#Macden Break Up is NOT like that dude. all right. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tonysopranosfeverdreams · 5 years

Note

What about...... prompts 76 and 2 for macden

2. “Because I love you!”

76. “You don’t need to pretend.”

aIso, I want to say this fic was influenced by an ask the lovely Michelle @globrights sent me about Dennis drunkenly confessing his love for Mac in front of the gang, and hours and hours of me and ellie @softglenn crying about Mac and Dennis’s relationship from Dennis’s point of view over the past few days.

“Someone’s wasted,” Dee snorts.

“Am not!” Dennis slurs indignantly, pointing an accusatory finger at Dee “Everything’s just a little spinny, s’all”

Five PM finds Dennis slouched over, struggling to stay upright on his barstool. When he’d woken up that morning, it was to an empty apartment, and a granola bar sitting on the kitchen counter next to a note in Mac’s haphazard scrawl reading: “In sewers with Charlie. C u at bar :)- M.”

Dennis scowled. Charlie had been going on lately about some sort of gnome-type creature that hid jewels and gold coins all over the city sewers overnight, convinced that if he were to hit the right locations at all the right times, he’d be sure to strike gold. Of course he’d managed to convince Mac to go with him. Idiot.

Dennis starting to crumble the note in his hand before stopping himself, smoothing it out and running his fingertips over the creases of the paper, before abruptly shaking his head and stuffing it begrudgingly in his back pocket. He ignored the granola bar and let the door slam behind him on his way out.

It’s not like it was a huge deal, it’s just not the start Dennis had pictured to his day. Normally, Mac would wake up before Dennis and put the coffee on, filling up Dennis’s travel mug, and greeting him with a sleepy smile when Dennis finally trudges into the kitchen. Normally, Mac sits next to Dennis in the Rover on the way to work, shoulders just brushing as Mac yawns sleepily beside him, babbling about what he wants to have for dinner that night or something funny Charlie had said while high and trying to change the radio to his own favorite stations when he thinks Dennis won’t notice. Dennis usually pretends not to, listens to Mac hum along under his breath instead.

Dennis is just used to it, is the thing.

So, when Dennis got to the bar, he had started with the half-empty bottle of tequila he kept behind the fire extinguisher (in case of an emergency), eventually moving on to whiskey once he’d polished the bottle off.

Several long, self-pity filled hours and approximately five beers later, Dennis finds himself seriously weighing the pros and cons of slamming his head repeatedly against the bartop to drown out the sound of Dee who, convinced she has some sort of superior psychic ability, has been having Frank think of a number between 1 and 100 and then trying to guess it for the better part of the day (she hadn’t guessed correctly once).

When Mac and Charlie erupt through the bar door, empty handed and covered in splotches of dirt, talking excitedly about a sewer rat they had seen that Mac swears was twice as big as Poppins, Dennis is done.

Dennis attempts to hoist himself to his feet, accidentally wrapping one ankle around the foot of his bar stool, and finding himself flat on his back, blinking confusedly up at his friends.

Mac rushes instantly to Dennis’s side, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to urge him upright, and inspecting his head for any sign of a bump.

“Someone’s wasted,” Dee snorts.

“Am not!” Dennis slurs indignantly, pointing an accusatory finger at Dee “Everything’s just a little spinny, s’all”

“Up we go, that’s it,” Mac mutters, hoisting Dennis by his armpits into a standing position, apparently satisfied that Dennis hadn’t managed to give himself any significant brain damage. Dennis sways against him as soon his feet find the ground, and Mac immediately slides one arm around his back, clutching at his waist to steady him.

In lieu of a retort, Dee simply raises one eyebrow. Luckily, Mac has his back. Mac always his back, Dennis thinks.

“Shut up Dee, it’s your fault for letting him drink so much this early in the day. This wouldn’t have even happened in the first place if I had been here.”

“Wait, wait…wait,” Dennis wrinkles his brow, frowning up at Mac and then looking back at Dee “you guys aren’t the bosses…. o’ me….”

“I know, buddy,” Mac replies, good-naturedly, giving Dennis a placating little pat on the top of his head. Dennis, too wasted to take it at anything other than face value, nods contentedly and smirks back at Dee.

“I’m his sister, not his babysitter,” Dee retorts, “in case you’ve forgotten, some of us actually have other things to do than sit and worry about Dennis 24/7.”

At this point, Dennis’s head is lolling against Mac’s shoulder, and from this angle he can see Mac’s expression contort with anger, brow furrowing. He’s about to reply to Dee when Dennis cuts him off.

“Y’ shouldn’t… do that, y’know” Dennis prods Mac in the chest with one finger. Mac immediately looks down, his anger fading into an inquisitive look.

“What’s that, Dennis?” Mac asks, genuinely curious.

