touch here
. helium lost .
Author's Notes: This turned out a wee bit different from how I'd originally planned it. Anyway, keep in mind that Azula's about eight or nine years old, and Zuko's approximately nine or ten years old. Also, I will bump up the rating to M if you readers feel that I should.
Edit: Thanks, storm-of-insanity, for pointing out that typo! I don't know how I mixed up the two XD I've fixed it now.
Warnings: You could call it incest… Or, you could call it 'Azula needs to get more boys in her life, and she needs to stop torturing her older brother who actually seems to be more like her little brother.'
Disclaimer: Avatar: The Last Airbender © Nickelodeon and the others involved in the making and distribution of it. I'm just a teeny little fan. :)
He was so little, so pathetic.
He had his back to her, and he was trembling violently, like a frightened, cornered animal. He shook with sobs; she propped herself up on her elbow to get the slightest view of his face. The tears rolled down his cheeks, gorging themselves on the moonlight, burning brilliant, twisting trails in her mind, like a drunken spider's web. She reached over and gently brushed a few strands of hair from his face, slowly and tenderly dragging her fingers across his forehead, leaving a shiny, uneven pink trail. He cried out and tried to curl up into a ball, but she firmly pried him apart and turned him so that he lay on his back, his face to the ceiling. He whimpered and flinched every time her fingers made contact with his skin.
"Don't cry," she whispered, straddling him and leaning in close so that her nose almost touched his. Her words came out as a hiss, like steam rushing out from a scalding-hot teapot. "I won't hurt you—much." She giggled softly, a bubbly, sweet sound—only now, it was oozing with venom, saturating every square inch of the room; the ceilings dripped with menace as she closed in on him, suffocating him. The single candle at his bedside cast strange, warped shadows on the wall, demons and monsters twisting and turning, flickering on the wooden canvas. His blankets wrinkled beneath her fingers, little seas and ridges of cotton subject to the whim of her hands.
"Aww," she cooed, smirking, one eyebrow cocked mischievously. "Am I hurting you, sweetie?" She giggled again, touching a finger to his tears, making them sizzle and sputter, steam drifting up lazily. His eyes were shut tight, clenched tight, as if he thought he could escape and wish himself away. His fists were clenched, his teeth grinding against each other, his entire body tense. She trailed her fingers down the side of his face, down his bare shoulders, then held him down by the wrists, etching shiny, pink marks into his skin, leaving dark scorch marks on the blankets.
"Get off of me," he said, as if he were forcing out the words.
Her smirk widened. "Get off of you? Why would I? After all, it's not like this hurts." The flames flared up at her hands, and he cried out. She laughed. "We could call it… training."
She smiled and poked the soft, white flesh on his stomach. When she lifted her finger, a round, red impression was left. She poked him again, a few inches to the right. He cried out, biting his lip so much that droplets of red blood began to drip out, sliding down his chin and onto his neck. She continued, poking him firmly again and again, drawing a perfect curve with the dots. She lifted her finger, cocked her head, and furrowed her brow. She added one more mark, and smiled, satisfied.
"There, brother dear," she said wickedly, "a smiley face! And look! The belly-button is his nose!" She jabbed his belly-button. "I think I'll call him… Mr. Happy."
"Y-you can't do this to me," he wheezed.
She cackled. "Why not?"
"Because… I'm older than you, and… I'm a boy."
She smiled sardonically. "And since when has that mattered?"
He sniffed and tried to wipe his tears, but she slammed his rising arm back down onto the bed, the flame flaring up again, burning and twisting his skin. He screamed, writhing and twisting, trying to get away from her, but she only held him harder the more he struggled. She enjoyed the feel of his soft, untouched skin, the feel of it burning and twisting beneath her hands, because of her power. The flames erupted into an intense white, then dissipated.
"Did it matter then?" she said, words scathing, rubbing salt into his wounds. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, mingling with his tears, as he lay, limp, chest heaving up and down as he tried to breathe away the pain.
"Did it?" she said again.
"…I'll tell Mom."
She laughed abruptly. "You'll tell Mom, huh? That's your solution to everything, isn't it?" Her laughs were edgy, almost hysterical, maniacal now. "Little baby Zuzu, always running to Mommy for help. How shocked Mommy will be when she finds out that her baby boy was getting beaten up by his younger sister! How shocked she will be to find out that you couldn't resist, couldn't do a thing, couldn't fight off your little, sweet, angelic sister!"
Zuko twisted and writhed, trying to block his ears, block her words, but she only laughed more. But gradually, that laughter faded off, and she looked into his eyes, her eyes half-lidded, a faint smile on her face.
"You know, brother darling," she murmured, "the sweetest meat is from a squealing, dying pig, and it's even sweeter when I can hear it screaming for its life." Her lips parted, and a slight red flush came to her cheeks. "In fact, I want to eat you up, you pig, you defenseless animal, you pathetic creature." She licked his cheek, tasting his tears, her saliva blazing into soft, flickering flames, coming close to his eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to see the flames reaching toward him.
"You're disgusting, Azula," he muttered as she lifted her head away from his face. Without a warning, she slapped him, leaving a throbbing welt on his cheek. He sobbed as the welt throbbed as if it were a gigantic worm, burrowing into his flesh.
"You don't talk to me like that," she hissed, her nose touching his again. "You got that?"
He gritted his teeth, but didn't say anything.
She slapped him again.
"Got it? Yes or no?"
He nodded, as if every movement caused him immense pain. She smiled.
"That's what I thought. But even so…"
She leaned in and her lips touched his, blazing hot. He turned his head this way and that way, trying to get her off, trying to rid himself of her lips, her prying tongue, her harsh, hurtful tongue.
"…I'll forgive you this time," she said as she finally broke away. She got off of him, then pinched his cheek, leaving another bright burn. "'Til tomorrow, sweetie," she said in a singsong voice, dropping off his bed. He rolled up into a fetal position, shaking as he gazed at the twisted flesh on his wrists, the shiny marks all over the rest of his body. Azula walked away from him, nonchalantly. She stopped at the door, and reached into her pocket. She chucked a small bottle at him, and it hit him in the head.
"Use it if you want to ease the pain and get rid of the burn. That is, if you're a wimp and can't put up with a wee bit of pain. Good night."
She walked out and leaned against the wall, waiting. At first, she heard nothing from his room. Then, a faint shuffling, the sound of his back thudding against the wall, and the sound of a bottle cap being unscrewed. She smiled and nodded contently, hands in her pockets, her left hand playing with the small bottle of burn salve. As she entered her room down the hall, she heard another muffled yell from his room.
Her little brother was always so cute.
Author's Notes: All feedback is greatly appreciated. However, keep reviews diplomatic. Flames go to the Fire Nation; they will laugh at the weak, pathetic little thing that you try to call a 'flame'. If constructively criticizing anything, I would prefer it on the writing style and Azula's characterization. If just giving feedback, I would greatly appreciate a comment or two on your reactions to the fic. Don't limit yourself, though—I'd like to know exactly what you think about this fic. Thanks :)