Morning

Obviously, I don't own any of the characters or the world, just the story. Zukaang lemon. Don't read if it's not your thing.

Aang was getting anxious. His firebending training was going too slow for comfort. Aang could match Zuko's forms, but the blasts just weren't as strong. It was like Zuko breathed fire—quite literally sometimes—but Aang couldn't muster up more than a smoky breath.

"You need to breathe," Zuko had told him.

In the end, Zuko had made Aang squat and practice breathing for hours, just like Jeong Jeong, and frankly, Aang was tired of it. He knew how to breathe. He just needed to learn how to breathe fire. He didn't need to be left alone on a cliff to breathe and feel the sun. No, what he needed was for Zuko to be there with him, teaching him. Then, at least, the hours spent breathing wouldn't seem so long.

Aang decided to bring it up with Zuko, so he woke early one morning and crept towards Zuko's room in the Western Air Temple. He tiptoed so that the others would not wake up. It was not yet sunrise, but Aang wanted to get Zuko up and to the cliff so that they could feel it rise together.

He stood in front of Zuko's doorway. He had planned to knock on the wall, but the curtain to Zuko's room was already open a crack. Aang looked inside.

The small room was bare, like the rooms Aang had learned to expect at air temples. Zuko's small bag of belongings was thrown in a corner. The only other thing in the room was the bed. Aang shifted so that he could have a better view of the bed. His heart pounded in his ears. The room was so small Aang could see his sifu clearly.

Zuko was splayed out on his back, the sheets thrown off and crumpled, slowly sliding off the side of the bed. Zuko's limbs were sprawled in every direction. He wore nothing but his undershorts. His skin was smooth and close to his muscles. Hair shielded his eyes and pooled onto the pillow. His mouth was slack, open a little. The little pink nubs of his nipples were puckered.

Aang gasped. He was sure his heavy breathing would wake Zuko.

It was then that he noticed it. The severe bulge in Zuko's shorts.

Aang felt the blood pool in his crotch and he shivered a little. He felt the wrapping of his pants grow snug. Tearing his eyes away from Zuko, he looked down. He had a similar bulge. Aang winced as it throbbed painfully—an ache. He wondered how Zuko could sleep through such a feeling. He looked again at Zuko's shorts and felt something twitch under his pants.

Zuko stirred. He threw a long arm over his eyes. His mouth opened and—he moaned.

Something seeped out of whatever was in Aang's pants. Aang felt a wet spot form on the fabric.

He ran.

Aang shoved himself under the covers in his own room and waited for it to pass. He hoped the stuff that had leaked out—he really hoped it wasn't pee—wouldn't stain his pants.

It was agony, lying there with his crotch all strange like that. He kept imagining Zuko's body on top of the sheets, the way his legs were covered with soft brown hair, the column of his neck as he swallowed in his sleep. And that moan—what the hell was that? Aang had never heard anyone make that sound, almost like a whimper.

Imagining these things just made his erection worse. Aang stayed in his bedroom most of the day, feigning sickness whenever someone—usually Katara—came to check up on him.

When Zuko came Aang thought he would die.

"I'm fine," Aang called out when he heard footsteps. "Just a little under the weather."

The curtains were pushed open and instead of Katara, there stood Zuko. Aang felt himself harden again. He curled up into a ball on his side so that the sheets couldn't show his secret.

Zuko walked into the room and stood by Aang's bed.

"We have firebending practice," he said. His voice was harsh, the stern voice Aang had come to expect from Zuko as his sifu.

"I'm not feeling so great today," Aang said. He chanced a peak at Zuko's face, keeping his eyes trained away from the area he was seeing over and over in his head.

Zuko's expression softened and he sat down on the corner of Aang's bed.

Aang inched away. "I'm probably contagious," he said.

Zuko chuckled. "I don't get sick easily." He was silent for a while and Aang tried hard not to focus on the fact that Zuko was sitting on his bed, Zuko, with the smooth skin and the muscles and the moaning. Aang's erection twitched again as he heard the moan in his head. He screwed his eyes shut and pretended to sleep.

"Are you okay, Aang?"

"Fine." Aang cursed his voice. What was wrong with it? It was low and breathy and cracked. His throat was parched. "Just need some rest."

Thankfully, Zuko got up and left. Aang watched his sifu and wondered what his bare back would look like. This did nothing to ease the situation in his crotch.

For a few days after that fiasco, Aang avoided Zuko's room. He tried carefully to not look too closely at his teacher during firebending practice. And when his lessons were over, Aang avoided Zuko like a plague.

But Aang dreamed. He couldn't remember them when he woke, but they left behind a similar erection like the one he had had earlier. Each morning he lay in bed until it passed, trying hard not to think of Zuko or what he had seen in his room. Usually it worked.

The monks had never told him anything like this would happen. If he hadn't seen Zuko have the same problem, he would've thought there was something wrong with him.

Aang thought about asking Sokka. He was a guy. He would probably know what was going on. But the thought of admitting to Sokka that he had seen Zuko in bed was too much. Aang decided against it.

