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As far as Dee, Charlie, and Frank are concerned, Mac and Dennis are a couple of platonic co-dependent losers who share a flat together. They bitch about each other basically every day of their lives, have monthly dinners- as friends, of course- and don’t go an hour without checking in on each other (because if one isn’t there, then who the hell is going to get the other out of a jam?). And yeah, they get oddly close to each other sometimes, but it’s usually when they’re trying out intimidation tactics and squaring up for a fight.
It’s normal now. The ship of ‘what the fuck is up with these two’ sailed many years ago, and now it’s washed up on ‘who gives a shit’ island.
For Mac and Dennis themselves, of course, this is great- mostly because they are incredibly gay for each other, thank you very much, and the fact that they’ve been acting like a couple for nearly twenty years means nobody suspects a goddamn thing now that they actually are one (as of two months ago).
In all honesty, not much has really changed between them. In private, sure, there’s a little more... well, hands-on contact, than before, but even that is up for debate considering their usual proximity during movie nights in the time BC (Before Coitus).
And in public? They’re just the regular Mac and Dennis, nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever.
At least, that’s how it usually is, Mac thinks, taking another swig of his beer even though it’s barely eight in the morning. Today, he has a feeling that shit is going to hit the fan, and for once it isn’t going to be his fault, because Dennis is the one who’s going to blow their cover just like he’s blowing his red-ass nose- messily, and with as much grace as a baby gazelle.
He’s sick as shit, because of course he is, the man has the immune system of an infant, and though he’s trying his best to pretend that he isn’t, it only takes one look to call his bluff. He’s sat hunched over on a bar stool a few down from Mac, the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers as he breathes noisily through his mouth, and his cheeks are flushed with the beginnings of a fever. Mac watches him lift his own bottle to cracked lips, and can’t help wincing sympathetically when a single sip soon has him doubled over coughing.
“Come on, dude. Just go home already. You’re gonna get us all sick if you’re not careful.”
Not that he cares at all about that, but he’s gotta look like he doesn’t give a shit about Dennis’ wellbeing, right?
Dee, leaning against the bar nearby, wrinkles her nose. “If you get me sick I swear to God I’m going to kill you, Dennis. I actually have a date lined up for tonight and I cannot afford to look the way you do when I see him.”
Dennis shrugs. “’S far as I’m concerned, if you looked like me it’d be an improvement, Dee. Quit complaining.”
“I’m serious, asshole! I cannot get sick.”
“Yeah, well you’re in luck, because I’m not sick anyway,” Dennis mumbles against the bottle. “Hayfever’s kickin’ in early, that’s all.”
Dee raises her hands in exasperation. “What the fuck are you talking about? It’s November.”
With a noncommittal murmur, Dennis slides off from the barstool and rolls his shoulders. “’M gonna head out for a cigarette. Be back in a sec.”
Mac watches him skulk to the back door, fumbling with the handle before he eventually pushes through, and decides that he can’t sit around doing dick for much longer. He sets the beer bottle down on the bar and pursues.
Outside, Dennis is leaning against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his mouth haphazardly because somehow the dude can’t even smoke like a normal person, and as soon as Mac is sure that it’s just the two of them, his expression softens.
“How long are you going to keep this up for, Den? You look like shit.” He reaches out, a hand landing on a shoulder that’s way too warm, and squeezes gently.
“I’m fine.” Dennis grumbles, though there’s a sagging defeat in the way he relaxes under Mac’s touch. “I don’t get sick. I’m telling you, it’s allergies.”
Mac arches a brow. “Not to agree with Dee here, but it is November. I don’t think allergies are a good enough excuse, man.”
Dennis lifts a shaking hand to his lips, withdraws the cigarette from in between them, and affixes Mac with a counterfeit of his usual winning smile. “Trust me, babyboy. I’m good.”
It’s been approximately an hour since the cigarette break, and Dennis is 100% not good. Mac can tell, because he’s got like a super keen eye for that kind of thing, but it’s getting so bad that even Charlie is catching on to the situation. Where once his cheeks had been tinged with a slight flush, now they’re totally devoid of any colour at all, and if it weren’t for the fact that Dennis is still coughing every now and then, Mac would think he was staring straight at a corpse.
