[fic] Something to Hold Onto, Chapter 7: Under Your Skin Feels Like Home
Title: Something to Hold Onto [7/13]
Word count: 7,300
Pairing: Jet/Zuko
Rating: A very hard R for language, violence and sexual content
Summary: Since the day the walls of Ba Sing Se fell, the Freedom Fighters have struggled to protect what remains of the city and its people. Jet and his second command, a mysterious boy named Li, have spent the summer piecing together an army, hoping for a chance to take the city back for good. But Li is also Zuko, and the time for that secret is quickly running out. Soon, he'll have to decide exactly who he is, what cause he's going to fight for and where his heart lies.
This chapter: Jet isn't in the forest anymore.
Notes: As always, all the praise and thanks in the world to my betas, kittyjimjams and jlh, both of whom are lovely AND talented AND extremely kind. kittyjimjams and gulliblesnail generously helped me out with illustrations this week, all of which stoked the fires of my little fangirl heart and are linked to in the text and in a complete list at the end.
:: Previous Chapter ::
Master Jeong Jeong's dissatisfaction only grew over the course of the afternoon, and Zuko wished fervently that Uncle was training him instead. It wasn't just that Jeong Jeong had confined Zuko to exercises meant for children - the whole tone of it all was unsettling, reminding Zuko of his years with the royal Firebending tutors at the palace. A few had been kind, but they were quickly dismissed by the Fire Lord as too soft. Those that remained had been openly frustrated with Zuko's inability to master techniques as quickly as his sister did, and for most of his childhood he'd been driven as much by a desire to prove them wrong as by any actual interest in the art of bending.
He'd resented being thought of as useless, but he'd accepted long ago that he would never be exceptional. It didn't matter how hard he'd trained or how desperately he'd struggled. Unlike his sister, he'd never been particularly good at anything, and he doubted he ever would be. Good enough, maybe, but that was all.
But Jeong Jeong didn't seem interested in good enough, and for hours he paced their stretch of alleyway and nitpicked every detail of Zuko's technique. First with the leaf, forced into quiet smoldering, and then with a tiny ball of flame, the size and heat of which Zuko had had to precisely maintain for over an hour. Thankfully, Jet had gone by then, called away to help Piandao with the swordsmen. Much as Zuko enjoyed being around him again, Jet's absence made it easier to concentrate on what he was doing. That, and he was still reluctant to Firebend so obviously in front of the other boy. He had no idea what Jet might do - maybe what he couldn't help doing, after everything that had happened to him.
Zuko could understand that, of course. A lot had happened to him, too.
The sun was long-set and the sky dark when Jeong Jeong finally relented. "You've exhausted your chi," he muttered, arms crossed. "We will continue this tomorrow. I expect you to meditate on what you have learned in the meantime."
Zuko rose up out of his crouch, thighs sore and trembling from so many hours of effort. He pulled on his shirt, shook his legs out as best he could, and was only a little unsteady as they walked back to the Jasmine Dragon, neither bothering to make conversation. The moon was high enough that Zuko suspected dinner was over already, but he could still smell something savory drifting through the shutters, and buttery light spilled out from beneath the door.
Two short, four long, then rapid footsteps before Jin threw the door open. "Li! Ha ha, I mean Zuko!" she said, laughing off her own mistake as she stood aside. "I was just about to come find you! You hardly ate any breakfast, you must be starving." She turned to Jeong Jeong, who was glowering suspiciously at the bubbling pot on the stove. "Iroh's putting your things upstairs right now. We made some space in the middle store room for all of you."
"It'll be a bit crowded," said Piandao, who was seated at the kitchen table with Pakku. "But at least it has a roof."
"And a door," said Pakku. He sipped the bowl of soup he held in both hands. "And it's on solid ground. Anything's better than the hold of a ship."
Jin reached for another bowl and ladled a serving of thin soup into it. "Did it take you long to get here?" she asked as she handed the bowl to Jeong Jeong.
"I was with the Southern Tribe when Iroh sent word," said Pakku "A week to reach the mainland, another on the back of an Ostrich Horse-"
"Two weeks from the Fire Nation, sleeping in a metal bunk," said Piandao.
"I cannot believe the two of you are complaining about your beds," Jeong Jeong grunted as he took his place at the table.
"Perhaps you'll volunteer to take the floor, then," said Uncle, who had appeared at the head of the stairway, Ping and one of the Earthbenders just behind him with their arms full of crates. Zuko saw, now, that most of the space under the table had been filled with dusty piles of junk, which the crates were added to, Piandao moving his legs to make room.
"Thank you, Shi Kuai," said Uncle, smiling at the younger Earthbender. "These old bones are tired after so long on the road."
Shi Kuai glanced quickly at Ping, as if seeking guidance. "Oh…it's ah, not a problem, sir," he said. "Happy to help."
Jin ladled out a another bowl of soup, offering it to Zuko this time. "Space is getting pretty tight," she explained. "We had to put a few things in your room, too. Sorry."
"It's fine," he said. He took a long, deep gulp of hot broth, savoring the feel of it as it rushed down his throat and filled his empty stomach. "Where's Jet? Has he come back in yet?" He tried to keep the question casual, his eyes still on the bowl.
"Wang said he wanted to train a little longer," said Jin. "Don't worry, I'll save some dinner for him."
Zuko blushed as he nodded, then turned to find a place at the table with the others, hesitating a little before finally settling for a chair next to Piandao, which put as much space as possible between himself and Jeong Jeong. Shi Kuai disappeared into the loft again, but Uncle, Ping and Jin settled into the empty seats that remained, and for a time they all ate in amiable silence.
Warm soup in his stomach and his uncle's familiar outline beside him, Zuko had a brief moment of contentment, his exhaustion dissipating into a manageable ache that lacked any urgency. He'd eat, and then maybe he'd bring Jet his dinner. He knew how Jet could be when he was stressed like this - he'd probably forget to eat entirely unless someone hounded him about it. Zuko didn't mind that responsibility at all. He'd missed it, really - that feeling of being depended on, however trivial the details.
Uncle downed the last of his soup and smacked his lips appreciatively. "An excellent meal, Jin. I am glad to have left my kitchen in your capable hands."
"These days, I'm glad I have a kitchen," she said. "So I guess we're even, then."
"Indeed!" Uncle chuckled. He leaned back in his seat, smiling as he turned his head toward the main room. "It warms my heart to see this place so full of life."
"Well, it's all thanks to Zuko, really," said Jin lightly. "The rest of us wouldn't be here if it weren't for him."
"I suppose not," said Uncle, with a roughness in his voice that caused Zuko to look up sharply from his bowl. But Uncle's eyes were dry, and his tone smoothed out as he went on. "How was your training today, Nephew?"
Zuko started to glance over at Jeong Jeong, but caught himself just in time. "Fine," he said.
Jeong Jeong snorted. "It was anything but 'fine!' You technique is in shambles and your spirit is dangerously unfocused. I do not know how you expect him to survive in this state."
Zuko scowled. "I've survived fine not Firebending at all," he grumbled. "And it's not like I'll be able to bend during the eclipse anyway."
Jeong Jeong's empty bowl hit the table with a bang, making the others jump. "Your destiny does not end with the eclipse!"
"Surely you're being a little hard on him," said Piandao, frowning slightly. "He doesn't-"
"Do you think Princess Azula will hesitate to be hard on him?" Jeong Jeong snapped. "She may lack the raw power of her father, but her skill is nearly unmatched. As he is now, Prince Zuko will not last a minute against her, let alone-"
"My sister isn't here," said Zuko, cutting across him, not caring any more about disrespecting his elders. Jin and Ping were both looking at him in that way he'd grown to hate in the past few days - like they'd just remembered who he really was. "She left," he said. "A long time ago."
"Of course she is not here!" Jeong Jeong barked. "She is in the Fire Nation, biding her time."
"Yeah, and I'm in Ba Sing Se, so what the hell does it matter to me what she's doing?"
Jeong Jeong stared at him, his frown now more perplexed than angry. "Even if the Avatar manages to defeat the Fire Lord, your sister is far too clever to allow herself to fall as well. She will seize power, and you will have to wrest it from her hands."
"What?" Zuko knew he must have looked ridiculous, sitting there with his mouth hanging open, but for a moment he couldn't help it. That wasn't at all what he'd expected Jeong Jeong to say, and it took some time to absorb its meaning; more still to figure out how to respond. "Look I don't…" He took a breath and tried again. "I'm supposed to be here. That's what Uncle told me, that I should stay here and fight. The Fire Nation doesn't even care about me anymore, why should I-"
"Because it is your duty! You are the heir to the throne, you cannot simply-"
"We have all had a long day," said Uncle, steel beneath his airy tone as he cut Jeong Jeong off. "Perhaps this conversation would be better served by rest and the time to reflect."
A thick, uncomfortable quiet blanketed the room. No one looked at Zuko, but he could feel the effort of that avoidance, and wished he had the first idea what to do about it. Jet would have known just the thing to say, how to smooth the sharp edges and get everyone laughing again. Zuko could only wait for this awkward gap to close on its own.
