Part 3 — May Flowers

Spring is short in the Fire Nation. She can feel the approach of summer best at night, when the air stays warm and thunder rolls low through the sky. She has plenty to think about, and plenty to worry about. Sometimes she's paraylzed in the middle of a long, dull day by the fear that her brother is going to betray her, or that he's betrayed her already. It's bad enough that Zuko is walking around with enough information to humiliate and shame her— what disturbs her even more is that in order to be betrayed by someone, you have to be on the same side.

She continually wakes from dreams in a cold sweat. Sometimes they're nightmares, but sometimes they're dreams of the southern lights that echo with Sokka's laughter. Both are terrifying. She finishes burning her sage. More than once, she finds herself bringing her mother's half-burned portrait out from under her bed, and gazing at it as though there are answers hidden in the paint. In some moments she trains, practices, attacks the walls like an enemy and fights what can't be seen. In the end, though, Zuko is right: she is changing, and she can't do anything to stop remembers that she's waiting for Sokka only after she's gotten impatient. Another day passes, then another. She realizes that she doesn't know what time of the month he usually comes, or how long he stays in the capital city when he attends his meetings— all she knows is that four weeks have passed, and he still hasn't shown up. It's just another reminder that even though he has an entire life, the only part of it she'll ever share is the tiny percentage that takes place inside the prison tower.

It's a gusty April evening and she's in a foul mood, agitated and pacing and wondering why he hasn't come yet. It's been over a month since she last saw him, she's sure of it. She turns, biting her lip and listening to the wind whistle outside. She knows that she shouldn't have confided in Zuko, shouldn't have trusted him, but it was a moment of weakness and all she can do now is make sure that it doesn't happen again. But if he really did tell Sokka what she said, if he knows now…

She turns again, scooping fire out of thin air. If he did betray her, she's going to make sure he's very, very, sorry.

But there's no way to know for sure, the same way she can't be sure whether or not Sokka is ever going to come back. In the end she throws herself on the bed in something that feels very much like despair, and tries desperately to clear her mind and meditate. Instead, she falls asleep.

In her dream, she's in the throne room, the fires burning blue in her presence. Her hair is perfect; her makeup is done again. She sits on her father's throne with Zuko's crown in her hair, and two huge dragons coil around the pillars on either side of her— one black, one red. Their great spiked heads rise and fall, circling around her. She sits, her back stiff, and stares straight ahead as they whisper to her.

"Attack!" the black dragon hisses in her father's voice, baring its fangs. "What have I told you about hesitation?"

"No, Azula," Ursa's voice murmurs from the red dragon. "Consider your choices carefully!"

"Silence," she orders, her voice ringing. "I will decide."

"Heed me," the black dragon purrs. "Listen to me, my daughter. It is your duty to destroy them."

"No," insists the red dragon. "You must use your heart as well as your head."

"Bah!" Ozai's voice sneers. "Such weakness has no place in this throne room. Now, Azula, prove yourself. Your greatest loyalty is to your nation! Attack!"

"Hold back!" her mother insists. "There is power in restraint. You know who you are!"

Both of her hands burst into flames; the dragons hiss. "I will decide!"

The black dragon laughs. It's a horrible sound— cold and humorless. His great scaled body curves, snaking around the throne. "You are mine. I know what you will do. You are a loyal soldier, my daughter. Do not fail me."

She can feel that heat, that pain within her, and even as she watches, the fire spreads from her hands up her arms, to her elbows, to her shoulders.

The dragons are both whispering now, one in each ear as they circle tighter and tighter around her. The air is hot in her lungs. The fire around the walls is growing, bursting with sparks and climbing its way out of the braziers, spreading across the ground towards her.

"Attack! ATTACK!"

"NO!"

She screams. Her own fire, blue and hungry, has caught on the hem of her robes. The fire has already spread from her hands, burning into her back and shoulders. She can't seem to control it— it grows and grows, devouring everything it touches. Wave after wave of fire spills from the throne room walls, fire of her own making, swelling completely out of control. Her chest is splitting open. Her stomach feels as though it's burning to ashes.

The blue fire eats up the columns around her, white-hot and spitting with delight. It keeps coming, billow after billow, and she's screaming, screaming. Her parents' voices are still hissing insistently in her ears as the throne burns out from underneath her.

"Remember who you are!"

"Do your duty!"

"Azula!"

The pain inside of her is searing, splitting, and she wonders dimly who it could be that's calling her name like that. Her hair has come down— the crown has been melted right out of it, dripping gold onto the charred stone steps.

"Azula!"

She tilts her chin to the ceiling as she burns. Snow is falling— blue, glittering, and silent.

"Azula!"

She gasps like she's coming up from underwater, sitting straight up in bed. The first thing her sleep-drugged brain registers is that she isn't on fire, after all. The second thing is that it's dark, very dark, and two very familiar blue eyes are glowing right outside her cell.

"Azula!" He sounds scared, and as she gasps for breath in the darkness, her eyes adjust. She can just make out his outline— he's gripping the bars, and he's shaking. "Are you— are you okay?"

She's still heaving for breath, her lungs and throat burning like she's been sprinting. Her parents' voices echo in her head, and as she presses her hands to her temples she realizes that she's shaking too.

"What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep," he rushes out. "I wanted to see you before I left. I wasn't going to come, but I— you were having a nightmare."

As agonized as she is, his abandoned sentence does not escape her, and her stomach plummets. Ice grips her heart. "I knew it. Zuko told you."

"What?" He takes a step back, looking confused. "What does Zuko have to do with anything?"

She glares at him, her chest heaving. "You're lying."

"What? No I'm not! Zuko told me what? What are you even talking about?"

He looks genuinely distressed, and some of her fluttering panic subsides. She doesn't answer, taking a deep breath, and then another, trying to calm her frantic heartbeat. "Nothing. Nevermind."

He just looks at her, and they're silent for a moment. He's got that expression on, the one she can't read, and it infuriates her as much as it turns her on. She realizes that she's relieved to see him— she's missed him.

"You were screaming." His voice is concerned, deep with sleep.

She flushes. "Was I? Well, I'm sorry to say that it wasn't the good kind."

He looks at her, shocked, and then starts to smile, shaking his head very, very slowly. "You… you can't start making jokes now."

"Says who?" she whispers. "Don't tell me what to do."

They stare at each other. The moment solidifies like creeping frost.

Her eyes have adjusted fully, and she can see him now. His hair is down, swinging freely to brush the sides of his face. His tunic is only half-done up, and she can see the dark skin and lean muscle underneath. He looks like he just rolled out of bed. He has, however, brought his sword and his club— even in times of peace, old habits die hard.

"Are you… okay?"

She wants to scoff at him but it comes out more like a half-sob as she turns away. "Okay? Yeah. I'm great."

"Don't lie to me."

His voice is low, and it's not a request— it's an order. A chill travels through her body.

"Azula."

Spirits, and the way he says her name…

"What, Sokka?" she says tightly. She realizes she's gripping her blanket. "It's the middle of the night. What do you want?"

"I already told you," he murmurs, and she watches out of the corner of her eye as he comes right up against the bars again. "I wanted to see you."

She can see him through the dark, his high cheekbones and full lips, and the outline of his chest against his shirt. Once again, she realizes they're staring at each other. His eyes are as bright as moonstones, full of something that she can't recognize.

The wind howls outside.

She's fully awake now, and it occurs to her that she's not dressed for visitors. When she pushes her covers back and steps out of bed, her wrapper gaps down the side, exposing her leg to the thigh. It's pointless to lie to herself— she knows he's there at the bars, watching her. She can feel his eyes on her bare skin.

She doesn't try to hide it.

Instead, she stands and pads over to the water basin. The silence between them stretches, broken only by the sound of water as she fills a goblet for herself and drinks thirstily.

He watches her.

She could just light the torch in the wall sconce, but for some reason, she doesn't want to. She likes the way he looks in the half-dark, his eyes flashing blue in the shadows. There's something strange and intimate about it that she doesn't want to let go of, not yet.

