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***
The gang—minus Mac—heads back to the bar straight after the arbitration fiasco. Honestly, Dennis can’t think of anything he’d less rather do than sit around drinking beer, speculating on recent events, or on just what Mac’s ‘newfound’ gaydom might entail for the gang. And somehow, of course, that’s all the gang is interested in and exactly what happens.
They discuss in useless, self-absorbed detail—Dennis doing his utmost to keep quiet and neutral—until they circle right back around to the shit they’ve already discussed.
“I don’t give a shit what nobody says—that still wasn’t a hate crime!” Frank announces, to no-one in particular, slamming his beer bottle on the bar. “A man’s life was at stake!”
Charlie goes all high-pitched, “Uh, you for sure hate-crimed him, Frank. Were you not there for the past seventy-nine hours at the Arby’s?”
“We were all there,” Dee reminds him, “and it was my scratcher and that goddamn cocksucker got it?!”
“Whoa whoa whoa! That’s a hate crime now, too, Dee. It’s been established. You can’t say—”
“I told you already that you can’t take cocksucker away from me, Charlie—”
“—And also, it’s already been established that Mac’s gonna pay the fees for the Arby’s Traitor, or whatever, and we already know he’s been gay since like forever, so, like, what are we even arguing for?”
Frank shrugs. “Well, he better not come to me tomorrow with all that queer crying shit asking me to pay instead. Ten grand is ten grand. And I ain’t paying shit for shit.”
“What do you think, Dennis?”
Dennis downs the rest of his beer and clenches his jaw, feels his mask of magnanimity and indifference slipping away with each second…
He doesn’t want to think about it.
He just wants to sleep off the past god knows how many tedious hours and not think about Mac—about that—at all. Perhaps with the aid of a nice, peaceful bubble bath.
“I think I’m going to have a bubble bath.”
Frank and Charlie are already arguing about something else.
Dee greets him with a skeptical look. “Sure.” She says, over-preened eyebrows quirked. “I’m gonna be out all night tonight, by the way. Hitting up ma main squeeze Joey for some of that sweet fine ass he’s a-rockin’.”
Usually, Dennis would tell his sister to stop being disgusting, and to also stop telling him things he clearly doesn’t give a shit about, but instead, he grabs his Range Rover keys from where he’d dumped them on the bar and immediately exits, thoughts of serenity, of aromatic oils and relaxation playlists front of mind—and thoughts of Mac far, far away.
Mostly.
*
As usual, his plan is foisted: Dennis gets back to Dee’s place to find Mac already there.
He’s shower-fresh, hair all fluffy, and wearing just a towel.
Dennis is distracted by this, quite understandably. He’d be distracted by anyone in a towel, of course, be it man or woman, neither or both. It doesn’t mean anything, obviously.
He suddenly feels a nervous lurching in his stomach.
“Hey dude,” Mac says, a little more sheepish than usual.
“Hey,” Dennis says, swallowing thickly. He checks the time on his phone. “Uh. Where’s Carl?”
“Who?”
“Old-the old man who’s slept at the bottom of Dee’s bed for the past year?”
“Oh yeah, he came by earlier.”
“How the hell do you still not know his name?!”
“I forgot! He doesn’t talk much. Anyway, I paid him off for tonight. I wanted some time to myself without Old—”
“—Carl—”
“—Without Carl around here, you know? I mean, not because he’s old, or black, or anything else, really—he’s less annoying than Dee, for sure—I mean, I just wanted—”
“I got it, Mac. Jesus Christ.” Dennis shakes his head. Thank god the bet for the four of them sharing a bed was so very nearly almost over.
He thinks about telling Mac that Dee is out too tonight, but for some reason, it gets caught in his throat.
“Don’t worry, by the way. He promised not to tattle to Frank, so the bet isn’t compromised. And I gave him a hundred dollars for it, which is no biggie because I’m rich now.”
“Sure.” Dennis swallows thickly again and decides to change the subject. “To be honest, I thought you’d already be at the Rainbow tonight. You know. Partying. Celebrating, and such.”
“Nah,” Mac shrugs, a little sheepish again. “I mean, I thought about it for a while. But I just wanted to come home and let it sink in, you know what I mean? Well, as much as this dump is home. I just needed some time alone.”
“I know what you mean.” Dennis swallows thickly again again—this really is too fucking much. “You know, I can go to Charlie and Frank’s tonight if you need—”
“Nah, I didn’t mean alone from you! That’s the last thing I mean. I mean…” Instead of finishing his sentence, Mac moves around, nervously rearranges the numerous lopsided crucifixes still hung up on Dee’s living room wall. “Uh.”
Cleaning up whilst wearing only a threadbare bath towel around the hips? Utterly ridiculous.
“Then what…” Dennis trails off, “…the hell is that thing doing here?!”
The dildo bike. This fucking guy.
“Oh, the Ass Pounder 4000?” Mac says, casually. “I figured that I could get my pump on here now instead.”
“What?! In the middle of Dee’s living room?!”
