Chapter Text
“I’m your best friend, right?” Mack demands one night.
They’re in a hotel room in the middle of fuck all Nashville, and they’ve just lost their chance to go for the Stanley cup. Mack’s too many drinks in to count how many he had but their floor’s littered with the beers that Will bribed Toff to buy them.
“I mean…you’re one of my friends,” Will says, cool as a cucumber, and Mack hates it when he gets like that. No, no Will’s not allowed to be nonchalant, not about them.
And Mack feels all of five years old when he demands— “Who’s your best friend then?”
“I have a lot of friends.”
“Yeah, but I’m- I’m your guy, right? Like the one you’d choose over all of them.”
“Why do I have to choose?” Will asks with an infuriating smirk, and Mack is angry, furious. No chance at the cup. And now Will is denying him something he wants. No, Will’s not allowed to deny Mack anything. That’s not how they work.
So Mack gets into Will’s bed and tries to slap his cheek as payback; Will ducks, but Mack’s insistent, all angry baby brother, feeling like he’s fighting Aiden for the remote control or something.
”Say I’m your best friend!”
“You need to- fuck, Mack! Stop,” Will says as he grabs Mack’s wrists.
They’re both panting, and Mack feels it in his twisting gut; they’re going to do something they can’t take back. His eyes slide down to Will’s lips for some reason and then back to Will’s eyes—
“I’m your best friend. Say it, say it,” he demands, too far gone to be embarrassed that he’s throwing a tantrum at nineteen years old.
“You’re my best friend,” Will obediently says, but Mack can’t relax. It was too easy. He needs to earn it, somehow. Knows nothing is that easy, not for Mack.
“No, you don’t mean it,” Mack snaps and gets real close to Will’s face. “Say it like you mean it.”
“Oh, so we’re being a brat tonight, huh?” Will says all soft and mocking, all big brother mean.
Mack goes to slap Will’s face, wants to feel his hand collide with something. Wants the impact.
Will ducks again, rolls off the bed and takes Mack with him, and then they’re rolling around on the ground, like two colicky puppies. This is how they both like it sometimes. Brat for brat.
Mack whines when Will gets on top of him, gets his hands in Mack’s hair and pulls: “This what you want?”
“I told you I want- want to be your best friend,” Mack says, squeamish at how vulnerable that is to confess, feels like he’s entitled to it somehow, hates anyone who’s ever claimed to be Will’s best friend before tonight. Mack wants them all on the ice with him, wants to throw punches, smash their heads into the rafters, wants to make them bleed, wants his claim on Will to be so visceral that nobody would ever question it.
Will sits back and crosses his arms, chest heaving and then a dark look crosses his face: “Would you do anything?”
“Anything,” Mack promises, means it.
He needs to do something right now to prove himself.
“Okay,” Will says as his dilated eyes go up and down Mack, assessing him. “There is one thing that Leno and Gabe did for me. Proof of loyalty, yanno? It’s how we got so tight as a line.”
“I knew it. What was it?” Mack asks, panting, wants it, wants it so, so bad. What’s going to prove that he’s Will’s best friend?
“Well….they,” Will starts and then stops, leans in so his lips brush against Mack’s ear. “They did something so embarrassing that I knew they would be mine forever. Something you can’t take back, you can’t fake this.”
And Mack’s eyebrows furrow together: “What? I’ll do it! I’ll do it right now.”
Will giggles, just a touch girlish, evil, as he sits back on Mack and pushes his blonde hair behind his ear. His cheeks are flushed as he remembers whatever it is they did for him, and he squirms on top of Mack—
“I don’t know if you have it in you, Celly.”
“I do! I do, promise, promise, I’ll do it better. Whatever it is. I’ll, do it longer, whatever it is. I’ll do it for you, Will. I want to prove I’m your best friend. What is it?”
And Will leans back, bites his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing and says, “They peed on themselves for me.”
…uh, what? Mack blinks.
Brain halting.
“They did? You swear.”
“I swear, yeah. Freshman year. We all did it, took turns, like a frat hazing, right? Got to initiate ourselves into a lifelong brotherhood.”
Lifelong brotherhood.
Mack wants that with Will, wants that really, really bad. He wants them together, forever…not like in a gay way, just like in a hall of fame sort of way. Bonded together. Forever.
Mack gulps.
This might be the craziest shit that Will’s ever asked Mack to do in the name of friendship.
“So- so you want to see me, um, pee all over myself?”
“I mean it’s more complex than that. But, yes, essentially.”
“Okay,” Mack decides, tipsy or maybe edging drunk.
“…okay?”
“Yeah, okay, whatever. I’ll do it. If Leno and Gabe did it, I'd do it better than them. Like I said.”
And Will does not just look impressed, he looks…his cheeks are flushing darker as he takes in Mack’s face, and Mack swears that Will’s eyes fall down to Mack’s lips real quick before he looks back up in his eyes, and there it is— a challenge.