The fever is clearly getting worse, and, unfortunately, it isn’t doing any favours for Dennis’ mental faculties- to put it simply, Den’s brain is clearly fucking fried.
See, usually Mac is the one who has to be told to act with a little restraint when they’re in public (given that he’s the more openly touchy-feely of the two), but fever-addled Dennis clearly didn’t get the memo.
“G-god it’s c-c-cold in here.” He shudders, half-leaning against Mac behind the bar. “Charlie, t-turn the go-goddamn heating up w-would you?”
His voice is weak, and with another shudder he rests his head against Mac’s shoulder, nose buried against his neck as a low whine escapes his throat. Mac tries to ignore the way his stomach leaps at the contact, and the warm breaths so close against his skin.
“Charlie’s downstairs bashing up rats, Dennis. It’s only me, Dee, and Frank up here.”
“F-frank then. Jus... God, can s-someone fucking t-turn it up before I fr-freeze?”
Frank, sat at a barstool with a newspaper in hand, frowns. “Dennis, I’m not turning up shit. It’s hotter than a whore’s ass in here already. I’m this close to takin’ off my shirt and letting my nips breathe.”
Dee furrows her brow. “Please don’t. I don’t want to see that.”
“Your sister doesn’t wanna see that, Dennis, so you better shut your mouth or prepare to get flashed.”
Dennis groans gently, and while Dee is texting her new date and Frank is reading the newspaper, Mac loops his arm inconspicuously around Dennis’ waist and strokes a thumb along his side. It’s a quick gesture, and one only meant to convey that Mac really is sorry he’s feeling so shitty, but Dennis murmurs loudly and contentedly, before his lips nearly graze Mac’s neck as he purrs,
“Y-you gonna f-fuck me, babyboy, or w-what?”
The room falls silent immediately. Dennis continues to mumble absently into Mac’s neck.
And Dee?
Dee’s eyes are like saucers. “What did he just say?”
“I... nothin’, he just...” Mac fumbles for a response, but he can basically hear the thready thumping of Dennis’ pulse; feel the way Dennis’ crotch is pressing against his jeans, and neither of those are conducive to clear thinking.
Instead, after a few seconds, he decides to just take Dennis by the arm and lead him into the back office, mumbling excuses to Dee and Frank about fever and delirium while they (well, Dee at least- Frank looks vaguely amused) watch on in disbelief. As soon as the door is closed behind him, Mac sighs, crumpling against the wall with a curse on his tongue. Dennis just stands there rubbing his arms, swaying precariously.
“A-are you cold o-or is it just me?” he asks faintly.
Mac pulls a hand over his face, shaking his head. “It’s you, Den. Of course it’s you. Your temp is probably through the roof.”
Dennis cocks his head in a display of adorable confusion that Mac rarely sees, and for a moment it makes everything melt away because he knows that plague-free Dennis would never be caught dead looking so goddamn vulnerable outside of the bedroom. “H-huh?”
“You’re sick.” Mac explains gently, as if talking to a child.
“N-no, definitely not. T-trust me, I d-don’t get sick, Mac.”
“So you keep saying, but here we are anyway, and I think that- Dennis?”
Mac opens his eyes (he’d shut them for a moment because my God, this situation is giving him a migraine) to find Dennis standing with his chin tipped down towards his chest, eyes closed, breathing deeply and evenly as if... “You fall asleep on me, bro?”
Dennis does not answer, which of course means that yes, he has fallen asleep. Right. Okay.
New plan.
Frank and Dee don’t say anything when Mac walks out of the back office carrying Dennis bridal style, and to be honest, he doesn’t even know whether he’d give a shit if they did. All he knows is that he has to get his boyfriend (God, is that what they are?) home before he digs them into some real deep shit by trying to kiss him or something. Garbled nonsense isn’t difficult to make excuses for. Lip to lip contact? A whole different story.
He fishes Dennis’ Range Rover keys from out of his pocket and unlocks the car, muttering under his breath because goddamn the dude isn’t being helpful, like, at all, and eventually manages to deposit sleeping beauty into the passenger seat- at which point, as luck would have it, he finally rouses.
“Mac?”
His fever-bright eyes dart about in a dazed panic, voice breathy and weak.
“Hey, Den, I’m right here.” Mac replies, settling into the driver’s seat and putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I’m getting you home, man. Just sit tight.”
