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It had been... nice of him.
A nice sentiment. A statement to how good of a friend he was, despite what most people believed. Underneath all the snarkiness and giggles, there was a truly sentimental guy.
But the least Sokka could have done was warn you. Between all the conversations leading up to this, somewhere in the middle of your discussions about it and the planning which led you here, standing like a fool under the threshold of a stupidly expensive hotel somewhere deep in the Earth Kingdom—Sokka could have said it.
'Oh, and just so you're aware—the buddy is Zuko. Fire Lord Zuko. You know of him, right?'
Instead, it had been 'buddy' all along. And you had agreed to it, and planned it with him, through him, planned with Zuko himself, without knowing it was him, and now here you both are, standing frozen across the room, staring at each other.
Because... that's definitely him.
You'd recognize him by the temperature in the air around him.
The idea seemed so simple. So nice, and something that could be done.
A testament to how much Sokka understood what happened between you two was a great chemistry underneath an even greater friendship. There were no trapping feelings, no ownership, not a hint of jealousy, ever.
The request still took you by surprise.
When it happened, it took you a while to understand what was happening.
Sokka started it in a ramble, and you followed it only so much, too busy tracing the patterns of his biceps under the fur blanket. "Anyways. Not everybody understands intimacy, right? Not everyone gets relationships, I feel. Like, most people only get the 'should be' and 'must be' this-or-that, but none of them actually develop relationships with other people. Even the people they're close to. Does that make sense?" You hummed and nodded along, blissed out and enjoying the sound of his voice, low and calm in the dim light. "Which... Uhm. That makes me realize something. You're perfect fot it."
"Perfect for what?"
"How didn't I notice it before? I'm so fucking stupid."
That makes you chuckle. "You're the least stupid person I know."
"Oh, sometimes I'm wildly dumb," he laughs. "Fuck!" He slaps his own forehead with his free hand, which then comes to rest in your hair. "You're perfect!"
"I... feel like that's a directed compliment."
"And smart!" He kisses your forehead, giggling. Then, his semblance changes in a second to a seriousness you're not used to. "I mean... I told him I'd think about it and help him 'cause the last we talked about this, he said he didn't want any sort of, uhm, escorts—"
Now you were lost. "Sokka, I'm lost. What on earth are you talking about?"
"Can I talk to you? It's gonna be... uhm—weird." His grimace confirms that he means what he says. "I think. It's also important. Private? Definitely private. And definitely weird. And I really hope you don't take it the wrong way."
Although he rambled for many reasons, it rarely came without funny quips or a smile on his face. It was serious.
You stopped tracing patterns in his skin and stood a little further up, resting your head on your hand, elbow digging in the mattress beside him. "I'm listening."
Sokka visibly swallowed. He thought for a few more seconds, only deepening the knowledge that this was a serious business for him, and when he spoke, his voice was lower. It made you shiver beneath the blankets, and you listened with intent to his words. "A few months ago I... came around to an unusual discovery. Very unusual. I was surprised. You know how hard it is to do that. And he surprised me!" His smile then was a grimace again. "Even though he's had a serious relationship... No, I'm starting in the wrong place. Alright. If I told you there's a buddy of mine who's—look—I'm not saying I know the type of men you like, but—I do. I could say that. I won't, but I could—and he's it. Every bit your type—"
"What's my type?"
"Smart, pretty, brave, a little bit reckless—" he listed, counting each finger in the same heartbeat he was asked. His smile became real, sexy, knowing. He winked at you, the smile faded, and he continued. "Well. Even though he's all that... I've lost hope. I think I had it for way too long and now I'm scared it's too late, actually."
"What are you talking about, Sokka?"
"He's a virgin."
After a heartbeat waiting for more where all he did was stare at you expectantly, you shook your head. "Still lost, big guy."
"He's a virgin and I told him I'd help him lose that virginity."
"Woah! I... didn't know you... were into boys? But I'm—"
"No, no!" He interrupted you while laughing. "No, pretty. I'm not. If I were, trust me, he'd be all unvirgined—"
"Not a word."
"—and I'd be all up on that. It's a word now. But... like... I had no clue how to help him, considering he's still a virgin due to a bunch of—uh, intimacy issues? Trust issues as well. Definitely trust issues. He told me, 'No, Sokka, I don't want a fucking escort—how would that be helpful? I told you I don't trust anybody. I'm telling you because I trust you' and it made my job very hard, you know? But I had the answer all along!" His smile is back. He pulls you closer. "Right in my arms."
The words spun for a while around your head while Sokka kissed the skin he could reach, and he was right. It did make sense.
Pondering what he's told you, allowing his kisses to drop to your shoulders even felt... better. Goosebumps rose on your skin at the thought of Sokka considering you someone so worthy of trust.
A year into this arrangement meant you understood each other well, and the years of friendship before that equated to respect and a deep fondness in your heart—maybe even love, if the use of that word did less to scare you to death, but this—Sokka's low chuckle vibrating on your skin made you push your body impossibly closer to his.
"So you trust me?"
In the same heartbeat, he replied. "With my life," easy as that. Sensing the weight of his words in the tensing of your body, he elaborated, whispering your name against your skin. "...you helped Aang and me when we needed a hiding spot for that mission, and you never said a word of that to a soul. You never prod when you realize there are things I can't say. You'd kill for children who aren't even yours. How could I not?"
For the next few hours, his friend is all but forgotten.
The only thing on your mind is the curves of his body and the way he enjoys touching yours.
Nothing else.
For two months, there are instances where Sokka makes it come to life.
