The Healer
Warning: Serious smut/kink. PWP. You have been warned.
I do not own ANY of the characters, nor do I pretend to hold the rights to them.
Fire Lord Zuko should have been sleeping. His young, peppy adviser had already briefed him on tomorrow's gathering with the newly formed Council of Nations. He was expected to open the ceremony with a rousing speech, but his efforts would certainly fall short if he were too tired to recite it. Iroh had been sure to remind his nephew of the day's significance; the Council was full of tired and downtrodden survivors who'd spent their lives fighting and grieving during wartime. It was Zuko's responsibility, as the newly appointed Fire Lord, to restore even some semblance of hope.
So, sleep seemed like a fine idea. A necessary one, even. But when the hushed conversation of two soldiers wafted toward the Fire Lord, who'd been on his way to bed, their words stilled him. He paused, momentarily, outside of their barracks as one reverently whispered something about the ever-mysterious Painted Lady:
"Did you see her last night, Lei?"
Hollow laughter followed the man's excited sentiment.
"No, but I've heard things. Han says she's been coming to the barracks every night since the war's end, but that can't be true."
The first one scoffed.
"Of course it's true! She came here for all of us. For the sick and the dying and those in need—"
"Yeah, yeah," the other interrupted. "I can't say I believe all of that nonsense. But..." he paused, seeming to ponder on the edge of his thoughts, "what she did for Lou was pretty amazing."
The Fire Lord had long since abandoned his trek down the darkened pathway, forgetting all about the waiting embrace of his empty bed. Instead, he crouched within earshot, absorbing a conversation that hadn't been meant for his ears.
"She saved my life, too."The first man sniffed quietly; Zuko thought he heard the rustling of paper—bandages, maybe? "Doc said I wouldn't be able to hear out this ear ever again. Now look at me!"
"Yeah, yeah. You've been telling that story for two weeks straight."
"But it's true! It's a damn miracle, it is. And she's going around doing the same for all the wounded soldiers here, just like she did in Jang Hui."
Zuko thought back to previous mentions of this woman, memories flooding his pensive mind. He'd heard about mysterious, yet miraculous recoveries, and each story seemed to carry a similar outcome—a soldier, after receiving a debilitating prognosis, was left to mourn with what family he had left. They'd lie down one night, usually right before they were discharged, and wake to something... inexplicable.
Some referred to her as an angel shrouded in mist, ethereal curls cascading down brown skin marked by red paint. Some thought the red stripes were blood drawn from previous sacrifices—after all, her lifesaving abilities had to come at a steep price. Her fame in the river village of Jang Hui was legendary, and her involvement at the encampment now bordered on a similar status, but Zuko merely viewed her as a nuisance. Surely, undermining the staff only made the Fire Nation look incompetent, unable to care for their wounded. And Zuko wanted to make their lives better. He'd looked into rehabilitation programs, conversed with doctors regarding newer treatments and methodologies, but had come no closer to helping the sick and impoverished than he had during the war. Now, this woman threatened to topple all of their work.
So, when Zuko shed his Fire Lord crown and mantle, replacing them instead with the same black coverall he'd worn with Katara to hunt down her mother's murderer, he believed himself to be doing the Fire Nation a great service, as he'd once done for Katara. He'd catch this intruder, put an end to the rumors swirling about the encampment, and deliver an impressive speech to cement peaceful ties with the other nations.
His plan was simple: hide among the shadows of the main barracks (those that had a great view of the full compound), spy her entering one, and capture her. Easy.
That was, of course, before he felt his lidded eyes swell with exhaustion. He scanned the stillness for any sign of movement, but emptiness gnawed at him. It begged him to rest, to give up this foolish hunt and seek solace in the silken sheets decorating his mattress. Just when sleep seemed to sap what little energy he had, something roused him.
He felt her presence before she came into view; like a torrential wave, something flooded him, forcing him to seek out the source. He could taste water on the air, droplets pelting the darkness around him—was it raining? A summer mist, though not uncommon in the Fire Nation, didn't usually fall so heavily. Its warm downpour drenched the land as if falling from a sudden fissure in the night sky.
