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Mac’s stupid big, warm palms are cradling Dennis’s face, and he’s peering intensely into Dennis’s eyes. Mac’s down-turned, sad clown eyes are close enough that his pupils shift minutely left and right as he focuses on each of Dennis’s eyes in turn. It’s terrible. Dennis is breathing Mac’s air, breathing his terrible, stale air. They are much too close.
“Are you sure?” Mac says, so quiet. Dennis almost feels bad, because Mac ten years ago would not have spoken with a broken, doubt-ridden voice to confirm that Dennis did in fact mean it when he told Mac to kiss him. Mac ten years ago would have done it with no hesitation. Mac ten years ago didn’t need permission.
In Mac’s searching gaze and his hesitant words, Dennis can see that all the times he’s pushed Mac’s advances away have had an impact. He hadn’t meant for that to happen, not really.
He hadn’t really meant those things.
And today he needs Mac to kiss him, because he needs to show Mac that he’s still worth having around despite everything wrong with him. He needs to be useful to Mac. He needs Mac to use him.
Dennis had found a new wrinkle in the mirror that morning, a deepening crease on his forehead. And his pants had been a little tighter to zip up. He’s a fucking mess. He needs to prove that he can be good for something.
“Yes, Mac.” Dennis says. It comes out crueler than he’d intended. Things always do.
Mac leans in slowly, like he’s giving Dennis time to escape. Impatiently, Dennis presses in to meet Mac’s lips. He lets Mac lead.
Mac’s kissing is soft and somewhat sloppy. He pushes his tongue into Dennis’s mouth only a little before pulling it away again. Dennis remembers how much he enjoys Mac’s lips. They feel like home against his own. Dennis fights the urge to deepen the kiss.
After a moment, Mac gently but bodily urges Dennis backwards until Dennis is against their bedroom wall. Excitement fills Dennis. He wants Mac to want him. Dennis wants Mac to push him against the wall hard and hold him there with force. He wants Mac to push him around, to use his body to please his own.
Mac only lets Dennis lean himself against the wall, then puts one of his own hands on it to steady them.
Dennis tries to lead Mac to do more. Their lips still moving together, he pries Mac’s hand away from his shoulders and brings it to his neck. He positions it across his throat and presses down, hoping Mac will take the hint and choke him.
Mac does not. As soon as Dennis removes his own hand, Mac drops his hand as well. Instead of holding tight across Dennis's throat, Mac rests his hand on the curve connecting Dennis’s neck and shoulder. He lightly scratches his thumbnail against the exposed skin. It’s nice — it kind of gives Dennis goosebumps — but it’s not the pain he’s searching for.
He needs Mac to take something from him. He needs Mac to enjoy this without caring about Dennis. He needs Mac to use him, to make up for what Dennis has become.
Dennis starts to bend his knees, trailing his lips down Mac’s neck and then down his torso over his shirt. When he’s low enough, he drops to his knees and reaches for Mac’s fly. If Mac won’t take from him, Dennis will give.
“What—” Mac pulls Dennis back up to standing, clamping his arms against his body and lifting him like a sack of potatoes. “It’s not that I don’t want it, Den,” Mac says, somewhat breathlessly. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are wet. “But maybe not yet, ‘k? I don’t want you to regret it later.” He chuckles nervously and drops his hands from Dennis’s arms.
Regret. Dennis has a lot of regrets. This would not be one of them.
“Let me, Mac”
“Let you what?”
“Let me do something for you!”
Mac tilts his head, and his eyes are searching once more. He’s breathing heavily. He keeps glancing down to Dennis’s lips then back up to his eyes. Dennis wipes the back of his hand against his own mouth and averts his eyes.
“I thought you—” Mac’s voice catches. “Do you not…?”
“Shit, no that’s not what I meant.” Dennis leans his head back against the wall. “Kissing is not for you. Or it is, but it’s also for me. I just wanted—” He swallows. “I want you to enjoy it more.”
“I do enjoy it,” Mac says warmly. He’s so dumb. Mac is so dumb.
“More, you idiot!”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Mac gently places a hand on Dennis’s cheek and uses it to bring Dennis’s head back forward so he can search Dennis’s eyes. Dennis doesn’t know what Mac is looking for, but evidently he’s never going to find it in Dennis’s dead, empty eyes.
Dennis motions up and down himself. “Take something,” he says. He knows it's not much of an offer, but it's all he has. “Enjoy it more than me.”
Mac, the dumb idiot, frowns.
“Take!” Dennis says. “Take. Something. From. Me!”
“I just want you, Den,” Mac says slowly, like he’s scared he’ll say it wrong. Goddamnit.
Dennis fists one hand in Mac’s t-shirt and pulls him in a bit closer. He thinks about all the things that make him a terrible human being, and all the ways in which his body is flawed. He forces himself to remember the wrinkles carved into his face and the fat on his hips. He opens his eyes extra wide, then peers directly into Mac’s eyes and hopes Mac will finally read these thoughts swirling like dark clouds in his icy irises.
