Work Text:
It had only taken Will half an hour to get the stuff, but Mack was ready to lose his mind. Toronto seemed to have a dispensary around every corner. One maps search and they had found nine dispensaries within a 12 minute walk from their hotel.
Finding the weed and buying the weed, though, were two different things. Unable to escape fan sightings and photos being posted even on his worst days, Mack left it to Will to go buy the stuff. Will had been ready to do it anyway, basically had his coat on already, and only listened to Mack's reasoning to humour him (though he agreed that, if possible, they should try to avoid another marmon incident).
Twenty minutes in and Mack was buzzing. Fuck, this was so stupid. He had spent the entire roadie high-strung, unable or unwilling to think about why. It just felt like his veins were made of red hot copper wire, and if he didn't keep moving it would burn right through his skin.
Finally, in Toronto, Will had had enough and said: "You need to smoke some weed or something. You're making me nervous."
Mack had laughed it off. He'd never smoked it before, never even really thought of it. The only times it had been offered to him were inconvenient: when he was with his brother, just before a game… But Will had been serious. He'd apparently done it a bit in college and wanted something to relax his shoulder anyway, which had been aching like a bruise for the past few days.
When Will showed back up at their hotel, Mack was in the same position he'd been fluttering in and out of all night: laid out on a bed, arms at his sides, staring at the ceiling. He hoped Will didn't know that he had shoved himself back into that position when he heard the key card beep in the door, and that he had been pacing the room like he was trying to finish his step goal. He sat up quickly.
"You got the stuff?"
"Just say 'weed,' Mack. And yeah." Will pulled his hand out of his hoodie pocket, and produced a small, colourful plastic cylinder. He squeezed it to pop the top open, and slid a joint into his palm. "Here."
"And we're gonna smoke it in here? In the hotel room?"
"Yeah. I mean, we can go smoke it on the balcony but it's December in Canada." Will said. "Plus, I already complained to the hotel manager that the room stank like weed, but we were willing to stay in it." He grinned about this like he had pulled off a master heist. "It's not like we can't afford a fee, anyway."
Will had apparently bought a lighter, as well, some stupid little round thing with a famous painting wrapped around it. He sat beside Mack on the bed, resting in the open space between Mack and the bedside table. They leaned back against the headboard together.
"Ready?" Will held up the joint.
"Yeah," Mack huffed. Maybe it would help him calm down. Will said it worked for him.
"It's not that strong," Will said around the paper in his mouth. He clicked the lighter and brought it to the joint, holding the flame just under the tip until the paper caught fire. He swore for a second, pulled the thing from his mouth, and blew to extinguish it.
After he had taken his puffs, he smiled ruefully. "Fucking hate when I do that."
Mack just made a questioning noise. He felt a bit like he had in school, when the teacher went around the room making every student read aloud, and he would look down and try to anticipate what paragraph would be his. He couldn't stop staring at the joint.
"Set the thing on fire."
"Right." Mack gingerly pinched the filter with his fingers as Will handed it to him. The room smelled so much like weed. Fuck, they were going to have to pay a fee.
He brought it to his lips. Do not cough, he cautioned himself. Do not cough.
He coughed. He started coughing before he had even realized he needed to. The smoke had scraped on the way down his throat and burned his lungs like he had gotten pepper sprayed. He was fighting not to drop the joint on the bedspread while he bent over, hacking into his other hand. Will was chuckling softly, reaching for the bedside table where Mack had a water bottle.
Once his chest had stopped spasming, he traded the bottle for the joint. The water was room temperature but felt like a salve smoothing over his throat. His lungs felt crispy.
"You get better at not coughing," Will was explaining between puffs. "Man, this tastes good."
Mack smacked his lips together. "What the fuck are you talking about? This tastes awful."
Mack had never eaten burnt grass clippings, but if he had, he imagined this is about how it would taste.
"Nah," Will sighed. "Trust me, this is the nice stuff. The shit at BC was brutal. Like smoking gasoline."