Questions like: "Would you be willing to go to the Earth Kingdom to make it happen?"
"Make what happen, big guy?"
"You know. My buddy? Your trusting hands taking care of a touch-starved person who deserves these able... sexy fingers?"
There are times when the conversation goes well, and others, both of you barely make it past the question itself before Sokka's compliments get the best of you both and drive your legs, arms, limbs, tangled bodies to the nearest surface.
Other times, in places and situations where somehow the sexual tension that always existed between you two can be tamed as if a lid of ice were put over a small fire, the talk develops. And Sokka is the furthest from a liar, but knowing how true he's been about those words in his bed that day makes the whole arrangement even sexier.
"I have a letter from him. D'you wanna see?"
"From your buddy," you chuckled.
"The one and only," he smiled. "I told him I've had the answer all along lying right beneath me," as if the innuendo wasn't enough, he wiggled his eyebrows, "then explained who you are. Told him if it was okay, I'd talk to you about it—shush, I could never say my big mouth got the best of me, and I had already planned everything already, and you were on board, so pretend this is me explaining it all to you for the first time, alright?"
"Alright." Laughing was one of the things you did the most next to Sokka.
"Cool. Everything's explained, and this is what he says." He pushed the letter over the counter.
Even with the blue ice beneath it, the letter still warmed you up. It was the orange-colored parchment of the fire nation, but it was the words that caught your throat and lit you up from head to toe.
ㅤㅤㅤ... as for your 'friend'.
ㅤㅤㅤThe picture is... lovely. Beautiful, if I'm being honest. Breath-taking, if I stop holding myself back. But I must ask—how can you tell me she's perfect (which I can see, thank you for that), and then tell me this woman, whom you call 'a friend and also more and also beyond words I have in my vocabulary' is someone you could just... set me up with? Aren't you jealous? Aren't you setting yourself up for heartbreak? How is this not weird to you? Should it be weird to me? Because it's not. I feel as if it should be. You always did know the way, I think.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤI'm at a crossroad, I feel. Part of me wishes you would talk to her for me, but the other says I'd be just me about the whole ordeal. I'm strange. My strangeness is why I'm still... you know. What if she thinks I'm too weird? What if she doesn't like something about me and months of planning go down the drain? She could hate the way I smell. I don't know, Sokka. I feel redundant, but, help me out.
The letter went on, but you read from the point where Sokka pointed a finger and realized this is where the parts about you stopped. You were smiling while biting your bottom lip, and Sokka noticed.
He smiled knowingly.
"Your buddy's an overthinker," you said.
Sokka rolled his eyes. "You don't say."
"He seems interested, though."
"You're modest."
"He's a flatterer," you mumbled, but the compliments had done their job, and Sokka is aware.
He chuckles. "He's realistic."
"You never said your were sending my picture to anybody."
"That photo's mine and you told me I could do whatever I please with the pictures I took of you. You looked great. It's the one you're in my balcony with the sheets sort of hanging from your shoulders, smiling at the sun rising. You're gorgeous."
"You're a flatterer."
"Shut up and tell me if I can set you both up."
"I already said yes to your crazy idea, Sokka."
He clapped twice. "Excellent! Let's make him get a taste of heaven, then."
And so it went.
Sokka came around, showed you a piece of a letter, talked about what his 'buddy' needed, then asked what you needed and what would make you comfortable.
'What's the best place?' A middle ground came to be. 'Is there anything he should know about you?' Just tell him I'm bossy and it'll be fine. Does that bother him? 'He said, come here, read... that's more than fine by me'. Everything that should be done and said was laid on the table. After the first letter, Sokka often showed you bits and pieces of their exchanges and made sure to include any information about his buddy he thought to be important.
When an important meeting of his buddy coincided with a week you had off, Sokka finished his arrangements. Everything was said and done, except for, maybe, a name.
A part of you said that was maybe part of the trust issues. Something unimportant. Definitely not something to worry about, considering the bridge between you two was Sokka—your clever, sweet, funny, and intelligent guy Sokka. No harm could ever come from him.
(A name would've been good.)
At Gaoling, a luscious and gorgeous city filled with its rivers and forests at the South of the Earth Kingdom, Sokka pins the final dots. It's a place for fancy business, people with riches, and businesses you have no business knowing about. It has a castle with an architecture worthy of Ba Sing Se, and it's in one of the highest floors, where Sokka leaves you with a:
"Have fun, you two."
"Is it weird I'm getting nervous only now? I'm nervous." He smiled at you, then looked up at the Moon from where he stood on your balcony. It reminded you of the picture he showed to his buddy, and, for the first time, it makes you want a name. "I don't even know his name,'' you whispered in despair. "What's his name?"
That made Sokka laugh. "You two are ridiculous. He doesn't know your name either. I call you 'Beautiful' and so does he, did you know? Now you do. I left a bottle of Latierra for you two. Don't drink before he gets here, though." He left the balcony and walked over to you, appreciating the view of the outfit you picked for the occasion. The undergarments were hard to see underneath the silk burgundy robe, but Sokka had a good imagination and memory. "Is it weird that part of me wished I could watch it all?"
The timbre of his voice told you all you needed to know about where his mind was at. "No. I mean—You could stay..."
Sokka only touched the tip of his fingers on your cheeks. After licking his lips, his smile widened, making you feel like prey. "No... I couldn't. Not this time. But I'll be thinking about it. Hope you two know that."
"Sokka..."
"Hmhm. It's a nice view to think about."""Hmhm. It's a nice view to think about."
