Work Text:
If Honey was “his first” then what was he?
if Lola was “the official” what was this?
He tried to silence the nagging voice in his head. The present. He should focus on the present. Pay attention to the pressed foreheads and tangled hands and tossed aside scripts in the criminally tiny trailer. To the way only he could brush up his feathers. To the way only he could massage his aching grey shoulders. The soft sighs, tickled whiskers and closeness was enough. It had to be enough. It had to be fast, because she would be returning to pick them up for their shooting. The shot they were gonna film was supposed to have a romantic scene between her and Bugs, ironically.
They never did this when they visited each other’s homes. It never crossed their minds when they vacationed together. The world, the past girlfriends, the current lovers, expectations, contracts, faded into white noise only inside these gray walls. And they had to be quiet; they weren’t soundproof. Yet, their consciouses were muted all the same.
“Hey-“
“Sh.” A kiss, “Just a little longer, stay like this a little longer.”
“No, listen-“
“‘s nothin, she’s not coming till a couple-a minutes.”
“That’s what I want to talk about.”
An exasperated, but unsurprised sigh. They stopped in their tracks and sat up.
“Darn ya, It was gettin’ good.”
“I know.”
“Ok, pal, spill.”
Pal. Right, pal. “What is this?”
His shoulders tensed. His head bowed in guilt, as if aware of their position for the first time. Then, he shook is head and said,”Well…we were practicing our lines. Then you gave me those eyes. Now we’re here, takin a break from work. That’s what this is.”
It wasn’t satisfying enough. Disappointed, he turned away and curled in on the corner of the couch. A beat. He felt the cushion shift beneath him, and nearly jumped when he felt his head on his shoulder. His arms were squeezed, and he began to feel small pecks at his neck. A clear sign one of them wanted the conversation over.
He wavered a bit under his touch, but he wasn’t done.
“No, honestly, look at us. Look at what were doing. Now, what is she?”
He kissed him on his shoulder, not missing a single beat. “She’s the mandated love interest.” He kissed him again, this time trailing up behind his ear, “She’s the merchandising counterpart.”
Well, the dreaded “G” word was spared, but the response was cold and corporate all the same. It didn’t satisfy, even though it was the truth. Somehow it wasn’t enough. He had to risk asking, just this once.
“What am I?”
Eye contact was made at last. What kind of question was that? They could never be anything more than what existed in these walls. This trailer was a limbo. This damn trailer was a curse. This whole thing was vapid, meaningless, so uncharacteristic of the mascots they were expected to be. Yet it wasn’t unlike themselves to misbehave in this way. They were predisposed to mischief after all, and these exchanges happened to be another iteration. How and when it started, neither could really say. It’s didn’t matter at this point, sad as it was. It’s been more than 50 years since their first “break from practice”.
He looked at him. Truly, honestly looked at him. He looked vulnerable. Expectation, hope, and longing swam in a sea of blue. Maybe there was love, too. It was wrongfully possessive of him to revel in that look reserved only for him, but god, he owned that. His kisses forged that. Guilt and delight bubbled in his chest, and he swore he could eat him alive.
“Answer or no answer, ya wouldn’t be satisfied either way, ” an evil smirk, “Ya won’t win this one either way.”
He never gave him the chance to respond in his biting, trademark tone. His head was trapped under his grip, his forceful lunge arching his back over the armrest, silencing him with one last passionate kiss. A gasp in surprise, then a shaky sigh.
He had to show him everything he felt for him, somehow tell him everything his pride refused to say.
It had to be fast; they heard her impatient knock at the door. At the turn of the knob, he would no longer be his. Their uncertainty would dissolve in the air like mist.