Hey folks. This piece was a bit of a challenging venture for me: shock! gasp! Not Zutara? Indeed, this was written for loveroftheflame, who trade me the beautiful, magnificent Azula fic Porcelain for this. Go read Porcelain, by loveroftheflame, available on FicHaven dot org.

Special thanks to smillaraaq for beta reading.

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Title: Kindred
Written for LoveroftheFlame.
AU Zuko/Azula
Warnings: Incest, fiery smex - you have been warned.
Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender, or any of the associated characters, place names, etc.

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Comfort

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"Zuzu?" The voice was tiny, strained, hoarse from crying. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Zuko raised his head off the pillow, peering through the dark at his little sister's silhouette. The faintest shimmer of golden candlelight from the hallway traced the girl's small frame. Sniffling and whimpering as she was, the barely four-year-old princess was a welcome sight in the shrouding darkness. He lifted the blanket and let her climb into his enormous bed, pulling her up when she couldn't quite clear the edge of the mattress. Very calmly, she told him there were monsters under her bed, but her nursemaids wouldn't do anything to keep them from eating her toes.

Well, that cinched it. Of course big brother would let her sleep in his bed, and he told her so, hugging her shivering form close and wishing her a good night. After all, he hated it when the monsters came to eat his toes, too.

At age 8, it was thunderstorms. Azula was terrified of thunderstorms. When white-blue flashes flickered through the sky, and ear-splitting crashes and booms reverberated throughout the palace, the little girl would tuck her head beneath the covers, curl her body into a tight ball and snuggle against big brother's side.

Zuko stroked her hair and waited out the storm with her. He wasn't too fond of lightning himself, though he sometimes thought that his sister's show of terror was a little over-the-top. She'd always been a bit of a drama queen.

Azula's little spells grew a little tiresome at age 11, and the young royals' caretakers began making disapproving noises whenever the girl rushed to her brother's bed for comfort. It's not proper, they said in hushed whispers, and made a point of politely suggesting rooms at opposite ends of the palace to their mother, Fire Lady Ursa.

"You're getting too old for this, Azula," Zuko sighed one night as the girl deftly crawled under the blankets with him, claiming she'd been having nightmares and couldn't she sleep with him just this one night? "You're a big girl now. I don't mind you staying with me, but your nurses are talking."

"Don't care," the princess murmured in the way only sleepy, petulant little girls can. Azula burrowed under the covers. "'Night."

Despite his admonishments and the budding awareness that somehow, according to the grownups, sleeping with his sister was wrong, the prince wrapped his arms around her waist and held her, felt her baby-soft skin with its downy peach fuzz growth on her arms and still-pudgy legs, closing his eyes against the dark and taking his own comfort in Azula's warmth, her affection, her love, and her starry-eyed devotion to big brother. As he drifted off to sleep that night, he wondered how many more nights like these—feeling safe and warm and loved unconditionally—he would have.

On the same day that Azula first started having her monthly courses, they were separated. She was moved from her bedroom across from Zuko's to one on the other side of the palace. Their mother—who had been worrying about her children's stubborn refusal to discard their public displays of familial affection for some time—had decided it was high time Azula learned to be a proper lady of the court and stop relying on her brother for emotional support.

"You're both Firebenders, and heirs to the throne of the Fire Nation. Surely you're not so afraid of the dark that you have to sleep together every other night?" Mother said to her son disparagingly, hands on her hips, nose wrinkled in contempt.

Zuko shrugged, trying not to show his great dismay. It wasn't as if there were a lot of other people his age to play with around the palace. Azula had been his only playmate since forever. But he told himself it didn't matter: he'd see her often enough. They were family, weren't they? As long as Azula was safe and happy, that was all he cared about. Mostly.

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The siblings' life apart began, but Zuko did not get to see his sister at all. One would think that members of the royal family would encounter each other daily, living under the same grand roof, sharing royal duties, and going to the same classy functions. But both children were kept so busy they hardly had time to breathe between lessons and training, much less visit and play.

Brother and sister didn't see each other for weeks. Zuko began to wonder if his sister was all right, but every inquiry only elicited a terse, "She's fine," from his distraught-looking mother.

And then one day, Zuko learned that little sister had been sent away to Girls' Academy.

"It's for the best," his uncle explained gently, patting his nephew's shoulder. The retired general had chased him to the palace ramparts after the prince had thrown an explosive tantrum in his parents' presence. "Try to understand, nephew. Azula is a prodigious Firebender, and will receive special tutelage, better even than what she can get at home. Away from the palace, she will have no distractions and can focus on her studies. She will come home in a few years and be a great master."

"Why couldn't you teach her?" Zuko demanded irately, jealously. "Then she and I could both learn from you, and we'd be together."

His uncle smiled down at him patronizingly, a look that was all-too-penetrating, all-too-knowing, but he did not answer his nephew's question.

The prince stared down the sunset-stained road heading west, imagining he could see his sister's entourage as a speck on the horizon, even though she had left nearly two weeks earlier. Envy evaporated and his lip trembled. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."

