Food of Love
Rating: PG13
Pairing: some Jetko, some Zukka, permutations thereof.
Summary: Shuffle meme--ten drabbles, lots of AU, lots of rock music, lots of horny teenage boys, very little continuity.
Warnings: character death (one drabble only), boner jokes, abrupt shifts between past and present tense.
CLOCKS
“Are you feeling well?”
“Yep.”
“You’re sure? No dizziness, no fever, no nausea?”
“You know, if you weren’t the big bad traitorous prince of the Fire Nation, I’d think you were scared.”
“That’s absurd! Why would I be scared? We have many courtly dances in the Fire Nation. Mai told me I was light on my feet.”
“Uh, Zuko, I don’t think ‘light on your feet’ is going to help you here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Screw it. Here, just put your leg like this-“
“Sokka! We’re in public!”
“I know! Listen, do you think I like looking like a courtesan? This dance has been a tradition here for centuries. It’s supposed to represent the bond between lovers, and it’s so provocative that only men can perform it.”
“Yes, because two hardened warriors swiveling their hips at each other is completely innocent…”
“Forget it. If you’re going to grump at me all night, I’m dancing with Aang.”
“Aang? Sokka, do you want to perform the dance of the risen bamboo stalk with your sister’s twelve-year-old boyfriend?”
“If you quit whining like a little girl, I’ll let you top tonight.”
“Well, what are you standing there for? One-two-three, one-two-three…”
FIRE AND THE THUD
It was the skateboard that did him in. The kid couldn’t have been older than fourteen, still a child, yet the reckless way he skidded across the curb and flipped into the air, weightless and blissful for a single moment, made Zuko remember. He’d seen that expression many times-while shoplifting, while driving way too fast, while having semi-public sex-as though the risk was more euphoric than the actual pleasure of the act.
Zuko had been a bit like that himself, when he was with Jet. Sixteen years of order and rules, of being told who to be and how to reflect well upon his father, could be undone in a second by Jet’s smile. He still saw it now, in the face of teenagers in the skate park and thugs on the subway, even though he’d been living respectably for five years. He was thousands of miles away from their old haunts, from his old life, but it could all come back in a moment.
He flicked his lighter open, staring at the flame against the dim light of dusk. Maybe he still had some insanity in him.
COLD DESERT
It’s cold up here. Zuko’s never felt this cold in his life. The boy is still, seemingly lifeless, and he wonders if he should do something to warm him. He lights a fire, but there’s nothing to burn and he doesn’t have the energy to keep bending. He curls up, staring at the reflection of the moon on the glittering snow.
He’s at the far northern edge of the world, and who cares? His father? His sister? What if he froze to death here, the chill slowly creeping into his heart and stilling it peacefully? People lie-the ever present ache in his chest hasn’t numbed. The cold merely makes him feel empty.
Maybe he deserves this. Maybe it’s fitting that a disgrace to the firelord should freeze to death on the fringe of the world. He tries to remember feeling warm, feeling affection. His mother’s face comes to mind, and Mai’s, but their images swim before him in a fog as a violent shudder rips through his body. It feels as though despair has turned his bones to ice, and he couldn’t grow warm if he tried.
He flits in and out of consciousness, dimly aware of the fact that freezing to death is preceded by falling asleep. He watches the icy light of the moon play across the snow. Two figures appear before him, and he’s barely conscious of the fact that someone has found him. The girl rushes to the Avatar, touching his face in a gesture of tenderness that Zuko hasn’t seen in a long time.
To his surprise, the boy doesn’t go to the Avatar. Instead, he hauls Zuko’s body up by the shoulders, a rough hand burning against Zuko’s throat. “He’s alive,” the boy says, lifting Zuko’s weight. Zuko’s strength falters, and he lets himself lean into the steadiness of the boy’s arms. The last thing he sees is a pair of eyes burning as blue as the cold ocean.
HEARTBREAKER
Sokka likes his job. Sure, he has to spend way too much time arguing with parents over inappropriate music, and fighting off girls who’ve slept their way through the city’s music scene and are now starting in on the record stores. But he gets to wear torn jeans, smoke, and listen to Led Zeppelin all day. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.
That is, until he walks through the door.
“Shit!” he whispers. He ducks behind the counter, heart hammering. He was supposed to be in Japan! He shouldn’t be in the country, let alone in this tiny record shop. Yet there he is: hair falling in an inky mess over his pale face (a lot longer than Sokka remembers-how fast does his hair grow?), gold eyes burning, muscles straining against the tight black t-shirt, and jeans…
“Oh, fuck.” Sokka doesn’t want to stare at Zuko’s crotch, but those pants are making it hard. Making several things hard, actually, something he desperately hopes the counter hides. Zuko spots him, eyes going wide, and darts into the next room.