“Why not? You can always borrow it if you want—”
“You are fucking unbelievable.” Dennis runs his hands through his own perfectly-coiffed hair, feeling rage bubbling up from deep within. “That thing is going straight back in the basement—where it goddamn belongs—first thing tomorrow, Mac.”
“Fine!” Mac shrugs again. “Okay, whatever. Jesus.” He has a faraway look on his face, though; something like relief and unease in equal measure.
Dennis knows the feeling. He clears his throat, decides to change the subject again.
“So. Uh. It’s sticking this time, then?”
“What, the bike?”
“No, you fool. I mean—”
“I know what you mean. Yeah. It’s sticking.”
The seconds-long silence stretches into an eternity.
Dennis clears his throat again.
“Cool. Well, uh. That’s really… cool, Mac. Good for you.”
“Yeah?” Mac looks hopeful and wide-eyed.
“Sure.” Dennis keeps his voice as lowly-pitched as he can, which is proving extremely difficult. “It’s… been a long time coming.”
“Yeah, too long.” Mac looks down to the floor. “Way too long.”
“But you’re still feeling good about it, though?”
Mac shrugs, keeps his head down, “I guess.”
Dennis doesn’t like it. Not one fucking bit. “You know, we really wouldn’t mind if you decide—”
“No, it’s not that. I told you, it’s sticking.” Mac hesitates. “I just…”
“Just what?” Dennis asks, not knowing why he’s pushing it. “What?”
“I… Is it gonna be weird with us now?”
“Weird?! Why on earth would it be weird?” Dennis replies, voice pitched just a little too high. “I already know you’re gay, Mac. I’ve known it our whole goddamn lives. Since—”
“—I know, I know!” Mac says, flustered, equally high-pitched and definitely weird. He takes a breath. “Sorry. It’s just… like. Like I feel like you hate me, or something. Stupid, I know.”
Dennis lets it hang there for a painful moment until Mac starts talking again.
“Like, I always thought that if I came out you’d hate me for it. And I didn’t want that. That’s the last thing I ever want, because—”
“Mac, I don’t hate you for coming out.” He hates him for not coming out, but that’s a minor detail not worth fixating on.
“You don’t?”
“I don’t.”
As the relief washes over Mac’s face, Dennis grits his teeth and wishes the apartment floor would form a chasm beneath them both.
“That is—oh I feel so much better, Den. Wow. This is really a lot, isn’t it?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Like, I wasn’t planning on us talking about all this stuff right away, you know? But it feels good now I know that. Shit. Wow. I’ve thought about all this a lot… so many times that you wouldn’t believe, actually…” Mac takes a deep breath. “And I’m feeling so… so everything right now and I just—I just have to let it out, you know? For better or worse…” Out of nowhere, he grabs Dennis’ hand. “It’s like-like a fucking dam and I’m a beaver and it’s been bottled up for too long, all these feelings…”
All of a sudden, Dennis knows exactly what’s coming. His stomach lurches cold as he feels his entire world shift on its axis.
“N-n-n-n-no—” he attempts to right it, “Mac, no—”
“—Den, I—”
“Don’t you fucking say a single other word—”
“But you already know—”
“I don’t know shit, and you don’t know shit either—”
“Dennis Reynolds, I’m in love with—”
“—I said don’t,” Dennis shoves him against the wall so hard that it actually rattles a little. Mac clearly didn’t expect it—Dennis can feel the twitching in Mac’s hands as they try in vain to grapple Dennis’ shoulders before stilling, can feel Mac’s lips trembling beneath Dennis’ hand pressed firmly against his mouth, can feel Mac’s heart pounding against the flat palm from Dennis’ other hand, which is rammed right into Mac’s chest. “Don’t you say another goddamned word, you son of a bitch.”
Touching Mac was a big mistake, obviously.
For a stretched-out second, it’s like nothing else matters.
Nothing is real; the words and years of shit didn’t happen. It’s all gone. It’s just the two of them, here and now.
Dennis loosens his grip. Lets himself look.
He looks down at Mac’s chest—ribs heaving in response, clearly struggling to get enough air in. He looks down, further still, at the bulge already forming underneath the towel’s threadbare cotton—Mac is clearly enjoying their proximity, or at least his dick is. Fucking pervert.
Finally, he looks up at Mac’s face—a mixture of quintessential deer-in-headlights and Desire Incarnate.
And none of it’s gone, not really. How could it be?
Something washes over him—something uncontrollable, terrifying. Something new…
He pushes his palm flat and firm again, to feel the echo and thud of Mac. God, he’d rip that fucking heart out if he could, keep it for himself and make it all better.
Yes, Dennis sees it all. He sees what he wants—what he truly wants, in all its messy, bloodied glory—and for once in his controlled, pitiful sham of a life, he actually takes it.
Mac clearly isn’t expecting to be kissed either, so the rest of his unfinished sentence vibrates flatly into Dennis’ mouth. This fact makes Dennis rage out of his normal boundaries even more; he shoves Mac further into the wall to deepen the kiss and Mac—Mac just fucking lets him.
