It wasn't that Bolin was shy. It wasn't that Iroh was intimidating—although, all right, he commanded all those ships and could practically fly using firebending and they said he once punched a bomb—but Bolin had been shot down by the Avatar. After that, the commander of the United Forces and possible heir to the Fire Throne was small potatoes. Like those ones they served at Foggy Swamp Tribe restaurants, with the crisp jackets and the buttery texture underneath when you peeled them off.
Anyway, you had to take things more cautiously with guys. That's what Mako had said, after the memorable incident when Bolin was fourteen and wrote that love poem to the waterbender from the Printer's Street Rhinos. Since it was Mako cleaning Bolin up after a street brawl for once instead of the other way around—and since Mako was trying his best to give Bolin the advice he should have gotten from his parents—and since he was obviously uncomfortable about the whole thing—Bolin had taken what he said to heart and not asked more questions, although he didn't really understand why.
Iroh wasn't like Nuska, who despite having deep blue eyes and gorgeous cheekbones, and doing the slickest water whip Bolin had ever seen, had turned out to be a massive jerk. Bolin was sure that Iroh would let him down gently. It was just that he wasn't quite sure he was ready to have Mako carry him sobbing out of a wine shop again so soon. So, for once, Bolin bided his time.
It wasn't so bad. Bolin was still living on Air Temple Island, and Commander Bumi had convinced his brother that Air Nomad traditions of hospitality extended to the entire fleet. Bolin saw Iroh often, when he came to meals with the family, or when he could spare an hour or two from his duties to help with the rebuilding. Several times, Bolin had been raising a foundation or a wall and felt a twitch between his shoulder blades, as though someone's stare was burning a hole in his back. Once he was quick enough to catch the remains of a blush on Iroh's quickly-averted face.
"Enjoying the view, General Iroh, sir?" The blush crept down Iroh's neck, and creases appeared at the corners of his mouth. Bolin decided to call him sir frequently. Like, in bed. Or wherever.
"You do good work," said Iroh, as if Bolin had been talking about the wall. "You've never worked in construction before?"
"A mutt like me?" Bolin laughed. "It's all guilds in Republic City, you know. Families. Besides, pro bending is where you get all the money and—" he almost finished the sentence girls like he usually did, but that was definitely not where he wanted this conversation to go—"and, uh, snacks."
Iroh leaned against the wall, and looked out over the bay musingly. "I went into the family business. Never really had a choice. Sometimes I wish I'd been just an ordinary kid, with no responsibilities and no one expecting things from me, just possibilities."
"That's, uh . . ." Bolin had never thought about it that way. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked sideways at Iroh, not sure what to say. Iroh was able to meet his gaze for about three seconds before cracking up.
"No, actually, I love the army. Have you seen how many ships they gave me?"
Bolin liked Iroh. And Iroh liked him—he hoped—he thought so. He'd thought Korra liked him, too, and she did, but not in a way that made her want to hold him close just for the feel of his body against hers. And Iroh—Bolin remembered riding Naga with him, his arms around Bolin's waist, the pressure of him against Bolin's back, with a firebender's heat. He wanted more of that, yes. But he didn't want to get burned. And where Korra had been straightforward, Iroh was unreadable. Cautious, maybe. Testing the waters, where neither of them was quite in his element.
A month passed. Amon had vanished without a trace, but the remaining Equalist leadership was either dead or in prison, and the rank-and-file had been granted amnesty by the Council, where for the moment Tenzin had no serious opposition. Chief Bei Fong began to grumble about useless boys in fancy red uniforms getting underfoot. Air Temple Island looked like its old self, before the Equalists; the remaining damage could only be seen if you were looking for it. Ikki told Bolin that there were now ten thousand, three hundred seventeen trees on the island.
Bolin couldn't make trees grow, but he did what he could. The paving-stones of one pavilion used for meditation, incised with symbols by hundreds-years-dead monks, had been cracked and scratched by the treads of mecha-tanks. Bolin smoothed them out, made them level, tried to follow the patterns the monks had laid. Tranquility, said the paving-stones. Clear-seeing. Patience.
A breeze blew up, with the characteristic twist of an air scooter. Bolin grinned over his shoulder. "Did you know that firebender you like is leaving?" said Ikki.
Squiggle, said the paving-stones. Beans. DRfgthyh. No time to wonder how Ikki knew how Bolin felt about Iroh; no sense in wondering how Ikki ever knew anything. "He's what? Why?"
Jinora twirled casually onto the scene, inspecting her fingernails. "Republic City's at peace, hadn't you noticed? Daddy doesn't want the United Forces' presence to become, quote, 'permanent martial law.' Besides, there's a dispute over fishing rights in Chameleon Bay that's threatening to go hot. Daddy really is going to miss Uncle Bumi, though. He tried to say it like he didn't mean it, but he did."
Ikki landed, planting both tiny, sharp feet on Bolin's chest and grabbing his lapels. "The question isn't why is he leaving, chuckles! The question is what are you going to do about it?"
"Dragon," said Jinora. "Volcano. Never fails."
Ordinarily Bolin would have stopped to ask what on Earth she was talking about. Now he didn't stop for anything, not even Ikki's flip and bounce as he left her in the dust, feet flying, dirt turning to mud beneath them, sliding all the way down to the dock.
The look on Iroh's face, suddenly finding himself with an armful of grubby earthbender, was priceless. His mouth was as hot as Bolin had imagined it. The fingers twisting in Bolin's hair were a surprise, but a good one.
"Chameleon Bay?" said Bolin, when he finally made himself take his lips off Iroh's.
"Yeah." The creases were back at the corners of Iroh's mouth, and he traced little electric swirls up the inside of Bolin's arm with a forefinger. "If that's what it takes to get you to kiss me, I wish I were leaving every day. And never."
"Hey." Bolin grinned. "I've always wanted to visit Chameleon Bay. I hear they've got a wicked pro bending league there."