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Mac is being annoying as shit.
Of course, he’s always annoying. But the sheer amount of paper he’s been trashing, the candy he’s been eating and tossing the wrappers on the floor, the endless shuffling of his stupid gum papers, the straws he keeps gnawing with every sip of his protein shakes, and the pen caps he’s chewed into oblivion—it’s all driving Dennis up the wall.
His anxiety is palpable, even from across the bar.
It’s where Dennis stands now, leaning casually against the counter, watching Mac pace around the pool table. Mac is playing some ridiculous game with Frank, but it’s obvious his nerves go far beyond whatever nonsense this is. He’s been jumpy since Dennis came back, sure, but the last couple of weeks have been unbearable. There’s a chaotic energy—an endless, erratic, buzzing chaotic energy that Dennis can’t ignore any longer.
Not that Dennis is worried, exactly. It’s just getting on his nerves, and that’s unacceptable, it’s irritating.
But he’s going to put an end to it. Tonight.
As soon as they get home, Mac beelines for the fridge and grabs one of his shakes, popping the cap off and shoving a straw in before taking a long sip. And—of course—he starts chewing on the straw immediately. Dennis stands by the door, watching him.
“Mac,” Dennis says, his voice sharp enough to cut through the quiet. He waits until Mac turns around, his big, round brown eyes wide and questioning. “What the hell has been bothering you?”
Mac hesitates, holding his shake like it’s some kind of protective shield. “Nothing, dude,” he says after a beat, his gaze dropping to the floor.
Dennis arches an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You better tell me, Mac,” he says, starting to walk in his direction. His eyes never leave Mac, like a predator to its prey. “You’ve been weird, and if you’re going to make it everyone’s problem, I at least deserve to know what’s going on.”
Mac shifts uncomfortably, the straw in his shake making a squeaky sound as he fiddles with it. After few moments, he sighs. “I’ve been…” He stutters, glancing up at Dennis before looking away again. “I think I need to come out to my parents.” He takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the reaction.
Dennis stares at him, momentarily stunned. “Oh my God. Is that what’s been eating you alive?” Dennis exclaims as he throws his hands up. “They don’t give a shit!”
“But I do!” Mac snaps, cutting him off. His voice is louder now, and for the first time, he meets Dennis’ eyes head-on. He starts searching his pockets, pulling out a pack of gum and fumbling with it. Dennis doesn’t say anything for a moment, thrown off by the outburst.
The silence stretches awkwardly until Dennis finally speaks. “And what about all the oral fixation stuff, huh?” He gestures vaguely at the gum, the chewed-up straw, and the detritus Mac left in his wake. “What’s that about?”
Mac’s cheeks flush a deep red. “Keeping my mouth busy relaxes me, okay?” he says, defensive. “I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”
Dennis takes pity on his friend, although he is never going to admit this out loud. Mac, now with his buff muscles and his defined jawline, shouldn’t look this troubled over his deadbeat parents. There’s an ache that settles in Dennis’ chest as he watches Mac—it’s a strange blend of frustration and something softer, almost protective. He hates seeing Mac like this, so visibly weighed down by his own mind, when Dennis is the only one who should weigh him down. It stirs something uncomfortable in Dennis, a gnawing sense of guilt mixed with the undeniable urge to fix it, if only to quiet his own unease. Mac had been in the closet for forty years; Dennis thought all his troubles would go away when Mac finally accepted himself.
“What else has been troubling you?” Dennis moves to massage Mac’s shoulder, trying to alleviate the tension there. That’s what Dennis has been doing now. He can touch Mac and his newly sculpted physique, but Mac can’t make advances. It is the perfect balance.
“I also,” Mac starts, his voice small. “I also am starting to think that everyone hates me. And,” he takes a deep breath, Dennis’ touch leaving goosebumps, “I’m scared that you might leave again.”
Oh.
Even though Dennis feels a little bit of relief and a sense of pride knowing that he is part of Mac’s turmoil… Fuck Mac. Dennis wishes he could just leave and live the perfect life he has envisioned for himself, but he can’t. It’s not just about the gang or the bar—it’s about the way Mac looks at him, like he’s some kind of anchor holding him steady in a storm. Dennis hates that it makes him feel important, needed in a way that goes beyond his usual need for validation. It’s infuriating and terrifying, but also strangely comforting, like some part of him is wired to stay by Mac’s side no matter how much it complicates things. He tried to walk away once, and the emptiness that followed was worse than any chaos Mac could ever bring. He tried and he failed to be away from the gang, and he tries to suppress his thoughts, but Mac’s overthinking has now gotten to Dennis, and he is overthinking and–
He needs to help Mac, otherwise he will bring both of them down.
