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Halfway to Robert’s house, Mack starts to get jumpy, the threat of so much open space and the endless number of potential hiding spots where John Sugden could be lurking like the purebred-weirdo he is, increasing with every step through the village.
Without the miasma state of post-betrayal distracting him, all the reasons why he’s avoided going outside since the hospital come rushing back to him with a vengeance.
Mack pretends to steer Robert home as an excuse to stay close to him, having someone else within touching distance providing him with a false sense of security. He knows it’s pathetic and stupid, but whatever prevents him from limping like the wind towards the nearest bush and throwing himself at it’s mercy is worth doing. Mack just hopes Robert is in the mood to pretend he’s a decent person and ignores Mack’s weird behaviour.
Which of course means he does the exact opposite.
“Why are you clinging to my arm like a scared Victorian ghost-child?”
And yeah, the tone is one hundred percent prick. But. There’s a little crease between his eyebrows that could be concern or could be a trick of the light conjured by Mack’s delusional mind. He’s already seen several shadows that he was at least forty percent sure were really John waiting to shoot at him with a crossbow. Mack’s brain has even less loyalty to him than his wife does. Neither of them can be trusted.
“Ok, number one, that’s way too specific and random, your brain is broken,” Mack says, forcing some joviality into his voice because that’s all that stands between him and attempting to climb under Robert’s shirt to hide there. “Two, I’m not clinging, I’m holding. I don’t want you stumbling off and falling over a garden wall when I don’t have my phone on me to film it for Aaron.”
Mack left his phone at home. He told himself it was so Charity wouldn’t be able to text or call him, but mostly he didn’t want to find out how many texts or calls it would take before she gave up. It only took one of each for her to do it the first time, and Mack isn’t quite masochistic enough to test that his worst fears might be confirmed.
“I just thought you needed help walking with your rubbish leg,” Robert lies easy as breathing, and twice as smug, very on brand and rage inducing. “But ok.”
Mack is discovering new wells of sympathy for Aaron he had no idea existed within him. Imagine putting up with this prat for literal years of your life? Imagine being in love with him? Imagine unironically missing this blond nightmare and all his shit for six whole years. Mack might need to buy Aaron some chocolate coins or something to express his newfound empathy for his best mate’s ongoing plight.
“You bloody well did not think that, you absolute twat.” Mack pinches Robert’s arm. Because he can.
Robert gives him that look for the third time tonight like he thinks Mack is too stupid to live. It’s insulting, mostly because Mack came very close to dying not that long ago because he was the only other person smart enough, thank you, to rumble weird boy’s creepy little secrets.
“No, but it would’ve been a way better excuse,” Robert says acerbically. “Less embarrassing.”
Mack clamps down on the urge to strangle the other man. Sort of. He’s mostly just worried Robert might escape and then runaway. Mack really doesn’t want to be alone out here. Whatever. He’s alright. He absolutely did not almost shit himself when that bush over there rustled a bit. He’s very cool, very chill, very calm.
He wants to take a chainsaw to every single bush he crosses paths with in this entire village.
He’s fine.
“Are you ever not exactly like this?” Mack demands, more curious than anything at this point.
Robert must find some spare audacity in his pocket because he asks, “Like what?” He even manages to sound sincerely bewildered. It’s diabolical.
“’Like what’, he says. Piss off. How did Aaron not murder you when you were married? Was he asleep for most of it or something?” Like, Mack needs to know. It’s important to him now.
Robert takes a moment to think about it, pulling a series of faces, none of which Mack has the insider knowledge to read properly. “He hit me sometimes,” he says finally. “And he threw a wrench at me once. I think he was aiming at the car though. Maybe.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I gave him good reasons. Loads of them.” Robert has the gall to be defensive about it, like Mack might judge Aaron or something. Insane. They’re both actually insane.
“Mate, I’m not even nearly drunk enough to have that conversation with you,” Mack says, holding one hand up as if warding off an assault. Which it would be. Of his mental health. “Let’s park that shit until the next time I’m six pints in and feeling like I want to ruin my own night.”
