A/N: Hey look, I wrote a thing! This is a oneshot written for my dear friend Beanaroony, who wanted some early season three Zutara. And because I love her and because I love Zutara, I wrote it (and it got away from me a little bit. A lot). So here it is! In which: Katara buys some mangos, is demanded things by Zuko, and demands some things in return.
"We need more meat," Sokka said, his hand on Katara's shoulder. "Just way more meat in general."
"Sokka, what we need is rice, vegetables," Katara told him, "food that will last us a while. I don't like coming to the market too much."
"Why not? It's perfectly fine." Sokka gestured to his outfit, stolen from a Fire Nation laundry line. "We're in.." he leaned in and whispered "disguise."
Katara rolled her eyes. There wasn't time for her to put up with Sokka's blustering; the way she saw it, the less time they spent in the market, the better. It just made her nervous. "Aang, you go with Sokka and make sure he doesn't spend all our money on meat, okay"
"Sure!" Aang perked up. "Don't worry Katara, I've got him under control. Flameo, hotman."
He gave her and Toph a weird little salute, and dragged Sokka off.
"Do you really trust those guys by themselves?" Toph asked, kicking her feet in the dirt. Katara shrugged.
"Aang will make sure Sokka doesn't waste all of our money," Katara said, pushing through a crowd of rather large people. "I just want to buy what we need, and get out of here."
Everything about the Fire Nation gave her the creeps. Everything, the volcanoes, the parks, the way people glared with various shades of gold in their eyes. Toph said she liked the heat, but Katara hated it. It was suffocating. But ever since they'd been forced to hide there, Katara found herself finding small things that weren't so bad, things like fire lilies, or the way the sunset always seemed so close. Even as much as she missed the smell of salt or the brightness of snow, she had to admit that she loved how warm the water was.
But that still didn't change how she felt about the Fire Nation.
"Can we get something that doesn't taste like mush for once?" Toph complained as they shopped. "And I'm tired of all this spicy food."
"I am too," Katara admitted. "But we just have to put up with it, I guess."
Katara paid for a small bag of rice, and went on to the next stall. Toph yawned. She really hated shopping, Toph, and Katara supposed it was something to do with the fact that she never had much sway when it came to final purchasing decisions. Toph, it seemed, always wanted to buy the biggest and most extravagant things, but they just couldn't get away with things like that. Not when they were traveling.
"Here," Katara conceded, dropping a few silver pieces into the girl's palm. "Can you buy us some star fruit? I want to get this done as quickly as possible."
"How am I supposed to tell where they're selling star fruit?" Toph deadpanned. "I can't see."
"Right," Katara flushed a little, and poked at some mangos with a finger.
"Star fruits are at the end of the line," the woman behind the mango stand said. "Guy's got a wooden leg, I think."
"That's good enough for me," Toph said, and went off. Katara called an obligatory be careful after her; the separation made her feel all a bit uneasy, but Toph could take care of herself, and for that matter, so could she. Not that she was expecting an altercation.
She wasn't.
"How much for the mangos?" she asked the woman, holding one in each hand. The woman opened her mouth to answer, and then closed it again with a bit of a wide look in her eyes. Katara turned, and saw a group of soldiers coming down the path, all lined up in neat rows. Her stomach did a flip.
Turning back to the stand, Katara gestured with the mangos again, to indicate that she wanted to buy them, and that she wasn't put off by the appearance of Fire Nation soldiers, not even a little. But the woman looked nervous, and kept peering around Katara's shoulder. Katara couldn't tell why; wasn't this usual business?
Because she couldn't stand not knowing, she asked. "Is everything okay?"
"Three silver pieces each," the woman said, not taking her eyes of the parade of soldiers. "For the mangos." She paused, and lowered her voice to a low, gruff whisper. "Best keep your head down. Whenever they come in, it's for trouble."
Katara resisted the instinct to turn her head again. "The soldiers, you mean? What are they doing here?"
The woman shrugged. "No clue. That's six silver pieces for both of those mangos."
Katara handed her the money, and put the mangos in her basket. Pushing her way back into the crowd, she slipped past the soldiers, and looked for her friends. It was stupid to separate, absolutely stupid.
Katara pushed the thought away. No one was getting captured. There was no reason they would suspect her; she'd fooled every single Fire Nation civilian she'd come across so far, and a few soldiers at that. The only people in the entire Fire Nation who would be able to uncover her identity were probably hidden away in the palace.
The palace.
The thought made her stomach twist, thoughts of smoke and lies and lips, so she pushed them away.
Ba Sing Se means nothing, she said again, like she told herself every time thoughts of Prince Zuko sprang back into her head. Nothing.
She walked, and Katara caught pieces of conversation, small whispers that trailed across the suddenly silent marketplace. I didn't know he'd come back. I thought he was never going to be allowed back. What a shame about that face.
What a shame about that scar.
Katara ignored it all, and kept walking. She kept her head bowed, because the whispers made her nervous, but they were nothing, really, just whispers, careless pieces of words that didn't mean anything.
Plenty of people had scars.
Because Zuko, she was sure, was in the palace, back where he always wanted to be; he didn't have time to be inspecting marketplaces or ordering soldiers around, he had important Fire Nation things to do, she was sure. Things that were so important, he could get away with pulling her onto his side, just for a breath, only to turn around and betray her seconds later.
