Work Text:
'You think I'm pretty
Without any make-up on'
Zuko’s head is on his lap. The California sun winds its way through his black hair in ripples and shimmers of brown and gold. Sokka’s sofa is too short, so Zuko’s feet hang off the ends of it. He’s wearing mismatched socks, one maroon, one gold . Weirdo. The comforting weight of him and the warm solace of the sun make Sokka feel more weightless and chill than he has in years.
“I've been thinking. Let’s go on a trip,” Sokka says, trying to speak his wish into existence.
He wants to take this feeling with him. He wants to take it with him for miles and miles. Stretch it, and time itself (let a guy be poetic okay?), along the lines of the open road. Just him, Zuko, and California. Is that really too much to ask?
Lately, after having finally gotten Zuko, body and mind, heart and soul, basically everything seems up for grabs. Come on universe, just one more miracle, for your boy. Come on, you owe me. For all those late nights and lost loves. You owe me.
“Mmmm,” Zuko mumbles, somewhat sleepily, “Where would we even go?”
“Somewhere fun, we’ll take my bike.”
“What if it rains?!” Zuko sits up a little bit, leaning back into Sokka’s arms, resting his head on Sokka’s chest instead of his lap.
“It’s not supposed to rain today,” Sokka points out.
“A lot of things happen that aren’t supposed to happen,” Zuko says.
Yeah. I know that. Zuko isn’t talking about his dad right now, or about things that have happened to him. Contrary to what a lot of people think, Zuko doesn’t just angst all the time.
It’s actually Sokka that's thinking about those things. He does that. Even when it’s not relevant. He knows it’s not his job to make it right. He knows that he can’t . He especially knows that Zuko isn’t someone he needs to ‘fix’. That’s not what he means at all when he thinks about it. Zuko is fine. More than fine. He's perfect the way that he is. Sokka loves him, even if he hasn’t said it out loud just yet.
It’s just that he knows that Zuko relives the worst things that ever happened to him in the dead of night. He can read it in the way he tosses and turns. How he flinches at first when Sokka tries to touch him and then sticks to Sokka’s body and doesn’t let go till morning. Sokka knows he can’t make it so that those things didn’t happen. They did. They happened. But he wants to show Zuko something worth dreaming about instead of that nightmare. Something he can hold onto. Something real.
“We could go to Monterey,” Sokka says, “It’s only an hour away ya know. It actually takes longer for me to commute to work sometimes.”
“That wouldn’t be an issue if you got up a little earlier,” Zuko says.
“Look, I need my beauty sleep,” Sokka says. “You should support that, Sephora boy.”
“You don’t need beauty sleep, you need to avoid rush hour traffic. It’s really simple.” Zuko sits up a little bit more, and Sokka shifts backwards and pulls him down again, flat so Zuko’s back is against his chest.
Sokka likes holding him like this. With Zuko lying back between Sokka's legs. His hand holding the one Sokka has wrapped around his middle. Cause yeah, they're that couple. Sokka wouldn't have it any other way.
“So you’re saying that I’m already beautiful? Cause that’s what I’m hearing.”
Zuko reddens immediately, “Shut up. I’m just saying you need to plan out your day.”
Sokka loves that he does. He always blushes so easily. For every little thing. He’s an open book. My open book. He turns Zuko’s chin up, leans down and kisses him. Soft and sweet.
“So what about that trip?”
“What about it?” Zuko asks, smiling against Sokka’s mouth.
“Are you in or out?”
“ Rude. So you’d go without me?”
“Of course not. I could never leave you.” Sokka says it jokingly, but he knows it’s true.
I couldn’t. Not for Monterey. Not for Santa Monica. Not for that place in New Zealand where they filmed The Lord of the Rings that Sokka’s been dying to visit since he was ten. Not for anyone. Not for anything. They've only been dating for a couple of months. But he's sure of it already. Zuko’s it for him. Endgame.
“I’ll come,” Zuko says quickly, as if he’s actually afraid that this is one of those things where if he says no, Sokka’s gonna get upset, and then all of this will go away.
“Hey, it’s not like that,” Sokka says softly, “If you don’t wanna go I mean. It’s okay.”
I’m still gonna be right here even if you don’t wanna go on a spontaneous trip with me. Sokka hates that Zuko doubts that. That Zuko actually thinks that love and affection is all-in or nothing. He allocates most of the blame for that to Jet. And whatever’s left of the blame to Ozai. He still has a practice bat from his softball days in his dad’s attic somewhere. It’s times like this when he wants to take it out and use it.
“I want to,” Zuko says finally, “We usually went further South. I mean, when my mom was--to Los Angeles. I’ve never been to Monterey.”