But that feeling, of his soul being pulled into and drenched in her essence, couldn't muster a flame in comparison to viewing her moonlit form. She stood atop the southernmost barracks gracefully, water whipping past the billowing fabric of a hooded dress and veil that shrouded her face. As quickly as she'd come, her lithe steps carried her from steel roof to a nearby pole, and then to muddied earth without so much as a thump. Zuko's breath hitched, his body alight with new fire; thrill kindled within him.
Though there was a unique surety in the sway of her hips, power in her confident gait, and strength in the way her slender fingers parted the barrack curtains, he bet on himself to capture her successfully. Zuko always bet on himself—this woman, for better or worse, had to answer for her actions. He steadied himself, exhaled a smoky breath, and charged silently through the downpour.
The room was heavy and still with a thick tension. Zuko felt it from his place in the shadows, but he kept his eyes trained on the woman who moved with the sound of the raindrops. She traveled from cot to cot, reading the charts attached to each, before continuing. His next move was to catch her off guard without waking the entire camp.
Her slender brown arms extended themselves toward one soldier—a young woman with bloodied gauze wrapped about one side of her face; she moaned painfully into her pillow, not sated by the salve they'd given her. The Painted Lady read through her file interestedly before pulling out what looked like a dark, lambskin bag. Within seconds, she'd removed the young woman's gauze to reveal a gruesome sight in the darkness.
Zuko cringed, his gloved hand tracing the scar marring his left half. Images of Ozai came back to him, ruthless and painful, followed by memories of his own bandaged eye. He'd been drawn from the moment, caught in a painful swirl of past haunts, when the sloshing of water summoned him back to the present. The Painted Lady drew water from the lambskin bag with a flick of her wrist.
She's a waterbender, he mused.
She bent, her stance shifting, and seemed to move the water through her fingers several times until it sparkled like jewels. Taking that glittering pool of water to the woman's face, she held it there for several seconds before Zuko snapped out of his trance.
With quick steps and fluid movements, he bent his body in the familiar firebending poses he'd mastered. A warning shot, a small flame too minuscule to singe, ate through the Painted Lady's veil. Like a lithe and trapped creature, she froze, the healing water draining from her still hands, before scanning the room.
Too late. Zuko was quick; he rounded the room, summoned another deadly pose, and aimed his fiery palms at her back. He couldn't help a smirk from grazing the corners of his mouth. Way too easy.
Too cocky, she thought. The Painted Lady froze, seemingly caught in her assailant's line of fire, before bending to retrieve her fallen lambskin. In slow movements, the two bent together—Zuko waiting for her next move, and the Painted Lady determined to pick up what she'd dropped.
Springing into action, her hands hurled an unexpected, watery blast his direction. He recovered in time to dodge the blow, but not before its icy form cut through the fabric covering his shoulder. In the second it took to glance at the graze, she rounded the cot and sprinted from the room with Zuko hot on her heels.
Out in the rain, surrounded by her element, he dodged icy daggers, expelled her water whips with blasts of fire, and roundhouse-kicked water walls that she formed to break his stride. When the two became breathless, after matching one another blow for blow, she fought him with trained fists.
Zuko returned her advances in kind, though he laced his blows with soft flutters of fingertips in place of a flat punch. Eventually, they tangled themselves up, limb by limb, underneath the shade of another barrack, breathing heavily against the pouring rain.
They were woven, stripped bare underneath the torrential downpour, exhaustion and curiosity their only remaining weapons. She hid her face from view as she tightened her grip around his neck. Zuko, hitching her thigh solidly around his waist, pushed against her as a warning. With his other hand plastered against her belly, he need only nudge her to send them tumbling. The blood red paint that once adorned her arms ran slick, droplets dotting the skin above her breasts—Zuko averted his gaze, instead focusing on escaped tendrils of her dark hair that curled wetly against the rain's embrace.
"Stop following me," she husked into his chest.
Zuko strained against the fingers around his neck. "Anyone sneaking around Fire Nation territory needs to be followed." He rasped. She pushed herself into him, having lost her balance, and he squeezed her thigh to steady them. "Why are you in our camp?"
A low hiss, so deep he thought it a hungry growl, slid from her red lips. "I was trying to help. Is that not appreciated in the Fire Nation, anymore?" She tightened her leg around his waist and pushed, attempting to throw him over with her weight.
Zuko steadied himself, pulling her taut against his hot skin in response; she hissed quietly, but swallowed the sound as quickly as it came.
