FIC: Sins of Your Fathers (AtLA, NC-17)
Sins of Your Fathers
By Keelywolfe
Hakoda/Zuko
NC-17
Summary: Part two in the Insomniacs series. It will make very little sense unless you've read 'Fathers and Sons'.
Warnings: Yeah, I'm going to give this series a general 'dark' warning, so if you're used to my funny, fluffy stories...this isn't it. Thanks.
By the sins they committed they stirred up his jealous anger more than their fathers had done. -- 1 Kings 14:22
~~*~~
He was never sure, later, what woke him. Some little sound perhaps, something that didn't mesh with the little nighttime noises he was so accustomed to, soft snores and sleepy murmurs, the occasional chitter from Momo as he rolled over, chasing something tasty in his dreams.
Whatever it was, it pulled Sokka from the sweetness of his dreams, had him blinking into the darkness. The coals from the fire barely glowed, casting their little semi-circle of bedrolls into a pall of light. For just a moment, his dream lingered and he could only squint blankly around him, barely aware of what he was looking for and then he blinked away the sticky, clinging dream-shapes and pulled his legs free of his sleep sack, crouching low to the ground.
There was very little that Sokka couldn't sleep through, the occasional dowsing with icy bended water aside, but that didn't mean he wasn't aware and if something out of the ordinary was out there, better he take a moment to check it out.
Moving on careful, silent feet, Sokka skirted around the blanket covered shapes of Katara and Suki, both still deeply asleep. He edged outside their little group, glancing back at the bulky, slumbering silhouettes behind him.
There, one, no, two empty beds. One was understandable, someone always kept watch at night, and two was perhaps explainable if someone had to take care of a basic need. If that was what had woken him, it was easy enough to confirm it and if it wasn't...well, it would probably be a good thing to have someone else awake with him.
The weight of his knife in his hand was a comforting necessity, cool metal warming quickly against his skin as he crept forward on bare feet, tiny pebbles barely registering as they prodded the tender skin unmercifully. Tomorrow, hopefully, he could moan and groan about his little injuries, glare at the others for daring to snore away while he went out searching for a surprise enemy attack.
Tonight, though, he had to make sure it was only an attack on his sleep and not on his person, and Sokka moved quietly through the rooms, finding each empty. Most of the air temple was inaccessible to them, anyway. Teo, Haru and The Duke had gone through it as thoroughly as only the truly bored could do, found which stairwells had crumbled away over the past century and which ones simply couldn't be walked down unless you were an Airbender. It was why they all still slept in the outer courtyard even though it left them a little exposed. It was better that than to accidentally roll over into open air in your sleep.
There. He could hear soft noises, the faint scraping sound of movement that couldn't be disguised on hard stone floors and Sokka palmed his knife, creeping closer until he could crouch behind a stone pillar, peering around it until his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could see...gods.
On their knees, moving together in some obscene, horrible way that Sokka could barely comprehend was Zuko and...and his dad. His eyes felt too-wide, painfully stretched but they couldn't deny what he was seeing. His father on his knees behind Zuko, their nakedness brutally visible to him as they writhed together, bare skin gleaming with sweat in the cool night air.
He couldn't look away from it. Zuko seemed all the paler against his father's darker skin, the awful contrast of them moving together in this shadowy little corner of the world. Their naked bodies twisting together were monstrous to his eyes but he felt frozen, trapped in his crouch behind the pillar.
There were soft words spoken, carrying clearly in the still night air along with gasps, the slick sounds their bodies made as they moved together.
"I'm not your father," Hakoda said low, his voice thick in a way Sokka had never heard.
"I know," Zuko whispered. His voice was barely audible, his face hidden in his own arms and as Sokka watched, grim nausea churning low in his guts, his father threaded one hand through Zuko's hair and yanked his head up roughly, burying his face in the sweaty, ropey muscles of Zuko's shoulder to suck rosy color into the skin.
"Say my name," his father whispered, low and terrible.
"Hakoda." It was barely a breath, a low gasp punctuated by his body rocking forward with a hard thrust.
"Again."
"Hakoda!" This time it was a cry and Sokka could see movement in the shadowy nest between Zuko's thighs, his father's hand working furiously on hot flesh and Sokka would have given a great deal not to see what happened next, the wet spill of pale fluid over his father's fist, pattering lightly to the stone floor beneath them.
