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It’s overcast today.
Link lets the clouds set the mood lighting.
He swallows thickly around the taste of the sentence that was about to come tumbling out of him, falling instead into a thick silence. It’s almost tense, but the energy popping around both of them with a subtle desperation doesn’t allow tension.
He knows they’re both exhausted.
There’s a sheen of it, covering every inch of everything they touch. It’s slimy and dripping off of them in thick globs, a disgusting mess they leave for somebody else to clean up.
He only feels badly about it when he takes the time to think about it. Otherwise, it’s a part of this. It’s what they signed up for.
And really, he wouldn’t change any of this for a second. But sometimes, he likes to look over at Rhett and pretend all of this was like before. Only now, he has the luxury to reach out and grab a fistful of Rhett’s hair if he wants, doesn’t have to write the contact off as anything, can let it sit where it sits.
It doesn’t always go anywhere, but tonight it does despite the exhaustion smearing itself over both of them. He’s left a little breathless when Rhett gets a grin on his face, asks him, “Really?” and grabs both of Link’s wrists in his huge hands. He gets them over Link’s head, and it’s like he’s soaring.
Pulling in big gulps of air, he nods his head, thinks, ‘Shit. Yeah. Absolutely this.’
What he says is, “Please.”
And he pulls one of Rhett’s hands down carefully, guides two of his fingers into his mouth and swallows thickly. He already feels the tension rolling out of him, just from this. Just from the contact.
He bucks his hips up. Rhett puts all his weight on him, a pressure that’s syrupy sweet and dripping down Link’s spine like honey. With a groan, he bites down on Rhett’s fingers just a little.
This is good, this fuzzy feeling winding its way down his limbs. Rhett is good.
This is all he really needs right now.
When he cants his hips down against Link, Rhett carefully asks, “You okay?”
Link waits to answer until Rhett is pressing his mouth to Link’s neck, two fingers still in Link’s mouth, the other hand still holding his wrist above his head on the couch.
The answer is obvious, he thinks, but he lies and nods his head, lets himself be okay for a second. The fingers in his mouth hook behind his lower teeth, tug at his jaw until it aches just a little bit.
Rhett makes a sound that Link knows is his disapproval at the fib, but he can’t find it in himself to care right now. Instead, he presses up into the weight of him, asking for more, for something else. He’s asking for Rhett to make him okay like he always does, but he knows Rhett’s trying and it’s unfair.
There’s a sound outside the door that neither of them acknowledge. Life is going on around them, and that’s okay. Link can pretend it isn’t as long as Rhett keeps dragging his beard down his neck, pressing feather-light kisses under his jaw while he grinds his hips down against Link.
“Rhett,” he murmurs, lets the syllable slur out of his mouth around the fingers still in there. He’s got spit dripping down his chin. It should be gross, but it’s not. It’s grounding, reminding him where he’s at.
“I’m right here,” Rhett promises. “You’re making a mess.”
Link swallows as best he can, squeezes his eyes shut. He nods his head.
“Sorry,” he tries.
“Gosh, Link,” Rhett says, only it’s not sweet, not careful. It’s admonishing. It’s rough. It sends a rush through Link’s whole body, has his brain going a little fuzzy. “Do I have to do everything for you?”
And the fingers are slipping out of his mouth, pulling a whine of protest out of him. They wipe over the mess on his chin, clean him up a little bit, before Rhett’s pressing them back inside. This time Rhett presses against his tongue, slides his fingers back until he’s pressing at Link’s throat.
He makes a sound, desperate and panicked all at once, and Rhett tsks at him.
It’s the annoyance dripping off of him, like Link is a burden, like he’s asking for too much—it settles low in the base of Link’s stomach and has tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. It’s the traces of spit cooling on his face, the pressure of Rhett’s long body against his own, the way his body arches up into a gag when Rhett presses too far with his fingers. All of it warms through him.
“Tell me.”
The problem is he can’t. And Rhett doesn’t take his fingers out of Link’s mouth, so he’s sure he knows that. He does sit up, puts his free hand on Link’s chest to hold him down, and looks down at him like he’s expecting an actual answer.