Dennis nods absently, hands still raking over his arms as though he’s freezing despite the fact that the heating is on blast. “O-okay. Goodnight.”
Mac chuckles lightly. “Yeah, alright bud. Goodnight. Sleep well.”
He’s out like a light before Mac even has time to pull away from the bar.
The moment the door to the bar closes, Dee slams her phone down on the table.
“Okay, can we talk about that?”
Frank doesn’t look up from his newspaper. “About what?”
“A-about what?? Frank, did you not hear what Dennis said to Mac?”
“Mmm... the fucking part?”
Dee is going to lose her goddamn mind. She’s surrounded by morons.
“Yes, the fucking part! What other part could I possibly be referring to?!”
Frank shrugs. “I dunno, maybe he said some other stuff. I usually just tune out most of what Dennis says. Why?”
“Why?! What do you mean ‘why’? My brother just asked his best friend if he was going to fuck him! Does that not seem a little odd to you? Not even a little bit?”
Frank shrugs for a second time. “They’re bangin’. So what?”
Dee blinks, unable to even conjure the words for the shitstorm going through her mind, because why is Frank being so nonchalant about this? Why is it only her who feels a strange sense of injustice swirling around in her gut?
It isn’t that she doesn’t want her brother to be gay- shit, if that’s what he wants (and Mac is who he wants, for some strange reason), she hasn’t got a problem with it at all! It’s just... God, he’s her twin! She should know these things, right? Have some weird Shining-esque connection that lets her know her psycho brother is dating his best friend, even if he doesn’t say it out loud?
“Did you know about this?” she finds herself asking, surprised by the hurt that enters her voice.
“I mean, he hasn’t said anything, but I thought it was obvious. There is absolutely nothing heterosexual about how those two look at each other. Trust me, I got a top notch gaydar.”
Of course, now that Dee has time to ruminate on things, it does seem obvious. They’ve always been close, but these past few months, things have been different. Their weird homoerotic gazes are now more like secret glimpses when they think nobody is looking, and while their physical contact has been basically the same amount as it’s always been (too much for two grown men), hands linger where they once pulled away quickly.
“Does Charlie know?”
“Does Charlie know what?” Traipsing in with a bat over his shoulder, Charlie offers Dee an inquisitive look.
“About the fact that Mac and Dennis are clearly banging.” Frank explains, his eyes still inexplicably glued to the newspaper like it’s just a regular Tuesday.
Charlie dips his hand into the bowl of nuts sitting on the bar and throws them into his mouth. “Oh tht? Mhm.” He swallows, shrugging his shoulders. “Yeah, that was a last month kind of thing. You only just got to that, Dee?”
Charlie too? God. Is she the only person that hasn't figured it out?
Dee shakes her head, covering her face with her hands, and sighs deeply. “I don’t believe it. Honestly. How could both of you dickwads know before me? I’m his sister, for Christsakes!”
“For one, you’re unobservant as shit, Deandra.” Frank muses. “Second, if you don’t wanna see something, ya won’t. Simple as.”
The implication that she would disapprove of the relationship raises her hackles instantly. Sure, if it’s true, it’ll take a while to... sink in, properly... but in the long run, she couldn’t give a shit who Dennis wants to bang. It’d be weird if she did.
She tries to explain this to Frank and Charlie, but winds up digging herself deeper and deeper into a hole until she decides it isn’t worth it, and the only way she’s going to get to the bottom of the MacDennis debacle is to go and see them for herself. Well, herself and Charlie, because he’s taken to accompanying her on these kinds of spontaneous trips like some sort of junkyard dog looking for scraps, and no matter how much beef jerky she throws his way, he won’t leave her alone.
“Do you really wanna see them banging?” he asks as he slips into the passenger seat of Dee’s car, still crunching on nuts (does he have a supply of them in his pocket or?- oh, yes, he’s diving in there for some more mysterious nuts, wonderful).
Dee wrinkles her nose. “Ew. No, Charlie, I do not ‘wanna see them banging’. Dennis is sick, so I doubt that’s happening anyway. I just... I just want to talk to Mac, or witness another scene like the one at the bar earlier, so I know for sure what’s happening.”
