Archive of Our Own

“Hey. Hey, John, c’mover here.”

Linnell looked up. 

Mark Pender was smirking at him, sitting at a table with the other members of the band with a glass of wine near his spot. He waved him over with one hand, trying to get his attention. Linnell blinked. The two of them didn’t usually talk much, so he had a few suspicions.

“What?” He asked, louder than he needed to—he just wanted Mark to hear, but he realized he may have sounded more like a hearing-impaired old man instead. He remained seated at the couch he had been reading at.

Mark murmured briefly to the other men, and then looked back at him. “We’re playing a game, John.”

The words caught his attention, but he remained seated. Game usually meant poker if the band was playing, and he’d never been too fond of gambling with the men. Never good at keeping a straight face. Sometimes he liked to watch Flansburgh play, but he wasn’t particularly in the mood for that either. He returned to his book.

“I’ll just pay you my three-hundred up front if that’s what you want.” He replied.

Mark shook his head. “That sounds great, but we’re actually playing Seven Minutes in Heaven .”

Now that was an attention catcher. He raised an eyebrow, and finally hoisted himself up out of his seat. He left his book and can of soda at the small side table by the couch.

“You’re what?” He made his way over to the table to stare at Mark with confusion. He noted a vacant chair beside Marty. He decided, still, that it didn’t seem fit time to sit down.

“Yeah, Seven Minutes In Heaven. Like teens at a house party. We’re all trying to feel young again.” He spoke with a tone of dry sarcasm, but it was unclear how serious his proposal was.

“Um, I hate to point this out.” Linnell looked around the room, and back at Mark. “But- we’re all married men . So, I mean-”

Danny—who Linnell just now realized was sitting next to the man—laughed. “That’s the point. It’s incredibly boring .”

A few men at the table chuckled. Linnell felt himself smile a bit too. It was a kind of funny premise for a game, he almost respected it enough to participate. Or—well, what else did he have going on tonight, anyway?

He thought for a moment. “Hm, well, still. I don’t knooooow…”

He looked around the table. Surprisingly, every other member seemed to have agreed to play. He spotted Flansburgh in the crowd, who appeared to be looking at his phone as discreetly as he could while the others tried to convince Linnell. He almost felt a little bit bad about the idea of not playing. And, it wasn’t like it was very high commitment, so…

“C’moooon!”

“Okay, okay.” He smiled, walking over to the empty seat and pulling it out. “I’ll play. Once.” He shrugged as he sat down, pulling out his phone before promptly forgetting why he did so. He looked around at the other men and quietly set it down. 

Flansburgh seemed to finally look up at him from his own device. His eyes widened in recognition and he waved. Linnell gave him a blink of acknowledgement. 

Mark cleared his throat. “Alright, we have three rules. House rules. First of all, everyone is staying in the closet over in that bedroom” He pointed to an open door down a short hallway. “It’s the tiniest one in the house. But we shoved John in it and he was just fine, so no complaining.”

“They did.” Flansburgh quietly added.

“Okay, rule two.” Danny spoke this time. “No phones allowed in the closet. That’s cheating, you’re distracting yourself from your…boredom. So, none of that.”

Mark smiled. “We charge a fine. Fifty bucks.”

Linnell peered to his side. Marty was raising his hand. Danny blinked.

“...Yes, Marty?”

“Fifty bucks per minute or- like, one time?” He asked.

Mark and Danny glanced at each other.

“ Definitely per minute.”

The table laughed and Marty nodded in acknowledgement. Three-hundred fifty wouldn’t be breaking the bank for any of the men, so it was far from a concern for them. Flansburgh put down his phone—though not in the closet yet (or rather again , if Mark and him were telling the truth), perhaps it seemed like a good idea.

“Rule three is that if we find anyone asleep, it is completely fair game for an embarrassing photo to be taken and spread however we please. And also that we’re going to pick names out of this bowl. That’s two rules.” Mark finished, and set down a small plastic bowl in the center of the table. “And, uh, we need everyone to write theirs.”

