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Mac sits on the couch: the place he’s been banished to. He is not allowed to move, and he is certainly not allowed to go anywhere near Dennis’s room, because Dennis is doing something in there that Mac absolutely cannot see until Dennis is ready to show him.
Or so Dennis says.
Mac wishes he’d thought ahead to at least grab a beer from the fridge before sitting his ass down. Who knows how long he’s gonna be stuck here, staring at the News and ignoring the subtitles. The sound is off because he can sometimes, very faintly, hear Dennis moving around inside of his room.
Dennis has been cagey all day, but this is by far the most outright secretive he’s been. Mac would be slightly annoyed that Dennis thinks he needs to keep secrets from Mac, if Mac was thinking about it that much.
Which he’s not. He’s watching the News.
And he’s wishing he had a beer.
Bored of listening for hints from Dennis’s room, Mac leans his head back against the couch and rests his eyes. The air in their apartment is warm and smells faintly of the pasta they had for dinner (or, he had. Dennis had just watched him. Dennis hasn’t eaten much today. Maybe that’s contributing to his acting strange). The room is calming, and Mac’ breathing slows.
He’s pulled out of his half-sleep by the creak of Dennis’s door opening. Mac rubs at his eyes, and Dennis’s voice calls out: “Keep them closed!”
“M'kay.” Mac stifles a yawn. He has no idea, genuinely, what to expect. It could be anything from a new puppy to the “relationship contract” Dennis sometimes jokes about making them sign. Eyes still closed, he rubs his palms down the tops of his thighs, impatient. “Are you almost ready?”
“Yeah, yeah. Almost,” Dennis says, and now his voice comes from right in front of Mac. There is some sort of rustling noise, like fabric rubbing against itself, and then Dennis’s hand is on Mac’s shoulder. Mac fights to keep his eyes closed, and ends up whipping one hand up and pressing it against his eyes in case he can’t help himself. Dennis will probably be mad if he opens his eyes before being told he can, and then all of this waiting will be for nothing.
Mac finds he’s holding his breath. He focuses on the slight weight of Dennis’s palm on his shoulder. Anticipation itches up his arms. At least some part of him, he realizes, is expecting this to be bad news. Why Dennis would make him sit by himself for a half hour before hurting him in some way Mac has no idea, although he can’t argue that Dennis would. He racks his mind for any mistakes he’s made in the past few days.
“Are you breaking up with me?” Mac blurts. It’s the one explanation his brain won’t stop throwing at him.
“What— what?” Dennis says, more shrilly the second time. “No. God damn, why is that what you’re thinking about?”
“I don’t know…”
“Stop thinking about it! You’re going to ruin this.” He sounds, Mac realizes, somewhat nervous. His voice is uneven and his words quick.
“Ok Dennis. Ok, I stopped.”
Dennis’s hand on Mac’s shoulder tightens, then drops away. “Open your eyes.”
Mac opens his eyes but keeps his hand covering them, blindly following instructions.
“You idiot,” Dennis groans, then pulls Mac’s hand down.
Mac blinks, then looks, then blinks again. “What is it?”
Dennis’s mouth tightens. His face is slightly red. He puts his hands on his hips, as if angry, then quickly moves his hands to instead smooth them down his skirt.
Oh. That… that might be what this is about. Mac leans back slightly into the couch cushions to take it in. Dennis is wearing a black dress. It has a V-neckline that goes low enough to show a bit of his light chest hair, sleeves that are loose on his arms but tightened at his wrists, and a skirt part that goes just past his knees. The material is cinched at his waist and loose around his thighs.
Mac licks his lips subconsciously. He tries to urge his suddenly empty brain to think of something to say.
“Oh, a dress!” is what he comes up with. It is clearly not the right thing to say. Dennis takes a small step back, his eyebrows drawing together.
“Yes,” he says harshly. “A dress. You don’t like it?”
Mac frowns. “I’ve seen you in a dress before, Dennis. Remember? With Fatty Magoo.”
The crease between Dennis’s eyebrows deepens. “That was obviously different than this, Mac. Can you not see that? If you can’t see that, then I’ve miscalculated and I’ll just go change.” Before giving Mac the chance to speak, he takes a bigger step back.
“Dennis,” Mac stands, reaching to catch at Dennis’s hip. “It is different. Don’t change.” He’s not completely sure what exactly is different, but he knows it’s what Dennis wants to hear. And he’ll try to figure it out, whatever it is.
