This... I don't know where this came from. Somewhere someone prompted something on tumblr or whatever. I have no excuses.
Welcome to my crack!otp. I'll be storing more drabbles here in the near future.
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[like the rising sun]
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"You know," she starts slowly, lifting the dampened rag to his face in the dim of the room. "It's really not that bad."
She feels his laughter rustle in his chest, a vibration in her fingertips. But really, it isn't – the burn isn't even half as bad as some she's seen, being a fan of pro-bending. Most of his face is unharmed, actually, a soft tan color, lined gently around the eyes and mouth, speaking of years of hardship. The rest, about half, she'll admit, is a marbled white, shiny and smooth. It was angry red when she first met him, like the flames that had caused it.
He shifts under her, lacing his gloved fingers through hers.
"I have you to thank for that," he mutters against the shell of her ear, breath ghosting down her neck. She sighs. He's talking about her nightly ministrations, with herbs and ointments and whatever she could find and pay for under the table. He tucks her hair, dark like the night and silky like water, behind her ear, and over her shoulder.
Her breath comes quickly, suddenly hyperaware of the scant space between them. "Darling," she says, as his hand brushes down her shoulder. Her eyes flutter shut, and she leans her head against him. She can feel his smile against her forehead.
It does not matter to him, that she is not a bender. She is neither superior nor inferior, when they take to the roofs, cloaked and masked, winning because they are just that good, not like their opponents, on the receiving end of a spirit-run lottery.
"Let me repay you," he says, confident and affectionate. He pushes her back, only slightly, and takes the still-damp rag from her hand, setting it on the bedside table. He takes her hand, then, and lays it on his cheek, her thumb just barely brushing his forehead. He lays his own hand on her cheek in a similar manner. He smiles, his eyes lighting up.
And then the world is gone, and there is only light, and sound. Music, she realizes. The sound of his soul singing to hers. Delicately, tentatively, she croons back, and warmth encompasses her.
It is overpowering, intoxicating, and she cannot get enough. She's never felt a burn like this before.
The room fades back in, and she is breathless. She slumps against him, panting, ecstasy soaring in her veins. He holds her tighter, squeezing her palms gently, playing with their fingers.
"So, now you know," he says, and she nods, smiling against his skin.
"Together?" she asks.
"Together," he promises.