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John slammed the door behind him, jostling it a bit just to be sure it properly closed— the damn thing loved to get stuck in the doorframe instead of actually latching shut. He shook himself off as he removed his coat, grateful to be out of the brash winter wind. No matter how heavy a jacket he put on, somehow the cold always managed to blow through the fabric and nip at him.
Inside, it was warm and familiar. Their apartment certainly wasn't the ritziest of places, but at least it held in heat during the long winters. And, if Linnell was lucky, he'd get the chance to warm up even further, curled up next to his partner— wherever said partner was.
"John, I'm home!" He yelled across the apartment while taking off his shoes, not caring to control his volume enough as to not bother their neighbors.
No response came, but Linnell could see Flans' jacket hung up on the rack and shoes discarded on the floor, so the man must've been home. He couldn't hear any music playing, so if Flans was awake, he would've absolutely heard Linnell's announcement. Running through the possibilities, John determined that the most likely scenario was that his friend was taking a nap. After all, it was the late afternoon, prime Flansburgh napping hours. Plus, it was dreary enough outside to make anyone sleepy.
Linnell made sure he walked softly as he made his way to Flans' bedroom. If the man was asleep, then that meant Linnell could squeeze his way into the warm bed and press his freezing hands against the guitarist's back— a favorite hobby of his.
The door was slightly ajar, but not enough to see inside. Linnell gently knocked.
"Flans?" He questioned as he slowly opened the door to the bedroom, peering in.
Flansburgh was there, at least, but he wasn't napping like Linnell had thought. The man was standing in front of a full length mirror, staring blankly at himself in nothing but his boxers. There was a slight furrow between his eyebrows and a far away look in his eyes that Linnell wasn't familiar with, but he could glean that Flans probably wasn't feeling a particularly positive emotion.
"Hey, Flansy?" he spoke as he entered the room, knocking a little harder this time.
"Agh!" The younger man jumped in surprise as he finally took note of his friend's presence. He scrambled to cover himself, wrapping his arms around his chest and curling in on himself. "Jeez, would it kill you to knock for once?"
"I did knock," Linnell stated plainly. "And I called out for you a couple times, too. I didn't mean to scare you, but you weren't responding— are you, uhm, okay?"
An embarrassed pink flushed across Flans' cheeks, the man's eyes darting everywhere but Linnell's face. "I— I'm fine, I swear! Just, uh, lost in thought, thinking up new songs, y'know? Nothing to worry about."
"You know, if you tell me not to worry about something, the chances of me worrying about it raise exponentially," the accordionist walked further into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I know mushy, deep talks aren't usually our thing, but what's going on?" Flansburgh still looked a bit apprehensive, so Linnell quickly added, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I, uh, really do care about you."
He faltered at the end of his sentence, a bit sheepish. Their relationship was certainly something more than friends, and had been so for years, but neither of them could quite find it in themselves to put their feelings into words. Compliments, praise, and the like were on the table, sure, but feelings were unsteady territory. Still, confirming that Linnell truly did care about the man seemed to do the trick.
The guitarist heaved out a sigh, deflating. "No, I— I can tell you. I want to tell you, I mean, but it's— It's stupid, really."
"If it matters to you, then I don't think it's stupid at all," Linnell shrugged, trying to remain casual, but still sounding sincere. Showing too much emotion would likely make Flansburgh clam up, but not showing any interest would make him feel discouraged.
"God, you're a sap," Flans snarked, though relief visibly washed over him. He took a deep breath, looking away ashamedly. "It's just— um, jeez… I, uh… I've gained a lot of weight recently."
Linnell blinked, cocking his head slightly. It was a true statement, sure, but he hadn't expected his partner to be so upset about it. He knew the man well enough to know that Flans wasn't quite as confident as he'd like to admit, but that was more in the professional world where he'd worry about whether or not he was taken seriously. He would never have considered the guy to be particularly insecure about his looks.