“I don’t know why you need all that shit in the first place, Dee. I mean, it’s pretty obvious that they’re getting real down and d-“
“Shut up, Charlie.”
He raises his hands defensively, eyebrows raised. “Okay. Just don’t puke on me when we walk in on them going at it.”
“If you say another word, I’m going to kill you.”
Mac curses under his breath as he forages through the cupboards, searching every nook and cranny for some kind of flu medication that isn’t expired or packaged in suspicious bottles with no labels on, and coming up short each time. How can they have nothing? Mac always tries to be prepared, and this is not preparedness.
He chances a quick look behind him, the anxious furrow in his brow softening at the sight of Dennis sound asleep on the couch, totally unaware of the chaos he’s causing by being so damn frail. Mac had only intended to keep him there for a few minutes while he fished out some Tylenol, a blanket thrown over his shoulders while he sat shivering and staring dazedly at the switched-off TV, but clearly Dennis had had other ideas. Within minutes, he’d curled up, pulling the blanket to his chin, closing his eyes against the shudders racking his frame; and the next time Mac glanced over, he’d been conked out just like this. Totally dead to the world.
Mac doesn’t know much about sick people, but he’s pretty sure that’s for the best- awake, Dennis had looked like a lame horse begging to be euthanized- sad, baby blue eyes fever-bright and desperate for some kind of respite.
Ah! His hand lands on a familiar-looking pill bottle, and, upon pulling it out, sighs with relief.
Extra Strength Flu Fighter.
Strongest stuff on the market? Check.
Not expired? Check.
He unscrews the cap and looks inside, heart sinking as he realises there’s only a couple of pills left- just enough for one dose, but not more. Shit. He’s going to have to head out later and pick up some more, or the night isn’t going to be fun.
Gathering the medication, a glass of water, and a thermometer, Mac heads back to the living room where Dennis is still passed out, shuddering beneath the wool of the blanket.
“Hey, Den.” He says, lightly shaking him by the shoulder. “Got to wake up for a bit, baby boy, so I can help get you comfortable.”
For a moment he thinks Dennis is too knocked out to hear him and starts to contemplate the next steps, but after a few seconds, the smallest sliver of blue peeks out from under half-mast eyelids. Then, a low groan.
“Yeah, I know, bud, just pop a couple of these and I’ll take it from there, okay?”
A barely imperceptible nod, and Dennis is reaching out a shaky hand to take the pills and the glass of water, sluggishly tipping his head back to swallow them before following them down with a few lethargic sips and a full-body shudder. Mac watches as he sinks back against the couch, a knot forming in his stomach. Dennis is sick sick, and it’s Mac’s responsibility now to take care of him- which isn’t something, mind you, that he’s upset about given his years of secret pining, but now that he’s faced with the harsh reality of the situation, his inexperience is beginning to dawn on him.
Does he let Dennis sleep for hours or should he wake him up to eat? Is water or Gatorade better for flu? Should a fever be sweated out or is that bullshit?
When he was a little boy, sickness was just something he dealt with on his own in his own way, and if his home remedies didn’t work, he’d just wait for things to pass and tell nobody. It was his health on the line, and he was willing to let it suffer a little if he had to.
But Dennis? Dennis is different. He can’t let Dennis just wait out whatever weird microorganism he’s picked up. Things have to actually work this time around.
Taking a deep breath, he steadies himself. Okay. One step at a time.
First, he needs to see what temperature Dennis is running.
By this point, his boyfriend is dead to the world yet again, which means Mac is super careful when he places his thumb against Dennis’ chin and opens his mouth enough to slip in the thermometer, explaining as he goes what he’s doing just in case some little fragment of consciousness is left inside his patient’s addled brain.
A few seconds, and the thermometer beeps. The number 102.5 is emblazoned on the little screen.
Mac’s stomach drops yet again. That can’t be good.
“Dennis? Hey, Den?”
Heavy-lidded eyes meet his again, groggy and unfocused. “Wha’?”
“We gotta get you into something a little looser, okay? Your fever’s real high, and I think this sweater is gonna fry your brain if we’re not careful.”
Dennis’ only response is a vague and incoherent mumble, but Mac doesn’t have time to try to interpret it. Instead, he aids him into a sitting position, before hooking his hands underneath his boyfriend’s shoulders and pulling him upright so that he can half-drag him to the bedroom and strip him down.