She fills the goblet again, and walks over to the bars with slow steps. He hasn't said anything, but watches her the whole way, waiting. When she draws right up in front of him and they're face-to-face, her nerve nearly fails her: she never imagined how hard it could be to meet those eyes. She has to tilt her chin up to look straight at him.

"Here." She holds out the water. "Want some?"

He pushes his hair out of his face. "Yeah."

When he reaches out and takes it through the bars, their fingers touch. Her stomach turns over— she feels the crackle of energy racing over her skin. He might have touched her on purpose and she thinks that maybe he did, but what's more preoccupying is that his fingers were warm and dry and felt wonderful, even in such a tiny moment. When was the last time someone touched her? She doesn't know.

He tilts his head back and closes his eyes as he drinks. She watches his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

"Thanks."

He holds the goblet out and she takes it by the rim, careful to avoid his fingers. She's simultaneously thrilled and terrified by his touch, and his body is distracting, close in the dark like this. She turns around after a moment, carrying the cup back to the basin, feeling his eyes on her as she goes. It's as if she's conscious of every particle in her own body, vibrating under his gaze.

"So what were you dreaming about?"

As low as it is, his voice carries, cutting through the sound of the wind outside. She turns, putting a hand on her hip.

"None of your business."

He clicks his tongue. "Such attitude."

"How dare you!" she frowns. Both of his hands are back on the bars, large enough to wrap all the way around. "That's not the kind of question you ask a princess, and a lady."

"Oh, are you a lady?" he smiles lazily, leaning against his hands. "You should have told me. I had no idea."

She wants to brandish some fire, just to put him in his place, but if she does, she'll break the darkness and this spell that's fallen over them.

"Oh!" she crosses her arms; without even meaning to, she's half-playing now. "I think I should remind you just who you're talking to."

Then he grins, that crazy roguish grin of his that she loves. "I wish you would, princess. Come here."

Her stomach jumps, heat jolts through her body— but she's not going to be ordered around so easily. She clasps her hands behind her back and smiles sweetly at him.

"I just don't think I will. Princesses don't associate with peasants."

"What?" he shakes his head like he's disappointed in her. "Please. Haven't you heard? I've come up in the world. I'm a councilman now. And the son of a chief," he adds, "although I seem to recall a certain princess saying that that meant next to nothing."

She giggles, and he slides his arms even further into the cell until his forearms are resting on the crossbars. "Next to nothing? How generous."

"Yes, she usually is." He's smirking, and she doesn't even try to stop her robe from gapping as she takes a few steps towards him across the room. Her legs break out in goosebumps in the cool air.

"So, councilman," she says lazily, pulling her hair over one shoulder. "Tell me. How did your Li Wei proposition go?"

"Without a hitch," he says. His voice is playful, but his face is serious. He's completely still, watching her. "Thanks to you."

"You did all the work." She takes another step. She can feel how wet she is with every movement.

"You gave me the ideas," he says. She swears his voice is getting lower. His forearms and hands are completely inside the cell, palms down as he braces his elbows against the door. His posture is casual, but she's not deceived— she knows he's thinking about the location of those hands just as much as she is, because she's never seen Sokka's hands so perfectly still.

"You can only make flour out of acorns if you put them into a good mill."

He laughs. "Is that a compliment? You sound like your uncle."

She wrinkles her nose. "I kind of do, don't I?"

They share another look, another silence. The air is so thick, like you could get shocked if you poked at it.

She takes another step towards him.

"So. What were you afraid Zuko had told me?" he asks, resting his chin on a crossbar. She scowls.

"Why were you not going to come see me?"

"It's your turn to answer a question, princess."

She takes another step towards him. There can't be more than a yard between them now. A few more steps and she'd be in his arms.

"I'm afraid that's classified information, councilman."

"Oh, is it?" he raises an eyebrow. She can see him better now that he's close, see the way the low light shines through his eyes like blue lanterns. That look on his face is going to drive her crazy. "I see."

"I'm glad you understand," she smirks, jutting her hip out. "Your turn to answer a question. Why weren't you going to come?"

She watches as his eyes follow the line of her leg, from her bare foot on the floor to where it disappears into her wrapper. Then he looks up at her, and her stomach jumps again. He's not even trying to hide what he's doing.

"My turn?" he shakes his head slowly. His arms are still stock-still in front of her. "I'm afraid that's classified information, Azula."

She almost breathes his name, then. The way he's talking to her, the way his voice drops when he looks at her, the way his tongue caresses her name… no, he knows exactly what he's doing, and it's making her hotter than she ever knew she could get.

"How convenient," she exhales. "You always were an opportunist."

She takes one last step; she's so close now that her breasts are inches from his hands. Her nipples are hard underneath the cotton, sensitive and straining for contact.

"Am, fire lily," he corrects her, and takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Am."

And then he reaches out and slowly, so slowly, brushes his knuckles across the bare skin of her upper arm. She inhales sharply, stops breathing— she glances down to where he's touching her and then up to his eyes. He's looking at her, so intently, more serious than she's ever seen him. Amber and blue connect. And still his knuckles are there, rubbing lightly against her skin, back and forth, sending sparks through her body.

She's frozen in his gaze, powerless to tell him to stop— she needs to keep up the act, push him away, but she can't, because it just feels too good.

Slowly, slowly, his other hand comes up and he's caressing both her shoulders now, warm knuckles and the pads of his thumbs skimming over her skin and making her shiver. He's staring at her and her heart is pounding and she's so turned on that she's aching between her legs with how badly she wants to be touched. She's burning, so wet for him that she can feel it starting to drip down the inside of her thighs.

He doesn't stop. He doesn't try to pull her closer, but neither does he stop touching her. His long, strong fingers move from her shoulder to sweep over her collarbone, thumbs pressing lightly where her neck meets her chest. She can almost feel her breasts swell at the nearness of his hands, and it's all she can do not to arch up into them. Still, they don't speak. All there is is the sound of her breathing, light and shallow, and his darker, deeper breaths. The tower groans. As she listens it starts to rain, a few drops bouncing down a wind staircase and then cascading onto the roof like marbles.

They're still staring into each other's eyes, but if it was hard to meet his gaze before, it's nothing compared to now. She can feel the air trembling between them, quivering with overcharge, like a bolt of lightning that needs to be released.

One hand comes to rest on her shoulder, fingers wrapping around her, his rough palm pressing against her skin. Tingling heat blooms through her. She can't help the hitch of her breath, and closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, he's still looking back at her, his eyes burning.

He leans farther through the bars to cup the back of her neck in his other hand, his fingers long enough to curl more than halfway around, and she feels very petite indeed. His thumb begins to trace little circles on her sensitive throat and she sinks her teeth into her lower lip, closing her eyes again and tilting her head back. This is bliss. White-hot tingles are shooting through her body with every light touch, like fire racing to her breasts and between her legs. She can't control the breathy little sigh that escapes her, and it hangs in the air between them as evidence that she's not pushing him away. She'll be damned if she pushes him away— she wants him.

She sees the reaction in his face, and half a second later his hand tightens on her shoulder and he yanks her closer. Before she knows what's happening she's being slammed up against the cold bars and one of his arms is around her, pressing her to him. His other hand moves from her neck to her hair, wrapping tightly into the thick black coils.

She gasps, putting both hands on his chest, ready to push away, but he doesn't let her. His arm is strong around her waist and his hand is tight in her hair, pulling her head back so he can look directly into her face. She fights him, her scalp stinging with pain, but stops when she sees his face— he's deadly serious, almost anguished.

"Do it now."

"What?" she gasps. She can barely think. His body is hot and hard pressed against her, the bars an icy criss-cross between them. "What are you talking about?"

"Do it!" His face flashes with pain. "Go on, tell me."

She gapes at him. He's holding her so closely that her brain seems to have stopped working. "Tell you what?"

