Defeat the Fatherlord

Bonus: I also wanted to draw ZukAang (+♀️Aang) on a date at the beach.

Aang has Zuko's robe, because Zuko doesn't want the boys to flirt with Aang.

The Fire Lord is not expecting to be disturbed from his slumber tonight; the Blue Spirit is sure of it. The only sound as he alights through the window is the drip of rain droplets from his clothes, absorbed instantly by the carpeted floor, and the faint metallic clink of the thin chains he keeps wound around his belt, to be used to subdue and restrain at a moment’s notice.

He doesn’t need such precautions, though. No one expects company when it’s raining outside. Muddy tracks and trails of damp footprints tend to discourage fair-weather intruders, but not this one.

There is no break between the graceful crouch that he lands in to his confident stride across the bedroom, approaching the Fire Lord’s bed and drawing back the curtains silently. Not the faintest breeze ghosts his skin as the Blue Spirit drives sharp knuckles and precise fingers into seven pressure points across his supine body. The chi-blocking will leave him temporarily paralyzed and more deeply asleep than the dead, completely unaware that his mortal rival hovers over him.

The Blue Spirit strokes one gloved finger down the burned side of that face: a mask no less fearsome than the one he himself wears. A symbol of tenacity and determination to capture the Avatar even when someone else had beaten him to the task.

“I had him in hand, at Pohuai,” he murmurs. “I sneaked him out from under Zhao’s eye. He was rightfully mine, but you wouldn’t accept your defeat.”

So now he will lay claim to what he’s owed: a pliable body, unwilling but not unresponsive.

The Fire Lord’s robes are thin and delicate for sleeping on these warm rainy nights, and he tears the fabric off broad shoulders, exposing a pair of nipple piercings. The thin golden bars rise and fall with his breathing, as if begging to be twisted and tugged in malice. Another sweep of his gaze across muscular hips and down lower confirms the rumors of the Fire Lord's predilection for the southern style: a smooth crystalline dildo protrudes from his rear end, its girth hefty and unforgiving.

His mouth is parted slightly in sleep, and oh, to stretch that mouth wide around a burden just as unbearable as the one down below, until those rosy lips are strained thin, and then stained thick with spend.

Perfect.

He takes one of the longer chains encircling his waist and uses it to bind Zuko’s forearms parallel to each other behind his back. Chi-blocking wears off after a while, and he intends to take his time here. Arms thus secured, he hauls Zuko up to lie semi-reclined against the plush pillows at the head of the bed. He straddles his upper body, noting with some delight that the Fire Lord’s arousal matches his own even in sleep. Some lessons can only be learned subconsciously, when the waking mind is not willing to bend. Perhaps Zuko will be able to accept the totality of the Blue Spirit’s dominion over his dreaming self.

He is beyond words, truly, to describe how it feels as he frees his stiff cock and presses between unresisting lips, working Zuko’s jaw open to welcome him into a wet heat, warm from sleep. He tilts Zuko’s head back, straightening his airway, gloved grip firm in his hair, and commences a lazy rhythm.

“I mean to take my time with you, but if I were to come now… I’d shoot right down your throat – you’d be breathing in nothing but me, through your nose, through your lungs. And you’d let me. You’d have to take me in, all of me.” He punctuates this with a sharp yank, slipping further down that completely relaxed throat, relishing the way it yields each time he pushes in and rebounds each time he pulls out. “The body is willing… and one’s body should reflect the soul it houses.”

Fuck. It’s getting harder to hold back now, but he muses that there is no need to do so. With this first release, he’ll stave off his next orgasm for longer, and the next after that, and the next… all the better to spend his time working the helpless body in his thrall.

“Ah…” He reaches behind himself, finds Zuko’s arousal starting to leak, a few drops wetting his fingers, and he smears the fluid over Zuko’s lips where they grace his own cock, sliding in and out without cease. “Fuck, fuckfuckfuck—”

Outside, a flash of lighting coincides with his release, the boom of thunder drowned out by the ringing in his ears as he comes down Zuko’s throat, pulsing hard in time with his frantic heartbeat. “Ohhhhh—”

He pulls out, just in time for the next pulse to hit Zuko full in the face, dripping from his brow and mixing with the precome and drool pooled around his lips. “Yes…”

Zuko coughs reflexively, the sound thick with phlegm and semen, his chest heaving. The Blue Spirit pauses, ever discerning and careful, but he does not wake. Good.