“Be right back,” Dennis says and makes his way towards his bedroom. He shuffles inside a box, his previous huge collection now fitting in a small container that he has been rebuilding since the fire and when he came back, but he knows he has just what Mac needs.
“What the hell, dude,” Mac exclaims when Dennis comes back to the common area.
Of course, as the sex enthusiastic that Dennis is, his solution would be mostly sexual. So, he is currently wearing a medium-sized purple strap-on on top of his pants, making the sight hilarious, if Mac wasn’t so confused.
“See,” Dennis starts, his voice as if he’s about to launch into a lecture, hands on his hips. “I think this is as good as a pacifier. Unless you want a real one–”
“A real dong.”
“A real pacifier, Mac,” Dennis rolls his eyes.
“I thought this,” Mac moves his limp wrist between them, “was never gonna happen.”
“It is not happening,” Dennis replies sharply. “It is not a real thing, it is not giving me pleasure, I just thought that it would be more relaxing for you since you could even bite into it, unlike a real dick. Whatever.” He moves his hands to the waistband to remove it, but quickly Mac’s hands find his to stop him.
There’s a beat where Mac’s eyes move from Dennis’ eyes to his crotch to his eyes again, and he gets on his knees, maintaining eye contact.
Whatever. This is fine. It is not like Dennis is actually going to feel anything, he is just doing this because he knows Mac would relax better. And since Mac is obsessed with him, giving him an almost would make the guy’s day.
“Why do you have this?” Mac asks, eyeing the purple dildo suspiciously.
“Well, Mac, I am a sexual man,” Dennis tries to say confidently, but he has his eyes on the ceiling, feeling his face flush. “I like to try things out.”
“Dude,” Mac grips his thighs tighter. “Has this been inside you?”
“Wh-what!” Dennis exclaims, finally looking at Mac’s face to make a fake excuse, but Mac decides to put the plastic in his mouth the moment Dennis turns to him.
And. Well. It is not a bad sight.
Of course, Dennis is not feeling anything, but the way Mac has his mouth wrapped around a plastic penis makes him imagine things. Mac is making content sounds, his eyes flutter closed, looking the most relaxed he has looked in weeks. Even when sleeping he had a frown on his eyebrows, not that Dennis had watched him sleep, but that now is gone. As instinct, Dennis brushes where there should’ve been a crease on Mac’s forehead, and he is surprised by his own actions, but Mac just moans happily.
Mac’s grip on his thigh is lighter now, just a slight touch. He is not making a show out of it, just taking his time with the head, sucking it like a lollipop, making the plastic wet, but not taking it deeply.
Dennis can’t take his eyes off Mac. He tries—looking at the ceiling, scanning the room, even attempting to count the faint white hairs that are starting to appear at Mac’s temples. But every time, his gaze is dragged back to Mac’s lips, which are growing redder and puffier with each passing second.
He doesn’t even know what to do with his hands. Crossing them over his chest blocks his view, so they hang awkwardly by his sides, fists clenching and unclenching as he fights the inexplicable urge to thread his fingers through Mac’s hair.
Dennis shifts, the growing tightness in his pants adding another layer of discomfort, while his legs ache from standing still for so long. The motion startles Mac, breaking him out of his trance. Mac blinks slowly, and finally pulls his mouth off the strap-on with a wet pop. A string of saliva connects his lips to the plastic for a moment before it snaps.
“Sorry, bro,” Mac mutters, his voice raspy as he stands, brushing his pants nervously. “Got lost there for a second.” He coughs awkwardly, avoiding Dennis’ eyes. “It really helped, though. Huh. Thanks, Dennis.”
Dennis clears his throat, willing the heat in his cheeks to dissipate. “No problem,” he says, his voice a little strained. He tries nonchalance, but it lands closer to awkward. “Anytime.”
Mac manages to be relatively normal for about a day and a half before the tension starts creeping back in. It’s subtle at first—he taps his fingers against the counter a little too often, his jaw clenches mid-conversation, and his eyes dart around like he’s waiting for something to go wrong. Dennis notices immediately, of course. He always does.
