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Evening Republic City hums beyond the windows of the Palace of Four Nations. The Eleventh Grand Summit of Representatives is drawing to a close — most of the delegates have already departed, the corridors stand empty, and only in the guest wing reserved for the Fire Lord does a strip of warm light slip through the gap beneath the door.
Zuko sits on the wide bed, spread with white sheets bearing the crest of the United Republic. Around him rises an entire fortress of scrolls. Trade agreements, reconstruction funding proposals, governors' reports. He wears a simple dark crimson tunic, his hair gathered into its usual knot at the nape of his neck, though several strands have already escaped — testament to a long day.
The door opens without a knock. Katara enters looking as though she has every right to be here at any moment of the day or night. Her blue robes of the Southern Water Tribe ambassador fit her flawlessly, her hair braided into a tight plait draped over one shoulder. In her hands — one more scroll.
"I finished the paperwork," she announces, stretching. Her spine cracks after hours spent hunched over a desk.
She approaches the bed and sits down beside him unceremoniously, shoving the mountain of scrolls aside with her hip. The scroll tumbles into Zuko's lap.
"Here. A few flourishes requiring a signature. Southern port funding."
Zuko unfurls the paper, scanning the figures. His lips twitch into a faint smirk.
"Appetites are growing, I see, where Kuei is concerned," he muttered, recalling the governor of the eastern isles. He set the scroll aside and gripped his neck again, grimacing.
"You're tense," Katara says. It isn't a question.
She settles herself more comfortably, tucking one leg beneath her, and reaches for his shoulders. Her fingers find the hard muscles and begin to knead. The warmth of her palms seeps through the thin fabric of his tunic.
Zuko groaned, lowering his head, offering her more room. Her thumbs pressed into a spot near his vertebrae, and he exhaled.
"Katara…" His hand covers hers, halting her. "Don't do that."
"Why?" she whispered, leaning toward his ear. Her breath grazed the skin behind the shell of his ear, and she felt a shiver race through his body.
"Because it turns me on," Zuko's voice dropped, low and guttural.
"That's exactly what I'm after," she brushed his hand aside and continued kneading his shoulders, but now her touch had changed — more sensual, more gliding.
She brushes his hand away and continues the massage, but now her touch shifts — growing slower, deeper, her fingers sliding from his shoulders to the base of his neck, to where the skin is most sensitive.
"Where's Aang?" Zuko asks. His voice is already lower, rougher.
Katara sighed almost imperceptibly. She knew this question would come. It came every time they found themselves alone in this room after sunset.
"Flew to Kuzawa village," she shrugged. "Some kind of crop incident. Spirits destroying the fields, or something of the sort. Only he can sort it out."
"Why didn't he warn us?" A note of irritation at his own weakness slipped into Zuko's voice.
"He was in a hurry." Katara lowered herself onto the edge of the wide bed. She sat beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his skin even through the silk. "Don't worry. He won't be back before tomorrow morning."
She leans closer, and her lips graze his neck. Barely perceptible. The line of his jaw. The spot behind his ear, where his pulse beats fast and hot.
Zuko moans. His head falls back, exposing his throat.
"Don't, Katara," he rasped, but his head tipped back, offering his throat to her kisses. "Aang said… last time he nearly threw a fit. We can't do this without him."
"He can't forbid us," she whispered directly into his skin. "It's more of a request."
Her hand slipped into the deep neckline of his tunic. Her fingers touched bare chest — hard muscles, rising with heavy breaths. She felt the ridges of the old lightning scar, traced them tenderly, then slid lower, down to his taut stomach.
"But Aang asked us quite persuasively," Zuko tried to sound firm, but his voice cracked every time her nails lightly scratched the skin below his navel. "He doesn't like that we do this too often without him. He gets jealous."
"Don't think about Aang: he's sleeping with his acolytes, he has no right to forbid me anything." Katara pulled back just enough to untie her own sash. The heavy blue fabric slipped to the floor in a silent wave. "I'll talk to him. Everything will be fine."
