Author's note: My first Avatar fic. Be kind. This was for week one's prompt of Sokkla Summer, Burning. The idea came to me last night, but I only wrote it now, making me quite late as it is already week two. Oh, well. I've decided to post it nonetheless, because this is pretty historical (I hardly write and/or finish fanfics) and this world needs more dysfunctional Sokkla love.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
The Day of the Black Sun had ended. A pale, crescent moon rose over the Western Air Temple, where the Avatar and his friends had sought refuge. They lay in a circle around a campfire, the crackling of the wood mingling with the soft rustle of leaves, Appa's snores and Sokka's grunts.
The Water Tribesman could not sleep. He opened his eyes, staring at the long, ominous shadows across the stone walls and floors. He was exhausted from the day's failed battle, but his mind continued to be plagued by disconcerting thoughts...of his father, the rest of the tribe and all those who banded with them against the Fire Nation.
Sokka sat up and reached out for his pack, which lay beside him. He rummaged through its various contents until his hand clasped something cool and metal. He pulled out a small tin flask and held it with both hands, staring at the thing for a full minute. He had intended to save this for a special occasion...like, today perhaps. But the invasion had been a disaster. The entire Fire Nation capital had known all along, thanks to its princess, and hid below ground. That fact alone should have prompted everyone to retreat, but they were blinded by hope and a bit of desperation. So Sokka, along with Aang and Toph, ran beneath the earth and flew over boiling lava...only to fall prey to Princess Azula's diversions. Sokka got the best of that.
He gritted his teeth and unscrewed the flask's cap. This was all because of her, that demon child. She had ruined everything. Sokka lifted the flask to his lips and forced the sake down his throat. It burned. He took another, longer sip. He could feel the tips of his ears beginning to warm.
Sokka lifted himself up to as standing position and ran a hand through his hair. He needed some air. Cold air. He shuffled past Appa, who nearly blocked the gaping doorway of the temple room, and came out to the open courtyard. A sudden gust of cool wind nearly had Sokka tripping over his own feet. He leaned against a crumbling pillar and took a deep breath. His face was still hot, but his mind was less foggy.
He still had the flask in his hand. Barely half of the wine was left. He drank it all down and threw the tin flask hard, aiming for the darkness over the edge of temple courtyard. It bounced on the stone once, emitting a soft clink, and then...nothing. Sokka slid down to sit against the pillar.
What was going to happen now? He had proposed a fairly optimistic plan to the gang earlier, of Aang continuing to master the elements, then fighting the Fire Lord. Sokka mentally slapped himself for being so delusional. He also mentally laughed at the irony of how, in his intoxicated state, he could clearly see the real, painful facts. They were doomed. With no one to teach Aang firebending, the Fire Nation's wrath would never cease.
Images flooded Sokka's mind: Suki in a dark cell, the Northern Water Tribe under attack, Hakoda slowly becoming a black dot on the Fire Nation island...and then the gleaming gold eyes of Princess Azula. They were filled with fire, hate, turmoil and death. She had no soul. Sokka feared the entire world would face the same fate.
Another breeze blew over Sokka, chilling him. He was practically sweating from the sake's effects, but the wind didn't comfort him at all. He only felt queasier. He decided to lie down. Bad idea. The moment he shut his eyes, his head exploded.
Sokka's throat was dry as dust. The tin flask balanced precariously over the edge of the stone cliff. He struggled to crawl towards it. His fingers were inches away from the flask, but it spun and fell into the darkness. The cliff crumbled and Sokka, too, fell. He landed on rocky earth. His sword was in one hand. He stood up and found himself standing in the middle of a volcanic rock, surrounded by a lake of bubbling, boiling lava.
"Peasant." A voice hissed from behind him.
He turned around. There they were. Eyes glinting with gold and malice.
"Princess." He muttered under his breath.
He gripped his black blade with two hands, taking a stance. She, however, did not move. Shoulders back, arms crossed, feet together.
"Surrender now." She said calmly. "There's no one to help you. The Avatar has been defeated, your filthy tribe dead, the Kioshi warrior slain. There is no hope."
Sokka only tightened the grip on his sword. He would not listen to her lies, not this time. He charged towards the princess with an angry cry. The tip of his black blade a hair's breath away, she suddenly disappeared and Sokka toppled over the rock, head-first into the molten lava.
But a hand fell on his shoulder and pulled him back roughly. He spun around, nose to nose with the Fire Nation princess.
"No, that would have been too easy."
Sokka was paralyzed. He could not lift even a finger.
"It's over." Azula whispered. "You're mine."
Her blood-red lips crashed into his and everything melted around them. Sokka unfroze. It felt like fire ran through his veins, burning his muscles, skin...his mind. Instead of pushing Azula off of him, he grabbed the back of her head and only pulled her closer. Azula's tongue teased his lower lip and Sokka opened his mouth to let her in. Her tongue was searing hot. She tasted like fire. She was fire. And she was burning him.
Sokka's eyes shot wide open. He took in great gasps of air. He was not on fire, he was not kissing Princess Azula and he wasn't in the middle of a lava lake. He was in the Western Air Temple and it was sunrise. Sokka's head felt like a ten-ton rock. He slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes. I'm never, ever going to fall asleep drunk again, Sokka vowed silently. Of all the twisted ideas his subconscious had to conjure, it had to be kissing the Fire Nation princess.
Sokka touched a hand to his lips. They were warm and his lower lip was bleeding. He had probably bit it in frustration the entire evening. Sunbeams drenched the courtyard and a flash of gold struck Sokka, warming him all over. It reminded him briefly of Princess Azula's wicked eyes and her searing kiss. But the sun was here to comfort, not kill him, he thought, as he sucked on his wound.
*fin*
Author's note: Forgive the short make-out scene (feel free to mentally edit that with some ridonkulously hot shit). And did I get any details wrong? I've only seen the entire series once (and I'm sick), so my memory of certain episodes is not all that great.
Oh, and I'd love it if anyone could think of an appropriate title for this fic.