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Charlie walks into Mac and Dennis’s apartment purposefully—hell, striding is the only word for it, really. Because when he gets calls from Mac about hanging out, the special kind of hanging out, he’s always eager as soon as Mac hangs up. But then he’s gotta clean himself up, and, sure, Mac bought the aftershave, the toothpaste and the weird, squeezy asshole-cleaning thing especially for him and that was like, nice of him and all and it made Mac happier about doing stuff together, but it really slowed Charlie down, and that was without the time it took to get to the apartment.
So usually it’s good for him to keep up a quick pace and get things started sooner. He takes the time to notice that Dennis isn’t around, doesn’t take that much time to consider why, and lets himself into Mac’s bedroom. He’s already halfway towards him before Mac says anything.
“No, no, Charlie, stop.” He has a hand stretched out towards Charlie and oh damn, his voice is commanding. He draws out the word “Stay.”
Charlie freezes in place, buzzing with anticipation.
As Mac takes deliberate, measured steps towards him, one hand still out and the other holding something that makes Charlie swallow dryly, Charlie thinks to himself fuck, man, he’s really getting good at this; he always sounded so unsure when we first started out.
Then Mac is standing right in front of him and he can only focus on the slow rise of Mac’s hands to his neck, where they fasten a familiar black collar around it, and then attach the leash to the hook under his chin. Charlie lets out a shallow breath but otherwise stays patiently, completely still.
“Good boy.” Mac kisses his forehead; when he pulls away, he’s got a small smile on his face that makes Charlie feel squishy inside, but in a good way, in a, like, being able to see that this dude cares about him and has cared about him for a long, long time kind of way. He doesn’t even realise he tried to lean up and capture that smile with a kiss until he feels a finger press against his lips. “Uh-uh-uh. This is an obedience test, Charlie. You’re not allowed to do anything unless I tell you to. If you can do that…”—his voice gets lower— “I’ve got a reward for you.”
Charlie averts his eyes down and nods, feeling the weight of the collar against his skin all the more acutely. His face heats up when he feels himself getting half-hard just from the sensation, the words, the knowledge of what’s to come.
Doing this always gets him in the mood faster than usual. He gets to bypass the voice that’s often at the back of his head telling him this is gross and enjoy the feeling instead—after all, he hasn’t been allowed to think.
Mac strokes Charlie’s hair and his head tilts upwards towards the comforting feeling. He sees Mac’s eyes fixate on the stark black around his neck and then there’s a tug on the leash that pulls him forward and into a kiss. Soft sliding of lips over lips at first, it doesn’t take long for it to get deeper, and Mac’s tongue is hot and wet inside his mouth. Charlie only responds with as much vigour as Mac gives because Charlie sure as hell isn’t going to step out of line for his owner, not even unintentionally. Mac has a tight grip on the leash right where it clips onto the collar, so that there’s a pressure at the back of his neck; he wraps his arm around Charlie’s middle to bring their bodies closer together, and, shit, it’s possessive and he’s as hard as Charlie is and there’s a high-pitched keening that Charlie only distantly acknowledges is coming from himself.
Mac pulls away and rests his head in Charlie’s hair, saying under his breath, “Fuck, right, okay,” apparently to himself. Charlie clenches his hands into fists to stop himself from touching Mac when he hasn’t been told to.
He hears Mac clearing his throat before he moves back to stand back, fixing Charlie with a raised eyebrow. “You ready to be a good boy for me?” He cups Charlie’s cheek and rubs his thumb over the bristles softly.
Charlie quashes the urge to nip at his palm and instead smiles and nods his head.
“Awesome.”
Except maybe he isn’t ready for that yet, because he blurts out, “Pears!” without much input from his brain.
The effect is instant on Mac: he stops standing up so rigidly, instead leaning down a little to Charlie’s eye level, and his voice is concerned when he asks, “Shit, what is it? Are you okay?”
He goes to take off the collar, but Charlie stops him with a hand on his wrist.
“Do you think that, like, there are dogs out there doing the opposite role play to us? One of the dogs pretends to be a human and he’s, like, barking at the other one, go get my newspaper, bitch, and then I’m gonna stare at it instead of ripping it into tiny, little pieces because I’m a human, but it’s just like, woof woof in reality?”
