“Zuko, calm down!” Sokka said,
holding out a hand as Zuko charged into the suite. He nearly dropped
his towel and caught it at the last second, holding it right over his
crotch. Which probably didn’t help matters; the towel didn’t cover
much and hung limply in front of him, exposing just about everything
but the main event. “It’s not what you think!”
“It’s not?” Zuko and Azula said
at the same time—Zuko in a sarcastic voice, Azula in a soft, deadly
tone. Sokka’s wide eyes flicked to her and then back to Zuko.
Sokka’s mouth opened and he looked
from his towel to the rumpled bed in the corner, to the torn dress on
the floor, his own discarded clothes, and then back to Azula. Her
eyebrow lifted.
“Okay, it’s exactly what
you think,” Sokka said with a wince.
Fanwright 