Linnell nodded and waited for a piece of paper to come around to him—Levine seemed to have had one, strangely, and it was large enough to rip up and use for all eight men. A pen was passed with it. The utensils came to Linnell, and he jotted his name down promptly.

“First and last?” he asked rhetorically. Flansburgh chuckled from across the table.

“I actually wrote mine down as John Linnell , so-” He began giggling before he could completely finish. “You- y’know, do what you want!”

Linnell smiled and passed along the page, putting his name in the bowl. He could see Mark lean in worriedly and whisper something to Flansburgh, which seemed to be quickly dispelled by the other man and discarded.

Eventually all the names were placed in the bowl, and eventually Mark took the bowl in hand and shook it around. Linnell got a little tense. Needlessly, of course. The sentence was seven minutes of absolute nothing . 

“Okay. Is everyone ready?” Mark asked. The men shook their heads. It wasn’t like they had much else to wait around for. He stuck his hand in the bowl, and began to pull names.

Linnell was back on the couch. Two rounds of the game had passed, but he hadn’t been picked to go in the closet even once so far. The first had entailed Marty and Dan—who seemed to be rather talkative, surprisingly—and the second (and current) round, Mark and Stan. A few people sat close to the closet to listen in on it, but Linnell was somewhat uncaring. He liked getting to do very little while still technically participating in band activities.

Flansburgh was chatting with Dan in the corner of the room. It was a conversation he had barely been keeping up with, something about an accident with Dan’s snow tires and how outrageous the price had turned out to be to undergo replacement. Well—maybe he was keeping up a bit. 

It felt vain to admit, but he was a little upset Flansburgh hadn’t attempted to talk with him yet. Linnell knew they hardly had time to keep up a truly personal relationship to the levels they wanted to, but…really, it was part of the reason he was even playing this game at all. He was well aware everyone was tired, he didn’t want to stretch the man thin. But it did pain him in a sense.

He shook the thought and returned to his book. No, no, Flansburgh and I talk enough already. Granted, much of this talk was as their moderate stage personas, but that was a sacrifice of the job. He probably had more in common with the others anyhow. Linnell couldn’t understand guy stuff the way the four of them seemed to. Maybe it was all for the best.

“One minute left.” Danny murmured, sitting next to Linnell on the couch. “They’ve been quiet.”

Linnell looked at him and shrugged. “Time flies when you’re doing absolutely nothing whatsoever, it seems.”

“...Maybe this game would have more of an impact with a younger crowd.”

“Maybe you and Pender could get it to catch on with the youths .” Linnell chuckled. “ Seven Minutes In Purgatory . They’ll love it…they’ll email it.”

Danny laughed, sighing and looking back at his phone. He squinted, and quickly got up.

“Well, that’s thirty seconds. Twenty nine, twenty eight, twenty- well, I’ll just wait out here.” He said.

A few moments later, the door was opened and the two men emerged, groaning and sighing.

“I think my back’s permanently fucked up now.” Mark groaned. Stan didn’t say anything in response, he just smiled and walked back to the nearest vacant chair.

“I told you! I said you should go in first and you didn’t listen-” Flansburgh exclaimed.

“Okay, okay, look, you’re- I didn’t take some things into account.”

“-You said you’d be fine if I fit! You said- and you were so sure!”

Mark waved the man off and rolled his eyes. “Look, look, you’re…flexible, look, who’s up next?”

Linnell shrugged and pointed to the bowl—though obviously, the question was a rhetorical segue. Regardless, everyone made their way back to the table. As they gathered around it Mark began to shake the bowl. Closing his eyes, he fished for a few moments before pulling out a neatly ripped square of paper.

“...John Flansburgh.” He announced.

“About time!” Flansburgh said, making a beeline for the closet before the second participant could be picked. Mark looked over his shoulder and shrugged.

“I think that’s uh, actually mine .” Linnell joked.

“Ha. Oh, y’think I need to shout this one so Flansy can hear it?” Mark chuckled and reached his hand back in the bowl. Again, no answer was awaited. He fished again and pulled out another name.