"And— I mean— I wasn't the hottest guy on the block regardless, but now? And just as we're really starting to make it to the public view? Reporters have been calling me fat since day one, I guess, but I really don't wanna have to hear what they're gonna say now that it's actually true, y'know?" Flansburgh rambled, the words going in one of Linnell's ear and out the other fast enough that the older man had a hard time comprehending it all. "I noticed it a while ago but didn't think much of it, and now— now I have a hard time trying to button pants that I used to need a belt for! It's— ugh, I know our looks aren't really what we're known for, and it's really shallow for me to think everything's gonna go down the drain thanks to me tanking our appearance rating even more, but—"
"I think you're incredibly attractive." Linnell interrupted before he had any time to think about it, stopping his partner mid-sentence.
An odd silence hung in the air for a few seconds, the two men blinking owlishly at each other. Flans scoffed.
"Yeah, yeah, sure, thanks," he waved his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes. "But really, John, c'mon. Let's be serious here, we both know that if we're ranking looks, you're the one on top."
"I am serious, John." Linnell stood from the bed, approaching his friend. A protective flame flickered within him at Flansburgh's words, almost offended that he thought so little of himself. "You are a very handsome man, and you have been for quite some time."
The guitarist squirmed, turning away from the other man to avoid making eye contact. Unfortunately, this brought him back to his reflection, Linnell's head visible over his bare shoulder.
"You don't have to inflate my ego, y'know," he spat, his blush deepening. "I'm still gonna perform 'n all, I just have to go on a diet or something."
Something seized Linnell's heart at that, stoking the protective flame. He stepped behind Flans, his lithe hands brushing at the guitarist's shoulders.
"No diet. No exercise, either, or anything else you think would 'fix' the problem." Linnell looked Flans' reflection in the eyes, his thumbs gently stroking the man's arms. "I mean it. Everything about you is attractive. Even if you were to gain more weight, you'd still be attractive— maybe even more so."
Flans swallowed nervously, a shiver running down his spine. He couldn't take his eyes away from the reflection of Linnell's, the accordionist's intense stare drawing him in.
"Tell me why I don't believe you," he said a bit more sharply than intended, wincing at his own tone. Luckily, Linnell didn't seem deterred.
"I could be biased," he shrugged, breaking eye contact for a moment to let his eyes trail across Flans' body. "But I feel like we've established that reporter's and the public's opinions don't matter to us… at least in our appearance. If they call me a corpse and you Danny Akyroyd, I think it's safe to say we can't really trust their opinions."
"I know," Flans sighed, a ball of nerves sitting heavy in his chest. "I do, it's just— it's hard to ignore them. Especially when they end up being right." He gave his stomach a disappointed glare, poking it.
"What's so bad about being fat, anyways?" Linnell rested his head on Flans' shoulder, letting his hands trail further down the guitarist's arms, circling around his belly. "I think it's quite charming, all things considered." Absentmindedly, he gave the soft stomach a gentle squeeze, bringing out a startled squeak from the younger man.
"I— It's— I mean— it's unseemly, John! I shouldn't be! Or at least I should try to stop myself from being fat if I can help it!"
"But why?" the accordionist pouted, feeling like a toddler being told that they can't play in the mud just because someone said so. "As long as you're relatively healthy and organs aren't failing in there, then why should it matter that you're softer?"
Flans stuttered, trying and failing to gather enough thoughts to come back with a proper rebuttal. It didn't help that Linnell's hands were still holding his belly, thumbs swiping up and down. Finally, he came to a conclusion.
"I— I don't like it." He sighed, looking away from his reflection ashamedly. "I don't like looking in the mirror and seeing a fat guy looking back at me."
Linnell hummed in thought, cocking his head. "Would it help if I told you what I see when I look at you?"
The guitarist considered it for a moment. He hadn't expected an offer like that, especially from someone like Linnell. Usually they both tried to keep their feelings reserved, but tonight was turning out to be a different case. The accordionist seemed more confident than usual, his shame discarded in favor of wiping away Flans' own.
Eventually, Flans nodded. "Yeah, that… that might work."
