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They've been dating for four full months now. Nearly five. Sokka spends three nights a week at Zuko's apartment. Sunday. Monday. And Tuesday. Sometimes Wednesday too.
He has a spot for his clothes in Zuko's closet. The bright colors he wears stand out almost comically from his boyfriend's navys and blacks. He keeps a mint green toothbrush in Zuko's bathroom. He keeps his good coffee maker in Zuko's kitchen. They're domestic now. And Sokka likes it.
He takes Zuko to work in the morning on his motorcycle. Loving the feel of Zuko's arms around his waist. The way he grabs on tight when they turn corners. Digging his nails into Sokka's shirt. And Sokka doesn't need to, but he always lets Zuko hold onto him while getting off. Zuko’s hand lands square on Sokka's left shoulder as he swings his right leg up and over. All Sokka has to do is stand there and steady him.
Saying the same thing every time, "Easy there, sweetie. Easy."
After that he loves taking off Zuko's helmet. Smoothing out his helmet hair. Leaning Zuko back against the bike and gently kissing him goodbye. It's the best .
He always gets a little color off of Zuko's lips when he does it. Since right in the morning his mouth is soft and satiny, color rich with pigment freshly applied.
Most days he's wearing a moody brown shade. On rare occasions a dark navy--a color Sokka suspects not many people can pull off. On those days it goes with his nails, which are almost always black or blue. And with his clothes as well. Which are nearly always black.
Sokka's personal favorites, however, are the reds. Zuko's mouth with red lipstick practically begs to be kissed. There's something about that color that drives Sokka mad.
The first time they kissed Zuko was wearing a red shade. Sokka remembers. A bright one too. It had come off onto Sokka's mouth. Or it must have. Because when he had kissed Zuko's face and his neck...Every spot his lips touched had been instantly reddened. Just a tiny bit.
After those kisses he had held Zuko in his arms for what felt like hours. Right there on Zuko's couch. The soft hum of the television in the background. The buzz of the refrigerator and the whir of the central air was their only other company.
Zuko had looked up at him then, eyes wide, "...your face..."
And Sokka had pulled out his phone. Using the front camera to see what Zuko meant. Oh. Oh wow.
His face. All those red little kiss marks. Zuko's kiss marks. Now Zuko was reddening and it had nothing to do with lipstick. He looked almost apologetic. And that wouldn't do at all. Zuko was never, ever to feel sorry about any of this.
Sokka had flipped his phone off, and smirked right at him, "Oh I get it. You think it's not a good color for me."
Sokka could practically feel him relax. Good. That's good. You're fine. You're safe with me.
"...Sokka. Of course it's not."
That had been a good day.
Today is a good day too. He drops Zuko off in front of Sephora. And if the goodbye kiss lasts a little longer than is strictly necessary, then well, that’s nobody’s business.
He gets off work a little early. Just in time to stop in the store and surprise him. Zuko is in the middle of working with a client. So Sokka just hangs around and pretends to be looking at eyeshadow. So, so many colors. Urban Decay . Well that’s sort of an interesting name for make-up. He doesn’t think there’s anything glamorous about degrading infrastructure? But what does he know.
He’s so engrossed in reading the names of the shades that he doesn’t notice Zuko come up behind him. But he would recognize that low, raspy voice anywhere.
“Finding everything okay?”
“I was looking for my boyfriend. You seen him? About uh, yea high, perfect eyeliner, the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen. Probably wearing all black.”
Play along, Zuko. Please, please play along.
“We might--maybe we have something like that in the back.”
Sokka’s mind flashes back to one extremely ill-advised afternoon break he had spent making out with Zuko in the Sephora stock room. How it had ended with Zuko panting into Sokka’s mouth, mumbling the weakest rationalization known to man, “Well it doesn’t say employees are not allowed to make out with people in the stockroom. So. Tech-technically...”
But that, uh. That probably shouldn’t happen again.
So Sokka pushes the thought aside for now and reaches out to tuck a bit of stray hair behind Zuko’s unscarred ear, “Actually. I think I see something I like right here.”
Zuko blushes, practically instantly. He looks around nervously, “Sok ka . I’m working here.”