Mac stares at him for what feels like a reeeeally long time. “…Dogs don’t role play, dude, they just fuck. I mean—Jesus Christ, Charlie! Is that seriously why you used the safe word? To ask me that? You’re such a goddamn idiot.”
Charlie rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright, fine, man!” he huffs. “Tomatoes.”
Mac narrows his eyes. “Tomatoes? What about tomatoes, why are you saying tomatoes?”
“Well, we need an unsafe word, and they’re like the opposite of pears.”
“…How?”
“I mean, pears are fruit, right, so, like, the opposite thing has to be a vegetable, and pears are green and the opposite of that is red and—there you go, dude, tomatoes are the opposite of pears!”
Mac lets out an exasperated sigh like he can’t believe he’s having this conversation, but continues, “Tomatoes are a fruit, Charlie.”
He snorts. “Yeah, right.”
“No, seriously! They’ve got seeds in them and shit, that makes them a fruit!”
“Seeds? So, what, are we gonna start calling peppers fruit? And cucumbers, they’ve got, like, those weird little seeds in them, are they fruit? I bet you think strawberries are anti-fruit or something ‘cause their seeds are on the outside!” Charlie laughs and shakes his head, feeling totally assured that he’s in the right here.
Mac cocks his head, looking confused for a few moments. “You know what—let’s just say that the opposite of pears is no pears.”
“Oh, cool, yeah, dude. No pears.”
He nods with satisfaction. And then abruptly stops. “How the fuck am I meant to get back in the mood now?”
“Well…” Charlie considers for a few moments. “You could tell me to suck you off.”
Mac pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers and replies, “You can’t—you can’t just tell me what to tell you to do, bro, that’s—otherwise, what the hell is the point of me being your master at all?”
“I just thought you’d like—”
“Yeah, okay, yes I like that idea,” he talks over him, “just—shut up now, alright? Fuck’s sake.”
Charlie holds up his hands placatingly, his eyes wide in the picture of innocence.
Mac clears his throat and looks down. After a couple of breaths in and out, it seems like he’s in the right frame of mind again. He wraps the length of the leash around one of his hands, forcing Charlie to take small steps forward to avoid falling into him. When there’s barely any space between them, Mac pins Charlie with a look that is way sexier than it has any right to be.
He leans forward and murmurs into Charlie’s ear, “You’re gonna obey me, Charlie. You’re gonna listen to every single word I say and follow it to the letter, ‘cause you need me. You don’t get shit without me. So you don’t do shit without me. Understand?”
A tingle runs up the entire length of Charlie’s body. He closes his eyes and nods weakly.
“Good.”
Mac grips the side of his head and drags his teeth below the shell of his ear, stopping at the leather still tight around his neck. Slipping the loop of the leash around his wrist, he slides his hands under the smaller man’s shirt. Charlie can feel him curl his fingernails across his skin as they make out, a light scratch that sends his blood racing down to his groin.
Mac walks them backwards towards his bed without breaking the kiss; Charlie barely notices the way he stumbles when he hits it, since there’s something really fucking distracting and awesome about kissing Mac. Shit, it’s even better than huffing glue.
His breath is heavy when Mac separates from him and sits down at the end of the bed. He only says “Down,” in a sharp and short voice before he yanks on the leash and Charlie painfully lands on his knees. (Ugh, knees, he thinks. Though, actually, he’s pretty sure that Mac intentionally avoids mentioning them when they’re fucking. Mac can say those ‘Charlieisms’ are stupid as much as he likes: he knows he cares, deep down.)
The sound of an unzipping fly catches his attention, and he shuffles forward in between Mac’s spread legs to watch him take his dick out with rapt attention. With his underwear and pants pulled down, Charlie gets to see how hard he is, long and thick and pulsing. He holds onto his thighs and looks up imploringly. Mac just nods, stroking himself slowly a couple of times before pulling his hands away and leaning back on them.
Charlie doesn’t waste any time before he wraps his lips around Mac’s length and sinks down onto it; he doesn’t have much of a gag reflex to speak of, and he gets to hear a litany of “Shit fucking shit!” above his head when he does it. Giving a blow job doesn’t do much for him, but being a good boy for Mac and making him feel great? That’s more than enough. And a hell of a lot more rewarding than Charlie Work.
