Archive of Our Own ^beta

There's nothing that Dennis hates more than bars like these; all colorful, flashy, glamorous. As if the people that go to bars on Friday nights are in any way resemblant of these traits.

"I hate it here," Charlie frowns, sipping onto a colorful cocktail Dennis bought him to keep him from whining. "Why did you bring us here, man? Can't we just hang out at the bar like we always do?"

"Jesus, dude, you're asking a million questions…" Dennis sighs, exasperated. "We could use a goddamn night out that isn't our own seedy bar or– Or some wooden shack somewhere, you know? This is the scene!"

"Yeah, but I feel like people are staring," Charlie says. He smells like dogshit mixed with the cologne Dee violently sprayed him with before they stepped out.

"They're staring because you smell like ass, buddy," Dennis grimaces sympathetically. "What did we say about taking showers after unclogging the toilets?"

"I feel like you think you're smarter than me, dude, but you're sorely mistaken," Charlie says, matter–of–factly. "Quit treating me like a toddler. I'll shower when I'm goddamn good and ready to shower."

"Fucking hell, Charlie– Go find Dee in the toilets," he waves a dismissive hand. Charlie doesn't budge. "Come on, go ahead."

"I know Dee is, like, freakishly burly– But she still uses the ladies' room, bro."

"Just– You'll have no problem slipping in, you're petite enough," he tuts, annoyed. "Probably smell like the toilets, too. Go on."

Another deadly stare. "Knock it off, man."

But with another shooing motion from Dennis, Charlie decides the urge to strangle him is too great and complies, walking off to the general direction of the bathroom. 

Once he's gone, Dennis slumps on the booth table, eyeing Dee's abandoned handbag on the seat next to his. Leave it to Dee to trust either of them with her belongings; Dennis laughs to himself as he goes through her stuff, coming up with a wallet, several hairties, and several handwritten notes signed by an unknown female name. He squints at it, tries to remember, and comes up blank – so he decides to leave it alone and sit back up, eyes perusing the room for any possible source of interest.

Conveniently, a guy walks in just as Dennis' eyes are sweeping the entrance. It's the slicked back hair that first catches his attention, followed by the tacky leather jacket – suddenly, he feels like he's in some bad coming of age film, where he's the goodie-two-shoes about to meet the bad boy of her dreams. He physically gags at the comparison.

He watches the guy for a little while, enough so that it could be classified as mere curiosity; he slows down his steps to check his jacket's pockets, then promptly scans the room until his eyes land on Dennis – as if intended – and after a beat passes, he looks away and resumes taking a seat in one of the empty booths.

Dennis contemplates his options. He could either go test his luck with a hot stranger, or he could wait for Dee and Charlie to come back from the ladies' room out of all places and spend his whole night arguing about whether it's ethical to call Dee a dyke since both Charlie and Dennis are some form of gay themselves (which – if you were wondering – absolutely is, unless Dee can agree to give up cocksucker for the both of them).

He makes up his mind as soon as the stranger takes his jacket off – muscles taut and exposed in a large muscle tee.

Checking his breath against his palm, running his fingers through his hair, Dennis abandons Dee's handbag for the lucky homeless guy that will have the pleasure of finding it and makes his way down the row of booths. The guy's head is ducked down low, sending off texts on his phone, neon lights bouncing off of the shine of his slicked hair.

"Are you looking for company?" Dennis says finally, after what seems like hours of standing there with his hip cocked out.

The guy startles and looks up. "Excuse me?" he says, although there's an unmistakable, mischievous glint in his eye.

"I was just saying you kind of look like an asshole sitting all by yourself," Dennis shrugs, inviting himself to sit down on the seat opposite from him. The guy's eyebrows shoot up. "And I have a reputation as an all around generous guy."

The dude bites back a disbelieving smile.

"No, seriously. Ask anyone."

The guy chews on the inside of his cheek. "I'd ask your boyfriend if I had a chance. If you're as obnoxious as I've gotten so far in a ten–second conversation…"

"I don't have one," Dennis shrugs. "Relationships weigh me down."

"Oh, do they?"

Dennis eyes the guy for a minute, and they both manage to crack into involuntary smiles. "Dennis," he says, sultry, offering a hand forward.