“Okay, then work. Help me pick something out.”
Zuko raises an eyebrow, “You want something from here?”
"Yeah. What would you recommend?"
Predictably, Zuko makes a bee-line for Marc Jacobs Beauty. Taking Sokka along with him, gripping him loosely, almost shyly, by the hand.
"I don't know exactly what you're looking for. But I know that you like things that smell good. And if that could trick you into skincare it might not be the worst thing."
"Hey!"
"I like this a lot." Zuko picks up a bottle that says Under(cover) Coconut Face Primer , "It's a primer. Which means you put it on before make-up. But it's also really good for your skin."
"Say no more, babe. Okay I'll take it."
"Uh. You will?"
"Yeah. What else do you like?"
Zuko grabs a little basket emblazoned with a sephora logo and tosses the primer in. He rubs his chin and makes the face he makes when he's thinking hard. God you're so cute.
"Highliner. For sure."
" High what?"
"Marc calls his eyeliner line highliners because they're high fashion. Stop laughing Sokka."
Sokka stifles a giggle, "You're on first name basis with him now?"
Zuko glares at him.
"Fine. Sorry. Tell me what color highliner would look good on me."
Zuko steps closer, then takes Sokka's face in his hands. Yeah that's definitely not something you do with just any customer. A customer who's tongue you've had in your mouth? Now that's a different story.
He looks at him, narrowing his good eye, "...you could pull off silver."
He takes a sample of the silver and brings it to Sokka's eye, "Could I?"
"Go ahead, babe."
Sokka closes his eyes and let's Zuko tilt his head down so that Zuko can line his eyes. The pigment feels cool and wet on his skin. Zuko's quick too. He's done in what feels like seconds.
"Well?" Sokka asks, "How do I look?"
"Nice. Good. I'd, uh, I'd definitely go for this color for you."
He looks all shy, and Sokka can’t possibly imagine why. Zuko’s seen just about every side of him. But he still looks at Sokka like he has a crush. And he doesn’t want to be too obvious about it.
"What about you?"
Zuko points at five different colors, all dark shades, the emo bastard, "These are pretty good."
"Okay I'll take all of them."
Zuko walks him to the checkout counter, and Sokka can practically see the gears in his head turning.
"Okay. What's this really for?"
“Not for me. For a friend.”
“Which friend?!”
“He cried when we watched March of the Penguins together.”
“I told you not to talk about that!” Zuko says in a hushed tone, "Sokka, you don't have to buy stuff for me."
Sokka knows that. He also knows that on his salary and his significantly pared down lifestyle, he can definitely afford it. Sephora doesn't play its employees enough to afford the things they sell on the regular. Not after rent and bills and everything else.
"I want to. I like getting you nice things. Is that okay?"
"I-I don't know."
"I'll let you paint my nails any way you want."
He watches the wheels turn in Zuko’s head. He’s grimacing, trying to appear upset about this. But Sokka knows, the real trick is to look into his eyes. He’s happy . He’s so happy .
"Deal."
At home in the evening Sokka has to pay up for his little shopping spree on Zuko's behalf. It's a little unfair if he stops to think about it rationally, that he has to do Zuko a favor in order to buy him stuff. Cause that's Zuko winning twice . But he's never, ever been rational when it comes to Zuko. So. There's that.
Just a few months ago the idea of having painted nails would have weirded him out. He's a guy...guys...they don't do that. Or so he had thought. Meeting Zuko had changed everything. His entire mindset, his entire life.
So now Sokka was more than happy to let Zuko paint his nails once in a while. It was nice just to spend the time with him. He was so cute when he focused so hard. And it did take focus to paint nails as perfectly as Zuko did. Especially since Sokka moved around so much.
Today's color was gold. Sokka liked golden nails. It was subtle. And Zuko had golden eyes. And it reminded him of them.
When Sokka had mentioned this Zuko had only said, "That doesn't make sense at all! If anything you should match your nails to your own eyes."
But behind all that he was secretly pleased. By now Sokka knows that about him.
"When I'm done you better not mess them up." Zuko threatens.