Katara bit her bottom lip, and purposefully didn't think about how it had felt between Prince Zuko's teeth.
And so she continued to shop, if anything just to keep her mind off all of these things. The soldiers, it seemed, were moving on, like they were just doing inspections of the stalls. Since that didn't particularly affect her, she let her mind go back to a gentle ease, and concentrated on filling her basket with things that would last them a while.
In fact, she'd almost forgotten about the soldiers until a hand, firm and bone white, pressed onto her shoulder.
"Disguising yourself as Fire Nation? That's cute," a voice rasped from behind her, and Katara jumped, feeling like all of the air had been sucked from her lungs. Dread rushed through her, crashed and hissed under her skin, and she coiled, because that voice was predatory and lethal and in her ear.
Katara started to turn, and opened her mouth to yell, but Zuko grabbed her wrists and yanked them to the small of her back.
"Get away from me," she hissed at him, fighting against his grip. He was strong. And the last time she'd seen him...
Well, the last time she'd seen him, he'd done to her both the best thing and the worst thing. There was no speaking for the anger welling in her chest, no fathoming of the volume at which she wanted to scream at him, no telling how he was even restraining her, with the ferocity of which she wanted to slap him. Slap him, hurt him, really hurt him, because what else could she do?
What else could she do to the boy who'd kissed her, and then betrayed her?
"You're going to come with me," he said with that stupid rough voice, the one that in the catacombs, had made it sound like he was hurt. Lost. Confused. Katara hated it. "And you're not going to make it harder for yourself than it has to be."
"No," she spat, struggling, but metal restraints clamped around her wrists, and soldiers stared at her, the dark, empty sockets of their helmets both frightening and unnerving. "I'm not going with you anywhere."
"You don't have a choice," Zuko said, passing her off to a guard, and stepping around to look at her. "I have some questions I need to ask you."
Katara scowled at him, and fought against her restraints, but two soldiers came up behind her and held her by the shoulders, so she just glared at the prince, and hoped to all the spirits that Aang and Sokka would hear the altercation and come sniffing, or Toph, who had to know what was going on. Katara couldn't very well waterbend without use of her hands. She kicked herself for not being more careful.
"What questions?" she asked, allowing herself to become still. Panic still hammered in her chest, but she forced it inward.
"Not here," he told her. "We're taking you back to the palace."
"And then what?" she shouted as they dragged her along, walking back in formation with Zuko at the head of the group. "And then you'll let me go?"
Zuko took a second to answer that.
"Not exactly," he said.
The likelihood that Aang had been captured as well was slim. If he had been, she knew, no one would even be bothering her. She was just the Avatar's waterbender. At least, that's what she'd heard someone call her, like she didn't seem of anything of worth to them. The thought made her angry, because if she had to, she could tear down every soldier in the palace. She could freeze them all to their bones and slip away, she could.
But they hadn't given her the chance. Either they hadn't given her the chance or she was caught in some stupid, blind panic; being brought to the palace, being locked in a room that had every intention of being a cell, being told she was going to be questioned—it didn't give her time to think, to breathe, even. It was too much.
It was too much and hadn't the war done enough to her already?
So she paced, feet cutting hard circles on the floor, eyes flicking around the room, looking for something, anything that would get her out. It wasn't the first time she'd been imprisoned, but this was also the first time she'd been brought to the heart of the very place which she hated. And for what purpose? Maybe the soldiers thought her insignificant, maybe even the princess did, but Zuko didn't. Countless times, it seemed, she'd fought him, and every time, every time, she'd bested him. And he knew that, he had to know that, he had to be afraid of her, just a little, or else he wouldn't have her locked away like this.
She bit down on her lip, angry. No, Katara's only importance to Zuko was her closeness with Aang.
The thought, for whatever reason, was bitter.
For the first few days of her capture, Katara had fought tooth and nail to escape. She'd searched the cell a hundred times over, trying to find something, anything she could bend with, but there was nothing. Even if she had water, even if she had an entire waterskin worth of it, she still didn't think it would be enough. The door was heavy, and meant to keep her contained.
It was humiliating.
And Zuko hadn't even bothered with her, not yet. He hadn't come to ask the questions he'd said he would; just put her in a holding cell, and left her. Sometimes, when she got tired of pacing, she felt herself just staring at the door, waiting for someone to come through, someone other than the surly man who came in three times a day to slide a tray of rice across the floor to her feet. She realized that more often than not, she wished that person was Zuko. Just so she could finally get her hands on him, claw at his face with her nails, if they weren't going to give her any damn water.
Katara found herself curled on the bed, arms wrapped around her legs, staring crossly at the hinges on the door. Hinges that, if they were frozen, would snap so easily. Hinges did that. Hinges, locks, chains, anything.
The door slid open, and he came in. Zuko.
Katara startled and righted herself, fists clenching in the blankets on her stupid, small, Fire Nation bed.
The shout came out of her throat before there were even words attached. "What kind of sick game are you playing?" she yelled, not giving him time to shut the door before she did. "Keeping me locked in here for days, barely giving me food, or...or water, treating me like some sort of animal..."
"Katara, quiet," he demanded, his eyes sharp, heavy. "I'm not telling them how to feed you."