It had taken Dennis a long time to realize that, in their codependent friendship, it's Dennis who gets the better end of the deal. Stupid, kind, desperate Mac could do much better than him and his terrible, flawed body.
Mac cups Dennis’s face again with both hands. He strokes his thumbs over Dennis’s cheeks. His eyes, stubbornly meeting Dennis’s eye contact with equal intensity, are visibly and sickeningly filled with warmth.
“You’re so beautiful, Dennis,” Mac whispers.
Dennis’s breath catches in his throat. He drops the eye contact, then forces himself to find it again. That’s not what Mac’s supposed to say. That’s not what Mac’s supposed to think. Why the fuck is Mac saying that? Why is he lying? Is he being mean? Mocking? It didn't sound mocking. It had sounded terribly honest. Dennis focuses on taking an even breath. He must have misheard.
Mac half-smiles dopily, and one of his thumbs brushes quickly and lightly over Dennis’s lips. “You’re so gorgeous. So pretty.”
Dennis’s inhale is audibly shaky. “No, I—” He starts, then can’t finish. Mac's eyes suddenly feel like flashlights pointing right at Dennis's flaws. He has to get away from them. He drops the eye contact again and leans his forehead down to hide against Mac’s firm shoulder. Mac immediately moves to cradle him there, tracing his fingers up and down Dennis’s back. Something must be wrong with Mac. He must be even dumber than Dennis thought.
Dennis isn’t pretty. He’s ugly and wrong and Mac knows this. Mac sees the terrible creature that wakes up in Dennis’s bed in the morning, before Dennis has had a chance to drink coffee and put on his makeup and procure his mask for the outside world.
Mac has seen what Dennis really looks like, without his clothes on, without his makeup on. He’s seen the ribs and the fat and the scars and the eyebags. He’s heard the terrible words that live in Dennis’s head, that come out too easily when Mac is involved, because Dennis has no filter when Mac is involved.
Mac should know better than anyone that Dennis isn’t pretty. He’s a middle-aged man who needs at least an hour every morning to become presentable. He’s only a shell encasing the hatred and fear within him. He’s the farthest thing from pretty. He’s—
Mac’s lips press a kiss into Dennis’s hair. Mac says, “My prettiest girl.”
Dennis’s sob is wet against Mac’s chest. He heaves in a breath, tries to compose himself, then lets out another cry without meaning to. He tries to pull away from Mac, his instinct to flee, to not let Mac watch him cry. Crying makes his face puffy and streaks his makeup.
But Mac’s strong arms have wrapped around Dennis, pulling his body into him. Mac holds Dennis securely, hugs him, keeps kissing his head, keeps mumbling to him.
It’s too much. This is not what was supposed to happen. This isn’t Dennis giving himself to Mac for Mac’s pleasure, not at all.
Dennis uses all the strength he can muster and lifts his head away from Mac. He leans in, tries to clamp his mouth back against Mac’s. He kisses Mac hard, moaning into it like something in a porn. He starts using his body to grind against Mac. He will give something. He will give Mac something, to make up for everything else.
Mac’s hands are on Dennis’s shoulders, pushing him away. Mac is too strong; Dennis has no choice but to let the kiss be broken and take a stumbling step back. He clamps his mouth shut and stubbornly shakes himself away from Mac’s grasp.
“Dennis, stop!” Mac says. He catches a tear as it escapes Dennis’s eye and wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. “It’s ok, Den. You’re ok.”
Dennis hiccoughs. He crosses his arms over his chest, pinching at the skin of his sides. “Goddamn it, Mac!” He says, voice scratchy. “Why won’t you let me do this for you?”
Mac half-smiles, but his eyes remain worried. “I’m not the one who can’t stop crying.”
Dennis frowns. He can feel that his tears are tracing tracks down his cheeks. His eyelashes stick together when he blinks, mascara no doubt smudged. His chest hurts, like his breaths are too big to be contained by it.
He knows the answer already, but he can’t stop himself from starting to ask, “Do I still look—” He can’t finish. He swallows hard.
“Pretty?” Mac finishes for him. “Den, of course you do.”
It’s a lie. It must be. Dennis starts crying harder. Mac pulls him in again, hugging him firmly.
Dennis clings onto Mac, burying himself into Mac’s warmth. He lets himself go limp, and finds himself still held in place by Mac’s body. He can’t stop crying. He yells between sobs, angry at himself.
Mac holds him steady.
They end up on the floor, Mac sitting with his back against the bedframe and Dennis curled on the floor with his head in Mac’s lap. Mac traces his fingers through Dennis’s hair as Dennis lets his body shake with the last of his sobs. He knows he’s only taken more from Mac.
One day he’ll find a way to give him something back.