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Evening	By : eyecanread Category: Avatar - The Last Airbender > Het - Male/Female Views: 6842 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't claim any rights to Ozai or Katara or any of the wold of Avatar:The Last Airbender. I make no money off of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Evening
- 1
Evening

He loved this part of the day. Lately his wold had become bleak stone and metal. He could've thanked whatever dark spirit had conjured up diseases in places like this. Though he hated being sick – it wasn't dignified – he did come to... appreciate the cure. It was the best part of the day when she came to him.

Six months he'd been in this hole. Six months his son had ruled in his place. His pride and joy now broken, she would be of no further use to him. He didn't want to accept his dark, cold, fireless fate.

That brat. That child. He'd gotten the best of him. Literally.

He coughed and his discomfort returned. He looked at the high window and estimated the light. Almost time now. She would come to ease his pain.

And as if summoned by his thoughts, she was there. With her water and her soothing hands.

At first he'd been appalled to let a peasant put her hands on him. He would've moved away from her had he had the strength. Under her hands he would admit, if only to himself, that he did feel better. He knew she'd only been called as a last resort. His son, no matter what he thought of his Father, still had the compassion not let him die slowly in prison. Foolish boy. She came every evening after that.

He supposed she was staying in the palace and eventually his suspicions were confirmed when she started to speak to him while she worked. He tried pulling information and gossip out of her. He wanted to be informed. At first her words were terse, easily ignored. She hated him and she wasn't afraid to make that clear. She wouldn't have been so hasty if he still had his powers. But as it was, he was powerless in more ways than one.

The sickness had taken a great deal out of him. He was strong, he prided himself on his strength, but it was stronger. That's why he found it so amusing that the girl was accompanied by three guards every time she visited. What were they afraid of?

The first time he'd said anything to her he'd seen a delicious look of fear on her face. He craved more. He tried everything he could say or do to throw her off balance. It was a game to him, a diversion. He had to be subtle about it or they really would let him die. It engaged his mind, and from that and her ministrations he grew stronger.

He started to wonder if she was onto his game when one day she teased him playfully. He wasn't sure if she'd even been aware of it. He tested his theory the next night. He teased her, she teased him back. He had smiled.

He had smiled.

That night after she'd gone he started to wonder if she'd been playing him all this time. He shuddered inwardly but brushed it off as only being the damp cold cell.

He didn't talk to her the next evening. She seemed more quiet than normal anyway. He saw several looks of pain and sorrow pass over her face. He didn't ask her what was the matter.

Later he lay awake wondering what was wrong with her. And wondering why he even cared.

Cared?

The next day she didn't come. No matter who he asked, the answers never came as to her whereabouts.

A few more days passed and nothing. He was starting to worry. Not for her of course. Only that his disease would relapse.

Two weeks came and went. He'd stopped looking for her to come in the evenings anymore. He'd resigned himself bleakly to his fate.

Then one evening he heard her voice. It was like music to his soul. He would've sprung out of the bed to meet her if he'd been able. He composed himself. He had very little power left, of this he would at least maintain his dignity.

This time no guards came with her. But it was of little consequence. He was long past desiring to hurt her. Maybe they knew that. She gave no explanation for her absence just started about her work. He found that wasn't going to be enough for him anymore. She had to talk to him. He asked her about trivial things trying to engage her. He noticed she wouldn't look at him when she spoke.

Her cooling hands felt as if they had a bit of ice in them now. Something had changed. She was upset still. What could've had her this upset for this long? This time when she finished he couldn't help himself. He let slip a small thank you. She looked surprised to hear it.

She hadn't been the only one.

She came regularly again. He was thankful. He tried to let her know, but he wasn't sure how. He kissed her on the hand once, but that'd seemed almost inappropriate. Especially when she blushed and ran out.

A week later she still wasn't looking at him. He wondered why. She'd been able too before. But she was talking to him again. He was happy. He was stronger now, almost fully recovered. Soon she would go and not return. He felt the irrational need to thank her for what she'd done for him.

That night she didn't come at her appointed time. He panicked thinking he'd been too late. He waited but nothing, so he retired to his mat.

He was awakened in the night by a set of soft hands on his shoulder. His cell door was open and a cloaked woman knelt beside him. He sat up with a start, sure this was an assassin come to speak his doom.

A slim dark finger rose to the hood indicating the need for silence. The hand then tossed back the hood revealing his Healer. He was astonished to see her, but a strange tightness wove it's way through his chest when he noticed she'd been crying.

She threw herself into his arms, placing herself sideways on his lap. She buried her face in his chest. He was at a loss to know what to do. Her small voice pleaded for him to put his arms around her and hold her. She started rambling incoherently. He was able to pick out snatches and piece together what'd happened.

It seemed this pretty girl in his arms had become infatuated with his good-for-nothing son. She'd told him, but he'd rejected her. (Idiot!) She couldn't stand to be around him so had gone away. She returned solely for the former Fire Lord's health. She had promised to heal him.

As she talked he found he was running his hand up and down her back absentmindedly. Well, if she didn't mind, neither did he. She moved her arms from around his waist to around his neck. He didn't mind that either.

