Hysteria
She bites and he takes. And each time (a little deeper, a little farther) he swears that this will be the last.
Enough.
Stop.
Azula does not.
Resigned, Zuko lets her overpower him (suffocate). He feels the hotness of her breath grazing his shoulder, neck, jaw up up—
Frowning, she pauses. She stares at him with ghost-lead eyes, piercing him like a frosted lance. And clean, she wiggles through. It is easy because Zuko never resists because Zuko knows that he can't ever win because she is better, best of best.
"What's the matter, big brother? Are you afraid?"
He does not answer. Quivering in his core. He has long learned to stay silent when she is like this. Reluctant (fixated), Zuko finds her mouth.
She smirks, is ready.
...
There is a light, nearly imperceptible scar two ribs below his heart. Mai is curious. Mai wants to know. Tracing it gently with her long, delicate hands, Mai asks him about its origins.
"It's nothing. An accident from when I was a kid."
Really now, is that so?
(Azula has sharp teeth and a sharper tongue.)
...
His habits are banal and simple and everything antithetical to that of a prince. And this (stroking his cheek) Azula must inform him at least twice a day.
Once in the morning, just before he leaves to see Mai. And once at night, just before bed. Just before she digs into his flesh and his hands flitter to her shoulders and belly, down down—
His fingers graze the warmth between her thighs.
Fighting the roaring of blood and self-loathing in his ear, Zuko wonders what would happen if he continues. This and only this one, single, inconsequential time.
He slips.
...
She despises him and he hates her. But Zuko fears her too. And fear, once ingrained, becomes an invincible leash. Invisible too, as she yanks the cord.
"What now?" he snaps, slightly annoyed (apprehensive).
"Do it."
"I can't," not again.
"I said do it, Zu-Zu. I want you to fuck me."
"Shut up. We can't. We're—"
She grins (he shivers). "Why're you scared? I promise I won't tell."
"It's wrong."
"Do it."
And he does.
Hysteric, victorious, Azula allows him to push deep inside, filling her with all his despair.
...
Sometimes, Zuko thinks that it's not her who's truly sick but him. Maybe he's the one who secretly, violently wants it (her). So he lets her twist his gut not because he dreads a worse retaliation, but—pure and simple—it's him that's messed up.
That he too is guilty of instigating, of accepting, of demanding more. Pathetic, vile, and craven: both of them.
Except, she's the one brave enough to say it.