With her walking stick and limited bending, it was much more difficult to slip out of the party unnoticed than it had been weeks ago, the night all of this had started. Being the guest of honor this time didn't help. Luckily, this particular room was open along one wall, an architectural quirk that only worked in temperate regions like the Fire Nation coast. Archways led out onto a balcony overlooking the garden. In afternoons, it probably made a nice sitting area, but right now it was cold and windy and empty, exactly the sort of place Toph wanted to be when the social force of a crowd was bearing down on her. Behind her, Sokka and Aang were laughing at something while Katara struggled to be the calm, responsible one. She could pick their voices out of the throng, and she was delighted that they were happy; she just didn't want to be in the middle of it, completely blind and useless, made vulnerable by the nationwide announcement that she was in love. She leaned on the railing and breathed deeply.
"There you are. After today, I thought you'd left me for good."
She could hear the fear in his voice, below the joke. She lowered her head and smiled, not that he'd be able to see it, standing behind her and a distance away. "I thought you were going to burn down the war room," she said.
"Me too." He came to stand beside her, his palms flat on the railing she leaned on.
"You wearing formal clothes, Sparky?"
He didn't answer for a moment, confused. "Yes. Why?"
She turned towards him, cupping the burned side of his face. He leaned into her palm, his breath warm on her skin, and she smiled. With her other hand she reached up, lightly touching the golden headpiece of the Firelord, which was held in his topknot with a pin. Beyond that, his hair flowed freely to just below his shoulders, silky and long.
"Toph," he said softly.
"Hm?" Her fingers explored the stiff collar of his armored mantle. The Firelord's formal wear was also his war regalia.
"I was wondering if you'd like…that is, before you go, if you'd…like to visit my room."
"I've been there before." Was he asking what she thought? She hoped so. She was so eager for it, but she was also afraid of scaring him off. Coming on too strong was her thing, and Zuko was a shy little princess of a man.
"I mean, if you'd like to you could spend the night there. With me. Together."
She touched his face again, felt his warm cheeks. "Are you blushing?" she grinned.
"I'm not good at this," he protested.
"Is that how you present yourself to girls? 'I'm not good at this?' No wonder there were 'no other prospects,'" she teased.
"Toph," he said, strained.
She leaned closer to him, standing on her tiptoes. "I'd love to," she whispered. "Do you think we can get out without anyone noticing?"
His weight shifted, presumably as he looked around. "Yeah," he whispered back. "If we go right now."
She grabbed his hand and he pulled her away, as quickly as he could. The guard was light and silent that night. He might have warned them ahead of time not to interfere, she thought, or they just might never question the Firelord. After hearing some of the tales of Ozai, she suspected the latter. She didn't consider that the guards could see that they were both young and excited and in love, and they elbowed each other and smirked and never considered stopping them.
In his room it was cold; no one had heated it for him. No one had expected him back so quickly. It was a little silly to heat a room for the Firelord, anyway; he could probably handle starting a fire with his own hands once in a while, Toph thought wryly.
He closed the door behind her and bent down, cradling her face in those same callused hands. "A-are you sure you want to do this right now?" he stammered, a little out of breath. "I know you can't bend."
She smoothed back his hair, loving the feel of it sliding through her fingers. "Look, I may be a virgin, but even I know that bending isn't a requirement."
"You're a virgin?" His voice was strained, trembling.
"Oh, come on, Sparky," she laughed. "Don't rub it in! It's not that I haven't wanted to have sex, I just never found a guy that was tolerable before." She traced the burned side of his face with her fingertips. "And now, I really, really want to have sex." For fuck's sake, was he blushing again?
"M-me too. I mean, I've done it before, but I really...I, uh...I want to..."
She was laughing again by then. "Really want to nail me? Sweet! Stop with the blushing. Here, look." She bit back her grin and straightened up, directing her eyes to where she guessed his were. "It's simple. We're two adults, and as a bonus, we're in love. Clearly you should just do really badly on purpose and set my standards nice and low," she teased.
With her hands on his face, she could feel him smile and relax.
"Out of curiosity, how did you keep yourself from sounding like a dork long enough to get laid in the past?"
"I mostly stayed quiet," he admitted, "until we got started."
She tried not to laugh again, but it escaped as a graceless snort. "You're going to have to be vocal with me, or I won't be able to tell what's going on."
"I know," he said softly.
Drawing her fingers down his cheekbones, she had him bend down until her lips could reach his. To her surprise, none of his awkwardness translated to his kissing; it was fluid, deep, and passionate, exactly what she wanted at that moment, as if he somehow knew. His hands slid down her sides and rested on her hips for a long moment before they broke the kiss, breathing hard.