“You’re not fucking with me, are you, dude? Really? You want it that bad, Macky?”
More than anything. Maybe almost as much as he’d wanted the Stanley Cup,
“Yeah,” Mack breathes. “I want it that bad.”
Will bites his lip, looking like a cross between flustered and pleased and just a touch crazy with power: “Yeah, Celly? Gonna prove you’re my bestest best friend in the whole wide world?”
And Mack must be really gone because all he can think through the taunting is— why does this feel like when he was in elementary school and the girl he had a crush on was making fun of him? It feels like that. Embarrassingly good.
“Yeah, gonna prove it,” Mack says, and he’s breathing rough again, feeling like…huh, for some reason he feels like they’re about to fuck.
Weird.
Must be some crossed wire in him between being competitive and kind of turned on. Whatever. He pushes Will off of him before this gets worse and he gets a boner or some gay-shit like that.
“Okay, so prove it,” Will demands as he gets off him, arms crossed, pink lips pulled into a smirk.
He’s so pretty; Mack thinks suddenly that if Will was a girl, he would have begged to be inside him- her? Yeah, that makes sense. It’s a good thing Will’s not a girl because Mack would probably not use a rubber or pull out and then…
“This is like the boy equivalent of getting you pregnant,” Mack word-vomits.
“Dude, what the fuck are you saying?”
“Just, like- like when you want to prove yourself to a girl you marry her and get her pregnant, right? But we can’t- can’t do that, so this is like, as close as we could get. As boys.”
“Bro, you get so gay when you’re drunk,” Will laughs, sounding a bit like Leno, and Mack pouts, hurt.
Will sighs when he sees Mack’s hurt face and adds- “But, yeah, whatever; it’s like a contract of our friendship loyalty, so…I see what you’re saying. That this is the closest we could get.”
“Girls you marry and bros you gotta…gotta prove it in other sorts of ways. That you want to be with them forever,” Mack agrees. “It’s a loyalty thing, like you said.”
“Exactly, Celly. You fucking got it; it’s a loyalty thing,” Will agrees with a big, toothy grin, “That’s why fraternities do hazing, right? Gotta test you.”
Mack loves to be tested.
It’s a part of proving yourself, of being Good Enough.
And if Rick’s instilled anything in Mack it’s that he has to work hard for what he wants, needs to sweat and bleed and…well, peeing himself is just the next step, right?
Sometimes things need to feel bad before they feel good. Like working out. Running up a hill. Throwing up. You need to push yourself past the point that a human body wants to go and then once you get past that point you go even further. And that’s when you get results. It makes sense to Mack; it feels like…it feels like home, to him, to be asked to do something that a normal person would flinch away from.
But Mack’s never been a flincher, he would push himself up that hill and then curl up by his Dada’s feet and say “thank you” afterwards. Mack’s been raised that way— Dada knows best.
Nothing has changed.
Now, Will knows best. Mack will do whatever Will wants and he’ll probably thank him for the opportunity to prove himself afterwards.
It feels good, in a weird way, to know how to win Will over— other people won’t be so direct with you.
“You gonna do it?” Will asks, almost…almost flirty.
Again, why does it feel like they’re flirting?
Mack blinks in surprise but firmly nods: “Yeah, I said I was gonna do it, so, uh…how should I…? Like- like this? Right here?”
“Ew, what? No. What the fuck. Do it in the hotel shower, dude,” Will snaps as he stands up. “Don’t be disgusting— I’m not explaining to the staff why there’s a big pee stain on the fucking carpet. Unless that’s how you want it, Macky? Want to pee all over the carpet like a dog? Want me to tell them my dog peed all over himself?”
And for some sick reason, Mack’s cock twitches at the thought of Will holding him down on the carpet, making him pee like. Like he’s Will’s bad dog. He’s not sure what it says about Mack that it makes his pulse prick with interest.
“N-no, course not.”
“Good— then get in the shower.”
“Should I…um, take my clothes off?”
“Dude. Clothes on,” Will snaps. “This isn’t some gay shit. I don’t want to see your dick, Mack.”
“Yo! I didn’t say anything about this being fucking gay, Smitty. I just wanted to know if I had to do this humiliation ritual thing with my clothes on or off. Jesus. I’m trying to be your fucking best friend, obviously. Not getting all gay-married about it.”
“Yeah, obviously,” Will huffs, but he’s not meeting Mack’s eyes as he reaches down to grab a beer. “Come on, you’re going to drink this, and you’re going to do it in the shower like a normal fucking person and then we’re going to bed.”
“Okay,” Mack says and reaches for the beer, relieved at the clear directions. This is why he wants Will to be his best friend forever; he gives the best directions.
“Get in the shower first.”
