A/N: Well, here we are. I figured it had to be done eventually, and I may as well be the one to do it: shameless Link wank!fic. This scene takes place during "Without Love" where Link sings to Tracy's picture, and is mostly inspired by the way Zac played the scene. Also, an interview that Adam Shankman did. :)
If you're not a fan of the slightly raunchy, you may not want to proceed. Raunchiness lies ahead.
"Mr. and Mrs. Turnblad, could I possibly excuse myself a moment to use your restroom?"
At their acquiescing nods, Link Larkin stumbled down the Turnblad family hallway, away from the set of anxious parents. After turning the corner, he slumped bonelessly against the wall, shutting his eyes tightly. Looking into Wilbur and Edna Turnblad's eyes, all he could see was his own fear reflected back at him – a constant reminder that hehad screwed up, that he had made the wrong decision.
I should have been there. I should have been beside her, protecting her.
Guilt, fear, and self-hatred churned in his stomach. The part of his brain not occupied with suppressing the sick feeling, the part that constantly fretted about appearance and proper form, was angrily berating him for acting in such an uncool fashion. Coming all the way across town to a strange house in a situation he was uncomfortable in, and all for a girl he didn't even know for sure liked him back. Tracy Turnblad was unconventional in all kinds of ways, and there was no way to tell if that particular characteristic separated her from all the girls out there who wanted him.
They didn't matter anymore. Tracy did.
He opened his eyes, deciding that he may as way use to lavatory to splash some water on his face. The door in front of him was open, but sheathed in darkness. He shuffled across the hall, flipping the light switch – and his breath caught in his throat.
The room was unquestionably Tracy's bedroom.
Conflicting emotions battled against each other in his mind. Entering her room would be an invasion of privacy, an intrusion into her world. And yet, looking inside of Tracy's personal space would give him the chance to learn more about her, about the kind of person she was in private. And even if that knowledge was limited to what she kept on her nightstand or what kind of bedspread she owned, it was worth it.
Decision made, Link stepped slowly into the bedroom as though afraid to set off an alarm system. He shut the door as an afterthought; there was no need for Mr. and Mrs. Turnblad to know about this. As he gradually became accustomed to the new space, he chanced a glance around the room – and couldn't help but smile. The whole place was acutely, achingly Tracy. From the fuzzy slippers resting beside her bed to the tiny dolls on the shelves, the whole room felt so strongly of its missing occupant it almost stung.
Link grinned as he caught sight of the familiar can of Ultra Clutch on top of her dresser – and froze.
What could only be described as a shrine stared back at him from around her dressing table mirror. And all of the pictures, every last one, were of him. Cut-outs of his face with serrated edges from blunt scissors, the "Boys' Club" posters that had been shot half a year ago, promotional headshots with someone else's signature posing as his own scrawled across them. There were even, he noted with a great swell of satisfaction, snapshots of what had once been him and Amber… with Amber-shaped holes cut out.
An immense rush of relief hit him like a slap to the face; feeling suddenly light-headed, he plopped ungracefully onto her bed and cradled his head in his hands. He let out a giddy, stupid-sounding laugh. Tracy liked him. She had to; no one built a shrine like that to someone they were only vaguely fond of. She liked him back, and that made it okay that he had come all across town into a strange house for her. It made it okay that he… loved her. A wide grin spread across his face, and he clutched the comforter on either side of him, bunching it up.
It hit him all at once that he was on her bed. His eyes widened, and for the first time he glanced downwards at the plush expanse beneath him. Her bed. The place where she slept. He leant over so he could stroke his hand across the spot where he imagined her body would be, the touch so immensely personal that he shuddered.
Link made a quick detour to grab a picture of her off of the shelf before sliding underneath the covers and bringing them up to his chest. It was a school photo, one of the ones that parents bought about a million of and sent to relatives across the country. It was easy to look cheesy in them, but Tracy just look… happy. Genuine. He dragged his thumb across the glass that covered her black-and-white cheek. She was brave and sweet and amazing and she liked him back. Pulling the photo down over his heart, he lay back on her pillow and closed his eyes.
He let himself fall into the now-familiar fantasy of what it would be like to kiss her. He imagined his fingers slowly curving around the back of her neck, cradling it, playing idly with the soft hairs that escaped from her hairsprayed 'do. He would lean down so that their foreheads touched, each other's breathing loud in the silence. His lips would brush against hers, chaste and velvet smooth. He'd press harder and her lips would part, warm and willing. It was the same fantasy he'd been relaying over and over in his head for the past few weeks.
Only this time it was different. This time he was in her bedroom, in the centre of her world, staring at a picture of her looking oh-god-so-beautiful. This time when he breathed in he could smell her surrounding him in the blankets and the pillowcase.
Link froze as he became conscious of the affect his thoughts were having on him. He lay stalk-still with her comforter draped across his fully clothed body, keenly aware of every movement. His breath came out more and more ragged as the seconds ticked by.
He didn't consider the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Turnblad were just down the hall, that he was in a strange house in a bed that wasn't his. Without conscious thought he let go of the photograph with one hand, allowing the other to fully support its weight. He slid his hand under the comforter and unbuttoned his fly, then dragged his zipper down. Slowly, so slowly, he reached into his boxer shorts and took himself in hand. His quiet hiss at the sensation shattered the silence. His hand began to move, eyes not leaving the photo in front of him.
He let his mind go farther than he'd ever let it go before. Kissing a trail down her neck, his hand on her waist rubbing in gentle circles and the other unbuttoning her blouse. Sending away all of her doubts with nonsense words and phrases, telling her over and over how beautiful she was. Kissing away her fear.
His hand tightened around her photo as his hips jerked up involuntarily.
Tracy would be soft and warm and wanting – nothing like Amber, with her harsh angles and controlled manner. He could furrow into the crook of her neck, wrap his arms around her and pull her as tight against him as possible. All of her, pressed right up against him.
His breathing was beginning to become laboured and irregular as the slow motions of his hand shot electricity through him with every stroke. A hoarse, guttural noise of want escaped from the back of his throat; he bit down hard on his bottom lip, fighting to keep his eyes open so he could keep maintain his eye contact with her photo.
Roughly he shoved away any association with what he'd had with Amber. Tracy would be different, hot and eager with her manicured fingernails digging into his shoulder blades, pulling him in closer. His speed increased, and pressure began to build at the base of his spine, spreading through his body like slow-dripping honey.
He would be the first and only to have her, the first to take her and touch her in such an intimate way. No one else could have her, hot and tight and god, so willing –
His eyes snapped shut and his hand clenched around her photo as liquid sweetness shot through him from his head to his toes. He rode the sensation to the end, mind full of no one else and oh god, Tracy. His hand slowed and then stopped its movements.
He lay still on her bed, taking in unsteady gasps of air as he recovered from release. Hand still trembling, he raised the photo of her smiling face to his lips and laid a kiss on it.
"Link!" Mrs. Turnblad's voice came from down the hall. "Your pork is ready!"
Link's eyes shot wide open. Half-panicked and still slightly shaky, he grabbed some of the tissues from Tracy's nightstand and cleaned himself up. He threw off the covers and did his pants up, balling up the tissues and shoving them into his pocket. Taking one final steadying breath, he replaced her smiling photo back on the shelf.
As he flipped the light switch off and travelled back down the hall, he prayed silently and ardently that Tracy's parents had not remarked upon his long absence.