It happens for the first time on the night of Zuko's 21st birthday.
The palace has thrown him an opulent celebration to commemorate the milestone. Still not quite over his breakup with Mai, Zuko overindulges in the free-flowing rice wine. Gathering his liquid courage, he catches a young noblewoman's eye across the crowded ballroom and winks. She smiles, quirking her head and glancing pointedly toward the door.
Two minutes later, he has her pinned against a pillar in the shadows of an empty hallway. "Happy birthday, Fire Lord Zuko," she whispers seductively.
Smirking, he says, I can't wait to unwrap my gift. Except, these are not the words that leave his mouth.
"Your allure haunts me.
Beautiful body, take me.
Do me this honor."
Zuko freezes, his eyes widening.
She raises one manicured brow but crashes her lips to his before he has time to wonder what on earth just happened.
Weeks later, it happens again.
Zuko stares for just a bit too long at a pretty tea server during a diplomatic visit with King Kuei. He lets his mind wander, and instead of thanking her for pouring his tea, he says:
"Your tongue wets your lips.
I ponder what else it does.
Perhaps you'll show me."
Kuei's council chamber is eerily quiet, save for the Fire Lord choking on his own spit.
It keeps happening.
He is only human, he tells himself. He is a human being with desires. It is just a product of his dismal luck that those desires lead to him telling servants in no uncertain terms that he would like to have sex with them.
But sometimes his luck isn't so bad.
Zuko likes to think that his position has certain…benefits. He would never use it to take advantage of others, but his more primal desires are often met with willing participants. Even if it means said participants have to hear him wax poetic as foreplay.
The moment he thinks about sex, cheesy poetry spills from him of its own volition. It's as if his brain shuts down, and his lips develop a mind of their own. Though, as it continues to happen, he decides he can't complain. Because, well, it works.
Zuko would never use his position to take advantage of others, but he can't help it if they like his cheesy poetry.
But that strange tic that takes him over never lasts. All of his flings end the same way, with Zuko alone in his bed the following morning, once again in control of the words that exit his mouth.
It all changes when she shows up on his doorstep, soaking wet with tears and rain. Ridiculously, stupidly beautiful. Zuko's stomach drops to his feet when her eyes meet his.
He tries to say, Stay here for as long as you need.
"I…think you are.
Be needing to be here. Yeah.
Want to…follow me?"
What the what?
Katara coughs awkwardly before echoing his thoughts. "What was that?" And Zuko would also like to know because up until this point, his poetry has been, well…poetic.
He presses his lips into a hard line, no longer trusting what might slip from them, and leads her inside to the royal apartments. Katara follows wordlessly, but he can see the amusement dancing in her expression when they stop at a guest chamber as far away from his bedroom as the palace will allow.
That doesn't stop her from seeking him out, of course. And it happens every time she does. He tries suppressing his longing for her—mostly by thinking of gross things in her presence. The mental image of his uncle naked in a hot spring has always worked like a charm in other situations where his…impediment arose at inappropriate times.
But it continues to happen, even if he manages to successfully temper his arousal. Just her being in the same room as him is enough to send him careening. Long gone are Zuko's eloquent haikus of yestermonth—and intelligible speech, period.
Eventually, his mortification leads him to stop talking to her altogether. It hurts her, he can tell, but probably not as much as it hurts him.
Two weeks after her arrival, Katara enters his office unannounced. His heart nearly leaps from his chest at the sight of her. "Do you mind if I join you?" She wears a look that says, I dare you to refuse me.
Zuko exhales slowly, concentrates.
"This my. Office room.
Shut up? I am reading scrolls.
I guess, you want to come in?"
Ugh.
Katara blinks her big, stupid, beautiful blue eyes and gives him a flat look. He grimaces and waves her inside.
"Is this why you've been avoiding me?" Her tone is playful, but he hears the hurt confusion underneath.
Zuko drops his head into his hands, wishing to melt into the floor. He tries again.
I don't have a choice.
"Avoiding is…no.
I mean, why would I avoid?
I'm happy to not."
Agni, help me.
She looks concerned now. "Zuko, are you okay?"
He keeps trying. Again, and again, until Katara is bidding him a stilted goodnight and he is reduced to incoherent noises of frustration.
The next afternoon, Uncle Iroh arrives in the capital for a visit. He has hardly exited his palanquin when Zuko practically drags him toward the royal tea room, but not before Katara—of course, Katara—intercepts them in the hall.
"Iroh! It's so good to see you," she says, offering him a small bow.
Uncle returns it. "Likewise, Master Katara." He chortles lightly and turns to Zuko. "Nephew, you didn't tell me I would have the pleasure of running into Master Katara during my visit."
They both look at him expectantly, and he quails under those ridiculous blue eyes. Deep breaths, Zuko.
"Katara. Yes. Here.
I. Take deep breaths? Been here weeks.
Now you can see her."
The pathetic display ends with a jet of flame shooting from the Fire Lord's mouth.
