034. Sketching

Fidgeting. Scuffling.

"Hold still."

"Hmm?"

"You."

She freezes. He observes.

Poised, perfect and beautiful, she sits and waits as his brush strokes the page, each line like a living, breathing creature of its own, aligning and combining to create something so much more magnificent than they all could have hoped to be alone. Her jaw with two strokes, her sleek neck with two more; her delicate round shoulders and arms with three each.

He wonders what she'll say when she sees the picture but he tries not to think of it, instead continuing to sketch, one caress of paint after another. He carries on down her body with the strokes of his brush, imagining them as strokes of his fingers on her skin every now and again. The painting feels like a barrier between them and he wants to throw it away and tackle her off that stool to the floor and have his way with her but he continues to smother the paper in her splendor instead.

"What's that stupid smile for?"

"Nothing," he lies, suppressing the smirk unsuccessfully. She cocks one thin eyebrow; it teeters on her forehead, dangerous, daring. The corners of his mouth tweak up slightly.

"Just hold still, will you?"


Author's Note: Zuko's thinking dirty thoughts. Review!