Jin stood with all the appearance of spontaneity and started to collect the empty bowls. "I'll put on some water for tea," she said. "Ping, could you help me with the dishes?"
Ping stacked up the remaining bowls, solemn as always, and followed her over to the sink. The rest of them sat and listened as he pumped water into the basin, a steady rhythm of metal and liquid.
"Piandao," said Uncle with determined cheer. "How were the young swordsmen?"
"Better than expected," said Piandao gamely. "Jet and Zuko seem to have trained them well, if a little informally. I'm looking forward to continuing tomorrow."
Zuko pushed back from the table and walked over to the stove. Piandao continued speaking as Zuko filled another bowl and made his way toward the door, concentrating on his stride so it wouldn't spill. He could feel the weight of Jeong Jeong's words bearing down on him, the air in the kitchen still heavy with the tension they'd caused.
"They're quite young, but as brave as any warriors I've known," Piandao was saying. "Their camaraderie has been inspiring to see."
The door was only a few steps away, now, promising relief. And more, perhaps, although Zuko tried to ignore the swell of hope in his chest.
Ping dried his hands and moved to open it for him. "Careful," he said. Zuko didn't think he meant the soup.
He found Jet in the small courtyard a few turns away from the kitchen door - the first place he thought to look. The moon was bright, the world beneath it thrown into deep contrast. Jet was doing pushups on the ground, hands and toes placed carefully among the cobblestones. He'd stripped off his armor and outer tunic, which all lay with his swords in a careless pile against the wall. His thin undershirt was plastered to his back with sweat, rivulets running down his jaw and along the straining muscles of his arms. The night was warm but not hot, the air pleasantly dry - he'd been at this a long time.
They'd spent many hours here over the course of the summer, teaching the kids how to hold a sword and throw a punch and flip a man twice their size. Later, after the others had all gone in for dinner, the two of them had often lingered, Jet whistling to the sentries to ask for a little privacy. Sometimes it hadn't really been necessary, but more often by far, it had.
Tonight, Zuko knew, would not pick up the threads of that old pattern. And as he waited for Jet to finish, heart fluttering a little as he watched, he tried to push his own, wild hopes down into the pit of his stomach.
After another dozen reps or so, Jet pulled his feet back under him and stood. He tugged his shirt out of his belt and used it to wipe his face; when he let it go again it hung open, revealing a vertical stripe of bare skin.
"Do you need something?" he asked tonelessly. He didn't look at Zuko, his eyes hidden by his hair.
Zuko's mouth felt very dry. He licked his lips before he spoke, the bowl clutched in his hands. "I brought you dinner."
"Oh," said Jet. He came a little closer and took the bowl in one hand when Zuko held it out to him. "Thanks." Zuko watched him bring it up to his lips, head tilting back as he took a long, deep drink. His throat moved as he swallowed, the whole length of his slender neck exposed, a terrain Zuko knew very well.
Zuko tried to think of something to say. He realized his mouth was hanging slightly open, flushed a little and shut it. He couldn't just stand here staring, but no words came to him. Only flashes of impulse, each less wise and more tempting than the last.
"There something else?" Jet asked, wearily curious.
"I…" Zuko's cheeks burned, his eyes determinedly focused on the ground. He knew exactly what else he wanted, but what he could ask for was another matter entirely. "Were you going to be here much longer? Um…you know. Like this."
Jet sighed, and Zuko imagined he rolled his eyes a little, too. "Yeah, I was gonna keep training for a while. That a problem?"
"No! No, I just…" Jet hadn't moved away, and Zuko could feel the heat rising off his skin. "Today's been so crazy, and I thought…You know, if you…" He paused, forcing himself to breathe normally. "If it's okay maybe we could spar. A little."
"Spar?"
"Yeah. You know, like…" Like we used to, he thought, though he knew better than to say it. Jet wouldn't need him to, besides. He'd remember the evenings they'd spent out here as well as Zuko did. "Just for practice."
"I'm not a Firebender," said Jet, his voice gone flat again. "I don't know what you think I can do for you."
"I won't be a Firebender, either, for eight minutes," said Zuko. "Besides, it's…" He rubbed his neck, which felt hot beneath his palm. "I should know anyway, right? How to fight like you do."
"Like I do," Jet echoed, no hint of an opinion in his tone.
"Yeah," said Zuko quietly. "It's not like bending's the best way to handle everything."
Jet didn't reply right away. After a few seconds had passed, Zuko chanced looking up at him again. Jet was frowning down at the last few drops of soup, his bottom lip between his teeth.
"It's not," he said finally. He sounded surprised, though Zuko hadn't a clue what about.
The bowl was set down next to the pile of armor, Jet's shirt following a moment later. His skin glistened as he turned to cross the courtyard, muscle and bone shifting beneath it, every indent and curve defined by blue shadows.
Zuko's mouth was open again, his chest tightening with each shallow breath. Jet was so beautiful. How had he ever gotten used to this, ever spent a moment in this boy's company without reaching for him - touching some part of that body, some sliver of exposed skin?
Jet had taken his place and Zuko moved to do the same, knees bent and arms raised in front of him. The hope he'd so carefully contained now boiled in his stomach, hot and urgent. "Ready?" he murmured, afraid his full voice would shake.
"Yeah," said Jet.
Zuko was the first to move, a sudden release of tension that sent him hurtling across the courtyard. Jet ducked under the arc of his fist, twisted as his own leg swept along the ground to kick Zuko's out from under him. Zuko landed hard but rolled to his feet, just in time to see Jet's fist coming at him. He caught it, turned and pulled it over his shoulder, Jet's chest against his back as Zuko threw him.
Jet landed on his feet, lithe and slick and always moving, already running forward again as Zuko regained his own balance. He turned Jet's fists aside with his forearms, stepped back awkwardly as Jet moved to take advantage of the gaping holes in his defense. He saw a half-dozen chances to grab Jet's arm again, twist him around and pin him, but he let them all pass by. He didn't trust himself to hold Jet that close and not do something he shouldn't.
Even this was too close. Zuko could smell his hair; see the delicate curve of his collar bone, begging to be tasted. He felt himself stiffen and wished his pants weren't so damn thin, wished he hadn't been so stupid as to think he could handle this, that he could concentrate on anything at all when Jet's dark, slippery body was less than an arm's length away.
They'd practiced like this so many times that the movements themselves were automatic, leaving his mind free to wander. He thought of the coiled strength in Jet's arms, the fleeting touches as he knocked Jet's blows away, the sweat that ran along Jet's temple and down the cords of his neck.
Weeks ago, on a night when Zuko had felt this way, he'd have had Jet under him on a pile of their clothes by now, ankles crossed at the base of his spine as Jet drew him in and held him close. Like he'd drawn Zuko into this city - this life and all its tangled responsibilities.
The war was important. Saving the city was important. He'd told Jet he would fight for these things, and he'd meant it. But here in this courtyard, his body flowing through familiar rhythms as he drowned in the sight and smell of the other boy, he knew that Jet was every bit as important as anything else. Maybe more, in some selfish corner of his heart. Jet had drawn him in and Zuko had gladly surrendered to it - would do so again, if Jet would only let him.
Jet stopped so suddenly it took Zuko's strained perception a moment to react, his arm coming up to block a nonexistent punch. Feeling ridiculous, he let both arms fall and rose out of his stance, skin burning all down his neck and to the tips of his ears.
"Your technique's a mess," said Jet. The monotone had started to waver, and his eyes were fixed on the middle of Zuko's chest. "You're always on the defensive, and you're leaving your right side open."
"I'm sorry," Zuko murmured, breathing hard from more than exercise.
"Don't apologize. Just…look." Jet stepped closer, took Zuko's wrist and lifted it so that his forearm was at a right angle to the ground. "You keep blocking me like this," he said, miming a punch and moving Zuko's arm so that his own was deflected inward. "But that gives me time to come in during the follow-through. You have to knock me off-balance, give yourself some room to move." This time, Jet's arm was sent outward. Zuko tried to concentrate on what he was saying, instead of the feel of Jet's fingers on the soft skin of his wrist.
"Got it?" Jet asked. He was still holding Zuko's arm, positioned between them such that Zuko's fingers were inches from his face. All Zuko would have to do was flex them, just slightly, and they would brush against Jet's cheekbone. A little further, and they'd slide into the hollow behind Jet's ear.
Seconds passed. Jet looked up into Zuko's eyes, his dark and unreadable in the moonlight, arched brows knit above them. Zuko could feel Jet's breath against his skin, quicker than it had been a moment before. He wondered if Jet could feel the rapid thrum of his pulse. He was so hard, now, aching in the confines of his clothes. Jet had to have noticed. How could he not, when they'd been like this so many times before?
In the end, it was Zuko's thumb that moved. It brushed against the swell of Jet's bottom lip, over the rough patches where Jet had bitten them. He expected to have his hand slapped away, but Jet didn't stop him. He only exhaled, slow and shuddering.