Robert all but rolls his eyes like an exasperated teenage girl, but he lets it drop, shifting his attention away from Mack to settle somewhere off in the distance instead.
Mack thinks they might get to Robert’s house without either of them speaking again, but then he asks in a surprisingly gentle voice, “Would it help if you put your arm around me?” There’s a short pause that seems to weigh heavily between them for reasons Mack can’t quite fathom.
“You know,” Robert adds, then coughs, eyes shifting pointedly downwards. “With the leg.”
Mack might genuinely be losing his mind, because it sounds almost like Robert is trying to help temper the anxiety that’s steadily growing inside Mack the longer he’s outside by offering physical comfort.
What’s even more batshit is that Mack wants to take him up on it, and since Mack’s never been very good at denying himself something he wants, despite the fully acknowledged consequences, he wordlessly throwing his arm over Robert’s broad shoulders and leans into him. He’s warmer than he was in the graveyard, his large body now emanating heat like a furnace. Mack, having gone cold from the build up of fear, soaks in the other man’s warmth without shame. He’s too mentally drained for anything resembling shyness.
Robert reciprocates by curling his arm around Mack’s back, grasping at his waist, digging his fingers in to steady him. There’s a small jolt of something, an electrical charge zipping from Mack to Robert and then looping back again, that feels suspiciously like attraction. Mack grits his teeth and wills himself to ignore it. Robert stiffens for a moment, clearly also effected, but he keeps his chin pointed away from Mack so their eyes don’t meet, which is as much a rejection as anything he could say out loud.
After that freefall of lunacy takes place, they make the rest of the way back to the house together in companiable quiet. Robert earns himself another gold star for his good human behaviour chart by not taking the piss when Mack literally jumps at a fox darting out of the shadows and running across the road in front of them.
Robert lets them into the house and directs Mack to where Victoria keeps a first aid kit in a cupboard under the kitchen sink. Mack grabs them both a glass of water as well. Robert doesn’t seem drunk at all, but he could just be good at hiding it, which would be a troubling thought if Mack were Robert’s mum or his boyfriend or possibly his secret prison husband, but he’s none of those things, so he doesn’t have to care about any alcohol-related issues Robert Sugden may or may not have.
Apparently, Vic is off at the farm having some kind of girl’s night in with Moira. She’s taken Harry with her too, which is a relief for Mack because he didn’t fancy explaining himself to anyone else.
Mack strips off his ill-chosen coat and discards it over the back of an ugly loveseat just so Robert will stop smirking at it at random intervals, lips twitching like he’s always got something rude locked behind them ready to be deployed at a moment’s notice.
You’d think someone who used to be so fond of floral print shirts, yeah Mack’s seen the fucking photos of a younger Robert, would be less judgemental about a full grown man wearing a puffy pink coat, but whatever.
Robert was prettier then, in the photos. Pre-prison. Undeniably masculine, but finer, like a delicate piece of glassware without a chip in sight. He’s still attractive, obviously, but his edges are jagged now, visibly sharp where that serration was once hidden, the smooth surface fractured off into dangerous splinters.
Mack honestly likes this version of Robert better. Older and rougher and cracked open at the core. But Mack has always preferred a little damage with his beauty. Inside and out. It’s what drew him to Charity. Radiant in her cruelty. Brutal with her vulnerability. A constant contradiction that plays havoc with his emotions. He loves her and he hates her. He’ll never forgive her. He won’t be able to live without her.
Mack knows Aaron feels the same about Robert. It’s how Mack could say all those things to John about them being inevitable with such confidence. He understands what it is to love someone at a detriment to yourself, because being with them, in any capacity, is more survivable than the alternative.
Once they’re sat on the sofa, Mack sets to work cleaning Robert’s shredded knuckles and treating them with the anti-septic he finds in the box of very basic first aid supplies. The cuts are bad enough that Mack offers to wrap them and Robert allows it with an indifferent shrug.
