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“I think,” said Zuko’s beloved, “Osha’s trying to send a message.”
Zuko cracked open an eye. Above him, looming over the lovely courtyard bench he had draped himself over, Sokka blocked out the afternoon sun that was glazing the palace rooftops incandescent. He dangled a paper sleeve over Zuko’s face.
“Welcome back, Zuko,” Zuko groused. “I missed you this whole time you were gone on your fiftieth diplomatic trip of the month, how long have you been waiting for me, I’m sorry I took so long—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Sokka, all too lacking in sympathy for the astonishing regularity with which he insisted he was in love with Zuko. He shook the sleeve. Its contents rustled; Zuko could see them silhouetted where the sunlight had made the paper translucent. Nondescript as the package was, Zuko recognised it—nondescription, of course, being its aim.
So he reached for it, feigning insouciance. Sokka jerked it out of his grasp. “Nuh-uh. I certainly don’t remember this in your shopping list to her.”
“What,” said Zuko, who even on a regular day was not in the mood for games.
Sokka’s eyebrow rose. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. What was he up to? Zuko’s breath hitched; his fingers dug into the lotus silk of his robe. He had never quite managed to become immune to Sokka’s charms. A playful brown hand reached into the bag and pulled out—
Well, Zuko wasn’t sure what it was.
But it was beautiful. The first glimpse of it Sokka offered him was a red loop of sturdy silk, wound around his fingers. Then emerged a gorgeous intricate knot, laced like a many-petalled chrysanthemum. But it was not followed, as Zuko might have expected, by a tassel. Instead, the red went on, and the first bead emerged. Jade, milky white, the size of a sesame ball straight from the fryer—but oh, there were more, Sokka was still pulling, the silk unending, the next one came out, smaller this time, perhaps the size of a komodo-chicken egg, and on they went diminishing in size: a klepon, a rambulongan, a cumquat. That was it. Zuko could admire them now, swaying before his nose, carrying the sun in their lucent bodies, white with green threading through.
“...anyway, if you ask me,” Sokka was saying, and why the fuck was he still speaking, “I think she’s putting her foot down; that is, she’s sick of you sending her to do all your sex shopping and pretending to the proprietor that she and Toh-ki are insatiable pervs for anal, which means you should let meeeeee, your ever faithful—” He paused for air. “Wait.”
The beads shook. Zuko snapped out of his haze. “What?”
“You’re into them?”
“What are they?”
“You don’t know?”
Zuko scowled. “Why do you think I’m asking?”
Sokka shook them again. They glinted. “You really like them?”
“They’re—” alluring, he didn’t say. But Sokka must have recognised the look in his eye, because he pursed his lips. That was what he always did when an idea struck him.
“Darling. Sweetheart. Sunshine.” He lowered himself so he was kneeling on the ground beside Zuko’s bench. His proximity made Zuko shiver, heat frissoning at his fingertips. The string of beads came now to the side of his face, up to his good eye so he could see clearly. “Do you know where these go?”
Go? Well if they went somewhere, Zuko could start to guess. So smooth, round, holding them within… His mouth watered. “Just tell me,” he said anyway.
Sokka was leaning in so close, his lips brushing Zuko’s ear now. “In your asshole,” he said, crass, and when Zuko’s breath hitched, “one after another, each one bigger as you go, your greedy hole stretching wider and wider, swallowing each one up—” He inhaled. “You want that?”
Zuko was going cross-eyed tracking the sway of the beads, imagining the press of them against himself, imagining opening up around them, the onslaught as they went inside, his body changing around them— “I want it.”
∘˙○˚.•
Which was how Zuko ended up sprawled on his front over the padded seat of the bench, naked, lubed ass propped up on a cushion that he was grinding tiny movements into. Sokka leaned forwards to wave the beads in front of him, again. “Count how many.”
“I know how to count.”
“Tell me how many there are,” said Sokka, “or they’re not going inside you.”
A pause. “Five,” said Zuko, mulish.
“Good,” said Sokka. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” And Zuko fought the urge to preen.
There was oil too in the sleeve. That was what he’d sent Osha to buy in the first place: he favoured the fancy stuff, an upgrade from the ointment he’d started with. It had taken a behemoth amount of samples and testing and Osha going back and forth and back and forth from the shop. They went through it fast. Zuko watched, half-twisted and impatient, as Sokka slicked up the first bead. The oil dripped from it, viscous and glittering in the light. Zuko’s lips parted on a hot exhale.
“You look ready.”
“Of course I am. You’re the one lagging behind.”
“Oh I am, aren’t I?” Sokka offered him a wicked smile, twisting the bead this way and that. “Look at you. You want it so bad. Moments ago you didn’t even know what it was—”
“And I never will know, if you’re going to take that long— Unh.”
Sokka smirked. “You were saying?”
Zuko swallowed. The bead rolled against the pucker of his hole, slipping and sliding on the lubricant. He was so open, he could swallow it easily he knew, he could suck it right into himself. “I was saying,” he managed, because there was no way he would lose his composure now, at the first puny bead, “you need to hurry the fuck up—”
The bead went in. Zuko’s sentence turned into air. The pressure against his rim, then the pop when it slipped inside. He gasped. It was small, he could hardly feel it but for the slight pressure from inside and the string that led out to the four remaining beads. Their weight tugged down, a promise: more to come.
