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It’s not so much that Zuko leaves the relationship as it is that Jet apparently, finally, gets bored playing with him.
Not that he had refrained from playing with others while they were together.
It’s not anger, or sadness, or even relief that Zuko feels. Zuko only wants out—to be gone, away. He lets Jet keep the apartment. He doesn’t want it, and even if he did he wouldn’t ask for it.
Zuko just wants to be alone so he can justify the aching loneliness he’s felt for as long as he can remember.
He leaves his uncle a midnight voicemail that says he’s going on vacation. Then he drives for a while. A long time. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he follows the road east and figures it will have to end somewhere.
It turns out that the road ends three days later, at the edge of the country. Or close enough to it. Instead of being in the bustling city that marks the end of the highway on the map he’d picked up at a rest stop, Zuko finds himself driving down a narrow dirt road and emerging in a tiny village nestled on the rocks around a small harbour.
He must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. It's improbable, when the road should have been a straight shot, but of course Zuko managed to fuck it up. It doesn’t matter—Zuko’s taken so few right turns in his life and this surely won’t be the most lost he’s ever been.
He’s always been directionless and has never been good at following directions.
He pulls over someplace that doesn’t look like a driveway—it’s hard to tell—and surveys wherever the hell he is. It’s mostly water and rock, the smell of brine and sulfur evident through his closed car windows. He drove most of the night and it’s just barely dawn now, pink light creeping over the ocean and illuminating the silhouette of a lighthouse not too far from the cluster of houses.
It’s not a large lighthouse, or an impressive one, but it’s peaceful and looks over a positively stunning view. By the time Zuko stumbles across the rocks at the lighthouse base to sit in its shadow, he’s crying.
He watches the ocean and cries until there’s too many other people tiptoeing around the rocky shore and embarrassment finally catches up with him.
Apparently this is a tourist town, but it is very much not tourist season. He asks the woman who sells him a burnt coffee from the cafe that doubles as her home how many people live here year round. She tells him precisely thirty-two. That, to Zuko, sounds about as close to lifelong solitude as one can get without commandeering a cave and swearing off of electricity and banks—it sounds a little like heaven, if he’s being honest.
Zuko walks for a while and sips the coffee, shitty and burnt and bitter as it is, because he’s too cold to let its warmth be wasted. He winds through the village a few times, browsing the cheap souvenirs and less cheap artwork the locals display from their shops. He’s leaving his third gallery when his gaze snags on a brochure for boat tours. He grabs the pamphlet and flips through.
There’s puffins in this area. The brochure features a pair that look to be mated, rubbing their colourful beaks together.
Zuko would like to see puffins. Why the fuck shouldn’t he?
He clutches the brochure and makes his way through town, sticking close to the harbour and skimming the signs at the docks to find the one with this tour company’s name.
He finds it and approaches the small wooden stand at the end of the dock.
It’s occupied by a man about his age, handsome and relaxed from what Zuko can make out of his face, which is turned down to write something in a large book.
Then the man looks up and smiles. His eyes are ocean blue and brilliant against his dark skin, and he easily surpasses the view from the lighthouse as the most gorgeous thing Zuko’s ever seen. Zuko could die happy after seeing him.
Shit. He’s staring.
The beautiful man speaks first. “I hate to disappoint, but we just sold our last spaces on the next tour,” he says.
Zuko snaps his brain out of its haze.
“Oh, sure. Okay. No problem.” Zuko’s seen pictures of puffins. He’ll live without seeing the real thing. It’s fine.
He definitely doesn’t need to go have another cry.
He turns to walk away when the man says, “Hey buddy, wait up. We’ve got another boat going out this afternoon, if you want.”
Zuko frowns. “It’s alright. I don’t think I’ll be here.”
The man tilts his head, considering Zuko. It’s an almost comical pose, with his ridiculous blue rubber coveralls and the too-stylish sunglasses perched on his head.
“You know what, we’ve got room for one more. Let me get your name on the list here.”
Zuko takes a moment to process that he’s being waited on for a response. “I’m Zuko,” he says, after a second too long.
“Alrighty, Zuko. Head down to the boat and tell them that Sokka sent you. Tour leaves in twenty.”
“But—why?” Zuko asks, dumbly. He doesn’t always trust nice things.
The man—Sokka—smiles again, a little more understanding. “Sometimes you just gotta be on the water, you know?”
Zuko doesn’t know, but he mumbles a thanks and can only manage a sharp incline of his head before nearly running down the dock.
Zuko just about resigns to death all over again when he realizes that Sokka is a nature interpreter who’s leading their boat tour.
He really, truly thinks he’s going to perish when it becomes clear that Zuko suffers from debilitating seasickness.
The boat ride out is over an hour long, and it’s not half that before he’s hanging his head over the Moonbeam ’s side to empty his sour stomach into the sea. It’s fucking humiliating. Zuko stands out in a crowd whether he wants to or not—he doesn’t need the help of violent illness to catch the eyes of the dozen or so other middle-aged tourists on board.
