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“And what is this?”
Dennis watches, outwardly unimpressed but inwardly curious, as Mac whirls around at the sound of his voice, grabbing the nearest pillow off Dennis’ bed to cover himself. He’s dropped his phone in his panic, and after clattering to the floor, it lays there, temporarily abandoned, while Mac fumbles through a piss poor attempt to shield as much of himself as possible with one queen-size pillow. There’s truly no point to it, however: Dennis is still getting an absolute eyeful courtesy of the full-length mirror behind him, which Mac seems to have forgotten about entirely. Unluckily or luckily for Dennis; as of now, he’s still undecided.
“D-Dennis,” Mac starts stammering, loudly, as if they aren’t the only two people in the room. “You’re home early! What happened to your date?”
Dennis doesn’t answer immediately, casting another appraising glance over Mac. It’s undeniably entertaining to watch him squirm in any context, but this is a particularly amusing one, and Dennis thinks he deserves to indulge in it, with the night he’s having. Mac is still clutching the pillow to himself in earnest, but it’s shifting incrementally lower, like he’s slowly realizing how little it’s actually covering. Unfortunately for him, every fraction of additional coverage for his bulge only exposes an equivalent slice of cleavage. Now, normally, Dennis wouldn’t refer to that area as cleavage on him—wouldn’t even dream of it. Given the circumstance, however, it seems more than warranted.
“I ended it,” Dennis eventually replies, after Mac has fidgeted under his gaze a few more agonizing moments.
“Oh,” Mac says, suddenly looking more pitying than embarrassed. “She wasn’t that hot?” he asks sympathetically.
“No,” Dennis bites out. “She was plenty hot—rest assured, Mac.”
Mac’s eyebrows draw together and he tilts his head to the side. Dennis is ready to punch the pout off his face as soon as it appears. “She wasn’t that into you?”
It takes the measured grit of Dennis’ teeth to get through his rebuttal. “Of course not. She was all over me. She was just…lacking. Not in hotness, mind you. She just didn’t have the necessary…”
Dennis has to pause again to search for the perfect phrasing, but Mac is hanging off his every word, all his discomfort as forgotten about as the reflection of his quantifiably bare ass in the mirror behind him, waiting rapt until Dennis finishes the thought.
“…Prowess,” Dennis ultimately settles on. “I could tell she wasn’t going to be able to satisfy me, so I ended it.”
Mac nods sagely, with a silent ‘Ah’ of understanding, and Dennis shakes his head in disdain for even letting Mac derail him to such a degree. He’s not the one on fucking trial here.
“Never mind that. What the hell are you doing in my room?”
“Oh, well,” Mac says, hopping back and forth on his feet, “I needed the big mirror, and you were out, so I thought it would be okay.”
Now, Mac’s lack of boundaries as a roommate has been vexingly persistent throughout twenty-odd years of cohabitation. He’s stolen Dennis’ clothes, his mugs, his shampoo; tried to swoop in on every woman Dennis brought home when he was still playing straight, just for a taste of what Dennis had. He used to barge in on Dennis constantly, feigning shock when he caught him in the act and failing to conceal his disappointment when he didn’t. There were probably a good dozen times when he was newly out that he contrived some convoluted way of smacking or crashing into Dennis, just so their lips could brush. So this is far from anything new, and maybe one of the less egregious examples, all things considered. At least it’s likely—mostly—an innocent act, as Mac’s asserted, but that just makes it all the more enticing for Dennis to take advantage of.
“It’s not okay,” Dennis informs him sharply, “and it will never be okay to use my room to take your goddamn thirst traps for your Grindr hookups. None of this,” he continues, gesticulating with his hand at the whole situation, “is okay.”
With that, Mac appears suitably admonished again, his eyes wide and dewy and his shoulders sagging. The natural balance restored, Dennis relaxes, cutting Mac off as he starts muddling his way through an unimportant tangent: “I’m actually talking to this guy on Scruff—”
“What’s the deal with the get-up, anyway? I thought you weren’t into all that ‘femme shit.’”