For roughly five minutes they sit there in dead silence whilst Mack deals with Robert’s injuries. But since neither of them is very skilled at shutting the fuck up, one of them inevitably breaks it.
“What were you doin’ at Liv’s grave anyway?” Mack asks, catching Robert’s gaze and tries to look somewhat earnest. Not his strongest trait, but he’ll try if it means he gets more information out of Robert. “Seriously, mate?”
At first, Mack doesn’t think Robert is going to answer, and that even if he does, it’ll be with something sardonic and purposefully careless. But Robert surprises him with more honesty than Mack was frankly prepared to take on.
“I wasn’t there for her when I should’ve been,” he says like it’s a confession of some truly horrible crime he committed. He sounds more cut up by it than he does when he talks about his actual crimes.
Mack squints at Robert, mildly perturbed and a lot confused. There’s so much genuine self-recrimination and guilt on Robert’s face that Mack has to look away from it. He distracts himself by focusing on wrapping the bandage around Robert’s hand.
“So, you thought you’d get drunk on her grave because…somehow that’ll help? You know she was an alcoholic, right? Are you an alcoholic? Should I be worried? Should we be finding you one of those sad little meetings full of sad people sitting on rubbish chairs in a sad semi-circle bleating on about their similar-ish sadness?”
That gets a snort of laughter out of Robert at least.
“Prick. I just wanted to…see. I don’t know. We were talking about Liv. Me and Aaron. He was telling me about her death and…I just started to think that Liv would be so pissed at me for lying to her brother, and then I just blurted out the truth about Kev.”
Mack dares to glance at Robert’s face again. He doesn’t look any less devastated than before, and Mack barely resists the urge to flinch away from all that thinly veiled heartbreak etched into the other man’s expression.
“Kev is the prison gangster husband, right?” Mack asks because he knows what reaction he’ll get.
Robert’s face loses some of its anguish, thank fuck, Mack was starting to feel weird about seeing it. He doesn’t feel like he should be able to recognise it this easily. Now Robert’s giving him a look of ‘yeah, obviously, dickhead’, which is far more comfortable territory for Mack to understand.
Mack tries to conjure up an image of this ‘Kev’ bloke. Would he look like Aaron? Does Robert have a type? Mack’s always been partial to mouthy blondes, more preferably ones who don’t mind a bit of criminal activity on the side.
“What’s that face for? Are you thinking?” Robert asks. “It looks painful. Maybe stop doing that.”
Mack ignores the rudeness and answers his first question.
“Nothing. I’m just trying to imagine what a man called Kev would look like.”
“That’s stupid,” Robert says derisively. “How are you supposed to guess how someone would look based on their name?”
“Some people look like the name they have,” Mack defends his position, affronted. “It’s a thing.”
Robert wrinkles his nose at him. “It really, really isn’t though.”
“Yeah, it is!” Mack is about one octave below shouting he’s so incensed. “Like how some people look like their dogs.”
“No offense mate,” Robert says, eyeing with an irritating amount of pity, “but I’m properly starting to see why Charity would cheat on you with Vanessa.” Then he adds disdainfully, “Ross is still a mystery though. Has to be the abs.” He says the last part like it’s a conspiracy theory he’s been working on for a while.
“Does Ross have abs?” Mack frowns, trying to remember if he’s seen Ross shirtless and then immediately aborting that mission when he realises what he’s doing. No thank you, brain, he chides himself.
“Should bloody well hope so,” Robert scoffs, “or I’m even more embarrassed for every woman in this village who’s ever had sex with him.”
Mack hums thoughtfully, squinting at Robert. “Is that what you’re into then? Abs? Does Kev have abs? Is that why you married him?”
Robert stares at him, head lent back on the sofa. “Wow, you love a stupid question, don’t yah?”
“Well, I don’t know, do I?” Mack says, voice pitching a little too high. “Not sure why you’d marry a bloke at all, let alone one in prison. I’m just curious.”
Robert’s mouth hooks up into a devilish smile, razor-sharp and little mean. He looks right at Mack, an open challenge glittering in his eyes like a shiny thing beckoning to a magpie.