He ponders his next move, briefly sated but still eager for the next prize, the next level of conquest. The dirty display painted across Zuko’s face is like a victory banner, and he considers where to plant that flag next. The Fire Lord’s skin is lovely, smooth despite years beneath an equatorial sun—what he wouldn’t give to see it marred by bruises, bites, burns, and more.

All in good time. He unwinds another chain from around his left sleeve, this one thinner and lighter. When he awakens, that will be the best time to bruise and bite, lay waste and ravage.

The golden bars he removes from each nipple, instead threading the fine silver chain in their place and locking the clasp, giving the chain an experimental tug. It’s sturdy despite its lightness, and his nipples will be so tender that he’ll hardly be able to draw his royal robes closed over his chest tomorrow morning. Imagine, Fire Lord Zuko meeting with his councilors, voice hoarse, wrists rubbed raw and red, robe hanging open, leaving his swollen, abused nipples exposed for all to see…

Won’t be able to sit properly either, once I’m through here.

-----

Zuko shudders, enveloped in darkness, confused and lost. If this is real, how can he know for certain that he is alone? He can’t speak or move, he does not even know if his eyes are open or closed. If this is a dream, though… how can he feel so vividly? The darkness surrounding him is cloying, like quicksand turned gaseous, weighing down the air and replacing it with a nauseating, thick miasma. His limbs are too heavy to move, and yet he feels electrified, as if pricks of flame dance along his body, too fleeting to burn and cause pain, just enough to light his skin on fire.

He feels that familiar churning in his core, the flame heating a pot of water to boiling, along with the sensation of choking, suffocating on thin air. The darkness remains, as impenetrable as ever, and he’s not sure if he even has a body in this unknowable place. Surely he must have one, for he has lungs with which to suffocate, and a heart pounding a frenzied rhythm, simultaneous fear and arousal filling him in a confusing torrent.

I can’t breathe – I can’t, I’m, drowning – gasping – Dead, alive, indistinguishable

Pleasure, pain, mutually imitable

Fuck—

He wants to cry out, but he cannot; he longs to move, to free himself from the encroaching darkness, but he cannot. Slowly, painfully slowly, he finds that he can hear, but the fact that he has regained only this sense is made all the more horrific by what he actually hears.

The crystalline tinkling of something solid being thrown onto his nightstand. Heavy breaths, almost groans, the rasp of sweaty skin against skin, and then…

“Gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll never forget it was me…”

How….? He rummages through his thoughts, tries to marshal his fatigued brain into understanding what, where, when, how, how? Why? This… this can’t be happening.

Awfully and irrevocably, almost against his will, he begins to feel his body, how he’s lying in bed, unnaturally with his legs splayed open and his arms crushed behind his back. He sniffs, and the bitterness on his tongue floods his nostrils, instinctively clearing his throat as he realizes what he’s tasting.

“No…”

He’s not sure if he’s said the word out loud or just thought it. A deep unnerving laugh from beyond the darkness confirms the former.

“Just you wait. I’m sure you’ll change your mind.”

“No… no!”

He’s fully awake now, eyes flying open to meet the terrifying visage of the Blue Spirit, crouched over him, clothed in black garb while he is naked, restrained on his back and fuck—

He registers the intrusion belatedly, the thick cock at his entrance, a lean, strong body slamming into him as his hole is relentlessly fucked open. Gloved hands force his knees apart, opening him up over and over to the violation of his body. He’s so weak and disjointed that he likely couldn’t resist even if he weren’t being held down.

“Yes… fuck,” his aggressor hisses. “I was hoping you’d wake up at this point. I want you to know who has control over you.”

“No… stop,” he protests weakly. Despite the words on his lips, he can’t deny how aroused he is, how good it feels as each thrust grazes his prostate, one stroke pressing up against his sweet spot and dragging a pained gasp from his throat.

“I know it’s good. I know you want it. You know it too.”

It’s too much. I can’t… I can’t let myself come. Body’s responding the way it would to a lover’s touch, but that doesn’t mean I have to let go of the one scrap of pride I have left.

“Ahh—,” he gasps, the Blue Spirit’s thrusts accelerating, hitting his prostate more times than not. “No…”

Wandering hands palm his naked skin, tugging tightly at a nipple chain he doesn’t remember owning or wearing to bed. He arches his back slightly with the little strength he can summon to his muscles, trying to shrink away from the coveting touch that is everywhere, but he can’t avoid it. Another hand finds its way south, and the Blue Spirit toys with him, squeezing gently at the base of his cock, then delving lower to cradle his sac, just above his hole, stretched wide to accommodate the punishing rhythm rocking his lower body. He fondles each of Zuko’s balls, rubbing their engorged surface with the scrutiny of an imperial assessor of fine jade and gems, almost eerie in his detachment.