"What I see is an incredibly handsome man," Linnell began, pulling his hands away from the other man's stomach. Flans found himself missing the contact immediately, though the hands soon returned on his shoulders. Fingers gently brushed at his neck, stroking the slope of his jaw down to his collarbones. "Your face is very symmetrical, you know. Everything is so well balanced, it's nice to look at. Your eyes are kind, and they always seem to light up when you're excited about something. Your nose is… cute, to be honest. It turns up just a little bit at the tip, I don't know how to explain it. I just… like it."
Flansburgh let out a stilted laugh. "You've got such a way with words."
"Oh, hush," Linnell playfully scolded. "If you make fun of my wording then you won't get to hear how kissable you are."
"Well, in that case…" Flans began to turn in anticipation for an aforementioned kiss, but Linnell held him still.
"I want you to look, though. I want you to see what I see," he said, pressing a kiss against the younger man's shoulder.
With Linnell's attention on the guitarist's body, Flans' eyes followed the slow, deliberate movements of the accordionist's thin hands as they gently squeezed different parts of him.
"You already have such smooth skin, the fat only makes you smoother," Linnell spoke softly, almost as if he was thinking out loud to himself.
"Y'know, you kinda sound like a serial killer when you say things like that," Flans joked, unsure if the wobble in his voice was due to his insecurities and discomfort or the aroused shivers making their way through his spine as Linnell traced his form with feather–light touch. After a brief thought, the most likely answer was both.
"I mean, there's certainly something to be said about wanting to preserve such a perfect specimen— you really are a piece of art," the older man brought his hands up to Flansburgh's shoulders again before massaging the younger's back, enjoying the sensation of kneading the other man like dough. "But then I think of how sad it'd be to not see how you age. If my hypothesis is correct, I have a feeling you'll only keep looking better and better as time goes on."
Flansburgh swallowed, fighting the urge to pull away from the reverent hands caressing his body. He hoped Linnell didn't notice how much the clinical language affected him. Despite the embarrassment, he really did enjoy the attention he was getting. He didn't want it to end quite yet.
"Wh— what makes you think that?"
"Well, it's been true so far. As the years have passed, I've only found you more and more attractive. I don't think a younger me would be able to truly appreciate just how perfect your features are." As he named off body parts, he'd trail his fingers across Flans' skin, leaving goosebumps behind before gently kissing the area, moving onto the next. "Your broad shoulders, strong arms, dexterous hands… not to mention a pretty great ass."
Flans yelped as Linnell suddenly groped a cheek, a stark contrast to the gentle touches and massages he'd been giving so far. The accordionist chuckled, opting to kiss Flans' facial cheek in apology, rather than the lower.
"Sorry, sorry, I couldn't help myself," he snickered. As much as Flansburgh wanted to act offended, he couldn't find it in himself to be upset at Linnell's pleased expression.
"Your butt is very nice, though." Linnell crouched down, getting onto his knees as he gently pet the guitarist's thighs. "Your legs, too— I wish you'd wear shorts more often, I don't get to admire your legs enough."
The older man moved around to the front of Flans, kneeling at his feet while his hands trailed up over his hips to his stomach. He pressed a deep kiss below Flansburgh's navel, drawing spirals across the soft belly. Another chill shot its way through his spine as he looked away from the mirror and down to the man practically worshiping his greatest (physical) shame.
"I don't understand how you could be disgusted by this," Linnell whispered, his brow creasing in genuine confusion. He kissed the stomach again before pulling back a bit, looking the younger man in the eyes. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen— I mean it, John. I couldn't point out a flaw in your appearance even if you asked me to."
"Uh— thanks." Flans let out a shaky breath, adjusting his glasses. He could feel the crease between his neck and chin in a way he wasn't used to yet, a soft roll forming between the two. A squirming mass of emotion jolted deep in his gut, and he wasn't quite sure if it was shame or arousal. As Linnell's hands gripped as his hips, his flesh bulging out between the man's bony fingers, he decided it was mostly the latter.
Linnell thumbed at the waistband of Flans' boxers, looking up at the man in a silent question. Flans swallowed in anticipation, his stomach shifting with the action.
"I mean— if you wanna show me how beautiful everything is, then you kinda have to take those off, right?" He laughed nervously, scratching his neck.