In the perfect stillness of the courtyard, Zuko's mouth made a soft, wet sound as he opened it to speak. "I think I should go back inside," he whispered.
He could feel Jet's lips move beneath his thumb. "Why?"
"I just…" He swallowed, his mind racing through explanations. There were none, except a vague and gnawing panic. "I just think I should."
Jet shifted his weight forward, and a hot, hard bulge pressed against Zuko's hip. "You don't have to," he said.
It took all that remained of his concentration to answer. "Jet…" he murmured, hoarse with how badly he wanted this. "Are you-"
"Yes," said Jet.
His grip tightened as Zuko cupped his jaw, ran his thumb along Jet's cheek to the tuft of sideburn in front of his ear. He didn't flinch or pull away. He only closed his eyes as his free hand settled on Zuko's waist, holding him close to the insistent heat between them.
With excruciating slowness, Zuko dipped his head down. He felt sure that Jet would change his mind, but the other boy stayed still and silent as lips pressed against his neck. The only sound was their rough, shallow breathing; the wet crackle of Zuko's mouth as it moved, forging a path of careful kisses along the sharp line of Jet's jaw, itchy with stubble and tasting of salt and dust.
He kissed the corner of Jet's mouth, raised his other hand and slid his fingers into the hair at the nape of Jet's neck, shorter than he remembered it being in a way his eyes hadn't noticed. "Jet," he whispered, the word a puff of air against Jet's skin.
Jet's answer was to turn his head, tongue flickering out to taste Zuko's lips. An electric jolt of desire ripped through Zuko's body, burned away what remained of his control. Mouths opened, delicate kisses dissolving into a frantic, breathless rush of lips and tongues and clicking teeth. Jet released Zuko's wrist and cupped the back of his skull, fingers twisted into his hair, holding him as the kisses deepened, the other hand sliding beneath Zuko's belt as their hips ground together.
Not enough. After so long, it wasn't nearly enough, and Zuko moaned his encouragement as Jet tugged at the knot that held his belt in place. His tunic fell open as the belt dropped to the ground, Jet's eager fingers skimming around his ribs and down his spine. Zuko reached between them, hand closing around Jet's erection through the rough fabric of his pants, a spot of moisture against his palm. Jet groaned and kissed him harder, pushed his waistband down and squeezed his ass.
Two weeks of not being able to touch this boy, and now Zuko wanted to touch all of him at once, clumsy in his eagerness to get Jet's pants out of the way. The ache between his legs and the ache in his chest fed back into each other, an echoing loop of hunger for Jet's mouth and his smooth, slick skin. He stroked Jet in a steady rhythm, shuddering with every small sound of need he coaxed from Jet's throat and drunk on the scent of their arousal.
He gasped as Jet freed him from the confines of his underwear, the night air cool on his skin for only a moment before Jet's hand wrapped around him. This was what he'd wanted, what he'd missed, what he'd lain awake remembering in the time they'd spent apart. To be this close to another person, voices and sweat and spit mingling, the world vanishing outside their bodies and the moonlight.
Seventeen years old, and he'd never understood. Part of him still didn't, still lacked the words for what this was: this thing that pressed against his ribs, terrifying and wonderful and so far outside the life he'd known before.
He spilled into Jet's hand - all wet heat and long fingers - his moans swallowed by Jet's mouth. And as Jet followed him, silent and shuddering, a heady certainty washed over him, so strong that he had to grab Jet's shoulder to keep himself on his feet.
This was real and it was important. It didn't matter if the words still escaped him, if he couldn't name this force that had twisted up into his gut. It mattered, whatever it was. And he would never let go of it again.
A part of Jet wanted to feel guilty about this, disgusted with himself and what he'd done. The same part that had never really left the forest behind, that still dreamed of the smell of burnt flesh and had once sacrificed a village to kill a handful of soldiers. But those days had never felt so distant as they did tonight. The dead were long since dust, the village washed away. Zuko was right here, standing next to him, the taste of his mouth and body still fresh on Jet's tongue.
Jet shifted his weight uncomfortably, unsure what to do with himself while he waited. It had only taken a few seconds to pull his pants back up and cinch them in place, but Zuko was still trying to brush the dirt off his own tunic, a sheepish little grin on his lips. Jet gathered up his armor and swords, bundled them in the clothes he hadn't bothered to put back on and stuffed it all under one arm. He didn't see much of a point in anything beyond the bare minimum of decency - probably Jin was the only one still awake, and she could always tell regardless.
Zuko finished retying his belt and looked up, his smile wide and honest and his eyes pale silver in the moonlight. Jet remembered the first time they'd had sex outdoors: a hurried tryst on the roof of some outer ring warehouse, back when the other boy's name was "Li" and he still kept all his secrets. He'd looked just like this afterward, embarrassed but no less pleased for it, his unscarred cheek flushed pink. Jet had found that look irresistible. He still did, and before he could think better of it he took a quick step forward.
Zuko made a small, startled sound as Jet kissed him. It felt so good to kiss Zuko again. Good enough that it unnerved Jet a little, his back tensing as he pulled away. "We should go in," he muttered vaguely.
If Zuko noticed the change he didn't comment on it. If anything, his smile was even goofier as they walked back to the kitchen door. He kept sneaking sideways glances, his ears now just as red as his cheeks. Fuck, he was adorable. How the hell could he be the prince of anything, let alone the Fire Nation? Jet tried to imagine him sitting on a throne, dressed in brocade robes with a crown tucked into his hair, and almost laughed out loud despite his mood. The idea was ludicrous.
Iroh answered the door, looking tired but affable enough. He'd changed into the sort of light, cotton robes one usually slept in, and his feet were bare on the kitchen floor. "I trust your exercises went well," he said softly, taking the empty soup bowl from Zuko's hands. Jin was asleep at the table behind him, her head pillowed on her folded arms and the ledger still open in front of her.
Jet wasn't sure he'd ever seen Zuko turn quite this red. "They went fine," Zuko said shortly.
Iroh must have been feeling merciful, as he didn't press his nephew any further. Instead he turned his cheery smile toward Jet. "I'm sorry you couldn't join us for dinner," he said. "Master Piandao was telling us how much you have accomplished here."
Jet shifted the bundle in his arms, feeling awkward. "We all do what we have to, I guess. No big deal."
"Perhaps," said Iroh. "But he does not give such praise often or easily. I believe he admires your spirit." He smiled a little wider. "And your convictions."
"Sure," Jet mumbled. He had no idea what to say to something like that, or how he even felt about it. That morning, he probably would've been pissed - what the hell did some arrogant Fire Nation prick know about him? But now he wasn't so sure. The whole world was shifting under him, along with his place in it.
"As for you, Prince Zuko," Iroh rumbled, winding the knot in Jet's gut even tighter. "Do not let Master Jeong Jeong's words distress you. His intentions are good, however he, ah…expresses them."
Zuko looked every bit as uncomfortable as Jet felt. Maybe more so, his shoulders hunched up past the level of his jaw. "I guess."
Iroh reached out to squeeze his upper arm. "When the time comes, you will be ready," he said quietly. "Of that, I am certain."
Jet watched Iroh climb up into the loft, the stairs groaning under his weight. A decision loomed, but he wasn't yet ready to make it. Instead he went to where Jin was sitting and gently shook one of her shoulders. She started a little, eyes fluttering open as she jerked up from the table. She had a red mark on one cheek from where it had been squashed by her arm. "Sorry," she said muzzily, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms.
"Hey," he said gently. "Go to bed, okay? You're no good to me if you don't sleep."
Jin made a face and wiped away a trickle of moisture at the corner of her mouth. "How am I good to you when I'm awake, exactly?" she asked, a little wry.
Jet chuckled. "Someone has to keep Sheng out of my hair, right?"
Jin rolled her eyes as she stood. "Right," she said. She sounded more alert, the haze of sleepiness lifting as she looked between Jet and Zuko and took in the state of their clothes. "Right," she said again, though now she was trying rather obviously not to smile. "Well, I'll be going then."
"Don't let us sleep in," said Jet, as casually as he could manage. Jin tossed off a salute, collected her brush, ink and ledger and ducked into the other room. Which left Jet and Zuko alone again, staring at each other in the dim lantern light.
"It's pretty late," Zuko murmured.
"Yeah," said Jet. He reached up to finger the half-healed burn on his neck, still sensitive under hard scabs. "Yeah, I guess we should go to bed."
Zuko's eyes flickered toward the stairs and back, so transparently hopeful that it made Jet's throat close a little to see it. He raised a hand to touch the side of Zuko's face, fingertips brushing the fringe of his scar. Zuko closed his eyes for a moment, nostrils flared as he took a deep, slow breath. His hair was a mess, and Jet could see the small, pink crescents where he'd nipped the delicate skin of Zuko's neck.
"All right," said Jet, as much to himself as to Zuko. The old instincts told him he was giving up, allowing himself to be seduced by the promise of normalcy and a warm body beside him. But Jet was tired of fighting, tired of rage and of standing alone with only his principles for comfort. He wasn't in the forest anymore.