“Come on then,” Sokka says, gently nudging him up, “Let’s get going while there’s daylight left.”
'Let's runaway
And don't ever look back
Don't ever look back'
The route south is fairly straightforward. Straight on Highway 101, until the exit for Monterey. Sokka knows the road, it’ll start getting windy and narrow the closer they get to Monterey, but here, just outside the city limits of San Jose, there’s still six lanes and the path ahead is straight.
Zuko’s sitting behind him on the motorbike with his usual vice grip on Sokka’s mid-section. When he speaks he does so into the back of Sokka’s neck, almost shouting, rather hoarsely over the wind.
“I still think we should have taken my car.”
Sokka accelerates just a little (to keep up with the speed limit), and feels Zuko’s hands tighten just a little more around him. “You know. If you really want to, I’m down to turn back.”
Zuko takes his sweet time to answer. “I mean, we’re already this far out.”
Uh-huh. Sure. By ‘this far out.’ Zuko means a mere ten minutes from Sokka’s apartment. Maybe thirteen from Zuko’s. It’s a bullshit response.
Sokka had taken a while to figure this one out. Because he’s nothing if not careful about respecting what Zuko wants. But Zuko likes the bike. He likes the fact that Sokka rides it around. He likes sitting behind him and feeling the wind. If he has to hold Sokka really really close for the entire duration of the ride? Sokka suspects that’s just a bonus. But he won’t hold that against him. Zuko can be as clingy as he wants and Sokka won’t hold it against him.
So why does he try to act like he wants to take the car? Sokka doesn’t know exactly. He just has some inner ‘mom friend’ need to oppose the bike, initially, for his pride. That and he gets embarrassed about helmet hair.
Sokka changes lanes to get into the carpool lane of the highway. Technically, more than one person is a carpool. Gotta love California.
They don’t talk much for the next bit. It’s kind of hard, on the road. But the feel of him is enough. Sokka knows that it took a while for Zuko to cling to him so hard and so easily.
They’re only about ten minutes out from Monterey, the beach, and the dream, when it starts to rain. Not just a little. That Sokka could handle. It starts to pour. Seriously, universe? You really thought I had too much of a good thing going didn’t you?
'You think I'm funny
When I tell the punch line wrong'
Zuko doesn’t want to be the type to say I told you so. That’s not the kind of man Iroh raised him to be. But some feral part of him needs to say it anyway.
By the time they get to an exit, and seek refuge under the awning of a 7/11 convenience store, they’re completely drenched. They removed their helmets so they could see better when they got off the bike, but it doesn't take long for the water to soak through their hair.
“I told you so,” Zuko says.
The bike is parked a few spots away from where they’re sitting, mere feet away, getting pounded on by the rain. Under the awning, the two of them are safe, but just barely. They would go inside, but they don’t want to drip all over the floors. Maybe in a minute or two.
Sokka shakes the water off his helmet, and puts it to his right. “Okay, so maybe you were onto something with the whole--if we take the bike we could get drenched in the rain thing. But in my defense. IT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO RAIN!”
It’s at this precise moment that Zuko’s brain forgets that he’s soaking wet, shivering, and should be righteously upset at Sokka for not taking his concern about the rain seriously. Because Sokka’s shirt is white. Sokka is drenched. And this means the shirt is completely see through. It doesn’t help that Sokka’s taken out his hair tie and is nonchalantly moving his head about, shaking water droplets out of his hair. Zuko has that feeling again. The one where he can't believe he actually gets to be with this person.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. He looks around to make sure there aren’t any other cars or people nearby. He watches Sokka run his hands through brown, sopping wet hair. There’s no one here but them. Fuck it.
Zuko kisses him.
Sokka responds beautifully. He puts his left hand in Zuko’s wet hair. Bringing up the right one to caress the wet skin at Zuko's right cheekbone. Gently. Softly. He kisses Zuko back as if Zuko is a happy surprise. Exhales into his mouth like it’s the easiest thing in the world. His lips are warm against Zuko’s. In fairness, they’re both warm. Warm, and soaked, wet but still baking. That's California for you.
The pounding of the rain fades into the background. The only thing Zuko registers is the feel of wet skin on wet skin. His own hand on Sokka’s back. The slide of lips on lips and the smell of rainwater. There’s no one around, Zuko checked. But as sappy as it is, when he’s kissing Sokka, there never is. It's always just him. Even when he's wet and grumpy. Sokka's kisses are warm, and safe. He almost wants to pinch himself sometimes, just to check if he's accidentally walked into a teenage dream.
Although if he's honest, in his teenage years he never even dreamed of having something as nice as this.
