From a request by beckyh2112: Zuko/Sokka, cross-dressing. It's not that it's unmanly, because Zuko can't think of anyone more manly than his father and uncle and they wear robes all the time; it's that he isn't sure how to fight in this thing.
The dresses really aren't the worst part to get used to. He's worn robes before when his father used to call him to formal meetings that required strict tradition, and there really isn't that much difference between a robe and a dress.
"It's tradition!" Sokka insists, tying the belt tighter around his waist. "You have to do it."
"You mean I haven't suffered enough indignity?" Zuko grumbles.
"It's not indignity, it's ... here, just sit."
Zuko glares daggers until Sokka makes him close his eyes, brushing on makeup that feels cold and heavy on his face. He can't help the small intake of breath, the fire that dances on his fingertips as Sokka dabs it over the rough skin of his scar. As the stuff dries, it feels like a mask, like it will crack and shatter if he smiles or frowns.
"There," Sokka says at last, stepping back and putting his face next to Zuko's in the mirror.
Zuko opens his eyes, and for the first time in years, sees no scar, just the white and red and black that Kyoshi warriors wear. He turns his head so he can look at Sokka with his good eye.
"Okay, now are you going to teach me how to move in this? It's so heavy."
Sokka just grins, twirling in his own heavy skirts and trying not to trip. "Easy. If Suki can do it, so can we."
Zuko rises and promptly trips over the skirt. "I hate you," he grumbles affectionately.