Work Text:
It's been about a week since Mcqueen got Dooley back into his life, having been a hard year without his best friend.
Things have changed since Dooley was gone, Mcqueen had grown some facial hair, and learned to cook more, he'd even say he's gotten closer to Dooley's family because of this. But Dooley was back now, and Mcqueen couldn't be happier.
Except for the growing feeling in his chest that happened every time he saw the other man now. Mcqueen was never able to shake it completely; this curiosity to learn how they were supposed to be, even after the Darkside happened. So it was no wonder why now the question remained…Would Dooley kiss him?
Of course, Dooley and Him were just friends. Friends who lived in that same apartment and now own a cat together. But Friends, regardless.
But here Mcqueen stood in the kitchen, standing just 5 feet away from Dooley, Wondering how Dooley's lips would feel against his own, or what scent might give him comfort. He knows these thoughts aren't realistic, but damn it when one man goes through the process of growing facial hair… they can't help but think the idea should really work out.
Dooley was only an inch taller than Mcqueen, at a wonderful 5'11, but he was big. Broad shoulders that tapered down to his large pecs that were hugged so perfectly by the tight buttoned-up shirt he wore. Blue really was his color. So deep and dense that it seemed almost familiar to Mcqueen when the buttons clacked softly each time Dooley leaned forward towards his sink. His face, as well, was chiseled and quite handsome with a square jaw and defined cheekbones, Which fit his scruffy sideburns so well.
Mcqueen never felt jealous of Dooley's appearance, but always felt aware of the distinction. Dooley was peak beauty standards, a real model of a man.
Mcqueen on the other hand was 5'10, slightly chubby, and had social anxiety. It always confused him how they were such a contrast and have stuck together since they were high schoolers.
He watched Dooley as he washed the dishes, his chest leaning against the counter where the buttons of his shirt clinked just so, Mcqueen had a fluttering thought of being in between the action.
He stepped forward, closing part of the distance between him and the other man.
"Need any help, Dooley?" He asked politely.
"No thanks, I got everything sorted," Dooley glanced over at him briefly, eyes still focused on the wash water, like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
Mcqueen stared for a moment.
"Did you forget the soap?" He asked, pointing out there were no bubbles forming on the watery dishes, Causing Dooley to pause.
"OH! Yeah!" He responded happily, picking up the soap from the edge of the sink and using some of it to clean the dishes.
Mcqueen was never sure how Dooley kept his cool about things, but it made him shudder at moments he'd never like to admit.
He bit his lip.
"Hey, Pat?" He asked softly, not entirely getting his pal's attention.
"Yeah-huh?"
"Have you...ever kissed someone?"
Dooley stopped scrubbing the plate he held for a moment.
"What?"
Dooley slowly put down the soap and started drying off the damp dish, giving Mcqueen the sweetest look he could remember seeing from the dude.
"Why do you ask?" He chuckled.
Mcqueen felt his cheeks grow rosy.
He stuttered "Well, I mean…"
"I've never done it myself," Dooley replied.
A part of Mcqueen wanted to giggle at his honesty. But another part, bigger, shook its head back.
"Oh! Um- Me neither." He looked away for a moment, hands fidgeting.
He could feel Dooley's eyes on him, studying him closely, attempting to understand. He felt pathetic, but also a little bit giddy.
Dooley blinked.
"...Francis?" He asked, Mcqueen's heart almost leaping out of his chest when he heard his first name.
"I've- missed you. A lot. This past year" He stammered, looking away from the taller man.
He could tell Dooley's expression was changing.
"And I honestly really just..." He trailed off, looking to Dooley finally.
“I really want to kiss you.” He finished simply.
Dooley was silent for a moment. Then he stepped towards Mcqueen slowly.
"Francis," Dooley said, placing a hand on Mcqueen's shoulder,
"I want to kiss you too."
Mcqueen felt his face flush.
He stepped back, his back hitting against the counter behind him, Dooley slowly leaning over him.
He breathed heavily as he leaned into Francis' personal space.
"Do you really want to kiss me?" He asked, his voice warm against Francis' face.
Francis' forehead beaded with sweat.
His breathing was heavy and ragged.
He could barely breathe.
"Yes," He whispered.
"I do, I do want to kiss you. "He parted his lips just a fraction, just so.
The moment their lips touched, a slow sigh escaped him.
It was soft and gentle, but powerful enough to make Dooley smile.
He pressed his lips harder against Francis', shifting his hands against the counter.
Their lips meshed together, hands running through each other's hair.
Maybe it wasn’t the correct time for tears, but water dared to prick Mcqueen’s eyes.
“I missed you,” He whined between kisses. “I miss you so much.”
“I missed you too” Dooley replied, peppering pecks on the corners of Francis’ lips.
“I thought about you every day I was gone.”
“Me too”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”