A/N: Much thanks to Mark for, as always, looking through this before posting it!
Mac's Big Confession
2:40 PM
On a Thursday
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
"Shit," Charlie groaned, hands on his hips. And if ever there was a time for using excrement-based expletives, it was now.
One of the gloryhole toilets overflowed, water sloshing and spilling over the sides, splattering the tile below with shit. Literal shit. It was the same consistency as the slushies they served at gas stations.
He sighed and walked out of the men's bathroom. "Hey Dee, have you seen the plunger anywhere?"
"It's in the women's restroom. I had to borrow it 'cause someone plopped out a turd the size of Mac's forearm." She sat at the bar with a bottle of beer in hand, instead of standing behind it like she probably should've been but Charlie didn't care. If someone needed a beer, they could get it themselves. They were chill like that. Why be a slave to the rules of what society said a bar should be? They weren't tyrannical dictators!
Dennis sat beside her, though he wasn't drinking. Instead he held a cold washcloth against his nose. "We never have women in here except you. Why don't you just admit you took a shit? God, we're all in our thirties now. We know that women have bowel movements."
"If I'd done it I would've admitted to it."
"If you forget Dee, I grew up with you. You take shits the size of newborn children. Just cop to it, man."
"I still maintain that those were your shits Dennis! I don't forget to flush the toilet!"
"Well they certainly weren't mine!"
"See this is exactly why you get punched the face at least three times more often than I do!" she shrieked.
Dennis scoffed, then pulled the washcloth away. "Whatever Dee. This," he gestured at his swollen nose, red staining the skin around and beneath it, "has nothing to do with whether or not I took a dump in the women's restroom, which I absolutely would never set foot in there anyway. You cretins don't even have a gloryhole."
"Oh right, I forgot that a person's intelligence is based on whether or not they have a slimy semen-encrusted hole so men can bang each other's assholes."
"Speaking of which, Charlie, have you seen Mac? He's supposed to be here."
Mac had stopped by, but only for a few minutes. He had scratch marks on his cheek. He wouldn't say what happened when Charlie asked, and instead quickly wrote a note, slapped it on the bar, and left.
"Yeah but he left like five minutes after he got here. He wrote you guys a recipe for teriyaki chicken, though."
"What?"
Charlie reached into his pocket and unfolded the note. "Yeah man, it's right here." He stared down at the squiggly lines before him. He had sounded it out earlier, before Dennis showed up. Even if he had a hard time reading sometimes, he wasn't nearly as stupid as the Gang liked to insist he was. He cleared his throat. "'Teriyaki chicken,'" he read aloud, smirking. "'Teriyaki sauce, meat grinders, lion teeth and gums, cook it in the oven for a few years, serve it up with coleslaw, and name it Heather. Signed, Mac.'"
Dee and Dennis looked at each other. Dennis got off the barstool, walked over to Charlie, and yanked the note out of his hand. "You really gotta learn how to read bro, this is ridiculous."
"Well excuse me Mr Smartypants! Not all of us could afford to go to Penn State and chug dick all day long!"
"I didn't chug any di-I didn't chug dick!" He glared at Charlie, voice abnormally high pitched, then pursed his lips and looked back down at the note. He held it in one hand, the other busy holding the cold cloth to his nose still. "'To whom it may concern,'" he glared again at Charlie, "'There are things about myself that I have been lying to you guys and myself about for years, and I can't keep it up anymore.' Oh thank God, I think he's about to come out to us."
Both Charlie and Dee nodded and let out sighs. "Well good for him," Charlie said.
"'So if you need me, I'll be at the . . . the church.'" Dennis' face fell and he pulled the cloth away slightly. "'It's time for me to confess my biggest sin, so I can go to heaven. I'm gonna talk to my mom first in case God strikes me down after. Hope to see you again, Mac.'" He dropped his hands, and the stuff in them. The cloth hit the ground with a wet thwack, but the note drifted down, swaying back and forth, while Dennis stared off into space.
Charlie frowned. "Huh. See I thought he confessed to his so-called 'thoughts and urges' like every time he went to confession."
Dee shrugged. "Same. So I guess the note is the exact opposite of what we thought. Sucks to be him, I guess."
"We have to stop him," Dennis declared loudly, face determinately set with his blue eyes wide and chin held high. He turned on his heel and marched out of the bar, slamming the door shut behind him.
Charlie and Dee shared a look. "You gonna go with him?" he asked.
"Nah. I don't really care."
"Me either." Besides, he had a toilet to plunge.
Sunlight streamed into the church, broken by the colourful stained glass windows that surrounded him. Pictures of angels and devils and of Mary and Jesus all stared at him, judgement as sharp as their angular design. With each step forward, his stomach clenched harder and his chest went tighter. More and more angels (in the glass and, of course, heaven) stared. God, too. And Satan. Definitely Satan, laughing at his stupid, stupid victory.
Maybe he still had time to save himself from Hell, though. All he had to do was confess, do whatever he was commanded to do, and that was all, right? If he did that, he'd be forgiven, and the thoughts and urges would go away.
It wasn't that he'd never talked about it before with the priest. He had. Just . . . never as openly as he probably should have. Way he saw it, God was omnipotent and would know without him coming right out and saying exactly why he was telling the Father about how Dennis crowded his space while talking about wearing another man's skin, or that Dennis played Chicago that one time before they huffed all that gasoline, or why Rex being the Master made so much sense even if Mac was sorta not feeling Ass Kickers United anymore after their apartment and friend (may he rest in peace in the alley sharing the crack rock they hadn't managed to steal with Cricket while they both complained about being so ridiculously ugly) burned. Sure, he'd been told to do his Our Fathers and Hail Marys and Act of Contritions for drug usage and stealing and catching people on fire (again) but if he'd learned anything from his many years of being a badass, it was how to read between the lines.
But maybe hearing what wasn't being said wasn't enough for God.
Saying it out loud, though? It wasn't something he was keen on doing. But now, well. Now he had no choice.
He sat in the confessional booth. It had never been so cramped before, so small. Not even when he'd packed on all that mass. He swallowed hard and clenched his fists, pads of his fingers slipping against his sweaty palm. His cheek stung, but that had nothing to do with nervousness.
"Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It's been ten days since my last confession."
"What is it, my son?"
He shifted in his seat. Even though he, as always, spoke calmly and with the genial sort of tone that usually made Mac comfortable, he still couldn't get over his nerves. "It's kinda hard to . . . say," he admitted, way more sheepishly than he'd wanted. "It's like, the worst thing I've ever had to confess, Father."
"Oh Lord have mercy, you killed someone, didn't you?"
Mac stared incredulously at the window separating them. "What?"
"I've taken a vow, my son, so I am sworn to secrecy, but if you want true redemption, you will have to turn yourself in immediately, do you understand?"
"Dude, no. I didn't kill anybody; why would even think that?"
"Oh, thank God," he breathed, barely audible. "You gave me a fright."
"Well dude, you're the one thinking everyone's gonna confess to murder or some shit; that's on you buddy, not me."
"What is it, then, that you have come to confess?"