Zuko sulked for days after his discovery, and would not speak to his overwrought mother. He wrote Azula daily; then weekly, then monthly, sending his missives by his own trustworthy messenger hawk. Always, he wrote the same few phrases: How are you? I hope your studies are going well. I miss you. I love you. Come home to me soon. Your loving brother, Zuko.

No replies ever came back with the hawk. But he kept writing anyway.

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The prince's early teenage years slogged on, his days filled with the monotony of lessons and training. Mother saw the grim, hard lines carving his young, perfect face and worried. Zuko needed to be with more people his age. She threw him a string of lavish parties, inviting nobles from across the nation who had offspring and relatives in the 12 to 18 range, always making sure the girl to boy ratio was high.

Young ladies of impeccable breeding in glittering finery were paraded before him, and Zuko gave them all the careful, plastic smiles duty required of him, dancing mechanically with those a little prettier than the others. But they were all empty, shiny baubles. None of them held any interest for him.

If astute little Azula had been there, she would have proclaimed it loudly for all to hear. "Trollops! Dandies! Sugar-coated viperesses!" She'd point at the daughters, quoting from her forbidden book of insults, a prize she had discovered in the palace library and which Mother had insisted on confiscating. Azula had retrieved it, though. She was so clever and sneaky. Zuko laughed quietly to himself at this little fantasy-reminiscence, and fell into a melancholy mood for the rest of the evening.

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It quickly became apparent to the vexed Fire Lady that her son, the future heir to the throne, would take no interest in the potential future Fire Ladies she'd set before him. She watched him through the fractured lens of her crystal goblet, his sad, distant look reflected over the myriad facets in the cut glass, even as he was surrounded by a bevy of beautiful girls all fawning over him. Ursa frowned. This did not bode well. She had to make sure Zuko would secure his position—and her future—in the palace. A betrothed, or better yet, a baby, would certainly ensure the bloodline continued, but the prince was refusing to play that game. Ozai's waning interest in his wife, dissatisfaction with his firstborn son's progress, and increasing attention on his daughter only served to agitate her further.

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Years passed. Zuko turned 17 with little fanfare, though remarkably, his father did call on him to make an appearance in court, where he offered him the only gift the Fire Lord had ever bestowed upon his son and heir: the newest addition to his harem.

She was lovelier than any of the women he'd ever been presented with, her tapering ivory limbs and hourglass figure supporting a noble but demur face that seemed to be made of glass. The teenage prince appraised his gift briefly, thanked his father with a low bow, and led her away through the winding corridors of the grand palace. He had not intended to refuse a gift from the Fire Lord, nor did he have any intention of utilizing her services. But when they reached his chambers and the door was firmly shut, the young woman quietly offered herself to Zuko, expressing her wish to please her young master, her prince, her future lord. She was very persuasive.

Nervous and inexperienced as he was, Zuko was delighted and intrigued by the creamy skin and soft curves this painted trollop led his hands over. On that long, rainy, summer afternoon, the delicate young woman plied her many skills and showed the prince joys and pleasures he never knew existed. He explored what seemed to him to be the full catalog of female sexuality with this nameless courtesan, expanding his education by leaps and bounds with her patient, smiling tutelage. And there was more to be had, she said with a coy smile, if he decided to keep her for his exclusive use.

But even as he climaxed for the third time, spiraling into ecstasy and spilling his overwrought passion into her sex, he found himself remarkably unfulfilled. He was emptied of a long-held, burgeoning, unnamable anxiety, but in the settling dusk, he could already feel it welling inside him again, mixing with newfound feelings of shame and guilt. He lay there, staring at the dark river of the concubine's hair, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing. And he thought of Azula—not for the first time during their coupling.

Zuko did not request the concubine's services again and dismissed her the next morning. But he was not unkind. He gave her a heavy purse and secreted her out of the palace at night, wishing her a safe trip back to her homelands. With luck, Ozai would not discover his son's rejection.

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Later, Zuko would believe this act of compassion had earned him some merit with Agni, because less than a week later, word came that the princess was returning from the Academy. The heavenly missive was sent on the blazing red wings of a twin-tailed messenger hawk wheeling high above the palace gardens. Zuko spotted the bird and whistled for it to alight on his outstretched arm. He read the scroll attached to its leg and realized he was the first to receive his sister's message. The prince took it as a sign.

The next few days were spent pacing the parapets. As he eagerly watched for his sister's caravan, he wondered how his little Azula had changed, what she had learned at the academy, whether she was a woman yet, and what she looked like after more than four years. A new and dark worry crossed his mind: would Father marry her off to some lecherous old general, like that putrid Shinu, or that two-faced monkey of a man, Zhao?

Zuko's gut clenched with fear and loathing and something he didn't have a name for. Years later, when the siblings were permanently separated (or so everyone thought), Iroh identified the emotion for his distraught nephew: jealousy.