As they stutter and stilt into it, Mac’s hands find Dennis’ own, cradling Mac’s face, and his grip tightens around them. It’s painfully intimate, this something new for them both, and it snaps and fizzes—they’re full-on making out now with all the tonguing and moaning they can muster and it’s good, it’s fucking great, it’s the best, in fact: quite literally the best kiss either has ever had.
Abruptly, Dennis stops.
“Look,” he rasps, forehead pressed against Mac’s. “It’s… been a long day.”
“Uh-huh,” Mac stammers his response, punch-drunk, clearly unable to do or say much else.
“A very long day.”
“Uh-huh.”
Dennis looks down again, can see Mac’s towel barely hanging on now, due to the already-raging boner beneath, can feel and see his own goddamn boner pressed up against the denim of his jeans.
“And this was a huge mistake.”
“Uh—” Mac swallows, eyes doe-like and wide as he half-nods along, confused. “Huh?”
“So we’re going to pretend it never happened, okay?”
“Uh…”
“Yes, yes,” Dennis takes a pace back, finally gains a modicum of composure. Mac can go be gay now and Dennis can be straight and things will be just like they’ve always been. “Nothing to see here.”
“But you—”
Dennis puts his hand up to Mac’s mouth again to silence him, albeit less fiercely. It makes Mac go cross-eyed for a second, and for a second Dennis thinks his heart is going to fucking explode again, so he removes it and steps away. “It’s okay, Mac,” he says, voice unrecognizable in his throat. “Really. It’s all goooood.”
Mac blinks, stunned. “What is… happening?”
“Nothing is happening,” Dennis affirms. “That’s exactly the point, buddy. Just get yourself some sleep.” Mac goes to follow him… “Out here for you. Obviously.”
He pulls the bedroom shutters over, right in Mac’s face, and waits until he sees Mac walk away, dejected, before he lets out the treacherous breath he was holding in.
*
Dennis, of course, can’t get so much as a wink of sleep at first. For one thing, he simply stares at himself in Dee’s bathroom mirror for an indeterminate amount of time—urging himself to move while remaining as frozen in place as Mac had been earlier—truly hating what he sees, which is an old, tired man in a blue-gray checkered shirt. Even his still-perfect hair can’t snap him out of it. His eyes are filled with tears that he won’t let fall, his skin is blotched to shit, lips all puffy from Mac’s goddamn bristly—
Kissing Mac had not been part of the plan. To be honest, Dennis didn’t really have a plan for Mac coming out, because he’d never thought the day would actually arrive when Mac would finally stay out. It had once been a dream, perhaps, that over years had long since curdled into a nightmared reality for Dennis; painful in any way he tried to look at it, no matter the reality.
Much like his own reflection.
He opts for a shower instead of a bath, which now seemed too self-indulgent and ripe for scenario-overthinking. He even forgoes his planned twelve-step cleansing routine, although he does scrub himself raw under the water’s spray, and he puts on a nice fresh t-shirt and pair of boxers to sleep in.
It’s deadly silent out beyond Dee’s bedroom shutters, and it distracts Dennis more than any noise that would typically set him off. Still, he drifts off eventually, waking up what feels like only moments later, to the distinct sound of midnight-snack-rustling.
Softly this time, he slides the shutters open and sees Mac in the kitchen, as predicted. The idiot is heating up some milk on the stove, like it’s 1987 and suddenly they’re two dumb weedy teenagers again, wanting some hot cocoa.
It’s dark, very few lights are on. It feels weird. Dee’s place is weird.
Dennis is hurt Mac’s ignoring him—and also that he didn’t ask if he wanted a hot cocoa—though he supposes some things might have to change.
Mac finally turns around, looking sullen and beautiful. He’s wearing cotton sleep shorts and one of his ridiculous cut-off tees, showing off his ridiculous tattoos that Dennis both loves and hates in equal measure. “Hey,” he says, not quite meeting Dennis’ eyes, before turning right back around.
“Can I get in on that?” Dennis asks.
Mac scoffs. “I was gonna make you some anyway, bro.” Of course. As if drinking a mug of hot cocoa without Dennis would be something akin to sacrilege. “Just in case you were awake.”
Dennis sees the two cups, lined up neatly, Dee’s insanely expensive specialist cocoa powder shat out all over the counter, steam starting to swirl from the milk pan Mac appears fixated on. He sees it all, and something in him snaps again.
Without full faculty of his own body, Dennis is walking over, looming behind Mac, turning him around.
As Dennis takes his face between both hands, Mac looks less surprised than last time.
“Don’t say a fucking word. This is just for tonight,” Dennis says, and kisses him again for the second time in as many hours.
It’s softer, slower than earlier. More gentle.
Mac pulls back, assesses Dennis.
“I mean it,” Dennis tries to assert. “Just tonight, Mac. I swear to god.”
“Uh-huh,” Mac says, before he grabs Dennis into a more ferocious, desperate kiss, shoving him into the wall this time. Dennis loses himself in it.
The milk suddenly simmers over with a ferocity of its own. Dennis gets a flash in his mind of a burning-down apartment and drags them both back to the stove to turn it off. “If this place burned, we’d all have to live at Charlie’s,” he says, nervous laughter bubbling up.
