Chapter Text
*Rehearsal Dinner #1 (Aftermath)*
The door to Dennis and Mac’s apartment slams shut on the leader of the focus group. Echoes of his complaint about not being paid yet are muffled from the hallway but Mac can’t bring himself to focus on them as Dennis turns to glare at him. Even with his eyes submissively averting to the floor, he can see in his peripheral Dennis’s hand curled tightly into a claw. Perfectly made Italian brown leather shoes stalk towards him- Mac still not daring to look up. He regrets the amount of fake tan he put on now as he feels it practically dripping off him in nervous beads of sweat.
“‘Maybe America is ready for us’?”
Dennis’s voice is low, a disgusted yet eerily calm undertone to the quote of Mac’s, lifting up at the end into a mocking interrogation.
Mac figures it’s the pheromone cologne causing the crippling level of fear in him. It’s the scent that makes his neck crick from bowing down too low, the way a dog might after his owner swats him with a newspaper.
“What did you mean by that, Mac?”
Silence hangs heavy in the air after the accusation. The musky scent lingers in Mac’s nose, fogging his brain and drying up his tongue to hang heavy in his stuttering mouth.
“I-I didn’t mean-“
“Didn’t mean what?” Dennis tilts Mac’s face up to his gaze with a stern finger digging in under his chin. He looks at him inquisitively, hungrily, patiently. “That we’re gay lovers? That this apartment has been desecrated on every surface imaginable? That you spend every waking second following me around like a lost puppy just begging for your master, your God, to bless you with even a glance? Or perhaps something to get your mouth on?”
Mac feels like his knees could buckle right then and there. It feels like the apartment is spinning around him (the cologne once again, obviously) and the only thing grounding him is Dennis’s cruel cold gaze. Even that stronghold seems to be distancing until a firm pressure hits Mac’s knees. It takes him only a second before he realizes that pressure comes from the cold floor of their living room pressing against his knees that have buckled unceremoniously underneath him.
“Pathetic,” Dennis murmurs, nonetheless reaching a hand down to softly card through Mac’s hair, “what happened to your whole ‘bad boy’ act, hm?”
Without warning, Dennis’s hand grips hard at the root of Mac’s hair, causing him to wince.
“I thought you usually want to be a good boy, not a bad boy,” Dennis chides him, his grip growing more severe by the second, “bad boys get punished, so if that’s what you choose to be then-“
“No,” Mac gasps out, all but moaning as his voice finally breaks through the pain needling at his scalp, “I’ll be good, I swear, Den.”
“Why should I take the word of a worthless mutt?”
“Because I’m yours,” Mac whines out quickly, “because you’ve trained me better than to ever try and lie to you.”
The grip on his hair releases and Mac practically gasps in relief, hands falling to the ground in front of him as his head hangs low. Despite the pain, Mac is embarrassingly aware of how hard he is. It’s hard to focus on anything else as the pressure of his dick pushes against his tight jeans. Testing his luck a bit, he rocks forward ever so slightly to get a bit of much needed friction. The sense of relief overwhelmed him for the millisecond it exists during, but before he can mourn the loss of it, a new pressure is applied that is somehow even better than before.
Without even opening his eyes, Mac knows what it is. The scent of cologne fades into the earthy whisp of Italian leather, and upon opening his eyes, Mac notices it is because the very shoe pressing down on his erection in that moment was made of this material.
“Feels so good,” Mac moans out, resting his forehead against his roommate’s upper thigh, “so good, Den, thank you.”
“Jesus Christ, and here I didn’t think you could possibly get any more pathetic,” Dennis taunts him, a snide grimace on his face. In spite of his disgusted expression, Mac noticed things in his best friend that no one else would. His pupils were widened as they tried to devour the site of Mac at his feet, a soft pink tints his bronzer and contour covered cheeks, and his breathing picks up just slightly. He’s enjoying this just as much as Mac is.
“Want me to fuck you?” Dennis murmurs, grinding his foot down again and putting his hand gently on the side of Mac’s face, ignoring the flinch as his thumb gently strokes the heated skin of his cheek.
“Please…” Mac gasps, daring to steal a glance up at Dennis.
Before he can beg further, before his mind can even appreciate the sight above him, a sharp slap hits the side of his face and replaces the tender hand that had just been there. He mewls in pain, glancing back up at Dennis in desperation and confusion.
“But I’m being good!”
“You’re being desperate,” Dennis sneers, pushing his foot down to a point right on the order of pleasure and pain, “why should I fuck you when you’re perfectly content humping my foot like a dog?”
“Okay, Den,” Mac whispers, his head lowering again in submission, “I’m sorry.”
Dennis takes pause at that, having expected more whining and complaining or even some shouting of demands depending on Mac’s mood. Immediate submission isn’t typically to be expected with his pet unless Dennis has really broken him down already. He can’t decide if it would be more fun to fight with him now or to appreciate this complete surrender of autonomy. Their moments of passion and intimacy are typically born from the passion of fighting. The second their heated arguments become physically violent (which is often and swiftly), the line between what they know and the other unspoken and unnavigated element that exists between them becomes blurred. It’s easier to let it exist only there, everything becomes blurred the second those moments are spurred by something softer.
Looking down at Mac’s hunched, patient form, Dennis feels his anger die out. He feels a strong pull to pet his hair, tell him he forgives him, and reward him for his submission. He grimaces at the impulse and pulls back.
“You should be sorry,” is all Dennis can grumble out in a taut voice, “your homosexual deviancy is getting out of hand, man, it’s fucking weird.”
With those words, Dennis swiftly takes his foot away and storms into his room, slamming and locking the door behind him.