I'm gonna drink my tears tonight,
I'm gonna drink my tears and cry,
'Cause I know you love me baby…
-Government Hooker, Lady GaGa
Katara is damn good at what she does.
The Fire Lord is aware of this.
The guards open up the door to the Fire Lord's chambers for her and she sends each of them a tiny, cheeky little smile. They ignore her, as is protocol.
The Fire Lord looks nervous. This strikes her as unusual, since he comes off as such a domineering man sometimes. She decides to take this in stride. It should make the night a little bit more interesting.
She's wrapped her body in some sheer, golden thing that shows off her curves. The Fire Lord's gaze roams over her freely. It's predatory.
"You look stunning," he says gruffly, meeting her eyes.
"Thank you," she purrs. The doors close behind them and her appointment with this powerful man has officially begun.
He continues to study her and she tries to figure out what kind of client this is. Does he enjoy conversation? Foreplay? A drink to ease his nerves? Or does he just like to get down to business?
He moves to his massive bed and sits down at the edge of it, his haughty gaze boring into her. He's beckoning her to him without actually having to say anything.
She moves forward, drawn by his unspoken command. When she reaches him she doesn't speak. He seems to appreciate that.
"Take that off," he growls and a moment later she has shimmied out of the tiny little thing that had been called a dress. She notices how he does not move to undress himself.
He would undress her first.
He takes his time studying her nudity and she can tell from the reactions his body is having that he seems to like what he sees. He scoots backwards on his bed and she crawls on top of it, pausing for a moment to appreciate the silken sheets. Only royalty could sleep on something so luxurious.
"Do you like them?" he questions softly, and she nods, giving him a sultry smile.
"They're blood red," he notes, moving his hand to trail along her shoulders and then down the valley between her breasts. She arches her back a little bit, giving him a show.
He pushes her hair back before pressing up against her to suck at her neck. She gives a little moan and squirms a little bit, making sure he thinks she's enjoying herself.
Whether she actually is has always been her little secret.
He explores her body with his fingers and tongue, but he avoids her mouth all together. A small part of her remembers to be grateful for this.
She threads her fingers through his long, black hair, trying to balance out his groping with some touching of her own. He grabs her hand and shoves it back down beside her hip.
"Don't touch me," he snaps. Then he goes back to swirling a tongue around her nipple.
A moment later she's on her back, and he's moving his head further and further down, down, down—
She cries out a little louder than necessary. He doesn't notice. None of them ever notice.
She feels her body reacting to the movements of his tongue, lips and fingers. She can't really help herself. He's certainly not bad at what he's doing.
She feels the pleasure mounting, feels her hips bucking, and she's somewhat surprised because an orgasm wasn't something she expected to come out of tonight—
He moves his head away from her right before she reaches climax and she nearly screams in frustration.
Then he's managed to get his pants off in record speed and in one swift thrust is inside of her.
It's not fucking. It's not a pleasant romp. It's not ecstasy. It certainly isn't making love.
It's just sex.
It's always just sex.
She tries to switch the position so that she's on top, because she always performs her best when she's on top. He shoves her back down with more force than necessary, shaking his head, selfish need in his expression.
It doesn't last too long. She could have made it last longer if he had allowed her to do more except for simply lay underneath him. But he doesn't.
She watches his face as he grunts and stills with a shudder.
She doesn't really feel anything at all for this man.
He quickly rolls off of her, pale chest heaving.
He sighs, content, before turning his head and looking at her. "You know," he begins, gently trailing a fingertip along her cheek. "It's good to see someone like you make a decent name for herself. You've certainly fared better here than you ever would have in that pathetic pile of snow they call the South Pole."
"Thank you," she says sweetly, smiling at him.
He nods, satisfied, before turning his head. A minute or so later he's fast asleep.
Therefore he doesn't see her smile turn into a snarl.
She gets off the bed, careful not to disturb him.
She knows right where it's hidden. He'd hidden it himself a couple of days ago and made sure to tell her about it.
She pulls it out of its hiding place, makes sure it's sharp, and then walks around the bed to the side the Fire Lord is sleeping on.
Then she plunges the dagger into his throat without a moment of hesitation.
She watches him die without an ounce of regret.
He'd ruined her life, ruined his life, ruined the world. He deserved this.
The blood spreads out of his body, staining the sheets.
She notes with amusement that his sheets aren't quite the color of blood, like he'd said.
The blood starts to run over the side of the bed and dribble onto the floor. She pulls on her dress and fixes her hair, wishing she had a little bit of something to dab onto her chapped lips.
She struts out of the Fire Lord's chambers, saying farewell to his guards. They shut the door behind her and ignore her, as is protocol.
She makes her way along the maze of hallways towards their designated meeting place. She knows the palace like the back of her hand. She's been sneaking into it for years, after all.
When she finally spots him, she smiles.
Except this one is genuine.
He melts out of the shadows, cloak already on. He looks pale, and she's guess that he's probably thrown up a few times since she went to see his father, but there's still determination on his face.
"So…so you did it then?" He steps towards her, golden eyes examining every inch of her body to make sure that she's alright an unharmed.
His eyes flutter shut and he sways on his feet, looking like he's about to be sick.
She moves forward and wraps her arms around him. She can feel the rough, uneven skin of his scar pressing into her neck as he pulls her up against him.
They've always found comfort in holding each other close.
"I brought you a change of clothes," he whispers, low voice shaky. "You look ridiculous in that thing."
They only have so much time until the guards realize their Fire Lord is dead, so she quickly changes clothes and they're off. His uncle and her brother are waiting for them just outside of the city.
He takes her hand. The warmth in it calms her.
She looks up at her Prince. Her heart swells with feelings for him.
He's nothing like his father.
But after tonight, she is.
A/N: There's no explanation for this piece. Just that I was in a dark mood and found Lady Gaga oddly inspiring.
Reviews would be awesome.