Title: Buzz cut
Author/Artist: beyondthemoor (moor on )
Recipient: likexaxdove
Rating: M (being cautious)
Word Count: 2000, approx.
Summary: A haircut goes awry.
Notes: I suppose we can place this post-finale. K&Z are of-age. A misunderstanding of what constitutes 'experience' in the field of personal grooming.
Disclaimer: Avatar belongs to its respective rights-holders (not me!). Also, contains my slightly off-kilter sense of humour in places. You've been warned. ;)
Slipping between the columns of his palatial… palace… Fire Lord Zuko's glance swept the expanse of the corridor, and spying not another soul in his immediate vicinity, made a dash for the nearby doorway. Almost there. Just a little bit further, and he'd be able to hide—er, meditate intensely, uninterrupted—for an extended period of time. Perhaps until the Unity Ball and those irritating Goodwill Treaties were over and done with. A week or so, maybe more. He could live on willpower alone. Who needed food, water, or sunlight? He'd make his own for a few days, somehow; after all, he'd survived in the wilds of the Earth Kingdom on his own. He could handle a second bout of temporary internment, or exile. Or maybe hire a small, private, no-questions-asked ship to spirit him away from the capitol for a season. Yes, that wouldn't be so bad.
He was three feet from freedom—or, at the very least a stable, barricade-able room that could act as a potential bunker—when he felt the first warning tremors, which built to a steady rumbling and escalated to an all-out, deafening roar.
His heart bruised his chest with its rapid beating, and a surge of adrenaline shot through his veins.
So close!
Cursing inwardly and refusing to give up, he leapt forward, making a wild grab for the round, metal door handle—
-but was picked up, hurled into the air, and then whisked away by the sudden deluge of water that crashed down and stormed the palace hall.
Lord Zuko kicked and thrust himself upwards to draw desperately needed air into his lungs, choking and trying to swim to the surface of the ocean that had spontaneously filled the corridor of his own residence. His gold eyes blurred from the speed and force of the raging water, its grip around him final and unflinching. He saw advisors and councillors gawking at him as the water rushed him past hallway after hallway, chamber after chamber, in its pursuit to deliver him to his end-
-And a frigid, terrifying end it was that awaited him.
He caught sight of her, then: Her fists on her hips, her foot tapping a slow, patient tattoo, and her eyes burned him with their icy intensity.
There was one last tap of a shoe—clack—before he was unceremoniously dumped onto the now puddle-ridden stone floor before her.
Her back straightened even more rigidly and she glared down her nose at the regal figure, dripping and sloshing on the ground as he looked up at her from his hands and knees.
"I can expl—"
She blew out harshly through her nose, her anger barely leashed.
The water crinkled like breaking glass as it froze, creeping eerily serpent-like tendrils along his skin, over and beneath his clothes, until they spread like scales across the back of his neck.
Zuko swallowed, and decided it may be better to wait to see what Katara thought best, for the time being. His only relief was that she'd chosen a fairly secluded, private alcove in which to corner and punish him for his… little mistake.
"You said," she began tightly, after he'd sweat a bit under her icy restraints, "That you'd cut long hair before."
"I did. I cut my own hair," –completely off, in poignant symbolism with my Uncle when we abandoned our ties to the Fire Nation. It was some time ago, but it was still a strong memory.
Since then, he hadn't really found it necessary to practice, per se, since his hair was still growing back in… and rather nicely.
"Zuko, darling," she said sweetly, and unfurled sinuously down towards him. One of her fists relaxed from its spot on the flare of her hip to rest delicately atop his head. It stroked his luxuriant, dark hair with a tenderness she might have extended to a newborn kitten.
Zuko felt his stomach clench in fear.
"You had implied you had cut other people's hair before. In fact, you made it seem like you'd been a regular barber during your time in the Earth Kingdom."
Er, he had, perhaps… exaggerated. A smidge.
Zuko swallowed again, and Katara smiled at him like he was her very precious snowflake; like he was threatening to melt or break apart into irreparable, unidentifiable pieces under the faintest touch of a warm waterbending master's hand. A loving hand; a caring hand; a healing hand; a freakishly powerful hand.
"It was easy when I did it," to myself, his voice was a bit higher than he'd meant it to be. Must be the cold seeping into his core. He subtly stoked his internal fire, but the chill wouldn't release its hold on him.
"Oh, it was easy when you did it to me, too," she agreed serenely, and he was a bit concerned when he saw her teeth glinting in the dim light of the shadowy corner she'd trapped him in.
Where are all my advisors? he wondered worriedly, glancing around out of the corner of his eye. He didn't dare look away from Katara, since it was far too dangerous to do that and he wasn't quite that stupid Had they all fled when they saw the wall of water careening around the palace, hunting me down? The cowards, he seethed to himself, completely ignoring how wildly he'd swung his arms at the door—his last break for freedom—before the deluge had carried him away.
"But there was one thing you forgot to take into consideration when you offered to help me trim my split ends," she continued, her faraway voice hardening as her grip tightened in his hair until her nails dug into his scalp.
Zuko swallowed again, and may have become a bit more devout in his feelings towards Agni.
Her azure eyes bore into his, and she hissed as her nails drove into his skull, "I am not a man; and you never pull my hair back into a ponytail and hack it off with a knife!"