Soon he’s left with nothing but a burning throat and even hotter shame. He tries to listen to Sokka describe what they’re passing and the animals they hope to see, he really does. He doesn’t catch much over the throbbing in his head, but the sound of Sokka’s voice is soothing in a strange way. It’s a bit fuzzy and crackling at the edges as it comes through the weak audio system, just intangible enough that Zuko can let himself pretend he’s in a dream.
Sokka intersperses his commentary with terrible jokes.
(“Burrows, did I say? You are absolutely herring that right!”)
Zuko smirks anyway, letting his cheek rest on the cold metal of the boat’s rail. The ocean mist hitting his face with each swell feels pleasant, even as his stomach churns along with the water.
“Get ready for the main event, folks! Now, we did warn most of you that there might be very few birds left this late in the season, as they’re all heading out for their migration overseas about this time.” Sokka pauses, then continues excitedly, “But we’re friends with chance today! If you check out that rocky island to our left, you can see that there’s a few puffins still hanging around. I think there’s actually a seal near the shore there, too.”
Zuko lifts his head, swallows back the rise of bile, and squints. He can’t see much of anything. They’re too far, and all he can make out are the tiny points of black darting from rock to sky to sea against the overcast backdrop.
“Hey.”
Zuko flinches so hard that Sokka raises both hands in a gesture of peace. “Oh my god,” Zuko mumbles, mortified by his own reaction. “Sorry.”
Sokka smiles again and eases himself closer to Zuko to lean on the same stretch of railing. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I just saw you were having a rough time earlier. How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Um. Fine.”
“Not everyone has sea legs, so it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re not the worst case I’ve seen, if that makes you feel better.”
It doesn’t, but the fact that someone, even a stranger, cares enough to ask—that does.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“So what brought you out here?”
Zuko’s somehow sure that Sokka’s not asking about the tour, but he ignores the true question. “Just wanted to see some puffins.”
Sokka eyes him sideways for a moment before nodding. “They’re cute buggers. Can’t see much from this distance, though. Here,” he says, leaning closer so his shoulder brushes Zuko’s.
He’s handing Zuko a pair of binoculars.
“Oh, uh. That’s fine. This is fine,” he says, shaking his head.
Zuko only barely resists flinching again when Sokka grabs his frozen hand in his broader, warmer one and presses the binoculars into his palm. “Come on, dude. You wanted to see them. I’ve seen them plenty. Have a look.”
Tentatively, Zuko peers through the lenses. At his first clear glimpse of the tiny seabirds, he sucks in a cold breath.
“I thought they’d be bigger,” he whispers, following one bird with his eyes until it flits away faster than he can track, then choosing another one.
“They’re each only about a pound or less,” Sokka says. “Hardy little guys, though. They live at sea for two years as fledglings before ever setting foot on land.”
Sokka must have already said all this on the ride, and he’s repeating it for Zuko’s benefit. It doesn’t have the air of a rehearsed speech, though. Sokka sounds genuinely impressed.
Zuko is foolishly, recklessly, a little bit in love.
“Amazing,” he breathes. He wants to watch the birds and he wants to look at Sokka but if he does the latter he might combust. “What—what else?”
“They can fly at nearly ninety clicks an hour,” Sokka continues. Zuko hears the smile in his voice. He still can’t stand to look. “They can also live to be around twenty years old in the wild, and they typically mate for life.”
Zuko’s next inhale is tight, shallow.
These tiny, clownish birds mate for life, and Zuko has yet to be anyone’s sole choice for more than the time it takes them to realize how broken he is.
He wordlessly passes the binoculars back to Sokka, then scrubs the back of a hand over his cheek and hopes that the wetness on his face will be mistaken for ocean spray.
It isn’t.
Sokka looks alarmed from the corner of Zuko’s eye. “Are you okay, man?”
The answer is almost always no, but if five years of therapy have hardly made a dent in that particular issue Zuko highly doubts that this kind stranger is going to. He also doesn’t pay this stranger over a hundred dollars an hour.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “All good.”
There’s a few minutes of silence before Sokka nods and stretches his hands over his head, then saunters across the deck to speak to someone else.
Zuko’s a little relieved and disappointed all at once. He just got out of a shitty relationship—the last thing he needs is to fall into...infatuation with someone he’ll never have and never see again.
That would be stupid, something Zuko prides himself on not being.
Zuko jumps again when Sokka appears beside him once more. He’s either too silent for a man of his size, or Zuko’s not paying enough attention to his surroundings. That’s rare, since he’s almost never at ease unless he’s alone.
“Hey again,” Sokka smiles. “Brought you something else.”
“Wh—” Zuko starts, then clicks his teeth together as a weight settles across his shoulders. Sokka’s draped a coat over him, a heavy flannel monstrosity that’s far too big but gloriously warm.
“Next time you make an impromptu trip to the coast, you should probably stop to at least pack a proper jacket,” Sokka says.
“It’s late summer,” Zuko mutters. His face is burning and he wants to give the jacket back, wants to refuse the help for fear it’s actually pity, but if he does that he’ll freeze. That would be stupid—which, again, he is not.
Sokka snorts. “That doesn’t mean shit around here. And I’d feel bad letting someone as pretty as you freeze to death on my tour.”
Zuko’s face is on fucking fire and he tugs the jacket closer around himself. It smells salty and a bit smoky, and has another quality he can’t name but that he finds oddly pleasant. “So you’re keeping me alive out of professional obligation?” he asks, risking a glance at the man beside him.
