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There are rules for sleeping with Zuko.
Sokka realizes that fact before he even starts doing it, back in those late days of the war—or those early days of victory, depending on how you look at it—when Zuko catches sight of the fresh bruise blooming over Sokka’s cheek one morning and teases him about getting distracted sparring with Suki, and Sokka doesn’t know how to say that actually, Zuko fell asleep by the fire last night and the reason Zuko woke up there too is because when Sokka tried to shift him to his bedroll like he would for Katara or Aang or Toph, Zuko kicked him in the face in his sleep.
Sokka’s mouth is halfway open to tell Zuko exactly what went down, actually, when he catches the mirth on Katara’s face and the laughter on Aang’s and a smirk on Toph’s, and realizes that this might be the first time he’s actually seen all of them laughing like this—over something silly and meaningless and harmless—in…a long time.
“Yeah, Sokka,” Suki says into his pause, voice dry. She knows how Sokka got the bruise. She was awake to see it and cracked up plenty over it already. “What, were you distracted by all my moves?”
Sokka takes in the tight set of Zuko’s shoulders, the fidgeting of his fingers, like Zuko might be taking a stab at joking around but he also might be about to bolt. “Oh, you know me,” he finds himself saying, “I always appreciate a well-executed kick.”
“Oh, is that what you appreciate?” Katara says, rolling her eyes, and before Sokka can decide whether to be outraged by that, Zuko lets out a fucking giggle, almost immediately startling, like Zuko surprised even himself with it, and Sokka—
Well, Sokka knows how to be the butt of a joke in the name of team cohesion.
“I’ll have you know that this isn’t the first time I’ve been kicked in the face,” Sokka says, finding his stride and making his tone lofty, sticking his nose in the air in mock superiority. “I’ll have you know that I’m a connoisseur.”
“Oh, is that what you call it,” Katara huffs, because she only has one joke, but it’s enough to set off Aang, and Toph follows, and Suki hides her smile behind her hands, and in the midst of it all Zuko leans over to ask where Suki ranks, laughter still in his voice, and Sokka turns to answer, a retort on his lips, and suddenly finds himself more than a bit fascinated by the way humor changes Zuko’s face, softening his scar and lighting his eyes and relaxing the constant tension around his mouth.
And Spirits, every part of Sokka is suddenly loathe to do anything that might close Zuko off again. Zuko clearly doesn’t know that he’s the one who hit Sokka, and Sokka can only imagine how long it would take Zuko to meet Sokka’s eyes again if he knew.
“Up there with the best of them,” Sokka says, only a little bit delayed, and is gratified to hear Toph let out a shout of laughter, Zuko’s lips twitching into the shadow of a smile as the moment of levity takes hold of them.
The first rule of sleeping with Zuko: don’t talk about the rules.
--
There’s more than just the one rule, of course, and once Zuko starts feeling comfortable enough to relax around them all, it doesn’t take long for Sokka to figure out another.
“Where’s Zuko?” Katara frowns, stepping away from the cook fire to scan the beach, brushing sweat-damp hair back from her face. “Did he tell anyone he was going somewhere?”
“He said something about meditating,” Aang pipes up from where he and Toph are diligently attempting to remove the ever-present sand from their bowls.
“And wanting some time,” Toph adds, giving her bowl a firm enough smack that Sokka’s surprised it doesn’t crack.
“He’s going to miss dinner when it’s hot,” Katara protests, worrying at the cuff around her wrist and casting Sokka an anxious look. He knows better than to point out that everything on Ember Island is hot, and that Zuko can just heat his share up again anyway. Katara likes to see her people fed. Setting aside a bowl for later rarely satisfies her when she doesn’t know when ‘later’ is going to be.
“I’ll go find him,” Sokka offers, glancing up at the darkening sky and ignoring his own grumbling stomach. He won’t be able to enjoy his food anyway with Katara giving him worried looks the whole time. “At least let him know food is ready. He can’t have gone far.”
Sokka sets off over the beach, heading westward because Zuko usually faces east during his morning meditation and Sokka’s pretty sure it’s a sun thing. He scans the beach as far down the shoreline as he can see, then out over the water and along the trees, straining to see in the falling light and finally, reluctantly turning to eye the tree line again. Shit, he really doesn’t want to have to start crashing around in there with night coming on so fast…
Worry is beginning to settle tight and sharp in Sokka’s chest by the time darkness fully falls. With a quiet curse, he forces himself to turn around and head back toward camp. He’s going to need help if Zuko hasn’t made his own way back already, and Sokka is focused on adapting the bones of his always-ready search and rescue plan when he finally sees him—arms folded over his chest, legs pulled up, head leaned back, up a fucking tree of all places.
“Zuko,” Sokka calls out, not even trying to hide the open relief in his voice. “I’ve been looking all over for you, buddy, you’re a hard man to…” He trails off when Zuko doesn’t move. “Zuko?”
Sokka knows that Zuko and Aang can get kind of lost in their meditation thing, but usually not this much, and usually it doesn’t look quite so…slumped.
And up a tree?
“Zuko?”
Sokka wavers for a moment when there’s still no reply. If Zuko’s choosing to ignore him so completely, Sokka doesn’t want to press. But if Zuko’s feeling the need to shut the world out that completely, maybe he could use some support? A listening ear, or…something?
Sokka finds that he can’t just walk away, even if he isn’t entirely sure what he’s walking toward as he trudges up the beach. He’s trying to find some words anyway, though, when the cloud cover shifts and moonlight suddenly shines on Zuko’s face—which is relaxed.
Sokka draws up short, for a moment unsure if he’s so stunned by the sight itself, or by the fact of his own surprise at seeing it. Then he notices that Zuko’s eyes are closed, not even a sliver of reflected moonlight, which…
“Zuko?” Still nothing. “Are…are you asleep?”
The ongoing lack of response suggests yes.
Sokka stares, tugging on his wolf tail and trying to figure out what to do. Sokka should probably get him down, except looking at this particular tree, Sokka has no idea how Zuko actually climbed up, let alone managed to fall asleep up there. And besides, any attempt Sokka makes seems like it would put his face right back into kicking range, which is a strong argument against.
But Spirits, what if Zuko falls out of that fucking tree? He seems inexplicably balanced for now, but how long is that going to last?
“You didn’t find him?” Katara asks when Sokka returns to the fire, fiddling with her empty bowl.
“…He’s sleeping,” Sokka says, deciding to keep the ‘up a tree’ bit to himself.
Katara opens her mouth and then closes it, the others looking surprised, except for Toph who scratches at her arm as she makes a considering noise. “Sparky has been working pretty hard lately.”
“But he didn’t eat dinner,” Katara protests, face caught somewhere between worried and dissatisfied.
