Work Text:
6:17PM
On a Tuesday
Philadelphia, PA
“Listen, man. All I’m saying is that, in the grande scheme of things, you’d want to get to an island if there’s ever an evil robot takeover. Robots, like, get really upset and shit when they’re wet.”
“I’m sorry, shut up. What did you just say?”
“I said in the grande scheme of things–”
“–that, Charlie. You said grande, like the Starbucks drink.”
“Dennis, don’t be obtuse, bro. Haven’t you ever been to Starbucks? You can get a tall, a grand, or a vein-ty drink.”
“Oh, yeah? You know the word obtuse, now, do you? Let’s all be obtuse like Dennis Reynolds, the grande bastard man!”
“I think you’re saying it wrong, dude. It’s grand, like the cracker. Sometimes I worry that your mind is starting to slip.”
“Starting to slip? Starting to slip? I’m going to strangle you. I’m going to wrap my hands around your stubby little neck and squeeze until your head explodes in a cloud of fucking paint fumes!”
“First you’d have to–”
“–Shut up, Bird!”
“Yeah, shut up and get me a drink; better make it a grand.”
“Oh, fuck you both. I’m not your milkmaid, you buffoons.”
“Yeah, you’re an old maid, you deteriorating hag.”
“We’re the same age, you cretin! And I’m not the one who uses Shop Pay to order Swedish firming cream for my saggy jowls, which is definitely just Vaseline, by the way.”
“They’re not saggy! Your breasts are saggy and your hair looks like the straw in which pigs sleep and fornicate on!”
“What’s a fornicate?”
“Chawlie, when a pig loves another pig very much, they spend their free time oinkin’ around. You know, makin’ bacon? Hammin’ it up?”
“I thought pigs made turkey.”
Mac McDonald isn’t listening to the chaos that surrounds him, which is impressive, because his ears are very sensitive, due to the constant diligence he exemplifies to ensure the gang’s safety. Despite being an all-knowing badass with a Master’s degree in Judo, even the strongest of men are susceptible to the mortal dangers of a wandering mind.
And Mac’s mind is wandering to the most sacred weekly tradition in his life (don’t tell God). It’s one that occurs each and every Tuesday – rain or shine, for better or for worse, through each argument and petty squabble that comes their way, like a silver-screened lining of the rain clouds that make up his mundane life.
Tuesday is Mac’s favorite day of the week, for no particular reason. Tuesday mornings are ordinary, Tuesday afternoons are just plain boring, but Tuesday nights are his favorite.
Tuesday nights are Mac and Dennis Movie Night, which is just as sacred as Sunday morning communion, but usually involves more wine.
The evening drags on like any other. Mac’s making dinner, and Dennis – with a stomach rumbling like the precursor to an avalanche – pretends he doesn’t want any.
Mac can usually get Dennis to eat a little something through the use of unfair advantage (puppy dog eyes™) and sticking food directly under his nose until he succumbs to the delicious scent of protein-packed eggs; after all, who can resist breakfast for dinner?
Dennis is picking bits of shell out of his scrambled eggs when he speaks, eyes trained on the plate with near-surgical precision.
“I can’t do movie night tonight.”
Mac blinks, his fork scraping his plate with a screech that makes Dennis’ eye twitch.
“What do you mean, man? We always do movie night on Tuesday. We even did it that one time when you were unconscious, after I accidentally kicked you in the head during my monthly karate expo.” His lips pull down at one corner.
“You… probably don’t remember that one, though.” Mac muses, absent-mindedly poking at his bottom lip with the tines of his fork. “I had to drag you onto the couch and hold you up with my shoulder, but I think you had fun anyway.”
Dennis gets that weird expression on his face again, a combination of pity and condescension that nobody else seems to be able to pull off quite as well.
He points his fork at Mac over the table.
“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that so you don’t embarrass yourself further, but as I was saying–”
Mac opens his mouth to ask what he could possibly have to be embarrassed about, but Dennis cuts him off.
“–I have a date.”
A little furrow appears in the place between Mac’s eyebrows, right where his first ever wrinkle had appeared.
“Okay,” Mac snorts like it’s a non-issue, “well, cancel it.”
“Cancel it?”
Mac gestures wildly with his plate as he makes his way to the sink, haphazardly sending bits of eggs and shell flinging onto the floor.
