Fic: "breathe the fire" (Avatar: The Last Airbender)
Way back a while ago, even before the round of ficlet requests that I REALLY AM GOING TO WRITE NO REALLY, cidercupcakes and I were talking about Avatar fic and she told me I needed to write her dirtybadwrong Zuko/Zhao. And the last few nights she and I have been encouraging each other to write by e-mailing snippets of projects back and forth, which prompted me to finally finish this.
Title from Springsteen, predictably.
Note the pairing and use of "dirtybadwrong" as a descriptor.
Like calls to like.
Zhao has always believed this, since he was old enough to feel the family hearth calling out to him. He stretched his child's hands toward the flames, and the flames welcomed him as a brother. Like to like.
When he studied at the great library in the desert, the books of the ancients all claimed that balance was essential, that fire and water should cleave to one another, and earth to air. Wedding like to like only emphasized weaknesses, brought out lesser traits. Zhao could understand the logic, but found it incomplete. Flawed. Strengths and greater traits must also come together. It only made sense that they would, and depending on the relative value, they might even outweigh the weaknesses.
Cries for balance truly mean an embrace of mediocrity. Zhao believes in no such thing.
Prince Zuko is engaged in his evening meditation. Zhao stands in the doorway and watches him for a stretch of time, observing how the candles rise and fall with the boy's breathing. Zuko's control is decent, though not as strong as one would expect from a pupil of the Dragon of the West. If Zhao had charge of his training, the boy would be flawless. Iroh has coddled him.
"What do you want, Zhao?"
The candle flames climb up, up, up. Zhao centers himself, gestures, and draws them into his palm. He melds them into a single ball of flame and toys with it casually as he looks at Zuko. The boy is still on his knees. Hopelessly coddled.
"Prince Zuko, has no one ever told you that it is wise to be on your feet when a potential adversary enters the room?"
Uncertainty flickers across the boy's face, almost too quickly to see unless one is watching closely. Zhao makes a point of always watching closely. "We both are loyal servants of the Fire Lord. You are not my enemy."
"I did not say enemy. I said potential adversary."
Zuko waves his hand, rising to his feet and stalking across the room. "You're splitting hairs, Zhao. It bores me."
The boy is so impatient. It is his weakness, along with hunger for approval, and fear. Zhao itches to zero in on those weaknesses, dig his fingers into the soft places, exploit them. Such is the nature of a warrior.
He casts the ball of flame at the back of Zuko's head. The boy whirls and defends himself only an instant before it would have hit him, and Zhao clicks his tongue in disapproval.
"Your responses are slow, my Prince. I expected much better from a son of the royal blood, even one without honor. Dare I say, you are...soft."
Zuko flushes a furious red, the shade of humiliation and anger mixed together into one. It suits him.
"Challenge me to an Agni Kai and see how soft I am."
"So quick to anger." Zhao shakes his head and crosses the room slowly, approaching the boy as he might a wounded animal. The killing stroke must be swift and sure. "Has your uncle taught you nothing of finding inner stillness, Zuko?"
Zuko sets his jaw and stands his ground. Zhao rather suspected he might. He traces his finger down the boy's chest slowly. "The center from which all strength emanates. You must master that before you can reach your true potential, my boy."
"My potential is none of your concern, Zhao."
"Of course it is." He lets his fingers wander upward again, from Zuko's sternum to his throat. The pulse hammers beneath the skin as frantically as a hummingbird, belying the boy's stoic expression. Zhao mentally revises his estimation of Zuko's control, if only slightly. "As a servant of the Fire Nation, it is my duty to observe the royal line for signs of weakness."
Zuko swallows, his throat rising and falling under Zhao's fingertips. "What do you want?"
"Perhaps I came to pass a pleasant evening in discussion of politics and theology."
"Perhaps you did not."
"So quick to temper." Zhao taps his fingers lightly against Zuko's collarbone and withdraws his hand. "But no, perhaps I did not."
"Then I ask you again, what do you want?"
Zhao moves as quickly as if he were striking in battle. His hand darts out again, this time curving around the back of Zuko's neck strong and sure. For all that the boy is grown by all of the laws of the Fire Nation, fully able to own his honor and to lose it, the column of his neck still fits easily in Zhao's palm, the spine almost delicate under his fingers, as if it would be easy to snap.
That is not his intention, however. He pulls Zuko forward instead, closing the gap between their bodies, and captures his mouth in a bruising kiss.
Heat races over Zuko's skin, a Bending response born of shock and instinct, with no will behind it. It is easy for Zhao to capture the energy, harness it to his own desires, and turn it back, sending flickers of unborn flames crawling over all of Zuko's senses. This is a Bend he is quite certain Iroh has not taught the boy, and never will. A man of the Dragon's generation and spirit would leave it on the shelf as a thing for Zuko to discover in his own time and season, presumably with whatever faceless-save-for-her-blushing, delicate-skinned and steel-souled daughter of a good family Ozai might barter him to in exchange for iron ore and more bodies for his army.