Finding the blockage in his throat insurmountable, Zuko coughed weakly and smiled as bravely as he could at his fiancée-Who perhaps resembled a forest-dwelling porcupine-badger more than his beloved, at the moment.
Turn a weakness into a strength, he remembered his Uncle advising him once, sagely. Women love compliments.
In a fit of pure genius that only Zuko could have cobbled together, he blurted out with sudden inspiration:
"It looks really good all big and poofy and… big… like that; I think it suits you—"There came a snicking sound and Zuko's golden eyes widened in terror as Katara pulled out a switchblade.
"I suggest you don't move, darling; I'd hate to miss."
Katara's fist yanked on Zuko's ponytail, and she began sawing away his topknot, ignoring Zuko's protests, threats, and pleading. Bit by bit, his locks fell down around his ears and his hair returned to its former shaggy glory.
"I mean it, you really should stop," she growled. "You'll only make it worse."
"Not my hair! I just finished growing that out!"
"Oh, that's just the beginning," she said.
And when she paused he just looked at her.
She smiled and reached for his belt.
"I repeat, I suggest you. Don't. Move…"
Bloodcurdling, that's what it bordered on.
Iroh glanced up from his latest batch of imported tea and cocked his ear.
He hadn't heard screaming like that since…
The memory resurfaced with exquisitely graphic detail, and he felt a shiver shimmy down his spine and settle like a cold lump in his stomach.
The older gentleman swallowed, crossed his legs, and hunched forward.
Well, perhaps it was still a bit too early to expect grandbabies, he thought to himself. They weren't married yet.
But if this was how they were warming up, perhaps he should have another little talk with Zuko… about 'little Zuko', and er, warming up first?...
…How was this humanly possible?
Lost in his daze of pain and humiliation, Zuko sprawled against the lounge chair and swallowed as best he could against his dry, aching throat.
He hadn't screamed like that in years. It hadn't been the worst pain he'd ever endured, but given the sensitive nature of the proceedings, he wasn't surprised his voice had cracked on more than one occasion, swiftly followed by his dignity. It might have been considered cathartic, if he could have found some kind of great revelation or relief by the end of it. None had presented itself yet, though.
Shadows crossed the ceiling lazily as noon turned to afternoon, but Zuko's closed eyes prevented him from taking in the peaceful aftermath.
It wasn't humanly possible, Zuko decided vaguely. It was positively inhumane, and he was considering banning the practice on the grounds of some kind of human-rights infraction. Or a crime against humanity. Or just…
Spirits above, below and within, it had hurt.
His thoughts wandered again, and he let them go. He needed time to recover. He needed time to come back to himself, to regroup, to ground himself again after such an experience. So he remained there, unmoving, trying to find a way to reconcile the experience with the truth.
Re-entering the darkening room late that afternoon, Katara slowed to a stop and just looked at Zuko, her brow arching in unimpressed disbelief.
"You're still just sitting there? In your bathrobe?"
"It hurt. It hurt a lot," he said with feeling.
"It's called a Brazilian, Zuko, and you've never complained about mine," she said archly.
"But it's… it hurts," he repeatedly weakly.
"Zuko, darling," Katara said, her patience razor-thin, and tossed her hair lightly over her shoulder as she crossed her arms before her. "I'd like to think this whole matter is over now. Wouldn't you? Yeah, that's what I thought, keep nodding, good. I take it we don't need to have this conversation again?"
And then she stared him down.
Zuko tensed at the tone, and his gaze turned down at the ground. Then he gingerly crossed his legs, folding the robe's layers over his lap with the delicacy of a courtly lady, and turned to look away from her, crossing his own arms over his chest and sulking miserably.
Katara's stance stilled at his reaction, and she watched him hesitating to do anything.
It was then that she remembered her 'first' time, and her lips quirked into a crooked grin.
Oh, Zuko.
Perhaps her poor beleaguered fiancé was due a bit of leniency.
Regarding him with a sympathetic smile, she sighed and approached him—slowly, with her arms raised in peace when he winced and moved to curl into the foetal position—and called water to her hands, letting the cool liquid take on a soothing glow.
"Come here," she murmured, and clicked her tongue at him.
Zuko's eyes flew open in panic, his pupils shrinking to pinheads.
He grabbed her wrists as she reached for him, his voice tightly controlled. "Bending prohibited! Bending prohibited! Especially around the—the, uh, sensitive conditions on my person!"
"Zuko, it's not fighting-water—it's soothing water," she said dryly, and gave the corner of his robe a meaningful tug.
He watched her hesitantly before letting her loosen the tie that held his robe closed, revealing all of him as she reached for him with her other hand. Settling a bit further into the seat, he watched her approach cautiously, then with knowing interest sparking in his eyes as her expression changed.
"Now," she began, and her grin morphed slowly into a seductive smirk. Her glowing hands touched down on Ground Zero directly and Zuko's eyes nearly crossed as he let out a throaty moan; he released his tight grip on her wrists and slid his palms up her arm in a gentle, unconscious caress when her touch alternated between soothing and something more.
Her voice dropped to a husky tone as she leaned forward, just enough for the gap in her own attire to reveal to him she wore nothing beneath it. "… Where would you like me to start?"
When Iroh heard the next round of screaming, the entire court gossiped wickedly about the reasons why he suddenly wore the smuggest grin this side of Ba Sing Se.
AN: The end! Hope you enjoyed.