruffling his wings.

Zuko chuckles as Druk headbutts him softly. “Hey, buddy. I’m so glad to see you here.”

He glances at Katara, his lip suddenly curling as he remembers Druk's frightened cries and watching him be carted away. “Who were they?”

“I have them in custody, awaiting trial. They were trying to ship him away, Zuko. Apparently dragon blood and scales sell well on the black market. People think they make you smarter.”

“They planned to have him butchered and sold for parts?” Zuko snarls. His knuckles start to smoke.

He doesn’t even realize he sat up until pain shoots through his spine. Katara gently but quickly pushes him back.

“We were lucky to find him,” she says. “The soldiers gathered information from some villagers that said they saw a large wagon being pulled toward the coast. I went to the harbor, asked around, you know…” She looks sheepish.

Zuko grins. “You threatened people, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” says Katara. “And maybe a bit of bloodbending was involved. But it got me answers!”

“And then?”

“I went after their boat, of course. And then Druk and I flew back. Didn’t we, sweet boy?”

She beams at the dragon, who makes a soft chirping sound and stares at her lovingly.

“Here I was thinking I’d get to watch you ride Druk for the first time,” Zuko says.

Katara just lets out a shaky laugh.

"Thank you," Zuko says softly.

Katara opens her mouth, and then closes it. "Of course. Zuko..."

Zuko suddenly starts to cough. Each one makes him wince. Luckily, nothing feels broken. He just feels like he’s been crushed by a mountain or something.

But he doesn’t care. He wants to get to his throne room. He starts to push the blankets away.

“What are you doing?” Katara’s hands fly to his shoulders, holding him still.

“I want to see the men who took Druk away. Now.” His eyes flash.

“No.” Katara’s eyes flicker, but she stays firm. “It’s the middle of the night. And you’re on bed rest. We can’t do anything about your transformation coming up in a few days, so you really need to rest well.” She bites her lip, her gaze sweeping worriedly over him. “You’re not allowed strenuous physical activity for at least a week. Healer’s orders.”

“What?” Zuko snaps. “That’s ridiculous! I have to—”

His words are drowned out when Katara presses her lips to his.

Zuko promptly forgets everything except the feel of her against him. He vaguely realizes that Druk has extracted his wings from around them and flown out the window into the night. He’s shirtless, and Katara’s nimble hands caress his chest. “You’re not going anywhere,” Katara breathes against his lips before kissing him again, soft and sweet.

Zuko can’t remember why he wanted to go anywhere at all. With a great effort, he lifts his tired arms and weaves his hands into her hair, pulling her closer. But a familiar, aching twinge below his belt soon has him pulling away. “What, uh, counts as strenuous physical activity, exactly?”

She looks amused. “Yes, Zuko, sex falls under the category of ‘strenuous physical activity that is not allowed.’”

Zuko shifts, trying to ignore the throbbing between his legs. “Ah,” he manages.

“But,” says Katara, eyes glinting suddenly, “activities that don’t require much movement from you—those are allowed.”

“What sort of activities?” He hears how hungry he sounds.

He nearly died. He nearly died without passing on his genes, and the curse doesn’t like that.

He feels his control slipping already.

Take her, that part of him chants. She wants you. Take her, and keep her close. Curl around her and keep her forever.

“Would you like to know, Fire Lord?” Her tone is teasing, demure, but Zuko detects nerves.

“Yes,” he  says.

“Last time…” begins Katara, her gaze flicking between him and the bed, and Zuko watches with some fascination as her hands twist in her lap and her expression becomes flustered. She takes a deep breath. “Last time,” she continues, more boldly now, “you had me pick a word. So I thought maybe—maybe you could pick one? This time.”

She peeks up at him from under her lashes.

He stares at her, brain completely stalled, until he sees a flash of mortification cross her face.

“That’s totally fine,” she says hastily. “That’s not—your thing. That’s okay. I don’t know if it’s mine either honestly, I’ve never, um—I just thought maybe we would both like—”

“Fire,” he says, cutting off her nervous rambling.

Katara falters.

“Yours is water,” continues Zuko, low and husky. “Mine is fire. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Katara's eyes darken.

Zuko isn’t quite sure what he’s ever done to deserve having Katara look at him this way. Half-lidded eyes, parted lips, her gaze dragging along him as if he’s a three-course dinner and she’s deciding which dish to try and slowly savor first. She takes hold of his arms and gently puts them at his sides. “Don’t move. Keep lying still. Healer’s orders, remember?”

Zuko nods. His heartbeat is painful. He can hear it in his ears, a steady thumpthump, thumpthump.

“Keep your arms still,” says Katara. “If you move them, I tie them down. Say ‘yes’ if you understand.”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Katara says, and then she stands up and walks to the foot of his bed.

She stands in the beam of moonlight, looks directly at him, and pulls at the ties of her dress. Zuko’s fingers twitch at his sides and he groans low in his throat. She’s so far away.

He watches as she shrugs it off her shoulders. So agonizingly slow. He watches the fabric glide off and pool at her feet, the white light glimmering on her bare midriff and her collarbone.

It’s like he’s in a dream. “Come here, Katara.” The words spill out of him in a snarl.

Katara gives him a very severe look. “You’re not giving commands right now, Zuko. I am. You can respond if I ask you a question. And you can thank me. Otherwise you’ll keep quiet.”

