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Zuko nurses his second rum and coke. Mai only just hopped on the ridiculously long line for the bathroom, which leaves Zuko leaning in the hallway waiting for her to come out. It’s not like he’s going to go dance by himself.
But when Mai texts him that there are still six girls in front of her just to get into the bathroom, not even the stalls, Zuko decides to wait for her at the bar instead.
He slides over to a relatively quiet section. Quiet only because it’s very clearly the service bar area. In the daylight hours, this section is where the bartenders place the restaurant drinks for the waiters to bring to their tables, but since most of the tables have been stacked away and folded against the walls, it now hosts an array of empty bar glasses.
It doesn’t take long for Ty Lee to spot him and wave in his direction, but it could be several minutes before she is free enough to bounce over and check in. After all, the club crowd is in full swing, and while no one is ordering the fancy cocktails that Mai and Zuko like to order on slow days—all of varying flavors and crazy names— she is still in constant motion with all the beers, well drinks, and White Claws being ordered.
It’s certainly not a career that Mai or Zuko could ever keep up with. Ty Lee is able to effortlessly multi-task, all while keeping a playful smile on her features. Anyone that slips her more than a dollar’s tip gets a flirty wink or even a chaste kiss blown in their direction. Mai could never keep a customer-facing demeanor for long, especially not when met with the blatant flirting and money-waving-yelling of some of the patrons.
And Zuko, while having years of practice with customer service at his Uncle’s tea shop, could never keep up with the multi-tasking side of it. At least not to this degree.
He watches as Ty Lee makes five different well drinks while closing out someone else’s tab at the same time. She hands back the card, receipt, and pen to one guy, and uses only her eyebrows to ask: What would you like? to a second guy. She nods at whatever he says, winking at the first guy waving his receipt in her direction, and ices two cups all while keeping the soda gun going on her original five drinks. She puts the soda gun down when they’re done, pops open two Red Bull cans, and tips them into the two freshly-iced cups while putting garnishes and straws in the other drinks. The group of girls accept the drinks and hand her a card while Ty Lee takes another order, and round and round it goes.
Eventually, Zuko gives up on watching her. His head is spinning just trying to keep count of how many people she can serve at once. He meets her sympathetic gaze briefly, shaking his head when she gestures to his still half-full drink.
Mai sends another stream of angry gifs, and Zuko begins scanning the bar patrons. He spies a couple of girls unnecessarily taking up two barstools just to giggle and bump noses between sips of their mixed drinks. A group of frat heads who shamelessly ogle Ty Lee’s front and back— whichever side is facing them. Another group of girls who try to catch the eye of the clearly gay bartender working the other end of the bar.
Clearly for one because Zuko’s been out long enough to have developed a reasonably accurate gaydar. And secondly, because the guy is very much checking out some of the attractive men that saunter over to the bar.
The man is a professional, as far as Zuko observes, he flirts back with the group of girls because that’s how he’s going to earn his keep, but it definitely looks a lot more natural when a guy approaches him.
Zuko studies all of the patrons. Most of them too fixated on staring at the nearest bartender—a total of four of them working tonight, another reason why Zuko could never—to notice Zuko’s gaze. Hence why when someone finally spots him, Zuko nearly drops his cup.
The pair of eyes that meet his are a deep, intense blue. Surrounded by gentle creases that indicate his age and match the dimples created by that beautifully disarming smile. The rest of the man is all sharp angles, tanned skin, and oh—the man finally reaches the edge of the bar, leaning one arm up onto the bartop—muscles. Definitely a good amount of muscle on this well sculpted man.
It takes Zuko a moment to refocus and realize that he’s staring, and when he does, he notices that the older man’s kind smile has turned into a sexy smirk, eyebrow arching pointedly the same second Zuko registers that he’s biting his own lip.
Fuck, Zuko is already kind of hot for this stranger. This long haired man that could only be properly referred to as a DILF—
Shit, he really needs to stop hanging out with Ty Lee. She’s a bad influence on him.
The stranger breaks eye contact for a moment, trailing his gaze downward and then slowly finding his way back to Zuko’s face.
Zuko can be pretty dense, but even he can recognize when he’s being checked out.
Suddenly letting Ty Lee come over the night before to help him pick out an outfit—a ridiculously tight, forest green V-neck that he didn’t think he had enough muscle to pull off, and similarly well-fitted black jeans—didn’t seem like such a noble sacrifice.
Zuko schools his dumbstruck expression into what he hopes is something at minimum presentable, flirty at best. And returns the head to—well, not toe since there is an entire bar in the way—chest assessment of his new interest. He finds that he lingers on broad hands and well-sculpted arms, and the man definitely notices.
In fact, he even looks like he is going to mouth something at him—Zuko’s eyes fall to his lips so fast. He’d become a semi-decent lip reader ever since the incident that fucked up the hearing in his left ear. His left eye, while visibly narrowed and scarred something nasty around the area, was only impaired insofar as rendering it color blind, so his vision was just ever-so-slightly the better-surviving sense of that fateful day just over 10 years ago.
So, point being, he is ready to read those dark, inviting, if slightly chapped lips when he feels an elbow in his side.
Zuko startles when he turns, then immediately scowls when he recognizes her.
Mai is back from the bathroom.
“What?” Mai asks dryly. “You looked like you were lost in space.”
“I wasn’t,” Zuko says to Mai’s accusing expression. “If you must know, I was checking out a guy.”
“God, please tell me it wasn’t some fuck boy in a polo.”
“See for yourself,” Zuko moves to gesture toward the other side of the bar, only to jump when he comes eye to eye with Ty Lee. “For the love of—”
“Hey cuties,” she grins, leaning over to playfully bop Mai on the nose. “What can I get ya?”
“Amazing,” Zuko scowls. “You ignore me for twenty minutes, and the second Mai comes over, you’re suddenly free to chat?”
“Nothing personal, sweetie,” Ty Lee winks, pinching his cheek. “You’re just not the one who gives me smooches at the end of the night. Of course I’m going to spare a little time for my girlfriend.”
The girlfriend in question leans one elbow onto the bartop, resting her chin on the back of her hand. She smirks and raises her eyebrows at the bouncy bartender, which is basically PDA in Mai’s book. Ty Lee giggles in response, tossing a bar napkin at her.
“So, anything to drink?” she repeats.
“Another round,” Mai confirms, then scowling at Zuko’s glass. “Drink up, nerd.”
“I was kind of busy—”
“Oh that’s right,” Mai says to Ty Lee. “Zuko was just telling me about some dude he was checking out.”
“Oooo,” Ty Lee says, wiggling her shoulders in excitement. “Spicy! You sending him a drink?”
Zuko hates to admit that he was considering it, but these two have always been able to read him far too easily. “Maybe,” he says. “He’s right over—”
Except, he isn’t. He looks over Ty Lee’s shoulder to where he had seen the gorgeous man earlier, and he’s gone. Nowhere to be found in the immediate area surrounding the bar.
“Oh,” Ty Lee frowns. “My bad… whistle for me when you see him again and I’ll hook you up, okay?”
Zuko nods, a bit disappointed. The adrenaline rush he had felt earlier, the mounting suspense— all for nothing. Ty Lee turns away to fix their drinks, visibly making his stronger than the last one.
“Bummer,” Mai says from his side. “Sorry if I interrupted.”
“It’s fine,” Zuko shrugs. Not like she was intentionally cock-blocking him, even if she had a years-long track record that might state otherwise.
“Maybe we’ll see him on the dance floor?”
Maybe. If he’s lucky, but Zuko’s never especially lucky.
Ty Lee returns with their drinks, accepts Zuko’s cash tip with an air-kiss and slides back over to her adoring fans. Ty Lee never charges the two of them—or Azula, when they manage to drag her out with them— which means that the money they do spend goes directly into Ty Lee’s pocket. Win-win.
Mai gives him only a moment to put his wallet away before dragging him to the dance floor. Neither of them are especially talented dancers. They don’t have two left feet, but they are never ones to find themselves at the center of a dance circle or being clapped on by friends or strangers. They could move their feet to the music, sing to the songs they knew, and gesture at one another along to the music, and that’s all they needed to have fun. Both of them like having a drink in their hand while they dance so that it would leave them only one arm that has to do dance moves.
Sure, as the drinks kept coming, they would slowly loosen up a bit more—adding twirling and the occasional body roll to their repertoire—but tonight wasn’t that kind of night. Just starting on his third drink in two hours, Zuko had only the slightest buzz going, not enough to call tipsy, but enough to not overthink any person who made eye contact with him and question if they were subtly trying to assess his scar.
So when Zuko finally spots the hot guy from the bar again, he feels ridiculously unprepared. Once he’s sure the man isn’t going to look his way and catch him in the act, he leans forward to talk into Mai’s ear.
“He’s here,” he says. Zuko follows up with a nod toward him, and Mai waits a beat before turning to spy in the indicated direction.
Mai’s grin is wolfish when she turns back to him. This time she leans up toward his ear. “A little old for your usual type?” she teases.
“Shut up,” Zuko says, only not grumbling because it wouldn’t be heard otherwise. “And I’m pretty sure he was checking me out earlier, too.”
“Go dance with him then. But first,” Mai taps the rim of his cup. “8 seconds.”
It’s not a shot, but it will do. He scrunches his face up in faux-distaste, before accepting the issued challenge, bringing the straw to his lips and taking an 8-second-sip. It’s not enough to drain his glass, but it is enough to show that he’ll need another one soon and a good enough placebo effect—logically, the actual drink won’t kick in for another few minutes—to give him the courage to push through the group of people between him and the good looking man.
As the crowd parts around Zuko’s polite elbowing, he can now drink in his—for lack of a better word—target, more fully. He's wearing a pale blue button down with the sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone to reveal more firm muscle and tanned skin. As he gets closer, he can tell the man has a few piercings in his ears, and can more clearly see his short beard and the way half his hair is pulled back, the rest hanging down.
And of course, his attention is promptly pulled back to his arms, one hand curled around a nearly empty cup, the other stuffed into his pocket as he scans the crowd.
Is he here alone? Looking for a friend?
Then again, Zuko did just ditch Mai to pursue this man, so he imagines her eyes are similarly following him.
Blue eyes spy him before Zuko can overthink it any more. A relief, considering Zuko has always been told that he’s very light on his feet, and Zuko would have died of mortification if he had accidentally startled the attractive man.
Instead, he feels the intensity of his warm gaze as Zuko finally finds himself toe to toe with him.
Immediately, people shoulder past them, bodily bumping into him. Zuko can’t even make himself turn to glare at the assholes because a broad palm closes around his arm to steady him as Zuko is jostled. The point of contact burns.
“Thanks,” Zuko manages, lips curling in a small smile. “I’m Zuko.”
“You’re welcome, Zuko,” he replies. And fuck, nothing could have prepared him for the warm velvet that is this man’s voice, let alone the way his name sounds falling from his lips. Zuko barely manages to suppress a shudder as arousal spikes through him, his lizard brain already conjuring images of those hands against his naked skin. Of Zuko finding ways to earn the pleasure of hearing his name again. “I’m Hakoda,” he finishes, bringing Zuko back to the present.
“Hakoda,” Zuko echoes, keeping his smile even as Hakoda’s hand falls away from his arm. “Hakoda, can I… buy you a drink?”
“Actually,” a deeper, rumbling voice says from behind him. “I’ve got it covered.”
Zuko turns in time to see yet another fine looking gentleman hand a drink to Hakoda. He’s got nearly a foot of height on Zuko, and is notably leaner than Hakoda, but still well defined. He’s clean shaven, with hair a little longer than Hakoda’s, and has long, dextrous fingers that curl around Hakoda’s shoulder as he presses a kiss into the shorter man’s hair.
Oh.
Oh shit.
“Zuko,” Hakoda says. “This is my husband, Bato.”
Husband.
How could he be so stupid? He’d spent so much time looking at Hakoda’s hands and never even noticed the fucking wedding ring.
Bato’s long arm is slung casually around Hakoda’s shoulders. They’re both eyeing him, not in scathing judgment or even cruel amusement, but their gaze is… assessing.
“A pleasure to meet you, Zuko,” Bato says.
Zuko can’t take it. He can feel his face heating in embarrassment and he will die, right here, right now, if he doesn’t get the hell out of this nightmare situation. Zuko is never making the first move again. Never even making eye contact again. A married man, seriously Zuko! “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—” Zuko stammers, trying to find the best escape route. “I should—”
Bato’s voice halts him. “Hon’,” he says, looking at his husband. “Is this the handsome young man you were telling me about earlier?”
Hakoda hums. “It’s a shame you scared him off before I could ask him to dance with me.”
They’re both looking at him now.
“I—” Zuko comes up short, finally hearing their words. “What?” Because… huh? Earlier, Zuko had been pretty sure that Hakoda was checking him out, but any and all recollection of that had gone out the window when Zuko realized he was the fucking definition of unavailable.
Except… there’s clearly an invitation in those words. And Bato isn’t stepping in or whisking Hakoda away. He’s just watching… and, if he’s not wrong, getting an eyeful as well. Not that Zuko can judge, considering he just caught himself doing the same.
Zuko’s very thankful for the drink occupying his hands.
“Pity,” Bato says, smiling patiently at him. “My husband is a very good dancer.”
Well, clearly it’s happened. Zuko has, in fact, died of embarrassment and now is being lured in by one final test to decide his fate.
Hakoda extends his hand in offering, but doesn’t move any closer to him. It’s clear that he’s leaving the choice completely in Zuko’s hands. Bato’s hand falls from Hakoda’s shoulder, and now he’s smirking, watching the two of them with clear amusement as he sips his drink.
It shouldn’t be that easy to convince him. Up until now, Zuko thought he had a relatively functional moral compass that kept him out of this sort of trouble.
He thinks he’s failed the test when he steps forward to take Hakoda’s hand and sees his eyes darken in a thrilling display of lust. But when Hakoda pulls him close and presses their bodies together, a hand closing possessively around his hip, he damns the damnation.
They move together easily. Normally Zuko prefers to have a few more drinks in him before he falls into this kind of rhythm with a stranger, but with Hakoda it’s almost natural. Zuko instinctively knows where he should place his hands— his drink-bearing hand resting just behind the man’s neck, the other on his shoulder. If occasionally Zuko indulges himself by letting his hand stray to those strong arms he’d been thinking about, Hakoda is kind enough to not call him out on it.
And as delightful the friction and how much it makes Zuko quietly vibrate with excitement, it doesn’t last long. A quick-moving Latin song comes on—one that Mai and Zuko usually just clap and move their feet to when left to their own dance-inept devices—and Hakoda’s grin turns mischievous. Zuko has just enough time to secure his grip on his cup, most of the ice long since melted, before Hakoda grabs his hand and twirls him. Zuko can’t help but laugh earnestly at the pleased expression Hakoda fixes him with when he tucks Zuko against his chest before spinning him out again.