He managed to tear his gaze away before his father finished, barely noticing the burn in his thighs from being crouched so long as he stumbled a little to his feet, staggering away perhaps louder than he should have but there was no cry of alarm behind him, only the blurred sound of groans, cries that shouldn't have existed even in this dark place.
If he'd had the awareness, Sokka might have been proud at his own discretion, his silence as he hurried desperately to the other side of the pavilion, his stomach finally heaving and he crouched again, low to the ground as he vomited a thin line of bile, spitting desperately before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He gagged once, twice, managing to still the queasy churning in his guts as he kept his thoughts carefully blank, refusing to consider what he'd seen.
With slow, careful movements Sokka made his way back to his bedroll, wrapping the blankets around him in a cocoon. He stared into the darkness, his eyes too-wide and dry and even when he heard soft footsteps creeping closer, two other figures sliding into their own blankets, he didn't sleep. He blinked, slow and measured, watching the sun pinken the edges of the dark, the lightening blue of the sky matching his own eyes.
Zuko's bedroll was across from his own and in the rising sun, Sokka could see his face, surrounded by a cloud of blankets; the scar etched deep into his skin alongside the smooth, softer lines of the other side. Like a coin, he decided dimly, two-sided. Two-faced, all along, and the faint, lingering nausea in his stomach turned into a slow burn, fire lighting within him. By the time the sun crossed Zuko's sleeping face, his golden eyes flickering open, Sokka had turned away, rolling up his bedclothes and stowing them away for the coming day.
Zuko yawned, bowing sleepily in the direction of the rising sun before crawling out of his blankets to relight the fire with a simple wave of his hand. There would be tea soon and breakfast cooking, and later there would be firebending lessons. He never noticed blue eyes watching him from an unnaturally silent Sokka, never saw the low anger burning deep within them as they watched him just barely brush a hand against Hakoda's shoulder, his eyes briefly meeting the older man's with a faint smile before he went to tidy his own bedroll. He didn't notice any of it.
But he would.
-finis-
Next Chapter
By Keelywolfe
Hakoda/Zuko
NC-17
Summary: Part two in the Insomniacs series. It will make very little sense unless you've read 'Fathers and Sons'.
Warnings: Yeah, I'm going to give this series a general 'dark' warning, so if you're used to my funny, fluffy stories...this isn't it. Thanks.
By the sins they committed they stirred up his jealous anger more than their fathers had done. -- 1 Kings 14:22
~~*~~
He was never sure, later, what woke him. Some little sound perhaps, something that didn't mesh with the little nighttime noises he was so accustomed to, soft snores and sleepy murmurs, the occasional chitter from Momo as he rolled over, chasing something tasty in his dreams.
Whatever it was, it pulled Sokka from the sweetness of his dreams, had him blinking into the darkness. The coals from the fire barely glowed, casting their little semi-circle of bedrolls into a pall of light. For just a moment, his dream lingered and he could only squint blankly around him, barely aware of what he was looking for and then he blinked away the sticky, clinging dream-shapes and pulled his legs free of his sleep sack, crouching low to the ground.
There was very little that Sokka couldn't sleep through, the occasional dowsing with icy bended water aside, but that didn't mean he wasn't aware and if something out of the ordinary was out there, better he take a moment to check it out.
Moving on careful, silent feet, Sokka skirted around the blanket covered shapes of Katara and Suki, both still deeply asleep. He edged outside their little group, glancing back at the bulky, slumbering silhouettes behind him.
There, one, no, two empty beds. One was understandable, someone always kept watch at night, and two was perhaps explainable if someone had to take care of a basic need. If that was what had woken him, it was easy enough to confirm it and if it wasn't...well, it would probably be a good thing to have someone else awake with him.
The weight of his knife in his hand was a comforting necessity, cool metal warming quickly against his skin as he crept forward on bare feet, tiny pebbles barely registering as they prodded the tender skin unmercifully. Tomorrow, hopefully, he could moan and groan about his little injuries, glare at the others for daring to snore away while he went out searching for a surprise enemy attack.
