Ozai & Ursa, 23. Please (:
send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write you a ficlet about one…trying to go down on the other, under the table, during dinner
He detested these stuffy noble functions, hours of nothing but sitting and listening to nobles speak in code and platitudes about all the things they wanted. He hated listening to his brother's seemingly unending speeches, almost always greeted with a flood of comments of how wise and intelligent Iroh was. Azulon watched over the proceedings with an occasional smile and word, his first son at his right hand, Ozai sulking on the left.
They never tried to curry favor with him. Apparently it was only worthwhile if the child was likely to inherit the throne...and Ozai knew that Iroh was infinitely more approachable.
The dinner was nearing its third hour (and he was having to fight more and more desperately to suppress his yawns) when a rustling under the tablecloth disturbed him. He glanced down and nearly leaped out of his seat when he saw his wife there, crouched on the floor, grinning and holding a finger to her lips.
How had she gotten under there without being noticed? Ozai couldn't help but smile with fondness at his wife's antics. She was going to stay in their rooms and watch over the infant Zuko, but he supposed she'd left their son with a maid in favor of sneaking down to the banquet hall for the sole purpose of startling him. Just seeing her face and wondering how long she'd been hiding made some of the stress and irritation drain away.
...That was, until he felt a cool hand undoing his belt and reaching into his trousers. He started again, and this time his father gave him a look.
He wanted to hiss down to Ursa to stop, not now, not here, but there was no way he could even attempt that without drawing attention to himself. He was forced to sit there, teeth gritted, as he felt his wife's talented fingers stroke his length.
Ozai could no longer stay entirely silent when he felt Ursa's warm mouth on his cock, and though he attempted to disguise his moan as a cough, the people sitting around him were starting to give him strange looks.
The heat and friction on him was heavenly, and it was all Ozai could do to continue sitting upright and maintain a neutral facial expression. And then, as soon as it had started, Ursa pulled away, leaving him hard and desperate for more.
She closed his pants, which were now uncomfortably tight, and withdrew. Ozai didn't know whether to be furious at her for leaving him hanging or to thank her for the brief distraction.
The remaining hour of the dinner he spent daydreaming about the delicious things he'd do to his wife when he returned to his rooms. Perhaps Zuko could spend the night with his maid; Ozai and Ursa needed the alone time.
