Work Text:
"And you just had to stop and just cause he look just as nice
You looked at him, he looked at you and you knew right away
He had someone but he was gonna be yours anyway
You couldn't be seen with him at all and still you didn't care
Cause in a room behind a door no one but y'all are there"
-OPP by Naughty by Nature
Taika figures out that Rhys and Samba are fucking via Instagram.
He's laying in bed, indulging in a bit of procrastination by thumbing through his socials. He settles in to peruse Instagram when he sees it.
He brings the phone to his face, squinting at the place where Rhys and Samba’s thighs are pressed together. He takes a screenshot so he can zoom in like a fucking creep. He spreads his fingers to blow up the picture, focusing on the thighs first, brings his fingers together so he can maneuver the picture to Rhys’ perfect fucking face. He stares for a minute, something like jealousy starts to roll around in his belly at the sight of Rhys’ bleached hair and crinkled eyes. He’s radiating comfort and affection, something Taika knows all about and can’t get enough of.
Taika sighs, letting his phone go dark.
It's not like he didn't know that Rhys sometimes also sleeps with men. Taika’s a man, for the most part, and he’s got it on good authority that Rhys likes being bitten, has some fond memories of the way Rhys sounds when he’s trying to be quiet as he comes, and boy does he come spectacularly.
No, Taika’s not surprised about that, he thinks as he squirms about, arousal tangling up with his envy.
Rather, he’s surprised he’s still fucking around.
Taika presses a hand flat against his forehead like he’s got a fever. He will not have a meltdown over this. He will not think about the faint line in the sand Taika apparently imagined. The one they have swayed dangerously close to crossing more than once and Taika has managed to pull them back from every single time because he thought the hook up window had firmly shut when Rhys got married.
Okay, maybe a little meltdown because, ugh, joke’s on Taika.
Taika smacks himself on the forehead, a satisfying sound that he repeats a few more times. It’s not productive but he’s getting hard at the idea of Rhys blatantly ignoring his vows to fuck hot men. Galaxy brain. Fucking legendary. Where is the queue to be next because Taika’s been waiting a long time like a good boy.
Well, a ‘good boy’ by Taika’s standards.
He’s not responsible for himself when Rhys is being Rhysie and Taika just has to touch, has to put his arm around him to feel his shoulders shake from laughter, or when he’s freaked out of his mind about being sincere for the camera so Taika sneaks his fingers under soft shirts to press comfortingly into warm skin.
Irritation bubbles up in Taika's stomach, confusing his poor erection, when he's struck with the realization that he's been the only one even pretending to try to respect Rhys' marriage.
Taika drags his hand down his face, scratches against his beard and no, that’s not good. Shivers run down Taika’s back because god, Rhys liked to scrape his front teeth against the grain on his cheeks, so much so he snuck a pass during the second take of the beach kiss. It’s been years since Rhys has been that close.
Taika’s hands skims along his neck, down his sternum to rest atop his cell phone where it lays warm on his belly, fingernail tapping it awake.
Anyway, he figures it out. It’s not like they’re hiding it.
Taika clicks on Samba’s profile.
The first post is of the two of them cozying up in a diner booth, Rhys’s hair artfully disheveled, like he took the time to run his fingers through it to make his curls look delicious, like he was going on a date. Samba is a tall drink of water, for sure; fluid and so fucking cool in his loose fitting blouses and wide grins. Taika gets it, absolutely wouldn't mind having a sip, and files that information for later. More men to consider for Taika’s own queue, maybe.
After he’s had Rhys, of course. He spares a thought to the missus as he returns to Rhys’s Instagram, photo dump after photo dump of he and Samba out and about, peppered with Rhys’s random ass adventures and obsessions and his sons. Taika smashes the heart icon over and over, deliberately skipping over the rare posts that include his wife.
And then, because he can’t help but think of missed opportunities; Taika's 40th, every single movie shoot they've been on, especially Wilderpeople and the subsequent publicity tour, and most recently Flag's first series flit through Taika's mind like a sizzle reel; he posts a story of himself in bed where he has spent the last hour piecing together an affair that possibly started right under his nose while they filmed Flag at the same time Taika fought with himself to keep his hands to himself. He gives the camera kissy faces, effects the obnoxious Youtube voice, and points in different directions, growling at the audience (Rhys) to subscribe for more updates.