“Your face, it gets all…..squished up….. when it’s mad……….s’not as pretty.”

Mac gawks at him slightly, mouth agape.

Distantly Dennis hears Charlie squeal “Oh shit” in that urgent, high-pitched tone of his.

Dee narrows her eyes, pausing for a moment before asking “Are we sure he doesn’t have a concussion?”

Mac’s still staring speechlessly down at Dennis, who’s still peering up at Mac’s face with an almost cartoonish look of concentration on his own face.

“Your eyes are pretty though…….they’re always pretty…..” Dennis hiccups here, “s’like they’re brown but they’re not brown……they’ve got these flecks of gold and there’s green around the rim. Like the edge of a…a big muddy puddle…” Dennis finishes, solemnly.

Mac shakes his head, apparently snapping himself out of whatever trance he was in, and laughing.

“Okay, Robert Frost, let’s get you home,” he readjusts his grip on Dennis’s waist, so Dennis’s weight is resting more securely against him. “Charlie, can you grab his sweater for me?”

Dennis yawns into Mac’s shoulder as Charlie hurries to get Dennis’s pull-over sweater from where it’s hanging by the door.

“‘M tired.”

“I know buddy, we’ll be home soon, then you can rest,” Mac grabs the sweater from Charlie.

“Arms up now,” Mac mutters, soothingly, holding the sweater over Dennis’s head, and working Dennis’s arms into the sleeves as gently as possible, “that’s a good boy.”

“There,” Mac proclaims, smiling proudly once Dennis is fully donning the garment “Good to go.”

Mac starts steering Dennis toward the door, when he notices Dennis stopping, not moving with him quite as easily. Mac frowns, finding Dennis stood looking at him with an odd, indiscernible look on his face.

“You okay, dude?”

“Mac…Mac….you’re so nice…even when….. I’m not that nice to you………why are you….so nice to me?”

Mac snorts, incredulously, like the question had never even occurred to him, like there was never another alternative.

“You’re my best friend, dude,” Mac replies, simply, cheerily “someone’s gotta make sure you don’t pass out in your own puke, and that’s gonna be me.”

Suddenly, Dennis’s face breaks out in a giddy, knowing smile.

“Oh dude. It’s because you love me…..” Dennis giggles, delightedly, playing absently with the collar of Mac’s shirt “it’s because you toootttttalllllly love me dude!”

Mac’s entire body tenses against Dennis , and his face goes blank, shooting an anxious glance back at the rest of the gang, who are watching on like they’re watching a car crash in slow motion.

Mac takes a moment, clears his throat, before making to move them toward the door again.

“Anyway, we really should be going..” Mac starts in a strained voice, before Dennis cuts him off.

“You wanna know a secret?” Dennis asks, in what he probably thinks is a whisper, but really is loud enough that the whole gang can hear, leaning close to Mac’s face, eyes wide and so honest Mac can’t help but give a genuine response, the tension slowly draining from his face.

“It’s like… it’s a secret …okay?” Dennis starts, entirely seriously looking at Mac for validation. Mac nods solemnly, clearly eager for Dennis to get whatever’s going on off of his chest so they can finally get going.

“It’s a secret because…I know you don’t think I do….but I love you too.” Dennis giggles deliriously, like he’s just told a human truth so poignant, so groundbreaking, he can’t quite believe it himself.

Mac’s jaw hits the floor, catches Dee’s eye, who by now has gone completely white. Charlie and Frank exchange startled glances.

“Holy shit,” Frank swears.

***

The first thing Dennis is aware of upon waking is the weight of what feelings like a bowling ball bearing down on his forehead. The second is that something about the situation is different, out of place. Even with his eyes closed, Dennis can sense the abrasive late morning sunlight pressing heavily against his eyelids, which wouldn’t be strange, except for the fact that Dennis tends to keeps his blinds closed, curtains drawn to prevent exactly these types of occurrences. It’s once he opens his eyes that Dennis realizes exactly why the situation feels strange.

He’s in Mac’s room, still on top of the covers, but under an old fleece throw that he thinks Mac’s had since high school. Dennis eyes his surroundings warily, still struggling to get his bearings, and notices his jeans and shirt folded and piled neatly on a chair next to Mac’s bed, his sneakers set on the ground in front of them. Further inspection reveals he’s still in his boxers and wearing a large, worn t-shirt that Dennis thinks he recognizes as one of Mac’s usual sleep shirts, from the mornings he’d trudge into the kitchen first thing, hair wild and face soft (from the particularly rough nights, the nights when sleep wouldn’t come and Dennis would relent and climb into Mac’s bed and burrow into the space between his arms, sliding his hand under the soft fabric to rest against the small of Mac’s back).

