Chapter 3: The First Night
The air in the bedchamber was thick, charged. Sokka stared down at Zuko, who was spread beneath him on the rumpled silk sheets, a masterpiece of flushed skin, black lace, and gleaming metal. The iron dragon on his chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths.
Sokka’s grin was all teeth. He pushed, his hands firm on Zuko’s shoulders, and Zuko went, collapsing back onto the mattress with a soft grunt. The movement made the rubies catch the candlelight, a wicked flash.
“Stay,” Sokka said, the word low. He didn’t wait for an answer.
He bent, kissing a hot trail down the column of Zuko’s throat, over the prominent collarbone, his tongue dipping into the hollow. He could feel the frantic pulse beneath his lips. He moved lower, bypassing the iron pendant, his mouth skimming the defined ridges of Zuko’s abdomen. The black lace was finer than he’d imagined, a delicate web against fever-warm skin. He nuzzled the edge of it, breathing in the scent of sandalwood and pure, clean sweat.
Then he took one of the rubies between his lips.
He didn’t bite, not yet. He laved it with his tongue, tasting the cool, smooth gem and the salt of the skin around it. Zuko jolted, a sharp inhale cutting the silence. Sokka closed his teeth around the jewel, applying the gentlest pressure, and sucked.
“Fuck,” Zuko hissed, his back arching clear off the bed. His hands flew to Sokka’s hair, fisting in the strands, not pushing him away but holding him there. “Sokka—”
Sokka pulled off with a wet pop. He looked up the long line of Zuko’s body. Zuko’s eyes were blown black, his lips parted, his expression one of utterly shattered control.
“Good boy,” Sokka murmured, his voice rough with want. He blew a soft stream of air over the wet ruby, watching the skin pucker. “You’re so good for me, Zuko. Look at you.”
A broken, guttural sound tore from Zuko’s throat. He was trembling, his grip in Sokka’s hair tightening. The praise, direct and filthy, seemed to unmake him more completely than any touch had. He thrust his hips up, the hard line of his cock straining obscenely against the confines of his tight, dark trousers.
Sokka’s own arousal was a painful throb. He rocked back onto his heels, still straddling Zuko’s thighs. His fingers went to the intricate closures of the trousers, working them open with deliberate slowness. “You bought this fucking lace for me,” he said, not a question. “You put these on, knowing I’d see them. Knowing what it would do to me.”
“Yes.” The admission was ragged.
“Tell me why.”
Zuko’s golden eyes held his, desperate and honest. “I wanted you to ruin me.”
Sokka’s breath caught. He yanked the trousers down, pulling them free along with Zuko’s smallclothes. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, curving up towards his stomach. Pre-come beaded at the tip.
“Done,” Sokka growled.
He shoved Zuko’s legs apart, settling between them. He leaned down, capturing Zuko’s mouth in a searing, possessive kiss, swallowing his ragged moans. He reached between them, fumbling with his own pants, shoving them down just enough to free himself. The slide of his cock against Zuko’s, hot and hard, made them both gasp into the kiss.
“Need you,” Zuko panted against his mouth, his hips rolling in a frantic, uneven rhythm. “Now. Please, Sokka.”
Sokka pulled back. His hand slid down Zuko’s side, over the lace, gripping his hip hard enough to bruise. “How?”
Zuko’s gaze didn’t waver. “However you want. I don’t care. Just fuck me. I need to feel you.”
Sokka groaned, dipping his head to bite at Zuko’s shoulder. He reached for the decanter of fire spirit on the bedside table, splashing the clear, pungent liquid onto his fingers. It dripped onto Zuko’s stomach, cold, making him flinch.
“This might sting,” Sokka warned, his voice dark.
“Do it.”
Sokka pushed one slick finger inside him, and Zuko’s whole body clenched, a choked-off cry escaping his lips. He was impossibly tight, hot as a furnace. Sokka worked him open with a focused, relentless patience that felt like its own kind of torture, first one finger, then two, scissoring and stretching, his own cock leaking against Zuko’s thigh.
“More,” Zuko demanded, his heels digging into the small of Sokka’s back. “I’m not glass.”
“You’re mine,” Sokka corrected, crooking his fingers and watching Zuko’s eyes roll back. He added a third, the stretch making Zuko bite down on a groan. “And you’ll take what I give you.”
When he was sure, when Zuko was pushing down onto his hand with shameless, needy rolls of his hips, Sokka pulled his fingers free. He slicked himself with the remaining spirit, the liquid cold then burning, a sharp contrast to his own heat. He positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing against that desperate, clenching heat.
He looked down. Zuko was a vision—hair fanned out, scar stark in the candlelight, lace in tatters, the dragon pendant smeared with sweat, rubies gleaming. His eyes were locked on Sokka’s, wide and waiting.
Sokka pushed in.
