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Mac had never been this close to Charlie's face before, never had the care to because the guy smells like cheese and cat piss half the time. But right now Charlie smells like bad weed and only a little bit like B.O.
"I don't see any goblins in your eye, bro." Mac says and maybe he's more high than Charlie is because he could've sworn he saw a little green fucker run right across Charlie's iris.
"Ghouls, man." Charlie's voice is that high pitched freaked out tone that he usually adopts when he's a blunt and a half in. "I swear I heard a ghoul just pitter pattering his tiny little ghoul feet in my cornea." His breath fans across Mac's face and Mac closes his eyes for a second, opens them up and really looks at Charlie.
God those eyes are really fucking blue. How long have they been so fucking blue? They're pale and deep and ghoulless. All the things Mac likes.
"You're high." Mac says like it's needed. Like that bit of information is so important to the current (completely heterosexual) eye fucking that's going on.
"Yeah." Charlie agrees and grabs his paper bag of glue from the coffee table, not breaking eye contact when he huffs a good amount. He coughs and holds it out to Mac. "Want some?"
"No." Because he used to huff glue all the time. Now it's like breathing in razorblades and acid. And not the good kind of acid. Mac squints at Charlie's nose instead. Then his cheek and his forehead and his eyelids.
"How long have you had freckles?" It was meant to sound sarcastic, maybe a jab at the fact that Charlie's always caked in three layers of dirt, but it came out way too soft and way too curious. Like the idea of Charlie having something as cute as freckles is weird.
"I dunno man." It was then that Charlie laid back on the couch, throwing one leg over the back and leaving the other foot planted on the floor and Mac stares at his crotch, stupidly defined by those dirty long johns.
"Can I kiss you?" That wasn't Mac. That couldn't have been Mac. Mac's way too straight. Way too completely heterosexual.
"Please." And Mac takes a hit, a long hard hit because Charlie's looking at him with these eyes. These fucking blue fucking eyes that just stare into him, burn him harder than the weed in his throat. They look needy, like he needs Mac's lips more than he needs air.
Mac crawls over Charlie's surprisingly fit(but not as fit as Mac's) body and closes in on his face right as Charlie's licking his lips in anticipation. He's not exactly sure but he thinks he does the same thing.
It's not nearly as weird as he thought it should be, kissing Charlie. It's mostly just squishy. The lips pressed against his are soft and moist and Charlie opens his mouth obediently when Mac bites his bottom lip, moans when their tongues meet. Mac grinds himself into Charlie, feeling him grow harder at the contact.
"It's not cheating on the waitress if it's with another dude, right?" Charlie asks with a gasp and it's not a turn off because it's Charlie what else would he expect from him?
"You and the waitress aren't even dating." Mac says and cuts off any reply that Charlie would have had with his tongue down his throat. And really, there should be less talking and more touching anyway.
When Mac pulls away and looks into those eyes that are totally lost by now, he gets dizzy and lightheaded because he just made out with Charlie. He just made out with Charlie fucking Kelly and he fucking loved it.
"I'm tired, Mac." Charlie says and pulls Mac onto him, lays back completely and Mac follows because shit he's tired too, and sleeping here in Charlie's rat infested apartment on Charlie's bedbug ridden couch with a still burning blunt on the coffee table sounds like the best idea he's ever heard.