Dennis is getting this round of beers when Mrs. Kelly walks into the bar. She waves cheerfully at Dennis, Dee and Mac, her oversized handbag swinging at her side. “Hi, boys,” she says, her raspy voice warm as she settles onto a stool. “Just waiting for Frank. We’re grabbing lunch.”
Dennis raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press; the moms drop by occasionally for free drinks, but lunch with Frank is not typical. Or maybe it is. Dennis doesn’t pay attention to Frank that much.
As Mac asks for updates on his mom, Mrs. Kelly offhandedly mentions, “Oh, by the way, I saw your dad last time I visited him, Mac. Luther’s looking good as always.”
Mac stiffens. His grip on the edge of the bar tightens almost imperceptibly, his knuckles going white. Dennis clocks it immediately, his own brow furrowing.
Mrs. Kelly doesn’t notice; she just smiles, finishing her drink. Right on cue, Frank emerges from the back office, grumbling about traffic but ready to leave with Mrs. Kelly.
“Do you think Frank’s already had an orgy with Artemis and Bonnie?” Dee asks bluntly, her nose wrinkling in distaste.
“Ew, Dee, that’s disgusting,” Dennis snaps as he settles beside Mac, his face twisting in a grimace of his own. “First of all, I never want to think about Frank’s sex life.”
“Yeah, Dee, gross,” Mac echoes, but his voice is flat, devoid of its usual energy. He doesn’t even throw in a mocking jab, his shoulders slumping as he picks at the edge of the counter.
Dennis narrows his eyes, watching Mac out of the corner of his eye. He’s not just distracted; he’s completely checked out.
Mac taps Dennis’ thigh lightly, a barely-there touch that catches his attention anyway. He tilts his head toward the back office indiscreetly, silently asking Dennis to follow. Without a word, Dennis rises and trails after him, leaving Dee frowning at their retreating figures.
“Hey, Dennis,” Mac mumbles, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. His nervous energy is palpable, his voice unsure but hopeful. “Do you think we could… do that again? I mean, it really calmed me down, and I’d really appreciate—”
“Sure, buddy,” Dennis interrupts smoothly, already reaching for the backpack he’s been carting around for the past two days. He unzips it and pulls out a strap-on, this time with a large green dildo attached. At Mac’s raised eyebrows, Dennis shrugs. “Thought we might need it.”
Mac’s lips twitch into a small, grateful smile, and he locks the back office door while Dennis secures the strap-on over his jeans. Settling into the chair, Dennis watches Mac kneel in front of him without hesitation. The sight is still surreal, but Dennis shoves the thought aside as Mac leans in, taking the plastic into his mouth. The room falls quiet except for the faint, wet sounds of Mac’s lips on the dildo.
Dennis rests a hand on Mac’s shoulder instinctively, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of Mac’s shirt. When Mac takes the toy deeper, an almost inaudible hitch in his breath catches Dennis off guard. Before he knows it, Dennis shifts his hips slightly upward, the head of the dildo hitting the back of Mac’s throat. There’s a sound—soft but unmistakable—and Dennis isn’t sure if it’s Mac or himself. Maybe both.
“Hey, Frank, can you help me out of here?”
Dennis freezes. Mac pulls off the toy with a startled gasp, his lips once again wet and red. The sound of Charlie’s voice echoing from the vents snaps them both out of the moment.
“You guys aren’t Frank,” Charlie says, his voice louder as his head pokes out of the vent, peering down at them.
Dennis clears his throat, trying to sound unaffected. “Frank’s having lunch with your mom,” he says quickly, hoping to shift Charlie’s focus.
Mac is still frozen, not doing much to help their case.
“What the hell is happening here?” Charlie asks cautiously, his eyes darting between Dennis and Mac.
“It’s not what it looks like!” Mac blurts, his voice shaky as he scrambles backward.
“What it looks like,” Charlie starts slowly, squinting at the scene in front of him, “is that you’re sucking Dennis’ dick in the back office.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Wait… is your dick green? Dennis, are you a ghoul?”
“No! He’s not sucking my dick!” Dennis snaps, his frustration mounting.
“You didn’t answer the ghoul question,” Charlie points out, his tone oddly accusing.
“Of course I’m not answering the ghoul question!” Dennis shouts, his voice cracking slightly. The tension in the room is palpable, broken only by the sound of the door slamming as Mac bolts, leaving Dennis to handle Charlie alone.
