Commentary: While I'm flattered many people have read this story and liked it enough to comment, I'm amused that just as many have sent me PMs protesting some of the more adult-themed content in various chapters. I won't apologize for it—hey, the story's rated T for a reason, and Toph and Sokka are adults in this particular work. If you think I should change the rating, I am more than willing to consider doing so. I don't want to offend anyone. In all honesty, though, I think things have been pretty tame so far.

...you might wanna shield your eyes for this chapter. Humorous innuendo galore ahoy!

As always, thanks for reading!

POT CALLING KETTLE

Chapter Thirty-one

"That? That smells terrible."

"It does not."

"Like shit, actually. Smoky, meaty shit."

"You are an uncultured heathen," Sokka argued. Forking over two blackened breakfast portions onto Toph's plate, he declared, "Blubber sausage is the food of the gods. It'll make you a man. Put hair on your chest—"

"So you must've skipped out on it as a kid, right? Mister Sleek-and-Supple Chesty McManbits." Dubiously Toph prodded at one of the sausages. It left a smear of grease and char behind along her thumb's edge. Grimacing, she went on, "And you want to make me a man? Really? Because I was under the distinct impression that you were enjoying me as a woman up until, hmm, about ten minutes ago."

"Oh believe me, yes—yes I was." Sokka nodded. "But blubber sausage, hey. I'm just trying to say that there are very, very few things in this world that are flawless, and it's one of them. Put it in your mouth—"

"Again? Already?" Toph whistled. "I am impressed at your recovery time, Snoozles."

Sokka flushed. "Just try it," he insisted, and sat down next to his best friend. From the corner of his eye he saw her take an obedient bite out of the breakfast; juice squirted down her chin, and she grinned and set into the meal earnestly. "Thought so," he huffed, and asked next, "hey. What did you mean by sleek and supple, anyway?"

Around her mouthful Toph muttered, "You know. You're"—she waved in the general direction of his torso—"not furry like some people. You're all smooth and stuff. Kinda squeaky, even."

"Squeaky?" Sokka started on his own food, supplied graciously by Chief Arnook's tribe. The spices in the sausage were unique, the textures different from those he'd savored growing up, but the taste was familiar enough anyway that he was forced to muffle an appreciative groan. "Is that a good thing?"

Toph blinked. "Are you asking me to compliment your chest?"

"I am asking you to give me your opinion of my chest," Sokka disagreed. After a pause, he provided, "If you want to compliment it, though, I'm listening."

There was a thoughtful, mostly quiet pause, punctuated by the morning's low drizzle of birdsong and the ker-chump, ker-chump of Toph's molars over the sausage. At last she offered, "I like it." A speck of spice lingered on her lip. She licked it away and summated, "Your chest. I like it."

"That's it?"

Toph gave him her version of a dry look. "Yep. Treasure it, Snoozles. I don't hand out praise on silver platters, you know." She began on her second sausage.

"Yeah. Yeah—that's true. Thanks," he added. A few bites later he realized, "Another thought, by the way. How do you know about, uh… chest hair? And its frequent occurrence on the pectorals of other dudes?"

"Well now." Toph smirked and twitched her head toward him. "Do I hear jealousy?"

"Try curiosity," Sokka denied despite that his throat had already tightened a bit. The thought of Toph with someone else rose unbidden in his mind: her hands clutching, reaching for a man that wasn't him; eyes that weren't his seeing the scars on her hip, the pennant-shaped birthmark low in the stretch of her spine. Instinctively, possessively he edged closer to her, considered maybe putting an arm around her too, and decided against it. Toph wasn't cuddlesome. Toph was—well. She was Toph.

Her smirk softened and she shrugged. "Fine, uh-huh. Whatever." Tapping her toes nearby his boot, she admitted, "I've never actually experienced anyone else's chest hair or lack of it. I just know what Katara's told me."

The tribesman's belly lurched. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah." Toph nodded. "Katara—she tells me about guys. Girl talk, right? Contrary to popular belief, I am a girl."

"Right. Right, sure, yeah. But… girl talk? Like… what kind of talk exactly?"

"Like how Zuko's apparently a walking column of muscle and has hair everywhere—"

"Spirits, how does she know that—"

"Stumbled across him at a hot spring or something last year, I think. After the eastern border campaign." Toph's sausages were gone. Shamelessly she reached over, pattered her hand across his plate, and ferreted away the remainder of Sokka's breakfast. Sokka didn't bother protesting. He suddenly felt too ill to contemplate food. "Plus," Toph put in, "he trains with his shirt off all the time. Even I know that."

"…okay. Okay, gross. And," Sokka muttered, "I can't believe she looked at him enough to notice."

Shrugging, the Earthbender continued, "She says it's incredibly hard not to look at him."

"She—she—" Sokka blanched. "Toph, are you trying to imply that my sister likes the Fire Lord?"

"Your sister"—this came out distorted; Toph was chewing again—"likes the Fire Lord's ass, Snoozles. And his abs. But she is in love with Aang. Who, get this," and Toph swallowed, "shaves his chest. And his—"

"STOP, stop! I don't wanna know! I really, really don't!"

"You sure?" Arching a brow, his best friend dissolved her plate back into the earth from whence it had come and brushed her palms down along her knees. "C'mon. Don't you at least want to know why?"

Sokka opened his mouth to say no, remembered Toph could tell when he was lying, and grudgingly admitted, "…sorta."

Toph rose. Forming her hands into a triangle, she performed a flourish and claimed, "He says it makes him more aerodynamic."

The tribesman contemplated this. Somewhere off in the surrounding forest a cricketmouse succumbed to the dawn's last hunting catowl, and in the following silence Sokka managed weakly, "Why does he need… that… to be more aerodynamic?"

"Katara says—"

"You know what? Forget I asked."