"I don't even know what he looks like," it came out in a whine, your eyes closing as he carressed your neck now. "What if someone walks in here and I think it's him but it isn't? All I have is 'he's your type'. Why did you never show me a picture?"
"He hates pictures. And don't worry—beautiful, when have I ever put you in danger?"
"Never."
"Exactly." His caresses told you Sokka wanted more now. Something held him back, and it made the heat between your legs awaken to realize Sokka was leaving everything for his buddy. Not once had he touched you today. "He's the only one with clearance to get on this floor other than me. We'd never half-ass this."
The mental note of 'wealthy' about the Buddy in your mind was scratched in favor of 'stupidly wealthy'.
"Got it."
His fingers stopped in the middle of your throat, and Sokka sighed. When your eyes opened, he was smiling. "The bottle's right there," he pointed somewhere in his back without looking. "I'll wanna know everything tomorrow."
"Alright."
"You look beautiful." With those words and a wink, Sokka left.
At least you knew the next person to come through the threshold of that door would be him.
His buddy.
All you could do was sit and wait.
When the door opens, you're in the same balcony Sokka was a while ago.
The meeting took time, so you did the best thing you could in the absence of a drink and the inability to smoke without ruining the long shower and getting ready you had already done—you grabbed a book.
That slips from your hand the second you hear the doorknob turning. It almost slips to the floor, and you manage to catch it just a second before it does, but then your eyes fall on the figure that slips through the threshold and closes it behind them.
A thud resonates in the otherwise silent chamber as the book falls after all.
It's him.
Sokka's 'buddy' is him.
The Spring air is warm, and you feel it on your tongue. You're aware of how stupid you must look, taking all of it in, realizing how stupid you had been to agree to all of this with the amount of information you had. My buddy. No pictures. No names. Only trust.
(Maybe not stupid, but Agni in the fucking realms of creation...)
He's dressed in a similar fashion to you: a silk robe, only black instead of burgundy, barefoot, and the closed strings prevent you from looking further. He's broader in real life—before this, you had only seen him in Sokka's drawings, pictures, and the occasional news pamphlet.
Fire Lord Zuko.
Because... that's definitely him.
You'd recognize him by the temperature in the air around him.
Or maybe it's how his long hair, half-pinned and half down, makes you feel. There's a single droplet of sweat in the back of your neck which trickles down when your eyes reach his face and find his already in yours, wide and terrified.
"You didn't know," are his first words to you. His voice. It's smooth, not low like you imagined, but somehow better. It resembles melted butter on warm, crunchy bread, and your mouth waters at the thought. "I—"
look ready to bolt.
You shake your head—your whole body, then get up. "I'm sorry, my face and my reaction." I'm stupid. He's already nervous, both of you are, but you trusted Sokka for a reason. "Goddamn it—I'm really sorry," with a laugh, you start walking into the room without glancing in his direction for now. "I didn't know what I expected. It's fucking Sokka. Not as if he has many people he considers 'buddies'."
"Uhm—are we talking about the same Sokka?"
"We are. He knows everybody, but everybody thinks they know him. He's got very few buddies. Of course." Of course it's you. "I apologize again, I didn't want to..." This time, you risk a glance, and there he is, standing in the exact same place he was, with his hands in the same position as before, as if you had frozen him there somehow. "Scare you."
That seems to start breaking the spell.
"I'm not scared," he replies.
"You look terrified."
Zuko's shoulders roll a couple of times in a deliberate gesture, and he visibly swallows. "I'm..." he thinks carefully of the next words. "Nervous. Scared you're second-guessing this, maybe. Or that you regret it now."
You hum. "I'm nervous, too. But not second-guessing. And definitely not regretting."
The 'definitely' seems to do something for him. His shoulders relax. "Oh."
A smile comes to your face. "Are you second-guessing or regretting anything?"
"No." Immediate. Your smile widens as he clears his throat. "Definitely not," he adds with eyes set on you.
It's his eyes that change the temperature in the room, you decide. They're warm like a bonfire, liquid gold, or crackling flames, and it makes you squirm, playing with the book in your hands.
"I took that long?" he points at the book, finally stepping in more.
"Yes, Fire Lord Zuko."
If you were looking elsewhere, you might miss the subtle ways his body betrays him, but you're attracted to every inch of him and his movements, so you store that for later. "Just—Zuko is fine."
"Alright, Zuko. You did take long, but I imagined it. He did say you were in a meeting."
Zuko sits in the immense bed, and you realize that despite having relaxed for a mere second, he's tense. Is that how he is? Shoulders back, perfect posture, slight and calculated moves?
"What were you imagining?" his voice is lower, lost in thought and confusion.
You laugh. "Honestly? I have no clue. All I had to go was..." The memory slaps you in the face, heating your cheeks.
ㅤㅤㅤ"I'm not saying I know the type of men you like, but—I do. I could say that. I won't, but I could—and he's it. Every bit your type—"
ㅤㅤㅤ"What's my type?"
ㅤㅤㅤ"Smart, pretty, brave, a little bit reckless."
"Was...?" Zuko presses.
Not willing to say the exact words, you avoid his eyes. "Apparently, Sokka knows 'my type'."
"Sokka's seen you with enough men to know I'd fit somewhere there in the middle?"
"Sokka's only seen me with Sokka and—" fuck it, you think. Sighing", you do your best Sokka voice. "Smart, pretty, brave, a little bit reckless."
When you open your eyes to gauge his reaction, you're thankful you did.
His embarrassment is visible in the color of his cheeks now.
"So what I'm hearing is..." he says after a few heartbeats. "Sokka called me pretty, smart, and brave."