Then the gorgeous man releases him to dance across from Zuko, with much more coordination and rhythm than he and Mai combined. Arms, shoulders, feet, hips— everything in sync with the music. He makes it look effortless, smoothly rolling through the motions; waves on the ocean. He has a look of pure joy on his face, and while Hakoda is undeniably sexy, here he looks downright cute.
Abruptly, Zuko realizes that since Hakoda released him, he’s just been standing still, dumbly cradling his drink.
Hakoda must realize this, too, as in the next moment he gestures for Zuko to join him.
Zuko’s far too sober for this. Holy hell he does not know how to dance. He looks to Bato for some support, maybe he’ll jump in and Zuko will do… something? Watch? Disappear? Dive to the bar for a shot?
But Bato is literally no help. He shrugs, smug expression still in place, and gestures toward Hakoda. He’s holding his and Hakoda’s drinks.
Hakoda reaches for him with both hands, hips and feet keeping the rhythm while his arms remain outstretched between them. “I’ll show you,” he says. His face is warm and relaxed, playful and patient.
Decision made, Zuko finishes the last of his ice-water-rum-and-coke and looks around for a place to set down his cup, only for Bato to pluck it from his grasp.
(With fingers like those, Zuko’s hardly surprised that he can hold 3 drinks at the same time, likely more. Nevermind that he’s probably just going to tuck his empty under one of the two more full cups he’s holding.)
With the drink liberated from his grasp, he lets Hakoda pull him in again. This time, Hakoda guides both of Zuko’s hands to his hips, holding them there and letting Zuko feel the motion beneath his fingertips. Step-sway, step-sway, step-sway.
“You try,” Hakoda says, leaning back a bit.
Zuo tries to track the movement with eyes, but all he can make sense of are the feet. Right-out, left-in, right-out, left-in. He sheepishly tells Hakoda as much, but the man just smiles in that blinding way Zuko seems to be weak for and tells him to try just the feet, then.
So Zuko does. Try. Mirroring Hakoda’s feet until he feels confident enough to keep the pattern without looking. At which point he finds himself beaming directly at the older man who’s watching him with rapt attention, eyelids lowered slightly, his expression relaxed and open.
“Good. Keep doing that,” he says, making Zuko’s stupid heart flutter at the unsolicited compliment. “I’ll help you add the hips, okay?”
“Okay,” Zuko replies, still a bit nervous.
Hakoda steps closer, taking a hold of his hips. Zuko instinctively straightes so that he’s resting his hands on Hakoda’s arms again. Hakoda checks in with Zuko one more time, before starting to guide the sway of his hips in time with the music and his steps.
The older man’s hands are so strong, so sure. He once again lets his mind wander to what it might be like to let Hakoda throw him around a bit.
Zuko’s always been more of a hands-on learner, so eventually he starts to gain some control of the motion. He looks down, seeing how his hips move in sync with Hakoda’s and it stirs something low in his belly.
But seeing how he can control some of that sway, how openly appreciative Hakoda’s expression when they lock eyes again. The quiet hunger in his stare… it makes Zuko feel sexy. Confident.
Bold.
So when he thinks he’s got enough of an idea of what his hips are doing, he feels the pressure of Hakoda’s fingers lighten. And now Zuko not so much moves with Hakoda, but Hakoda moves with him. He uses his coordinated steps to creep closer into Hakoda’s embrace.
“What next?” Zuko asks into his ear.
He feels the muscle beneath his fingers flex.
“Next,” Hakoda grins, tilting his chin down. “We add the arms.”
Zuko hums thoughtfully. The arms did seem like the easiest part, when Hakoda was showing off at the start of the song.
But he’s also not keen on leaving the older man’s embrace. “Like this?” he asks, looping his arms around to cup the back of his neck.
Hakoda chuckles, his hands—blessedly—staying in place. “That’s one way of doing it,” he agrees, their faces now only inches apart.
It somehow feels more indecent than when they were shameless rutting against each other. More sensual and… with more chemistry than before. Even if their groins only occasionally brush together at this level of proximity, Zuko feels each moment of contact like a bright jolt of electricity coursing through him.
Fuck he is so aroused. The tightness of his jeans grows uncomfortable, but at least it spares him the embarrassment of poking insistently against the man the way he would in looser fitting jeans. Point two for Ty Lee.
And thank fuck that this is a long song. Or maybe the two songs blended really well together, in which case the DJ should get a raise—if DJ’s get raises, that is. Either way, it means that he gets to move with Hakoda for even longer, drinking in his clouded gaze and feeling more desirable than he’s felt in years.
“He wants to kiss you.”
Zuko jumps, the carefully crafted rhythm faltering. And Bato, the bastard that he is, laughs at Zuko’s reaction, fully pleased that this is entirely his fault. Hakoda’s hands guide him back into place with the music as Zuko lets his head fall onto his shoulder.
How many times will these men spike his blood pressure tonight?
“Sorry,” Hakoda chuckles when Zuko braves lifting his head again. “My husband just knows me very well… knows I might not ask that of you.”
Zuko searches his face for any disingenuity. Any cracks in the earnest, almost shy expression that hosts those gorgeous, hungry eyes.
“But he’s right,” Hakoda adds. “I would... like to if you’re interested.”
Interested? Fuck, he’s wanted those lips on his since the man first uttered his name. Hell, likely even sooner than that—closer to the time earlier in the night when they made eye contact across a crowded bar.
He’d managed to forget about Bato during the dancing lesson, making the jolt back to reality even more jarring, but… Bato had been the one to suggest the kiss. Encouraged him to dance. Took his drink so Zuko could hold his husband’s hands.
A very modern marriage, indeed.
In lieu of an answer, Zuko slides one hand into Hakoda’s hair and tips the older man’s head down toward his. Zuko closes his eyes as their lips slot together, and suddenly it’s back to there being no space between them. Chests flush so that Zuko can feel every little hum and groan against his lips and chest.
It’s intoxicating, more so than any of the cocktails Zuko had consumed earlier in the evening. The fleeting buzz couldn’t even hold a candle to this all-encompassing desire that tethers him to Hakoda. The desire that wordlessly communicates just who likes a bit of teeth on their bottom lip (Zuko), who whines lowly at the occasional pull of their hair (both of them) and who goes absolutely feral by the simple act of having their tongue sucked on (Hakoda). That keeps their bodies and lips in perfect sync even as the song changes from the fast paced Latin to the more variable tempo of a pop-punk song.
But then Hakoda pulls away, making Zuko’s heart flutter in anticipation even before he asks—“Would you like to come home with us?”
Zuko licks his lips. Does he ever. Especially since he’s having a hell of a time just kissing.
If he’s honest with himself, he’s a bit curious about Bato, too. The two men make quite the picture together, and his mind can a little too easily superimpose his body between theirs.
At the same time… Zuko’s never been in a three-way before. His trust issues are screaming at him that this is colossally stupid idea, but… Hakoda has been very patient with him. Has let him take the initiative this whole evening and treated with him more respect than his libido finds necessary. And Bato… Bato hasn’t even so much as laid a hand on him.
Maybe Bato’s not into him.
“What would that entail?” Zuko asks, forcing the nervous tremble from his voice. Instead it sounds low and raspy, even to his own ears.
“Hmmm,” Hakoda brings their lips together chastely, thumbs tracing the waistband of his jeans. “More of the same. Perhaps with a bit less clothing.”
Zuko sighs into the kiss, then blinks back to clarity when Hakoda breaks it again. “And Bato?”
He’s honestly not sure what answer he’s hoping for.
“Well,” Hakoda says, lip twitching upward. “He’s clearly not the jealous type, but when it comes to me bringing someone into our bedroom, he prefers to watch rather than wait around... Is that okay?”
Oh fuck. He likes to watch? Have they done this before?
Yeah. Yeah. Zuko can get behind this. God this is somehow even better than he had imagined.
“Yeah,” Zuko breathes, biting his lip against the spreading smile curling it upwards. “Yeah that sounds really good, actually.”
“Great,” Hakoda says, squeezing his hips.
“Just, um—” Zuko looks over his shoulder at Bato, then back at Hakoda. “Are you sure? I mean… that it’s okay with him? Not trying to be a home-wrecker.”
Hakoda grins. “Positive,” he says. “We already talked about it, after I saw you at the bar.”
Zuko flushes. So they really were talking about him earlier. In depth apparently. “You were pretty confident that you’d be able to get me, then,” he husks, his bravado only slightly compromised by the whine that escapes him when their groins brush together again.
“Let’s say ‘hopeful’,” Hakoda corrects. “Perhaps my imagination did get a bit ahead of me, but what can I say? I like to be prepared.”
“So, you’ve done this before then?”
“Once or twice,” Hakoda says, looking very pleased with himself. But he must detect Zuko’s apprehension, still simmering quietly under his skin. His expression turns serious. “I can ask him again if you’d like.”
This time when Zuko looks at Bato, the taller man offers him a wink. He’s not especially far away, but Zuko doubts he could hear them at the intimate volume and distance with which they've been conversing. Bato doesn’t look especially bothered by not being able to hear, and after winking at Zuko, his gaze falls back to his husband. Loving and appreciative, tender but with underlying passion.
“I’d appreciate that, yeah,” Zuko finally replies.
He half expects Hakoda to sigh in exasperation at Zuko’s tedious triple-checking, but the man merely offers him a brief, smiling nod before looking over to where Bato is standing. At just the slightest inclination of his head, Bato slides over to them and comes behind Hakoda to press flush against him.
Maybe Zuko likes watching a little bit, too.
Bato shifts the drinks to one hand so that he can wrap those long fingers around Hakoda’s hip. He’s close enough to tilt his head against his husband’s, leaning forward so they’re at a more equal height, despite that Bato could easily rest his chin on the top of Hakoda’s head. Zuko’s hands are tucked firmly between where they rest on Hakoda’s neck and high on Bato’s chest, pressing against his clavicle.
Hakoda turns to look at his husband, their noses nearly touching when he rolls his hips away from Zuko and back against Bato’s crotch. Both men hum their appreciation—Zuko feels it from both of them—while the hands against Zuko’s hips tighten as if to steady both of them.
Understatement of the year— Zuko is ridiculously turned on right now.
“Is this what you called me over for?” Bato asks, nipping at Hakoda’s nose.
“Not exactly,” Hakoda laughs, eyes crinkling with affection. “Zuko wanted me to ask you if it’s okay that I take him home to our bed. If you’re okay with watching.”
“Of course,” Bato says, turning to Zuko. Up close, Zuko can feel the heat of his stare. “You two are already putting on quite the show.”
Zuko shivers, Bato’s voice far too easily affecting him.
“Thanks, babe,” Hakoda says cheekily, pressing a kiss to Bato’s jaw. “Happy to be of service to you both.”
“Hmmmmm,” Bato rumbles, before speaking into Hakoda’s ear. It’s too soft to hear clearly over the music, but Zuko’s superior lip reading means that he doesn’t miss what Bato says next. “What a lovely pink color you bring to his cheeks. I’m dying to see how far down that blush goes.”
“Me too.”
Zuko bites his lip again. It’s nothing compared to the delightful pressure of Hakoda’s teeth, but it stops him from revealing his little party trick too soon.
“So,” Bato says after a moment, straightening a bit to talk to both of them. “Shall I order the Uber?”
“Not yet,” Zuko says. “I have to let my friend know that I’m leaving.”
“Of course,” Bato nods.
“Why don’t you also text her our address?” Hakoda suggests.
“That would be great,” Zuko smiles. He releases Hakoda to take out his phone.
There are a few gifs from Mai, several thumbs up, even a fucking picture of the two of them kissing. Zuko flushes as he tries to tilt his screen closer toward him to hide it, but Bato clearly can still see it, if his not-so-subtle eyebrow raise is any indicator. Earlier text messages from his friend read: ‘You didn’t tell me there were TWO!’ followed by ‘Get it, Z’
Hakoda dictates the address, which Zuko reads back before hitting send. He’s sure Mai will be annoyed at him ignoring all the other messages, but he can give her the details when he finds her in a moment.
The couple agrees to meet him by the door—Bato orders the Uber anyways considering the nearest one is fifteen minutes away—before Zuko sets to finding Mai.
‘Bar’ he texts quickly, knowing their spot by the service entrance would be the quickest way to meet up and have his already unbelievable story heard.
Mai wastes no time the second she’s within ear shot.
“Is this really where you’re going?” she asks incredulously. “This isn’t some condo or shitty apartment, Zuko, this is a fucking house. A nice one. In the snooty side of town.”
“Well yeah,” Zuko blinks, confused that that’s the detail she’s hung up on. “With two incomes, I don’t doubt they can afford a nice place.”
Now Mai scrutinizes him.
“...they’re married,” he clarifies.
Mai punches him in the arm.
“Ouch.”
“Married, Zuko? Really?” she says. “Are you trying to be a gay stereotype? Picking up married men? What the fuck.”
“Bato’s cool with it,” Zuko rushes to explain. “He’s… Hakoda’s husband. Anyways—”
Zuko makes quick work of explaining what happened. Everything. From the brief moment of horror, to the impromptu dance lessons, the delightful slide of tongue against his own and Zuko’s own boldness. Up to and including the extent of the all-parties-agreement involved in Zuko deciding to go home with them.
“Okay,” Mai says. Zuko releases a sigh of relief. As horny and determined as he is to get naked with Hakoda, he trusts Mai more than anyone in the world, and if she thought this was a bad idea, or an unsafe one, he’d back out. “Okay,” she repeats, with more conviction. “But you’re texting me when you get there, and you’re texting me when you’re… done. Whether you’re leaving or sleeping over.”
Zuko nods.
“You’re keeping your SmartWatch on but turning off your step-tracker because I don’t want alerts telling me you’ve run a mile when you’re really just giving a handjob.”
Zuko sputters. “A mile—? ”
“You keep your location turned on and if you need to get out of there, call twice and hang up using your watch. I’ll send an Uber to the address you sent. Confirm it’s the same address you texted me when you get to the door.”
“Got it.”
“You’ve got a condom? Good. Make sure you use it. And make sure there’s no funny business with him slipping it off mid-act. Guys are sneaky like that.” Zuko resists the urge to defend Hakoda—after all he doesn’t really know the man.
“Is that all?” Zuko sighs. He’s not eighteen anymore. Zuko knows how to handle himself. None of this stuff is new to him, Mai’s told him a dozen times over. Even on nights where he hasn’t hooked up with anyone. He’d really love to skip the pep-talk this time—
“No,” Mai says, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck to lean close. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to do. I mean it, Zuko. If you’re on the fence about anything, you say ‘No’, if they try to push it, you call me. Got it?”
He nods again. Mai releases him, but keeps the proximity, patting his cheek.