“Uh, yeah, I mean, I’m not,” Mac says lamely, flicking his gaze away. “But this guy’s got a thing for it, and he’s got a huge dick.” Dennis hates that Mac chooses to make eye contact right as he elaborates with such sincerity, “Like, massive, dude. Maybe the biggest I’ve ever seen! Top five, for sure.”
“Jesus Christ,” Dennis utters incredulously, rolling his eyes.
“Look, Dennis, I know you’re pissed,” Mac tries placating, “but can you just wait outside for like, five more minutes while I finish taking the pictures? That’s all I need. I promise!”
“No, Mac!” Dennis exclaims. “My room is not your personal photography studio! I don’t even know what you’re trying to accomplish here. You’re not even wearing heels, for god sakes!”
Mac blinks in confusion, taken aback by the sudden shift, but soldiers on. “Well, heels are super expensive, dude. Especially in men’s sizes. Like you haven’t seen the prices on those things, they’re insane—”
“I know the goddamn prices,” Dennis corrects him, “but you aren’t going to look sexy in lingerie with flat fucking feet. It does nothing for your ass, to start.” And, well, perhaps this line of reasoning isn’t entirely accurate, since Dennis has full view of Mac’s ass right now and it looks like he could bounce a goddamn quarter off it, but it would still look ten times better if he had a pair of heels on, undeniably. “What shots did you get already?” Dennis demands to know, striding over. “Let me see.”
“Uh, okay,” Mac says slowly, bending to retrieve his discarded phone. He’s still pointedly holding the pillow over his crotch, and Dennis rolls his eyes again.
“And get my goddamn pillow off your dick. I put my head on that thing every night—do you realize that? I don’t need to be smelling your fucking balls while I’m trying to sleep.”
“Sorry,” Mac says quietly, eyes huge and trained on Dennis. He holds out the pillow sheepishly for Dennis to snatch from his grasp, returning it to its rightful place on his bed. He offers Dennis his phone next, and Dennis takes it with a glare.
“God, these are terrible.” Dennis lets out a disapproving sigh, barely sparing a glance to be sure Mac is looking sufficiently chastised. He certainly doesn’t linger on how Mac’s now trying to hide his dick with his hands instead, and the unintended consequence of that being more of a push-up than the sheer little bralette he’s wearing can manage, thanks to his ridiculous arms. “You can’t pose for shit.”
“Look, they don’t have to be masterpieces,” Mac attempts to rationalize, grabbing for his phone with one hand, which Dennis deftly holds out of reach. “They just need to, you know—” and now Mac has the audacity to look coquettish; absolutely absurd— “get his dick hard.”
“I sorely doubt you’re even going to manage that, with this utter dearth of quality. Men still appreciate art, Mac. They still like some aesthetics with their pornography.”
“Yeah, but, I think that’s like, more of a you thing?” Mac’s making a face akin to a wince as he broaches the idea, like he’s treading carefully, expecting one wrong word could lead to a scratch. “None of the guys I fuck seem to give a shit about that kind of stuff.” He makes another play for his phone, but Dennis sidesteps it easily.
“That’s because the men you fuck have about as much class as you do. But if this guy’s dick is as big as you say it is, he must be spoiled for choice, right? He’s probably got all the bottoms and verses in Philadelphia lined up for him, and you expect to win out with these angles? Who are you kidding?”
Mac goes blank with shock, gaping at Dennis as his impeccable wisdom dawns on him. “Oh, shit, man? You think?” he asks, half-awed, half-dismayed.
“I know, Mac. I know.”
