((I have already run into some trouble with my other AtLA story, which is turning out to be a big project. So in the meantime, I let this happen. Set maybe 5 or so years after the show's completion.))
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Sokka lay awake, his arms and legs tangled uncomfortably in the fresh white sheets. Beside him, he could hear Suki breathing, feel the heat from her body and, turning his head, he could see the soft line of her profile illuminated in the shadows. Sokka rolled over and rested his head lightly on her chest, only a thin layer of clean linen separating him from her warm skin. He drew a deep breath. She smelled like damp earth and pine trees.
The young man listened intently to his wife's heartbeat, willing sleep to come for him. Gradually, the steady thump-thump-thump deep in Suki's chest carried him off like an undercurrent, until his blue eyes closed and he almost drifted away.
Almost.
Tonight, there was something that would not let him rest. It was a memory, or maybe something more, a dark little worm of a notion that had been no stranger to him over the years.
Sighing, Sokka sat up and extracted himself from his twisted nest of bedcovers. He paused for a moment and stood at their bedroom window, gazing out over the leafy silhouettes in their garden as they bowed and waved in the wind. The sky was perfectly clear, a fathomless blue-black, and scattered with glittering stars.
He made no sound as he crossed the room, barefoot, and slipped outside. The midnight breeze cooled his brown skin with its breath, combed gentle fingers through his disheveled hair, and carried with it the sweet perfume of blooming flowers. But he had not lain awake all night simply to get a breath of fresh air, no matter how exhilarating it was, and no matter what strange ideas it stirred in the back of his mind.
Sokka stepped off the flagstone porch and his feet sank slightly into the cold, wet grass. Slowly, as if he were dreaming, the water tribesman walked to the heart of the walled garden. The trees were wild, and there was only one place where he could stand beneath a patch of unconcealed sky.
There, in the alabaster gaze of a full moon, Sokka shut his eyes. He tilted his head back, his arms spread and his palms up, and let the pale moonlight flood over his skin.