Once upon a time, the idea of getting Dennis down to his underwear would have been like crack to Mac, and it still is on many occasions. This time, though, with the object of his deepest fantasies laying on the bed, drifting in and out of consciousness while Mac tries to tug some pyjama shorts up and over his dick, he can’t say that he feels wonderful about what’s happening.
“Sorry, bud.” He soothes, as Dennis whines at the relative coolness of his touch. “Nearly done, then we’ll go back to the couch and you can sleep, alright?”
Dennis doesn’t protest any further, and perhaps the medication is starting to kick in because no sooner have they reached the couch again than he’s flopping down against it, burrowing into the leather as his breaths even out. Mac sighs, but fondly, and manages to squeeze his way onto the couch too before laying down and simultaneously easing Dennis into his arms. Mac of two years ago would have been shell-shocked at the intimacy of the gesture, and even more so at Dennis’ response- his arms wrapping around Mac’s torso unconsciously, his head resting against Mac’s chest as though it has always belonged there- and hell, even Mac of six months ago would have been in disbelief.
Now, though? This strange domestic affection is becoming... normal... between them, and it feels like they’re eighteen again, sprawled across each other on Dennis’ bed while they try to figure out what they are- except this time, they know the answer.
Dennis shivers, and Mac pulls the blanket from the foot of the couch up to his shoulders even though he knows it won’t really help. Mostly it’s just an excuse for him to resettle his hands, one of them curving beneath the blanket over Dennis’ back, the other beginning to slowly rake through the messy tangle of curls on his boyfriend’s head. Mac knows that always calms Dennis down, and it seems to do the trick now because his features seem to soften in sleep.
At some point soon, hopefully his fever will break, and then he’ll feel better. For now, though, Mac reaches for the TV remote and puts on Predator, turning down the volume so it’s barely audible before settling back with Dennis clinging to his chest.
He’s going to be here a while.
“What exactly is the plan here, Dee?” Charlie asks as they ascend the stairs towards Mac and Dennis’ apartment. “Is there one?”
“We don’t need a plan, Charlie, because it’s simple. Look, their door is always unlocked, so we’ll open it and I’ll just peek in and see what’s going on. Then leave. In and out, Charlie. In and out.”
“So are you saying we don’t need the mask?”
Dee levels an ‘are you fucking with me right now?’ face at him, because no, of course they don’t need the latex horse mask Charlie seems to think is a great disguise for sneaking into an apartment with. God, he is not getting it at all.
They reach the door, and she puts a finger to her lips, motioning for Charlie to shove the weird mask back inside his bag so they can get on with things. He sighs, disappointed, but complies with a mutter of,
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this anyway. You have a date later, right?”
Dee rolls her eyes. “How many times do I have to explain this to you, Charlie? It’s only like four pm right now, so if you just shut up, we can get this done quickly and then I can leave and get ready for my date- my date who is picking me up at seven. Three hours, Charlie. We have three hours.”
He pulls a grubby hand out of his hoodie pocket and counts on his fingers, nodding his head to confirm that yes, 7-4 does equal three, and Dee is this close to losing her shit.
“Mm, okay.” He murmurs. “Better hurry up, then.”
She’s pretty sure her eyes bulge out of her head as she grits out, “Yes, Charlie. That’s what I’ve been trying to say. Are you even goddamn listening to me?”
He shrugs. “I mean, I’m hearing you, but in all honesty most things just kinda pass right through m’ noggin.”
“That isn’t hard to believe.”
She turns her attention to the door, twisting the handle slowly and gently so as not to elicit a single creak, and holds her breath when she pushes against it. Logically, there’s no reason for her to be nervous- after all, it’s just Dennis and Mac- the latter of which she’s known for years, the former since the womb, for Christ’s sakes.
Except... what if she doesn’t know them at all? What if Charlie and Frank are right, and there really is something deeper going on between them that she’s somehow managed to tune out for the better part of two decades?
It shouldn’t matter, and it doesn’t, but... God, why would Dennis not tell her?
The door swings gently open, and the low chatter of the television playing some movie or other drifts into her consciousness, as does the fact that she can see the back of Mac’s head as he’s sitting on the couch. Dennis is nowhere to be seen, and perhaps that’s why she finds herself vaguely moving along the wall until the picture is complete, and all of her questions are answered.