"You said you wanted to ask me questions," she said, spitting. "Well? What are they?"
Zuko kept his lips pulled in a tight line, and looked her over slowly.
"I want you to tell me if the Avatar is alive," he said, his voice low.
That took her by surprise.
"What?"
And Zuko screamed. "Tell me if he's alive!"
Sparks spit from his tongue, and Katara drew back. This wasn't the Zuko she'd been with in the catacombs, this wasn't even the Zuko who betrayed her. This Zuko was even angrier, somehow.
Katara took in a breath, remembered the lie, and crumpled her face at him. "No," she choked. "Your sister killed him."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Don't lie to me," he growled, keeping his eyes on her as she stood up. "Because that won't end up well for your or your friends."
"You got what you wanted," she yelled, clenching her fists. "so why can't you leave us all alone? Aang is dead."
He wasn't. Katara knew he wasn't. But he had been, and saying it, saying those words only made her feel worse, and it was all Zuko's fault, all his stupid fault.
"I know he isn't dead," Zuko snarled at her, coming closer. "And stop crying. You aren't doing a very good job of convincing me."
Katara raised her eyes to him, forced herself to keep her eyes on his face, that snarling, angry face, that one she hated for kissing, that one she hated for wanting to heal, that face she hated looking at because even now, she knew there was something else under that skin.
And she hated that.
And there it was, the question, rising out of her throat before she could stop it. "Why did you kiss me?"
The was silence.
He didn't even move. Zuko just stood, his shoulders too rigid, his hair too neat and pulled back, the lines around his eyes deep and dark, like he hadn't slept. There was a rise of his shoulders, a sharp inhale.
"You're not supposed to be the one asking questions," he finally said.
"Well, I want an answer," Katara demanded, her anger rising. "You kissed me, Zuko, in Ba Sing Se. And no one knows but you and me, and I deserve an explanation. I deserve to know why you kissed me, and then turned your back on me."
"I didn't betray you," Zuko told her, not yelling anymore. Why wasn't he yelling? "A...a kiss isn't a pledge of allegiance. It's just not."
"Then what was it?"
"It..." he made a frustrated noise, and pushed a hand to his head, like he wanted to run his fingers through his hair, but his hair was too tight, pulled back too far to do that. "I don't know, what does it matter?"
"It matters because it...because it mattered," Katara finished lamely, staring at him through the space, all that space between them; the space she wasn't supposed to be noticing.
Zuko didn't quite look like he knew what to say to that. And she glimpsed it then, that boy, that boy from the catacombs. Who told her he'd lost his mother, and that he was sorry. I'm sorry too, Katara had wanted to say, because suddenly he'd looked so upset. I'm sorry.
"What?"
It wasn't a snap. It wasn't spitting, or derisive, just sort of flat and hollow, like he couldn't possibly believe like something like that could have meant anything.
"Forget it," Katara muttered, turning away from him. "Obviously you just did it to manipulate me. I'm not stupid, Zuko. Now I've told you what you want, so let me go, and let go whoever else you've managed to trap in your," she made her hands into claws, "clutches."
Zuko didn't say anything. She really hated the way he did that, really hated it; like the silence was enough of a conversation for him, like just standing there and looking angry was enough of a form of communication. As if she was supposed to be able to understand him, all from that.
What was frightening about it, was that she felt like she nearly could.
"You're going to stay here," Zuko said, looking at her with narrowed eyes, "until you tell me everything."
Katara protested, but he turned to leave. She even nearly tried to fight her way past him, but against him without water, she had to concede that it would be a stupid decision to try anything like that.
With a quiet sigh of defeat, she turned to him, one last time.
"Do you have any of my friends?" she asked.
Zuko looked at her. "No."
He stepped out of the room, metal boots clicking against the floor, and shut the door. It swung shut, heavy with it's own weight, and settled into the doorframe with a heavy sigh. Slumping down on her bed, Katara put her forehead in her hands, and pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth.
She tried to sleep. But she couldn't keep worrying about her brother, Aang, Toph, who would be in much more trouble than she was if they came looking for her. Because then Zuko would finally have what he wanted, wouldn't he? The Avatar?
And what would he do with him, once he finally had him?
Katara didn't know.
She tried not to worry about it.
The next time the door slid open, it was Zuko again.
"More questions?" Katara started, but he scowled at her.
"I know the Avatar isn't dead," he said. "I know it."
Pulling her face into a frown, Katara crossed her legs, and sat on her bed. The bed, it was never her bed. This was a cell, a prison, no matter how comfortable it was.
"Then why are you even asking?" Katara folded her arms. "If you're so sure?"
"I want you to tell me," Zuko said. "I want to hear it from you."
"You did hear it from me," Katara kept her eyes hard. "He's dead. Azula killed him."
"You're still lying to me," he growled. "I don't like being lied to."
"Maybe it's only fair."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"After what you did, what makes you think I'm going to tell you anything?"
"So he is alive."
"That's not what that means!"
Zuko scowled again. He seemed to be always doing that. She couldn't quite figure out why. After all, he'd got what he wanted. He went home. He had that stupid crown in his hair again. He was, down to his bones, Prince of the Fire Nation. And somehow, Katara had allowed herself to forget that.
But she wouldn't forget it again. Not after what he did. Not after what he did to her, to her friends, to Aang. Even if he wasn't dead.