One morning he woke up without the feeling of pressure in his thighs. At first Aang was confused. He had gotten used to the feeling, the sight of it sticking straight up like it had something to say. But this morning it lay comfortably on his thigh.

Aang sighed.

It was then that he noticed the other feeling—the wetness all over his groin, soaked into his underwear and the sheets. He gasped.

He snuck out of his window and washed his sheets and underwear in the fountain before anyone else woke up.

Aang was slowly starting to piece things together. He knew what set off the erection. That much was obvious. He seemed to get it in the morning after an uncertain dream he couldn't remember, and whenever he imagined what he had seen in Zuko's room that one morning he wished he could forget. Being close to Zuko did it, too, now, because Aang couldn't help remembering the skin underneath his teacher's clothes.

But whatever had happened the morning he woke up with wet sheets—whatever that was, it seemed to fix the problem.

Come to think of it, how did Zuko fix the problem? Aang wondered for several days before he decided he had to find out. If every morning he kept finding this—this issue, how would he keep traveling? It was fine now when he had his own room but usually their camps offered far less privacy.

So in the morning, just before sunrise, Aang snuck up the side of the building and up to Zuko's window. He had a clear view of the sleeping prince as he stood on the underside of the upside down roof.

Zuko was lying much like the first night, sprawled out on top of his covers. But this time his dream was apparently more violent. Zuko threw his head back and forth. Aang watched the way his hair flew.

"Come on," Zuko said. His voice was low, and Aang leaned in to hear. "Yes—mmm…oh…"

Aang felt the blush creep up his face but he couldn't look away. Zuko bit his lips in his sleep and arched his back a little. Aang saw Zuko's erection, and he already had a matching one. Aang kept himself hidden and watched, his heart pounding in ears.

Zuko's eyes snapped open and Aang dove for cover under the window. He waited and when he finally chanced a look into the room, Zuko's eyes were closed again.

Zuko smiled, his eyes still closed. His hand inched down his chest, pushed his shorts down, and grabbed his own erection.

Aang's breath caught in his throat. What was Zuko doing? He wondered if he should leave. If Zuko turned his head, Aang would be caught. But Aang's legs wouldn't move, and his eyes wouldn't look away from Zuko's hand, so he stayed and watched.

Zuko thrust into his hand and moaned again—that goddamn husky groan that made Aang crazy.

Aang watched, wide-eyed, his own erection forgotten and throbbing, as Zuko stroked himself.

And then suddenly Zuko's face scrunched up and he convulsed, his breath leaving his lips in a hiss.

Zuko's eyes flew open. Aang's instincts kicked in and he was back in his own room before he had a chance to think about it much.

Aang buried himself in his bed and closed his eyes. He touched himself like he had seen Zuko do. And—oh god—it felt good. Aang shuddered at his own touch. He thought of Zuko, thrusting up and down on his bed, his lips swollen from where he had bitten them. Aang came, hearing Zuko's moan in his head.

As hard as he tried to stay away from Zuko's room, Aang found himself there morning after morning, watching Zuko touch his own body. Aang felt dirty—he carried the guilt around in the pit of his stomach all day afterward, but the next morning his feet would carry him to the place by Zuko's window. It was like a bad habit he couldn't break.

Then in occurred to him to touch himself right there—standing outside Zuko's window, watching him. So he did.

Aang plunged his own hand in his pants and grabbed himself just as Zuko did. He stroked in time with Zuko. And seeing Zuko's face, Aang came at the same time, or right afterwards. He was grateful Zuko didn't seem to be able to hear his ragged breathing. As soon as Zuko came Aang left, fled like a terrified animal.

And so it was there that Aang found himself one morning. Zuko had been having a particularly vocal dream. He had been muttering things, words Aang couldn't hear in their context, but something about the palace and a guard. Aang watched Zuko's nipples harden. Zuko's hand inched toward his erection and Aang did the same. And as Aang focused, it wasn't like he was holding himself after all. No, it was Zuko holding him, stroking him slowly, a hot breath whispering in his ear. All that skin pressed up against Aang's body, those dry lips over Aang's mouth, that pale neck under Aang's teeth. Aang shuddered at the thought. He couldn't help the moan that escaped him.

Zuko's hand stopped moving, and in reaction, so did Aang's. Zuko's head turned. Aang stood frozen. He couldn't make himself run. He willed his instincts to kick in. Anytime now.

But Zuko's eyes were opening, taking in Aang's torso in his window, and still Aang couldn't move. Zuko's mouth fell open and he just stared. A slow blush was starting to color his face.

Run, Aang told himself. Now would be a good time.

Zuko hastily pulled his shorts back up over himself. He jumped out of bed.

It was like Aang's body was stone. He still stood, stunned.

Zuko's face was beet red. "What," he breathed, his voice low and dangerous, "are you doing?"

Aang tried to say something—anything to salvage the situation but his mouth wouldn't move. He flapped it open and closed like a fish.

Zuko took a step toward the window, then stopped. His eyes raked over Aang's body, clouded with something that made Aang think of the moan again.

Aang realized he was still holding himself, his hand still down in his pants. He pulled his hand out. Aang sprinted out of there.