Mac isn’t sitting on the couch, he’s laying- absently watching the screen, propped up against a cushion- and curled against him, half-hidden beneath a blanket that comes up to Mac’s chest, is unmistakeably a sleeping Dennis. Dee would recognise those curls, sweat-damp or otherwise, in any lifetime.
And, before her psyche can conjure up some codependent-losers-that-are-platonic-actually explanation for what she’s seeing, Dennis shifts upwards, nostrils flaring slightly as he purposefully buries his nose in the crook of Mac’s neck, and instead of pushing him away, Mac smiles gently and presses a feather-light kiss to his pale forehead.
He loves Dennis. That much is clear.
And Dennis... the corners of Dennis’ mouth quirk up unconsciously in the most genuine smile Dee has ever seen alighting on his face, and the other half of the truth doesn’t surprise her as much as she thought it would.
Dennis loves Mac too. Wholly, deeply, truly.
An exhale escapes her because apparently she hasn’t breathed since entering the room, and all of a sudden Mac’s eyes are locked with hers, and a look of pure panic washes over his face. He freezes, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car just waiting for impact.
“Dee.” He breathes. “What are you doing here?”
His voice is quiet, as though even when engulfed in panic, he can’t bear to risk waking Dennis up.
“Are you and my brother together?” she blurts, the words passing her lips before she even has time to process what she’s saying.
Mac’s face momentarily contorts with pure fear, but he quickly blinks, lips stretching into an unconvincing grin. “Hah, what? What, uh, what the hell are you talking about, Dee?”
She wants to gesture wildly towards the scene before her, Dennis passed out against him with his head on Mac’s chest and Mac’s arm around him (though the latter has been concealed in the last few seconds by a strategic movement of the blanket), but somehow that feels cruel, so instead she merely sighs and says, “Mac...”
He swallows, ears reddening. “Dee, he’s sick as shit. I’m just.. just making sure he doesn’t, I don’t know, choke and die on his own vomit, or something. You know? And- and-“
“Mac...”
“- his fever is super high so I’ve been trying to get it down, and of course he’s been totally out of it so if you heard anything that sounds like-“
“Mac. It’s okay.”
He pauses, glancing down briefly to check that Dennis is still asleep (he is) before his eyes return to Dee. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s okay if you two are... dating, or whatever. I just... I just wanna know.”
Mac’s gaze drifts from Dee to a spot beside her, evidently where Charlie has snuck in too. Clearly, something about his oldest friend’s expression is enough to break down his remaining walls, because the tension immediately bleeds out of him, as does the resistance.
“Yes.” He exhales, sagging against the couch, cheeks flushed and eyes anywhere aside from his two friends. “Yeah, we are.” He picks at a loose seam on the couch, and the shame radiating off him in waves is enough to make Dee want to drop all pretences of frustration. “For a few months now, we have been. Please don’t... don’t say anything to Dennis yet. That you know, I mean. I’ll need to... talk things over with him.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Mac sighs deeply, nodding as he does with evident relief, and Dee feels the need to reiterate, “It’s okay, Mac. Really. If you... if you care about him, then that’s all that matters.”
“I do.” He replies instantly, eyes shimmering like a goddamn puppy’s, and Dee knows without a doubt that he’s telling the truth.
“Okay, then.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
For a few moments, neither one of them says anything, until at last Dee breaks the silence with a gentle laugh as she catches sight of her brother again. “My God. He really has been taken out by this thing. Hasn’t even stirred.”
Mac glances downwards, and a smile creeps onto his face. “Yeah. I gave him some extra-strength flu medication earlier, so that probably contributed a little as well. Speaking of, I really need to pick up some more- apparently, we have like nothing here.”
Dee raises an eyebrow. “Want me to go pick up some from the drugstore?”
Mac’s eyes light up. “Would you?”
“But, Dee, I thought you had that d-“ Charlie interjects, but she silences him with a look and he nods with an understanding that she doesn’t think she’s ever seen in him before.
“I got it.” She tells Mac. “Anything else?”
The dude looks at her as if she’s just offered him the moon. She figures acceptance isn’t a common thing for a repressed homosexual Catholic, but even so, the offer of a trip to the drugstore doesn’t often evoke such reverent gazes.