So Mack follows Will into the shower, swaying slightly. He rubs his bleary eyes as he leans back against the shower tiles and accepts the cold beer from Will. Their hands brush together.
“Drink,” Will says, looking at him differently, more focused, like he’s never seen Mack before this moment.
Mack obediently cracks open the beer can, listening to it hiss, and then taking a good chug.
“Good,” Will says softly, like he’s talking to a puppy who learned a new trick. “Going to drink that all for me? Every last drop?”
And Mack answers by chugging it down, letting some of it dribble messily down his chin, anything to keep the praise coming.
“That’s it, swallow,” Will instructs. “Finish all of it.”
And Mack does. Chugs all of it down. Swallows, looks up at Will with hazy eyes, things blurrier than before. Waits for praise.
Will wipes Mack’s mouth clean with the back of his hand like he’s really his dog, who slobbered all over himself: “Good boy.”
Mack shifts against the wall, feels his cock jump to attention at the praise, remembers suddenly that he and Aiden used to play a game where Mack would be the puppy and do anything his big brother said. Anything to get a pet and a treat after. This kinda feels like that. Good boy.
Mack is a good boy, he thinks as he looks down at where his white shirt is drenched in beer, so his pink nipples poke through— it feels so good to be told what to do. To not have to think. To not be Macklin Celebrini, second coming of Sidney Crosby. No, he’s just Macky, best friend of Will Smith.
Well, he’s about to earn that title as soon as he…
Mack shifts as he feels his bladder start to stretch. All the drinks from earlier are hitting, making his bladder ache, just a little overly full.
Will is boxing Mack in with his arms, biceps bulging, studying his face intently: “You have to go yet?”
He says it slowly, like he’s speaking to some dumb animal or a little kid. Just a touch condescending. And Mack’s cock twitches as he looks up at Will through his lashes and nods.
“Yeah, just…just a minute, I think, um, I think I can…”
”Yeah? Think you can?”
”Give, ah, give me a minute, please.”
”You got this. Come on. I want to see you…prove your loyalty. All over yourself.”
Mack can’t say it out loud. Too humiliating to admit what he’s trying to do for Will.
He looks down at his grey sweats and black shirt. A good enough outfit as any to do this in. Whatever. The sooner he starts this the sooner the sooner he’s done.
A minute passes. Then two.
His bladder is really stretched full, but Mack can’t- he can’t-
“Come on,” Will says, almost bored, but his eyes aren’t bored. They’re so dilated they’re black, and Mack looks up at him, lets Will see how hard that he’s trying.
“I- I can’t get out of my head,” he confesses.
Mack’s face is red. It’s not…it’s not that easy to pee yourself as you would think. There’s everything inside his brain stopping him from doing it. Mack is a Good Boy, Canada’s pride and joy.
And worse— every time Mack feels himself come closer to the edge he sees his Dada’s face and squeezes his legs together, stops himself from doing it.
“What’s wrong? Can’t do it?” Will says and steps closer, until their chests are pressed together.
“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Mack promises, begging Will to forgive him for not doing it on command. He wants to be good for Will. Wants to do it when he’s told, he wants to…
Be good.
Will’s hand is in his hair now, soothing him, deep voice pressed right against his ear: “I know, know you’re trying; that’s what matters, Macky. That you would do this for me, right? It’s okay. We could stop now.”
“No,” Mack gasps, full bladder aching as he squirms against Will, refuses to accept the pussy way out. “No, not a quitter. I just- Will, I just can’t, oh god- I can’t get out of my head. I want to, please, I want to- want to be your best friend. I’m better than them. All of them, please, I need to prove it you, let me- let me prove it to you, please.”
“Okay, okay, do you need help?” Will says gently, almost soothingly, and then he’s hugging Mack, and Mack moans in relief as he hugs Will back and rests his heavy head on Will’s shoulder. It feels like relief, support. Nothing wrong with support. Will is his wing, afterall. He can assist Mack with this.
“Ye- yeah, I need help. Can- can you help me?” Mack whines, shifting against Will, face flushed a humiliating red. His bladder is so full, so heavy. He needs to…really, he does.
“I’m going to help you. Okay? First, close your eyes. They closed?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Good,” Will says, breathing heavily against Mack’s neck as he rubs Mack’s back. “It’s okay. Leno and Gabe needed help too. Especially Leno. Couldn’t get out of his head. And you’re better than him, Mack. Generational talent, there’s a lot for you to let go of, isn’t there?”
“There- there is,” Mack whines, hands shaking as he clenches the back of Will’s shirt for support, hugging him tight. But he wants to do this for Will. Anything to prove his loyalty for Will, even…he’ll even….
“Okay. Eyes still closed, right? Now hold your breath, sometimes it helped Leno to relax if he held his breath.”
Sometimes?
