Categories > Cartoons > Avatar: The Last Airbender
Near Perfect
by ingrid
~*~
The smell of smoke is always in the air aboard a Fire Nation vessel, but the scent of burnt hair and flesh cuts through that; thickly bitter, making Azula wrinkle her nose on the inhale.
The smell is familiar for other reasons and it makes her smile to remember the first time she noticed it. In her father's court, at the Agni Kai where poor Zuzu whimpered and pleaded and oh, the grand humiliation ... it's funny still.
Strange how that memory will make things a lot easier.
The holding room is tiny. The walls and floor are metal (no wood aboard a Fire Nation ship), holding nothing but a chair decorated with buckled restraints. Those are leather, because leather is slow to burn, causing more injury than help to the person who'd be foolish enough to attempt an escape from them through firebending.
Ever thorough, she'd tested this on one of her crew first, commanding them to try and firebend their way out or die and wasn't satisfied until their blackened wrist bones showed, while the leather remained more or less intact, holding them there, screaming, as she watched.
There's no way Zuko is getting out and away. Not this time.
Zuko. Even though the temptation to call him Zuzu to his face is still there, Azula has little time for those sorts of fun and games. He's here now for questioning, bound to the chair by his ankles, wrists and waist, no escape likely.
It's one traitor down, one traitor to go, as Iroh, that old fat uncle of hers has slipped the net ... again.
It's that stupid near perfection that plagues her, but Azula's determined she's not going home until the old bastard is captured or dead and for this end, Zuko will be useful.
In truth, it will probably be the only useful thing the whining baby has ever done in his entire, pathetic life.
Casually, Azula examines the burns he received in their battle, darkening as they fan up from the old scar Father gave him. The redness stops at his burnt hair and Azula touches the strange widow's peak left behind, inidifferent to his hot glare.
Zuko's rage crackles like lightning on the inside, all directed at her and Azula makes a point of ignoring it as she walks around the chair, alone with him and feeling just that much more ... alive. It thrills her to finally have caught him, this proud brother of hers who thought he could beat her, his weak fire against her blue power.
How foolish could any man be, especially one who knew her so well?
No doubt he's fantasizing about killing her. Zuko was always a little full of himself, she thinks, amused. He's no doubt filled with a sense of being oh-so-princely and defiant, even in the face of Azula's scorn. Even in the face of utter defeat.
It's why Father sent Azula in the first place. The great brat prince, beaten by his little sister, would be the final stick upon the pyre of Zuko's pride.
A fitting end to the /Agni Kai/.
Now, if only she can find out where Iroh hides. When asked again, Zuko's expression's turns to a facade of placidness and Azula can't help but play with him a little, running her finger along the edges of his scar, scratching her nails along the more tender parts of his fresher burns, enjoying his squirm of pain.
The response gives her a little thrill, bad girl that she is. Quickly, her caress turns more intimate, the pad of her thumb rubbing along his lower lip and Azula is amused to see him look up at her, startled.
"Poor Zuzu," she murmurs, again and again, her fingers touching his mouth, the gesture slowly becoming more obscene. "Poor, poor Zuzu."
Finally, he whips his head away, but she grabs him by the singed hair and yanks him back, forcing his chin up with her free hand, making him look at her. Making him see her.
Azula wants him to know who's in control here. Not Uncle, not their father, certainly not their weakling mother ... but her. Azula, princess and soon-to-be ruler of the Fire Nation. Of the /world/. Her ambitions are laid out plain for him to see and him alone, for no one else needs to know until it's too late. Far too late.
Zuko just stares. There's still a trace of insolent smirk there and Azula longs to wipe it off with a brandish of flame, but there are other ways to burn obedience into a stupid boy. If he wants to smile ...
Heavens, how easy it is to trace her fingers down past the hanging buttons of his tattered shirt. Below the leather waist restraint and lightly ... so lightly ... slide her hand between his spread legs, cupping the bulge there, making him gurgle with ...
Pain? Shock? Frustrated desire?
It doesn't matter. It's a triumph to feel him jump beneath her touch, to listen to his stifled moans as she massages him to hardness. His teeth are grit so hard she's almost afraid they'll crack and the thought makes her giggle.
As does his erection, which thumps hot and obvious against her hand. "Good boy," she purrs, enjoying the half-stunned, half-horrified look on his face. "Too bad we're having such a hard time communicating right now, or else we could have a little bit of fun."
"Azula ..." his strangled voice trails away as she unzips him and takes him fully in hand, jacking him gently.
She runs the pad of her thumb over and around the moisture at the tip of his cock and now the restraints meet their challenge, as he bucks and writhes against them, eyes screwed shut, his face taut with a mixture of pleasure and shame.
"Where is he, Zuko?" she whispers, her hand never stopping. "Tell me and I'll let you come."
Sweat is rolling down his forehead, the saltwater no doubt burning his wounds and he gasps, shaking his head. "Stop ... Azula ..."
"You only have to tell me and we can be friends, Zuko. More than friends even. Just tell me."
