FIC: Careless (AtLA, NC-17)
Careless
by Keelywolfe
NC-17
Sokka/Zuko
Part eight in the Insomniacs series:
This will make little to no sense if you haven't read the previous chapters. Find them here:
Fathers and Sons
Sins of Your Fathers
Hunted
Caught By a Thread
fait accompli
When He Was Bad
What Doesn't Kill You
Warnings: 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.
Note: Sorry this took so long, folks, and on a cliffhanger, too! Had some real life issues come up.
~~*~~
"Let me fuck you."
It was surprisingly easy to say, Sokka found. Words forming on his tongue and slipping out before he'd really considered what he was saying but when he did, he knew that it was what he wanted. He wanted to see Zuko on his knees again, he wanted to be the one touching him.
Zuko inhaled sharply, stepping back and away but the only thing behind him was the wall and the window, the blanket from the night before still spread clumsily beneath it. Sokka wondered distantly if he were to lay down on it, would it still smell of their sex, their sweat, all the things they'd done the night before netted into the woven fibers.
The room was still fairly lit with moonlight, the crescent edge of it widened a fraction more than the night before and Zuko's face was clearly illuminated, his too-large eyes. He looked so bewildered, even shocked, and it made sour amusement rise in Sokka's gut. "But--why? Sokka, you don't want this--"
"You know, I'm getting sick of you telling me what I want," Sokka whispered furiously, hands clenching into fists. "I know what I want."
Zuko was half shaking his head, before Sokka had even finished. "No, this is-- I told your father I'd leave you alone."
"I don't give a damn what you told my father," Savagely. He and his father were so, so good, Zuko had said but he didn't feel good, not now. Emotion was throbbing through him, laced with hot anger, a throbbing crimson rush through his veins, and he was hard, aching heat between his legs that he wanted to use, wanted to batter Zuko with. "Your deal was with me. You’re the one breaking your word now. So what, now you're a traitor, a liar, and a deal breaker?" Sokka lashed out in the only way he could against Zuko, let words be a weapon that he could use. "You'd let my dad fuck you for no reason but not for my honor?"
Zuko only stared at him with those lost eyes, until Sokka made an impatient noise, stepping in and yanking Zuko's loose tunic off his shoulders, the seams creaking in protest. He abandoned it halfway down Zuko's arms, wrestling instead with the sash around his waist until it came free and he could toss it aside. Sokka ignored Zuko's hands trying to catch his own, useless and slow against the power of his anger.
"You owe me this!" Sokka muttered furiously. He'd managed to get one of Zuko's arms free, skin paler in the moonlight, barer somehow for Zuko's lack of response. "You made me want it, you made me like it, you son of a bitch. You owe me."
Quicksilver motion, Zuko finally coming to life to grab his hands and shove them away, and before Sokka could protest he was moving to undo his clothes himself with brisk, quick movements.
"Fine," he said curtly, and yes, gods, yes, that was what Sokka wanted, not those wounded, bruised eyes that faded in with the dimness. He wanted Zuko like this, his eyes molten gold, hot with anger and something else. Passion, maybe, raw and fiery.
Firebender, Sokka thought, almost dazedly. He felt feverish, like having Zuko in him had infused him somehow with flame, and Zuko hadn't hurt him, hadn't left so much as a bruise. Not outwardly but inside he felt sprained, some invisible part of him was aching and wounded, and it wanted this.
No kisses, he didn't want that tenderness, couldn't allow that gentleness to invade him. Instead, he pushed Zuko down to his knees, let him press his forehead against his folded arms while Sokka knelt behind him, running a hand down the oh, so pale skin of his back and lower, cupping the rounded swell of his backside him both hands.
Zuko was shaking, just a little, the faintest tremor going through him but it was enough to punch through Sokka's anger, easing the glow of it behind his eyes. He wanted to fuck him, yes, use him, yes, but not hurt him. Not like this, not...not...