Mac doesn’t even smile at the comment—he’s too keyed up, too punch-drunk again.
They stumble over toward the tiny couch, with Mac tumbling on top. They’re still fully-pajamaed and apparently in no rush to get naked.
Dennis giggles again, feeling out of control, like he’s no longer in his own body. He realizes he’s felt like that since they were all sat around the desk during the arbitration process.
Yeah. He’s younger somehow, floating above, looking down with eager eyes and wonder.
“What are you laughing at, bro?” Mac frowns. Dennis quiets, but he keeps a dopey look on his face.
“It’s…” How can he even explain it without sounding deranged? “It’s good. I promise, Mac.”
“Fine,” Mac says, but kisses him a little more forcefully—drawing the air from Dennis’ lungs—and then he starts biting possessive little hickeys into Dennis’ neck, and suddenly Dennis feels less genial and more like he might fucking explode again.
“Bed,” he rasps, right into Mac’s ear.
“Uh-huh,” Mac says, pulling him up.
It doesn’t even feel weird, which is fucking weird. They’re going about it so indulgently, rolling around on top of the California King mattress like they have all the time in the world.
Dennis never thought it’d be quite like this. He didn’t think it ever could be like this…
Mac is a good kisser. Nice and sloppy, puts his all into it. Shit, it’s already making Dennis feel like he might blow a load in his underwear; it’s all too much.
He pulls away for air, rolls on top, feeling Mac’s dick press between his cheeks. Even through layers of cotton, it’s fucking obscene—Mac clearly thinks the same as he bites his lip, closes his eyes to catch his breath.
“What?” Dennis asks, insecurity suddenly clawing its way up his windpipe—until Mac grips his hips tightly.
Mac takes a beat before he replies. “You’re so fucking hot, Den,” he says, keeping his eyes scrunched closed, “I can’t even look at you right now.”
“Bullshit,” Dennis says. Now that he’s stopped to think about himself—in his sweat-soaked sleepwear, with his skin marked up and his coiled curls presumably a mess, Dennis doesn’t feel especially attractive. He feels undone, unkempt, downright feral…
“Nuh-uh,” Mac bites back, frowning as he hoists himself upright—god, that motherfucker is strong—to look Dennis in the eye. “Look at you, dude. You’re literally the hottest person I know. Fuck.” He shoves Dennis down to the bed in a savage, needy manner, proving his point well.
“Say more things,” Dennis says—probably for the first time ever—to Mac.
In turn, Mac nuzzles into his neck, sucking and biting and breathing heavily, before lifting his head up to properly assess Dennis. “I love your face,” he starts, without missing a beat. “It’s so perfect for you, all chiselled but also somehow, like, it’s pretty also? Your eyes, too, goddamn. They make me feel all kinds of things, dude, most of which I’m too embarrassed to even say.”
Dennis can’t help but laugh at little, himself embarrassed.
“See, your smile as well. That’s killer, bro. I love when you smile. Your lips are so delicious and pink and…is that cherry chapstick, by the way?”
“It is…”
“I thought so, bro. Yeah, I love it. I love your face when you’re angry, too, so long as it’s not at me. Your body gets all tense and—oh shit, your body too, I love all of it. You’re so pale and proportioned and, and—”
“Pale could be an insult, you know,” Dennis says, somewhat scathingly, to which Mac leaves a particularly feral mark with his mouth, right on his collarbone.
“Mmm,” he leans back, clearly proud of his work. “Definitely not an insult for you, dude. It’s like you glow, like you’re an angel—or something that’s divine, anyways.” At this, Mac finally has sense enough to divest Dennis of his shirt, strips his own off in the process.
Dennis takes in a deep breath.
Mac traces his torso with curious fingers, which—to his credit—tremor only a little tiny bit. He drags his fingernails over his nipples, lets out a heavy, “Fuck” as he watches Dennis, rapt. “How you react to me, man.”
Something new…
“You’re hot,” Dennis blurts out before he regrets it too much. “I mean, you too. I think you’re hot too.” There. He said it. “I mean…yeah.”
Mac stills, grins. “You think I’m hot?”
“Obviously I think you’re hot, Mac, Jesus Christ. There’s no need to make such a big deal about it.”
“Okay,” Mac says, but his face says it all. “Name one thing,” he adds, trying to be neutral and failing.
“Fine,” Dennis says, panic suddenly lurching in his throat. He could think of a hundred things, a thousand, probably. Freckled shoulders, beefy arms, biteable lips. Great hair, manly hands, lithe legs. Gorgeous body, gorgeous face, fucking gorgeous everything… “Your eyes.” Goddamn, those eyes—the same ones that have followed Dennis round, fucking all but plagued him, since high school. “They’re…” he sighs, “Well, they’re beautiful, actually. Exceptional orbs. Okay? There. Enough already.”
Mac breaks out a huge, helpless grin, aforementioned eyes crinkling and beaming with joy.
Fucker.
“I’m so gay for you, dude,” Mac says, before adding, “Just for tonight, though. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Dennis affirms, because if Mac can do it, so can he.
