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It was more of a fight than an outpouring of romance. Mac figured this was how it was eventually going to happen.
They tumbled into the dark apartment, crashing into a shelf and knocking something weighty and metal off of it, sure to leave an unsightly dent in the floor that would forever remind them of their night together. One of them managed to kick the door shut, one fluid movement propelled by the confidence of alcohol – and nearly tripping over that, too – eyes closed and lips locked. It slammed, echoing down the hallway and probably waking the neighbors and probably instigating a noise complaint but Mac wasn’t about to give a shit.
“We don’t…” Mac hissed, coming up for one half-second of air while Dennis tore at him, “...we don’t have to tell a soul.”
“Yes. I mean no.” Dennis held his face in his hands, nodding and then shaking his head in rapid succession in between kisses.
“We can just…we can just…tonight…and then…”
Dennis moved to Mac’s neck, “Never again.”
Mumbled justifications continued to fly from Dennis’s mouth, directly into Mac’s. Sure, Mac thought, letting the burst of pleasant adrenaline ebb and flow inside of him. Whatever you want. Whatever will get you on top of me.
Dennis, hot-cheeked and humiliated, was fretting about it in a way that felt so familiar it ignited Mac in a way no one else ever could. They guided themselves deeper into the purposefully dark apartment, lit here and there by weak orange blotches from the streetlights outside. If they hadn’t been living in the same place for decades, knew every square inch of it blind, someone would’ve ended up with a twisted ankle or a humiliating tumble to the floor. If Dennis wasn’t kissing him with such confident fury.
But every pinpoint of discordant sensory interruption sent chills of arousal over Mac’s skin. They hit the kitchen table, toppling a few empty glasses; Mac winced as his thigh bumped into a chair, resulting in a loud drag of its feet across the linoleum floor. The scuffling of their shoes; the desperate moan Dennis let out, directly into his mouth. At some point, Dennis had untucked Mac’s shirt and unbuckled his belt and his warm hands were now appreciating Mac’s midsection and the swell between his legs even if the hang-ups in Dennis’s brain were shooting off alarm bells. In the back of his mind Mac registered that they were headed toward his bedroom, and that they were going to fuck in a place Dennis tried his best to avoid. He wasn’t about to stop and correct Dennis – Here? You hate it in here – Mac figured this was part of the thrill for him. No, one wrong move and the whole thing would blow up in his face.
With a grunt that brought Mac back to the moment, Dennis shoved Mac angrily down onto his disheveled bed, as if it were Mac’s fault they were doing this.
“Your filthy fucking room,” Dennis hissed between kisses, straddling him.
Maybe it was his fault. Maybe it wasn’t. Mac decided to play along.
“You want me to fuck you in here,” he stated, his words teetering on the edge of teasing.
“It’s deplorable in here,” Dennis spat, reacting exactly how Mac hoped: both insulted and turned-on, “It’s like a fucking … hourly motel.”
“Quick and dirty then.”
The fantasy bloomed from there. Mac’s hands moved from Dennis’s head to his shirt and he stripped it apart, sending buttons scattering like pebbles across the bare wood floor. He ripped at Dennis’s teeshirt, tearing it off of him, the searing sound of it scalding just as much as the sudden, hot press of Dennis’s skin.
“Don’t make me regret this,” Dennis lobbed it back at him.
His low words turned into an open-mouthed kiss for a few blissful seconds. Mac gave into it, holding the back of Dennis’s head in place and happily succumbing to the obscene wetness of Dennis’s tongue in his mouth. For one final moment of clarity, Dennis broke apart and glared down at him, inches apart, still trying to convince himself that what they were doing was meaningless.
He lifted a finger, threatening, his eyes incandescent with a tantalizing sort of insanity, “...If you ever – I mean, ever– ”
It was suddenly very, very hard for Mac to keep a straight face. He bit his bottom lip, anticipating more of Dennis’s weak threats. On top of him, pressed so close Mac could feel his cock hardening despite himself, Dennis continued his hateful harangue while Mac slipped his hand down the back of his pants to grab at his ass.
“ –Ever tell anyone that … that we…” At the sensation of Mac’s hands, Dennis’s eyes closed and his mouth dropped open, briefly, and he braced himself on Mac’s chest, “ ... that this…oh God…that this happened –” With every squeeze, Mac watched Dennis’s thoughts bottleneck. He closed his eyes, loosening up, growing warmer by the second, the muscles of his body relaxing into something a bit more pliant while Mac continued grabbing at him. Dennis’s voice dropped; his hips rolled, “...I’ll literally kill you.”