"No more tricks." But his words fell short; she pressed herself harder against him—was she trying to muddle him? "Answer the question," he demanded. "Tell me who you are, and why you're here."
The moon disappeared behind thick rain clouds as the sky opened around the two figures. Each, drenched in the downpour that ensued, shivered and shuddered under the weight of her silence.
"Tell me," he whispered. This time, it was a strangled plea, garbled by thunder. Her breath was warm against him, quiet, unyielding. It housed her secrets, and he imagined that with them here, like this, he could untangle each one, limb by limb, with slick spurts of his tongue and teeth against her bare skin. The image of this woman swam before him, naked and waiting, before he could banish the thought. He cussed inaudibly, trying to still the throbbing that'd begun in his pants.
Feeling something shift in him, she hitched herself higher until she found the part she'd roused. It appeared hard and thick against her, throbbing within the restrictive fabric of his trousers. Zuko, realizing how close she was to fully brushing his cock, began trying to ease her from his waist.
Seeing an escape, she ground herself against the warm muscle, feeling it grow and respond to her movements.
"Don't," Zuko gasped, breaking his view from her for the first time. He stared at the non-existent space between them as she ground herself against him harder, showing just where he could shove his plea. His fingers squeezed her waist more tightly, and she answered with a soft mewl, a pleasurable cry that stirred and confused him.
He couldn't do this. He was supposed to be capturing her.
But the way she worked her waist, in tantalizingly slow circles around his throbbing member, made his jaw go slack and his words retreat. Like a dancer, she kept up the slow grind while moving her hands up and down his wet chest. And just when he thought she couldn't drive him any crazier, she bit down on the fabric covering his chest, nipping his skin in the process.
"Fuck," he let slip, caressing her shoulders gently. Watching her grind against him, fingers gently tracing from his nipples to the taut muscles of his abs, made him push back against her, ready to show her just how well he could match her pace. But he drew a shaky breath, trying again to steady himself. "I can't." He tried, again, to remove her. "You haven't even told me who you are."
"I'm whoever you want me to be tonight, Fire Lord." The words were soft and sexy, melding with the rain; her brown skin and stiff nipples pressed against him now as she leaned up to reach his ear. "So long as you let me do my work in private, next time." She flicked the skin at his ear greedily before blowing coolly against the red flesh, eliciting his shiver.
But Zuko had long since gone still.
She knew his identity, and all he knew was that she was, obviously, a waterbender. He gulped quietly, searching for any advantage in his diminishing arsenal. Then, he remembered: in all his travels, he'd only seen one waterbender heal someone the way she had.
"This…work you do—did you learn it from Katara?"
She stiffened visibly, becoming tense in his arms. He saw this opportunity, while her guard was down, to unmask her. To finally discover her identity. If she knew Katara, she must've been an ally, so why was she treating him like an enemy? By reaching for the hat and veil covering her face, she felt his hands leave her side and decided to unmask him first.
His scar was still red and puckered, rough and wide; she traced her fingers against the delicate skin. Then, with one swift movement, she tied the discarded mask around his eyes in a makeshift blindfold.
Zuko grabbed her wrists tightly, signaling that the game between them was over. He may have been vulnerable, hard and needing her flesh in a way he hadn't felt since he'd left Mai, but he wasn't a fool. Trusting a woman he barely knew, a woman who obviously knew Katara and could relay any dalliances back to their gang, with this moment seemed a foolish move. But unanswered questions roused him—how did she know Katara? What secret could keep someone, who should've been a friend, masked to the world?
But when her warm lips traced his tight grasp, they erased all of the thoughts he'd conjured about her identity. He gasped loudly when she followed it with her soft tongue; it darted between the crevices separating his fingers, then dragged itself down his knuckles.
"Trust me, Fire Lord." She bit the skin gently. "You don't need to know me, to know me." She flicked one finger gently, her tongue tracing circles around the flesh delicately. Her tongue picked up speed until she was sucking thickly on the skin along his fingers.
His grip slackened, his head tipped back, and his mouth took the shape of tortured (but pleasured) grimace—fuck, he thought. Popping his index finger into her mouth, she curled her tongue around the tip and sucked with agonizing slowness. She drew hushed moans from his ragged throat, saw the short bursts of fire that he released into the air from his gaping mouth, and slid her tongue down more digits until most of his hand was sheathed in her warm mouth.