Zuko’s brain feels like white noise, but he manages to say, very hoarsely, “Okay.”

“Good.”

Katara comes forward and kisses him again, so long and slow that his head spins. It’s torture not to touch her. He wants to caress her face. Run his fingers through her hair. He wants to cup her chin and tilt her head and take control. He focuses on the feel of her, soft and supple against him, her tongue like silk as it twines with his.

When she stops, she stands again and pulls the rest of her wraps off. Zuko stares at her like he’s never seen her naked before or he’ll never be lucky enough to see her again. Her nipples are hard, the curve of her hips enticing. In the moonlight, she looks like a goddess. And then Katara crawls over him, slowly, and begins to swing a leg over his face. Zuko’s eyes widen.

The smell of her, the sight of her hovering right above him—he clamps his jaw together to keep from speaking and squeezes his hands into tight fists to keep from grasping her hips.

She starts to dip lower, moving toward his mouth.

“Lightly pinch my thighs if you want to stop,” she says clearly.

“Yes. Thank you,” he rasps, and she sits on his face.

Katara jolts and moans when she makes contact with his mouth. Her hands shoot out to grab the headboard and her thighs squeeze around his head.

She’s already soaked. The tangy taste of her coats around his mouth and down to his chin. She’s fucking incredible like this.

Easily better than any spiritual, out-of-body experience he can sometimes achieve after long hours of meditation.

He starts slow. Presses one gentle kiss to her clit before he does small, careful licks around it, not quite hitting the spot she needs, dancing around the bundle of nerves. Riling her. Teasing her. He feels her shudder again before she does a slow roll of her hips. The weight and warmth and scent of her on his face, rotating slowly on him, is fucking divine.

“Zuko.” She drags out the end vowel. She already sounds desperate. Zuko curls his fists even tighter to keep from touching her. The impulse is unbearable. Still, he uses his tongue on her slowly. Long swipes all along her. A flick to her clit, followed by a light suck. He can feel her shaking. “Be good,” she pants. “Be good and don’t tease.”

He presses harder with his tongue each time he glides it along her. Little moans come from the back of her throat.

“Like that,” she whispers. “That’s good. So good. Don’t stop.”

His mouth is too full of her to tell her that he’s not stopping and he could literally do this for hours. And he’s not allowed to speak anyway.

So he dips his tongue into her, swirling, feeling her muscles contract, before pressing his lips to her clit and suckling again. Her hips stutter and she releases a low whine. She shifts to all fours, elbows on the bed, and starts to ride his face. He meets her surging movements with his tongue, his lips, half delirious, all instinct, following the sounds of her choked whimpers.

He keeps lapping at her, lets her use him as she rotates and jerks her hips harder and faster.

Zuko’s hips roll upward, into nothing.

“Yes—yes—” Katara sounds choked. Zuko groans. She’s close. Her thighs are trembling against his cheeks. He’s quite sure his mind has exited his body.

She’s going to come. That’s all he cares about.

He needs her to come.

But Katara swings a leg off him, suddenly moving away.

“No.” Zuko reaches out blindly, without thinking. “Why—”

Firm hands push his arm down at his side again. “I said to be still, Zuko.”

Zuko’s eyes fly open. She’s kneeling beside him, chest heaving, eyes glazed but stern.

“Let me finish you.” His voice is hoarse. “Let me touch you. Please.”

“Did I say you could speak yet?”

Zuko immediately clamps his mouth shut. Her tone reminds him of the sharper one she sometimes uses in the meetings, when she’s pushing for something she wants.

He’s so turned on by it he can barely think coherently.

“Zuko? Did I?”

“No.” His heartbeat is frantic in his chest.

“Are you going to speak again without permission?”

“No.”

“You’re going to be good?”

“Yes.” His whole body tingles. Fuck.

Katara smiles, and then she leans down to kiss him again.

She’s careful to hover just over him, putting no additional weight on his body.

The only indication that she’s there at all is one of her hands, tracing light, gentle patterns over his bare chest with her fingertips. Just this simple touch combined with the rhythmic movements of her tongue as she kisses him is more than enough to ignite his blood. Her mouth paints a slow line down his throat and chest and continues to his abdomen.

The little sweeps of her tongue on his skin between every kiss is driving him to madness. Especially as she moves lower. She kisses slowly across his hip bones and his thighs go taut. Katara runs her hands over the bulging muscles, her fingernails scratching slightly. Zuko’s unwrapped hand fists his sheets and an involuntary growl rumbles in his chest.

“How’s this, Fire Lord?” she whispers.

Her voice is low and sultry, and the playful way she enunciates his title sends a shiver up Zuko’s spine.

“So good,” he barely manages. “Perfect. Thank you.”

Katara just smiles as she kisses lower still.

He can feel her warm breath right through the fabric of his wraps.

Her hand comes to palm at his cock through the material, and his body jerks. She’s somehow firm and gentle, cupping and rubbing at him. His head falls back with a grunt, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s so hard he can’t think straight. Katara’s deft fingers pull at the remainder of his clothes and wrap around his cock. His hips buck up involuntarily and he pants.

“Stay still," she says, taking her hands away. "Last warning.”

With an inhuman effort, Zuko pins his hips to the bed and waits.

When she finally, finally touches him again her palm is warm and soft, holding what she can of him firmly. She starts slowly pumping up and down his cock.

Her pace is utterly torturous. She twists slightly with each stroke.