Mac gave him a low, caustic answer, accompanied by his ever-widening grin, “Whatever you say.”
This seemed to work. Yes, fine, you’ve got it all under control, Mac thought, kissing him again, this means nothing, of course. It never happened. He’d heard it all before.
Adding to the outrageousness of Dennis’s denial was, surrounding them, symbols of their life together. Intermingled clothes, food they shared, books and decor and memories. It was impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began. Mac centered himself on this delightful ripple in Dennis’s reality, trapped beneath his hot mouth and insistent hands in his stifling, spartan bedroom that was so messy it looked like they’d already fucked, a prisoner to his desire. And Mac’s. It wasn’t as if either of them could escape it. He really didn’t…Mac's mind tumbled over itself as the pair of them continued to undress and Dennis began stroking him and sucking at a vein in his neck… God, Dennis, it feels so good when you …he really didn’t have a choice.
He could’ve kissed Dennis for hours. He could’ve come like that, rubbing and sliding against one another. If they were any closer, Mac would be inside of him already. His boiling want began to cook Mac’s higher thoughts into nonsense, and Dennis was still talking himself into an unbearable state of dripping arousal. Without thinking, Mac brought his hand to Dennis’s lips, shutting him up by slipping two fingers into his mouth to wet them.
Dennis accepted them, gagging in a way that made Mac’s cock twitch. His smile broadened, “You love it.”
Dennis didn’t have a retort for that. Instead, with glazed eyes, he gave Mac the most minuscule of nods, before Mac slipped them back out again. He began opening Dennis up with one finger, then two. Dennis was rendered useless for a few more seconds, shame coating his features, while Mac relished in it.
“...You love it…” he repeated, his voice even quieter, watching the man on top of him come apart.
Dennis’s stare darkened; his jaw tensed.
“Shut up,” he retorted through heaving breaths.
Dennis worked quickly – whether through frenzy or desperation, Mac didn’t really care – lifting himself up and spitting onto Mac’s cock, before slowly accepting it, “...just shut up...and let me… oh,” Dennis gasped out loud, easing down.
At that, Mac swore. Closed his eyes and tilted his head back like it was the best kind of torture. He tried to control them both but with the way Dennis was grinding hungrily onto him, letting every repressed thought melt out of him in a litany of quiet filth, he had no other option but to give in. And with every passing second, Dennis grew more insistent on his own pleasure, riding him harder and faster, as if they really did have a time limit.
His selfishness, his absolute rage at succumbing to the debasement of it all – a grimy room with a half-torn sheet on an exposed mattress, stained walls covered in absurd religious totems – was in total inverse to how much it all turned him on.
This would be a quick lay. Mac’s entire body began to shake and pant and he could feel them both beginning to sweat with exertion. In between the rustling of blankets and Dennis’s spitting curses came the tawdry sound of creaking bed springs and the headboard slamming against the wall. Mac lost himself in the pornographic assault of it while Dennis rode him, head tilted back in blind pleasure, a visual Mac wanted to savor – because he knew he may never see it again.
Dennis moved in a way that rendered Mac incoherent for a moment, his eyes rolling back and closing. Even if he wasn’t looking, Mac could feel Dennis tightening, and could hear his moans and wonderfully unguarded fantasies that finally – finally – escaped him.
“Oh God,” he panted, “It feels so good.”
“Yeah?”
Dennis nodded mutely.
“Keep talking.” Mac tried his best to keep up. But it was becoming apparent that neither one of them wanted to give up control. As soon as Mac managed to get a tight handle on Dennis’s waist, holding him in place while he fucked him from below, Dennis fought back: grinding down onto Mac’s cock and dictating the rhythm on his own terms.
They began, after some seconds of back and forth, to really scrap with each other.
“...I love it when you fight me,” Mac addressed him, still lost in his own heat. He jerked his hips up once more, thrusting himself deeper, reminding Dennis where he was and who he was with. At the sudden jolt, Dennis let out an ah of surprise, yelped and gave in.
“Oh, God, you’re so… you’re so fucking deep…” he swore under his breath.
Sweating and hyperventilating, Mac tightened his grip, handfuls of Dennis’s hips, and took the opportunity to quicken his pace. He bit his lip again and let the wicked words fly from his mouth with a thrilling lack of restraint, “You’ve wanted this…for so long…”
“...Please…”
“Please, what.” Mac toyed with him some more. He loved being right, and loved watching Dennis think he was. He let the lie hover between them for a moment before easily overpowering Dennis, holding him steady and fucking him from below.
