Prompt: Lust (May 3)
Rating: Mature
Warning: sex; lots of sex
Word Count: 1194
Notes: See above. But for those who prefer a little plot with their porn: Mai and Zuko are stuck in the south pole for reasons not important right now, and Mai decides Zuko's done enough work for one night.
Lust
"I'm cold."
"Me too."
"I'm bored."
"So what?"
Mai sighs. All of this effort put into display—wasted. The soft candlelight, the draped furs, the creamy expanse of her pale curves so artfully arranged. Zuko hasn't even looked up from his papers, let alone turned to look back at the bed.
So she rises and crosses the room with quiet steps, sliding her hands over his shoulders and down his chest, slipping inside his robe.
"Zuko," she murmurs, nipping his earlobe, "your work will wait."
One hand travels farther, dips down past the loose belt of his trousers.
"This won't."
He leans back into her touch with a sharp gasp, as her warm hand circles and dances around him.
"But my paperwork. You're bad for my concentration."
"Never heard you complain."
"I'm complaining right n—"
His voice dies in squeak when her fingers finally make contact and squeeze gently.
"Come to bed."
Her hand drifts from base up, and she relishes the shudder that rips through him when her thumb grazes the tip.
"Yes, my lady," he says hoarsely.
He stumbles out of the chair, so malleable in her steady hands. Between lingering kisses, she peels off his robe and coaxes the trousers down his hips, turns their bodies and nudges him slowly towards the bed. His knees hit the mattress, and he drops onto the mattress bonelessly.
This is always her favorite part.
She smirks at him, at how quickly his protestations wither, how the brush of her hands up and down his thighs can draw from him the most delicious moans and gasps. He gives up control so easily.
"Please," he begs, eyes closed, biting his lip, as her fingers close around him again.
"You'll have to be more specific than that."
She runs her tongue up the underside of his length and then trails back down with small kisses. Zuko can be...excitable, so she goes slow, drawing out the moment, bit by bit taking more and more of him in her mouth, humming, sliding her tongue over each vein and groove, until her husband is a wordless, quivering mess.
She knows every quirk of his body so well, can tell by the clench of his fists and hitch in his breath that he's close, oh-so-very-close, so she releases him and stands, taking away her lips and hands and tongue.
"I think that's enough for now," she says. "I'd hate for this to end so early."
He only has strength to rise to his elbows and beckons her closer with just the hunger in his eyes. She climbs up, straddling his thighs, cupping his jaw with both hands and kissing him. His own hands work up from her hips across her back, finding the ribbon in her braid and tugging it loose, spilling her hair across her shoulders.
She can feel the ribbon tickling across her skin as his hands continue along, traveling up her arms, gently circling each wrist and guiding her hands down, over his shoulders, down his chest and back along her own thighs. He's smart to distract her by deepening the kiss, so that quite suddenly he's brought both wrists together behind her back and tied them deftly with the ribbon.
"Zuko—"
"You've never fought fair, my lady," he murmurs against her neck, gently lifting her and reversing their earlier positions. He takes time arranging pillows beneath her head, ensuring her relative comfort, grinning wide at his accomplishment.
"Enjoy the upper hand while it lasts," Mai warns.
"I intend to."
He starts with just touch, fingers gentle and seeking every knot in every muscle, from her feet up to calves and thighs, kneading, kissing each point of tension released. Warmth floods her, steady breath now faltering, sighs contented, fingers twisting up in the bedclothes beneath her.
He avoids the juncture of her thighs, kissing each hipbone, tongue laving ticklishly around her belly-button. Her hands itch with the desire to run through his hair, and she bites her lip, determined to deprive him of the satisfaction of hearing her beg. He holds her stare as his lips reach her chest. He teases her, left hand slipping between her thighs, lightly running up and down.
"You could always ask," he says, and the warm puff of his breath across her breast draws only a shiver. He dips one finger down, just grazing her clit, and she shivers, unable to silence the gasp. "A simple please, my lady."
But she shakes her head, and his onslaught begins in earnest.
He edges back down the bed and parts her knees. There's no preamble—he's never been all that patient.
"Beautiful," Zuko whispers, and then his tongue is running the length of her, slowly, up and down again, avoiding exactly what she needs, circling around and massaging. She tries to control instinct, tries to keep her hips still and her breath from catching, but Zuko is very, very good at this part, and his name is her mantra of exhalation as the heat inside her rises.
She has the control, at least, not to scream as the climax washes over her—only a soft cry escapes, as Zuko leans against her leg and smiles.
"Get up here," she says, and he takes the bait.
She waits until his waist is level with her thighs, then hooks her legs behind his back and flips them. He laughs on impact, her hair whipping around them, and Mai settles back in his lap. With one hand he loosens the ribbon and the other guides him into her, and they both release quiet sighs at the sensation.
They stay still for a moment, relishing, her head leaned against his, free hands settling on his shoulders.
"I love you," he breathes, and she quiets him with a kiss, lifting her hips away and sliding back down again. She's only willing to do the work for so long—she twists and tugs and pulls him around, never breaking contact, until he's above and she's bellow, hair splayed over the pillow.
He lifts one of her knees up, and she cries out at the new angle, pulling him down, crushing the empty space between them. They are perfect together, like this, as she rises to meet every thrust, whispering little encouragements against his mouth.
He likes to watch her, and she likes to watch him watching, so when she feels the warmth, the wave of pleasure at her center cresting, she opens her eyes and finds his. He shifts, one hand sliding down between them, pressing his knuckle against her clit, circling, kneading, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.
"I love you," she gasps out, capturing him in a kiss, hands in his hair, stifling her satisfied moan. He follows her a few moments later, hips slowing, shuddering, face buried in her neck.
He's always reluctant to separate but afraid of hurting her, but she pulls his head to her chest and shifts a little, letting him curl against her side.
"There," she says, her fingers combing through his tangled hair. "That was infinitely more entertaining than any stupid paperwork."
"Might not even need the blankets," he chuckles, kissing along her collarbone.
