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Link kisses like a fever dream given life, the fingers of one hand clawed through Rhett’s belt loops and the other crushed in his hair. He can’t keep quiet, he never can, uttering soft hungry sounds against Rhett’s lips, barely audible over the hammering of his own heartbeat.
Rhett grew up with a law professor for a father, having it drilled into him that college is all about paving the golden road towards a successful life. His dad made it very clear very often that he expects nothing less.
But Rhett knows better now that he’s living it. In reality, college is for experimenting and forgetting and blowing off steam.
He and Link check off all three boxes each time this happens.
There’s a twinge in Rhett’s neck from being dragged down to mouth level, a frisson of dizziness that burns through him each time he feels the swell of Link’s chest against this own with every breath that comes shuddering out of him. He couldn’t care less.
Link’s face is lit up with color and cheekiness alike as he takes a step back, undoing the belt of his wide-legged jeans.
Watching him is enough to make Rhett’s jaw come unhinged.
"Yeah?” he says softly, edging towards the couch.
Mr. Fly has seen better days and they’re not doing him any favors, but the alternatives are either their bunk beds and the accompanying concussion risks, or Gregg’s bed, which doesn’t even merit consideration. Just no.
Rhett is already nodding dumbly when he suddenly remembers how to use his hands, unzips and shoves his own jeans down.
"Oh, man." Link murmurs, the words sharp and breath-filled like they’ve been punched out of him.
And Rhett, newly nineteen and unsteady on his own legs, goes forward in a haze of want.
With quick hands, Link drags him in even closer, legs tangling as they topple together onto the couch.
Link’s mop of hair is more unruly than ever from Rhett sliding his hands through it, mouth slick and plump from kisses. Rhett can’t look away from him as he fights his shirt over his head, emerging more mussed than ever. “Tell me you’ve got a condom on you.”
"Fuck," Rhett says, sounding hilariously calm. “You gonna let me…”
No one should be able to smile as angelically as Link does when he slides a hand inside his underwear, arching into his own touch. “Gonna let you start, man, but you only get to finish if you make it good.”
“Fuck,” Rhett says again, less calm now, and practically rips the pocket off his discarded jeans when he snags his wallet.
Link lets him do it. He lets Rhett gentle him, lets him turn him onto his back with his knees bent up, lets Rhett press him open, watching him all the while through lust-thinned eyes.
His lips seek out the pulse in Rhett’s neck, then his mouth, humming sweetly and kissing roughly. So eager for it, for him; and that’s something Rhett just can’t get over, no matter how hard he tries to fold these moments into the lockbox of his mind and slide back into being himself once they’re over. Link kisses him like he’s starving and Rhett opens up for him, devours him right back, his dick pressing full and heavy against the crease of Link’s suntanned hip.
The kisses feel like his whole world, like the two of them are somehow drowning deep in each other and breathing life into each other at the same time. Bare-skinned and joined from mouth to groin, Link’s thighs spreading to cradle Rhett as close as possible, bodies rolling together in an effortless glide. Link curls a leg around his back, shaking off the boxers still dangling off one ankle and giggling when Rhett jumps at the feel of them glancing off his skin. All the while, Mr. Fly’s springs are creaking in protest and Rhett still has his socks on. It’s perfect.
Link’s hand drifts down his belly, squeezes and smudges precome down the length of his cock where it’s trapped between them. His face is already dashed with color, so open and lost in the moment, and Rhett smooths up the bared column of his throat, thumb venturing to stroke along his lower lip.
Link parts them obligingly, nuzzling into the touch like a cat and practically purring, those soft apple-round cheeks flushing a few shades brighter. “'M gonna let you try and put it in," he sighs.
“Try ?” Rhett arches a brow.
“Yeah,” Link says, scraping his teeth over the pad of Rhett’s thumb. “But if you don’t do me right, I’m gonna just use my fingers are you’re gonna have to watch ’cause I can get off just fine without you.” He punctuates this with a sweet smile edged with sharpness, suckling Rhett’s thumb with all the complacency in the world, then releasing it with an obscenely wet sound. “But I’d rather not have to, y’know?”
