this was written for a drabble event over on Tumblr ( zutaraangtastic), for an anon that asked for "capture the avatar" roleplay. slightly spicy :-)
"I was joking," Aang says, voice high and hoarse, all the joke wrung out of it. "I wasn't being serious–" Zuko gives a sharp tug on the rope around his wrists, a silky length extricated from one of his robes. "-Hey!" Aang glares resolutely, the column of the balcony pressing uncomfortably against his arms, his back, and bound wrists; blunt and cold and giving him no edge.
"This looks pretty serious to me," Zuko says, voice low in mock gravity as he draws the flat of his palm down Aang's chest to his straining trousers. Aang levels his eyes to Zuko's, feigning ease against their predatory gaze, unwilling to give them the upper hand. Zuko is touching him with more restraint than Aang could have ever imagined from him. He wishes he wouldn't.
Katara's voice is sticky sweet when she speaks. "You think playing innocent will get you out of this, Avatar?" The curve of her lip, stained fire lily red, twitches just shy of laughter. Aang wants to kiss it and then some. But she doesn't break character.
The two of them make a tantalising, vicious pair between them.
So they've captured the Avatar. Now what? As if reading his mind, Katara rises from her seat on the bed and slips behind Zuko, winding her slender arms down his waist, before carefully circling his forearms and his hands and pulling them off Aang. Aang complains audibly – more audibly than he usually would, really – at the loss, earning a sharp look from Katara.
"Come on," she says, leaning up to Zuko, her mouth a hair's breadth from his ear. Aang watches Zuko's eyes flutter at her call - always, at her beck and call. "You've done well to bring him to me. Now, we can't let him languish here without a little torment? What do you think is a suitable punishment for the dangerous Avatar?"
She doesn't wait for Zuko to answer the question. (Aang would make him answer. He would - except he can't open his mouth to speak a word against the mesmerising view in front of him.) Katara draws them face to face, sparing only a sly smile for Aang before they envelop each other in an ardent kiss. Zuko knows what to do from here. His fingers dip to the back of her waist; hers in his hair. Hands tug and grip and squeeze with abandon, but not Aang's hands. They're stuck uselessly behind his back.
He takes a harsh breath in. A smattering of stars is visible above where they sway between Zuko's bedroom and the balcony, winking in the misty night. They're mocking him too.
Katara and Zuko all but attack each other. Zuko is decisive. Aang shudders at the way his body curves into hers, knowing that industrious intensity firsthand - but she's always a step ahead. A tug in his hair here and there to keep him apace. Hair everywhere – it spills all around them, long and shining, astray in the moonlight. When Zuko slinks down to kiss her arching neck, Katara gasps in a way that Aang knows in the deepest, thoughtless parts of his brain has nothing to do with the performance. She gathers herself and looks right into him with too-bright eyes, a possessive hand clasped over the back of Zuko's head.
Aang's head reels. He swallows thickly, spine twisting against the pillar, and assesses his painfully uncomfortable predicament. He's going to have to find a way to escape their clutches soon.