Mac. Dennis’s heart plummets into his stomach as he recalls flashes of the prior evening; Mac’s hands gentle on his shoulders, his arms, as he helped Dennis into his jacket. The faint smell of Mac’s cologne mixed with sweat as Dennis leaned heavily into his shoulder. Mac, sitting him on the edge of the bed getting to his knees in front of him to untie his laces, help him out of his shoes. The indescribable, indecipherable look on Mac’s face when Dennis had said….

Dennis jolts upward on the bed, feeling the bile rising in his throat, thinking, for a moment. he’s going to get sick all over Mac’s blankets and pillows, right here in front of God and all of his saints, and the statue of Jesus on the cross that’s currently staring him down from his position on Mac’s dresser.

The first thing Dennis notices when he emerges from Mac’s bedroom is the smell of slightly burnt toast, mingling with freshly brewed coffee. He glances over at the living room couch, noting a cocoon of blankets and a single pillow on the sofa. Where Mac must have slept, he thinks, absently.

Stepping gingerly into the kitchen, he spots Mac at the stove, back to him as he works his spatula across a pan of what appears to be scrambled eggs, one of the few foods Mac knows that Dennis will eat when he’s having a bad eating day or extremely hungover. It’s when Mac pauses in his ministrations to snatch the toast out of the toaster that he notices Dennis standing across from him, eyes unfocused and blinking, looking small and disoriented in Mac’s big t-shirt.

“Hey,” Mac offers softly, giving Dennis a small smile, guarded but sincere. Dennis manages a weak smile back, desperately wishing, suddenly, he’d had the presence of mine to run a comb through his hair, at least, done something, anything, to make himself look slightly less like death warmed over.

There’s a cup of coffee accompanied by a glass of orange juice and a bottle of aspirin out on the table in the place where Dennis usually sits, and Dennis slowly makes his way over to his chair, gulping down the aspirin and juice gratefully as Mac places plates of scrambled eggs and toast at the center of the table. Mac stops to pour himself a cup of coffee, before sliding into the chair across from Dennis.

Dennis is quiet, sipping cautiously from his own mug. The fact that the coffee is fixed up exactly to his liking (a splash of french vanilla creamer, one sugar) doesn’t escape his notice. Something in his chest aches for reasons he can’t explain, and when he puts his mug back down on the table, he finds Mac’s eyes already on him.

“You should eat, you know,” Mac offers, matter-of-factly, “it’s the only cure to a hangover. The grease from the eggs neutralizes all of the alcohol in your stomach, and makes you feel more better.”

Dennis raises an eyebrow, looking skeptically back at Mac, but Mac looks so earnest, so concerned, that he helps himself to a spoonful of eggs and a piece of toast with only minimal grumbling. Dennis can still feel Mac watching him, and under his open, searching gaze, Dennis feels flushed and clumsy, suddenly, staring resolutely at his plate.

“Dennis,” Mac starts, and the tone of his voice is almost unbearably gentle, like he’s trying to sooth a spooked horse, and one misstep might cause Dennis to run as quickly as possible in the opposite direction. “I think we have to talk about this.”

Dennis laughs, not necessarily cruelly, but as if what Mac had just proposed was truly absurd. He’s trying to avoid direct eye contact, but he doesn’t miss the flash of hurt laced with confusion that crosses Mac’s face. He wants to apologize, suddenly, but for what exactly, he isn’t sure. Instead, he shovels a forkful of runny eggs into his mouth instead, silently willing himself not to gag as his stomach lurches in protest.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous. Pass me the jam.”

Dennis was attempting to deflect, to intimidate Mac into stopping the conversation before it even started, but he knows his voice comes out choked and thin. Mac, for his part, doesn’t appear ready to give up so easily. Dennis is using his fork to pick at his food, almost aggressively, but stills his movements as Mac reaches careful across the small table to softly, softly, set rest his hand on top of the fist Dennis has formed around his fork in a death grip. Dennis stares, helplessly, at the places where the tips of Mac’s fingers rest gently against the back of his knuckles. Mac’s voice gets somehow softer.

“Den, it’s just me. Please, talk to me”

Dennis pulls his hand back like it’s been burned, fork clattering to the ground, Mac watching on, mouth slightly agape in confusion.

“Fuck, Mac,” Dennis rubs the back of his hand wearily across his eyes, barking out a weak, deflated sort of chuckle.

When Mac speaks next, it’s evenly and with great effort, his voice heavy with sadness.

“You say you love me, and then you push me away, or say you hate me and don’t want me near you or whatever. I don’t know what to do, man” Mac’s voice breaks, here, and something does a somersault in Dennis’s chest. “I don’t know what to do to make you happy.”

Dennis sees red.