“What was that for?” Sokka asks quietly, still holding onto Zuko’s face between both of his hands.
Because I think you’re beautiful. Part of me always has. But that isn’t the type of thing Zuko says to people. Not out loud anyway.
He’s been known to write things like that down and send them as part of a love note (too short to be called a letter), hastily, before he can take it back. And even then it's for Sokka's eyes only. Who he knows would never share it, would burn it on reading--if Zuko wanted, and never make him talk about it.
Sokka would never use Zuko's own affection against him. Never make fun of the sentiment the way Jet had done the rare times when Zuko had dared to share it. Sokka wouldn't do that.
“If I get pneumonia and die because of you I figured you should have something to remember me by.” Zuko smirks.
The way Sokka looks at him just then sends a shiver down his spine that has nothing to do with the damp and the chill of the rain.
“Yeah? What’ll you remember me by?”
This is really not a conversation one should have after getting soaked in the rain and making out by the side of a 7/11. But Zuko’s nothing if not earnest. And deep down, a real sap. And yeah, stupidly in love with the guy.
“Everything, I guess. Your bad jokes, if you want something specific.”
“I tell great jokes, okay?”
“If you have to say that yourself, they’re probably not that funny.”
“Hey I have it on good authority that I’m the funny one in this relationship.”
“Uncle’s tea joke is funny, okay? When I figure out how to tell it right, it’s over for you people.”
“I thought it was funny,” Sokka says.
“I got the punchline wrong. You don't have to pity me.”
“I'm not. I like the way you do the voices.”
"The voices?"
"Yeah. The voices. You know, you're really good at impersonations."
They get back on the bike, and Sokka drives them to the nearest motel. It’s one of those cheap, dinky places. It’s also a little ridiculous to make an overnight trip out of a destination that’s an hour away. But they’re completely soaked. And they need towels. Hot showers. And a place to dry off. It is what it is.
'We drove to Cali
And got drunk on the beach
Got a motel and
Built a fort out of sheets'
They don’t even need to discuss it in order to decide on showers first. Or the idea that it would make the most sense for them to shower together. They usually don’t do that. For one thing, Zuko takes showering very seriously, and likes to use that time for introspection and having the occasional existential crisis. He also showers with really, really, hot water. Sokka on the other hand likes quick showers, not-quite-so-hot water and blasting mid-2000s pop the whole time. It just wouldn’t work.
“Hey, dude,” Sokka interrupts his train of thought. “Want me to wash your hair?”
Zuko sighs. “For the last time. Don’t call me dude when I’m naked. We’ve been over this.”
They have been over this. Many, many times. Zuko has half a mind to think Sokka honestly can’t help it. Because, what’s the word Toph had used, oh yeah, Sokka’s a homiesexual .
“Baby, light of my life, sweetheart, angel, want me to wash your hair?” Sokka smiles.
“Fine. No need to overdo it,” Zuko says, and knows that he cannot turn around at all costs now, because his face is red, his make-up is running, and yeah, he’s naked.
Sokka’s really good at this. Even with free motel shampoo, which smells like pineapple and has the consistency to suggest it’s fifty percent water, Sokka makes it a true experience. He’s rubbing circles into Zuko’s scalp. Working the shampoo into a lather, slowly, but carefully.
“You’re really good at this,” Zuko says, he knows people don’t tell Sokka stuff like that enough.
“At showering? Thanks, I’ve been practicing since I was born practically.” Sokka brushes it off.
“No, I meant like, with my hair. And just generally. You’re good at this stuff.” Zuko says, by ‘this stuff’ he means being a friend, not just the kind of friend you shower with and kiss on the mouth, but the kind of friend you’ll tell anything to, who’ll be there with you at your worst. That kind of friend.
“Yeah? Anything else?” Sokka asks casually, still working the stuff through Zuko’s hair.
Zuko knows it’s a loaded question. Sokka has never really thought of himself as good at much of anything. Sure, he works in tech. But he’s always had to scrimp and pinch to get the grades for it. For every internship opening, and every interview, Sokka’s worked twice as hard as anybody else.
Sokka’s had to do that since high school practically. He’s told Zuko as much, late at night, speaking the words into the back of Zuko’s neck, spooned against his back. That’s what his teenage years went into. The grind. Late nights. Long study sessions. Trying, again, and again, to figure things out that just happened to come easy to other people. He still has trouble falling asleep. Zuko notices it.
He knows that’s not something he can fix. He wouldn’t want to fix it either. Sokka’s initiative and drive make him who he is. He loves Sokka so much . But he wishes he could give Sokka that teenage dream that he never had. After all, Sokka’s given him so much. Things that Zuko never thought he could have.
