A/N: Takes place three years after "Secrets". Rated M for dark, mature and somewhat sexual themes.
All Zuko can focus on at the moment is the cascade of his captive's cherrywood hair down the back of the sparse wooden chair. The red velvet décor of the lavish bedroom seems to blur in comparison, bringing the chocolate waterfall into sharp relief. Slowly, he toys with the ends, letting his fingers flick and comb through them. He can't help but marvel at how the silken strands seem to pop against his porcelain skin. His lips quirk up into a wicked half-smile.
"So…" his voice is somewhere between a sensual hiss and an animalistic growl as he collects her hair in his right hand pulls it out of the way of her flushed neck, running the tips of his fingers over the heated skin. "What shall I do to you, my sweet Kit-Kat?" He lets his makeshift ponytail fall over her right shoulder and pauses for just a beat to let Katara's emotions register to his senses. She's trembling ever so slightly, and Zuko can hear the faintest trace of a falsetto whimper escaping her lips. His golden eyes narrow and he leans forward so that his teeth lightly graze the outer shell of her left ear. "Hush," he admonishes, his voice purely menacing now. "Quiet, or I'll gag you." His eyes flick down to Katara's hands, bound skillfully and rather intricately behind her back. It's obvious that the rope is digging into her wrists uncomfortably. He smirks. "Or worse." Deliberately, Zuko positions his streaming fingers directly beneath her hands, relishing her sharp, terrified gasp. The whimpers cease.
That's more like it.
"Now," he purrs, a slight chuckle lacing his smug tone. "Where's that whip?"
The stress he places on the last word is no accident. Neither is the two second pause he takes as he makes his way to his hidden… treasure trove. He can sense that Katara's breathing has quickened, and that brings the sly, vindictive smile back to his lips. He wants her to fuck up. He's waiting for it.
Katara turns sharply in Zuko's direction. "No!" She's finally crying. "Zuko, I'm so sorry! I never meant to hurt you! Please don't!"
Yes, he thinks. That's it.
Zuko briefly considers burning her directly, but realizes that she has enough flexibility in her fingers to counteract him. Damned waterbending. Instead he continues to the rack of whips in the back of his closet. Gently, almost affectionately, he runs his hands along the leather strip, singeing it as he goes. Oh, yes. This is going to hurt. Resolutely, he turns his attention to the red velvet banner bearing the golden Fire Nation insignia on his wall. His dagger cuts a substantial strip of the soft fabric and he saunters back into position behind Katara.
He knows the blindfold feels soft against her delicate skin – perfectly, deceptively soft. Just like her. Honestly, though he has no idea why anymore, he'd once credited her with more intelligence than pissing off someone as angry as himself. Zuko slowly drags the strip of the whip along the exposed skin of her back. Katara sucks in a breath through gritted teeth, and one solitary word escapes
"Why?"
He laughs openly this time; a frightening, almost evil laugh that he hopes chills her bones.
"You spoke out of turn!" Zuko bellows, making Katara jump. He leans forward to gently nibble her earlobe, his voice deathly quiet once more. "And let's not forget, you left me because you couldn't stand me keeping you a secret, for no other reason than to keep you safe." The last three words come out in a livid hiss, like a striking cobra. "Now," he brings the whip sharply down, lashing her already-smarting skin. "Everyone will know who gave you this."
Zuko comes around to stand before her, ripping her blindfold off and kissing her swiftly on her tear-stained mouth. It took three years to find her after that fateful night at the inn, but she's not his secret anymore. She's been marked.