damn the dressing room. it’s the mirror’s fault, really. who asked for a dressing room this big, for that damn mirror? it’s not the boys’ fault. really.
they were s’posed to undress quickly after filming. they were s’posed to take off the red leather suits, get dressed, and meet the crew for dinner. they were s’posed to give each other space… but they didn’t.
rhett’s muttering something about his own performance as he hunches over, back towards the mirror. link’s facing it, unzipping the heavy metal zipper that rubbed awkwardly at his skin all through the shoot. they’re both a bit tense from the way things went, even if the final product looks flawless. this causes link to be distracted when undressing, leaving himself standing shirtless with his pants half-down, low on his hips as he stays, transfixed by something.
rhett’s still going on about his mistakes as he slips out of the red leather pants. he’s bent over, cute freckled tailbone shadowed a low gold in the bright dressing room mirror lightbulbs. link studies rhett’s pretty tail he straightens up. beautiful hands reach around for the hem of rhett’s boxers, and link’s staring hard as rhett drops the edge a few centimeters, then catches himself.
“hey, man! stop lookin’!” but link doesn’t. “dude!” link closes his mouth.
he smacks the dry palate of his mouth and blinks the dreamy fuzziness out of his eyes. he shamefully busies himself with removing his costume, gets down to his dickies. when he looks again, rhett’s still in his boxers, facing the mirror.
they stare at each other in the reflection for a beat, then pounce. they grasp at each other like they’re drowning for it, sweeping big masculine hands across every inch of bare skin, cupping each other’s rumps through their boxers.
they keep the crew waiting for twenty minutes before they finish. they emerge from the dressing room well-groomed and decidedly less tense. nobody comments on the bite marks on link’s neck or his dopey grin. …it wasn’t his fault!