“Whoa, man. Something got your attention, huh?” He hears Jet snicker behind him, and his face goes hot. He already has to deal with Jet’s forceful innuendo (which doubles when he’s high, as he apparently is now). With Zuko in town, the near future is going to be hell.
“Take one fucking guess,” he growls. He takes a drag from his cigarette, drumming his fingers agitatedly on the counter. Jet leans over it and peers into the next room, getting a perfect view of Zuko’s disgustingly pretty ass.
“Well, well, well. Hello gorgeous.” He leans back, fixing Sokka with a dazed smile. “This is going to be fun.”
I’M GONNA FIND ANOTHER YOU
The sun hasn’t hit Zuko’s room for days. It creeps slowly up one wall and down the other, peering cautiously through the sliver of curtain he leaves open.
Zuko lies in bed, Joy Division on endless repeat. He pictures Mai as a vengeful angel, sent from hell to tempt him into the depths of despair. He usually feels like he’s drowning, unless he’s smothered in a pit as bleak as the grave. Every movement takes as much effort as a full-scale sparring match.
Somehow, through this haze of ennui, an image pierces Zuko’s brain. It’s of another impenetrable gaze, another slender body, another grip holding him just too tight. But instead of Mai’s inscrutable boredom, he sees passion and deviance and really good taste in weapons. Instead of lithe curves twisting effortlessly out of his holds, he sees brown skin and hard muscle and holds that straddle the line between violent and flirtatious. He sees hands that don’t shy away from contact and dark eyes that aren’t afraid to meet his.
For the first time in days, Zuko sits bolt upright. No way, he thinks. Not him. And yet, when he gets tired of Joy Division, the next album be puts on is Black Flag.
LOVE IS BLINDNESS
It’s dark in Ba Sing Se tonight. The city is falling around them, all their work against the Fire Nation for nothing. Smellerbee is holding his hand roughly, wiping at his sweaty brow with calloused fingers. Pain radiates from his chest, and his limbs shake, but he tries to stay awake.
The memory of gold eyes swims in his head. Li had fought so passionately. He wanted a simple life, wanted to clear his uncle’s name, but something more than a wounded reputation had burned in his eyes. He knew a devastating amount of pain, and he hid it. He didn’t destroy things; he just buried it all inside. It made that flash of recognition even more painful.
Maybe, in another time, they would have been kindred spirits. Maybe he would have opened himself to Jet, let him take some of the pain and loneliness. Maybe they would have reached out for each other, needing human touch to keep the nightmares away. But it isn’t another time, it’s this one, and when Jet begins to fade, there is no beautiful boy to hold him.
DRAIN YOU
Tomorrow, his fingers were going to be a mess. Sokka could feel the metal of the strings bite into his skin, a pleasantly fitting accompaniment to the howl of his guitar. His shirt stuck to his chest, and the stage lights made his head throb, but the pain felt good. Because Zuko was here, and he was with Jet, and if Sokka had to see them together his head would explode.
It had been going on for three months. Zuko first came to the club after Jet had blown out of town. Despite the tightly wound anger in his shoulders, there was something beautifully sad in his strangely colored eyes. Sokka had spent many afternoons talking music, wishing that he could put his arms around Zuko and kiss the loneliness away.
And now the bastard was back, snaking long arms around Zuko’s chest and whispering filthy things in his ear. Zuko looked content, but he didn’t look happy. Sokka knew the things Jet could say, how he could make somebody believe anything with a wicked smile and the quirk of an eyebrow. He knew that he would leave soon, and Zuko would be left wounded and withdrawn. Most of all, he knew he loved Zuko more than Jet ever could, and the only thing he could do about it was play guitar.
SPINAL REMAINS
“You call this music?”
“What?”
“I said, you call this-fuck!” Somebody slams into Zuko from behind, making his bones vibrate from the impact. He can’t see in the dark, he can’t breathe from the smoke, and his eardrums feel like they’re being pummeled with shards of glass. But Jet’s smiling, and he makes even this miserable, violent excuse for dancing look beautiful. Zuko rolls his eyes and grabs Jet’s hand, vowing to make him regret this.
VOODOO CHILD
This might just be the perfect moment. A cool August breeze, dewy grass beneath his bare feet, a joint between his lips, and totally awesome music soaking into his ears like divine nectar.