"Relax, remember?" Sokka murmured. Zuko nodded jerkily into his folded arms, took a deep breath, another as he tried to follow his own advice. Sokka fumbled his own pants down and off, his scrambling fingers finding the small jar he had tucked away in one pocket. It was only an ointment for bruises and cuts but it was wonderfully slippery on his fingers, the smell of it reminding him painfully of home. Pushing that memory aside, Sokka pressed his slick fingers against that tiny opening, his other hand gripping Zuko's hip to keep him still.
A sharp inhalation, a faint sound and he was inside, so hot inside, muscles clenched brutally around his single finger as he carefully nudged it deeper. Almost unconsciously, Sokka pressed kisses against the cool, damp skin of Zuko's hip, felt him tremble. Zuko was so tight around his finger, tense and unyielding as he tried to push in a little deeper. That raw anger in him was fading, helplessly, and Sokka tried to cling to it, twisted his finger a little and Zuko winced.
"Did it hurt when my dad did this?" Sokka asked softly, sure that he hadn't meant to ask such an awful question but he'd seen them, and this wasn't right, there was no relaxing through this, no pleasure in it, only...only....
"A little," Zuko choked. He was shaking, seriously shaking, his head buried into his arms. The sweat gleaming on his back was cold, his skin prickled with goose bumps, and Sokka withdrew his fingers slowly, staring at him. Watched him stiffen, obviously anticipating the next step and when it didn't come, he finally raised his head, confused, eyes wary and...there. So clear to Sokka's somber gaze.
Fear.
"What--"
"My dad was right, wasn't he," Sokka said, slowly. Realization was coming like moonlight between the parting clouds. It lodged painfully in Sokka's gut, drawing away the rest of his anger like it was a poison. "Someone did hurt you."
Zuko's face tightened in anger, eyes flashing. "My father never laid a hand on me!"
"I didn't say he did," Sokka said, almost kindly. "Why are you so angry?" His own anger was like ashes on the back of his tongue, bitter and dry, and gods, he'd really almost done it. Even now, just below his skin his blood was thrumming, some lustful thing inside him clamoring for him to finish what he'd started but it was getting fainter.
Zuko was still shaking, his hands clenched in bloodless fists. "You said you wanted to do this, so do it!"
"Who hurt you?" He kept the words gentle, almost coaxing. Guilt had almost gotten him what he'd wanted before but now all he wanted was answers and those had to come willingly.
"I don’t know what y-"
"Don't lie, I can tell. Who was it?"
"It doesn't matter, it was years ago!" A burst of raw, low words. "He can't hurt anyone now, anyway."
"That's a lie, too," Sokka said, softly, reeling a little from the admission. Spirits, someone had...if it was years ago then Zuko must've been Aang's age and someone had... "He's still hurting you."
"That's not true! I hardly even remember it," Zuko said his voice thick. "I was barely conscious."
"Your father never touched you," Sokka repeated, quietly. "So what did he do?"
Silence, Zuko struggling with words, legs drawn up tight to his chest. It made him look barer, more naked than he needed to be while confessing things that were almost unspeakable. "He watched," Zuko choked out, finally, his face turned away into the dark, "My father thought respect had to be taught by any means necessary so he...he watched."
"Oh, gods..." Sokka whispered, stunned.
"I only remember a little...I remember him watching. There was...someone was laughing but he didn't. He just...he watched. Because I needed to learn respect." Words pouring out of him in short, sharp bursts. "It didn't hurt nearly as bad as this," Zuko gestured limply at his face. "That hurt and he kept moving me and every time I moved, this hurt worse. I remember that, I remember thinking that I wished he'd leave me alone so I could be still."
"Who?"
"It really doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
Zuko snorted. "Worried about having a stranger's leftovers?"
"Is that worse than having my dad's?" Sokka asked with so much honest curiosity that Zuko actually laughed. It was faint and cracking but it was a laugh.
"I'm not sure. I guess it is kind of weird."
"Yeah, I seem to attract weird." Silence, and then, because he had to ask, some childlike denial still pleading that it couldn't be true, and yet... "You really didn't do anything to my dad, did you."