He licked his lips. He could say it. It was just two words. He'd said them before, probably thousands of times. Sure, never in the specific order he needed to say them now, but they were both definitely in his vocabulary. It was simple.
"It's just, y'know, not even my fault, really."
The Father sighed. "Let me guess. Is it Dennis' fault?"
"Yes!" See? He had been listening to what Mac hadn't been saying. Maybe his ocular patdowns weren't completely accurate every time, but they were still good. With one look he could tell the Father was a badass who understood between-the-lines shit, just like him. "It really, really is. It's completely Dennis' fault!"
Another sigh on the other side of the partition. Probably out of exasperation at Dennis' behaviour. "So how is it his fault this time?"
"Well, it all began basically from the moment we met."
Sophomore Year
"Dude, I hate that prick."
It was the first thing Mac heard when he walked around the corner. Were they talking about him? Because if they were, he was going to beat the living shit out of them. His dad was in prison, and that automatically made him like four times more badass and better at fighting than other people, especially Tim Murphy. Tim Murphy's dad was an accountant. He couldn't fight for shit. Even if Mac was super excited to finally go to one of his cool, massive parties, that didn't mean he was gonna take that sort of insult from anyone.
"Who, Dennis?"
"Yeah he always talks to me like I'm his slave or something. He's so full of himself." Tim scowled and shook his head.
Mac didn't really know much about Dennis Reynolds, except that he had large, strikingly blue eyes and really attractive hair and the few times they walked by each other in the halls, he smelled nice, like one of those really expensive colognes he only ever came into contact with when he and Charlie shoplifted makeup from the mall for their moms. He had broad shoulders, too, and large hands, and not that he ever considered it or anything, but he looked like he'd be a good hugger. The few conversations he'd overheard (Mac liked to overhear things; the more information he knew about potential threats, the better) had him giggling because Dennis was a funny guy. Basically, he seemed really cool, but if Tim Murphy didn't like him, it didn't affect Mac any.
"Then why'd you invite him?"
Tim looked up and caught Mac's eyes. He elbowed his friend and smiled widely. "Ronnie, hey! Glad you could make it, buddy!"
"Uh, it's Mac now."
"Right, right, sure. So did you bring the drugs?"
Mac grinned and nodded. "Yeah I got some X and some primo weed. Why?"
"Oh, nothing. We were just wondering. But thanks for coming Ronnie! We're really stoked to have you."
"Um, I dunno if you heard me earlier, 'cause you know it's kinda loud with the music playing in the house and stuff, but it's actually Mac now."
"Sure, sure, of course." Tim pulled a black scarf from out of his back pocket. He dangled it in front of him. "You ever play Seven Minutes in Heaven?"
Mac swallowed, hard. Everybody had heard tales of what happened at Tim Murphy's parties. Only the cool, attractive people could go, people like Dennis Reynolds, and while they were inside, they played sexy games, like Spin the Bottle and Seven Minutes in Heaven. People always came to school on Monday with hickies. Mac had always, always wanted to play but had never had the chance. He'd never even kissed anyone before.
"Yeah dude, all the time."
"Oh yeah? Who is it playing then, just you and Dirt Grub?" Tim and his friend burst out laughing.
"Nah Charlie just likes to play Nightcrawlers."
They both stopped laughing and scrunched up their noses at him. "What the fuck?" Tim shook his head. "Turn around, Ronnie. I've gotta cover your eyes up. Jesus Christ."
He was too excited to finally be able to play to correct him. It was obviously too loud for him to hear with the music, anyway. He turned around and closed his eyes, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. Now it was official; he was one of the cool kids who got to go to a Tim Murphy party and make out with people in closets while wearing blindfolds and man, Charlie was gonna be so jealous when Mac showed him his hicky. Maybe next time he could convince Tim to invite Charlie too, and they could have matching hickies. That would be cool.
Tim looped the scarf around his head two times, so it crossed over his eyes twice. They tied it around the back of his head and pulled the knot tight, snagging some of his hair so that it yanked against his scalp. He ignored the pain like a true badass.
"Okay, follow us," Tim said in his right ear, grabbing his upper arm. The other guy grabbed his left elbow, and started walking. The music got louder and his smile wider. He tripped on the steps to the porch, and they laughed beside him, but he didn't care.
When the doors opened, the music blasted so loud around him he couldn't hear their laughter anymore. They bustled him through the crowd, elbows hitting him and the mingling scents of sweat and various perfumes and colognes and booze mixed with conversations overlapping each other beneath the sounds of hip-hop. He heard several people call him Ronnie, but it was all right; he hadn't had a chance to tell everyone yet.
When they approached him with an invite (they had a flyer and everything!) he hoped that it would come to this. Admittedly he had mostly imagined it being Spin the Bottle, because you got to kiss multiple people and he had a lot of catching up to do, but maybe they'd play it later. Since he was bringing the drugs, he was bound to be popular and everyone would get him involved in as many games as possible. He hadn't expected the party to start off immediately with making out, but maybe it was an initiation thing. Maybe they were really into fairness and made sure everyone had a turn. Either way, he had shaved his face baby-smooth in preparation, put on lip balm, and gargled three times with mouthwash before leaving the house. There was a wet spot on his pillow from practising kissing for a whole forty minutes before that, even.
They stopped moving suddenly, and Mac started hyperventilating. Had he put on enough deodorant? Would his technique be crappy? What if there was no one in the closet? What if it was just a prank? What if-
The shoved him and he toppled forward, swinging his arms. He smacked right into someone and a door slammed shut. It muffled the music, but not a lot. Strong hands gripped his shoulders and moved him so that they weren't tangled together anymore. Mac held the upper arms of his Seven Minutes in Heaven partner and tried to steady his breath, but he couldn't.
She let go of him and he let go of her. He stood still, and were it not for the fact he had just slammed into her, he would've thought he was alone. Even with the music, he heard the rustling of a footstep, and the heat of another person in front of him. Soft fingertips touched his forehead, then slid down, over the blindfold. She pressed her finger to his lips gently, then slid down his jaw.
Their noses brushed and finally, finally, so did their lips. It was official! He had just had his first kiss. Her lips were soft and smooth, just like the hands cupping his face were. What was he supposed to do now, though? Should he turn his head? Where did his arms go? For the moment he just stood there, back stiff, while she peppered his puckered mouth with unpuckered lips. Whenever he kissed his pillow, imagining Sylvester Stallone (well, not that he was kissing him or anything, just thinking about Rocky kissing Adrienne) he always opened his mouth. Should he do that here too? But she wasn't.
Kissing was hard work. No wonder people had to practise so much with games at Tim Murphy's house.
She lightly kissed his cheek, hands relocating to his waist. She moved her mouth wetly down his jaw to his neck. When she scratched her teeth lightly against the skin there, he sucked in a breath. His stomach stirred pleasantly, and finally, he relaxed.
She bit into his neck again and sucked and he sighed. Actually, this whole kissing thing was starting to feel pretty good. She licked upward until she could bite at his jaw. He turned his head, sucked in a breath through his nose, her perfume overwhelming-
Actually, not perfume. Cologne. The kind he only smelled when shoplifting with Charlie.