“Cancel the date, man. I mean, it was obviously a mistake that you scheduled a date during our sacred weekly ritual.” He scrubs the ceramic hard enough to leave scratches and when he turns around, Dennis has that look on his face again, like Mac is a naughty puppy who had just pissed on the carpet.
He hates that he loves that fucking look.
“It wasn’t an accident. I don’t do accidents, Mac. Surely, even you must know that by now.” Haughtily, Dennis lifts his chin; Mac wants to roundhouse kick him again, on purpose this time.
He continues on, like Mac doesn’t want to spontaneously combust.
“Each and every move I make is carefully designed and calculated to result in a personally favorable outcome. This date will, without fail, result in positive engagement that our movie night will not.”
Mac’s eye twitches this time.
“What about me?”
The thing is, Mac’s not in love with Dennis anymore – at least, not to the extent he used to be.
After years of failed attempts, North Dakota, and the whole ‘Johnny’ situation, Mac has officially given up.
He’s finally come to terms with the fact that, no matter what he does, he’ll never be what Dennis wants because he’s a man. He can peel every apple that his best friend eats, massage his pecs after every grueling workout, and fall asleep on the couch with him every Tuesday, and yet, it means absolutely nothing to Dennis.
Mac is so used to being a placeholder that it hardly even hurts anymore. Whenever he feels the scab re-open, he just accepts it with numb resignation, like a broken bone that never quite healed right.
The ‘what about me’ still comes out hushed, though, laden with a vulnerable edge he’d tried to train out of himself years ago.
“What about you, Mac? You’re fully capable of handling one Tuesday evening to yourself. You’re almost fifty years old.” Dennis raises his eyebrows, moving to the sink and wordlessly handing Mac his plate.
Mac scrubs obediently and thinks about how he’d wash his feet if he asked, carry him everywhere for the rest of their lives, take a bullet for him unprompted; he wonders if that’s ever mattered to anyone but himself – if it makes him selfless or selfish.
“She must be pretty important, then, if you’re skipping movie night.” He mutters cooly, grateful that Dennis doesn’t bring up the way he sets the plate into the strainer with far too much force.
“Nah, it’s just a hookup. It’s been a while, so…”
Mac spins around so fast that he splashes Dennis with sink water, taking satisfaction in the way his nose wrinkles with distaste.
“So you’re just going to throw away the sanctity of movie night for some pussy, man? That’s low of you; real fuckin’ low, Den.”
They’re standing too close again, in the way that Mac used to think meant something and now knows doesn’t.
He registers the bite of blunt nails in his palm before he even realizes how angry he is. He knows that he should step away, cool off for a minute, but when have either of them ever done that?
Mac sucks in an unsteady breath and then lets it out. Those yoga cunts don’t know what the hell they’re talking about, though, because it doesn’t help for jack shit.
He takes another breath and actually feels a little calmer this time; maybe it’s working.
Then Dennis has to go and ruin things, like usual.
“Dick, actually.”
He feels his expression morph from surprise, to dismay, to betrayal.
Blood seeps into Mac’s palm, creeping in under his nails. He wants to wipe it off onto Dennis’ face, stick his bloody fingers into his mouth until his tongue stains red, scratch him open until he isn’t sure whose blood is whose; he finally understands the point of communion, but worship feels more useless than ever.
“...what?” He breathes out, his voice deceptively calm.
Mac’s going to kill him; he’s going to fucking kill him.
“Dick, Mac.” Dennis continues, digging his own grave. “I thought that, as a whore and a faggot, you’d be relatively familiar with the concept. When two men love each other very much, they buy indiscriminate amounts of lube and–”
Mac punches Dennis in the nose.
“I think it’s broken.” Whining like a bitch, Dennis Reynolds sits on their living room couch with his head tipped back as he holds a bag of frozen peas to his face.
“I don’t care, dude.” Mac’s pacing back and forth in front of the couch, feeling manic in a way that he hasn’t in a very long time.
He finally stops dead in his tracks and looks down at Dennis, a sick satisfaction curling in his gut when his roommate pulls the bag away from his face and a fresh rivulet of blood trickles down over his lips and chin.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Dennis? Like, seriously?”
“What’s wrong with me? You just went full caveman on me for no reason and busted my goddamn nose open, you-you buffoon!” Dennis makes an outraged noise and winces, and if Mac weren’t so pissed right now, he’d laugh at the sight.
