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Sometimes his father pretends he’s romancing him.
Candles on the bedside table as he strips Zuko of silk robes, glides his lips over his collarbone, down his chest. A champagne toast as they’re leaned up against the pillows, their legs intertwined. A strawberry plucked from his drained glass, then pressed against Zuko’s lips. Soft praises whispered as Zuko accepts the gift and lets the fruit stain his mouth red before Ozai leans in to acquire a matching shade.
Tonight started as one of those nights.
Until a chime from the nightstand told Zuko that he’d forgotten to silence his phone.
A stupid, costly mistake.
Ozai saw— he didn’t read the text itself, but the name across his screen was damning enough evidence.
Father doesn’t like him associating with Uncle.
Everything changed in an instant. Caresses into bruising grips. Soft words into cutting insults. Suddenly the gentle kisses were gone, replaced with hot suction and blunt teeth against his neck.
The possessive fondness in his gaze burned away by dark, punishing rage.
The smooth jazz from his father’s record player continues to sound as Zuko is pressed face first into the mattress. One of his arms wrenched painfully behind his back as Ozai nudges against his entrance.
The only mercy is that Father had already worked him open— tenderly with his fingers— before Uncle’s text lit up his screen.
Yet when Ozai’s cock breeches him in one forceful push, it still burns.
Zuko cries out as his body is jerked in time with his father’s thrusts. A hand in his hair pushes him into the pillows and quickly muffles his broken pleas.
His lungs burn, desperate for air but Ozai delights in pushing him past his limits, especially now. Right as Zuko starts to think he’ll pass out, he’s yanked up and impaled further onto his father’s cock. The room spins as his body greedily gulps down the much needed oxygen.
A hand squeezes at his throat, and Zuko is gasping again, a fish out of water trying not to die. Ozai has him pressed against his chest and surely feels Zuko tremble, squeezing harder when Zuko desperately tugs at the arm restricting his breath.
“It’s all his fault you know,” Ozai hisses, unrelenting. “You’re soft because of his influence. Weak because you trusted the words of an old fool.”
All at once, Ozai releases him and Zuko flops forward again, smacking against the mattress before he’s dragged up by his hips.
“If he could see you now,” Ozai’s fingers dig into his hips with bruising force. “He wouldn’t bother.”
This thrust hits hard against his prostate, arousal stirring again in spite of the assault on his battered mind and body.
Tomorrow he’ll block Uncle’s number and pray that there are no more rules left to break.