“You want to know what the funniest part is?” Dennis starts, before he can stop himself. “Do you know what’s the most hilarious thing about this entire goddamn dumpster fire of a situation? You always say I don’t do anything for you.”

Dennis pauses, shaking his head on a deep inhale, before finally lifting his gaze to lock eyes with Mac.

“Dennis,” Mac breathes out, feeling like he’s suffocating, like Dennis had sucked the breath right out of his lungs.

“But this entire time, I was doing it for you. It was all for you. And you fucking ruined it!”

There’s a beat where everything’s silent, and a cold wave panic crashes over Dennis, as he watches Mac struggle to digest his words.

“I’m sorry…I…. I really don’t know what you’re talking about- ,” Mac starts, helplessly, eyes wide and sincere, and the earnestness there, the genuine desire to understand what’s going on in Dennis’s head is too much; like almost everything about Mac and the way he makes Dennis feel, it has always been too much.

Dennis snorts abruptly, and it comes out less derisive and more incredulous, more a cry of distress, like a wild animal realizing he’s caged and cornered on all sides.

“Of course you don’t understand. Why would you understand? I’ve spent the past 25 goddamn years being who I thought you wanted me to be!”

At this, Mac looks even more bemused, looking up at Dennis like a kicked, puppy while Dennis continues, starting to pace the length of the floor next to the table, the words spilling from his mouth one after another before he even knows what he’s going to say next, before he can stop himself

“You think you changed who you were at your core? You’re the one who made me change. All these years…I pretended you’re straight, pretended that I couldn’t see this thing that’s been going on between us since the first goddamn day we met. Do you really think that made me happy? You think that’s what I wanted?”

Dennis runs his hands wildly through his hair as he paces faster, tugging on the ends over and over.

“Living with you was like living with a fucking time bomb I spent years trying not to set off, because you were so convinced whatever you felt for men…whatever you felt for me must be so goddamn sinful, so disgusting, that you’d rather spend your life pretending to be someone you’re not than owning up to the truth.”

Mac is standing now too, hands spread helplessly in front of him like he wants to touch Dennis, calm him, somehow, but doesn’t know how. Dennis stops pacing and sighs, leaning heavily against the table, shoulders heaving. His voice shakes when he speaks.

“I never thought you’d do it, man. Come out…. Stay out. Not for me, and not for a fucking lottery scratcher, that’s for goddamn sure.”

When Dennis catches Mac’s eyes, they’re wide and wet around the edges. He gives Mac a sad smile.

“And the sad fucking thing is, even then, even after I knew I was never going to be worth it to you, even after I tried to move on again and again,” Dennis pauses, laughing a little bit like he can’t believe the words himself “I still came back. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Dennis,” Mac walks, very slowly, toward him, not breaking eye contact. Dennis can count the freckles on the tip of his nose. You can’t see them, if you’re not up close.

It’s only once Mac traces the pad of his thumb across Dennis’s cheek and it comes away wet that Dennis realizes he’s been crying. Dennis is instantly hot with embarrassment, trying to turn away and hide, bury his face in his own shoulder. But Mac’s hands don’t let go of his face, and before he realizes what’s happening, Mac’s got his own forehead pressed lightly up against his. Choking back a sob, Dennis feels more vulnerable, somehow more exposed now than he’s ever felt in his life even though they’re fully clothed and barely touching.

“Dennis,” Mac exhales, so quiet it’s barely a word. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

Slowly, cautiously, Dennis winds his arms around Mac’s torso, letting his hands rest flat against the fabric covering his shoulder blades.

“Dennis, you don’t need to pretend anymore.”

#macdennis #Anonymous #macdennis fic #iasip #iasip fic #my fic #my writing #this is a lot longer than i intended lol #mac mcdonald #dennis reynolds #purrreee self indulgence

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lesbianfreyja · 5 years

Note

hey........what was macdens real actual first kiss like......who kissed whom.........when did it happen

“Dude — I’m — Shut up!” Mac saidit hushed, quiet, around a giggle and right before he elbowed Dennis hard in thesternum. Dennis fell back a step, clutching at his chest and trying to gasp foranother breath, even as he laughed. “Be quiet, I’m being serious. My parentsare asleep.”

Dennis snickered. “Then hurryup, asshole.”

Mac struggled to wedge his pocketknife underneath his bedroom window again. Normally they would have just gonein through the front door, but Mac’s mom had been asleep on the couch when theypeeked through the living room window, and neither one of them wanted to stumbledirectly into her wrath if Poppins started barking when he saw them and it wokeher up. His parents hardly cared about breaking curfew, but they sure did careabout losing sleep.