“You know how to study, you’re good at learning things,” Zuko says finally.
“Oh,” Sokka says.
“No it’s a good thing!” Zuko spins around, intending to explain how this is a good thing, but as he does it he gets shampoo in his right eye and shrieks.
He hates that burning feeling in his eye. It makes him not think straight. It makes him think of...other things. Things that he’s gotten really good these days at not thinking about.
The next thing he knows Sokka’s turned the water off, and is holding a hand towel to Zuko’s eye. He’s rubbing Zuko’s back even though they’re both sopping wet. Again .
This isn’t right. Even in his panic the one thing Zuko’s thinking about is how he was supposed to be helping Sokka right now. Not getting comforted himself. He can’t even do that right.
“I’m fine, you can let go now,” Zuko says, as he takes the towel off of his eye, the sting is fading now, but the blow to his ego? He may never recover.
Sokka lets go. Zuko notices that whenever he explicitly asks Sokka to do something: step away, let go, don’t touch me. He always listens pretty much immediately. It’s part of the reason why Sokka makes him feel safe.
“Your makeup is running a bit.” Sokka reaches out tentatively and Zuko nods, letting him wipe black smudges off of his cheek.
“Guess it’s not water-proof after all.”
“False advertising bastards.”
The mindless chatter makes him feel better. Sokka’s touch makes him feel better. Sokka’s voice makes him feel better. Sokka’s very proximity makes him feel better.
“You always know what to say, I wish I could, for you,” Zuko says, in a small voice.
“You can. You, you do. Just maybe not when I’m washing your hair, okay?”
“Okay,” Zuko nods very seriously.
Clearly that wasn’t the right time to tell Sokka everything that he means. Everything that he is.
But later. He has to try again later.
'Let's go all the way tonight
No regrets, just love
We can dance until we die
You and I
We'll be young forever'
Later turns out to be right in the middle of a particularly hot makeout session on the motel bed. In a pillow fort with white sheets as a makeshift ceiling. Sokka’s hands are on him. First on his skin tight jeans, black, and ripped at the knees. Under his shirt, which is still kinda damp from the rain, but much less so.
Sokka’s mouth is on his neck. He’s wringing sounds out of Zuko that he had never thought possible. He never put himself down as a screamer until he met Sokka. Now he does. His heart is pounding in his chest. Sokka. Sokka. Sokka.
He wants to tell him. He has to tell him. How he feels. Sokka’s lips are soft against his as he pulls him for another kiss. Another. He kisses Sokka’s closed eyes. The spot between his eyes. Just right here. Right now. They’ll be young forever. Zuko knows it.
“I want to go all the way this time,” Zuko says, a bit hoarsely.
Sokka misunderstands. “But we have? We did? Was that not...”
“Not that! Just listen! Hear me out. Shut up for once.”
Sokka looks at him with a strange look in his eyes. “Okay. Tell me.”
Oh fuck. Suddenly, now that the moment’s upon him. It’s very hard. He shouldn’t have rushed into this without thinking. There should have been practice. He should have rehearsed it in front of a mirror. Thought about what Uncle might say in this situation. What Aang or Toph might say. His usual shtick.
You deserve someone better than me. Someone who could say it easily and often. Someone who could make you know how amazing you are. Not someone else you have to look out for.
“I love you r eyes,” Zuko says quickly. Stupid. That’s stupid.
But Sokka understands. Sokka’s always, always understood.
“I love you too. And your eyes, if you did mean that too. You probably did, I do have amazing eyes.”
“Sokka. Shut up. ”
“I’m not gonna shut up. You just told me you loved me for the first time. I’m writing down the date, we’re gonna celebrate this exact day, at this exact time, forever and you--”
Zuko shuts him up with a kiss. It’s the only reliable way to do it actually. It’s only when it gets dark that Sokka brings it up again. Then it’s to ask, as always, making it sound casual and joking when it’s anything but, why .
“Well it’s not just one thing,” Zuko whispers. There’s something about the nighttime that makes him want to whisper. The fact that they’re sleeping under their pillow fort and this feels oddly like a slumber party only encourages him.
“You always look out for people, I like that. You work really hard at everything, and I know you think that’s a bad thing but it’s not. It’s easy to just be good at stuff without trying.”
“You’re just trying to butter me up so I’ll let you buy that pet lizard you’ve been wanting.”
“I’m not! I’m serious. Why can’t you just take a compliment! Why do you have to make everything a joke!” Zuko snaps, and the second he says it, he wishes he could take it back.