Dennis pauses for effect, letting reality sink in for Mac. It never takes much to impress upon him how lost he’d be without Dennis’s guidance to help him navigate the many areas he’s otherwise clueless in, but it affords another moment for Dennis to truly size him up. In his surprise, he’s finally abandoned the pretense of trying to hide what Dennis already knows is there and has seen, at this point, a million times. Surveying all that tan, ludicrous muscle, barely covered by a lacy, periwinkle bra and panty set; the way the thin triangle of the thong can hardly contain him in the front—what he’s already seen of the back—Dennis thinks how, though this may not be his usual taste or anything close to what he had in mind for tonight, he can work with this. He’s a sexually enlightened man, after all.
“So what do you think I should do about it?” Mac asks, solemn and completely genuine.
“Get on the bed. I’ll take the photos.”
Showing a modicum of personal growth, Mac initially balks at the instruction. “Uh, that’s a really nice offer, Dennis, but isn’t it going to be kind of weird if you do it?”
Dennis, of course, has his whole, “No, it’s not weird, it’s simply two friends—” spiel prepared and at the ready for moments like these. It’s the same one he’s had for decades, possibly dating back to their late teens or early twenties, necessitated by a Mac who flinched at anything no normal person would even think to consider gay (while missing all the far more obvious signs) because his thoughts were so perpetually wrapped up in everything of the sort. Dennis simply changes whichever words need changing on the fly, like his own, “Trust me, bro,” form of Mad Libs. He’s just about to launch into this newest iteration when Mac clarifies.
“Like, I totally appreciate you trying to help me out, I think it’s so awesome you’re thinking about my best interests like that—” Dennis makes the motion for Mac to hurry it up, and Mac rushes through the rest— “but I don’t want him to get the wrong idea if some of them aren’t selfies.”
“Actually, the allure of exclusivity would be entirely to your benefit here,” Dennis reassures him, choosing to ignore how Mac is seemingly oblivious to the concept of phone tripods or their numerous practical uses. “Men always want what they think they can’t have. That’s just basic psychology.”
“So you think if he thinks another guy took the pictures for me, he’ll be more into me?” Mac spells out carefully.
“That’s it, baby,” Dennis says, dropping into a sultry tease as he leans in. He watches Mac’s face go all dreamy and soft before he’s even aware enough to control it. “You got it.”
Mac visibly swallows, and Dennis bites his lip, then gives Mac a quick clap on the ass to seal the deal. The bare flesh stings his palm, rewarding him in a way clothed skin never could.
“Now get on the bed.”
Without a second thought, Mac hastily complies, scrambling on top of Dennis’ neatly made bedspread. When he’s on both knees, he pauses, looking back at Dennis over his shoulder.
“Is this good?” he asks, already reddening and sounding half out of breath.
Dennis eyes him dispassionately, pretending to consider, but his mind is already made up. While, yes, the g-string plunging down the cleft of Mac’s ass is objectively enticing, something is very clearly missing. The peek of his panty-clad balls from below could look so much prettier, so much more tantalizing, and Dennis knows he’s found his angle. Best part is, it won’t even be that hard to get to.
“No, this is artless,” Dennis tells him bluntly. “Turn over.”
Mac follows the instruction, and when he’s propped up on his arms, one leg sprawled out in front of him, Dennis sees more of the vision. He has no legitimate interest in helping Mac ensnare his well-hung potential conquest, but he’s always possessed an eye as a photographer. It’s impossible that he won’t manage to wrangle a few halfway-decent shots out of someone even as boorish as Mac, meaning Mac may end up thanking him double after this.
“Not bad,” Dennis allows, reaching to adjust Mac’s leg into a proper, sultry display.
Touching his thigh, he can feel how Mac’s gone malleable and boneless for him, turned into putty by the slightest bit of praise. Dennis hoists his knee onto the bed to get the right angle, and from there, it’s like everything moves in a blur. He takes picture after picture, arguably far more than necessary, sucked into the task and the pretense he’s created for himself. Seeing everything through the screen of a phone makes it temporarily unreal, as if he and the lens are one in the same, and when he snaps out of it, it’s like being doused in cold water.