His eyes bugged. The paper was lowered as he glanced at Linnell.

“Well, whaddya know?” He grinned. “ John Linnell . Lucky you two, huh?”

Linnell opened his mouth in surprise. He had already been heading for the couch when he heard his name—massively unprepared, he stood for a second.

Of course, the others were rather amused. “This can’t be fair, y’know, they’ve had way more practice than us!” Danny exclaimed. The other two backing members seemed to agree, Marty and Dan chattering amongst themselves about the circumstance.

Linnell looked around. He wasn’t—he wasn’t nervous , but he was caught off guard. Mark was clearly getting the timer out on his phone, however, so he didn’t have a lot of time to think things over, whatever there was to think about. He walked off.

What luck indeed . He hadn’t considered it, but seven minutes completely alone with Flansburgh was what he’d been beginning to crave the past few days. No one else to keep the two of them busy, no one else for Flansburgh to start talking to midway through the conversation. In those cases, Linnell was easily forgotten. He smiled to himself.

But—what was he saying? No, it was certainly going to be boring. No getting his hopes up about it. No expecting things.

“I’m starting the timer when you get in the closet, okay?” Mark called. “Here, I’ll- I’m coming over, I’ll just watch.”

The sound of quick footsteps came from behind him, but he didn’t bother to look back. He turned the brass handle at last, and took a quick look in the closet before bathing himself in darkness.

Flansburgh’s knees were to his chest and his hands over his eyes. The sight wasn’t really what he had expected. It wasn’t really supposed to be a secret who was getting in with him, but—well, it wasn’t terribly strange for Flansburgh to begin making up his own rules to games like this. The few drinking games he’d ever watched the man play seemed to have five extra clauses whenever his turn came around. 

The position itself also seemed rather impressive, all things considered. Linnell heaved himself into the other side of the closet, trying to take up a similarly small amount of space. And before he could call out to Mark, the man appeared in the crack and smiled, shutting the door for the two.

“Seven minutes on the clock… now .”

Linnell could hardly see anything. Not to say he expected good vision in the area, but he could hardly even make out Flansburgh’s figure when the two of them were bathed nearly completely in shadow. He opened his mouth to speak, but…

“Okay, okay…uh, let me guess. Marty?” Flansburgh asked. “Wait, no no. Don’t answer that. I’ll figure it out, give me a moment…”

He froze. There it was, those made up rules of his. He had planned to get straight to talking, but—well, he may as well play along.

He moved marginally closer, and a large hand was placed immediately on his knee. Blood rushed to his face. Flansburgh wasn’t horribly touchy, never with him , and it left him thankful for their current lack of vision. While he stayed still, the other man hummed and brought his hand further up his leg.

“Hm…well, not Dan…too small for sure.” The other murmured.

The observation shook him slightly—though obviously, not at all wrong. Maybe it was just the relative anxiety of being perceived. That never seemed to go away, party games or not.

Flansburgh’s hands slapped against his face a couple times before successfully landing in his hair. He only felt his nervousness continue to grow. He hadn’t really found time before that night’s outing to wash himself. He couldn’t help but hope the oils of his scalp were not enough to give his identity away instantaneously.

“Not Stan, not Levine…hm, maybe Levine—no, no, he’s a little-” Flansburgh rambled to himself. “It’s not quite as long, no…”

He only now realized Flansburgh seemed to be bringing his head even closer to him. It seemed the man had set out that night to make his life as hard as possible. He tilted it in one hand, running his fingers through his hair in the other—was he supposed to be resisting it? He certainly had a reflex to do so normally, but as of the present he could hardly move on his own.

Maybe it was the dawning realization that they hadn’t been this close to each other in decades—possibly their entire career—that was making it strangely hard to react. He certainly hadn’t had practice in this , it was hardly his fault he fell limp as a ragdoll letting it happen.

Closer, closer his head was brought. He could feel Flansburgh’s hot breath on his face. He could only hope the same was not felt by the other. He didn’t recall brushing his teeth. And he certainly didn’t recall having such labored breath before entering. A thumb was brought to his cheek. He shivered.