"Or what?"
This seems to stump him for a bit.
"You'll regret it."
"Uh huh...okay grumpy pants. I won't mess them up."
"Good."
He's working so diligently on Sokka's nails. He grips Sokka's hands like they belong to him. And isn't shy about getting all up into Sokka's personal space. And he's already getting upset about his handiwork getting messed up. That's stupid cute.
"I love you."
Sokka's said it before. And he's always feeling it. But right now he's feeling it extra hard.
"I love you too." Zuko smiles, his secret ‘ im proud of myself for having earned something good’ smile.
"No I mean it. I really really super duper love you."
“I’m not saying that.” Zuko says flatly.
Sokka looks down at his own hands, and then back up to Zuko’s eyes, “Ya know. It would be such a shame, if I were to...accidentally mess these up. You know. Accidentally.”
Zuko moves in closer, and Sokka can see the mascara on his eyelashes. He can see the places where the highlighter gleams off of his cheekbone. The red/pink of his cheeks. He isn’t sure if that’s blush or if Zuko’s actually blushing. He can never tell.
He moves in close to Sokka’s face, as if he’s going to kiss him, “I super love you. Super duper. Whatever you said. I. That.”
“Kiss me, you dork.”
“I’ll get make-up on you.”
“I’ve never cared about that.”
Sokka feels Zuko’s fingers on his face. Zuko’s mouth on his. Sokka keeps his own hands, down on the ground, as the nail polish is still wet. He has to stay kind of still, which is weird for him, because kissing is a contact sport. So right now it’s all him . All Zuko.
Sokka often thinks that maybe he had done something good in a past life or something to deserve someone like this. Zuko kisses with love, and adoration, and something just beyond the edge of complete and utter devotion. And fuck it. He’s weak .
His mouth is warm, and he smells like nice, expensive shampoo. The one in the bathroom that Zuko won’t let him use. It’s also from Sephora. It’s Redken . Whatever that means.
“You’re really pretty,” Sokka says between kisses.
“Yeah. It’s the makeup. I have to be. It’s almost part of my job.” Zuko explains.
No. Absolutely not.
“It’s not the make-up. God . It’s you.”
Zuko takes his hands off of him, and he sits back, not meeting Sokka’s eyes, “You’ve never even seen me without it.”
That cannot be true. Can it? Sokka thinks about it. Zuko wakes up before him in the morning, almost every day, on the nights he stays over. That gives him time to put it on before Sokka’s awake. He also waits until it’s dark to take the make-up off, before he slips into bed next to Sokka. The room is dark too, and Zuko always sleeps curled up against Sokka’s chest. His back to the window. So no light falls on his face.
“Wait. Do you not want me to?”
It’s the wrong question.
“I don’t care.” Zuko says, and he’s lying.
Sokka wishes he could fix this. But he’s not sure he can. He doesn’t want to ask him to see his bare face. Especially if he’s not ready. And clearly Zuko can’t talk about it.
He does touch it though, at night, in Zuko’s bed. His skin smells different, kinda flowery. It must be whatever he uses to get it all off. Sokka doesn’t know all the right names for stuff. The lights are off, and Zuko has his back to the window again, so Sokka can’t really see. He can’t really tell if Zuko looks any different without eyeliner, mascara, the thing he uses to make his skin tone all even, and the other stuff. But he’s sure, even without really being able to make out what he looks like. He’s beautiful, he just is.
“What are you doing?” Zuko mumbles sleepily, scooching closer and throwing one leg over Sokka’s.
I wanna memorize you. Every inch of you. The make-up of your face. God I want it bad.
“Nothing.”
“G’night.”
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
Three weeks later Zuko calls him in the middle of the day. He says he doesn’t feel so good. Sokka doesn’t have to pick him up. He’ll take the bus home. Bullshit .
Sokka’s key-ed out the second Zuko sneezed on the line.
When he gets to him, he takes off his jacket, wrapping the black leather around Zuko’s shoulders. He puts the helmet on his head. Admittedly, when you’ve got a cold, or the flu, or whatever it is Zuko has, riding on the back of a motorcycle probably isn’t the best thing. But it’s not like Sokka’s got much of a choice.