"And a little bit reckless."
"Yeah, I heard the whole thing." Zuko's shy smile does more than one thing to your insides, and when it directs itself to you, it makes a mess. "Is it weird if we talk about him?"
The laughter is inevitable. You lean on the table behind you. "It'd be weird if we didn't. He's the reason we're both here."
Tension leaving his body is as visible as steam leaving a heated surface, and you're thankful once again. "Right. I... don't know how much he's told you."
"It's Sokka."
Zuko laughs for the first time. "Agni, I'm fucked."
You join him in laughter. "I'm—yeah, I'll avert from the obvious joke this time."
It swells your chest in pride when Zuko's laughter doubles and continues for another moment as your words register, and his cheeks turn redder. "Oh, okay. Gimme a second."
"Hey—I'm in no rush whatsoever. As a matter of fact," turning around in search of it, you find the bottle Sokka promised and lift it in the air. "A present from your friend."
Zuko's knowing smile is a problem for you. "He's the funniest person I know." Seeing the confusion on your face, Zuko points at the bottle. "That was my present to him. His last birthday."
"Oh, I'll have a talk with him about repurposing gifts when I see him."
"No, it's fine. He never liked wine, I should've known better."
"You were trying." The pop it makes when you open it is pleasing, and it gives you a moment of distraction from the heavenly beautiful face behind you. Two cups. Breathe so you don't drop any of the expensive liquor. "Do you want it?"
"I think I'd rather not be tipsy."
"One glass makes you tipsy? I'm not planning on drinking any more than that and, frankly, I need this."
Behind you, there's the sound of fabric shuffling. "Yeah." He says after a moment. "One glass would be nice, thank you."
So polite. You pour his as well and then breathe in deep before turning back around.
All the tension that had left is back in him, and you mentally curse yourself for taking your eyes off of him.
Zuko follows each one of your steps in his direction and accepts the glass with care to not touch your skin in the process.
"I'd ask how much about medid he said, but I think I can have an idea," you knew about the photo, and if the bits and pieces of the letters from Zuko he shared with you were an indicator, you guessed Zuko got the same when Sokka replied in his own letters.
Thinking back now, if you had done the job of peeking a bit more into the letters Sokka showed you, maybe you'd know who it was all along.
Sitting next to him, you decide to take the lead already. "I'm nervous, too."
The confession makes him whip his head, cup halfway to his mouth. "You are?" The disbelief makes you smile.
"Yeah." You're the Fire Lord is not quite right. You're so beautiful it hurts sounds too true. "Of course. I—this is nerve-wracking."
"Being with... a virgin? Or with me?"
"The first option," you chuckle.
Zuko seems to find the answer a pleasing one. He smiles kindly and shyly for the first time. "Oh." He takes a small sip of the wine. "Well. At least that."
"I thought you believed me when I told you I didn't regret it."
"And I do! Really. But not regretting and my position not making you nervous are two different things."
"Your position doesn't make me nervous." The reassurance grants you this: Zuko turns around, sitting with his legs crossed in the bed and facing you entirely. His posture is loose, and you're content it was you and not the wine that did that. "Although..." with a dramatic pause, you gain a raise of eyebrows from him. "I did think the weirdest thing to happen in my artist life would be to sleep with the Avatar's best friend."
Zuko laughs. Two things happen when he does. One, you realize how fucked you are when it comes to this being one of your strongest core memories—his neck, the warmth of the air around him, how insanely gorgeous he looks with his hair framing his face and laughing.
Two, a hook sinks somewhere in your chest. Deep, strong, and clung to a dark place.
"Oh, Agni. Sokka really dragged you into a mess, huh?"
"Did he?" It's your turn to sip the wine.
His shrugging shoulders and attempt at being coy are trumped by his cheeks painted pink once again. "Kinda, yeah."
"Your smile is so beautiful." It blurts out of you. It paints his face in a crimson tone, making your insides twist and turn to match the storm happening in his eyes, but you're not done. "I know you must get it a lot from people surrounding you, all the time, but... It's the truth. Someone once told me that compliments which come from the heart should always be shared, so the happiness is too."
"I see you also know Hakoda."
"I see you're a master at deflecting compliments." Something bubbles inside of you at his proximity to Sokka's family. "But that's alright." Another sip from your cup, a small one. Talking to Zuko is not something you ever imagined doing, but are enjoying it. Treasuring it. "Hakoda's a genius. I try listening to my elders whenever I realize they have a functioning brain on their shoulders. Means they've accumulated wisdom."
"You're right. I've never not listened to my uncle anymore. I did it enough in a lifetime, never again."
"Right... your uncle, the Dragon of the West."
Zuko's smile widens. "He'll be pleased to know he's still being remembered by that nickname. Especially amongst the young, beautiful ladies."
You laugh. "Ah—not good at taking compliments but smooth as jasmine tea when delivering them, aren't you?"
"I like Hakoda's advice." Zuko's coy demeanor makes you wonder what he's hiding underneath it. "Plus..." You wait patiently for him and whatever trail of thought robbed you of him for a few moments. When he returns, Zuko's face becomes serious. "Can I be honest with you?"
Ah. "Always," you tell him in earnest. "You'd gain all of my respect if you always were. Even when it hurts. I prefer honesty to half-truths, and I find that the world would be a better place if everyone found it in themselves the guts to do what it takes and be true to what is. So yes. Be honest."