“Well, your face could maybe be…ah, whatever. I give. Let’s see, huh?” He laughed.

Linnell exhaled. “I-”

Before he could think to finish the thought, he felt something wet touch his cheek. Something soft. A pair of—no, no, Flansburgh’s lips. Flansburgh kissed him. It was just for a second. But the wetness was still there— Flansburgh kissed him . He could hear him begin to laugh.

“ Gah! ” He exclaimed. He pulled away—did he mean to pull away? He didn’t have enough time to think about it. It was already over, but he was in a rush. What just happened? What happened?

“I Th- Oh.” 

The hand was quickly retracted. He could hear it make contact with the fabric of a coat. Flansburgh began to speak, but his voice shifted starkly. In recognition, it seemed, he fell into deafening silence. For a few seconds he remained like this, unable to speak. Linnell could hardly say a thing either. It was as if they could practically hear each other's shocked expressions.

“...Hey. Hello.” Linnell mumbled, nearly whispering.

“I didn’t- I thought you were someone else. I didn’t even remember you were- that you were playing, and- and-” Flansburgh stuttered, trailing off into more chuckling. Markedly embarrassed chuckling. He sighed. “This is awkward. Hoo boy.”

Linnell had approximately one million questions. But currently, all he could seem to do was slowly inch his hand up to his cheek. He was still in disbelief.

“Um.” He spoke. “Do you… d-do that with the others?”

He was met with another bout of silence.

“It’s j-”

“I wouldn’t have done it if I knew you were the other guy in here, I’m- I’m sorry…” Flansburgh abruptly explained. “It was- well, because it’s supposed to be boring and all—well- it was a bad joke.”

Linnell thought silently for a second. “Oh, because it’s usually a kissing game, right?”

“Right. Yes.” Flansburgh spat out.

Linnell chuckled to himself. It was actually a little funny now that he could understand the bit, and he could see how it was supposed to come off. Were Flansburgh and him more touchy, he would have understood. He probably would have understood.

“Well. If you were trying to shock me it certainly worked, huh?” He laughed. 

Flansburgh mumbled. “It wasn’t supposed to shock you , really…”

Linnell’s expression faltered—not to say it was visible to them. He’d seen Flansburgh in a lot of moods. He’d seen him at high and low points, but rarely did he seem embarrassed to this degree. He, of all people, was usually the best at brushing these things off after they happened. Maybe it was the tight space trapping them both in their thoughts and actions. Maybe it was the subject matter itself.

“I kind of thought you were messing with me before. You really couldn’t tell I wasn’t-”

“Oh-ho no, I had- I didn’t know it was you at all. I- I kind of forgot you were playing, again, so…” His voice was low, slightly playful, but mainly genuine. “Maybe that’s embarrassing for me, actually.”

“Thank god…” Linnell whispered. His hair grease wasn’t a giveaway, it seemed.

“What was that?”

Linnell paused. “I’d rather go undetected than be recognized for some sort of fault. And, ah, I didn’t have a lot of time to get ready beforehand tonight, so-”

“Wait, wait.” Flansburgh said. He—very hesitantly this time—brought a hand to Linnell’s shirt. He felt at it for a moment before snapping his hand away. He was wordless.

“...Are you wearing the same clothes as you did yesterday?”

Linnell could hear him snickering. He had been caught in his crime, it was true. He had forgotten that, but it was completely right that he had slept in his clothing. Thank god , he thought, thank god he didn’t know immediately .

“Oh, whatever! You can’t- you can’t control me.” He jokingly retorted. His arms were crossed over his chest dramatically.

Flansburgh was still laughing. He was thankful for a few reasons—though one of which may be the fact that Flansburgh seemed unwilling to tell him off for this lack of basic upkeep. But some tension was relieved as well. 

“Hah, you know I wouldn’t, ah…” Flansburgh trailed off. “Oh yeah, that reminds me—where did you go this morning? I thought it was coffee but- uh, I think Dan told me you went to do something. Just errands?”