“I can bring him something so he sees it when he wakes up.” Sokka offers, sensing his opportunity, and Katara nods after a long moment, clearly only slightly mollified.
“I’ll make sure breakfast is good, too, just to be sure,” she decides, brow furrowing. “Do we have any more of those fire flakes around?”
“The ones you couldn’t eat without choking?” Toph asks as Sokka makes his way over to his bag to dig for the flakes in question, and Katara is saying something about everyone being perfectly able to pick them out who doesn’t like them as Sokka uses the opportunity to furtively bundle up a few blankets as well.
He freezes when he looks up to see Suki watching.
“Going somewhere?” She asks, raising an eyebrow, which Sokka is going to learn to do.
“…Want to come?”
The second rule of sleeping with Zuko: He might be able to fall asleep anywhere—
Zuko snarls and stomps his way to the campfire in the morning, looking bleary-eyed and disheveled and moving with all the stiffness of someone who recently fell down a rock face, clearly cranky about it up until he sees the breakfast Katara has to offer.
He stares a moment, blinking, then accepts his bowl with a belated thanks, looking more than a bit contrite as he settles down to eat.
Sokka tucks back into his own meal, barely resisting the urge to slump over into Suki’s lap and close his eyes, mostly because she’s already half-dozing on his shoulder. After alternating shifts so they make sure Zuko didn’t fall out of his tree all night, Sokka’s a bit in awe of where Zuko is finding the energy to be worked up in the first place.
—but he’s going to be grouchy if he wakes up uncomfortable in the morning.
--
The thing is, Zuko doesn’t actually sleep all that much.
Sokka thought it was just a ‘the whole world might be ending and we’re on a bit of a timeline’ thing, but after the comet and the coronation and the tension and the treaties, it turns out that Zuko is physically incapable of walking away from a job half-done. And there’s always some job to be done when you’re a Fire Lord.
But when Zuko does sleep, Sokka never stops being amazed by how well he does it. Sokka sometimes thinks it’s Zuko’s body trying to catch up on every possible second of missed sleep it can in the time it has, though maybe that’s his own body feeling logy and slow just thinking about trying to keep up with Zuko’s schedule.
Sokka glances around the finally-dispersing soiree, as Toph insisted on calling it—“I don’t care if they’re trying to call it an ‘international summit,’” she said, tossing her gilded invitation over her shoulder, “It’s an Upper Ring party.”—pasting on a now-practiced smile and sipping at his drink. He’s lost count of how many parties this is in way too few days, but the end is almost in sight—who knew the hard work of peace would involve so much mingling—and Sokka cannot wait to get out of this laughably-neutral territory and away from the not-at-all neutral chit chat and finally get to relax with his friends.
He reflexively scans the crowd, instinctively tracking his people in the crowd. Aang is nodding earnestly along to something King Kuei is saying, while Katara looks genuinely engaged in conversation with what looks like an Earth Kingdom scholar—about bending, if their hand gestures are anything to go by. Toph skipped out on this one, and Suki and Zuko are a pair these days and Sokka doesn’t see either.
Sokka has a vague recollection of Zuko pacing slowly toward the door while listening intently to a representative from the Colonies, so he dumps his drink on a side table and sets out in that direction, sighing in relief as he slips out of the event hall and away from all the eyes.
He takes the moment as he looks down hallways and pokes his head into rooms to stretch out the tightness of his shoulders and try to massage the stiffness from his neck. Spirits, but Sokka needs this night away from all the political talk. Zuko was talking about bringing them to visit a friend from his teashop days and Sokka’s been looking forward to it for weeks now. He has it all strictly planned and scheduled down to how to leave the manor with the least people noticing and when Sokka needs to corral everyone up to get started on ditching their finery, and he will not let this get sidetracked by—
“Suki!”
Suki laughs, her hazel eyes dancing with amusement, bright against her makeup. “You say it like you haven’t seen me all night,” she grins.
“Yeah, but you’ve been working,” Sokka says, waving his hand at her full uniform, polished to a high sheen in recognition of the occasion.
“So have you,” Suki points out, waving her hand right back to encompass the extra beads and bright cord braided into Sokka’s hair and the flash of jewelry on his ears and wrists, his usual comfortable tunic traded out for…basically the exact same thing, actually, but in much fancier fabric.
Sokka is so excited to get back into clothes he doesn’t have to feel guilty about dropping jam tarts on.
“You’re coming out with us, right?” He asks, mentally crossing his fingers that the day hasn’t been so long that she’ll just want to collapse into bed like she sometimes does.
“That’s the plan,” she says, her smile quirking like she can read his mind. “Once his Fire Lordlines in there wraps up, of course,” she adds with a tilt of her head.
Sokka turns toward the door, pleased. “I’ll heckle him to finish up.”
“Better you than me,” Suki snorts.
“You just down have the Fire Lord wrangling touch,” Sokka tosses over his shoulder, cueing up his arguments and incentives to get Zuko moving in a fun-ward direction and slipping into the room to see—
Sokka stares a moment, then huffs out a sigh, feeling a burst of rueful fondness.
It looks like there’s going to be a change of plans tonight, at least in part, because Zuko is face down on a little desk that looks more decorative than intended for use. The fire across the room moving in slow, steady rhythm to his deep breaths, the ink brush still in his hand is dangerously close to his as-yet-uninked face, and Sokka doesn’t need to have been here to know exactly what happened. An important conversation, Zuko wanting to immediately take notes, and a long week of being constantly on display running headfirst into sudden privacy and the ability to drop the Fire Lord mantle.
It would have hit Zuko like a brick to the back of the head.
Well. Sokka can’t leave him here, not with more negotiations tomorrow that will definitely take longer if Zuko shows up already irritable from the start.
Except Sokka might be far better at dodging Zuko’s reflexive strikes these days, but he’s done this enough to know that even with a potential fist to the face out of the equation, Zuko is tall and solid with muscle and fucking heavy. Sokka can technically get all thirteen odd stone of deadweight firebender over his shoulder—and thank you, Toph, for her ongoing commitment to friend-based feats of strength so that Sokka knows that, along with things like the stomach swooping rush of being casually tossed over Suki’s shoulder and the treasured memory of Zuko flailing like a startled octocat when Toph cheerfully launched him into the air—but dropping Zuko on his head because Sokka took a knee to the gut at the wrong moment probably isn’t setting his Fire Lordlines up for success tomorrow, either.
Sokka ducks out of the room to look at Suki, shrugging helplessly when her stare is already knowing.
“He’s passed out?”
“Yup.”
“Need help carrying him?”
“Oh yeah.”
Suki calls for a pair of her Warriors to execute Code Koala Sheep—Sokka chokes a little, laughing—warming up her shoulders as she follows Sokka back into the little library to assess the sleeping Fire Lord. “You got the feet?”