Massive aggression.
Kinda pathetic too. Oh well. Taika gave up caring about his dignity, especially when Rhys was concerned, a long time ago, in a dingy alley behind a bar far, far away. Taika gives up the ghost and shimmies his underwear down to his thighs, thumbs away from Instagram to sift through his photos until he finds his not so secret folder of Ed/Stede smut art and jerks off, grateful that he and the fans share the same horny appreciation for Rhys Darby’s incredible tits.
***
Contrary to popular belief, Taika can be unnervingly patient. Although, to be fair, he’s been busy. Not too busy to think about Rhys all the time, but busy enough to note the passage of time from deadline to deadline, event to event, party to party instead of days of the week. So really, he’s patient because there’s no other choice.
He whirlwinds through Lightyear and Thor, summer vacation with the girls, and meetings and meetings and meetings. Time Bandits. Star Wars. Netflix. And finally, rounding back to Flag for season two. He’s in a weird moment, sitting in the deceptive calm of a hurricane’s eyewall, when his patience runs out.
He’s looking through Instagram again. This time he’s waiting for his food to heat up. He had to train himself to avoid social media while in bed, too tempted to mindlessly scroll for hours when he could be productive. Besides, he’s too tired to rub one out to fanart. He just wants to eat and faceplant. He’s trying to fill up the time as he listens to his microwave hum, his personal chef had long been gone by the time he got home, his dinner in a glass container in the fridge, waiting for Taika like a sad, forgotten wife when he ends up right where he told himself not to go.
He sees there’s another post of Rhys and Samba, jetlagged grins, glasses clinking, and sex yet to be had. He glances at the location tag – Aotearoa – and feels that same flare of jealousy. How dare Rhys fuck anyone that isn’t Kiwi while he’s home.
How fucking dare Rhys fuck anyone that isn’t Kiwi while he’s home.
He lets the green eyed jealous bastard in him direct his finger to his text messages and type out, u up? because Taika is nothing if not original. He freaks for a second. What if he and Samba are fucking at this very moment. Would Rhys text back knowing it was Taika? Or would he leave him on read like he was just some rando? What about his wife? Does he ignore her when he goes out with Samba?
The three bubbles indicating Rhys is typing pop up almost immediately, putting Taika out of his misery. Taika drums his fingers on the counter along with them. Index, middle, ring. Index, middle, ring. Okay, so no sex with Samba tonight, it seems.
Maybe Taika can jump the queue?
Yep.
Taika bites his lip, glances at his dinner. Can I come over?
Index, middle, ring. Index, midd–
Yep.
“Mr. Cohen,” Taika mutters to himself as he gathers his keys and stuffs his bare feet into the first pairs of shoes he finds, “your number has been called.”
Taika dials Rhys on his way over.
They’ve been friends for most of their adult lives, a comfortable friendship that doesn’t rely so much on proximity but, rather, an understanding of how the other works. Kindred spirits, Rhys had called them. Taika knew that if he didn’t see Rhys for years, didn’t speak to him during that lull, he would still be the same person, would open his arms just as wide, and hug him just as tight when they saw each other again. He knew, as if it were a scientific fact, that Rhys would always understand him without Taika saying a word. That he would smile and nudge their shoulders together and accept Taika, no questions asked.
This, whatever this was going to be, was going to be exactly like that. He has no idea what it’s like between Rhys and Samba, if they had negotiated with their wives to carry on with whatever it is that Taika can clearly see secondhand, but Taika can’t– he won’t burst the bubble that he and Rhys always found themselves in whenever they were allowed to be alone together, which, come to think of it, wasn’t very often, even during filming. He feels like if they talked about it, they would turn heel and run in opposite directions, away from instead of towards each other.
So Taika decides they won’t talk.