“You don’t have to prove anything. You don’t have to do something to receive something, okay?” Zuko sighs, nodding. “You’re a catch, Zuko. Not bad as far as dudes go. Respect yourself, okay?”
Zuko leans in to kiss her forehead. This is why he wanted to skip this part—Mai’s intense and honest love and affirmations always make him swell with emotion. He’d kill for her, plain and simple, and she’d eviscerate for him.
She swats him away, but then grabs his hand to give a squeeze, a private smile on her lips. “Have fun.”
He hugs her. It’s been years since the first time she sat him down and told him all of this following one hell of a shitty hook-up that Zuko has thankfully put behind him. She knows that all of the crap that went down with his dad only exacerbated his need to be a people-pleaser, and it’s hardly surprising that the same concept extends to sex, but he’s better now. Nothing will ever diminish that mountain-sized praise-kink he has, but he’s learned that he doesn’t have to go out of his comfort zone to be appreciated. That the praise isn’t something he has to earn by bending over backwards—literally or figuratively—for the men he takes to bed.
Mai will always worry, because she’s just a good friend like that, but Zuko knows himself better. Knows that he can communicate his wants and his limits. He may still be a bit nervous—an older, married man with a decade or two more experience than him is certainly just as intimidating as it is thrilling—but it’s the good kind of nerves. And so far, being himself has gotten him pretty damn far, so he’s not going to stop doing that now.
He echoes back Mai’s terms and conditions, then easily spots Bato—impossible to miss towering over the crowd—leaning by the door. Bato nods his head when he makes eye contact, and when Zuko finally reaches the pair of them, Hakoda presses a sealed water-bottle into his hands.
“Oh, thanks,” he says.
“It’s from your friend,” Hakoda says, nodding his head back in the direction from which he came.
Sure enough, Ty Lee catches his eye—evidently stepping up onto something under the bar counter that makes her visible over the heads of the patrons—to blow him a kiss. Zuko rolls his eyes at her, his cheeks heating again.
“I do have to ask, though,” Hakoda says, drawing Zuko’s attention back. “You’re sober, right?”
Zuko nods. “Yeah,” he says, ignoring the warmth spreading through him. It’s a small consideration, more of a bare minimum, but it’s clear that Hakoda wouldn’t pursue anything further if he thought Zuko were, in fact, under the influence. “I’ve had three drinks in as many hours… actually, I guess I’ve been here almost four hours now. So, sober.”
But not entirely clear-headed, he thinks as Hakoda wraps his arm around him to land a kiss on his cheek.
“Us too,” Hakoda says.
“Three minutes away,” Bato says, glancing at his phone. “Your friends seem nice.”
“They’re the best,” Zuko agrees, leaning into Hakoda’s warmth. “Ty Lee, the bartender, would do anything for me. Same with Mai, but in a more intense, aggressive, and likely stabby way.”
“I noticed,” Bato smirks.
“Oh yeah?” Hakoda asks, nudging his husband with his knee. “Get a good eyeful, stretch? How’s the weather up there?”
“Not bad,” Bato returns, leaning down to nip at Hakoda’s ear. “Though much hotter down here.”
“Got that right,” Hakoda says, turning back to Zuko.
Zuko hums, squeezing Hakoda’s hip and letting a hand rest on his chest. He captures Hakoda in another searing kiss, but has to pull away when Bato announces that their ride is here.
Hakoda keeps his arm around Zuko as they exit the bar. Zuko is grateful for the contact, because the fall air is a bit more crisp than it was when they’d arrived earlier, and Zuko had forwent a jacket knowing how hot it would be indoors.
Ever the gentleman, Hakoda’s contact remains polite, so as they approach the car, Zuko briefly guides Hakoda’s hand to his ass, pointedly arching into Hakoda when he squeezes. The older man seems to enjoy Zuko’s confidence, humming his satisfaction when he lifts his hand to swat his backside instead.
Bato confirms the name and license plate of the vehicle before sliding into the passenger seat, comically adjusting the chair and slouching to allow for better head and leg room.
Hakoda affectionately murmurs something about his beanpole husband before opening the driver’s side rear door for Zuko and climbing in behind him. As soon as they’re buckled up, Zuko starts on his homework for Mai.
Location: On
Step Tracker: Off
He even quickly rearranges the home screen on his SmartWatch so he can easily dial Mai if needed.
He’s typing out ‘On our way’ on his phone when Hakoda’s hand lands on his knee.
When he presses send, he tucks his phone away and returns the contact, issuing a challenge by settling his hand just a bit higher on the older man’s leg, still not quite reaching his thigh. Hakoda squeezes, then reaches across to cup Zuko’s cheek and guide their lips together again. Zuko starts sliding his hand upward until Hakoda catches the suggestion, first gently tugging Zuko’s leg toward him, then tracing along the inside seam of his jeans.
Zuko gasps into the kiss when Hakoda starts massaging his thigh, making Zuko wish he’d tucked to the left this time. Hakoda breaks the kiss—fuck, why does he keep doing that?—and Zuko finds his chase halted when the man’s lips press against the underside of his jaw instead.
The whine stays smothered down, but only because, when Zuko’s eyes flutter open, he makes direct eye contact with their Uber driver. That familiar mortification from earlier starts creeping in, but is edged away by Hakoda’s fleeting kisses and the recognition that Bato’s head is inclined toward the rear-view mirror as well. Zuko chews his lip, trying to imitate the massage along Hakoda’s thigh, which is markedly more difficult given how the older man is leaning over to lavish his neck.
Distantly, Zuko is aware that the only sounds in the car are his shallow breaths, the far too soft music, and Hakoda’s lips. Hakoda’s lips which still are only lightly pressing against his neck and jaw, either he’s a bit of a tease or he’s waiting for Zuko’s express permission to apply any more pressure, to part his lips and apply a bit of teeth or his talented tongue, to suck and leave some dark hickeys that Zuko can grumble about covering up in the morning.
None of the above are especially what he wants to happen in the car, but he really ought to have paid more attention to their ETA because he’s simply dying for Hakoda to give him more. Whatever that may entail.
He notices Bato roll his shoulders, and Zuko freezes when he catches his eye in the passenger side mirror. There’s no mistaking the look, nor its intended recipient. Bato is looking at him. Hungrily drinking in the sight of Zuko nearly squirming in the seat. Zuko tests his own theory, extending his fingers into Hakoda’s lap, knuckles seeking the bulge of his arousal that had brushed against Zuko’s own earlier in the evening.
Bato’s sharp eyes never leave his.
Hakoda’s pace falters when Zuko’s fingers find their target, and the older man groans softly against the jointure of his shoulder when Zuko begins rubbing his palm up and down his clothed erection.
Bato bites his lip around a smirk.
Zuko increases the pressure, curling his fingers as much as he can through the clothing and Hakoda nips his collarbone in retaliation. It makes Zuko gasp, fingers tightening, and Hakoda runs his tongue along it instead. This time, Zuko does whine, soft and staying contained mostly to the back of his throat, especially when Hakoda resumes his patient exploration, retracing his path with feather-light kisses.
Bato releases a breath—slowly—and breaks eye contact.
The driver’s phone pings with a new ride request, which he far too quickly accepts.
Moments later, it chirps ‘Dropping off Bato, on the right.’
Hakoda releases him with one last peck, just under the edge of his scar.
Zuko shakily retrieves his phone to text Mai: Here.
Her reply bubbles pop up immediately as the driver is pulling over.
Same address?
Zuko pauses. He can’t really tell until they get out of the car. The number on the curbside mailbox certainly matches, but he doesn’t want to prematurely reply, on the very off chance that they walk up a different path.
Bato slips the driver a ten dollar bill— “For your trouble,” which probably just means ‘Please don’t give me a low passenger rating just because my husband is insatiable,’ —and slides out of the car to pop open the back door for Zuko.
The tall man is grinning at him, hand outstretched in offering, but Zuko sees the flush on those sharp cheekbones for what it is. Zuko accepts the hand, however unneeded, and steps out of the car. It’s the first deliberate contact between the two of them, and Zuko—while very assured in the plan that he’s only fooling around with Hakoda—imagines Bato raising his hand to press to his lips. Smug grin in place. Perhaps guiding it to his chest when he leans him to kiss him...
But no. Zuko is not ready for a threesome. This arrangement is perfectly suitable because while Zuko’s always been a sucker for older men, Hakoda definitely has a good ten years on his oldest conquest to date and that’s enough of a first for one night.
Hakoda takes his hand. Bato releases his other one to accept the offered keys from his husband.
“What am I, your butler?” Bato laughs, leading them up the path.
“No,” Hakoda says. “Too handsome to be a butler.”
“Are butlers supposed to be ugly?”
“No,” Hakoda answers at the same time Zuko says “Yes.”
He averts his eyes when both gazes land on him. “Well… I guess not supposed to so much as usually are.”
Zuko could kick himself. He really should have just stayed out of it. Now was not the time for ignorant rich-kid humor.
But instead of the teasing and probing he expected, Bato simply barks out another laugh. “Suppose you’re right,” he says. “Though Alfred would resent that.”
“Well,” Zuko says, recomposing himself. “Don’t tell him I said that, then.”
“Cute,” Hakoda says next to him, bopping his nose.
“Am not,” Zuko frowns, squeezing his hand.
“Oh relax,” Hakoda teases. “I’m not saying that because of your age. I call Bato cute all the time. Ain’t that right, sugar bear?”
“He’s just like that,” Bato explains over his shoulder, Zuko snorts as Hakoda splutters. He guesses he would call them cute, too.
Bato securely fits the key in the lock, and Zuko triple-checks the address on the door and Google Maps and the address he texted Mai before sending his confirmation.
Hakoda doesn’t say anything as he waits patiently for Zuko to look up from his phone, but Zuko still feels the need to explain. “Sorry,” he says. “My friend worries. That’s the last check-in for now, though.”
“It’s okay if it isn’t,” Hakoda says, pressing his lips to Zuko’s cheek. “We want you to feel safe, it’s nice that your friend is looking after you.”
The front door is open. Bato has already toed off his shoes and is leaning against the doorway, arms crossed as he watches them.
“Yeah,” Zuko smiles, wrapping his arms around Hakoda’s neck. “Now it’s your turn.”
“With pleasure.”
A mischievous glint in his eyes is all the warning Zuko gets before the older man leans forward and hefts him up into his arms. Zuko, to his horror, squeaks as this happens, quickly squeezing his legs around Hakoda’s hips for more stability. He’s aware of Bato side-stepping them to close the door as Hakoda kicks off his shoes, despite having an armful and his lips occupied with Zuko’s.
They walk for a bit until Hakoda stops. “Sorry, sweetie,” Hakoda says against his lips. “Stairs. Hold on tight!”
Zuko tightens his grip on Hakoda’s shoulders. With anyone else, Zuko might have taken the words as a joke, but Zuko takes the warning at face value and in return feels much more secure when Hakoda starts bounding up the stairs.
He thinks of Mai’s warning about his step counter and wonders how this would read. He lets his head hang as the resulting laughter bubbles up out of his chest. Over Hakoda’s shoulder he sees Bato start striding up behind them. He climbs two stairs at a time to catch up before landing a swat on his husband’s backside, causing Hakoda to let out a comical Yee-ouch!
Their shared laughter fills the hallway, even as Hakoda fumbles with the door to the bedroom (hopefully) and nuzzles against his neck. Zuko half expects to be pinned up against the nearest wall the moment the door flies open, but instead, Hakoda slows down, walking them into the room until he reaches the side of the bed and leans over to deposit Zuko onto it.
Hakoda looks ready to crawl over him and reseal their lips when Bato’s voice stills them both.
“Shoes, hon’.”
And… oh. This is definitely a house rule of some sort. And Bato’s voice sounds different from before. Still low and sensual, but now with a definitive firmness to it.
Zuko turns his head, tipping back a bit to locate the man, and swallows when he finds him.
Reclined in a lush armchair in the corner of the room, fixing Hakoda with a stern stare, is Bato. His long fingers are interlaced over his crossed legs.
Zuko’s already hard as fuck, but the no-nonsense, effortless poise that Bato flipped the switch on is definitely doing it for him as well. The vanity next to the armchair shows Zuko and Hakoda’s reflection. Hakoda is still motionless, but he’s watching his husband with that same playful glint in his eyes from earlier. A silent challenge.
He turns his gaze fully back to the man looming over him, and watches the wheels in Hakoda’s brain churn as he makes his decision.
Something tells Zuko that this game is one that the married couple plays a lot. Hakoda looks like he’s oscillating between complying and stubbornly carrying on. It doesn’t surprise him in the slightest that Hakoda might have a bit of a bratty streak in him.
He wonders how Bato addresses it.
In the end, Hakoda laughs, reaching for Zuko’s shoes. “Sorry, babe,” he says to his husband, who simply grunts in response.
Hakoda takes a hold of his ankle, lifting until the flat of Zuko’s boot is pressing against the older man’s chest.
“He’s pretty sexy when he talks like that, isn’t he?” Hakoda asks him, undoing the laces.
Zuko finds himself nodding, to which Hakoda smiles.
“Definitely one of our favorite ways to play,” he continues, before removing Zuko’s boot. “Hold this—” Zuko accepts the shoe dumbly, elbows resting against the mattress as he holds the boot against his stomach.
Hakoda presses a kiss to the inside of his ankle before lowering Zuko’s boot-liberated foot back down the mattress. He brings the other one up to his chest and sets to work on unlacing this one.
“Often I like when he’s in charge. Gives me a chance to turn off my brain for a bit.”
He nods again. Zuko can definitely understand the sentiment, even if he’s too aroused now to produce any kind of original thought.
“Other times I like to piss him off a bit, rile up that cool exterior. Getting him hot and bothered is a talent of mine.”
“I’m sure,” Zuko agrees, feeling quite warm himself.
Finished, Hakoda lowers Zuko’s other leg back to the bed and takes the pair of shoes. Zuko waits with his legs spread, feet flat against the mattress where Hakoda left them, hoping to wrap around him again when Hakoda returns from depositing his boots in the corner of the room.
He’s absolutely weak for the amount of care Hakoda showed in removing his boots, but he’s also hoping that the rest of their clothing is shed much more efficiently.
Hakoda returns after a moment, sliding up between Zuko’s parted legs and leaning forward to whisper into his ear. Zuko instinctively cups the back of his head, tugging to communicate just where he wants Hakoda’s lips after he’s done saying whatever he wants to say.
“He’s going to watch us fuck,” Hakoda breathes. Zuko whines in response. “Just going to have to sit there and watch while I take you apart.”
Zuko gasps at the promise, nerves alight with the new friction against his groin as Hakoda rolls his hips against him.
“You can—” he stammers, cut off by a groan when the older man repeats the motion.
“Hm?”