Sokka doesn’t look angry though, just a little dejected, he even laughs a bit when he says it, “I am a joke, Zuko. I’m not special, okay? So what if I’m good at studying . Everyone I know is a child prodigy at something . I’m just the guy in the group that’s regular.”
“If you want, you can talk to me about that. I might not know what to say. But I’ll listen.” Zuko means it, but he’s not sure whether Sokka will take it.
It’s also not easy for him to just offer to talk. He’s always been a man of action. He likes to ‘fix’ things for people. It’s hard to accept that he can’t just take the part of Sokka that’s filled with self doubt and crush it. Snap it in half. Burn it to the ground.
“Babe, I really don’t wanna bore you with my teenage angst,” Sokka explains.
“You should. I mean, you can.”
“This trip was supposed to be fun. I wanted it--for you,” Sokka sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“It was fun.”
“We got drenched and made out in front of a 7/11. You almost died in the shower. I meant like. The kind of trip you’ll think about when you’re eighty and looking back on your life. That kinda thing.”
“What makes you think I won’t be thinking about this?” Zuko reaches out a hand to touch Sokka’s warm cheek.
“Mostly the stuff I just said, but also just the fact that you could do so much better than this . For your deathbed nostalgia trip.”
Zuko holds Sokka’s two hands in his. He looks into his eyes. They’re wide, and brown, and perfect.
He kisses Sokka’s knuckles, “I’ll be thinking.”
Kiss.
“About this.”
Sokka throws his arms around him. He grips onto Zuko so tight.
“About me?” he asks, and it’s so unlike him. He doesn’t say it jokingly, or casually. There’s a real rawness to it that’s never there on the surface.
“Who else?” Zuko asks, and then, he just can’t resist, “I’ll think about Aang too. A bit. Toph. Suki. Your sister. She’ll kill me if I don’t. But yeah, mostly you.”
“Stop stealing my brand, asshole, I’m the funny one,” Sokka says, and it’s a bold thing to say coming from someone who’s sort of sniffling into Zuko’s shoulder.
By now Zuko’s on a roll, “Uh, you’re the smart one too. You’re definitely the cool one. I mean, someone with Teenage Mutant Ninja turtle boxers just has to be the cool one in a relationship. The motorcycle helps. You’re hot, but you know that.”
“Zuko, I try so hard,” Sokka says in a choked voice that Zuko’s never, ever heard before.
“I know, buddy,” Zuko replies. Seriously, ‘I know, buddy?’
“Doesn’t work,” Sokka continues, and he’s full on crying now, like he never has before.
“Hey, it’s okay, just breathe Sokka,” Zuko tries to let him go, so he can show him how to breathe.
Sokka just grips on harder though. “Don’t let go.”
“Okay, okay. I won’t.”
“I told you about my mom once, do you remember?”
“I remember.”
“After she was gone it was just me and Katara, Gran gran. Dad couldn’t. He.”
“ Sokka .”
“I tried to help out as much as I could but I don’t think I did enough. I should have done more if I was smart like Katara is.”
“ Ssshhhh. Sokka. Please. You did good. You were good.”
“I wasn’t. I let them down. I didn’t,” Sokka sobs into Zuko’s neck, he holds onto Zuko like he’s the only thing there is.
Zuko feels him shuddering in his arms. He rubs what he hopes are comforting circles into Sokka’s back, like Sokka does for him. He pats Sokka’s hair. He remembers, faintly, that he used to like that when Uncle did that for him.
Zuko doesn’t use nicknames that often, or throw them around as easily as Sokka does, but it’s easy now.
“Baby, you were just a kid. You were just a kid and it wasn’t your fault,” Zuko says it firmly, defiantly.
Sokka stops crying for a second, “I-I don’t mind. But you never call me baby , what’s up with that?”
“Sorry. I’ll stop.”
“No, you can. I like it, actually.”
He’s calmed down now. Zuko can tell. His grip on Zuko’s shoulders loosened just a bit. He’s not shaking anymore. His body goes all loose and he just lays on top of him. Zuko’s comforted by the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. He takes Sokka’s hands and interlaces their fingers together. See. Okay now. It’s okay now.
This is it isn’t it? Zuko thinks to himself. The drowsy form of Sokka on top of him. Screaming in the shower and kissing in the rain. That’s the dream that’s evaded him all these years. The mirage. The constantly receding horizon.
That night he doesn’t dream of his father. He doesn’t dream of fire and pain or wanting what he can’t have. He sleeps soundly. No regrets, just love.
And as for Sokka? He dreams of warm kisses on his hands. California sun. The kindest and softest voice in the world telling him you were good, you were good. The will he has in his heart to believe it. The tight grip of hands and the pounding of rain. The open road. I love your eyes. And Zuko. Over and over again.