Zuko takes his time absorbing your words. When he's done, his next sip from the cup is a gulp. He breathes in, out, and then looks at somewhere on the wall behind you, averting your gaze. "I understand my privilege at having had the best healers to deal with..." Instead of finishing, he points with his free hand to the scar on his face. Ah, something in you whispers. "And—I'm aware of—this. My bone structure," he adds that part with a mirth that contains stories from another time. "I know I'd be good-looking if it weren't for this. But... when it comes to compliments, I'd rather deflect than accept something I'm always unsure if it's true. Mostly certain it isn't, most of the time. It's why I did my best to take care of my body since my coronation and did such a good job at it. People compliment me now, and I can pretend they mean my physique instead of this, which means I can accept without sounding or being fake about it, but in reality, I find it hard to see beauty in me. In my face."
The confession does it for you. The respect you have for him is planted like a seed, and you know each moment in his presence where Zuko offers you something real and honest, it'll be watered to grow as if it lived under the perfect spot of shade, sun, and moonlight.
"Can I be honest with you?" You echo.
Zuko's eyes return to your face. "Always," he echoes, too, as earnest as yours had been.
"I understand a bit more about scars than most people. I won't be self-righteous, I'm aware the War has left its scars in everybody, but we're talking about the visible kind here, right?"
"Right."
"And while I know sometimes the ugliest scars are invisible to the eye, having your darkest or hardest moments painted on your skin is not something the majority is used to."
He nods his head, warm eyes agreeing more than the gesture could ever.
"So, since you'll see this at some point tonight, I wanted to share it before I explain myself." With that, you lift the robe of both your arms to expose your forearms. There are two scars, one on each, and both are ugly, deep, uneven. Zuko asks no questions, but you do hear the muttered Agni which escapes his lips. "There's that. And..." you get lost in how to say the next words. Allow the robes to fall back down, sip more of the wine, which is making this conversation easier, and thank Tui and La, somehow manage to find them. "I think I understand it better now how someone as handsome as you is still a virgin."
That was clearly not what Zuko expected from the way his eyebrows pinched together, and he mutters, "What?"
"I was confused at first. Then you walked in, and now we're talking, and it makes more sense to me."
"Does it?"
"It does. See: you have a problem finding beauty in yourself. Intimacy, the whole deal, demands us to feel some sort of things, and when trauma blocks that ability, it can be really hard to just... let go." The cup in the hotel you're both in is big, which is something you're thankful for. "I find you beautiful. Being very frank...I think it adds character to what would otherwise be an annoyingly handsome and royal face. It's also part of who you are—part of what molded you into being the person who sits across from me right now, am I right in assuming that?"
If your words shock him too much, Zuko's quick to recover. Other than doe, wide eyes, he seems to still have a hold of himself. He nods, silent and looking at you without blinking.
"So did this," you gesture both arms up. "Unfortunately. I wouldn't be the woman I am today without having gone through this, and that means this is now a part of me, whether I like it or not. Now—granted, there might be people who tell you that you're handsome, or beautiful, but don't mean it. I, on the other hand, I rather like being known as the person who gives it to others raw and honest, because they know that when I speak something, I mean it. So... I find you beautiful. I'm not sure I would if I had met you before the change of heart Sokka speaks about, but now? Now I see someone marked by life in painful ways who still managed to find a path into being kind, benevolent, fair, and, if your letters are anything to go by... funny, too." You chuckle. "In my book, the compliment's real."
Zuko's next breath is shaky. Also... steamy? There are definitely bits of him that have a bit of smoke coming out, now that you notice.
When he speaks, it distracts you from it.
Both of his hands clap on his face, rubbing it. "Agni and Spirits, he was right," it's said with a groan.
"Who was?"
"Sokka," now it's a whine. "You're—please don't take this as pressure, but you're... perfect," he lifts his gaze, removing the hands from his eyes, right before he says the last word. As if he's looking to confirm he was right. Or that maybe you're real.
"No, I'm not."
Zuko laughs, then he squirms in his seat and sips a bit more of his wine. "You are, but I see where you're coming from. I'm aware you're not perfect, beau—uhm, I'm aware. But you also kind of are."
"For this, you mean?"
"I... yeah? Is that awful to say?"
"Zuko, that's flattering as hell," you laugh. "Do you realize how honored I was that Sokka trusted me enough to consider me for this, and how it amplified tenfold when you walked through that door?"
He squirms more, and it ignites you. What was smoke is now a flame, burning alive and beautiful, lighting up your insides.
"Stop," he breathes out.
"Hmmm, I don't think I will, actually." When your gazes meet again, Zuko averts his eyes, blush intact on his gorgeous cheeks. "Maybe just for now?"
"You're so kind," the words drip in irony, but the smile is ever as sweet. Zuko is the type of person unable to hide his feelings from his eyes, it seems.
"I am." You'll see how much would send him into an early combustion, so you withhold it. "Wanna know what you are?"
He hums, prompting you with raised eyebrows as well.
Finishing the cup in one final gulp, you raise the glass at him. "Great at gift picking." The nerves went down with the glass. You lean down to place it beside the bed, unwilling to get up or get too far from him again. "Horrible at directing the great gifts you pick, of course, but nobody can be perfect."
"He never even tasted it!" His protest is followed by an exasperated sigh. "I know he would've liked it."
"You're right," you know Sokka well enough to confirm that. "He's as stubborn as a sky bison, though."
"You really do know him, huh?" Zuko's legs come up a bit higher, and he hugs them around the knees, holding a half-full glass with loose fingers.
You sit cross-legged, sort of mimicking his position. "Have known him for years." When his reply is nothing but a hum, you ask. "Does it bother you?"
