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Things were back to normal between Mac and Dennis, Dee’s comment about them being like an old, married couple swiftly forgotten. Dennis thought so, anyway, until the first time he tried to kiss Mac after it.
They were both nailed, sure, but that had never stopped them before. It was, in fact, pretty much the only time they ever hooked up.
They’re both drunk off their asses, sitting on the floor–he’s not sure how they ended up here–and he slides a hand around the back of Mac’s neck and brings their mouths together.
Mac melts into it, and he melts into Mac, and he tries to pretend that it doesn’t mean anything, doesn’t have to. It’s just him and them being them, like they’ve always been and always will be, as far as he’s figured.
But then there is a palm against his chest, pushing him away. And Mac’s lips are glistening and his breathing is a little heavier than normal, but his eyes are wide and pleading. He shakes his head. “We can’t.”
“What?” Dennis’ head is muddled; can’t what? “What are you talking about, man?”
“This is… this is a sin.”
Dennis snorts derisively, but Mac’s as serious as ever.
“Dee was right.”
“Mac, I have no clue what the fuck you’re saying, but Dee is never right.” He smirks and leans forward–Mac’s hand is still on his chest, a nice weight–and he kisses Mac again.
It’s shorter this time before he’s being pushed back. Mac shakes his head again and clumsily gets to his feet. He doesn’t look at Dennis as he quietly says, “Night, Den,” and goes to his room.
It takes several minutes for Dennis to process what’s just happened. He’s been rejected. And by the last person he could have expected it from. He’s been left on the kitchen floor, surrounded by empty beer bottles, an ache building in his chest.
He sits there until he’s sober, until the previous night is a little hazy, until the aching has been replaced with a familiar emptiness.
It’s the hungry kind of emptiness, the kind that makes him want to spit and scratch and rage at the world.
He tries to sleep it off and doesn’t wake up until 5pm.
Mac greets him with a smile when he shuffles out, asks him what they should do for dinner.
“I’m not really hungry,” he says, even though it’s a lie. He hasn’t eaten for twenty-four hours and his stomach is rumbling, but he’s pretty sure he’d only feel more sick if he tried to eat. He gets an aspirin and a glass of water instead.
“You must’ve drank way more than I thought last night,” Mac says, hand coming to rest on his shoulder, “to sleep that long.”
Something is wrong, he thinks distantly. Something new inside him has started to rot, like a once sweet fruit left out for too long. He shoves that thought away too and drinks the rest of his water.
Mac’s hand stays there for a moment longer before slipping down his back and away. Dennis can’t figure out how he feels about it, so he stuffs it all down. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Wanna watch a movie?” Mac asks, face open and hopeful.
“Sure.”
The way Mac smiles at him then makes him a little angry. He doesn’t really get why, but he’s used to his own senseless rage, and Mac’s made him angry before. It’ll pass, he tells himself. He’s not sure if he believes it.