The sight of her—positioned between his legs, working him with her hands, occasionally running them over his tight thighs, her darkened eyes trailing up and down him with clear appreciation—it’s too much. Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip and his brain empties, slipping fully into the overwhelming, lustful need that comes from the curse. He growls low in his throat and her blown out gaze snaps to meet his. She licks her lips again. The memory of that tongue sliding along him makes another shiver ripple through him.

Her mouth is so perfect, the curve of it so soft and inviting.

She swipes a slow, careful thumb over the head of his cock. A low moan rumbles in his chest and his head falls back. Something warm and wet follows the same pattern as her thumb. And again. Zuko inhales sharply, all sensation in his body centered completely between his legs and on the light, careful movements of her tongue licking at his tip.

Her mouth envelops the head of his cock and she lightly sucks.

Zuko nearly thrashes off the bed, but she’s gone again just as quickly.

Katara starts to tease again. Dragging her tongue slowly up the sides of his cock. Long, careful swipes followed by small, swift licks. But she doesn’t take him in her mouth again. She waits until his hips have thrust forward involuntarily again and his thighs are vibrating before she makes her way back up his torso. Her mouth is maddeningly warm on his skin. He feels delirious. He wants to beg her to go back to what she was doing. He wants to beg her to let him touch her and make her come. Zuko clamps his mouth shut so the words don’t spill out.

Katara kisses up his chest and to his neck before she nibbles on his earlobe.

“Very good, Fire Lord,” she whispers.

The pressure between his legs tightens at her praise.

Her fingertips dance along his sternum. “You’re mine, too,” she whispers against his mouth when she kisses him again.

Zuko fists the sheets so hard that he very nearly tears them.

“Aren’t you, Zuko?” she prompts.

“Yes,” he chokes out. “Fuck—Yes.”

Her fingertips trail lower. His breath catches and his entire body tingles with anticipation.

“Open your eyes. Don’t look away.” It’s a command, but her voice is still soft. Zuko’s eyes immediately fly open and snap to hers.

She keeps her gazes locked as she lowers her head and wraps her lips around the head of his cock. Zuko’s hips jerk once, automatically, and then again when she hollows her cheeks and sucks. Her warm, wet tongue swirls around him and he shudders with pleasure, lips parting and making a low, strangled sound in his throat. The slickness around his cock leaves.

Zuko thinks he might lose it.

“Don’t look away,” Katara repeats.

Obediently, his eyes open again.

When she seems satisfied he’s watching she lowers her head again, looking at him under her lashes.

She slides down the length of him, using her hand to squeeze the base. His stomach tightens and he has to fight the urge to come in her mouth right then and there. It’s too much. Her eyes, dark and fiery, watching him. The sight of him sliding into her hot mouth. Her hands, wrapping themselves around the base of his cock, twisting and fondling as she bobs on him.

When she moans quietly around him and he feels himself repeatedly hit the back of her throat Zuko’s stomach draws even tighter. And tighter.

“Fuck—”

It slips out before he can stop it. She pauses and looks at him.

“Thank you,” he gasps quickly. “Thank you, fuck.”

Katara only smiles. “No commands,” she says. “But you can talk again without prompting.” She starts placing little kisses along the length of his cock. “I like it when you talk to me.”

Her mouth wraps around him again and she starts to slowly tease his pleasure upward again.

“That’s so fucking good,” he groans immediately. “I can’t— fuck, Katara—”

Her eyes blaze brighter. She hums around him and a familiar tingle builds up.

And then his brain stalls, because one of Katara’s hands slides downward, pushing her wraps to the side. He can see her glistening from here.

Zuko snarls loudly and he jerks to sit up further, to reach for her. He needs her. He needs to be in her. He needs to take care of her. Somewhere far off in the recesses of his brain, he’s aware that his body is protesting at the sudden movement because of his injuries, but he’s so far gone he barely notices the pain. He doubts he would notice it even if he pushed inside of her and pounded into her. The discomfort afterward would be worth it. But she stops and firmly pushes him back to a more relaxing position again. “No, Zuko,” she tells him.

Her mouth wrap tightly around him again, but her hands don’t. They move lower instead, trail over her own thighs.

Zuko makes a helpless sound as she starts to rub quick circles on herself. His vision blurs around the edges. This can’t be real. It’s torture and blinding bliss.

He wants to touch her and he wants to taste her. He wants to be in her. But he also wants to never stop watching her.

Words spill out of his mouth. “That’s it. Touch yourself. Fuck. Keep going. Like that, keep going.”

Katara whimpers around him.

Her fingers move faster, in time with the bobbing of her head. Zuko is panting. He feels only half in control of his sanity, and it’s only made worse when Katara drags her fingers lower, spreads her wetness up and around until her hard, swollen clit is slick with her arousal. She starts to play with herself even faster, her moans muffled by his cock in her throat.

Zuko tries desperately to stave off his impending orgasm. The pressure of it is so powerful it feels like it’s about to break his spine.

“If you—don’t stop—I’m going to come—in your mouth,” he manages to say.

Katara moans and moves even faster. He can tell she’s close, too. The way her thighs are pressing together. How her fingers move almost haphazardly, how her eyes have gone cloudy. The suctioning pressure of her mouth and the flutters of her tongue make his whole body seize up. His vision blurs again. His jaw goes slack. “Fuck. Katara, please—”

A violent shudder overtakes her, and then another.