Linnell shifted in his seat. This may take up the rest of their time.

“Oh- well, I was looking online for things to do the other day, and it turns out there’s a little fair of some type happening just outside of town…”

—

The two men had practically been giggling amongst themselves the entire time they spoke. It was, in some weird way, nice. Nice to be together, nice to get to talk. Linnell felt he could forget at times that Flansburgh and him were much closer in actuality than the band sometimes made them feel. Getting to share about their personal lives, in one way it made them feel alien to one another. Yet at the same time, it brought them closer than they could understand.

“My god, it was a complete mess. Felt like it never washed off my fingers, it was—it was horrible. The gloves just made it worse! ” Flansburgh exclaimed. 

Linnell hummed. “It’s basically a multi-day affair. Unless you have a good freezer, I guess. Or if you keep butter in the freezer like a maniac .”

“I haven’t even tried to make biscuits since then.” He sighed.”And I got a pastry cutter a couple weeks ago just for it, but I- I haven’t even thought about going through it again. And we definitely don’t have freezer butter.”

Linnell chuckled. Though preparing to respond, a bit of dust from a coat above the two had fallen onto his cheek. He reached up to wipe it away.

“You could probably t- ah!”

He was cut short by the faint feeling of wetness on his finger. It took a moment to process why it was there—of course, his cheek was still wet from the kiss. The kiss . Heat still lingered in his face at the memory.

“Huh?”

“Oh-” Linnell mumbled. “Nothing really, it’s- my cheek is still a little wet, I was surprised…”

Flansburgh began to talk before promptly seeming to cut himself off. The shameful silence returned. Linnell couldn’t help beat himself up a bit—this was exactly what he had been avoiding for the past few minutes.

“R- Right. Ah. S…Sorry.”

And that abrupt shift again. It made Linnell feel just awful, though rationally he knew It was kind of Flansburgh’s own fault. Still. He didn’t like seeing his friend miserable.

Gears turned in his brain. He could probably just go back to normal conversation and everything would be just fine again. That was, really, a viable option. But something itched at him that told him to do something a bit more fitting. Or at least, to directly address it. It wasn’t as if he’d had luck stopping himself from thinking about it either.

He took a large inhale. This was really not something he’d usually do.

“Hey, could you come closer for a second?” He asked. 

“Oh- yeah, of course, let me just- sorry, this is a weird position.”

Flansburgh scooted himself closer. Their knees were touching, and it was somewhat obvious the other man was trying to find some way to circumvent this. It was futile—the closet was too small, and they were far too close.

“Hey. Psst.”

Flansburgh leaned in. “What are you even trying to-”

Linnell went in for the kill. He had to guess at the exact positioning of Flansburgh’s face, but where his lips landed seemed about right. A little spiky from his beard, yet rather soft from the flesh of his cheek. Maybe a little bit too far up. The physical feeling was about right. The emotion, however, was completely indescribable. At least, with the words in his… platonic vocabulary.

Flansburgh yelped. He could hardly hear it, it was as if something was clogging his ears when he leaned in. As he pulled away it was present for still a few seconds longer, and in his slight confusion he swore he could see Flansburgh’s face—eyes widened, face flushed.

At once, he could understand the silences the other man was stunned into. Every one of them.

“...Oh.” Flansburgh whispered. “Right.”

It took him a second to regain his own voice. He couldn’t read the tone of the other, not without his face and not in this situation. Shit. This was a complete mistake . He was planning the business separation documents in his head already. He couldn’t stop himself.

“I- I…uh. Payback. For-”

“For the kiss. Yeah.”

Linnell could barely sputter out words as he continued to inch away. “Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Flansburgh was as quiet as Linnell expected—though no prior wordlessness had been as nerve-wracking as the one he was currently facing. It was pure torture. He couldn’t believe himself. He couldn’t believe he let himself do such a thing.

…But. It did feel…nice. He was trying to deny that aspect more than anything else, but it was unignorable. It felt good, no, it felt like a release he had been awaiting for ages. A microcosm of some sort, a tiny gesture of closeness. The only kiss he’d even given the man in their entire lives. Why was that meaningful? Why was it so, so meaningful?