He bobs his head up and down, listening to the way Mac moans in response with delight. A+ turn-on right there. Charlie sucks on the head, lavishes it with his tongue and then pops off of it to give Mac a grin. He gives him a dazed smile in return, and, fuck, man, he’s so in love with this guy. Charlie might have enough self-awareness to see that they’re terrible people living terrible lives, but it doesn’t matter; he’s always had Mac, and they can be good for each other, with their own weird little definition of good—and sometimes bad for each other, but always with each other—until they die in a suicide-pact-agreed blaze of glory.
Feeling affectionate, he starts plastering quick little kisses down Mac’s length, and it’s warm on his lips in the same way those sloppy feelings inside his heart are.
“Dude, that’s—” A smile breaks across his face again before he schools his features. “Stop being ridiculous, come on, I need more than that. Pet.”
Charlie keeps his amusement to himself, instead giving him a lick from the base to the tip before taking him whole again.
“Okay, shit, that’s it, now—stay still, boy, I need—I need…” He grunts and lets his head drop forward. Charlie’s eyes flutter when his hair is grabbed; Mac’s fingers are tight around his locks and the pull against his scalp makes him let out a small “Mmmh.”
Mac starts fucking into his mouth, keeping his thrusts slight, but Charlie makes the hold on his thighs close to bruising and looks up at him in what he hopes is a sultry way. Mac’s pupils dilate, and his deep, resonating groan drowns out the wet sounds for a few moments even as his hips jerk faster in a staccato rhythm. Charlie loosens his throat and ignores his leaking dick and it’s awesome because praise is gushing out of Mac like water from a broken fire hydrant, all “You feel amazing” and “Fuck yes, fuck fucking fuck” and “My good boy, I’m so goddamn stoked you’re mi…mine.”
Charlie preens and is one hundred percent willing to keep going and hear more, but Mac pulls him away by the back of his collar, saying “Shit, I’m gonna bust, you gotta stop, man.” He wipes his arm across his forehead, face shiny with sweat and hair messy. Charlie thinks he looks delicious.
He flops backwards onto the sheets, tucks himself back in, and pats the space next to him. “Up, up,” he commands, “but don’t—don’t get used to being on the bed or anything, you still, uh, sleep on the floor.”
They tried to role play staying off of the bed once. It was…needlessly uncomfortable.
Charlie hops up next to his owner, glad to have a softer place to kneel than the wooden floor. The movement makes his boner rub up against his uncomfortably tight jeans, but he keeps his hands away and only squirms a little bit.
Mac kicks his own pants off, and shucks his shirt too while he’s at it, and then grabs Charlie’s shoulders and positions him on his back in the middle of the bed. He takes off the leash and throws it to the floor but leaves the collar right where it is. Charlie may or may not be whining a bit when he leans over him.
“Shh, don’t worry, little guy, you trust me to take care of you, right?”
He nods emphatically but he’s still kinda squirming. Mac pauses, then shifts himself up the bed so he can kiss him quickly and ask him something.
“You good? You’re into this, wanna keep going?”
Their eyes meet, and Charlie’s look is sceptical. Mac’s broken character, so he answers, “Dude, I literally have the biggest boner for you right now.” His voice is even scratchier than usual, raw from their earlier activities.
“Well, yeah, I mean—just checking, you know, if you’re into it mentally too, like—you want me to bang you?”
“Uh, yeah,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Seriously, it’s sweet of Mac and all, and, true, there are enough times that he isn’t into it that it’s good he checks, but he is so totally fucking into it right now. “Don’t be a pussy, man, just fuck me.”
“Alright, alright,” he concedes. He sits up and puts a hand on Charlie’s calf, his thumb drifting back and forth soothingly. Charlie lets his eyes rove over his boyfriend’s almost-naked body. The ‘owner voice’ is back when Mac says: “I know what you want, babe.”
Duh, I just told you, he thinks to himself, but he loses the thought and jolts when Mac presses down on the front of his jeans. He moves his hand achingly slowly and Charlie would probably scream if he didn’t need permission to do that.
Thankfully, the jeans come off before he resorts to screeching and, oh, that hand feels much nicer without the extra layer. But it’s still nowhere near enough; Charlie tosses his head from side to side when Mac palms his length through his boxers. He wants to beg for more, but he—fuck—Mac takes his hand away and Charlie lets out a helpless, choked sound.