She moans long and low around his cock as she comes, body rippling . Zuko immediately follows her, forcing himself to keep his eyes open the entire time as he shoots into her mouth. Her eyes go wide and he sees her legs and arms trembling as she swallows and swallows. The waves of pleasure crest but keep returning.  All he can do is groan out half coherent praise intertwined with repetitions of her name, and when it’s finally over he slumps back, breathing hard, finally letting himself close his eyes. His entire body feels like mush. Like he’s floating.

Katara come to nestle very carefully into his side. “Feel better?” 

She sounds quite smug.

“Yeah.” Zuko opens one sleepy eye and sees her watching him; his mouth quirks up into a lazy grin. One of his arms shifts to curl around her, and she tucks herself even closer into his side. She sighs again, happily, and Zuko buries his face in her hair, stifling a yawn. He’s so exhausted. He’s boneless and already sleep is pulling at him.

Zuko closes his eyes and lets the darkness creep in.

After a few moments—or was it much longer?—he feels soothing lips moving all around his face.

Katara whispers something to him. Three words...?

But already Zuko is drifting to sleep, too far gone to hear them.

Chapter Text

“Dude.”

Something repeatedly pokes him in the shoulder, and Zuko groans in protest.

He was trying to drift back off to sleep.

“Dude. Wake up.”

The cursed part of him encourages him to growl faintly at the intruder without yet opening his eyes, low and between his teeth. The poking immediately stops, which is really very smart of them. Zuko’s ears prick, hearing footsteps and the sound of curtains; then a warm blast of sunshine settles over his face. Zuko’s arm fumbles out beside him, searching for the soft, companionable warmth that belongs in his bed. It hurts to reach out and feel around, but he keeps doing it.

Zuko’s eyes fly open and he launches himself to a sitting position.

Blue eyes peer down at him, but they aren’t Katara’s.

“Where is she?” Zuko asks immediately.

Sokka bats his eyelashes sardonically at him. “Oh, so am I not good enough to wake up to?”

Zuko barely traps the next snarl between his teeth. After yesterday’s healing he feels more powerful. The sun and the curse course through him. He briefly lost his dragon, and neither Druk nor Katara are in sight, even though she was here last night. He distinctly remembers her being here, and now she isn’t.

“Where is my mate?”

Sokka falters, his mood switching almost comically fast to fear at the look on Zuko’s face. “Your…ah…what?”

Zuko shakes his head furiously as though he is dispelling water from his ears, trying to stay calm.

He stands from the bed, swinging his legs over the side and pushing to his feet. Sokka’s eyes widen.

“Whoa…”

Zuko ignores him, glancing fiercely around the room, but Sokka steps in front of him. “I was given very strict orders not to let you walk around too much,” he says. “Although what the hell I’m supposed to do to stop you from doing whatever you want is super unclear to me. She conveniently didn’t tell me you’ve gone, like, full dragon. Good god, you’re like a tower. A big, hulking tower.” Sokka pokes Zuko’s arm, peering up at his face, looking distinctly nervous. “Uhh…Zuko, you’re in there, right? Your eyes look all crazed. Can you say something besides, you know, wacky stuff? Because I’m getting a little concerned that you might eat me, and honestly, I think that would be a terrible way to go.”

“Where—” Zuko growls, undeterred, but then the door to the room opens.

A flurry of wings bursts in, followed by Katara carrying a scroll.

Druk greets Zuko with a screech, ruffling his wings. Smooth movements, nothing wrong. Unhurt. Good.

Zuko bumps heads with him affectionately on his way over to Katara.

He staggers more than planned, and his torso twinges, but he’s mostly forgotten his injury. It isn’t important. He’s forgotten everything except instinct. The sun blazes through him, and he sees her face shift when she sees whatever is on his. But then he makes it, grabbing at her, wrapping her up in his arms, curling over her possessively. “Mine.” He burrows his face in her neck and runs his nose slowly along it, breathing in the smell of her. His.

“Good morning to you too, Zuko,” Katara says faintly.

He responds by crushing her tighter to himself and scenting her again.

The sensation that settles over him from doing that is like intoxication, his eyelids drooping. His. Here, safe.

“Hey, so, quick question. What the hell is happening here?”

The voice sounds so indignant, too angry. Zuko does not like that anger directed at his mate.

He half turns over his shoulder and snarls low in his throat, flashing his teeth, an obvious warning.

“Sokka,” says Katara, still faint. “Maybe don’t raise your voice at me. Actually, you might want to leave. This is something new. He’s never been quite, um, like this before—he woke up just before dawn really hurting, so I gave him something for pain. Maybe that’s why he’s so gone right now, maybe he can’t resist the curse as much, or something—”

“I’m not leaving! He looks like he could snap your bones in half with one wrong move!”

“He won’t hurt me, Sokka,” Katara says, and Zuko nuzzles at her neck again, pleased.

The smell of her is divine. He needs to taste her skin. He presses his lips into her neck with a rumbling sigh.

“Are you two—?” Sokka sputters indignantly. “Is that why he was talking about his mate?”

Katara turns her head to look at Sokka. Zuko can feel her body temperature rising. “Wait, what?”

Zuko takes advantage of more exposed skin with her head turned and licks briefly up the side of Katara’s neck.

“Oh, gross! Come on!” Sokka pretends to gag.