“Um, just any other sickie supplies I guess. You don’t have to, but-“
“It’s alright, I got it. I know a few things from when we were younger- simple stuff that’ll make him feel better.”
Mac chews on his lip, smiling contentedly. “Thanks, Dee.”
She shrugs. “Anything to stop him whining like a baby, right?”
“Hah, yeah. Sure.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
It’s two pm the next day when Mac finally hears movement coming from Dennis’ room. He’s sitting on the couch crunching on the gas station chips that Dee picked up for him, watching reruns of old TV shows he doesn’t give a shit about, and the moment he catches the sound of slow footsteps something lightens in his chest.
When he, Dee, and Charlie had dumped him in his bed last night, a glass of water, a bucket and a Tylenol on the nightstand, Dennis had looked like pure shit- so much so that Mac knew sleep was going to be impossible for worrying.
Dee did her best to assure him that she’d taken care of Dennis through enough illnesses as a kid to know how these things worked by now, and that this was just an albeit scary-looking stage before things started to get better. Mac had tried his best to believe her, but in spite of his strange trust that she was telling the truth, the sight of Dennis, trembling and white as a sheet beneath blanket after blanket, had been jarring to say the least.
He reaches for the TV remote and turns down the volume, closing the chip bag as he does and cocking his head for any new proof of life.
“Den? You okay?”
His call is met by silence at first, but then the door opens, and Mac turns to see Dennis emerging from his room.
The first thing he notices is the blanket clutched around his shoulders like a cape, but the second is that he looks way better than he had last night. A sigh of relief escapes Mac’s lips. Dee was right after all, just as he’d hoped.
“Den.”
He glances up, and Mac notes that his hair is damp with sweat- in fact, in the light that now meets his face, it appears that he’s soaked all over with it. It beads all over his forehead and cheeks, and as he shifts the blanket, the more saturated patches near his armpits and neck become visible properly. If Mac hadn’t known about him being sick, he’d have thought Dennis just stepped out of the shower.
“God, Mac. I feel hungover as shit. What the fuck happened last night?”
His voice is scratchy, but Mac wants to kiss him for the relief of hearing it at all.
“What happened, Den, is that you’ve been sick as a goddamn dog.” He says, half-laughing.
Dennis cocks his head, and that coupled with the blanket cape makes him look like a little lost child. Mac wants to kiss him again.
“Huh?”
“You were super sick, babe. Had the flu or something. I’m not surprised if you don’t remember it; the fever had you all kinds of out of it.”
Dennis’ mouth forms a vague ‘o’ of understanding. “Ah. That explains this.”
He gestures up and down himself as if to point out the sweat that was glaringly obvious already.
“Yeah, it must have broken during the night.”
“Mm...” Dennis looks over himself a little, then shrugs. “At least I know I’m not suddenly super intolerant to alcohol or something.”
“Not as far as I’m aware...” Mac says, his words trailing off as he prepares himself to break the news to Dennis. “Hey, Den... I need to tell you something.”
“Mm?” Dennis is padding slowly towards the couch now, the dark circles under his eyes one of the few remaining indicators that he still isn’t working at 100%.
Mac pats the cushion beside him. “C’mere.”
His boyfriend arches a brow, but lowers himself there anyway, tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders and waiting for Mac to continue.
“See... yesterday, you... you kind of said some things in front of the others at the bar. While you were out of it, I mean.”
The blank expression on Dennis’ face means that he clearly remembers nothing of it. “Like what?”
Mac sighs. “Like... okay, look, you might have maybe asked me if I was going to fuck you?” He winces, allowing time for Dennis to process what he’s just said before-
“Oh... oh no.”
“Wait, it’s okay, Den,” Mac says, but Dennis is already swiping his hands down his face, a string of muttered expletives falling from his tongue. When he lowers his hands, he’s paler, and there’s a look of genuine panic in his eyes.
“Oh, shit, Mac. Fuck. I’m sorry. I fucked it. I know we didn’t want things to get out yet, and... aw, Jesus.”
Mac reaches out and places a gentle hand on Dennis’ shoulder. “Hey. It’s alright. It’s okay, honestly.”
