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It’s become their mantra: almost kissing, but not really kissing. If it’s a joke, if the lights are on and everyone’s looking, if they're playing characters, why not push the limits? What’s the risk? Looking back, they've played this game more times than they can count, certainly more than necessary. At least, that’s how it might look to someone objective. But for now they label it 'for science' and try to move on.
The first - not really the first, but whatever - was just a gesture, something small and off the cuff. Their faces touching cheek to cheek, mimicking a cereal box cover. Rhett jokes that this is when they would kiss - if they were other people, not themselves, of course. Before he realizes it, his hand is jostling Link’s face, moving as if to kiss him, then pulling away, and they both are blushing, but it’s barely noticeable.
They recover quickly, not lingering on the insinuation of the action longer than they need to. This is a family show, after all. And they are family men.
They don’t carry it with them, if asked it’s doubtful that either even remembers it happening. But it serves as an indicator of something lurking beneath the surface of their boasts of “Brotherhood!” and "Best Friends!” This moment is a signpost, a trail marker, if they ever get lost and need to find their way back to how it all began.
The next we all know, it’s infamous at this point.
Their giggling faces pressed together, separated by a sheet of plastic. Rhett remembers thinking how silly the pane of plexiglass was. Why didn’t they just go for it? Fully commit? He was wearing a wig, right? It was just an act. It certainly would have gotten a lot a views. So, why the forced distance? Was it really because the “story” demanded it?
Link remembers how thankful he was for that boundary, without it he knows he could have (would have) given in. How easy it would have been to fold himself into it, lick into Rhett’s mouth, pull off that stupid black wig and run his hands through Rhett's hair. If he seemed flustered after, it’s because he was. He was there, he remembers their childhood; the hand holding on the playground (until the teasing wore them down, anyway), the sleepovers during which they’d scoot their sleeping bags closer and closer until they could feel each other's breath as they whispered in the dark. He remembers the dreams he used to have about his best friend, waking in a cold sweat, blaming his raging hormones. He remembers their respective weddings, the fleeting feeling of panic, as if they were living someone else’s version of their lives.
He knows why Rhett puts faith in the multiverse, that fantasy allows peace of mind that there’s a place where they don’t need to push each other away or hide behind their constructed lives in order to stay sane. Link sees their show as their own personal multiverse, a way to act out things they've never given voice to. If someone laughs then nothing is real, and they are safe.
So they kiss through the glass, call it a joke, play it for laughs. But the ride home that day was quiet.
Link loves to test limits. They’ve found themselves face to face a lot this season, pushed there by Link’s suggestions. Rhett remembers the meetings where Link pitched his ideas for these episodes; a trust exercise, some rules about personal space. They seemed innocent enough, but now he’s not so sure. In the park, stepping closer and closer until they’re nose to nose, then later demonstrating acceptable PDA for couples, it’s at the point where Rhett feels like Link is goading him, propelling him toward action.
On screen it’s the same old story, “haha, we’re so much like brothers this doesn’t even bother us”. But each time Rhett wonders what would happen if they turned the cameras off and tested Link’s theories without spectators. Would it end in nervous giggles or something else? He lets his mind wander to the possibilities, and eventually Link catches him in his daydream.
He’d been sitting on the couch in their office, staring at the ceiling, fingers absentmindedly combing through his beard. He could hear Link talking, but couldn’t process what he was saying.
“Hey...Earth to Rhett. Are you listening at all?”
“What are we?” He’s talking without thinking and recognizes that the question is probably confusing without context.
“Huh? What?”
“The personal space stuff. Where do we fit in that scenario? We’re not really just friends,” he stares down Link’s raised eyebrows at this, “we’ve never been on a date, and we’re not married. How close can we be? Physically I mean.”
“C’mon man, don’t make it weird.”
“How am I making it weird? Those episodes were your ideas, one day we’re running through a park holding hands and the next we’re all up in each other's business testing personal space rules. I’m just asking where we stand. In the scheme of things.”
“I don’t know, man. I just thought it would be funny. Why are you fixating on this?” Link wishes Rhett would stop talking, he doesn’t like where this conversation might lead them.
For a moment he gets his wish. He takes Rhett’s silence as agreement to end the line of questioning. He spins in his chair and goes back to his emails. Without warning Rhett stands and then his hands are on the arms of Link’s chair, he’s leaning down behind him, and whispering his lips near Link’s ear.
“Is this too close? For best friends?”
Link can’t help it, a high pitched giggle escapes his lips. Dangit. It’s the same thing that always happens whenever Rhett is this close. He tries to twist away or stand, but Rhett holds the chair tight, long arms draping over his own, trapping him against the desk, and for a second Link is worried Rhett might actually end this with an I’m dead move, pushing him down onto the tabletop. He’s also worried because he kind of hopes he does.
“Rhett...just let me--”
“Answer the question and I’ll let you get up,” Link can hear the smile in his voice, he’s enjoying this moment of power.