“If… you like when he tells you what to do, you can do that,” Zuko says quietly. “That um… yeah, his voice kinda affects me, too. So if you want, do that.”
Hakoda shudders beneath his fingers. He lifts his head to look over to where Bato is sitting, then back down to Zuko.
“You’re sure?”
Zuko nods. “Positive.”
“Okay,” Hakoda grins, then: “In a minute, maybe.”
Then Hakoda presses their lips together again. God, Hakoda sure does like kissing, and Zuko can’t find it in himself to be contrary. Not when Hakoda is nearly flush against him, supporting himself on one elbow up by his head, close enough to tangle his fingers in his hair.
Now that he’s not worried about Hakoda pulling away again, his hands are free to explore. The firm muscle of his arms—Zuko already experienced a nice little display of that strength, and he was not disappointed. A similarly well sculpted chest—when Zuko presses his fingers into the muscle beneath the button down, it only slightly gives beneath his touch.
Hakoda seems to have similar intentions. Fingers skirt down Zuko’s chest until they reach the waistband of his jeans, then slip up under the fabric of his shirt and… well it’s a start. Zuko is hoping for much more skin to skin contact later in the evening, but for now he quite enjoys the way Hakoda’s feather-light touches across his abdomen make the muscle beneath twitch and jump.
Zuko wants to be more creative, really he does. But Hakoda’s fingers on him makes him want to indulge in Hakoda’s skin, so he blindly searches out the collar of Hakoda’s shirt and starts making quick work of the buttons.
He may be horny as hell, but this isn’t his first time and he knows how to unbutton a fucking shirt.
Once he frees the last button, he pushes up against Hakoda lips and breaks off to admire his own handiwork. Hakoda leans back to indulge him, temporarily releasing Zuko to shrug the garment off his shoulders.
“Fuck.”
It’s unfair. Criminal how good Hakoda looks in the soft moonlight. Feeling is one thing, but seeing the broad chest and well defined muscle of his entirely bared upper-half…
He’s stupid hot.
And he has tattoos. Fuck.
It makes Zuko temporarily feel a bit ashamed of his much leaner body. He certainly has gotten himself into semi-decent shape with his regular gym routine, but he’ll never have shoulders like those. Not even if he fucking rows to work every day.
And yet, Zuko knows he’s attractive. He’s been drinking that self-esteem juice and listening to his therapist. Clearly Hakoda sees something in him but all Zuko can think about when he traces the tribal-looking tattoo above Hakoda’s heart is: If this is my new type, I’m fucked. Because no one, fucking no one looks like this.
“Like what you see?” Hakoda coos, grabbing the hand on his chest and guiding it lower. He arches into the touch, rolling his hips between Zuko’s legs at a new angle that—while doing nothing to stimulate his aching hard-on—reminds him of what’s to come if he plays his cards right.
“Mmhm,” Zuko agrees, mouth dry. (Damn, he should’ve drank some of that water when he had the chance. Where did that water bottle go?) He licks his lips, drinking in the sight, before braving eye contact with him again.
Hakoda mirrors him, wetting his own lips before releasing Zuko to slide backward off the bed, standing over him. Zuko leans up onto his elbows, intent on following him when the older man leans back down between Zuko’s legs, pressing a kiss to the inside of his knee. “And how’s the view now?”
Adrenaline spikes through his body. “Pretty damn good,” he breathes.
Hakoda chuckles. “I think I can make it even better.”
He reaches up from between Zuko’s spread legs and starts coaxing Zuko’s shirt up his chest. Blunt nails scrape along his sides as the older man lavishes up the growing path of exposed skin with his tongue.
All the while, Hakoda’s eyes never leave his.
It’s dizzying. Maddening.
Maybe patience isn’t overrated.
One thumb finds his nipple, pressing insistently against the hardening nub while Hakoda’s tongue teases the other.
“Fuck, Hakoda…” Zuko sighs. He shifts his weight onto one arm, reaching up with the other to tangle in Hakoda’s hair. The older man’s tongue flicks rapidly against his nipple, making Zuko keen and tighten the grip on his only anchor. “More,” he pleads breathlessly.
Hakoda happily complies, latching his mouth around Zuko’s suitably tortured nipple and sucking. More curses fall from Zuko’s lips. Fuck it’s so good. Hakoda’s arm is braced behind Zuko’s back, helping to keep him upright as Zuko’s arms start to tremble with the effort. His free hand is occupied with pinching and twisting Zuko’s other nipple, the one that would be jealous if it could for lack of having Hakoda’s lips surrounding it.
A repeated plea for more leads to increased suction. A firm tug against Hakoda’s hair prompts him to switch nipples. The sounds that escape Zuko are far beyond his control, high pitched and needy, but he can’t find it in him to care, not when Hakoda groans against his skin and ruts against the mattress.
He remembers that Bato is quietly watching them, likely getting a bit worked up himself, and the thought only spurs him on more. Bato did say he liked a show.
Moments later, Hakoda leans away to guide Zuko’s shirt up and over his shoulders, tossing it toward the foot of the bed.
Zuko resists the urge to squirm under the man’s intense gaze, the rise and fall of their chests in syncopated rhythms.
“Like porcelain,” Hakoda says, tracing down his chest again.
Zuko frowns at the implication. “I‘m not fragile,” he says, with all the conviction of someone ready to prove it.
“Gorgeous,” Hakoda clarifies, bringing Zuko up short.
The older man grins at him, no doubt noticing the deep flush warming Zuko’s cheeks and chest.
Busted.
“You like that, baby?” Hakoda husks, hovering just out reach of Zuko’s lips. “Like when I tell you how good you look?”
Zuko nods, not quite trusting his own voice.
“Perfect,” Hakoda breathes, leaning to capture Zuko’s bottom lip between his teeth. He tugs before releasing it, drawing another whine out of Zuko. “Because you’re absolutely gorgeous like this, and if telling you that is going to encourage that sexy flush and bring out more of those pretty sounds… well, all the more of a delightful treat for me, then, hm?”
“Please,” Zuko breathes, arching up against Hakoda’s body. He’s not entirely sure what he’s asking for, but he definitely wants more of whatever Hakoda has to give him.
“Fuck, Zuko,” Hakoda says, making Zuko shiver. Hakoda hasn’t cursed nearly as much as Zuko this evening, but each time he does sends a thrill down Zuko’s spine. “Anything you want,” he promises.
And well, he certainly wants more than just to dry hump each other like teenagers, but his instincts lead him to wrap his arms around Hakoda’s neck and pull him flush against him. This time, Hakoda doesn’t have a chance to brace his weight on the mattress, so he offers a hurried apology when his full weight knocks a gasp out of Zuko.
“It’s okay,” Zuko rasps, squeezing his arms to stop Hakoda from pushing himself up. “It’s good,” he keens, turning Hakoda’s face against his. “So good,” he adds.
The pressure, the unyielding weight of Hakoda’s magnificent body on top of his is grounding, soothing, and oh so delicious. Zuko insists on his comfort by rolling his arousal against Hakoda’s, slotting their lips together for the thousandth time so Hakoda can swallow his delighted moans and whines.
“Stop.”
Hakoda breaks the kiss with a deep breath. Zuko reaches for him, shamelessly tugging to pull him back down to feel the bare skin of his chest against his, but Hakoda just cups his cheek, brushing his thumb across his lips. His expression is amused and the gesture says wait.
Bato continues.
“You’re both still wearing far too much clothing,” he says. Zuko tips his head back to look, and sees Bato uncross his long legs, shifting to recline back in the chair.
He’s the picture of control, effortlessly composed. Zuko thinks he’d make a fantastic Bond villain, even if his purple button-down doesn’t quite fit the profile. His eyes pierce Zuko’s for a moment, but then refocus above him.
“Help him out, won’t you, dear?” Bato says, fingers curling beside his cheek.
Zuko’s torn, unsure where to look. He licks his lips in anticipation, and ultimately follows the movement of Hakoda leaning back off of him. Hakoda winks—Told you so— and reaches down to unbutton Zuko's jeans. He’s transfixed, watching Hakoda's deft hands release the button, pinch the zipper—
“Slower.”
“I was going slow.”
“Not from this angle.”
Zuko could scream. This is slow, tortuously slow. Why are both of these men so infuriatingly patient? He tries to push his hips against the bed, groaning in frustration when Hakoda releases the zipper instead of letting it slide down the track with the motion.
“Easy, love,” Hakoda says to him, stilling his hips. “We’ll get you there, don’t worry.”
“Tonight? ”
“You just look so good like this,” he admits, tilting his head against Zuko’s knee. “May I continue?”
Zuko and Bato answer at the same time. “Please–” “Yes.”
Hakoda complies with his husband’s ridiculous directive. Zuko grips the sheets, watching him as his heart thuds rapidly inside his chest. Mercifully, once his jeans are properly loosened, the older man drags his underwear down with them, skimming his nails down his hips and legs along the way. Zuko sighs when his erection springs free, a rush of cool air comes as a relief compared with how stiflingly hot he was earlier. Hakoda eyes it hungrily, but continues his task.
It’s quiet except for their breaths, the drag of fabric, and the hammering between his ears.
And finally Zuko is free of those infuriating clothes. Bare except for the watch he’d promised Mai he’d keep on. Zuko reaches for his cock, his eyes falling to the bulge in Hakoda’s pants, but the older man catches his wrist before he can grip himself.
He doesn’t so much as fucking breathe.
For a delightful moment, Zuko thinks Hakoda might pin his wrist to the bed. He doesn’t even consider reaching for himself with the hand that isn’t in Hakoda’s grasp.
In the end, he’ll never know what Hakoda had originally intended for his wrist, because once he eyes Zuko’s expression—lips parted, eyes wide and likely wild—he smirks and climbs back onto the bed, Zuko’s wrist still in his grip.
Zuko instinctively scoots back to allow Hakoda to properly kneel between his legs. His head doesn’t drop over the opposite edge of the bed, and Zuko quietly allows himself to bless the couple’s decision to have a king-sized mattress.
Smug expression still in place, Hakoda turns Zuko’s wrist over and brings it up to his face. He holds eye contact, then tilts in to press the flat of his tongue at the base of his palm. The hot, wet, contact makes Zuko shiver as the tongue drags up to the heel of his hand, before starting over and repeating the path.
His fingers twitch helplessly in the firm grasp, brushing against Hakoda’s nose. The older man takes this very much as an invitation to mouth at his fingers as well, so that Zuko’s hand is appropriately slick by time Hakoda guides it back to Zuko’s swollen cock.
“Go on,” Hakoda urges, arching forward to hook an arm under Zuko’s thigh. “Show me.”
Holy hell. The only reason Zuko is sure he isn’t dreaming is because he’s not nearly creative enough to imagine something quite as hot as this.
“It really is such a pretty cock, isn’t it?” Bato muses.
“Hmmmm,” Hakoda agrees, nipping the inside of his thigh. “Even nicer from down here.”
Any semblance of shame Zuko might have at feeling so exposed is inevitably chased away by his loud and insistent arousal. He closes his warm, wet palm around his cock and pumps it slowly, root to tip.
Hakoda settles between his thighs again, peppering playful love bites along his inner thigh. It makes Zuko’s breath catch as he continues to pump his cock, squeezing on the upstroke.
It’s delightful, really and truly, but Zuko didn’t come over just to jerk himself off. He could have done that at home by himself. Hell, could have done that in the bar bathroom had the couple’s invitation never been extended.
“Your turn,” Zuko pants, forcing himself to slow down.
“You heard him.”
“Gladly.”
There’s a solid chance that Zuko might die from the way Hakoda is looking at him. Like a buffet on a cheat day. He glides his hand along the underside of Zuko’s thigh, stopping to cup his knee and tilt the limb outward. Hakoda leans forward, parts his lips—
The hand aimed for Hakoda’s soft hair tragically misses its mark. The older man is painfully beyond his grasp again, grinning down at him with both hands at his own waistband.
“Sorry,” he says, looking anything but. “This is what you meant, right?”
Somewhere behind Zuko, Bato snorts.
It… shit, he guesses it was at first. An invitation for Hakoda to match his state of undress, but picturing that talented mouth around his cock quickly shook that thought free.
The older man takes his time undoing the fastener, and Zuko finds himself biting his lip in anticipation, stroking himself idly.
Hakoda drags the waistband down slowly, hips swaying, a private show for him and Bato. His confidence and playfulness are so incredibly alluring, and when coupled with a face and body like his… shit, Zuko really needs to thank whichever spirit gave him the balls to approach him earlier tonight.
The older man stops just below the dip of his hips. Zuko can see the very base of his shaft emerging from dark curls.
“Hakoda, come on…” Zuko whines, laying it on thick.
“Can you blame me?” Hakoda grins. “Two sexy men eyeing me like the last ice cube on a hot day... why wouldn’t I want to draw that out?”
“I’m not here to look,” Zuko returns, leaning up onto his elbows again. Even when he’s being a fucking tease Hakoda is work of art. “Want to touch you… fuck, I wanna blow you.”
Hakoda’s eyes go wide for a second, but then the smirk is back in place. “Do you?” he asks. “Well, I admit that is rather difficult with my pants still on…”
It’s still far too slow for his taste, but soon enough Hakoda’s thick cock slaps against his belly and his pants are tossed carelessly to the floor. The older man climbs up onto the bed, kneeling beside him, and starts stroking himself. Hakoda hums at the contact, letting his eyes slip closed, and dammit Zuko wants a taste. Wants to make Hakoda feel good but naturally they have slightly different ideas for how the night will proceed, as one moment Zuko’s starting to roll onto his side toward his objective, the next Hakoda is pressing him back against the mattress with his knees bracketing Zuko’s hips and a broad hand wrapped around both of their cocks.
“This is what you want, right Zuko?” He punctuates his words with a shallow thrust into his hand, gliding deliciously against Zuko’s cock. Zuko groans, his words taking another quick vacation while Hakoda continues. “This right here, in that pretty mouth of yours?”
“Mmhm.”
“God, Bato, look at him...” Hakoda groans, stilling his hips to stroke them both. “Pretty, pretty, gorgeous. Pretty mouth, pretty eyes… god just a fuckable face.”
The rambling praise sends a chill through Zuko just as much as the pressure around his cock. Much of what Hakoda has shown of himself has been precise— measured, intentional if a bit teasing—but that low and guttural sound excites him. A promise of seeing the man let loose. Of Zuko being the one to make that happen.
“Would you like that, Zuko?”
Bato.
“Huh?” Zuko pants, breaking from his trance to meet Bato’s gaze in the vanity mirror.
“Would you like my husband to fuck your face?”
“Fuck— yes.”
“Tell him that, then,” he orders, gesturing above Zuko with a tilt of his chin.
It’s the first time Bato’s told Zuko to do something, and the resulting rush of adrenaline is enough to stop Zuko from complying with the order right away.
