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Macklin throws the door to their hotel room open so hard it nearly blows a hole through the wall and Will knows he’s in for a long night.
After a season and a half of Macklin crashing out following countless losses, Will has gotten good at reading exactly the mood Mack is in- when the losses are going to roll off his back and when they’re going to seep into the fabric of his being. It’s nights like tonight, when he’d gone completely non-verbal in the third period, smashed his stick against the net, and sat alone on the bus that Will knows he’s going to have to take matters into his own hands.
“Mack,” he says, stern. He follows him into the hotel room, flipping the bathroom light switch and checking the hallway. He lets the door shut gently, then checks the lock. Now is not the time for prying teammates to appear out of nowhere. Maybe he should put the ‘do not disturb’ hanger on the handle.
It’s too much work, he decides, as Mack yanks his hoodie over his head and slams it on the floor. Will takes a deep, grounding breath. “Macklin.” He says it with authority that comes only from experience. He sounds more confident than he feels.
Will is nothing if not a caretaker. He reads people and does his best to be exactly what they need. Sometimes that comes in the form of freshly baked goods and dinner reservations at fancy restaurants that require waking up early a month in advance. Sometimes, being his mother’s son means patience and quiet company while he waits for people to ask for what they want from him.
And sometimes it means turning Macklin Celebrini inside-out to get him out of his own head.
-
They’d discovered this outlet by accident. One night towards the end of their rookie season, Mack had taken a mindless loss more deeply than Will had ever seen. It didn’t matter- they’d been out of the playoff race for months by then, but Mack was miserable anyway.
He slammed the door to Will’s car when they got back to the Thorton’s and left Will alone while he showered for over an hour. When he’d come out of the bathroom, sweatier than he was originally and eyes rimmed red, Will had forced him to sit on the edge of his bed and count to 10.
By the time he’d gotten there, Mack was nearly crying, but his eyes had glazed over. He wasn’t as in his head, but it wasn't calm- it was something deeper. He’d obeyed another handful of Will’s instructions with an uncharacteristic lack of sass, and when Will complimented his ability to follow directions, he’d moaned.
The boner in his gray sweats became more obvious when Will caught sight of it, and the rest was history.
They’d had, like, normal sex a handful of times since then, too. Mostly blowjobs or handies in hotel beds after wins. They’d each fucked each other a few times, too, but that required more prep than either of them usually had the patience for.
They’d never actually labelled anything or told anyone. It didn’t seem important. Everyone knows Will and Mack do everything together, why should their orgasms be any different?
-
“Macklin,” Will snaps a third time. “Look at me.” His tone leaves no room for discussion. Mack whips his head around, ready to argue, then catches Will’s gaze and visibly shudders. A deep shiver runs down his spine, and Will has him right where he wants him. He cocks his head, testing.
Without breaking eye-contact, Will steps closer to Macklin, admiring the sweaty flush still written all over his face despite the locker-room shower. His hair is a mess and his eyes are red-rimmed. Despite the obvious mental anguish, he looks really fucking hot. Macklin Celebrini, perfect as always.
It kind of kills Will that Mack doesn’t see himself the way everyone else does, and that’s why he has to try so hard to make it obvious.
Mack loses focus and Will isn’t quite ready for that to happen. He can see them glaze over and snaps his fingers to get it back. It’s a little demeaning, snapping at him like a dog, but Mack likes it. Will knows Mack likes it because Will knows Mack better than Mack knows himself, and that is a good fucking feeling.
Will had been plotting on the bus and had to use his coat to cover his ensuing boner. He knows he wants Mack on his knees at some point, but he isn’t sure how mean he wants to be. Maybe it depends on how hard he fights it.
Judging by the way Mack’s breath is hitching, he doesn’t seem to be pushing back at all. “Are you going to be good for me?” Will asks, just above a whisper. It’s probably a little cringe, and if Mack wasn’t so miserable after losses like this, he’d probably laugh at Will’s pathetic attempt at dirty talk, but instead Mack whimpers and nods. His dress pants do little to hide his physical reaction to Will’s dominance.
“Use your words, Macklin.”
“Yes.”
Will raises his eyebrows, taunting. “Yes, what?” He’s really pushing it.