“Zuko,” says Katara firmly. “Zuko, come lie down. You’re hurt and you aren’t supposed to be up like this. Remember?”

He allows her to lead him back toward the bed, one gentle hand on his lower back. Druk makes his way over to perch beside the bed, and butts heads with Zuko again as soon as Katara has helped him into it. She quickly draws water.

After sitting on the bed and holding healing water over him for a long time, moving up and down his arms and the rest of his upper body, she looks awed. “He’s healing very quickly,” she says. “Last night this felt completely different.”

“I’m guessing that’s the dragon in him,” says Sokka. “If there’s even any Zuko left, that is.”

Katara throws him an extremely dirty look. “Of course there is. And yes…that may be it. The curse has ramped up in order to heal his body, and I bet that’s also why he’s acting this way. The pain medication probably didn’t help either.”

“Are you two involved?”

“Hand me that stack of parchment on the desk, Sokka. And the brush and ink. I need to note this down.”

“Not until you answer my question.”

“Do you really think this is the best time and place for this conversation?” She glances pointedly at Zuko.

Zuko, for his part, is just on the verge of grabbing her and pulling her into the bed with him. Every cell in his body tells him to do so, wrap himself around her. Protect. Keep. Find food for her, groom her, scent her. He manages to wait.

Sokka falls silent, but he watches Katara as she carefully scrawls something down, with the occasional glance at Zuko. When she finishes writing, Katara says to Sokka, “I need you to go inform people that he’s ill, okay? No meetings, not even if they come to him up here. Trust me, they’ll ask. Tell them no. The Fire Lord can’t see anyone at all today.”

“Boy, what a fun job that’s going to be,” Sokka mutters.

“I know, I’m sorry. It can’t be helped. I don’t think I should leave him.”

“Uh, yeah, he was freaking out when his mate wasn’t here.” Sokka narrows his eyes. “You are involved, aren’t you?”

Katara just sighs. “Sokka, kindly: get out.”

Sokka huffs out an annoyed breath but obeys. At the door he pauses and gives Zuko a wary look, but then he leaves.

Zuko puffs smoke out of his nose and pulls her into the bed as soon as the door is shut. “Mine.”

If he could hear himself clearly, which he really can’t, he would hear that his voice is different, too, deeper and darker. As it is, he only senses Katara’s reaction, the tiny little shift she does to squeeze her legs tighter together. Triumph blazes through him; his nose picks up the smell of her interest, a heady, intoxicating smell. He starts kissing her neck.

“Zuko, I’m very concerned,” she says. “The curse has gotten too powerful. Here, lay back.”

She falters when Zuko takes hold of her wrist. He scents her there, too, rubbing his cheek on her.

“Um…” Katara’s voice comes out high-pitched and uncertain. “So, what’s this about?”

He breathes her in, eyelids fluttering.

“Zuko…?” She takes a shaky breath as she stares at him with wide eyes.

He starts kissing and licking up her arm, marking her, crawling over her and continuing at her neck.

“Oh...” She whimpers a little, wriggling her hips. “Zuko, not right now.”

He pauses from where he’s licking and suckling at spots on her collarbone and looks up at her. “I smell that you want it, and I want to please you. But I shouldn’t please you? No mating?”

“Later. Later is better,” she says breathlessly. “You’re healing and you’re acting really different. I’m scared.”

Zuko recoils instantly. He’s frightened her. He’s supposed to protect her, not frighten her.

What if he scares her away?

“Scared for you,” Katara clarifies, seeing his face. “So I think you should rest, even if you have energy and don’t feel like you need to.” She gently cups his face. “I want to stay right here with you, but we must lie still and relax. Okay?”

Zuko obeys easily, settling in and drawing her in toward his chest, gathering her up and curving around her, following instinct. Encircle, protect. Katara sighs and snuggles her face into his shirt, and his hands weave into her hair. Zuko’s voice rumbles through him, overcome with the feeling of nesting here with her like this. “Mine…” he purrs. “Mine.”

“Yes.” Katara reaches up to stroke his jaw. “I’m yours. You’re mine.”

Zuko rubs his face all in her neck, and his next words come out as a slur. “My mate…no one will hurt you. No one will take you. I will give you everything you want. Would you like babies? I can give you so many babies. Would you like some? No babies will be safer than mine, no mate will be happier than mine—”

“That’s great,” she chokes out. “That’s, um, really great. Let’s talk about this when you’re better. Okay?”

He curls himself tighter to her, content.

Sometimes she gets up, pulls away to run water over him, checking him over, soothing him. But most of the day she spends in the bed with him, curved up against him. Sometimes she naps, and he strokes her hair and kisses her forehead, holding her tighter when she twitches in her sleep. Sokka visits a few times, and she always takes a long time to compose herself before she actually opens the door to the knock. Zuko can smell her excitement all day, putting him in a near frenzy, and he can tell she’s desperate, too, but she insists on no mating, which he doesn’t quite understand.

Because he isn’t hurting. He feels incredible.

But if that’s what she says, that’s what he’ll do. Anything for his mate.

As evening approaches, she says, “I have medicine for you, Zuko.”

Her nipples are peaked through her top, and he licks his lips, suppressing a growl.

She clearly needs him to take care of her. He wants to play with her until she’s incoherent.