Anymore.
Katara shivered.
"Look," Zuko said, taking a few steps towards her. By instinct, Katara pulled back, shifting back on the mattress. Sheets fisted in her hands, and she stared up at him, hoping he realized that she was still a threat, no matter how little water there was in the room. Even if there was none. If he wanted to fight, she'd make it a fight. And when she looked at him, she tried so hard to channel all of that fury, all of that unreleased rage. "I just want to know. It would make everything easier; for both of us."
"And what," she asked, her breath just the slightest bit ragged, "would it mean if he was alive?"
And Zuko didn't move. Stoic, why was he suddenly so stoic? This was Zuko, who couldn't control his anger, who couldn't hide a facial expression if his life depended on it.
"A lot of things," was his quiet answer.
That dangerous rush of sympathy came back, and she vehemently ignored it.
"Maybe you deserve those things."
"Yeah," he said. "Maybe."
Katara glared at him. "Don't you dare," she snapped, "don't you dare do this again!" And she shot to her feet, she stormed up to him, jabbed an angry finger into his chest. "The last time you did this, my best friend ended up dead. The world's only hope for peace, dead."
"I'd be a lot more convinced if you were any good at lying," Zuko told her. "I've dealt with liars before, Katara, and all of them are better than you."
"I'm not going to tell you," she whispered.
Zuko's eyes flicked to the floor, and when he wasn't looking at her, she tried to figure out how to deal with the way her name sounded when it was said in his voice. His voice, Prince Zuko's, a boy she hated. A boy she kissed.
A boy she wanted to kiss again.
Katara glared at him.
"I'm not letting you go until you tell me," he said. "Who knows what'll happen if he and your brother come try and bust you out. Then my father will have him." Zuko took a second look at her seriously, something heavy still hanging like dead weight in his eyes. "And then you're gonna wish you told me something."
Katara wrung her hands. Zuko was right, damn him, he was right, and she was backed into a corner, backed into a corner with nothing; no water, no anything, except...
She looked at him, the prince, and frowned.
"You kissed me," she said again. "Why?"
"Because," he supplied, "I guess I wanted to."
"You guess?" Her voice was getting shrill, but she didn't care. "You can't just...you can't just do that and say it's because you wanted to, you guess, you have to..."
And Zuko was kissing her. Again.
Really, she was going to push him away. She had half a mind to; how dare he kiss her, after all, when she was his prisoner, essentially, indefinitely detained in his palace, with no indication of where her friends were, or if they were even okay.
For half a second, no, half a minute, she kissed back, her breath slipping between his lips, lips that were somehow soft, despite all the foul things they'd said. Made people do. Everything.
"What..." Katara pulled away, looked at him. She glared up into his eyes, because even now he loomed over her, tall and blinking and just a little red faced. "What the hell, Zuko?"
She gave him a shove.
"Get the hell out of my cell," she yelled, tears in her eyes again. "I can't stand to look at your face anymore!"
Just for one moment, he stood with his back straight and his chin tucked down to his chest, still looking at her. They were starting to unnerve her, those eyes. "Fine," he said with a clipped voice, and left her again.
This time, the door sighed back open just a few moments later. Just a crack it opened, but a pale hand deposited one bowl of rice on the floor, and it swung heavily back shut. The thud resonated through the small room, and Katara nearly felt like she shook with it. She shivered.
For an hour, she ignored the little bowl of rice.
But spirits, she was hungry.
Katara moved to the floor and picked up the bowl, let her fingers run over the fine surface of the ceramic, and held it in her lap. She leaned against the wall and ate, trying to remember the last time she enjoyed her food.
It hadn't been for a while.
She didn't think it would be for a while, either.
For the next week, it was guards who passed food into her room. Her feelings of resentment had stopped her from calling it a cell; somehow it felt better now, refusing to believe that she was a prisoner. She preferred to think that she was being held for something, although for what, she didn't quite know. She preferred to think that she was waiting for the right moment, the moment one of the guards would turn his back and drop his guard. And then she wouldn't be a prisoner, and this wouldn't be a cell, and she could kick Zuko's head in properly for keeping her here like this.
"Why not just let her go, already," she'd often hear a female voice sigh from the other side of the door. "She's obviously doing us no good."
Zuko never replied to his sister; Katara would only hear him sigh and move on,
Katara wondered why they had to have these conversations on the other side of her door. The door. That door. That door which was so heavy and so solid, that door Katara knew she could break down in seconds if only she had water.
One more week passed, and Katara was starting to feel cagey. She knew for sure that the next time Zuko showed his face to her, she would claw it off herself with her bare hands. She would dig her fingers into his skin and tear him apart, rip through that thick flesh of his scar, make him hurt, because it wasn't fair for him to keep her here. Not after what he did. Not after what he was still doing.
She laid on the bed, her eyes staring up at the ceiling. Even now, the feeling of Zuko's lips burned in her memory, like an aftertaste she couldn't shake. Twice now, he'd kissed her. Twice, she'd kissed back. And the more she thought about it, the more it lingered, that feeling, that feeling she couldn't place because she didn't want to place it, because it didn't deserve a place.
Katara ran her tongue over her lips, and sighed.
She'd only been kissed by two boys, and as she stretched out over the bed, she entertained the idea of comparing them, because she was sick of thinking of ways to escape. It was driving her mad anyway.