Zhao is neither of Iroh's generation nor his temperament. He controls the Bend with the smallest twitches of the hand not holding Zuko close against him, sending fire energy through every fiber of the boy's body, overwhelming his defenses and reducing them to ash. He claims Zuko's mouth at the same time, thrusting deep with his tongue and letting his teeth catch roughly against Zuko's lips until his efforts are rewarded with a choked little moan.
He pulls back then, the barest fraction, smiling. Zuko is shaking, with shock and with the invisible flames that Zhao is still controlling as easily as his own breath. He can feel the boy's hardness against his thigh as well, and it would be so easy to draw Zuko up and over the edge, either by carrying out the rest of the Bend or simply with his hand, leaving the boy filled to the lip with energy and nothing but long, dark hours in which to try to figure out how to release it.
It's really a terribly difficult decision. Zhao could ponder the nuances of it for hours, and has.
He rubs his thumb slowly over Zuko's neck, looking into the boy's wide, slightly glazed eyes. "You have much to learn, my Prince," he murmurs, and kisses Zuko again. "There are more ways to overcome your adversaries than Agni Kai."
Zuko makes a sound somewhere between a whimper and a growl. Zhao is pleased to hear the latter. There is fight in the boy after all, a trace of Fire Lord under the waffling and whining. Good. Zhao hates wasting his time conquering the unworthy.
He flexes his fingers inward to his palm, then flares them again, centering the energy and releasing it in a burst. Zuko shudders against him, eyes closing and chin ducking to his chest, and Zhao politely angles his body away before the boy embarrasses himself.
He sees Zuko moving into a form and steps back, centering himself again and brushing the burst of flame away easily. "Control yourself, Prince Zuko," he reprimands mildly, not bothering to hide his smile. "Maintain what honor you have left by not attacking your host."
"More jailer than host," Zuko says, managing a close approximation of his usual sneer, though his eyes aren't entirely in it. Zhao tilts his head in acknowledgment and moves toward the door.
"As you like, my Prince, as you like. I would be your host if you would lower your pride. Perhaps even your mentor. But let it be as you wish it." He opens the door and steps out, turning to look squarely at Zuko.
"If your wishes change, please tell any of my men that you wish to continue our pleasant evening of discussion." He turns his wrist and all of the boy's candles burst to life again. "Until then, sleep well."
The candlelight turns Zuko's face into a mask, stark and exposed. Zhao can feel the flames' hunger under his own skin, like to like.
Title from Springsteen, predictably.
Note the pairing and use of "dirtybadwrong" as a descriptor.
Like calls to like.
Zhao has always believed this, since he was old enough to feel the family hearth calling out to him. He stretched his child's hands toward the flames, and the flames welcomed him as a brother. Like to like.
When he studied at the great library in the desert, the books of the ancients all claimed that balance was essential, that fire and water should cleave to one another, and earth to air. Wedding like to like only emphasized weaknesses, brought out lesser traits. Zhao could understand the logic, but found it incomplete. Flawed. Strengths and greater traits must also come together. It only made sense that they would, and depending on the relative value, they might even outweigh the weaknesses.
Cries for balance truly mean an embrace of mediocrity. Zhao believes in no such thing.
Prince Zuko is engaged in his evening meditation. Zhao stands in the doorway and watches him for a stretch of time, observing how the candles rise and fall with the boy's breathing. Zuko's control is decent, though not as strong as one would expect from a pupil of the Dragon of the West. If Zhao had charge of his training, the boy would be flawless. Iroh has coddled him.
"What do you want, Zhao?"
The candle flames climb up, up, up. Zhao centers himself, gestures, and draws them into his palm. He melds them into a single ball of flame and toys with it casually as he looks at Zuko. The boy is still on his knees. Hopelessly coddled.
"Prince Zuko, has no one ever told you that it is wise to be on your feet when a potential adversary enters the room?"
Uncertainty flickers across the boy's face, almost too quickly to see unless one is watching closely. Zhao makes a point of always watching closely. "We both are loyal servants of the Fire Lord. You are not my enemy."
"I did not say enemy. I said potential adversary."
Zuko waves his hand, rising to his feet and stalking across the room. "You're splitting hairs, Zhao. It bores me."
The boy is so impatient. It is his weakness, along with hunger for approval, and fear. Zhao itches to zero in on those weaknesses, dig his fingers into the soft places, exploit them. Such is the nature of a warrior.
He casts the ball of flame at the back of Zuko's head. The boy whirls and defends himself only an instant before it would have hit him, and Zhao clicks his tongue in disapproval.
"Your responses are slow, my Prince. I expected much better from a son of the royal blood, even one without honor. Dare I say, you are...soft."