Dennis exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, Charlie, let’s get you out of there.” He pulls the chair closer to the vent, motioning for Charlie to climb down.
“I don’t wanna be touched by a ghoul,” Charlie mutters, wobbling precariously on the chair as he tries to climb down on his own. He nearly falls, but Dennis steadies him instinctively.
“You still got it hard?” Charlie asks bluntly, his eyes narrowing. “Is that part of the ghoul powers?”
“It’s not my dick!” Dennis growls, his patience wearing thin.
Ignoring Charlie’s nonsensical ramblings, Dennis removes the strap-on and shoves it back into his backpack. Without another word, he heads out the back door to toss the entire thing into the dumpster in the alley.
Dennis doesn’t see Mac again until the next evening, back at the apartment. He’s lounging in bed, freshly showered after his shift, a random magazine he swiped from Dee’s purse resting in his hands. His lap is covered with a thin blanket, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light over the room, when Mac appears in the doorway.
Mac looks exhausted, his shoulders slumped, and his face drawn. He hesitates for a moment before stepping inside, gnawing on his bottom lip like it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground.
“I’m sorry, dude,” Mac says softly, his voice strained. “I freaked out.”
“Yeah,” Dennis replies, exhaling heavily. He doesn’t look up from the magazine. “And now Charlie keeps looking at me like he thinks he will see multiple Dennises the next time he goes sewer spelunking.”
Mac winces, guilt etched into every line of his face.
“Do you think we could…?” Mac trails off, his voice faltering.
“Of course, bro,” Dennis says with a faint smirk, patting the space on the bed beside him. “Come here.”
Dennis knew Mac was going to ask for it. Of course he did. He’s always prepared. In fact, he’s already wearing the strap-on beneath the blanket, strapped over his boxers.
This one’s a bit of a novelty, a tale he would have written on his sex book. Dennis swiped it from a freaky four-star girl he hooked up with once. She ran a sex shop and had a penchant for teasing her partners with this particular toy—a small but thick dildo, no bigger than a pointer finger. She’d pull it out as a joke, gauging their reactions before bringing out the real deal and making it count.
Great times.
Now, Dennis has repurposed it for a different kind of joke. He figured Mac would be extra weird after the back-office debacle, so he thought the tiny strap-on might lighten the mood. Maybe even get a laugh.
But Mac doesn’t laugh. Instead, he just stands there, staring at Dennis with wide, pleading eyes.
Not exactly the reaction Dennis was expecting. Still, it’s a reaction.
Mac moves quickly, climbing onto the bed and leaning down, his mouth latching onto the small dildo without hesitation. Dennis blinks, caught off guard, as Mac takes it in like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And that’s when it becomes a problem.
Mac is dangerously close to Dennis’ real dick.
Dennis didn’t think this through. Not entirely. But now Mac’s nose is pressing into his crotch, and Dennis feels the warmth of Mac’s breath through the thin fabric of his boxers. Mac inhales deeply, clearly catching Dennis’ scent, and Dennis swallows hard, his grip tightening on the magazine.
Every movement Mac makes sends an unexpected jolt straight to Dennis’ actual cock.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
Dennis puts his hands on Mac’s hair, intending to push him away, but the sound of Mac moaning stops him cold. His hands freeze mid-action before they betray him, settling into soft, tentative strokes through Mac’s hair. The reaction is immediate—Mac lets out a series of happy noises, the vibrations sending a shiver up Dennis’ spine.
Dennis feels like he’s floating out of his own body, watching this unfold from a distance. He tries to refocus, keeping his eyes on the magazine, but it’s no use. The dim glow of the bedside lamp reflects off Mac’s face, highlighting his cheekbones and the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. He looks—Dennis swallows hard—too good.
Dennis tears his gaze away, but his body betrays him again. His pants feel tighter by the second, and the accidental friction isn’t helping.
Mac, oblivious, is making the strap-on far too wet. Saliva drips messily, soaking the dildo and, unfortunately for Dennis, his already-damp briefs.
“Fuck, Mac!” Dennis gasps, his grip on Mac’s hair tightening as his hips jerk forward involuntarily.
The room stills. Dennis squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for Mac’s reaction.
It never comes.
When Dennis dares to look down, he finds Mac has fallen asleep, his head resting on Dennis’ lower belly and mouth still on the strap-on.