He took a lantern down from the wall and started walking up the stairs before he could change his mind. A moment later, he heard the creak of Zuko's footsteps as he followed.
Their room was even more cramped than usual, crates stacked against every bit of wall the shelves didn't cover, such that only a few square feet of floor space remained. Jet hung the lantern on a nail just inside the door, then Zuko stood quietly in the hall as he put his armor away, right beside Zuko's in its usual spot. He hesitated after that, debating his options. But he wasn't really the bashful type, and after what they'd just done in the courtyard it seemed stupid to be shy. He left his underwear on but the rest of his clothes were stuffed between the canisters of tea. Then he sat down on the bed, swinging his legs up off the floor to make room.
Even though he'd seen the other boy naked hundreds of times, and even though the two of them had jerked each other off less than a half hour ago, Jet's mouth went a little dry as Zuko closed the door and began to undress. His body was amazing, and Jet never got tired of looking at it. He could have pushed the complications aside, then, and let the sight of Zuko's bare skin seduce him into forgetting what lay beneath it - who he really was and what he could do.
But Jet didn't want to forget those things. He didn't believe in loving part of a man, the rest cordoned off by self-deception. That wasn't how he wanted to live. He watched as Zuko carefully folded his clothes, his face in profile so that it was mostly scar tissue and a small frown of concentration. And again he forced himself to see the truth of it: this boy, his lover and his second in command, was a Firebender.
He waited for the old panic to resurface, for the bile to rise in his throat. Neither came. His heartbeat quickened and the walls seemed closer than they had a moment ago, but his mind remained clear. He was angry that Zuko had lied to him, but that was the kind of anger he knew how to deal with, serious of course but unexceptional. People lied to each other all the time. At least Zuko had had a good reason.
Jet took a deep breath, lifted the moth-eaten blanket and slid beneath it. The bed creaked as Zuko joined him, his movements slow and tentative, as if expecting Jet to object at any moment. But Jet was starting to find all this uncertainty tiresome, and once Zuko had settled - on his back, with his hands folded on his chest - Jet scooted over to lay his cheek against Zuko's shoulder and tuck a hand into the crook of his elbow.
Zuko let out a long, slow sigh, the tension leaving his muscles as if exhaled along with his breath. He kissed Jet's forehead and Jet pushed a little closer, his stomach just touching Zuko's hips. The edge of unease was still there but it had quieted, a low hum instead of the scream that had threatened to split his head in two.
With Zuko so close, it felt strange to remember the lake and what had followed. Jet had tried very hard not to think about it at all in the weeks since. He hadn't let things get that bad in years, and didn't much appreciate the reminder of how tenuous his self-control could be. But he thought about it now, his grip tightening on Zuko's arm.
Jet knew that he was broken. How could he not be, after everything he'd seen and all the things he'd done? And in those first hours after the lake, crouched on the ground with Smellerbee's arms around him, he'd felt the whole depth and breadth of it - every crack in his soul, every jagged hole the years had torn in his heart, the weight of all the rage and grief he'd never be able to shake.
He'd lost control, and he hated that. He hated that he'd been so completely overwhelmed.
He'd felt the first, creeping hints of that anger's return this afternoon, lusting for Piandao's blood in the courtyard. He'd wanted to hurt that man. But you didn't, he told himself, and it was true. He'd calmed down enough to listen. He'd sat and watched Zuko's Firebending lessons. He'd helped Piandao train the men, worked with him like any other ally. Like it was nothing.
Then Zuko had brought him dinner. Such a small thing, really, but wasn't that how lives were built? A long chain of small things all strung together, each flowing into the next: Katara screaming at him on the bank of a river; a meeting in the treetops, tense with the knowledge that he'd gone too far too often; the climb out of the valley at dawn, the last of his followers beside him; an overheard conversation on the road, about a city whose walls the war had never breached; a stranger on the deck of a ferry. Small things had carried him halfway across the world - to this place, this night, this boy holding out a bowl of soup.
Jet covered Zuko's folded hands with his own; craned his neck to kiss Zuko's scarred cheek, stiff and glassy smooth against his lips. "Zuko," he said.
"Mmm?"
Jet let his head drop to Zuko's shoulder again. "I'm sorry," he said. "About…shit. About everything."
Zuko frowned, shifting so he could watch Jet through the slit of his left eye. "I'm the one who messed everything up. A lot of people got hurt because of me." He slid one hand out from under Jet's and resettled it on top, gently weaving their fingers together. "I'm the one who should be sorry," he murmured. "And I am. I'm so sorry, Jet."
Jet swallowed, his chest tight. Zuko was so unlike most of the people he'd known, who recoiled from any blame laid at their feet, refusing the burden of culpability. Smellerbee and Longshot would never do that. Ping and Jin wouldn't, either. But Zuko went too far, past responsibility and into something like penance - the villain of his own story, bent beneath the weight of borrowed guilt. Jet understood how that could be.
He had listened to Zuko describe his strange, sad history. And in the days since Jet had wondered, more than once, why Zuko wasn't angry - why he would want to go back to the father who had punished him so cruelly, over such a trivial slight. Thinking about it now, it all seemed a little clearer.
If allowed to, Zuko would always blame himself. Jet found he didn't want to let him, not this time or this way.
"Gen left today," he said. Zuko opened his mouth to apologize again, but Jet went on before he could. "It's my fault. I should've been able to stop him. I should've talked to him after what happened at the gate. We all knew he was upset, and I just let it go until it got to be too much." He squeezed Zuko's hand. "I guess I let a lot of things go."
"You did what you could."
"Maybe," said Jet. "That's not good enough, though. I'm supposed to be the leader. I'm responsible for all these kids. If I can't keep my shit together-"
"You will," said Zuko, quiet and certain.
"But if I can't," said Jet. He paused as a wave of panic gathered, closed his eyes and breathed until the worst had washed over him. "I just worry sometimes, you know?" he went on, softer now. "That this'll all fall apart."
"It won't."
Jet grinned a little. "What makes you so damn sure?"
"I have to be," said Zuko, in that matter-of-fact way he had of explaining himself. "I spent two years searching for the Avatar. No one had seen him for a hundred years, so there wasn't a trail to follow. But I looked. And I told myself I'd find him. Every morning I got up and I thought, 'maybe today.' And then I'd go to bed and think, 'maybe tomorrow.' I had to be sure or I'd…" He sighed. "I'd just go crazy, you know? I'd never have been able to keep going for so long." He shrugged a little, and his shoulder rose and fell beneath Jet's cheek. "So I'm sure about this, too. We'll save the city. We'll figure it out."
"This isn't very comforting."
"Sorry."
"No, it's…" Jet trailed off. If felt strange to find himself on the other side of this, his old confidence reflected back at him. "You're right," he said. "We'll figure it out."
He disengaged his hand and slid his arm around Zuko's waist, Zuko's own arm moving to circle his shoulders. He felt Zuko's fingers in his hair, twirling small tufts of it together. "It's weird, though," said Jet. "Thinking about it. That we might actually pull this off. Makes you wonder what we'll do with ourselves afterwards." He laughed a little. "It's funny. I hate this place, but now I kind of don't wanna leave. I guess I'm used to it."
Zuko's hand wasn't moving anymore. For a long time he didn't reply, though Jet could tell he was thinking, eyes on the sloped ceiling and mouth pressed into a thin, serious line.
"They want me to go back to the Fire Nation," he said. "After the eclipse. They…" He licked his lips. Jet could see the pulse in his neck, fluttering with anxiety. "They want me to go back. And fight my sister. Or…maybe my father. I don't know. I don't know what'll happen, but…but that's what they want me to do."
Another wave rose and crested, stronger than the last had been and harder to ignore. Jet pulled Zuko closer, held on tight until the worst had passed. "Is that what Iroh was talking about? That thing with Jeong Jeong?"
"Yeah."
"Do you want to go?" Jet asked, as calmly as he could.
Zuko buried his face in Jet's hair. "I want to be with you," he whispered. "I don't want to be away from you again."
Jet knew that was only half an answer. But he knew, as well, that Zuko meant the things that he said, however foolish they might sound. He wasn't a man who made promises lightly, and Jet had heard the promise in those words.
"The Fire Lord's not your problem to deal with," said Jet. "That's not who you are anymore."
They lay together in the quiet night, wrapped up in each other. Jet could hear soft snores from the next room; the distant yowl of feral cats; the rasp of Zuko's breath against his hair. One breath was drawn a little deeper; exhaled a little slower as the lamp dimmed and went out.
"Nice trick," Jet murmured.
Zuko squeezed his shoulders, fingers brushing the burn on his neck. If he replied, Jet didn't hear it. He'd already fallen asleep.
:: Next Chapter ::
The illustrations for this chapter, and the artists who drew them, are as such:
By gulliblesnail:
Jin was asleep at the table behind him, her head pillowed on her folded arms
"How am I good to you when I'm awake, exactly?" she asked, a little wry.
By kittyjimjams:
They lay together in the quiet night, wrapped up in each other.