Hakoda steals his attention back with a firm stroke, a delicious twist of the wrist and that hard heat against his own. “Something to tell me, baby?” he reminds.
Mouth suddenly dry, Zuko licks his lips, nodding dumbly before the plea springs forth. “I want you to fuck my face,” he breathes, dimly aware of how eagerly he echoes Bato’s words.
Hakoda surges forward, capturing him in a searing kiss. His tongue communicates just how much Hakoda supports the idea. He’s still stroking them both in earnest, and Zuko’s not going to come early like some kind of teenager, so he pushes against Hakoda until he’s rolling them both over toward the headboard. The older man groans in response, and Zuko mournfully breaks the kiss to allow Hakoda to slide out from under him and prop himself up against the pillows.
It’s not how he pictured it— Hakoda standing and Zuko on his knees next to the bed—but Zuko would take just about any contortion-able position to get that cock in his mouth. He curls himself up at Hakoda’s side and finally wraps his fingers around his length, stroking him like he would himself. The older man cups his cheek, tilting his chin up to gain better access to his neck. This time Hakoda tells him just how he wants his mouth— harder, more, fuck…like that —and Zuko rewards him by thumbing at the slit, working the beading precum down the shaft. Or perhaps Zuko is the one being rewarded for his efforts, gasping as Hakoda applies that perfect suction that will certainly leave a dark souvenir for the next day.
Either way, all parties involved are having a great time. He blinks his eyes open and finds Bato—now in Zuko’s direct line of sight—watching them. Elbow propped up, sharp chin resting on his closed fist and just watching.
Zuko watches him in turn as he slides down Hakoda’s body, leaving a few inattentive kisses down his chest, abdomen, before finally landing in his lap. He sees the way Bato subtly tightens his jaw, chest pausing on a deep breath before releasing it as Zuko lowers himself over his husband’s cock.
Hakoda tenderly brushes his bangs aside. Zuko is dizzy on the man’s scent, drunk off Bato’s heady stare. He knows he’s putting on quite the show, and Hakoda seems to be enjoying the behind the scenes action. The obscene sounds are far from bothersome, Zuko loves the delightful stretch of Hakoda’s girth between his lips, the soft praises and curses only spurring him on more.
Zuko’s got the head of his cock between his lips, teasing between the tip with his tongue when he finally looks away from Bato long enough to appreciate just how much he has Hakoda worked up. It’s unfair. Zuko feels so far gone with his task, dropping easily into the routine of one of his favorite parts of sex, but Hakoda is still rigid and reigned in beneath his fingertips. Stunningly gorgeous and visibly enjoying himself, but Zuko wants more.
He pops off with one final lick up his shaft, bats his eyelashes at the older man, and asks: “So?” He parts his lips and mouths at his cock. The taste so fresh on his tongue, Zuko’s dying to dive in for seconds, but he’s hoping Hakoda is at least half as impatient as he is in this regard.
“You’re sure?” Hakoda asks, caressing his cheek.
“Positive.”
“Okay,” he says, gliding to tangle in his locks. “You’ll pinch me if you need me to stop.”
It’s not a question, so Zuko doesn’t treat it like one. The care and tenderness that Hakoda regards him with is so fucking sexy. Zuko’s a far cry from the teenager who’d let himself be used like a sex toy, but the occasional hookup still tries to guilt him or give him shit for needing to slow down.
And Zuko’s gotten better at asking for things, but it’s still refreshing to not have to. To have a considerate partner who wants him to feel safe and prioritizes that safety over his own animalistic pursuit of pleasure.
He should probably look into why the knowledge that Hakoda wouldn’t use him makes Zuko want to be used by him.
But who has the time? He’s about to get his face fucked by the one of the hottest DILFs he’s ever laid eyes on.
“I will,” Zuko promises, parting his lips obediently, settling his hand on Hakoda’s thigh. He waits until Hakoda’s hand guides his mouth back down over his cock.
Like everything with Hakoda, it starts out slow. Zuko’s determined to prove that he can take more, so when Hakoda’s cock slips further along his tongue, Zuko breathes through it and soaks up the wide eyed look he earns from it. Hakoda pauses, watching, waiting for Zuko to signal to stop, but resumes the upward cant of his hips once it’s clear that Zuko won’t.
At some point, Hakoda rolls them over so that Zuko doesn’t have to hold himself up by his elbows anymore. Unfortunately, that also means he can’t see Bato anymore.
But it hardly bothers him for long, because Hakoda has a delicious grip in Zuko’s hair that makes him whine when he tugs. Zuko cups his thigh, and the older man finally starts rocking into him. Fully fucking Zuko’s open mouth, pushing down his throat with each increasingly off-tempo slide.
Hakoda’s legs are his anchor. He breathes through his nose, keeps his tongue low in his mouth as the wet thrusting rings loud in his ears. There’s not much he can actually see of Hakoda at this intimate distance, but there’s no doubt in his mind that the man is absolutely stunning.
“Oh fuck, Zuko,” he curses, tugging his hair. “You gotta pinch me, sweetheart, or else I’m going to come down that gorgeous throat of yours.”
Zuko does not pinch him. He hums lowly, stroking Hakoda’s thigh and trying to peer up enough to meet the man’s gaze—but he will absolutely not be pinching him because he needs Hakoda’s come more than he needs coffee on a Monday morning.
“You sure you can handle that?” Bato asks.
Hakoda groans, a throaty chest sound. Zuko mmhms as best as he can around the man’s cock.
“Not you, Zuko,” Bato chides. “You, ‘Koda. You’re not exactly young and spry anymore.”
A frustrated sound above him. “Fuck, baby, if you could just see him like this, right now,” Hakoda says breathlessly. “You wouldn’t be asking me if I could get it up for a round two.”
Bato makes a thoughtful sound, and for an awful moment, Zuko thinks he isn’t going to give his husband permission to do so.
“Go ahead then,” Bato says finally. “Give the good man what he wants.”
A frantic thrust or so later, Hakoda delivers on his promise. Zuko feels the man shudder under his fingers, his hands tightening in Zuko’s hair and a pornographic groan stuttering through his parted lips—
Yeah. Zuko can see it. As if Zuko would give up the chance to see this. Hakoda’s grip on him is tight, but there’s no resistance when Zuko pulls back so that the head of Hakoda's cock lies pulsing on his tongue, Zuko looking up at him from beneath his lashes. But Hakoda’s eyes are closed and the man is gone with pleasure.
Oh fuck. Zuko did that. Made this rock hard fucking DILF go rigid then boneless in such a gorgeous show for two.
Hakoda rolls onto his back once he’s spent, his cock slipping from Zuko’s lips, the vice on Zuko’s hair turning to a caress. He pants, looking at Zuko, then Bato, back at Zuko. He beckons Zuko closer and there’s not a force on the planet that could keep Zuko from kissing him.
It’s tragic though that there’s no way to look at Hakoda while kissing him. So he does eventually pull away from the tender slide of their lips and tongue to lean back and admire the scene beneath him.
Fuck. Bato gets to look at this everyday. No wonder the man likes being in control. Zuko’s always loved giving head, but this rush of pride and adrenaline is even more stirring with Hakoda pliant beneath him, shivering under Zuko’s exploratory touches. Tracing a lazy path up and down as far as he can reach without compromising the stunning view.
When Hakoda catches his breath, he catches Zuko’s wandering hand in a loose grip. Harder, Zuko thinks, that adrenaline spiking again at the thought of Hakoda holding him down.
He meets Hakoda’s gaze. His smile is content, lopsided.
“It’s your turn, love,” he says, voice like honey.
“I think you underestimated the boy, dear,” Bato says, no amount of amusement hidden from his voice.
“All the more reason for me to return the favor,” Hakoda grins, releasing Zuko’s wrist to trace down his chest, stopping at one nipple to tease with his blunt fingernail. “Lie down for me?”
Hakoda scoots back and Zuko takes his vacated place against the pillows. His shoulders have barely sunken in before Hakoda is on him, leaving those sweet delicious kisses that Zuko both loathes and loves; they’re so fleeting, like they’re barely there, but it’s exactly what makes the fine hairs on his arms stand on end.
“Where?” Hakoda whispers, quiet enough that Zuko thinks the question is directed at him for a moment. Then he belatedly registers having heard Bato’s stern voice, though he can’t recall what was said to prompt the question.
“Neck,” Bato replies.
Zuko appreciates the pseudo-warning, but it doesn’t help him brace himself against the oncoming sensations any better.
It goes on like that for a while. Bato directing him down his chest, then back up to his shoulders and down his arms. Hakoda quietly follows the directions of his GPS, mapping routes with his lips that Zuko had never taken before. Who knew that a kiss on the inside of his elbow could make the muscles of his stomach twitch?
And Zuko surely couldn’t be a trembling mess over kisses that barely skirt near any actual erogenous zones but here he is. Stirring between the sound of Bato’s voice and Zuko’s gasps and Hakoda’s lips.
And then it stops.
Hakoda leans back, leaving one last kiss across the back of Zuko’s knuckles before lowering his hand back to the mattress.
Hakoda traces Zuko’s lips with his fingers, and Zuko stares, entranced. “I want to kiss him again,” he says.
“Not yet,” Bato says sternly, voice light and hard at the same time. “Start at his jaw, down...”
Hakoda leans down over him, Zuko covers his hands where they’re braced against the mattress.
The kisses land as directed, his brow, cheek, bridge of his nose, then the tip of it, then—
“Stop.”
Zuko whimpers, squeezing Hakoda’s hands. He could close the distance himself but he needs to know what Bato wants Hakoda to do next, because the moment Zuko locks their lips he knows all else will fade away.
“Touch him, love,” Bato says.
Where? Zuko thinks, but then Hakoda’s hand slides out from under Zuko’s and wraps around his cock, pumping him slowly.
“Now?” Hakoda asks, brushing Zuko's nose with his own.
“Not yet,” Bato repeats. “Slower, broader strokes. That’s it— now just the tip. You two make quite the sight.”
“Thanks baby,” Hakoda says softly. “Now?”
Bato ignores him. “Give him a little more,” he says, and Zuko whimpers as Hakoda increases the pressure. “But still slow— there you go, love. Tell him what you think.”
“I think you’re too quiet, sweetheart,” Hakoda says, now nosing against his cheek so the words fall right next to his ear. Zuko’s other hand is lonely, so he grips the sheets. “Wanna fuck you properly, but first I want to hear those gorgeous sounds you make.”
It’s not a hard request to follow, especially when Hakoda twists just right and the cry slips free.
“Just like that,” Hakoda praises.
“Perfect,” Bato adds. “Now the corner of his mouth, love. Go on. Tell him he’s beautiful.”
“He is,” Hakoda agrees, just before pecking so close to his lips. “You are. Beautiful .”
Zuko’s chest fills with emotion. He’s already so strung out and yet these men insist on taking him apart with tenderness too, of all things. As if Zuko was genuinely a part of their very modern throuple instead of just a night visitor.
“Again.”
“Beautiful.” The other corner.
“Again.”
“Beautiful.” Beside his eye.
“Again.”
Hakoda retraces each path and Zuko’s going to fucking scream but the compliments are so sincere and reverent and so freely given, they continue long after Bato stops requesting them.
Finally—
“Kiss him.”
But the moment Hakoda’s mouth covers his—
“Faster.”
Hakoda’s hand picks up and Zuko’s body snaps back to rigid attention. Hakoda eagerly swallows his cries and Zuko latches onto Hakoda’s neck to leverage himself enough to rock into Hakoda’s grasp.
He’s so close. So so close and then fucking Bato stops them again. Hakoda squeezes around the base of his cock and Zuko breaks the kiss with a strangled cry of frustration, the sound desperate and high pitched in a way that would normally make him want to crawl into a hole and die.
Right now he’d rather just kill Bato.
He rocks against Hakoda, trying to get that slide back, but then Hakoda’s knee presses against his and effectively stills him.
“He said to wait, darling,” Hakoda says warmly, and maybe a bit smugly.
Zuko doesn’t have to turn his head to see Bato. The tall man is appraising them, leaning forward in the chair tapping his fingers against the arm rest. When he notices Zuko’s gaze, he smirks at him.
“How about you, Zuko, can you handle an extra orgasm?”
He can’t help it, Zuko snorts, turning back to Hakoda. “Is he asking me if I can keep up with you?”
“Mmm. It would appear so.”
“Fuck yeah.” Zuko breathes. “Please Hakoda, just a little more—” he squirms under Hakoda, still effectively pinned but hoping the minute movement is enough to convey his urgency.
But then Hakoda releases his cock, bringing a finger to his own mouth before reaching down between Zuko’s thighs.
The wet digit traces along his entrance, and Zuko gasps, eyes wide.
“Sure thing,” Hakoda says. “But perhaps I can have a taste first?”
“Oh fuck,” Zuko whines, clutching Hakoda close before loosening his grip as the words sink in. “Yeah, absolutely, shit that’s so hot.”
Hakoda laughs, pecking his nose before pulling away to settle between Zuko’s legs. He passes the older man one of the decorative throw pillows as requested, then arches up a bit to allow Hakoda to slide it under his lower back.
Once Hakoda is sprawled onto his elbows, Zuko has that unobstructed view of Bato again.
The taller man’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, as if he’s curled his lower lip inward to subtly trap between his teeth.
Hakoda parts Zuko’s cheeks with his hands, and then he’s leaning in and while Zuko’s head is tips back against the pillows. The first, tentative press of Hakoda’s tongue makes Zuko keen. The next several are not so tentative, and Zuko desperately anchors himself in Hakoda’s hair, his legs shaking with the effort of holding the position against the onslaught of pleasure.
Hakoda’s tongue is wet and hot, and Zuko groans as it flicks leisurely at his entrance. He spurs Hakoda on with curse-laden praises, barely managing to keep himself from grinding down onto Hakoda’s mouth.
When Hakoda pulls back to criticize Zuko’s dirty mouth, he receives a heel to the shoulder. “You’re one to talk,” Zuko replies.
But Hakoda takes the offending ankle and guides it outward, dangling his foot off the edge of the bed. Hakoda surges forward, yanking Zuko’s hips so that he slides off the pillows and sends him sprawling flat against the mattress. Hakoda is suddenly lifting his lower half in the air, locking his arms around his thighs and lapping insistently between his legs. It’s quick and wet and absolutely filthy sounding.
Zuko’s lost any kind of filter or even awareness of the noises escaping him but Hakoda’s tongue feels so fucking good. Hakoda wedges his face between his cheeks for better, even more intimate access, shifting Zuko’s weight. Hakoda resumes tugging at Zuko’s cock and before Zuko can even put together the full picture of what just fucking happened, ropes of Zuko’s own come are splattering his chest and chin. He slams his eyes shut and Hakoda’s tongue flicks insistently against him as Zuko quivers with his orgasm, then gasps for breath as he begins to float back down.