But still, she doesn’t ask him to do anything for her. She only has him drink something foul-tasting before she curls up beside him again. It’s growing dark when the drowsiness kicks in, and he feels her kiss his forehead before he fades.

He wakes in the night to something wriggling against him.

Automatically he reaches out to still it, and his hand curves easily around Katara’s entire hip.

“Zuko?” she whispers.

“Mmm?” He’s still half-asleep and groggy, strangely and intensely so. “Is this a dream?” he mumbles.

He hears a quiet, breathless laugh. “No. It’s the middle of the night.”

She stayed the night, then, after she’d driven him out of his mind with her mouth earlier. Was that earlier? That doesn’t seem right. For some reason, Zuko thinks he remembers seeing Sokka. And lying with Katara, cuddled up in the sun.

“Do you remember anything at all?” she says, and something in her voice, a forced casualness, really wakes him up.

He blinks slowly, trying to get his bearings. Why is he so groggy? “Uhh…you mean from our…activities?”

Fuck, she rode his face. And that blowjob. The way she touched herself to it and told him what to do…

His cock twitches and his blood heats.

Another quiet laugh. “No, Zuko. Not that. There was a whole day in between.” Her voice changes, turning a little serious and concerned. “So you don’t remember any of it? Sokka was here. You talked to him. Well, I think you did.”

“You think?” Zuko is wide awake now, alarmed.

Katara shifts, turning over to face him, and a flash of blue looks up at him in the dark. “So, um. The curse evolved.”

“Evolved?” Zuko is aware he just keeps stupidly repeating things she’s saying, but he can’t seem to do anything else.

“Yes. Don’t worry, I think it was temporary. How’s your body? How do you feel?”

“I…” Zuko blinks again. Then he experimentally sits up, and he feels no pain. He moves his arms, bends his legs, nothing. Only when he turns his body does he have a slight reaction, a flash of discomfort. “I feel almost normal.”

“That’s what I thought,” says Katara, sounding pleased that her theory is correct. “I think dragons are very sturdy creatures, and that curse took you over yesterday so you’d heal more like one of them, heal quicker, because there was a lot of damage. So your body is already less battered. And you do sound like yourself again. Yesterday you were…”

Katara trails off awkwardly.

Dread settles over him. “I was what?”

“Well. You were, um. Quite a bit more animal. I wasn’t so sure you were even there sometimes.”

Zuko lies back and stares at the ceiling to process this. Something about how she’s speaking tells him he did something potentially very embarrassing, and he knows he should probably ask what it was, but he wants to hover in blissful ignorance for just a few more moments. But before he can gather himself, Katara asks something else, her voice small.

“Do you remember anything else? From the night before?”

Zuko turns his head again. “No. Should I?”

Katara looks flustered. “No, I just wasn’t sure if—um, no.”

Zuko stares at her. She won’t meet his eyes now and this alarms him even more. “What happened yesterday?”

“Oh. Well.” She clears her throat. “You showed some new symptoms.” When he just watches her pointedly, waiting for her to continue, Katara says, “Well. When you woke up, Sokka was here with you. I still had some things to go over with your top advisor, fill him in on details about getting Druk back, things like that. Sokka described you as being unable to focus on anything except—” Here she pauses, and her throat moves delicately as she swallows. “Your mate.”

Zuko freezes. Oh, shit.

“When I came into the room, you displayed...possessive behavior. You wrapped me up like you were cocooning me or something and you, um…growled at Sokka when he raised his voice at me. We both could tell that it wasn’t really you,” she adds quickly. “Neither of us blame you. I got you to lay down and rest. I was worried and I still didn’t want you to overexert yourself.” She clears her throat again, her cheeks burning now. “Of course there was the usual sex drive. We didn’t do anything,” Katara says, again noticing how Zuko’s face warps into clear horror. “I wasn’t exactly fully comfortable with it yesterday and I thought you might not like it after either. You also had a heightened sense of smell and a need to…curl up and nest with me? And scenting. Oh, and you offered to give me babies.”

“Scenting,” Zuko says dumbly. “Babies.”

He wants to disappear.

“Yes, you would breathe me in and kiss me, mostly my neck and wrists and—get sort of drunk from it.”

“What?” Zuko groans in mortification and tips his head back. “Is that all? Please say that’s all.”

“That’s all,” Katara confirms. “You were with me most of the day. No one else saw you but Sokka. We made sure.”

Zuko makes a mental note to thank Sokka and also fervently beg his forgiveness. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.

Katara wraps her arms around him in a tight hug, snuggling up to him, and rests her head against his chest. “Don’t be.”

“Were you scared of me?” He wraps his arms around her and buries his face in her hair.

“No. I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.” He hears the smile in her voice. “I was a little worried for Sokka, though.”

“He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”

Katara just snorts. “No one in their right mind would look at you and challenge you, Zuko.” There’s a smug tone to that and it makes Zuko far too pleased. Then she adds, “He might have some things to say though. About…us.”

“Oh. He knows?”

She fidgets with his shirt. “Yes. Well, I didn’t outright say it, but yes. I’d definitely say he knows.”

The air in the room grows suddenly very heavy and Zuko has difficulty swallowing. “Does that bother you?”

“No. Does it bother you?”

“No. If I wasn’t trying to hide this dragon thing I think I’d be trying to show you off everywhere.” The words are out before he can fully realize what he’s said, and his mouth snaps shut and his body tenses up in anticipation of her reaction. He was supposed to plan out how to tell her what he felt, not hint at it with things like that. Zuko desperately fishes for something else to say, something that properly conveys what he meant, but Katara speaks before he can.