The feeling was catastrophic. A tight, blistering hot velvet grip that stole the air from his lungs. He sank in slowly, relentlessly, every inch a conquest. Zuko cried out, a raw, unfiltered sound, his nails raking down Sokka’s back. His legs wrapped around Sokka’s waist, locking him in.
“Spirits, Zuko,” Sokka gasped, forehead dropping to Zuko’s shoulder. He was buried to the hilt, enveloped by a heat that rivaled the royal forge. He didn’t move, just let them both feel the full, overwhelming reality of it. “You feel… fucking perfect. So tight around me.”
“Move,” Zuko begged, his voice shattered. “Please, Sokka, move.”
Sokka pulled back almost all the way and slammed home.
The force of it rocked the heavy bed. A ragged shout tore from Zuko’s throat. Sokka set a punishing pace from the start, each thrust a deep, driving claim. The slap of skin, the wet, filthy sounds of their joining, Zuko’s broken, pleading noises—it filled the room, drowning out the soft hiss of the candles.
Sokka fucked him like he was trying to brand himself inside him, to chase away every ghost, every lonely moment from the last five years. He angled his hips, driving deeper, and Zuko screamed, his body bowing. “There! Right there, fuck, don’t stop—”
“You gonna come?” Sokka grunted, his own rhythm faltering as pleasure coiled, white-hot, in his gut. He reached between them, his calloused hand wrapping around Zuko’s leaking cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. “You gonna come all over this pretty lace I’m ruining?”
Zuko’s answer was a wordless, choked sob. His release hit him suddenly, violently. He came with Sokka’s name on his lips, hot stripes painting his stomach and the torn black lace, his body clenching rhythmically around Sokka’s cock in unbearable, milking pulses.
The sensation tipped Sokka over the edge. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could go and came. Pleasure exploded behind his eyes, wave after wave of it, pumping into Zuko’s willing body. He saw stars, his vision whiting out, aware of nothing but the intense heat and the convulsing tightness and the ragged sound of their shared breathing.
He collapsed, his weight pressing Zuko into the mattress, careful to keep most of his weight on his forearms. He was still inside him, both of them panting, slick with sweat. The smell of sex and fire spirit hung heavy in the air.
Slowly, the world seeped back in. The drip of wax. The cool night air from the balcony. The frantic beat of Zuko’s heart against his own.
Sokka turned his head, nuzzling into the damp skin of Zuko’s neck. He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss there. “Okay?” he mumbled, echoing Zuko’s word from the throne room.
Zuko’s arms came up, wrapping around Sokka’s back, holding him close. His fingers traced the lines of the obsidian pendant now stuck to Sokka’s chest with sweat. His voice, when it came, was wrecked, but firm. “Better than okay.”
They lay tangled like that for a long time, until their breathing evened and the candles began to gutter out. The first grey light of dawn was just staining the paper screens when Zuko spoke again, his words soft against Sokka’s hair.
“The court assembles at noon.”
Sokka groaned, not moving. “Tell them the Fire Lord is busy being debauched by a savage water tribesman. Diplomatic incident. Very important.”
Zuko’s chest shook with silent laughter. Then he stilled. His hand came up, his fingers gently tracing the fresh scratches on Sokka’s back. “They’ll see these.”
Sokka finally lifted his head. He looked down at Zuko—spent, marked, beautiful. His. He smiled, a slow, proud thing. “Let them see.”
“Let them see.”
Zuko’s thumb, stroking the raised welts, stilled. A slow, incredulous smile spread across his face. He shifted, wincing only slightly, and rolled them over with a grunt of effort. Now he was straddling Sokka’s hips, his dark hair a messy curtain falling around them, blocking out the dawn.
He looked down at the scratches, then into Sokka’s eyes. His own gaze was liquid, soft with a wonder that had nothing to do with the previous hour’s ferocity.
“Possessive, huh?” Zuko murmured, his voice rough from use.
Sokka looked up at the breathtaking Fire Lord, at the smudged kohl around his golden eyes, the iron dragon resting against his sternum, the proof of their joining drying on his skin. A fierce, uncomplicated love tightened his chest.
“Possessive of my perfect in every way Fire Lord fiancé that has absolutely no business being as beautiful as he is and that I’ve been in love with since I was 17?” Sokka said, the words tumbling out in a warm, effortless cascade. “Duh.”
Zuko smirked down at him, the expression transformative, lighting up his severe features with a private, joyful mischief. He leaned down, his hair tickling Sokka’s shoulders, and kissed the pulse point on his neck. He nipped at the skin there, a sharp, stinging promise.
“You just signed yourself up for another round,” Zuko purred against his throat, his breath hot. He sucked, hard, drawing the blood to the surface.