It's unnecessary for him to feign innocence as to what you're referring to. Zuko's sips are small, contained, and make you want to drink more. Or maybe taste the wine on his lips. You enjoy the way he almost always seems to think before talking.
"Should it? A traditional part of me wants to believe it should, but... being frank, not even a little."
"I'm happy to hear that. I know this isn't the ideal way for things to happen for you—again, I was and am more than honored that you want to, but idealistically, things should be different. Everyone deserved their first time to be... comfortable. With someone they trust, and feeling sure of it, desiring it, wanting it, but... yeah. I'm happy you're not bothered by how it's going."
"Was your first time like that?"
Your laughter at his question is devoid of any happiness. "Spirits, no. Not by a mile. I think rarely do people get what they deserve."
Zuko smiles, and it's a sheepish thing. "Unfair, then."
"Life is, Zuko. I'm sure you know that better than most people."
"I do. I meant unfair with you, specifically, that you'd give me a perfect first time, but you didn't get one."
"What?"
"You said it: comfortable. With someone I trust." He swallows visibly, upper body squirming. "I'm sure of it. Desiring. Wanting. So..."
It takes everything in you not to jump him at the words.
Closing your eyes to inhale deeply is a necessity—Zuko has a way with words, and it's too hot outside and in this room to blame the weather for the goosebumps rising all over your skin.
"Well..." I'm going to eat you alive. "Glad you're getting what you deserve with this," you pin your eyes on him.
Assessing his body posture now, it's easy for you to recognize the signs.
Where there was stiffness, now there's only the soft rise and fall of his breathing. His blush spread down to his neck, and although it's less dark than it was when you teased him, it's there, almost as if it's permanent. Zuko squirms, too, but he knows how to hide it well. Too bad for him, you're allowed to stare and able to catalog the ways he does so.
To stop his whole body from moving, he moves his fingers against the glass or his legs.
"You're staring," he says, interrupting your mental assessment.
"It's a beautiful view," you continue looking, wishing he was already without robes, clothes, shame.
"Yeah, it is." The words make you gaze, only to find his eyes doing the same to your body.
Deciding to test the water, you sit on your knees instead of your legs.
Keeping the robe was only for embarrassment purposes—you were okay with how you looked at this point in life, but showing yourself to someone new was always nerve-wracking.
Zuko had already seen the ugliest part of you and was still here, staring, burning holes into you.
His gaze made you hot. It was cheap and ridiculous, but the truth.
His heat warmed the very air around him, and the last thing you wanted was to be drowning in sweat before he even put his hands on you.
When you remove your robes, Zuko's eyes darken.
Those gorgeous honey orbs became a shade of gold, but one seen during nighttime. He follows your movement of dropping the clothing on the floor as he sips the rest of his wine.
Then, Zuko all but throws the glass on the side of the bed, earning a gasp from you as you wait for the breaking sound. When nothing comes but a thud, you look back at him to find him smirking and lifting his body on his knees the same way you are.
"Carpet," he offers as an explanation, inching closer.
"Right." You swallow. "I feel like you're about to melt me."
Zuko's smile widens. "I think that might be just you..." he's closer, almost inches apart from you. "I can control my body temperature. No blaming my bending now for what you're feeling."
"Oh..."
"Plus," now, close enough that you could count the eyelashes on his face, Zuko places his hand on your hip. "I recall the second and only other picture Sokka's ever sent being of you... Your back, more specifically, painted in wax. I thought you liked the heat?"
That little shit. Your eyes close, and you eliminate the remaining distance between your bodies, wanting and needing to feel him. "I really do."
When you open your eyes to gauge his reaction one final time, you would swear his eyes are black. They're not, but they seem.
Zuko licks his lips and you've had enough waiting.
"You'll tell me if I do anything you don't like?" you ask, pleading with your eyes.
He nods in reply, sighing when your hands start touching him by his arms, sliding up to feel the whole extent of them. "Ideally, you'd tell me if I do something you like, too, so I can do it again and again..." Zuko's eyes close at your words. "But I won't ask too much of you." This time, you want to say.
But you refrain from dreaming that way.
Enjoy the blessing you have right now.
When the distance closes between your lips, everything else is forgotten.
It starts off slow.
Then, like a storm that starts with a soft drizzle, it envelops the both of you until you feel his presence has drenched all the way to your soul.
Zuko is responsive.
It drives you mad the second it happens—at the first tangle of your fingers in his silky, long hair, when all of the air escapes his lungs and his mouth opens up for you, the first moan you let out is at the realization that touching Zuko will ruin you entirely.
The memory of how far he's come when touching another person returns to you.
ㅤㅤㅤ""How far has he gone with his girlfriend, then?"
ㅤㅤㅤ""Hands. Here, read it—"
ㅤㅤㅤ""Sokka, I have my working mask on, just tell me."
ㅤㅤㅤ""I don't feel comfortable reading this out loud. ... Fine, Tui and La, I can feel you giving me that look even behind that thing. He said he and Mai went as far as touching each other? Uhm. Yeah, he says here she made him cum and the other way around too, but she only touched him above his clothes. Said she tried doing more, but, you know, he got frightened and stopped it."
Your left hand starts exploring him as soon as you remember.
Zuko's body is so pliant it's easy to push him until he's sitting on his ass again, and climbing to sit on his lap makes you drunker than the wine.
He's so responsive it hurts. It pains you to realize how much every touch has an effect on him because this might be the first time he's allowing himself to experience another touch without the hate and trauma that blocked him before from allowing his mind to feel good.