“Right,” she says, a little flatly. “The dragon wants to show off his mate.”

“No, that’s not—” Horrified, Zuko takes her shoulders and pushes her back to look right into her face. “No. Katara, listen…”

Her expression changes; it turns soft and hopeful. “Yes?”

“Last time when we—in the shower.”

Amusement settles on her face, then it flashes with something rather wicked that makes him throb. “You have such a dirty mouth when you’re inside me, but you can’t directly say ‘when we had sex in the shower?’”

Zuko’s face burns.

He has to tell her. He has to. He can’t have her thinking she isn’t special to him. “Yeah, fine. After we had sex in the shower. You thought that it was just like this with anybody, or it’s all the curse or something, and—I mean, obviously some of the behaviors are, but, ah…it’s—” His throat closes and refuses to open again for several long, painful seconds. “The underlying feelings about you, and about us, that’s me, not—” He growls in frustration. “I’m trying to say—”

Katara puts him out of his fumbling misery by kissing him, slow and soft and sweet.

Zuko swallows and opens his eyes to look at her.

Fuck, she’s beautiful. She’s in his bed. In his life. He has never felt so lucky.

Is it selfish of him, to want to keep her?

Katara’s lashes were lowered, but her gaze raises slowly to meet his.

“I’m in love with you,” he says.

Katara jerks back slightly and stares at him, her eyes going wide. Zuko reaches to hold her jaw.

His heart is racing and he’s never felt so vulnerable. “I love you,” she repeats. “I have for—” he swallows nervously. “So long. Before all this, I loved you. And I love you now, and I’ll love you after this stupid curse is gone, too—”

Katara kisses him again, cutting him off, and there’s a tinge of desperation to it this time, wrapping her arms around his neck and aligning her body with his. “Me too,” she murmurs against his mouth, kissing him and kissing him, and something in him expands and then relaxes. Like his entire body has inhaled contentedly and sighed it out in a long, sweet exhale. “Oh Zuko. Zuko, I love you so much,” she whispers. Katara’s tongue twines with his and Zuko groans low in his throat, his hands coming to hold her hips, before running up and down her sides and pressing into her back.

She eagerly rolls her core toward his clothed cock, sliding along him, moaning into his mouth.

Her clear enthusiasm sends heat barreling through his veins. “Did you miss this yesterday?” He nibbles on her lip.

“Yes,” she whines. “You kept holding me and touching me, and you wanted me so much.” She kisses him again, grinding her hips. “I’ve been awake all night, I can’t think straight. Please, I need you.”

Something wild and possessive surges up in him. She needs him. She trusts him to take care of her. Him.

“I’ll take care of you,” he purrs. His fingers itch and Zuko rolls on top of her, wastes no time in surrounding her body with his. Katara writhes under him and curves as close as possible. “Let me take care of you,” he says, lips on her neck and in her ear. “Mine,” he whispers heatedly into it, rocking his hips hard against hers. “Mine, I love you, mine—”

They tear each other’s clothes off. When she has difficulty with his sashes, Zuko reaches down and pulls the robe off him, and Katara makes a pleased keening sound as soon as his skin settles against hers. Something inside Zuko calms.

He buries his face into her neck and breathes in the scent of her, brushing his nose in the soft juncture of her neck.

Already she is clawing at his shoulders, and when Zuko dips a hand to touch her, he groans. She’s soaked. “Oh, fuck...”

“Please,” Katara gasps. “Please, please—”

They waste no time, both too worked up from the long day on edge. Zuko lines up and sinks into her, slowly and carefully, kissing her as he works her open. He watches her eyes glaze over as she takes every inch of his cock, her hips canting up to his so he can slide deeper. Katara whimpers, lips parting, and her nails dig in harder to his skin.

Zuko holds her jaw in one hand and pins her hips with the other as he keeps pushing into her.

She takes deep, gasping breaths, squeezing him like a hot, wet vice, her body clenching around his. Katara rocks her hips back and forth, fucking herself on him so that he dips in a little more with each ripple of her body. “That’s it,” he praises, a low growl. The curse is there, flickering in his mind, kept tight and steady on a leash, but desperate, wild, all the same. “You needed it so badly. You were desperate to be filled. Look at you taking it. Fuck.”

He pulls out slowly, letting her tremble and shake and whimper for it, before he slams back in.

Her back curves sharply and a sharp cry escapes her throat. “Yes.”

Zuko curves his palms under her knees, pushing her thighs up and wide, and drives into her, stroking tight and deep.

The first time is rough and needy—he pounds her into the mattress, until she comes, thrashing around on the bed, before flipping her over. “Hold the headboard,” he tells her. She complies with a shaky moan. Zuko swoops down and puts his mouth on her. She shudders and bucks backward as he licks her, waits until she’s quivering before he sinks into her from behind. He grips her hips hard, uses them to wrench her back and impale her on him, over and over. He’s covered in her wetness. He caresses her shoulder blades and tells her how good she looks, how much he wants her and needs her.

Without warning, he changes their positions again, sitting and drawing her into his lap.

Curls stick to her face. Her eyes are dazed.

Her mouth falls open when he eases her onto him.