By me:
His grip tightened as Zuko cupped his jaw
Word count: 7,300
Pairing: Jet/Zuko
Rating: A very hard R for language, violence and sexual content
Summary: Since the day the walls of Ba Sing Se fell, the Freedom Fighters have struggled to protect what remains of the city and its people. Jet and his second command, a mysterious boy named Li, have spent the summer piecing together an army, hoping for a chance to take the city back for good. But Li is also Zuko, and the time for that secret is quickly running out. Soon, he'll have to decide exactly who he is, what cause he's going to fight for and where his heart lies.
This chapter: Jet isn't in the forest anymore.
Notes: As always, all the praise and thanks in the world to my betas, kittyjimjams and jlh, both of whom are lovely AND talented AND extremely kind. kittyjimjams and gulliblesnail generously helped me out with illustrations this week, all of which stoked the fires of my little fangirl heart and are linked to in the text and in a complete list at the end.
:: Previous Chapter ::
Master Jeong Jeong's dissatisfaction only grew over the course of the afternoon, and Zuko wished fervently that Uncle was training him instead. It wasn't just that Jeong Jeong had confined Zuko to exercises meant for children - the whole tone of it all was unsettling, reminding Zuko of his years with the royal Firebending tutors at the palace. A few had been kind, but they were quickly dismissed by the Fire Lord as too soft. Those that remained had been openly frustrated with Zuko's inability to master techniques as quickly as his sister did, and for most of his childhood he'd been driven as much by a desire to prove them wrong as by any actual interest in the art of bending.
He'd resented being thought of as useless, but he'd accepted long ago that he would never be exceptional. It didn't matter how hard he'd trained or how desperately he'd struggled. Unlike his sister, he'd never been particularly good at anything, and he doubted he ever would be. Good enough, maybe, but that was all.
But Jeong Jeong didn't seem interested in good enough, and for hours he paced their stretch of alleyway and nitpicked every detail of Zuko's technique. First with the leaf, forced into quiet smoldering, and then with a tiny ball of flame, the size and heat of which Zuko had had to precisely maintain for over an hour. Thankfully, Jet had gone by then, called away to help Piandao with the swordsmen. Much as Zuko enjoyed being around him again, Jet's absence made it easier to concentrate on what he was doing. That, and he was still reluctant to Firebend so obviously in front of the other boy. He had no idea what Jet might do - maybe what he couldn't help doing, after everything that had happened to him.
Zuko could understand that, of course. A lot had happened to him, too.
The sun was long-set and the sky dark when Jeong Jeong finally relented. "You've exhausted your chi," he muttered, arms crossed. "We will continue this tomorrow. I expect you to meditate on what you have learned in the meantime."
Zuko rose up out of his crouch, thighs sore and trembling from so many hours of effort. He pulled on his shirt, shook his legs out as best he could, and was only a little unsteady as they walked back to the Jasmine Dragon, neither bothering to make conversation. The moon was high enough that Zuko suspected dinner was over already, but he could still smell something savory drifting through the shutters, and buttery light spilled out from beneath the door.
Two short, four long, then rapid footsteps before Jin threw the door open. "Li! Ha ha, I mean Zuko!" she said, laughing off her own mistake as she stood aside. "I was just about to come find you! You hardly ate any breakfast, you must be starving." She turned to Jeong Jeong, who was glowering suspiciously at the bubbling pot on the stove. "Iroh's putting your things upstairs right now. We made some space in the middle store room for all of you."
"It'll be a bit crowded," said Piandao, who was seated at the kitchen table with Pakku. "But at least it has a roof."
"And a door," said Pakku. He sipped the bowl of soup he held in both hands. "And it's on solid ground. Anything's better than the hold of a ship."
Jin reached for another bowl and ladled a serving of thin soup into it. "Did it take you long to get here?" she asked as she handed the bowl to Jeong Jeong.
"I was with the Southern Tribe when Iroh sent word," said Pakku "A week to reach the mainland, another on the back of an Ostrich Horse-"
"Two weeks from the Fire Nation, sleeping in a metal bunk," said Piandao.
"I cannot believe the two of you are complaining about your beds," Jeong Jeong grunted as he took his place at the table.
"Perhaps you'll volunteer to take the floor, then," said Uncle, who had appeared at the head of the stairway, Ping and one of the Earthbenders just behind him with their arms full of crates. Zuko saw, now, that most of the space under the table had been filled with dusty piles of junk, which the crates were added to, Piandao moving his legs to make room.
"Thank you, Shi Kuai," said Uncle, smiling at the younger Earthbender. "These old bones are tired after so long on the road."
Shi Kuai glanced quickly at Ping, as if seeking guidance. "Oh…it's ah, not a problem, sir," he said. "Happy to help."
Jin ladled out a another bowl of soup, offering it to Zuko this time. "Space is getting pretty tight," she explained. "We had to put a few things in your room, too. Sorry."
"It's fine," he said. He took a long, deep gulp of hot broth, savoring the feel of it as it rushed down his throat and filled his empty stomach. "Where's Jet? Has he come back in yet?" He tried to keep the question casual, his eyes still on the bowl.
"Wang said he wanted to train a little longer," said Jin. "Don't worry, I'll save some dinner for him."
Zuko blushed as he nodded, then turned to find a place at the table with the others, hesitating a little before finally settling for a chair next to Piandao, which put as much space as possible between himself and Jeong Jeong. Shi Kuai disappeared into the loft again, but Uncle, Ping and Jin settled into the empty seats that remained, and for a time they all ate in amiable silence.
Warm soup in his stomach and his uncle's familiar outline beside him, Zuko had a brief moment of contentment, his exhaustion dissipating into a manageable ache that lacked any urgency. He'd eat, and then maybe he'd bring Jet his dinner. He knew how Jet could be when he was stressed like this - he'd probably forget to eat entirely unless someone hounded him about it. Zuko didn't mind that responsibility at all. He'd missed it, really - that feeling of being depended on, however trivial the details.
Uncle downed the last of his soup and smacked his lips appreciatively. "An excellent meal, Jin. I am glad to have left my kitchen in your capable hands."
"These days, I'm glad I have a kitchen," she said. "So I guess we're even, then."
"Indeed!" Uncle chuckled. He leaned back in his seat, smiling as he turned his head toward the main room. "It warms my heart to see this place so full of life."
"Well, it's all thanks to Zuko, really," said Jin lightly. "The rest of us wouldn't be here if it weren't for him."
"I suppose not," said Uncle, with a roughness in his voice that caused Zuko to look up sharply from his bowl. But Uncle's eyes were dry, and his tone smoothed out as he went on. "How was your training today, Nephew?"
Zuko started to glance over at Jeong Jeong, but caught himself just in time. "Fine," he said.
Jeong Jeong snorted. "It was anything but 'fine!' You technique is in shambles and your spirit is dangerously unfocused. I do not know how you expect him to survive in this state."
Zuko scowled. "I've survived fine not Firebending at all," he grumbled. "And it's not like I'll be able to bend during the eclipse anyway."
Jeong Jeong's empty bowl hit the table with a bang, making the others jump. "Your destiny does not end with the eclipse!"
"Surely you're being a little hard on him," said Piandao, frowning slightly. "He doesn't-"
"Do you think Princess Azula will hesitate to be hard on him?" Jeong Jeong snapped. "She may lack the raw power of her father, but her skill is nearly unmatched. As he is now, Prince Zuko will not last a minute against her, let alone-"
"My sister isn't here," said Zuko, cutting across him, not caring any more about disrespecting his elders. Jin and Ping were both looking at him in that way he'd grown to hate in the past few days - like they'd just remembered who he really was. "She left," he said. "A long time ago."
"Of course she is not here!" Jeong Jeong barked. "She is in the Fire Nation, biding her time."
"Yeah, and I'm in Ba Sing Se, so what the hell does it matter to me what she's doing?"
Jeong Jeong stared at him, his frown now more perplexed than angry. "Even if the Avatar manages to defeat the Fire Lord, your sister is far too clever to allow herself to fall as well. She will seize power, and you will have to wrest it from her hands."
"What?" Zuko knew he must have looked ridiculous, sitting there with his mouth hanging open, but for a moment he couldn't help it. That wasn't at all what he'd expected Jeong Jeong to say, and it took some time to absorb its meaning; more still to figure out how to respond. "Look I don't…" He took a breath and tried again. "I'm supposed to be here. That's what Uncle told me, that I should stay here and fight. The Fire Nation doesn't even care about me anymore, why should I-"
"Because it is your duty! You are the heir to the throne, you cannot simply-"
"We have all had a long day," said Uncle, steel beneath his airy tone as he cut Jeong Jeong off. "Perhaps this conversation would be better served by rest and the time to reflect."
A thick, uncomfortable quiet blanketed the room. No one looked at Zuko, but he could feel the effort of that avoidance, and wished he had the first idea what to do about it. Jet would have known just the thing to say, how to smooth the sharp edges and get everyone laughing again. Zuko could only wait for this awkward gap to close on its own.