Mac finally popped the lock andpushed the window up, and Dennis squeezed Mac’s sides to encourage him to hurryand hoist himself through. He managed it — fingers clumsy, legs flailing, henever was very careful when he was drunk — and reached a hand down to pull Dennisup too. Dennis grasped his wrist, feet slipping against the side of the houseand his free hand balanced on the window sill. Together they got him pulled upand through, and Dennis collapsed down the other side, throwing both him andMac into a heap on the floor.

For a moment, they just laidthere with their faces inches apart, breathing heavy from the climb inside. Mac’seyes tracked slowly across his face. Dennis’s breath caught. Then all at onceMac shoved him off to the side, and Dennis rolled off him and up to his feet,dusting off his jeans. Mac pressed the window shut again and locked it.

“I think I have some whiskey inhere somewhere,” Mac announced, and he started to dig through his room.

Normally Dennis would have justhad Mac stay over his place since they started the night there, but he couldn’tstand being there for another minute. His parents had thrown a huge party — somerich fucker event, black tie, with Dennis and Dee both forced to stand frontand center to be shown off like prize-winning fish even though their parents didn’treally think that about either of them. Just to make the night more bearable,and a little bit for the revenge, the twins had invited over Mac and Charlieand the four of them got wasted on champagne in front of all the guests;after all, they’d been instructed to mingle. Mac spent all night leaning onDennis’s side, although Dennis didn’t think that was entirely from the booze. EventuallyCharlie crashed on the couch in the middle of everyone while Mac and Dennissnuck out the back.

“I’m stealing something tosleep in,” Dennis declared, and began rifling through Mac’s drawer. Even thoughDennis had been forced into something “appropriate” for the occasion, Mac hadjust shown up in something scruffy like usual. Dennis privately envied him.

He stripped out of his darkjeans and button-up, yanking on a pair of wash-worn track pants (not that Mac wentrunning, ever. The only reason hewasn’t failing gym was because he was a try-hard during basket- and kickball.)and a band t-shirt he found buried in the bottom of the drawer. He turned totoss his clothes across the back of Mac’s desk chair and caught Mac staring.

Dennis flushed a little. “What?”

Mac turned red, too.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. He glanceddown at his hand like he was surprised to find a bottle there, and held it up forDennis to inspect. “Found the whiskey.”

“Gimme.”

Mac kicked off his shoes and theyhuddled together on his bed. Mac had a shitty little TV hooked up in his room,a hand-me-down from Dennis and Dee last Christmas after their parents hadgotten themselves a flatscreen, and Mac flipped through until he found an oldcartoon to watch while they passed the whiskey bottle back and forth.

“I wish you had VHS,” Dennis said,tipping more liquor back.

Mac turned toward him.

“I have some Atarigames,” he said.

Dennis gesturedoutward for him to go on. Mac climbed off the bed to dig a really, really oldgame system out from underneath his bed and Dennis lounged back on his handswhile Mac fussed around with the wires. His head was foggy from drinking, andhis eyes drooped as he watched Mac work. He was good with his hands, Dennis thoughtdimly. He knew what he was doing. At the very least, he’d done this a lot.

“I wanna be playerone,” Dennis called.

Mac threw him aglare over his shoulder.

“No fuckingway,” he said, looking mortally offended at the thought. “I’m always playerone, asshole, don’t even fucking try it—”

Mac finishedsetting up the game and handed him a controller. Their fingers brushed while Dennisgot a grip on it. Mac clamored back onto the bed, tongue between his teeth ashe plowed through the opening screens to get to the main menu, skipping right pastall the good story setup and apparently not giving a single shit that Denniswould have no idea what was going on. Dennis’s eyes traced the side of Mac’sface in the dark while he got everything set up and cursed at the TV for makinghim sit through cutscenes. He had the whiskey bottle settled between hiscrossed legs and he kept taking drinks from it without offering any more toDennis.

Mac kicked his ass at fourrounds, at five. It was clear that he never really did anything except playvideo games, unless he was with Charlie or Dennis (in which case he was probablyjust playing some different video games with them).

Dennis slugged him in the armand threw his controller down with a groan, falling onto his back. He squeezedhis eyes shut, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“I fucking hate you,” Dennissnapped. “I’m not playing this anymore.”

Mac poked him in the ribs.Dennis swatted his hand away and glared up at where Mac had twisted around tofrown down at him, teasing.

“You’re just sore because you suck,”said Mac, jabbing him in the side some more until Dennis grabbed his wrist andtwisted it so hard that he cried out. Mac yanked his hand back, cursing. “Comeon, Den, one more round. Just one.”

“No,” said Dennis, closing hiseyes again. He shoved the controller until it fell off the bed, not giving a singleshit if it broke. Mac’s rug wasn’t very thick over the hardwood. “Let’s dosomething else. Let’s play something that isn’t total shit.”