They’re chest to chest and she rocks against him. The whole world reduces to her. She’s around him, over him, before him. Her scent rises from her neck, from between her legs, and it’s for him, it’s his, theirs; he smells her perfume, her want, he feels her heartbeat like it’s a creature that skitters across his skin.

She rocks and moans and they pant and fuck gently and share air, gazes locked. Zuko presses his forehead to hers and traces her cheekbones.

He stares into blue. Deep, fathomless blue.

“Katara,” he murmurs, over a tightness in his throat.

“Zuko…”

She sees him. The way she’s looking at him, it pierces him. She sees him, Zuko, and she always has, hasn’t she? The movement of her hips intensifies. She rides him faster, gasping, floundering for air, grinding hard against his hips—

How was he without her, before? How did he go a day without letting her seep into him, line her skin to his?

“Fuck.” He growls and snaps his hips, hammering up and into her, hand splayed on her spine. “Fuck fuck fuck—”

They break.

He loses shape. The edges of him seem to melt away and the anchor to everything are her sounds and the feel of her tightening. He comes long and hard and crushes her to him as she shakes in his arms. Everything is a kaleidoscope of color and light and it’s perfect, she’s perfect; he wants to keep her, forever, his, and that has never just been the curse.

Boneless, Katara slumps. He reforms to ensure that she is whole.

He catches her before she hits the mattress and eases her back, crawling over her and kissing her body. He licks and kisses at her neck and her face and her lips.

Katara kisses back even as she starts to fade away.

Zuko’s final transformation goes as well as anyone can hope.

His body, thanks to the curse, was fully healed beforehand, and after he returns back to the palace and Katara heals him, Zuko feels odd. A numb sense of disbelief that it’s over; relief; curiosity about what is going to happen to him now.

Already his craving for meat has dissipated. His sex drive, while healthy, has reduced.

He thinks his feet are starting to get smaller, which could suggest that he will return to his normal height and size.

He is, however, not too bothered about whatever comes next, not really.

He will, after all, have Katara.

For now, Katara will split her time between the Fire Nation and the Southern Water Tribe. Now that his transformations have passed, she will be heading home for a month or two, after her long summer in the Fire Nation, but there is a trip they want to make first, and several days after the transformation, they pack their bags.

Druk is deeply pleased about the journey.

He waits at strict attention, vibrating with importance as Zuko helps Katara onto his back. She is smug about the fact that she is the more experienced dragon rider at this point, but having flown around as a dragon once a week, Zuko is, understandably, comfortable up in the air. The journey takes only a day of flying, and the Sun Warrior civilization looms on the horizon, jagged mountains rising at the skyline, which has turned a glowing orange-pink during the sunset.

Ran and Shaw emerge from their lairs, and Katara makes a surprised little squeaking sound.

Druk has grown immensely, but he is not full-grown, and Ran and Shaw dwarf him.

His dragon shrieks, pleased, and as soon as they dismount, he swoops over to greet his parents.

Zuko and Katara watch as the dragons fly around each other in spiraling arcs and twirls, nosing and headbutting, playful and affectionate. When he peeks sideways at her, the soft smile on his face brings his heart to a near standstill. She nestles into his side as he slings an arm around her, drawing her close.

“Crazy summer, huh?” Katara says after a while, after Ran and Shaw and Druk have landed in a tangle of serpentine coils, though as she says it, Ran and Shaw, strikingly red and blue, slither into their holes in the mountain once more.

“Yeah,” Zuko says. “You sure you aren’t going to miss dragon Zuko?”

She pats his chest. “I always wanted regular Zuko.”

The curse has not passed so entirely that Zuko doesn’t preen visibly at these words, and Katara laughs.

She stops abruptly when she notices that Ran and Shaw have emerged, and are flying toward them. They land as near as they safely can, with an earth-shattering rumble, and Katara quickly scrabbles to clutch onto Zuko’s tunic, eyes wide.

The ancient dragons tilt their head at the couple.

Then, Ran unfolds his wing, stoops, and pushes something across the ground with his snout.

It rolls gently on the stone and nudges the tip of Zuko’s boot. He picks up the golden dragon egg. It’s warm.

Katara gives an astonished gasp. “Is that…?”

“Yeah,” Zuko breathes, then looks up at the dragons towering over him. “You want me to help with this one, too?”

They peer at him. Last time, Zuko heard voices in his head. This time there is only silence.

“I mean, I can,” Zuko says. “No curse this time, right?”

Shaw snorts out a furl of smoke, which Zuko thinks might be a show of amusement. He grins.

The two dragons move closer. Beside him, Katara goes as still as a stone, and doesn’t seem to be breathing. And then—astoundingly—Ren and Shaw each reach out with a single wing and wrap Zuko and Katara up, briefly, in an embrace.

When they are released, Druk is there, waiting to take them home. The new dragon egg is clutched carefully in Katara’s hands; Zuko pulls her into his side again once they’re mounted. The urge to constantly touch her and have her near has not yet faded, either. Druk takes off in a beating of powerful wings.

“Hey,” Zuko says, watching her examine the egg, enraptured by the awe on her face.

He will never tire of looking at her.

Katara glances up at him. “Hm?”

“I love you."

Her answering smile is more brilliant than the sun slowly sinking away into night behind them. “I love you, too.”

The wind whips powerfully around their faces. Together, they touch the golden egg; it pulses faintly, like a little heartbeat.

The dragons are coming back.