Tonight, though, he had to make sure it was only an attack on his sleep and not on his person, and Sokka moved quietly through the rooms, finding each empty. Most of the air temple was inaccessible to them, anyway. Teo, Haru and The Duke had gone through it as thoroughly as only the truly bored could do, found which stairwells had crumbled away over the past century and which ones simply couldn't be walked down unless you were an Airbender. It was why they all still slept in the outer courtyard even though it left them a little exposed. It was better that than to accidentally roll over into open air in your sleep.
There. He could hear soft noises, the faint scraping sound of movement that couldn't be disguised on hard stone floors and Sokka palmed his knife, creeping closer until he could crouch behind a stone pillar, peering around it until his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could see...gods.
On their knees, moving together in some obscene, horrible way that Sokka could barely comprehend was Zuko and...and his dad. His eyes felt too-wide, painfully stretched but they couldn't deny what he was seeing. His father on his knees behind Zuko, their nakedness brutally visible to him as they writhed together, bare skin gleaming with sweat in the cool night air.
He couldn't look away from it. Zuko seemed all the paler against his father's darker skin, the awful contrast of them moving together in this shadowy little corner of the world. Their naked bodies twisting together were monstrous to his eyes but he felt frozen, trapped in his crouch behind the pillar.
There were soft words spoken, carrying clearly in the still night air along with gasps, the slick sounds their bodies made as they moved together.
"I'm not your father," Hakoda said low, his voice thick in a way Sokka had never heard.
"I know," Zuko whispered. His voice was barely audible, his face hidden in his own arms and as Sokka watched, grim nausea churning low in his guts, his father threaded one hand through Zuko's hair and yanked his head up roughly, burying his face in the sweaty, ropey muscles of Zuko's shoulder to suck rosy color into the skin.
"Say my name," his father whispered, low and terrible.
"Hakoda." It was barely a breath, a low gasp punctuated by his body rocking forward with a hard thrust.
"Again."
"Hakoda!" This time it was a cry and Sokka could see movement in the shadowy nest between Zuko's thighs, his father's hand working furiously on hot flesh and Sokka would have given a great deal not to see what happened next, the wet spill of pale fluid over his father's fist, pattering lightly to the stone floor beneath them.
He managed to tear his gaze away before his father finished, barely noticing the burn in his thighs from being crouched so long as he stumbled a little to his feet, staggering away perhaps louder than he should have but there was no cry of alarm behind him, only the blurred sound of groans, cries that shouldn't have existed even in this dark place.
If he'd had the awareness, Sokka might have been proud at his own discretion, his silence as he hurried desperately to the other side of the pavilion, his stomach finally heaving and he crouched again, low to the ground as he vomited a thin line of bile, spitting desperately before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He gagged once, twice, managing to still the queasy churning in his guts as he kept his thoughts carefully blank, refusing to consider what he'd seen.
With slow, careful movements Sokka made his way back to his bedroll, wrapping the blankets around him in a cocoon. He stared into the darkness, his eyes too-wide and dry and even when he heard soft footsteps creeping closer, two other figures sliding into their own blankets, he didn't sleep. He blinked, slow and measured, watching the sun pinken the edges of the dark, the lightening blue of the sky matching his own eyes.
Zuko's bedroll was across from his own and in the rising sun, Sokka could see his face, surrounded by a cloud of blankets; the scar etched deep into his skin alongside the smooth, softer lines of the other side. Like a coin, he decided dimly, two-sided. Two-faced, all along, and the faint, lingering nausea in his stomach turned into a slow burn, fire lighting within him. By the time the sun crossed Zuko's sleeping face, his golden eyes flickering open, Sokka had turned away, rolling up his bedclothes and stowing them away for the coming day.
Zuko yawned, bowing sleepily in the direction of the rising sun before crawling out of his blankets to relight the fire with a simple wave of his hand. There would be tea soon and breakfast cooking, and later there would be firebending lessons. He never noticed blue eyes watching him from an unnaturally silent Sokka, never saw the low anger burning deep within them as they watched him just barely brush a hand against Hakoda's shoulder, his eyes briefly meeting the older man's with a faint smile before he went to tidy his own bedroll. He didn't notice any of it.
But he would.
-finis-
Next Chapter