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Nights are for fucking up.
Not--
Not in the sense of making mistakes, but in the good way . The way that all the crew members young enough to be their fucking kids mean it.
Fucking up.
Fucking shit up.
He even tries saying it, smacking Rhett on the chest with the back of his hand and saying, “Lets-- let’s fuck some shit up, man!”
But the words die somewhere on the way out and fall a bit flat, leaving him laughing through the mild discomfort of a new intensity of his vocabulary. It’s been a whole night of saying things he doesn’t usually say.
Rhett, too, and he doesn’t leave Link hanging when he laughs, too, tells him, “Fuck yeah! Hell yeah. Let’s fuckin’-- I don’t know, fuckin’ get more to drink or--”
And that’s how--
Well, how they ended up taking an Uber to the creative house, which was the plan all along, but it wasn’t the plan to take one of the bottles of tequila leftover from the festivities back with them. It wasn’t the plan to sit on the kitchen floor doing shots out of a rocks glass because it’s the only thing they have outside of water glasses.
And Link is just, so fucking grateful. It was a great night, and he’s glad they did it. It feels sort of like they’ve come out on the other side of something that he didn’t even realize they needed to get over.
Rhett snorts. “You’re getting way too fuckin’ philosophical on my ass.”
“I just-- I just mean, like-- Tonight was fuckin’ awesome,” Link insists, because it was . It is . “Still awesome.”
“Yeah?” And Rhett’s fucking laughing at him, but Link doesn’t care . He feels good. He feels-- “Brought that vibrator with us.”
Oh. “ Oh , oh, uh. Well that’s, that’s good, that’s--”
“Paddle, too, since you seemed to like it so much,” and Rhett’s got his head tilted back against the cabinets, his eyes closed, his mouth set in a smirk that Link traces with his eyes first, then his tongue.
His head is still spinning from how quickly he’d gone from sitting next to Rhett to sitting on Rhett, but that just sort of makes it better. Rhett’s solid underneath him, where he’s got his hands pressed to Rhett’s chest, where he’s splaying his fingers and trying to see if he can touch all of him at once, if his hands are big enough.
They aren’t, and it’s not working for him, so he slips his hands up from the bottom, gets at skin, tugs until Rhett gets the message and helps. But he pulls away, that damn smirk still on his mouth, and Link just isn’t having that, dives forward to get his mouth at Rhett’s neck instead. There’s a sound that comes rumbling out of Rhett’s chest before he’s murmuring, “If you want me to take my shirt off, you gotta detach yourself from me, y’know?”
“Figure it out, man,” Link says, sitting back up for just long enough to get his arms untangled from Rhett’s shirt, before he’s leaning forward to slot their mouths together again. He tastes like tequila, and Link doesn’t even care because it’s so nice to be like this. Here, after a night like tonight, drinking in the soft sounds of Rhett’s mouth, the scratch of his beard against Link’s jaw. And, when he gets bold, getting his fingers in Rhett’s hair and letting the strands slip through his fingers as he ( carefully, Link ) runs his hands through the mess of it.
They forget about the shirt, after a minute, and it stays unbuttoned between them, loose on Rhett’s shoulders as Link fucks his tongue into his mouth, slow and deep just like he likes it.
“We should fuck,” he says against Rhett’s mouth, rocks his hips forward for good measure.
“D’you already forget about the sex toys I mentioned stealing from our office?” and his mouth is sweet when he says it, slipping against Link’s jaw wetly, his hands trailing their way down Link’s sides.
He did, but he won’t admit it, says, “Shut the fuck up,” instead.
It has Rhett laughing, pushing at Link’s hips until Link gets the hint and moves, makes a move to stand, albeit unsteadily. He’s spinning a little bit, but he still extends a hand out for Rhett to take, helps him up by way of planting his other hand on the counter and tugging. They’re close, like this, and Link takes a minute to crowd in even closer, push at that damn shirt until Rhett’s shrugging it off, leaving it bunched on the countertop behind him while Link steals the opportunity to wolf whistle at him, low and stupid but fitting for the night.
“Nice tits,” he says, full-palming both of them for good measure.
Laughing, Rhett swats at him, but pulls him forward to kiss him sweetly all the same. And there Link goes feeling grateful again. It swells up in him as thick and heavy as his arousal, has him sucking in a sharp breath and pulling away so he can say, “Come on, big guy, I want you to hit me some more.”