They were home now. Together. Ostensibly, alone. For the first time since he found himself on the receiving end of Rhys’s new bride’s smug gaze when they finally met, two weeks after their wedding all those years ago.
Rosie never hid her feelings regarding Taika’s position in her husband’s life, but Taika’s almost obsessive need to impress Rhys suited her too much to complain. And Rhys either didn’t care or notice because he just kept on saying yes to Taika. Yes, I’ll be in your movies. Yes, I’ll go on a publicity tour with you regardless of my minimum as fuck screen time. Yes, I’ll pretend to be in love with you. So while she always said it with her eyes and her contract negotiations (“I want to be there for the kissing scenes.” “No sex scenes, fade to black is okay, but no sex scenes.” “Do you have to film in New Zealand? The sets are here. Isn’t it more expensive to have them shipped?” No you cannot be there, yes there might be sex scene, yes we have to film in Aotearoa, no it’s not that expensive), how much she didn’t trust Taika with her husband, she never said it with her mouth.
Yeah, nah. There’s too much to talk about. Taika would rather use his mouth for other things instead.
“Hi, Rhysie baby.” Taika croons into his radio, where he assumes the speaker is for his bluetooth. Naughty by Nature’s OPP is displayed on the radio screen in green letters, the song paused while Taika’s on the phone with Rhys. Taika sticks his tongue out at it. He is most assuredly damn skippy about other people’s penises, thanks very much, specifically Rhys’s.
Rhys’s laugh is warm even through the static, like he knows Taika has hype music on standby, would correctly guess that Taika has a playlist for this specific occasion.
“Hi Taiks.”
Taika takes a deep breath in through his nose, puts a pin to the bubble even though he just fucking told himself he wouldn’t talk about it, dear lord, Taika David Cohen. “I’m coming over to have sex with you. Is that okay?”
Good ol’ Rhysie. He laughs again. Taika can hear the difference between the one before and this one. It’s a yes. It’s a yes, Taika I’ll do whatever you want because I want you in my life however I can have you, for as long as we both shall live. Taika answers back with a huff.
“Get here quick,” Rhys says. “Door’s unlocked.”
Taika presses a hand to the ache between his legs after he hangs up, humming along to the beat of his playlist.
***
Rhys has a big smirk, tight black undies, his glasses and nothing else on when Taika comes stumbling in. He’s laid out on the couch on his side, one toned leg triangled giving Taika a VIP view of his crotch, looking like Burt fucking Reynolds. God damn. Sure, initially he was a little bummed that he wouldn't have the opportunity to rip the other man's clothes off him but that was past Taika’s problem, current Taika has no problem with this display. This...this is good. This is totally fine. Taika likes this just as much, maybe more, because wow, that is a lot of leg. Besides, he gets to take off the most important bits; the underwear and those fucking glasses.
Taika licks his lips. "Hi honey."
Rhys smiles, his eyes glittering behind those ridiculous glasses.
"Hi babes."
And because they can't be in each other's presence and not laugh, they burst at the seams with it. Rhys's leg claps down on the other, skin slapping against skin and oh god, that makes Taika double over. He's a master multitasker though, no worries, and it’s always been like this with them, a mess of laughter and want. He kicks off his shoes as he giggles, watching them fly in different directions that'll probably make Rhys pissy later. For now, though, Rhys is still chuckling as he sits up, his hair so disheveled, it reminds Taika of that fucking Instagram post.
“Why now?”
Rhys asks when they eventually get their shit together. Taika is in Rhys' lap, kissing him in between passes of his fingers through his hair, trying to muss it up as much as possible. Rhys's hair is blow dry soft, he almost wants to put it in his mouth.
Taika shrugs.
He reaches for Rhys’s glasses instead, pulls them gingerly off his face.
Rhys blinks a few times to adjust. It makes his nose scrunch up. So fucking cute. Taika can’t help but kiss him about it. There’s a convenient end table for Taika to safely deposit his glasses without having to pull away, leaving his hand free to join the other in Rhys’s hair. Taika cups the back of his head with both hands, tilting Rhys back back back until his mouth falls open for Taika to devour. He licks wet and messy, scooches his hips forward until there’s nowhere left for him to go, their dicks pressed up hard against each other. He can feel Rhys’s stomach shudder in and out as he breathes heavily into Taika’s mouth and it’s a lot, it’s a lot, and he’s about to lose himself in it, in Rhys, until he remembers he actually has a good answer to his question.