Sokka eyes her, aware of the danger of flailing limbs versus the extra weight closer to Zuko’s center of mass. “Sure.”
Suki evaluates the situation another moment, then reaches out a foot with practiced ease to delicate shove the little desk out from under Zuko’s cheek, and after a significant amount of dodging and blocking and grunting, they finally manage to get Zuko hoisted up between them.
“To his rooms?” Sokka pants, shifting his grip on Zuko’s ankles and trying to remember what direction exactly that means they should go in.
“Yeah,” Suki confirms, breaths heavy.
“It’s far,” Sokka realizes.
Suki looks pained. “Yup.”
They share a commiserating look, then they buckle down, careful to coordinate their movements, falling quickly into rhythm—one area at least where Sokka and Suki never have problems—so that Zuko swings gently between them, almost like the swaying of a boat over ocean waves. Zuko barely even twitches once they get going, his crown thankfully still securely affixed to his top knot, unscarred cheek freshly splattered with ink.
Suki’s Warriors nod when they see them, positioning themselves ahead and behind to run interference and divert any servants or nobles who might be inclined to gawk at the sight of the Fire Lord being hauled to his rooms like a whale walrus being dragged back from a hunt. Though it would be a very small whale walrus, for two people to handle…
Finally they reach Zuko’s rooms, Sokka counting, “One, two, three,” as they heave him onto the mattress. Zuko bounces once, flailing thankfully out of range before coming to a rest, still thoroughly unconscious.
Sokka stares a minute, hands braced on his knees, before sharing an amused glance with Suki, seeing the same affection in her eyes for the way Zuko works himself into this state trying so hard to do the most good for the most people, even the ones they aren’t entirely sure are his anymore.
“He’s going to be bummed he missed out on tonight,” Sokka says, straightening to stretch his sore arms and back.
“At least he won’t be hurting tomorrow when he wakes up,” Suki says, ever practical.
“Yeah,” Sokka says, smiling fondly and knowing Zuko will be grateful for it in the morning. “At least there’s that.”
The third rule of sleeping with Zuko: If he’s down, he’s staying down.
--
Sokka learns quickly in the course of his ambassador-ship that just because Zuko can go down like a sack of very muscular, very hard to dodge rocks, that doesn’t mean Sokka should let him—not unless he wants to be across the table from a very irritable Fire Lord the next day, that is.
And it doesn’t take much longer for Sokka to realize that when it comes to wrangling a drowsy Fire Lord, it’s a team effort in which they all play their part.
Sokka is cutting across the courtyard on his way back from the clerks’ office, arms full of scrolls and head full of thoughts for tomorrow’s meetings, when he glances toward Zuko’s rooms and doesn’t see even a hint of firelight.
Which could mean Zuko is sleeping, it’s certainly late enough. But Sokka has a feeling…
Sokka swings right, ducking into the Inner Palace wing instead of continuing toward his rooms, nodding to the familiar guards along his way and not the least bit surprised when he pokes his head around the corner to see only Teya in front of Zuko’s rooms.
Sokka raises his eyebrows in question when she looks toward him, the tassels of her headdress swinging as she shakes her head, indulgent exasperation on her face even through her makeup.
Sokka huffs, shaking his own head as he turns back the way he came, biting back a laugh when he catches a few relieved looks among the guards and picking up into a trot at the subtle, urgent hand gestures from the passing servants. The hour is late, but Sokka hopefully has enough time left to skate through—Zuko’s finally put on the muscle to go along with his most recent growth spurt, and they’re all very aware that the Fire Lord is much harder to haul down a hallway these days.
Sokka slows his pace as he turns the corner to Zuko’s office, waving an assurance to Suki and a pair of her Warriors as he sees them standing at the ready, hands on their weapons as they react to the sound of his running through the halls.
“We haven’t heard movement in a while,” Suki cautions as Sokka approaches, one of her Warriors nodding agreement and muffling a yawn behind her fan.
“Oh boy,” Sokka says, eyeing the ornate, heavy doors to Zuko’s office. He supposes he can always leave his scrolls here to pick up in the morning if he needs both his hands free…
“Good luck,” Suki murmurs, and Sokka tucks his scrolls under his arm to gently knock, slipping into Zuko’s office without waiting for a response and feeling a bright burst of warmth in his chest—relief, probably—when he sees Zuko still upright and awake, his face propped on his face, ink brush in hand.
“Hey there, Fire Lord,” Sokka says, leaning back against the door and smiling at the distracted way Zuko glances up, then does a double-take, nearly visibly dragging his attention off his work when he realizes who’s at the door.
“Ambassador,” Zuko replies, mock-formal, his frown of concentration easing into a happy, welcoming tilt of his lips.
“You planning on working all night?” Sokka asks, shooting the brush in Zuko’s hand a significant look.
“No,” Zuko says, frowning over his desk and rubbing at his temple. “I just have to get through this report, and this proposal ahead of the meeting tomorrow. And Sizun sent a new version of that draft legislation over that I need to mark up before anyone else gets eyes on it, and—”
“So yes,” Sokka breaks in, raising his eyebrows in silent dare for Zuko to challenge his interpretation.
Zuko sighs.
“How much progress have you made in the last hour?” Sokka asks, getting serious. He knows Zuko will try to stay up all night to get it done regardless of how little he’s getting done, and Zuko’s looking more than a little guilty as he glances toward the notably-sparse ‘finished’ side of his desk.
“I should probably get more tea…”
“Or, here me out,” Sokka says, drawing his hands through the air to frame the point. “Bed.”
Zuko pulls a face.
“Get some nice sleep, snuggle up in some soft blankets, put your head on some pillows, get some quality rest,” Sokka adds, pitching his voice like he’s trying to talk one of the kids back home into something, aiming for coaxing, tempting. “Waking up restored and alert and ready to face the day.”
“I have things to do,” Zuko protests, but with more than a little longing in his voice.
“All those things will still be here tomorrow,” Sokka points out, because Sokka can work with a little longing.
“And they’re here now.” Zuko’s hand is already inching toward his ink brush again.
“I’m here now, too,” Sokka says, feeling a burst of triumph when Zuko fumbles his brush, gold eyes shooting to Sokka in surprise. “Let me get you to bed,” Sokka continues, trying to make his voice as persuasive as possible. “Get into some pajamas, maybe get some calming tea—”
Zuko wrinkles his nose in distaste, and Sokka laughs.
“—and if you go right to sleep,” he adds, trying to sweeten the deal, “Tomorrow you’ll wake up early enough that we can train before your first meeting.”
Zuko stares for a long moment. “You don’t like to wake up that early,” he finally says.
Sokka shrugs. “That doesn’t mean I can’t.”
