He does not hate Asami.
He just thinks she's a little—much. How can she even exist? He just doesn't understand it. It's like she's a made up character in a story. She's smart, brave, fun to be around, and unequivocally beautiful. She has a strong mind, is classy and charming and wants for nothing.
There's absolutely nothing wrong with the girl. So naturally, when Iroh meets her, he is attracted to her charm, but as soon as he gets to know her he starts to distance himself.
He's not rude or cold in anyway, he just simply keeps his distance. It's not natural for people to want to surround themselves with people who are better than they are, so he feels no guilt in this move at all.
In fact, he's pretty proud of it. He's been able to keep himself away from Ms Perfect without causing any trouble whatsoever, so yeah—it's something for him to smirk about when he's alone, thinking about how much he really just—wants to see her with her makup smudged or something.
The knock at his door at 2 in the morning is relentless. He pulls on his boxers and an old sleeveless-T and groggily wanders to the door mumbling a grumpy "Alright, alright, I'm coming."
The knocking persists and when he opens the door he has every intention of giving the son of a bitch a piece of his mind. o
"Do you have any idea what ti—"
He's met with soft lips against his own before he's even able to see who's at the door. It's in blinking amazement that he's able to realize it's Asami. He doesn't kiss back.
She pulls away; tear stains down her cheeks and she's pushing her way inside his apartment and shutting the door behind her as he stands stunned.
"Uh…Asami?" He says it more like a statement than a question. Her hands come up around his neck and she pulls herself up for another kiss. He's not a stunned at this one, and he can feel the warmth from her lips; the gentle pressure they give off as they move against his. His hands come down to rest around her waist and she shoves herself flush against him.
"I'm sorry. Iroh." She pants out between chaste, slow kisses. "I just. Can't do it. Anymore." Each pause is long, accompanied with even kisses and soft hums of appreciation from the girl.
He wants to ask her what she's talking about. Wants to understand where her head is at. Is she high? Drunk? drowsy from lack of sleep? But he can't quite bring himself to stop the well executed kisses.
She pulls away; her waist flush against his still and her arms still around his shoulders, hands playing with the short hair just above his neck. Her eyes are calm despite the tear streaks still visible and she seems to know that he needs a moment of clarity before they continue.
He welcomes the oxygen to his brain as he takes deep breaths, trying to ignore the pleasant stroke of her fingers on his neck.
"What…I don't." He looks at her, and then to her lips, and then back at her. "I don't understand."
She has never given him any reason to believe that she had feelings for him. She's never given him flirtatious glances or half smiles, never lingered. It was actually her only endearing quality in his mind. That she didn't flirt nonstop like many other beautiful people seemed to do. She was a realist and that was something he could say for her.
A bitter smile spreads across her face and she scuffed, shaking her head. "Of course you don't."
He had planned to say something a long the lines of 'what does that mean?' or 'why don't you explain it?' but she was pulling up to kiss him again, and instead all he managed to do was lean down to make it easier for her to reach.
He didn't want to lead her on or anything, but—it was just really really nice to kiss someone.
He vaguely feels her pushing him backwards, and he allows her small frame to guide him where she wants, until his calves hit the edge of his small couch.
She lets go of him and reaches down for his hand; walking around to sit down at the far end, pulling him along.
He sits down near her, their legs touching, but she quickly shoves him back; her gentle hands pressing him back until his head is on the arm of the couch. He's laying with one leg on the floor as the other tucks up under her as she moves to sit on his lap.
She doesn't kiss him. She stares down at him, no emotion on her face, just her green eyes staring down as her soft hands smooth his hair away from his face. Then she kisses him. She leans down slowly; letting her hair tickle his face.
His hand comes to rest at her waist again and he feels as her body gives an involuntary shiver, causing some very nice friction in certain places.
He must squirm or give away his pleasure because she pulls away just slightly and grins. "There—showing a little affection towards me wasn't so hard, now was it."
He ignores the pun and instead gives a confused look. "I have never-"
She stops him with another kiss. "I know. You've never been anything but polite to me."
She doesn't explain further, but chooses, instead, to move her hips in rhythm with her hand, which is now slowly sneaking up his old T. Her movements are slow. Pointed. And he jolts a little at the feel of it all.
She smiles and leans down, pressing butterfly kisses to the side of his neck.
His eyes close; enjoying the feel of her hands on his skin, tracing invisible shapes on his stomach and down his side. He keeps his hands on her waist, guiding her movements gently as their kisses turn from chaste and simple to passionate and rough, back down to simple again.
It's a long time before she moves her hands to his neck and smooths them down over his shirt; pushing herself to an upright position.
"I'd better go."
He doesn't argue with her. It has to be passed 3 by now.
She moves off of him, standing up and grabbing his hand, pulling him up off of the couch.
He followes her, hand in hand, to the door where she turns and wraps her arms around his shoulders again, pulling herself up and kissing him chastely. He kisses back, leaning down to get a better reach, placing his hands back on her hips and pulling her close.
She brakes the kiss and chuckles through her nose; giving him a hug. "Why don't you come to my place tomorrow after work? I'll make you make me dinner."
She smiles at his lack of response, and turns around to open the door.
She turns around and smiles at him, momentarily leaning against the door and gazing at him. He almost leans down to kiss her again, but before he can, she's pushing away and giving him a small wave.
He watches as she disappears down the stairwell, and then instantly goes to the window to see that she makes it safely to her satomobile.
The ghosts of her fingers gently playing with his hair still tingle on his skin and he rubs the back of his neck longingly as he watches her drive off.
He sighs, shaking his head and then slowly stumbles back into his bed.