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Jet has one hand up Li’s shirt and his other one trying to find his goddamn waistband. They’re in the back of the shop, he and Li, and it’s quiet and it’s late and Jet is tired and restless and so he has a hand up Li’s shirt and the other one trying to get into his pants too.
And Li—Li’s still trying (trying) to clean the damn dishes, one hand still loosely grasping that damn brush and the other one clutching at the rim of the sink so hard his knuckles are turning white.
“C'mon,” Jet is whispering, body plastered against Li’s back, “Come on,”
“I’m still—“ Li’s voice, is rough and shaky, “I’m still working, you shit, I’m–” he cuts off with a sharp gasp as Jet grinds against him hard.
“Then keep working,” he says against his ear, “and let me do all this work, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that,” Li hisses, but there’s a tremor there that makes Jet grin, finally shoving his hand down the other boy’s pants. He presses a hot kiss to the back of his neck, where sweat is beginning to gather along his hairline and presses the boy further against the counter.
Li, for his part, really does try to keep working, manages to get two swipes of the brush over one of those stupid tiny plates before he jerks and has to let go of both and grab at the edge of the counter again to keep himself upright.
Jet uses that to his advantage, leaning forward and bending the boy as far as Li will let him, far enough that Li is braced on his forearms in a way that can’t be comfortable but looks so good, his back arched like the curve of Longshot’s bow. Jet bends with him, hiking up his shirt further, blunt nails dragging along his stomach and ribs and chest, and he revels in the shudder it gets him.
He gives the hand buried in his pants a sharp twist and Li bites back what he knows would’ve been an incredible sound, because Li looks incredible like this—lips bitten bright red from trying to keep quiet, frown lines gone and eyes shut tight and flushing from his cheeks to his jutting collarbones (fuckin’ cute is what it is, he said when Li told him to shut up it’s embarrassing). He looks amazing like this, body moving in harmony with his own, and Jet wishes he could fuck him right here, just like this, quick and dirty in the backroom of this little fucking tea shop, but he can’t, because Li would never let him do something like that here, and they don’t have enough privacy or enough time (it takes a long time to get Li relaxed to open him up enough for it to be painless—the first time Jet talked him into bending over for him hadn’t gone so well).
But he wants to, he really really wants to because if Li looks incredible now, it’s nothing compared to how he looks with his head buried in the crook of his elbow because his arms are shaking too much to hold him up anymore, or when he’s on his back, arching off the sheets like something out of a wet dream, thighs spread whore-wide and trembling—and he makes the best noises, too. Tries to hold them back but when Jet hits just that right spot he loses whatever self-composure he has left—and he has a lot of it, self-composure, so much that when Jet finally breaks through, leaves him all fucked out and pretty, it’s one of the best damn feelings in the world.
(And no one else has ever touched him like this before, he thinks—he knows, because the first time, back on the ferry in that tiny storage closet, he’d gasped like a drowning man breaking the surface for the first time, and fuck if that doesn’t make him feel ten kinds of self-satisfied. He’s the first person to ever see Li like this.)
He wants to fuck him, but just settles on grinding his crotch against Li’s ass for some kind of friction, pretends there aren’t a million layers of cloth between them.
And Li’s shaking and gasping and biting his fist and then—
“Nephew?” It’s Mushi of all people—of course it is, no one else would be here this late, and Jet feels said nephew freeze like ice in his arms, “Li?” the old man tries again when he doesn’t get a response, “Are you alright?”
Jet feels him trying to find his words, and just grinds against him again, if only for the thrill of the thought of boy’s uncle walking in and seeing his beloved innocent nephew bent over the counter like a whore.
And he tells Li as much, whispers it all filthy and hot into his good ear, and that springs him into action.
“I-I’m fine,” he calls back, and Jet is impressed with how level his voice is, “I’m almost done.”
“Do you need any help?” the old man asks; he hears a hand on the doorknob and almost laughs at how quick Li’s heart is racing.
“No—no, I’m fine; go home, Uncle, I’ll catch up with you.”
For a long moment, it seems like the man might come and help anyways, because he always does that sort of thing, but then he just says “Alright, if you insist. But you should hurry, or I might eat dinner without you,” and he laughs like he’s made some remarkable joke.
When his footsteps finally fade away, Li lets out a long breath, and elbows Jet hard in the stomach.
“You shit,” he grumbles, “You asshole—what if he’d come in?”
Jet just grins again, not deterred—he still has a hand down the other boy’s pants and is definitely planning on finishing the job so he doesn’t know why he’s complaining—and shrugs, “Guess you should just be glad he didn’t. Your good boy reputation’s still safe with me.”
Li grumbles some more, calls him a jackass a few times, but his complaints melt into soft reluctant sighs and tiny sounds pulled from his throat when Jet picks up where he left off. He considers fucking him again, now that they’re alone for a while, but then he gives a rough stroke and Li is coming, body tensing and shuddering and then slumping boneless and panting against the counter.
Before he can open his pretty mouth to call him an asshole again, Jet pulls his hand out of his pants, wipes it on the other boy’s apron, and grabs the back of his neck to pull him up and lick into his mouth and smother the half-baked insults before they can get out.
Jet is grinning again when he pulls back, and Li’s dazed expression quickly falls back into a scowl with no real fire behind it.
“You ass,” he says again, “I still have work to do.”
Jet laughs, and kisses him again, right up against his ear. “I can think of something a lot more fun than scrubbing dishes.”