When your tongues meet as he gasps for air, you moan, and he sighs in response, hands tightening on your waist.
It takes a few bold licks on his lip and a bite on his bottom lip before he untangles some knots in his mind and starts exploring your body, too.
Your hand had already found its way through his hair — which he enjoys having played with —, his nape — he likes it when you squeeze it —, his back, his arms again, and they were gliding now through his torso when you feel the first roaming of his hands.
One of them goes up to your back while the other goes down to your ass, and your hum is pleased against his mouth.
It's difficult to stop kissing him. Bordering on impossible.
Zuko is a terrific kisser. He uses just enough tongue, knows how to fall into rhythm instead of trying to battle you for it, knows how to allow it to get dirty, slow, how to get lost in it.
When you manage to untangle from his mouth to play with his neck, you discover by his soft gasp how sensitive he is.
Agni and Spirits, is all of him sensitive?
You smile at knowing that you will discover.
He's massaging your ass with both hands when you start the assault on his neck with your tongue and teeth, marking your way down to his toned chest. He's gathering courage, using his strength to pull you closer and to rock your hips against his.
The hardening length inside his trousers makes you moan out loud for the first time, and you feel the hot breath he releases next to your ear in response.
I can control my body temperature.
Are you making him lose control?
You hope so. Pray to Yue in the sky that you are.
Then, Zuko ruins you further by whispering, "I liked that."
"What part, baby?"
Zuko moans at the pet name that slipped. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you recall his reaction to being called Fire Lord by you, but it seems he enjoys both ends of the spectrum.
"My neck," he's breathless. His voice sounds a bit broken and you nip at his throat for being so good for you. He whimpers when you do so, and you place a kiss on top of the red mark with a smile.
"You're so sensitive all over... I love it so fucking much," you mark the last words by rocking your hips harder, then sucking on his earlobe to discover whether that part is something he enjoys as well.
"Yeah?"
"Yes," it comes out in a moan.
Zuko then surprises you—both with the sheer force of his strength and his action of flipping you over in the mattress, pressing your back against it, and coming on top of you.
His eyes are so open and vulnerable that you have to cup his head between your hands to look at him before diving back in.
The way your bodies move together feels like a dance.
Each grind of his hips is met with one of yours. His hands on your legs lead them to wrap around his waist, and like Yue pulls the Sea, your hands on his head give him the permission to explore your own body as well.
When he's kissing down your throat, so close to your body with hips so desperate to meet yours, Zuko shakes his head, and all your ministrations halt for a second.
"I don't know where to start," whether it's the confession or the whimper in his voice, you're unsure, but it makes you pull back on the bossiness inside of you for longer.
"We've already started." You kiss the top of his head, enjoying the smell of his hair. "But you could take these clothes off. I'm burning up, Mr. I Control My Body Temperature. I'm sweating, Zuko."
"We both are," but he laughs at your teasing and obeys your request. His robe comes off, then the silk blouse underneath it, and when he reaches for the pants, you stop him.
"Can I?"
His reply is only an enthusiastic nod.
You take off the rest of his clothes, moaning at the sight of him naked. Instead of getting lost in his head, Zuko focuses on leaving you in the same state.
Part of you realized his nervousness would come from this—not knowing where to start, but allowing him to feel as if he's taking the lead might be the answer.
He removes each piece with reverence, planting kisses on your skin along the way and moaning the more of you that is revealed.
When he gets to your undergarments and realizes he's not the only one who was dripping, Zuko's chin drops, leaving his mouth agape and you lying there with your legs open, as flushed as he looks, as affected as he is.
"Can I..." when his words drift off into the wind, you reply by spreading your legs apart more.
For someone who's never been touched, Zuko sure knows how to use his instinct to touch somebody else.
And he wants to.
He ties his hair up in a bun with the hair itself, unbothered to look away from the sight in front of him, and you're on fire due to the heat in his eyes. He uses his hands to glide through your legs, looks up to you once to get the confirmation he needs and when he sees you playing with your boobs, eyes glued to his each movement, he bends down again.
"Can you—will you tell me what's good?"
Time to take the reigns.
"I will." With one hand coming down to slide between his hair again, you allow Zuko to explore and discover because that means you get to feel his uncertainty fading and blending into something anew.
What he lacks in experience, Zuko makes up for in being a great, keen, and fast student.
The hand in his hair guiding him to the perfect spot where you want him is understood as his helper really quick.
When you have to grab on tighter because his tongue used the right pressure, Zuko moans. When you let go, holding it lighter, he understands it as 'not as good as before'.
In under a minute, Zuko's learned the way you enjoy being devoured.
All it takes is a few tugs and a couple of pointed moans for him to understand he needs to focus some strength at the tip of his tongue, use and maintain a rhythm, comprehends how sometimes licking down and cleaning up the mess that leaks from you due to his ministrations can be just as good—he pushes his tongue inside of you once and is rewarded with the loudest moan so far, and that's when he does it—Zuko grinds down on the bed and you tug on his hair through the mist of your pleasure.
"Stop that," your demand is met immediately. "I'm the one—ah—I'll be the one touching—you. Not this bed."
It's hard to talk when he gets back to what he's becoming so good at it, so fast.
When the heat in your belly starts coiling and traveling south, you have to beg him to stop.
His head perks up from between your legs and every curse word you know falls from your lips at the sight of him with lips and chin glistening.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"Nothing at all. I just wanna touch you, too. Please. Come here..." he obeys, smiling. You get to watch his reaction to the next words. "You did so good I wanna make you feel good too... Fire Lord."
He blushes all the way down to his chest.