He pulled away and opened his eyes. Oh, right. He was blindfolded. Now he had an eyelash in his eye and it stung, so he closed them again. "Dennis Reynolds?!"
". . . uh, yeah. How'd you know that?"
"Dude your cologne is awesome. I wish I could afford that shit."
"Oh, thank you. I do try to smell and look my best."
Heart in his throat, but obviously because he was so grossed out at kissing a guy and for no other reason, he grinned. "Well trust me, you do. I always smell you when we walk by each other in the hallways bro. You have nice hair."
"I'm glad somebody notices the effort I put into being the absolute best I can be. It wouldn't do for plebeians to look up to a God that looked like a trashbin. Somebody in this school has to take on the task of being a fashion icon, and it has to be me. Nobody else has the body to pull this look off."
"You do have a pretty nice body dude."
"So uh, you know who I am, and I recognize your voice a little, but I can't place who you are."
"I'm Mac."
Dennis hummed. "I don't know any Macs."
Mac groaned. "Ronnie," he mumbled.
"What was that?"
"It's Ronnie," he repeated louder.
"Holy shit, Ronnie the Rat?"
Mac sighed. "I go by Mac, though. That's what all my friends call me." Well, only Charlie called him that, but soon enough everyone else would too.
Dennis moved closer, chests pressing together. His hand was on his shoulder, nose bumping his. Mac's heart fluttered in his chest and stomach. "I respect what you did, Ronald," he whispered, so close Mac could taste his breath.
"Really?" He could barely hear himself over the music thumping and blood rushing in his ears.
Dennis held his chin between his thumb and forefinger. "It was a genius business strategy." His voice was low; he felt his words in his chest more than he heard them, actually. "You have a monopoly now. Doesn't matter if people hate you, they have to go to you. You have power. I like that." His tongue flicked against Mac's bottom lip.
Mac jerked his head back. "What are you doing?"
"It's Seven Minutes in Heaven, bro. I'm kissing you." Even though Mac pulled his head back, Dennis was still so close when he spoke he could feel his lips move with his words.
"But . . . but I'm a guy."
"It's a game. It doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want."
"I dunno . . . ."
"C'mon, I thought you were Ronnie the Rat, not Ronnie the Cat."
"Cat?"
"Pussy."
"Hey! I'm not a pussy!"
"Then kiss me."
Mac swallowed, throat dry and tight and lungs forgetting how to function without Mac specifically demanding them to breathe.
Dennis licked his mouth again. "Prove to me you're a badass," he murmured, lips pressed and moving against his own, tongue sneaking through. "Kiss me, Mac."
Dennis did make a good point. What would Tim Murphy think if he was too much of a pussy to play a game they all played? He had to be cool if he wanted to stay in the group. And Mac really could use the practise, anyway. And, for the first time, someone other than Charlie called him by his name-Mac. And that? That made Dennis pretty badass.
Dennis was already sort of kissing him anyway (peppering the sides of his mouth with tiny kisses; flicking his bottom lip with his tongue) so really, all Mac did was relax into it. He was soft, and gentle, and there wasn't as much tongue-thrusting as he had assumed there was supposed to be, and it wasn't as wet as the fabric of his pillow, but he enjoyed it. Enjoyed it more than he had when they kissed the first time. Dennis' hands slid down Mac's chest and rested on his waist again, so Mac copied him. He hadn't known what to do before, just let his arms hang limp at his sides, but now he could just copy whatever Dennis did. In a way, it was better for his first kiss to be with a guy so he could learn how guys are supposed to make out, anyway.
Once the kiss deepened, their mouths opening wider and tongues venturing further, Mac was pretty sure he had a good idea on what to do. Dennis smelled even better up close than he did just walking by, so maybe his hair would feel nicer than it looked? It was worth a shot. He slid his hands in Dennis' hair. His strands were silky smooth between his fingers and against his palm and wrist. He tugged on his hair, the way he saw in a movie once but he couldn't remember which one, and Dennis grunted.
"Sorry, I didn't mean-"
"Oh, no, don't apologize," he growled, then kissed him harder. "Keep going."
So he did. The noises Dennis kept making into his mouth, Mac swallowed, and his enjoyment sky-rocketed straight into arousal. The kissing became frenzied and his pants tight; Dennis moved from his mouth to his neck, sucking his skin and biting him and rutted against him-Mac wasn't the only one getting hard.
The door opened quickly; Mac could tell because the creaking sound it made, and the music got louder, and cool air rushed in, and laughter surrounded him; loud, intense laughter, and clicking noises, and he and Dennis leapt away-surely that wasn't seven minutes, it couldn't have been, maybe he had only lost track of time but-
Someone yanked the blindfold off, pulling the hair that had been inadvertently tied into the knot, and he stood in front of an open closet door, people pointing and giggling, Tim Murphy and all his friends holding Polaroids.
"Oh man, you totally got us. How embarrassing," Dennis muttered, meeting Mac's eyes with a smile. He brushed off his shirt casually. "Here I was, thinking I was making out with your girlfriend."
"Go fuck yourself, Dennis," Tim snapped, lip curling.
Mac's chest ached and his skin buzzed and the remnants of arousal still stirred his stomach and groin, but the heat in his cheeks and ears and brain was all anger or embarrassment or something, and the whirlwind of several emotions at war with each other had his mind swimming unpleasantly. "Give me that!" he shouted, reaching for the Polaroid.
Dennis clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, buddy. You didn't know what was happening. Neither of us did. It's all just part of the game, right minions?" He laughed pompously, though his hand squeezed his shoulder and he met Mac's eyes meaningfully.
He was covering for him. After all, for the majority of it, they had known. That was worse than Tim tricking them.
"Yeah, I thought I was frenching Tim's mom."
"You're an asshole."
They high-fived when Tim stormed off.
Dennis slammed on the brakes and practically ripped off his seatbelt. He leapt out of the car and hurried down the alley; he'd know that hooded figure anywhere. "Hey, Cricket!"
Cricket looked over his shoulder, holding a crack pipe to his mouth. "No," he stated, shook his head, and turned back around.
Dennis stopped jogging when he made it beside Cricket. "Hey, man. I need a favour."
He passed his crack pipe to the equally disfigured homeless person in front of him. He immediately started sucking the smoke into his lungs, the scent of it curling into Dennis' nostrils, the sweet, sweet tang of crack practically making his mouth water. "No, I'm not doing shit for you guys."
"What's that attitude about? After everything we've done you, you're just going to turn me away?"
"After everything you've done for-are you fucking kidding me?!"
The disgusting hobo Cricket shared his pipe with nodded at Dennis. "Hey man, you want some?" His bottom lip was practically nonexistent, pieces of melted flesh hanging on his chin. There was a hole in his cheek; not a huge one, but big enough Dennis could see the side of his tongue. Drool moistened his scarred mouth, and shone on the end of the pipe.
The crack would help Dennis move faster, and time was of the essence.
But the man was absolutely disgusting, and he had more pressing matters at hand.
