Notes: Unbeta'ed because this was a spur of the moment bunny. ;D It's an entry for the Avatar Fiction Contest on LJ with the prompt: Seduce. Rated 'O' for Overdramatic. ;D

The silence, but for the sound of ragged breathing, stretched for hours on end in the dark, dank cell.

When it was broken, it was done abruptly, with the scream of rusty hinges, a bright triangle of light as the cell door opened, the sound of drunken laughter and the smell of stale sweat and old ale on an unwashed body.

The guard stood in the doorway, leering inside. "You can come out if ya learned 'yer lesson."

The man in the center of the room said nothing. His wrists, restrained by a taunt chain, had been pulled up over his head so high only the toes of his once polished boots were able to touch the ground. He made a feeble motion – his head hanging down swung side to side, half denial, half twitch of screaming muscles torn nearly past breaking point.

It seemed to be enough for the guard. He huffed a sour laugh and strode in, and with a twist of a key the prisoner was free.

Zuko collapsed to the ground.

The next few minutes were a blur of too bright lights, sounds of jeering, and the scrape of his knees against the cold stone as he was literally dragged down the corridors. Then the familiar musty scent of his own cell and he was thrown forward; his face hit the straw-padded ground, and another shriek of closing cell doors. Someone cursed – sounding very far away, and warm hands touching and rolling him onto his back.

"No, don't…" Zuko's voice was thick, tinged with panic. He couldn't feel his own arms, his own legs were twin spikes of burning agony below his waist. He couldn't rise to protect himself… he didn't want to hurt anymore…

"Spirits, they hung you up all day, didn't they?"

The blurry image above him faded in an out, coming clear for a few moments to a pair of familiar blue eyes and tanned skin. The Water Tribe peasants face came closer. He gripped Zuko by the shoulders, nearly shaking him. "Why?" And his voice cracked on the word. "You didn't have to do it. It wasn't your idea. It—why, Zuko?"

Zuko grit his teeth, but he couldn't stop the low pained groan. It wanted to be a scream, but his exhaustion muffled the sound. Instantly Sokka let him go and he flopped bonelessly to the ground. He closed his eyes. "I knew… I could take it… I'm stronger…"

"And I can't?"

His next words were slow, coming out between gasps. Blood was now rushing back into starved limbs and it hurt. It hurt worse than being hung up there or the beating before-hand. "You're the plan guy… Had to stay safe."

Silence, and then a low laugh. But Sokka didn't sound happy. Zuko's eyes were shut so he didn't see him lean down, but the next word was nearly hissed in his ear. "Jerk."

"Yeah."

"I guess I owe you big time now, huh?"

Weakly, Zuko shook his head. That wasn't why he had stepped up, taken responsibility for an escape plan that wasn't his. And they both knew it.

It had been a strange sort of friendship from the start. The two boys had been captured together – taken by General Fong's forces in the middle of a ghost-town while the Avatar had fought Azula. Neither Zuko or Sokka knew if they were being held for ransom, or pending execution, or even spite. They were told nothing, just thrown in together in this rough Earth Kingdom prison.

The other prisoners were just as cruel as the guards, but it had still taken weeks for the two former enemies to form a truce, and shaky alliance. Sokka's ideas were brilliant, if not a little crazy sometimes. He could charm a guard into just a little more free time outside the cell, or little more food. Zuko had the literal fire-power, the steel will to survive and ruthlessness to keep going no matter what.

So when their plot for freedom had been discovered Zuko had stepped up in Sokka's place. The other boy had to be free to make the plans, and Zuko couldn't afford for the guards to break him. He had meant what he said. He knew he could take whatever punishment they had.

And maybe, just maybe, there was a tiny part of himself that didn't want Sokka hurt.

Zuko didn't say anything and after a full minute Sokka let out a long breath. His hands were on Zuko again, gentler this time, probing around his right shoulder. Zuko hissed in pain and weakly tried to flop away, but his muscles were long past obeying him.

"Relax," said Sokka, again somehow right in his ear. His fingers dug in, moving in slow circles right above the tendon, his other hand sliding to Zuko's arm to move it forward and down – his arms had been locked over his head as if frozen by the long hours. But any movement was agony and Zuko gave a hoarse cry, fire actually licking past his lips.

"Don't!"

"You can't lay here like this." Sokka had jerked away at the sight of the fire, but in a moment he was back beside him, laying a firm hand on Zuko's chest to hold him down. "This will help you. Trust me."