“Uh,” Mac falters. “Like, how gay are we talking, by the way?”
Dennis ponders this. Things have been, in all honesty, pretty fucking gay already—and they haven’t even got their dicks out yet. He realizes, then, that he doesn’t really want to think at all. And what comes out of his mouth surprises them both:
“What do you want?”
“What do I want?” Mac’s eyes darken. “Everything. All of it. Like seriously, all the stuff—”
“Well,” despite himself, Dennis sighs in exasperation. “What do you want specifically, right now?”
Dennis doesn’t even realize he’s biting his own nails before Mac grabs his hand, kisses his fingertips.
“These. Uh. I want them in me.”
Despite the low light of the room, Dennis feels his own face burn red. “Fine,” he says, feigning nonchalance. “But only if there’s lube involved.” The last thing he wants is to dry fuck Mac and cause him pain, appealing as the thought might be at a slightly less tender juncture…
“Please, it won’t hurt me. I promise.”
Dennis rolls his eyes. Without finesse, he roots around Dee’s nightstand, finds a lube bottle alarmingly quickly.
“‘Wildin’ Watermelon’ flavor?” Mac says, taking it from him. “Dude. Your sister is such a fucking slut.”
Dennis bites his tongue, not wishing to point out that this is coming from a guy currently begging for fingers up his ass. Then, as he watches Mac uncap and go to squirt the lube in his own palm, he grabs it back from him. “I believe that’s my job,” he says, suddenly and irrationally jealous of Mac’s hand.
As Dennis lubes up his own hands—sending the room into what can only be described as watermelon overdrive—Mac goes wide-eyed, nods, shuffles down the covers, rolling his shorts off in one quick, fluid motion.
Shit, Dennis realizes that he hasn’t even seen Mac’s dick yet. Fuck.
Well, technically, he’s seen Mac’s dick many times. And Mac has seen his dick many, many times—Dennis would wager more than anyone else in the known universe. Still, he isn’t quite ready for the jolt it sends to his own when he looks at it, all pink and flush and looking hard enough to fucking cut through steel.
Dennis wraps a hand right around it, and this was a terrible idea, it’s too much and Dennis can’t breathe and Mac moans into the shell of his ear, fucking bucks up like, like—
“Holy—” Mac hisses, grabbing a fistful of Dennis’ curls, “—shit.”
Something feral takes over Dennis, then, and he’s pulling Mac closer, half-biting-half-kissing him, grabbing at his ass with his other hand, skimming the tips of his fingers across his crack.
It already feels a little slick, and when he starts to push in with one finger, he can tell Mac is already loose, probably from that godawful “exercise bike”. He glides right down to the knuckle, soft as butter, and Mac makes a high-pitched whine of pleasure.
Feeling emboldened, and ever so slightly enraged at the thought of the thought of Mac riding the Ass Pounder 4000, Dennis wastes no time adding another.
It’s the first time Dennis has ever stuck his fingers up a guy’s ass—at least lucidly—and, honestly, he wasn’t expecting to enjoy it quite so much. It burns, fuck, Mac is burning inside, so so hot. He moans and clenches like a slut and it’s too fucking much for Dennis—he covers his mouth with his own and wonders how the hell to get through this.
Scissoring his fingers now, he laps at Mac’s shoulder, chest, trails his tongue messily downwards until he takes the tip of Mac’s dick in his mouth.
“Shit,” Mac grits through his teeth, whole body jerking upwards. Dennis only manages a few bobs up and down before Mac is pushing him away. “Dude, I will bust a nut so fucking hard if you keep doing that.”
“Isn’t that the point?” Dennis chides, face flushed.
“Well, just to be clear, I could totally get it up a second time with you, like for certain, but I also just… don’t want it to end yet?”
“Okay,” Dennis agrees, even though he feels like peeling his own skin off and running a thousand miles away before he’d admit it. “We can go slow.”
Mac nods, eyebrows furrowed with concentration. “Shit!” He bolts upright. “I haven’t even sucked you off yet, bro. That, I want that.”
Jesus Christ. Dennis had been so wrapped up in things that he hadn’t realized his own neglected dick either, which must be a first for him. “Sure,” he says, pretending to be cool while his mind unravels.
“Fuck. Shit. Okay.” Mac shuffles off the bed and drops to his knees like an act of worship. He takes a huge inhale as he works his fingernails up and down the inside of Dennis’ shaking thighs. “You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this,” he says, lowly, pressing little kisses up, up, up…
“I have some idea, Mac.” Dennis bites, but any other dubious insults are vaulted away the second Mac mouths at his dick through his already-wet boxers, peels them off and onto the floor with a gentle thud.
Mac sucks dick like… well, like it isn’t his first dick, like it couldn’t possibly be his first dick, so made for dick-sucking is his mouth apparently is, so perfect is the enthusiasm and skill he possesses for it—he has Dennis burning hot after a nanosecond, has him trying not to come after what can’t be more than ten seconds.
Mac pulls away, looks up at Dennis with those fucking eyes. “Is it okay?” He asks. Actually asks.