Zuko searches Sokka’s face, expression unreadable. “You don’t have to, though.”
“Maybe I miss training with you,” Sokka says, tugging on his wolf tail. “Sometimes I don’t get to spend any time with you when you get busy like this.”
Zuko hesitates, eyes a little wide, at a loss for words. Which is not working, but is also not shifting out of his seat.
“Maybe we can do breakfast after? By the turtle duck pond?” Sokka suggests, trying his best to throw as many of Zuko’s favorites into one morning as he can. “And Iroh sent that new tea blend we haven’t had a chance to try yet, and Toph’s letter back might be in by tomorrow morning, and I heard the kitchen got some kind of new flour from the Earth Kingdom they’re experimenting with, and you know that’s always a good time.”
Zuko is still a moment longer, unscarred cheek almost pink in the firelight, then, finally, “I—yeah, okay, I—” He glances down at his desk, looking a little flustered. “Let me just—”
“Nope,” Sokka cuts in, tsking in the back of his throat. “It’s a take it or leave it offer.”
Gold eyes fly up again, startled, confused.
“You stay here all alone,” Sokka says, exaggerating a pout, “And fall asleep on your desk and get a horrible crick in your neck. Or—” He holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers. “—you come with me now, we put ourselves to bed, and we have a good time in the morning.” Sokka cocks his head, throwing in his most charming smile, the one that works on Katara…at least half the time. “What do you say?”
Zuko stares at Sokka’s hand, then at Sokka, then finally—finally!—sets his brush down. “A good time it is,” he says, pushing back from his desk.
Sokka grins, pleased, and slings his arm over Zuko’s shoulders, ignoring the fact that he has to reach up these days to do it—and pretending he doesn’t see Suki’s smirk over it, either—because it really is the most effective way to steer Zuko through the door and down the hall. You never know when a Fire Lord will try to scamper back to work, after all, unless you’ve got a good grip on him.
Sokka chatters as they make their way down the hallway, about training tomorrow and how fun it will be and how much he’s looking forward to taking off his day’s clothes and having a bath and slipping into something more comfortable and laying down to rest on his nice comfy big bed. Anything that comes to mind, really, to paint a picture of relaxation and rest in case Zuko’s feeling any lingering temptation to slip back to his office.
Zuko is a silent, tolerant, solid, warm presence at Sokka’s side all the way back to Zuko’s rooms, though, casting Sokka a half-amused, half-rueful look before closing the door like Zuko knows exactly what Sokka’s game is. Which Sokka is fine with, because his game still worked, and he mentally pats himself on the back as he finally heads off to his own rooms, a bounce in his step at a job well done and excitement for tomorrow already fluttering in his stomach.
The fourth rule of sleeping with Zuko: All game is fair game when it comes to convincing Zuko to fall asleep in an actual bed.
--
In fairness, it’s not always a struggle to get Zuko into a bed. Or rather, Zuko’s willingness to go there isn’t always the issue.
“Drunk,” Sokka says as Zuko suddenly lists left, stumbling into Sokka and making the most ridiculous noise of surprise to find himself no longer completely upright. “You’re dr-unk.”
“Nah-ah,” Zuko says, blowing a melon berry and then giggling when instead he just kind of…spits.
“Yes,” Sokka insists around his own spark of laughter, heaving Zuko back upright and remembering that they’re supposed to be stumbling home-ward, not standing in the hallways. Suki isn’t around which must mean they’re in the palace…Sokka looks fuzzily around and feels a surge of triumph to realize they’re almost back to Zuko’s rooms!
“I had—” Zuko manages to spin around and walk backward in a remarkable display of balance, screwing up his face as he attempts to count. “—just as much as you,” Zuko says, Sokka nearly tripping as he tries to focus on the finger Zuko levels at his face.
“Zuko,” Sokka says, feeling buzzing and bubbling and breathless as he tugs Zuko to the right when he tries to go left. They are not going to his office. “I’m definitely drunk.”
“Oh,” Zuko says after a moment, blinking, then he breaks into a smile, his face all bright and flushed. “Me too, then.”
Laughter dances up out of Sokka’s chest, which feels bone-deep right with Caldera still ablaze with festivities around the palace all the way up to the crater’s rim, the citizenry committed to bringing their Sun Day celebration to dawn, apparently. And Zuko was entirely willing to celebrate right along with them from what Sokka could tell, and Sokka was perfectly up to the challenge—up until Suki took a look at the two of them leaning on each other to stay upright and sent them both to bed.
Which was rude. Sokka is an Ambassador. It’s a very important position, and he is supposed to experience the local culture, and he—
He stumbles, grabbing onto Zuko’s shoulder for balance, both of them somehow spinning around each other down the hallway, almost dancing, until they find their equilibrium again and almost lose it again laughing.
They giggle and tease and support each other down the hall, Zuko’s strength keeping Sokka on his feet and Sokka doing his best to return the favor as they finally get to Zuko’s rooms and navigate around the absurd arrangement of furniture in the sitting room—
“I’m going to get rid of all of this tomorrow,” Zuko grumbles when Sokka trips over a footstool, glaring at the offending furniture in question. Sokka very much appreciates the effort at this time of night.
—and through the excessive number of doors—
“I’m going to get rid of all the doors, too,” Zuko scowls, which strikes Sokka as a marvelous idea as he bounces off a doorframe.
—and nearly falling toward the bed before Zuko suddenly plants his feet, tugging Sokka to a spinning halt along with him.
“Wait, wait!” Zuko pants, eyes wide with urgency. “We can’t wear street clothes in bed! They’ve been on the street!”
And that truly is the most absurd thing Sokka’s ever heard, and after a moment of mutual giggling over the idea of Zuko trying to sleep in his festival boots—it’s the curliness of the toes—they set to remedying the problem. Zuko can’t seem to stop laughing as they try to get his robes off him, so neither can Sokka, both of them barely able to coordinate their hands or focus their eyes or, when it comes down to it, keep their attention on task—the hairpins on Zuko’s dresser are so shiny.
They finally give it up when they get down to Zuko’s under robes and Zuko nearly brains himself wrestling with his own boots and Sokka distantly registered the sound of Zuko’s crown falling on the floor somewhere in it all, and everything about it just makes Sokka want to laugh again, his chest filled with warmth that only wants to bubble out.
Sokka dumps Zuko into bed, yelping and flailing for balance when Zuko doesn’t let go of his arm like Sokka expected.
“You too,” Zuko says, brow furrowed and grip insistent as he tugs on Sokka’s tunic. “Now you. You’re drunk too.” Zuko’s expression goes petulant and stubborn when Sokka just frowns, confused. “The am-bass-a-dor—” He enunciates his way carefully through the word. “—rooms are too far. You should stay.”