The tip of the joint bloomed redder with every hit Will took. Then, as soon as it had lit up, it went duller. Mack contented himself to watch the rhythm. Will's lips would wrap around the paper filter, carefully pressing them to his fingers. Then he would inhale, and the burning tip would ignite, filling the room with more smoke. Then he would take the joint away wait for a moment, and exhale lazily, watching the smoke curl into the room. Mack could have watched the smoke licking from Will's pink lips all day.
Then the joint was in front of him again, clamped between Will's index finger and thumb. He took it.
This time was easier but not easy. He still coughed so hard he thought he might bring up a lung and got lightheaded, but he had held on for a few more seconds. He had had time to notice that the rolling paper on his lips felt softer, a little bit wet from Will's lips. Between puffs, Mack rubbed the filter against his bottom lip.
The cycle repeated twice more. Will, taking two, three, four hits, and passing to Mack, one, two hits. At some point, Will had taken Mack's phone to put some music on, and it was falling out of the tinny speakers.
When Mack had felt a chill run down his spine, he had laid down. He felt a bit like he had been injected with numbing like at the dentist, only it was flowing all around his body and working in patches that prickled and went numb, and then came back feeling hot.
"So, but, how do you know if you're high?" Mack stared up at the ceiling. He had half expected to be seeing things by now, even though he knew that wasn't how weed worked.
"Well, it took you a minute to spit that out, so I'd say you're high, bud."
"Really?" It had felt entirely normal. Well, maybe not entirely. Mack's thoughts had started feeling a bit like helium balloons that he had to jump up to catch. Huh. That didn't seem like a thought he'd have sober.
Will just chuckled, looking down at his face. Mack could suddenly feel his face. And his scalp. Why could he feel his scalp? It was tingling. Or, wait, everything was tingling. Why did it feel so weird? Oh, fuck, this is what being high is like.
"Hey." Will's voice broke through the haze of half-panicked thoughts. "You're all good, dude."
Mack felt himself relax, slightly. He fell a bit deeper into the bed. Will laid down beside him, propping himself up on an elbow to keep the conversation going. Will's eyes were soft and blue and wow, they were blue, and his pupils were huge, and they were also red and a bit squinty, and Mack laughed because he looked silly, and then laughed because he hadn't realized he was laughing, and then laughed because he couldn't stop laughing. Will laughed with him, after a while, and Mack stared at his lips and his bunny teeth while he shook with the casual hilarity of being stupid and high with your best friend.
The music dimmed, the drums taking a break from bouncing through Mack's skull, as a text notification rolled over Mack's screen.
Toff
Hey just got back from dinner you guys still wanna chill
11:31pm
Mack put his hands on his head. Fuck. Had he agreed to hang out with Toff? Fuck! Toff would be able to tell that they were high. He'd probably be able to smell it before he even got to their door. Oh, fuck. Toff had met his parents. Toff knew the coaches and trainers and managers longer than Mack had. Toff might be the person most perfectly suited to rat on them. Was this illegal? No, not in Canada, Mack didn't think. But they were flying back to the states tomorrow, and he didn't know if being high on Canadian weed would get him in trouble there. God, fuck, his dad would be so mad.
Will took Mack's phone from his hands and spoke the words as he typed them.
Mack
nah haha were gassed just gonna sleep prob
11:32pm
Will locked the phone with a click, and let it drop back down to the mattress. The music was still playing, and now it felt sour, like the shitty phone speakers were scraping Mack's ears. He wanted to grab a pillow, curl it around his head, and block out the sound. Had it always sounded like that, phone speakers?
Mack managed to peel apart his dry mouth to ask: "Holy fuck, is he gonna tell anyone?"
"Tell anyone what?"
"That we're high." Mack whispered. He was doing a good job looking calm, he thought, because he was still lying down instead of pacing. Will laughed a bit, which made Mack feel even worse. Will was not understanding the gravity of this. He could feel his heart beating in his throat.
"He doesn't know." Will sounded confident enough that, for a moment, the nauseating ball of panic that had been tying his ribs together loosened. "Mack, you're all good."
Will scooted a bit closer on the bed, and Mack didn't say anything, although he really wished he could have asked him to stop. The bed shaking made him feel like he was floating around in jello, and that made him want to freak out even more.