No, it isn’t okay, you son of a bitch. I want to die and come down your throat and then die again. Dennis doesn’t say. Instead, he manages a polite grunt.
Mac offers a shy smile in return, and goes a littler easier on him. Only a little, mind you, and it’s still enough to have Dennis uttering, “Come here,” after a short while, dragging Mac back onto the bed.
They roll around again—naked this time—and honestly, Dennis can’t get enough of it.
“Are we gonna bang?” Mac asks then, seemingly out of nowhere. Except, of course, that’s where they both knew it was headed. Banging was always going to be the answer. “I’ll be on the bottom, if it helps.”
“Oh yeah?” Despite himself, Dennis manages a wry smile, along with some air quotes. “What happened to you “being on the top if we ever have gay sex”, huh?”
“Please dude, I’m not even joking,” Mac says, eyes as pleading as his voice, “I need it. I need you.”
Dennis sits upright. Full penetration is serious business.
He won’t lie to himself right now—he’s imagined having sex with Mac more times than he’s actually had sex. And Dennis Reynolds has had a lot of sex.
Nothing that’s ever felt like this before, though. Nothing even close. He feels untethered, out of control. This is too much…
Is this too much?
He looks at Mac and already knows the answer.
“I’ll be on the bottom,” Mac says, jumping on top of him. He grabs the discarded lube, works it all over Dennis’ dick—which, at this point, for the record, is an angry shade of burgundy—before reaching behind himself, eyebrows arching and his jaw going slack.
It’s a searingly hot sight, watching Mac stick his fingers up his own ass. It’s something Dennis hadn’t in a million years ever expected to actually witness. Again, he feels an odd jealousy start to rumble through his own nerve endings.
“You ready yet?” He asks, throat dry.
“I told you I was ready before, bro,” Mac snaps back, but he’s got this buzzed-out look across his face, and he’s shuffling and—
Slowly, Mac slides down onto Dennis—he’s tight, so fucking hot and tight—it takes a while for them to get used to the sensation. When Mac finally bottoms out, Dennis feels like every nerve ending in his body is about to explode. He holds in a ragged breath as he studies Mac carefully.
God, he is fucking hot.
“Okay?” Dennis rasps, sounding himself very un-okay.
“Uh-huh,” Mac says. “Tight. Full, I feel so-ah!—” as he jerks back, their bodies both react to it, seizing up with the intensity. It’s too much, too fucking much; Dennis can’t breathe.
Mac starts stroking himself, all out of sync but with purpose, and Dennis bats his hand away and takes over. It feels just right in Dennis’ hand, Mac’s cock—he has his palm wrapped around it, fingers trailing loosely, as he looks down at it for a while.
“Your cock is nice,” Dennis blurts out of nowhere, face reddening as soon as the words leave his mouth.
“Yeah?” Mac laughs, breathless. “It’s all yours.”
Mac leans forward then, to kiss him. The angle is different—even better—and it hits a spot in Mac that makes his knees weaken, folding him further down onto Dennis and trapping his cock between their bodies. Sweaty, fevered. Just right.
For a split second, Dennis wants to roll Mac over, fuck into him with reckless abandon, to never stop all of this now he knows what Mac out of the closet and riding his dick feels like. He wants it the other way round, too—Mac’s cock in his ass, reaching all the places that no toys or fingers could ever possibly hope to reach. He wants everything; goddamn he wants every part of what they could be together…
But it’s all too much, and they’ve both held onto their orgasms for so long that it’s only a few more seconds before he feels Mac’s body tense and jerk, hot spurts of come between them—Dennis loses sense of everything then; he fucks and he comes and it’s amazing—it’s beyond anything and everything and even, even goddamn crack—it’s the best fucking thing he’s ever had.
It’s too much, too much, too much—Mac is a boneless corpse on top of him. There’s come everywhere, sweat everywhere, skin everywhere. Dennis opens his eyes and it’s all he can see, smell, feel—Mac Mac Mac Mac Mac—
“Shit, dude,” Mac mouths at his neck, all shaky and sloppy. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Dennis says, because it’s all he can manage. After any sexual interaction, he usually feels numb, empty. Cold. But this? This is even worse. Hot—too hot. Fuck. His heart, he feels like he’s gonna implode, like nothing will ever be the same again and no no no this was a mistake, this can’t be good, this can’t be—
“I have to tell you now,” Mac interrupts that manic train of thought with one of his own. “Dude, I’m so in love with—”
“Don’t,” Dennis rasps, and it sounds like a pathetic, futile plea rather than a command; probably because that’s exactly what it is.
“—Men. I’m so in love with men, because I’m super gay.” Mac says, studying Dennis’ face with careful eyes before he continues. “But not with you, because that’d be weird. Probably. Uh.”
“Sure,” Dennis says. He rolls his eyes, feeling calmer now that Mac is playing by the rules.
“Can I kiss you, though?” Mac asks, without blinking. As if he hadn’t just been riding dick and blowing the house down. As if he already knows the fucking answer.