"Some other time," he said cautiously. "I kinda need to do something with Cricks, anyway."
"No problem, Dennis." He handed the pipe to Cricket.
Dennis furrowed his brows at the man; who the hell was this guy?
"I told you, I ain't doing shit for you. Every time you guys rope me into doing something, I end up getting stabbed or attacked by dogs or something."
"I have absolutely no idea where you are getting this insane idea in your head about what's happened to you being our fault, but I'll let it slide. I need you to help me."
The other guy shrugged. "I'll help you out."
"Dude, who are you? Do we know each other?" He stared at him incredulously. Why on earth did this deformed creature think they had some kind of relationship where he could talk to him without permission?
"I was part of your cult." Dennis blinked at him. "Ass Kickers United?" Dennis vaguely recalled starting a club with a similar name, but it really only involved Mac and Thin Mints. "I caught myself on fire to please the Master?" Dennis continued to stare. "I ate paint chips in your bar once?"
"Oh, right. Jojo."
"Yeah. How's it going man?"
"Well, not too well, my friend. That's why I need good ol' Cricket to help me out of a jam. And I'd accept your help, but I need a priest for this one."
Cricket scoffed, smoke billowing from out of his nose and mouth. "I'm not a priest anymore, thanks to you assholes. I'm an Atheist now. Now get lost."
Dennis pursed his lips and nearly smacked him right across his thankfully-obscured-by-the-hood face, but instead narrowed his eyes. "All right, fine. I can take no for an answer." He turned on his heel with a dejected sigh and took three steps. "It's a shame, though. I was gonna buy you a six pack . . . ."
"Wait now hang on." Dennis stopped, but didn't turn. "You never said anything about beer."
He allowed himself a two-second smirk, before he faced Cricket as nonchalantly as possible. "Oh, yeah. We're friends, aren't we?"
"Whaddaya need?"
Dennis spread his hands out. "All you need to do is listen to Mac's confession and pretend you're okay with him wanting to bang dudes, all right?
"Pretend? I'm one hundred percent okay with banging dudes. And since you're getting me a full six pack, I might even let you stick it in me for a bit. But if you wanna creampie me, you gotta get me some weed at least."
"Cricket's good with taking creampies, man. I've seen it," Jojo said before smoking down some of that sweet crack rock.
"I have absolutely no interest in giving Cricket a creampie."
Jojo handed the pipe back to cricket. Cricket gladly took it. "You can do me."
"I don't want to do either of you! I just want Cricket to tell Mac it's okay to fuck men!" He sighed out of frustration. "He's going to confess to an actual priest, and I cannot have that, do you understand? Not after all the work I've done getting him to-whatever, it doesn't matter. None of that is at all important to either of you. What I need from you, Cricket, is just to remember what it was like when you were the kind of jerkoff who believed in invisible sky parents who punished men for sucking cock, but forget all that bullshit homophobia. That's it. No butt-rape, okay? Jesus."
"Even when I was a priest I was okay with the homosexual community."
"Good, it shouldn't be too hard, then. Come on."
He took one last toke off of the pipe, then gave it to Jojo. "Fine, but we're getting the beer first."
Dennis glared at him. "Uh like hell we are, I don't have unlimited time to take care of this, you know."
"You need me a lot more than I need you. We get the beer first or I'm not coming. I'm not stupid, you guys never keep up your end of the bargain."
"Fine," he snapped, jerking the car door open. He waited until Cricket was seated in the passenger side to say; "But we better do this fast because if Mac confesses to that asshole priest and he leaves that church still stuck in the goddamn closet scared of hell, I'm going to strangle you."
"Yeah, yeah. What happened to the Range Rover?"
"Oh, Dee refused to help so I stole her car."
"Sounds reasonable."
"So here's the plan," Dennis said, starting the car, "we're going to get to the church before Mac does. He's saying goodbye to his mom because he thinks God's gonna strike him down when he gets done confessing. You're going to get the actual priest out of the church-I don't care how you do that, it's not my problem-and take his place. Then when Mac confesses, you tell him he's fine and encourage him, got it?"
"Sure, whatever. As long as I get my beer, I'm cool. Hell, if Mac wants to stick it in my butt in the confessional, that's all right by me."
"Mac isn't going to have sex with you!" he shrieked, clutching the steering wheel so hard his knuckles might rip through his skin because goddamn it why were so many people around him such fucking idiots?! Jesus Christ!
". . . and then I spent the night at Dennis' house, and we laughed for like, ten hours, it was awesome."
"My son, you urinated in the keg after spiking it with ecstasy."
"Well yeah, but didn't you hear the part where they forgot to tell me they were playing Spin the Bottle? Dude! I totally missed it! That was such a big deal to me!"
"Fifteen people had to get their stomachs pumped."
"Okay but like, to be fair, I'm sure half of them were bulimic or whatever so it was gonna happen anyway."
In the brief, but heavy, silence that followed, he heard the priest's long sigh. "I can see why you've decided to confess."
Mac narrowed his eyes. "What? No, dude. That isn't what I'm confessing. That's just, like, the beginning of-okay, so I know it doesn't seem like it now, but trust me, that is totally important to know for you to understand . . . you know. My big sin." He shifted in his seat again and closed his eyes. It was true; it was kinda important to understanding the whole story, but mostly, Mac wanted to prolong saying . . . it.
"So what, exactly, have you come to confess?"
He closed his eyes and swallowed. He ignored the sting of the scratches on his cheek. He had to say it eventually, right? Why not now? He'd told the Father enough to understand, right? Enough that he'd completely understand how it was totally Dennis' fault?
"Wait."
No. He hadn't.
"There's more I need to tell you first."
Senior Year
Two glorious years since Tim Murphy and his crew had seen the light about how badass Mac was, and they still called him Ronnie the Rat. Despite multiple attempts weekly to correct them, they absolutely refused to say Mac. Still, it wasn't a bad thing, at least not when he tried to view it the way Dennis did: telling on the other drug dealers was a genius move, and they must agree with his business ethics if they continued to use that stupid nickname.
At least Dennis called him Mac, though. And the way he said it? It was just . . . different than how Charlie said it. Nicer, somehow. Warmer. Able to squeeze Mac's heart in ways he didn't fully comprehend. It was one of the reasons why he preferred going to parties with Dennis rather than by himself. That way he knew at least one person would call him the right name, and when nobody else would pick Mac for Seven Minutes in Heaven, Dennis would. They didn't ever kiss, not since that first time, and only talked about their days, but nobody else needed to know that. Dennis was the coolest guy in school, and he never chose anyone else publicly. As far as anyone else was concerned, they frenched the whole seven minutes.
However, he sometimes had to go alone. Such as now, when Dennis was off getting ready for prom, and Mac was stuck setting up Tim's house with drugs and booze for the after party. Well he had pretty much finished. All he had to do was get his money from Tim, and then he could chill and wait for Dennis to show up, whenever that was. Probably well after midnight, 'cause no one was showing up until after prom. Mac wasn't going, but he could house-sit while everyone else did. Tim had a big TV and like five hundred channels.