He knows exactly what he’s doing. Rhett can’t back down from a challenge.
“If I do you right, huh?” he muses, trailing a finger along the sensitive pout of Link’s lower lip. “You wanna be more specific or make me work for it?” Even now, aching with need, he’s not above luring Link into an argument.
But Link doesn’t take the bait, just shutters his eyes and curls his tongue around Rhett’s finger, sucking him in hard and deep. It takes Rhett’s breath away all over again when Link brings up one of his own as well, sucking it in alongside Rhett’s thicker one. There’s a distinctly pleased glint in his eyes when he slides it out to tease wetly at one of Rhett’s nipples.
Rhett tenses against him, uttering a moan that resonates through them both. He catches a glimpse of a grin before Link arches up to mouth at his other nipple, and then the entire world shorts out.
Link takes his time, uttering soft little sighs as he dampens Rhett’s nipples in gentle swipes of tongue and fingertips, this way and that, circling the sensitive skin until Rhett is fighting not to grind himself to orgasm against Link’s thigh.
Then Link’s hips lift, arching into his, and the grind of their cocks together sends a fresh jolt of heat up Rhett’s spine.
His whole body trembles. He mouths rough, teeth-tinged kisses along the curve of Link’s neck, simultaneously eliciting a whimper and muffling his own..
Sometimes, with Link, when they’re like this, Rhett gets so turned on so fast the rush of it feels almost like it could knock him over.
“Fuuuck,” Link whines. His fingers catch at the thickness of Rhett’s shoulders, struggle to wind into the short hair of his nape.
Rhett can’t help feeling a little smug. “Oh, I’m gonna, just wait.”
There are plenty of times where Rhett resents being a gangly giant. Having arms are long enough to snag the bottle of Jergens from under his bed without leaving the couch, though, that’s not one of them. He’s perfected the maneuver by now. They’ve tried this before with just spit, Link moaning around Rhett’s fingers until they’re slick and hot from his mouth, but he’s so tight, needs to be opened up gently and tenderly no matter how much he loves the fullness of being fucked. They learned that lesson the hard way back with they were still fumbling their way through the mechanics of all this.
Their friendship is a series of games and challenges held together with implicit trust and tacit agreements. Let’s play army, let’s play UFC, let’s play boyfriends. Rhett can’t think about it too long without wanting to hunch into himself with discomfiture.
Instead of thinking, he notches Link’s ankles over his shoulders, face blindingly hot as he nudges his cock against the soft heat of his inner thighs. Link is flushed all down his neck by now, one hand resting lightly on his abdomen, the other fingering softly at his mouth like he just can’t bear to go without something to suck on.
“Yeah,” Link sighs, breath hot against the vulnerable underside of Rhett’s chin, where his beard stops hugging his jawline and gives way to bare skin.
Rhett skims a slippery finger down behind Link’s balls, finds that hot little opening and carefully strokes it, presses in, gritting his teeth.
Link jars his hips down, then rocks them up, encasing the length of his finger. “Gimme more, I can take it.” He’s grabbing Rhett’s forearm for dear life, eyes sliding half-closed in pleasure, working his lower body in wanton little rolls.
Rhett has him writhing on his finger and he can barely remember how to breathe, how to blink. His own cock is rigid and wet, dampness smearing where it kisses against his belly, but he forces himself to ignore it and lavish all his attention on Link.
He groans softly in the back of his throat as he pushes in another finger, slow but firm, and Link groans right along with him. He's so tight that it's probably uncomfortable for him, and it takes Rhett a minute to sink into him entirely. The lotion eases the way and soon his fingers are gliding in and out without a hitch, stretching Link around them and making soft, wet-slick noises.
Link throws his head back, throat bobbing, body clenching hard around Rhett’s fingers.