“Do you…do you think that’s enough?” Mac asks, and Dennis nearly recoils upon realizing his face is right in front of him.
Dennis shifts uncomfortably. His knees are on either side of Mac’s thighs with less than an inch of separation, and he’s pushed Mac almost prone onto the bed in his pursuit of…whatever shots he was attempting to get; he’s not entirely sure. This close up, they could still be considered artful, but without a dick in the frame there’s a distinct lack of pornography, and therefore, a distinct lack of deniability. Worse is that Mac looks about two seconds from make-out territory, eyes hooded and lips parted expectantly. His hand is bracing Dennis’ shoulder, somehow, and snakes its way up to his chin, thumb stroking over the stubble just starting to come in.
“We need a prop,” Dennis declares abruptly, pushing himself off the bed. Once he’s back to standing, he collects himself with a judder, stretching his neck out.
“A prop?” Mac asks hesitantly. He sounds unconvinced, and extremely let down. “I thought we were almost done?”
“Trust me, man,” Dennis assures him, opening his bedside drawer. “The prop is what’s going to push this over the edge.”
“Yeah, but the thing is, I think we got some really good ones already? And I kinda feel like I should reply to him ASAP ‘cuz of what you said before? If there’s that many other people trying to fuck him like you said, I don’t want my messages to get buried—”
“Mac, if exclusivity is the sexiest thing to a man, then desperation is the most unattractive. Don’t turn him off with your pathetic desperation, Mac.”
Dennis spins around with the bottle of lube he was searching for right as Mac looks like he’s about to continue debating him, or something equally hopeless. Instead, Mac goes uncharacteristically quiet, all his attention directed on the container.
“What’s that?” Mac finally asks. Dennis has to restrain himself from bursting into laughter. As if the slut doesn’t know exactly what it is.
“It’s necessary,” Dennis simply replies. “For the prop.”
Mac boggles while Dennis stands over him, wetting his fingers, Dennis senses more of that pathetic desperation as he rubs the digits together, warming them, in the way Mac watches, totally transfixed. But what else could be expected?
“When’s the last time you got tested?”
“Oh, like three days ago,” Mac volunteers, far too readily. “See, I had to wait for the outfit to get delivered, and I was really hoping he’d put it in me raw—”
“Thanks, Mac,” Dennis says with a sarcastic smile. “That’s enough. Now hold your leg up for me, will you?”
Mac rushes to hook his leg over his arm, coming close to kneeing himself in the face in the process. Dennis briefly scowls before he remembers his objective here. Managing to knock himself out because he was too excited to get finger-blasted would be so goddamn Mac it wouldn’t even be funny in the slightest. Just another sad footnote in the pitiful sequence of events he’s strung together to call a life.
Dennis kneels on the bed and pushes Mac’s other thigh to the side, keeping his hand there for support. He feels far too conscious of every movement right now, and it’s not helped by Mac bracketing his arm with his death grip, or the way he’s so fixated on Dennis’ fingers slipping past the g-string to prod at the pucker of his ass it’s like he’s forgotten how to blink. Has he blinked in the last two minutes? Dennis honestly isn’t sure. All he can focus on is how Mac’s breathing so fast, he’s on the cusp of hyperventilating, while Dennis is the exact opposite, his last aborted breath still stuck in his chest.
“Oh fuck, Dennis,” Mac whines, reedy and small, his nails digging into Dennis’ wrist as Dennis pushes two fingers inside him. His legs are already shaking; he’s acting like a goddamn virgin, like Dennis isn’t acutely aware of how he’s been getting his back blown out every other weekend for the last seven years, mandated COVID breaks notwithstanding. Dennis doesn’t know what game Mac’s playing here, but the tremor wracking his body is affecting his own fingers, which is supremely uncool.