Dennis looks him over slowly, as if trying to catch him in his lie, then hesitantly leans into Mac’s touch. Mac takes the opportunity to touch more of the dress. He drags his hand down from Dennis’s hip and over his thigh, the material of the dress cool below his fingers. He takes a small step forward, their bodies closer together, so he can touch the bottom of the skirt. He rubs a bit of it between his fingers; it feels like water, smooth and light.
Using both hands now, he holds loosely at Dennis’s shoulders. He tries slipping the tips of his fingers under the neckline of the dress, reaching towards Dennis’s back. The neckline has plenty of give, unlike Dennis’s button-up shirts, but Mac is delicate with it. He doesn’t know how much it would take to rip the tissue-like fabric.
He’s never thought this much about a dress before. If a girl he was going to bang had a dress on, the most he would have thought about it would have been to figure out how to take it off. He had preferred letting them take their own clothes off, anyways. Less work for him.
This is different, although that’s not the kind of difference Dennis had been referring to.
He removes his hands carefully from Dennis’s skin, and runs them delicately down the length of his arms, feeling the way the puff of the long sleeves give to his light touch. He ends with his hands holding Dennis’s hands. Dennis is scrutinizing him, and so Mac avoids his gaze. He instead looks at their joined hands. He gathers their hands up in front of his chest and rubs his thumbs over the backs of Dennis’s.
“You look beautiful,” Mac says.
Dennis scoffs. He shifts his weight, the skirt swaying slightly.
“Are you going to wear it out?”
Dennis laughs once, harshly. “No.”
Mac wonders, “Why are you wearing it now?”
Dennis glares at him, then swallows, his gaze drifting downwards. His eyelashes reach towards his cheekbones. “I wanted to.”
Something occurs to Mac. He asks, as softly as he can manage, “Did you wear it for me?”
“Obviously not!” Dennis groans, but his cheeks are heating up again.
“Oh. That’s too bad.” Mac lets go of Dennis’s hands. He reaches one hand for the bottom of the dress again, this time sweeping his fingers up under it to grasp around the middle of Dennis’s thigh.
Dennis pauses, as if he’s not sure what to do. Worried that he’s overstepped, Mac starts to pull his hand away. Dennis flails to grab his wrist, and pins his hand back onto his thigh. Once he seems to be certain that Mac will keep it there, he winds both his hands around Mac’s lower back, scratching his nails against Mac’s thin t-shirt.
“Maybe it was a little for you,” he mumbles.
“Yeah?” Mac says playfully. He can’t fight the grin off his face. He uses his free hand to push against Dennis’s stomach, driving him backwards a couple of steps until he’s up against the wall. Once they’re situated, he leans in and catches Dennis’s mouth with his own. The kiss is long and deep, their tongues dipping in to taste each other’s mouths. Dennis rubs his hands along Mac’s back, then brings one up to clasp onto Mac’s jaw.
Mac grabs at Dennis’s slim thigh, digging his fingers in. He feels Dennis’s hips tilt under him, and he knows what Dennis wants: he pulls Dennis’s leg up so it’s hitched over his own hip. He’s worried, briefly, that the dress will be too constricting, but the silky material seems to stretch no problem.
Dennis’s leg is tight around him, grinding their hips together. Mac weaves his fingers into Dennis’s hair, tugging at it slightly how Dennis likes. Dennis breathes a gasp into his mouth, and arches against the wall. Mac closes their mouths back together, kissing him wetly.
“Do you think you could—” Dennis says between kisses, “Do you think… carry me?”
“Yeah, duh,” Mac says, slightly thrown. He’s carried Dennis many times.
“Like, uh,” Dennis breathes, “Like this?” He tightens his thigh around Mac’s hip again, and wraps his arms over Mac’s neck. Mac understands what he’s going to do just in time to catch Dennis’s other thigh as it hitches over his other hip. He holds Dennis at his back, and has no trouble carrying him like that the few steps it takes to flop them over onto the couch.
Dennis lands on his back on the couch. Mac lays over top of him. He kisses at Dennis’s mouth, then moves down to kiss his neck. He follows the V of the dress’s neckline and kisses all the way to his chest.
“You wanna do somethin’?” He asks between kisses.
Dennis strokes one hand over Mac’s shoulder blade.
Mac moves beyond the dress’s neckline, pressing his nose into the dress’s fabric where it rests over Dennis’s ribs. “Hmm?”
Dennis moves his hand from Mac’s shoulder to his hair. He runs his fingers through Mac's hair, then pushes him roughly away. Confused, Mac pulls back, kneeling with his legs on either side of Dennis. Dennis sits up, and scoots back to put more space between them. He’s frowning pensively, although it doesn’t look as harsh as it usually would, his lips kiss-red and his pupil blown wide.