He tips up Zuko’s chin, “Hold on to me, baby. Can you do that?”
Sneeze . Okay.
By the grace of whatever entity’s been watching over Sokka since the day he was born, they make it home in one piece.
He tucks Zuko into bed. Rummages through the kitchen cabinets to get cold and flu medicine. He insists that Zuko take it. The full dose, mind you.
Sokka looks through their closet, to find pajamas, none of Zuko’s are particularly warm, so he grabs a pair of his own.
Zuko hasn’t moved since he downed the liquid medicine in one gulp. He’s just lying there. Sokka’s leather jacket is still draped across him.
“Come on,” Sokka holds him upright, maneuvers him so his back is to the headboard, “See. There you go.”
“I think I’m dying.” Zuko pronounces.
“No. You’re not.” Sokka takes back his jacket and sees Zuko wince.
“Don’t be rude. I’m cold .” Zuko whines, a little meaner than necessary.
“Yeah. And I’m gonna fix that.” Sokka explains, “Come on, lift up your hands.”
In a rare display of actually listening to what Sokka is saying, Zuko does it. Sokka takes the chance to lift his shirt over his head. And even in the brief contact of his hands against Zuko’s skin he can feel the heat.
By the time Sokka’s managed to put his own pajamas on his boyfriend, the man is still shivering. So he grabs a comforter from the other room and wraps him up in it. That should do it.
“Do you even own a thermometer?” Sokka wonders out loud.
Zuko’s eyes are closed now, and he doesn’t even speak, he points his finger once to the left, once to the right, and once upward. But Sokka knows exactly what he means. Left of the fridge, right of the toaster. Top cabinet. He returns with it triumphantly.
“Come on, open your mouth.”
Zuko does and Sokka holds the thermometer there for about forty five seconds. Running his other hand through Zuko’s sweaty bangs.
101.0
“That’s a fever all right.”
Zuko just groans.
“I’ll let you sleep,” Sokka says gently, “I’ll be right outside if you need anything. I have just one more work call. And then I’ll be all yours.”
He kisses Zuko on the forehead, and the grumpy bastard just waves him off. His hand is saying go, go I’m fine. He even waves angstily.
Sokka’s in the middle of the work call when he hears a shriek from the bedroom, “Hey...I’ll call you back.”
Zuko’s clutching his eye, the good eye, and he’s blinking, it’s all red and watery.
“What happened???” Sokka just does not understand.
“I never sleep with this much make-up on! It got in my eye, what do you think?!”
Don’t take that tone with me.
“Okay. Let me get the stuff, I’ll take it off,”
Zuko’s grip on his wrist is surprisingly strong, “Don’t.”
“Babe. If you don’t want me to, I won’t. But I have to warn you, the way you’re going, I don’t like the odds on me having to hold your hair back while you throw up in the toilet. So the time for modesty has passed. It’s good. It’s all good. I love you. I don’t care about the sparkly stuff and the war paint.”
Zuko lets go, he sighs, “Okay.”
“Is this the stuff?” Sokka returns from the bathroom, “Caudaloo? Mike gellar water?”
“Caudalie. Miscellar water. It’s french .” Zuko explains.
“Right. And I also have this,” Sokka holds up what looks like wet wipes to him, “Olay make-up removing wipes. Now this I believe removes make-up. Says it right on the tin.”
“Usually I do an oil-based cleanser first. Then water. Then the wipes. But I guess it’s fine. You don’t know any better.”
Jeez, high maintenance much buddy?
“I am not high maintenance!” Zuko snaps at him, even in his fevered state he’s very defensive, “I can hear you thinking it.”
Sokka has to tread very carefully now. He knows that. He must endeavor, as best he can, to not make this a thing . He’s just a guy, taking off a guy’s make-up.
But luckily, he thinks ahead. He’s gotten a towel to lay on Zuko so the stuff doesn’t get all over his sheets. Smart move, Sokka . He gives himself a pat on the back for that one.