"That you don't care about me!" His hand tightens in her hair and she gasps with pain, watches it reflect in his eyes. "Tell me that you've just been using me this whole time, and that you think I'm worthless. Tell me that you've been planning this all along. You need to tell me now, because if you don't…"

"What?" she whispers.

His face twists. "I might just do something unforgivably stupid and kiss you."

At these words, a bolt of pleasure goes straight to her pussy. She struggles a little in his arms, and a pant actually escapes her. "Then that's not much incentive for me to tell you."

She sees confusion flit across his features, and then his jaw sets, his hand tightening in her hair. He's pulling back on it so hard that her neck aches. "I'm serious, Azula. Don't play with me. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't care."

They stare at each other. His eyes are overbright, as shockingly blue as the winter sky.

"No," she whispers. "I can't."

He frowns at her. His arm is a vice around her waist, crushing her against the cell door. "What?"

"I won't," she says then, as defiant as she is breathless. "Don't tell me what to do, Sokka."

"Agni almighty," he breathes, lifting his eyes to heaven. "Please, please, have mercy on me…"

She can see the raw pain in his face, and, strangely, she wants to end it. She's going to end it, no matter what it costs her. She doesn't struggle, now, as he holds her through the cell. She just gazes up at him. No more lies.

"You woke me up."

He looks back down at her. She lifts one hand from her side and places it on his bare chest, where his shirt has pulled open. The skin under her hand is warm and smooth, and just as wonderful as she's always imagined.

"You pulled me out of a nightmare," she murmurs. "Tonight… and months ago."

He's staring at her like he can't believe what he's hearing. "You— "

"I'm not lying, Sokka." She skims her hand from his chest to his cheek, her fingers cautious, curious, and there's no hiding the surge of his body against hers. "I've lied about a lot of things. But not this."

Thunder booms overhead as he stares at her, and his fist releases her hair. She can hear the rain coming down, sheets of water pounding against the stones outside.

"But I— "

"I care," she whispers. He doesn't need to hold her against him— she's pressing there herself, desperate for him. "I care more about you than I've ever cared about anyone and if you don't kiss me right this second I might just have to kill you."

He stares at her for a moment, disbelieving, and she stares back, breathless and defiant and declared. And then, slowly, the agony in his face melts into something else.

"Well, then that's not much incentive for me to die."

His eyes have hardened and his face has opened, painted with that look that she's never been able to read before. Only now, she knows what it is.

It's desire.

His hands unclench, and slowly, slowly, run up her bare arms until he's cupping her face. Her legs feel weak underneath her— she's sure that she's stopped breathing entirely. He pulls her closer and closer until their noses touch, and still they haven't closed their eyes. They stare at each other through the bars, completely still. There's a ghost of a smile on his lips and she can't believe how close they are, so close that every inch of her zings with the heat of him. She could count the sun-freckles across his nose.

He exhales, deep enough that she could drown in it, and at last, closes his eyes and closes the distance between them. Their lips touch gently, his mouth hot and soft as it brushes against hers, so slow and light. She breathes him in like she's starving for it. Heat is racing across her skin, spider-webbing through her nerve endings and awakening a deep hunger, so strong that she gasps against his mouth. He pulls back for a moment and then comes forward again, pressing his lips against hers more firmly. His arms travel, threading back and forth through the bars, one wrapping around her shoulders and one around her waist to pull her closer to him. He's so warm, every inch of him, and she can feel his heavy hardness against her thigh. She's never felt anything like it before, but it doesn't scare her; it turns her on more, makes her wound-up body jump against his.

His lips drag against hers as he releases her again, and she almost whimpers. She can feel the restraint in his muscles— she knows that he's holding back. He's savoring this, savoring her.

The bars are an impediment— he can't reach the curve of her neck, so he bends his head and kisses her throat instead, fisting her hair again. She's mindless to the press of her chin against the door. The sensations of him are so much stronger, bolts of electricity shocking through her everywhere he's touching her. His lips are hot on her throat, dragging across her skin, open-mouthed so she can feel his breath. The soft flick of his tongue makes her body jump again, and she whines.

"Do you want me, princess?"

His voice is low and rough in that way that drives her crazy, vibrating straight to her pussy. She's robbed of words and he kisses her on the mouth again, hard this time. When he pulls back, his bright eyes burn right into her.

"Do you?" he asks. His hands are hard now, too, crushing her against the bars. "Say it. Tell me."

"I do," she gasps out. Her pussy is throbbing. "I want you."

"Mmm…" he rumbles deep in his chest. "I want you, too."

Warmth explodes in her stomach even as he pulls her back to him. He's rougher when their lips meet this time, and it's not long before the tip of his tongue is against her bottom lip. Cautiously, curiously, she opens up to him.

She's never been kissed like this before. His tongue sweeps across hers, then stills, tasting her, and she does her best to respond in kind. He explores her with his mouth, flicking and sliding his tongue against hers, rhythmically returning to kiss her lips as they breathe. They can't move their heads back and forth very well through the cell bars so they make up for it through movement of mouth; he talks to her through his kisses, telling her with his lips how much he wants her, until she feels like her heart is going to pound right through her ribs.

She wants to feel his lips everywhere, and when she turns her head to shove her neck right up against the bars he takes advantage of it, breathing on her exposed skin before pressing his lips against it.

"Uhhhnnn, yes..."

She would be embarrassed at this breathy little moan if there was space left in her head for it. He responds to her sounds, sucking harder at her tender skin until she gasps out loud, a tingle sweeping through her. Then he releases her, letting his teeth graze across the bruised flesh until she sighs, deep in the back of her throat.

She's so wet now that she's dripping in earnest, hot and slick, down the inside of her thighs. She can't help it. It's like every feeling she's always blocked and every desire she's always quashed have somehow come to the surface simultaneously, overwhelming her. She wants him so much that her core is searing with heat,, hungering for him, clenching for him.

When he drops to his knees in front of her, she stares down at him. His arms weave through the bars, his hands going to rest on her bare ankles. He looks up at her, holding her legs there, so vulnerable and fearless and beautiful that she feels her heart stand still. His full lips are wet and swollen from kissing her.

"Such a beautiful woman…" he pushes aside the fold of her robe just enough to bare her shin, and runs his hand up it. "And to think, I'm going to get to know every inch of her."

She squirms at his words, at the fresh shivers this touch sends crashing over her. "Sokka…"

"Hmm… yeah." He tugs her foot towards him, braces the arch of it on his knee. "Keep saying it."

He kisses the inside of her calf, and she grips the bars above him. When he looks up at her again, he lifts his large hands and undoes one of the clasps at the hem of her robe.

Her breathing hitches. He's gazing up at her from the ground, waiting. When she doesn't protest, only pushes her hips closer to the bars, he undoes another. Her breath begins to come unevenly, and she finds herself unable to control it. She's not wearing anything else at all, and he's there, just there, his beautiful blue eyes level with where her pussy is throbbing for him underneath her clothes…

She becomes aware that as he's caressing and kissing her legs, he's talking. That mouth of his that never shuts up, that seems to exist to antagonize her, and now…

"Put your foot in my hand… yeah… Gods, your skin…" Another clasp undone, another brush of his lips. "Sweet as cream."

She's trembling, her nightgown undone to the thigh, and wound up so tightly that she doesn't trust herself to speak. Instead, she reaches out to fulfill a fantasy, and sinks her hands into his long hair. It's soft and dark and incredibly thick, and she tugs at it hungrily. He laughs, a deep rumble from the back of his throat.

"You like that, princess? Should we see how hard I can get you to pull it?"

She groans, another bolt of heat striking through her center. "You smartass…"

He doesn't deny it, and instead bends his head to the inside of her thigh to give her a warm, pressing kiss. He ends it on a short little drag towards her pussy, making her bite her lip. She's never felt herself throb like this, ever.

He's being agonizing, and she can't wait for him. When she undoes the first clasp at her neck, he tilts his chin up to look at her. His hands stay busy, his thumbs tracing slow circles inside her thighs. She undoes the second, then the third, and she can see in his blue eyes how much he wants her. The old familiar feeling of power floods her, but it's colored differently now.