Then something she said, and the way she said it, caught his full attention. His son looked like him, they had the same hair, the same eyes, the same lips. As she said these things her hand had run over each feature, finally stilling on his lips. It was strangely erotic.

She was so much younger than him. Just barely the age of his own daughter. But she was warm and willing and it'd been an incredibly long time. He let the moment flow, and him with it. He couldn't deny her beauty. She stirred passions in him he thought completely suppressed.

She eventually removed her hand. “Would you mind if I kissed you?” her breathy words sent a spark though him. He shook his head unsure of what other choice he had in this hell hole. Her next words crushed him a little, but he tried not to show it to her. “I'll be thinking if him.”

He nodded mutely. Her lips came up to his in a delicate dance. He let her explore and taste at her own speed. She was good. Better than good. He began to wonder how old she really was. He was just beginning to really get into it when he heard her moan his son's name. Instead of completely throwing her off him, he took it as a challenge to remind her in who's arms she currently dwelt.

He growled and took over the kiss. She squeaked but didn't pull away. He pulled her up and moved her so she was straddling his lap. His hands roamed and explored. He knew he was pushing things, that at any minute she would slap him and run away, but he didn't care.

He needed her to know it was him. He realized maybe it wasn't all about that either. Maybe in this prison he'd found a ray of sunshine. He was... grateful. He wanted to show her that. That someone truly needed her.

He found that this was the last thing he had to give. The last of himself that hadn't been stripped away. It wasn't about revenge or being in control. It was...

Love.

He marveled at the revelation. He loved her? Did he have even the remotest idea of the meaning of the word? This was as near as he knew how to love, he supposed.

His body reacted to her in a way he was almost frightened of. He grabbed hold of her hips, grinding her into his need. She gasped and broke the kiss. For a moment he thought it was the end. But she just sat there, looking into his eyes.

He prayed to whatever spirits were listening that she was seeing the man before her, not a phantom image that would fade away. He would not sink so low as to become jealous of his son. Then he heard the blessed sound of his own name on her lips. She proffered it as a question, but it was like a fire in his veins.

He ventured to say the word that'd kept him up at night. Her name fell from his lips. She looked shocked that he even knew it. He said it again and the light in her eyes changed. Maybe, just maybe the reason she was here wasn't solely about his usurper either.

He kissed her. Lightly this time. Testing her reaction. His heart nearly jumped when she closed her eyes and said his name again. This time she said it full of desire.

He took her mouth again. Her hands went to his gray prison tunic. He raised his arms and she slipped it off. He was a pale comparison of his former self, but he hadn't been idle behind bars. She smiled her approval as her hands made tracks across his skin. He had to have her.

He roughly pulled off her clothes to look at her. His eyes ate her every curve. Her hands went to cover herself, reminding him of her innocence. He had a brief flickering of something close to guilt but it was soon pushed away. His hands and mouth were everywhere. He wanted to devour her, brand her as his own. Her cries only spurred him on.

He could wait no longer. He freed his engorged manhood from it's restraints. She gasped to see it. To see him. He was pleased by that. He positioned her on his lap again. She was so light, so small in that moment. She trembled.

He paused again briefly, wondering if he was her first. He prayed to the gods that he wasn't. He prayed to the gods that he was. He plunged himself in her deeply and with little warning. She gasped and writhed, clinging to his back. He could feel the trails her nails left and he knew some of them were bleeding.

He was not her first. He tried not to think of who had been. A faint glimmer of joy passed through him that it might have been the one who reduced him to his current state. He couldn't fight the added glee of possibly steeling something precious away from that whelp.

He said her name again and she was back with him. He moved her hips thrusting himself hard into her. Her cries of pain soon made way to cries of ecstasy. He may have been rough but he didn't care. This was him. This was who he was. He could be no other way.

He watched her eyes. Sometimes they were closed. When they were open he made sure they were on him and him alone. He watched her watching him. He loved her intoxicating looks of desire.

He growled and flung her down onto the mat. He began slamming into her with greater speed and vigor. She began to cry for him to stop. That she could take no more. But he couldn't stop. He heard someone say words of reassurance. That they were nearing the end. It could have been him saying it, he didn't know.

With a final thrust and a roar he emptied himself within her. He didn't know if she had been satisfied. He hoped she had been. He'd paid little attention to such things in the past.

He leaned down to kiss her. He gathered her in his arms until they were upright again. She rested her head on his chest as their breathing slowed. He wasn't sure what to do or where they would go from here, but this right now was nice.

Words of thanks bubbled up before he could stop them. He thanked her for her healing. He thanked her for his kindness to him. He thanked her for what they'd just done. He wasn't sure where it all was coming from but it felt right to say these things.

Before he would've viewed it as weakness. Maybe this place had changed him. A small voice inside him whispered that maybe it'd been her that'd spurred the change.

He suffered no false illusions of a future relationship. He was fully aware that this well could be the last time he ever saw her. It didn't matter. He would have this to cling to in the dark lonely nights.

He would always cherish the evenings they spent together. It would continue to be his favorite time of day.
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Evening