Mistakes Were Made
The first of those mistakes was probably writing this thing. It’s angsty as hell and somehow very wrong. I’d probably should advice you guys not to read it, but here it is anyway.
I’ve been feeling like crap today so I channeled it into an angsty ficlet about Link trying to fuck Rhett out of his mind and Rhett intervening. (So, if you don’t like reading about the boys being with other people, you should probably skip this one.)
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Rhett barges into the room, banging the door open so hard it almost jumps out of its hinges.
“What the hell, man?! Occupied!”
The man who spoke is standing next to a king-sized bed that makes up most of the room’s décor. He’s not naked, but his sweatpants and underwear are pulled mid-thigh, and he’s rucked up his t-shirt into a fist around his chest. His other hand is gripping onto a slim waist of another man lying on the edge of the bed.
“Get the fuck out!” Rhett growls and takes a step towards the pair.
“Wait for your turn, asshole,” the guy spats at him and cants his hips to drive his dick deeper into the propped up ass of the man on the bed. He moans but doesn’t move. His head is turned away from the door, but Rhett would recognize the dark brown mess of hair in his sleep.
The rage that’s been coursing through his veins ever since he stepped into the house flares white-hot. Rhett straightens into his full length and glares at the guy with what must be murder in his eyes. The guy’s moving hips stutter and stop. He stares at Rhett, eyes blinking wildly. Rhett takes another step towards him.
“Now,” he says, voice even and dripping with unspoken promises of violence.
“Fine. Whatever. What is he? Your boyfriend or something?” the guy says with a sneer and pulls out, making the man on the bed mewl a low “No, please.”
Rhett turns his gaze away from them and fights a shudder and a wave of nausea.
“No, he’s my best friend,” Rhett mutters as the guy steps around him and out the open door. “At least, he was…”
Rhett closes the door after him and turns to look at the bed—and Link, who is still lying on it.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Rhett says. His anger left him the moment they were left alone, and he sounds more like he’s begging.
Link finally stirs. His head turns slowly, and his gaze trains on Rhett for a beat before it wanders off again.
“What are you doing here?” Link asks, his words slightly slurred.
“I came to find you. To take you home.”
“Home?” Link asks with a hollow laugh.
“Yeah. Our place. You know, home,” Rhett repeats, wondering how drunk Link is.
“I don’t live with you anymore. Leave me alone.”
“Don’t do that. I—You know I never meant that… I was just surprised. ” Rhett fumbles as he tries to find the words to explain.
“Get out, Rhett. I’m doing just fine without you,” Link mutters.
“Fine? You’re doing fine?!” Rhett growls, feeling the anger slowly seeping back in. “You’re in a shady-ass orgy house, getting fucked by God knows how many guys and you think you’re fine?!”
Link laughs again—the sound is harsh and void of emotion, and it pierces through Rhett’s chest, shredding his already hurt heart into even smaller pieces.
Link lifts himself up and turns on his back. He’s naked apart from a blue bandana around his neck. As he folds his arms under his head, Rhett turns away. He refuses to look at Link exposed like that.
“It’s only been like four so far. I’m only getting started,” Link says with a self-satisfied drawl, blue eyes flashing towards Rhett in a challenge.
Rhett’s hands curl into fists so tight his nails dig into his palms and draw blood. He’s trying not to think about it—not to think about strangers filing into this room and touching Link, seeing him like this, fucking him. Rhett shakes his head and feels like he might throw up.
“What?” Link asks. “Don’t wanna hear about my gay shit? Does it make you uncomfortable? Oh, poor baby. Having to live with—“
“Shut up!” Rhett interrupts, eyes closed tight, trying to calm his quickened breathing. “Link, shut the fuck up!”
Link huffs and goes silent for a minute. Rhett’s breathing through his nose, trying to unclench his jaw.
“It’s not that… You got it all wrong,” he finally mutters. Link scoffs and sits up.
“Oh, yeah? So, you don’t think I’m a disgusting deviant?”
“No!” Rhett yells. He feels exhausted and emotionally raw. It’s been a long day—long week if he’s really thinking about it.
Link’s face falls. His knees come up, and he wraps his arms around them. “No?” he asks quietly.
“No, of course not. Why would you—? God! You’re so fucking clueless,” Rhett groans and sits on the edge of the bed. He leaves a gap between them and buries his face into his palms.