The three clasps that remain between her and complete nakedness feel flimsy indeed compared to the heavy air between them. His hands still. Their eyes meet. Then he gives her that look, that filthy, possessive look, and she knows that her days of having no weak points are over.

When her robe falls open his eyes widen, then close, then open again, and he groans.

"Azula…"

She can see where his blue eyes are fixed, staring intently at her glistening pussy in the low light. She's soaked and swollen, so wet that some of it's stringing between her thighs. It's all the evidence he needs to know how turned on she's been for him this entire time. As she watches, his gaze flicks up to her breasts, small and high, her nipples flushed a deep pink and tightened with arousal. He sighs— or growls, she can't tell which— way deep in the back of his throat, and his warm hands come around her bare waist. She feels tiny, feminine. The cold of the cell makes her nipples harden even further as he pulls her against it, positioning her. One hand moves to the back of her knee, bending and supporting it so her inner thigh is flat against the bars, drawing her pussy right up to the gap.

He's still on his knees, his cheek against her inner thigh, and his mouth is so close now that she can feel his breath, warm on her swollen lips, making her quiver. He won't take his eyes from between her legs and she squirms against the door, so desperate for his touch that she might just combust.

"Sokka…"

"So wet for me," he says wonderingly, and his stubble rasps against her skin as he slides his cheek against her thigh. "Gods, I've got to be fucking dreaming."

She moans then, desperation and arousal threatening to undo her completely. He gets that look on his face again, and then… and then…

"Ohhh…"

His tongue, warm and wet, touches her. He shifts closer, his hands pulling her forward, and licks lightly up her center before pressing his tongue flatly against her, dragging her lips apart and grazing her clit. She jumps, gasps, and he does it again, sending a hot wave crashing through her. He's collecting so much of her wetness on his tongue, and as she watches he pulls back slightly, closing his eyes before swallowing.

"Mmm… you taste so good."

She blushes violently even as he returns to her pussy, licking up her folds until the tip of his tongue finds her clit. She gasps again, hips slamming against the bars as she grips them.

"Fuck…"

Using just the end of it, he circles carefully around her clit and then over it in slow, diagonal strokes. Her head buzzes and sparkles with pleasure, and when she looks down at him, it's the most erotic thing she's ever seen— the way his mouth is attached to her, kissing and licking her while he's on his knees. He glances up at her, blue eyes blazing, and increases the pressure of his tongue. The diagonal strokes change to long, firm ones from the base of her clit, and she moans.

"Unh, fuck, Sokka…"

Her hands go from the bars to his hair, burying her fingers in it as he speeds up. She's shivering with every stroke, heat coiling around her feet all the way up to her abdomen. There's an ache inside of her, growing and growing, an emptiness that craves to be filled. When his tongue begins to swirl in circles, sweeping hard over both her clit and her hood, she actually bucks her hips against the bars and yelps, a sharp sound that echoes away into the tower. Her fists clench in his hair and he doubles down his effort, sucking in little pulses as he circles with his tongue. With each firm swipe of his tongue comes the light pull of his lips, and she can feel herself swelling, liquid heat pooling in her lower back and the soles of her feet. A tightness cinches in her belly and she moans, feeling more wetness spilling out of her as she clenches under his mouth.

Her legs are shaking now, and she has to move one hand from his hair to the bars to hold herself up. He's helping, supporting her knee and gripping her hip. He maintains his pattern, steadily surrounding her clit with warm wetness, and she gasps when she feels the touch of his finger at her entrance. He touches her lightly, running the pad of his finger up the inside of her lips. When he lowers it to press softly at her slick entrance and flicks his tongue hard over her clit, she can actually feel her eyes roll back in her head.

"Ahhh...oh, gods, oh…"

Her body is grasping, trying desperately to pull him inside. The ache inside of her begs to be pressed, throbs to be touched. He redoubles the swirling strokes with his tongue, sharpening the pleasure deep inside of her, and when she feels his finger pushing into her, warm and wet, she pulls his hair so hard she's surprised that he doesn't stop.

"Oh!"

Her surroundings are beginning to blur, her head growing fuzzy. The shaking is getting worse and when he curls his finger inside of her as he sucks at her clit, she sees starbursts.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck.."

The heat inside of her is expanding and coiling. His fingers move again, circling and exploring, and then press deep against her front wall with three hard pulses. It's too much.

"Fuck, Sokka!"

The heat in her stomach collapses and explodes, and she comes hard with a strangled moan of his name, soaking his face and his fingers. Rush after rush of white-hot tingles are sweeping out from her center to her very fingertips. He pulls his finger out of her with another spill of wetness and does his best to lick it all up, from his hand to her lips to her thighs. Her entire body is trembling and she becomes aware that there's sweat running down between her breasts, her chest heaving. He's breathing hard too, when he pulls off of her and looks up at her with his gorgeous dark face covered in her juices. She nearly groans aloud again.

"Agni almighty…"

"That's the sweetest thing in the world," he says. "You're spoiling me."

She can't respond, doesn't trust herself to form words, and they both breathe hard for a moment. Her knees feel like they're made of water. The fractured pieces of her orgasm are still hot in her belly when he leans forward again, searching for her swollen clit with the very tip of his tongue. Her body jumps violently against him, oversensitive, but his arm tightens around her hips, pressing her against the bars.

"Let's see if you can give me one more…"

She groans, deep in the back of her throat, even as his light flicks and strokes begin to awaken something in her. "I can't…"

"You can," he mumbles against her body. The warm, wet softness of his tongue circles her clit gently, opening her up, and the floor of her first climax falls away to something darker and deeper. She goes rigid against the door and he hoists her knee higher, pressing his face as far between the bars as he can.

"Oh…"

The sharpness of the stimulation dissolves to a penetrating kind of pleasure, driving deep within her and making her gasp. He shifts,, and his mouth pulls off of her in a rush of wetness. She almost protests, but then she feels him again— the soft, warm tip of his tongue, pressing against her opening.

"Sokka…" she gasps, and looks down at him with wide eyes. His own eyes are closed as he drinks her in, his nose pressing at the base of her clit. He hums, a low vibrating moan of his own, and then his hand is at her swollen bud. Two warm fingers brush the side, sending hot tremors through her, and then he's circling it, gliding his wet fingers against it as he slides his tongue in and out of her. She's half-conscious of grinding her hips against his face, desperate for the release of this new, powerful thing he's awakened in her.

"Unhhhh, please…"

She's barely aware of what she's saying or the sounds she's making anymore— her head is filling with white sparkles, and there's a roaring in her ears. The feeling of his tongue fucking her, hot and wet as he licks in and out of her, is driving her crazy; pointed pleasure is rising again with every circle of his fingers. She's gasping, moaning, her mouth open and her hips jerking against the bars. It's all gathering much faster this time, the broken remains of her first orgasm whirling up into the vortex. There's no stopping it. She can hear the wet, messy sounds his mouth is making against her with every plunge of his tongue. Through half-slitted eyes she sees how slick his handsome face is with her arousal, and his nose presses harder against her clit as he tries to taste her even deeper.

"Uhnnn, fuck… FUCK…"

He buries his tongue inside of her again and presses two fingers above and below her clit, rubbing back and forth with short, fast strokes. Her breathing hitches, strangles, everything inside of her coiled, waiting. One, two, three more, and then he's rubbing lightly over the top as he licks her, his fingers grazing her trembling nerves and releasing in a twist.

"FUCK!"

Her hips slam against the bars and she comes around his tongue with a scream, the tornado in her head exploding. Her body clenches and her knees collapse completely— he catches her as best he can through the door, hooking his wrists beneath her underarms. Her head lolls and her body trembles, wave after wave of tingling, searing heat crashing through her. Every heartbeat is a sweeping crest of pleasure straight to the very core of her. He presses against the door, holding her as closely as he can, and she gasps and pants against his shoulder. The cold metal bar presses into her cheek but her mind is clouded, everything simultaneously dark and highly-colored.

