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Onions and pineapple.
Link never thought those would be two things that paired well together, much less smelled pleasant when combined. But he enjoyed every bit, mostly because it was something he and Rhett created together. Everything with Rhett is always better.
The cameras have been shut off, placed carefully in their cases, and the music has been turned on, Merle playing softly through the speakers in the corner of the kitchen. He’s got the broom in hand sweeping up any leftover mess he may have missed from earlier when filming. Rhett putters around behind him at the stove, scraping the leftovers out of the pan and into their one lone Tupperware container someone left behind from lunch the other day.
Link is content. This is good. Even cleaning up at the end of the day feels effortless, like team work made smooth from thirty five years of knowing the other person beside you. Sweeping has been a methodical and soothing end of the day task for as long as he can remember, and having Rhett right behind him, doing his part to help, has Link feeling some type of way this evening.
It isn’t lost on him that he called this their new home. It slipped out, something he couldn’t control in the moment, because, well, it is their new home. They got the place together to be used in whatever capacity they needed, and today he got overwhelmed with how domestic everything has become. They haven’t lived together in years, but today felt like those days.
It felt like the days of splitting rent, buying groceries together, arguing over who’s turn it was for laundry, who was going to cook dinner or go out to find dinner. It felt like the days of Rhett walking in with a big grin on his face because he was finally seeing Link after a long day, the days of Link returning from work to Rhett waiting up for him with Bojangles and a hug. It felt like the days where coming home meant being wherever Rhett was, at his side like always, following him through every adventure.
Rhett bumps hips with Link, breaking him out of his thoughts. Link laughs and bumps him back, and he keeps sweeping. Swish swish back and forth, a constant rhythm that he knows so well. So it surprises him when he hears the pan clatter on the stovetop and feels an arm coming around his shoulders to drag him backwards into a broad, strong chest.
“Whatcha doin’?” Link asks, still moving the broom across the floor, smile blooming across his face.
Rhett laughs and grabs the broom to stop its movement, leans it against the counter out of the way, and hooks his chin over Link’s shoulder. A kiss on his cheek is followed by a squeeze around his waist, and Link cocks his head to the side so he can look at Rhett. He sees the soft smile and the crinkled eyes and wiggles so he can turn in Rhett’s arm, kiss him right on the mouth gently but with purpose.
“You tryin’ to distract me, McLaughlin?” Link smirks up at Rhett who just laughs again and dips down for another kiss, hands fitting around Link’s waist and tucking under his shirt hem. Link shivers when Rhett’s fingertips tickle his skin. “You smell like onions, dude.” He scrunches his nose and Rhett retaliates with kisses all over Link’s face; across his cheeks, his chin, over his nose, ending with pecks on his forehead.
Breathless, Link pushes him off. But Rhett isn’t finished with him it seems. He tightens his hold around Link’s waist and pulls him closer, pulls him against his own body.
“Come on, let’s dance, baby,” Rhett says, grinning.
Link is about to protest but then the song switches over. The melody changes to one that’s peppier than the previous, one that he instantly recognizes and loves. It’s one of his favorites. Sighing, he drapes his arms over Rhett’s shoulders, content to just be close like this.
Rhett begins to hum along as he sways them back and forth in one place. Link watches his face while he does so, notices the shifts and changes in his expression as he hums to their favorite song, eyes closed while they sway. The sight makes Link smile and he wants to be closer, as close as he can get. Instead he keeps watching and trails soft fingertips along the nape of Rhett’s neck, into the wild curls falling over his head, Rhett shivering a little at the feeling.
“Feels good,” Rhett rumbles, one eye peeking open to look at Link.
“Yeah?”
He nods and pulls Link even closer so he can rest his head on top of Link’s and slip his arms around that slim waist. He starts moving them in circles across the kitchen floor, sidestepping the island and the broom, the chairs, the table, and Link finds himself getting dizzy with every lazy sweep across the room. But then Rhett is singing.
He’s singing quietly into Link’s hair, lips pressed to the crown of Link’s head. Link is overwhelmed suddenly, the lyrics hitting a little too close to home after such a domestic day, and without warning tears spring to his eyes unbidden. Rhett doesn’t notice, or if he does he doesn’t say anything, just keeps singing, his chest rumbling against Link’s in a soothing vibration.
“Won’t you sing me back home, with the song I used to hear.” Link’s breath hitches in his chest listening to Rhett’s deep baritone. “Make my old memories come alive.” He’s so in love with this man, this person, his best friend, would do anything for him. And before he can stop them, the tears are there, spilling hot down his cheeks as Rhett keeps singing to him.
“Take me away and turn back the years, sing me back home before I die.”
Link sniffs and tries to subtly wipe his face on Rhett’s shirt, but it’s no use. Rhett felt it and he’s stopping their slow circling around the kitchen, pulling back enough to look down into Link’s face. He doesn’t say anything. He gets it. He knows. Without words, he wipes Link’s cheeks with a thumb and kisses his forehead, keeps his lips pressed there and hums along to the next song.