“Bet you are, mate.”
Mack can’t stop himself from getting irrationally defensive, which is a really bad sign, because he’s never been bothered about that stuff unless it’s true. He flirts with Aaron all the time, because he knows it’s harmless and he likes riling his best friend up. Aaron gets so adorably exasperated by it, which Mack enjoys immensely. But it feels different with Robert, and the reason why is as obvious as it is disastrous.
“Shut up, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Robert doesn’t even bother to pretend at innocence, the smug tosser. “Like what?”
“Hey!” Mack laughs like it’s a joke. “I’ve got a wife, mate.”
Robert sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. Tilts his head in mock inquiry. “Have you though?”
Mack tries not to let that question hurt him, tries not to feel it like a stone to the ankle, or a name scratched into the wall with desperate, trembling hands. He smells dirt, the ghost of it, and it takes a lot to carry on breathing.
“You’ve got a husband,” he points out.
Robert shrugs. “Only on paper.”
Mack’s brows draw together, mentally grasping at straws, to build up a barrier between them if nothing else. “You’ve got an Aaron.”
Robert’s expression drops, the smile vanishing as if it were never there. “No. No, I really don’t,” he says like it was a truth he was forced to accept, like he’s tormented by the fact. “He’s gone, it’s over. He said he’s done with me, and I don’t blame him.” There’s resignation in that, an endless, dark ocean of it.
Mack doesn’t mean to feel any sympathy, he really doesn’t, but his head’s all over the place and nothing seems like it fits where it’s supposed to anymore. Not since he came out of the ground a second time.
“I bet he didn’t mean it, mate.”
Robert gets pissed off, then, his jaw twitching when he grits his teeth and bangs his head back against the sofa in punishment, or as a hopeless distraction from the far greater pain growing around his ribs like thorned vines, piercing his heart and drawing blood.
“He should. I deserve for him to mean it. I’ve fucked up so much with every single person I care about.” Robert closes his eyes as if he’s trying to block out the past, except he can’t, Mack knows he can’t, because it’s playing behind his eyes. You can’t banish memories just by willing it.
“I let Liv down,” he says, face twisting with anguish. “I let Seb down. Won’t even bother with all the ways I’ve let Vic down over the years. And Aaron. I ruined him the most. Over and over again.”
He exhales raggedly, eyes blinking open all shiny and wet. He looks right at Mack again, the intensity on his face so captivating that Mack isn’t sure whether he wants to lean in or run away from it.
“Do you know what that’s like, to feel like you’re one of worst things that’s ever happened to the people you love? That you make their lives so much harder, just by getting them to love you back?”
It’s like a fist punching through his chest, and there’s nothing Mack can do with that sort of raw honesty other than mirror it with his own.
“Sometimes, I wish I’d never come here,” he tells Robert in a quiet, conspiratory murmur, like it’s a thought he’s ashamed of harbouring, cloistered away in the back of his mind, a constant thrum of run hide destroy. “I’ve hurt a lot of people. Made so many stupid mistakes. And I can’t stop. Really. It’s like I literally can’t stop being a complete mess all the time. Even when things are good, it’s only a matter of time before I wreck it again. It’s starting to do my head in, mate.”
Robert moves closer to Mack on the sofa, tugging on his hand so Mack does the same. Mack realises belatedly that when he finished putting the bandage on Robert, he didn’t let go and Robert didn’t take his hand back. They’ve just been sort of…holding hands all this time like complete weirdoes.
“Aaron should run a mile and never talk to me again,” Robert proclaims like it’s a wish he’s genuinely pushing out into the universe, even though his voice is thick with dread over the very same possibility.
But Mack can play this game, he knows the rules and how to break them. “Charity’s better off with Vanessa.” Not Ross, though. Mack is still better than him.
Robert matches him blow for blow. “I’m the world’s shittest dad.”
“At least you know where your kid is,” Mack mutters, not shying away from the bitterness behind that truth.
Robert swallows hard, swipes his tongue out to wet his dry lips with whatever spit he has left. “I’m a rubbish brother.”
