Only If For a Night(MxM)

Ontario Rain

Jet had a distinct memory of Zuko sleeping in so late that he didn't stumble out of his room until almost six at night. It wasn't that uncommon, especially for this particular teenager, but now that he wasn't really a kid anymore, he was awake at the crack of dawn.

As soon as the sun even threatened to wash over the horizon, Zuko was out of bed and in the shower before silently slipping outside.

It was day three, and it was the first time that Jet had woke up when Zuko slipped out of the bedroom, the dusty haze of dawn filling the air.

Feet silent and precise, the younger man trod across the kitchen into the living room and slid open the glass door.

Sighing into the warmth of the blankets, Jet rolled out of bed. It wasn't as lumpy as he had expected, and after sleeping on Zuko's couch for a few weeks, it was heaven.

He wasn't quite as light on his feet as Zuko, but he was pretty damn stealthy as he slinked after him.

The Ontario morning air lapped into the room, pooling around Jet's ankles from the cracked open door. The view of the trees was gorgeous, every impossible shade of green, fog twisting and laced around the trunks and leaves, settling into the boughs like a gentle touch.

Frogs grated their raspy song, crickets adding their own tune, and the birds had been awake for hours, an unusually large mourning dove cried out its hollow sound.

Zuko stood on the small patio, standing with his legs wide, palms pressed together in front of him, heavy eyes on the sunrise.

The Blue Spirit tattoo grinned a snarl at Jet from the center of his back, tusks gleaming.

Slowly, he pulled all his limbs together then stretched out his leg, arm going out straight after. He never stood still for more than a second, body moving steady and strong like a flame.

Jet no longer pretended that he was just checking on him, he leaned against the door jam and watched, arms crossed over his chest to fight the cold. Zuko's eyes closed, pale body seemingly unaffected by the cold and moving in the glow of the dawn, his breath visible in the cold morning, tendrils curling from his nose like smoke.

The tai chi movements were peaceful and powerful, rolling into the sparkling air and gathering the energy that spun lazily in the dew slicked grass.

It tugged at something deep in Jet's stomach, at the longing that had burrowed so far that it seeped into his spine. He wanted so badly it stung as if it was raw. He had been wanting for a long time, wanting to feel normal at war, to feel natural at home, to dream of anything but sand and sweat, to rid of the jaggedness of being alone.

It startled him when he caught his reflection in the glass door, hair wild and face dripping with yearning. It would have been less alarming if it had been tears, they could be wiped away. You can't neatly disguise a feeling with a discreet tissue. He could handle crying; he couldn't handly wanting something so badly it was eating his stomach.

It was Zuko.

He wanted Zuko.

It was awful and disgruntling and so breathlessly relieving to recognize it finally.

The want starved in his stomach, reaching out for all that it craved. It ached for Zuko's stability, it licked its maw at the thought of the new serenity that flickered in him would feel against its tongue, for the controlled yet rapacious power that had settled in Zuko's eyes and the set of his shoulders, it's palms itched at the thought of running needy fingers over the smooth lines of muscle that adorned his body, to see if the Blue Spirit bit back. The want was hungry and greedy and had been without for so long that it would be satisfied with anything. Like when their shoulders bumped together when they walked, or the astounding volume of Zuko's laugh, or merely looking at the long line of his pale throat, or the blazing spark in his eyes, or how the world didn't feel so impossible when he was near. The want never chased away ideas of the future, a secretly dangerous fantasy of staying forever, not in a location but in the company of a living flame.