Zuko gives neither of them time to react, ignoring the startled chuckle when he grabs his esteemed uncle by the collar and literally drags him the rest of the way to the tea room.
As soon as the door is securely shut, he whirls on the man. "Uncle, you have to help me."
Iroh looks at him through narrowed eyes, his expression thoughtful. "I had wondered if it would be you."
"Wondered if what would be me?" he seethes.
The man has the audacity to smirk at him. "You seem to be exhibiting the…condition that occurs once every generation in our family. Your father had the gene, too. I assume you've been speaking, ah, poetically, for a few months now?"
Zuko nods and tries not to think too hard about that bit of news about his father. Or the fact that his sister gets to be the firebending prodigy of a generation, and Zuko speaks in haiku when he's turned on—or whenever Katara so much as breathes in his direction.
"I must say, nephew, I had hoped your work would be a bit more eloquent. Your father's poetry to your mother was quite beautiful."
Again, he tries not to think about that. Instead, he says, "That's the thing, Uncle. Before, the poems were…sort of romantic. Why do I sound like an idiot, now?" he trails off, gesturing helplessly toward himself.
Iroh is now openly grinning at him. "When exactly did these poems start to become…less romantic?"
Zuko says nothing because he and his uncle both know when he started talking utter nonsense and what—or rather, who—caused it. He feels his cheeks burn, and Iroh seems to take that as confirmation.
And he should have known, really, because he has been on the brink of loving her for years.
"Well, there is only one way to solve your problem, nephew." The man looks absolutely delighted.
Zuko frowns. "Well, usually it stops when I…you know. Is that—? Uncle, Katara doesn't feel that way about me. I could never—"
They are interrupted by the door opening, and the interior minister pokes her head into the room. Before he can question his uncle further, Zuko is whisked away to an afternoon of meetings.
That evening, Zuko is on his way back to his uncle's room to drill him with more questions when he spots Katara—walking out of the very place he is heading for. He freezes, and he can practically hear Uncle's smirk as the door closes behind her.
"Hi," she breathes, familiar amusement lighting up her ridiculous, beautiful face. Does he imagine that she looks slightly nervous to see him?
Zuko bites his lip and nods curtly, moving to brush by her to get to his uncle's room. Her hand on his wrist stops him, and he stops breathing at her cool touch.
"Will you take a walk with me?" Yes, he thinks, she definitely looks nervous.
He holds out his elbow for her to take before his mind can catch up with his actions.
They are halfway to Katara's guest chamber when Zuko stops. Until now, his mind was wholly focused on the girl next to him and the quiet musings flowing from her stupid full lips. But as he realizes where she is taking him, it dawns on him that they are traversing dangerous ground.
Katara, why are we going this way?
"Gardens? Let's go there.
This is your room. I can't. Yeah.
We see turtle ducks."
She startles him by stepping closer and pressing a finger to his lips. "Your uncle told me about your family's...problem."
Oh, he would be having words with his uncle later, but at the moment, the faint blush spreading across Katara's cheeks is enough to drive all other thought from his mind.
Zuko doesn't dare speak when she inhales deeply and begins plucking at the front of his robes. "Why don't you let me help you fix it?" She is standing so close that he can feel the heat of her breath on his neck.
Knowing full well that the words will not come out the way he wants them to, Zuko opens his mouth to ask her all of his desperate questions. Does she know what she is saying? Does she mean it? Is he dreaming?
But before he can attempt the words, Katara leans up to brush her lips against his. "I can think of better ways for you to use your mouth right now," she whispers, eyes sparkling when she pulls back slightly to gauge his reaction.
Heat shoots into the base of Zuko's spine, and something in him snaps as his body reacts to her words. He doesn't register that his feet have carried him the rest of the way to Katara's bedroom until they are standing inside it, their chests heaving.
As soon as she closes the door behind her, Zuko slams her against it and shows her exactly what else his mouth can do.
He awakens at dawn the next morning, and the glaring reminder that the previous night had been real sleeps soundly on his chest, her head tucked under his chin.
Zuko snakes his arms around Katara's naked waist, pressing his face into her hair, inhaling the scent of her soap and her sweat. She mumbles sleepily when he absently runs his fingers through the long waves, tangled and frizzy from their night together.
He presses a featherlight kiss to her temple, mumbling, "Good morning," into her skin. Then nearly cries out with relief when his words—only three syllables!—actually make sense.
She peeks up at him through her lashes as he tries again. "Thank you, Katara." And he can't keep the smile from his face when for the second time, nothing stupid follows the sentence.
Katara hums and giggles into his neck. The vibration of it warms him down to his toes.
She props herself up on an elbow, beaming at him, and he decides that he wouldn't need a medical condition to sound stupid if he tries to say anything else to her.
"Hey, Zuko?" she says, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "I love you, too."
AN: This was a crack fic I posted on AO3 awhile back. Oh, and I'm on Tumblr now! Come say hi—my username is formerlygoldilocks over there, too.