There was Zuko, whose kiss was hard, stinging, even, like the contact of their mouths was the only thing keeping him attached. In the catacombs, he had kissed her so urgently, Katara was sure he would break apart if she stopped. There had been Zuko, and there had also been Jet, who kissed her under the canopy of autumn, the air soaked with the smell of leaves and bark.
Katara closed her eyes.
She didn't like thinking about Jet.
Her thoughts turned back to Zuko, and as she played the kiss over again in her mind, she found herself conflicted with how much she hated him and how much she wanted him to kiss her again.
It was a stupid thought. But it was there.
Glancing over at the door, Katara exhaled.
If he kissed her again, this time, it would be different, Katara was sure. If he kissed her again, it wouldn't be her lips between his teeth, it would be his between hers. If he kissed her again, it would be her holding him with that iron grip, her tongue rolling so he would know I'm not doing this for you.
Shifting her hips, Katara became aware of the soft heat that was starting between her legs. With a frustrated sigh, she tried to ignore it, but as much as she tried to banish thoughts of Zuko and his teeth, it only grew worse.
Katara closed her eyes.
Lightly, she let a hand trail down her stomach, because if no one knew what she was doing, what she was thinking, then it didn't anything. It didn't mean anything, and because it didn't mean anything, she let her fingers go straight between her legs. It was useless to linger.
Quickly, as if she didn't even want to catch herself doing it, she worked her clit in circles through the fabric of her dress. It was rare that she did this to herself, so her fingers were clumsy at best; almost unsure of what she was supposed to be expecting, of what she was supposed to be thinking. In her head, she saw Zuko's tongue lick up her stomach, and she trembled, pushing her other hand down on her hips. In her head, she kissed that boy she hated, that boy she wanted. She let out a low mutter, let it be his name, Zuko. She thought about him coming in, seeing her touching herself to whispers of his name, and she thought about what he would do; he'd stand there and lick his lips, he'd be overwhelmed, surely, by the thought of how much he wanted her.
Because he'd kissed her, and because she'd liked it—because she'd loved it, probably, she moved her fingers faster, dragged her other hand up her own body, just gently panting with the effort and frustration of not being able to do it quickly enough. Katara didn't want to linger on thoughts of his dark, rough voice or how sleek he must look under all that armor, how hard and muscled he must be. Katara didn't want to linger on those thoughts for long, because she knew if she did, it would be the hardest thing, peeling herself away from them.
Whining softly to herself, Katara increased the pressure she was applying to her own body, and dug her own fingers deep into one of her own breasts. Damnit. Not good enough, it wasn't good enough, and when she heard something click in the door, she sat bolt upright, flung her hand away from her legs, crossed them, frustrated and relieved and conflicted all at once.
It was Zuko again, and he glared at her. Katara glared back, watched him shut the door, tried not to concentrate on the low tingle that was concentrated down between her thighs.
"Have anything to tell me?" he asked.
"No."
"I'll let you go once you admit it."
"That's stupid," Katara snapped at him. Stupid, and childish.
Zuko looked at her, and his expression was hard (it was always hard, now that she came to think of it, except for those rare moments when he softened, when he became something else, when he became someone she felt like she could almost care about).
"I kissed you because I wanted to," he said suddenly, and it was there again, that something soft; it flickered quickly over his face, shuddered like he wasn't used to confessions like that, and quickly he clamped his jaw shut, making the muscles there jump. "Happy?"
Katara scowled. No. No she wasn't happy. Because he wanted to, that wasn't an acceptable answer. It was just as unacceptable as her repeated refusal of admitting to the lie about Aang; she wasn't going to break, and neither was he.
But they could, they could break against each other.
And they did. Katara crashed into him, seized his head between her hands, pressed her body against all that cold armor and kissed him, licking into his mouth, digging fingers into that stupidly drawn back hair. Zuko moved back into her, he surged back, and there was something in his kisses, something deep, searching, almost desperate. Yanking on his topknot, on his crown, Katara pulled it free of his hair and felt it come down, thick, soft, something she could dig and tangle her fingers in, something she could latch onto and use to pull his face closer to hers.
She heard the prince's crown clatter weakly to the floor, and licked her way into his mouth.
It felt a little like weakness, kissing Prince Zuko. A weakness because she didn't know which pieces of him she was kissing, whether it was the boy who snarled and spit fire, or the boy who kissed her in Ba Sing Se. They seemed different, those two pieces of him, and she realized that if it was apparent to her, it must have been one hell of a battle for him. And he was frustrated, she could tell, because he bit so impatiently at her mouth, gave her all of these low whines and his hot, hot hands.
He didn't know what do with all of that, either.
Katara wanted to feel him, she wanted to feel his pulse in his chest and his muscles shivering under his skin, but it was impossible with all that armor. With all that armor, he was both hot and made of ice, melting her and freezing her at the same time, pushing her against the wall with soft lips that bit and made her bleed. Katara rubbed her hips against his, and tilted her head, her mouth sliding across his, wet, open, messy.
"Are you going to tell me?" he asked, his voice thick and heavy. Zuko pushed a thigh between her legs and Katara moaned with the feel of it; this was what she wanted, this. She wanted it and she half hated him for doing it to her.