“Relax,” Dennis tries coaching, keeping his voice calm, laced with syrup, instead of snipping like he’s inclined to. He leans forward, bringing his lips to Mac’s ear, and Mac immediately locks onto his shoulder, trapping him there with his forearm. His leg hikes over Dennis’ hip, freeing his other hand to cradle the small of Dennis’ back. Dennis smothers his irritation at being held in place, and intones, low and sweet, “Just relax, baby. I got you.”
“Y-yeah,” Mac agrees, nodding against Dennis. He makes a pass at a kiss, but Dennis turns his head, so Mac latches onto the edge of his jaw instead, sloppy and needy.
Dennis shudders at every touch of Mac’s lips, his tongue dragging across Dennis’ jawbone and the line of his neck as he mouths his way down. It’s too messy and cloying; Dennis can’t concentrate like this, can’t keep enough focus on fucking his fingers into Mac’s tight heat. Exasperated, he turns his head back, nose pressing into the arch of Mac’s cheek, and as if drawn by some inescapable, magnetic pull, Mac’s lips snap to his, fat and plush and open.
Mac kisses into him frantically, and Dennis can feel each little indent of his teeth from where he bites his too-dry lips before eventually caving to chapstick. He can feel every punched-out moan when his fingers slide deeper, every gasp, every encouragement of Mac’s tongue as he does everything in his power to coax Dennis into swallowing him whole. Dennis doesn’t have half the enthusiasm kissing back, of course—it’s the simple truth, an inarguable fact—but his fingers are on fire, and Mac’s making up any disparity tenfold, enough that Dennis almost starts enjoying it. He doesn’t, but he could see how, for people less refined than him, this sort of debasement might be considered worthy foreplay.
“Mac,” Dennis says, trying to pull away.
Mac’s hands are immediately on Dennis’ cheeks; he mutters something like, “No, no,” under his breath, garbled protestations that don’t make any sense and really have no aim to as he pursues his single-minded goal of keeping Dennis’ lips locked to his. Dennis voices his displeasure through moans and frustrated huffs, wrenching himself out of Mac’s grasp only to have Mac latch onto his bottom lip and lick his way back into his mouth, sucking on his tongue. At last, Dennis digs his fingers, tacky with lube, directly into Mac’s prostate, and Mac releases him with the most tortured moan.
“Fuck, Mac,” Dennis swears, using the scant space he’s been afforded to wipe the back of his hand over his puffy, abused lips. The hand comes back disgustingly spit-drenched. “Let a man breathe for a minute. Goddamn.”
“Dennis, I’m gonna blow,” Mac whines plaintively, eyes brimming and brow all knotted up. He really does look like he’s about to fall apart.
Panicked, Dennis drops his gaze to see Mac’s erection, sprung past the lace waistband that had no hope of containing it, leaking and curved to the side, his own fingers still jammed in his ass just below.
“Jesus Christ, Mac, no, you’re not! I haven’t even put my dick in you—there’s no way you’re allowed to come yet!”
At the assertion, Mac’s eyes nearly bug out of his skull. “You’re going to put your dick in me?” he wonders, reverent and hushed.
“Yes, I—it’s necessary!” Dennis hurriedly explains. “For the prop!”
“Is your dick the prop?”
Dennis despises the way Mac is looking at him. All sappy and sentimental, but somehow patronizing at the same time, like he’s the one holding back laughter now.
“No, asshole, it’s just one of the steps. The prop comes after.” Dennis sighs, to make it clear just how thin his patience is wearing. “So. Can I?”
“Put your dick in me?” Mac reiterates. Fuck, he’s really testing the limits here. “Yeah, man. Like yesterday.”
“Great,” Dennis says flatly. He scissors his fingers inside Mac a few more times, assessing the stretch, but if there’s one thing he doesn’t feel the need to be precious with, it’s Mac’s asshole. The way Mac’s leg tightens around his back just from that tells him he wasn’t kidding about being on the edge, either.
When Dennis pulls his fingers out, he wipes them on Mac’s thigh, desperate to be rid of the stickiness and sparing far more consideration for his duvet.