Sokka gasped, his hands flying to Zuko’s hips. The sensation was a bright, claiming pain. He could feel Zuko’s renewed interest, firm and insistent against his own stirring length. “You’re insatiable. And I have diplomat’s breakfast.”
“Cancel it.” Zuko’s mouth was a relentless instrument, traveling down Sokka’s chest, pausing to lave a nipple with his hot tongue, before moving lower. His hands pushed Sokka’s thighs apart with a proprietorial firmness. “Tell them you’re negotiating a… long-term treaty. With the Fire Lord. It requires deep, personal attention to detail.”
Sokka barked a laugh that choked off into a groan as Zuko’s mouth enveloped him. There was no teasing preamble this time, just a deep, wet, consuming heat that made Sokka’s vision spark. Zuko took him all the way, his throat working, a low hum vibrating through Sokka’s core.
“Zuko—fuck—” Sokka’s head slammed back against the pillows. His fingers tangled in that silken black hair, not guiding, just holding on. The sight was obscenely beautiful: the Fire Lord, between his legs, wearing his necklace and his marks, sucking his cock with a devoted, hungry intensity.
Zuko pulled off with a slick sound, his lips swollen. He looked up the line of Sokka’s body, his chin glistening. “I want to ride you,” he said, blunt and wanton. “I want to watch your face while I take every inch. I need to see it.”
The raw need in his voice undid Sokka completely. “Yeah. Okay. Yes.”
Zuko moved with a fluid, boneless grace, reaching for the vial of almond oil on the nightstand—a more practical choice than fire spirit this time. He coated Sokka’s length with a few efficient strokes, his own hand slippery and sure. Then he positioned himself, one hand braced on Sokka’s chest, right over the obsidian pendant.
He didn’t lower himself slowly. He sank down in one smooth, relentless slide, his body opening, accepting, sheathing Sokka utterly. His head fell back, a tendon straining in his neck, a silent cry on his lips.
Sokka could only watch, mesmerized, as Zuko began to move. He set a rolling, deep rhythm, using the muscles in his thighs and core to lift and drop, each descent a breathtaking plunge. The candlelight danced over the sweat-sheened planes of his stomach, over the ruins of the lace, over the determined set of his jaw.
“Look at you,” Sokka breathed, his hands gripping Zuko’s hips, feeling the powerful flex and release. “You’re fucking magnificent. Taking me so deep. God, you feel incredible.”
Zuko’s eyes opened, hazy and dark. “Tell me again,” he demanded, his voice a strained thread. “Tell me I’m yours.”
“You are mine.” The words were a vow, solid as iron. “Every scar, every breath, this fucking throne you hate sometimes. All mine. And I’m yours. Until the last damn volcano goes cold.”
A shudder wracked Zuko’s frame. He leaned forward, changing the angle, and the new depth made them both cry out. His pace grew frantic, less controlled, a desperate chase for release. Sokka thrust up to meet him, the slap of skin filling the room again.
“I’m close,” Zuko warned, his rhythm faltering. “Sokka—”
“Come on, then.” Sokka slid a hand between them, gripping Zuko’s cock, stroking in time with their brutal, perfect rhythm. “Come all over me. Show everyone who you belong to.”
Zuko shattered with a sob, his release hot and sudden over Sokka’s fingers and stomach. His inner muscles clenched in violent, rhythmic pulses, a vise of exquisite pressure. That alone was enough to drag Sokka over with him, his own climax roaring up from his toes, blinding him as he spilled deep inside, his hips stuttering off the bed.
Zuko collapsed onto his chest, a dead weight, trembling. They were both slick, breathing in ragged, synced gasps. The new hickey on Sokka’s neck throbbed in time with his heartbeat.
Sunlight, proper and insistent, now streamed through the screens, painting bright bars across the floor. The world outside—the palace, the nation, the court waiting at noon—existed again. It pressed against the doors.
Sokka’s fingers traced the shell of Zuko’s ear. “We’re going to be so late.”
Zuko nuzzled into his throat, his voice muffled. “Worth it.”
A firm knock echoed through the chamber, the sound formal and utterly out of place. A servant’s voice, carefully neutral, followed. “My Lord? The Head Minister wishes to confirm the agenda for the noon assembly. He is… insistent.”
Zuko went very still. Sokka felt the exact moment the weight of the crown settled back onto his shoulders, a tangible shift in the muscles beneath his hands.
Zuko lifted his head. His eyes were clear now, the softness burned away, replaced by a familiar, stubborn resolve. He looked at Sokka, at the fresh love bite on his neck, at the scratches on his own back he couldn’t see.
“Tell the Minister,” Zuko called out, his voice carrying the full, unyielding authority of the Fire Lord, “that the agenda is confirmed. And inform him the Southern Water Tribe ambassador will be attending at my side.”
He looked back down at Sokka, a challenge and a promise in his gold eyes. “Let them see.”