"This is not cool," Mack moaned. He squeezed his eyes shut. This felt unbearably stupid. Why had he done this? He had been freaking out before the joint. Now he wasn't even sure if his heart was still beating, and he was making it Will's problem.
"What isn't?"
"Me. I don't think I'm being very cool."
Will laughed again. "Okay, look. Look at me." Mack had forgotten that his eyes were closed until that second. He met Will's gaze. "This is your first time smoking weed. You just got a little paranoid."
"I don't think I like this." Mack felt small, admitting this. He felt uncool, too young, the perennial little brother. He had thrown up the first time he had tried drinking, and Aiden had had to haul him back home. He hadn't even really liked the guys who had invited him, but they were older and he had been the new kid on the team. He didn't get invited out with them again.
"Alright. Well, the good news is that right now, you're the highest you'll ever be. It's only down from here." That did seem like good news.
"How long is it going to last?"
"The shitty part? Maybe like an hour. Then you'll probably just get tired. Easy."
Easy. Mack could do it. He could look into the crystal blue eyes above him and relax. Maybe he could even try to enjoy it. The panic that had seized him was slowly ebbing (he repeated "he doesn't know" to himself like he was counting beads on a rosary) but he still felt stained with it, like his edges had been burned and were now crispy and fragile.
Warmth bloomed across his bicep. Will had placed a hand there, solid, comforting, a bit sweaty. The sensation was like a balm, smoothing over the jagged parts of him, wearing them smooth like seaglass. Macklin might have gasped when Will started moving his hand, slowly stroking the skin exposed by Mack's t-shirt. It felt a bit like menthol, maybe, the way his skin cells seemed to heat to 100 degrees under Will's fingers, and then cool to near-freezing right after. It felt a bit like a light spray of rain, or the way Pop Rocks feel when you have your mouth closed. It was a dizzying sort of feeling, and all-consuming. The slow strokes lay flat over Mack's anxiety, like a fresh snowfall over lava.
The only thought besides the feeling was the wonder: had it always felt like this, to be touched by Will?
The answer came to him easily, swimming up through the murky, sluggish thoughts: yes.
Mack had been high strung on this roadie because of Will. He was well practiced in being high-strung over Will but he usually had the benefit of better timing or more distance. Will's presence had lit him up like a lightning strike since the first time they spoke, but the more time spent close, the more Macklin felt like he was becoming overcharged, his battery overheating and close to combustion. Surely this energy would explode out into something devastating: shrapnel in the form of confessions, or else something worse entirely, mounting a charge and climbing onto Will, into him, around him.
As the stroking continued, the other thoughts came back. The music sounded better than it had before. Actually, this song sounded way better than Mack had ever thought before. The drums kicked like a heartbeat, and oh, yeah, Mack knew his heart was beating again. That was a relief. The ceiling looked boring, not like that hotel they had stayed in in Nashville, where the ceilings had had moulding around the top that he and Will argued about while eating cookies, and wow, cookies sounded really good right now.
"We should get some food," Mack suggested.
"Yeah," Will agreed. "I may have already asked the front desk for some milk and cookies when I was leaving."
Mack felt elated. "So they're coming?"
Will giggled. "You look so cute right now. You're so giddy about it."
There was a something in Mack that told him he was being teased, and he should at least act affronted, and then there was something bigger that said: "he just called you cute." By the time Mack was close to deciding how to react to that, he realized it had been far too long without reacting at all, and that was probably pretty weird, actually. He settled on shoving back against Will's hand and telling him to shut up. He felt the heat in his face anyway, and it prickled like a sunburn.
They lay in silence for a few more minutes, or maybe it was only a few seconds: time had become weirdly syrupy for Mack. Sometimes he would be lost in thought for what felt like hours, only to realize that the same song was still playing, and it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. Sometimes he'd feel Will's hand against him and close his eyes, focusing on the feeling, only to open his eyes again and see that ten minutes had gone by.
"Is it getting better?" Will asked.
The question reminded Mack that he had been anxious at all, and a renewed shot of anxiety swept over him. As soon as it came, it started to ebb.