Sokka leans closer to whisper conspiratorially into Zuko’s ear. He shudders at the warm breath he feels slide down his neck. “If anyone asks, I’m only doing my job. Gotta earn my tips.” He straightens and shrugs with one shoulder. “If you ask, well...go ahead, and we’ll see what answer I come up with.”
Sokka walks away with a wink.
It’s the goddamn twenty first century—who winks these days?
It should have absolutely zero effect on Zuko. Instead, that wink sends a bolt of heat down his spine.
Alright, maybe Zuko’s a little stupid.
He’s the last off the boat. He shrugs off the jacket and hands it to Sokka, who’s waiting at the end of the dock, changed out of his coveralls and offering pleasant goodbyes to the departing tourists.
Sokka grins widely at him. Zuko’s stomach flips, with anticipation rather than dread for the first time in—perhaps years. “Have fun?” he asks.
“Um, yeah. It was great. Very informative.”
Sokka laughs and shakes his head. “Thanks, man. Where are you off to now? The lighthouse, maybe? That’s a popular place with visitors.”
“Already saw it,” Zuko says. “No plans, now.” He tries not to be disappointed at the sightseeing suggestion—it’s not often he gets flirted with, but he was sure he hadn’t misread what was happening on the boat. Wishful thinking, maybe. Probably. Stupid.
Sokka’s smile gets impossibly brighter. “I’m done for the day...wanna grab a coffee? You still look like you could use the heat.”
Zuko’s going to die.
He’s not sure when or if he’ll ever want coffee again, after the experience on the boat. His mouth still tastes acrid and stale and he still has no idea where he is. But he’s an impulsive idiot sometimes, so he says, “Uh, sure. Yeah. That’d be nice.”
Sokka hands back the jacket and Zuko doesn’t hesitate to slip it on again. “My place?” Sokka asks, voice quiet with the first signs of uncertainty Zuko’s seen from him.
Zuko nods, once, quickly. Sokka grabs his hand—Zuko’s fingers are so cold the grasp is almost painful—and tucks it under his arm. They don’t speak as Sokka leads them up the steps into the village and down the main stretch toward a small eggshell blue house that’s teetering on the edge of the harbour.
They step inside and the door slams behind them. Sokka releases Zuko’s hand to slip off his jacket and boots and turns to face him. Zuko feels the loss of contact keenly, but he’s mollified by the look that flickers across Sokka’s face for an instant.
Zuko can’t take his gaze away from the blue of his eyes. He might not be breathing.
“So, um, the washroom is through there,” Sokka says, pointing to his right. “There’s towels in the cupboard. You can take a shower to warm up, if you want. I’ll get the coffee going.”
Zuko thinks he sees a faint blush creep over Sokka’s dark cheeks as he turns to head into the kitchen area.
Zuko slips off his own muddy shoes and lays his jacket over the chair by the door. He shuffles to the washroom with a last glance at Sokka, who is dutifully measuring coffee grounds into a filter.
Zuko hopes he’s not already regretting inviting a stranger home, especially one who looks like he does. He doesn’t think that’s the case—Sokka doesn’t seem like the type to do something without intention.
If nothing else happens, maybe Zuko can at least borrow a bit of toothpaste to get the taste of death out of his mouth.
Zuko manages to find some toothpaste without too much snooping and scrapes a little around his mouth with a finger. Then he eyes himself in the mirror—he’s paler than usual, a dark smudge under his good eye from the late night drive. His eyes are red rimmed from crying and heaving, and he’s still working to suppress his shivering from the cold that seems to have sunk its teeth into his marrow.
A hot shower sounds fucking delightful.
Zuko takes a deep breath and steps out of the washroom with his own intention.
Sokka looks up from the coffee maker as Zuko approaches. He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed across his chest. Zuko’s chest tightens at the sight.
He might start crying again if he can’t touch him.
“No shower?” Sokka asks. “I meant it, feel free to ju—”
He cuts himself off as Zuko slips his hands onto Sokka’s hips and leans in to place a kiss to his pulse point. Sokka’s arms uncross and his hands come to Zuko’s shoulders, warm and grounding. Zuko takes the opportunity to step closer, lean his body against Sokka’s and tilt his head up to press his lips to the underside of his jaw again. He tastes like seawater.
Sokka shudders a little. “You’re so cold,” he murmurs. His hands tighten on Zuko’s shoulders.
“Come warm up with me,” he whispers.
Sokka pulls back and meets Zuko’s eyes, a little hesitant. “This isn’t—I wasn’t, like, trying to lure you back to my lair,” he says. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” Zuko interrupts. “You’re a good person. I want to.”
Zuko isn’t an expert at recognizing good people—he usually assumes the worst to avoid disappointment—but he is very experienced in recognizing a bad person when he meets one. Sokka is not that.
Sokka searches Zuko’s eyes for a second longer before groaning a little and leaning in to crash their lips together.
Zuko wastes no time responding, licking into Sokka’s mouth and running his hands up the firm planes of his stomach and chest.