Mac inhales slowly, closes his eyes, and tries to think about the good parts of his best friend so he doesn’t punch him again.
“You really, seriously have no idea why I’m mad at you right now, Dennis? For a supposed Golden God, you can be pretty fuckin’ dense, man. Have you been huffing glue with Charlie or are you just going senile?” He takes a step closer to the couch, watching as Dennis looks up at him with affronted, open-mouthed shock.
Now that Mac’s thinking about it, it’s been a long time since he’d fought his best friend on anything. Most times, it’s just easier to let Dennis win and move on with their day. He’s been going through the motions, being a perfectly-pleasant roommate, a subservient little housewife, and shit, he’d forgotten how good this feels, why he’d fought him to begin with.
“Senile? Senile? I’ll have you know that I was top of my class at Penn and I continue to gain intelligence with each passing d–”
He jabs a finger into Dennis’ chest, his smile cold.
“–shut up.”
When he tries talking again, Mac shakes his head, something ugly rearing up in his chest.
“I’m serious, Dennis. Shut up or I’m going to punch you again.”
Something unhinged must show behind the cracked mask of Mac’s face, because Dennis finally – blissfully – closes his mouth for maybe the first time in his life.
“I’ve been in love with you for a decade, at least, maybe longer. You know that, and you’ve used that, over and over, man. You’ve strung me along, playing with me like I’m your goddamn pet.” Mac pauses, meeting his eyes; Dennis looks away. “And I let you, because I know that you’re straight, and so this,” he gestures wildly between them, “means nothing.”
Mac knows he’s not crazy, though. There’s always been tension between them, and he’s always been able to write it off as a reflection of his own desires, but something’s different now and they both know it.
“You knew that I wanted you, and you kept shutting me down, because you were just so sure that you’re straight. And now,” his jaw ticks, “you suddenly start fucking guys out of nowhere, and I’m supposed to just be okay with that?”
Dennis blinks up at him apathetically, like Mac’s a fucking flight attendant giving a life jacket speech.
“Am I allowed to speak now?” The bastard has the audacity to cock an eyebrow at him.
“Yes.” Mac grits his teeth.
“Well,” Dennis croons, saccharinely-sweet, “have you ever considered that maybe I just don’t want to fuck you?”
Mac blinks owlishly.
“That’s bullshit.”
And, yeah, maybe Mac wouldn’t normally push it this much. Maybe he’s never had the reason to, or the balls, but he’s been tipped past his breaking point, ushered there like a sheep who’d foolishly trusted its shepherd to the edge of a cliff.
Dennis regards him with an unreadable expression as he sets the bag of peas aside and shifts on the couch, working himself into a fully-upright position.
Mac wants to wrap his hands around his throat and squeeze until he stops breathing.
“Okay,” he says slowly, wetting his lips with a calculated look that has Mac’s spine tingling, “prove it, then.”
His mouth goes dry.
“What do you mean?”
Dennis scoffs like he’s stupid.
“You heard me, Mac.” He tips his head against the back of the couch, his throat exposed, looking vulnerable in a way that’s almost definitely for show. “If you think that I secretly want you, fucking prove it.”
Mac can only stare, gobsmacked.
“You’re crazy, Den. You’ve actually gone insane.”
Dennis sighs in a put-upon manner, shaking his head slowly.
“I just think that the most reasonable course of action for you to stop hounding me is to just give you what you want, but only once.”
Mac swallows thickly.
“What do I want?”
Dennis rolls his eyes.
“To kiss me, obviously. You’ve been wanting to kiss me since we were, what, seventeen? It’s pretty sad, actually.” His lips pull into a cruel smirk. “The way I see it, if we share a brief but boring kiss, you’ll realize that you’ve been chasing your own tail this whole time and finally move on.”
Mac’s pulse pounds in his ears. He knows it’s a terrible idea because he’ll never want just one kiss from Dennis, but the temptation is too strong to resist.
If getting what he wants is followed by a lifetime of torture, knowing that he can never have it again, well, Mac’s always been a bit of a masochist.
His mouth goes dry as sits down on the couch, scoots close enough that their knees bump together.
“How will I know when to stop?” Mac asks, and it’s almost embarrassing, the way his voice has already taken on a rough edge; he’s already forgotten that he’s supposed to be mad at Dennis.