“You look good like this, bro. Completely at my mercy, on the edge of how much teasing you can take…” Charlie shoots a dirty look at the smirk on Mac’s face. “Maybe I wanna take my time with you, you know? It’s good training to wait until I say you can have more.”
Mac’s hands drift to the hem of his shirt, and he pushes it up to press kisses to Charlie’s kind of pudgy stomach. He responds with a long-suffering groan.
“Buuuuuut, I don’t wanna push you too much. Maybe I’ll let you off easy for today.”
Charlie mouths the word please into his pillow.
Mac whips off his boxers, takes his cock firmly in his hand, and Charlie’s hips twitch upwards automatically before he gets control over himself. He scrunches his eyes closed and tries to reign in all the sensitivity that’s built up from the lack of relief. Mac makes an approving “Hmmm” sound, pumping him, but with restraint.
Charlie grins, because—even though it’s kind of torture how little he’s getting from Mac, how limited he is in what he can do and what he can say—it’s still completely his choice that this is what they’re doing, and he loves the control he gets over his own agency, something he never had in his youth. It’s an intoxicating feeling.
“Alright, Charlie,” Mac begins; Charlie lifts his head up to look at him. “I’m not gonna do all the work here, man. I want—I wanna see you stretch yourself out. You’re gonna finger-fuck yourself and I’m just gonna sit here and watch, capiche?”
“Mmhmm,” he replies faintly. Hearing those words is making him blush hard and he knows that’s only gonna get worse from here out.
Mac grabs the lube from his bedside table and pushes it into Charlie’s palm. He takes a hold of it clumsily, squeezing too much over his fingers, and brings his shaking hand down past his balls to his entrance. The first finger he eases in is cold; he can feel himself quiver around it. He has to keep his eyes on the ceiling because glancing towards Mac reveals this super-intense look, with the fucking eyebrows thing to top it off, and he just can’t deal with that when he’s sticking anything up his asshole. The second finger makes him gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the leather around his neck. He curls his digits to hit that sweet spot, a small “Ah!” escaping him when he finds it. But he still has to focus on the actual prep part of this whole thing, so he goes through the motions of scissoring himself even though all he really wants is Mac’s dick inside of him already, jeez, and adds another before he angles them towards his prostate again.
Fucking himself like that is mostly for Mac’s benefit; his fingers are too short to really scratch the itch and his wrist is already starting to ache. But it’s still pretty good and he knows Mac’s enjoying all the sounds that are spilling out of him. The exhibitionism of it all is, as he thought, making him red all over—his skin is especially hot under his t-shirt, shit, why is it even still on? —but he doesn’t shy away from it so that he can give his owner what he wants.
“Fuck, bro, that’s perfect. Goddamn.” He takes a hold of Charlie’s hand and Charlie stills. He’s seriously desperate for an orgasm by this point, his cock lying stiff and weighty on his stomach. Mac moves the hand away and Charlie thinks that if he pulls any more not-fucking-him-senseless shit, he will scream this time. (It might have already happened once in the past. Or twice. Really, who knows? It’s not like he’s gonna worry about counting or anything.)
Thankfully, Mac’s lining himself up and fumbling for the bottle that Charlie dropped somewhere on the bed; he swears quietly as he coats his dick with lube.
Sometimes Mac will precede this moment with some line like, “Best be ready for me, bitch,” or “I’m coming in hot, bro,” but today, Mac eases himself into Charlie without saying anything, just panting. Charlie lets out a long groan—goddamn, that fullness was satisfying.
“Jesus Christ, Charlie,” Mac breathes.
And then he starts moving.
Charlie’s saying the first part of a swear word, a drawn out “Shiiiiiiii—,” before he slaps a hand over his mouth to shut himself up. Mac hasn’t set a slow pace, pounding into him hard enough to make the bed creak, and the noises coming out of Charlie are loud even through his palm.
He has his eyes closed, but they snap open when his hand is replaced by Mac’s lips. Mac’s hair is hanging down; it’s lost all of its usual slickness, and god, does Charlie love seeing it like that. Mac punctuates one of his thrusts with a bite on his lower lip. He runs his tongue over it, then moves down to press sloppy kisses along Charlie’s jaw, their bristles scratching up against each other.