Mac made himself comfortable on the couch, sinking into the cushions. He idly sucked on the pen he'd found on the coffee table, tongue flicking the underside. What was Dennis wearing? What colours? Mac wasn't really into the whole formal wear bullshit, but Dennis probably looked stunning. As stunning as a guy could be, anyway. Mac sucked the pen deeper into his mouth. Dennis was probably the most attractive non-celebrity guy ever. Of course he would be hot in a suit. Hot for the ladies. Mac wasn't into men.
Tim entered the living room, hands clasped together. His eyes were bloodshot and he reeked of weed. When he burped, the scent of vodka filled the air, too. "Hey, Ronnie," he greeted, teeth uncomfortably shiny. "I got a favour for ya."
He plopped the pen out of his mouth and leapt to his feet excitedly. "Yeah?"
"Dennis was supposed to go on a date before prom, but he just called. Apparently he's been waiting to get his hair done for over an hour and he still has to go to the tanning salon? I dunno, some pretty queer shit."
"You want me to go keep him company?"
"What? No. He asked me to go make sure his date knows. She's supposed to meet him at his house."
"Why is he asking you to do that? I'm his best friend."
"You do know her brother was the biggest ecstasy dealer in South Philly 'til you ratted him out, right?"
"Dude I've never even met his date. She goes to a different school."
"Yeah, that's sorta my point. I'm way too stoned and drunk to drive, but he already told her I was coming. So can you do me a big favour? Can you go to Dennis' house and let her know?"
"Yeah, totally. Then later on when I come to the after-party, can we tell Dennis I helped him out of a jam? 'Cause like, if I'm gonna help him out I think I should get the credit."
"You're not invited to my after-party. You can't come unless you go to prom, and I know for a fact you aren't-"
"I already know of this sin, my son."
Mac froze, hands in mid-gesticulation. "Huh?"
"You slept with Dennis' prom date."
He lowered his hands and let out a sigh. His shoulders sagged. "Oh," he murmured. After their high school reunion, since the secret was out, he'd had to confess because there was no reason not to anymore. Sure, priests weren't allowed to tell people what you confessed, but it wasn't as if Dennis had known that it was Mac who'd banged his prom date. If he didn't know, then why bother telling anyone? The guilt at what he'd done hadn't really surfaced until Dennis threatened to kill him, anyway.
He had no choice now. He had to confess.
"Oh, but did I tell you all the details? 'Cause some of the details are pretty important, you know." No they weren't. All the Father really had to know was that he'd slept with Dennis' prom date. He wasn't going to let him in on that, though, if it meant he could wait longer.
The priest sighed. "She caught Dennis making out with Maureen Ponderosa a few days earlier. She wanted to get revenge so she slept with you, believing you to be Tim Murphy. She spent the rest of the month squeezing as much money and expensive dates out of Dennis as she could before telling him and breaking his heart."
Dammit.
"Are you fucking drinking while I'm driving?" Dennis asked, incredulously, as if he wasn't physically watching Cricket sucking down the cheap-as-hell beer he'd bought at the nearest gas station.
He lowered the bottle from his mouth. "Yeah, so? I'm not driving, it don't matter if I'm drunk as shit."
"It's illegal to have an open container in a moving vehicle! If we get pulled over and I get arrested because of you-"
"You're going the speed limit, Dennis. Why would you get pulled over?" He continued drinking. More than that, he swallowed as goddamn loudly as possible. The sucking noises were bad enough, as if he were an infant nursing sloppily at his mother's breast, but the actual chugging? Did the man have no decency at all?! He used to be a priest for God's sake!
He squeezed the steering wheel harder. "Cricket, I swear on all that is considered holy is this fucking theocracy of a country, if you screw this up for me, I will peel what is left of your face off and feed it to the first stray dog I goddamn find."
Cricket unabashedly threw the already empty bottle of beer out of the lowered window.
"Littering! You are littering in front of everyone! I cannot get pulled over for that shit, do you understand?!"
He immediately opened another bottle and started drinking. Dennis simply growled and kept driving.
"I do hate to rush things, my son, but the faster you confess, the sooner you can be forgiven."
Mac groaned and put his face in his hands. There really was no way around it. Ever since he accepted he needed to confess, he had been doing all he could to avoid actually doing it. Visiting his mom to say a possible goodbye was one thing (and she hadn't even been home) but he didn't need to know about pissing in kegs and Tim Murphy's huge (for the nineties, anyway) television with more channels that Mac had ever seen. He'd been avoiding it his whole life, really, but after today, he couldn't.
And he was out of distractions.
"Listen," the Father began tentatively, "I understand how difficult it is to confess to something with which you feel especially guilty. It can't be easy. Just know that I am not here to judge you, nor is God, but we cannot absolve you if you can't admit wrongdoing."
Heart in his throat, tears in his eyes, he nodded. "All right. Okay." He tilted his head back, vision swimming while he stared above him, where God must be, up in heaven, staring back, lightning bolt at the ready. "Let's do this."
A Few Hours Earlier
When Mac walked into Dee's apartment, Dennis was already there. In fact, he stood in the centre of the living room, hands on his hips and facing the door. He pursed his lips, eyes widened and jaw clenched so tightly his muscles rippled beneath his cheeks. "Hi, Mac!" he greeted in a voice as sweet as poison. "I'm so glad you made it!"
Mac shut the door behind him and winced. He rubbed the back of his neck as he walked down the foyer, towards Dennis. "Yeah, dude, I know I'm late, but I had to take the hugest dump, but Frank flushed his shoes and the place smells so gross, so I had to use the girl's bathroom but I didn't want anyone to see me in there, so-"
"You'll never guess who I met at the grocery store," Dennis interrupted just as Mac stopped right in front of him.
"Who?"
"My prom date!" Dennis smacked him across the face, nails digging into his cheek.
Mac stumbled, not only from the force of the smack but from being caught off-guard. If he hadn't been, he totally could've seen it coming and blocked it, but Dennis always managed to sneak violence on him like a ninja that no badass could out-manoeuvre.
He straightened his posture and touched his cheek. He pulled his fingers away; a tiny smudge of blood smeared across his skin. Dennis stood inches from him, eyes bugging out of his head and veins popping out against his red skin. "Dennis-"
"Why my prom date, Mac?! Hmm?! You could've had any girl in South Philly, ANY GIRL! And you fucked mine! MINE! And I'm supposed to be your best friend!"
"I didn't mean to do it, dude, it just-"
"Oh it was an accident?! What, she fell on your exposed dick repeatedly until you both came?"
"Dude the second I walked into your house she was on me! She was kissing me and-and she was rubbing against me, and I didn't even-she thought I was Tim Murphy, he was too stoned to drive or whatever, and she was pissed off 'cause you kissed Maureen-"
Dennis shoved him, hard. Mac managed not to fall over and tried to walk away, but Dennis got into his space and pushed him again. This time, the only reason he didn't fall over was because he hit the wall, back of his head whacking against it. The sound of it was worse than the pain. "SHE WAS MINE! MINE!"
