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Two bottles sat unattended on the dressing room’s table. One stood upright—the other was gently rolling away with an uneven curve.
“Wrinkled button-downs don’t look that bad, at least. Sort of edgy. Easier to maintain. Uh…” The man stared hesitantly up at Flansburgh. “Do you leave this open at the top?”
Linnell tugged, a bit instantly, at his shirt collar. Flansburgh chuckled in response. Of course, he took this as an instinctual yes . The button was quickly undone and his hands instead floated at the one below it.
“Hey, hey, no more. We’re sexy, but we’re not that sexy.”
Linnell scoffed. “I wasn’t gonna do nothin’.... I wasn’t doin’ nothin’...” He couldn’t help smiling at his own dramatics.
Hands previously on the man’s collar came down to his sides as he found himself back at his initial task. The fabric of the shirt made slight noise under his moving hands as he worked at it, slight rustling and sounds he could only describe through impractical onomatopoeia. If he were to do that, he would describe it as something like a shwip .
The band had a show in around an hour—of course, though, everything had to be arranged far before that hour, meaning that in reality the amount of time they really had was somewhat minimal. There was more to be done than could be done only by their crew. Still, they found themselves distracted.
“I think that’s hard to believe.” Flansburgh tapped his fingers restlessly on the table’s surface. “You know, my wife doesn’t fuss over these things nearly as much as you!”
“She trusts you, I think.”
Flansburgh rolled his eyes. “John, I’m calling you a bit of a freak . I hope you know that.”
Linnell’s lips curled up into a slight smile. It wasn’t an easy claim to deny, certainly not in his case. Freak probably wasn’t the word he’d use though. Dedicated , maybe. He was a bit dedicated.
Flansburgh continued on. “You’re coming in my dressing room just about every show now, and just to smooth my shirt down? I don’t knoooooow… ” Lingering melodically on the last word, he leaned in and smiled. “I think you’re totally into me.”
Linnell’s hands slowed to a halt and at once he made eye contact with the man. A smug grin was plastered on his face. He’d anticipated it, yet its dumbing effects on his mind still seemed to be perfectly in-tact.
“Well, I think you’re an egotist, then.”
Flansburgh snickered. “If you’re going to say that, you might wanna let go of my waist first.”
“Oh.”
He couldn’t help laughing as Linnell turned red and swiftly retreated from his torso as if the order were non-rhetorical. Funny, he was just so funny. And rather cute too. Saying either would be terribly frivolous these days, really, but no force of shame could stop him from thinking it.
“Your shirt really does need ironing.” The man mumbled.
“Probably.” Flansburgh shrugged. “Think anyone will actually notice?”
Linnell hummed. “Maybe. See, I’m apparently trying to grope you right now, so that’s not really something I've been personally considering. But, y’know, maybe. Definitely, actually. You should probably let me deal with that. With my hands .”
“Well, I so would, but…I’m not sure how much time we have, actually.”
Linnell pouted dramatically. However, It took him a second to realize the response wasn’t entirely snark. He’d already placed his hands back on Flansburgh again before he realized that truly, they were working under a severe time constraint. Hands on the clock read 7:02 —around 15 minutes until they needed to leave.
Well, then. “It’s not much, but we’re already here, aren’t we?” He saw no use in wasting the little time they had—professionalism be damned, it seemed.
He brought his hands up slowly, back to the other man’s waist. He’d never been good at seduction—the fact he had made his way to this point felt completely unreal to him in truth. It felt much more like he was enacting a form of seduction on himself, moving slowly on the clothed flesh of his friend’s sides and allowing them to sink idly in. It served as an effective reminder to himself exactly what he was going after.
It had seemed to have some effect on Flansburgh too. That was good. He could assume this, because he’d seemingly gone rather red in the time between when his eyes had drifted down to his torso and when they’d come back to his face. Leaning in seemed to help as well. He couldn’t be completely sure, which is why he decided to do it.
The man laughed nervously. Sweating, tucking a bit of silver hair behind his ear. Resisting exactly what he already knew was coming.
“You know, I remember when only one of us showed up ten minutes late to our own concerts. Do you remember that? We were only half of a flaming wreck then.” He tilted his head up as if to hide his own redness—it wasn’t working, by the way. “We’re both running late now, you know. Not to say it’s all on you. I’m agreeing to all this! I can’t believe that.”
He was right. Maybe it was cruel, but Linnell took a certain joy in it. The idea that he was worthwhile enough to jeopardize timeliness for, and maybe that was ultimately destructive. He couldn’t seem to care.
“If you want we can leave right now. That’s…fine with me, you know.”
“I know that. What do you want?” Flansburgh’s hands found their way onto Linnell’s crooked back.
Purposefully, he was being put on the spot. It was practically Flansburgh’s favorite move by now, and yet he fell for it every single time. He’d probably never stop falling for it. The thinking he exhibited around the man was far from rational. Still, the man’s aged features contorted as he forced himself to spit out an answer.