“Wow, that’s hot,” Mac says, looking appreciatively at the transparent smear.
Dennis shakes his head, launching into a rant while he undoes his fly if only for something else to occupy his lips, so he doesn’t have to keep thinking about how they’re still buzzing with energy from the extended make-out session, vibrant and raw. “God, you’re disgusting. If it weren’t for the better half of the population being as uncouth as you are, any chance of you attracting a mate would be completely out the window.”
“Yeah, totally,” Mac agrees automatically. He obviously hasn’t paid attention to a single thing Dennis has said, too focused on staring at Dennis’ boner and restraining him in the vice of his leg so Dennis couldn’t back out even if he wanted to. He doesn’t—no, he has commitment, far more than Mac ever will, and he intends to show it. He’ll show him exactly what it means to follow through, even when logic and common sense tell you you’ve already gone way too far.
“No touching,” Dennis says, slapping Mac’s hand away as it heads straight for his dick. “I can take care of that myself, thank you,” he mutters, doling out a liberal amount of lube onto his palm. “And no kicked puppy eyes, either. I’ve already given you far more leeway than I should’ve.”
“I don’t have kicked puppy eyes, bro,” Mac says, while looking at Dennis with those exact fucking eyes.
“You most certainly do. It’s the only reason men even entertain you for a night,” Dennis says, lining himself up so Mac doesn’t have the chance to refute him. It works exceptionally well: he can pinpoint the exact moment his tip prods against Mac’s hole just by his face, every thought other than dick and sex and Dennis instantly wiped from his mind, and it’s so damn satisfying.
He grazes Mac’s rim with his cock again, an extra little taunt to revel in that power, to watch Mac bite down on his bottom lip with a whimper and finally receive that deserved stroke to his ego he should’ve been bestowed with an hour ago. His dick is a goddamn blessing, and if anyone can’t see that, then they’re provenly stupider than Mac.
“Dude, can you just—” Mac starts wheedling, squirming under Dennis’ teasing passes, but Dennis quickly puts a stop to that.
“Shh, Mac. You can’t rush perfection.”
“Yeah, but I’m seriously—”
“Oh my god, fine!” Dennis erupts, pushing the tip in. There’s little resistance; Mac draws him in eagerly, as Dennis continues, “There, are you happy—” before he carelessly bottoms out. He hisses through his teeth once he’s all the way in, planting his hands on the bed to steady himself, head bowed as his breath is stolen from his chest.
“Fuck, yes, you feel so good,” Mac moans languidly, trying to tug Dennis in for another kiss until he realizes something is amiss. “Dennis?”
“What the shit, Mac?”
“What?”
Dennis raises his head to glare at Mac’s utterly guileless, wide-eyed expression. “How are you still so fucking tight when you’re getting gangbanged every other weekend?”
“Oh, well, it’s a muscle,” Mac explains nonchalantly, “so taking a bunch of dick trains it, actually. So when you guys are all incontinent and pissing and shitting yourselves, I’m going to be totally dry, with full control over my sphincter. That’s how strong my asshole is.”
“Goddammit, Mac. That’s possibly the least sexy thing you’ve ever said,” Dennis grits out.
Mac stares at him with searching eyes. “…What’s the most sexy thing?”
Mustard yellow instantly flashes through Dennis’ mind uninvoked, the ring of, “I will find them, I will strangle them, I will beat them into oblivion!” echoing in his ears. He jerks forward, hips working before he has the mind to stop them. Mac’s still a goddamn vice on his dick, and he really doesn’t seem to care about the way he’s constricting around him, clamping down on Dennis’ cock as he moans his approval.
Dennis shakes off the traitorous memory and steels himself, determined not to be bested in this game just because he hasn’t fucked someone in the ass in a while (which really, isn’t his fault in the least; it’s most definitely the fault of women and all the unearned standards they have these days).
“It’s nothing,” he answers at last. “It’s when you finally shut up for once and say nothing.”