“Oh gosh,” Rhett croaks. “Oh shit, I--”
"Do it," Link begs, shaking. He holds his own cock, soothing himself, wetness glistening over his fingers when he rubs it. "Rhett, c’mon-"
Rhett has to grit his teeth when he pulls his fingers free. And then he’s groping for the packet that’s gotten awkwardly lodged between the cushions. Ripping it open, slicking is on, squeezing an absurd amount of lotion into his hand.
Link watches, breath hissing in hard through his teeth, as Rhett guides the blunt head of his dick down and nudges it into place.
He teases for a minute, letting the rounded tip fuck against Link’s balls, the sensitive spot behind them. Link lets out a deep, full-throated moan when he feels the thickness of Rhett’s cock nuzzling at him, then he’s gritting out a garbled command that’s half a plea and half an order.
Rhett can’t refuse him.
When he does it, Link reacts gorgeously. He arches up in a sharp jacknife of motion, lower back curved. And Rhett turns his head to the side with a high sound, falls onto his hands over Link and shoves deeper, breaching and then penetrating, feeling the slow stretch of Link’s body around him.
"Oh gosh, oh gosh," Link is gasping, high-pitched and tremulous. Rhett works his cock deep inside him, looks down at him through glazed eyes, breath coming in heavy gusts.
Link’s fingers find his nipples again, pinching them mercilessly into sharp peaks. Rhett is only half inside him when he lets himself collapse to his elbows and bites his way into Link’s mouth. Link wails and forces his tongue inside, writhing up against him, fingers still tight on his nipples.
Rhett has to turn his head to the side for air, feeling absolutely drunk on lust. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering on an outstroke.
“C’mon, bo,” Link urges, husky-voiced. “Do me like you’re paying for it.”
All the muscles in Rhett’s body ache with want. His pace goes ragged, selfish and impatient. Link cries out as he shoves his cock in to the hilt, fucking him over and over with hard, punishing strokes.
The heat of Link’s body around his cock is incredible, as he pulls out then jars back in. It can't last, that kind of freneticism, and it doesn't, not long at all. Link’s knees hook hard over his arms. Rhett gasps for air, eyes widening, lungs feeling as if they’re on the verge of exploding. It’s almost impossible to tell where he ends and Link begins.
“Rhett, fuck, oh,” Link whimpers, his face buried in Rhett’s shoulder. “I fucking love you, man, oh fuck.”
And just like that, Rhett’s body blazes into incandescence.
He doesn’t know how long it takes before Link follows. All he registers is the almost painful clench of Link’s muscles contracting around him, Link’s cock twitching in his own hand, Link’s body locking up beautifully as he coats his belly with spurts of come.
The moment can’t last long enough. Rhett wants to catch it in a jar, glue it down in an album, draw it over his head like a blanket and live there.
They lie there, caught up in each other, postorgasmic sparks of sensation flooding over them both until the oversensitivity of it all makes them ease apart.
“Gross,” Link mutters, not unhappily. “We’re, like, sweated together.”
Just to be an asshole, Rhett ties off the condom and tosses it on his stomach. Link lets out a gratifying screech.
“You know you just had that up your butt, right?” Rhett points out.
Link pinches it between two fingers and deliberately tosses it into the nearest trash can, which happens to be next to Rhett’s desk. “You think? That’s exactly why I don’t want it on my anything else!”
He casts a critical glance down at their poor beleaguered couch. “Guess I should Febreeze Mr. Fly before anyone else comes over for Project Lionel.” When Link shakes his hair out of his eyes, Rhett gets skewered by a rather pointed look. “Even though I feel like I’m always the one who does it. You’re lucky you’re pretty, man.”
Rhett takes advantage of the levity to subtly shift gears. “Yeah, yeah. So how was that? Did I do you right, buddyroll?”
The grin that spreads over Link’s face is ebullient and ecstatic and a handful of other SAT words Rhett can’t readily recall. It wracks Rhett’s chest with a strange, near-overwhelming spasm.
“Yeah.” Link bends in and kisses him on the cheek, alarmingly pure. “You always do.”