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It never rains in Los Angeles.
But here they were, trapped in gridlock, the sky unloading on the City of Angels. It lashed down in sheets, dyeing the pale concrete highway a deep charcoal grey. The roof of the car whirred with the tinny sound of a thousand fat droplets beating against it. Windshield wipers swiping left, right, left, right, hypnotic. Link sighed and let his hands fall from the steering wheel into his lap.
“We haven’t moved in five minutes, man.”
“Must be an accident up ahead,” Rhett said, like a reflex. He stared blankly ahead, eyes tracing a wayward trickle of rain on the windshield just to watch it be cleared away by the long, rubber blade. It seemed like there was always an accident on the 5. “Must be a bad one.”
Link let his head roll back onto the headrest, taking a deep breath and letting his eyelids droop closed. “Typical,” he muttered, low. “It’s like five miles until the next exit.” Five miles seemed like an impossibly long distance when trapped bumper to bumper, wedged dead in the middle of ten lanes of stalled traffic. Rhett let out a deep hum in agreement before draining the last few drops of his coffee, manipulating the empty paper cup between his fingers. He turned it over and sideways and back upright again, eyes never wavering from the steady shwump-shwump-shwump of the windshield wipers. He fumbled for a moment, the brake lights of the car ahead turning off for a split second— the hope of movement— a false alarm. The cup tumbled from his hands, bouncing off the corner of his seat and into the compartment at Link’s feet.
“Whoops,” Rhett muttered. “I’ll get it.” He leaned down, a broad palm bracing himself on Link’s gracile knee. He stretched, careful not to put too much pressure on his back, fingers reaching, rolling the cup towards his palm until he wrapped his hand around it. He gingerly wrenched himself up with a groan, leaning back in his seat. Link’s gaze was fixed on Rhett’s hand, still planted on his leg, a faint rosy blush slowly rising up his cheeks. Rhett withdrew his hand. “Sorry.” Link swallowed, eyes unflinching at the place where the heat of Rhett’s palm had rested. Something sat hard and solid in the pit of Rhett’s stomach, like he’d swallowed a brick. And then, bravely— brazenly— he tossed the cup back at Link’s feet.
“Whoops,” he said again, nonchalant, but his voice was ripe with intention. “I’ll get it.” It was déjà vu all over again; the hand, soft yet firm, gripping Link’s knee. Rhett, leaning over, arm outstretched. But this time, he didn’t reach for the cup. He waited, feeling the bony ridges of the other man’s knee. He turned his head to meet Link’s eyes— shimmering and blue and lashes peeled wide. Rhett sat upright again, but instead of leaning back into his seat, he leaned closer to Link, his body contorted at the waist. Link’s lips moved wordlessly, eyes flicking wildly between Rhett’s hand to his olive eyes to his soft, pink mouth, and back again.
Rhett swallowed hard. He took a gamble— but it felt right. It felt like something he should’ve done a long time ago. A quick, chaste kiss, planted squarely on Link’s lips. He pulled back, his face hot and flushed. Link’s pink tongue darted between his lips and brushed across the point of contact.
“Rhett,” Link muttered, his hand rising up between their chests to skim his index finger across his mouth. “What…?” Sweat began to form in droplets at Rhett’s temples and across his forehead. Had he made a mistake? Maybe the biggest mistake of his life? Had he managed to drive the first nail in the coffin of a life he’d spent more than three decades cultivating? He moved to remove his palm from Link’s knee, eyes averted, when the other man’s hand moved lightning-quick to grasp him around the wrist. “Don’t,” Link whispered. “Do it again.”
And Rhett did. He gave Link’s knee a gentle squeeze and brought his lips against Link’s again. There was no surprise this time, only the warmth of his mouth; the slight scrape of stubble from his chin. Link let out a quiet moan, and his lips parted, ever so slightly, the tip of his tongue prodding into Rhett’s mouth. He accepted him, tasting the lingering kiss of coffee on his breath, the peanut butter and peppermint on his lips. He tasted sweet and new and familiar all in one; like 11,640 days of brotherhood; like a dream in broad daylight or a downpour in Los Angeles. He tasted like Link and he tasted like infinite possibilities. An oasis in the desert. The eye of the storm. The pitter-patter in his chest matched the pitter-patter of the rain on the windshield.
When they broke apart, the air in the car was thick and humid, windows foggy and misted over. Link laughed as Rhett brushed a stray strand of dark hair across his forehead, eyes twinkling and cheeks flushed with exuberant delight.
“Why now?” Link asked, his fingers still wrapped tight around Rhett’s wrist.
“I— I dunno, man,” Rhett sputtered. “I just figured that kissin’ you wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” Link’s smile tugged at the sides of his lips and at the faint lines in the corners of his eyes.
“Was it?”
“Not even close.”