Even the most fickle are faithful to a few bad habits-Mason Cooley
Ember Island is a magical place. It is the only place in the world, other than the dilapidated air temples where two of the world's most recognized individuals could truly get lost. And get lost they do. Inhibitions are non-existent under a setting, summer sun. Raven hair is splayed on the sandy terrain, free from the wondering, scrutinizing eyes of political friends and foes, who would undoubtedly express strong distaste in what is taking place on the private beach, owned by the royal family. Pale tattooed, calloused hands running through lengthy tresses, grasping forcefully, pulling backwards, until the strained face of the conqueror of the Impenetrable City was howling to the heavens.
The conqueror, thus, becoming conquered more times than she cared to count. Thought by numerous suitors, who flock the palace on an almost daily basis, to be impenetrable, herself, her mewls and gasps tell a different tale. This tale, she keeps to herself. No one need know of her deepest desires or her terrible habit of being conquered by the world's most powerful being.
As always, she takes her lover by hand when she can take no more of his hard yanking, nearly tearing the tresses from the scalp. They walk to the abandoned beach house and sit in the middle of the open parlor entrance, where her family portrait had been stripped from the wall and burned to both her own and Zuzu's pleasure. From there, she sits on the second from the top step, placing his head in her lap to await permission.
"This is the last summer," he says for the sixth summer since this began.
"Yes," she says for the sixth summer, knowing one day, it just may happen. "To remember you-"
Her voice trails and a pair of scissors are brandished next to his bearded chin.
Metal, sharp and cool touch his neck until he gulps in silent fear and she sees the goosebumps form along the vital, pulsing green vein that she had once stilled. One day, it just may happen. Breaths tickle the hair of his sideburns, quick, desperate, thrilling.
"Do it," he says.
She opens the scissors, closing them inches from his nose.
"Do it, I can't go back to Katara like this".
"Then you won't go at all".
That is a first in six summers. Neither she nor he is a risk taker. However, the thought had been on her mind since last summer. Whoever said habits were hard to break, had to be dumber and more optimistic than her old, flighty, traitor girlfriend. It was impossible. Here are two, completely indoctrinated master benders allowing their sins to become habits, unwilling or unable to let go.
Her habit, led to his, her obsession, his drive, no one would dare change this.
Her fingers tremble, the clippers tap his bushy beard. Permission, she needs before continuing. The privilege to command her heart and hand is his and his alone.
"No".
She gasps, releasing the scissors to fall to the stone floor with an earsplitting sound of stone against metal. A shatter she is sure is mocking her heart breaking. No words, he had spoken, she must concede. She looks to where his blue marking disappeared beneath the most beautiful mess of sage brown she had ever witnessed. Lip biting, another habit she has picked up after six summers of rejection and abandonment. Her bottom lip bloodies as she resists the urge to possess the tresses against his will.
It's not mine. She reminds herself again. What choice do I have?
With shaking hands, she retrieves the scissors to restart the process. Her wrist is seized, another first in six summers. She panics, freezing in place. Will he take this painful pleasure as well? Just leave her in the morning with nothing to hold close to her heart at night, shivering in hopes that next summer will be different? She is unsure of what she will do if he even thinks of doing such a thing. Burn him? Kiss him? Beg him?
"Don't". Bright eyes look into hers as if seeing through her. "Not this time".
The scissors meet the wooden column next to the couple, next longing fingers run through sable, short air nomad hair in euphoric satisfaction. A moan sneaks its way between her perfectly aligned teeth, as gray eyes close in bliss from the attention.
"Mine," groans the fire nation's princess, wrapping her naked calves around a rock hard torso, her red, six inch heels locking at the ankles.
His hair between her fingers seems to bend to her will. Caressing slowly, she hums, holding his head tightly to her breasts, nails gently scratching and massaging softly.
"Yours," she hears him groan back, making her squeeze a tussle of the avatar's outgrown hair and bury her face in it, absorbing the hypnotizing scent of power.
A mewling sound from the princess causes him to react. Panting and gasping from the woman he could not resist any longer finally coax him into turning to face her, his bad habit, diving beneath a black dress already rolled to the hips, slender nails guiding his lips and tongue. Magic was made. It is the highest cost. He will leave her again in the morning and they will know each other as former nemeses yet again in the faces of others, breaking the heart that her brother claims she does not have. He will wake on Air Temple Island with his wife and children, leaving her in the Fire Nation, broken and lost until he returns, his hair freshly regrown and signaling another summer's long "mental health session".
Forgive me. He thought, knowing she will by next summer as she always does. Each summer, Avatar Aang lives and breathes Princess Azula for as long as she will allow herself to be used.
He knows one day it will stop, but until then he will hide his true intentions as easily as he disguises his arrow. She will continue to love him for what he is not, his hair, her obsession, his escape.
This and the next series of posts will be centered around the album, BLACKsummer's Night by Maxwell. Best album to summarize Azulaang's volatile, eccentric relationship. Guest reviewer, this is specially dedicated to you as I attempted, to the best of my ability, to capture the theme of hair obsession in this update. Hope it is to your liking. QTZ