Instead of giving him one, Link let his throat flutter around Rhett’s fingers, lifts his hips up so Rhett can see how he’s already getting hard, just from this. He makes a desperate sound in the back of his throat, hoping it’s enough, that he gets it.
Rhett hums, a chesty sound that echoes through Link.
His reward is Rhett’s hand sliding down his torso, his knees knocking Link’s to spread them so he can scoot in close. He presses on Link’s belly before cupping him through his pants. The contact is brief, has Link breathing hard, his eyes falling shut.
When it’s gone, he chases the feeling, tilts his hips up with a frustrated sound.
“Greedy,” Rhett mumbles. “Messy and greedy. What am I gonna do with you, Link?” He slips his fingers out of Link’s mouth, cups his jaw instead, his fingers grossly slick and cold on Link’s skin.
“Fuck me.”
It’s a suggestion and a request, a plea and a beg and the only thing he can get off the tip of his tongue right now. He feels Rhett’s huff of laughter more than hears it, feels his fingers digging into his hip, bruising and rough and pinpricks of pleasure through him.
After a beat, he’s slipping his fingers back into Link’s mouth, far enough to gag him again. On an inhale, he tells Link, “I might fuck you.” Link wraps his tongue around Rhett’s fingers, scrapes his teeth over them. He sucks and bites and lets a whimper fall out of him, feels himself unspooling, falling apart at the seams.
Around his mouthful, he tries, “Please.”
It comes out garbled, muffled, slick and gross but Rhett knows what he says, grins down at Link and shrugs his shoulders as he presses his hips down against Link. The line of his cock is sweet and hot, like the first sip of coffee in the morning. It’s the validation that Link needed and didn’t know he needed, the reassurance that he’s not alone in this, that Rhett’s teetering right there with him.
“I might, Link.” It’s said like he’s scolding Link for even wanting it. Link works his tongue around Rhett’s fingers again, a plead and an apology all in one.
He’s sorry. But he needs this. Already, he feels himself shaking apart, and he knows that when they put him back together, it’ll be better. He’ll be able to breathe easier, think faster. His hands won’t shake as much. His temper won’t follow him around all day.
Rhett tells him, “Want to see you gag some more first.” His voice is low, careful, serious. He’s sitting up, looking at Link like drinking in his fill. The press of his fingers is insistent, persuasive, and Link’s body coils up at the sensation.
His eyes are already watering, but the tears fall this time, his mouth dropping open a little bit more. He lets out another whine.
When Rhett does it again, his brain goes a little blank. There’s a quiet hum in his bones, and everything clicks into place at last. He drags in a huge, gulping breath right as Rhett is sliding his fingers back out, pulling a thick string of saliva from Link’s mouth as he does. They rest on his bottom lip, drag his jaw as far down as it’ll go. It’s an ache, a burn throughout him, and he dips his head forward, sucks Rhett’s fingers back into his mouth.
He doesn’t dare move his hands, coax Rhett further inside, but he does strain up so that he’s choking again, feeling everything in him heat up. Through the ringing in his ears, he hears Rhett say, “Good boy.”
Link lets his fingers fall out of his mouth again, slicking his tongue through them weakly, feeling his spit dripping down his chin.
“Come on, Rhett,” he says. His arms are still above his head, his face wet with his own spit. He feels like his chest is going to explode, his heart hammering away inside. “Come on.”
He’s told, “Ask me nicely for what you want.”
With a whine, the reminder that he already has dripping down his throat, he begs, “Please fuck me, Rhett.”
“Again.”
There’s a lump of frustration in his throat, but he swallows it down and squeezes his eyes shut, grinds his hips up against Rhett. “Gosh, please. Please fuck me.” There’s a pause, and Rhett’s completely still, completely silent. Link can hear his own pulse. “Put your—I want you to fuck me, please.”
The last word comes out as more of a sob, a choking, desperate sound that he doesn’t fully mean to make. Rhett’s hands find their way to the buttons on his shirt, his jeans, stripping him of everything easily, calmly. He’s patient and focused in a way that Link can’t imagine being right now.
Link trembles the whole time, letting Rhett tug his clothes off of him, touching him only as much as the task requires.