He crossed his arms over hischest, frowning stubbornly. He heard Mac sigh and rustle around for a second,and the bed dipped beside him again, and then nothing. Dennis cracked one eyeopen, lips parting to ask what the hell was going on, but he saw Mac sittingtwisted beside him and the question died in his throat.

Mac was just looking at him. Hewas cross-legged on the bed again, hands clasped between his thighs and justwatching Dennis pout. His eyes looked very big and searching, although it couldhave just been a trick in the dark. There was no light but the TV reflection anda sliver of the moon slanting in — he could have been mistaken.

Dennis’s face went blank, thenhe scowled again. He pushed himself up until he was sitting beside Mac, faceslevel again, and tucked an ankle beneath his other leg. He didn’t take his eyesoff Mac and Mac’s cheeks began to grow rosy.

Dennis was going to ask him what. Dennis kept watching Mac’s expressionfor a flicker of something — vulnerability, shame, reverence, a yawn — but Macdid nothing but watch him and the question flickered and died several moretimes in Dennis’s throat until it grew dry. Dennis stopped trying to sayanything and felt his cheeks heat, too.

Mac lurched forward and pushedhis mouth against Dennis’s. It was clumsy, all of it — clumsy and drunk, like everythingelse. His mouth was only halfway on Dennis’s and his hand landed hard to theside of Dennis’s thigh, and his eyes only shut at the very last second. Dennis’sdidn’t close at all until his brain kickstarted a couple moments later. Mac’smouth was warm and not budging on his. Dennis sighed and cupped his handagainst Mac’s cheek and ducked to catch his mouth again, this time fixing theangle until their lips were pressed together just right.

Mac tasted like whiskey and hisparents’ food spread and Mac. He was soft and warm beneath Dennis’s palm,beneath his thumb stroking across his cheek, and when Dennis pulled back a hairsbreadthor so, Mac breathed out softly and leaned closer to kiss him again.

Dennis laid his other hand onMac’s shoulder, rucking up his shirt a little. He bit down gently on Mac’slower lip, and Mac released a helpless sound that didn’t seem like it was justfrom kissing. Smiling slightly, Dennis clutched him tighter and pushed inharder, more insistently, until Mac took the hand he wasn’t using for balance andtentatively, hesitantly, rested it on Dennis’s knee. Blood rushed, hot andheady, all through Dennis’s body, and he suddenly felt as warm and loose-limbedas if he’d chugged the entire bottle of whiskey all for himself.

Dennis breathed out, fingersfalling to clutch loosely at the front of Mac’s t-shirt. He wound his other armaround Mac’s neck, just sort of letting it fall over his shoulder as he pulledMac closer to him. After a second he felt Mac’s tongue flicker out and probe,just lightly, against his mouth. Dennis sighed. He let Mac lick into his mouthand grasped him closer, impossibly closer. Mac’s hand squeezed around his kneeas he tasted — whatever he must have tasted on Dennis’s tongue, probably the samecombination of whiskey and champagne and food spread.

Whatever it was he seemed tolike it, because when Mac pulled back all he did was tilt his head and pushback in to kiss him again. And again. And again.

Dennis’s grip on him relaxed,the hand clutching the back of his t-shirt running down to rest on the side ofMac’s neck. Conversely, Mac’s hand tightened on his leg, creeping up an inch orso to squeeze his thigh. Dennis could feel it when Mac’s pulse jumped, and hegrinned for a split second before he leaned back in and kissed him once. Kissedhim twice.

Dennis leaned back. Mac’s head droppedlike Dennis had been the only thing holding him up; his fingers twisted in thethigh of his stolen track pants, and he didn’t leave Dennis’s space as he caughthis breath. Dennis watched him; his head hung down, his cheeks were bright redand his eyes closed as he slowly steadied.

Finally — eventually — too soon,Mac pulled his hands back and sat up. The blush still sat high on his face whenhe opened his eyes and caught Dennis’s gaze.

Neither said anything for along minute. They just breathed and watched each other and breathed, as thecolor died down from both their faces, until Mac’s mouth wasn’t looking quiteso red and shiny-wet.

Mac cleared his throat. When helicked his lips, Dennis felt hypnotically drawn to the motion. His mouth, ifanything, felt even drier than before.

“I wanna — watch more TV,” saidMac. Clumsy.

Without waiting for an answerhe scrambled up and found the remote, messing with the channels until he switchedoff the shitty video game and got back to the same cartoons as before. An oldepisode of Animaniacs: Why not, Dennis thought dizzily. Why the absolute fucknot.

Mac settled back in beside Dennison the bed, not looking at him, but Dennis couldn’t help being hyper-aware ofwhere they sat. Their bodies were so close, side by side, watching TV insilence. When Mac grabbed the liquor off his dresser, he didn’t take his eyesoff the episode even as he tipped it back and then handed Dennis the bottle.