He sighed. "Yeah. This is helping." Mercifully, Will didn't ask for clarification, just stroked over more of Mack's arm, from mid-forearm to the soft skin that just peeked out from the sleeve of shirt.
For some unknown amount of time, they stayed like that. At some point, Will turned the music off and put the TV on. Mack had laughed at Will's bitching ("Canadian Netflix is so ass, bro, what the fuck?") before he gasped with excitement at whatever shitty comedy from his childhood he had found. The low chatter of a movie filled the room, and Mack was glad that Will had kept the volume so low because he was having a good amount of fun trying to listen and decode what the characters were saying.
When someone knocked on the door and Mack jumped a foot out of his own skin, Will put both hands on his arm and said, "Relax, I'll get it." If Mack had any bones before, they all disappeared on the spot.
Apparently whoever had brought the room service had no comment about the weed smell, because the only words exchanged were a brief thanks, and then Will was back in front of him again.
"This smells so good," Will moaned. "Oh my god."
Will kept his nose to the plate as he carried it right to the table between their beds, knocking the water bottles and lamp back with the wooden tray. Mack couldn't smell much beyond the stink of burnt weed that seemed to have seared off the ends of whatever receptors were necessary for smelling. Just when he was about to freak out about it, Will pulled the plastic bell off of the plate, and the smell of warm, chocolatey cookies permeated the air.
With a good amount of effort, Mack heaved himself back up into a sitting position. Will still hadn't sat back down beside him. On any other night, this would be when Will would tuck himself into his own bed and they would talk across the ravine between their two beds as they munched on cookies and slugged back milk. On this night, Mack really hoped that Will would come back to the spot beside Mack.
Mack patted the bed beside him lightly, as if trying to lure a timid cat. Will, who was grabbing Mack's glass of milk for him, laughed.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." There was nothing but patience behind the words.
With the plate balanced on the blanket between them and their glasses of milk in their hands, they chomped down on the cookies together. Will moaned, and Mack wanted to do the same. These might be the best cookies Mack had ever had. They tasted dull (to be honest, Mack was still pretty sure he had seared off most of his tastebuds by inhaling all that smoke), but the sensation of the sweet, rich chocolate sliding over his tongue as he chewed might be the closest thing he'd ever experienced to ecstacy. He was hungry, all of a sudden, and wished they had ordered other things, fries, maybe, or a milkshake.
"Fuck," Mack sighed.
"Mhm," Will responded, face full of his glass of milk. Once he swallowed he said, "Aren't you so glad you're not lactose intolerant?"
"Dude, so glad," Mack agreed. "I feel like you'd be the type to be lactose intolerant."
Will whipped to face him. "Me? No, it would be you. You're from further south than me."
Macklin burst out laughing. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"No!" Will howled. "It's true! I learned this in class!"
"You took a class on lactose intolerance?"
"I took a class on global health anthropology or some shit. But it's true! People from warmer climates didn't used to keep cows so they never got used to milk or whatever! Your family is from Croatia! South!"
Mack was too busy breathlessly shrieking to analyze the accuracy of that. Will was, too, and then they remembered that they were eating and went back to it so quickly it might have been funny if it didn't feel so serious.
"It would suck to be lactose intolerant, though," Mack said, after the cookies were gone and the milk had been drunk.
Will huffed. "That conversation was from twenty minutes ago."
"Alright, well," man, he really had no sense of time at all, "it would still suck. No cheese? Brutal."
"I think they just eat it anyway and suffer."
Mack had nothing to say to that so he simply lay down again, letting Will put the dishes on the beside table. Whatever panic had gripped him in the minutes after they had smoked had dulled. His heart still fluttered, but the hysterical paranoia was all but gone, replaced with bewilderment at the feeling of the sheets against his skin. He wished he were naked. The electrical buzzing in every pore would feel amazing against the soft, clean sheets.
He wished Will would touch him again. He wished Will would sleep in his bed.
"This movie is way worse than I remember," Will said. "My sister and I were obsessed with this movie. One summer, I think we watched it like, 30 times."