The guy shakes it, firm, after staring at it with a little smile. "Mac."

"Mac. Is that your legal name?"

"Don't make me answer that."

Dennis laughs behind his fist. "Fair enough…" he mutters, eyes big and playful. "Would you care for a drink? On me."

"If you're trying to flirt with me, dude…" Mac raises an eyebrow, leaning in on his elbows. "I think you might be barking up the wrong tree."

Pursing his mouth, Dennis scratches at his jaw with a finger. "And what gave you the impression that I'm flirting?"

"Buying me a drink, dude? This is what I do when I want to bang a chick."

"Well, not everyone's like that," Dennis looks up at him through his eyelashes, smiling coyly. "So. How about that drink?"

They end up ordering one tequila shot after the other, and Dennis teaches Mac how to do them properly; much sluttier than he needs to be, Dennis licks the salt off of his palm, maintaining eye contact, and sucks on the lime a lot more expertly than he needs to. And Mac, for a straight guy, looks ultimately enchanted.

"Did you come here alone?" Mac says, voice hoarse from the salt, or maybe the lust. "I wouldn't want to keep you from anyone."

"Just with my sister and my…" he thinks about it, waving a dismissive hand. "And my Charlie. Don't worry about it."

"Is your Charlie, like… Your Charlie, or…"

Dennis smiles behind another shot, saying: "I'll tell you if you tell me why you need to know," and downing it, hissing through the burn.

Mac laughs, "Out of curiosity. I wonder what he'd think if he knew you're out here flirting with handsome strangers."

"I told you, man. Not flirting," Dennis tuts, waving a finger. "And he wouldn't think anything. He rarely does."

Mac rolls his eyes, leaning in to mutter as a side comment: "You need to not be an asshole."

"Come on," Dennis dismisses, pushing a shot towards him. Mac stares at it, and Dennis taps his fingers on the table, impatient. 

"I think you should have it."

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" Dennis says, facetious.

"I could ask you the exact same thing."

"I don't need my guys to be drunk before I bang 'em," Dennis shrugs. Mac's cheeks tint pink. "Are you drunk?"

"Will it change anything?" Mac's eyebrow arches, and he promptly downs the shot, as if to prove a point.

"Well. If I wanted to bang you, for one, I wouldn't," he shrugs. "Key word: if."

Mac watches him, like he's trying to make him confess how much of a boner he gives him, but eventually he points at one of the final shots with his chin. "There aren't many left."

"I want to try something," Dennis announces, standing up before Mac can question it. Promptly, he drops onto Mac's lap – whose primal instinct is to place a protective hand on the outer side of his thigh – and he slides the salt over, gently tilting Mac's head to the side. Mac gulps. "Do you know where this is going?"

Mac's throat bobs again. His lips part in anticipation.

Dennis laughs softly, pouring the tiniest bit of salt in the hollow of Mac's collarbone. He runs a finger through the jutting bone, relishing on the goosebumps on Mac's skin, and then downs one of the remaining shots, not wasting any time. He glances up at Mac once before leaning into the side of his neck, licking a fat stripe over the salted part of his body, Mac's breath hitching ever so slightly in his throat.

When he looks back up, Mac gives him a mischievous smile and reaches out to grab the lime, placing it between his lips with a challenging look. Dennis barely lets a beat pass before he leans forward, sucking the lime out of his mouth with unnecessary vigor.

"Shit, Dennis," Mac pants, just as Dennis has taken on placing his lips on the rest of Mac's neck. "This is so fucking hot, baby."

"Don't break," Dennis hisses. "You'll ruin the mood."

Mac shuts it, luckily, and Dennis resumes the trail of spit and violet bruises down his neck and collarbone, fingers teasingly tickling and leaving a feathery trail down his bicep.

"Dennis, you son of a bitch!" Dennis hears from afar, pausing at the unmistakable shrill tone. He sighs into Mac's skin, whose strokes on his thigh urge him to keep going.

Dee marches over anyway, obviously not giving a shit that Dennis is incredibly busy in the given moment, Charlie reluctantly trailing behind her. He takes one look at the two of them, and he looks like he immediately gets a headache. She crosses her arms over her chest, loudly tapping her foot on the floor until Dennis just has to look up, sighing in annoyance: "Can I help you?"