“Aren’t you cold?” Zuko’s wearing a thin undershirt, and he has his arms crossed in front of him. Sokka passes him the joint, smiling. “Here. You look too tense.”
Zuko coughs. “I can’t. I have asthma, remember?” He seems grumpy, and Sokka hates seeing him grumpy. Jet could probably cheer him up. Jet always knows what to say to Zuko to make him stop being such a tight-ass. Not that that’s such a bad thing. Sokka giggles, collapsing onto the grass.
“C’mon. This is a day of, like, cosmic perfection. Just let it flow, man. Let it flow.”
Somebody wanders over to their blanket, eying the pile of peanut butter sandwiches at their feet.
“Food? You guys have food? Where did you get food? Can I have some food?”
Sokka wonders how long it would take for someone high on acid to wash a sandwich-full of peanut butter out of his hair, but Zuko puts a protective arm around the sandwiches. “These are for the people in our group. They’re giving out food in the back by the tents.”
The hippie wanders off. “Wow. That was actually kind of mean. I’m impressed.”
Zuko looks at him, and his eyes soften a bit. “You put a lot of effort into keeping us fed. I’d hate for your work to be wasted on a bunch of drug-addled idiots who aren’t smart enough to feed themselves.”
He grabs a sandwich and begins peeling off the crust. He looks seriously cute, with his hair and his scowl and his scarred face that makes him look dignified, but doesn’t do anything to hide his pretty-boy looks. Sokka swings an arm around his shoulders, ignoring Zuko’s gasp of surprise. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, kid.”
TELL HER TONIGHT
“Oh, fuck.”
Suki was inside the bar. She was literally fifteen feet away, powdering her nose or whatever it is girls do when they go to the bathroom in packs. Perhaps she was talking to the girl at the next sink, telling her about how sweet and sensitive her boyfriend is. How she had turned him from a posturing, macho jerk into an open-minded feminist. Or maybe she was laughing about how she’s got him totally whipped.
Harmless joking aside, Sokka had nothing against dominant women. He was happy to keep submitting to Suki, as long as he got affection and great sex. But to Sokka, nothing was hotter than grabbing fistfuls of thick hair as someone knelt at his feet to suck him off. Which is why he was getting blown by a shaggy-haired club kid in too much eyeliner while his girlfriend was in the ladies’ room.
Pairing: some Jetko, some Zukka, permutations thereof.
Summary: Shuffle meme--ten drabbles, lots of AU, lots of rock music, lots of horny teenage boys, very little continuity.
Warnings: character death (one drabble only), boner jokes, abrupt shifts between past and present tense.
CLOCKS
“Are you feeling well?”
“Yep.”
“You’re sure? No dizziness, no fever, no nausea?”
“You know, if you weren’t the big bad traitorous prince of the Fire Nation, I’d think you were scared.”
“That’s absurd! Why would I be scared? We have many courtly dances in the Fire Nation. Mai told me I was light on my feet.”
“Uh, Zuko, I don’t think ‘light on your feet’ is going to help you here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Screw it. Here, just put your leg like this-“
“Sokka! We’re in public!”
“I know! Listen, do you think I like looking like a courtesan? This dance has been a tradition here for centuries. It’s supposed to represent the bond between lovers, and it’s so provocative that only men can perform it.”
“Yes, because two hardened warriors swiveling their hips at each other is completely innocent…”
“Forget it. If you’re going to grump at me all night, I’m dancing with Aang.”
“Aang? Sokka, do you want to perform the dance of the risen bamboo stalk with your sister’s twelve-year-old boyfriend?”
“If you quit whining like a little girl, I’ll let you top tonight.”
“Well, what are you standing there for? One-two-three, one-two-three…”
FIRE AND THE THUD
It was the skateboard that did him in. The kid couldn’t have been older than fourteen, still a child, yet the reckless way he skidded across the curb and flipped into the air, weightless and blissful for a single moment, made Zuko remember. He’d seen that expression many times-while shoplifting, while driving way too fast, while having semi-public sex-as though the risk was more euphoric than the actual pleasure of the act.
Zuko had been a bit like that himself, when he was with Jet. Sixteen years of order and rules, of being told who to be and how to reflect well upon his father, could be undone in a second by Jet’s smile. He still saw it now, in the face of teenagers in the skate park and thugs on the subway, even though he’d been living respectably for five years. He was thousands of miles away from their old haunts, from his old life, but it could all come back in a moment.
He flicked his lighter open, staring at the flame against the dim light of dusk. Maybe he still had some insanity in him.
