ch: stubborn.
characters: jet, zuko.
tumblr prompt: jetko week, nsfw.

…

He had been adamant about Jet getting the proper amount of rest (because his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were glazed and there was something about his sway that didn't settle right in Zuko's stomach), but he hadn't realized that the way Jet seemed to become foggy with sickness was the same dangerous flush of his features that had ended in Zuko smashing his lips against his and shifting his way down his jaw.

That night had been alcohol and intense stares, roaming fingers and deviously flicking tongues into mouths, and that night had not been something to think about as he pressed a cool cloth to Jet's forehead.

The fucker could probably see it in the threads of his facial expression, because he winds his arms around his neck lazily and pulls him down, hard, until Zuko has no choice but to roll onto the other side of the bedroll and tolerate the ridge of Jet's nose pressing into his neck. "I don't," he sounds harsh as he pries those fingers from around his neck, but he doesn't move even though there are half a dozen things to do, "want what you've got."

"Oh, come on, Li," Jet's voice twinges with hoarse sickness and Zuko senses a cough rising, but somehow he manages to stifle it as he slides his hand over his chest, feels the broad and tense muscles as Jet shifts his fingers lower and lower. He turns his face into Zuko's neck, and he's about a few seconds from telling Jet to cut his shit out until those fever scalded fingers brush his skin. Zuko thrives on fire, on the pulses of heat from the sun overhead and candles and stove tops covered by kettles, and Jet's body is hot, so hot that he suspects as he rolls onto him, that he could bend his flesh with the sheer force of will.

Jet grins up at him, even at the cross look on his features, though he'd look miserable to anyone else, because Jet knows better. "It'd make sense," Jet says with his fingernails sticking the sharp jut of Zuko's hips, tracing them idly, "if you were to get sick, because we're friends, you know?" His hands converge, drift lower until Zuko squirms. It's only Jet who does this, who can still manage to be in charge on his back and his mind completely clouded with sick heat. "Friends do things together," Jet's fingers are calloused but welcome over his erection (when the fuck had he gotten so aroused because he'd sworn there was still laundry to do), dry and slightly discomforting in the shift of their clothes.

"We do things together," he punctuates with a finger swiping over his head and Zuko grits his teeth so harshly he suspects they will break. He bends his body forward until their foreheads collide, presses his lips against Jet's, and starts to formulate how he'll deal with whatever petty argument arises over his apparent stubborn streak later.