Zuko laughed again but this time it was edged with bitterness. "No. What could I have done?" He shrugged a little, helplessly. "It just sort of happened. I thought..." his eyes slid away. "It doesn't matter."
"You keep saying that, but it's not true. It does matter. It matters a lot."
"What matters is getting Aang trained," Zuko said harshly. "What matters is stopping my father. There are lots of things that matter and this is not one of them. None of this matters at all."
There didn't seem to be much point in arguing with that, not with the hot shine of certainty in Zuko's eyes, the hard set of his mouth. Okay, fine, he could believe what he wanted to believe. And so could Sokka.
"So it doesn't matter what you thought. You just wanted to be with someone," Sokka said, a little flatly.
Zuko didn't look at him, exhaling a long breath before he said, softly, "You and your dad are both so good. Who wouldn't want that?"
It jolted Sokka, rocked his foundations and you'd think he'd be used to it by now. The ground hadn't been firm beneath his feet since a boy had fallen out of an iceberg in front of him, and Sokka had been frantically trying to shift with it since, riding the rise and fall of the metaphorical earthquake shaking up his life. This was just another wave in a series but it still shook him to the core, Zuko admitting that he'd wanted him not as a punishment, not as revenge, just him. Him.
He didn't think he meant to lean forward but Zuko's mouth was beneath his own anyway, soft and wet and startled. His lower lip was tender between Sokka's teeth as he bit it lightly, felt Zuko inhale, felt the moment he started to respond. "I'm not as good as you think I am," Sokka pulled away to whisper, harshly, "And you aren't as bad."
If before had been wrong then Sokka was sure this wasn't right, but he couldn't stop again, the heat in his belly kindling, flaring into an inferno and Zuko was so utterly bare beneath him and clutching his arms, pulling him in. The hot length of Zuko's cock against his belly made him want to rub against him, limbs twined together as they rocked. Wet heat bloomed between them, Zuko burying his face into Sokka's neck as he cried out and if there was wetness there as well, Sokka didn't say anything. He only threaded his fingers into the sweaty hair at the base of Zuko's neck and held him there, their hot bodies cooling slowly in the dark night air.
finis
by Keelywolfe
NC-17
Sokka/Zuko
Part eight in the Insomniacs series:
This will make little to no sense if you haven't read the previous chapters. Find them here:
Fathers and Sons
Sins of Your Fathers
Hunted
Caught By a Thread
fait accompli
When He Was Bad
What Doesn't Kill You
Warnings: 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.
Note: Sorry this took so long, folks, and on a cliffhanger, too! Had some real life issues come up.
~~*~~
"Let me fuck you."
It was surprisingly easy to say, Sokka found. Words forming on his tongue and slipping out before he'd really considered what he was saying but when he did, he knew that it was what he wanted. He wanted to see Zuko on his knees again, he wanted to be the one touching him.
Zuko inhaled sharply, stepping back and away but the only thing behind him was the wall and the window, the blanket from the night before still spread clumsily beneath it. Sokka wondered distantly if he were to lay down on it, would it still smell of their sex, their sweat, all the things they'd done the night before netted into the woven fibers.
The room was still fairly lit with moonlight, the crescent edge of it widened a fraction more than the night before and Zuko's face was clearly illuminated, his too-large eyes. He looked so bewildered, even shocked, and it made sour amusement rise in Sokka's gut. "But--why? Sokka, you don't want this--"
"You know, I'm getting sick of you telling me what I want," Sokka whispered furiously, hands clenching into fists. "I know what I want."
Zuko was half shaking his head, before Sokka had even finished. "No, this is-- I told your father I'd leave you alone."
"I don't give a damn what you told my father," Savagely. He and his father were so, so good, Zuko had said but he didn't feel good, not now. Emotion was throbbing through him, laced with hot anger, a throbbing crimson rush through his veins, and he was hard, aching heat between his legs that he wanted to use, wanted to batter Zuko with. "Your deal was with me. You’re the one breaking your word now. So what, now you're a traitor, a liar, and a deal breaker?" Sokka lashed out in the only way he could against Zuko, let words be a weapon that he could use. "You'd let my dad fuck you for no reason but not for my honor?"