“What number was that one?”
“Never knew an engineer who can’t count,” Zuko managed.
Sokka huffed. A tug, a firm pressure against his hole—from the inside. Zuko gasped and clenched hard. “I said,” said Sokka with teeth, “what number?”
Chest heaving, Zuko said, “One.”
“Good.” The pressure abated, the bead retreated back inside him. “Wasn’t so hard, right? As a reward you can get the second.”
“About time.”
“Mouthy.”
Zuko watched, face half mashed into the seat, as Sokka slicked up the second. Then he felt its insistence against himself; he felt Sokka pulling one asscheek to the side to swipe against his rim. His thumb caught against the silk string. “You’re opening so well,” Sokka said almost conversationally as Zuko opened around the waist of the bead. “Aren’t you good at this? The way your body obliges…”
It was inside. Zuko’s eyes squeezed tight, feeling now the two of them clink against each other inside himself. He rutted hard into the cushion under his hips. “Count,” said Sokka, fingertip still wedged into the pucker. “Count each one.”
“Two.”
The fingertip retreated. The third bead came to rest against him. “The size of a klepon,” said Sokka, “the biggest one yet…”
Zuko could have snarled it. “Give it to me.”
The size, now, was palpable. Zuko’s eyes squeezed tight as he let himself open, relax as it grew larger and larger, forced him to loosen and loosen as it got wider—and then the relief, when he got past the middle and his body closed over the rest of it. He heard—or felt?—the clack as the bead joined the other two inside.
“Three,” he breathed on a gust of steam.
“See?” said Sokka, giving his asscheek an encouraging pat. “You’re getting the hang of it.”
Zuko clutched the seat underneath himself, trying to concentrate hard enough not to burn it under his fingertips. At three, their presence was unmistakable, moving gently against the entrance and that sensitive spot inside. “The next one. Now.”
“Demanding.” He heard Sokka slicking it up, the wet glug of the bottle. “Is this how you talk to your hapless, doting partner?”
“Do it.” If he shifted against the cushion, he could make them jostle.
“What number?”
“Do it.”
“What happened,” said Sokka airily, “to simple courtesy from His Majesty to his inferiors?” And the infuriating bead—oh this one was big, would it even fit?—rolled against Zuko, refusing to give him the pressure he so badly needed.
“My word is law.”
When Sokka leaned down, Zuko turned his face away so he would not give away its openness. The bead traced his rim. “By what law will His Majesty punish me, if I refuse to put this bead in his hole? Would you stand before your council, the courts of law, judges in their big stupid hats, and say, Ohhh, Sokka wouldn’t put these beads in my hole until I was really, really ni—”
“Four,” Zuko grit out. Then, for good measure, a grumbled, “Please.”
Oh, it wasn’t easy. It was a struggle. Zuko never backed down from a challenge. “Relax,” Sokka cooed, “just relax,” like Zuko needed telling twice. He balled his hands into fists and then let go, all his breath too, let himself become loose. It was different from taking Sokka in, it was harder, bigger, smoother, slipperier, prone to rolling out of position rather than the reliable steady force of a shaft demanding entry. Shhh, and Sokka’s hands smoothing down the clenching muscles in his back when the bead slid away, again, when Zuko was being so good for it, shhh, and then the curve was breaching him again, it was pushing further than before, finally, finally, yes, he was so loose, he could take it, he could, don’t you think so? Sokka? Shhh. Sokka? “Sokka?”
“You’re doing it,” said Sokka, hushed. “You’re—”
He was. He arched his back, let it tip inside him. The bead joined its three siblings, clicking home. They felt huge now, the pressure constant and making him whine. Behind him Sokka was breathing hard. “Four,” he whispered.
“You’ve said it already,” said Sokka. “You’re doing amazing. Do you want the last one?”
“Five,” said Zuko, drooling the word onto the bench. “Five.”
“Can you do it?”
“Can.”
He could hear Sokka scrambling for the lubricant again, pouring it so messily it splashed across his buttocks and thighs. He felt the cold stone against his hole, and did not flinch. “The last one,” Sokka said, reverent. “You can take it.”
It was huge. It was the size of a sesame ball, it was girthier than even Sokka. Zuko closed his eyes and made his awareness let go of his mind, his hands, the pulse of his heartbeat and the rumble of his gut; now he would become nothing but a receptacle for Sokka, a receptacle to fill if he were deemed to have earned it. “Oh,” Sokka was breathing, “oh, look at you, the way you’re opening—?” A finger hooking onto his rim, nudging it so the bead could roll deeper in. The pain felt faraway, and Zuko felt himself sink into it. “You look fucking— I wish you could see what you look like.” His voice pitched lower, and the headiness made Zuko moan. “You should see it. Your pink hole, unfurling all red and stuffed inside. The way you’re stretching for it, the way your rim’s clinging to the bead, it’s so white against you. Look at the way you’re taking it. I know you can take it, you can take it all—” Another push, the sun on his skin, the trickle of water from the pond, the whisper of the breeze upon the leaves. He closed over the hemisphere. “Yes,” Sokka whispered, “yes, yes, yes,” because Zuko was pulling it into his body, “so fucking slow, taking your time swallowing it down, savouring it I bet,” and Zuko was, crying out long and low at the sensation, the lazy luxuriant slide. He felt dizzy when it was inside, he felt heavy with all the beads crammed there.