The older man gently eases his hips back down to the mattress so that Zuko can fully melt as he catches his breath. When Hakoda’s tongue meets his skin again, it’s to lap up Zuko’s spent from the various places across his chest and face where it’s splattered. Hakoda leans away, granting him a moment to gather himself with an affectionate pat on the thigh that makes Zuko twitch.
Zuko opens his eyes, he watches as Hakoda sits back onto his heels, his cock thick and alert with interest. Not quite as hard as it was when he was fucking Zuko’s open mouth, but well on its way.
He can feel Hakoda looking down at… probably his face? But Zuko’s studying the rest of him. Every dip and hard edge, the deposits of softness at his waist and the juncture of his hips.
But when Hakoda turns his head to the side, Zuko follows the movement fast enough to catch Hakoda’s face harden before mouthing Don’t.
He finds Bato, who mouths right back, I know.
This makes Zuko frown, puzzled. What was Hakoda trying to say?
The longer he looks at Bato, though, the more it makes sense.
His white-knuckled grip on the chair. The fisted hand against his cheek. The tight line of his jaw and the way his knees are pressed together. The dark blush high on his sharp cheekbones.
He’s reclined back in the chair, but he looks far from relaxed.
But his legs are so stupidly long. The way they’re arranged in front of him, combined with Zuko’s prone position on the bed, prevent him from seeing if there’s any change in his lap.
Or rather, to confirm Zuko’s suspicions.
He tilts his chin up, straining his neck a little without pushing onto his elbows, and he finds that he is right— Bato is rock hard in his jeans. His criminally tight, very-much-zipped jeans.
“It’s okay,” Zuko says, once he’s regained most of his breath. “Bato, it’s okay,” he clarifies.
Two heads swivel to regard him, then the men share a skeptical look.
“No, Zuko,” Hakoda says. “Don’t worry, I already told you, Bato’s okay with watching.”
Bato nods. The two regard him with such open sincerity and concern, and Zuko’s too spent at the moment to let his temper flare the way he normally would at such a stare. “We’re not going back on our word,” Bato assures, settling back into a more comfortable position.
Zuko licks his lips, pointedly looking down toward Bato’s lap then back to his face. The way Bato’s eyes widen tells Zuko that he catches the movement.
“I want to see,” Zuko rasps pointedly, arching his back and watching Bato with interest. Some clarity comes back to Zuko, and he reaches up for Hakoda, who catches his hand against his cheek. Zuko thumbs at his cheekbone, curiously lingering over a dip along the edge, one that implies a previous fracture, perhaps. “Is that okay?” he asks him.
Hakoda smiles, kisses the inside of his palm. “Of course,” he says simply. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” Zuko assures, pressing his thumb against Hakoda’s lips, which the man pecks immediately. It draws a lazy smile to both their faces.
An idea comes to him, and the smile spreads into a grin.
“I want to watch him touch himself,” Zuko says, the thought stirring his arousal and bringing the sultry edge back to his voice. He curls his fingers around the back of Hakoda’s neck, drawing the man in. Hakoda follows with a grin of his own, and Zuko parts his legs to allow Hakoda closer before looping his other arm over his shoulder. He speaks close to Hakoda’s ear, wondering if Bato can read lips just as well as he can. “Want to watch him jerk off while you finger me,” he breathes.
Zuko turns his head, and yeah, Bato definitely got that message. Both men shiver, and Zuko nips at Hakoda’s ear, humming his approval.
“Like that idea?” Zuko asks them, head tilting back to where Bato is sitting.
Of course they do. Zuko’s half hard himself at the prospect and Zuko might not be the portrait of self-esteem, but he’s been here for every part of the night so far. And yeah. If Zuko had wanted to bang both of these men, he definitely would’ve gotten the green light.
“You’ve got my approval,” Hakoda says, planting another kiss to his brow before disentangling himself from Zuko. He rolls off the side of the mattress to rummage through the nightstand.
Zuko sits up, reaching down to give his cock a few strokes. He hums inquisitively as he holds Bato’s gaze.
Bato glances downward before reaching for the top button of his shirt. “You’re sure?” he asks, twirling the fastener between his fingers.
Okay. The check-ins were endearing earlier, but now Zuko’s starting to feel a bit like a scolded child.
“Didn’t I already answer that?” Zuko counters, keeping the temper from his voice.
Throwing a tantrum wouldn’t do well to deliver that not-a-child point.
Zuko arranges himself so that he’s kneeling with his body square to Bato’s. He slowly, slowly lowers himself onto his elbows, parting his legs just a bit to really arch his hips into the air.
Bato takes a similar pace, unbuttoning the shirt slowly, each time pulling apart to reveal just the smallest glimpses of sharp collarbones and a lean chest.
Hakoda climbs up behind him on the bed, bottle of lube in hand, and briefly appreciates Zuko’s ass with a nip and a pat before Zuko hears the sound of the bottle being uncapped and squeezed.
Bato’s shirt falls open, hanging loose around his shoulders. Zuko can finally see more of that tantalizing, dark skin.
How often does that stupid little armchair play into their sexcapades? Does Bato sink to his knees and put his head in his husband’s lap, bobbing to take his cock down his slender throat? Does Hakoda sit astride Bato’s lap and ride him while Bato leaves dark marks on his neck and digs blunt fingernails into his working hips?
Do they share guests in that chair? Does some lucky guy get to lean over, brace himself on the arms of the chair while one of them fucks him behind, the other sliding over to shove his cock into Zuko’s waiting—
No.
Not Zuko’s mouth. Some other guy’s.
...
...Okay.
Okay. Maybe Zuko’s. Maybe a repeat visit at some future date—
Bato pops open the fly of his dark jeans, shimmying just the slightest bit before freeing his cock. Long and hard, blunt head glistening with beading precum. Already. Fuck, from just watching the two of them.
—Or maybe tonight. Maybe Bato’s okay with just watching but Zuko’s lizard brain is quick to picture his body between the two men. And while that definitely looks good in his mind’s eye, the potential of making it a reality sounds even more appetizing at this point.
A slick finger circles his entrance before slowly pushing in. Zuko hums his appreciation, finally starting to get somewhere. Hakoda takes his time with the first one, gradually pumping and sinking to the last knuckle, before slipping out to add a second finger.
Zuko breathes through the tedious process, watching Bato spread his precum down his shaft to stroke himself leisurely. Preparation is generally Zuko’s least favorite part, so he pats himself on the back for his brilliant idea to make sure it’s time well spent.
Hakoda scissors his entrance, Zuko feels the muscle start to stretch with the promise of a much bigger stretch to come and manages to keep his body relaxed despite the thrill of anticipation. The man's fingers sink deeper, searching. Zuko whines a breathy sound when Hakoda finds his goal, those delightfully thick fingers stroking against Zuko’s prostate.
“That good, baby?” Hakoda breathes, repeating the motion.
Yeah. Yeah it’s really fucking good. “Mmmhm,” he sighs. Zuko loves the feeling of being stroked there; some of his favorite toys are designed to do just that. But not many of his past partners have taken the time to make sure this part is enjoyable, treating it more like a stepping stone ‘to get to the good part’, hence why he mentally categorizes it as tedious until proven otherwise.
He honestly should have known that Hakoda would be good at this bit, too. Partners like him make this one of the best parts of sex. Whenever Zuko tops or fingers a guy, he always tries to make this part enjoyable for his partner, can frankly bring himself to full hardness just turning them into a writhing mess.
Hopefully Hakoda feels the same way.
Bato looks positively edible the way he’s pumping himself, watching the two of them with a heady, lidded gaze. “You can do better than that, Zuko,” he says, deep voice vibrating low with the added lilt of arousal coloring it. God it’s so good seeing him get worked up. “My husband would like an answer, please.”
Hakoda increases the pressure and Zuko’s hips push backward of their own volition. He feels unsteady, even with so much of his weight forward on his elbows, the cry coming as if Hakoda simply pushed it out of him. “So good,” he clarifies, his head lolling to the side a bit. “Fuck Hakoda, you make it so good.”
“Better,” Bato praises, his voice teetering on the edge of a growl.
Zuko feels like a fucking virgin the way Hakoda makes him whimper, expertly working inside of him and making his body sing. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’s now fully hard again.
A third finger eases in and Zuko’s sure that the act is just about the stretch at this point, but Hakoda is leaning over his body to whisper his own words of encouragement against Zuko’s skin, and his fingers are still striking that delicious bundle of nerves.
It takes all of Zuko’s effort to keep his eyes open and on Bato, as Hakoda continues to punch needy, breathy sounds out of his open hanging mouth. His lips are dry every time he brings them together to follow Bato’s reminders to Tell him or Answer the question, Zuko, but each time he remoistens them the words and curses follow quickly.
Hakoda seems to have the same idea when he adds a fourth finger, but at this point Zuko’s dying for the man’s cock. He pleads with Hakoda to ease up just so that he doesn’t come again before they get to the good stuff.
Okay so everything tonight is good stuff but Zuko’s had Hakoda’s cock between his lips and he’s definitely going to go insane if he gets robbed of the chance to feel it filling him.
“Please Hakoda,” he repeats, pushing himself up off his elbows. “I’m ready, I need it.”
He looks over his shoulder at Hakoda, who eases his fingers out of Zuko slowly, watching his face with a fond yet heated expression. Zuko bites his lip, but he knows Hakoda can feel the way he trembles under the hand at his hip.
“Okay, sweetheart,” Hakoda smiles, placing a kiss at the small of his back.
Zuko sits back on his heels a bit while Hakoda reaches to fumble with the condom. Zuko’s gaze finds Bato again. His hand has stilled, a loose grip on his cock while he catches his breath. Zuko studies him shamelessly, making no effort to conceal the places his gaze lingers.
“May I?” Bato asks, pulling at the open front of his shirt.
Zuko smirks. Bato—who’s been in control practically the whole evening—is asking him for permission. It’s hard not to enjoy the rush of the implied power.
He considers saying No just to feel the firm command on his tongue, but he truly wouldn’t be doing himself any favors that way. He’s already admitted to himself that he wants to see more of Bato’s skin, and he doesn’t want to make Bato feel as if his interest is waning. He schools the smirk into an indulgent smile, gesturing when he insists “Please.”
Hakoda returns, hands smoothing down his shoulders and leaving another kiss behind his ear while Bato removes the garment. There’s nothing inherently sexual about the way Bato leans forward to ease it down and off his shoulders, but all Zuko cares about is the freshly revealed muscle and pockets of softness. He’s still fit but doesn’t have the borderline ridiculous six-pack his husband has. He’s long and lean and still absolutely gorgeous to look at, up to and including the flush dusting his cheeks. Bato sighs in relief when the garment flutters to the floor, rolling his shoulders against the free air and he’s honestly, truly a revelation.
“Gorgeous, right?” Hakoda says against his cheek.
“Yeah,” Zuko breathes. “You’re pretty lucky.”
“So are you,” Bato tells him, nodding at them. He takes his cock in hand once again, leaning back in the armchair.
“Don’t I know it,” Zuko agrees, leaning forward onto his hands and knees.
Zuko watches as Hakoda sits back a bit on his haunches, applies a bit more lube to his cock, and then kneels up behind him. He feels hands on his hips, then Hakoda’s blunt cock pressing between his cheeks. “Ready, love?” Hakoda asks, rubbing his thumbs over the dip of his back.
When Zuko confirms that he is, Hakoda pulls back and then eases forward, slowly inching in.
And yes, Zuko’s body is, in fact, ready, but he certainly should have mentally braced himself for the delicious stretch of Hakoda’s girth sinking into him. It’s a snug, tight fit and Zuko already hears himself moan as the man starts to fill him up. His head drops on a breathy sigh, and when he opens his eyes he can see his own cock standing at attention between his legs. He watches as Hakoda’s dark, muscular thighs ease toward him, occasionally pulling back just the slightest bit before sinking deeper.
On one particular draw, Zuko practically hisses at the slide of the muscle being dragged outward, but the forward push that follows it makes him shiver in delight.
Soon, Hakoda is finally sheathed inside him, his forehead pressing into Zuko’s shoulder as the two of them compose themselves. Bato is in front of them, watching with rapt attention, fingers twitching subtly where they’re wrapped his cock.
He’s waiting for them.
“Let me know when,” Hakoda says, kissing his shoulder before taking a deep breath, lifting his head from Zuko’s shoulder.
Zuko takes a second to check in with himself, making sure his weight is evenly distributed because the last thing he wants is to collapse from muscle strain, of all things. When he’s sure he’s steady, he tips forward a bit before pushing his hips back against Hakoda’s, the movement punching a groan from the both of them.
Yep. This angle is good. Very, very good.
“When,” Zuko says, fisting the sheets— yes, he’s learned from his mistakes. He’s bracing himself this time because he’s thrumming with anticipation and hoping that Hakoda’s ready to fuck him with reckless abandon.
Hakoda draws back, just the head of his cock inside of him, before easing back in in one fluid motion. Fuck, it’s so nice. He does it again, smoothly and fully sheathing himself inside with each thrust like Zuko does when he warms himself up alone in bed at night. Zuko licks his lips, arching his back just so, the new angle making Hakoda fucking hiss when he sinks in again.
That rigid self-control is back, or at least that seems to be what Bato is aiming for— the way he strips himself slowly with long, root to tip strokes that imitate Hakoda's pace.
The two of them are pressed together, Hakoda holding him by his chest and hip as they rock into each other. Hakoda’s sharp, hard thrusts fill him so fully and Zuko is sure he can’t take Hakoda any deeper until the man snaps forward again.
His mind is a jumble, the heat of the moment phasing out any thought that isn’t faster, harder, more. Hakoda’s breath is hot against his cheek, and Zuko reaches back to plead some permutation of the words buzzing around his empty skull. The hand tangled in Hakoda’s hair quickly becomes an anchor as Hakoda seizes his hips to comply with his breathless request.
“Oh fuck,” Zuko whines, his eyes slipping shut again. There’s only here and now and a hot body against his. Heavy breathing against his cheek and somewhere vaguely in front of him. A deliciously thick cock pounding into him, the thrum of adrenaline and pleasure simmering under his skin.
It’s so fucking good and exactly what he imagined it would be like.
A hand leaves Zuko’s hip to wrap around his cock and Zuko’s eyes fly open. Bato has sunk into his chair, his jeans having slipped lower below those sharp hip bones, feet pressed firmly into the ground as he thrusts shallowly into the hand pumping him. His mouth is hanging open, quiet curses falling from his lips between sharp groans that answer Hakoda’s and Zuko’s, an equal partner in the conversation.
But when Hakoda’s hand speeds up, Zuko knows it’ll be over soon. He’s never been especially coherent after two orgasms in one night.
Before he can register having made a decision, he’s grabbed a hold of Hakoda’s wrist and is squeezing it. “Wait,” he says needily.
