Summary: "She's meditating, like she always does, sitting in the desert." We all knew Toph could always beat Sokka in a matter of seconds. Tokka oneshot.
Ten Seconds
She's meditating, practicing, like she always does, sitting in the desert. Her blind eyes focus on no one, nothing. If one would look, they would think she's staring at the sand below her.
She's only doing it because she's been goaded into it. Both Twinkletoes and Sugarqueen insisted on it so many times she finally got tired of refusing and agreed with a snappish "Yes".
It's funny; they told her it would help her Earthbending, or "that it would help her find her center," as Twinkletoes put it. Having sat here for fifteen minutes she doesn't really see how.
"It's not like the Blind Bandit to let down her guard," says a voice, and she flinches slightly but does not move.
"Who said I let down my guard, Meathead?" she says menacingly, her voice dangerously calm.
He, unlike her, doesn't waver. "Well, I think I just did," he replies, putting a hand on his chin thoughtfully.
She lets that comment sink in—or seems to.
Then she lunges. The earth shifts and trembles; rock spires shoot out like rockets, hurdling themselves towards the boy.
"You could never beat me!" she yells confidently.
"Well, then, this will be my first time," he calls back, eyebrows arched.
Ten seconds later, he's on the ground; her knees pin his chest to the gritty sand.
"You seem to be out of practice," she purrs, grinning devilishly and digging her knees into his abdomen.
"The war didn't do me good," he pants, breathless—both from her beauty and from the pressure emitted from her legs on his chest.
"Maybe this will make it better," she says softly, and kisses him solidly on the mouth.
When they break apart, he grins. "How long?" he asks quietly.
She looks puzzled for a second, then seems to understand.
"Ten seconds," she replies.
A/N: Ah, the luxury of beating Sokka. The good ol' days.
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