"Well, yeah, I guess," Linnell chuckled, gently stretching the waistband. "But I figured a bit of warning was necessary."
He worked the fabric down, revealing the guitarist's half hard cock. A pleased smile tugged at Linnell's mouth, staring reverently at the appendage. Something about just being watched by the older man made Flans' dick twitch, in turn making Linnell's smile widen just enough to reveal his teeth.
Flans rested his hands on Linnell's shoulders as he kicked the underwear off of his ankles, allowing the accordionist to appreciate how his body squished and stretched with movement, his thighs shaking and jostling his dick. Perverse felt a little too dramatic to simply describe the way his partner's body moved, but Linnell couldn't help but commit the sights to memory for later moments, his own dick making its approval known in his pants.
"So I guess the question is, what's so great about my dick?" Flans smirked, feeling a little cocky— no pun intended.
A few beats passed before Linnell responded, the silence just beginning to pick away at Flans' ego before he finally spoke. "To be honest, John, the thing is too good for words," Linnell breathed, carefully bringing his hands up to caress the length the way he appraised the rest of Flansburgh's body. "I don't get the chance to stare at it as much as the rest of you, it's usually inside of something."
The feather-light fingertips sent shocks of arousal through the guitarist's veins, a pleasurable buzzing making its way up his spine. He shivered at the sensation, jerking his hips forward just a bit.
"It really is just as gorgeous as the rest of you, though. The perfect size for me, no matter where it's going." Linnell leaned forward, gently kissing the head of it, his fingers rubbing soft circles at the base.
A soft gasp pulled itself out of Flansburgh's mouth, pride building within his chest as he watched his devout partner worship his penis. Linnell peppered the shaft with slow, deliberate kisses, rolling the guitarist's balls in one hand and holding himself steady with the other. When he reached the base, Linnell paused for a brief moment before dipping down just a bit, shoving his nose into a crevice and taking a deep inhale.
Flans moaned at the sight and feeling, Linnell exhaling and letting out a soft moan of his own.
"You're perfect," he stated, looking Flansburgh in the eyes. "Everything about you is just… glamorous. Every part of you is utterly attractive, it's impossible not to adore you."
Flansburgh blushed enough to hurt, not used to such blatant admiration from the other man. He wondered how long Linnell had felt like this, if he had ever imagined that he'd get to express these feelings out loud. A small worm of embarrassment still squirmed in the younger man's chest, but was smothered by the smug warmth buzzing through his body. Perhaps the buzzing was also partly horniness, but who could blame him?
"Suck me off." Flans blurted out the command before he had the chance to think about it.
"Gladly."
Linnell scooted forward again, quickly situating himself. He gave the head one more kiss before letting his lips open, slowly bringing his mouth down the length. It wasn't often that Linnell was the one giving in this scenario, so despite the terribly strong urge to thrust himself deep into the accordionist's throat, Flans let the older man get reacquainted with the act.
Carefully, Linnell bobbed along the dick, running his tongue along the bottom. Although it was undeniably pleasurable for the guitarist, it was clear that this was Linnell testing out his own limits, rather than him aiming for maximum gratification.
Once he had gotten comfortable, Linnell's steadying hand gripped Flans' thigh a bit firmer before he pulled off of the erection nearly completely. In one fell swoop, he took the length in entirety, sucking slightly as he reached the base.
Flans tensed, moaning deeply as Linnell began passionately lavishing the younger man's dick. He licked around it with intent now, practically playing Flans like an instrument as he enjoyed the sounds his partner let out with every new move. His large teeth would occasionally tap against the guitarist's shaft as his jaw worked. Jolts of excitement shot their way through the man's system at the feeling, a slight bit of fear coming to front as the unwanted idea of Linnell biting it off flitted through his thoughts.
He ignored the fact that the fear was tinged with arousal, blaming it on the rest of the circumstances. Linnell looked up through his lashes at the younger man as he worked. The reverent stare struck a chord deep within Flans' chest as he wove his fingers through Linnell's long hair and gripped tightly.
"I wanna fuck your face— can I fuck your face?" Flans grit out in between hot breaths.