Panting, he's so close and Azula feels a thick spiral of heat snake down her belly, pooling fire between her legs and she can't help but lick her lips, wishing she could take a tiny taste of him ... suck him ... scrape him with her teeth and hear him scream.
Zuko's mouth hangs open, whether in horror or pleasure, it doesn't matter. Azula takes advantage of this, kissing him savagely, stabbing her tongue into his mouth, licking at it the way she wants to lick at his shaft and soon, he groans against her lips, going limp, his entire body bending beneath her will -- defeated.
A little dazed, Azula pulls back, her hand never stopping until she feels a familiar pulse against her palm, hot wetness spilling over her fingertips, making the defeat lining Zuko's reddened features just that much sweeter.
Breathing hard, he opens his eyes and tries to set his focus somewhere past Azula's shoulder, but she knows better, seeing the shudder crawl over his body as she licks her fingers clean before him, one by one.
"Maybe it is futile to ask you where Iroh is. Perhaps he's dead after all," Azula says, delicately tonguing away the last bits of Zuko's come from her knuckles. "Which is a shame, really, as I didn't get to bury him in a traitor's grave."
His throat works as he swallows. "Why don't you kill me, Azula?"
"Kill you?" She laughs with genuine humor at this. "Not if I can help it. The reward will be doubled, I'm sure, for you alive. Father still has a score to settle, I'm thinking."
Zuko's cheeks redden at this. His mouth opens, as if to say something, but he quickly shuts it again.
"You don't have anyone, do you, brother? Except for me." Azula smiles. It's a smile she's practiced, just like all her other skills, almost to perfection. "You might want to keep that in mind."
Zuko's hands pull in small, futile jerks at the leather, his fists convulsively clenching, then unclenching. His eyes are filled with eloquent and hateful things, but his lips are silent.
Mostly. "I hate you. You might want to keep that in mind."
"True." She nods, before rapping her fist against the prison door. Two huge Fire Nation soldiers enter, both of them carrying various instruments of torture, displayed openly before the prisoner. Her /brother/. "But you're making a mistake if you think I don't like things that way."
Zuko glances from her to the devices and she leaves him with that thought, vaguely hoping it doesn't take too long to get the information out of him, that he won't be maimed permanently. It's just Iroh, after all -- but if he is ....
The door closes behind her. There are screams that eventually follow, muted, and Azula raises her fingers to her lips for one last faint taste of him.
She closes her eyes and thinks, /bittersweet/, just the way she likes it and yes, if he ends up maimed by his stubbornness ...
She'll make do.
~*~
end
Feedback/reviews is always appreciated, bad girl that I am. :D
by ingrid
~*~
The smell of smoke is always in the air aboard a Fire Nation vessel, but the scent of burnt hair and flesh cuts through that; thickly bitter, making Azula wrinkle her nose on the inhale.
The smell is familiar for other reasons and it makes her smile to remember the first time she noticed it. In her father's court, at the Agni Kai where poor Zuzu whimpered and pleaded and oh, the grand humiliation ... it's funny still.
Strange how that memory will make things a lot easier.
The holding room is tiny. The walls and floor are metal (no wood aboard a Fire Nation ship), holding nothing but a chair decorated with buckled restraints. Those are leather, because leather is slow to burn, causing more injury than help to the person who'd be foolish enough to attempt an escape from them through firebending.
Ever thorough, she'd tested this on one of her crew first, commanding them to try and firebend their way out or die and wasn't satisfied until their blackened wrist bones showed, while the leather remained more or less intact, holding them there, screaming, as she watched.
There's no way Zuko is getting out and away. Not this time.
Zuko. Even though the temptation to call him Zuzu to his face is still there, Azula has little time for those sorts of fun and games. He's here now for questioning, bound to the chair by his ankles, wrists and waist, no escape likely.
It's one traitor down, one traitor to go, as Iroh, that old fat uncle of hers has slipped the net ... again.
It's that stupid near perfection that plagues her, but Azula's determined she's not going home until the old bastard is captured or dead and for this end, Zuko will be useful.
In truth, it will probably be the only useful thing the whining baby has ever done in his entire, pathetic life.
Casually, Azula examines the burns he received in their battle, darkening as they fan up from the old scar Father gave him. The redness stops at his burnt hair and Azula touches the strange widow's peak left behind, inidifferent to his hot glare.
Zuko's rage crackles like lightning on the inside, all directed at her and Azula makes a point of ignoring it as she walks around the chair, alone with him and feeling just that much more ... alive. It thrills her to finally have caught him, this proud brother of hers who thought he could beat her, his weak fire against her blue power.
How foolish could any man be, especially one who knew her so well?
No doubt he's fantasizing about killing her. Zuko was always a little full of himself, she thinks, amused. He's no doubt filled with a sense of being oh-so-princely and defiant, even in the face of Azula's scorn. Even in the face of utter defeat.
It's why Father sent Azula in the first place. The great brat prince, beaten by his little sister, would be the final stick upon the pyre of Zuko's pride.
A fitting end to the /Agni Kai/.