Zuko only stared at him with those lost eyes, until Sokka made an impatient noise, stepping in and yanking Zuko's loose tunic off his shoulders, the seams creaking in protest. He abandoned it halfway down Zuko's arms, wrestling instead with the sash around his waist until it came free and he could toss it aside. Sokka ignored Zuko's hands trying to catch his own, useless and slow against the power of his anger.
"You owe me this!" Sokka muttered furiously. He'd managed to get one of Zuko's arms free, skin paler in the moonlight, barer somehow for Zuko's lack of response. "You made me want it, you made me like it, you son of a bitch. You owe me."
Quicksilver motion, Zuko finally coming to life to grab his hands and shove them away, and before Sokka could protest he was moving to undo his clothes himself with brisk, quick movements.
"Fine," he said curtly, and yes, gods, yes, that was what Sokka wanted, not those wounded, bruised eyes that faded in with the dimness. He wanted Zuko like this, his eyes molten gold, hot with anger and something else. Passion, maybe, raw and fiery.
Firebender, Sokka thought, almost dazedly. He felt feverish, like having Zuko in him had infused him somehow with flame, and Zuko hadn't hurt him, hadn't left so much as a bruise. Not outwardly but inside he felt sprained, some invisible part of him was aching and wounded, and it wanted this.
No kisses, he didn't want that tenderness, couldn't allow that gentleness to invade him. Instead, he pushed Zuko down to his knees, let him press his forehead against his folded arms while Sokka knelt behind him, running a hand down the oh, so pale skin of his back and lower, cupping the rounded swell of his backside him both hands.
Zuko was shaking, just a little, the faintest tremor going through him but it was enough to punch through Sokka's anger, easing the glow of it behind his eyes. He wanted to fuck him, yes, use him, yes, but not hurt him. Not like this, not...not...
"Relax, remember?" Sokka murmured. Zuko nodded jerkily into his folded arms, took a deep breath, another as he tried to follow his own advice. Sokka fumbled his own pants down and off, his scrambling fingers finding the small jar he had tucked away in one pocket. It was only an ointment for bruises and cuts but it was wonderfully slippery on his fingers, the smell of it reminding him painfully of home. Pushing that memory aside, Sokka pressed his slick fingers against that tiny opening, his other hand gripping Zuko's hip to keep him still.
A sharp inhalation, a faint sound and he was inside, so hot inside, muscles clenched brutally around his single finger as he carefully nudged it deeper. Almost unconsciously, Sokka pressed kisses against the cool, damp skin of Zuko's hip, felt him tremble. Zuko was so tight around his finger, tense and unyielding as he tried to push in a little deeper. That raw anger in him was fading, helplessly, and Sokka tried to cling to it, twisted his finger a little and Zuko winced.
"Did it hurt when my dad did this?" Sokka asked softly, sure that he hadn't meant to ask such an awful question but he'd seen them, and this wasn't right, there was no relaxing through this, no pleasure in it, only...only....
"A little," Zuko choked. He was shaking, seriously shaking, his head buried into his arms. The sweat gleaming on his back was cold, his skin prickled with goose bumps, and Sokka withdrew his fingers slowly, staring at him. Watched him stiffen, obviously anticipating the next step and when it didn't come, he finally raised his head, confused, eyes wary and...there. So clear to Sokka's somber gaze.
Fear.
"What--"
"My dad was right, wasn't he," Sokka said, slowly. Realization was coming like moonlight between the parting clouds. It lodged painfully in Sokka's gut, drawing away the rest of his anger like it was a poison. "Someone did hurt you."
Zuko's face tightened in anger, eyes flashing. "My father never laid a hand on me!"
"I didn't say he did," Sokka said, almost kindly. "Why are you so angry?" His own anger was like ashes on the back of his tongue, bitter and dry, and gods, he'd really almost done it. Even now, just below his skin his blood was thrumming, some lustful thing inside him clamoring for him to finish what he'd started but it was getting fainter.
Zuko was still shaking, his hands clenched in bloodless fists. "You said you wanted to do this, so do it!"