Thick sheets of rain meant no prying eyes, and Zuko's world was a dark, wet embrace of fire and water, tangled and hot, underneath the shadow of night. His other hand had given up its pursuit; threading his hand through her tresses, he pulled gently against the strands, removing her mouth from the now-tender flesh. He no longer cared about her identity. That wasn't what he wanted.
Instead, his hot hands groped her ass with a firm grip, bringing forth a strangled cry from her. He bit down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and pushed his hard cock against her wet center. Focusing on the pain kept him from coming right there, against the fabric.
"You like this," she teased quietly, in that husky voice that stirred him so. "I thought you might."
Zuko smirked. "You liked it, too."
"Shh, your highness." She urged him, close to his lips. He felt her drag their soft, plump exterior against his open mouth, her tongue scraping the edge of it. Another puff of smoke came hot and heavy against her; he captured her mouth with his own, desperate to taste her, but she broke their tangled kiss with a playful nip of his bottom lip. "I'm the one in charge here, got it?"
Zuko couldn't exactly argue. He was, after all, blindfolded with a strange woman in the pouring rain. Instead, he felt her fingers trace the spot inside his pants again. Reverent circles were drawn as she lifted, on tip toe, to suckle the exposed flesh of his neck. Zuko's ragged breath came in spurts; his hands traced their way to the fabric of her wet shirt. When his thumbs brushed hardened flesh, she bucked encouragingly in his embrace.
"Yes," she whispered encouragingly, feeling his thumbs pressing and squeezing her pert nipples.
Zuko used his other hand to push her face toward his, resulting in a warm kiss made of probing tongues and swollen lips. To his chagrin, she pulled away again, leaving him desperately empty. Then, like lightning, she brought her full lips back to his.
He felt rain water inside her mouth, wet and hot from sloshing about. Like a parched man emerging from a desert, he probed her mouth with a wanting kiss, drank her collected rain water like a devoted servant, and suckled her tongue when he'd finished collecting all he could. Again, his fingers began their agonizingly slow torture around her nipples, but this time he pulled the fabric free from her breasts, feeling their weight settle against his hands.
She gasped against his mouth, grinding herself down harder against him. His hips picked up their rhythm; ground against her harder, pushing his throbbing cock against her hand that'd slipped between their bodies. He flicked her nipples, squeezed and kneaded them into his warm hands, before twisting them gently between his thumb and index finger. It brought out a delighted squeal as she undulated in his arms, feeling the blood rush to her swollen clit and labia.
Using their wet, slippery surroundings to his advantage, Zuko spun her so that her exposed back was against the wall. She bit down on her full lip, feeling it go numb, as she swallowed the delicious feeling of cold and blazing hot wedged against her.
He teased the molten flesh of her breasts with his hands before swallowing one pert nipple between his lips. She wailed into the night as thunder crashed nearby, drowning her cries. Zuko's mouth worked furiously over her nipples again and again in maddening succession, and she unclasped the shell to release the heavy weight of her long shawl.
Deftly, his fingers danced enticing patterns against the delicate flesh of her exposed thigh, causing her to buck unexpectedly at the feeling. She bit her lip again, moving her hips to his rhythm, and watched him kiss his way down her exposed stomach. He stopped to kiss her belly button, then licked a wet trail to the slick curls both dampened by the rain and her desire. He sank to his knees, head hovering between her parted legs.
"Taste me," she commanded breathily, unraveling her lower bindings for him.
"Agni," Zuko whispered. She smelled like rain and musk and wetness that would drown him if he dared enter. She smelled like desire and domination, and he wanted so badly to devour every inch of that flesh.
Per her command, he sank his tongue between the flesh of her waiting cunt. Like ripe juices, they spilled from her and down his chin, but the rain slicked any excess away. She shuddered in his embrace, eyes pinched shut as he continued palming one slick breast with his expert fingers. He swirled is tongue in slow circles, from her swollen nub and through her labia, before sucking each area in and out of his lips. His mouth was hot, incredibly so, and she felt herself steam under him.