"Great job, angel, you did it… that's it… breathe..."

She clings to his shoulders through the bars and tries to obey, her lungs burning. Her entire body seems to be pulsing, thrumming with heat. She pulls in great draughts of air, and slowly, gradually, the sound turns back up— the pounding of rain outside once again fills her ears, and the crack of thunder vibrates the prison walls. Her vision clears, comes back into focus. Sokka's arms are strong, holding her upright, his body burning against her. She shifts in his embrace and the hard planes of his body slide against hers, making them both shiver.

"I could kiss you all day long," he mutters to her, grinning. "On either set of lips."

"Gods, shut up," she murmurs back, shifting slightly. She feels the slickness between her thighs when she moves, the way her pussy is still throbbing. "Do you ever stop talking?"

"Only when I'm using my mouth for better things."

She licks her lower lip and puts her arms around his neck, tilting her chin up to look at him. He's tried to wipe his face off on his sleeve, to no avail— his jaw and lips are still shining with her, and the sight sends a fresh jolt of pleasure between her legs. She knows that as long as she lives, she'll never forget how he looked in front of her. Down on his knees, his mouth between her thighs, his erection straining as he licked and tasted her…

She lets out a breathy sigh at the thought, and his arms tighten around her.

"Just what's on your mind, princess?"

She meets his eyes, and they devour her. Some of the feeling has come back to her legs and she uses it to press against the bars as hard as she can, seeking him. Their hips press together through the gap and she sighs again, low and fluttering. He's hot and hard against her body, and it fills her with want.

His breathing quickens, his eyes closing for a second. When he opens them again, his desire for her burns blue.

"Is that what's on your mind?" he asks her, voice low. His arms are tight around her and when he rolls his hips against hers, she shudders. He gets that look on his face again and reaches down, palming her knee again to spread her legs. He holds her there for a moment, and she tilts her head to the side, breathless. The linen of his shorts brushes hard against her swollen pussy, and she knows that her juices must be smearing all over his front. When he thrusts against her again, his clothed erection pressing at her dripping entrance, she can feel her entire body clench for him.

"Unhhh... "

It's a needy sound, wavering with the desire that's burning through her body. He rolls against her again, so close to where she wants him, but much too far. They both moan now, and the sound flies away into the rain. She's never had anyone like this, never wanted anyone like this. Her hand moves to his hair— when they kiss, she feels him grow even larger. She gasps and the kiss deepens, his tongue sliding across hers. He feels so thick and long against her now that she thinks maybe she should be afraid, but all she feels is want. She wants to be filled by him, wants to feel every inch of him pushing inside of her. The kiss turns sloppy, both of them open-mouthed and breathing hard as he grinds against her.

"Fuck," he gasps against her lips. "You're going to be the death of me."

"Just what's on your mind, councilman?" she pants, her hands in his hair. "Tell me."

He groans, bucking into her as she tugs his head back. Not being able to wrap her legs around him is driving her crazy, and when she pulls his throat against the bars she feels the air go out of him. His skin is dark and warm and she kisses and licks, bites and tastes.

"Unh… fuck," he grits out. "You really want to know, fire lily?"

"Desperately." She circles her hips into his, grinding her bare pussy against his hardness. "Tell me— that's an order."

"Fuck," he whispers, almost feverishly, his eyes tracing her body. He looks between them, where the front of his shorts have become wet with her arousal, and then back up to her breasts. She's never been looked at like this— like she's the most beautiful thing in the world. "You're on my mind. This magnificent little body of yours, and your beautiful white skin. Your lips."

His hands go to her hips, gripping her, and he starts to rock against her in a way that makes her gasp. "I'm thinking about those noises you make. The look on your face when you come. Your perfect pussy, how sweet you taste..."

He's already back in control somehow, but she doesn't even care. She's breathless again, hands grasping at his hair, mindless to everything but his words and the feel of him between her legs.

"Most of all," he whispers, his lips brushing her ear, "I'm thinking about how wet you are for me, and how hard I am for you… I'm thinking about how much I want to be deep inside of you, and make love to you until you scream." He kisses her ear, grazes her earlobe with his teeth. "What do you think of that, princess?"

She's powerless to form words in response— her bones have turned to jelly. Instead, she mewls, a shamelessly needy sound; she's past the point of considering anything except the ache he's awakened in her, and the deep, driving need to feel him pressed hard against it.

When he pulls away, she steps back automatically. In one motion, he draws the club and swings it— the sharp metal CLANG! is muffled by the thunder. She backs up a step further, her legs wobbling underneath her, and he swings again. CLAAANG!

Her robe falls from her shoulders and she lets it — she has no secrets from him anymore. The club falls one, two, three more times, and the heavy padlock ricochets off the opposite wall. With a heavy creeeaaak!, the cell door swings open.

She backs up until her calves hit the bed. Sokka drops the weapon where he stands, and steps inside.

He walks towards her with the silent, steady steps of a hunter; she thinks, for one wild second, of the ocean and its inevitable crash on the beach. When he reaches her, much too quickly but not quickly enough, his hand comes up to cup her jaw. His fingers are light, and his eyes blaze. Every one of her nerve endings is singing. He holds her there, looking down at her. He's waiting.

And she moves. Her hands go to his shoulders, fisting and ripping his shirt— buttons fly everywhere, pinging off of the stone floor. He's here, against her, with no bars between them, and she's drunk with relief and desire. He's real. She's still real.

The air between them tightens and whirls and her hands are everywhere. He's the water sizzling on her stove— she burns and burns for him, but she can't seem to get enough. He's keeping himself in check, just barely, she can tell. She's got no such restrictions. His shirt comes off and then they're rolling around on her narrow bed. First she's on top, then he is, and then she is again, and her blood is pumping will the thrill of a good fight.

She pins him, her thighs flexing, and he looks up at her, breathing hard. It makes her skin tingle all over.

"Aren't you just gorgeous," she purrs, smoothing her hair back. "Found yourself taken prisoner?"

She grinds down against him, rubbing her wetness all over the hard length in his shorts, and he groans. His head tips back, eyes closing.

"Don't tempt me into taking advantage of the situation."

Her hand slides between them, palming him through his shorts, and his breath hitches. His eyes shine with a mad light, blue fire just barely contained. And, she realizes, she wants to see it burn. She wants to see how hard she'll have to press to break him.

When she gives him a squeeze, he moans deep in the back of his throat. His hands tighten on her hips painfully, and his breath comes in pants. Another squeeze and his hand is yanking her hair, and she's ripping his shorts off, too.

His hard cock springs against his stomach, and she squirms on top of him, feeling herself leak even more. She's never seen a man like this before, but she knows enough to know he's gorgeous— dark and thick and long, with a clear bead of wetness gathering at his head. She reaches out and swipes it up with her finger; he shudders like she's gotten a fist around his soul. When she licks it up, he grips her so hard that she knows it'll leave bruises.

"You taste good," she breathes. "Sweet and salty."

"Fuck…" he groans. "Please, Azula…"

She doesn't even have it in her to tease him for begging. She wants him just as badly.

Instinct takes over lack of experience, and she positions herself above him. One hand goes around the base of him, and then their bodies are lined up.

"Is this right?" she whispers.

"Perfect," he grits out. "Just lower down when you're ready."

Their eyes meet. She feels the thickness of him, the smooth heat. And she knows suddenly that really, she lost this game a long time ago.

She slides down, and his head presses into her. They both gasp in a breath— she doesn't stop. She gropes for his hand, and his calloused fingers lace through hers, steadying her. She feels her body stretch around his thickness, feels the sting of pain and primal curl of pleasure. She watches as his head tips back, lips parting around a strangled sigh.

"Fuck, you feel amazing…"

She can't answer— her heart is beating so hard she can feel it in her throat. The pain and the pleasure and the novelty and the lust churn inside of her until she's sure she's going to explode, and still he keeps coming, inch after inch, pushing into her and opening her up.

When he bottoms out, they both gasp. She's stinging. She can feel how big he is, rock-hard and hot inside of her. His pelvis presses against hers— his other hand finds hers.