No… Zuko strains against his bonds, willing himself not to give in to pleasure, bastardized as it is. The Blue Spirit pumps his shaft twice, three times, then releases him, unsatisfied. That’s the point, though, not to come, and he prays to what gods there are to let him stay strong.

Mercifully, those probing fingers recede, redoubling their grip on his hips as the Blue Spirit slams into him, fucking him with ever more vigor until he thinks he will be split in two on the masked man’s cock. He tries to summon enough air to his lungs to scream, but instantly, one hand is on his throat, clamping down hard.

“Yes… yes, yes fuck—”

Over the muffled strangulation of his protests and cries, the Blue Spirit comes, pressing so deep inside of him, the staggered bursts of his release as hot as the tears of shame that gather in Zuko’s eyes. He struggles in vain, limbs still noodle-like and uncooperative.

“You want to call for help?” the Blue Spirit sneers. “Can you really bear for your servants and guards to see you in this state? Even if they could save you from my grasp, they’d always remember how you looked, like this… frightened, helpless, sullied, bereft of all dignity.”

No… He’s right. Zuko can’t lose face before his people. Even if he must let the Blue Spirit have his way with him, he can’t let anyone know that this happened. He would lose everything he’s worked for.

“Get up.” The Blue Spirit stands abruptly, slipping from Zuko’s insides. He grabs Zuko roughly, one hand in his hair and the other pulling at his bound arms, hauling him off the bed to stand briefly, before he collapses. His fall is cushioned by some pillows kicked onto the floor, but his knees and hips vibrate with the shock of landing.

“Look at you… ruler of the Fire Nation, mightiest sovereign on this earth, on your knees, laid low by your enemy. Do you dare to still call yourself the Fire Lord, like this?”

“The title of Fire Lord is earned, and once given, can only be lost by oneself, not taken away by another,” Zuko recites, voice cracking but proud. How many of his forebears actually abided by this tenet when fighting for the throne, he can count on one hand. But the principle remains. “The throne is not where the Fire Lord sits, but rather, wherever the Fire Lord sits, be it a humble cushion or an elegantly carved chair, is the throne.”

The Blue Spirit scoffs, deep and mocking, then unexpectedly slaps him across the face, palm crackling with energy. Zuko falls to the side, dazed, cheek stinging. Undeterred, he struggles to his knees again, rekindling the soreness in his ass as he settles onto his heels. A little of his mobility is returning, but with his arms bound, his bending quelled, and his body sapped of strength, he can hardly wriggle out of this situation.

“Pretty words for a pretty Fire Lord," the Blue Spirit leers as he nudges the cushions under Zuko with one foot. “Sit on your throne, then, and don't you dare budge an inch. A sovereign should be stately and dignified, no?"

He unwinds a length of black cloth from one sleeve, and Zuko, eyelashes trembling, has no choice but to let him tie it tightly over his eyes, leaving him to anticipate fresh new torments amid darkness.

-----

“Beautiful.”

It is undeniably the right word to describe the man hunched at his feet, black band over his eyes in stark contrast to his pale skin, gleaming with sweat and come, and the reddening handprints around his neck, waist, and legs. The bloom of scarlet over his cheek, too, undoubtedly a novel experience for a royal who’s never been on the receiving end of corporal punishment.

What would be even more beautiful, he reflects, is a little change of scenery. Yes, that would be perfect.

Idly, he draws the toe of one booted foot along the line of Zuko's hard shaft, reveling in the jolt of surprise it generates. "You're dripping," he notes drily. "Sluttiest of all Fire Lords, that's for sure. Well come on, then. Follow me." He’d like to move things along, entertaining as it is to watch Zuko trying to resist his own urges.

The disgraced Fire Lord, to his credit, actually straightens and tries to stand up, only to be stopped by a well-placed kick to his hip. “No. You will crawl.”

He reaches down and grabs the nipple chain, yanking once, twice, until Zuko moans around a startle of pain mixed with pleasure. He pulls on the chain, guiding his blindfolded captive in a halting shuffle across the room until they reach the window. The pitter patter of the rain is cheerful and spry, the grey storm clouds unaware of the tense, torturous scene within. This close to the window, they can smell the rich tones of the earth and the faint aroma of flowers in the garden.