Zuko kept his eyes closed and said nothing, but Sokka seemed to take that as acceptance. He shifted over him and Zuko felt the hem of his dirty shirt being pulled up and then lifted off of his head. The truth was, he couldn't stop him even if he tried.

Sokka knelt behind him. The hands were back to his right shoulder, now knuckling on the ridged tendon and eliciting a small pained groan. Sokka murmured in sympathy, but pressed ruthlessly down, knuckling the spot until it felt pleasantly warm and only faintly sore.

He pulled Zuko's arm slowly back down, working inch by painful inch until he could lay it against his side. Sokka shifted around and his tan callused fingers felt their way down his arm, kneading into every sore muscle and rubbing the stiffness away, restoring movement and feeling as he went.

Zuko felt himself sink down into the touches, lost in a hazy feeling of unreality. His body didn't feel like his own any longer– his gasps of pain and low grunts of pleasure seemed to be pulled from a different body, from a different throat.

Sokka moved to his other arm, repeating the exact process with surprising patience until Zuko could at last lower both hands until they limply lay by his side. Then Sokka took both Zuko's hands into his, stretching and folding Zuko's fingers and wrist until he was satisfied the joints would once again move smoothly.

Then the Water Tribesman scooted downwards, unlacing Zuko's boots and catching his heel in one hand and slipping the other up his pant-leg to run hard fingers up and down his calf. Zuko moaned aloud at that, at the burning relief it brought. Sokka repeated it, harder this time, working his way slowly up.

Zuko uncracked his eyes to look at the other boy; Sokka's eyes were hooded, his lips turned slightly up in a small secret smile. Their gazes met and Sokka's hand stilled for a moment before he grinned, now almost cheeky, and his thumb circled the arch of Zuko's foot lighter – almost teasing – making Zuko shiver and look away.

But when Sokka pressed the bent knee against his chest and pushed forward stretching and curling Zuko's abused muscles, the shrieking pain that ripped up the length of his leg made him scream. Sokka dropped his leg at once and cool hands were pressed to Zuko's sweat-soaked forehead, to his neck and chest until the tremors left and the worst of it had passed. But it had to be done. Blood had to move again through the limbs and movement restored or real damage would be done.

"Do you want me to stop?" Sokka asked. His fingers traced small, unconscious patterns across Zuko's chest. It should have felt invasive. It didn't.

Zuko squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe. "Keep going," he whispered.

Sokka nodded, but gave him a break of sorts; returning to his shoulders with almost gentle gliding motions, running up to his neck and loosening the strained tension there. His fingers fell through Zuko's hair – grown so long now it nearly brushed over his ears. Zuko felt himself relax again, the sense of unreality returning. He caught Sokka's hand once or twice, putting it to a spot that still hurt… or a spot that sent a shiver of a whole different sort down his spine.

Finally Sokka had to get back to the business at hand.

His second leg was worse. Sokka was kind – as kind as he could be, kneading up and down his calf and thigh until the muscles were lax. He paused and spoke a word of warning. When he forced the leg to curl, Zuko jammed his own fist to his mouth to keep from screaming again. This time he felt something pop in his hip and the hot spike of pain was followed by a cool sense relief as if washed away in a stream. He let out a choked gasp, but it felt at once he could breathe again. The worst of it was done.

For all of Sokka's efforts, he could barely stand on his own and even then had to lean heavily on the other boy to make it to the cell's single metal shelf which served as a bed. He fell heavily onto it, and his last conscious sensation was of Sokka's hands and the heels of his palms rutting circles into his back.

Zuko woke up some hours later – sore all over, but it was so far from crippling tight pain of before he couldn't even bring himself to mind much. He slowly sat up, extending an arm and feeling the lingering stiffness in the tendons. But he was better. A lot better.

The shelf was hardly big enough for one person. Sokka was stretched out along the floor, snoring loudly. There were dark circles under his eyes, and Zuko wondered how long he stayed up. Time had seemed to fade in an out for him last night, but it seemed like the process had taken hours.

A figment of memory floated back into his mind – the sensation of lips being pressed to the back of his neck, and a whispered "Thank you" at the end of it all while he had laid there, half asleep.

Zuko colored and looked away, his hand reaching up to touch the spot and wondering if that part had been a dream.

He half hoped it wasn't.