He sucks on Rhys’s tongue as he draws away. Taika waits until Rhys opens his eyes, pulls his hair a little to get his attention.
“Why now?” Taika repeats.
Rhys nods.
Taika is trying to concentrate, truly, but Rhys’s mouth is there and it’s shiny and does the answer really matter when he’s already in his lap? He decides to demonstrate his multitasking prowess. He pushes a thumb against Rhys’s bottom lip hard enough to pin it against his teeth, until Rhys gets with the program and opens his mouth. He takes a second to draw his thumb over the sinuous curves of the mouth that has said the funniest, weirdest shit, the mouth that keeps saying yes, the mouth from which brilliant bullshit just bubbles out and admits to Rhys the simplest truth.
“I was jealous. Want you to fuck only me while we’re home.”
Selfish, possessive Taika being selfish possessive Taika. Rhys doesn't look surprised, lets Taika's admission settle between them in the humidity of their bodies, and stares. Taika loves a good staring contest but, uh, he wouldn't mind losing this one. Didn't realize how much of a creep he's been about Rhys fucking other men until that came out of his mouth.
Rhys finally relents and pinches the tip of Taika's thumb between his teeth after a moment. Taika thinks about the beach kiss, those anchoring moments they snuck in just out of the camera's focus, and sighs, letting his shoulders relax, his thumb slipping from Rhys's mouth. He moves to cup his face, that delicious stubble scraping his palms, digs his nails in the sensitive spots behind his ears and gives him a quick kiss. Rhys winds his arms around his waist, his hands flat against his back, pushing Taika forward until their chests are pressed so close together, he swears he can feel Rhys's heart beating.
He can definitely feel Rhys's dick. Holy shit.
Rhys tosses his head, trying to get his bangs under control while not dislodging himself from Taika's hands. Taika would help but he likes seeing Rhys messed up. He eventually gives up, huffing a bit. Seems like Rhys doesn't want to move either. Taika takes pity, only for his favorite person besides his children, and pushes his hair back.
"Thanks," Rhys chirps, like it's no big deal. Thanks for pushing my hair out of my face so I can consent to cheating on my wife with you. "Thought you were immune to jealousy since it's been about--" he lifts his hand away from Taika's waist to check the watch that's not there, fucking haughty brat--"eighteen years."
Taika smacks his hand away. "No wait." He amends, wrapping his fingers around Rhys' wrist to bring his hand where he wants it, right on his ass, encouraging him to squeeze. Rhys's smile is mischievous, like all the boys Taika crushed on when he was in college. Roguish motherfucker. "Yeah, nah, learned to live with that a long time ago, mate."
L I E.
"But, ah, I genuinely didn't think you would go for it, you know?"
That earns him Rhys's very animated skeptical look; bushy eyebrows crinkle until his eyes narrow, his stupidly cute nose wrinkles, and his mouth presses into the worst kind of duck lips. It's adorable. Taika shifts, trying to give his aching cock some relief. This is getting ridiculous. He had looked himself in the eye in the rearview mirror on his way over and sternly told himself not to do this. Not to talk about it. Talking about it would make shit worse, would mean owning up to not only being a fucking creep about Rhys and Samba, but oh, the infidelity itself. Because Taika didn't think Rhys would go for it because he's fucking married.
Which is why Taika really doesn't want to talk about it because he absolutely does not care now that he knows he can. Rhys is no angel, but he's also not Taika. What Taika wants, Taika eventually makes it so that he gets. Work around my schedule, he told Disney. He willingly gave up Star Wars for this. For this chance to be in love with Rhys one more time. At home, no less. He orchestrated the entire production to his whims so he could freely shower his friend in affection without looking over his shoulder, putting his other thousands of other projects on the back burner. He wanted Rhys so bad, he whisked him away from his entire fucking family without even a hint of a promise of yes.