They kept drinking, slowlyfinishing off the bottle, as episode after episode played in front of them. Neitherone of them said anything.

In the morning, he knew, thingswould go back to normal. They wouldn’t mention it. They’d go find Charlie andDee and kill the rest of the weekend with them until they had to go back toschool on Monday, and life would go on.

For now, they sat together whilethe night ticked endlessly on. Despite the late hour, neither one of themsuggested they go to bed, or do anything else to break this never-ending threadof the moment. Mac’s taste still in his mouth. Their arms brushing, side byside, alone in his room.

Dennis turned the kiss over andover and over in his head. Privately relishing the time he had with it until hewould have to tuck it away forever in the morning.

#the ending of this...meh #but it's like. yknow. the only way it goes but i just mean i described it like shit dnklshlj #also #i've been FROTHING to write kissing is that supremely obvious or what #lkfdhsjlkjlkhjk #macfoundhispride #ask #iasip fic #fic #fic stuff #iasip #mac x dennis #drabble tag

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greenfinches · 5 years

Note

6, 15, or 50 for macden 💙💙

50 / if you die, I’m going to kill you

“Charlie,” Dennis says, evenly.

Charlie clears his throat.

“Hey, man.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“Yeah.” Charlie’s got one hand resting on the door frame, fingers tapping too-quick. “So. About that, long story, ran into some problems - Mac hit his head -“

“Is he dead?” Dennis snaps. “Is that what this is about?”

“What?” Charlie frowns at him. “No, dude. Chill. He’s out in the hall.”

Dennis pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Get to the point.”

“I‘m trying to! Look, he keeps making me buy stuff, he’s being all weird - and I’m trying to keep a low profile, y’know, ‘cause his dad’s trying to kill me - can you just take him back?”

“Take him back,” Dennis repeats. Charlie shrugs.

“Yeah.”

There’s a short silence. Dennis is planning to break it with a brutal takedown - one involving new roommates and glory holes - but before he has time to open his mouth, Mac stumbles into view. There’s blood on his face and a dress slipping off his shoulders, and when he catches sight of the open apartment door his face lights up with a bright, dazed grin.

“Dennis!” he crows, happily. “Dude, we blew up a car.”

“If you die, I’m going to kill you,” Dennis mutters, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“It was Charlie’s idea,” Mac protests. His words are slurring a little. “What’re you doing?”

Dennis sighs.

“Take the dress off.”

“I like the dress,” Mac insists, for the fifth or sixth time in as many minutes. Dennis rolls his eyes as he steps forward, reaching behind Mac and tugging the zipper down.

“Do you like it?”

Mac’s voice is still in that confused, plaintive sort of register - and he’s looking at Dennis expectantly, clearly waiting for an answer. Dennis clears his throat.

“It’s…” Filthy. Definitely cursed. Hasn’t seen the light of day since the mid-70’s. “Nice.”

Mac beams at him. Dennis does his best to ignore it, watching Mac step unsteadily out of his jeans and hoping to god he doesn’t trip over his own feet.

“Charlie didn’t,” Mac confides, muzzily. “Charlie didn’t like it, dude.”

“Well, Charlie doesn’t have taste,” Dennis says. He taps Mac lightly on the arm. “Arms up.”

The sleeves are loose enough that the whole dress slides onto the floor without much effort. Mac looks oddly small underneath, stood there barefoot in a stained t-shirt and boxers. He’s swaying on his feet.

“You want a shower?” Dennis says - and it’s not really supposed to be a question, because Mac smells like shit and looks about the same, but Mac just shakes his head.

“Where are we gonna keep it?”

Dennis frowns.

“Keep what?”

“We have to keep it,” Mac says, sounding oddly serious. “What if she comes looking for it?”

Keeping him talking is probably the right way to go here, Dennis decides. At the very least, Mac hasn’t noticed the way he’s being slowly shepherded over towards the bathroom door.

“Who are you talking about?”

“The bride,” Mac tells him, absently. “Hey, who’s gonna wear the dress if we get married?”

A weird, needling sensation launches itself full-force at Dennis’ spine. It starts at the top and floods straight down, just like when he was a kid and Dee used to drop ice down his collar.

“We’d be grooms,” he points out, stiffly.

“There’s always a dress, though,” Mac insists. “It’s like that - the show, with the -”

“Say Yes To The Dress,” Dennis mutters, pushing Mac over towards the sink and flicking on the tap. Mac opens his mouth like he has other shit to say, and then thankfully closes it again when Dennis presses a damp washcloth up against his ear.

The blood comes off easy. Dennis works his way down Mac’s neck, moving in slow circles. Mac stays quiet except for one small, pained sound - Dennis jumps when he leans forward, rests his head on Dennis’ shoulder without warning.