Mack’s drunken brain processes that word and he squirms. How many times did Leno need to pee himself to prove his friendship to Will? Is this something he’s going to have to do again? Well, he would. As many times as Will asked him to. Because Mack’s competitive, especially about being the best fit for Will. He can’t let Ryan Leonard be better at him. Even at this.
And he’s right on the edge. Eyes closed. Cheeks burning. Holding his breath. Heart rabbiting. Legs shaking.
Will’s rubbing his back in hypnotic circles, relaxing him, bearing all of Mack’s weight: “Alright, Mack, now you’re ready, come on, just a little bit, okay? You don’t need to do all of it, just a little.”
And something in him miraculously relaxed and he feels a little wetness on his shirts, he exhales in relief as the small wet spot forms.
Mack squirms as he realizes, “I’m gonna- Will, I’m gonna get you wet. If you- you stay like this.”
“That’s part of it,” Will says confidently, rubbing his back, deep voice pulling Mack into an almost hypnotic trance. “Don’t worry— you can let me worry about it, okay? I got you, you’re okay. Now a little bit more; you can do that. Okay, good, you’re doing it, Macky. So coachable.”
Ah, he’s coachable. He’s a good boy.
Will praises him as Mack exhales harshly, panting, as he lets out a little more, but then his bladder squeezes shut, he presses his legs together, embarrassed, as he processes that he’s peeing himself. Oh my god, he’s- he’s-
“Shhh, no, no thinking,” Will stops him, scruffs him and squeezes Mack’s neck. “Close your eyes again, and this time bite my shoulder. Don’t breath, okay? Just a big bite. Don’t worry; you won’t hurt me.”
And Mack, as if he’s a trained dog, bites Will.
“Good,” Will praises. “Now, let it all go, come on, all over yourself, Macky. You’re going to be a good boy for me and prove your loyalty, and you’re going to be my best friend, okay? Forever. I promise if you do this you’re my best friend, okay? Just let go; trust me. I know you trust me. It’s going to be us. Will, Mack, WillandMack, WillnMack. No separation. We’ll be so close. Come on, you want it to be us; just us, nobody else, nobody fucking else, us, just- yeah, that’s it, going to be just us.”
And something inside of Mack’s brain relaxes, tells him— you’re just an animal; you’re just a dumb animal and your owner is here. He’s here, and he’s holding you and stroking your back, and you’re going to obey him. You’re going to let go and let go and-
Mack releases completely, and for a moment it feels so fucking good, so warm and wet, and he’s floating all fuzzy and free as he lets everything go, no more cup, no more rules, no more competition, just him and Will. Just him and his best friend, forever.
“Just us,” Mack sighs happily, lets himself keep going, all over both of them, marking up Will like a dog marking his territory.
Ownership.
That’s Mack’s property— Will is being branded as Mack’s property. This isn’t even that humiliating, not with Will talking him through it, rubbing his back through it.
“All done,” Will pants in his ear. “Liked it that much, huh?”
Mack opens his eyes as he releases Will’s shoulder to look down, mortified when he feels that he’s hard, and then he realizes that Will’s hard too. Not like a little bit hard but all the way tented in his light khaki’s. Will’s breathing harshly and pushing at his erection, which is wet, soaked in Mack’s…in his…
“It’s not enough,” Mack decides. “Leno and Gabe both did this. Let me; Will, can I…?”
“Yeah, fuck it,” Will gasps and pulls Mack closer by the small of his back, so their hard-ons are pressed together, and Mack flips them around, so Will’s against the wall, and its bat-shit crazy, but this is part of it, he knows that this is part of it.
“Us, forever,” he pants in Will’s ear as he fucks up against Will’s hard-on, feels how it’s bigger than his.
“Forever, yeah, just us, nobody else; we don’t need anybody else. Just us, you’re my favorite, Mack,” Will agrees with a whimper, and Mack’s cumming after thirty fucking seconds like some little bitch right in his pee-stained boxers as soon as Will said “my favorite,” filling up his already soaked boxers with wet cum, and then Will goes rigid against him, and his hips jerk once- twice- and he’s-
“Yeah, Will, you’re mine. I marked you, you’re mine, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Will’s whining, thrusting up into him, riding the aftershocks.
“Fuck, I mean you’re my winger, aren’t you? All mine. I’ll put it in my Shark’s contract. I don’t care. I’ll buy you; I’ll make sure you can’t leave me. You’ll be fucking mine. Better than a marriage contract. Everybody will look at- at you. Every single boy in the league, and they’ll see me all over you, know that you’re my boy. Celebrini’s boy.”
And then they fall silent, panting.
Will puts his head down on Mack’s shoulder and says softly, sweetly, “You mean it?”
“Dude, obviously. Best friends now, right?”
His best friend Will nods into his shoulder, and Mack wouldn’t mind proving his loyalty every night, over and over again.
Anything for Will.