“Well. I want to kiss you.”He stated. “Is that okay?”
Flansburgh smiled warmly. “That’s hardly a question.”
And that was all the communication Linnell needed. He was given permission, with the slight catch that he was on a time crunch. Their lips met shortly. As new as their relationship was, the way they seemed to immediately melt into each other the minute they met felt like a burning old sensation every time they afforded it to themselves, familiar in a beautifully comforting way.
Linnell’s mouth moved against Flansburgh’s insistently and neither man was shy about making noise. Maybe that was a little haphazard, considering the only wall dividing them from the people outside of their dressing room was surprisingly uninsulated. But it was barely a concern, the minute they came into contact it felt as if they were giddy young adults again, like nothing could possibly stop them.
Flansburgh was being pushed against the wall. By now it was routine, and he had never shown any particular issue with it. Linnell was—well, Linnell was rather old. Both of them were. And of course there were a variety of reasons why he chose to pin Flansburgh so often, but it seemed as if the sensation of practically falling on top of the man provided support he needed direly.
That, of course, or he was just that easily lost in the sauce pertaining to these matters. Neither of them really considered why, because it felt nice. That was what really mattered.
Abruptly, Linnell broke away. Flansburgh could only feel this, but yet let out a noise that he was rather ashamed to admit came out of him. It took a second for his eyes to flutter back open. Linnell didn’t tend to go this short.
“Mmh…Is- is everything alright?” He asked, slightly disoriented. “Is- that didn’t just take fifteen minutes, right? I’m…”
Linnell was hovering at his neck. He reached up to quickly remove his glasses in tandem. Was he really going to…? Flansburgh felt himself make a face. He knew what he wanted, and more so he knew it was a bad idea.
The larger man scowled. “Are you going to bite hard ?” Linnell was still practically hugging him, which just made him feel worse for having to scold him.
“No. I won’t- I’m not going to bite. Well- I am , but….”
Flansburgh frowned and sighed. “John, we- we really don’t have that much time , and I didn’t bring any makeup with me. I’m not sure about this.”
Linnell looked somewhat hurt, but still distinctly determined. He loosely grasped Flansburgh’s hand and slowly led it up from the man’s side to his mouth. And—as gently as he could manage—bit down. Flansburgh winced. It wasn’t in pain, but rather in some warped form of shock. That was the only way he could describe it. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t seem to leave a mark when he lifted off of it.
“That’s how hard I’ll go. Alright?” He mumbled.
Flansburgh was still doubtful. But quite quickly, that doubt was being overtaken by the complete discombobulation that came with having your hand freshly chewed by John Linnell. It felt like too much to resist. And, as it turned out, it was.
“I’m…I really have to trust you on this.” Flansburgh whispered. “Because I- I do want this as well! Almost- well, look. Just… don’t leave marks. Please.”
Linnell nodded. Slowly, he brought himself to Flansburgh’s neck. As he had with the man’s hand, he bit down gently. Flansburgh would have preferred not to describe the whiny-gaspy noise he made to a single soul. Except Linnell, who seemed to accept that it came with the territory. He seemed to appreciate Flansburghs trust too much to belittle him.
And of course, how exactly did Linnell feel? Well, there were a lot of things he had complex feelings on in his life. But he could accept that sinking his teeth into Flansburgh’s soft neck while being held in a warm embrace by the man was not one of them. That, unquestionably, felt absolutely amazing. It felt like the type of thing he’d have wet dreams about were he a vampire instead of an aging human man. That sentence was unfortunately true if he cut out every word after “about” as well.
“Don’t linger too long, that’s going to- gah, uh, leave a mark too…” Flansburgh spoke. It was cute how his voice was affected by the contact. He never really begged for things, but he sure seemed to like them once they were happening.
Linnell knew this, and for a moment was tempted into biting down momentarily just to see what happened. Of course, he didn’t. He was a little impulsive these days, but he had Flansburgh’s best interest in mind just as much as his own.
He continued to chew on the flesh of the man’s neck. In truth, he’d wanted to do this for a while, but the opportunities they got to really get one on one time with each other were few and far between as-is. If they weren’t too tired to really get intimate, they were too time-strapped to be doing much more than pecking each other on the lips. Thus he was forced oftentimes to set aside the things he truly wanted to do to the man, save them for a later date that may not come. It made him a little more desperate than he was proud of.
“Mm…” Flansburgh droned. “Y’know, I really don’t know why you want this, but it feels great. Haven't had my neck sucked good since…college, maybe? Some time like that. It’s kind of nice.”
Why would he want this? It was a commonly expressed sentiment, but one that always seemed to tug at Linnell a little. Flansburgh was- well, he couldn’t think of a better person if he tried. But he never seemed to look at it that way, he was utterly confused why Linnell wanted the things he did. It was almost a bit insulting.