This time, it's your turn to bend his visions—you may not have a bigger strength than him, but you have training, and he's too flustered and shaky to realize when you wrap your legs around him in a way that allows you to flip him with his back against the bed.
Instead of sitting on top of him, though, you slide to the side of the bed until your knees hit the ground.
With a comer hither motion, you look him in the eye. "Come."
Zuko obeys. He always obeys.
It's so selfish of you to do this, but you need it. "I want you sitting on your stupidly big throne one day and remembering what I look like when I'm like this."
At this point, his mouth seems permanently etched this way—gaping, hard breathing coming off with broken whimpers and moans in between.
Putting your mouth on him while you can feel slick sliding in your inner thighs from what he had done to you is an experience you never imagined having.
Usually, you get lost in this—you enjoy giving pleasure a lot, but this is more than just that. Zuko is an artpiece when he's in bliss.
His hands grip the comforter underneath him, and you let him. It takes a few seconds of getting used to the feeling of having your mouth wrapped around him for him to break off the spell and place a gentle hand on your head—not to guide or to push, but to hold.
Gauging his every reaction is worth the uncomfortable position. He's perhaps the most beautiful sight you've ever seen, with his dark hair falling on his shoulders, all of him flushed pink, and his inability to breathe properly.
When you take him all the way down, breathing through your nose to withstand the feeling of his dick hitting the back of your throat, you're rewarded with his first choked-up cry.
And your name.
Zuko starts muttering your name, eyes screwed shut and head shaking. You do that a few more times before you see the sweat sliding down his chest and decide it's time you stop before he finishes. You have no idea of whether this will go all night, and you'd rather think about anything else other than when this is done, so you lick all of him, placing a kiss at the tip when his eyelids flutter open just enough to see you do it, and you climb back on the bed.
"D'you want me to finish that?"
He still has enough sanity to shake his head and hold you. "No—I—no." He clears his throat. "I might pass out when I come, and I don't want—I want to feel you."
"So good at asking for things," you whisper, climbing back on top of him.
Despite what you imagined, Zuko does go in for a kiss.
It ingrains in your mind the way he cradles your neck to do so. His hand is big—his grip is strong, and his eyes are drunk.
A dance or a kiss—you'd bet on both. Zuko knows the way you like it already and isn't scared of it. The happy sigh coming off his nose when you start touching him again makes you realize how much he enjoys it—your touches, any small touches.
Your bodies melting together is a blur or a mist of heat, but you're still happy with it.
All the confirmation you need that Zuko is okay with you sitting on his lap and aligning his cock with you is the frantic nods he gives in between kisses. It's everything you need.
He begs for a second when you sit all the way down, so easily due to how wet everything is—him, you, the fluids and the sweat and—Agni, you're gonna burst into flames.
In your ear, he whispers. "Hold—wait—oh, god." And each whisper makes you hotter. A part of you wishes you had brought a candle so he could warm it with his bending and then brand his name on your skin, but this will have to do. Being full of him would have to be enough.
Nothing would be enough for a while after this.
Not when Zuko holds you by the nape and nods permission for you to continue. Nothing will satisfy you like looking at his face, the desperate pleasure he finds when he feels you going all the way up only to sink back down in one motion.
Nothing can top his broken whimpers. The way he mutters your name and holds onto your neck as if it's a prayer, a saving boat, a threat that binds him to reality.
The pain that starts cramping in your legs is not enough to stop you from the motion. Not when Zuko looks drunker by the second, more lost in it the same way you are.
A part of you is aware you should switch positions so it's easier for him to pull out before something unwanted happens, but he feels so good.
"You feel so good, baby."
Zuko cries against your skin. His hips started snapping up to meet your thrusts a few seconds ago and you're certain he's in a mind fog, from the way he's been unable to form words since entering you.
There's also the way his hands feel warmer than the rest of him. They grab onto your neck while the other arm is wrapped tight around your middle, and Zuko starts mumbling something against your breasts.
"What?"
Zuko's eyes are swimming in the heat you feel all over—inside you, on your skin, the whole room must be on fire, but you could care less.
"Gotta pull out, I should pull out."
It's your turn to cry.
Then he does it again—Zuko slips out only to flip you around and climb back on top of you, sliding back inside in one motion that makes you both cry out.
"Tell me if it's too much," is all he says before he starts finding his rhythm once again. "I wanna make you cum undone," he states before trying to find it—a spot, the depth, the rhythm.
Nobody can say Zuko is not a determined person. It takes a few thrusts for him to realize that the wetness between your bodies means he has to stay closer to not slip out of you.
Then he starts finding the right spot that makes you scream. At the first cry of his name, Zuko gives a moaned laugh and does the exact same thing again, and again.
"Don't stop," he tells you. Don't stop saying my name.
"Zuko. Don't stop." And he doesn't.
Not until the fire snaps and wipes everything in your way. All you can do is cry out for him over and over before you're shaking underneath him, tightening around his dick, and obliging him to pull out before he spills where he shouldn't.
Both of you shake from head to toe in each other's arms.
Never in your life had you gotten so lost. Mind so blank.
All you can do is hold on to him and allow him to hold back.
Zuko's mouth starts kissing on our neck, and the weight of his body on top of you amplifies as he loses strength, but you love it. You like the mess, the stickiness, how everything is drenched, and neither of you seems to care.
All you want is for his kisses to never stop.
Unsure of how much time you have to enjoy the biggest bliss of your life, you play with his hair absent-mindedly, thinking of how beautiful he would look with a water tribe braid in that silky coal beauty of his.