Sokka hesitates, trying to do the math of his own drunkenness and how far he needs to walk to his comfy pajamas and how close Zuko’s nice giant soft bed is, and apparently takes too long because suddenly Zuko is yanking on his tunic again.
“Come ooon,” Zuko says, blowing a much more successful melon berry. “It’s so faaar and it’s so laaate and you’re here. Just staaay.”
“Your Fire Lordliness,” Sokka says, straightening and only swaying a little as he strikes a formal pose, forcing his face to solemness. “You make a compelling argument.” He swallows a little hiccup. “The Southern Water Tribe accepts.”
Zuko blinks a moment, staring, then his face breaks into a delighted grin, and Sokka immediately smiles, feeling silly and giddy and light and pleased to have made Zuko so happy. Zuko must catch the mood because he giggles for no reason Sokka can figure out, then Zuko’s shoving himself upright, his hair straggling half out of its topknot, the deep vee of his robes sagging open to frame the scar on his chest as he tries to stand.
“No, no, stay!” Sokka protests, laughing and trying to push Zuko back down because Fire Lords are supposed to stay in bed.
But alcohol has never dulled Zuko’s reflexes, or his ability to bat away an attack. “Help you,” Zuko says, stubborn, a familiar determination lighting his eyes, and Sokka tries to duck away again too late, because Zuko is lunging forward off the bed to grab onto his belt, and Sokka isn’t entirely sure how—that’s a lie, he knows how, the answer is a truly delightful bottle of sour plum sake that they split between them—but somehow it turns into a playful tussle over Sokka’s clothes, both of them smacking at hands and blocking more through uncontrollable laughter than any real ability to execute a dodge, Zuko emerging from it all adorably triumphant when he finally manages to undo the last tie of Sokka’s tunic.
Sokka wants to roll his eyes indulgently, fondly, but that feels like kind of a lot of coordination right now, and instead he just finds himself smiling, breathless with laughter, feeling so light and warm and happy as he looks up into smiling golden eyes. They watch each other, both of them waiting to see if the other is going to make another move, their feints quieting to stillness and Sokka finally getting control of his giggles.
His whole body feels heavy and warm, with alcohol and what might pass as exercise and humor, but also from the warmth spiraling out from his chest, slow and liquid as he gazes at Zuko in the firelight. His face is so familiar, so interesting, and Sokka’s pretty sure he could look at Zuko forever, especially all happy and unguarded like this. Spirits, Sokka suddenly never wants to have to look away. He wishes this could be Zuko’s official portrait, wishes everyone could see Zuko this way, wishes he could wander down the portrait gallery to see this any time he wanted instead of needing that perfect alchemy of mood and timing and circumstance to all align.
But at the same time, Sokka viscerally wants to be the only one to see Zuko this way, to have himself be the only one Zuko looks at like this, all soft and trusting and fuck, Sokka just wants to—
He just wants to—
Oh.
Sokka feels like he’s in a daze, like all the alcohol is suddenly hitting him all at once, like he’s been struck over the back of the head and left swaying on his feet, hot and cold at the same time, only able to respond with a yelp when Zuko suddenly snatches him around the waist and tosses him onto the bed, the burst of adrenaline doing nothing to clear the dreamlike haze over his thoughts as Zuko flops down next to him, giggling, face alight with mirth.
Oh no.
“Rude,” Sokka manages to get out, some corner of his mind apparently still functioning.
“You did it to me first,” Zuko pouts.
“Hm,” Sokka makes a show of considering, feeling numb and like every nerve ending in his body is tingling with awareness at the same time. “Still rude.”
Zuko wrinkles his nose, which is cute—
Oh Spirits.
—before huffing. “Ambassadors are supposed to be nice to their Fire Lord,” he grumbles, the smile in his eyes belying his sulkiness.
“Maybe I’m a bad ambassador,” Sokka murmurs, feeling something fluttering and daring in his chest, the corner of his mind that’s functioning acting with entirely too much latitude, because he hears his own tone, the way it’s suddenly dropping low, suddenly going smooth. He hears it but he doesn’t recognize it. Not here. Not with Zuko.
Oh fuck.
Zuko’s face goes serious. “You’re a very good ambassador,” he says, earnest, picking his way carefully and determinedly through the words.
Spirits, Sokka feels like he’s been punched in the chest. “I’m sure you say that to all your best friends,” he whispers.
“Yes,” Zuko says, missing the joke. If Sokka even intended one. “’Cause you are.”
Sokka smiles helplessly, suddenly overfull and afraid of what might come out if he tries to speak, suddenly aware of so many things that could come out if he tries to say anything. He makes a show of settling down into the pillows instead, then wiggling under the blankets, Zuko following suit after a moment and coming to a rest on his side facing Sokka, eyes soft and sleepy and quietly happy as he searches Sokka’s face.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Tonight was fun,” Zuko says, and Sokka wonders if he’s imagining that he can feel Zuko’s breath ghosting over his face, if it’s just some byproduct of the alcohol.
“Yeah,” Sokka says, not sure why he can’t stop whispering. Maybe because he doesn’t have the air for anything more.
“Thanks for spending it with me,” Zuko says, smile lopsided and so familiar and yet so new at the same time, new in a way that Sokka wants to touch and draw and—
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Sokka says, his heart pounding in his throat as he realizes just how true the words are.
Spirit’s, he’s stupid.
Zuko smiles before snuffing out the lights, all punch drunk and happy, and Sokka tries desperately in the darkness to separate the feeling in his chest from the lightness of alcohol and the warmth of friendship and the comfort of Zuko’s presence and the heat he’s always felt—
…Fuck.
Sokka tries again, then again, then another just to give it a good effort because no one’s ever called him a quitter, staring blankly up toward the canopy of Zuko’s bed and distractedly fighting Zuko for blankets when Zuko inevitably tries to steal them in his sleep like the asshole he is, because of course Zuko would, and—and—and Agni’s flaming giant swinging dick, or whatever Zuko is always saying, Sokka feels fucking fond about it!
Sokka knows that drinking can erode judgment, but it doesn’t make a person feel things they don’t feel. At least it never has for him before—a fact that rings through his head until he finally falls asleep to the quietly earth-shaking realization that the flutter in his chest and flip of his stomach and excitement that makes his breath catch might not have been just friendship for a very long time. A fact that’s loud in his mind when he wakes up flying off the bed some time later, crashing to the floor and after a disorienting, still-drunk moment realizing that he’s in Zuko’s rooms—no one else has rugs this soft—and that the throbbing in his side is foot-shaped.
Sokka hauls himself up from the floor with a grunt of effort to see Zuko sprawled out across the mattress, one foot outflung in a textbook-perfect heel kick into the space Sokka was quite recently occupying.