The thing about Rhett is that it doesn’t take very much to convince him of something. Especially not something that involves Link getting naked and on all fours on a bed.
Especially when they’re still riding the high of a very adrenaline-fueled out of the ordinary livestream, drunk on more than just the clock approaching midnight, and lubing up a vibrator to slip inside of Link.
And Link is--
He feels so fucking good like this. Even before all the good stuff happens. The anticipation to the good stuff is just as good sometimes, and he feels sort of like he’s floating already, sort of fuzzy around the edges, and with his face buried in the sheets and Rhett running a soothing hand sort of absentmindedly up and down his thigh, holding him in place while he smears lube across his asshole.
There’s a low, steady, “Ready?” from Rhett that has Link nodding, letting his head drop between his shoulders.
It’s not a big vibrator by no means, but he’s already got it running by the time he’s pressing it inside, and Link can’t help the low sound he makes. He can’t help the way he rolls his hips back, how he dips his spine a little lower so he can suck in a big, heavy breath while Rhett snorts behind him.
“Yeah, you were ready for it, huh?” Rhett says lowly, which is just.
Gosh. It’s very fucking good. “Since about 9:30, brother,” Link laughs. And then his breath gets caught in his chest when Rhett’s hand lands heavily on the curve of his ass.
“Was that closer to a five?”
And Link’s still too busy laughing, a bit more hysterically, because he can’t believe they actually did that . They did that and now they’re here doing this and it’s somehow the same and different, and he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know because Rhett hits him again and he asked for this, he did, but now it’s happening and he doesn’t know .
“Don’t know what, Link?”
Another hit, another fucking spanking , and Link is still laughing .
“I don’t know how close it was to any fucking number,” Link manages, squeezes it out through his laughter.
So Rhett hits him again, the curve of his hand feeling more and more personal, more familiar, and Link presses up into it this time, really lets himself feel it. And gosh, but he’s already swimming just a little, already lost into it, so he’s completely shocked when Rhett’s hand becomes that damn paddle.
“ Oh ,” Link sobs. “Oh, fuck me , that’s--”
“Good?” Rhett asks, and this time when the paddle hits him, it’s harder. It’s more and it’s better and Link’s entire ass is on fire. But the vibe is still going, too, and that’s such a juxtaposition, enough of a distraction to have him humming into the feeling, torn between hissing between his teeth and asking for more.
So he just settles on, “Fuck me, Rhett. Fuck me , come on. F-fuck--”
“I’ll get there, eventually,” and there’s a mouth pressed to the dip of his spine, too sweet against the paddle he gives Link again. What he does do is turn the vibrator up a bit more, leaves Link yelping into the sheets, arching into the feeling, chasing something and not really knowing what. “Want you to come first, I think.”
“Just this?” but he, gosh, he really doesn’t think--
“Just from this, yeah,” Rhett tells him, and he sounds so fucking smug, so sure of himself, so positive that Link’s going to come just--
Just from a little vibrator, from a couple spankings.
He might.
Fuck, he might.
It’s fucking ridiculous but he might come just from this because he’s so--
He’s had such a good night. He’s had so much fun , has felt wrung out for hours, felt like he’s been performing for half a fucking day and he deserves to come .
And Rhett’s fucking laughing at him. “ Deserve it, huh? You worked for this orgasm tonight, right?” But he’s pressing it into Link’s skin like he believes him, his mouth singing Link’s praises, making promises that Rhett doesn’t vocalize.
“Yeah,” Link admits. “Yeah, so come on, just. You gotta--”
“I don’t gotta do anything,” Rhett cuts him off, and it’s unfair .
Between one breath and the next, the vibrator goes up again, is crooked up almost as an afterthought, last second before Rhett’s hitting him with the paddle again, something with a good follow through, something solid and heavy and so fucking good .
“Oh, gosh , Rhett,” Link chokes, everything feeling tight and caught in his throat.
His cock is wet, twitching against his stomach every time he exhales, and he really--
He’s so fucking close, all of a sudden, like he’s been teetering on the edge the whole time. Maybe he has been, maybe he’s been rearing for this for longer than he even realizes.
Maybe it was when they had those damn mannequins and he had to think about what Rhett was doing, what was going on behind that stupid curtain and try to focus all of his frenetic, drunken energy on following whatever the fuck it was he was supposed to be doing.