And once he’s naked, his clothes in a pile on the chair, Link sinks into the couch. He sinks into Rhett when he drapes himself over Link to press their mouths together.
The press of Rhett’s thumb to his bottom lip comes first, right before he’s coaxing Link’s mouth open to lick his way inside. It’s slick and hot, rocking through him in waves that crest against his ribcage. Rhett’s thumb slips inside, too, a reminder, a steady presence. His brain is already fuzzy, soft, desperate, and he arches up into this contact.
It feels like his chest is breaking open, like he can finally breathe again when Rhett pulls away, reaches down with his slick hand to wrap around the base of Link’s cock. He sucks in a breath, feels himself tremble into the contact, and he can’t help his slur of, “Thank you.”
Vaguely, he hears Rhett chuckle, low and thick in his chest, and he slips his thumb over the head of Link’s cock, gathers the slickness there. And Link lolls his head back on the couch, arches up into Rhett’s fist, and lets out another gasp of, “Gosh, fuck, thank you.”
He doesn’t know what he’s thanking Rhett for, only knows that it feels right, the words pouring out of him like a dam has been broken. It slips out of him a third time, and Rhett, fondly, says, “Shut up.”
It has Link groaning, has him rocking his hips up, fucking himself into the circle of Rhett’s fist. He feels hot all over, feels like everywhere Rhett is touching him is alight.
But he asked for something, asked nicely just like Rhett wanted, so he tries again. “Rhett. Rhett, please. Gosh, I—“
He writhes when the hand on his cock stops altogether, when Rhett’s telling him, “Shut up, Link,” as he twists, stretches to reach behind him. Link doesn’t see what he grabs, but he can connect the dots when the next thing he feels is a slick couple of fingers rubbing over his hole.
Suddenly, that’s all he feels, like a livewire through him, a startling, breath-taking shock of pleasure as Rhett’s fingers leave him feeling slick. Rhett’s free hand finds its way to his jaw again, and right as he’s pressing inside, he slips two of his fingers past Link’s lips again.
Fuck, he feels full like this. He feels stretched around Rhett already.
“Maybe I should fuck your mouth today.” His fingers trace along Link’s tongue, like he’s contemplating it. “With my dick, I mean. Or my dick and my fingers, even. It’s big enough.” Proving his point, he slips a third inside.
Link’s impossibly wet like this, drooling a bit uncontrollably the further back Rhett gets with his fingers. He swallows a couple of times, hearing Rhett groan above him.
“I can feel your throat move when you do that, you know? I bet it would feel incredible on my cock,” Rhett tells him.
The fingers in his ass haven’t moved, just hold him open while Rhett fucks his fingers into Link’s mouth, rubs the tip of one over his palate. He curls them down, pushes on Link’s tongue and holds him open like that, too. And then he’s making a soft sound, curling the fingers in his ass, too.
It’s already so much, like this, a thousand flames dancing around in Link’s stomach while Rhett toys with him, spreads him wide in any way he wants. His cock lays on his belly, leaking a little bit, and he strains up for contact, for anything. What he gets instead is another slick finger in his ass, just for a second, just long enough to feel the stretch.
He must look ridiculous. Spread out on the couch, wet from his chin to his chest with his own spit, red and panting around three of Rhett’s fingers in his mouth. He must. But the next thing out of Rhett’s mouth is, “You look so good like this, bo.”
The sob that punches out of him is unexpected, and Rhett chuckles softly. Link shakes his head as best he can, rolls his eyes up when Rhett’s fingers press up just right.
“No? You don’t think so?”
He shakes his head again, lets out a thick exhale.
“Link, I’ve got you so spread open around me. I’ve got you slick and open, and you’re letting me.” He rocks forward with both hands, gagging Link, spots of black dancing into his vision. His cock twitches. “I want to push even further into this mouth. Gosh, you have no idea. Want to see how far I can get.”
After a pause, he says, “You’d let me, wouldn’t you? You’re so desperate for my cock—gagging for it, Link.”
Something twists up in his stomach, a sweet feeling, and a moan bubbles out of him before he can swallow it down. Rhett’s fingers in his mouth press again, and he chokes, proving Rhett’s point.