“Hey, I think you’re lying about the ‘wet’ thing, by the way.” Flansburgh remarked. “My cheek is completely dry.”

Linnell choked a bit.

“I have very dry…lips.” He muttered.

“Want some chapstick?”

He sighed. “I couldn’t accept that right now. I-I mean…”

And why couldn’t he accept it? Stupid, stupid, he was making himself look guilty. Guilty of what? Oh, he didn’t even want to think about it.

“I understand.”

Linnell looked up at where he thought the man’s face might be. A hot exhale.

“It’s, uh…I don’t know how to say this.” Flansburgh spoke slowly. “It’s really weird being this close, isn’t it?”

“Especially for us, yeah. Or—that’s what you meant, wasn’t it?” He fiddled with his hands quietly.

Flansburgh laughed. “Yeah, yeah- well, I wasn’t clear. It’s…small, yeah.”

The two fell quiet.

“We’ve never kissed before, have we?”

Linnell shifted uncomfortably.

“I just kissed you, actually.” He retorted. “So, no.”

“No, no, I mean on the lips. We’ve never kissed on the lips. Isn’t that weird?”

Heat that was previously burning Linnell’s face seemed to travel down to his stomach. The idea of kissing on the lips certainly occurred to him previously, but having it directly addressed was a lot, even for the situation they were already in. Images came to mind. It was as if Flansburgh was tempting fate, it was as if he was trying to get him to say something wrong.

“We’re straight men, John.” He replied. “I- they don’t like that. We wouldn’t like that.”

“Of course not, it’s just…”

More silence. Linnell chewed nervously at the inside of his mouth.

“Just what? ”

Flansburgh made a noise. “I want to do it. I don’t know why. It’s something we’ve never done, and obviously that doesn’t automatically mean we should do it.” He explained. “But, y’know. I think about how long we’ve known each other, and I think about all the things we have done, and…”

He sighed.

“Well, I get curious. And I never wanted to have to face that in a stuffy closet.”

Linnell was left unable to speak. The manner in which Flansburgh confessed, it was as if he didn’t even realize how catastrophic the idea felt. As if he hadn’t realized how much it really meant. As if he never could have known that deep down—Linnell was thinking exactly the same thing.

There were a lot of things on his mind. He could ration a guess, a lot of things were on Flansburgh’s mind as well. Through this, though, a thought emerged. A wildly inappropriate one, but somehow the most coherent.

“If you really wanted to kiss me,” He started, “I don’t think there is a single funnier location to do that than a closet .”

“I guess th- Oh my god.” Flansburgh cut himself off in pure shock.

The realization clearly dawned on him in real time, as Linnell heard him start to laugh and exclaim in realization of the comedic situation. Objectively it was a mood-killer, but the specific circumstances were too funny not to address.

“I’m just saying, we- we do have the chance to literally keep all of this in the closet.” Linnell snickered. Flansburgh was still giggling himself, but seemed to keel over judging by the way his hair brushed Linnell’s hand.

“You’re right, you’re right, I- oh my god!” He laughed. “Boy, if I knew all this earlier, I would have gone straight for the lips!”

“We still have time.” Linnell blurted out.

Flansburgh’s giggles trailed off into a droning noise, before eventually leaving completely. He sighed. His shoe bumped Linnell’s leg slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, well I’ve had too much space to think about it now . We’re both married and all, it seems- well, it’s obviously ill conceived. Maybe if you’d caught me earlier.” Flansburgh replied.

Linnell gave a quiet noise of acknowledgement. Both of them sat as far back on their sides of the closet as they could physically go, and were left to ponder.

Rationally, Linnell knew this was probably the time to let the entire idea go. Of kissing , and all. Which he was strangely fixated on. For some reason. Definitely out of morbid curiosity only. Obviously he found this hard. Words seemed to find their way out of his mouth on their own.

“We won’t have to tell anyone if we’re quiet about it.” He muttered. “No one will…know.”