Sokka pushes off the counter but keeps his hands on Zuko’s hips to steer him backward out of the kitchen. Zuko breaks their kiss just long enough to twist and grab his arm to nearly drag him the rest of the way to the washroom. Once they cross the threshold, he’s tugging Sokka’s shirt over his head.
“So impatient,” Sokka teases.
“Wanna see you,” Zuko murmurs. He needs to see him.
Sokka chuckles and helps the shirt off the rest of the way, tossing it aside onto the tile. Zuko’s breath hitches at the sight, dark skin and lean muscle and a surprising number of tattoos on either arm. Zuko won’t be appreciating them individually, not right now, but he can certainly appreciate the overall effect. The more he looks at Sokka, the more Zuko is convinced there’s not a better sight to be seen anywhere on the coast.
Sokka grips his waist and hauls him in for another deep kiss. Zuko moans into Sokka’s mouth as warm hands travel under his sweater, nearly burning in contrast to how icy his skin feels.
“Shit,” Sokka says. “So cold.”
Zuko just hums in response, tearing off his own shirt and starting to work at Sokka’s pants as he trails tongue and teeth along his collarbone. Sokka hisses as Zuko’s fingers graze the skin just above his waistband.
Zuko’s hands are batted away, gently. “I’ll get it,” Sokka tells him. “Your fingers are fucking freezing. Hurry up with your own clothes.”
Zuko smirks and obeys, stepping back to wrestle out of his own layers. Sokka’s pants are off and Zuko takes a moment to shamelessly admire the view as he turns around to crank the shower on. He’s half hard already, and he’s gratified to see that Sokka’s even further along. The water sputters for a moment before coming in a steady stream. Sokka holds a hand under it, turning around when he deems the temperature suitable.
He catches Zuko staring. Zuko doesn’t look away, just raises his gold eyes to blue ones. “You’re gorgeous,” he says, more reverently than he means to.
Sokka ducks his chin a little. It’s adorable—Zuko wouldn’t have expected him to be embarrassed by compliments. Then he makes grabby hands and Zuko goes, pressing himself against Sokka and reaching up for a kiss. Sokka’s arms band around Zuko’s back as he obliges, tilting down to bring their lips together again. A hand slides into his hair and fingers reach into Zuko’s small topknot to tug the hairband out so the dark strands fall loose. Sokka anchors a hand in his hair, guiding Zuko through a slow grazing of lips. It lacks the urgency of their earlier kissing, languid and deliberate now. Zuko almost can’t stand how gentle it is and how much it makes him feel.
Two years and Jet never once kissed him like that.
Twenty-six years and Zuko wasn’t aware it was possible to kiss like that.
He slides his own hands up to lock around the back of Sokka’s neck and feels Sokka smile against his mouth. Then he gasps as without warning his hips are gripped tight and he’s swung easily over the side of the tub. He’s set down gently, directly in the stream of the hot water.
Zuko moans, startlingly loud against the steady, quiet patter of the shower. A shudder racks through him at the sudden heat.
Sokka steps in a second later, his hands never leaving Zuko. He tugs Zuko forward and pecks his forehead once before folding him against his chest. Zuko strains up to nip at his jaw, but Sokka just laughs and squeezes, keeps him tight against his body with Zuko’s back in the stream.
The heat from both sides feels better than almost anything. He resigns to it, loops his arms around Sokka’s waist and lets himself sag against him a little.
It’s not sexy, necessarily—or, maybe it shouldn’t be. This is, on paper, casual. They’re strangers who met only a few hours ago, yet Zuko’s being held like he’s something worth caring for. Someone who deserves a cup of coffee and a warm shower with no expectation of repayment.
That alone is enough to make him ache with wanting.
Zuko’s not sure how long he stands like that, between Sokka and the hot water. He thinks he almost falls asleep. It’s long minutes before he realizes that hands are working circles into his upper back and shoulders, smoothing out the tension that he always carries there.
He forces himself to lift his head and blink the water out of his eyes to focus on Sokka as he brushes long strands of hair away from Zuko’s face. He leans his head into the hand, chasing the contact.
Sokka smiles and uses one hand to hold his cheek while the other continues to rub Zuko’s back. “Feeling good?” he asks.
“Mm. Good,” Zuko nods.
Sokka leans in to press a chaste kiss to Zuko’s lips. Zuko arches his hips forward and deepens it, sliding his hands up Sokka’s back and down again, a little farther each time.
Somewhere during the interlude of breathing life back into his frozen blood Zuko had gone soft again, his body drowsy and boneless, but it’s not long before his interest is renewed.
He arches forward again, drinking in the little moan that Sokka lets out. He drops his head to nibble and lick his way down Sokka’s neck, shivering as Sokka's thumbs knead into soft pressure points on his hips.
“God, where did you even come from?” Sokka rasps.
Zuko grins and grazes his teeth across Sokka’s earlobe. He’s rewarded with a forward stutter of his hips, and he repeats the action. “A couple provinces over,” he says finally, lips sliding against Sokka’s cheek.
Sokka laughs, a hearty noise that rings a little in the confines of the shower. Zuko slips his hands down to squeeze his ass, and the laugh changes to something more breathy.
The skin there is cold. Shit—Zuko’s been hogging the water.
