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It began on a normal afternoon at Paddy's, Dennis was "keeping bar" and eyeing up the few pretty young things who sat at the various tables. It was a bit more crowded than usual, though not really anything to hoot about. He was broken from his concentration when he heard a loud screech from the basement.
Charlie came running up with Mac close after him.
"Den, we gotta do somethin' about the shelving situation downstairs." Mac shouted, grabbing Charlie by the back of his shirt. Charlie looked dazed. It was then that he noticed the paint dripping from Charlie's scruffy beard. He locked eyes with Dennis, clearly ashamed, like a dog who got caught rooting through garbage. "This rat bastard managed to climb up to the paint cans. And he drank all of it. How'd you even do that, Charlie?"
"I'unno." Charlie mumbled. "Got hungry."
"Eat food, then, why paint?"
"He, uh..." Frank cut in, staring at his newspaper. "He has somethin' called pika, like the pokey man thing."
"Pica." Dennis corrected. "A psychological term for eating non-food objects. Basically you're a huge retard, Charlie." Charlie looked up, face gone red. And suddenly, Dennis felt something strange. Something he didn't quite recognize. In that gaze. A pained, embarrassed expression.
"Screw you, Dennis, I'll take that shit from Mac, but not you, man!"
"Them's the facts, Charlie." Frank, once more. "You got piss for brains."
"Aw, c'mon, Frank! Mac, put me down!"
"'kay, sorry." Mac placed Charlie down. Dennis was too busy, enraptured in the sensations building in his brain. Like a capped pressure cooker.
"Like, seriously, do you have brain damage, dude?" Dennis rested his face on his palm. "I have a neurologist I can direct you to."
"Shut up, Dennis, my brain works good!"
"Sure it does."
He forgot about that occurrence for quite a while. It wouldn't have even come back, in fact. Except one time they drove out to a far-off public pool. Charlie ended up, allegedly, forgetting his swim trunks. Dennis found them in his back pocket.
"You harassed us into driving all the way out here to go swimming. What's with this shit, man?"
"It's none of your business..."
"I think it is? Because I'm the one who drove your lazy ass here, idiot." The stirring sensation rose anew. Charlie looked away, cheeks gone red. "What, is the Waitress gonna be here or something? Is that why you made us go here? What's the fucking deal? I don't even swim in public pools, I did this for you, and--"
"It's 'cause I'm fat!"
Silence. Dennis felt... all-powerful.
"Oh. Oh, that's precious."
"What?"
"I'm just surprised it took you that long to notice."
Charlie was visibly shocked. He locked up his shoulders and clenched his fists, oh, baby. Such a... foreign sort of innocent reaction. It was so raw and pathetic. "I mean. When you stretch your arms upward I can see your waistband drowning in flesh. You should be ashamed."
"Shut up! I'm goin' to the car!"
He shoved past Dennis, and wasn't seen for the rest of the afternoon. He was in Dennis' car, covered in sweat. Mac lightly scolded him for sitting in a hot car. ("Dogs and babies die like that, and there's no proof adult people don't also die!") Charlie refused to look at Dennis the whole way back, and made the tension between them quite known, but refused to say what happened. Dennis felt strange, knowing he'd gotten a full boner from insulting Charlie.
Of course he knew he liked verbally bashing people.
But Charlie?
Charlie was the rat. The dirtgrub. For Dennis to see anything in him was ludicrous, and yet... and yet.
Dennis wanted to make him cry.
Charlie was wiping down the taps and accidentally slipped on a puddle of water. Instead of standing, he let out an inhuman cry and held his leg. Dennis and Mac came running. One of the vodka bottles on the shelf had fallen on top of him and he was probably in horrible pain. Mac sat Charlie up in a booth, checking him for any damage. And then when he reached down to take Charlie's shirt off, Charlie locked eyes with Dennis and screamed "No!"
It breathed life into Dennis' body.
So he kept doing it. Any chance he could.
Charlie spilled something.
"Hey Charlie, too stupid to carry things?"
Charlie accidentally cut his palm open on a bottle opener.
"This thing was created to make people's lives easier, and somehow you still hurt yourself with it."
Charlie cried over a cartoon this morning.
"Jesus, how much of a manchild are you?"
It kept Dennis going. When he jacked off at night, he thought of the little face Charlie made. That pout. That bright red pout, with tears visibly stewing, before he ran away with his arm over his face, making little huffing sobs. It turned Dennis on more than anything, thinking about how much his mere words hurt Charlie's feelings. Of course, Mac was a poor sport about the whole thing, but Dennis didn't give a fuck how he felt.
And then, one day, Charlie didn't show up to work.
"Said he wasn't feelin' well, but I figured he'd be here by now." Frank claimed. "It's nearly two PM."
"This is your fault, Dennis, you've been acting like a dick to him and now he probably killed himself!" Mac was flailing his arms around. Dee rolled her eyes.
"No he didn't." She tacked on. "But yeah, Dennis, it's probably your fault."
"Shuttap, Dee!" Frank pounded his fist on the table. "...But yes, Dennis, it's definitely your fault."
"Alright, alright." Dennis threw up his hands, signalling defeat. "If I go talk to him can we all calm down and quit blaming me for Charlie being a big pussy?" Dee and Frank nodded immediately. Mac waited until they agreed before doing so himself. "Good! Frank, your keys."
The Charlie-Frank apartment smelled as awful as usual. Dennis almost debated turning back. But no, this was the ultimate chance. The moment of a lifetime. Dennis couldn't, wouldn't pass it up. He somehow wanted this more than he'd wanted any woman he pursued. He got girls. But this? This was all sorts of different. A building torment that, today, would hit its peak. With that in mind, he slid the key into the doorknob.
