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Dennis weighs nothing in Mac’s arms.
Mac’s super buff, like an ox – a super buff ox. A super buff ox with the ability to carry a fully(ish) grown man.
Dennis’ arms are wrapped around his neck. His breathing is all shallow, and he gasps for air as Mac carries him to the Range Rover. They parked a few blocks away so Dennis could warm up his weak, babyish leg muscles before their basketball-but-not-basketball game, so it takes more longer for them to get there. Mac may accidentally drop him once, but it isn’t like a full-on drop, more like a stumble because he trips over a curb, and Dennis almost goes flying out of his arms, but Mac’s also got super speed, so he renews and readjusts his grip just in time. Of course, Den grumbles and whines; that’s just his nature. But he stays glued to Mac the entire time, and why shouldn’t he? Mac’s got a lot of good talents, and carrying Dennis is obviously one of them.
He isn’t even sweating as he deposits Dennis into the passenger seat. He’s totally ripped, after all.
But his ripped-ness doesn’t seem to matter right now, not when Den’s face is scrunched up like that.
And Mac knows that look. He knows it well.
“Oh, God, dude. Are you gonna hurl?” Mac asks.
Dennis nods frantically and topples out of the Rover until he’s on his hands and knees on the concrete. He gags, and this gross orange shit spills onto the ground, and Mac has to look away even though he knows he should be comforting Dennis. But puke his nasty, and now he’s a little nauseous too, and this is not how or why Mac wants Den on his hands and knees. That pose is, like, for blow jobs and stuff, and Dennis hasn’t given Mac a blow job in… well, it’s been a while. At least a couple months, if not more.
Does Dennis even like him anymore?
See, that’s why he’s poisoning him. He wants to prove his worthiness. He wants to prove that he can be Den's rock. He wants to prove he can be what Dennis needs.
And, honestly, what Dennis needs right now is to go home, brush his teeth, and get into bed.
“You good?” Mac asks as he rubs the top of Den’s back, where sweat is pooling around his t-shirt. Dennis shudders beneath his touch.
Dennis wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and clears his throat. He nods and struggles upright, but that’s okay because Mac’s right there, ready to catch him if he falls. Mac helps him sit back down in the Rover, buckles him up so he’s safe for the ride home, and grabs the plastic Wawa bag in the floorboard by Den’s feet. He sets the bag in Dennis’ lap, and Dennis grabs at it likes it’s a lifesaver, which is wrong because Mac is supposed to be the lifesaver here, not a stupid plastic bag. Also, he’s the one who bought the energy drink and sandwich that was in the bag, so Den should be thanking him (again) for having something to puke into.
Mac starts the drive home. Dennis crosses his arms over his chest, teeth chattering. It’s only October, and the weather outside is mild, but Dennis is acting like it’s the middle of winter. The dude is so dramatic. But Mac’s trying to prove that he can make his own decisions while also taking care of Dennis, so the best and only thing he can do is turn on the heater and hopefully not die of a heatstroke before they get back to the apartment.
Traffic is a bitch. It takes way longer to get on the highway than it should have. Dennis gags. He sounds and looks just like Dee, but maybe that’s the twin thing? Except Den doesn’t look like a bird. Not even a little bit. Den is handsome, and Dee looks like an ostrich trying to give birth, and that’s just the way it is. Mac remains vigilant, actively scoping out the best route home down to the smallest detail.
“We’re almost home, dude,” Mac promises.
That earns a groan from Dennis, whose hand is cupped over his mouth.
Mac frowns. He focuses even harder on the road.
Dennis fumbles for the door handle and sticks his head outside the second Mac parks in their usual spot. He coughs, and wet stuff splatters on the ground; all Mac can do is rub Den’s back through the nausea. Shit. Fuck. Maybe he should’ve laid off the dairy and soda. At the very least the dairy. Den’s mentioned something like lactoad intolerance before. He has no idea what toads have to do with dairy, but maybe they’re an animal that lives inside milk? Irregardless, the poison might be slightly too strong.
He’ll only blend half a slice of pizza and half a can of soda in Den’s dinner shake later.
Mac gets out of the car, waits for Dennis to finish puking, and easily lifts him into his arms. This time around, Den’s grip is weaker and clammier. He’s sweating a shit ton. He coughs and trembles and hides his face in Mac’s neck.
Everything is going smoothly until Mac trips again. The curb is fucked leading up to the front entrance. Mac nearly throws Dennis on the ground like he’s a piece of trash, but, c’mon, do you really think he’d actually do that? No, he saves himself and Dennis like the badass he is. He does almost roll his ankle (and maybe does roll his ankle a little bit), but it’s nothing like what would happen to him if he dropped Den for real.
“Asshole,” Dennis mumbles. “Quit droppin’ me.”
And of course Den thinks that this – this little stumble – is dropping. Did Dennis’ feet or ass ever touch the ground? No. Then he wasn’t dropped.
“Sorry, Den,” is all Mac says.
By the time they make it to their door, Mac isn’t even out of breath. He hopes Dennis notices that he’s breathing good. Hopes Dennis notices that he’s taking care of him good, too. He’s the best at taking care of Dennis. It’s been this way since they were just kids hanging out in the Reynolds’ family basement, getting high, drinking cheap vodka, and watching MTV until their brains rotted.
Mac is about to sit Dennis down on their couch when Dennis whispers, “bed,” into his neck. The vibration tickles.
“You sure, bro? I don’t want you to barf on your sheets.”
Den nods but doesn’t offer anything else.
Mac shrugs and makes a beeline to Dennis’ bedroom.
“Oh, wait. Let’s brush your teeth first, Den. Your breath is rank.”
“Is not,” Dennis mumbles, which just proves Mac’s point.
Mac settles him on the closed toilet seat. He wets Dennis’ toothbrush and coats it in extra minty toothpaste before handing it to Dennis, who takes it shakily. While he’s busy brushing the grossness is away, Mac carefully bends down and takes off Dennis’ shoes, followed by the ankle tape. He pats Den’s thigh as he stands back up. Dennis has toothpaste on his chin. His hair is flat against his forehead, and his t-shirt is rumpled with sweat. He doesn’t look like he feels good at all. Mac can tell by how sad his eyes are.
He helps Dennis spit into a Dixie cup and wipe his face. Then, he easily lifts the dude into his arms, takes the quick walk back into the bedroom, and settles him on the mattress. Dennis immediately curls into a tight ball, arms crossed over his chest as he buries his face into the pillows.
“Dude, we should change your clothes before you go to sleep. It’ll help you feel more better.”
Dennis whines. The dude is the king of whining. “Nooo… Sick.”
Mac sighs. “I know, bud. I know.” He sits on the edge of Dennis’ bed and starts to rub his thigh.
“Cold,” Dennis grates out.
“On it.”
Mac grabs the oversized plaid quilt from their couch. It’s the new one they use during movie nights. He drapes the blanket over Dennis, who bundles into it. He looks cute. Helpless. Defenseless. All the things that Mac can manipulate and control. He can definitely prove himself to Dennis this way. Poisoning Dennis may turn out to be his best idea yet, and he has loads of good ideas.
“Get some rest, dude,” he says quietly.
He’s halfway off the bed when Dennis’ voice stops him.
“Hold me.”
Mac doesn’t have to be asked twice.
Dennis doesn’t let Mac hold him much anymore, not as much as he used to.
Mac carefully, gently wraps his arms around Dennis’ too skinny waist. Dennis presses his back against Mac’s front and lets out a sigh.
“Okay?” Mac asks.
Dennis nods. He’s asleep in five minutes or less.
Mac smiles to himself.
Yeah, poisoning Den was definitely the right call.