Linnell pulled momentarily away, wiping his mouth. “You have a nice neck. You have a nice…well, I feel like we have a complement policy that prevents me from saying much more. But, you know.” Despite ending without resolution, Linnell decided he was done talking and went promptly back in on the man’s neck.
“Hm, I dunno. I…gah- I wouldn’t mind stroking my ego a little before the show.” Flansburgh smiled, speaking between choked gasps.
The other man hummed into his neck. That, of course, was the hard part of being open and honest. Thought collection was no easy task. The neck in his mouth likely wasn’t helping with that. It was a bit of a loaded request, because even with their recent relations they hadn’t ever been incredibly emotionally…open, with each other. Linnell had a few things on his mind, though. A few notes.
He put his hand on Flansburgh’s shoulder as means to partially hoist himself off of the man. And—well, he came to the immediate realization that they were now standing about seven inches from each other and making direct eye contact. Which felt like an awkward position in most contexts, but more so when preparing to compliment the man.
Yet still, it was more of a reminder of why he wanted to do so in the first place. Face to face with the beautiful features of the man, his striking eyes and soft features he could likely only see so well in the moment due to his closeness. Features less visibly aged than his own, still showing their wear beautifully. Awkwardness was worth pushing through, if only for him.
“Well, I…” He paused, chewing on his own thoughts. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to say it, but you just look great. All the time, but you really have a- a knack , I guess, for dressing nice for our shows. Obviously, I mean, I-I know why! I know why, just…something about the color harmony, something about the way things, um…the way things fit you , y’know… you know what I’m trying to tell you. I think you know. You… look great .”
Flansburgh gazed slightly downwards at him. It was—well, it was a little more than he expected from someone like Linnell. He wasn’t emotionally absent by any means. But he was certainly shy , whether he called himself that or not, and very rarely was he so direct with the things he said. All to say, it meant quite a bit.
“...Boy. I don’t even know how to respond to that.”
Linnell shook his head guiltily and began to unfold his glasses. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He had already begun going into damage control.
“No, no! It’s-” Flansburgh was internally cursing himself for having misconstrued his own feelings so horribly. “I’m not- Y’know, upset , I’m- I just wasn’t expecting an answer like that, I guess!” He laughed. “You don’t really say that much.”
The two men sat in silence for a while. Mulling over their own actions, thinking about their feelings and working out the articulations to express them. Decades had passed, yet their skills were just as rusty as ever. It was almost tragically funny. The only sound present was the near-silent sliding of Linnell’s glasses onto his face.
“I really did come in to look at your shirt, actually.”
The younger man paused. “Really? Is that so?” He had doubts in the claim’s likelihood, but he had seemingly been drained of the ability to snark back to Linnell. It all just felt too genuine now, and it was a feeling he didn't care to break out of just yet.
“It was digging into your neck a little.” He smiled. “I couldn’t stop staring, I think. Sorry. I was pretty sure I was attracted to your neck, but maybe it was the shirt. I wanted to bite on one of them.”
Flansburgh laughed. “God, you’re weird .”
Linnell smiled. He was perfectly okay with that—because as far as he could tell, he was the perfect type of weird to be working with Flansburgh. He couldn’t think of many things better than that.
His eyes were drawn back to the clock. A few minutes had gone by, but they still had some time before they needed to go. Granted, he also could recognize that time as being better spent re-assembling themselves than trying to continue snogging until they were rushing out of the door.
He walked a little ways away to grab his coat, but was promptly interrupted by Flansburgh’s hand softly tapping his shoulder.
“Hey, uh…” Flansburgh looked down at himself, and back at Linnell. “If you want—and uh, maybe this really isn’t what you mean—we all have booked hotel rooms tonight, so you can come in and talk for a while. Before I get undressed, and all. It’s not actually too far from here, so I’m hoping—I’m hoping we won’t be completely tired by the time it comes around.”
Linnell stared at the man. “I can’t uh…I can’t guarantee anything. But I’d- I’d love to come by. Whatever you’re wearing, really, I- it’s not like I don’t…well, y’know…”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”
The two sat a little while longer. Linnell couldn’t help but be a bit pleased. Flansburgh hadn’t asked him on a date , per say, but he’d invited him to his hotel room to talk, which was rather exciting with the added information that the hotel was close to them. He was—cautiously, he liked to think—over the moon.
“Um, we can get out of here now, actually. I think we’ve reached a good point. We don’t even have to be late this time!” Linnell smoothed out his hair a bit hurriedly.
“Oh, not yet.” Flansburgh leaned in. “One more thing, actually.”
His eyes went wide. Before he could react, Flansburgh cupped his face and gave him a tender kiss on the lips. A lingering one, one that seemed to signify intent. Within seconds it was over, and within seconds he felt just as dizzy as the first time they’d made contact.
“See you after the show.”
Linnell scoffed. “We leave at the same time, c’mon…”
And it was true—the men walked out of the room at the same moment, and as they walked down the hallway they stood side by side. Linnell reached out for Flansburgh’s hand. And once more, Flansburgh complied.