He spins them, crowding Sokka farther into the stream. “You warm enough?” Sokka asks, obvious concern in his voice.
God, when was the last time someone other than Iroh was concerned about him? Zuko goes through most of life unconcerned about himself. He’s going to fall apart from Sokka’s care, if he lets himself take it.
Zuko just glances at his face and nods, then dips his head to Sokka’s neck again. He trails downward, sliding to his knees on the porcelain. He hears Sokka’s breath catch, and looks up to meet blue eyes that are wide with shock and dark with hunger. Eyes that are very, very eager. Sokka’s tongue darts out to lick droplets of water off his lips. He hisses softly as Zuko wraps a hand loose around him.
Zuko wants to burn that sound into his mind, to be able to replay it later when he’s home and trying to convince himself that this wasn’t a dream.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know, I know,” Zuko says. “But can I?”
“Oh fu—god, yes. Please.”
Zuko grins and kisses the tip of his cock, not breaking eye contact. Then he takes him slowly into his mouth. Sokka slaps a hand against the shower wall to steady himself, groaning.
“Fuck, Zuko, you’re incredible,” he breathes.
Zuko hums around him appreciatively, increasing his pace. He watches Sokka’s face, cataloguing his reactions. When he pulls off for a moment to stroke him firmly from root to head, Sokka’s eyes slam shut and his free hand paws the air a little.
Zuko catches it with his own and guides it to his hair as he lowers his gaze, taking Sokka back to the hilt. Sokka’s hips stutter as he lets out another moan. The hand in Zuko’s hair tightens but doesn’t pull, then slides around to cup the back of his head.
“Holy shit, baby,” Sokka murmurs. “How are you even real? So good at that. You’re fucking amazing.”
Zuko can only moan a little in response as Sokka’s thumb starts tracing light circles into his scalp. Zuko wants to do this forever, to drag out Sokka’s pleasure, hear every sound he can pull from him, but he’s getting cold again. He refocuses, sucking harder and faster to bring him to the brink.
Soon Sokka’s hand moves to the crown of his head, and he’s warned, “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna—move if—”
Sokka lets out something not unlike a sob. Zuko pulls back, stroking him as he comes in his hand until he’s spent, heaving ragged breath. He presses another kiss to Sokka’s cock, reveling in how his entire body twitches from sensitivity, and stands.
He draws Sokka close, circling his arms tight around his chest. Sokka’s gone limp and wordless, draping himself onto Zuko and tucking his chin into the crook of his neck.
It’s hopelessly endearing. Zuko hasn’t forgotten about his own arousal, but he’s also happy to stand here and soak in the steam curling around his body. He’s happy to hold Sokka and wait until he comes back to himself.
Zuko hadn’t planned on his day going this way. He hadn’t planned on much of anything, besides perhaps a good lobster roll in the city and maybe a few months of self-imposed celibacy and extra therapy sessions. Maybe he’d finally adopt the cat that Jet always refused to let him have.
This is better.
Sokka lifts his head as the water starts to cool. He blinks at Zuko, a little unbelieving and awestruck. “Your turn. Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, sliding a hand between them.
Zuko shakes his head and leans behind Sokka to turn off the shower. He shivers at the loss, and motions for Sokka to step out first. Zuko wrings out his hair as much as he can, unsure of where to go from here.
Sokka’s back in a second, pushing the shower curtain the rest of the way to the side. He’s holding a large towel, another already wrapped around his waist. Zuko reaches for the one in his hand but Sokka pulls it away, smiling and shaking his head.
“I got you,” he says. “Come here, baby.”
Zuko steps out of the shower, and immediately he’s folded back into an embrace, the towel draped around him. Sokka rubs him dry with his hands over the fabric, warm and perfectly coarse against his skin.
It seems like it should be infantilizing, but Zuko can’t find it in him to make it stop. He wants this, the care and gentleness. The sweet names that have never been used for him before. The looks directed at him like Sokka’s the one in a dream, not Zuko. He doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it.
Zuko’s always been flighty, since he was a child and retreat was the only option for surviving the daily battle that was his life. Retreat away from the threat, retreat into himself. That’s how he ended up here—an instinctual, ever-present urge to flee that he finally caved to. So, he’s cautious even now, still waiting for the rug to be pulled from under him, for his clothes to be thrown at him with a harsh word to leave.
That doesn’t seem to be happening. Sokka just grins as he meets Zuko’s eyes, dopey and pleased.
Zuko’s heart is fracturing. It’s not a vessel that’s made to contain everything he’s feeling now. The pressure of those emotions vying for space in his chest is overwhelming—yet all he can be is grateful for it.
“Feeling better?” Sokka asks.
Zuko nods and takes the towel from Sokka’s hold to wrap it tighter around himself. “Yeah. Much better.”
“Great. You look a little better. Not that you didn’t look good before. You’re fucking beautiful, of course you looked good. But you look warmer, is what I’m saying.” Sokka sucks in a breath and laughs. At himself, it seems. Zuko just watches, totally charmed and a bit shell shocked from such casual compliments.
“I’m warm,” Zuko tells him, smiling tentatively.
