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Charlie and Mac are really, really drunk.
Well, Mac’s really drunk, Charlie can take his alcohol, you know? After swallowing half a bottle of metho that one time cheap warm beer doesn’t really do that much for him. But Mac, Mac’s red in the cheeks, his eyes all-that-glitter and his face crumpled with a really fucking happy smile. Mac’s pretty cool when he’s drunk and/or high, he gets less angry about things like what is – is that piss – why is there piss in a can over here, Charlie? Jesus Christ! and the fact that the pretty girl with the handbag that looked furry (Charlie had wanted to stroke it), the fact that she'd smiled at Dennis instead of him outside the coffee shop today. He gets nice when he’s wasted, sometimes. It smooths out the sharp bits in his voice.
It’s really freezing in Charlie’s apartment, enough that they’re both shivering but Charlie’s used to it and Mac’s too drunk to care. They’re sitting on the couch, squished up close because the other side is taken up by an elaborately stacked pile of empty cans and Mac is laughing like an idiot over nothing. Charlie is laughing too because he does what other people does. He is like a chameleon. Karma karma karma chameleon. He starts to sing and that makes Mac laugh even more, and that makes Charlie laugh even more, so he has to stop singing, and they’re both just sitting there giggling, twitching from the cold. Charlie starts to cry in that good way, that drunk and laughing kind of good. He lets that goodness be everything, every bit of him. He whacks Mac in the chest ineffectually, his hand brushing over the tightly pulled fabric of Mac’s shirt.
“Fuck, dude,” and his voice comes out all stretched and funny through the happiness.
Mac is still laughing and shivering when he says:
"Blow me, Charlie."
“Wh-what?” Charlie keeps smiling, though, because Mac’s laughing.
“You should – you should blow me.” He’s laughing and he’s pink-faced and he’s starting to get this panicky drunken look in his face, like he’s realising he made a really stupid decision..
"What, like - like put your dick in my - "
"Well, yeah, that's kind of what a...what people mean when they say..." His smile is big and broken and his eyes are scared and he looks like how Charlie felt that time he didn’t eat for a week.
The happiness slides out of Charlie and he stares.
“Mac – ”
“Can you – can you just do it, Charlie? Can you stop talking and just do it?” Mac snaps, and now he looks angry, and a little bit like he’s going to cry.
Charlie swallows thickly.
People have said that to him, before.
People have grabbed his hair, so hard that it hurt, and said that, and they’d said it loudly, and Charlie had choked, and sometimes Charlie still hears them saying it even when they’re not there and doesn’t Mac know that? It’s one of those things that everyone knows but doesn’t say, like how everyone knows Mac wants to bang Dennis and how they all know they’re never going anywhere, how they all know they’re like shit on the world’s shoes.
Except maybe it’s only Dee and Charlie that know that last bit. But still, Mac knows this bit, the bit about the blowing, Charlie knows he knows, and he’s still asking. That’s kind of stupid of him. That's really stupid of him.
“No. No, I don’t…I don’t really wanna do that, man.”
Mac keeps staring at him, and Charlie feels…he doesn’t feel bad because he’s not going to blow Mac and he never fucking will, but Mac’s eyes are dark and wet like an oil slick, which makes Charlie's legs tingle. And Mac is cool, Mac is cool, he has so many great ideas and he likes dressing up too. He can read Charlie’s writing. No one else can read Charlie’s writing.
Mac is cool, even if he asks for stupid things sometimes.
Charlie feels kind of guilty that he’s not going to blow him even though he obviously really wants it like food or air or something, it's not nice to deny people something they need in their bones, or think they need in their bones. And he's bored with how none of them ever really get anything they want - so he leans over, very close, like he’s always wanted to do to the Waitress. Mac’s eyes go big, and then he closes them, eyelashes fluttering like a girl. He must be really wasted because normally he’d be complaining about Charlie’s breath. He smells like beer. Charlie puts one hand on his shoulder; strong, rounded flesh.
He grabs his best friend’s bottom lip between his teeth, pulls, and bites. Once. Hard. Then he shifts real quick back into where he was sitting, shaking and sweating in the iciness of his shithole apartment.
Not really a kiss. Not like that. Not a gay kiss. It’s just that…Charlie’s not great with words and stuff. He has a lot of thoughts and they spin around like pinwheels, they shine like stars and suck like mud. But he’s not great at getting them out of his mouth using words. Dennis always kisses girls instead of talking to them. So maybe Mac will know now. Mouth to mouth transmission of thought. That’s cool.
I mean, how else are you going to say the complicated shit, like 'stop asking for blowjobs but also never leave'?
“Ow,” Mac says in this tiny little voice, like he’s a kid or something, when actually he’s so tall and so smart. He puts his fingers to his mouth, and they come away red.
“Sorry, dude,” Charlie mumbles.
“Shut up,” Mac says, and opens another beer, even though Charlie can tell he’s just forcing it down. It’s worth it though, because if Mac was even a little bit more sober he would have made some bullshit excuse and got up and left, all embarrassed. As it is, he stays, and Charlie likes it when people stay.
Mac falls asleep on his shoulder, and drools on him, leaves a big wet patch on his shirt. Charlie wonders if maybe Mac’s thoughts are soaking into him. He doesn’t think they are, because he doesn’t feel any different. He sighs, and thinks about gasoline for a bit, about glass breaking, and then he falls asleep too.
His dreams are damp and warm, like Mac's breath sighing on his skin. Cheap beer and blood, sticky heat at the place where Charlie's neck and shoulder meet.
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