Charlie's couch was unfolded and he still laid in bed. The silver sheen on his nose told Dennis that Charlie was higher than the stars in the sky, and not coming down for quite some time. Charlie clearly hadn't noticed Dennis. Charlie also hadn't noticed the fact that he'd pissed the bed. Or he had and was just too lazy to deal with it.
Dennis pulled the covers back, and Charlie shriveled up, hands over his face. He was only in a sweater and filthy boxer shorts. Charlie clearly took a moment to realize it was Dennis, but when he did, he shrieked like a trapped animal.
"Jesus fucking Christ. Charlie, stand up."
"No!"
"You're sitting in your own piss like a fat, dumb animal. Get up."
Dennis had little intent on touching Charlie at all. Adorably pathetic, maybe, but he was still probably diseased like a sewer rat. Charlie sniveled and stood. His cheeks were blotchy, like he'd been crying all day. "Off with the shorts."
"Wha? D-Dennis!"
"Not like that, you absolute creep. You'd really rather keep those on? Are you fucking gay?"
"No!... I'm..." Clearly Charlie was too far gone to think, and dropped trou. Normally, Dennis would be sorely disappointed by a man with a chode. It barely clocked in at four inches, poor thing. But today, by Jove, he couldn't be happier to see how fucking little Charlie's dick was. "Quit staring at me!"
"You can't expect me not to. Your cock looks like it hasn't grown since you were eight years old."
"My c..." Charlie's face flushed red. But this time, he had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nowhere to cry but right in front of Dennis. "That's not..."
"Not true? Have you seen what a man's dick looks like, Charlie? It's not like that. Barely perched over the sack, Jesus Christ, Charlie." Dennis reached for the zipper of his jeans. He was hard, stiffer than steel. And it stood high. So high up it practically struck shadows over Charlie's, and Charlie's eyes were shimmering, welling up with water. "Do you see this? There's a goddamn reason this thing got inside the Waitress before yours did."
"I can't..." Charlie stumbled back on the bed, eyes glazed over.
"You're so high you can't stand. On a work day."
A hungry predator, Dennis grabbed himself. "Like the fat piece of shit you are." And he made sure he positioned himself so Charlie could see everything. "You still piss the bed and cry like a little bitch whenever anything goes wrong. Do you ever look at yourself, Charlie?"
Charlie whimpered, covering his face. Dennis lifted one hand, which was sticky with pre, to smack Charlie's balled-up fists away. "Fucking look at me when I'm talking to you, Charlie." Despite his harsh words, he was grinning fully like a monster. "Answer me. When was the last time you took a good long look at yourself?"
"I, uh..."
"Well? Was it never? Do you never do it? Because that'd explain a lot."
"No, I..."
"I check myself for imperfections every morning. So I don't become a nasty freak like you."
Charlie had no response. Fresh tears were falling from his eyes, and Dennis stroked himself harder.
"Den, put- put your dick away..."
"Why should I? You already have no care for what is... Mmh..." Dennis bit his lip. "For what is socially acceptable. Why shouldn't I just do whatever I want in front of you, Charlie? You're so selfish, you force, f... ah, fuck..."
"Stop it."
"You force everyone else to deal with your fucking disgustingness. Look at you."
Dennis already felt himself nearing the orgasm. That was no good. He wanted to draw this out. Charlie was staring at the ceiling. "Charlie. Look over here. I'm over here, you fucking moron. Are you not even physically capable of looking at me?"
"Git out m' house..."
"What do you plan on doing about it? Other than crying. Oh, boo-hoo. Poor Charlie. Poor Charlie wet the bed."
Charlie couldn't help himself. He broke out sobbing. Red face and all. His brow and chin, wrinkled inwards as he rasped a wet sob. His mouth, oh, how his cute little maw fell open and he wailed into the turgid air. He was so pained, and wounded, deep in a place where nobody could see. The way his silvered nose dripped, and his cheeks glimmered with sparkling tears. Were he cleaner, Dennis would drink the salt water from his eyes.
"I'm sooorrryyy! I'm sor..." Charlie hiccuped. So high he couldn't choke back the pain. "Sorry..."
"Fuck me, Charlie... Jesus. I'm surprised you haven't killed yourself yet."
Never before had Dennis felt so much pleasure shoving the dirtgrub down. He really did feel like a god. A godhood that only Charlie could recognize, laid back on his filthy mattress with his chode on display, brought to tears by words, mere words. Words like knives. And for the first time that day, Charlie looked at him.
Eyes grey, and filled with dejection. Clouded with tears and paint fumes.
Dennis came.
He shot ropes, all over Charlie's body. Charlie recoiled, scrambling back.
"Dennis, that's..."
"Consider it a gift. Maybe you can eat it."
Dennis was all caught in the afterglow. This was... better than sex. Better than fucking girls. Just one final step. Dennis tucked himself back into his pants. "Sorry for barging in, man." Charlie looked dumbfounded.
"So- sorry? You just- You camed on me!"
"Me? How high are you, Charlie." Dennis rolled his eyes.
"I know what I saw!"
"Sure." Dennis rolled his eyes. "Anyway, you're not looking so hot. I'll tell the gang you're sick."
"You just... I... I'm so confused..." Charlie looked around. "Dennis? You just camed on me, Dennis."
"No? I didn't. Why would I do that."
"Because..." Charlie looked paranoid. "I don't know?"
"Not to be rude or anything, but you're kind of... you know."
"I'm what?"
Dennis was already on his way out. "Dennis? Dennis!" He shut the door behind him. Charlie hadn't followed him. Dennis wasn't sure how far he could walk in that state. He felt... all alive. Dennis, the Golden God, floated above the world on platinum wings.
Oh, who knew? Who knew with Charlie? How fun!