Mack laughs, but it cracks in the middle like the scratch of an old record. “I’m not exactly winning any awards in that arena, mate, just ask Moira.”
Robert breathes out shakily, the sound painful and sandpaper rough. “I’m a selfish bastard.”
All the guilt and self-hatred that Mack usually keeps buried so deeply inside him comes clawing to the surface. It’s a bizarre sort of relief to expel it and have every unearthed emotion reflected back at him by Robert, their similar shades of darkness shared rather than hidden in shadow.
Mack eclipses the small amount of space that still remains between them, throwing himself into the fire alongside Robert. He’s still holding his bloody hand.
“I’m a complete prick, honestly-“
When Robert Sugden kisses him for the first time, it’s like getting kicked out of an airplane at ten thousand feet. It’s a pure, unfiltered rush. Dangerous in the best way. Terrifyingly good right from the off.
Mack gasps into it, lips parting for Robert, and like the shark that he is, Robert takes full advantage, sweeping inside and licking at the roof of Mack’s mouth, flicking his tongue along the back of his teeth, teasing at the nerves there, doing a thorough job of it.
Mack returns the favour, bullying his way into Robert’s space and setting up camp there, planting his own claim, fighting for control of the kiss. Robert’s mouth is hot, the taste of it slightly bitter from the alcohol. Up close he smells like crisp night air and wet grass and his expensive minty shampoo.
Unable to resist it, Mack thrusts his hand into Robert’s hair, grasping at the blond strands and fisting them so he can use the leverage to tug Robert’s head back, angling the other man’s face up so he can deepen the kiss.
When Mack pulls his hair, Robert groans so loud it surprises both of them with its ferocity. Mack does it again, experimentally, and Robert makes the same rumbling, sexy noise, like he’s conjured something up from the depths of his chest. He bites hard at Mack’s bottom lip in response, no joke, doesn’t hold back, and Mack shivers dramatically, whole body quaking from the unexpected rush of pain, a matching shock of pleasure zipping all the way up his spine.
Robert smiles against his mouth, unbearably smug. Mack, hit by the sudden intense need to push back, to yank and grab and pin the other man down, to make him feel as blown out of his mind as Mack feels, changes the field of play. He grasps a hand under Robert’s thigh and hauls him up, somehow managing it without completely dislodging their lips, and drags Robert onto his lap.
Mack’s never had a man straddle him like this before, and he probably shouldn’t have let the first one he did it with be Robert Sugden, because the man seems entirely on board with the intimate position he’s been put in and the rough handling that got him there, which is mildly intimidating.
Robert settles on Mack’s lap like it was his choice to take a seat there, making himself comfortable like a cat finding their favourite spot in the sun. He takes hold of Mack’s face in his obscenely large hands and kisses him with a renewed fervour. All Mack can do is hold onto Robert’s waist, gripping him tightly, desperate to keep him exactly where he is, and let Robert do what he wants with him.
Their kissing turns slick and wet, open mouthed and reckless, entirely unselfconscious, the sort of thing most decent people commonly reserve for back alleys and bathroom stalls.
It electrifies every nerve in his body, a powerful series of charges traveling all the way down to his cock. He’s hasn’t gotten hard this fast since he was in his early twenties, back when he was ready to go practically the second he touched his partner’s bare skin.
Mack pulls Robert in closer, seating him more firmly in his lap, their groins coming into full contact for the first time. Robert gets with the program alarmingly fast and rolls his hips so expertly it’d be enough to make a stripper blush. Mack groans when the obvious stiffness in Robert’s trousers grinds against his. Its too good, far too good, good enough that he can ignore the pain shooting through his leg at being jostled around so much.
Helpless to do much else, Mack clamps down harder on Robert’s waist and thrusts up to meet Robert on his next grind down. This time Robert moans into Mack’s mouth, tearing his lips away to pant in little, sexy breathes against Mack’s cheek. He rubs his nose into Mack’s stubble, seeking contact and sensation, then drags his soft lips along his jaw. He nips a path down Mack’s neck, inhaling deeply at hollow of his throat before licking a stripe up from clavicle to jawline. It’s playful and needy and endearing and… it lights Mack up from inside out in a whole new way.