"Who hurt you?" He kept the words gentle, almost coaxing. Guilt had almost gotten him what he'd wanted before but now all he wanted was answers and those had to come willingly.
"I don’t know what y-"
"Don't lie, I can tell. Who was it?"
"It doesn't matter, it was years ago!" A burst of raw, low words. "He can't hurt anyone now, anyway."
"That's a lie, too," Sokka said, softly, reeling a little from the admission. Spirits, someone had...if it was years ago then Zuko must've been Aang's age and someone had... "He's still hurting you."
"That's not true! I hardly even remember it," Zuko said his voice thick. "I was barely conscious."
"Your father never touched you," Sokka repeated, quietly. "So what did he do?"
Silence, Zuko struggling with words, legs drawn up tight to his chest. It made him look barer, more naked than he needed to be while confessing things that were almost unspeakable. "He watched," Zuko choked out, finally, his face turned away into the dark, "My father thought respect had to be taught by any means necessary so he...he watched."
"Oh, gods..." Sokka whispered, stunned.
"I only remember a little...I remember him watching. There was...someone was laughing but he didn't. He just...he watched. Because I needed to learn respect." Words pouring out of him in short, sharp bursts. "It didn't hurt nearly as bad as this," Zuko gestured limply at his face. "That hurt and he kept moving me and every time I moved, this hurt worse. I remember that, I remember thinking that I wished he'd leave me alone so I could be still."
"Who?"
"It really doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
Zuko snorted. "Worried about having a stranger's leftovers?"
"Is that worse than having my dad's?" Sokka asked with so much honest curiosity that Zuko actually laughed. It was faint and cracking but it was a laugh.
"I'm not sure. I guess it is kind of weird."
"Yeah, I seem to attract weird." Silence, and then, because he had to ask, some childlike denial still pleading that it couldn't be true, and yet... "You really didn't do anything to my dad, did you."
Zuko laughed again but this time it was edged with bitterness. "No. What could I have done?" He shrugged a little, helplessly. "It just sort of happened. I thought..." his eyes slid away. "It doesn't matter."
"You keep saying that, but it's not true. It does matter. It matters a lot."
"What matters is getting Aang trained," Zuko said harshly. "What matters is stopping my father. There are lots of things that matter and this is not one of them. None of this matters at all."
There didn't seem to be much point in arguing with that, not with the hot shine of certainty in Zuko's eyes, the hard set of his mouth. Okay, fine, he could believe what he wanted to believe. And so could Sokka.
"So it doesn't matter what you thought. You just wanted to be with someone," Sokka said, a little flatly.
Zuko didn't look at him, exhaling a long breath before he said, softly, "You and your dad are both so good. Who wouldn't want that?"
It jolted Sokka, rocked his foundations and you'd think he'd be used to it by now. The ground hadn't been firm beneath his feet since a boy had fallen out of an iceberg in front of him, and Sokka had been frantically trying to shift with it since, riding the rise and fall of the metaphorical earthquake shaking up his life. This was just another wave in a series but it still shook him to the core, Zuko admitting that he'd wanted him not as a punishment, not as revenge, just him. Him.
He didn't think he meant to lean forward but Zuko's mouth was beneath his own anyway, soft and wet and startled. His lower lip was tender between Sokka's teeth as he bit it lightly, felt Zuko inhale, felt the moment he started to respond. "I'm not as good as you think I am," Sokka pulled away to whisper, harshly, "And you aren't as bad."
If before had been wrong then Sokka was sure this wasn't right, but he couldn't stop again, the heat in his belly kindling, flaring into an inferno and Zuko was so utterly bare beneath him and clutching his arms, pulling him in. The hot length of Zuko's cock against his belly made him want to rub against him, limbs twined together as they rocked. Wet heat bloomed between them, Zuko burying his face into Sokka's neck as he cried out and if there was wetness there as well, Sokka didn't say anything. He only threaded his fingers into the sweaty hair at the base of Zuko's neck and held him there, their hot bodies cooling slowly in the dark night air.
finis