“What is the question, exactly? How close is too close?” Link turns his head to try and get a look at Rhett’s expression, make sure this is a joke, that they’re just playing here. Rhett has the same idea and now they really are face to face, but there’s no one to laugh in the background or call cut. Now it’s a game of chicken.
Link bites his lip and questions his resolve. His eyes are practically crossed trying to see Rhett clearly, he's so close. They share a breath or two like that - or ten, maybe, Link really can’t tell how much time has passed - and then Rhett is roaring back with laughter. That is their defensive move, after all, and Link breathes a sigh of relief.
“Yeah, that’s too close. You brush your teeth today?” Rhett’s laughter fills their office, but the ride home is quiet again.
The question sent in by a fan set up a scene at a party, and yet here they were acting out a first date. Funny how that happens. Rhett makes a note to talk to the writers, but he’s guessing they’re onto them, they know their game, probably better than Rhett and Link themselves. Not that he’s complaining, especially not when he sees what Link got up to in hair and makeup. Though if he’s honest, he could do without the wig.
They’re on their fifth or sixth take, a few devolving into hysterics due to the baseness of the humor. But each time that Link reaches for his lapels and pulls him in, he hopes that maybe Stevie won’t yell cut, that they’ll be forced to play out the scene to its natural conclusion. He loves it when they act out situations like this, and has noticed that fake coupling has kind of dominated their improv on the show lately. Only a few episodes later they are discussing how to better hear each other at a concert and it immediately shifts romantic, Link slipping into character without thought. They whisper in each other's ears and Rhett hears Link’s voice change tone and pitch, breathier than normal. It’s easier this way, to pretend they’re touching as other people. But all these scenes could contain characters who are friends, or brothers, or strangers, even. There’s really no need for them to lean on flirtation for comedy. But Rhett knows why they do it; there’s so much possibility in the fiction of it.
The air in the car is thick, they’ve been shooting for a while and it’s an unseasonably hot day for February. Rhett feels himself sweating inside his leather jacket, squirming as it drips down the back of his neck. It doesn’t help that Link is looking at him like that. Like he could swallow him whole.
When they finally make it back to the dressing room, Rhett has to peel himself out of his clothing and as he’s dropping his shirt into the dirty pile, he meets Link’s eyes in the mirror. He hadn’t seen him there behind him, perched on the counter. Rhett starts at the sight of him, clutching his chest in shock, but he freezes at the look in his eye. It’s the same as it was during the sketch, the hunger in his gaze framed by smudged mascara, causing his eyes to turn almost icy blue. Rhett’s pretty sure they call that piercing.
“I think we should take some time away.”
“Away?” Rhett turns to face him, noticing that the intensity of Link’s stare is not dissipating with conversation.
“Yeah, for writing. You remember that guy we met at that party. He needs someone to dog-sit for him for a week. His house is supposed to be amazing, it’s at the top of the hills. Apparently it has some spectacular views. Could be just what we need.”
“Sounds cool.” Cool. Rhett thinks it sounds a lot more than cool, for a number of reasons, but he’s not willing to give away more than cool right now. He doesn’t want to appear overeager, though from the looks of things Link’s got enough eagerness for the both of them. Rhett hopes it’s a big house.
The house, it turns out, isn't nearly big enough. They spend the week dancing around each other, the quiet sequestration proving excellent for stirring up their creative juices and stoking the fire of their lingering tension. You'd think being trapped in a house alone together for a week would force them to address it, but neither is brave enough to make the first move, to put themselves out there. In their own beds at night, across the house from each other, they each imagine what would happen if the other were to burst through the door. Would it be soft and gentle? Just sweet exploration of each others' mouths and bodies? Or would it be wild with pent-up aggression and need? Would Rhett tug and pull at Link's hair before pushing him back onto the bed? Would Link writhe and moan in all the ways Rhett's always thought he would? They never answer any of these questions. Not that week, anyway.
After returning from their writing retreat and hiatus, things seem to change. The tone of certain episodes is different, as if they’re trying to outdo one another in pushing the limits and boundaries of what they can get away with in the name of entertainment (or science).
Rhett feels the difference from the first episode of the season. Link painting his stomach and looking up at him with that look in his eye, challenging Rhett to flinch as he tickles him and casually comments on the home of his sex drive. They hurtle toward and past their 1,000th episode, playing at a dangerous game, inventing reasons for closeness, touching, removing clothing. They think they’re subtle, but really they’re not fooling anyone. Especially not themselves.
But with all the dancing around, neither ever breaks. They are both aggressive and passive, taunting each other then backing off. They don’t discuss anything off camera. Their flirtation is contained within the frame of the lens. If either of them thinks anything about watching the other get spanked in front of their crew, neither mentions it. If Rhett has heart palpitations seeing Link in that lacy red dress, he keeps it to himself. If Link’s thoughts stray dirty after hoisting his legs into Rhett’s willing hands in a chicken soup bath, they stay locked away. Even being taped together and rolling around on the floor doesn’t inspire a conversation. Their one common trait may be stubbornness and neither wants to cave first.