Jin stood with all the appearance of spontaneity and started to collect the empty bowls. "I'll put on some water for tea," she said. "Ping, could you help me with the dishes?"
Ping stacked up the remaining bowls, solemn as always, and followed her over to the sink. The rest of them sat and listened as he pumped water into the basin, a steady rhythm of metal and liquid.
"Piandao," said Uncle with determined cheer. "How were the young swordsmen?"
"Better than expected," said Piandao gamely. "Jet and Zuko seem to have trained them well, if a little informally. I'm looking forward to continuing tomorrow."
Zuko pushed back from the table and walked over to the stove. Piandao continued speaking as Zuko filled another bowl and made his way toward the door, concentrating on his stride so it wouldn't spill. He could feel the weight of Jeong Jeong's words bearing down on him, the air in the kitchen still heavy with the tension they'd caused.
"They're quite young, but as brave as any warriors I've known," Piandao was saying. "Their camaraderie has been inspiring to see."
The door was only a few steps away, now, promising relief. And more, perhaps, although Zuko tried to ignore the swell of hope in his chest.
Ping dried his hands and moved to open it for him. "Careful," he said. Zuko didn't think he meant the soup.
He found Jet in the small courtyard a few turns away from the kitchen door - the first place he thought to look. The moon was bright, the world beneath it thrown into deep contrast. Jet was doing pushups on the ground, hands and toes placed carefully among the cobblestones. He'd stripped off his armor and outer tunic, which all lay with his swords in a careless pile against the wall. His thin undershirt was plastered to his back with sweat, rivulets running down his jaw and along the straining muscles of his arms. The night was warm but not hot, the air pleasantly dry - he'd been at this a long time.
They'd spent many hours here over the course of the summer, teaching the kids how to hold a sword and throw a punch and flip a man twice their size. Later, after the others had all gone in for dinner, the two of them had often lingered, Jet whistling to the sentries to ask for a little privacy. Sometimes it hadn't really been necessary, but more often by far, it had.
Tonight, Zuko knew, would not pick up the threads of that old pattern. And as he waited for Jet to finish, heart fluttering a little as he watched, he tried to push his own, wild hopes down into the pit of his stomach.
After another dozen reps or so, Jet pulled his feet back under him and stood. He tugged his shirt out of his belt and used it to wipe his face; when he let it go again it hung open, revealing a vertical stripe of bare skin.
"Do you need something?" he asked tonelessly. He didn't look at Zuko, his eyes hidden by his hair.
Zuko's mouth felt very dry. He licked his lips before he spoke, the bowl clutched in his hands. "I brought you dinner."
"Oh," said Jet. He came a little closer and took the bowl in one hand when Zuko held it out to him. "Thanks." Zuko watched him bring it up to his lips, head tilting back as he took a long, deep drink. His throat moved as he swallowed, the whole length of his slender neck exposed, a terrain Zuko knew very well.
Zuko tried to think of something to say. He realized his mouth was hanging slightly open, flushed a little and shut it. He couldn't just stand here staring, but no words came to him. Only flashes of impulse, each less wise and more tempting than the last.
"There something else?" Jet asked, wearily curious.
"I…" Zuko's cheeks burned, his eyes determinedly focused on the ground. He knew exactly what else he wanted, but what he could ask for was another matter entirely. "Were you going to be here much longer? Um…you know. Like this."
Jet sighed, and Zuko imagined he rolled his eyes a little, too. "Yeah, I was gonna keep training for a while. That a problem?"
"No! No, I just…" Jet hadn't moved away, and Zuko could feel the heat rising off his skin. "Today's been so crazy, and I thought…You know, if you…" He paused, forcing himself to breathe normally. "If it's okay maybe we could spar. A little."
"Spar?"
"Yeah. You know, like…" Like we used to, he thought, though he knew better than to say it. Jet wouldn't need him to, besides. He'd remember the evenings they'd spent out here as well as Zuko did. "Just for practice."
"I'm not a Firebender," said Jet, his voice gone flat again. "I don't know what you think I can do for you."
"I won't be a Firebender, either, for eight minutes," said Zuko. "Besides, it's…" He rubbed his neck, which felt hot beneath his palm. "I should know anyway, right? How to fight like you do."
"Like I do," Jet echoed, no hint of an opinion in his tone.
"Yeah," said Zuko quietly. "It's not like bending's the best way to handle everything."
Jet didn't reply right away. After a few seconds had passed, Zuko chanced looking up at him again. Jet was frowning down at the last few drops of soup, his bottom lip between his teeth.
"It's not," he said finally. He sounded surprised, though Zuko hadn't a clue what about.
The bowl was set down next to the pile of armor, Jet's shirt following a moment later. His skin glistened as he turned to cross the courtyard, muscle and bone shifting beneath it, every indent and curve defined by blue shadows.
Zuko's mouth was open again, his chest tightening with each shallow breath. Jet was so beautiful. How had he ever gotten used to this, ever spent a moment in this boy's company without reaching for him - touching some part of that body, some sliver of exposed skin?
Jet had taken his place and Zuko moved to do the same, knees bent and arms raised in front of him. The hope he'd so carefully contained now boiled in his stomach, hot and urgent. "Ready?" he murmured, afraid his full voice would shake.
"Yeah," said Jet.
Zuko was the first to move, a sudden release of tension that sent him hurtling across the courtyard. Jet ducked under the arc of his fist, twisted as his own leg swept along the ground to kick Zuko's out from under him. Zuko landed hard but rolled to his feet, just in time to see Jet's fist coming at him. He caught it, turned and pulled it over his shoulder, Jet's chest against his back as Zuko threw him.
Jet landed on his feet, lithe and slick and always moving, already running forward again as Zuko regained his own balance. He turned Jet's fists aside with his forearms, stepped back awkwardly as Jet moved to take advantage of the gaping holes in his defense. He saw a half-dozen chances to grab Jet's arm again, twist him around and pin him, but he let them all pass by. He didn't trust himself to hold Jet that close and not do something he shouldn't.
Even this was too close. Zuko could smell his hair; see the delicate curve of his collar bone, begging to be tasted. He felt himself stiffen and wished his pants weren't so damn thin, wished he hadn't been so stupid as to think he could handle this, that he could concentrate on anything at all when Jet's dark, slippery body was less than an arm's length away.
They'd practiced like this so many times that the movements themselves were automatic, leaving his mind free to wander. He thought of the coiled strength in Jet's arms, the fleeting touches as he knocked Jet's blows away, the sweat that ran along Jet's temple and down the cords of his neck.
Weeks ago, on a night when Zuko had felt this way, he'd have had Jet under him on a pile of their clothes by now, ankles crossed at the base of his spine as Jet drew him in and held him close. Like he'd drawn Zuko into this city - this life and all its tangled responsibilities.
The war was important. Saving the city was important. He'd told Jet he would fight for these things, and he'd meant it. But here in this courtyard, his body flowing through familiar rhythms as he drowned in the sight and smell of the other boy, he knew that Jet was every bit as important as anything else. Maybe more, in some selfish corner of his heart. Jet had drawn him in and Zuko had gladly surrendered to it - would do so again, if Jet would only let him.
Jet stopped so suddenly it took Zuko's strained perception a moment to react, his arm coming up to block a nonexistent punch. Feeling ridiculous, he let both arms fall and rose out of his stance, skin burning all down his neck and to the tips of his ears.
"Your technique's a mess," said Jet. The monotone had started to waver, and his eyes were fixed on the middle of Zuko's chest. "You're always on the defensive, and you're leaving your right side open."
"I'm sorry," Zuko murmured, breathing hard from more than exercise.
"Don't apologize. Just…look." Jet stepped closer, took Zuko's wrist and lifted it so that his forearm was at a right angle to the ground. "You keep blocking me like this," he said, miming a punch and moving Zuko's arm so that his own was deflected inward. "But that gives me time to come in during the follow-through. You have to knock me off-balance, give yourself some room to move." This time, Jet's arm was sent outward. Zuko tried to concentrate on what he was saying, instead of the feel of Jet's fingers on the soft skin of his wrist.
"Got it?" Jet asked. He was still holding Zuko's arm, positioned between them such that Zuko's fingers were inches from his face. All Zuko would have to do was flex them, just slightly, and they would brush against Jet's cheekbone. A little further, and they'd slide into the hollow behind Jet's ear.
Seconds passed. Jet looked up into Zuko's eyes, his dark and unreadable in the moonlight, arched brows knit above them. Zuko could feel Jet's breath against his skin, quicker than it had been a moment before. He wondered if Jet could feel the rapid thrum of his pulse. He was so hard, now, aching in the confines of his clothes. Jet had to have noticed. How could he not, when they'd been like this so many times before?
In the end, it was Zuko's thumb that moved. It brushed against the swell of Jet's bottom lip, over the rough patches where Jet had bitten them. He expected to have his hand slapped away, but Jet didn't stop him. He only exhaled, slow and shuddering.
In the perfect stillness of the courtyard, Zuko's mouth made a soft, wet sound as he opened it to speak. "I think I should go back inside," he whispered.
