zutara drabbles. (Plot, what plot? Have you ever heard of this strange thing they call plot?) A series of drabbles concerning a certain fire prince and water peasant and an authoress' many ways to get them to kiss.
Taken from the sixteen zutara prompts on lj. This is the fourth one. Expect at least twelve more. (I plan to finish) I don't know for sure if all of them will have a kiss, but I'm going to try. Sorry if you didn't get to read the last chapter, was a bitch yesterday and I don't think anyone got to read much of anything. So here's a new chapter to keep your interest.
Small warnings: Character death, mention of suicide, reference to sex (but nothing graphic) and partial insanity. But it's not too bad, really.
"Hold on to nothing, as fast as you can." –Tori Amos
They buried her at sea. It was not his ideal way to say goodbye to her—he would have perferred a tombstone or a grave of some sort. That was the problem with water burials—they made it so hard to say goobye. But it was not his decision on how to bury her, that authority recided in her brother. He should have been the one to bury her; he loved her, that was more than he could say for most of the people here. Most of these people just wanted to say goodbye to a hero.
He really wanted her to have a tombstone. One that would say: Here lies a girl who found her undoing in a kiss and her own curiosity.
At least it would be true. He could remember it just as clear as day—the surprised look on her face as he pressed his lips softly against her own, and her next surprise at the pleasure the kiss had brought her, and the curiosity that broke even his attention as she moaned when the kiss depended, his hands traveling along her back with intense desire he had not known before.
They made love for the first time after that kiss. Dishonorable, perhaps, but he was tired of playing headgames with her.
He had learned how to get through these things in a relatively painless manner: smile, accept any consolations and "I'm so sorry for you"s, and drink his damn wine. His wine, he knows, has been laced with the deadliest toxins he could find on such short notice. It's his way of getting through this—he's never been that great of a mourner. When his mother died, he had been too young to do anything except cry on Uncle's shoulder. When Uncle died, he had had Katara, and that had been enough.
Now? Now he had no one, no one except the wine—his escape.
He wonders silently if they'll bury him or if they'll burn him. Probably burn, firebenders are known for their flaming funerals. He wishes they wouldn't—he wants to be buried. It's the only fair way—she shouldn't have to drown, and he shouldn't have to burn. They should be buried. In fact, he wants to be buried right next to her, two identical tombstones, side-by-side, as soulmates should be.
He wants his tombstone to be simple: Here lies a boy who lost everything to a pair of beautiful eyes--his soulmate's eyes.
Only, they aren't soulmates—not in the eyes of the world. They are almost strangers to the world, strangers who would never know the love they shared on such secret nights, seen only by moonlight and each other.
He wants to hold her hand while they send her off, but he can't, so he's left to hold on to his wine. It's like holding on to nothing…
Hope you enjoyed it!