"You're kidding me, right?" she says simply. Guilty, Dennis thinks. "You lock me in the fucking toilet and all you have to say is can I help you?"

Another sigh. "I sent Charlie to get you out– I don't see what the fucking problem is."

"Oh, Charlie? Charlie! Thanks a lot, Dennis, top notch choice!" Dee huffs, and Charlie idly stands behind her – with what seems to be a bathroom stall slider in his hand. Looking like she's about to yell again, Dee pauses to do a double take, frowning at Mac. "Hold on. When did you get here?"

Mac glances at Dennis, expression neutral. "Excuse me?"

"What do you mean excuse me? Did you– Were you with us? This whole time?"

"Yeah, man, didn't you say you had that thing tonight?" Charlie chimes in, tilting his head to the side – the epitome of confusion.

"I don't– I don't know what you people are talking about."

"I didn't even get the chance to introduce you guys," Dennis scoffs, omitting the part about Dee being a rude bitch. "Mac, these are the guys I was telling you about. Guys, this is Mac."

The both of them stare at him like he's grown two heads. "We– We know–" Dee begins, lost for words. "What?"

"Are you having a stroke, man?" Charlie frowns. He looks legitimately concerned, too. "Is this– Is that what's happening?"

"Well, I don't… know what the deal is here, but Dennis was actually in the middle of telling me this really funny thing, so…" Mac says, grimacing in faux sympathy.

"Yeah– And I plan on finishing telling Mac this really funny thing, if the two of you have the decency to fuck off."

"Bro, what are you saying?" Charlie screeches, eyes about to bulge out of his head. "Can we all just go back to the bar? This fancy piece of shit place is making us all go crazy!"

"I was about to go berserk," Mac murmurs, rubbing at his temple.

Suddenly, something in Dee's brain seems to click. Her face immediately goes from confused to utterly exhausted. "Oh, god damn it, is this one of your weird fucking games? Is that what it is?"

Dennis drops his head into his hands, missing the way Charlie's features go from panicked to absolutely worn out. Charlie's weary, spent, fatigued. Most importantly, Charlie's drained. "Jesus Christ, again? This shit again?"

"Can you assholes just go?" Mac tuts, hand gesturing around, removed from its previous position of messing up his slicked back hair. "God, how do you always manage to kill the mood? Every single time."

"You guys are just–" Dee stops herself, taking a deep breath. "You know what? Come on, Charlie. We're leaving."

"I'm so bored of this shit, man," Charlie groans, mechanically picking up the last shot from the table and downing it, looking obliterated. "Let's just go. Think the Waitress will mind if I stay over your guys' place?"

"I'll talk her into it, man. You've had a long fucking night," Dee sighs, and with a final glare at the two of them, she drags her feet out with Charlie by her side – who can be heard saying something along the lines of "This is bullshit, " up until they're out of sight – the two of them slumping as if they have just carried out excruciating amounts of labor. And in a way, they have.

Dennis watches them up until they make it out the door. Then, slumping forward, he throws his arms around Mac's neck. "This was going so well, man."

"I know, dude," Mac grunts. "I was actually thinking of fucking your brains out in the goddamn toilets."

Dennis rests his head on Mac's shoulder, letting a quiet moment pass. He glances up at him: "Wanna fuck my brains out in the shower, instead?" he says, thoughtful. Mac glances at him. "You don't smell too good, man."

"I didn't get a chance to shower after the gym today, baby," Mac shrugs. He's taken on rubbing circles on Dennis' thigh with his fingertip, legs somehow not numb with Dennis weighing them down. "Suppose the leather made it worse."

Dennis hums, forehead resting on Mac's shoulder, hand rubbing at the opposite side of his neck lazily. "So," he says. "Fuck, brains, shower?"

"Sure, why not?" Mac smiles, giving him a sloppy kiss.

It might not have gone exactly as planned, and both Dee and Charlie may have gained themselves some serious brain damage, but in the end, Dennis gets to sleep with his boyfriend by his side, both of them clean and smelling sweet. Not too shabby.