“I’m glad. Um, do you need anything? Like, a drink—shit, that coffee’s probably burnt as hell by now—water? Fresh clothes? A hair tie? I can make something to eat, if you’re hungry, but I haven’t—”
Zuko catches his mouth in a sloppy kiss, swallows the rest of his words before he has a chance to keep rambling. He pulls back and smirks at Sokka’s expression, his eyes blown wide and lips kiss-swollen. “Bedroom?” Zuko asks.
He watches Sokka’s throat bob before he says, “Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Bedroom.”
Zuko rubs the towel over his head a few times, then drops it on the floor. Sokka’s eyes rake over him, and Zuko’s face heats as his breathing starts to come shallower.
“You’re—god, baby, you’re so pretty. Just beautiful.”
“Please,” Zuko demurs. “Have you seen yourself?”
Sokka laughs. “I’m not saying I’m not pretty fucking fine myself, just that you are unreal. And I think I’m going to talk you right out of the house if I don’t shut up and get you into bed, now.”
He grabs Zuko’s hand and tugs, leading him one door down the hall to a small bedroom. He drops the towel from his waist and surges forward, hands on Zuko’s hips to press him back to the bed.
Zuko grabs his neck and pulls him in for a kiss, taking Sokka with him as he flops back onto the mattress. His weight and warmth between Zuko’s legs and on his chest is delicious, and Zuko takes a deep inhale of his neck. He smells like the sea, even after a shower. Sokka’s hands are everywhere, rough palms leaving trails of heat as they smooth over Zuko’s pale skin.
“What can I do, baby?” Sokka asks. “How can I take care of you?”
Zuko is—sadly, he registers—shocked to be asked. “Are you even...”
He trails off into a gasp as Sokka grinds his hips down into his. He’s evidently ready to go again. Zuko’s not complaining, certainly. It’s a pleasant surprise. If Sokka lets him, he’ll take full advantage of it.
“I’m fine, baby. Just tell me what you want. I wanna make you feel good.”
“I’m feeling good,” Zuko murmurs. He is—he’s actually feeling pretty damn fantastic. “Anything. I want anything, everything you do.”
“Hmm,” Sokka says, nuzzling into Zuko’s cheek. “So many options. I can blow you, or I can fuck you. Or you can fuck me. I can make you a grilled cheese sandwich. We can even just take a nap, if you really want. I’m down for whatever. What’s sounding good to you, sweetheart?”
It all sounds good. Sokka’s offered a menu and Zuko wants to order several courses.
“I can—to you. I can fuck you, if you want.”
Sokka grins, sharp and eager. “Do you want to?”
“Oh my god,” Zuko breathes. “I want to. So badly.”
“Then hell yeah,” Sokka says, and tilts down for a filthy kiss. Zuko makes a sound of protest when he pulls back, tightening his grip on the back of Sokka’s neck.
Sokka huffs a laugh. “Relax, I’m just getting stuff.”
Zuko accepts this, releases his hold to let Sokka rummage through the nightside table. He scrambles backward, further onto the bed, and sits on his knees.
He palms his own neglected cock as Sokka crawls back onto the bed. Sokka watches him greedily, then reaches out to replace Zuko’s hand with his own. He tugs gently and Zuko moans, gripping Sokka’s forearm in a silent plea.
“Not too much or I’m a goner,” he says.
Sokka releases him with a smirk. “Can’t have that.” He lies back, beckons Zuko into the v of his legs. Zuko goes, settling his weight between them and peppering Sokka’s face with kisses as Sokka grabs handfuls of his ass.
“Please, baby,” Sokka whispers. “You gonna give it to me?”
“Shit, yes.” Zuko hasn’t done this in years, and he’s a little nervous, but he wants it more than he can recall wanting anything in bed.
Sokka reaches behind his head to grab the small bottle and press it into Zuko’s hand. He pops the cap and drizzles some onto his fingers. Sokka shudders as Zuko reaches between them to press a fingertip to his entrance, testing and teasing.
Sokka wraps his arms around Zuko’s shoulders, holding him so the lines of their bodies are flush. It’s warm and intimate and cranks Zuko’s wrist a funny way, but he’s not willing to make Sokka feel bad by saying anything.
He doesn’t dislike being held like this, as unfamiliar as it is. It’s soothing, strong arms around him even as Sokka trembles or stutters a little as Zuko works his fingers into him. It makes Zuko feel like he’s the one who needs to be held together during this—and it’s not an inaccurate assessment.
“Fuck, holy shit, baby,” Sokka says. “You’re fucking amazing at this, too.”
Zuko smiles against Sokka’s jaw. “Want more?”
“Please.”
Zuko complies, adding another finger and crooking them to hit what he hopes is the right spot. Sokka curses and bucks, so he thinks for once his sense of direction was reliable. “Good?” Zuko asks.
“Incredible,” Sokka says. “Keep doing that.”
Zuko pulls back just enough to see Sokka’s face. He smiles broadly at his heavy, hooded eyes. Sokka grins back and slides a hand up to cradle Zuko’s jaw.
“You should do this more,” he murmurs.
“Fuck you?”
Sokka rolls his eyes with absolutely no irritation. “Smile,” he says. “You have a gorgeous smile. Hate to see you sad.”