He could feel Jet's lips move beneath his thumb. "Why?"
"I just…" He swallowed, his mind racing through explanations. There were none, except a vague and gnawing panic. "I just think I should."
Jet shifted his weight forward, and a hot, hard bulge pressed against Zuko's hip. "You don't have to," he said.
It took all that remained of his concentration to answer. "Jet…" he murmured, hoarse with how badly he wanted this. "Are you-"
"Yes," said Jet.
His grip tightened as Zuko cupped his jaw, ran his thumb along Jet's cheek to the tuft of sideburn in front of his ear. He didn't flinch or pull away. He only closed his eyes as his free hand settled on Zuko's waist, holding him close to the insistent heat between them.
With excruciating slowness, Zuko dipped his head down. He felt sure that Jet would change his mind, but the other boy stayed still and silent as lips pressed against his neck. The only sound was their rough, shallow breathing; the wet crackle of Zuko's mouth as it moved, forging a path of careful kisses along the sharp line of Jet's jaw, itchy with stubble and tasting of salt and dust.
He kissed the corner of Jet's mouth, raised his other hand and slid his fingers into the hair at the nape of Jet's neck, shorter than he remembered it being in a way his eyes hadn't noticed. "Jet," he whispered, the word a puff of air against Jet's skin.
Jet's answer was to turn his head, tongue flickering out to taste Zuko's lips. An electric jolt of desire ripped through Zuko's body, burned away what remained of his control. Mouths opened, delicate kisses dissolving into a frantic, breathless rush of lips and tongues and clicking teeth. Jet released Zuko's wrist and cupped the back of his skull, fingers twisted into his hair, holding him as the kisses deepened, the other hand sliding beneath Zuko's belt as their hips ground together.
Not enough. After so long, it wasn't nearly enough, and Zuko moaned his encouragement as Jet tugged at the knot that held his belt in place. His tunic fell open as the belt dropped to the ground, Jet's eager fingers skimming around his ribs and down his spine. Zuko reached between them, hand closing around Jet's erection through the rough fabric of his pants, a spot of moisture against his palm. Jet groaned and kissed him harder, pushed his waistband down and squeezed his ass.
Two weeks of not being able to touch this boy, and now Zuko wanted to touch all of him at once, clumsy in his eagerness to get Jet's pants out of the way. The ache between his legs and the ache in his chest fed back into each other, an echoing loop of hunger for Jet's mouth and his smooth, slick skin. He stroked Jet in a steady rhythm, shuddering with every small sound of need he coaxed from Jet's throat and drunk on the scent of their arousal.
He gasped as Jet freed him from the confines of his underwear, the night air cool on his skin for only a moment before Jet's hand wrapped around him. This was what he'd wanted, what he'd missed, what he'd lain awake remembering in the time they'd spent apart. To be this close to another person, voices and sweat and spit mingling, the world vanishing outside their bodies and the moonlight.
Seventeen years old, and he'd never understood. Part of him still didn't, still lacked the words for what this was: this thing that pressed against his ribs, terrifying and wonderful and so far outside the life he'd known before.
He spilled into Jet's hand - all wet heat and long fingers - his moans swallowed by Jet's mouth. And as Jet followed him, silent and shuddering, a heady certainty washed over him, so strong that he had to grab Jet's shoulder to keep himself on his feet.
This was real and it was important. It didn't matter if the words still escaped him, if he couldn't name this force that had twisted up into his gut. It mattered, whatever it was. And he would never let go of it again.
A part of Jet wanted to feel guilty about this, disgusted with himself and what he'd done. The same part that had never really left the forest behind, that still dreamed of the smell of burnt flesh and had once sacrificed a village to kill a handful of soldiers. But those days had never felt so distant as they did tonight. The dead were long since dust, the village washed away. Zuko was right here, standing next to him, the taste of his mouth and body still fresh on Jet's tongue.
Jet shifted his weight uncomfortably, unsure what to do with himself while he waited. It had only taken a few seconds to pull his pants back up and cinch them in place, but Zuko was still trying to brush the dirt off his own tunic, a sheepish little grin on his lips. Jet gathered up his armor and swords, bundled them in the clothes he hadn't bothered to put back on and stuffed it all under one arm. He didn't see much of a point in anything beyond the bare minimum of decency - probably Jin was the only one still awake, and she could always tell regardless.
Zuko finished retying his belt and looked up, his smile wide and honest and his eyes pale silver in the moonlight. Jet remembered the first time they'd had sex outdoors: a hurried tryst on the roof of some outer ring warehouse, back when the other boy's name was "Li" and he still kept all his secrets. He'd looked just like this afterward, embarrassed but no less pleased for it, his unscarred cheek flushed pink. Jet had found that look irresistible. He still did, and before he could think better of it he took a quick step forward.
Zuko made a small, startled sound as Jet kissed him. It felt so good to kiss Zuko again. Good enough that it unnerved Jet a little, his back tensing as he pulled away. "We should go in," he muttered vaguely.
If Zuko noticed the change he didn't comment on it. If anything, his smile was even goofier as they walked back to the kitchen door. He kept sneaking sideways glances, his ears now just as red as his cheeks. Fuck, he was adorable. How the hell could he be the prince of anything, let alone the Fire Nation? Jet tried to imagine him sitting on a throne, dressed in brocade robes with a crown tucked into his hair, and almost laughed out loud despite his mood. The idea was ludicrous.
Iroh answered the door, looking tired but affable enough. He'd changed into the sort of light, cotton robes one usually slept in, and his feet were bare on the kitchen floor. "I trust your exercises went well," he said softly, taking the empty soup bowl from Zuko's hands. Jin was asleep at the table behind him, her head pillowed on her folded arms and the ledger still open in front of her.
Jet wasn't sure he'd ever seen Zuko turn quite this red. "They went fine," Zuko said shortly.
Iroh must have been feeling merciful, as he didn't press his nephew any further. Instead he turned his cheery smile toward Jet. "I'm sorry you couldn't join us for dinner," he said. "Master Piandao was telling us how much you have accomplished here."
Jet shifted the bundle in his arms, feeling awkward. "We all do what we have to, I guess. No big deal."
"Perhaps," said Iroh. "But he does not give such praise often or easily. I believe he admires your spirit." He smiled a little wider. "And your convictions."
"Sure," Jet mumbled. He had no idea what to say to something like that, or how he even felt about it. That morning, he probably would've been pissed - what the hell did some arrogant Fire Nation prick know about him? But now he wasn't so sure. The whole world was shifting under him, along with his place in it.
"As for you, Prince Zuko," Iroh rumbled, winding the knot in Jet's gut even tighter. "Do not let Master Jeong Jeong's words distress you. His intentions are good, however he, ah…expresses them."
Zuko looked every bit as uncomfortable as Jet felt. Maybe more so, his shoulders hunched up past the level of his jaw. "I guess."
Iroh reached out to squeeze his upper arm. "When the time comes, you will be ready," he said quietly. "Of that, I am certain."
Jet watched Iroh climb up into the loft, the stairs groaning under his weight. A decision loomed, but he wasn't yet ready to make it. Instead he went to where Jin was sitting and gently shook one of her shoulders. She started a little, eyes fluttering open as she jerked up from the table. She had a red mark on one cheek from where it had been squashed by her arm. "Sorry," she said muzzily, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms.
"Hey," he said gently. "Go to bed, okay? You're no good to me if you don't sleep."
Jin made a face and wiped away a trickle of moisture at the corner of her mouth. "How am I good to you when I'm awake, exactly?" she asked, a little wry.
Jet chuckled. "Someone has to keep Sheng out of my hair, right?"
Jin rolled her eyes as she stood. "Right," she said. She sounded more alert, the haze of sleepiness lifting as she looked between Jet and Zuko and took in the state of their clothes. "Right," she said again, though now she was trying rather obviously not to smile. "Well, I'll be going then."
"Don't let us sleep in," said Jet, as casually as he could manage. Jin tossed off a salute, collected her brush, ink and ledger and ducked into the other room. Which left Jet and Zuko alone again, staring at each other in the dim lantern light.
"It's pretty late," Zuko murmured.
"Yeah," said Jet. He reached up to finger the half-healed burn on his neck, still sensitive under hard scabs. "Yeah, I guess we should go to bed."
Zuko's eyes flickered toward the stairs and back, so transparently hopeful that it made Jet's throat close a little to see it. He raised a hand to touch the side of Zuko's face, fingertips brushing the fringe of his scar. Zuko closed his eyes for a moment, nostrils flared as he took a deep, slow breath. His hair was a mess, and Jet could see the small, pink crescents where he'd nipped the delicate skin of Zuko's neck.
"All right," said Jet, as much to himself as to Zuko. The old instincts told him he was giving up, allowing himself to be seduced by the promise of normalcy and a warm body beside him. But Jet was tired of fighting, tired of rage and of standing alone with only his principles for comfort. He wasn't in the forest anymore.