“Can I – fuck, Mac– ” Dennis cursed mid-thought, his mouth dropping open against a burst of hot ecstasy against his prostate, Mac so thick and insistent he felt like he was being split in half. The pace he set was merciless. Dennis let the wave of his near-orgasm pass over him, and groaned wantonly while he gave in, “...Please give me more…please…”
Taking advantage of Dennis’s split-second weakness, Mac grabbed him, lifted him with practiced ease, and flipped them.
As soon as Dennis’s back hit the mattress, Mac was driving into him, deep, spreading and stretching his legs and causing Dennis’s entire body to flush red, from his stomach to his chest to his neck and ears. From above, he watched Dennis succumb to the onslaught in pieces: the way the streetlamps glistened against his wet skin, the way his stomach shuddered, the way he jerked himself off, in complete thrall to it. He watched Dennis’s disgust, which bordered eroticism so closely sometimes it was hard to distinguish the two, turn him into a writhing mess.
“Fuck…fuck you, that feels so good,” Dennis moaned, eking the words out, the sound of them nearly eclipsed by the ambient noise of their fucking. His free hand searched around him: balling the sheets, fondling the taught musculature of Mac’s arms and stomach. He slipped further into dissipation, whispering through driving thrusts as he took in the sight of him, “...Your body…you’re so…God, you’re…you’re fucking perfect…”
Mac could feel his orgasm building, the peaks of pleasure growing more frequent. He kissed Dennis’s calves, bracing himself against them. And Dennis kept talking, losing himself to the thrill of his own degradation. At that, Mac couldn’t help himself: he folded himself over, kissing and sucking the fluttering pulse at Dennis’s throat, so tender he knew they’d both regret it. Or at the very least obliterate from their memories the second they finished.
Dennis’s body seized and jerked and he began coming through gasping nonsense, I can’t – not with you – oh God – Mac, please – and still, he couldn’t stop himself from enjoying it. He looked down again, watching himself getting fucked like a toy, and got off on it, while Mac pounded him through it. Watching Dennis give in, watching his unfeigned enjoyment as he shot himself across his wet stomach, making noises Mac had never heard him make before – Mac was so close.
Even amidst the haze of passion Mac realized that he needed to come quickly, too, lest Dennis finish first and angrily shove him off.
“I’m close,” Mac grunted, leaning forward again.
“Just do it,” Dennis begged, slowly turning back into something resentful.
That was all Mac needed, happily obliging him, shooting himself into Dennis, with a pathetic whimper. He drove his cock in and out, finishing himself off while Dennis pulled him close – enjoying every sordid inch of it until neither one of them could bear it anymore.
In one final, blinding second it was over. Their synchronized breaths, for a few bewildered but satisfied seconds, was the only sound in the room.
Dennis, eyes still closed while residual desire continued to wash over him, muttered, “...I’ve never been fucked like that.”
“Yeah,” Mac managed, nodding, yes, while his muscles tingled, spent.
Cuddling was out of the question. Mac pulled out, stumbled backwards, collected himself and sloppily tried to redress, losing some balance with his pants around his ankles. As he pulled them up with shaking hands, he hit the wall, knocking a few pieces of art off-balance. Still drunk. Grateful for the safety of the thick darkness and the way it coated the things that reminded him of reality. He turned and averted his stare and worked on the zipper and buttons at his waist. He waited for Dennis’s complaints: you ruined my shirt, this was a mistake, I can’t believe we just…
Mac finished, and turned, and tensed, the image of Dennis rubbing his eyes and then staring at nothing barely visible in the dim light of the bedroom. He watched him pick up his torn clothes, gathering them into his arms and making his way to the door – which hadn’t even been shut.
The second Mac spoke, his tongue felt thick and clumsy, “Like I said, we don’t have to –”
“ –Don’t,” Dennis cut him off with one hand; closed eyes. He exhaled, “Just let me…I need a minute.”
Mac assented, flopping back down onto his mattress amidst the thin, askew blankets, dropping onto his back and closing his eyes while Dennis’s internal crisis expanded so much it filled the room. Okay, whatever. He listened to the sound of Dennis’s muted footsteps as they crossed the apartment to his own bedroom, about as far away from Mac’s as was architecturally possible. Mac smiled.