Only If For a Night(MxM)

Little Creek Cabin

"You had like eight fireplaces in your parent's house, how do you not know how to start a fire? Just literally strike a match,"

"I don't know! I don't remember any of those fireplaces even being lit, let alone me starting them. And do we really the ambiance of a crackling fire?"

A petulant ' yes ' was ready and waiting on Jet's tongue, but he just shook his head no. Zuko was keeping it together pretty well, considering the stalker had threatened his life and had been in the house, touched his things, and hurt their dogs.

With a wrinkled nose, Zuko wandered around the small cabin. It was rustic like a magazine, everything that could be made of wood or plaid, was .

Jet busied himself with checking all the windows and the door for any sign that they wouldn't keep out an intruder. Even though their ability to decorate the cabin was questionable, they knew how to secure a window lock. Everything was anchored down and robust, wrought iron fire pokers and heavy lamps begging to be thrown at the head of anyone that dared to break in.

The small bedroom cozied up next to a full bathroom held two full-sized beds and matching dressers. The duvets, too, held forest themes upon the plaid. Paintings of bubbling streams and mountainous overlooks adorned each wall, no matter the room.

Zuko stood in front of the fireplace still, throwing reproachable glances at the whitetail deer mounted above the mantle. The deer seemed to be giving him the same side-eye; both parties held suspicions.

"Are there any more animal corpses in the house?" he grimaced at the head before turning to Jet.

"There's uh, a turkey fan in the kitchen," He offered. Zuko nodded. "You don't like taxidermy?"

"Or killing animals,"

"You eat meat all the time,"

Zuko brushed him off as if his point was invalid. Jet sighed.

"Since I don't think anyone is going to deliver out this far, do you want fettuccine or hamburgers for supper?"

Zuko hummed as he wandered into the kitchen, sidling up to the stone counter across from Jet. His long, pale fingers cupped the side of his face, tapping a rhythm on his cheek. Jet caught himself staring at the simple movement, eyes darting to the pressed lips that stopped humming.

"When did you start cooking for me too?" He asked, deep voice rumbling, catching his pinkie finger between his teeth while watching Jet.

Jet rolled back on his heels, willing himself to not get more distracted by the innocent enough action.

"When I realized that you're probably goin' die of scurvy if you don't eat somethin' other than coffee and instant noodles," He responded with a half shrug, and it was right for the most part.

"Would you ever eat anything I would cook for you?" Zuko asked, voice still flippant as if he refused to commit to an emotion other than amused disinterest.

"Yes." Jet responded, without hesitation. It was mutually understood that whatever he would cook would be inedible and seventy percent cinders, but he was telling the truth.

"You'll have to teach me how to cook then so that we can put that to the test," He reached for a clay bowl from the counter. Carefully, he took out the wooden fruit and ordered them from largest to smallest, fastidiously measuring to make sure they were equidistant. Jet watched, gnawing on his bottom lip.

How was he supposed to ignore the way his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks or the way he tilted his head while he concentrated, exposing his long neck and baring his throat like that? They were going to be in the same house, in the same bedroom for the next week together. There was no one there to distract him, no one to tell him that this is a bad idea. His self-control had brought him this far, but he wasn't sure how much farther it would tow him.

~0~

Dinner was delicious; that much could have been expected. Zuko had chosen the fettuccine, and he had even helped make it, even if it was just retrieving the ingredients from the fridge.

"Did you eat like this every day when you were young?" He questioned, and for once, he was actually eating the food instead of pushing around his plate.

"Pretty much, yeah. Most nights we ate downstairs in the restaurant with Mama and Papa, because we didn't close until nine at night."

Zuko nodded, carefully arranging the noodles on his fork before putting it in his mouth.

"You had a personal chef back at the house, didn't you?"

"Yes. But they didn't really care what we wanted, as long as it sounded fancy, father would eat it,"

"Do you think I would make a good personal chef?" Jet mused, knowing better than letting Zuko dwell on thoughts of his dad. That thought process never ended well.

"Yes," He sighed, taking another bite. "You sort of already are," he commented cheekily.

"Yeah," Jet snorted, "A personal chef that can also kick some major ass,"

"I don't think I've ever seen you actually kick any ass," Zuko tapped his chin as if he had to recollect any event.

"That's because everyone is too scared to try me,"

Zuko laughed. "If I recall correctly, there was a rather handsome AT&T employee who was ready to knock your teeth in,"

" Todd? " Jet sneered, forgetting about his pasta for the moment. "He was a low-level dudebro who probably sleeps in his mom's basement. I wouldn't have hit him if he had begged,"

Zuko was smiling at him, the kind that made his eyes crinkle up and his face warm like sunshine.

Every ounce of jealousy and anger that had been there before vanished.

"Once upon a different life, I taught you how to throw a punch, didn't I?" He deflected his feelings like a pro.

"Oh god, I remember that," Zuko leaned back with the memory. "I had tried to kiss Ellis Worthington because you told me it was okay to be who I was, and he sucker-punched me. That was great advice, by the way," He added the last sentence snidely, a black eyebrow poised in accusation.

"How was I supposed to know that you'd listen to me?" Jet cried out, snatching back Zuko's plate. He was smugly satisfied to find that it was empty.

"If it makes you feel any better, I made out with him two years ago in a nightclub bathroom. He is a lot more stable in his personal life now; he even apologized for punching me," Zuko grinned.

"What a good guy," Jet mocked over his shoulder as he washed off their plates.

"Not really," Zuko sighed, sliding up on the counter next to Jet and accepted the plates as they were handed to him to dry. "But he was a fucking good kisser though," He stared off at the stove for a moment, lost in thought.

Jet carefully filtered through his jealousy as he fought back the urge to want to kiss Zuko in a nightclub bathroom. Was he sparing him more detailed information? Was there a nightclub bathroom that knew Zuko better than he did? That some asshole got to kiss him and didn't want anymore? That is probably what pissed him off the most. That someone could know how Zuko feels pressed up against them, and are perfectly fine with never touching him again.

He had only known it twice, and it drove him crazy. The first kiss lived in the back of his mind for four years, and the second still kept him awake at night sometimes.

Jet carefully cultivated all of that into a hearty chuckle.

"The best?"

Zuko stilled after setting the plate into the cupboard. He let out a mumbled, noncommital grunt paired with an equally half-hearted shrug.

"I wouldn't say the best," he muttered and slipped off the counter after putting the second plate away.

Jet bit his tongue in a massive feat of self-control as to not ask who he was referring too.

What an exciting week this would be.