“Come on, Dennis, there has to be something,” Mac goads, once again refusing to let Dennis focus when there are far more important matters at hand.
“Can you just be quiet? Seriously?”
“Yeah. If you make me.”
Mac bats his eyes at him, jutting out his lip, and Dennis scoffs, not falling for it. “Make you? We’re not children.”
“Okay, whatever. If you don’t have the balls to do it, that’s fine.”
“Do you even know what you’re asking for?”
Dennis stares Mac down, trying to impress upon him that this isn’t the kind of request he can just go back on. Stopping once he’s started has never been his forte, certainly not when he’s in that kind of mindset.
“Yeah,” Mac replies confidently, and the look in his eyes indicates he has some understanding. It’s about as much warning as Dennis is willing to give him; if he really wants to fuck around, he can handle it. Maybe it’ll actually teach him a lesson—a minuscule prospect, but possible.
“Okay,” Dennis agrees, the word too innocuous for what comes next, as he surges forward, smothering Mac’s mouth with his palm.
Mac immediately moans, a deep rumble of gratification that reverberates through Dennis’s hand, teasing the nerves down the length of his arm. He can still breathe through his nose, so he’s not in any real danger—yet. All the same, he already looks fucked up from it, and Dennis can sympathize. He’s far more turned on than he expected, considering it’s Mac.
Dennis gets his other arm under Mac’s knee, lifting his leg until it nudges his shoulder. It’s actually not a bad position like this, Mac half bent over himself, all the leverage Dennis needs coming from him. When he rolls his hips, purposely, this time, it drives him that fraction further, Mac’s leg bending a little more, hand pressed just that touch harder into his mouth. Dennis bucks into him again, and now he can finally concentrate, finally enjoy himself without Mac’s incessant jabbering ruining everything. He can truly appreciate the feel of him: the heavy squeeze on his dick, the grate of his teeth against his palm, the hot puffs of his breath and the vibrations of pleasure, inside and out.
Dennis’ cock throbs and his spine tingles as his thrusts grow steady, incessant, and Mac quivers beneath him with the threat of spilling at any moment. His eyes are hazy, drunk on the limited airflow and the power Dennis is so elegantly exerting over him, now the one trapping him in place. Predictably, Dennis wonders how far he can push it. His hand inches up slightly, index finger pressing to Mac’s nostrils, and Mac chokes a little as his last source of oxygen is almost cut off. Dennis watches Mac’s lids flutter rapidly, dewy lashes skimming his cheeks, and makes his decision in that moment.
“There you go,” Dennis says, making the move to suffocate Mac fully. It’s not airtight, of course; probably a few slivers of air can make it through the gaps in his fingers, but it won’t be enough—not for long. “You wanted it, right?” he asks, feeling almost as winded himself, snapping his hips harshly as he revels in the sight of Mac’s eyes rolling back in ecstasy.
Mac arches off the bed, sounding frantic, nothing but garbled moans emanating from his throat. He’s going to burn through his last reserves of air even faster, but that’s how he is, brash and inconsiderate, never considering the consequences when something pleasurable is right in front of him. Dennis counts to three: three ruthless thrusts, three unrepentant seconds that drag and drag and drag until he whips his hand away.
As soon as he’s able, Mac gasps, flooding his lungs with a rush of oxygen, and Dennis can feel him stiffen, going unbearably tight around him again. He throws his head back into the bed, starting to come with a long whine, his whole body trembling. His cock jerks against his stomach, untouched and emptying slower because of it, just spurting stripe after stripe onto the skin, the band of the thong still digging into the shaft. The whole tableau seems to blur the borders between pain and euphoria. It’s beautiful.
Dennis fucks into Mac faster, elated by the masterpiece he’s created, the vision that’s still to come. Mac’s face is contorted, like he can barely stand to still have Dennis’ cock in him, but Dennis isn’t pulling out if it’s the last fucking thing he does. He needs that finishing touch, the signature, the mark of the artist that’s been building to its peak in him all the while, nearly primed to burst forth. He grits his teeth, punches deeper, driven to the brink by Mac’s desperate whimpers, his impending climax all-consuming and inescapable. His legs begin to shake, perspiration dripping from his forehead, and reaching the crescendo, it’s a goddamn symphony.