She swung a leg over his thighs, straddling him. Her knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his body. His hands settle on her hips, and he pulls her closer. Scrolls rustle, sliding to the floor, but no one pays them any mind.
"You were supposed to talk first, then do this," Zuko breathed out, but his hands were already on her hips. He could no longer pretend to resist. "He might get upset if he finds out."
"I want you right now," she breathed straight against his lips and sealed them with a kiss.
Her tongue slipped into his mouth, and she swallowed his groan. Her hands slid over his shoulders, stripping his top tunic away. The silk fell to the floor with a soft rustle, instantly forgotten. She felt him everywhere — the hardness of his chest, the heat of his skin, the scent of sandalwood that always clung to the Fire Lord. Her favorite.
She moved her hand lower, to his pants. Through the thin fabric, she found hardness, hot and unyielding.
"You want this too," she whispered against his lips, squeezing her palm.
He lifts a hand and carefully withdraws the pin from her hair. The braid unravels in heavy waves over her shoulders. He loves her hair loose. Loves how it slips through his fingers, how it frames her face, making it softer, more intimate — for him alone.
His hands finally come alive. They slide up her thighs, crumpling the fabric of her pants. His fingers grip her ass, glide up her back, tracing the line of her spine, and at last find her breasts. He kneads them through the thin cotton linen, his thumbs circling the nipples, which have already hardened and demand attention.
Katara moaned into his mouth, and that sound was the final straw.
Zuko unwound her chest wraps with an impatience that bordered on hunger. The white bands fell to the sheets, and before him appeared her perfect, soft breasts, dark nipples thrusting in stiff peaks in the cool air of the room.
His lips latched onto them immediately and sealed around her left nipple.
He sucked it greedily, ravenously, his tongue tracing circles that pulsed straight into her core. Katara adored this. She could come just from the way he worshipped her breasts. With a wet pop he pulled away from one nipple and moved to the other, his fingers all the while squeezing and kneading the bared flesh.
Her lower wraps were already soaked through. She rubbed against him through the layer of fabric, seeking relief, sweet friction. Her hands dropped to his waistband, untying the knot with trembling fingers.
"I want you on top," she whispered.
She climbed off his lap and lay on the bed on her back. The luxurious bedding embraced her body like a lover's arms. She tugged off her boots, pulled down her pants, and tossed them aside. Now only the thin lower wraps remained — the final barrier, wet and nearly invisible.
Zuko crawls up the bed toward her, looming over her, bracing his hands on the mattress. He gazed down at her and tugged at the edge of her sarashi. The wraps yielded, revealing her completely. He pulled back for a moment, taking her in.
She lay naked in the dim light. Toned flat stomach, perfect waist, dark, neatly trimmed curls framing her slit. The sight filled his mouth with saliva. He knew her taste. He wanted to dive in with his tongue.
Katara spreads her legs, lifting her hips slightly. She knows this is his favorite view. Knows the effect it has.
A guttural growl tore from his chest.
Katara smiled. She loved that reaction. She traced the toes of one foot along his stomach, sliding over the hard muscles of his abs, lower, to the waistband of his pants. She could see the fabric straining. He was hard and ready, and she ached to feel him inside her.
Zuko understood without words. He pushed his pants down, freeing his cock. Proud, heavy, with a glistening bead of moisture at the very tip. Proof of how fiercely he wanted her.
He crawled closer. His fingers glided along her slit, spreading the slickness — so plentiful it was already trickling onto the sheets. His thumb pressed against that sensitive spot and began massaging it in slow circles. Katara arched her back, rolling her hips into his hand, and let out a broken moan.
"You're ready," he said, sinking two fingers inside her. "So wet for me."
She smiled and lifted herself slightly, reaching for his cock, guiding it toward her entrance.
Zuko freezes for a second. The image of Aang with darkened gray eyes flashes through his mind. The Avatar could appear at any moment as a spirit projection, peek into the room, check on what they were doing. He had done it before. When he realized they were fucking without him too often.