Except, Taika knows better. Rhys always says yes.
Oh, Blackbeard, he thinks, we're really in it now.
Rhys stops the restless squirming Taika didn't realize he’d been doing with a playful smack to his ass, sending shivers up his spine.
"Why wouldn't I go for it? It's you. All you have to do is ask, you know that, right?"
Yep. Yep. Okay. They're just going to skirt right around the reason why Taika thought he would say no. Rhys leans in to kiss his neck, clearly ready to get this show on the road, his palms sliding up and under his shirt, pushing it up until it bunches under Taika's pits.
Or maybe--
Maybe.
Taika lets him take off his shirt then descends on Rhys, clenching his knees around Rhys's hips as he rolls forward, their dicks grinding through their underwear. That particular move earns him a breathless moan right against his throat because fuck--
Maybe Rhys is like Taika.
They don't talk much after that. Not much to talk about, apparently. At least not until Taika finds himself laid out on the couch, his arms stretched out above his head, his legs wrapped around Rhys's thighs. Rhys is doing a good job of teasing out every fucking embarrassing noise out of Taika by doing the hottest shit. He's licking a line down the fleshy part of Taika's arms until his nose is buried in the warm concave of his pit and takes a big whiff. A thought strikes through him, the worst kind of intrusive thought because he's going to fucking say it, he can't not say it, shit, because all he can think about is how his pit hair isn't as curly as the head on his hair and suddenly he's wondering about glossy black curly hair that isn't his and---
"Do that with all your man lovers, do you?" It comes out so breathy, almost a whine, and he's being so annoying, but there's no way Taika wasn't going to eventually ask about Samba. Rhys doesn't even deign to pull away, decides to be extra nasty and licks him there too. He hums in an affirmative, says yup, popping the 'p' as he moves on from Taika's pit down his chest, making a detour to lave the flat of his tongue over Taika's nipple. What the fuck.
Rhys doesn't stop there. He's clearly got a destination in mind as he scoots himself down the couch, catching Taika's thighs before they fall open. He spreads them himself and Taika has no choice but to let it go. Rhys is with him now. His very elaborate, decades long plan has worked. Nothing else matters except for the way Rhys's mouth opens, hot and wet, over Taika's underwear, right where he wants him.
For all the fooling around they've done, they've never done it horizontally and without some sort of time constraint so Rhys takes his time, getting Taika worked the fuck up, his underwear ruined from his own dick leaking like a god damn faucet and Rhys's saliva. He's at it for so long that Taika is convinced Rhys is going to suck him through the fabric, denying him the chance to finally feel those lips wrapped tight around his cock.
Taika drags his toes along Rhys's calf, tries to thrust into his mouth, whines in what he hopes is in a enticing manner but is probably more like 'air releasing from a pinched balloon' to get Rhys to take some fucking direction to no avail. Rhys uses one sexy as fuck arm to pin his ass down and continues licking him through his underwear.
"Be a good boy," Rhys scolds. And nope, that's not fair. Taika smacks Rhys's bare shoulder, the other hand pulling on his own curls in frustration. Rhys catches Taika's wrist and pins it to the cushions, tightening his grip until Taika's eyes flutter open. He tips his chin down, breath catching in his throat at the look on Rhys's face. His eyes are dark, spots of pink on his cheeks, his chin wet with spit, fuuuuuuck. F U C K. Taika actually gulps.
Taika takes a deep breath, willing his body to relax. He's not 100% successful but it's good enough for Rhys, rewards him with finally, fucking finally, pulling Taika's underwear down just enough to tuck under his balls and oh, this isn't going to take long. Taika tips his head back after Rhys honest to god licks his lips, his stomach swooping like he just crested over the first steep hill of a roller coaster, waiting to plummet. Rhys curls warm fingers around him, strokes him from root to tip just once, tight and slow, coming to a stop at the head.
"Fuck." He huffs at the ceiling. He feels like Rhys is squeezing his very life out of his dick. It's a little distressing in the best way. He really wants to come. He can feel Rhys breathing on his dick, shudders when he rests his opened mouth on his cock head, the ridge right in the middle of the humid space between his lips. His toes curl as he lets himself freefall, moans out a pathetic please.