Pause.

“Are you implying…J-John. You know that’s a bad idea.”

Linnell leaned in. “Why, is it cheating? We aren’t attracted to each other, are we? It’s not an affair.”

“Yeah, but…”

Linnell came closer—hardly to blame himself, he didn’t seem to understand what was leading him in this direction in the first place. He could sense Flansburgh’s nervousness sightlessly, in his hesitant breath and complete stillness.

“But?”

What am I doing? He knew this was a horrible idea just as much as Flansburgh, why was he so compelled? Asking rhetorical questions he knew had no answer—no, knew was too generous. Hoped .

“...I don’t know.” Flansburgh finally spoke. “I guess all I can hope is that I don’t regret this.”

“That you-”

In an instant his face was pulled to Flansburgh’s, the gap between them completely closed for once in a lifetime. Soft lips met dry ones and moved against each other—Linnell’s with short delay, but he caught up quickly. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

Flansburgh’s beard wasn’t as scratchy as it looked. Not where he was, at least, and when his hands finally found their way to the sides of his face, they too possessed a certain smoothness. It really wasn’t that different from kissing a woman. Everyone has lips, after all. He could feel the hands of the other leaving his face now that it was secured, to his surprise reaching down to firmly grasp his hips. He felt tiny in his hands.

“Mmm…” He had advised that they not make sounds, but the intensity of the kiss was far more than he could have expected or resisted. It was hard to tell if it was the speed or the hands on his hips—or as it turned out, the tongue prodding at his lips for entrance. Naturally, he obliged.

It was strange. Absolutely, it was strange that they’d never kissed. It was strange, because it seemed so ungodly right that the fact he had ever opposed the idea or thought it strange felt impossible and sorely misguided. It wasn’t right , morally, to enjoy this. He knew that, but yet it too began to feel questionable in the heat of the other’s embrace.

Flansburgh’s hands had another utility than steading his body, it seemed. As he was pulled into the man’s lap he gasped, forgetting that even further closeness was possible . He made a droning noise into the mouth of the other in response.

Oh, but it was possible and it was absolutely glorious. Mouths interlocked and bodies pressing together—Linnell was practically on top of Flansburgh with how much the two were leaning—it was about as close to a bonding of souls as he could imagine reaching as a moral man. Maybe this was real appreciation. Maybe this was what he had been hoping for during his lonesome nights all along.

One of his own hands moved down too, sinking into the side of Flansburgh’s soft torso as it reached underneath his jacket. He half wanted to break away to remove the thing himself, really. He didn’t need it as much as he wore it. He didn’t really think he needed his shirt either, but that was a thought for later on.

The other man’s arms moved from his hips to his back. They served largely to press him in even further, to bond the two even more than they already had been. It was a little like a hug—and really, when was the last time they had done that either? Maybe in highschool and god , was that really coming up on fifty years ago?

They’d spent a lifetime together. Decades upon decades, in their old age it was becoming harder and harder to remember a time when they hadn’t been inseparable. Linnell couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever cried in front of the man. He couldn’t help wonder how long they’d really waited for this.

“And, that’s- Oooooh my god.” 

Linnell gasped and pulled away.

Bright light was now shining through, illuminating the interior of the closet. He could finally see the man he had previously been able only to hear—sweating and panting beneath him, glasses pushed up to his forehead and squinting blearily at his surroundings. Linnell noted off-hand that he looked rather nice like this. He was focused, however, on the source of the light.

Outside of the closet stood all six men. All six men had seen them. The ones that hadn’t could infer pretty clearly what had taken place.

“...Hi Mark..” Flansburgh muttered.

“You two got busy. You were in there for eight minutes, actually.” He was visually in disbelief. “Hey, y’know, make your own fun. ‘Married men’, that was what you called us all, didn’t you Linnell?”

Linnell’s mouth was agape. Still on top of Flansburgh, he could hardly form a coherent thought in his mind—let alone with his words.

“I-I…”

He looked back down at Flansburgh. He sighed.

“...I’m going home.”