Zuko rubbed himself steadily, trying to ease the throbbing of his cock, but every ragged breath, every silent thrust of her hips was a reminder of just how badly she wanted him. He thrust into his hand, feeling his cock stiffen at every little moan she gave him. Then, as though he hadn't yet gotten enough, he got directly under her.
She screamed when his tongue entered her. He fucked her with it, snaking in and out as his finger flicked quick, jerky circles about her clit. She fucked him back eagerly, breath coming so ragged, so full of lust. His fingers picked up speed against her swollen clit, matching her hurried cries. Again, he slid is tongue in and out as fast as he could, almost losing his balance as he bucked into his own hands. He was close, so close to spilling. Just hearing her unhinged cries brought him to the edge.
But she shoved his face away.
"Fuck me, Zuko."
Hearing her mention his name, not as the Fire Lord, or as 'your highness', but as Zuko, brought him to the edge. She pulled him up by the shoulders, but it was his turn to take control of the situation.
With her leg wrapped deftly around his waist, and his hard dick springing free, he traced small circles around the skin of her folds. The rain, having let up to a soft drizzle, kissed their hot, sensitive skin as she sucked at his neck again. With her breasts cradled between his fingers again, he thrust quickly inside of her.
"Oh fuck. Oh Agni…fuck," Zuko whispered against her ear. She was hot and tight, milking his dick of what little restraint it had left. Her cry had been as vulgar as his, followed by the digging of her nails into his back.
He pulled out quickly, pausing his stride, before flicking his tongue against her ear. "More?"
"Yes," she breathed heavily against his neck.
He slid himself in just a bit further before stopping abruptly. "I can't hear you." He bit her ear this time, sending shivers down her spine, before sucking fiercely on the skin below it. Her breathing was so erratic, her hips moving, grinding, and jerking against him.
"Yes!" She cried, shoving as much of herself as she could on him. She wobbled from the movement, forcing his hands to grip her ass for stability and leverage.
Moments passed; it seemed as though he'd never move. And then, as quickly as he'd stopped, he shoved himself deep inside her wet folds again, eliciting another harsh cry from her. Then another pump, harder still, rammed through her. And another. And another, until he was fucking her mercilessly against the steel barrack. He kissed her deeply and she moaned, tasting herself on his rain-stained tongue.
Though he drew himself fully out, pounding through her tightening walls again and again, he hadn't forgotten about her pleasure. One hand dug into the soft flesh of her ass, bouncing her against his motions, while the other drew more harried circles around her swollen clit and engorged lips. She jerked and thrashed within his arms, keening and crying into his open mouth as he spurred her on with low groans of encouragement. Soon, their grunts and cries melded into incoherent breaths, until she tightened once more around his stiff member and expelled a deep cry that sapped everything from him.
When he came crashing and rolling through her tightening center, he was begging and twisting inside of her like a prayer, a never ending wish to always feel this connected to someone. He came down from his orgasm, regaining his breathing, before dropping to his knees again. This time, however, he removed the blindfold—she didn't stop him.
"I want to see you when you come."
He looked into the blue depths of her eyes, swimming with something he couldn't name.
"Katara," he whispered. His whisper was one of subtle surprise, of disbelief, of intense happiness and longing, of understanding. His whisper was one of knowing.
Somehow, he'd felt this was always meant to happen between them—this moment. He felt so many different emotions that didn't require words. Her expression, mirroring his, shifted to one of meek shyness. Completely vulnerable to him now, she avoided his gaze.
Zuko merely took her hand and kissed it, feeling a warm smile spread across his lips. He brought himself back to her center, knowing now that it was Katara's swollen lips he'd loved kissing. Hungrily, greedily, he devoured her. For every kiss they'd never gotten to have, for every mistake he'd ever made with her. A suck, a nibble, a short, hot breath of want and need for everything they'd never had, and everything they could be.
He sucked her clit until she came, falling over him in a hot, white heat filled with screams and cries. And when she came down, he carried her back to his room, sneaking past the soldiers that'd awakened from their ruckus, and listened to the gentle rhythm of her breath against his chest. He was too wired to sleep, too spent, too full of her.
But, for once, the Fire Lord didn't mind the lack of sleep.
A/N: Thank you, so much for reading; here's to hoping you enjoyed it as much as I loved writing it! All comments/criticism/feedback are very much appreciated.