alernate title: the first ten
"So," Sokka grins broadly at her on the morning of the first day of their honeymoon; the first day of their lives together. "I guess we're married."
Toph rolls over in bed, burying her face in the pillow. "Oh, come on," she groans into the sheets. "It's early, Snoozles. Go back to bed and save the mushy crap for later."
"But—but—" Her husband, Toph grumbles to herself, can't seem to understand the concept of a good night's sleep. "We're married! We're spending the rest of our lives together," Sokka points out. "Aren't you happy?"
"Snoozles," Toph says flatly, "be quiet, or I'll deprive you of all sex for the rest of our honeymoon."
He shuts up pretty quickly after that.
Still, though. Sokka looks at her, angelic and fragile and beautiful as she sleeps, and, well, personally, he doesn't think that there could be a more beautiful sight in the world.
The following day, lust takes over. One minute, they were calmly eating lightly seasoned possum chicken for dinner; he was wiping away some sauce from the corner of her mouth with his thumb; and then they're stumbling to the bedroom like a couple of teenagers (which Toph still is, come to think of it) with hands slipping under shirts and in pants; and finally they fall onto the bed—
His tongue slips into her mouth, and her hands grapple at the back of his ponytail. At last, she slips the hair free of the tie, and Toph runs her fingers through the bristly locks.
Sokka's finger waltz and glide down the small of her back; trace the curve of her thighs until she thinks she might die with the combination of pleasure, and consuming, burning longing for what happens next.
Well, Sokka wouldn't particularly like it if Toph did die; so, instead, she groans.
"Sokka," Toph pants, "Sokka," and he doesn't think his name has ever sounded as goddamn beautiful as it does right now.
"Toph," Sokka moans back, pressing fervent kisses to her neck, chin, and finally, her lips.
"Now this," Toph whispers, reaching to cup his cheek, "this is why I married you," and she moans again, because what Toph is really saying is I love you.
He takes her to the beach.
They are somewhere Aang, Katara, and Sokka have been before, that Toph knows. Probably an island they came across in their early travels. Well, either way, it's nice here. There's a small house for them to stay in, constructed from the finest material that money can buy, and although Sokka doesn't say it, Toph knows he wouldn't mind if they stayed her forever.
Of course, they can't. But it's nice to imagine.
Toph lies spread out on the sand, soaking in the sunshine on her face. Sokka, meanwhile, is constructing a sculpture to the best of his ability; which is to say, not very well.
"Toph!" he cries. "Sweetums!"
"Don't call me that," Toph intones darkly, making the threat of or I'll castrate you clear in her voice.
"My dearest wife," Sokka continues, glancing at Toph for approval. She shrugs, a tiny blush on her face; this is acceptable, but there are some lines that Sokka is simply not allowed to cross.
"I built a sand sculpture of you," he tells her, which Toph, of course, already knows.
"I hope it's not as ugly as the one you built for Suki," Toph grumbles as Sokka helps her up (she doesn't need it, but he needs the reassurance that he can do something for her) and leads her to his work of art by hand.
"I know, it's amazing," he proclaims proudly, puffing out his chest.
"Hm," Toph concedes. "I suppose it's not completely worthless. But watch this," she grins, the idea only striking her as she speaks.
Sokka watches in awe as Toph, using her skill with sandbending, constructs a huge, amazingly accurate statue—of him.
"Well, y-yes," Sokka stutters, eyes popping. "That is rather impressive." He stumbles closer, still shocked out of his wits, and tentatively pokes one particular part of him.
"Eh," he sighs a moment later, as Toph beams. "It's not like there's anybody here to see it, anyway."
On the fourth day, he tries to pick her flowers, gets stung all over by bees instead, and is forced to sit there complying while she applies sticky, smelly lotion everywhere on his body.
"You are so lucky to have me as your wife," Toph tells him as she slaps on the salve. "So freaking lucky."
"Yes, I know, Sweetums," Sokka agrees weakly. Toph punches him. He winces.
"I told you not to call me that," she snaps.
Sokka shrugs apologetically while rubbing his aching shoulder. "That," he says, more to himself than to his wife, who doesn't care anyway, "is going to bruise. Definitely."
They stay in bed all day, but they don't do anything—at least, not like that.
Instead, she lies in his arms with her head against his chest, and they talk.
They talk about all the subjects they haven't already covered, and even some they already have: Yue. Suki. The origin of Toph's crush on him. Their near death experience on the airships. Katara. Aang. The war. Peace. Their love. Kids. Everything.
It's all properly dosed with sarcasm. Of course. That's the only way they can get through two minutes of conversation without dying from boredom, right?
But secretly, they like talking to each other—even in the absence of sarcasm. And even when they are old and crazy and still in love after all this time, it's something they'll never admit.
Sokka teaches Toph how to swim. In the end, the attempt is a failure, as Toph had proclaimed it would be from the start.
He insists that in order to be honorary Water Tribe, she must be close to the ocean, and instead of hunting down some cute fury creature, Sokka catches fish for them both to eat. Toph eats three.
Sokka, however, leaps up from the table in the midst of dinner with a few mumbled words of "feels like cannibalism," and dashes out into the woods.
Although Toph knows why (Yue, she thinks, only half exasperatedly), and by all rights should be properly annoyed at him—for spirits' sake, he's married to her—she still consents to hold back his hair while he throws up.
That night, they make love out under the stars, in a crazy, romantic move that Toph swears she'll never repeat, but ends up doing at least once a month for the rest of her life. Afterwards, he strokes her sweaty hair, and her thumb rubs circles on his palm in the absent sort of way that means she wouldn't do it if she was actually thinking about it, but she isn't, so it's okay.
The fireflies flit all around him, and Sokka tries to explain to her the concept of stars. It takes all night, and Toph still doesn't get it. That might have something to do with Sokka less-than-adequate descriptions, though.
When the moon rises, Sokka suddenly falls silent. Toph can't tell, but something—some unseen force from above, perhaps—clues her in. Silently, she slips her hand through his; and in a few moments, they are talking and laughing just as before.
The sun rises on the eighth day while they are still outside, lying in the grass. Toph yawns sleepily.
"I guess it's time to get up," she mumbles against his skin, while tracing circles and patterns across his chest.
"Maybe," Sokka mumbles back. A few seconds later, he is already asleep, and snoring softly, his warm breath against her ear.
Toph starts. Then, she sighs.
Her exasperation only lasts a minute. With a smile to herself, Toph lays her head down on Sokka's chest as it gently rises, then falls, and joins him in dreamland.
"I love you," she whispers against his lips.
He responds by kissing her passionately once more; Toph already knows what his answer is, after all.
They wake up knotted in the covers; limbs linked; arms and legs intertwined. Where she ends, he begins; and where he ends, she begins: the cycle starts all over again.
The sun peeks through their window, and Sokka thinks in a flash of awe that there is nothing so beautiful as watching her wake up, realize that she is in his arms, and—and—and if only for a split second, look so happy and loved that he can hardly comprehend it.
Of course, it's only a split second, and he never mentions it to her. But it is beautiful, because just looking at her makes Sokka ache with the realization that she is all his for the rest of their lives.
"You," Toph tells him sleepily, blinking blearily with blind eyes, "are freaking lucky to have me as your wife."
Sokka kisses her, and agrees, "Yeah, I am."
Personally, Toph and Sokka don't think that there could be two luckier people in the world.
A/N: Yeah, yeah, I promised Tokka shenanigans/Tokka south pole fic. WHATEVER. :P This is also for someone on atla wishlist on lj, btw (sorry, your name escapes me D:). Merry Christmas to everyone! :D