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He's still pacing around the living room in frustration when the door opens. First, Mac contemplates screaming, then murder. Then Dennis walks through the door and, laying his eyes on that fucker, Mac further contemplates murder four more times all in various degrees of violence which would leave Dennis as naught but gristle and clumps of hair.
And then there's nothing. Because Dennis isn't alone. Charlie saddles in right behind him, abomination of a sweatshirt folded over his arm with the price tag still dangling off of it.
"Hey," Mac breathes, because he now needs to act calm. He needs to act like hasn't been bragging about his boyfriend for the past two weeks only for that boyfriend to be Dennis, he needs to act like Dennis doesn't hate him so much that he catfished Mac just to leave him alone. He needs to act like there aren't a length of anal beads still buried inside him. He needs a lot of things.
"Hey," Dennis offers, throws his keys and wallet on the end table. He shucks off his coat, throws it over the couch. "What're you doing?"
Mac swallows, shifts from foot to foot and clenches hard down on the beads in the hopes that it would dull the intensity of them. He's wrong, of course, pleasure flaring inside him as his dick twitches in his pants. He's already jerked off since he got home, but if Dennis asks why there's cum in the kitchen sink he's going to lie.
"Just…thinking…" Mac says, looking around. The silence of the room, of Charlie in particular, combined with the brush of the beads against his prostate, makes chills dot along his skin. His face flushes, palms sweating as he places them on his hips. "What're you guys doing back?"
Dennis shrugs, dragging a line on the back of the couch with his finger seemingly just to make Mac shudder. They both trace the movement with their eyes. "Nothing. Just thought now would be a good time to come back here and show Charlie the beads."
A bolt of ice stabs Mac through the stomach. His eyes, so wide he can't blink, dart from Dennis to Charlie and back again. Dennis is playing innocent, a face Mac has barely fallen for since the nineties, but his eyes glimmer with the deep, deep evil that lives behind them. Charlie, on the other hand, fights a smirk, something warm and dangerous burning behind his features.
"What beads?" Mac asks, silently begging that he's, somehow, misinterpreted the situation entirely.
"Oh, come on Mac," Dennis tuts, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Charlie glances over, eyebrows quirked in confusion, but quickly focuses them back on Mac. Mac's heart pounds, then maybe stops, before the purple glow of his phone screen bathes his face. "You know which beads."
They seem to jolt inside of him as the vibrations start, a setting Dennis never typically even touched that sends Mac wobbling to his knees instantly. He has to gather his thoughts quickly to avoid getting brained on the coffee table, before losing them and deciding the coffee table is probably the safest place for him to be, clawing up the leg until he can bend himself over it, press his forehead to the veneer and fail to suppress the moan that tears through him.
"Fuck you, Dennis! Cut it out!"
But he cares less about the actual situation than he does about the fact that he never told Dennis about this, or Johnny. About this specific scenario and how it plays without his direct consent every time he jerks off, every time his jaw drops as he works another finger inside of himself, the detailed-enough forms of both of them staring at him while he comes. The hard edge of the table cuts into his ribs as he pants, clenching around the beads and wondering if they can tell from where they're standing how much he likes it.
"Oh, come on, Mac. Don't you wanna be good?" He turns it up higher, and Mac watches through tears as Charlie's eyes glimmer, his pupils wide and dark. "You told Johnny you wanted to be good. You even promised."
"That was before I knew it was you!" Mac yells, tries to push his hips back onto nothing. "It…I didn't know it was you."
Its insistent buzzing overwhelms him so brilliantly he can't even move when Dennis rounds the table, falling to his knees as the warmth of his laughter blows against the back of Mac's neck like a cloud of swelling shame. "As if that doesn't make you want it more."
Charlie joins him behind Mac as Dennis pulls his jeans down his hips, the cool air hitting the lube smeared along his hole and down his thighs, sticking to the fabric. Every inch of Mac's skin burns, burying his face in one of the hard coffee table books as they both let out low whistles at the sight. He's pictured this so many times, in so many ways, and it's finally happening like he never thought it might, and he's so embarrassed.
"Holy shit, Den," Charlie whispers. Someone runs their finger along the flared base of the toy, shoving it further inside of him than he thought it could go.
"Told you," Dennis mumbles. "But that's not it. Look how much he has inside him."
Mac's hands shoot out to grip the table as Dennis starts pulling, the wide base of the largest bead stretching him out so, so wide. He usually doesn't stretch himself enough for that one, likes the slight burn of it, but now, now he's loose, and open, can hear the wet sound of it as it easily pulls past his rim. He whimpers, nails digging into the wood as it pops free.
"How many are in there?" Charlie's voice is nothing short of reverent, deep and rough and Mac, through his own breathing and the racing of his pulse in his ears, finds a moment in himself to think he made Charlie do that.
"Six."
"Shit."
Mac's head falls with a thud against the table. "Are…what're you…guys, please."
Dennis pulls out the next two beads quick enough that Mac cries out before shoving them back in again, swivels them in wide circles until Mac's back arches and he tries to pull away from the violent vibration directly against his prostate. But Dennis' hand won't leave; his other grips Mac's hip hard to keep him in place, and a third joins it soon after, Charlie's callouses a distracting difference on his skin right where he's always ached for it.
"Turn it up, Charlie," Dennis huffs, and he does, along with changing the rhythm to these weird, deep pulses that completely overwhelm him, and Mac is coming untouched onto the rug before anyone can say anything else.
Charlie rubs small circles into his back while Dennis pulls the rest of the beads from him. He can hardly feel his fucking legs, but he still kicks back, hoping one of them will understand what he means. Stay, stay, stay.
"We'll be back in a little bit," Dennis tells him, like he can read his mind. He can hear him doing something with the beads, putting them in something maybe, but his body is too lax to turn and look.
He clenches around nothing, not missing the hitch in Charlie's breath. "Where're you going?"
"Gotta go take care of some stuff."
Charlie crawls around the table so he can look Mac in the eyes, ignoring the puddle of drool on the table between them. "When we get back, we're gonna fuck you so hard you never even think about Johnny again."
"Okay, okay…" Mac nods, tries to orient his eyes in the direction of Charlie's voice, but everything is too far away in a way that should be concerning, but he's too fucked out to care.
He leans in close to Mac's ear. "And then maybe we can beat the fuck out of Dennis for whatever this was."
Mac wants to kiss him but can't even move if he wanted to. "Deal."