Hakoda stills, but clearly with great effort. The hand at Zuko’s cock retreats in favor of cupping his cheek. Wide blue eyes meet his, etched with concern. “Are you okay?” Hakoda asks.
“Kiss me,” he says instead.
It wasn’t what he thought was going to come out of his mouth, but once the words are in the air he can’t be mad about it.
Hakoda slots their lips together, their bodies locked with Hakoda still inside of him. The kiss is slow and sloppy, a wet slide of lips and tongue and quiet hums. It’s passionate and heady and feels a lot like how floating might feel.
Somewhere in the middle of this, Zuko remembers why he stopped Hakoda in the first place.
When Zuko tugs on his hair—not in the fun way, but by guiding Hakoda’s head backward and pulling away a bit himself—Hakoda opens his eyes and breaks the kiss.
“I wanna ride you,” he says deliriously, diving to nip at Hakoda’s jaw.
It should be illegal how bereft Zuko feels when Hakoda slides out of him, but it’s all the more reason to tackle him against the pillows and sit astride his lap as soon as possible.
For all the laughter and joy interspersing the night, Hakoda, surprisingly, doesn’t laugh when Zuko pushes him back. His eyes twinkle, a bit mischievous, but there’s lust in his expression and Zuko realizes that the show of power turns him on a bit.
Good to know.
Hakoda scooches back so that he’s sitting upright, a few pillows at his back as a buffer between him and the headboard. Zuko swings a leg over his lap, twin grips on the rung at either side of Hakoda’s head.
But instead of reaching down to line Hakoda’s cock up with his entrance, Zuko tilts his hips back before rocking to slide his own cock against it. He never thought that at any point he’d be the tease, but Hakoda just looks delicious beneath his half lidded gaze, their cocks sliding together in a pantomime of what’s to come.
(It’s not quite as nice as when Hakoda’s bare skin was against him earlier, but even the slicked up condom glides with enough friction against him that Zuko can’t be all too disappointed.)
Zuko hears himself ask for Hakoda’s hands, and surprises himself when he catches them, fingers interlocking, to press them into the wall just over the top edge of the headboard. Hakoda’s arms are still bent at the elbows, but the wall is just far enough behind him to make the man arch his back and push his hips down so that his cock slides against Zuko’s balls.
Bato pants his name, but Zuko’s too distracted kissing the tense muscles of Hakoda’s arms to do more than hum in response.
“Beautiful,” Bato continues, grunting. “If you could see yourselves…”
“Hm,” Zuko sighs, canting his hips again. “But I like my view as is.”
“Me too,” Hakoda smirks, squeezing his hands. “Bossy’s a good look on you, sweetheart.”
“Submissive’s a good look on you,” Zuko replies, dipping to seal their lips again.
“Only for you, love,” Hakoda says before closing the distance.
“Liar,” Bato snorts.
If Zuko had a quarter for every kiss they’ve given each other tonight, he figures he’d be richer than…well, someone he’s not going to kill the mood to think about.
Hakoda groans when a wayward roll of the hips pushes his cock against Zuko’s entrance.
Right, yes. Zuko was going to ride Hakoda’s cock, not just his lap.
He mournfully disentangles his fingers from Hakoda’s to steady himself on one shoulder, reaching between them to grab Hakoda’s cock with his other hand. Hakoda cups his upper back, watching him with wide eyes as Zuko lines himself up and sinks down onto his cock.
It’s almost too much but also it’s just right. Zuko presses his forehead against Hakoda’s, steadying his legs under him before tilting up to rock down onto the older man’s cock.
A voice that sounds a lot like his groans and curses like an overpaid pornstar. He erratically fucks himself in Hakoda’s lap, his elbows resting on Hakoda’s shoulders, fingers tangled in his hair. Here and again his shameless bouncing pushes the head of Hakoda’s cock against his prostate, and Zuko feverishly chases the angle until he runs out of steam and has to adjust again.
Through it all, Hakoda’s mouth is hot on his neck. Sucking, nipping. The wet smacking of his lips against Zuko’s skin quiet compared to the sounds of Zuko’s impassioned cries and their bodies coming together.
But when Zuko turns his head indulgently into Hakoda’s path up his jaw, he sees Bato again.
Bato. Bato. Bato. How the fuck can he keep forgetting about Bato?
Bato, who somewhere along the way pushed his pants down enough so that they’re bunched around one ankle, his other leg slung over the arm of the chair and Zuko can finally see everything. While Hakoda’s musclely and soft in just the right places, Bato is all sharp edges and long everything from his fingers to the gorgeous cock they’re wrapped around.
Bato, who is getting off watching Zuko ride his husband’s cock.
Bato, whose tongue darts out to moisten lips he hasn’t tasted. Who hasn’t touched him other than to offer a hand out of the Uber and just barely when he’d plucked Zuko’s drink from his grasp so that he could wrap his arms around Hakoda’s neck and grind their bodies together.
Fuck. There was definitely a reason why Zuko didn’t want a threesome. It seems small and far away at the moment. Something about being intimidating, a logistical issue of too many hands and too many cocks but that was then and this is now.
And Bato hadn’t even grinded against his own palm until Zuko gave him express permission. He’s been riding that high— that rush of power and confidence— since the first time Zuko witnessed the power of his own words. It’s made him a little more bossy and showboaty than he’d normally be for a first time hookup.
He feels bold and sexy under his stare and… and he wants to know how he’d feel under his hands.
An upward roll of Hakoda’s hips brings him back into the present. Right, yes. Hakoda.
“He’s stunning,” Zuko pants against Hakoda’s ear. He’s delirious and volume control may or not be a thing Zuko has a handle on but Hakoda’s cock is filling him and hitting just the right spot when Zuko rocks down onto him. And Bato is watching them every time Zuko looks and his skin is on fucking fire and he’s chasing that high and wants more, more, more. He whimpers as he impales himself on Hakoda’s cock, a rush of words immediately following. “His hands… Oh fuck I’m gonna die if he doesn’t touch me, ‘Koda.”
Hakoda lets out a shuddering breath, a finger tracing down the curve of his spine in a featherlight touch that makes him shiver. A trademark show of tenderness despite their otherwise animalistic coupling. “You’re not going to die,” he says, amused. “But if that’s what you want, darling, you’ll have to ask him. It's your call.”
You’re in charge.
“My call,” Zuko echoes dumbly, breathless.
If Bato heard them at all, he hasn’t let on to it. The man continues to stroke himself with quick efficient tugs, the other hand slinking under his leg to squeeze at his balls in a way that makes his mouth fall open in a groan.
But his eyes don’t close, they stay trained on them.
The distance between the bed and that stupid fucking armchair is criminal, and Zuko won’t stand for it any longer.
“Bato,” he breathes.
The man’s eyes snap to alert clarity. The hand on his cock stills.
“Touch me,” Zuko finishes, fingers tightening in Hakoda’s hair. “Please,” he adds, when Bato doesn’t move.
For a long moment, Bato still doesn’t move, and then he opens his mouth to say something but Zuko isn’t about to hear the fifty-thousandth check in.
There’s no elegant or sexy way to tell your present-hook-up’s husband to get out of the stupid chair and get over here, so Zuko doesn’t try to find one. The words sound harsh to his ears so he tries to reign it in by time Bato crosses over to press one knee up next to them on the bed.
He feels a little guilty for snapping, a healthy bit embarrassed and a teensy bit insecure.
“But only if you want to,” Zuko says quietly, gaze searching.
Bato smiles, the sight blinding and Zuko feels all his concerns melt away into that warm, swirling feeling that’s been slowly consuming him.
“Oh, believe me,” Bato says, thumb brushing Zuko’s brow before the hand slides back to cup the back of his head. “I want to.”
“Hi, hon,” Hakoda says beneath him.
Bato rolls his eyes, still directing that sexy smile at Zuko. “Hi,” he replies absently, before leaning close enough for Zuko to throw an arm around his neck and slot their lips together.
Hakoda’s hands dig into his hips. Bato’s a good sport and follows Zuko’s erratic movements in his husband’s lap and silently permits every wayward bump of their noses or chins or accidental lip biting interspersed with some non-accidental lip biting. It’s messy and hot and communicates an entire night’s worth of pent up passion.
The weight of the mattress shifts as Bato swings his other leg up to kneel on the bed next to them, and suddenly Zuko’s craning his neck to maintain the press of their lips. Large, calloused hands explore his body, reverently tracing over the dips and curves that his husband has already explored with his own fingers (and mouth).
Zuko’s body sings in reply to the pinching and twisting of his nipples, and Zuko is suddenly determined to map the areas he’d been missing out on as well. He reaches out blindly and finds a solid torso with a protruding collarbone, soft flesh concealing firm muscle beneath his chest and abdomen. Perfect love handles above sharp hip bones and hello— a small but pert handful of tush. He squeezes and Bato returns the contact, only his finger dips between his cheek to probe just a little at where his husband’s cock is repeatedly disappearing inside of him, making both Hakoda and Zuko groan.
It’s Bato that breaks the kiss, though it's truly a shame that any kiss ever has to be broken, especially when there are two gorgeous men beneath his fingers who seem to be experts in kissing him senseless.
“Where do you want me, Zuko?”
And isn’t that the question of the day. The short term was anywhere but in that ridiculous armchair, but Zuko didn’t really think ahead beyond that. Here? In his mouth? Where?
But there’s another matter. Bato’s directly next to him and his cock is fucking huge and Zuko hadn’t quite realized until now that it was the man’s ridiculously large hands that made it look average. When Zuko wraps his own fingers around it curiously, his palm only covers about half his length and it stirs something in him.
A finger taps his nose.
“Earth to Zuko,” Hakoda chuckles cupping his chin. Then, in a put-on deeper voice. “My husband would like an answer, please.”
Bato shakes his head, shoulders heaving in a sigh, before looking at Zuko again. “Anywhere you like, love,” he says.
Zuko bites his lip, considering. The three of them are still for now. This is an important question, okay? One that Zuko hardly has the clarity for considering he’s just stupid horny and hot all over.
But it’s that horny part of his brain that comes up with Behind me, so he can’t be too mad.
Bato pats Hakoda’s thigh before sliding up behind Zuko, knees bracketing his husband’s legs. Hakoda tells him Welcome aboard with a small salute, and Zuko laughs breathlessly when Bato threatens divorce.
This is perfect. Exactly what was missing.
Zuko shows his appreciation by arching back against Bato’s chest, the taller man dipping to nose behind his ear as his hands slide down his front. And now that Zuko’s gotten a taste, there’s nothing that can stop him from pulling Bato in for another searing kiss. Zuko sighs into it, easing into the pace that he had established before he’d realized how fiercely he craved Bato’s touch.
And now there are four hands exploring his chest and pinching his nipples and squeezing his hips and massaging his thighs, all while one cock is working inside of him and another is nestled between his cheeks.
It’s a good thing Zuko’s not religious because he’d definitely be going to hell, or worse— doomed to learn that heaven’s got nothing on this.
Bato leans forward over his shoulder, and then Hakoda is releasing Zuko’s hip to cup his husband’s cheek. Hakoda licks his own lips. Bato smirks back, raising his brows in a challenge before Hakoda tugs him closer. Their kiss is deep and passionate and every bit as arousing as everything else going on tonight. Zuko can’t believe he gets to be between the two of them, share their bed and kiss them both. Watch and be watched by them.
When they part, Hakoda tells Bato, “Up, dear,” and Zuko instantly misses the feeling of Bato cock between his cheeks. The taller man shifts so that he’s in a high kneel at Zuko’s back, between Hakoda’s legs.
“And you,” Hakoda says, this time winking at Zuko. “Hold on tight.”
The last time Zuko was given that warning, the man had trotted him up the stairs.
This time, Hakoda grabs a hold of his hips and rocks up into him with a thrust that has Zuko truly seeing stars.
So Zuko holds on tight, grabbing onto the headboard with both hands and trying to remember how to breathe while Hakoda’s cock drives him closer and closer to the edge.
He can’t be sure just what desperate sounds are coming out of him, but he can hear Bato quietly encouraging him against his ear.
“You like my husband’s cock?” Bato purrs. “You take it so nicely— it’s hard not to be jealous. Of both of you, really.”
Zuko makes some sound of approval, arching back just enough that he can fist a hand in Bato’s hair and keep him close.
Bato rolls one of his nipples between his fingers as he continues. “I know how he fucks, a generous lover through and through. He’s hitting your prostate with every thrust, yeah?”
The way Zuko is practically sobbing with each thrust should be answer enough. “Mmmhm,” he manages, if only to encourage Bato to continue. The rough velvet of his voice is addicting. Zuko thinks he’d be aroused even if he were reading cereal boxes in that tone, but this topic suits him very well.
“You wanna know how I’d do it?”
“Yes,” Zuko gasps.
Bato pinches hard, pulling his nipple in a slow twist that renders Zuko wordless once again.
Hakoda groans, his grip on Zuko tightening. Zuko has enough presence of mind to hope that the morning brings some dark bruises where Hakoda’s fingers are digging into his hips.
Bato hums again before continuing, Zuko feels the rumble of it against his back. “If it were me…” he says, hot against Zuko’s ear. “I’d tilt you back, tackle you against the mattress and grab your wrists—”
Fuck. Zuko can see it. His two wrists in one of Bato’s large hands. Another holding his knee against his hip while Bato fucks into him.
“—pin them over your head, arching you onto my cock. Earn all those delicious little sounds of yours.”
He hadn’t noticed Bato’s other hand gliding down his chest and abdomen until it's suddenly wrapped around his cock. His palm is hot and slick and squeezes him so nicely, starting with teasing strokes and then rapidly picking up.
“Fuck Zuko,” Bato curses, fingertips now soothing where he’d pinched him earlier. “So sexy. You’re gonna come for us? Come all over my hand? All over my husband’s chest?”
“Y-yeah,” Zuko manages, already feeling his thighs start to shake. “Please.”
“Go ahead,” Bato says. “‘Koda’s right behind you, isn’t that right, love?”
“Fuck, yeah—” Hakoda grunts. “So hot, you two… damnit, faster Bato.” Bato complies immediately, stripping Zuko’s cock with furious strokes as the wet, fleshy sound of it rings loud and vulgar in his ears.
It hits him hard and fast, his orgasm washing over him before he can warn either of the men wrapped around him. Every muscle in his body goes rigid as he shudders his release, knowing Hakoda has stilled below him as well, no doubt following because of how Zuko’s clenched around him. Only Bato is still coherent, murmuring There you go, that’s it, gorgeous, like some kind of prayer whilst pumping Zuko’s cock until the last of his spend coats his hand.
In the end, most of the mess seems to be contained to Bato’s hand, which he and Hakoda quickly clean up.