And sometimes, in moments like this, Dennis wonders if he’s the one who’s been played, for all those goddamn years…
“Sure,” he says again, and he lets Mac fill his mouth and shut everything up.
It stays like this—a lazy, indulgent, dopey haze of not knowing where they each end or begin—until Dennis feels himself drift off.
Eventually, he awakes under the covers. It’s easily the middle of the night now; everything’s etched in darker shadows than earlier on.
Mac is sound asleep, pressed up close to him. Still naked, of course, like it’s the most normal thing ever, in Dee’s fucking massive bed. Yeah, they’re joined together like they’re one body of fucking Christ and always will be and it’s all okay now because Mac says he’s gay and it’s allowed so it must be okay, right?
But it does feel okay. Better than okay, in fact…
Dennis’ heart rattles in its cage.
Carefully, he slides out of Mac’s grip.
*
Their shared apartment is this weird combination of brand-spanking-new whitewashed walls and crumbling cinders of devastation. Like it could be a beginning or an end.
Dennis feels oddly moved by it, but that might just be the panic attack he’s finally managed to quell.
He stares at the white walls for a while, unsure of how much time passes. Time doesn’t matter. Does it? Maybe it does, but not right now.
The front door clicks open. It’s Mac. Because of course it is.
Dennis would ask him how the hell he knew he’d be here, but what’d be the point? They know each other each better than they each know themselves, even Dennis can admit that every once in a while.
“Hey,” he says instead. As if this whole thing is normal. As if he doesn’t feel like he’s been murdered, reborn, and murdered again, all in the space of a few goddamn hours.
“Hey,” Mac says in return. He looks a little sheepish.
“What’s in the bag?” Dennis asks, because the real questions are caught in his throat.
“I, uh, bought hoagies.” He offers out a grocery bag. They’ll be disgusting, from the 24-hour gas station. “You want one?”
Dennis does, he really does. God, he is fucking… fucking starving. He nods, swipes the plastic-wrapped monstrosity in Mac’s hand and unfurls its disgusting contents without a word, taking a big fucking depraved bite and swallowing.
“Goddamn, that tastes truly awful,” Dennis says, but he doesn’t stop.
“Yeah,” Mac agrees, “we’re gonna get the shits for sure,” he adds, as they both slink down to the floor and continue in silence. They drink Powerade, too; Mac bought Melon flavor, presumably subconsciously. It tastes like absolute shit.
Dennis spaces out until he’s wiping crumbs away and rumpling plastic back into the grocery bag. Mac does the same, and then there’s a thoughtful silence between them.
Eventually, Mac ruins it. Of course.
“It was awesome though, right?” He asks, looking to the floor. “Just to be clear. Like, I know you’re not gonna wanna talk about any of it, but I just wanted to say that—”
“Yeah, Mac.” Dennis gives an exasperated sigh. “It was pretty awesome.”
Mac turns his glance straight to Dennis then—as if he wasn’t expecting such a concession so soon—and Dennis realizes his attempt to sound sarcastic has widely missed its mark.
“Dude, I don’t think I’ve ever blown a load that hard, like ever?” Mac says, sounding like every bit the sincere idiot he is.
“Good for you,” Dennis rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but let a smile creep up with it. No point in hiding now.
“Being gay is da bomb,” Mac says, and this makes Dennis bristle.
“Do you ever shut up?” He bites. “Goddamn.”
“And you sounded like a cat being strangled at one point—I’ve never heard you like that before, not even on your five-star tapes. Not even that time when—”
“Fuck’s sake, Mac,” Dennis says, with just enough venom this time for Mac to finally stop talking.
For at least a minute, anyway.
“Do you miss us not being here?” Mac asks.
“Of course.” Dennis sighs. “It’s our home. Plus, Dee is such a bitch.”
“She really is a bitch.” Mac says. “And she hogs the bed with her spindly arms, bro.”
“Yeah,” Dennis says. “She’s a big ugly emu.”
“Is everything gonna change now?” Mac asks then, delivering the blow that’s been clawing at Dennis since he woke up in the middle of their night together, feeling safe and warm in Mac’s naked embrace.
“Nothing will change.” Even as Dennis says it, he can feel the panic in his throat again. Whenever things change, there is suffering. His suffering. He can’t risk it. He won’t risk it…
“But don’t you think it should?” Mac asks gently, eyebrows arched upwards. “For one thing, I’m totally gay now, and that’s a huge change. And us. Well, we could be—”
“What, exactly?” Dennis says, panicked enough to sound shrill. “What the hell could we be, Mac, after all this time?”
“We could take it slow?”
Slow? Slow is never gonna happen. Slow is about three decades of agony. Dennis does not want slow. He wants, he wants—
“Goddamn, Mac, why don’t you ever listen?! You never fucking listen to me! It’s too—I said this was a one-time thing and I meant it, okay?” He’s manic now—patience vanished. “Okay?!”
“But it was just so—”
“I don’t fucking care, Mac—you’re not listening!” Dennis slams his fists on the hardwood floor. “If we don’t have rules and systems and order to things, we have chaos and surprises and horrors and I won’t have it, I won’t lose what we already have in place, okay?”