"That's a good boy." Rhys mumbles, his lips brushing against him, kissing the 'b' in boy right on his cock, and that's it. Taika can't take it anymore. He comes, flagrantly loud and sloppy all over Rhys's stupid face, getting some in his perfect fucking hair and it's good, so good, Taika's not sure how he doesn't cramp up, and then Rhys's mouth is on him, determined to suck out every last drop, his hand still pumping whatever doesn't fit in his hot as hell mouth.
His legs are shaking but he doesn't push Rhys away. Doesn't want this to end. Rhys is sucking him like he thinks Taika has another one in him. He wishes he could give it to him. He just quivers, shoving one hand in Rhys' hair, the other in his own, and yanks hard on them both, making Rhys gasp, finally releasing Taika's poor, spent cock.
"God damn, fuck me sideways, Rhys, holy shit." His voice is a wreck, his body still wracked with aftershocks. Rhys presses his forehead against Taika's hip, mouths at him there and oh, he can see Rhys's arm moving, jerking himself off. Taika can't do much, still pinned to the couch and orgasm stupid. He runs his fingers through Rhys's hair before pulling, pulling hard until he lifts his head and fuckin' A, his cock twitches pathetically at the look on Rhys' come streaked face. His eyes are dark and unfocused, his nose flaring as he breathes hard. His teeth are bared, clenched tightly, keeping whatever noises he thinks he can't let go trapped inside and no, that won't do. He takes one hand out of Rhys's hair so he can cup his wet face.
"I wanna hear you, Darby. Let me hear you."
Yeah, that gets him what he wants. Rhys's eyes squeeze shut. His mouth falls open. Taika can feel his arm speed up and then the glorious sound of Rhys letting go, moaning loudly against Taika's fingers when he hooks them over his teeth. His own come is smeared across his hip, and now he's got Rhyss' dripping down the side of his thigh. Doesn't get any better. Taika stretches his legs, kicking his underwear the rest of the way off. He pulls his arms over his head again, lengthening his spine until it pops. Rhys fits himself between Taika and the couch, stubbornly trying to make it work despite them being way too tall and old to pretzel themselves.
They figure it out, laying on their sides, smiling at each other. Rhys palms Taika's ass, pinches his cheek, then skims his hand to cup Taika's thigh, pulling it over his hip. Taika dips in to suck on his neck, bites his way back up until he can drag his tongue through the mess on Rhys's face. Rhys laughs, worming a hand between them to wrap his fingers around Taika's neck.
Taika sighs. "That was good, huh?"
Rhys chuckles, turning his face to kiss him, their tongues brushing.
"So good." Another kiss. "So fucking good."
Taika's stomach swoops again. Fuck yeah, he knew they would still be good together. Rhys lays his head on Taika’s shoulder, obviously ready to settle in for a cuddle, if not a nap. He pets Taika’s chest, fingernails catching on his nipples on every pass, lulling Taika into a warm doze. He can feel himself slipping into unconsciousness when he remembers–
He sits up, twisting at the waist to look at Rhys, who simply lays there, his eyes half lidded and amused. He doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest. There are so many things that Taika can say and Rhys just…lays there. And yeah, maybe they’re more alike than Taika realized because he merely raises an eyebrow when the silence stretches. Taika narrows his eyes and points a finger right in Rhys’ face.
“Are you going to keep fucking Samba?”
Rhys bursts into laughter. He just laughs and fucking laughs until he’s gasping, hand on his chest like a maiden, that dickhead.
God damn it. Mortifying heat rushes to Taika’s face. He got got, didn’t he. He doesn’t mean to admit that aloud, but it slips out, fucking embarrassing. He smacks his forehead.
“Yeah,” Rhys answers in between hiccups, fucking chucklefuck. Rhys is still laughing when he reaches for Taika. He pulls at him until Taika’s face is pressed between his tits and yeah okay, he’s over it already. Taika blows a raspberry in his cleavage in retaliation.