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Mac’s wheezing again. God, he’s fucking annoying. Dennis eyes up the pillow on the couch, fantasises for a moment about holding it over Mac’s fat face and suffocating him.
All Mac’s doing is eating chips while watching TV, yet he’s panting like he’s just run a mile.
“Mac,” Dennis says tightly.
“What?”
“Breathe, then eat.”
Mac shoves another handful of chips in his mouth. "Eat a dick, Dennis," he mumbles through a mouthful of food.
"I wouldn't want to have to fight you for it."
Mac ignores him. He turns the volume on the TV up. It pisses Dennis off. Usually Mac can be relied on to arc up when Dennis wants a fight. Dennis crosses his arms and resigns himself to trying to mentally block out the sounds of Mac chewing. He's practically whimpering while he eats.
Dennis glances over again. Mac's stomach is showing underneath the hem of his t-shirt. Why does he wear them so fucking tight? It looks like he raided Charlie's closet. Mac probably doesn't even realise how fucking obscene it looks with the soft curve of his belly showing like that.
It pisses Dennis off, because he devotes hours each day to taking care of his body, his skin, just so he doesn't have a breakdown looking in the mirror, and seeing Mac so happy like this feels like a personal insult. Especially when Mac used to go to the gym - even if he only ever hit arms and abs - and come home looking for Dennis’s praise. And if he doesn't crave Dennis's approval anymore, then what's the point?
"I didn't sign up to share an apartment with an asthmatic hippo," Dennis snaps.
Mac doesn't even flinch.
Dennis bites back a frustrated growl.
Mac stretches, his t-shirt pulling up to show more of his soft tummy. He's not even looking at Dennis.
They both know full well that Dennis makes a point of bullying Mac about his weight not to shame him into losing it - well, not only because of that. It's a weak attempt to hide the shameful fact that Dennis likes it.
Because what Dennis hates more than anything, even the crumbs left on the couch, is how his own traitorous body is responding to Mac's. He’ll catch a glimpse of Mac’s tummy or brush up against him behind the bar, and his dick will take a very strong interest in what it might feel like to touch him.
Sometimes, like today, he'll give in.
Dennis stalks over and drops onto the couch next to Mac.
Mac doesn't even have the decency to look surprised. "Hi."
"Shut up." Dennis yanks Mac's shirt up to expose his stomach. He doesn't touch him. Not yet.
Mac stays quiet. As quiet as he can be while he's eating, anyway. The packet of chips is nearly empty; Dennis will have to buy him more. He holds out as long as he can, just watching, swallowing down a hint of nausea at the crumbs in Mac's beard.
"You're disgusting," Dennis tells him.
Mac wipes his mouth but otherwise doesn't take any notice. Dennis shifts closer, close enough to feel Mac's body heat. He puts a careful hand on Mac's tummy, spreading his fingers out over his skin. It's swollen, firm under his hand. Dennis pets him while he eats until Mac eventually leans forward and puts the chip packet on the coffee table.
"Keep going,” Dennis demands.
“I’m kind of full.” Mac smirks at him. He’s enjoying this.
“Too full for dessert?”
Mac raises his eyebrows. “Did you have something in mind?”
Dennis gets up and heads into the kitchen. They have a can of that gross, processed whipped cream in the fridge. It usually doesn't last long around here - either Mac eats it all in a day or Charlie pilfers it to huff the nitrous. Dennis hid this one in the vegetable crisper. He pulls it out and shuts the fridge door.
When Dennis returns, Mac is leaning against the back of the couch. Dennis straddles his lap, his thighs spread wide, his knees either side of Mac’s hips. Mac puts his hands on Dennis’s waist. He’s being entirely too familiar and Dennis hates the little sparks of pleasure that race up his spine. Mac just makes him feel so delicate.
Dennis pulls the cap off the whipped cream and tosses it aside. He cracks the nozzle and shakes it up. Mac watches him silently as Dennis squirts the cream onto his fingers. He opens his mouth, waiting. Dennis lets Mac lick the cream off his fingers with slow, careful strokes of his tongue.
“Do you want more?” Dennis asks. His voice is rough, harsh.
Mac licks his lips and nods.
Dennis coats his fingers again. This time, he shoves them into Mac’s mouth to listen to him gag as he tries to suck the cream off without choking. Mac’s tongue pushes against Dennis’s fingers, trying to get them away from the back of his throat. Dennis pulls his fingers out of Mac’s mouth and grimaces at the feel of the thick saliva coating them. He wipes them on Mac’s t-shirt.
“More, please.”
Dennis can’t stand hearing Mac beg for food like that. It’s revolting.
He thinks about making Mac give him a blowjob. Dennis would come on his face, make him lick it off his hands. He shoves the nozzle of the can into Mac’s mouth instead, fills his mouth with cream, watches his cheeks puff out as he tries to swallow it all. Dennis pulls the can away but not before squirting one last dollop of cream on Mac’s mouth.
Mac licks his lips and smirks up at Dennis. “Kiss me.”
“No.” Dennis tightens his thighs around Mac’s body. He’s hard and he wants to thrust against Mac’s belly but he can’t do that. It would be weak. He shakes the can again, but doesn’t give Mac any more.
Mac’s hands caress Dennis’s sides, pushing his shirt up to feel his bare skin. Dennis can’t hold back a shudder at Mac’s touch.
“Don’t touch me,” he says, but his tone isn’t strong enough and Mac doesn’t move his hands. Dennis pushes the nozzle back into Mac’s mouth, determined to punish him for it.
Mac doesn't seem to care; he swallows the whipped cream even though Dennis is trying his best to make him gag on it. He needs something better than this, something he can really shove into Mac's throat and choke him with, the way he wants to do with his dick.
“Kiss me,” Mac says again as soon as he's able to talk, his voice raspy.
Dennis tosses the cream can onto the couch. He grabs Mac’s face between both hands, fingers digging hard into his jaw, and kisses him roughly. He tastes like sugar; it’s revolting. Dennis shoves his tongue into Mac’s mouth, chasing the sweet, artificial taste. Mac’s whimpering as he kisses Dennis back, and his breath is coming in rough pants. His hands move down Dennis's back to grab his ass and Dennis immediately pulls away. Mac's looking up at him, lips parted. He takes his hands away but it's too late.
Dennis gets off him and sits beside him on the couch. He gives himself a minute to get himself under control, then gets up. “This isn't going to happen again."
“Sure, Dennis.” Mac snatches the chips from the coffee table and tips the remaining crumbs into his mouth.