"No," she said back, grinding against his thigh, needing contact, needing friction, even though there were metal plates between her body and his skin, she needed it—but it wasn't enough, and when she panted out a moan of frustration, Zuko caught her in the middle of it with his tongue in her mouth, and snaked his hands down her sides.
"Easy," he murmured to her, bracing hands on her hips, forcing them to a still. "Stop doing that."
"What?" Katara rolled them again, slowly, opening her eyes to glare at him. This time, she caught the feeling of something else, of what she knew was his erection, hard and obvious in his pants. "You said you kissed me because you wanted to." She rolled them again, wet the corner of her mouth with her tongue. "Is there anything else you want?"
Zuko's mouth pressed into a thin line, and yellow eyes glared back at her, narrow, almost feral.
He pressed a hot, hot kiss to the juncture of her neck and her jaw, and pulled her away from the wall to settle her down on the bed, sliding his body across hers. Katara noticed, among everything else, that the armor was heating up. Zuko kissed her, hard, and Katara curled back up into his body, still digging her hands through his hair because it was the only thing she could think of to pull on.
"Tell me," Zuko panted, his hips moving, his hands hungry and on her breasts, "tell me."
"Tell you what?" Katara squirmed. Zuko was heavy and he was on top of her, he was on top of her; he was on top of her and suddenly he was mouthing at her nipples through the silk of the fabric, as if he was too impatient to take the top off. "Zuko," she gasped, "Zuko, you—"
She felt teeth, and her hips snapped in response. Spirits, that felt good, the whole thing felt too good, too fucking good, and she was about to hook her legs around his waist and drive him down right fucking into her if that's what it took, but then he was licking down the bare skin of her stomach, he was sucking at her skin, nipping at it with his teeth, leaving soft little marks across her body. And then he was pushing her skirt aside, he was pushing her bindings aside, he was kissing her hipbone, he was pressing fingertips to the insides of her thighs. Instinctively, she parted them for him, gave him room to pull his head between them, and willed herself to stay still, almost dizzy from just the feeling of his hair, soft and thick against her legs.
She waited. She waited, and nothing happened, so she snapped her head up and found Zuko looking at her, lips parted and breathing right there, just over her.
"If you're going to do it—" she gasped, because Zuko licked softly between her legs, not taking his eyes off her. When she spoke again her voice shook. "Then just do it."
"Do you want me to?" he asked, and licked there again, hooking his arms with her thighs. Katara thought that was a pretty stupid question; he she was, keening under his touch, wriggling her hips against his mouth.
"You're sick," she said instead, and when Zuko pressed the tip of his tongue to her clit, she shook like he touched a live wire, like he licked and suddenly there was electricity everywhere. It buzzed in her fingers and she whimpered. "Yes."
And so Zuko, Prince Zuko, dove into her, pulled hungrily at her with his mouth, sucking and not biting, just dragging teeth and moving his jaw hard against the inside of her thigh, his cheek scratchy and insistent. Never, she'd never felt anything like this, it was too good not to get dragged in and he was dragging her so quickly, so...it was never like this, she could hardly stop to breathe it was so much, so much all at once, his tongue flicking hotly across her clit, his breath shuddering and rough and his mouth, his mouth.
Katara came before she knew it was happening—it washed over her and pulled every muscle in her body, her legs clamped around his head and kept him there, she squirmed her hips against his face and cried out, yelping as he continued to drag his tongue across her over sensitive skin, lapping at her, like he was hungry. He groaned.
"Fuck," he muttered, expelling the word like a hiss. Her chest heaving, Katara stared at him; his lips were red and swollen and his hair was messy and he was looking at her like she was the most glorious damn thing he'd ever seen; she panted back at him, lips tugging to the side, her teeth coming down on her bottom lip.
Zuko crawled back up her body, his armor uncomfortable and catching her as he moved, almost clumsily, but when he leaned his head down to kiss her again, Katara parted her lips eagerly under his. He tasted different. He tasted like what Katara assumed must be herself, and he grunted into her throat, moving his hips, starting to grind roughly down into her.
"Zuko," Katara murmured, pushing up at his shoulders. "Zuko, wait."
He pulled away for just a second, and he almost looked confused; that confusion was quickly replaced with a hard line of impatience, drawing his face down, flushed with heat and scowling. "What?"
Katara squirmed her way out from underneath him, and his eyes followed her, digging hard into her body; it was almost pathetic, how much he looked like he needed this, but Katara supposed she needed it, too. Craved it, like some animalistic need for deliverance.
Urging him onto his back, Katara kissed along his neck, mouthing at the skin there, feeling his veins jump against her teeth as she moved to straddle him. He sighed heavily, and there was just a bit of a whine in that sigh, a whine so quiet, so barely audible, it only made Katara want to draw more from him. More like that.
With labored breath, Katara worked her hands to the waistband of his pants, squirming her fingers beneath the metal waist plates (what were those called, even), and tugged his pants down, just enough to free his cock. She took in it her hand, felt it pulse.
"I'll do it, if you want me to," she mumbled somewhere into the hollow of his cheek.
"You'll do anything I tell you to," was Zuko's ragged response, and he gripped her waist hard, glaring up at her. "And you'll like it."
She felt his narrow hips snap, and she squeezed him. Stupid boy. He groaned with the touch, and his head fell back.