Dennis chokes through his orgasm, painting Mac’s insides with that angelic shade of white in long, deliberate strokes. Satisfaction blooms through his body, all the way to his toes, and he lets Mac’s leg drop off his shoulder, sitting back on his haunches to catch his breath.
Seeing the bigger picture, he’s even more impressed with himself. Mac still looks like he doesn’t know what planet he’s on, his expression completely dazed. His cum is smeared all over his stomach, but at least the panties aren’t ruined, if he ever wants to wear them again sometime.
“Your tits look good,” is the first thing Dennis says, after they’ve both sat there panting for a full minute.
“What?” Mac asks, totally confused. His brow furrows, then relaxes as he realizes. “Dude, don’t call them that,” he mutters.
“And what the hell am I supposed to call them when you’re wearing a bra?”
“They’re still my pecs, and they’re very manly!” Mac insists, regaining some of his senses. He starts to pick himself off the bed, but immediately falls back, saying, “Woah…head rush.”
Dennis gets up instead, slipping out without preamble and ignoring Mac’s groan of complaint. He steps back, grabbing a tissue to wipe his dick while he surveys the scene, and before Mac can try moving again, he grabs his phone off the bed.
“Stay there,” Dennis instructs. “And don’t make that face,” he says, referring to Mac’s frown. “You want it to look sexy, right?”
“Uhh…what’s gonna look sexy?”
“The pictures. For your paramour with the giant dong?” Dennis clarifies.
“Oh…yeah! Right!” Mac scrambles to cover. He’s completely see-through; he forgot all about that guy, which makes Dennis rightfully smug, but he forgoes pointing it out, and instead takes the pictures he was after in the first place.
“There,” he says, handing the phone to Mac. “See? We needed the prop.”
“Damn, you’re totally right,” Mac says, wowed as he flicks through the photos, each now complemented by the trail of cum oozing out of his hole past the g-string. “Oh, I bet he’s gonna be so into this.”
“You’re welcome. Now clean yourself up and get the fuck out of my room,” Dennis says tersely.
“Okay,” Mac agrees hurriedly.
Thankfully, he doesn’t press for pillow talk or anything ridiculous, realizing he’s back on borrowed time. He rushes over to the bathroom, but pauses at the door, his mouth opening and hanging there stupidly before he actually speaks.
“What?” Dennis prompts, never free of annoyance for long.
“The sexiest thing I’ve ever said…was that when you were Johnny?”
“No,” Dennis says dismissively. “Now you’re just reading into shit that isn’t there.”
Mac remains stuck in the doorway, staring at Dennis wide-eyed, and Dennis is about to scratch him for real if he doesn’t move on and do what he’s told.
“…This guy isn’t just you catfishing me again, right? Because Johnny asked me to do something that was really similar one time—”
“I don’t know, Mac!” Dennis cuts him off, voice tight. He knows actually trying to refute the baseless accusation is pointless, since Mac won’t believe him either way. “Why don’t you go find out?”
“Okay,” Mac says sheepishly, “but if it is you catfishing me again, you’re at least going to meet me at the motel this time, right? ‘Cuz you could totally do that suffocation thing on me again…that was really hot, and maybe the weirdest orgasm I’ve ever had? But in an awesome way—like I might’ve seen God.”
Dennis walks over to the bathroom, watching Mac’s eyes light up with each step. He brings his face right up to Mac’s, so they’re almost nose to nose, and Mac looks him up and down in disbelief.
Then, before Mac can make a move, Dennis shoves him back, slamming the door shut.
Unbelievable. You give a man an inch—several, in fact—and he’s always going to take a mile, guaranteed.