Sokka stares for a long moment, head still swimming and disbelief fuzzing his thoughts. Disbelief that it happened, sure, but mostly disbelief over the fat that all Sokka can seem to feel in response is more of that fucking fondness and affection, as if Sokka needed just a little bit more proof to drive home how Spirits-damned stupid he is.
Sokka stands, staring—which would also be an extra bit of proof, fuck—until Zuko rolls over with a little sigh, taking the blanket with him in a tight roll and breaking the moment. To the extent that there even is a moment, with Sokka just standing here in the dark watching Zuko sleep, which just—
Sokka lets out his own sigh, shoving his hands through his hair and pulling a face when they immediately tangle around the nest of his half-up wolf tail. He could go back to his room since he’s awake and sober enough not to get lost on the way, but Spirits, Sokka’s tired and drained, ad he’d need to get dressed because now more than ever—fuck, fuck, fuck—he at least has a shred of awareness to know better than to stumble in his underclothes from the Fire Lord’s room at whatever time of night this is, and—and—
And Sokka doesn’t want to go.
Oh…fuck.
Sokka gives Zuko a testing, wary prod to make sure he isn’t going to get punted off the bed again, watching in bemusement as Zuko obligingly rolls again and firmly encases himself in the blankets like a fucking spring roll.
Sokka eyes the tight roll of fabric, Zuko’s unbound hair awry out the top, then finally crawls back into bed, careful not to jostle the mattress as he eases back down onto his side. He looks at Zuko in the dim light, tracing his eyes over the line of his shoulder and the mess of his hair and what little he can see of his face, looking until sleep finally pulls him back down, looking as long as he can, just in case this is the only chance he has, and quietly wondering all the while if he’s once again reaching far above himself in letting part of himself dream that this could be the first time of many.
The fifth rule of sleeping with Zuko: Don’t fight him for the blankets. There’s no way to win.
--
Sokka collapses face-first onto the bed, heart pounding so loud it's all he can hear, body still shuddering through the aftermath of pleasure as he hauls his face out of the mattress to suck in a lungful of fresh, salt-tinged air. Every inch of him is buzzing with disbelief and awe and wonder, and Spirits, he’d think the whole thing was just a dream if he couldn’t feel the echo of Zuko’s touch all over his skin.
And really, Sokka’s daydreamed and fantasized about that enough that what’s actually grounding him on the amazing reality that this actually happened is the sight of Zuko collapsed facedown right next to him, one gold eye peeking through a curtain of loose hair and widening a little with something like laughter when Sokka’s catches him looking, Zuko promptly burying his face back into the pillow until Sokka can only see the edge of Zuko’s grin.
“How we doing there,” Sokka asks, his chest full of some mixture of giddiness and amusement and breathlessness, everything about this achingly new and so, so familiar.
“Great,” Zuko says without taking his face out of the pillow.
“What was that?” Sokka asks as he rolls onto his side. He heard perfectly well, he just wants the excuse to prod at Zuko’s bare shoulder, stomach flipping that he gets to do things like that, gets to touch and kiss and stroke. “I have no idea with you hiding like a turtle—”
Sokka lets out a yelp as Zuko moves, apparently still plenty full of energy as he darts up off the mattress toward Sokka. Sokka barely has time to realize what’s happening before he finds himself shoved back onto the bed, Zuko’s forearms braced against his chest, Zuko grinning down at him, his hair sweeping forward to brush over Sokka’s skin and Spirits, Sokka doesn’t know if there’s anything that could possibly be better than this—the sight of Zuko in warm firelight, the sound of the ocean in the distance, the smoke and spice scent of Zuko all around him, and bare skin against bare skin.
“I said,” Zuko repeats, leaning a bit of extra weight onto Sokka. “That I’m great.”
“Oh,” Sokka says, breathless, grinning, taking advantage of the opportunity to run his hands over all the pieces of Zuko suddenly in reach, feeling the dense muscle and patchwork of scars and smooth skin and fuck, Sokka wants to memorize every bit of it with eyes and hands and lips. “Good.”
“Very,” Zuko smirks, voice a low, rumbling rasp before he drops down for a kiss. Sokka opens easily for him, hungry even though his body isn’t there yet, more than happy to just make out and marvel at Zuko being naked and in his arms and wanting to make out with Sokka, too.
That bone-deep kind of contentment lingers even as the kisses ease into just being close, into quiet touching and unhurried tasting and both of them wondering at the reality of the other, into tiredness as the active day finally catches up to them despite the adrenaline rush of being in each other’s arms. It’s sweet and wonderful and better than any daydream or fantasy or wild imagining Sokka ever came up with when he tried to picture how he could find his way here.
It's also incredibly sweaty.
Even with the sea breeze coming in through the open window, and the fact that Sokka’s adjusted to the Fire Nation weather after so long, and that it isn’t even particularly hot for Ember Island this time of year anyway, and that they aren’t doing anything vigorous anymore—sweat isn’t cooling on Sokka’s skin. Instead, it’s prickling anew, gathering even as his heartbeat slows, beading in all the points where Zuko is octopus catting around him, which would be a dream come true, something Sokka’s been fantasizing about for longer than he would care to admit, something Sokka just wants to luxuriate in and enjoy.
Except Sokka can feel sweat actively trickling down his ribs right now.
Sokka opens his mouth to say something—what, he has no idea, but he’ll figure it out as he goes just like he figured out the rest of it—just as Zuko lets out a little snore against Sokka’s shoulder.
Sokka freezes, adrenaline spiking before he registers that he’s close enough to Zuko to not be in the danger zone for flailing limbs. But fuck, if Zuko is out, he isn’t waking up any time soon. And Sokka can feel sweat itching down the crease of his groin now…
Sokka holds his breath, trying to gently ease himself out of Zuko’s grip enough to get some air but not so far as to trigger a reflexive fist to the face. He manages to slip out enough to turn, soaking in a moment of relief as the comparatively cool breeze rushes over his sweat-damp skin. But only for a moment, because Zuko rolls almost immediately, his firebender hot body plastering against Sokka’s back, his leg flinging over Sokka’s hip and his arm halfway into a chokehold before Sokka catches it and redirects it down across his chest instead.
Sokka flounders, unsure what to do. It’s fucking warm, but Sokka’s also a sappy fuck at heart. And the way Zuko followed him even in his sleep to wrap around him and hold him close? Is currently doing all sorts of things to Sokka that are probably more than a few steps ahead of first-kiss, first-hook-up, first I-like-like-you territory.
Sokka finally lets out a sigh, giving the arm banded over his chest a pat and squirming a little to get comfortable, resigning himself to the situation. It’s not really all that unpleasant, and maybe it can be an excuse for a fun bath tomorrow morning…And it will be nice in the South, he thinks, a smile tugging at his lips as he drifts off to dreams of saunas.