"Dennis, please-"
THWACK.
Mac reflexively slammed his eyes shut and winced; cowered, really. When Dennis got into a rage, he really lost it, and he fully expected to get his ass kicked, badass or not. When the pain never came, he slowly opened his eyes. Dennis pinned him against the wall, face so close he could count his pores, his palms slapped against either side of his head. Mac managed a shaky breath, but didn't have the courage for anything else.
"Why?" Dennis hissed, teeth clenched together and lip quivering. "You don't even like women, so why?"
He could insist that he loved women, loved banging pussies and sucking titties, and that he was a one hundred percent heterosexual man, because dammit, he wasn't into men he wasn't into men. In fact, he should. He should shout that right into Dennis' face, shout that he banged his slutty prom date because he was a red-blooded American man who loved having hot sex with women; he did it because that was what men did. Men fucked women regardless of if they were in relationships or not. It was what he was supposed to do, what he had to do.
"You would've."
Dennis narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"If I'd had a prom date and she came onto you like that, you would've."
"Don't give me that shit. I don't care about what I would or wouldn't have done in some bullshit hypothetical situation, because that isn't what we are discussing goddammit. We're discussing why you fucked my fucking prom date."
"Because you would have," he whimpered, voice cracking. "It's what men do, it's what straight men do, and I just-I wanted to be you, and-" Dennis frowned and Mac shook. That was enough; he didn't need to say anything else. He should shut up. "I'd never had sex before, Dennis, I was a senior in high school and a badass and I'd never had sex. You-you were there, you remember. I thought-when Tim finally invited me to his parties, I thought that I'd be kissing people and having sex all the time, and I wasn't, you saw. You saw that they always excluded me from Spin the Bottle, and-and you were the only one who'd ever play Seven Minutes in Heaven with me even though all we ever did was talk 'cept for that one time, and-and you were the only person I had ever kissed, I'd never kissed anyone but you, and the only reason that even happened is 'cause you thought I was a girl, and suddenly she's throwing herself at me and I-I thought I'd never, ever get a chance to bang anyone ever again in my whole life, I didn't know what to do, and I thought-I thought that you'd be proud."
He couldn't meet Dennis' eyes anymore; could only stare at his collarbone and at the erratic pulse in his throat.
"They only invited you for the drugs," Dennis said after a long, tense silence, in which Mac had wholly expected a punch to the gut.
He lowered his head even further. "I know that now."
"No, I meant-look at me." It took two times, but he finally met Dennis' eyes. His face was no longer an ugly shade of red, but Mac wasn't going to hope for anything. "I'd never been invited to a Tim Murphy party either, and I really, really wanted to. So when you ratted all the other drug dealers out, I saw my chance. They didn't want you around 'cause they thought you'd tell their parents or go to the cops, so I . . . I told them all they had to do was blackmail you. Get a picture of you doing something embarrassing and hold it over your head."
Mac frowned. He shook his head, because no. Dennis couldn't mean it. Could he?
"I volunteered to kiss you."
"You knew? The whole time? You knew that was me?"
Dennis nodded so slightly Mac almost didn't see. "I wasn't even wearing a blindfold."
Why was his skin on fire? Why did his chest hurt? Was he angry? Was he . . . ? No, he had to be angry; he had to be, because otherwise the blood in his ears and the erratic beat of his heart was-but no, it wasn't that. It couldn't be that. Why couldn't he breathe?
"I would've thought of something else if I'd known you like men. Good thing I didn't."
Mac almost choked. "I don't like men."
Was Dennis closer? "Yes you do."
"I'm straight."
Yes, he was closer. "No, you're not."
Dennis' mouth was soft against his; as soft as the day they met. Softer, maybe. And Mac, try as he might, couldn't stop his eyes from drifting closed, or his mouth from opening to let Dennis' tongue skim his own. Last time they had kissed, he was a novice. A first timer. He hadn't known what he was doing, but now he did, and since Dennis was kissing him anyway he might as well show him how much he had improved over the years. After all, he didn't want his best friend to go through life thinking he was a crappy kisser.
So it was okay that he tilted his head and held Dennis' waist. It was totally fine when Dennis pushed against him even more and cupped his face, palms cool against his hot cheeks, and devoured him. He kissed him the way they did in the movies, the way Mac had dreamed of being kissed as a teenager in his room, Eye of the Tiger blasting all around him and pillow moist with spit.
Mac wanted this; wanted him. Wanted to never kiss anybody else as long as he lived, because nobody would ever, ever be able to make his knees cease to exist. Nobody had ever made him weak before, not just from a kiss, not just from sucking on his tongue and nipping at his lip. He wanted him so bad, so bad, and had wanted him since that first day he saw him enter his classroom, eyes so bright he nearly blinded him, and smelling so good.
Mac loved Dennis. He loved him. Had always loved him, loved him in the closet and loved him against the wall in Dee's living room. He would always love him.
Maybe if he kissed him really good this time they could kiss again, and again. Maybe it didn't have to be a one time thing, like last time. He didn't want it to be. He wanted this to last forever.
Dennis left a sloppy trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses against his jaw and to his throat. He bit the skin there and Mac moaned, pulled their groins together. "I remember you liked this," Dennis murmured before sucking his neck.
He rutted against Dennis; pressed their zippers together and moaned again. Dennis had remembered after all these years? Had he spent the time in between then and now with hands under the covers, replaying every detail in his mind until he came, too?
He slid his hands up Dennis chest and into his hair; grabbed a fistful and tugged. Dennis grunted, and crashed their pelvises together. "And I remember you liked that," Mac gasped.
Dennis ignored his throat and went to his mouth; attacked it with teeth and tongue. His hands went to Mac's pants, tore free the button, and yanked down the zipper. Mac whimpered when his warm hand slipped into his underwear and grabbed his cock. "Dennis," he whined, jerking into his grasp.
The shock of his skin against his penis sent shivers up his spine. Dennis wasted no time in jerking him, tongue thrusting into his mouth with wild abandon. Mac tugged Dennis' hair again before he scratched down his back. He grabbed his ass, squeezed a cheek in each hand, and pulled him closer. The scrape of denim against the soft underside of his dick, at least where Dennis hand wasn't covering, was uncomfortable. At least that was the excuse he gave himself when he undid Dennis' pants.
Skin against skin was much better.
"Finally," Dennis pulled away and breathed. He rested his left arm against the wall, then licked his right palm, eyes locked onto Mac's. He licked a second time, much slower than the first, then aligned their cocks together within his hand. With a smirk, he stroked them slowly.
Mac tried to keep eye contact as long as possible, letting out a whimper every time he stroked down. Every time he got louder, and Dennis jerked just a little harder, until Mac fell forward, forehead against Dennis' collarbone, clutching at his shirt.
"Don't stop, don't stop," he gasped, shaking against his friend, knees so weak he worried he might fall.
"I won't," Dennis promised.
The ache of his balls tightening and burn in his stomach signalled how close he was. Dennis breathed hotly in his ear, but it was impossible to tell if he was, too. Mac didn't want to come so soon after it started, but there was nothing he could do about that. He wanted Dennis so much for so long, and now he was breathing hard against his chest, tears in his eyes. "I'm gonna come," he warned; there was just no stopping it.