"Maybe that's how you think this works," she said, drawing back. "But I don't think it is. Is it?" she squeezed him again, rolling his cock in her hand, rubbing her thumb hard over the head. Zuko thrust up again, his teeth bared. Hair fell into his yellow eyes, dark and shaggy and messy and Katara liked it like that, she might have loved it like that; but right now, Zuko was under her, beneath her thighs and groaning with the way she touched him.
Katara leaned down, and put her mouth around his cock without warning, and his shout was loud and sudden; his hips bucked so wildly that she almost choked on it, and she pulled her mouth away, pushing his thighs down into the mattress.
"Easy," she snapped, "or I won't do it."
Zuko didn't have anything to say to that.
Katara snorted. Figures. She bent back down and took him in slowly this time, careful to not use teeth, careful to keep her mouth flexing and moving, careful not to choke. Katara felt him move and writhe under her; she would have been pleased, if she wasn't so focused.
And when it seemed like it was almost enough, she pulled away from him again, darted her head back up to see him panting. Gasping.
Confidence swelled inside her, and Katara went back to kiss his mouth. He liked this, he liked her, he wanted her. It was enough to make her purr into him. "What was that you said?" she asked, grinding her hips down against him, feeling his bare cock rub against her skirt. She could feel it again, that building arousal. "That I'd do anything you told me to?" she bit down at his lip, and pressed two palms to the armor across his chest. "You like it," Katara murmured. "You like that I'm a peasant and I'm touching you."
"You're a dirty peasant," Zuko mumbled back, but he kissed her back and his breath rushed into her, quick and urgent. He said it again, whispered it against her tongue. "Such a dirty peasant."
Katara responded by yanking his pants down just a little further, and roughly pushing her own skirt aside. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her underwear, and skirted it down her thighs, kicking it onto the floor. Zuko just stared at her.
Katara positioned herself above him, and felt him shake. All of that arrogance, all of that brattiness washed right out of his face. "Katara," he gasped, reaching to grab at her bare thighs. "Fuck, Katara..."
"Shh," she urged him, gently, even though she was shaking too. "Zuko, easy."
He kept his eyes on her, wide and yellow and flashing, breathing labored as she lowered herself onto his cock. The feeling of fullness, the feeling of hot pressure and having him inside her was nearly too much, it was so much, but it didn't seem to be as much as what Zuko was feeling—Katara could have sworn she saw his eyes roll back into his head. Does it feel that good for him? she wondered, steadying herself with her hands, lifting her hips up again to bring them back down. It hurt, but she could feel it hurting less and less as she stretched around him, as her own body responded to accommodate his.
"Does that feel good?" she whispered, suddenly a little unsure.
"Fuck," he choked when she moved again. Heat, heat flushed everywhere. "Don't stop, Katara. Don't..."
Katara licked her lips and settled back down on him, deeper, searching for that angle. "I won't," she answered, leaning back, trying to find— "I won't stop. I—"
And then Zuko took her by the hips and moved her, just a little, bent himself up into her again, and there. There it was. Katara shrieked, clapped a hand over her mouth. She hadn't expected, not like that, she hadn't expected it to feel like that.
"There," she said hoarsely, even though she was on top, even though she was the one starting to pick up the pace, the one sliding up and down on his cock, his cock. "There Zuko, it feels so good right there."
Katara tried to set up a rhythm, but Zuko's bucking was too wild and too frantic for her to do anything, so she just braced herself against the bed and let him fuck her, let him drive his cock up into her with every upstroke of his body, and moved as best as she could against him. No, with him, she was moving with him, they weren't enemies, not now, not like this, he was fucking her and she was starting to scream, he was wild and strong and under her—he was Zuko, and he was digging his fingers into her ass, moving her, grunting. Such harsh, coarse shouts were being torn from his throat.
Katara loved it.
"Katara," he gasped, eyes wild, "Katara I can't—I'm going to—"
Katara whined. "Wait," she drove harder, felt it, it was close, she knew it, "wait, don't...don't come yet Zuko, I'm almost—"
And she came, she broke, she crashed above him; her mouth opened and her eyes went wide and she gasped, stuffing a fist into her mouth, wanting to scream. Nothing, nothing could describe how that felt, coming with Zuko's cock buried inside her. Everything went hard for a second, blurring around the edges and she didn't even feel like she was on the bed anymore, the pleasure exploded and she was collapsing from it, breathless and stunned.
Only when Zuko, still relentlessly fucking up into her, only when Zuko came seconds later did she blink back into her own awareness. He came messily, groaning and it the most glorious thing Katara had ever seen, his hair strewn back, his face flushed with sex and his teeth tearing at his own lips.
She pulled him all the way out of her, and felt his come drip down her thighs. For a few moments, they just stared at each other. Did that just happen? Did we—
Almost delicately, Zuko moved Katara off of him, and pulled his pants back up. He came up to a sitting position, turned so that he sat at the edge of the bed. Katara sat up next to him, smoothing her skirt, moving back into the place the top that had come askew. He looked at her, and his face was soft. It made Katara want to kiss him again, made her want to press soft lips to his, cradle his head gently in her hands.
It made her want to love him.
And then Zuko turned his head away from her.
"I'll tell the guards to bring you more food," he said, his voice strangely hollow. "And then tomorrow, you can go back to your group."