One of his hands comes up to cradle Dennis’ jaw, fingers guiding his head just slightly so their gazes lock.
His best friend scoffs as their eyes meet, his plush mouth curling into a haughty smirk that Mac has always wanted to bite away and may finally get the chance to do now.
“I don’t know, you neanderthal. I’ll just count to thirty in my head or something. That’s a reasonable time slot for you to get it out of your system.” Dennis responds like he’s penciling Mac in for a fucking business meeting, his tongue coming out to wet his lips.
On the plus side, his nose has finally stopped bleeding.
Mac wonders if he could get it to bleed again if he kisses him hard enough.
“Okay, Den.” He breathes out, leaning in until their lips just barely brush. His fingers play with the soft hairs at the base of Dennis’ neck, causing the blue-eyed man to let out a soft huff of disdain.
“Get on with it, asshole,” is spoken in a warm puff of breath against his mouth, and he can just barely taste the spearmint toothpaste they share.
Mac, for the second time that evening, snaps.
He’s spent full days daydreaming about how he’d kiss Dennis — about how he’d start slow, take him apart piece by piece until he begs for more, hold him on his lap, slide his hands over those perfect hipbones.
But this isn’t that.
This is hungry, desperate, like Mac’s on death row and Dennis is his last meal.
And surprisingly – maybe just to pacify him – his best friend responds in kind, one of his hands sliding up Mac’s arm, fingers curling around the bulge of his bicep.
Dennis’s mouth is hot and slick against his own and Mac feels like he’s ascending, or maybe dying. His free hand slides up into the other man’s hair, fingers tightening just enough for a barely-there gasp to leave Dennis’ mouth and enter his own.
Mac makes a low noise, thumbing at his best friend’s chin until his lips part just enough for their tongues to brush. Dennis’ fingers go tight on his arm, and if Mac didn’t know any better, he’d almost guess that he’s holding himself back.
He isn’t sure how it happens, but they wind up closer to one another on the couch. Dennis’ body is a warm line of heat against his own, and for just a moment, he allows himself to think about what it would be like to press their bare flesh together in a scorching contact that he’s not sure he’d survive.
The thought makes him shiver as he slides a hand up Dennis’ side, fingers brushing the lithe curve of his waist, causing his roommate to press closer and bite at Mac’s bottom lip just enough to make him moan.
The soft noise seems to be what causes Dennis to jerk away as if he’d been burned, his eyes wide and dark, appearing uncharacteristically caught-off-guard.
“That was longer than thirty seconds.” Dennis accuses, as if he isn’t the one who’d been tasked with counting.
Mac’s barely listening to him, though; he’s too busy thumbing over his best friend’s bottom lip and resisting the severe urge to pull him back in for another kiss.
“Mhm…” He hums absent-mindedly, eyeing the slick swell of Dennis’ mouth as he brushes it with his thumb, pulling his lower lip down just enough to see the neat row of his bottom teeth.
They’re pressed together so closely that it’s impossible for Mac not to feel the shiver that wracks its way down Dennis’ spine, or the way he arches just that much closer.
“C’mon, man. I’m gonna be late. Let me up.” The way Dennis’ voice pitches down just a little, husky with restraint, is going to haunt Mac for the rest of his life; or at least for tonight, while he sadly jerks off in the shower before bed.
Right.
The date.
Mac pulls back his hand and scoots away on the couch, using every ounce of his fraying self-control to do so. He tries to look unaffected as Dennis stands up and brushes himself off like nothing had happened at all.
“Well,” Dennis starts, gazing apathetically down at Mac, “did it help?”
Mac thinks about lying, but he knows that it won’t do any good. Growing up, his father had once told him that he’s too stupid to be a good liar, and his dad’s always right.
“No.” He wrings his hands together on his lap and picks at the edge of a hangnail while he waits for a response.
He isn’t sure how he feels about the way Dennis is looking at him now; he’s never been very good at reading people.
Dennis breaks eye-contact after a long, tense moment.
“Okay… well, I’m leaving. Don’t wait up.”
Mac watches with a pit in his stomach as his best friend grabs his keys.
And just like that, the door shuts behind Dennis with a ruinous click.
Mac’s taken to checking Dennis’ location when he goes out, because he’s a good person who cares about his best friend’s wellbeing.