Mack thought about Will in the summer. As a kid, and then as he was now, when he would get red and patchy after golfing without sunscreen, and then it would turn into a lovely even tan. His eyelashes looked so light when his skin was a bit darker, and his blond hair got even blonder when he didn't wear a cap. He got bigger, too, eating better, working out differently, putting on weight instead of the constant grind to maintain it during the season. Mack couldn't wait for summer.
He wished Will would touch him again.
"It felt really nice," Mack tried, "when you were touching my arm."
It hit him, once it had already left his mouth, that that was not the most subtle of approaches. Will laid down with him, propped up enough by the pillows to see the TV, and traced the fingers of his right hand over Mack's left arm. Will had been practicing guitar a lot before this roadie. Mack could feel the calluses on the thin skin of his arm, felt the spark from the touch through the veins and tendons that Will traced, up and down, up and down.
"Why does it feel so good?" Mack wondered. "It's like… tingly."
Will turned his face towards Mack, a bit, and then his whole body followed. He switched hands. "I don't know." When he exhaled, the rush of air flowed over Mack's neck like a wave at the beach, there, and then sinking in. "But I'm glad I can help."
Will's face was so close to Mack. His eyes were so, so blue, and there was a bit of chocolate on his upper lip. Mack wanted to lick it. How long had he wanted to kiss Will? Maybe forever. Maybe even longer than that. How long had he let himself think about it? Well, maybe just this road trip.
Mack turned his face a bit, letting them look at each other. He could feel Will's breath on his face now, his chin, from where he was mouth-breathing just inches away. Mack reached for Will's hand, and dragged it over, past his arm, and to his waist.
"Here," he whispered, and Will started stroking there, too. This one was different. It was the same sparking, electric sensation, but now his muscles tensed and he wanted to writhe, but it didn't tickle. Will's fingers passed over his ribs, his stomach, his hip bone, and back, leaving muscles spasming in their wake. He could feel himself tremble, like his whole body was fluttering under the attention.
"Feels good?" And Macklin could smell the cookies on his breath.
He just faced the ceiling, closed his eyes, and nodded so that he wouldn't moan. Will tucked his face even closer to Mack's, just milimetres away from his ear, his neck, his shoulder.
"Huh," Will whispered. "Feels really good."
Macklin's eyes snapped open. He was hard. He was so, so rock hard that Will had seen through the sweatpants he was wearing, and had commented on it. He should leap out the window. It would be less embarrassing than seeing this through.
"Fuck, I'm sorry, I don't know why it happened," Macklin tried to lie.
"Hey, it's fine. Shit happens, right?" Man, fuck this guy for being so cool. Mack wanted him to do something, make fun of him or get freaked out and go to his own bed. His endless decency kept him there, comforting his stupid, horny, high friend.
Will hadn't stopped the slow drag of his fingers against Mack's abdomen, his shirt slowly creeping up and exposing more vulnerable, pale skin.
"Do you want me to stop?" Mack felt the puff of air from the P sound break against his ear, and his whole body shivered.
"No," Mack braced himself. "Please touch me."
Will's hand slowed, and then continued. He hiked Mack's shirt up a bit more. "Like this?" When Mack turned to face him, Will had to pull his face back so they wouldn't bump into each other.
"Will," Macklin whispered, high, and breathy, and a bit desperate. He felt possessed, he felt empty and rotten and insane. "Kiss me?"
Whatever had been building between them broke, and Will inched forward, eyes half-closed and lazy, and Mack's heart did one final spasm, and then their lips touched and Mack's mouth fell open automatically. Will's lips were soft and wet from being licked and he tasted more like cookies than the cookies had, and he was so demanding when he kissed, and he moved his hand from Mack's stomach to his neck, and he pressed his tongue into Mack's waiting mouth over and over again, licking and tasting, and Mack took it all.
He had never been more full, more in his body, never more aware that he was a complex being, and he was made of skin and bone and nerves and those relayed all information to his brain, which interpreted it all in a split second and reacted, and the only way he could possibly react to this was to moan.
"Does it feel good?" Will asked against his mouth. Macklin just moaned, and lifted his head for more. The smacking sounds of their lips were gross and wet and every one of them pierced through Mack's stomach like a blade and twisted him up with desire. "I've got you."