"Are you okay?" he whispers. "Hurt?"

"A little," she gasps back. She knows she's squeezing the life out of his fingers. "Just need a second."

They're still; he's trembling.

She moves again. With the help of his hands, she lifts herself up and lowers back down, pushing him into her, sending exquisite pleasure and pain rocketing through her whole body. It feels like scalding water is trickling all over her skin.

"Sokka…"

"Azula," he murmurs. "Azula."

It seems like a far-away world indeed in which she told him not to say her name. She wants to hear it from his lips forever.

His hands guide her, help her— a few more thrusts, and he shows her how to rock against him. She lets her body stretch, accommodating this new invasion. The movement is gentle at first, and she's so wet that it drips down onto him. The soft rocks become a glide.

"Fuck, you're tight," he whispers, leaning back. "It feels so good to be inside of you."

She clenches involuntarily, and he grunts. Encouraged, she comes down on him a little harder, and the air flies out of her— he hit it that time, that spot deep inside of her. It's such a surprise, such an unexpected bolt of pleasure, that she yelps.

"Oh!"

"Do it again," he whispers to her.

She does.

"Oh… yes…"

His hands are on her hips again, adjusting her angle, tilting her back. When she moves again he helps, snapping at the end of the thrust, and she bucks.

"Sokka!"

That's what she wants, what she's been waiting for. Dark waves of pleasure shoot out from her center. Her ears are ringing.

He starts to help her with the rhythm, thrusting up at the end of her strokes, quickening her pace. She's adjusted to him now, and the pain is no more than a dull ache. He's finding that spot inside of her, over and over, and her breath is coming in pants. Her whole body is quivering.

"Do you like that?" he growls to her, and her skin breaks out in shivers. "Taking me deep inside of you?"

"Yes," she gasps, and she hardly knows what she's saying now. "Fuck, yes!"

"You look so beautiful on top of me," he says. "Blushing and gasping for me."

"Fuck you," she grits out, because her teeth are buzzing and her ears are popping and she just can't take it. "Fuck you!"

He laughs, low in his throat, and jerks up into her even harder. "That's it, yell at me. Tell me what you think of me, princess!"

She's falling apart on top of him and he's grabbed both of her hips to keep her upright, thrusting up into her mercilessly. "I said, fuck you!" she gasps. "Fuck you, you stubborn, good-for-nothing, Water Tribe savage!"

"That's more like it," he says, and then he's on top of her, pushing her knees back against her chest. He doesn't give her time to adjust. He thrusts back in right away, and a whole new spectrum of sensation flares deep in her stomach.

"Fuck!"

He doesn't slow down, doesn't relent— he's slamming into her now, pounding against her front wall with every thrust. The further he pushes her legs back the more squarely he hits that spot, and she knows that she's crying out with every snap of his hips. White-hot magma is spreading through her womb and lower back, and when his thumb rubs against her clit, she feels as though she'll snap in half.

"Sokka! Fu— Sokka!"

He scoops up her wrists with one hand and pins them above her head, circling down firmly with the other. Each rotation on her clit is a ringing, shining circle of pleasure behind her eyes. He's merciless, the thick head of his cock battering her from the inside. She hates it and she hates him and she loves it and she loves him, and she wants to take him inside of her until she shatters into a million pieces.

"Take it," he gasps out. "Take it, you beautiful, arrogant— you—"

She can barely breathe and she's fighting him now, but he's strong. Even out of breath, he's keeping her hands down. His thumb changes to quick strokes over the top of her clit, and she stops breathing. Every thrust is harder than the one before, driving into the very heart of her, splitting her open.

"Stop, I— I—"

She gasps, swallowing air, and her body squeezes so hard around him that he lets go of her.

"Fuck!"

Her hands beat at him; her nails rake down his back, breaking skin, and her spine arches into his body. His breathing falters, his eyes slam shut, and he gives her clit one more twist before slamming into her up to the hilt. Her hands clench and then splay, and she screams.

It's an explosion. Oxygen rips into her lungs, the stars behind her eyes implode, and her legs melt around him. Colors pulse against her eyelids, white-hot waves of pleasure drowning every cell in her body. The spasms go on and on, and she feels how hard she's shaking— her womb is burning, the soles of her feet tingling like mint ice. All she can do is grip his hand and ride out the tsunami.

It takes them a long time to come back down to earth. The first thing she becomes conscious of again is the rain— its pattering against the tower roof works its way into her ears, cooling her. The second thing that registers is the warmth of Sokka's arms, hard and strong around her. The sound of water settles softly over them both.

"I take it back."

"Hmm?" he lifts his head to look at her. "Take what back?"

He's a mess. His shirt is ruined, his shorts are covered in his come, and his hair looks like he just sprinted through a thunderstorm. His lips are bruised, and she can see a thin line of blood trickling over his shoulder— she wipes it away with her thumb.

"It turns out you are good for something."

This time when he laughs, she can feel his entire body shake with it. "Hey, I've been trying to tell you for months."

She smiles and noses into his shoulder, breathing in his scent. He smells like the sea. They're quiet for what feels like hours, although it might be only minutes.

"I guess we weren't very quiet."

"No?" He wrinkles his nose. "Well, we could do it again, I guess. There might be some villagers in Shu-Jing that didn't hear us."

"Stop it!" she blushes, and swats him. He catches her wrist and grins at her mischievously.

"What? Not worried about the guards, are you?"

"Of course I am," she snaps, struggling to get out of his grasp. "But you should be more worried, if they go running back to my brother."

Sokka laughs again and enfolds her into his arms, ignoring her pointless resistance. "I'm not worried. I knocked them both out two hours ago when they wouldn't let me in."

"You what?" she twists over her shoulder to gape at him. "You just left them out in the rain?"

"I dragged them under the overhang," he says indignantly. "Gods, I'm not completely heartless."

They're silent for just a second, and then she starts to laugh. He's spooning her, and her back shakes against his stomach until there are tears rolling down her cheeks. He's bewildered at first, but the absurdity of it all catches up with him too, and they both laugh until they're exhausted and gasping for breath.

"I love your laugh," she hiccups. "It was one of the first things I noticed about you."

"Oh yeah?" He settles in closer against her, wiping his streaming eyes. "What was the very first?"

"The first?" She thinks. "Your terrible attitude. Oh, and your blue eyes."

"You're sweet, fire lily."

There's more comfortable silence between them. His thumb traces shapes on the back of her hand. They drift somewhere between sleep and waking. Years, or perhaps seconds later, his voice stirs her.

"It's going to be morning soon," he whispers. "The ferry leaves early today. Do you want me to stay the month?"

She takes a moment to answer. She can't remember the last time she felt this content, and her brain feels like it's moving through cold honey.

"No," she whispers. "It's okay."

"Are you sure?" He presses a kiss below her ear. "I can, if you want me to."

"It's alright," she murmurs. "You have duties elsewhere. You need to attend to them."

"Spoken like a true member of the royal family."

"You know it's true."

"I do," he agrees. "And I love that you know it, too."

They're quiet for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of being so close. Rain is still drumming on the roof.

"Things will be different," she tells him. "Things will be different, the next time you come."

"Oh?" he raises an eyebrow. "Says who?"

"Says me," she says defiantly.

"Princess," he yawns, leaning back to stretch, "that's all the reassurance I need."

For once, when he leaves, she doesn't spend the day doubting that he'll ever come back, or dreading the next month of loneliness. Instead, she gulps down water from her basin until she's full, and then washes her face, hands, and thighs. She's going to be sore for days, and she can see each round bruise where his fingers dug into her. She touches them gingerly. They're the dark blue of a summer thunderstorm.

When the guard finally brings breakfast, she's fully dressed and leaning against the cell door, shooting sparklers from her fingers. He draws up short at the sight of her.

"Princess Azula."

"Hello," she says coolly. "I'll take that."

She reaches out for the plate, which he sets in her hands as though they're land mines. The man is plainly alarmed to see her this spry and lucid.