Dennis watches him like he’s crazy. “Mac, I just outed the both of us! What do you mean ‘it’s okay’?” He goes to stand, attempting to conceal the way he teeters slightly by pretending to lean against the arm of the couch. “I- I gotta go and see them. Try and explain the situation, I don’t know, somehow dig ourselves out of this hole.”
Mac rises immediately after him, taking him by the biceps and guiding him carefully back down onto the couch. “Woah, no need for that. Look, I told you, it’s okay. I’ve already spoken to the others- well, Charlie and Dee at least.”
He didn’t think it possible for the colour to drain any further from Dennis’ face, but clearly he was wrong. “You spoke to them?”
The terror in his voice is palpable, and Mac’s reminded of his own upon first finding himself caught red-handed by Dee last night.
“Yeah... I did.” Mac says gently. “And they’re okay with it, I swear. Dee went out and picked up some more supplies for you, and Charlie? Well, I spoke to Charlie while she was out and apparently he and Frank have been thinking we’re a couple for months- I mean, before we even were.”
Dennis blinks, shallow breaths evening out. “They’re okay with it? You’re sure?”
Mac nods. “For sure, Den.”
“Even Dee?”
“Even Dee. But I think you should go speak to her about it anyway. It might make her feel more better if you tell her properly yourself.” At Dennis’ inquisitive look, Mac clarifies. “I think she’s a little hurt you didn’t tell her about your whole ‘into girls and guys’ thing.”
He waits for Dennis to laugh or shoot back with some angry remark or other, but instead he receives only a nod and a plaintive,
“Yeah... okay. Shit.”
Mac pulls Dennis in a little closer, pride prickling within him at the small display of compassion. Since they’ve been dating, Dennis has been allowing himself to feel more. Express more. Love more. And whether that love is directed towards him or Dee, Mac couldn’t care less (so long as the sexual shit is reserved for him, and maybe a little love too).
“She’ll be okay with you bro, I promise. You just gotta be honest, and she’ll understand. You two get each other.”
Dennis’s lips quirk up with approval. “Yeah, that’s the twin shit.”
“Oh, definitely.”
“You don’t... you don’t think she’s mad that I’m with you? That I’m not straight?”
Mac shakes his head, and it’s the most definitive ‘no’ he’s ever given. Dennis sinks back against him, relief evident in the way he closes his eyes and rests his head against Mac’s shoulder, urging his sweat-soaked hair towards Mac’s neck in the way that he does when he wants Mac to kiss the top of his head.
Being the dutiful boyfriend that he is, the request is promptly fulfilled. As is another one shortly after, when Dennis raises his head again, baby blues in full sight, and presses his lips against Mac’s with a gentle urgency that pulls groans from the back of Mac’s throat.
“Fuck.” Mac murmurs, breathless and giddy after only a few seconds. His brain buzzes with the momentary deprivation of oxygen and the replacement of it with Dennis, and he has to take a few laugh-tinted inhales before he manages to speak properly. “That hasn’t got old yet.”
Dennis’ answering grin is lascivious, dripping with sin and draped under hooded eyes . “Oh, it won’t, baby boy. I’ll always keep you on your toes.”
Mac pushes him off playfully before they spend the whole afternoon screwing each other, and Dennis rolls his eyes in reluctant acceptance.
“’Kay, I’ll get in the shower then. I’m still sweaty as shit and it’s getting uncomfortable now.”
He rises to his feet, still swaying a little, but Mac is more willing to attribute his lack of balance to the dizzying high left by the kiss than the remnants of sickness- even when he rolls his shoulders with a little groan and shudders, because while he’s sure as shit not well yet, that was also the fakest attempt at covering for his love-drunk state that Mac’s ever seen. Some day, he’ll get Dennis to admit that his stomach does flips when they kiss just like Mac’s does. He knows it’s true, because he sees it in his eyes- that ‘sudden softening, pupils blown to all hell’ look that Mac feels within and is sure shows on his face too.
“You coming, then?” Dennis asks, his back to the couch as he stretches his arms high above his head, padding towards the bathroom.
Mac feels his heart leap and an excited smile alight on his face. “I didn’t know that was an option.”
Dennis turns, and a spark of memory seems to flicker in his eyes. He grins right back.
“Well... you gonna fuck me babyboy, or what?”
This time, there’s nobody else to answer to.
Mac stands.
“God, yes.”