The windowsill boasts a broad, flat seat with a set of shallow steps leading up to it, like a dais, a throne in its own right. It is almost wide enough to lay down on, and led by the tautness of the chain, Zuko stumbles his way up the steps on his knees, still-hard cock bobbing between his legs. Off-balance as he is with his arms behind his back and his sight blinded, he nearly falls forward, but the Blue Spirit catches him by the shoulder and holds him upright.

The hour is late, but if anyone outside in the courtyard were to look up, they would see the Fire Lord at the window, backlit by the torchlight, disrobed and bound, on his knees before an outlandish ruffian of the Earth Kingdom. What a story for the rumor mills. The Blue Spirit entertains himself thinking of how they might be even further embellished as the story passes from mouth to ear, a thousand times over, a living thing evolving and growing until it is monstrous and altogether unlike its appearance at birth.

“Shall we pull a little prank, then?” the Blue Spirit asks, conversationally, as if it is up to Zuko to agree or not. He loosens the ties behind his head and pulls the mask from his face. “See if we can’t fool your loyal guards and ministers.”

He settles the mask over Zuko’s face instead, over the blindfold, tying the knot securely. “You are become the monster. Think about it. The guards on their night patrol may see a masked figure engaged in carnal relations in the Fire Lord’s bedroom, and merely lament that their sovereign has a kink for dominating the Blue Spirit. At worst, they’ll knock on the door of your bedchamber and inquire after your wellbeing, at which point I’ll choke you off while imitating your voice and promising them that all is well. They don’t ever have to know about this nighttime indiscretion. Unless…”

He positions Zuko closer to the edge of the window seat, close enough for the curtains to billow open around him and the misty rainstorm to land droplets like kisses upon his gooseflesh skin. Anyone could see him like this, trembling and thoroughly mastered, but assume that the master is their Fire Lord who stands behind.

“Maybe when I’m done with you, I’ll push you out the window. Let the night patrol find you, or the gardeners when they start their work at dawn. Just think how surprised they’ll be to lift the mask and find their lord, so disheveled, in need of their help.”

The Blue Spirit, unmasked, is ready yet again to seize his dues, and with one long thrust, pushes into inside to reclaim that body and its encompassing heat and pleasure. Zuko whines low in his throat, bound hands scrabbling behind his back as if searching for something to hold onto, to ground him.

“What help could they offer you in such a state, though? What services could your loyal subjects render?” He asks, an underlying threat in his teasing words. “You’re immobile and barely able to speak. The more astute among your guards might figure out that you've been chi-blocked. But only the cleverest and most loyal among them might try to provide the most logical solution. Imagine that.”

-----

The darkness encloses him once more, and with it comes the desperation of being at one’s limit, the anguish of knowing there is no rescue to be had. Would his firebending guards really jump at the chance to fuck their Fire Lord in an effort to restore his chi circulation, as the Blue Spirit so lasciviously suggests? Unlikely. But would he ever be able to look them in the eye again after being found in such a compromising position?

“No…” he mumbles, against his better judgment, knowing that the Blue Spirit will remain merciless. “Stop… stop it, stop this… ahhh—”

Fuck, it’s so good, how can he be this good, it’s not fair…

“You’ve let me carry on for so long,” his subjugator points out. “If you really wanted me to stop, you would’ve found a way by now. You would have struggled harder to push me away. You’re enjoying this, you wretched little monster.” He reaches a hand around to grab Zuko’s cock, stroking him hard a few times and then letting go, just as before.

He’s right. Who’s to say I’m not the monster, though? Zuko wades blindly through the dark, his thoughts festering and turning black as the cloth that clouds his judgment. I’ve been the Blue Spirit before. I kidnapped the Avatar. I tried to kill him. I let down so many people who tried to help me—Uncle, my crew, the people of the Earth Kingdom, the Avatar himself and his allies… who’s to say I don’t deserve it? The Blue Spirit deserved it, and the Blue Spirit is me…

“Beg me for it. I know you don’t want to come, but you can’t hold out for much longer. Beg me to let you come, and I’ll have mercy.”

He resists instinctively, hating the fact that he wants to, he wants it so much, fuck ohhhh—

He loses himself for a long moment to the same grasping touch on his cock, fleeting and brutal; the grip and sticky cling of one arm across his sweat-soaked chest, holding him firm, yanking on his nipple chain and forcing another strangled cry from his throat; the steady pace of damning strokes on his prostate, forcing him towards climax but not quite letting him go yet.