"Wanna see something nice about these formal dresses?" he said, his voice so low and rough that it drove his earlier stammering out of Toph's mind. His hand slipped between two overlapping lengths of cloth at her waist, reaching for a cord that was wound between all of the layered garments, tacked to some with a few stitches. He pulled it and all of it fell neatly off.
"What the hell!" Toph laughed, clutching them to her chest. "Why didn't they show me that sooner? It was impossible to change in or out of these things myself."
She heard the quiet exhalation that passed for a laugh with him. "My clothes don't do that, by the way." He touched her bare shoulder. She could feel his breath, warmer and more forceful than it was before. "I need to get rid of most them myself." He bent down and kissed her shoulder, the same place he'd just touched, and it sent a warm shiver down her spine. "Wait for me?"
"What else am I going to do with all my clothes falling off? Go for a jog?"
"I guess you're stuck here." She could hear the smile in his voice as he guided her to a low couch along the wall, then stepped away. It was comfortable, covered in some kind of plush, warm cloth, so she reclined on it as she listened to him get settled. She heard the rustle of heavy fabric, the dull, hollow thud of armored pieces being hung on a rack. She heard a footstool being knocked into, and a muffled curse, which made her grin again.
"You need to redesign the Firelord's armor," she said. "I suggest backing everything with a nice bendable metal."
"I'll think on it," he waved, missing her point completely.
When he returned, he sat on the edge of the couch and leaned over her, brushing his lips across her forehead, her nose, her mouth. She could feel his hair, shaken loose from the crown and topknot, curtaining them both as her lips met his again and again. When his mouth traveled lower, lavishing her jaw and her neck with attention, his hair followed, trailing lightly over her skin, heightening the sensation.
"Are you doing that on purpose?" she breathed.
He didn't answer, but gently pulled the layers of cloth away from her body, one by one, and left them on the floor beside the couch. It was a strange sensation to have her naked body slowly unveiled in front of him, knowing he was drinking in her form with his eyes, something she would never be able to reciprocate. She could feel his ragged breathing, his racing heartbeat, and knew he liked what he saw.
"You're going to slap me for saying this," he whispered, "but you are perfect. You look like a graceful, delicate noblewoman, but I know you're strong, probably stronger than me. I'm not afraid I'll break you."
Some strange mixture of arousal and rebellion rose up within her, wanting him to go ahead and try. "I'm not going to slap you for that," she whispered back, propping herself up on her elbows. "I love to hear you say it."
She raised one hand to his shoulder and trailed it down his bare chest. How much of his clothing had he taken off? There was cloth at his waist, to her disappointment; he'd left his pants on. His body was lean and powerful, the product of years of rigorous training. As her fingers rode the contours of his muscles, she let her mind wander back to the times she'd trained with him, or even been present when he was training with someone else. The heat of his body, the precision of every movement he made, the scent of his sweat. What was he thinking? Did he have similar memories of her?
There was no time to ask; he cupped her face with one hand and kissed her, the other hand tracing her collarbone and the upper swell of her breast. She inhaled sharply when his fingers ran over her nipples and still lower, his touch light as a feather, teasing. His thumb ran in circles over her clit, slowly, in time with their kiss. She was beyond ready when he finally slid a finger inside her, the slight pinching pain nothing more than a momentary distraction from the pleasure.
"Was that okay?" he whispered against her lips.
"Yeah," she whispered back eagerly. "Yes. More."
He breathed his subtle laugh. "Fine, on one condition."
"Mm?" She combined a moan with an acknowledgement.
"Don't call me any nicknames when we're having sex." A second finger expertly joined the first. "Just call me Zuko."
It felt twice as good, which made sense when she thought about it. "You got something against 'Sparky?'" she grinned, out of breath.
"No." His voice was low and rough again; the bastard probably knew she couldn't refuse him when he spoke like that. "I just love hearing you say my real name. To me. When we're alone."
"Zuko," she breathed, arching her back and pressing her hips into his hand.
She was too wrapped up in her own pleasure to notice when his weight shifted; suddenly, he was leaning down between her legs, his tongue replacing his thumb on her clit. She gently gripped his hair, the fine strands slipping between her fingers as her hands shook.
This was about a million times better than taking care of things by herself, she decided. That was the last coherent thought she had for a long time. She could hardly tell where he ended and she began; there was only the glorious pleasure, growing and mounting. When she finally climaxed with a shout, she had to grip the couch white-knuckled, afraid she was going to somehow fling herself right off of it.
Zuko pulled back, laughing. "You okay?"
"I think so," she panted. "Holy shit."
"Calm down," he teased, wiping sweaty strands of hair away from her face. She loved that little gesture, knowing he wanted to see the euphoria in her eyes, even though she couldn't see him. "We've got the whole night ahead of us. You know, maybe I can convince you not to leave at all."
"Nah, you can't. But I'm gonna let you try." Grinning, she pulled him down on top of her, and they began again.