Weirdly enough, he seems to drive to a 7/11, then the waterfront, then to Paddy’s.
Mac wonders if he’s meeting the guy there instead of at his place; he tries not to think about it too much.
When he settles in to watch a movie a while later, he realizes that he’s wallowing.
He’s wearing sweatpants with a gaping hole in the knee, eating cookie dough ice cream straight from the pint, and replaying their kiss over and over in his head.
It’s tortuous to think about, sure, but Mac doesn’t ever want to forget the way Dennis’ mouth had felt against his own, or the way he’d shivered when Mac got his hands in his hair. It’d easily been the best kiss he’d ever had, because it’d been with his best friend.
Dennis, who’d always allowed their fingers to brush for a moment too long when they used to pass joints back and forth in high school.
Dennis, who looks at Mac as if he’s the scum of the Earth, but still settles in on their worn out couch with him every Tuesday night to watch a movie.
Dennis, who is now suddenly not straight and expects that to change nothing between them.
He’s nursing his third beer of the night when the front door opens and the object of his desires strolls right in, looking just about the same as when he’d left just over an hour ago.
Mac sweeps his eyes over him and notes the absence of that warm, post-orgasm glow that he gets about him after sex; he tries to stamp down the possessive relief that floods his body.
“Hey,” pausing the movie, Mac tips his head to the side in question, “you’re back early.”
“Yeah, well, the guy couldn’t handle a Golden God.” Dennis huffs as he throws his keys onto the coffee table and plops right down next to Mac. “He could hardly handle his own dick, let alone mine.”
“That sucks, man, I’m sorry.” Mac responds numbly, setting his beer down.
“Don’t lie; you’re shit at it.” Dennis snarks, picking Mac’s beer right up and taking a generous gulp.
Mac shrugs unapologetically.
“So you’re just going to come home with your tail tucked between your legs and crash my movie night, dude?” He tries to sound upset, but he’s never been able to stay mad at Dennis for very long and they both know it.
“Oh, it’s your movie night now, is it?” The blue-eyed man’s mouth twitches up at one corner; Mac tries not to mirror it. “What are you even watching? Die Hard for the fiftieth time?”
“No.” He lies, rolling his eyes as he excavates a spoonful of ice cream and shoves it into his mouth.
Dennis runs his eyes over Mac, his gaze lingering on the hole in his sweatpants, then the half-melted pint of ice cream.
The corner of his mouth pulls into a half-smirk.
“You look… comfortable.”
Only Dennis could make a compliment sound bitchy.
“Fuck you.” Embarrassingly, he can feel his face warm up as he snatches the beer from his best friend to hide his scowl.
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Dennis purrs, which is doing absolutely nothing to help with the flush that’s now staining Mac’s cheeks.
“Actually,” he continues, making Mac’s blood run cold, “that’s not a horrible idea. Since I struck out tonight, maybe you could help me.” He smirks slowly, like a shark sensing blood in the water. “I mean, you want me, I tolerate you, it’s the perfect plan. We’ve already kissed, so it wouldn’t be weird.”
Mac’s pretty sure that he knocked himself out attempting a backflip and is dreaming right now.
“Are you serious? Don’t fuck with me, Den.” Mac’s heart is racing for the second time that day, especially as Dennis moves closer on the couch, into nearly the same position they’d been in earlier.
“On the contrary,” Dennis slides a hand up his thigh, mouth brushing the shell of his ear as he whispers, “I want to fuck with you, Mac.”
He’s only human.
He grabs Dennis by the hair and pulls him into a kiss, a lightning bolt of arousal shooting into his belly as the blue-eyed man makes a soft noise of satisfaction against his lips.
Then they’re kissing again, and there’s no time limit now, no conditions, no pity – just the heavenly-slick heat of his best friend’s mouth against his own. There’s no hesitation in the way Dennis is kissing him, open-mouthed and heated enough to curl Mac’s toes in his socks.
They pant warm, labored breaths into the meager space between their mouths, Mac taking heady pleasure in the way Dennis lets the occasional low, breathy noise slip when he does something just right.
He pulls away from Dennis, his fingers curled desperately around the back of his neck. His gaze lingers on the way his best friend’s eyes are half-lidded, dark with want, but still sharp, observing and calculating his every move.