COLD DESERT
It’s cold up here. Zuko’s never felt this cold in his life. The boy is still, seemingly lifeless, and he wonders if he should do something to warm him. He lights a fire, but there’s nothing to burn and he doesn’t have the energy to keep bending. He curls up, staring at the reflection of the moon on the glittering snow.
He’s at the far northern edge of the world, and who cares? His father? His sister? What if he froze to death here, the chill slowly creeping into his heart and stilling it peacefully? People lie-the ever present ache in his chest hasn’t numbed. The cold merely makes him feel empty.
Maybe he deserves this. Maybe it’s fitting that a disgrace to the firelord should freeze to death on the fringe of the world. He tries to remember feeling warm, feeling affection. His mother’s face comes to mind, and Mai’s, but their images swim before him in a fog as a violent shudder rips through his body. It feels as though despair has turned his bones to ice, and he couldn’t grow warm if he tried.
He flits in and out of consciousness, dimly aware of the fact that freezing to death is preceded by falling asleep. He watches the icy light of the moon play across the snow. Two figures appear before him, and he’s barely conscious of the fact that someone has found him. The girl rushes to the Avatar, touching his face in a gesture of tenderness that Zuko hasn’t seen in a long time.
To his surprise, the boy doesn’t go to the Avatar. Instead, he hauls Zuko’s body up by the shoulders, a rough hand burning against Zuko’s throat. “He’s alive,” the boy says, lifting Zuko’s weight. Zuko’s strength falters, and he lets himself lean into the steadiness of the boy’s arms. The last thing he sees is a pair of eyes burning as blue as the cold ocean.
HEARTBREAKER
Sokka likes his job. Sure, he has to spend way too much time arguing with parents over inappropriate music, and fighting off girls who’ve slept their way through the city’s music scene and are now starting in on the record stores. But he gets to wear torn jeans, smoke, and listen to Led Zeppelin all day. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.
That is, until he walks through the door.
“Shit!” he whispers. He ducks behind the counter, heart hammering. He was supposed to be in Japan! He shouldn’t be in the country, let alone in this tiny record shop. Yet there he is: hair falling in an inky mess over his pale face (a lot longer than Sokka remembers-how fast does his hair grow?), gold eyes burning, muscles straining against the tight black t-shirt, and jeans…
“Oh, fuck.” Sokka doesn’t want to stare at Zuko’s crotch, but those pants are making it hard. Making several things hard, actually, something he desperately hopes the counter hides. Zuko spots him, eyes going wide, and darts into the next room.
“Whoa, man. Something got your attention, huh?” He hears Jet snicker behind him, and his face goes hot. He already has to deal with Jet’s forceful innuendo (which doubles when he’s high, as he apparently is now). With Zuko in town, the near future is going to be hell.
“Take one fucking guess,” he growls. He takes a drag from his cigarette, drumming his fingers agitatedly on the counter. Jet leans over it and peers into the next room, getting a perfect view of Zuko’s disgustingly pretty ass.
“Well, well, well. Hello gorgeous.” He leans back, fixing Sokka with a dazed smile. “This is going to be fun.”
I’M GONNA FIND ANOTHER YOU
The sun hasn’t hit Zuko’s room for days. It creeps slowly up one wall and down the other, peering cautiously through the sliver of curtain he leaves open.
Zuko lies in bed, Joy Division on endless repeat. He pictures Mai as a vengeful angel, sent from hell to tempt him into the depths of despair. He usually feels like he’s drowning, unless he’s smothered in a pit as bleak as the grave. Every movement takes as much effort as a full-scale sparring match.
Somehow, through this haze of ennui, an image pierces Zuko’s brain. It’s of another impenetrable gaze, another slender body, another grip holding him just too tight. But instead of Mai’s inscrutable boredom, he sees passion and deviance and really good taste in weapons. Instead of lithe curves twisting effortlessly out of his holds, he sees brown skin and hard muscle and holds that straddle the line between violent and flirtatious. He sees hands that don’t shy away from contact and dark eyes that aren’t afraid to meet his.
For the first time in days, Zuko sits bolt upright. No way, he thinks. Not him. And yet, when he gets tired of Joy Division, the next album be puts on is Black Flag.
LOVE IS BLINDNESS
It’s dark in Ba Sing Se tonight. The city is falling around them, all their work against the Fire Nation for nothing. Smellerbee is holding his hand roughly, wiping at his sweaty brow with calloused fingers. Pain radiates from his chest, and his limbs shake, but he tries to stay awake.