The sixth rule of sleeping with Zuko: Be prepared to sweat.
--
Some part of Sokka thinks he’ll never entirely get over his amazement at being able to be in Zuko’s bed. Not just be there, like bunking down for convenience or sharing warmth or because it was too late and Sokka’s rooms were too far, but be there. Because Zuko wants him to be.
The other part of Sokka is constantly strategizing.
Sokka was already well aware that Zuko is a very active sleeper, and while Zuko doesn’t try to fight Sokka all that often if he’s already in the bed—the blanket wrap helps, as does Zuko’s rather consistent commitment to cuddling during all stages of consciousness—that doesn’t mean Sokka doesn’t need a plan.
Sokka holds his breath as he listens to the cadence of Zuko’s breathing, counting the lengths of Zuko’s inhales and exhales and trying to tell if Zuko’s asleep enough that he won’t wake up and immediately re-cuddle if Sokka shifts away, but not so deeply asleep yet that Sokka risks flailing limbs. Sokka thinks he has it right as he carefully nudges back the thigh slung over his hip, gently pressing down the forearm Zuko has curled up under his ribs to cradle his chest—Zuko always goes for the tit grab, even in sleep—and inching forward, almost entirely eased away when Zuko suddenly snorts and—
Sokka lets out a choked shout of surprise as he finds himself flying through the air, the arm he just pressed flat to the bed curling up around his neck and hauling Sokka over Zuko’s hip as Zuko suddenly rolls onto his other side and takes Sokka along with him. Sokka grunts as he smacks face-first into the mattress in an unceremonious heap, nearly taking Zuko’s knee to the balls in the process, only able to feel a quick flicker of relief before Zuko goes for the death-cuddle and Sokka barely gets his hands up in time to prevent Zuko from settling into a headlock.
Sokka sputters and spits as he claws Zuko’s loose hair—or maybe his own—out of his face, clearing his mouth and his vision just in time to make startled eye contact with the Kyoshi Warrior frozen in the doorway, fans in hand. Ready to deal with assassins, Sokka supposes.
Sokka sighs.
Zuko lets out a little sniffle that Sokka would never dare to call a snore and tucks his face against the back of Sokka’s neck.
The Warrior—Kyoko, Sokka realizes as she shifts into the light streaming in through the open door—clears her throat. “Ambassador, do you, ah…” She trails off, coughing into her fist.
“No,” Sokka says, clearing his throat. “It’s fine, Kyoko, it’s—” Zuko shifts, pulling Sokka closer, his arm angling over Sokka’s chest and squeezing. “—everything’s great,” Sokka wheezes as the air is forced out of his lungs.
“Of course, sir,” Kyoko says, not even trying to fight back a grin now.
Sokka glares as best he can while being cuddled like a stuffed armadillo bear. “You can return to your post.”
“Right away, Ambassador,” Kyoko says, her muffled laughter breaking free before the door is entirely closed.
Sokka maintains his glower until she leaves, then sighs, wiggling to loosen Zuko’s grip enough to breathe and repositioning Zuko’s limbs to less hazardous places. Sokka definitely missed his window of opportunity, and he’s in for a night of sweating and inhaling hair and numb limbs and being dragged along as Zuko roles.
Hopefully with minimal strangulation, though.
Spirits, Suki is going to lose her shit laughing when she hears about this. Kyoki is probably already mentally writing her letter back to the island. And to think, it’s been three blessed months since Suki finally stopped teasing him over last time…
Sokka blows out a rueful breath, giving Zuko’s flank an affectionate pat and making a mental note to cue up some comebacks before he leaves the room in the morning for the gauntlet of teasing he’s going to run tomorrow with the Warriors. And probably the bolder guards and servants, too. And the Ambassadorial staff, if they catch wind of it…
Sokka certainly never anticipated that this would be one of the ways Zuko would keep him on his toes.
The seventh rule of sleeping with Zuko: Time your extraction right or get ready to be trapped for the night.
--
Once Sokka starts spending enough time in Zuko’s bed, enough nights to achieve something that feels like domesticity, where sometimes it’s about just being together more than anything else, he learns that all the planning in the world can’t account for some things.
Sokka jolts awake, bleary-eyed but adrenaline already thrumming in his veins as he scans the darkness, trying to figure out the source of—
A low, tight whine sounds behind him and Sokka immediately rolls over, a different kind of urgency filling him as he sees Zuko curled into a ball, all his height pulled in as tight as it can go, like he’s trying to make himself impossibly small beneath the covers. The line of his shoulder is tense, every muscle when Sokka lays a gentle hand on his back tight enough to snap.
Zuko whimpers again, jerking away from the touch, and Sokka immediately snatches his hand back, finally kicking his brain awake enough to orient into what’s going on. Nightmare. Zuko’s having a nightmare.
“Hey, babe, babe,” Sokka says, pitching his voice low and clearing the sleep from his voice. “It’s just a dream. Zuko, Zuko, it’s okay,” he soothes when there’s another whimper. “You’re safe.”
Every bit of Sokka wants to wake Zuko up, to help him see he’s safe, to shake him out of whatever has him in its grip. But Sokka learned through hard experience that Zuko can’t handle being touched during his nightmares, and certainly not anything as rough as that.
“You’re just dreaming,” Sokka says, finding his way to a tone that’s steady and calm. “It’s just a dream. I know it’s scary and that it’s hard, but you’ll wake up, I promise. I promise you will. And I promise everything will be okay, love. This will end. I know it might be hard to believe, but it will.”
Sokka keeps the flow of quiet, even words going, focusing less on what he’s saying and more on the pitch and tenor of it all. He’s learned that even asleep, Zuko seems to anchor onto the sound of his voice. And when nightmares have him in their grip, Sokka’s figured out that Zuko will get through it faster with something to latch onto, even if it’s just words, even if Sokka’s entire chest aches seeing Zuko looking so small and alone on his side of the bed.
Sokka shifts up on the bed, continuing to talk as he grabs a pitcher of water off the bedside table and pours himself a glass, getting ready to speak as long as he needs to. Zuko hasn’t had one of these in a while—not that Sokka’s exactly surprised he’s having one now, considering the nasty brand of negotiation the Earth Kingdom has been bringing to the table lately—but Sokka still knows how to pitch his voice for calm, how to keep up a stream of reassurances, how to talk and talk and talk until the tension begins to ease from Zuko’s body and the whimpers begin to quiet and Zuko finally unwinds enough to roll over, reaching, not exactly relaxed but loose enough again to be seeking Sokka, even in sleep.