Mack has thought a lot of things about Robert Sugden. He’s thought he was insane for crashing Aaron’s wedding and stupid for sticking around when it still went ahead and pathetic for chasing his ex after so many rejections and clever when he realised Robert was right about John too and, yeah, ok, he’s thought he was fit before, Mack has eyes that work perfectly fine. But one thing he’s never thought about Robert, was that he’s sweet.
He is though, in this one singular, precious moment. Robert Sugden, on top of all the other sharp, loud, flashy things he is, he can be sweet too. Who the fuck knew? Probably Aaron.
Aaron. Shit!
“Aaron!” Mack rasps, his voice rumbling out so deep and sex-soaked it’s almost embarrassing. It sounds weirdly vulgar to say his best friend’s name like that. Especially when he has his best friend’s ex grinding on his lap.
Verbalising the biggest elephant in the room seems to jolt Robert out of his lust-fuelled haze as well and he draws back from Mack like he’s suddenly caught on fire. He braces his hand on Mack’s shoulders and shifts back far enough to fully look him in the eye.
Robert’s face is blank, a complete wall of nothing, for the first time since Mack found him in that graveyard. He’s seen this look before, but never up close. Mack will give Robert something, he really knows how to shut down his expression like no one else Mack has ever met.
Somehow, he doesn’t think Robert would take it as a compliment. Mack’s not sure he would mean it as one either.
There’s a handful of excruciatingly awkward seconds where neither of them seems to know what to do. Robert’s tongue swipes out across his bottom lip, the only sign that he’s as nervous as Mack is. Mack appreciates the gesture whether it’s purposeful or not. Sort of.
Actually, not really, because despite being the one to call out the major reason why they should not be doing this, Mack can’t help but let his eyes be drawn to Robert’s mouth again, wet from spit and puffy from all the ravenous kissing. Robert inhales sharply, lust still sparking in his eyes like lit fuses, which doesn’t help. Mack isn’t exactly known for his willpower.
Jesus, Robert’s eyes are so bloody green up close. And why does any fully grown man need this many strategically placed freckles anyway?
In the end it’s Robert who makes the final decision to move off Mack’s lap, which is just as well because Mack was seriously about to drop the ball and make yet another painful mistake just so he could find out how incredible Robert looks like when he comes.
Robert slumps down on sofa with his arms crossed, a clear sign that whatever they had going before is officially over.
Mack mirrors Robert’s pose, relaxing back into the sofa as he tries to get his racing heart under control, telling himself very firmly that he is not at all disappointed by this turn of events.
“Is this your first…whatever with a bloke?” Robert asks after a full minute of tense silence.
“Nah.” Mack gives his head a small shake. “There was someone else. When I was twenty. We kind of…” He trails off, pulling a face at the memory of a man he would rather not think about ever again, thanks.
Robert seems to understand without Mack needing to explain it.
“Woah, ended that badly?”
“Bad enough that I never went looking for a repeat performance,” Mack admits, hoping Robert will let it go at that.
Thankfully, he does.
“So, it’s only been women since then?” Robert asks, eyebrows pinching together in curiosity.
Mack offers a quick nod. “Yeah.”
Robert makes a considering noise, gaze sliding over to Mack again. “Is that just because of what happened with that first bloke, or do you have, like, a preference for women?”
Mack bursts out laughing. “Are you allowed to ask me that?” he asks dubiously. “Am I allowed to answer?”
Robert is smiling archly when he holds up both hands in placation. “I promise, no matter what you say, I won’t grass you up to the alphabet mafia. It’s not like they take my calls anyway.”
Mack snorts at that. “You got the rainbow club card though, right?”
“Oh yeah,” Robert says in sarcastic earnestness, “came in the post the day after I gave my first blowjob. Nice stationary.”
“Eh.” Mack shrugs. “Wasn’t a fan of the glitter. That shit gets everywhere.”