Mack looks somewhere between homicidal and suicidal. The fire behind his eyes is kinda hot, unfortunately. Unlike Mack, who shuts down in anger after a loss, Will usually gets embarrassingly horny. It’s not exactly ideal trying to hide it in the locker room while showering or sitting in his skimpy cut-resistant leggings, nor does it feel particularly great in a jock, but Will is 20, gay, and incredibly attracted to Mack’s worst moods. The guys mostly keep their eyes to themselves, anyway.
“Will,” Mack whines, and Will has had enough of wherever this foreplay was going. He’s so hard he’s going to pass out just standing here, and that won’t be good for either of them. He grabs his necklace, says a prayer that God isn’t watching, and throws himself at Mack.
He wraps his soft hand around the back of Mack’s neck, tangling his fingers in the wet roots as he crushes their mouths together. They don’t kiss very often- but when they do, they’re sloppy and kinda trash. Their teeth hit and Mack uses way too much tongue. As far as men-Will-has-kissed rankings go, Mack is not the most talented, but he is Macklin Celebrini, and he’s never been one to back down from a challenge.
He kisses the same way he attacks a hockey game- throwing his entire body at the wall and putting pure work into every move. He skates like a madman and kisses even crazier. It’s kinda gross and weird, but it’s fucking Macklin Celebrini, and that fact makes Will forgive everything else.
Eventually, biology remains undefeated, and they have to pull away to breathe at some point. When they do, the burning agony in Mack’s face has been replaced with something much, much, hornier, and that makes Will smile.
“Get on your knees,” he whispers, trying to catch his breath. He nearly chokes when Mack drops instantly. They’ve done… whatever this is… a number of times, but it makes Will’s stomach flip all the same- how compliant Mack is with his every command, how willing he is to obey.
Mack’s head hangs low between his shoulders, bracing against Will’s upper thigh. The position is less sexual and more repentant. Mack sits on his knees, ass resting on his heels like he’s praying for forgiveness from some hockey God. Will tangles his fingers in his hair and tilts Mack’s face up towards his own, regaining his attention.
As his head tilts, Mack’s mouth falls open- pink and wet. Will can’t resist the urge to stick his fingers in the open orifice, and lets his thumb rest on Mack’s tongue, prying open his jaw. “Are you going to make yourself useful,” Will asks, a little mean, “or are you just gonna sit there and pout?”
There are tears forming in Macklin’s eyes, glassy in the dim lighting. Drool is starting to drip out of his mouth around Will’s hand. It’s definitely gross, but Will doesn’t care. He wishes he could crack Mack’s head open and crawl inside, find the part of him that blames himself for every loss, and pull the plug. Wonders if that would irreversibly change the person he loves so much- if the pain is simply a part of him, and frowns.
Mack doesn’t respond to Will’s taunting, either way. There doesn’t seem to be much of anything going on in his head at all- which is the goal- but it’s a little earlier than Will had intended. He hadn’t meant for Mack to be so deep so quick. They’re still fully clothed. They haven’t actually discussed their boundaries or safewords or whatever.
But then again, Mack is letting his own saliva drip down his neck as he loosely sucks Will’s fingers, so the trust is kind of implied.
Will huffs out a heavy breath, trying to navigate a Macklin that has a lot less fight than he’s used to. Usually, even after a tough loss, Mack pushes back a little bit- gives him a bratty look or a snarky comment when Will says something stupid- but he’s fully out of it today. He wonders, briefly, if Mack would ever let him tie him down. They don’t have anything here, in a hotel in Ottawa, but surely they could find something back in San Jose. Neckties would work, probably.
Will would rather die than walk into a sex toy shop, so that’s probably off the table.
Mack shifts his weight slightly, catching Will’s eyes and recapturing his focus. Right. Macklin Celebrini. On his knees. In front of Will. Hard. Will swallows hard and steps back, kicking off his shoes. Yeah, he’s not great at tying his laces and his slip-ons are kind of ugly, but they’re very practical when the impending sex with his teammate needs to happen within the next 5 seconds. It’s basically life or death, and shoelaces will not be the cause of Will’s blue-ball-induced demise.
He kicks them as hard as he can, and hears them bank off the wall near the door. Mack whines quietly when his hair is pulled by Will, who nearly falls over trying to get his socks off. It’s not Will’s fault he’s dizzy- all of his blood is in his dick.