And then she arrived, a cloud of yellow dust arrowing from the horizon, the thunder and squealing of komodo rhinos eager to roost almost deafening. As the dust settled in the main courtyard, Zuko, with his Uncle hobbling quickly down the steps, took up a place where he could best glimpse his sister.

Suddenly, she emerged from the curtained litter, eyes squinting against the sun as though offended by it. Zuko felt his face fall. His heart dropped to his stomach. This was not the Azula he had known. This was a stranger wearing a mask of Azula's grown features. Head held high, jutting chin and tightly clenched jaw speaking of the years of harsh training and discipline she had endured, a girl with porcelain skin, face framed by ebony locks, stepped down with grace only the most severe finishing school could have forged. No warmth emanated from her visage. She was cold. She'd been cast to be the princess she was destined to be: beautiful and hard and polished and deadly, like a steel blade.

She surveyed all before her, and that frigid gaze, once full of adoration for her big brother, landed on him flatly. She frowned, her whole bearing full of disdain for the one who would succeed their father as the monarch of their kingdom, even after all she had endured those past four years.

Her lips curled into a sneer, a mirror of their father's, the most courtesy she could muster for her blood kin.

"Hello, brother," she spat.

Zuko's little sister was gone.

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Nighttime. The prince lay in bed, too stunned and pensive to even close his eyes. Though he gawped owlishly in the thick dark, he could register almost no light around him, not even a sliver of the pale moon. It was as if he had gone blind. The night closed in around him, suffocating, oppressive. He wanted to scream. A leaden weight anchored his stomach, pressing him into the down mattress. The silk sheets felt cold and raspy against his bare chest, clinging slightly to the sheen of cool sweat on his skin.

Zuko swallowed a bitter sob, though he didn't know why he was feeling as though his heart had been ripped out. He should be proud of his noble sister. But Azula had changed so much; for the better, according to his father's high praise after a demonstration of her deadly and beautiful lightning bending. But even as the prince politely applauded her, he yearned for the old days; the warmth of her body against his, her clinging, her cooing, her tender hugs and innocent kisses. Now she was cold, sharp, exacting… and he would never be needed to comfort her, and she wouldn't be there for him when—

He felt the mattress sink slightly. The muffled sounds of the well-practiced climb into the prince's grand bed were unmistakable. A foot placed just so at the edge of the bed frame, a fisted hand burying itself deep into the down pallet, a knobby knee against his hip…

He smiled, thrilled, felt the alien but wonderful sensation of his grown sister, his beautiful, wonderful Azula, slither against his skin, bare flesh on bare flesh, firm, soft muscle and sinew rippling within the gauzy sheath of her sleek complexion. Beneath the faint perfume of lilies was the distinct, almost babylike smell of his little sister. He drank it in, and Zuko's shrunken heart swelled.

They said nothing at first as she settled silently next to him, her chest and its strange new womanly curves pressed against his back, her chin resting on his shoulder, a bare arm draped over his muscled abdomen. A hot breath tickled his earlobe and Zuko felt warm. He felt light, like everything was right in the world once more.

"I missed you big brother," she said breathily. "I thought about you every day." Her hand splayed over his chest and she kissed his jaw with all the sweetness and innocence of their long-lost childhood nights.

"And what excuse did you give your handmaidens this time?" He turned over, smirking, and gazed at his sister. Though there was no moonlight, she seemed to glow, her visage burning radiantly in his mind's eye. "Nightmares? Monsters?" His voice dropped even lower. "Are you afraid of the dark still?"

"No." She scooted closer, lips a mere breath from his, "And since when did I need an excuse?"

He rolled his eyes. "How did you get out of your room?"

"I learned a lot at the Academy," she muttered, her voice turning harsh, bitter. The prince felt her pain in the quiet that stretched tautly on, but he didn't know its source. He reached out and stroked her cheek with his thumb, asking her with his soul to look at him, trust him, tell him. Azula's keen champagne eyes regarded him in the thick night, flickering over his shadowed face. She pulled closer and set her lips firmly against his, unwavering.

Zuko sucked in a breath, feeling his pulse race, his nerves zinging with sparks. Stunned as he was, he didn't pull away. He found his eyes fluttering closed, his rigid spine melting, and he relaxed into his sister's long, stanch kiss. Azula broke away first, her mouth hot and moist, lips pursing. "I'm sorry I was so cruel this morning," she said quietly, nuzzling him.

The prince had no words of forgiveness. He simply reached out and stroked his little sister's hair soothingly as he once had, and she went on.

"I did learn things while I was away. Not just about Firebending and manners and laws and geography. They try to teach morals to you. Teach you which things are right and which are wrong." She twisted her mouth on the words, making a sour face that made Zuko smile in the dark. "But I've come to an important decision. I wasn't even sure I would have the choice or the freedom to make it when I came home to you, but I did."

"What?" he whispered, trembling with anticipation. "What did you decide?"

"That I don't care for what I've learned." And she leaned in to kiss him again.