And so now Stevie has strapped on some blue gloves and they are simulating kissing each other through her. Again, for science. This was Link’s plan, but Rhett is happy to go along with it. He tries to feign confidence, play it cool, but their eyes keep meeting across the desk and he can feel the blush creeping up his neck. Link seems similarly affected, his laugh pitching higher and higher as he squirms in his seat. By the end of it they are both seemingly undone, their hair disheveled, faces red. The whole set seems to have erupted in nervous giggling, everyone else picking up on the tension.
The rest of the day is spent in separate meetings, but neither one of them is very focused and around 4:00 Link sends Rhett a text that he’s ready to leave.
Link puts the car in park in front of Rhett’s house, and speaks just as Rhett is about to pull open the door.
“Hey Rhett…” He’s looking off towards the end of the street, squinting a bit, the sun is big and red, low in the sky.
“Yeah?”
Link turns to look Rhett in the eye. He wants him to know he means what he says.
“Your move, buddy.”
“Oh gosh,” Rhett’s watching in the monitor as Link kisses his mannequin, “Oh gosh. C’mon, man!” Link had opened his mouth and dragged it down the mannequin’s face in a manner that Rhett can only characterize as suggestive.
“Top that, Casanova.” Rhett hears the challenge in Link’s voice. Maybe I will, he thinks. But right now they have to finish filming and he’s not sure he’s gonna make it out of this alive. He’s making every effort not to look directly at Link’s face; Rhett knew he’d look good in the lipstick, but watching him demonstrate kissing on an inanimate object is really just too much.
Even getting through the More is tough, Link is leaning in close while he paints Rhett’s face, and Rhett tries to keep it light by rambling through the whole rest of the episode. Finally someone calls cut and Rhett high tails it for the the bathroom. He needs some air. He needs to think.
After washing his face, Rhett leans against the counter for a moment, hands spread wide, head bowed. He doesn’t want to play this game anymore. He shakes his head and breathes deeply, willing himself into action.
Rhett steps into the dressing room to find Link standing at the mirror. He’s reaching for a wipe to take off the lipstick, but all of a sudden Rhett’s hand is covering his as he steps in close behind him.
“Don't. Don’t take it off.”
“Why?” There’s that challenging tone again.
“Maybe I like it.” Rhett's disappointed with how sheepish he sounds, but he can’t keep chasing Link in circles. The time has come for some honesty.
“Maybe?”
“Ok, I like it. No maybes.”
He’s talking into Link’s hair as he looms behind him. He inhales and catches his scent, soft and sweet, like coconut. With his eyes closed he says a silent prayer for all the moments like this that he let pass by. Rhett whispers into the ether, wishing they could’ve found the courage to act sooner, when they were teenagers, maybe, out in that field. If one of them had been braver, they could’ve done things so differently. At the time it seemed like that would've been too hard, but now Rhett knows that nothing could be harder than abstaining from kissing the love of your life for 32 years.
So he takes it slow, he wants what’s about to happen to represent everything they feel for each other. With his eyes still closed, he drags his fingers up Link’s arm, ghosting over his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. He flattens his palm and slips his hand under the hem of Link’s tee-shirt, stretching the fabric as he slides his hand up and along Link’s collarbone. He pulls Link back so he’s flush with his chest, and their breathing falls into sync. Link closes his eyes, too, and leans into Rhett with a sigh. Rhett pulls his hand out of Link’s shirt and smooths his fingers along Link’s jaw, turning his face towards him. Their eyes open and meet, intent and searching.
“That’s a good color on you.” Rhett’s voice is shaky, and he wants to say something more, but then Link is up on his toes, gently pressing his lips to Rhett’s. Rhett pushes him toward the counter and Link turns so they are facing each other, chest to chest. At first they are tentative, delicately touching their lips together. Neither wants to push the other too far, too fast. They try to set the pace together, leaning into it, picking up speed as they go. Once Rhett feels Link’s hand slip into his shirt and up his back, though, he loses all sense of control. He can’t see or hear or feel anything that isn’t Link’s mouth and hands. In his periphery he recognizes that there are objects around them. He can sense that things are falling off the counter, something might have just broken with a loud crash, but he doesn’t care.
With his hips, Rhett propels them forward, shoving Link further back on the counter, up against the mirror. His hands find the cold glass, framing Link’s face, leaving blurry smudges wherever they land. Link’s hands are wild, winding around Rhett’s body, pulling at his shirt, threading through his hair. Feeling overwhelmed, Rhett breaks away for a moment. They rest their foreheads together, tasting each other's breath.
Link is the first to find words, and he moves his head so he can whisper into Rhett’s ear.
“Well, that was worth the wait.”