Mack is still fully clothed, and Will kinda feels bad. He kinda feels bad, but also, it’s kind of hot. He knows if he wanted to, he could get Mack to cum in his dress pants. It wouldn’t be particularly hard- not least because Mack cums pretty quickly in the first place.
Realistically, neither of them are all that great at sex. Will has only actually fucked a few people, especially since his NHL debut. There were those few times with Gabe and a couple times with Leno, a few times with Gabe and Leno, mostly drunk and quickly forgotten. There was that one girl while he was at the program, but neither of them had left that particular encounter satisfied at all. And then there was Mack.
Of everyone Will has had sex with, Mack is the most. When he’s normal, his hands are everywhere. He moves constantly and runs his mouth nonstop. When he’s like this, Mack goes quiet. It’s such a stark departure from his normal behavior that the first few times, Will had been a little worried. He doesn’t know what it feels like for Mack when he’s in that headspace. They always just fall asleep and forget about it in the morning. He should probably ask.
Will tries to unbutton his khakis with just his right hand, but he can’t figure it out. He removes his spit-slick fingers from Mack’s mouth and fumbles with the button, wet hand making the situation more difficult. When he sits back on the bed to shove the pants down his legs, Mack lunges forward, capturing Will’s lips in another kiss.
It’s really cute, honestly. Will is trying not to rush to the more interesting stuff- trying to make it good for Mack- but if he wants to kiss, who is Will to complain?
He keeps working his pants down his shins as Mack licks into his mouth, stepping on the fabric and trying to pull them off. The tent in his boxers is painfully obvious between them. Mack lets his hand rest on his own thighs and Will wishes desperately he’d put them to good use. He could just ask.
Will pulls back. “Mack,” he whispers. Anything louder feels like it will break the fragile atmosphere. Inside this bubble of their hotel room, nobody else matters. “Do you want to take your pants off?” He’s probably supposed to be meaner. If Will bossing Mack around is what gets him to go all floaty, he should probably try to keep that energy. He really should knock this gentle shit off and just jack them off or something- but he can’t help it.
Mack nods quickly, reaching for the button on his own pants. His fingers shake when he tries, and he keeps fumbling uselessly. He looks up to Will, pleading. He kind of looks like he might cry. Shit.
“C’mere,” Will says, reaching for Mack. He stands up, putting his hands on Will’s shoulders and letting him undo the button. Will slides his pants down and smiles at the stupid shark-themed boxers he’s wearing. “On the bed, Mack.” He tries to say it with authority, but Mack looks down at him, hair in his eyes, and the breathy whisper comes out more like a prayer.
Will is surely straying further and further from heaven every day, but if anything in this world is worthy of devotion, it’s Mack. If this love damns him, so be it.
Mack obliges, crawling onto the bed. He lies on his stomach, ass up. There’s a great white shark stretched across his left cheek, and Will has to bite his lip hard to stop from laughing.
Mack’s positioning isn’t exactly ideal for what Will was imagining, but he’ll make it work. He gets his shirt off and throws it in the direction of his suitcase, hoping for the best. Mack is still in his white undershirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
Will throws himself on the bed on his back, head propped up by a pillow. Mack’s face is resting on his left arm, facing towards him. Will smiles at the flush of his cheeks then schools his face back into a more stern expression. He scoots down a little bit, then gently grabs Mack by the chin and kisses him again.
He keeps it brief, trying to move things along. He’d really like to edge Mack at least twice, if possible, and he may come easily, but kissing isn’t going to do it. Instead, he urges Mack to scoot until he’s mostly on top of him. 200 pounds of muscle is a lot of weight pushing down on him, but Will likes the pressure.
He grabs a handful of Mack’s clothed ass and gives it a squeeze. Okay, maybe a little more kissing wouldn’t hurt.
They make out for several minutes. It’s a waste of time that could probably be used better, but Mack keeps moaning softly when Will pulls his hair, and pushes his hips into Will’s thigh every couple seconds in a slow, lazy rhythm.
Eventually Will can’t take the lack of friction against his own bulge. Mack seems content to let whatever happen, but he’s always been the more disciplined of the two of them. He rolls them over so he’s on top, then taps Mack’s hips, urging him to lift them. Mack complies, mercifully, and Will drags his boxers down his hips.