Two hands— whose? No idea. —guide Zuko’s clenched fists open so that he can release the headboard and then Bato’s hair. He’s aware enough to offer a lame apology but lips against his fingers forgive him pretty quickly.
He’s then arranged against Hakoda’s chest, one set of lips pressing against his (probably sweaty) forehead and another against the back of his shoulder.
It takes a bit for reality to set back in, for Zuko to catch his breath, but once all is less fuzzy and dark around the edges, the melty satisfaction brings an easy smile to his face. He stretches languidly, selfishly stealing another kiss from Hakoda when his fingertips brush against his jaw.
When Zuko leans back down, he takes stock of his body.
One of Hakoda’s legs is slotted between his. Hakoda has his head resting on his own bicep, his other hand resting light on Zuko’s hip and tracing a tingly circle over his hip bone. Which means the hand on his thigh, soothingly and affectionately stroking up and down, belongs to Bato. Bato is close enough that he can press against his chest if he leans back, but not nearly close enough for a proper cuddle. Zuko scooches back to rectify this a bit, sure that Hakoda will follow, when he feels the brush of Bato’s erection against his backside.
Oh. Duh.
Zuko turns, reaching back to cup Bato’s cheek as the man— in some far too late attempt at modesty— tries to scoot away. Zuko manages to twist enough so that he can meet the man’s wide, suddenly unsure, blue eyes.
It’s a side of Bato that Zuko hasn’t really seen tonight. In a weird way, it humanizes him. Most sex gods probably aren’t humble or this careful with their partners. It’s sweet, but unnecessary.
“Can I?” Zuko asks, rubbing a soothing thumb over the sharp edge of Bato’s cheekbone.
It’s truly unfair how gorgeous these two men are. Even before after-glow-brain, Zuko was humbled by them. Now he’s positively moonstruck.
Bato leans forward, kisses his nose in a way that makes Zuko’s cheeks itch. “Rest, love,” he says reassuringly. “I can just—”
Zuko rolls over fully, cupping Bato’s hip to mirror his end of the embrace. “I’d like to,” Zuko insists, dipping to kiss his collarbone. “If that’s okay, of course.”
Behind him, Hakoda chuckles breathlessly. It makes Zuko think that, perhaps, Bato is occasionally shy, which Zuko (and likely Hakoda) finds very endearing.
Bato takes a moment to answer, studying Zuko’s face as if looking for some kind of sign that he’s less than eager to help him get off. Zuko considers a decision made when Bato rests a hand on his cheek and leans in for a kiss. It’s chaste, at first, but then Zuko gets a hand around Bato’s length and the man hisses in response. Zuko takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, introducing his tongue and pushing forward so that Bato’s back hits the mattress.
Hakoda squeezes his hip encouragingly, and Zuko, not for the first time tonight, wonders what would have happened had he been braver earlier in the evening. What it would have been like to be shared by the two of them all along. To dance between Bato and Hakoda under dim lights and have two sets of hands holding him close.
He breaks the heated kiss to glide down Bato’s body, settling in his lap. Bato, with his almost freakishly long arms, reaches down and strokes his cheek. He mutters a soft praise before Zuko sinks his mouth over his cock, turning the sound into a deep rumbling groan.
Funny enough, Bato is rather quiet when it comes to his own pleasure. Zuko wouldn’t have expected it from someone who was so vocal about how Zuko looked taking his husband’s cock, who gave them directions while he jerked himself off.
Here, Zuko relishes every sharp gasp or groan he pulls out of the lean man, his free hand massaging Bato’s balls, eyes boring into his. He imagines what it would be like to have Bato fuck his face, wonders if, even now, he could drop into his lap and ride him. Logically he’s far too spent for that, and doesn’t think tempting fate with a third orgasm would be particularly wise.
Hakoda brushes his bangs out of his face, then leans down to whisper. “I’m afraid you’ll be at that for quite a while, dear,” he says. “Head doesn’t tend to get him all the way there.”
Zuko slides off of him, stroking Bato’s long cock idly, watching as Bato licks his lips once again. “That so?” Zuko smirks. “I can work with that.”
He doesn’t mean to take it as a challenge, but that’s entirely what he does. Varying the pressure and twist of his hand until one particular combination makes Bato curse lowly, the muscles in his thighs flexing against the effort to keep his hips still.
It’s all the signal Zuko needs, repeating the motion and gradually picking up the pace until Bato is a mess, his trademark composure giving way to heated pleas for more, telling him, Like that, yeah—fuck, Zuko, and Zuko soaks it up all too eagerly.
He parts his lips when Bato warns him that he’s close, determined to catch some of Bato’s spend on his tongue. When Bato comes with a groan, Zuko leans in, stroking so that the thick ropes spurt into his open mouth. He keeps his eyes closed until Bato’s breath starts to even out, at which point Zuko dives forward, savoring the taste while cleaning the stray spurts of come painting Bato’s cock and his soft stomach.
Hakoda eagerly takes care of the mess on Zuko’s cheek and chin, before retrieving a warm, moist rag to clean them up more thoroughly.
Bato gently pulls him up into a warm, melty kiss, his cock soft between his legs.
“Spirits,” Bato mutters when they part. “You’re something else, Zuko.”
Oddly enough, this makes Zuko flush. As if he hasn’t already done so many more interesting things with these men this evening.
“Glad you enjoyed it,” Zuko whispers.
Bato snorts. “Understatement of the year,” he says, pulling him in again.
It’s soft and sweet and Bato’s tongue meets his in a way that makes Zuko nearly forget he’s the guest in a marital bed.
Somewhere along the way, Hakoda passes him his phone and wiggles his way into the kiss, telling Zuko that he’s welcome to stay.
With how fucked out he is, how delightfully pliant and warm, it isn’t a hard decision to make.
He shoots a text message to Mai to let her know that he’s spending the night, and then lets Hakoda turn him and pull him against his chest. Bato slides in behind him, easing the phone from Zuko’s fingers and reaching over the both of them to clumsily plug it in on the nightstand.
Zuko doesn’t expect to fall asleep as quickly as does, but he’s warm and satiated and so ridiculously content between the two older men that the soothing motions in his hair and against his hip put him right out.
And the next morning, when he inevitably wakes up before the two of them, he remembers why he isn’t particularly a fan of sleepovers after sex.
What is he supposed to do? Is he supposed to wake them up? Sneak out of bed and gather his clothes and call himself an Uber?
Bato’s voice puts him out of his misery. “Morning,” he says.
Zuko doesn’t care that he likely has morning breath. When he rolls over and sees Bato’s tired smile and sleep rumpled hair, he can’t help but lean up and press against Bato’s lips. Bato chuckles before returning the soft press, humming as he strokes down his side with those long fingers, making Zuko shiver.
“Staying for breakfast?” Bato asks.
“Depends,” Zuko says coyly, hooking his leg around Bato’s. “What’s on the menu?”
Bato laughs again, the stroking motion pausing to instead pat his thigh. “Actual breakfast, Zuko,” he says. “Regrettably, we don’t have as much stamina as you do. We’re old and weary.”
“I beg to differ,” Zuko smirks. “I’d say you proved quite the opposite last night. You two can fuck.”
“Still,” Bato presses, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Another round isn’t on the menu. But bacon and eggs are.”
Zuko glances over his shoulder at Hakoda, unease creeping in again. He really shouldn’t overstay his welcome. After all, they’re a married couple with things to do and a life to live that’s completely apart from some guy they brought home from the bar last night.
“I don’t know,” Zuko says quietly. “Maybe I should just head home.”
“That’s up to you,” Bato agrees. “But maybe we should wake ‘Koda up for this bit.”
Gently, ever so gently, Bato rolls Zuko onto his back to lean over him. He presses his lips to Hakoda’s, and Hakoda stirs slowly, humming a closed-mouth yawn before sleepily reaching up to tangle a hand in Bato’s hair. They’re the picture of domesticity, all the things that Zuko never quite allows himself to want. Certainly nothing he could relate to with his string of shitty relationships.
But then Hakoda groans and pulls harder, causing Bato to partially fall onto Zuko before he can find a way to steady himself. Zuko grunts in surprise, but the weight is not at all unpleasant. Still, it brings Hakoda to full wakefulness, and he laughs as he realizes what he did.
“Hmm, lucky me,” Hakoda’s voice rumbles. “Waking up to two Prince Charming's.”
“Wrong Disney movie,” Bato chides, rolling off of Zuko.
“So sue me,” Hakoda replies. He offers a quick apology to Zuko for dropping his husband on him, then cups his cheek and kisses him. “You’re staying for breakfast, aren’t you?”
“See?” Bato says. “I tried to convince him.”
Hakoda pouts, the expression ridiculous but also stupidly cute on such a handsome face.
“I wouldn’t want to put you out,” Zuko says weakly, but already he’s thinking about how much he doesn’t want to go yet.
“Over breakfast? You couldn’t possibly,” Bato insists, kissing his shoulder.
“Please?” Hakoda says, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “Bato looks great in an apron, and I make a mean omelette.”
“I am not wearing the apron.”
“You are,” Hakoda smirks. “Right over your birthday suit.”
Zuko laughs, though giggles would probably be a more accurate way to describe it with how light he feels. How comfortable with these two men who took him apart last night so carefully and completely. They continue their loving banter right over his shoulder, until Zuko finally agrees. “Okay, deal,” he says. “But only if Bato wears the apron.”
Bato groans while his husband cheers his victory, and it’s immediately apparent why when he sees the apron in question. It’s ridiculously short, for starters, barely concealing his fun bits considering he’d begrudgingly complied with the birthday suit part as well. The white of the apron is stark against his dark complexion, with miraculously only two stains on it. He gripes and grumbles, but Hakoda has an absolute shit-eating grin as he watches his husband move about the kitchen.
Hakoda and Zuko had dressed shortly after crawling out of bed, a few more shared kisses delaying them significantly. Zuko, embarrassingly, redressed in his clothes from the night prior, whereas Hakoda looks criminally gorgeous standing over the oven dressed in a pair of dark gray sweats and blue V-neck.
The front of Bato’s apron reads, in green, “I’m not Irish, but you can pinch me anyways” . Which Hakoda does repeatedly, right on his butt cheek. Each time, Bato nearly jumps, swatting his hand away and insisting that Hakoda wash his hands since he’s cooking for crying out loud.
As if Bato cooking naked was any more sanitary.
But Zuko finds that he doesn’t entirely mind. Hell, he would eat off of them if they asked, and it’s not like Hakoda is touching the eggs now that they’re in the pan.
Once everything is plated and served, Hakoda swats his husband on the ass with the spatula before dropping it into the sink to be washed.
It’s nice. Almost surprisingly so considering Zuko had thought only of their sexual chemistry, but it’s easy to talk to them about his work and listen to stories about their adventures and fishing trips and family road trips. They’re real, beautiful, kind people that regard Zuko as more than just a quick fuck.
But it’s over too soon, even if it’s nearly noon by the time they finish eating and laughing and talking and cleaning up. Regrettably, Zuko did say he’d help Uncle later in the afternoon, and even he’s not stupid enough to think he’d be allowed to wait a few days before going over to Mai’s place to dish.
No, as it stands, the plan is to go home, take a shower, dress for the tea shop, and head to Mai’s.
Still, the Uber is only a few minutes away and Zuko has to start saying goodbye.
“I had a great time,” Zuko says, smiling shyly. “And not like… in the cliche way people say when they didn’t actually… I really did.”
The rest of the words that spring to his mind stay lodged in his throat. That no one had ever cared for him quite like that. That no hookup had ever been that kind of fun. That this is probably the only one night stand where he’s leaving with exactly 0 regrets, spare for, maybe, that it’s only a one night stand.
He hadn’t expected that going home with two DILFs would leave him feeling… happy? It's complicated.
Neither of the men laugh at him, which is exceedingly kind considering how dumb he sounds even to his own ears. Bato merely smiles, leaning against the doorframe next to him. He’s still wearing only the apron, but no longer seems bitter about it. In hindsight, he probably never was. It isn’t hard to see just how much he enjoys bantering with his husband.
“We did, too,” Bato smiles. “Thanks for staying for breakfast.”
“Thank you,” Zuko insists. “I’m just glad I didn’t eat you out of house and home.”
Bato snorts. “You’d have to try a lot harder to accomplish that,” he says. “Many have tried, only one has succeeded.” He looks wryly at his husband, but the way Hakoda laughs implies that Hakoda isn’t the one he’s referencing.
When his phone pings with the alert that his Uber is arriving, Bato pulls him into a warm embrace, and Zuko tries not to flush when his arms wrap around his bare torso. Bato places a chaste kiss on Zuko’s lips, winking as he pulls away.
Hakoda catches Zuko’s hand and practically twirls him into a bear hug, holding him strong and fiercely in a way that he can only imagine is typical Hakoda. It makes him smile, instantly wistful for their shared evening and the fact that it inevitably had to come to an end.
His kiss is a little less chaste but just as sweet and passionate, and Zuko can’t believe this is reality.
“Take care of yourself, kid,” Hakoda says, pecking his nose and making Zuko’s entire face scrunch up at the gesture.
“I’m not a kid,” Zuko says, definitely not pouting.
“No,” Bato agrees. “You’re not. But you’ll take care all the same, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Zuko smiles. “You too,” he adds, before lurching forward to pull both of them into a hug one more time.
Before embarrassment can fully take over, the two men wrap their arms around him and complete the embrace, pressing twin kisses into his hair.
His phone pings that the Uber has arrived, and sure enough, there it is when he opens the door.
After saying his goodbyes, he tries but ultimately fails not to look over his shoulder as he walks down the path to where the car awaits.
They wave warmly after him, and Zuko praises his utter lack of self control, smiling eagerly and returning the gesture.
As soon as he confirms his ride, he clicks in and shares the ride status with Mai, turning to the window to wave one more time.
The second the driver signals to pull back onto the street, Zuko’s heart sinks. He should have asked for their number. It’s not like he can just show up at their house again on some random night.
And yet, asking and them declining would have crushed him, so perhaps he made the right call. Better to let the night live on in his memory untouchable, unmarred and perfect.
Gosh, Zuko sounds like a fucking teenager. It’s not like he’s in love with them or something like that, just a really good night of sex and fun and unexpected tenderness.
Still, he indulges himself in turning around to look over his shoulder as the Uber reaches the stop sign at the end of the block.
The two men are no longer in the doorway as far as he can tell, though the house is a little far away.
It’s unmistakably their driveway, however, that a car pulls into just as Zuko’s Uber merges onto the roadway.
Hm. They certainly didn’t seem to be expecting more company, otherwise they probably would have rushed Zuko out of the house.
Zuko turns around in his seat, the house no longer in view.
Well, hopefully Bato gets a chance to put on some clothes before their guest makes it to the doorbell.
He has a feeling that whoever it is won’t appreciate the view as much as Zuko and Hakoda had.