Zuko thrusts his fingers again in lieu of an answer, drawing another moan out of Sokka. “‘M’not sad now,” he whispers.
“Good,” Sokka grunts. “I’m ready. I want you, baby. Can I have it?”
Zuko’s known this man for half a day, but he knows, fundamentally, that he is incapable of denying Sokka anything.
He drags in a shuddery breath and withdraws his fingers. He grabs the condom from beside Sokka’s head and manages to slide it on within two tries, impressive given how hard his hands are trembling.
Sokka hooks his legs around Zuko’s back, reeling him closer as he slathers on more lube and lines himself up with his entrance. Sokka hisses at the first press in. Zuko immediately stills, worried he’s hurt him.
“Shit, are you—”
“I’m okay, baby. Feels really good. Can you keep going?”
“Let me know if I hurt you.”
“I will, but you won’t hurt me. Promise.” He arches up to press a kiss to Zuko’s chin, then flops back to grin at him, relaxed and content.
Zuko continues, resolved to go slower than he thinks is possible. Sokka murmurs encouragement and praise as he moves, his hands wrapped around Zuko’s biceps, gently kneading the muscle.
Sokka groans when Zuko’s inside fully. Zuko sags against him, letting his forehead drop to rest against Sokka’s. He’s both overwhelmed with stimulus and not feeling nearly enough, the fit of Sokka against him hot and perfect.
“Can I move?” he whispers. “Please tell me when.”
“Fuck, baby, please move. Please please. God, you feel fucking perfect.”
A strangled whine slips from low in Zuko’s throat. He has half a mind to be embarrassed, but Sokka just brushes his thumb under his good eye and keeps smiling.
Zuko has to kiss him, has to remind himself this is real. That he’s here, and wanted, and that there are no harsh words forthcoming. Sokka doesn’t seem to mind. He responds with just as much enthusiasm and tangles his fingers in Zuko’s damp hair to hold it gently. Zuko curls himself around Sokka with the first gentle rock of his hips, relishing the appreciative moan Sokka gives against his mouth.
Sokka holds him close, kissing him soundly as Zuko sets a slow rhythm. He’s crumbling, fraying at the seams and held together by the thread of Sokka’s hands in his hair, on his back, tracing his ribs. He’s burning now, not a remnant of his earlier chill left in his bones.
Zuko finally has to lean back to pant. Sokka meets his gaze, and Zuko can’t look away. He finds his lips curling up into another smile. Sokka gives his own broad grin back, punctuated with a hard pull on Zuko’s hips.
“More, baby, please. Do you wanna come? I wanna see you come in me. So beautiful,” he says. Zuko’s cheeks warm at his words more than anything that they’re actually doing.
Of course he wants to come—he’s been so hard and aching for release since they left the shower. He groans a little in response and increases his tempo, chasing his own pleasure.
“So good, so fucking good,” Sokka says. “So pretty, Zuko, holy shit. How are you real? God,” Sokka says. He’s breathing hard in Zuko’s ear, pressing his palms flat against his lower back.
The sensation of being enveloped in Sokka, along with his words and that warm blue gaze trained on him is enough to tip Zuko over the edge. He comes harder than he can remember ever doing, groaning wordlessly. His hips stutter erratically, and he drops his weight for a moment to recover when the aftershocks taper off.
Sokka traces runs his hands the length of Zuko’s back, kissing and sucking his neck gently. Zuko lets himself lean into it for a moment, take the comfort that’s offered. Once his heart rate slows to a less rabbit-like pace, he tilts his chin up. He grazes his teeth against Sokka’s throat as he props himself back up to pull out.
Sokka groans at the friction as Zuko leaves, closing his eyes. Zuko ties off the condom and crawls back over him, straddling his thighs and stroking his still-hard cock.
“Can I...do you want? Again?” Zuko asks.
Sokka sighs and cracks an eye. “Yeah, baby. Please, yeah.”
Zuko goes to work, not bothering now with drawing it out and only focusing on making Sokka feel as good as possible. It’s only a couple minutes before Sokka’s gasping again. Zuko splays the fingers of his free hand on his chest and Sokka grips his fingers, squeezing almost painfully as he sobs and spills over Zuko’s hand onto his stomach.
Sokka pays no mind to the mess and yanks Zuko down against him, kissing him fervently. “Holy shit,” he murmurs. “Amazing. Gonna need another shower.”
Zuko grins against his lips and hums in agreement. When Sokka releases him enough to move, he reaches for the tissues on the bedside table and cleans their stomachs as well as he can.
He tosses the tissues to the floor and flops beside Sokka, flush with his chest against his side. Sokka slings an arm over Zuko’s waist and sighs happily. It’s only moments before Zuko’s pulled under the tide of sleep.
Zuko wakes up feeling far too warm, his neck damp with sweat and his hair plastered to the side of his face that’s not glued to Sokka’s back. He allows himself a moment of indulgence, a few seconds to relish the body aligned with his, before carefully extracting himself from Sokka.
He’s still asleep, his face open and relaxed and just as gorgeous—more so, now that Zuko’s seen the range of his expressions and the depth of feeling his eyes can convey. He’ll likely regret this later, when he’s back home alone and no longer distracted enough to forget why he found himself here in the first place. Right now, though, Zuko thinks this is possibly the best decision he’s ever made.