But Sokka was moving, gabbling, a flurry of fabric behind him. Hands grabbed him; Zuko registered the light when he was nudged over, pink against his eyelids, then kissed messily on his slack mouth. “You’re amazing, you’re incredible,” said Sokka; Zuko became aware of the rut of his dick against his hip, and then his own being stroked back to hardness where it had flagged for the bead to push in. “Come on, come on,” Sokka urged, and then somehow Zuko’s knees managed to prop up his ass, the angle sliding the beads further into his body, and Sokka had lined up their dicks to grind against each other. “Oh fuck, you feel amazing—”
Zuko drooled on the bench in response. The stimulation on his dick, the jostle of the beads inside him as Sokka fucked against him. “You have no idea, no idea what you do to me,” Sokka was gasping, scraps of nonsense between the wet slap of their thighs. “How did you do it? How did you manage it? You’re insane—”
He reared back, Zuko’s dick bobbing at the loss. But he was not far gone. Zuko gasped when he felt the shaft rub up against his stuffed hole. “Yeah,” said Sokka, “just like that,” and Zuko rutted against him, trying to reach a hand over to his dick and failing on a particularly sharp thrust. “This hungry thing”—Sokka’s thumbs pulling his cheeks apart—“I’d put my cock in there too, but it’s not going to fit.”
“It will,” Zuko said.
“What’s that?”
“It will.”
Sokka paused. His fingers dug into the flesh of Zuko’s ass. “You,” he said, “you—” And then the familiar press of something round, soft: the head of his dick. “You want this? You want this with all those beads in there?”
He couldn’t fit. There was no way. The beads sloshed inside him, against the sensitive place that made him convulse. But he nodded anyway, frantic, hair flailing, mouth open on a silent scream and his knees finally gave way when Sokka’s head started to breach him, agonising increment by increment—
And then it was gone.
“Silly.” Sokka’s voice was rough. “It’ll never fit. We have to take your beads out first.”
Zuko felt the pressure from inside: Sokka tugging on the silk. “Fuuuuuck,” he said when it started to slide out, and then Zuko was bearing down too, passing it out of his body, by the spirits it was huge, how did he manage to take it in? He found himself heaving in breaths when it popped out to swing, huge and heavy, against his taint.
“Count.”
Zuko did not fight it. “One.”
When the second one came out, the sweet release of it, he was thrusting back into the cushion, chasing the sensation between his dick and his hole. Sokka’s dick slid against the back of his thigh, messy and frantic. “Two,” Zuko breathed.
The feeling of being emptied measure by measure, Sokka revelling in each one that Zuko’s body returned back to him—that was something else. Zuko’s back arched, the fire rose easily from inside him and out of his mouth. “Three.”
“You’re so good,” Sokka said, fucking harder against his leg. He sounded like he wanted to sink his teeth into Zuko’s flesh. The silk was taut in his hand, the second bead straining against Zuko’s hole from inside. “I can’t hold back, I’m gonna—”
“Yes, yes, yes,” and bearing down—
The last two tore out of him and then Zuko’s eyes were screwed shut, every muscle seized tight. He spurted hot onto the cushion and waited for Sokka to fill the emptiness, to slide home, how slick, how loose it was, how easily his hole would welcome it—
“Tui and La,” said Sokka.
“Two, one,” said Zuko, a little pleading. “Two, one, why aren’t you—”
Sokka was holding the beads up and they were wrecked with lube, sizzling. “You need to cool down, sunshine, I can’t fuck you like this, you’ll cook me alive.”
“No,” Zuko said, “no, no, no, please, I need—”
“I can’t,” said Sokka. He grabbed Zuko by the hips, commanding, and fucked his shaft over his drooling, burning hole. “You know I want to, I wanna feel how loose those stupid beads made you, but you burned them up, what would you do to me—” and he was fucking over it and fucking and fucking fucking until it the warmth spilled over—
The sun was setting by the time they came to, wet and oily and sticky. Zuko blinked, and the vision of the beads now tossed beside his head blurred and unblurred.
Above him, Sokka stirred. “Touch them.”
“What?” said Zuko. Sokka grabbed his hand; he recoiled on instinct, then demurred. They were warm to the touch, and dry. “I don’t get it.”
“They burned the oil off,” said Sokka, excitement vibrating in his voice. “You made the beads so hot they burned the oil off. You’ve never done this before.”
“Huh,” said Zuko. He wasn’t always the quickest on the uptake after sex, but Sokka’s enthusiasm made him feel fluttery.
“Changed my mind,” said Sokka. He pressed a noisy kiss to Zuko’s temple. “Maybe Osha should stay on sex shopping duty.”