The memory of gold eyes swims in his head. Li had fought so passionately. He wanted a simple life, wanted to clear his uncle’s name, but something more than a wounded reputation had burned in his eyes. He knew a devastating amount of pain, and he hid it. He didn’t destroy things; he just buried it all inside. It made that flash of recognition even more painful.
Maybe, in another time, they would have been kindred spirits. Maybe he would have opened himself to Jet, let him take some of the pain and loneliness. Maybe they would have reached out for each other, needing human touch to keep the nightmares away. But it isn’t another time, it’s this one, and when Jet begins to fade, there is no beautiful boy to hold him.
DRAIN YOU
Tomorrow, his fingers were going to be a mess. Sokka could feel the metal of the strings bite into his skin, a pleasantly fitting accompaniment to the howl of his guitar. His shirt stuck to his chest, and the stage lights made his head throb, but the pain felt good. Because Zuko was here, and he was with Jet, and if Sokka had to see them together his head would explode.
It had been going on for three months. Zuko first came to the club after Jet had blown out of town. Despite the tightly wound anger in his shoulders, there was something beautifully sad in his strangely colored eyes. Sokka had spent many afternoons talking music, wishing that he could put his arms around Zuko and kiss the loneliness away.
And now the bastard was back, snaking long arms around Zuko’s chest and whispering filthy things in his ear. Zuko looked content, but he didn’t look happy. Sokka knew the things Jet could say, how he could make somebody believe anything with a wicked smile and the quirk of an eyebrow. He knew that he would leave soon, and Zuko would be left wounded and withdrawn. Most of all, he knew he loved Zuko more than Jet ever could, and the only thing he could do about it was play guitar.
SPINAL REMAINS
“You call this music?”
“What?”
“I said, you call this-fuck!” Somebody slams into Zuko from behind, making his bones vibrate from the impact. He can’t see in the dark, he can’t breathe from the smoke, and his eardrums feel like they’re being pummeled with shards of glass. But Jet’s smiling, and he makes even this miserable, violent excuse for dancing look beautiful. Zuko rolls his eyes and grabs Jet’s hand, vowing to make him regret this.
VOODOO CHILD
This might just be the perfect moment. A cool August breeze, dewy grass beneath his bare feet, a joint between his lips, and totally awesome music soaking into his ears like divine nectar.
“Aren’t you cold?” Zuko’s wearing a thin undershirt, and he has his arms crossed in front of him. Sokka passes him the joint, smiling. “Here. You look too tense.”
Zuko coughs. “I can’t. I have asthma, remember?” He seems grumpy, and Sokka hates seeing him grumpy. Jet could probably cheer him up. Jet always knows what to say to Zuko to make him stop being such a tight-ass. Not that that’s such a bad thing. Sokka giggles, collapsing onto the grass.
“C’mon. This is a day of, like, cosmic perfection. Just let it flow, man. Let it flow.”
Somebody wanders over to their blanket, eying the pile of peanut butter sandwiches at their feet.
“Food? You guys have food? Where did you get food? Can I have some food?”
Sokka wonders how long it would take for someone high on acid to wash a sandwich-full of peanut butter out of his hair, but Zuko puts a protective arm around the sandwiches. “These are for the people in our group. They’re giving out food in the back by the tents.”
The hippie wanders off. “Wow. That was actually kind of mean. I’m impressed.”
Zuko looks at him, and his eyes soften a bit. “You put a lot of effort into keeping us fed. I’d hate for your work to be wasted on a bunch of drug-addled idiots who aren’t smart enough to feed themselves.”
He grabs a sandwich and begins peeling off the crust. He looks seriously cute, with his hair and his scowl and his scarred face that makes him look dignified, but doesn’t do anything to hide his pretty-boy looks. Sokka swings an arm around his shoulders, ignoring Zuko’s gasp of surprise. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, kid.”
TELL HER TONIGHT
“Oh, fuck.”
Suki was inside the bar. She was literally fifteen feet away, powdering her nose or whatever it is girls do when they go to the bathroom in packs. Perhaps she was talking to the girl at the next sink, telling her about how sweet and sensitive her boyfriend is. How she had turned him from a posturing, macho jerk into an open-minded feminist. Or maybe she was laughing about how she’s got him totally whipped.
Harmless joking aside, Sokka had nothing against dominant women. He was happy to keep submitting to Suki, as long as he got affection and great sex. But to Sokka, nothing was hotter than grabbing fistfuls of thick hair as someone knelt at his feet to suck him off. Which is why he was getting blown by a shaggy-haired club kid in too much eyeliner while his girlfriend was in the ladies’ room.