Zuko flushes a furious red, the shade of humiliation and anger mixed together into one. It suits him.
"Challenge me to an Agni Kai and see how soft I am."
"So quick to anger." Zhao shakes his head and crosses the room slowly, approaching the boy as he might a wounded animal. The killing stroke must be swift and sure. "Has your uncle taught you nothing of finding inner stillness, Zuko?"
Zuko sets his jaw and stands his ground. Zhao rather suspected he might. He traces his finger down the boy's chest slowly. "The center from which all strength emanates. You must master that before you can reach your true potential, my boy."
"My potential is none of your concern, Zhao."
"Of course it is." He lets his fingers wander upward again, from Zuko's sternum to his throat. The pulse hammers beneath the skin as frantically as a hummingbird, belying the boy's stoic expression. Zhao mentally revises his estimation of Zuko's control, if only slightly. "As a servant of the Fire Nation, it is my duty to observe the royal line for signs of weakness."
Zuko swallows, his throat rising and falling under Zhao's fingertips. "What do you want?"
"Perhaps I came to pass a pleasant evening in discussion of politics and theology."
"Perhaps you did not."
"So quick to temper." Zhao taps his fingers lightly against Zuko's collarbone and withdraws his hand. "But no, perhaps I did not."
"Then I ask you again, what do you want?"
Zhao moves as quickly as if he were striking in battle. His hand darts out again, this time curving around the back of Zuko's neck strong and sure. For all that the boy is grown by all of the laws of the Fire Nation, fully able to own his honor and to lose it, the column of his neck still fits easily in Zhao's palm, the spine almost delicate under his fingers, as if it would be easy to snap.
That is not his intention, however. He pulls Zuko forward instead, closing the gap between their bodies, and captures his mouth in a bruising kiss.
Heat races over Zuko's skin, a Bending response born of shock and instinct, with no will behind it. It is easy for Zhao to capture the energy, harness it to his own desires, and turn it back, sending flickers of unborn flames crawling over all of Zuko's senses. This is a Bend he is quite certain Iroh has not taught the boy, and never will. A man of the Dragon's generation and spirit would leave it on the shelf as a thing for Zuko to discover in his own time and season, presumably with whatever faceless-save-for-her-blushing, delicate-skinned and steel-souled daughter of a good family Ozai might barter him to in exchange for iron ore and more bodies for his army.
Zhao is neither of Iroh's generation nor his temperament. He controls the Bend with the smallest twitches of the hand not holding Zuko close against him, sending fire energy through every fiber of the boy's body, overwhelming his defenses and reducing them to ash. He claims Zuko's mouth at the same time, thrusting deep with his tongue and letting his teeth catch roughly against Zuko's lips until his efforts are rewarded with a choked little moan.
He pulls back then, the barest fraction, smiling. Zuko is shaking, with shock and with the invisible flames that Zhao is still controlling as easily as his own breath. He can feel the boy's hardness against his thigh as well, and it would be so easy to draw Zuko up and over the edge, either by carrying out the rest of the Bend or simply with his hand, leaving the boy filled to the lip with energy and nothing but long, dark hours in which to try to figure out how to release it.
It's really a terribly difficult decision. Zhao could ponder the nuances of it for hours, and has.
He rubs his thumb slowly over Zuko's neck, looking into the boy's wide, slightly glazed eyes. "You have much to learn, my Prince," he murmurs, and kisses Zuko again. "There are more ways to overcome your adversaries than Agni Kai."
Zuko makes a sound somewhere between a whimper and a growl. Zhao is pleased to hear the latter. There is fight in the boy after all, a trace of Fire Lord under the waffling and whining. Good. Zhao hates wasting his time conquering the unworthy.
He flexes his fingers inward to his palm, then flares them again, centering the energy and releasing it in a burst. Zuko shudders against him, eyes closing and chin ducking to his chest, and Zhao politely angles his body away before the boy embarrasses himself.
He sees Zuko moving into a form and steps back, centering himself again and brushing the burst of flame away easily. "Control yourself, Prince Zuko," he reprimands mildly, not bothering to hide his smile. "Maintain what honor you have left by not attacking your host."
"More jailer than host," Zuko says, managing a close approximation of his usual sneer, though his eyes aren't entirely in it. Zhao tilts his head in acknowledgment and moves toward the door.
"As you like, my Prince, as you like. I would be your host if you would lower your pride. Perhaps even your mentor. But let it be as you wish it." He opens the door and steps out, turning to look squarely at Zuko.
"If your wishes change, please tell any of my men that you wish to continue our pleasant evening of discussion." He turns his wrist and all of the boy's candles burst to life again. "Until then, sleep well."
The candlelight turns Zuko's face into a mask, stark and exposed. Zhao can feel the flames' hunger under his own skin, like to like.