Solitude Is Bliss
Aang watches her dance, watches her fly.
She spins and twirls, hands above and fingers splayed to show emotion that her face hides. She is light on her feet and her long, draping skirt (that shows a good amount of bronze skin at certain angles or when it furls up) makes him fist his hands; he resists the urge to touch her.
He can see her blue eyes sparkle in delight at captivating him in such a way no other can. In this private show he is all she cares about as he is enthralled because of that. He notes how the chains of beads that hang from her neck, wrist and ankles click and move with her, but he can't give much heed to them. Aang is too entrapped in how she's doing this for him; only him.
Finally, she falls in front of him and she allows the first smile of the night to show. Her breath is heavy from it all; her hair, that came undone from all the twirst and turns, is a mirror reflection of herself: wild and alive.
Aang doesn't think twice; he pulls her close and kisses her softly.
He tries to show her, as he moves his lips against hers, that he can dance for her as well.