Page 54 of Hot Doggin'
Of course, he would. Curled up in my lap with his blanket. “So do I, but that was a foreign film. The whole thing was subtitled.”
“You had to read the movie? Fuck that.”
“I told her I forgot my glasses at home, and that the light from the screen was burning my eyes and I had to keep them closed.”
His bright bushy brows draw together. “But you don’t wear glasses.”
“Exactly.”
McCormick laughs and claps me on the back. “Well played.”
I notice we’re drawing looks from several people we pass, and I don’t know if it’s his leg or our hair. Probably the hair. Two big scarred guys with identical shaved heads would probably make people look twice. And then it’s me doing the double take. I spot Bruce, my fellow ALR brethren with the big mouth. That’s the exact moment Mac realizes I have a spot of chili stuck in my mustache and wipes it away with his finger before sucking his finger clean.
Fucking fuck of all motherfucking fuckers.
Of course, he saw. Of course, he’s approaching us now with a smirk on his face. And of course, he’s going to say something to prove he’s a fucking asshole. Not that I needed further evidence.
“Well, well well,” he saunters over, “if it isn’t Frick and Frack, wiping each other’s mouths, and probably wiping each other’s asses.”
Fuck. The thing about McCormick is, when you push him, he pushes back. Doubles down. Balls to the wall. This is going to get ugly. Uglier than Mac’s mullet.
Mac turns to me with a grin. “How does your ass feel, dumplin’? Did I wipe it good enough? Because if you’ve got a dingleberry or two left behind, I can get it with my tongue. Make sure it’s real clean.” Then he slurps his tongue and my face turns redder than his beard.
And as much as I want to make it clear he’s kidding, even though it’s obvious he’s kidding, I can’t leave my boy hanging. “They’ve got a bathroom in the back if you want to check.”
Bruce snorts, then narrows his beady little black eyes. “You two are so fucking gay. Just admit it already.”
“I think we just did, Bruce.” McCormick claps his shoulder a little too hard, but his overblown grin dares him to take it as an insult. Bruce shakes his head and wanders off.
“Well, that was super gay,” Mac bitches.
Feeling brave on the tail end of his declaration, probably because it didn’t completely blow up in my face, I defend, “Who cares if it’s gay? I’m not afraid to admit you make my dick hard.”
McCormick scoffs. “Oh yeah? Who are you gonna admit it to?”
“Whoever.”
“You’re gonna tell the Bitches?”
“Well, maybe not them… just yet.”
“You’re gonna tell the ALR?”
“Hell no, although Bruce sure is.”
McCormick crosses his arms over his chest and smirks like he’s got me pinned between a rock and a hard place. “Well I know everybody you know, and that’s about everyone. So who you gonna tell?”
“I’m not afraid to admit it to you and myself.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how inadequate they sound. I'm working up to it. I just need more time.
“Well that’s real ballsy of you, Stiles. You might as well be running out of the closet with flares in both hands.”
“I was never in the closet! This is all brand new. I’ll get there. Eventually.”
Just like Bruce did, McCormick shakes his head and wanders off, and I have to move my ass into high gear to catch up with him. “You pissed at me?”
He stops and turns to me, his fingers catching me under the chin. “No. I’m not pissed at you. I’m pissed at Bruce because he can’t let us manage our own relationship in our own time. I’m pissed because he makes it sound like it’s something I have to defend or deny. You’re right,” he sighs, “we’ll get there, eventually. There’s no rush. Let’s get the fuck out of here and go home and suck each other off.”
Fuck yes.