Linnell hummed what sounded like an affirmative, the vibrations thrumming pleasantly against Flans' cock. The older man let go of younger's thigh, letting his jaw go slack as he simply knelt in front of the guitarist, half of the erection in his mouth.
"Thanks babe," Flansburgh muttered offhandedly as he held the man's head still, immediately thrusting into his throat.
Linnell gagged around the shaft, but stayed still as his partner used him. Increasingly lewd whimpers made their way out of Flans' mouth, the guitarist biting his lip in a futile attempt to stop the vocalizations.
From his spot on the floor, Linnell had the chance to admire his partner in full; He had the incredible opportunity to watch the way the younger man's body moved, how his face contorted, listen to the blissful noises that escaped him, smell the man's musk, and taste him all at once. All he had to do was sit there and accept whatever Flans gave— which he gratefully did.
"You're too good to me, John," Flans spoke. He cracked his eyes open, unaware that they had closed in the first place. "You say all these sweet things about me, encourage me, suck me off— ngh— and the worst part is, hah, I believe you." Linnell had gotten used to Flans' pace now, licking the shaft as the guitarist got closer to orgasm.
"You were right, you always are, guh, I don't know why I was so down earlier." He looked down at the man on the floor, grinning at the adoring gaze and the way Linnell's cheeks would move with the pace of his thrusts. He couldn't ask for a better partner. "I really do feel like the sexiest man out there with— mm, with you on your knees for me— fuck, God, I'm gonna cum."
Linnell moaned around the dick, sucking one last time as Flans' big hands held his head shoved against the base. Flans tensed, a coil snapping within his stomach as blissful pleasure flooded through his nerves. Hot cum hit the back of the accordionist's throat, the man trying to keep his throat lax enough for the substance to go down smoothly.
As soon as Flans' grip lessened, Linnell fell back onto his haunches, coughing as he recovered. The guitarist stood shakily, a bit dazed. The endorphins buzzing through his system cleared slightly, lingering pleasantly on the edges of his reality as he took note of his partner curled on the floor, still wheezing a bit. He crouched to Linnell's level, gently rubbing the man's back in comfort.
"Sorry about that, I know you usually don't swallow," Flans had the decency to look at least a little sheepish as he spoke. "Are you okay?"
Linnell cleared his throat before replying, massaging his neck gently. "Yeah, I think so." His voice was slightly raspier than usual, but nothing concerning. "I'm just glad you enjoyed that as much as I hoped you would— I hated seeing you talk about yourself like that."
Flansburgh blushed, a little surprised that Linnell read him well enough to know that that would work. Granted, it only made sense that a performer would appreciate a good ego stroking— and Linnell seemed so genuine about it all, too.
"I really did mean all of that, you know." The accordionist echoed Flans' thoughts, as if he could read his mind. "All of you is… great."
Some of the older man's bravado had slipped away, his words a little less confident than before, but Flans could hear the weight behind them.
"You're pretty great too, by the way." Flans smiled warmly as he helped his partner off of the floor, leading the man to sit on the bed.
"… Thanks, Flansy." Linnell gave a crooked smile, getting comfortable. "Now how about you get me some water and we take a nap?"
"You have so many genius ideas today, I'm impressed." Flans joked as he bent down to put on his discarded boxers.
"I always do, you just don't listen to them," he grinned devilishly, scrunching his nose. "Another genius idea of mine is you staying naked so I can keep ogling you, how's that sound?"
Flans swallowed a flustered squeak, dropping the underwear with a nod. He scurried out of the room, returning shortly with a glass of water for his partner, who downed it quickly. The two arranged themselves under the covers, Linnell wrapping his arms around the larger man protectively. They laid in a comfortable silence for a moment before Flans spoke up.
"Thank you, y'know, for… all of that."
"Any time," Linnell muttered into Flans' shoulder as he gave the man a squeeze. "You're perfect, no matter what, I want you to know that."
A warm feeling churned in Flansburgh's gut, happy tingles spreading through his body. No matter what he looked like, no matter what he did, Linnell appreciated Flans all the same. It was nice to know that.