"I have a request, soldier."

"A request?" he sputters. "Well, I— er—"

"Tell my brother that I want to see him." She uncovers the rice and takes a bite— she's starving. "We've got some things to discuss."

-o-

Pelicangulls wheel through the air, soaring on the wind and cawing gleefully to each other. Far below, the ocean shimmers in the heat, its rough chop sending salt spray up over the island. The sky is cloudless and blue, as vivid as dye.

"Stop fussing with that!" Zuko hisses. "You're going to crumple the silk!"

"Easy for you to say," she hisses back. "You get to wear armor!"

They're standing under the royal tent, both of them sweating slightly in the June sun. In a different lifetime she would have complained, but now, sweating under the summer sun seems like the most precious gift in the world. She could do without the ankle-length ambassador's robes, though. She picks at the gold thread, ignoring Zuko's pointed eye-roll. He's wearing a tunic under his breastplate. He doesn't get to complain.

The ranks of the amphitheater are filling in around them. She knows that she's attracting more than her fair share of stares, but she studiously ignores them. She doesn't care about these old fuddy-duddies of Zuko's court, anyway. She only has eyes for one councilman today.

"Where is he?" she mutters to her brother. "What if he's not coming?"

"Of course he's coming," Zuko says impatiently. "He's required by law to be here today. Quit fretting."

"I can't help it." She tries to look out over the crowd without craning her neck. "And don't talk to me like that."

Zuko squints into the sky, like he's wondering why Agni saddled him with such constant aggravation. "You know, for such a deadly person, you sure worry a lot."

She slants her eyes at him, then gives the back of his arm a stealthy, but stinging, pinch.

"Ouch!" he yelps. "I don't deserve this!"

Luckily, a colony representative engages his attention before he can retaliate, and she's left to her own devices again. She looks out towards the horizon and tries to force herself to breathe. The sky is so blue that it almost hurts her eyes. In the distance, the ocean glitters like a million diamonds, the breeze ruffling up whitecaps.

"Councilman Fu, my sister, Princess Azula. She's been pardoned and has been helping me with military reform."

"Indeed!" The old man's eyes widen behind his pince-nez. "Oh, indeed!"

She smiles coldly.

"Indeed, indeed," Councilman Fu says again, flustered. "Well— welcome back, I suppose, er, Princess. If you'll excuse me—"

And he rushes off into the crowd.

"If you could try to look less like a pricklesnake when I introduce you— that'd be good," Zuko mutters.

"Introduce me," she scoffs. "It's not like they don't already know who I am."

"I'm introducing the new you," Zuko corrects, talking out of the corner of his mouth as he waves across the crowd. "The stable, helpful you. So it wouldn't kill you to crack a genuine smile, would it?"

"You can't seriously expect me to take lessons in cheerfulness from you, Zuko."

He grunts in frustration. "Could you stop making me more anxious than I already am?"

When she doesn't answer, he peeks over his shoulder at her.

"Azula?"

But she doesn't answer— she's seen him. He's walking up the steps from the harbor, deep in conversation. His companion says something, and Sokka throws back his head and laughs. His hair is reflecting dark red and coffee in the bright sunlight.

Her heart starts beating so fast that it's painful, and she digs her nails into her palms. He hasn't seen her, but as soon as he looks up at Zuko, he'll know. Will he be pleased? Angry? Confused? Alarmed? She can't be sure. She doesn't know. All she can do is stand there and wait for him to notice. He's moving easily through the crowd, grinning at everyone, endearing himself everywhere. Her heart gives a little squeeze, and when he starts laughing again, she sighs. She feels Zuko turn his head to look at her, but she doesn't look back. She's got bigger things to worry about.

Sokka turns, still chucking, his gaze skimming up and over the crowd. Her heart stutters. When their eyes meet mid-laugh, the grin drops off his face and he freezes in his tracks. She can feel every molecule inside of her trembling, and she knows she's drawn blood with her nails.

He's still, staring up at her, seemingly unable to move. She watches, breathless, as his eyes shift to Zuko. The Fire Lord lifts a hand and beckons him forward.

Sokka walks towards them as though in a dream; his hand rests limply on his sword, and his gaze falls back to her, traveling over every line. He moves through the crowd now without even noticing where he's going, and she can't ignore the thrill of pride that shoots through her— he's grown so tall now that people just move out of his way without question.

It seems as though he'll never reach them. When he finally does, she can't remember why she liked the way he looked in the dark. He's wonderful like this, in the bright sunlight, his eyes flashing and his dark skin shining gold.

For the first time she can ever remember, Sokka is speechless. He simply looks up at her, like he's wondering if she's a mirage. Her heart is flinging itself against her ribs in a desperate attempt to escape.

"Councilman," Zuko says, bowing very seriously. "I'm pleased to present my newly-pardoned sister, Princess Azula."

Sokka opens his mouth and then shuts it, still looking up at her silently. His eyes are the exact blue of the sky behind him.

He glances at Zuko, who's now trying to blend in with the tent, and then back to her. She smiles cautiously, nervously, and he closes his eyes and shakes his head hard, like he's trying to clear it. When he looks up again, she's still there. She can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

"Sweet robes," he says hoarsely, lifting a hand to point. "When do I get some of those?"

She glances at Zuko, not knowing what to think, and finds him smiling. Everything seems so sharp and patently real: the chatter of the crowd around them, the screaming of the gulls, the crash of the waves on the rocks below. When she turns back to Sokka, his hand is lifted towards her, palm-up. His eyes are gleaming.

"Councilman," Zuko murmurs from his tent corner. "The June summit is important— but some meetings matter more. I've got a new assignment to discuss with you, so be back in two hours." He glances between the pair of them, nearly devilish with matchmaking glee. "That is, if you can manage it."

They go down the stairs to the coast, at first hardly daring to speak, and then tripping over each other trying to get the words out. He won't let go of her hand, and she doesn't want him to. She's never held hands with anyone just to walk, and the solid feeling of his fingers laced with hers is surprisingly nice.

"Of course, I knew you were planning something," he's saying, grinning at her. "But I didn't think even you could manage something like this."

"Please," she scoffs. "You've clearly got me underestimated."

He raises his eyebrows. "Well, I don't know how much higher I can estimate you."

She feels herself blush, and doesn't even try to hide it. Instead, she smiles up at him gratefully. It's a new feeling, this: gratitude. But then again, her life has been full of new feelings recently.

He smiles back, and they're quiet for a moment.

"I missed you."

"You did?" she asks, surprised and tender. "Really?"

"Really," he answers, and drops a kiss on her cheek. "Who else is going to listen to me run my mouth about the rigors of politics?"

She frowns, tapping her chin. "Well, now I'm not trapped and choiceless anymore, so no promises."

"Oh please," he laughs. "Don't even try to pretend like you don't love it. You've probably got some fresh new talks on unilateral cooperation you're dying to give me."

"And you'll get all excited over it, you dope."

"Obviously."

When they reach the beach, he plops down onto a piece of driftwood to pull off his boots, and she toes off her slippers. The roar of the waves crashing is loud around them, and gulls flutter closer to get a good look at them. Far above them, from the amphitheater on the plateau, they can hear Zuko calling the summit to order.

"So how are you feeling?" Sokka asks, pulling her to her feet. The warm sand feels amazing between her toes, and she makes an effort to dig them in as they start to walk.

"Okay. Better."

"They treat you okay at the clinic?"

"Yes," she says grudgingly, and finds his hand again. "I'm glad Zuko's not making me go every day anymore, though."

"How often is it now?"

"Every weekend, but he says I'll still have to correspond with the head therapist once I leave."

"Well, that's alright," Sokka says reasonably. "As long as you're making progress."

"Hey, if this is what it takes to keep me out of prison, then I guess I'm all for it."

"Me too," he agrees. "It's helping, though?"

"Yes," she admits. "It is. No more nightmares."

"Really?" he beams at her, so infectiously that she has to grin. "That's great!"