“What’s wrong?” Mac asks, mourning the heat of Dennis underneath him.
Dennis turns away from him, swinging his legs over the side of the couch and sitting back against the cushions. His gaze is straight ahead, although it's obvious he’s not really looking at anything in particular. His fingers pass idly over the skirt of his dress as it rests pooled in his lap.
“No,” he says, answering a question Mac had almost forgotten asking. “I don’t ‘wanna do somethin,’ Mac, you know why?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Because if we do something sexual now, that’s all this is ever going to be.”
Mac doesn’t understand. He shifts to sit closer to Dennis, copying him to sit normally on the couch, facing towards the TV that has switched to playing a colourful screensaver. “Is all what is ever going to be?” He asks.
Dennis gestures up and down himself. “You asked if I was going to wear this outside.”
“And you said no.”
There is a second of silence before Dennis says, quieter, “I’m not sure yet.”
“You want to?” Mac asks. The TV screensaver is like firework explosions, pink and orange and purple.
Dennis shrugs. Mac can feel the movement of Dennis’s shoulder against his.
Mac turns to face him, “I think you should, Den! You look great.”
Dennis rolls his eyes then lets them stare at the TV. “It’s not that easy, Mac. People have fucking opinions. Especially now that we’re together.”
“Since when do you care what people think?”
Finally Dennis looks at him. “Since always, Mac! Since always!”
“Well that’s dumb, Den.”
“Says the man who let the Catholic church scare him into being straight for most of his life.”
The blow hurts, but Mac tries not to let it show. He knows Dennis only said it because he feels like he’s backed into a corner. Dennis is kind of like a wild animal in that way. He’s mean when he feels powerless.
“Whatever,” Mac says. “I’m done with that now.” He leans in to pull at the dress’s neckline, straightening it out. “Also, I think you look fucking hot.”
“Don’t be fucking vulgar.”
Mac grins with half his mouth first, then all of it. He presses his palm flat in the center of Dennis’s chest, just below the V of fabric. He trails it downwards, over the middle of his ribs then onto his stomach. Sometimes Dennis doesn’t like Mac to touch him there, but now he doesn’t seem to mind. The fabric of the dress is cool to Mac’s skin. He wonders if it’s an expensive dress, not that he’s even sure what that would mean.
“Where did you get this, anyway?” He asks.
Dennis seems annoyed by the question. “Why?”
Mac lifts himself off the couch and steps one leg over Dennis to straddle his knees, face to face. “Did you steal it from Dee?” He grasps at Dennis’s hips, fisting the fabric of the skirt. There’s much more of it to grab and play with than there is with Dennis’s extra-tight pants.
“Of course not!” Dennis says, feigning shock.
“Mm-hm,” Mac says, unconvinced. He leans in for a kiss. Dennis pushes him away, hard enough that Mac has to save himself from falling by standing up on his own legs.
“You’re squishing me with all your stupid mass,” Dennis says placidly.
Mac takes a step back. He lets the image of Dennis fill his brain, trying to remember it desperately like he’s just been told he’ll never see Dennis again.
Dennis’s hair is mussed and his lips are shiny. He’s sitting stiffly, leaning ever so slightly towards Mac. The dress clings to him flatteringly, and Mac wonders if maybe he really didn’t steal it from Dee. Maybe he went out and bought it, trying on different dresses and sizes until he found the one that fit him best. He’s tapping his foot with impatience, looking at Mac then at the TV repeatedly.
“What!?” Dennis finally says. “I know you’re thinking something. I can see the gears turning. It looks painful, man. Just spit it out.”
“None of the girls I fucked ever looked as pretty as you, Den,” Mac says earnestly.
Dennis’s jaw drops open. He shakes his head, straightens out his expression. “That doesn’t mean much, coming from you.”
“I don't like girls, but I still have eyes, bro. I know when a girl looks good. Or a guy. And you look good Den, you do.”
Dennis tries to frown, but his eyes betray him.
Mac sits on the couch with him again. Shoulder to shoulder, it’s easier for him to say, “You’re always so pretty, Den. The dress suits you well. I think you should wear it out, if you want to.”
Dennis sighs noncommittally, but he does lean in against Mac’s side. Mac fishes for the TV remote down the side of the couch, and turns the TV on. They watch Predator for old time’s sake with Mac’s arm thrown around Dennis’s shoulder, his fingers playing with the cool, smooth material of Dennis’s dress.