"Go on, then."
"Oh my God Dennis," he keened, pressing hard against him, rutting into his wet palm. It took all of his strength to remain standing; not to fall to the floor, as everything came crashing down on him all at once, body tightening and pleasure overtaking his senses. "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'mcomingI'mcomingI'm-"
"I don't actually need to know every detail."
Mac breathed heavily at the memory, in both shame and anger, and his dick hardened. He blinked, chest heaving, and cleared his throat. "Sorry Father. I uh, kinda got carried away."
"Trust me son, you're hardly the first person who's needed me to say that."
Mac squirmed in his seat, and pressed his hand firmly against his crotch, just once, to relieve the pressure. "Sorry," he repeated. "I'll uh. Skip ahead, I guess."
"It's much appreciated."
Mac was already hungry before he showed up, but getting jerked off worked up an even bigger appetite. After they changed their clothes (Mac came harder than he had in his entire life, and Dennis managed an impressive four-ropes, which was pretty good for a hand job) he peeled some apples and made sandwiches for them to eat. It was what they meant to do, anyway. Dennis even shared some Thin Mints with him. They ate on Dee's couch, bodies pressed as close as they sat when watching porn together, and when they finished they got lost in kissing each other.
The apples tasted even better on Dennis' tongue.
"Do I have a hicky?" Mac asked excitedly after their current make out session drifted to an end. He was still atop Dennis though, their knees entangled.
Dennis pushed Mac's collar out of the way and peered at him. "Hmm, not yet."
"I want the whole world to know that I'm taken. If you don't mark me up, people are gonna think I'm single and they won't leave me alone."
"Yeah, that's bound to be an issue." Dennis pressed a small kiss to the side of his mouth. "You know how I am about the things I own."
"And I'm all yours now." He nudged Dennis' nose with his.
"You've always been mine." His smirk was soft. Soft enough it bordered on being a smile. "I need to piss, though."
Mac got off of him and the couch. "Yeah, lunch break's been over for awhile now. We should probably go to the bar."
"Yeah, yeah. Well, at least you and I can insult Dee for still being single while we're not. I'm certainly looking forward to that," he pointed out on his way to the bathroom.
Mac gathered up the plates and apple cores. Dennis shut the door. "Dude, that's gonna be so funny!" he agreed, loud enough so Dennis could hear him.
"No shit!"
Mac walked into the kitchen and threw away the apple cores and put the dirty dishes in the sink. A stray seed stuck to his finger, so he washed his hands vigorously with soap and hot water. Everybody knew that, aside from the skins, seeds were the most toxic part of an apple. The worst they could do to the skin was get a rash, but had he been unlucky enough to ingest it, that would've been a separate matter altogether.
Watching Dennis orgasm was one of the most beautiful experiences of his life. The way his eyes had widened and his mouth dropped open, long vowel sounds probably declaring to the whole building of their activities, wouldn't stop playing in his mind. There was so much about Dennis' body he wanted to learn, and so many kisses he wanted to have. To think the hands he washed in the kitchen sink were wrapped around his best friend's dick not too long ago was amazing. Why hadn't they done it before? There was a reason, he was sure of it, and it was on the tip of his-
Someone grabbed his waist. He spun around and punched the intruder right in the face before he could rape and murder both of them, leaving their dead bodies to be feasted on by-
"Dennis!" he realised a second later. "Oh shit, I'm sorry!"
Dennis lay on the ground before him, hand to his bleeding nose. "Fuck!"
Mac dropped to his knees. "Is it broken? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," he murmured, pulling his hand away. It was covered in blood, as was his face. "I don't think it's broken."
"Shit, I'm so sorry, dude! I didn't mean to do it."
"Nah, it's okay, I was just-I should know better, you don't grab people from behind."
They both stood, though Dennis swatted Mac away when he tried to help. "What were you even doing, bro?"
"Oh, you know. It's nothing. I was just-well. I thought it would be cool if I cuddled you from behind and kissed your neck. I wasn't thinking."
Well shit. He certainly regretted that hard-wired instinct now. "Yeah that would've been cool," he murmured, scuffing the floor with his shoe.
Dennis pulled his hand away, sneered at the blood, then put it back. "I better clean this up. You go to the bar and I'll meet you later."
"Wait dude, are you sure?"
"I know how to handle a bloody nose, Mac. Besides, I need to pick up cigarettes and lube anyway."
Mac smiled as he watched Dennis go into the bathroom. Cigarettes and lube? They were on cigarettes and lube level already? Of course they were, they were best friends. Once you take it further you're basically married. Still, Dennis and him were together now, and they would be together forever, just like that one song by Rick Astley that Dennis sang to him sometimes when they were alone.
"Dennis?"
"Hmm?" He turned the bathroom sink on, running a wash cloth beneath the stream of water.
"I'm sorry I slept with your prom date."
"Yeah well, I'm still gonna punish you for that." He caught Dennis' reflection in the mirror. The smirk on his face was devilish.
"You promise?"
"Oh no, baby boy. That's no promise. It's a threat."
They smiled at each other through the mirror. Mac turned towards the door, cheeks and heart burning.
". . . but it wasn't until I made it to the bar that I realised that I needed to confess. I was gonna stop by my mom's house first but she was shopping or whatever." He rubbed his face, but instead of pulling away when he was done, he pressed his palms against his eyes. At any moment, lightning would strike him down, or the priest would start shrieking at him, or something. Whatever it was, he hoped it would be over fast.
"While I understand your guilt, punching Dennis was an accident, and hardly the worst thing you've ever done."
Mac stared at the window incredulously. "Huh?"
"Still, if it will make you feel better, I suppose two Hail Marys could suffice."
"No, dude. What? That's not what I'm confessing. Like, at all."
"Then what is it that you want to confess?"
He sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I'm gay."
He nearly cried. He would've, if he wasn't so drained from fear over what would happen and excited about what had happened, and guilt from the excitement. Even the toughest badasses had their moments of emotional weakness. Never once had he said those words aloud. Now, here he was, telling the priest, and God, and himself, that was what he was. Urges were one thing. Fevered daydreams were another. Staring longingly at beefcakes was fine. But once it was down in words, there was no going back from that. Once he said it out loud, he couldn't pretend it wasn't true; couldn't find some way it was okay. Couldn't tell himself that he was just admiring Sylvester Stallone's muscles because they were awesome, even though that was obviously true and a part of why he stared, but that wasn't the only reason.
And now? Now his worst secret, his worst sin, was out there in the world. Would the priest tell him how to make it go away? What if it was too much to be forgiven? What if he was doomed to hell?
"There's nothing wrong with being gay."
What?
"Huh?"
"I've known you were gay for years. I had no idea you weren't out, to be quite frank."