He squeezes out the french water or whatever, and rubs it on Zuko’s face and marvels at how color comes off of it. He tries not to touch the scar, he’s not sure if it would sting. He’s not even sure what’s in this french water anyway.
Conversation. Make conversation.
“You never put make-up there.” Sokka observes. He doesn’t have to specify where there is.
“Yeah. It would make it worse.” Zuko explains.
“I’m glad you don’t.”
“You are?”
“That’s what you said right? Make-up isn’t to cover yourself up. It’s to draw attention to the good stuff.”
“I didn’t know you listen that hard when I talk about make-up,” Zuko seems pleased, as pleased as a fevered man of twenty and three years can be when his boyfriend is trying his hardest not to get french water all over him.
Sokka hadn’t noticed, not with the make-up on, but Zuko’s skin without it, is not even. The parts next to the burn, the places where the skin isn’t raised, they’re slightly discolored. Zuko corrected that so well, almost magically, that Sokka couldn’t even tell. He’s good. He’s really good.
Sokka tries to be as gentle as he can, and the water wipes off most of the color off of Zuko’s face. It even gets the mascara and eyeliner off of his eyes. Though Zuko briefly looks like a raccoon for a bit, as the black inky make-up spreads before it comes off.
He gets off the rest with the wipes, which also smell ridiculously good, just like everything in that store. He even wipes the color off of Zuko’s lips. And he likes it. Their real color. It’s even better than the red.
I was right. You are beautiful. I was totally right, so ha. In your face.
But he doesn’t say it. He is trying his best, not to make it a thing . But he can’t stop looking. He dries off Zuko’s skin with the towel. That’s it isn’t it. His bare face.
“So?” Zuko whispers.
So? That could mean anything.
“It’s good.” Sokka whispers back.
“Okay.” Zuko relaxes and blinks his eyes. They look different without the eyeliner. A bit smaller actually, and less bold. But softer.
Sokka’s a sap. He’s boarded a one way ticket to sap-town. Because he’s this close to telling Zuko to his face. You’re an emo bastard with the face of an angel.
My angel.
Fuck it.
“You’re really, really pretty. Way too pretty for me.” Sokka says, it’s the kind of thing that, if said to him, would give him a god complex, but Zuko is an expert at repelling honest compliments.
“Yeah, right.”
“Yeah, I am right.”
“Put that stuff away it costs a fortune.” Zuko closes his eyes, “I’m tired.”
Sokka caps the french water. And stows both back in Zuko’s medicine cabinet. By the time he comes back Zuko is bare faced and fast asleep. Wrapped up in comforters and wearing Sokka’s pajamas. As he should be.
Zuko’s fever breaks in the middle of the night. He throws off all the layers, and takes off Sokka’s pajama top too.
He wakes up Sokka with all the bedlam he’s causing. And Sokka wakes up to his own shirt being thrown at his face.
“Sorry.” Zuko says, as he realizes Sokka is awake.
“You want me to get one of your shirts? Something less warm?”
“Yeah. And turn on the fan.”
Sokka groans, he hates being up in the middle of the night, “You’re lucky I love you.”
Sokka flips on the switch for the fan. He gets up and walks over to the closet, flips on the closet light to rummage through Zuko’s stuff. When he turns around he sees Zuko just sitting up in bed, his hair’s a mess, he’s not wearing a shirt, and he just looks so dazed and confused. And yes, as always, a little angry. Oh my god .
“Hurry up!” Zuko shouts at him from the bed.
So demanding .
He puts the shirt over Zuko’s head, “I love you, you know that?”
“Yeah. I know that.”
“Good. Now go back to sleep.”
This time when Zuko curls against his chest it’s with Sokka’s back to the window, and Zuko’s to the wall. The moonlight illuminates his entire face. And his eyes are open. So clearly, he knows it.
“You wanna do my make-up tomorrow morning?” Sokka asks.
Zuko’s only been begging to do just that. For months .
“So. Anything I want?” Zuko asks, and Sokka swears it, he can’t just be talking about the make-up.
It doesn’t really matter though. The answer is the same anyway. Sokka kisses him on the cheek, and whispers ‘goodnight’ right into his neck before he replies.
“Yeah. Anything.”