Mac feels a euphoric rush of warmth spread throughout his body at the sight of his best friend looking so debauched and before he can think twice of it, he’s threading his fingers through Dennis’ hair and pulling his head back to expose the long line of his neck.
It takes only a second for him to get his mouth on Dennis’ throat like a man possessed, mouthing at the thin flesh there, sucking on his pulse just enough to make his breath hitch.
One of Dennis’ hands slides underneath his shirt and trails up and along his chest, mapping out the too-warm flesh that stretches taut over muscle.
Mac gasps softly, arching into the touch as he sinks his teeth into the muscle of his trapezius, right where shoulder meets neck.
The blue-eyed man lets out a low, content hum, pushing at Mac’s shoulder until he backs off for a moment. There’s a dark gleam in Dennis’ eyes as he slides a hand up Mac’s throat and splays his fingers out along his jaw.
“Someone’s a hungry boy, hm?” Dennis croons, thumbing at the swell of Mac’s bottom lip in a way that makes heat both prickle over his cheeks and flare low in his gut.
Grinning slowly, Dennis hooks his thumb into his mouth, pressing the pad of it right down against his tongue; it tastes like salt and benediction.
Mac salivates like a fucking dog.
His pupils blow wide as he wraps his lips around the digit, suckling in a pathetic way that makes his dick jerk in his sweats.
“Biting isn’t very nice, though, Ronald. I think you could use that mouth of yours much more nicely, don’t you?”
Mac nods a little bit, his tongue curling around Dennis’ thumb in a way that makes his best friend’s eyes flash with heat.
Dennis pulls his hand away, pats his cheek derogatively, and gives him a slow grin.
“Get on your knees, Mac.”
He nearly trips over himself scrambling to kneel between Dennis’ legs just in front of the couch.
Since he’s pushing fifty, he’d normally think to put a pillow down underneath himself in times like these, but he’s pretty sure every ounce of blood in his body is currently pressing his dick up against his ratty sweats and not being used for thinking.
“Fuck, Den…” He breathes out, getting his hands on Dennis’ thighs and leaning down to nose at the line of his dick through his jeans. He rubs his cheek against the bulge, his head spinning as he smells the musk of him right through the denim.
“Don’t tease, Mac. I’m not a patient man.” The other man is looking down at him with dark eyes and gritted teeth, his fingers tightening in Mac’s hair, conveying a subtle demand for obedience.
Mac doesn’t need to be told twice.
His fingers fly to open Dennis’ jeans, mouth watering as he pulls him out of his boxers and watches his dick bump up against his lean stomach, leaving a sticky drop of precum in his happy trail. He’s absolutely perfect, flushed red with blood and leaking at the tip, just for Mac.
He wraps his hand around the base of him, licks an eager stripe up along the underside of his shaft, and moans softly as he drags his tongue through the precum beading at his slit.
“There you go, baby boy. I think we finally found a good use for that smart mouth of yours, huh?”
Mac’s never been harder in his life.
Dennis still looks entirely too cool and collected for his taste, though, so Mac sucks in a breath through his nose and wraps his lips around the head of his dick, tonguing at the sensitive underside as he slides his mouth all the way down until he’s so full with it that he can barely breathe.
“Jesus, Mac. You’re”–a wet gasp–“surprisingly good at that.” The blue-eyed man’s fingers tighten in his hair just enough to sting pleasantly, and Mac makes a soft noise of want when Dennis’ hips buck forward in a way that would’ve choked him five years ago.
Instead, his eyes merely water as he swallows around the sensitive head of his dick, savoring the way Dennis lets out a soft groan, Mac’s own hips jerking forward with no hope for release.
He pulls back just enough to suckle at the tip, fisting the saliva-sticky shaft as he gazes up at Dennis through his eyelashes, desperate to see pleasure play out along his perfect face.
He feels like he’s holding his breath underwater, his brain fuzzy with a heady cocktail of desire and desperation that’s turning every nerve in his body into a live wire. He can’t stop the way his hips keep bucking forward in aborted little half-thrusts, or the way he’s entirely sure he’s soaked a wet patch through his sweatpants.
Every time he manages to goad a noise out from Dennis’ throat, his arousal only spikes further. He’s light-headed with it in the best way possible, his breaths shallow and quick each time he retreats, makes his best friend grunt with a well-timed flick of his tongue, and then does it all over again.