He took a lantern down from the wall and started walking up the stairs before he could change his mind. A moment later, he heard the creak of Zuko's footsteps as he followed.
Their room was even more cramped than usual, crates stacked against every bit of wall the shelves didn't cover, such that only a few square feet of floor space remained. Jet hung the lantern on a nail just inside the door, then Zuko stood quietly in the hall as he put his armor away, right beside Zuko's in its usual spot. He hesitated after that, debating his options. But he wasn't really the bashful type, and after what they'd just done in the courtyard it seemed stupid to be shy. He left his underwear on but the rest of his clothes were stuffed between the canisters of tea. Then he sat down on the bed, swinging his legs up off the floor to make room.
Even though he'd seen the other boy naked hundreds of times, and even though the two of them had jerked each other off less than a half hour ago, Jet's mouth went a little dry as Zuko closed the door and began to undress. His body was amazing, and Jet never got tired of looking at it. He could have pushed the complications aside, then, and let the sight of Zuko's bare skin seduce him into forgetting what lay beneath it - who he really was and what he could do.
But Jet didn't want to forget those things. He didn't believe in loving part of a man, the rest cordoned off by self-deception. That wasn't how he wanted to live. He watched as Zuko carefully folded his clothes, his face in profile so that it was mostly scar tissue and a small frown of concentration. And again he forced himself to see the truth of it: this boy, his lover and his second in command, was a Firebender.
He waited for the old panic to resurface, for the bile to rise in his throat. Neither came. His heartbeat quickened and the walls seemed closer than they had a moment ago, but his mind remained clear. He was angry that Zuko had lied to him, but that was the kind of anger he knew how to deal with, serious of course but unexceptional. People lied to each other all the time. At least Zuko had had a good reason.
Jet took a deep breath, lifted the moth-eaten blanket and slid beneath it. The bed creaked as Zuko joined him, his movements slow and tentative, as if expecting Jet to object at any moment. But Jet was starting to find all this uncertainty tiresome, and once Zuko had settled - on his back, with his hands folded on his chest - Jet scooted over to lay his cheek against Zuko's shoulder and tuck a hand into the crook of his elbow.
Zuko let out a long, slow sigh, the tension leaving his muscles as if exhaled along with his breath. He kissed Jet's forehead and Jet pushed a little closer, his stomach just touching Zuko's hips. The edge of unease was still there but it had quieted, a low hum instead of the scream that had threatened to split his head in two.
With Zuko so close, it felt strange to remember the lake and what had followed. Jet had tried very hard not to think about it at all in the weeks since. He hadn't let things get that bad in years, and didn't much appreciate the reminder of how tenuous his self-control could be. But he thought about it now, his grip tightening on Zuko's arm.
Jet knew that he was broken. How could he not be, after everything he'd seen and all the things he'd done? And in those first hours after the lake, crouched on the ground with Smellerbee's arms around him, he'd felt the whole depth and breadth of it - every crack in his soul, every jagged hole the years had torn in his heart, the weight of all the rage and grief he'd never be able to shake.
He'd lost control, and he hated that. He hated that he'd been so completely overwhelmed.
He'd felt the first, creeping hints of that anger's return this afternoon, lusting for Piandao's blood in the courtyard. He'd wanted to hurt that man. But you didn't, he told himself, and it was true. He'd calmed down enough to listen. He'd sat and watched Zuko's Firebending lessons. He'd helped Piandao train the men, worked with him like any other ally. Like it was nothing.
Then Zuko had brought him dinner. Such a small thing, really, but wasn't that how lives were built? A long chain of small things all strung together, each flowing into the next: Katara screaming at him on the bank of a river; a meeting in the treetops, tense with the knowledge that he'd gone too far too often; the climb out of the valley at dawn, the last of his followers beside him; an overheard conversation on the road, about a city whose walls the war had never breached; a stranger on the deck of a ferry. Small things had carried him halfway across the world - to this place, this night, this boy holding out a bowl of soup.
Jet covered Zuko's folded hands with his own; craned his neck to kiss Zuko's scarred cheek, stiff and glassy smooth against his lips. "Zuko," he said.
"Mmm?"
Jet let his head drop to Zuko's shoulder again. "I'm sorry," he said. "About…shit. About everything."
Zuko frowned, shifting so he could watch Jet through the slit of his left eye. "I'm the one who messed everything up. A lot of people got hurt because of me." He slid one hand out from under Jet's and resettled it on top, gently weaving their fingers together. "I'm the one who should be sorry," he murmured. "And I am. I'm so sorry, Jet."
Jet swallowed, his chest tight. Zuko was so unlike most of the people he'd known, who recoiled from any blame laid at their feet, refusing the burden of culpability. Smellerbee and Longshot would never do that. Ping and Jin wouldn't, either. But Zuko went too far, past responsibility and into something like penance - the villain of his own story, bent beneath the weight of borrowed guilt. Jet understood how that could be.
He had listened to Zuko describe his strange, sad history. And in the days since Jet had wondered, more than once, why Zuko wasn't angry - why he would want to go back to the father who had punished him so cruelly, over such a trivial slight. Thinking about it now, it all seemed a little clearer.
If allowed to, Zuko would always blame himself. Jet found he didn't want to let him, not this time or this way.
"Gen left today," he said. Zuko opened his mouth to apologize again, but Jet went on before he could. "It's my fault. I should've been able to stop him. I should've talked to him after what happened at the gate. We all knew he was upset, and I just let it go until it got to be too much." He squeezed Zuko's hand. "I guess I let a lot of things go."
"You did what you could."
"Maybe," said Jet. "That's not good enough, though. I'm supposed to be the leader. I'm responsible for all these kids. If I can't keep my shit together-"
"You will," said Zuko, quiet and certain.
"But if I can't," said Jet. He paused as a wave of panic gathered, closed his eyes and breathed until the worst had washed over him. "I just worry sometimes, you know?" he went on, softer now. "That this'll all fall apart."
"It won't."
Jet grinned a little. "What makes you so damn sure?"
"I have to be," said Zuko, in that matter-of-fact way he had of explaining himself. "I spent two years searching for the Avatar. No one had seen him for a hundred years, so there wasn't a trail to follow. But I looked. And I told myself I'd find him. Every morning I got up and I thought, 'maybe today.' And then I'd go to bed and think, 'maybe tomorrow.' I had to be sure or I'd…" He sighed. "I'd just go crazy, you know? I'd never have been able to keep going for so long." He shrugged a little, and his shoulder rose and fell beneath Jet's cheek. "So I'm sure about this, too. We'll save the city. We'll figure it out."
"This isn't very comforting."
"Sorry."
"No, it's…" Jet trailed off. If felt strange to find himself on the other side of this, his old confidence reflected back at him. "You're right," he said. "We'll figure it out."
He disengaged his hand and slid his arm around Zuko's waist, Zuko's own arm moving to circle his shoulders. He felt Zuko's fingers in his hair, twirling small tufts of it together. "It's weird, though," said Jet. "Thinking about it. That we might actually pull this off. Makes you wonder what we'll do with ourselves afterwards." He laughed a little. "It's funny. I hate this place, but now I kind of don't wanna leave. I guess I'm used to it."
Zuko's hand wasn't moving anymore. For a long time he didn't reply, though Jet could tell he was thinking, eyes on the sloped ceiling and mouth pressed into a thin, serious line.
"They want me to go back to the Fire Nation," he said. "After the eclipse. They…" He licked his lips. Jet could see the pulse in his neck, fluttering with anxiety. "They want me to go back. And fight my sister. Or…maybe my father. I don't know. I don't know what'll happen, but…but that's what they want me to do."
Another wave rose and crested, stronger than the last had been and harder to ignore. Jet pulled Zuko closer, held on tight until the worst had passed. "Is that what Iroh was talking about? That thing with Jeong Jeong?"
"Yeah."
"Do you want to go?" Jet asked, as calmly as he could.
Zuko buried his face in Jet's hair. "I want to be with you," he whispered. "I don't want to be away from you again."
Jet knew that was only half an answer. But he knew, as well, that Zuko meant the things that he said, however foolish they might sound. He wasn't a man who made promises lightly, and Jet had heard the promise in those words.
"The Fire Lord's not your problem to deal with," said Jet. "That's not who you are anymore."
They lay together in the quiet night, wrapped up in each other. Jet could hear soft snores from the next room; the distant yowl of feral cats; the rasp of Zuko's breath against his hair. One breath was drawn a little deeper; exhaled a little slower as the lamp dimmed and went out.
"Nice trick," Jet murmured.
Zuko squeezed his shoulders, fingers brushing the burn on his neck. If he replied, Jet didn't hear it. He'd already fallen asleep.
:: Next Chapter ::
The illustrations for this chapter, and the artists who drew them, are as such:
By gulliblesnail:
Jin was asleep at the table behind him, her head pillowed on her folded arms
"How am I good to you when I'm awake, exactly?" she asked, a little wry.
By kittyjimjams:
They lay together in the quiet night, wrapped up in each other.
By me:
His grip tightened as Zuko cupped his jaw