Now, if only she can find out where Iroh hides. When asked again, Zuko's expression's turns to a facade of placidness and Azula can't help but play with him a little, running her finger along the edges of his scar, scratching her nails along the more tender parts of his fresher burns, enjoying his squirm of pain.
The response gives her a little thrill, bad girl that she is. Quickly, her caress turns more intimate, the pad of her thumb rubbing along his lower lip and Azula is amused to see him look up at her, startled.
"Poor Zuzu," she murmurs, again and again, her fingers touching his mouth, the gesture slowly becoming more obscene. "Poor, poor Zuzu."
Finally, he whips his head away, but she grabs him by the singed hair and yanks him back, forcing his chin up with her free hand, making him look at her. Making him see her.
Azula wants him to know who's in control here. Not Uncle, not their father, certainly not their weakling mother ... but her. Azula, princess and soon-to-be ruler of the Fire Nation. Of the /world/. Her ambitions are laid out plain for him to see and him alone, for no one else needs to know until it's too late. Far too late.
Zuko just stares. There's still a trace of insolent smirk there and Azula longs to wipe it off with a brandish of flame, but there are other ways to burn obedience into a stupid boy. If he wants to smile ...
Heavens, how easy it is to trace her fingers down past the hanging buttons of his tattered shirt. Below the leather waist restraint and lightly ... so lightly ... slide her hand between his spread legs, cupping the bulge there, making him gurgle with ...
Pain? Shock? Frustrated desire?
It doesn't matter. It's a triumph to feel him jump beneath her touch, to listen to his stifled moans as she massages him to hardness. His teeth are grit so hard she's almost afraid they'll crack and the thought makes her giggle.
As does his erection, which thumps hot and obvious against her hand. "Good boy," she purrs, enjoying the half-stunned, half-horrified look on his face. "Too bad we're having such a hard time communicating right now, or else we could have a little bit of fun."
"Azula ..." his strangled voice trails away as she unzips him and takes him fully in hand, jacking him gently.
She runs the pad of her thumb over and around the moisture at the tip of his cock and now the restraints meet their challenge, as he bucks and writhes against them, eyes screwed shut, his face taut with a mixture of pleasure and shame.
"Where is he, Zuko?" she whispers, her hand never stopping. "Tell me and I'll let you come."
Sweat is rolling down his forehead, the saltwater no doubt burning his wounds and he gasps, shaking his head. "Stop ... Azula ..."
"You only have to tell me and we can be friends, Zuko. More than friends even. Just tell me."
Panting, he's so close and Azula feels a thick spiral of heat snake down her belly, pooling fire between her legs and she can't help but lick her lips, wishing she could take a tiny taste of him ... suck him ... scrape him with her teeth and hear him scream.
Zuko's mouth hangs open, whether in horror or pleasure, it doesn't matter. Azula takes advantage of this, kissing him savagely, stabbing her tongue into his mouth, licking at it the way she wants to lick at his shaft and soon, he groans against her lips, going limp, his entire body bending beneath her will -- defeated.
A little dazed, Azula pulls back, her hand never stopping until she feels a familiar pulse against her palm, hot wetness spilling over her fingertips, making the defeat lining Zuko's reddened features just that much sweeter.
Breathing hard, he opens his eyes and tries to set his focus somewhere past Azula's shoulder, but she knows better, seeing the shudder crawl over his body as she licks her fingers clean before him, one by one.
"Maybe it is futile to ask you where Iroh is. Perhaps he's dead after all," Azula says, delicately tonguing away the last bits of Zuko's come from her knuckles. "Which is a shame, really, as I didn't get to bury him in a traitor's grave."
His throat works as he swallows. "Why don't you kill me, Azula?"
"Kill you?" She laughs with genuine humor at this. "Not if I can help it. The reward will be doubled, I'm sure, for you alive. Father still has a score to settle, I'm thinking."
Zuko's cheeks redden at this. His mouth opens, as if to say something, but he quickly shuts it again.
"You don't have anyone, do you, brother? Except for me." Azula smiles. It's a smile she's practiced, just like all her other skills, almost to perfection. "You might want to keep that in mind."
Zuko's hands pull in small, futile jerks at the leather, his fists convulsively clenching, then unclenching. His eyes are filled with eloquent and hateful things, but his lips are silent.
Mostly. "I hate you. You might want to keep that in mind."
"True." She nods, before rapping her fist against the prison door. Two huge Fire Nation soldiers enter, both of them carrying various instruments of torture, displayed openly before the prisoner. Her /brother/. "But you're making a mistake if you think I don't like things that way."
Zuko glances from her to the devices and she leaves him with that thought, vaguely hoping it doesn't take too long to get the information out of him, that he won't be maimed permanently. It's just Iroh, after all -- but if he is ....
The door closes behind her. There are screams that eventually follow, muted, and Azula raises her fingers to her lips for one last faint taste of him.
She closes her eyes and thinks, /bittersweet/, just the way she likes it and yes, if he ends up maimed by his stubbornness ...
She'll make do.
~*~
end
Feedback/reviews is always appreciated, bad girl that I am. :D
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