Dennis blinks, then stifles a disbelieving laugh. That explains the drooling.
“Mac,” he says softly, giving Mac’s leg a gentle shake with his foot to rouse him.
Mac stirs, blinking blearily up at Dennis. “Sorry, dude,” he mutters, his voice thick with sleep. He pulls back, looking lost and adorably sheepish. “Guess it really calmed me down, huh?” He chuckles weakly, his face flushing red as he shakes his head.
Mac starts to move off the bed, but Dennis grabs his wrist before he can go.
“Stay,” Dennis says, his voice quieter now.
“Yeah?” Mac asks, his tone hesitant, almost shy.
“Yeah,” Dennis clears his throat, forcing a casual tone. “You might sleep better this way.”
Mac doesn’t protest—his mind too foggy with exhaustion to overthink it. He climbs back into bed, settling close, his body warm against Dennis’. As he drifts off, his lips brush near the hollow of Dennis’ neck, just shy of contact.
“Night, Mac,” Dennis murmurs, his voice barely audible.
But Mac is already asleep, his breathing soft and steady, lulling Dennis into slumber soon after.
Dennis knows he’s dreaming because the scenario is different. They’re in what looks like a hotel room by the beach, sunlight spilling through open balcony doors in wide, golden streams. The curtains drift lazily in a soft breeze, and somewhere in the background, there’s the muffled sound of waves breaking against the shore. The walls are a clean, muted white, but they almost seem to glow under the sunlight, as if the whole room is alive with warmth. The bed is soft beneath him, the sheets cool against his skin, carrying a faint scent of saltwater.
He also knows he’s dreaming because Dream Dennis is a mess. A whimpering, begging mess. The angles, the noises—things Dennis would never allow himself to do in real life. His carefully constructed facade would never permit such raw, unrestrained need.
But it’s a dream. And Real Dennis will allow that.
Dream Mac is touching him in ways Real Mac never has, and Dream Dennis is letting him. “I need you, please,” he hears himself say, breathless. “I need your mouth. Please suck me—you’re so good with your mouth.”
And Dream Mac obliges, his lips wrapping around Dennis with practiced ease. Dream Dennis grips his hair tightly, tugging, completely lost in the pleasure.
“Hey, ouch, dude—that hurts.”
Dennis’ eyes snap open.
He’s not in a hotel by the beach. He’s in his room, the bedside lamp on, the soft hum of the city outside the window. His hand is buried in Mac’s hair. And Real Mac is definitely there, his mouth wrapped around Real Dennis’ dick.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Dennis blurts, sitting up suddenly, his throbbing erection aching uncomfortably with the abrupt shift.
“Sucking you off?” Mac replies hesitantly, his brows furrowed in confusion as he pulls back slightly.
“I was asleep, Mac!” Dennis snaps, trying to process the situation.
“No, no, no,” Mac stammers, sitting back on his heels. “Dennis, you woke me up by—by humping me and literally begging for me to suck you off. The noises you were making were definitely not asleep noises.”
Dennis winces. That sounds familiar as Dream Dennis.
But this isn’t Dream Dennis. This is Real Dennis. And this is Real Mac. And the thick, aching heat between them is very real too. And so is Dennis’ desire. His overwhelming, undeniable desire for Mac to continue, to touch him, to—
The silence between them grows heavy, charged with tension.
“Should I…” Mac trails off, pointing awkwardly at the door with his thumb, his face red.
“No,” Dennis says firmly, looking straight at Mac. In this moment, he makes a decision. “God, no.”
Before Mac can process it, Dennis moves, climbing onto Mac’s lap and kissing him hard. It takes Mac by surprise—his eyes widen for a second—but he’s quick to respond, kissing back with equal intensity. His arms wrap around Dennis’s waist, one hand resting on his bare hip, gripping it tightly like he’s afraid Dennis might pull away.
Mac’s other hand finds Dennis’ dick, wrapping around it confidently. Dennis hisses sharply, ducking his head into Mac’s shoulder, his fist curling into the fabric of Mac’s shirt as he grinds down on Mac’s lap. The friction is overwhelming, pleasure coursing through him in waves.
Mac suddenly pauses, his movements halting as he looks up at Dennis. His brows are furrowed, his eyes glassy and fixed on Dennis’s face, like he can’t tear himself away. He looks completely mesmerized, mouth slightly open, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of Dennis’s expression.