Maybe it was whatever possessed him to put his hand in front of the Twinkie Rhett was holding like it was his dick, the hazy part of his brain thinking about later, about cornering Rhett in the office after everything was over and asking him to come on his face.
Fuck, maybe it was before all of it, before the cameras were even warm. Sitting in the office with Rhett, talking lowly just the two of them, taking a moment of calm, a minute to catch their breath, when Rhett had looked at him and said, “Just have a good time, alright? Don’t focus on anything else, and you won’t be nervous.”
So Link listened. He had a great fucking time, loved every second of it, and he’s loving every second of this, too, feels his thighs starting to tremble underneath him, and tries to move and position himself in a way that he can get his hand around his cock, but he just can’t seem to make himself get there.
He feels--
“Hit me again.” It comes out shaky, but, “Come on, Rhett, fuckin’-- fuckin’ hit me again, man. I want--”
He gets two for his trouble, one after the other, something sharp and hard, and he’s finally getting up enough to touch himself, getting his hand, too dry and not enough, but it’s something. And before there’s a third, Rhett’s slipping the vibrator out of him with a low and offhanded, “Come on, Link,” getting his fingers inside instead, two at once because he knows Link likes the stretch of it, likes the way it feels like too much all at once.
Likes the fuck of it. He’s slick and sore and open, and Rhett tells him, “Gonna come for me. I know you are, baby.”
“Yeah,” Link sighs, sinking further into the mattress. “Put your hand on--. Fuck .”
But he doesn’t, he won’t, because he’s an asshole, because he likes to see Link squirm, likes to wring this out of him and make it last, and Link’s so fucking close, gosh, he’s gonna, he--
“I’m gonna-- fuck, I’m, Rhett, gosh , please, please,” and he’s moving with the press of Rhett’s fingers into him, how he’s crooking them up and using his other hand to squeeze at the hot, red spots on Link’s ass.
When he comes, it’s with a groan that he tries to bury into the sheets, his cock twitching against his stomach again, his free hand reaching behind him to grab at whatever part of Rhett he touches first.
He slumps down onto the mattress before he can even try to move, mouth working around a slur of, “Gonna fuck me now, big guy?”
And somewhere behind him, Rhett groans loudly, heavily, before Link feels him slip his fingers free, feels him line himself up.
Pressing inside, Rhett tells him, “‘m not gonna last long. Fuck .”
“That’s right, baby,” Link sighs. “Come on. Come on, give it to me.”
Rhett was right, though. All it takes for him is to bottom out, his thumbs digging into the fleshy part of Link’s ass to hold him open, no doubt watching himself sink inside, and then he’s coming, making a noise that starts somewhere in his chest. It’s wetter, then, a familiar ache, a fullness he likes, and Rhett stays like that for a while, leaning down to mouth at Link’s shoulders as an afterthought.
Gosh, it’s good.
“Fuck,” he sighs, right into the sheets, going limp as Rhett makes moves to pull out.
He doesn’t think he can move, not right now. It’s not like Rhett tries to make him, but he’s usually more hands-on with the cleanup. Tonight, he can’t be bothered. His limbs feel too heavy, his entire body staying in one place as he hears Rhett stand and make his way out of the room.
It’s just a little while, and he doesn’t fall asleep, he swears. Not even a little bit. He doesn’t even doze off, definitely hears Rhett coming back in the room and doesn’t need the, “You alive over there?” that Rhett gives him anyway. It’s sort of a mulligan, but he won’t admit it.
“We should do that more often,” he says when the bed moves with Rhett crawling back up to him. The wet towel is warm, so there’s no shock, but it is nice, and he feels himself sinking again, just a little bit.
“What, fuck?” Rhett snorts.
“That too,” Link says, feeling warmer and nicer and more and more like he’s going to fall asleep very soon. “But, I mean the, the whole thing, you know? It was good. Fun.”
There’s a hand on his back when the towel leaves, just as warm, just as nice, fingers splayed across the dip of his spine as Rhett moves to settle in next to him. Then, the warmth is just skin-on-skin, the blanket making its way over them.
The window of consciousness is dangerously close to closing for Link at that point, but he does hear Rhett’s agreement, hears him hum sweetly.
Then, right as he’s tumbling over the edge, “Fuckin’ love you, man.”
“Fuckin’ love you, too.”