“Beg for it.” A labored breath in his ear, and he knows that his captor doesn’t have long to last either.

I should just give in. The Blue Spirit, brought down by a far greater manipulator, forced to concede defeat. Why am I still resisting?

“Beg for it,” and now he really does sound strained, hips losing their rhythm, jerking erratically and seeking their release.

“Please!” The word barely registers as such, splitting and cracking in his dry throat and sandpaper mouth. He sucks in the shards of an effortful breath, pushing the air out and willing it to work. “Please, please, please fuck me hard, please make me come—”

The hand on his cock tightens, then resumes its strokes in tandem with the speed he’s being fucked at. If he thought his subjugator was going hard just a moment ago, he was wrong. The ruinous thrusts now rock his entire body, nearly pushing him out the window but for the arms that hold him fast, the body pressed to his back, cock fucking into him furiously like a river that’s burst its levees.

“Fuck, ahhhhh, FUCK, please—harder, ohhh fuck, fuck me HARDER yes”

“Oh, fuck yes, yes, you don’t know how good you are—”

Finally, he screams out his climax, bowed over the windowsill, shaking like a leaf in a storm, buffeted by a few final thrusts from behind. The Blue Spirit follows suit, the jerky spasms of his release almost muted in comparison with the intensity of Zuko's orgasm, pulsed out over the windowsill and curtains and perhaps even outside. The mask remains over his face, tears and sweat dampening the blindfold underneath.

The rain is a little cooler late in the evening, prickling on his sensitive skin. Small tremors, aftershocks of his daunting orgasm, shake his frame, and at length, the one behind him, who held him so closely in those last moments, disengages.

“Finished?” he asks neutrally.

“Finished,” Zuko agrees.

-----

Aang carries him back to bed, and Zuko drowses, sleepily listening to the flurry of motion around him. Somehow, Aang manages to care for him without being fussy, gently wiping down his face and body with soft damp cloths, wrapping him in new linen, and lifting a bowl of cool water to his mouth, letting Zuko hold it when he’s recovered enough of his motor control to not drop it.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Aang asks.

“Mm.” Zuko takes a sip of water. “Yes, I did. I know it’s hard for you to do this, to use as much force as I like. I really did love it. Thank you.”

“Good. I was worried it wasn’t enough.”

“It was great. But feel free to dole out more next time, I can take it.” He stretches widely, delighting in every tender point of his body, the ache in his throat, even the bruises that will blossom over his knees in the next few days after Aang half-led, half-dragged him over the uneven carpet.

A distant fragrance wafts by his nose, and he opens his eyes, noting that Aang’s set a shallow wooden bowl down on the bed, filled with some pale waxy ointment. “What’s that?”

“This is what we will need more of if you want me to wreck you even harder next time,” Aang says a little waspishly. There’s no sting to his words, though, as he reaches out and gently takes Zuko’s hands in his own. He daubs the ointment over his wrists where they pulled at his chains, nearly abrading the skin. Zuko’s puffy, swollen nipples receive the same treatment, the chain removed and his usual golden piercings set aside for now.

Beyond their bed, a pot of water bubbles and boils, and Aang pushes the bowl of ointment towards Zuko. “Here, make sure to put some down there as well, or you’ll have to attend morning court standing. I'll go make tea."

“But it feels nicer when you do it,” Zuko whines. He feels he’s entitled to whine after everything Aang has put him through (at his own request, of course).

“If I do it, you won’t want me to stop.”

Regardless, he comes back to bed shortly, tea in hand, and rolls his petulant lover onto his side. Zuko sighs, alternately warmed by the ginger tea infused with honey and lemon and Aang’s soft fingers probing around his well-used entrance with soothing ointments.

“I love you.”

Aang settles into bed with him, curled at his side. “Does it haunt you?”

“What?”

“The Blue Spirit,” Aang clarifies. “I worry that you feel guilty about it, that you regret trying to capture me back then, and then betraying me when I looked behind the mask. That it won’t let you go, and that’s why you wanted me to do this. To fuck you as the Blue Spirit, and vice versa. To punish you for your imagined crimes."

“They were very real crimes,” Zuko points out. “Kidnapping and taking hostages are criminal activities. But you’re not wrong. I… I’ll move past it, one day.”

“Mm.” Now Aang is the one to sound sleepy. “Well, let me know any time you need help with that. Witch hazel is expensive; I went to three apothecaries before I found one that would sell in bulk for a good price.”