"What?" Katara looked at him, pulled her hand away from his hair. She didn't even realize she'd been touching it. "What about you?"
"Katara," he said, and the tone in his voice made every warm feeling in her body turn into ice. "If a kiss isn't a pledge of allegiance..." he exhaled. "What do you think that is?"
Before she could shout, before she could even respond, he was gone again. The door swung heavily behind him, and she felt hot, angry tears roll down her cheeks.
He was true to his word. Katara would give him that much. The food that was pushed into her cell that evening was good, beautiful, even, but she couldn't bring herself to eat it. It all tasted sour.
What had she expected?
Had she expected him to leave with her? Break her out, cut through the palace walls and stop...stop tormenting himself with this cycle of trying to do what he thought he was supposed to, what he thought would make his family happy? It was stupid. Stupid, and she felt stupid for falling for it, stupid for falling for him, because there was nothing, nothing that would make him realize. Of course he wasn't going to switch sides, not for her.
She bit down on her lip and wondered why she expected him to in the first place. A kiss isn't a pledge of allegiance, Katara.
It just isn't.
Katara ate her food, bitter at the hot taste of the rice, angry that after all of that, Zuko had dared to feed her something spicy, something so undeniably Fire Nation. Katara hated the Fire Nation.
"Don't do it," she said the next morning, when Zuko opened the door. He opened it wide, and he didn't close it behind him; just stood in the doorway, looking stonily at her. "Don't stay here."
"I have a duty to my country," was what he told her. Hair drawn back to tight. Armor too harsh, too dark. "I'm not forsaking all of that for something that's not important."
"Not important," Katara bit, picking herself up off the bed. Everything in her chest ached. This was stupid, so stupid. Zuko was stupid, she was stupid, what they'd done was stupid. "I should have known it wouldn't be. Why would we have done that, if it meant something?"
She snarled and shoved past him, and he let her. She stepped out into the hallway, wanting to storm away, knowing she couldn't because she didn't know where she was supposed to go. Everything was deep and red in the palace, and she needed Zuko to show her the way out. Katara's chest welled with the frustration of the whole thing.
"You don't know what you're talking about," Zuko said shortly. "You don't understand how these things work. I'm not about to leave my country for..."
"Someone like me, right?" Katara turned cold, blue eyes on him, and hoped he realized how hurt she felt. "Well, you got what you wanted from me. Now get me out of here."
There might have been something like regret etched on Zuko's face, but Katara was too angry to see it. Zuko showed her out of the palace, and shoved her at three guards standing out by the main gate.
"Escort her back to the market," he said roughly. "Get her out of here."
There was panic, and there was anger, but Katara didn't use either of them to look back at him. He stood there, like stone against the steps of the great palace. Stubborn. Katara didn't know much about him, but she knew that much, at least. She might have hated him, but she might have loved him too, a little bit.
Katara didn't know which one felt worse.
So she looked at him, face crumpled. Maybe she was just disappointed. She saw him stiffen.
He doesn't want to be making this choice.
But he is.
So she drew her tongue across her lips. "Prince Zuko," she called, voice ringing shakily across the stone steps. "He is."
She watched for that flicker of recognition. The Avatar is alive. Her heart wrenched at the thought of what he would do with that, but she hoped, she hoped with every inch of her heart that Zuko wouldn't see it as what he used to, that he would realize what it meant. That Aang was alive.
Zuko didn't say anything, but just watched as the guards turned her away and put their hands on her shoulders, walking her out of the gate and into the capitol. Katara just breathed, wondering if it was the right thing, telling him Aang was alive. Maybe he could be Zuko's way out. Maybe Zuko would see it as a chance to escape the decisions he'd made, a chance to try again, a chance to start things over and choose good, like he'd failed to do in Ba Sing Se. Katara wanted that for him. Painfully, she wanted that for him.
"I can make the rest of the way on my own," she said, once they were out of the capitol. Snapping, "give the Prince my regards," she broke away from the two guards and headed off, ready to fight them if they protested. But they didn't. They just muttered something between themselves, and turned.
When Katara finally found herself back with her friends, Sokka hugged her for nearly thirty minutes without rest, saying they were going to really really hurt Zuko for what he did, and did he hurt you and why did he let you go like that and I knew going to the market was a bad idea, from now on, we have to be way more stealthy.
"I'm glad you're okay," Aang smiled widely at her, once Sokka had removed himself from her person. "What did Zuko want with you, anyway?"
"What has he ever wanted?" Katara snorted. Maybe her voice was a little too bitter, because Toph made a curious face at her, which she ignored. "He just wanted to know if Aang was alive. He questioned me about it for a week, and then let me go."
"That's strange." Sokka stroked a beard he didn't have.
"You didn't tell him anything," Toph said, arms crossed. "I know you didn't tell him anything."
"No," she lied. "Of course not."
When night came, and when she crawled into her sleeping back, Zuko's words rang through her head. I'm not about to leave my country, he said.
He made his choice, she told herself, willing her body to sleep. Again. He made his choice again.
And if he ever came back, if she ever saw him again—she couldn't promise she'd be so kind again.
A/N: Thanks for reading! As I said before, this got away from me a little, but it was fun. I'm always a fan of the capture trope, ehehe.