“But you can’t deny it adds drama,” Robert says, grinning at him now, the conversation taking on a playful tenor.
Mack winks at him. “I’m all for drama,” he proclaims enigmatically.
“Well, you married Charity, so, yeah, gathered that, thanks,” Robert says, wry, eyes glittering with mischief like a kid who knows he can get away with causing trouble.
“Oi, stop dissing my wife, mate!”
Mack sort of means it, but he’s smiling a lot, so he can’t mean it that much.
Robert scrunches up his noise. “She cheated on you with Ross Barton. Even I never did that.”
Mack cannot believe the audacity of this man. Actually, that’s not true because he was warned about it by every single person who’s ever talked about Robert, but still. It’s a thing to behold when confronted with directly.
“You have a secret mafia prison husband!”
“Yeah,” Robert scoffs, “but my secret mafia prison husband isn’t Ross.”
“Fair point,” Mack allows, trying to imagine a universe where Robert would marry Ross and Aaron finding out about it. Ross would probably already be dead right now. “But still, leave my wife alone, or I’ll say something mean about Aaron.”
Robert gives him an incredulous look, amusement shining in his eyes. “I literally dare you to say something negative about Aaron.”
Damn. Mack didn’t think this through, which is par for the course of all his decision making to be fair.
“Alright, I don’t like how he…he can be really…sometimes he…” Mack heaves a sigh, giving in. “Nope, I’ve got nothing, I love that man with all my heart and if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in this village and then myself.”
Robert takes the win graciously for once and only looks a little bit like a self-satisfied prick.
“I’m don’t think I do,” Mack admits, and when Robert frowns in confusion, Mack elaborates. “Have a preference, I mean. I’m just not…”
“Out?” Robert supplies.
Mack shrugs, a little awkward over the whole thing. It’s not like he’s ashamed, or whatever. At least he doesn’t think he is. He’s just never felt the need to go around telling everyone his sexual preferences. Charity probably knows, because she’s good at noticing stuff like that, but she’s never mentioned it so he’s just assumed she doesn’t care. Mack’s not sure if he cares much either. It’s just easier not to think too much about it.
Robert’s eyes narrow a bit, like he’s trying to decipher information on a heavily redacted document. He must come to a conclusion of some sort, because he nods to himself, but he doesn’t push.
“Ok,” he says.
Mack opens his mouth like he’s going to try and…what? Defend himself? Does he need to defend himself? He doesn’t think so, but also he doesn’t like the idea of Robert thinking he has a genuine problem with the whole bisexual thing.
But before Mack can work himself up to saying something, Robert’s gaze slips over to the clock on the wall, taking note of the late hour, and he exhales, loud and exhausted.
“Are you staying over tonight?” he asks, pushing himself up from the sofa and peering down at Mack, face devoid of any deception, the implied offer apparently genuine.
Mack pretends not to understand, jokes, “I thought we just agreed this would be our next worst idea ever.” He waggles a finger between them.
Robert looks like he very much regrets asking. “I meant to sleep, idiot.”
“Like…on the floor?” Mack asks, just to be annoying.
“As funny as that would be for me, no,” Robert says dryly. “We can share the bed, as long as you don’t get handsy in your sleep.”
Mack hums, pretending to think it over. “So, what you’re saying is, cuddling is officially off the table?”
“Unless your idea of cuddling is me kicking you in the groin,” Robert says, and Mack honestly wouldn’t put it past Robert to be the kind of man who’d mercilessly go for the groin shot without hesitation.
Mack holds his hands up and shakes them. “To myself, got it!”
Robert gives him that sardonic stare again where he looks like he regrets all his life choices, Mack included.
“Go on then,” Mack gets up from the sofa, “show me your room! Are there any posters on the walls? I’ve heard rumours that you’re a closet Swiftie.”
“As opposed to you,” Robert says drolly as he walks away, “who’s just plain old in the closet.”
“Ah, sick burn roomie!” Mack calls, limping off after the other man with a wide grin on his face.