When Macklin started to shake, Will pulled away.
"Was that not—was that not what you wanted?" His words were breathless and his tone wavered through the question, and Mack realized that he was nervous, that he thought he had overstepped or freaked him out or something even worse. Mack raised a shaking hand to Will's shoulder.
He couldn't explain how much he had wanted it, how long he had wanted it. He couldn't tell him that the closest he had ever gotten to this sparkling, sensitive feeling was when they had sat next to each other on a team bus, and their bare arms had pressed together. Those feelings were sensitive, and would not be done justice right now, with thoughts so fleeting they may as well not even exist.
He just whispered: "More."
Will dove back in. He was wet and messy and their teeth clunked together more than once, but Mack didn't know whose fault that was. He wanted to giggle, because he had always wondered how Will kissed the girls he was sometimes with, how he looked when he was leaning in. First, he had wondered with curiosity, and then something more bitter. His brother had told him that girls didn't like too much tongue, and Mack was seriously doubting their taste because Will's tongue in his mouth made him feel a little wild.
He gripped the hand that was still on his neck and dragged it down, planting it on the bare, sensitive skin of his waist. Will started petting, using his nails to open goosebumps all over his side, and Mack moaned into Will's mouth and bucked his hips up, trying to find any friction.
Will's hand trailed down Mack's side, over his hip, and towards the bow tied in the drawstring of his pants.
"Yes?" Will asked into Mack's mouth.
"Please, yes." He barely recognized the quivering whine that left his throat, but he was entirely familiar with the overbearing need that coursed through him and the thought of Will's hands, his mouth, his body.
Taut as a rubber band, Mack could feel the fabric-on-fabric grind of the bow being undone. It ricocheted through him like a pinball, and then the pants were looser and being pushed down as well as they could be with him flat on his back. He hadn't packed enough underwear, and was entirely exposed once Will worked the pants down a few inches. Mack felt his hard-on fall against his stomach as it was freed.
"Fuck," Will groaned. Mack could barely find any embarrassment, he was stuffed full of pleasure and want and cotton balls, and Will was about to set him on fire. He pulled his hand away, towards his mouth, and Mack wanted to complain, or explain that they didn't have to do this, find a way to let him off the hook, but then Will spat into his hand and brought it back down.
The slick glide of skin on skin slammed pleasure into Mack. It suffused him, every cell buzzing with the knowledge that Will's hand was on his cock and he was stroking it like he had done it a thousand times before, like he had been an expert on Mack's body since before they had ever met.
Mack couldn't control the noise that came out of him. He heard it, a reckless whimper that punched through the quiet room, overlapping whatever the TV speakers were spitting out, but hadn't felt himself do it until it was already done, and then he wanted to do it again, because Will's eyes had rolled back in his head when he had done it. He felt like a dog, whining with every exhale as Will's hand stripped his cock, hotter and slower and wetter than Mack would do on himself, because Will was also staring down at him, checking over every inch of Mack's face as he melted into the pillow.
"Like that, baby?" Will said, the movement of his arm making his breathing unsteady. Mack cried out.
"God—fuck!"
"Let me take care of you."
Mack's orgasm built slowly, starting at the tips of his toes, which curled and twitched as something built there, filling him up like a flask. It spread through him until his muscles were locked tight, the buildup all the sweeter for being so long. The spit had dried a bit on his skin, but Will was still sliding his foreskin back and forth, gripping tight and then loosening, fingers dragging over his most sensitive parts. Mack wondered if this was how Will got himself off, and then he pictured it: Will, in bed, with his boxers pulled down and his hand around his dick, eyes closed as he fantasized—
Mack came, and the feeling of his cum splash against his stomach pressed him more firmly back into his body. Will jerked him through it, keeping the same motion as Mack shot ropes onto himself. His whole body felt like white noise, so saturated with pleasure that he became a blank canvas, unthinking except for one phrase.
"Will, Will," he chanted. "Will, holy shit, fuck, oh my god, that felt so good, what the fuck?"