“Touch me,” he commands into his ear. “Touch me, kiss me, whatever.”
Charlie’s hands fly up to Mac’s fluffy hair, and he drags them down over Mac’s neck, collar, chest, stomach, before gliding up to his hair again across his back. His movements are frenetic—he’s getting close and most of his concentration is going towards not coming until Mac lets him.
He’s making near-constant cries and moans, and he’s so fucking loud that he can barely hear Mac, so he finds the pulse point on his neck and latches onto it. Every hit of his prostate still wrenches a sound from him, but now it’s more of a (pathetic) whimper than a shout; Mac is grunting low and soft. Basically the exact opposite of how Charlie sounds.
“Don’t you fucking dare give me a hickey, I swear to God.”
Charlie huffs a laugh and pulls away. Everything feels hazy and good, so good, so rewarding so close so desperate— “Please, please, please, please, please, Mac, please.” It takes him a second to realise he’s the one speaking. Whoops.
But Mac’s apparently too far-gone to care, because he only says, “I know, I know, just a little more, baby, just a little more.” He reaches a hand down between their bodies and grabs Charlie’s dick, beating him off at a completely different pace to his hips, and Charlie tries to categorise how syncopated it is to distract himself.
Mac fucks him harder, pushing him so, so close to the edge and leaving him there for what feels like an eternity, the bitch. Charlie says his name over and over again, begging like the dog he is.
Mac moans, giving Charlie a rough kiss before finally ordering, “Come for me, pet,” and with a twist of his wrist over his cock, Charlie has no choice but to obey. His mouth falls open as streaks of come coat his stomach and shirt. Gasping, it only takes a few more thrusts for Mac to follow suit. He spills inside of Charlie, a noise of pure satisfaction leaving him.
He stays still until he starts to soften. They’ve had a chance to catch their breath, so when Mac pulls out, he doesn’t waste time before grabbing some tissues.
“Shit, you’re already leaking onto the bed. God damn it.” Mac enacts damage control, wiping Charlie and the sheets clean as best he can. Charlie wriggles and protests the invasive tissues.
“Clean yourself up, then, dude,” Mac says, tossing the box next to him.
He really doesn’t see the need of all that, so after he removes his collar, he just takes off his shirt and wipes off the remaining come with it.
“That’s disgusting.”
“You’re disgusting,” Charlie replies petulantly.
Mac gives him a hard look.
He rolls his eyes, but replies, “Fine, fine, I’m cleaning, I’m cleaning.” He stuffs the shirt into a carrier bag to take home and washes up in the bathroom.
As he re-enters the bedroom, Charlie says, “You better have that reward you promised me. I did the fingering thing, the not screaming thing, I was so good!”
“Oh!” Mac exclaims, jumping to action. “You’re right, I almost forgot. You’re gonna love this, man. For being such a good pet, you get… this!” Fishing out a box from under the bed, he shows it to Charlie, opening the lid with a flourish.
It’s filled to the brim with beef jerky, jelly beans, all kinds of other candy, cheesy snacks and beer. Charlie takes a hold of it with widening eyes.
“Awesome, right?”
“Totally! Oh man, the only thing this is missing is some cat food.” Charlie cracks open a beer and takes a long swig.
“For the last time, you shouldn’t be eating—fuck it, just, you’re not eating it here, alright?” Mac sits on the bed, leaving space next to him. Charlie takes the invitation and settles in with the box in his lap. His boyfriend puts his arm around his shoulders, and together, they work through the whole box until they’re surrounded by wrappers and beer cans, full-bellied and pleasantly tipsy. Charlie’s glad that Mac isn’t taking Dennis’s remarks on his weight to heart these days, and especially glad that Mac has wrapped around him in an all-consuming hug. Mac gives the best hugs. They’re given with his whole body, protectively and eagerly.
“I love you, little man.”
“That’s gay, bro,” Charlie giggles. He remembers when they were high out of their minds and Mac told him that this was his favourite part: cuddling him like a teddy bear, after a killer bang and blasted loads.
He felt so warm after that; he’s so warm now. Charlie can be Mac’s teddy bear, his dog, his friend or his boyfriend. He’ll be anything, as long as he’s Mac’s.