The thought should have cooled his ardor, but it only stoked it hotter.
He likes the feeling of danger. Likes knowing they could get caught.
He knows this will end someday. Knows it isn't normal — sharing a woman with the Avatar, secretly breaking the very rules he himself laid down. But right now he doesn't care. Right now he wants only one thing — to be inside her.
He entered her with just the head. Her flesh gripped him tight, hot, slick. He withdrew his cock, coated in her clear juices, and Katara whimpered at the loss of fullness. He made several experimental thrusts — shallow, teasing, sinking deeper with each one.
Spirits, she was so perfect around him. Her slick flesh gripped him like a velvet glove. He sank in to the hilt, filling her completely, and Katara bit her lip to keep from screaming throughout the entire palace.
Zuko released a groan torn up from the very depths of him. He imagined Aang standing in the corner of the room right now, invisible to mortal eyes, watching him fuck his future wife. Watching him plunge into her deep and hard, watching her breasts bounce with every thrust.
He picked up speed. His movements grew sharper, harder. He slammed into her, reveling in the sounds she made whenever the head struck that special spot deep inside her. He always read her body so perfectly.
Katara locked her legs around his hips, pulling him even deeper. Her hands found his back, nails sinking into his skin. His hands settled on her breasts, squeezing and massaging in rhythm with his thrusts. He leaned down and kissed her neck, sucking at the spot where her pulse fluttered. She smelled of salt and jasmine, and that scent drove him out of his mind.
Katara began rolling her hips up to meet his, and that shatters his control. Zuko feels her grow even wetter inside. Her inner muscles started to spasm, clenching around his cock in rhythmic waves. He knew these signs. She was on the edge.
It was getting harder and harder for him to hold on. He kissed her on the lips, plunging his tongue deep, swallowing her moans. He needed to get her there first.
"Zuko…" she whimpered into his mouth.
He felt the approach of his own climax — that tipping point beyond which there is no return.
"I'm about to come," he breathed out in a groan. His movements turned frantic; he could barely hold back. "Where do you want me to…?"
Katara was breathing hard, ragged. Words came with difficulty.
"In me," she rasped. "Come inside me."
That was all it took. He delivers a few final powerful thrusts, groaning through clenched teeth. He spilled into her in several hot pulses, feeling her inner muscles clamp down in orgasm at the exact same moment, milking every last drop from him. She wrings his cock dry to the very last. Her body arched into a bow, a strangled cry tearing from her throat, which he smothered with a kiss.
She trembled beneath him, fine and sweet tremors. She was incredible, and he showed her this by kissing her nipple, giving it one last brief suckle, then her neck, and finally — her lips. Their tongues met in a slow, lazy dance.
When he finally pulls away, Katara laughs softly, tipping her head back. Her loosened hair spills across the pillow, damp with sweat.
Zuko found the strength to rise. He pulled out of her — his half-hard cock slipped free of the wet heat, leaving a damp stain on the sheets, a mingling of his seed and her arousal. He lay down beside her, breathing heavily, staring at the ceiling.
Katara turned onto her side and traced her fingers over his stomach, outlining the ridges of muscle. He pulled her to him, wrapping his strong arms around her. Her head settled onto his shoulder, fitting perfectly into the curve of his neck.
"Will you stay and sleep here?" he asked quietly, afraid of shattering the moment.
"What, are we going to break every single one of Aang's rules in one night?" There was laughter in her voice. "No fucking without him. No coming inside me. No sleeping in the same bed."
Zuko snorted.
"Maybe it's time to revisit those rules."
"I'll go sleep in our room. Let's not make him too nervous," she said. "But that can wait."
She propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at him. Mischief blazed in her blue eyes.
"In the meantime… I've got a second round planned."
Zuko felt his cock, despite the exhaustion he'd just endured, stir once more, responding to her words. He reached out and tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear.
Tomorrow Aang might be furious at them. But that would be tomorrow.
The night over Republic City is only just beginning.