Sokka quickly drains his water glass and sets it aside, sliding himself into Zuko’s arms and moving to cradle his firebender against his chest, relief sharp and wobbly in his throat as he drops his voice down to a whisper until Zuko’s breathing finally evens out into its usual rhythm, continuing to talk even once Zuko is back into normal sleep, letting his words ward Zuko’s dreams as long as Sokka can hold out for until sleep finally reaches back up to claim him, too.
The eighth rule of sleeping with Zuko: There will be nightmares. Make your peace with not being able to stop them.
--
Sokka always thought the whole ‘firebenders rise with the sun’ thing was a metaphor. A nice little phrase like ‘don’t look a gift ostrich horse in the beak’ and ‘the early penguin fish gets hooked.’ And maybe it is just that, for some firebenders. But it took actually sharing a bed with Zuko for Sokka to realize that the expression is very literal for the Fire Lord.
The rising sun seems to slide energy into Zuko’s veins no matter how tired he is or how deeply asleep—which can be annoying, for someone who is very much not similarly Agni-touched, and is sometimes concerning, in those times when Zuko’s natural inclination to work until the work is done comes face to face with more work than one person can possibly handle.
Sokka does eventually realize that if he plays up wanting cuddle time in the morning, he can coax Zuko back into bed, which can turn into some much-needed dozing—or other activities, once Sokka is awake enough, or if Zuko is feeling energetic enough to do the waking.
It takes him a little bit longer to realize that the dozing doesn’t have to be confined to just the early mornings.
Sokka keeps his breathing smooth and steady, practicing the meditative breaths he picked up from Zuko and acutely aware that Zuko is only dozing in the afternoon sun—which means he’ll come awake instantly if the pillow under his head loses its rhythm. And Sokka is committed to being a pillow for as long as Zuko needs one. It’s perfectly comfortable here by the turtle duck pond, the grass thick and soft beneath him, the tree at his back sturdy and broad, the soft sounds of the water always doing something to unwind the tension both of them might be carrying.
And it’s worked especially well on Zuko today, thank anything listening. His exhausted firebender is cradled back against his chest, hands tangled loosely with Sokka’s over his stomach, topknot only a little bit in Sokka’s face, and if sweat is beginning to make Sokka’s tunic cling to his chest, that’s not anything he isn’t used to after so long in the Fire Nation.
Perfectly comfortable.
Sokka’s trying out a breathing cycle he’s pretty sure Iroh was demonstrating the last time he visited when the turtle ducks suddenly flutter and quack on the water. Sokka flicks his eyes across the pond to see Suki approaching the water, her hair twisted up into a casual but elegant knot, strands framing her makeup-free face, her clothes similarly walking the line between relaxed and fancy.
Sokka blinks, glancing up toward the sun and belatedly realizing the time. Shit, Katara and Aang are probably already waiting for them at the palace gates, and the dinner reservation Suki made for them…
“Should we go without you?” Suki whispers, still familiar with the pitch that won’t wake a dozing Fire Lord even if she hasn’t had to use it in years.
Sokka considers how excited Zuko was for dinner with everyone against the late nights and early mornings Zuko’s been pulling lately, the way the circle under his eye has been getting darker and darker, the way his temper has been getting shorter and shorter. “We’ll catch up.”
“It’s your own celebration,” Suki points out.
Sokka tilts his head in an approximation of a shrug. “It starts when we get there, then.”
“I can make sure we have the room all night if we want it,” Suki says, a laugh in her voice. “We won’t get too crazy without you guys.”
Zuko snorts a little, shifting, and Suki quickly waves her understanding and retreats to let the others know. Sokka shifts his attention back to Zuko, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head—the actual crown on the grass beside them—and smiling when Zuko settles back down, snuggling closer, the weight of his head now pressing the new pendant at Sokka’s throat into his collarbone. Which isn’t exactly perfectly comfortable—even if it does set off a bright fizz of excitement in Sokka’s stomach to be reminded the necklace is there—but neither is leaning against a tree without moving for this long, or the sweat, or the root under his ass. And Sokka is more than content to feel all of it, too, each little annoyance weaving together to form an afternoon relaxing with Zuko in his arms, something Sokka feels no need to change.
The ninth rule of sleeping with Zuko: Naps are possible, if you can get him to stop moving long enough.
--
Sokka wakes up warm and comfortable. He doesn’t immediately open his eyes, just allows himself to take it in, to slowly name the sound of the ocean and the familiar smell of griddled flatbreads in the air, to luxuriate in his sense of peace and ease, in the moment when sleep still lingers but you’re awake enough to be aware of fading dreams.
A gentle tugging on his scalp is what finally grabs Sokka’s attention, his awareness drifting toward consciousness enough to register that…someone is smoothing his hair slowly and gently over his pillow.
Sokka is smiling before he even opens his eyes to find Zuko propped up next to him, cheek resting on his fist, his gold eyes warm and relaxed as he looks at whatever design he’s making of Sokka’s hair, his expression close to something that Sokka would never dare to name out loud as dopey.
“Hey, you,” Sokka finally whispers, giddiness bursting in his chest like it’s the first time all over again when Zuko’s attention immediately shifts, happiness breaking over his face to see that Sokka’s awake.
“Welcome to the land of the living,” Zuko smiles, the words amused and extra raspy in that way they always are in the mornings.
Sokka grins, wiggling a little in his warm nest of blankets and tilting his head in silent request for head scratches, sighing in contentment when Zuko obligingly starts scratching along his undercut. “Were you just watching me sleeping?”
Zuko hums an affirmation, completely unselfconscious about it.
“You could have woken me up,” Sokka murmurs, leaning into Zuko’s touch, his eyes falling closed as he arches into a stretch that pulls a little bit of a groan from his lips.
“Maybe I wanted to look at my husband.”
Sokka opens his eyes, grinning, his heart pounding in delight over that word, his stomach flipping. Husband, husband, husband. Sokka can still count on his hands the number of times he’s heard it and not run out of fingers. “Flatterer.”
“It’s true,” Zuko laughs. “I have the most beautiful husband there is, why wouldn’t I want to look at him?”
“Well that’s definitely a lie,” Sokka says, making a show of rolling his eyes. “Because I’m pretty sure that I have the most beaut—”
Sokka breaks off into a laugh as Zuko abruptly tosses Sokka’s loose hair over his face, sending a chunk of it right into Sokka’s mouth. Which means Sokka has to give Zuko a melon berry against his chest in retaliation, right in the middle of his lightning scar, Zuko jerking and giggling and then retaliating with tickling fingers down Sokka’s ribs, and then it’s all downhill from there, a flailing mess that manages to traverse the length of the bed and back again, chaos and flying limbs and Sokka wouldn’t want to have it any other way.
The tenth rule of sleeping with Zuko: No matter how much drool there is, or how much hair you inhale, or how many mysterious bruises you come away with, it’s all worth it for the way Zuko smiles at you in the morning.