He watches Rhett bite his bottom lip, watches him worry his teeth over it.
Nothing else matters but this. Nothing else registers in his brain except for Rhett’s fingers stretching him out—both his mouth and his ass, pressing inside and filling him up.
But he wants—
Shit, he asked so nicely for it. He asked twice, asked how Rhett wanted him to ask, and he is gagging for it.
The feeling of Rhett slipping his fingers out of him, the empty feeling that follows, a contrast from how his mouth is still full—it wiggles another sob loose, has him trying to work words out around Rhett’s fingers. All he succeeds in doing is making a bigger mess, getting spit all over Rhett’s hand and encouraging him to press back further, shut him up by gagging him again.
Through it all, he feels the head of Rhett’s cock press at his hole. His stomach flutters in anticipation, and he exhales when he presses inside. He’s sure and slow, dragging it out while he drums his fingers on Link’s tongue.
It’s a gift, a revelation when Rhett bottoms out. He’s stuffed full, can’t hear anything except the gentle tones of Rhett’s voice telling him how good he feels, how he’s such a good boy for Rhett. He feels filthy, feels stretched and used and it’s absolutely perfect.
The buzzing in his bones has turned into heat, into a thousand butterfly wings fluttering their way through him. There’s an ache in his jaw, in his ass, and he feels like he’s soaking wet everywhere.
Rhett’s fingers press back again, far enough to have him seeing spots, choking around them while he pulls out. And when he fucks into him, his fingers slip back so he can breathe again.
It starts a rhythm, and Link finds himself arching into it, searching for more, being as fucking greedy as he’s ever been in his life. It’s absolutely perfect, divine, filling his veins and lungs with life again, with a newfound sense of recognition. He’s floating along a liminal space, unsure of what’s next, but not caring about it. All he cares about is the feeling of Rhett’s cock and his fingers, being this full of him, losing his senses to this.
Bending down, Rhett folds Link up a little uncomfortably, and presses his lips to Link’s forehead.
He comes just like that, the feeling of Rhett’s lips on him warm and steadying, and it rushes through him, catches him off-guard. He can hear the slick sounds of his spit around Rhett’s fingers as he tries to speak, tries to tell Rhett how much he loves him, how he loves this, how good he feels. He tries to thank Rhett again, tries to get across how heavy his limbs have been feeling lately and how Rhett’s just fixed that for him. All that manages to come out is a wet mess of sounds, but he doesn’t care.
“Shit, Link,” Rhett breathes. And he’s trembling just a little bit, too. Link can see it now, focuses on how he’s holding too tightly to Link’s thigh, probably has been this whole time.
He feels fuzzy all over, a little over-stimulated, but he goes lax on the bed, lets Rhett ease his fingers from his mouth, sitting back upright so he can fuck into Link a little harder. His wet hand finds its way to Link’s other thigh, holds him open. His cock twitches on his belly, pulls a weak sound out of him.
He slurs out, “Love you, bo.”
Rhett’s fingers squeeze too tight, and he locks eyes with Link, pants loudly. With a groan, he says, “Love you, too.” And then, “Gosh, Link.”
Coming down, feeling the energy drain out of him, he stretches out a bit, rolls his hips to meet Rhett’s thrusts. He cocks his head to the side, asks, “You gonna come or what?”
It pulls a laugh from Rhett, throaty and loud, and he’s rocking into him, grinding against him, before he says, “I like you better with my fingers down your throat.”
Arching an eyebrow in challenge, Link opens his mouth wide, sticks out his tongue. Rhett, residuals of laughter dancing around it, groans thickly, and his hips stutter in their movements. Sighing, tightening his grip on Link’s thighs, he lets out a strangled, “Fuck.”
“Yeah, baby,” Link encourages. “Come on, Rhett. Fill me up some more.”
Link watches him tense, hears a groan that has the shape of Link’s name. And he spreads Link a little more, grinds his hips against him as he comes.
There’s come and spit everywhere. Rhett is still fully-clothed. The couch is going to need some cleaning.
Link feels good.
He feels better.