"Ty Lee," she breathes, and for one ephemeral moment she is tender, her lips soft and her claws sheathed.

"Ty Lee," again, "Ty Lee." Her lips are hot, now, incandescent. They meander across a familiar landscape, leaving red trails of lipstick and burned skin along a slender throat and over prominent collarbones. Ty Lee swallows hard, whimpers, moans even…but she doesn't push back. She doesn't dare and - if she were totally honest with herself - doesn't want to.

"Ty Lee," once more, murmured just above a frantically thumping heart, so close that each hitching breath under her mouth leaves a fresh burn. Sharp nails, so fastidiously maintained, scrape down along the tender, vulnerable flesh of her sides and again, it is her own breathing that leaves the marks. Azula is not the one hurting her, is not responsible for the scratches and burns that Ty Lee will have to explain away somehow. Ty Lee is doing that herself.

Ty Lee is hurting herself, because that's what Azula wants.

She takes a deep breath, and burns a perfect lip print above her own heart. She squirms, driving fingernails into her own sides. She arches, desperate, and nearly weeps when she drives herself against an armor-clad thigh. She will bruise there, tomorrow, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters, except this moment, except Azula's touch and the leg that she so graciously leaves in place.

And then Ty Lee moves forward and it's gone, and the lips and the nails and the warm body are all gone too. She begins to weep, fat tears rolling helplessly down sweet round cheeks, and Azula smirks. She smirks, and she moves away, and blurry grey eyes close as armor and cloth drop to the floor. Ty Lee knows what comes next, but Azula has never been so cruel before, never brought her so close only to…

But Azula is snapping her fingers and pointing at the floor, and it is Ty Lee's turn now. She half-crawls, half-squirms her way across the endless expanse of floor between her and her princess, awkward and helpless with her hands bound behind her. She is exhausted and in pain, but failure is not an option, not when Azula sits like that, legs cross and fingers steepled, waiting patiently.

Azula never waits, not for anyone but Ty Lee. She never moans, either, never clutches anyone's hair but Ty Lee's, never closes those golden eyes or arches or comes for anyone but Ty Lee. Her kisses, that burning press of lips, those are all for Ty Lee, and so is her lap, and so are the rough and rhythmic touches that leave scars on Ty Lee's innermost thighs.

Azula is all for Ty Lee, and Ty Lee…well, Ty Lee has never been anything except Azula's