I love Iroh and Asami together. I can't help it. I think Asami deserves a man who is strong and confident and considerate. Being dashingly handsome doesn't hurt either. So yeah, here's my first crack at Irosami. I hope you enjoy. Please feel free to leave feedback. I love hearing what you guys think.
The muted hiss of the gas stove is the only noticeable sound in the room. It will be a while before the water is ready for tea.
He could have boiled the water himself; he is a firebender, after all. It would have been easy, something even a beginner could do. But, they have gotten into the habit of using the kettle, and the tea is always good, so they never think to change. Even if it does take a little longer.
He doesn't complain, and neither does she. A little waiting never hurt anyone.
"What are we having today?"
Calloused hands tangle themselves in long silken strands. The quiet hitch in her breath broke through the gentle murmur of the stove. Slender fingers slowly undo the top clasp of his collar, then the next, and the next. Her touch is feather-light against pale skin that grows ever more exposed.
"Oh, I found a new variety at the market the other day. I thought we might give it a try."
He pulls her closer, his hands beginning their own work on the delicate buttons of her waistcoat. So troublesome. There are always so many of them. Cotton soon makes way to reveal the smooth expanse of her neck and collarbone. He can't help himself, tracing the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, running the pads of his fingers along the gentle dip of her clavicle. He explores with his hands. They never take the same path twice and they leave a trail of warmth in their wake. She is always surprised at how warm his hands are.
"I'm sure it will be delicious."
He convinces himself his voice was not shaky just then. She doesn't say a word, simply nods with that sweet smile of hers. Her green eyes never leave his. And soon, their lips meet, as they always inevitably do. Did she initiate it? Did he? They can never figure it out. But, then again, they don't try very hard. It's far easier to enjoy the feeling of her lips on his, his on hers.
The shrill wail of the kettle shatters the quiet and they pull away from one another slightly. Just enough so that he can feel her breath tickle against his skin. She counts the rise and fall of his chest, a steady beat against the constant whistle of steam.
"It can wait." She says, as she always does. And he wraps her in his arms, like he does every time. The tea will still be there when all is said and done. After all, a little waiting never hurt anyone.