Thank god he can’t read a map to save his life.
Sokka rolls over and comes awake just as Zuko’s legs swing over the bed. He blinks blearily at him, a frown on his normally smiling face. “You’re leaving?”
“Well, uh, I figured. You know.” Zuko figured Sokka would want him out of his space, even as he’s seen a host of signs pointing the other direction. He knows that Sokka won’t ask him to go, yet he doesn’t always listen to the reasonable part of his brain.
Sokka props up on an elbow and peers at him. “No, I don’t know. You can stay. I’m not going to make you, obviously. But if you want, you can.”
Zuko has to swallow back a thick lump in his throat before answering. “Yeah, okay,” he croaks.
Sokka beams. “You ever been kayaking?”
“Um, no?”
“Wanna learn?”
Zuko doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
It’s only mid afternoon when they get outside, to Zuko’s surprise. He feels like he’s lost a lot more time than that.
The wind has died down but Sokka insisted that Zuko take some of his clothes for this, so he’s warm and bundled in that comforting salty scent as Sokka leads him through town by the hand. They walk to a different harbour just outside the village, a small inlet of calm water and a view of the lighthouse.
Zuko’s fit but not outdoorsy, so he’s nervous. Sokka’s an excellent instructor, though, and he leads him through the basics and gets him clipped into a life vest and kayak in what must be record time. He teeters a little as Sokka presses a kiss to the back of his neck and pushes him offshore, but quickly finds a rhythm with the paddle.
Sokka catches up to him in moments and leads them in a course around the inlet.
“So really, Zuko,” he says. “What brought you here? We get a lot of visitors in the summer, but it’s mostly died down now. And you aren’t our usual type.”
“European families of four?”
Sokka shoots him an amused eye roll. “Exactly.”
He might as well be honest. Nothing to lose, now. “I, uh, had a bad breakup. Well, it was good, I guess. It needed to end, but...I kind of ran, just to get away for a while. I planned on going to the city, actually, but got turned around and wound up here.”
“Huh. That’s not easy to do. It’s literally one main road to the city.”
“I sort of get lost a lot.”
“That’s cool, man. Your internal GPS is just perpetually recalculating,” Sokka says.
It’s terrible, like all his jokes. Zuko smiles regardless, if only because he knows Sokka likes it.
“Why are you here? You’re about fifty years younger than the average resident, from the looks of it.”
“Way hotter, too, I hope,” Sokka teases. Zuko flicks water at him with a paddle and Sokka laughs. “You’re right, though. I came here for seasonal work last year after my masters and ended up staying. It was a pretty simple adjustment, since my dad practically raised us on a boat. It’s not always the easiest, but it’s peaceful.” Sokka pauses and smiles affectionately at Zuko. “And you get to meet some pretty cool people,” he adds.
Zuko doesn’t bother looking away to hide his blush.
“How did you learn so much about the wildlife?”
“Oh, that. We sometimes get researchers out here, mostly for the puffins. It was fun to pick up what I could, and people love hearing about it on the tours.”
Zuko stops paddling, resting the handle against his lap. Sokka pulls closer until their kayaks bump, then stops to let them drift on the gentle rolling water.
“I’m glad this doesn’t make me sick,” Zuko remarks. “And you really were great on the tour. I loved it, or at least, what I heard between hurling and wanting to die.” He lets himself huff a little at the memory, at how terrible he must have looked.
“It was very sexy hurling, not to worry,” Sokka says.
“Shut up.”
“Nah, if I do then what’s going to entertain you?”
Zuko rolls his eyes without heat. “Do you have more tours tomorrow?”
“Actually, today was our last day for those trips. The birds leave every year, so there’s not much point in looking for them past the end of season.”
Zuko’s lips part a bit in surprise. “I guess I got really lucky today,” he says, then as Sokka’s mouth opens— “Do not.”
Sokka laughs. “You really did. You seemed rather taken with them.”
“I was.”
Sokka eyes him closely, lips turned up in amusement. “Want to know anything else about them? I’ve got way more facts in here than I know what to do with,” he offers, tapping his temple.
Zuko asks.
“Are they endangered?”
“Nope, all clear. But they are sensitive to overfishing and pollution.”
“That’s a relief. What do they eat?”
“Herring mostly, or other small fish. Krill and squid for some. They can dive up to sixty metres and stay down for over two minutes, depending on species.”
Sokka is indulging him too much, Zuko knows, but he loves it.
“What’s a group of them called?”
“A colony, usually. Sometimes a puffinry or even a circus. My personal favourite term is an improbability.”
“An improbability,” Zuko repeats, slowly. “An improbability of puffins.”
Sokka chuckles. “I know, right? What a weird name. But talk to the scientists, not me.”
“I think—I think it’s perfect.”
Zuko smiles broadly at Sokka, who smiles back and tilts his head like he’s trying to work something out. Finally, he says, “Will you stay for dinner? And give me your number?”
Zuko pretends to consider this.
Sokka’s lips twitch and then he puts on a theatrical pout. Zuko laughs for real, a loud, hearty sound that skitters across the waves and stretches Sokka’s cheeks further still.
“Probably,” he says.