Will giggled and planted his head back in Mack's neck, going back to stroking his side with a lazy hand. As soon as Mack started to notice the itchy feeling of his cum drying on his stomach, Will was spinning around to get a tissue from the nightstand. For a brief, paranoid second, Mack thought that Will might be able to read his mind. The thought was quickly soothed by Will coming up to plant a kiss on his neck after pulling his pants back up.
"We should do it again. We should have been doing this the whole time," Mack babbled. It was getting hard to control the muscles in his face, the weed and orgasm hitting him as hard as an injection.
"I was trying to," Will murmured.
"Fuck off," Mack warned.
"Well, I wanted to."
Mack wanted to kiss him again, but his body felt like it was fusing into the bed. Will laughed and kissed him. Maybe he really could read his mind.
"You're talking out loud, Mack," Will laughed. "I can't read your mind, don't worry."
The relief of that hit Mack far stronger than it should have, and it startled a goofy laugh out of him.
"I think I'm stoned," proclaimed Mack.
"Me too."
"You should get off." Mack could feel Will's hard on pressing against his hip. He didn't think he had been able to feel it before. Maybe he just hadn't been processing much beyond the leftover spikes of pleasure from his orgasm, which came and went like ripples in a pond.
Will recoiled. "Huh?"
"No, no," Mack startled into nervous action. "Off like, like cum. You should jerk off. Or I can do it."
Will settled back in to Mack's side. "You want that?"
Mack responded by blindly feeling for Will's waistband. Will laughed, a bit breathless, and helped slide his sweats down. Mack could feel the way the fabric slid away and his hand fell on Will's soft, bare hip. His skin was hot, and Mack didn't dare look because just the way this felt might stop his heart. His fingers found thick hair as it gradated into coarse, curly pubic hair. The tight feeling was back over his chest, but this time it felt more like excitement, the kind that surged through you when the lights finally went down at a concert, or when you heard the puck slam into the back of the net.
A few more millimetres had his had at the base of Will's dick. He wrapped his fingers around, tightened them, loosened them once more. Mack's thumb started tracing delicaate circles over the thin skin. It felt a bit unreal, like maybe he was hallucinating after all, or else just dreaming about this for the third time this week.
"Are you gonna… move?" Will asked.
"Sorry," Mack jumped. "It's just. So soft. It feels nice under my hand."
"I promise you it's not soft," Will shot back, and as a response Mack started to move his hand, and that was the last word on that because Will shuddered and then groaned before dropping his head back down into Mack's shoulder.
Mack was acutely aware of how precarious his current situation was. Sure, he would be able to finish the handjob, but anything after that was brand-new, unknown territory. Will could pretend it never happened, or pretend like he had gotten too high to remember this. He could say that he had only done it because he was stoned, he wasn't in his right mind, and that the only reason Mack had done it was because he got so loaded he couldn't tell which was was up.
"I would have done this anyway."
"Huh?" Will breathed into his neck. When his hand wrapped around Mack's, he realized he had stopped stroking. "
I didn't need to be high for this. I would have done it any time you asked." Will shuddered next to him, into him, and used their hands to start stroking again.
"I think I would have done it without you asking, too. You could have just put my hand on your dick like this and I would have let you."
The feeling of Will's release hitting his hand was wet and warm, and it flowed out more gently than Mack's had, cresting over the head of his dick and pouring down the front, running over their joined hands. Mack wanted to taste it.
When Will released his hand, panting and rolling back for tissues, Mack brought it to his mouth to taste, and heard Will swear loudly beside him. He turned back, guilty like a dog caught rummaging the trash.
"That's so hot." Will seemed in disbelief. Mack smiled and swallowed. He had been wanting something satly after those cookies, anyway.
Post-orgasm, he felt a bit clearer. It seemed that Will did, too, because he suggested brushing their teeth and going to bed. Mack didn't feel like moving. Will suggested a few hits of another joint instead, and Mack shook his head.
"I'm still too high," he declared. "I think it would make me feel better if you slept next to me."
"Oh, would it?"
"Yeah. It would relax me. Besides, you're the one who got me high. You have to take care of me."
"Mm. Right." But Will was already shimmying up the bed to free the blanket, and tucking it around Mack as he went.