He picks her up then, and swings her around until sand is flying and they're both dizzy. When they collapse into laughter on the shore, she finds herself actually enjoying the ache beneath her ribs, and not caring about the grit in her hair. Will it ever stop being novel and surprising, this incredible new permission to feel things?

The laughter dies slowly, and he's ended up on top of her. It's a fact that they both realize at the same time, and when he looks down at her, her heart quiets. He's smiling slightly, the corner of his full lips turned up, and as she watches, he brings a hand to her face and brushes her hair from her forehead.

"Am I ever going to stop being afraid of you?" she whispers.

He doesn't frown, or push her away, and she loves him for it. He just tilts his head and tugs gently on her earlobe. "Why are you afraid?"

"Because," she says, and draws a shuddering breath. The sand is hot beneath her. "Because it feels so wonderful when you touch me, and when you look at me like that I feel like I'm going to disintegrate."

He lowers his face until she can see the different shades of blue in his eyes, shining like sea glass in the sun. He blinks, and thick brown lashes nearly brush his cheek. She can feel the warmth of his breath on her face. It smells like spearmint.

"If it makes you feel any better," he whispers, "I'm fucking terrified of you."

When he kisses her, she thinks she might melt right down into the sand.

"Oh, fuck!"

They break apart and Sokka starts laughing again— a particularly large wave has crashed, flooding over the sand and drenching them in cold water. She gives an undignified shriek.

"These robes are brand new!"

"So is this tunic," he tells her. "Wanna see something?"

And he tucks his arms and barrel-rolls down to the water, collecting sand and seaweed, and tumbles into the surf with a splash. She shrieks again, still trying to get to her feet, weighed down by wet sand and her soaked robes.

"What are you doing?"

But he can't hear her— he's underwater. She watches for a minute as he corkscrews and dives, finally culminating in a handstand. When he comes up, he's grinning.

"Hold your applause."

"I don't know how you can hold your breath for that long," she says, trying in vain to brush herself off.

"Well, I have to," he says matter-of-factly, sending seawater everywhere with a shake of his head. "Otherwise, how am I supposed to eat you out without drowning—? Oof!"

She's launched herself into the water and he catches her, laughing. She wrestles with him for a couple minutes, but it's clear he's got the upper hand. She ends up in his arms, soaked and breathless, her fine robes billowing up around her waist.

"Don't let it go to your head, peasant."

"Me? Never."

"Oh, shut up."

He holds her in the water, and lets the smaller waves buffet them. After a while, he shows her how to stretch out onto her back, and helps her float with a hand each beneath her head and her waist.

She breathes. Overhead, the blue sky stretches on forever.

"I've never liked the water much."

He nods above her, like he expected this. "And how do you feel right now?"

She's quiet for a moment.

"Better."

He nods again. "Do you want to go further out?"

She tightens her grip on him at once. "No. Not yet."

"That's fine," he murmurs. "Gotta start shallow."

The Antarctic is still. It's silent. Blue glacier cliffs loom over the water, their avalanches tumbling down mutely in the distance. The air barely moves. The sky is white and low, with a plume of black smoke curling across it. Under a crag, a toucan-puffin raises his head sleepily and ruffles his feathers. Hundreds of feet below, there's a splash as a seal surfaces.

BOOOOOOOOM!

The air splits, and the puffin takes flight with a startled squawk. Five miles south, a Pai-Sho board clatters to the deck of a steamship.

"Mother of La, Azula!"

"Sorry," she grins.

"Yeah, you look really sorry," Sokka grumbles, rubbing the static off his arms. "You almost killed me!"

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. That was fifteen feet above your head."

"It was not," he argues, now bending to pick up his board. "What if you hit me? How could you live with yourself, knowing you snuffed out the greatest love you've ever known?"

She rolls her eyes again, shaking out her wrists. "Okay, first of all, I'm not going to hit you. Second of all, even if I did, you'd probably survive out of sheer stubbornness."

He keeps grumbling to himself, sweeping up his tiles, but she can tell he's secretly pleased by this insult.

"Alright then," he says, dumping the lot back into its bag and crossing his arms. "You want to show me?"

That's all she wants to do. "Do you want to see it?"

"As long as you promise not to zap me."

"How insulting. The correct term would be absolutely obliterate."

"Okay, well then don't absolutely obliterate me, please."

"I'll keep you around. You're good for some things."

She catches just a glimpse of his grin before she turns and walks to the bow. Her blood is still buzzing from the last discharge, her chi paths practically sparking, and she breathes. She does an about-face and closes her eyes, working through the breathing pattern Uncle taught her. When she's finished, she feels only perfect calm, as still as the air around them.

"Ready?"

Sokka is now gnawing on some seal jerky. "Born ready."

She knows she's in the zone— she's been there enough times to know what it feels like. Her veins turn to ice, and she lifts her hands. Electricity sparks, then blooms, and tendrils of lightning spiderweb through the air in front of her. She weaves it like a net, forming curves, and feels the charge building. She brings her hands together overhead.

KA-BOOOOOOOOOOM!

The lightning bolt arcs through the sky, fracturing the low clouds into glowing shards. As soon as it's free of her body, she jumps into the air and whoops.

"That's what I'm talking about!"

She turns to find Sokka applauding, seal jerky clamped in the corner of his grinning mouth. "You are so, so scary."

"Maybe I am," she mimics, preening. "But you like it, don't you?"

He laughs uproariously, and she privately congratulates herself. "Gods, I should have never encouraged that sense of humor."

Once they've arranged the Pai Sho board and settled down onto the deck, he shakes two pieces of paper out of his pocket. Instantly, she's alert.

"From your father?"

"Yep," he says, smoothing them out over his knee. "Just came. And one from Zuko."

"What do they say?"

"Zuko's is just politics. Details of our 'diplomatic mission in the South Pole' and all that stuff."

"Thrilling." She turns a Pai Sho tile over and over in her hands. "And your father's? Is he angry?"

"My dad?" Sokka grins a little wearily, stretching out. "Nah, he's not mad. He's pretty skeptical, I won't lie, but I told him how much I care about you and how much you've changed. You can count on him to give you a chance."

She reaches across the board and grips his hand. She's still amazed that she's allowed to touch him like this. "I won't let you down."

"Hey, I'm not worried." He winks. "I trust you, fire lily. Until you start sparking like a human lightning rod, anyways."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Pai Sho?"

"Let's do it."

They're just about to start when the first mate pokes his head up from belowdecks.

"Councilman? Princess?"

"What's up?" Sokka calls. She doesn't look up— she's busy plotting her first five moves.

"I just wanted to let you know that we're heading for some weather. Snowstorm on the horizon. You might want to head below, 'cause Li says it's within the next four miles."

"Snowstorm? Okay, thanks Zei."

He bows his head and retreats down the ladder. Sokka is beaming.

"Nice. I haven't seen snow fall in ages."

"Don't worry," she says, and pushes her first tile into place. "I'll keep you warm."

"Me?" he says indignantly, and blocks her. "Please. Water Tribe men don't get cold."

"Oh yeah? I bet you'll be shivering within the first five minutes."

He scoffs. "Oh, you're on."

They play, and the ship steams along steadily over miles of deep water. She's so absorbed in the game that when it starts, she doesn't notice. It's only when he's blocked her for the seventh time and she looks up in exasperation that she sees it, and her mouth falls open. The very air is sparkling around them.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Sokka smiles.

She nods silently, watching the way his eyes reflect in tandem with the flurries.

"Not far to go now," he says.

They let the snow fall softly, on and around them. The chill doesn't bother her. Her inner fire is there for her now, burning to keep her warm— whatever wound was in her chest before has healed, changed. She doesn't notice whether Sokka shivers or not, because she's too busy trying to stop him from demolishing her. He meets her move for move, blow for blow, the same way he always has. And so they steam south and play into the endless twilight, as snow— blue, glittering, and silent— falls from the summer sky.

Thank you so much for reading! Reviews mean the world to me, so if you liked this story, please let me know what you think :)