Mac shook his head. No. No, this had to be a dream. There was no way he was hearing this correctly. Of all the hopes he had had, this had never crossed his mind because it was too crazy, too unrealistic. Everybody knew being gay was the worst thing, outside of murder, you could do. That was what Christianity was halfway based on! Everywhere he went, Christians were holding signs about how gays were evil hellions. If that were true, Mac wouldn't be here now; he'd be at the bar with Dennis, calling Dee a pathetic, lonely bird while bragging about each other.
"But-but-how did you know I was-was it Carmen? 'Cause I dated Carmen?"
"Carmen is a woman."
"Well now, yeah, but-"
"Carmen was a woman when you dated her. Carmen was a girl the day she was born. God cares not for our physical bodies; what matters is our soul, and her soul is as female as yours is male. Your transphobia in thinking she was a man while you dated her says more about your own sexuality than her gender."
Never in his wildest fantasies had he dared to hope being gay was fine, but here he was being told that, by a vessel of God Himself. Still, he couldn't agree to it just yet. What if it was a prank? What if this was a test?
"But the Bible says-"
"The Bible says many things. What you have to remember is that even though God is an omnipotent, divine being, we are not. Those who wrote down their experiences with God and Christ were still fallible. They were men. God is to us as ants are to humanity, my son. We cannot comprehend the immense power of His presence. He is beyond our comprehension; beyond gender and sexuality. And when you take an already flawed book, flawed by the nature of being written by man, and have it lost, and translated, and mistranslated, and there are additions and deletions, all of course by humanity, you cannot take what is said entirely at face value."
Mac wasn't a priest, but what the guy said made sense. Of course it did; he went to priest school or whatever, he'd know more about this than Mac. "So . . . you're saying being gay isn't a sin?" he asked once more though, just to be absolutely sure.
"I officiated a same-sex wedding last month."
"So I can go then?"
"Unless you have anything else you wish to confess."
Mac racked his brains to think of anything else. Nothing came up. "No, that was pretty much the uh, the big one, I guess." He drummed his fingers on his lap, twisted his mouth, and nodded. "So I'll see you later, Father."
He stood up and left the confessional booth. The bright, prettily coloured windows shone around him, angels smiling with congratulations. The church was wide and spacious, filled with hope and calmness and happiness. He smiled at all the windows as he passed, a bounce in his step. Had he known it was okay to be gay, he would've confessed a lot sooner! Actually, no he wouldn't have, because then he would've known there was nothing to confess. There was never anything for him to worry about, and though he regretted the years he spent angsting, it couldn't overpower the feeling of joy that overcame him when he opened the church doors and walked out in the sunlight.
A gentle breeze ruffled the leaves of the tree outside the church; clouds lazily drifted through the sky, casting shadows across the land. The scent of freshly mown grass surrounded him, birds chirping melodically filling the silence. It was a beautiful day; the most beautiful day of Mac's life, actually. Nothing could take that away from him.
BAM!
Someone tackled him to the ground, knocking all the air out of his lungs. "RUN CRICKET! GO!" Dennis screamed from atop Mac, pinning his arms down to the ground.
Dee's car drove across the church yard. "FUCK YOU DENNIS!" Cricket laughed manically from inside the car.
"Oh goddammit," Dennis grumbled. "Damn you Cricket! You're an asshole!"
Dee's car sped up, tires digging into the green grass, spraying dirt everywhere, and slammed right into a tree. Smoke rose from the crunched hood and windshield glass tinkled over metal and to the destroyed lawn. Cricket groaned from inside and opened the door, plopping onto the ground below, face covered in blood.
"What was that all about?" Mac asked, staring up at Dennis, head framed by the light of the sun above him, like some kind of angel.
Dennis scoffed. "It doesn't matter," he murmured as he stood up.
Mac grabbed his proffered hand, and stood up beside his boyfriend. (Man, he was never going to get tired of using that title!) Dennis shot a disgusted look at Cricket, who squirmed on the ground sobbing hysterically about his ribs. "Did you guys follow me or something, dude?"
"Don't do it," Dennis said, grabbing Mac's face and pulling him close. His nose was still swollen and a little bruised, but it didn't look as bad as Mac worried it would. "Don't confess to the Father, Mac. Don't."
Mac grabbed Dennis' hands and pulled them away from his face, if only so he could hold his hands between them, fingers entwined. He beamed at him. "I already confessed."
"No," Dennis breathed, face falling dramatically. He shook his head.
"Yes, I did."
"After all my work, all the years I've put into getting you to finally accept that you're gay, and I finally have you, and you just-"
"Dennis," he interrupted, pressing a small kiss to his lips. "It's fine. The priest says it's okay."
"Really? Are you-you're serious? Are you sure you understood him?"
"Yeah! I mean, I even asked like, four times if he was sure, and he said God was a homo tranny who was part ant!"
"What?"
"It made more sense when he said it," he admitted, frowning when he tried to recall the exact words. Oh well, the details weren't important right now. "Anyway, it's okay, dude. He said it was okay for me to be in love with you."
Dennis laughed, eyes as bright and wide as his grin. "It all worked out then? We're still together?"
"Yeah! We aren't gonna get smited. Is smited the right word? Smote?"
"I don't give a shit," Dennis said, and kissed him right there in the fucking open.
If this were a movie, music would swell and the camera would circle them slowly. However, it wasn't a movie, so instead they kept interrupting their kiss with giggles and lip bites, the only sound being that of Cricket moaning in pain and police sirens. He held Dennis' face in his hands, in front of God and all His angels right there in the church's front yard, confessing fantasies into Dennis' mouth.
Granted, it was all subtextual since he was mostly frenching him, but Dennis was a badass. He could read between the lines.
The toilet was finally acting normal again, but at the expense of Charlie's clothes. He walked out of the bathroom, holding two of Frank's now-destroyed shoes. "Well that's taken care of," he announced to Dee.
She looked at him, nose wrinkled up. "You smell like shit, Charlie. Gross."
"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to go back in time and go in there and plunge it for me with all your magical plunger abilities that protect you from getting diarrhoea all over you?"
Before Dee could answer, Frank burst into the bar, breathing heavily and smiling. "Guys, you will never believe what I just saw! Holy shit!" He bent over, hands resting on his thighs while he caught his breath. He pointed over his shoulder. "I was driving, and there was a traffic jam because of all these lazy cops just dilholing around, and I was rubbernecking to see what was up, and I saw Mac and Dennis making out in front of a church, and Cricket lying on the ground getting the shit kicked out of him by a cop, and Dee's car crashed up against a tree!"
"Wow, really?!"
Dee was less enthusiastic. "Wait, my car?"
"I even got it on my cell phone!" Frank exclaimed, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
"MY CAR WAS WRECKED?!"
"See that's your problem Deandra, you're always focusing on the negative. C'mere Charlie, I took at least five pictures."
"OH MY GOD! I AM GOING TO KILL THEM!" Dee shrieked, knocking her bottle of beer (and anything else that happened to be on the bar) to the ground.
"Frank, man, we gotta talk about you finding some other way to handle nervousness, 'cause this plunging toilets business is getting kinda tiring," he pointed out rationally while Frank showed him the first picture.
"Yeah, yeah."
"GODDAMMIT!"