“Okay,” Mac says, voice pitched high and quiet. He soothes Dennis with a hand on the nape of his neck, patting him down like a spooked horse. They’re close, limbs tangled together. God, they fucking reek of sex; Dennis can smell it on them. Anyone could fucking smell it on them.
While Mac continues soothing, his face can’t help but look a little downturned and disappointed—lips pursed with a gentle frown. From this angle, he’s looking not unlike the bewildered and sullen teenager Dennis fell in love with all those years ago.
He stands up, reaches out for Dennis and pulls him up with him.
It still feels electric, unbearable almost, for them to touch. But Dennis doesn’t let go.
They stare at each other with jaws tensed, unflinching.
“Alright.” Mac says, looking defeated. He drops Dennis’ hand. “Okay. Nothing’s changed, I get it. It was just for tonight. Let’s just go back to Dee’s.”
“Yeah,” Dennis nods in agreement, thankful that Mac has finally conceded. Still, he looks around at the cindered shit, at the nightmare that is his life, and feels the familiar lurch of regret. “I really wish we hadn’t set fire to this place again, by the way.”
Mac looks almost thankful for the distraction. “Yeah, but that wasn’t really us—it was Frank the first time. And then those crazy cult idiots—”
“It was us, Mac.”
Mac looks at him with sad, knowing eyes. “Yeah, I guess it was us,” he says, defeated again.
They’re silent for a while.
Shit, Dennis has broken everything. It’s not supposed to change; nothing is supposed to change…
“If I could, I’d turn all this back to exactly how it was,” Dennis says, picking up an abandoned paintbrush and wishing it was a magic wand. “All of it.”
“Exactly?” Mac asks, distracted once more.
“Yeah. Exactly.” Dennis smiles. “Down to the coffee ring marks and the bad smell from the stove.”
“That’d be crazy, bro,” Mac says, trailing off as he looks around.
“Yeah, it would.” Dennis studies Mac’s face for a while. “Completely fucking deranged.”
“I was thinking we could spend some of the ten grand on redecorating,” Mac says then, and Dennis’ heart sinks. “I mean, I still wanna invest in—”
“Frank’s gonna make you pay for the arbitration with it.”
“No fucking way, bro! He’s not taking my ten grand from me!” Mac has gone straight to a ten—he’s manic, he’s desperate, he’s fucking pissed—
“Jesus, calm down! It’s fine, you’re okay—”
“You calm down!” Mac says, eyes wild and voice strained as Dennis grabs his shoulders. “That son of a bitch hate-crimed me and he is not taking my fucking money away. Help me, Dennis, please. You gotta help me, you’re so smart and—”
“Alright, alright.” Dennis says, scheme already forming. “Alright. This is what we’ll do. You can’t say you already spent it, because that’s not believable enough.”
“It isn’t?”
“No, of course it isn’t. Not enough time has elapsed since the winning of the thing—only Charlie would be so reckless with it, but not you. We’ll say that you lost the scratcher while you were wheeling the exercise bike out of the offices, and that way Frank will make us all go looking there, and then we can rope him into paying. In the meantime, we’ll hide the scratcher here, because Dee will obviously ransack her own apartment looking for it, then we’ll cash it out at a much later date, when the heat dies down. Sound good?”
“Sounds awesome.”
“Naturally, I’ll receive some compensation for the assistance.”
“Uh…” Mac furrows his brow. “Sure.”
“And we won’t clean up the mess at Dee’s, either.”
“We never do that anyway?”
“Exactly. It adds to the authenticity. We’ll say that you spent all night partying in the Rainbow, came home and tried to make hot cocoa, and that I spent all night plowing a hot chick in Dee’s bed, and it got real messy.”
“I’m a messy hot chick?” Mac smirks.
“Sure,” Dennis says. “Now, let’s head back.”
As Dennis opens their front door, Mac suddenly shoves his palm against against it.
“Hold on!”
“Mac…”
“Wait!” Mac continues, hopeful. “I just realized something…”
“Jesus Christ.” Dennis sighs, exasperated. “Fine! You can keep all the money, goddamn.”
“Huh?” Mac says, “No, not that.”
“Okay, then what is it?”
“It’s just. Well, you said before, earlier, that it was a one-time thing for us—”
“Mac—”
“Wait! You said it was a one time thing, but that’s not exactly what you said, is it? You said ‘just tonight’.”
“Yeah?” Dennis frowns, incandescent. “So?”
“Well, technically, it still is tonight, right?”
A loophole. Mac found a loophole. Interesting. Very interesting…
Dennis halts. He looks over to the broken window, sees the sun already rising in the sky, casting suffused orange over nightish-gray, over concrete and burnt possessions and Mac’s stupid, gorgeous face. He closes his eyes, feels Mac’s looming presence, hot, so hot; thinks back to how hot he’d felt in the hours before.
“Right? Den?”
Dennis leans forward. “I really do hate you, you know,” he says, breath ghosting over Mac’s mouth.
Mac doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he gives a victorious little smirk as he leans in closer—close enough to answer for them both.
For tonight, at least.