It only takes another minute of this before Dennis is gazing down at Mac, holding his hair just a touch too tightly, panting open-mouthed as his thighs begin to tremble.
“I’m gonna come.” His Adam's apple bobs in his throat and Mac wants to bite it, hard. “And you’re going to swallow it all,” he tugs Mac’s hair until his throat flutters on a moan around his dick, “understand?” Dennis holds him there, as if he’d move away, even if he could.
Mac tries to nod, but it doesn’t work. He moans instead, low in his throat as he watches Dennis’ eyebrows knit together, once again sucking him down as deep as possible and hollowing out his cheeks.
Dennis’ hips jackknife as he comes and Mac nearly does choke, despite his best efforts. He sucks in a shallow breath through his nose, swallowing spurt after spurt of salty release.
Mac slowly pulls away, a single rivulet of cum dripping down his chin as he tries to catch his breath, practically holding himself up against Dennis’ thighs.
His best friend gives him an unsteady grin, catching his breath as he swipes away the errant trail of cum and thumbs it right back into Mac’s panting mouth.
“Good boy, Mac.”
The words make him whine in the back of his throat and the blue-eyed man grins around heaving breaths.
“Oh, would you look at that?” Dennis purrs, still panting as he nudges the ball of his socked foot against the obvious bulge in Mac’s sweats. “You’re soaked like a fucking girl, aren’t you?” He gives an assertive grin. “Get up here; you deserve some attention after a show like that.”
Mac slides back up onto the couch, his head falling back as Dennis begins to palm at his aching cock through his sweats.
“Den, c’mon, I need it. I was good for you, wasn’t I?” He’s been driven insane by the intense desperation he’s feeling and he’s afraid that one of these teasing touches may end up being all he needs to tip over the edge.
“You were, honey.” The pet name flows like liquid warmth in his veins, even if it’s just another manipulation attempt. “You were so good, Mac. Lift your hips for me; there you go.”
Dennis slides his sweats down just enough to free his leaking dick that’s flushed nearly purple with need.
Swiping his fingers through the weeping tip of Mac’s length is more than enough to slick the way for his hand.
“Look at you. You’ve probably been dreaming about this since we were twenty, haven’t you?” His best friend’s lips brush the shell of his ear as he whispers filth that nearly has him tipping over the edge.
And then Dennis’ mouth is on his neck and his brain goes blissfully silent.
His best friend is talking but he can’t hear it, can’t speak – not when he’s stroking Mac with firm, possessive movements that send fire licking down his spine.
Each cruel twist of Dennis’ wrist has Mac arching into the touch, embarrassing moans tumbling out of his throat without his consent as his muscles lock up; he’s so close that he can taste it.
Dennis bites his throat like he wants to break the flesh, and Mac knows he’d let him, even if it meant certain death. His back bows when the other man sucks harshly on his throat, his eyes squeezing shut at the mere thought of having a visible mark to show off – a brand to tie him together to his god.
Mac’s vision whites out when he comes and it’s the closest to peace that he’s ever felt.
He doesn’t realize that he’s pulled Dennis into a kiss until his best friend is leaning away from it and grabbing a tissue from the coffee table to gingerly wipe his hand clean.
“Well, that was–”
Dennis cuts him off with a finger to his lips.
“–no, no. None of that feelings shit while I’m still riding out my high.”
Mac thinks about arguing, but he can only respond with a dopey smile.
“You’re such a dick, Den.” He says around a yawn, stretching out his arms before he tucks himself back into his sweatpants. “Can we stay on the couch tonight?”
His best friend rolls his eyes, settling back in against Mac until they’re shoulder to shoulder.
“We can finish the movie, but I’m going to my room afterwards.”
Mac grins, because he knows that they’ll be fast asleep far before that can happen.
“Don’t think that this makes you my boyfriend either, Mac. I don’t do that kind of shit and you know it. This was strictly an arrangement of convenience.”
The way that Dennis’ mouth has gone soft around the edges tells another story, though.
Mac doesn’t push. He’ll always be happy with what Dennis gives him, because that’s how it goes when you’re in love.
He doesn’t dare say it out loud, though; not tonight, not this week, maybe not even this year.
He’ll dream it, though, each time the flickering shadows of movie credits scroll across their sleeping faces.
And that’s enough for now.