“What are you doing?”

“S’bright,” Mac mumbles. He’s nosing at Dennis’ throat now, his hot breath puffing onto Dennis’ collarbone. It should feel disgusting. It doesn’t. Dennis decides to dissect that discrepancy later. As it is he cups Mac’s face in one hand, lifting his head and keeping him still - he can feel Mac’s eyes on him but he doesn’t let himself look, and he focuses instead on cleaning the cut on Mac’s cheek.

“You’re lucky you don’t need stitches,” he points out. “Why the hell did you crash on purpose, anyway -”

“We needed to make it look legit.”

“This was the best idea you could come up with? Crashing a car?”

“I’m sorry,” Mac says, softly.

His eyes are very dark in this light. Maybe it’s just the concussion. Either way, there are exhausted circles shadowed under them: Dennis tries his best to keep track of the anger sparking in his chest but Mac just keeps looking at him like that, and he can feel it when the flame flickers out.

“You’re an idiot,” Dennis mutters. The insult falls hopelessly flat.

“No smart-assing me right now, dude,” Mac says, sleepily. He flicks Dennis on the arm. “Come on.”

“You drove a car into a wall,” Dennis snaps. “Deliberately. As part of a fake your own death scheme - which, might I remind you, we always agreed we’d do together, precisely because your ideas are so goddamn inefficient -”

It hasn’t been that long since the last time. Two months, maybe three. It’s been long enough that Mac manages to catch him by surprise; Dennis’ mouth is half parted around a word as Mac kisses him, clumsy but persistent, leaning back against the sink for support as he slides his arms up around Dennis’ neck.

“I’ll tell you next time,” Mac breathes out, his breath fever-hot on Dennis’ skin. “I swear.”

He tries to kiss the corner of Dennis’ mouth but misses, too unsteady on his feet. He ends up skating over his jaw instead. Dennis sighs.

“Come sit down.”

“Charlie said not to sleep,” Mac protests. “He said I have a concession.”

“Concussion,” Dennis says. Mac flushes as he ducks his head down to the floor.

“Yeah, whatever.”

It comes out half-mumbled, the way Mac talks when he’s waiting for Dennis to twist the knife in a little deeper. Dennis would, usually, but the fact remains that there’s blood under Mac’s fingernails. He’s swaying on his feet. Every time Dennis thinks about it - about Mac slamming into a wall with his foot on the gas - it makes something in him twist.

He settles two fingers under Mac’s chin. Mac shudders, eyes flicking up to Dennis’ face, and it’s obvious from the way he kisses that he’s exhausted - it’s in the needy press of his mouth, the way he’s leaning heavy against Dennis’ body now he’s got permission to do it. Dennis moves his hands down to Mac’s sides, stroking slowly under his shirt.

“Come sit with me,” he murmurs.

“Charlie said -”

“Mac,” Dennis says. “Shut up.”

In the end, they settle by the headboard. Dennis sits up against the pillows, browsing lazily through his phone, and Mac slumps on top of him, nosing at the hollow of Dennis’ neck with his legs splayed out all over Dennis’ clean sheets.

“We never agreed on it,” he says, sleepily. Dennis pauses, mid-scroll.

“Agreed on what?”

“The dress.” Mac’s voice is slightly muffled against Dennis’ collarbone. “You know. Who gets to wear it.”

He’s not lucid, Dennis reminds himself. He’s not going to remember any of this in eight hours. In eight minutes.

“You found it,” he points out, a little stilted. “I think finders-keepers probably applies here.”

Mac hums. He presses his mouth to Dennis’ neck; barely there, like he’s doesn’t really know that he’s doing it, and Dennis’ grip on his phone tightens.

“Okay,” Mac says, agreeably. And then, because apparently he’s not done giving Dennis heart attacks: “You look nice in suits, Den.”

“Go to sleep,” Dennis says. Mac just noses his throat again, unbearably slow - lays his head down in the same spot afterwards, his hair tickling Dennis’ chin, warm breath fanning out over Dennis’ skin.

“I’m going.” The words get caught in a yawn. “Just thought you might wanna know. That’s all.”

“Go to sleep,” Dennis repeats, sharply. There’s no real heat behind it. He’s not sure he remembers how to put heat behind things, when Mac’s involved. That can be another knot for him to untangle later.

Mac goes still against his chest, his breathing steadying out. After a minute, when Dennis has counted three sleep-long breaths in a row, he starts to slide his fingers through his hair. Mac makes a quiet sort of sound, shifting closer. He doesn’t wake.

#ask tag #fic tag #hyruling #macden #this feels Off to me no matter how i edit it but hopefully thats just bc ive been staring at it too long lmao #love u cait 💙💙💙

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