“Oof” Rhett huffs, coughing out a few laughs. His lap is full of warm Link. Link’s hands are roving slow and easy over Rhett’s chest, just feeling him out. Thumb searching for—
“Easy, there” Rhett giggles when Link finds his target—Rhett’s left nipple—and gives it a nice hard rub. Rhett flinches into the bed, laughing, because, “that tickles, man.”
So Link rubs harder, firm and steady instead of light and teasing. Link’s half-hard in his underwear, that much is obvious, his boner tugging at the dark black cotton of his boxers.
“It’s almost time to go,” Link says. His other hand, the hand not coaxing Rhett’s nipple into a hard nub, creeps up towards Rhett’s neck, thumb moving to brush against the coarse stubble underneath his beard. Thumbing gently at his Adam’s apple, just a hint of pressure. He’s into the kinky choking stuff, but he knows it’s still too early, and Rhett’s still too soft with sleep to want to play rough.
Link swoops down and presses a kiss, light and quick, to Rhett’s lips. He doesn’t like making out before either of them have had the chance to brush their teeth, though he makes exceptions every now and then.
There’s sunlight streaming in through the window. If Rhett could hazard a guess, he’d say it’s maybe half past seven in the morning, so they’ve got at least another hour before they’re expected to be anywhere. But it’s hard to rationalize things when every second under Link’s thumb feel like an eon.
Rhett never thought he had sensitive nipples, but Link’s insistent, and has a one track mind. If he wants Rhett to have sensitive nipples, then Rhett’s going to have sensitive nipples. Rhett’s already squirming into the sheets, and his hips are grinding up of their own accord. He can feel the molten core of him, still warm from sleep, heating up just a bit more. Well, maybe a lot more because—
—Link shifts higher up on his knees so he can reposition himself and—
“Oooohhh…” Rhett breathes out in one long sigh. The grind of their clothed cocks thrusting against each other is not enough, but delicious for precisely that reason. There’s too much friction and not enough glide. Without lube or skin on skin contact, the sensation is dulled, but Rhett knows that this is on purpose. More specifically, Link is doing this on purpose.
The chastity of it feels dirty. Forbidden.
Rhett is well-versed in the rules of how this scenario works. Neither of them are allowed to touch their own or each others’ cocks. It’s not a competition anymore (not like it was the first dozen times they did this), but it keeps that sense of urgency there. That sense of “if you don’t come like this, you don’t get to come at all.” These days though, they still let the other come, even if he doesn’t finish first. Their competitive streaks have mellowed out with age, although sometimes Link will get that gleam in his eye.
“Cmon, baby,” Link pants, voice cracking on that pet name. Rhett almost loses it right then, a shiver running from where Link’s hand is gripped around the back of his neck all the way down the length of his spine. His body hasn’t caught up with his mind yet, but Rhett could swear he just came a little, just from the burr of Link’s sleep-rough voice.
It’s honestly embarrassing, that he’s as worked up as he is in such a short amount of time. Maybe it’s the tight warmth of Link’s hand on the back of his neck, or Link’s thumb still mercilessly rubbing his nipple, or because they just haven’t done it like this in a while, and Rhett’s missed it.
“Link, please,” Rhett whispers around a stutter. Link angles his hips, thrusts down, hard and steady—
—Rhett’s stomach tightens and the world blurs in white, pleasure rolling through him in waves.
Link grinds on him through it, even as Rhett shivers and shakes from the overwhelming stimulation, breath hitching in his chest. Link’s close, too.
“Fuck, baby,” Link moans, trembling with the effort of keeping his fast and rough pace as he spills his own release. Somehow he makes baby sound dirtier than fuck. Rhett keeps his hands around Link’s hips the whole time, wanting to kiss that dropped open mouth so bad.
Link goes boneless on top of him a moment later, collapsing onto Rhett’s chest, loose-limbed and warm. Rhett settles for kissing his temple instead, reaching a hand up to tangle in that sweaty, mussed, salt-n-pepper hair.
“Shower?” Rhett murmurs. He knows how much Link hates being sticky.
“In a minute,” Link mumbles against Rhett’s chest.
So they stay tangled for a while longer, letting the sun creep its way into the sky.
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