Dennis doesn’t last long. With a sharp gasp, he comes, his release spilling between them and leaving a sticky mess on their shirts.
“Your turn,” Dennis mutters after recovering his breath, his voice husky.
“You don’t have to,” Mac starts to protest, but Dennis silences him with a sharp look.
“I want to,” Dennis says simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Mac lets out a soft, frustrated noise at Dennis’ words, his face flushing a deep red. When Dennis slides down, positioning himself between Mac’s legs, he finds Mac already soft—and damp.
“Oh,” Dennis says, glancing up at Mac with a smirk. “I made you cream your pants? Hot.”
Mac groans, covering his face with one hand. “Yeah,” he mutters sheepishly, the blush spreading to his neck. “Not the first time.”
Dennis raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but doesn’t press. Instead, he leans back up, tugging his shirt over his head. Mac follows suit, pulling his off as well. They use the fabric to wipe themselves clean before tossing the dirty shirts aside. There’s a lingering tension in the room, heavy with the kind of clarity that neither of them seems quite ready to address. Mac stays quiet, his movements slow, like he’s trying not to disrupt the moment.
“Mac,” Dennis says suddenly, his tone serious. “Don’t be weird about this, okay?”
Mac looks over, his expression cautious but hopeful. “I wasn’t gonna make it weird.”
Dennis raises an eyebrow, smirking. “You always make it weird.”
“Well, I wasn’t planning to this time,” Mac mutters, crossing his arms, but his blush betrays him. “If I am, you can just shut me up. You know how.” He snorts, shaking his head with a grin.
Dennis doesn’t reply, but a sly smile spreads across his face. He leans back into the bed, his arms behind his head, looking content.
Mac shifts closer, settling beside him, their bodies touching. They stay like that, the silence comfortable now, as the city hums quietly outside, while Dennis imagines beach waves.
A couple of days later, the gang is lounging in their usual places, the bar quiet as usual, the only sound being their two-hour-long discussion about whether M&M's should be sold in bags by their color. ('I would buy the bag with only blues.' 'I know I am not touching the one with the browns.' 'Shut up, Frank.' 'Did you know that blue has the most anti-oxygens?')
Cricket bursts through the door like he owns the place, his greasy hair plastered to his face and a triumphant grin plastered across his lips.
“Heyooo! Do you mind if I use the bathroom real quick?” he asks, pointing a grimy thumb toward the hallway.
Frank barely glances up. “Choose wisely,” he grumbles, sipping his drink.
“Uh… why are you wearing Dennis’ dick?” Charlie squints, leaning forward to get a better look.
Mac and Dennis immediately whip around to see Cricket standing there proudly, wearing the giant green dildo Dennis had thrown away days ago. It’s strapped over his tattered jeans like some kind of grotesque badge of honor.
“What the hell?” Dennis sputters, eyes wide.
Cricket’s grin only grows wider. “Oh, this? Found it in the alley! Is it yours, Dennis? Has this been inside Mac?” His face contorts into a mixture of mock disgust and delight, clearly fishing for reactions.
“Why would you assume that me and Mac—” Dennis starts, his voice climbing an octave in indignation.
“Oh, definitely,” Dee cuts in, smirking.
“It has not,” Dennis snaps, glaring at her.
“Yet,” Mac adds nonchalantly, taking a sip of his beer like he just commented on the weather.
Dennis freezes, shooting Mac a look of pure exasperation. “Why would you—God, you’re making it worse!”
Cricket doesn’t seem to care about their bickering. He strikes a ridiculous pose, thrusting his hips forward and letting the green monstrosity wobble for emphasis. “I don’t care either way. Great size to intimidate on the streets, though. Now I am the king!”
He cackles maniacally, striding toward the bathroom as the dildo swings absurdly with each step.
The booth falls silent for a beat as everyone watches him disappear down the bathroom. He enters the awful and stinky one.
Charlie is the first to break the silence. “...Man, I gotta start dumpster diving more.”
Dee snorts. “Yeah, you might find Dennis’ other trash treasures.”
“Mac is definitely trash,” Frank chimes in, leaning back in the booth. “Not treasure though.”
“Yes I am, you bitch.”
Dennis throws his hands up with a groan. “You people are insufferable!”
Still, he pulls out his phone and orders more sizes and different toys—for Mac, of course. And maybe a little for himself.