Drunken Words and Sober Thoughts

Sokka is drunk.

Granted, Toph is, too, but she hasn't quite reached this level of blacking out. His head is buried between her thighs. Under favorable circumstances, this would be rather exciting. Considering he's minutes away from vomiting, it's less than attractive. She pushes his head toward her knees into a slightly less awkward position, and he moans.

They had rambled into his guest room in the Fire Nation palace about half an hour ago, both tipsy from exertion and alcohol. She'd practically dragged his limp body into the room after a drunken game of catch-me-if-you-can down the halls. Their shrieks and squeals were still echoing in her head when she shut the door, but that was probably just the fumes speaking.

Sokka had spoken in the garbled, heavy accent from the colonies for some reason. "'S your fault we're wasted, T. You wouldn't shut up about tit. Tit. Ha, ha." Then his head had rolled, and his chin smacked violently against his chest. She heard the slap and, alarmed, guided him to her bed and propped him up against the side of it for support.

"You owe me big, Snoozles," she muttered. He was a heavy bastard.

"Tit," he said again.

"Yes, ha, ha, boobs are hilarious," she said, crossing his arms. "What do you have to say for yourself, exactly?"

She felt her cheeks heat up, then, and turned herself away from his gaze. "Stop looking at my boobs, Sokka."

He didn't reply, instead letting out a loud belch.

"Shit." Toph was so not equipped for this situation. When she had suggested they go to a few bars after some stiff meeting about things that don't matter with Zuko, she hadn't expected her best friend to get completely wasted. His tolerance was usually higher than this, but, hey — when in Rome. The citizens of the Fire Nation took no prisoners.

Sokka had lunged without warning then, and she shoved him back against the bed. The weight of his body hitting the mattress rattled him, and his head fell forward again with another disturbing smack. It sounded like a small crowd was moving past the door, which, thankfully, was locked, and their chattering drowned out the commotion from inside. She turned her head at the noise.

And that was the moment his head landed between her thighs.

Breathe, Toph. Breathe.

She should probably get him some water. That's what you're supposed to do when someone is drunk, right? At least that's what she's been told. She has never been sober enough to remember what happened to her after a good round of bar hopping.

Perhaps, based on that fact alone, she shouldn't be judging Sokka right now. But she wants to, so she is.

"Okay. Okay. Okay." She isn't sure what else to say, but it feels wrong to be silent as she moves his limp body around. Slowly, she eases herself out from underneath him and sets him back against the bed so that he's sort of sitting up. His head rolls, but he shakes it a few times until it sits correctly on his shoulders.

"Toph..." he groans. Nothing after that; just her name, all rough and husky-sounding from the alcohol in his system. It's kind of attractive, and she hates herself for thinking it.

"What?"

Sokka rubs his forefinger against his temple; the very same place she herself sometimes gets headaches. Spirits, he reeks. It makes her question her own hygiene at the moment. He yawns, once, twice, a third time, and then out tumble the very last words she expects him to say: "I want a baby."

She blinks. It takes a full minute for her to process what he said.

"...what."

"I want a baby," he repeats dutifully.