“Well… Fuck you,” Link snaps. “Tell me then. Explain. I told you everything and you just—”
“I know. I’m sorry. I panicked. I shouldn’t have— But couldn’t you have given me the benefit of the doubt? Or at least a little bit time to wrap my head around everything you said? We’ve been friends for fifteen freaking years!”
Link is silent. His chin is propped on his knee, and he stares at the bare wall across from them. Rhett can’t read his expression, Link’s gone inside his head. He does that sometimes. He decides how things are and won’t let go of his interpretation even when confronted with an overwhelming amount of evidence that he’s wrong.
“Can we—?“ Rhett starts, but the door opening interrupts him. Someone peeks in, making Rhett turn towards them and roar: “Get out!”
“Jesus. Chill out, man,” a voice calls out and closes the door with a thud.
Rhett takes a deep breath and closes his eyes again. “Put your clothes on. We’re leaving.”
“What if I don’t want to leave,” Link says, sounding annoyed. “You’re not my guardian. You’re not my b—”
“No, Link. I’m not your boyfriend. But I do love you, and I’m not gonna have this conversation on a bed where— Ugh, on this bed,” Rhett mutters, gets up, and walks to the door.
“Rhett…”
Rhett stands at the door, holding the doorknob, back turned towards Link. His shoulders slump. Suddenly, he’s just tired—exhausted by the sheer amount of thoughts and emotions filling his mind. It’s too much.
“If you want to stay… I—“ Rhett starts and pauses when his voice cracks. He swallows around the lump in his throat, fighting the tears that keep prickling his eyes. “You’re right. I can’t make you. But I’m asking. Please come home with me.”
“With you? Or with you?” Link asks — pleads — and the difference between the two choices is clear. Rhett heart breaks all over again when he opens his mouth and says: “I can’t—“
Link doesn’t let him finish the sentence. “Fine. Go. Just go,” he orders, voice tight.
And Rhett goes. He opens the door and walks through the hallway. Ignores the sounds—sighs and moans and groans—coming from other rooms. Ignores the ache in his chest. Ignores the ever-present nausea. Ignores the tremble of his hands. Tries so fucking hard to ignore the images that are crowding his brain—images of Link pliable and slicked up, opened up by stranger’s fingers and cocks. Tries even harder to ignore the fact that he’s hard as a rock and aching to turn back and fuck Link into that dirty mattress he’d found him on.
He’s out of the house, standing on the porch, staring at the sky that’s opened up while he was inside. Rain hammers the streets, and Rhett feels it in his bones—the cold, damp chill of the late Autumn weather. He draws a deep breath, fills his lungs with the air that smells like decaying leaves and fresh rain on the pavement. He remembers another day like this. It was years ago, but the memory is still as fresh as the autumn rain.
A moment, under the tree, trying to get cover from the rain. Link’s hair mussed and dripping wet. His eyes bright blue and enticing. The curve of his lips and the way it was calling for Rhett to trace it with the tip of his finger. A shy look from under his eyes. A laugh that made Rhett’s stomach coil with tight heat.
And suddenly, it clicks. A piece of a puzzle in his mind finally settles into its place. Rhett’s heart misses a beat. How have I been so stupid?
Rhett turns on his heels and heads back in, walks briskly through the hallway, pushing someone out of his way, getting an annoyed string of curses thrown after him. He barely registers the words.
Link jumps when Rhett slams the door open. He drops the shirt he’s holding. He already has pants and socks on.
“Rhett—“
Rhett never finds out what Link’s about to say. He presses Link against the peeling wallpaper and kisses him silent. Crushes their lips together and licks into Link’s peppermint-tasting mouth. Jams Link between the wall and his body, grinding against him—making sure that Link feels the hardness in his pants. Link moans into his mouth and wraps around him. He’s a shivering mess of wandering hands and twisting tongue and his leg crooks around Rhett’s thigh, pulling them closer together.
After an eternity, Rhett pulls his head back, ignores Link’s soft whimper, and presses his forehead against Link’s.
“I’m not gonna fuck you on that bed.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to—“ Link rushes to say.
“But I will fuck you on mine. Come home.”
Soon, they’re running hand in hand through the rain towards their dorm.