Mack’s dick is…well… kind of small, honestly.
The first time he’d seen it, Will was kind of surprised. He knows ‘Big Dick Energy’ isn’t really a thing, but he’d been stunned anyway. Obviously he’d seen it in the locker room, he’d just assumed Mack was a grower. Sometimes, when he scrolls Instagram after a game to catch up, he’ll catch sight of Mack’s crotch in their pregame football videos, and he can’t believe he hadn’t noticed.
The size isn’t a bad thing. Will’s never been particularly great at giving head, and Mack makes his inability to deepthroat less of a problem. It’s a win-win, really.
The humiliation also seems to really get Mack off, and that’s the best part of it all.
Will takes Mack into his hand and looks up, catching his eye. “You’re so hard, baby,” Will says. The pet name slips out accidentally. Mack whines, impatient. The head of his dick is nearly purple and leaking an honestly ridiculous amount of precum. Will should grab the bottle of lube out of his toiletry case, but he can’t be bothered to get up. Instead, he lifts his hand up towards Mack's mouth and says, “Spit.”
Will uses the saliva to ease the gentle slide of his hand over Mack. He takes special care to rub his thumb over the head every stroke, knowing it drives Mack wild. After a minute, Mack starts to buck his hips up into Will’s touch, chasing. Will clicks his tongue. “Don’t cum,” he warns.
Mack seems to take the suggestion for a minute. He’s always been coachable. Soft, punched-out moans ring through the room every few seconds. He isn’t loud enough yet that Will has to worry about which of their teammates is on the other side of the wall- but he probably will be in due time.
Eventually Mack’s hips seem to stutter without his control, and Will knows he’s close. He takes his hand off, and, much to his enjoyment, hears Mack let out a miserable cry at the loss. He can’t help the giggle that escapes him at the sound, or the frown from Mack that follows.
He mumbles something that sounds vaguely like a ‘fuck you’ but it’s so jumbled Will honestly isn’t sure. He doesn’t care to find out, because if he’s going to edge Mack again, he’s got to get to it.
He scoots farther down the bed, shuddering at the few seconds of friction the motion gives him. His tongue trails down Mack’s chest, kissing him messily. He’s practically hairless. When he reaches his hips, Will grabs them, digging his nails hard enough to leave crescent marks.
He takes Mack’s cock into his mouth, swirls his tongue around the head and then swallows him down. He lets the weight of Mack rest in his mouth before looking up through his eyelashes at Mack, hoping he’s paying attention.
He isn’t.
Mack’s head is titled up towards the ceiling, his eyes closed. His right arm is draped dramatically over his forehead like he’s dying of some exotic plague, and his other hand is death-gripping the duvet cover. Will is supposed to be making him calm down, but he seems too tense to be enjoying himself. Hmm.
“Look at me,” Will says. He’s asking, really, because Mack isn’t giving him much to work with. How is he supposed to read the guy when all he’s getting from his body language is that he wants to cum? He doesn’t know how to make this better for him, how to get him deeper into the headspace where he can fully enjoy himself, and asking him isn’t going to get him any closer.
Mack looks down for a second before his eyes close again.
As much as Will wanted to tease Mack with his mouth, he gets the feeling that he’s going to have to use his words if he wants this to last. Mack can’t stand the quiet. “Open your eyes,” Will says again. This time, when Mack makes eye contact, Will licks a stripe up his dick, then trails a finger lower, circling his balls. Mack lets out a single, punchy moan, and he’s right back where Will wants him.
At the rink, Mack is always in charge. He’s a diva with severe attitude issues. He’s kind of rude when he knows people aren’t trying their hardest and he’s not exactly respectful to authority figures. It kind of annoys most of their team, but they take it on the chin because he’s Macklin Celebrini and they all know he’s better than they are. When he slaps Will’s hand away from the iPad on the bench during a game, he should probably hear about it.
But Will likes it. Mack is a bitch and it’s hot as fuck. People joke that he walks Will “like a dog,” and Will knows because he’s seen his sister’s tiktok reposts. If only they could see him now, drenched in sweat and completely at Will’s mercy. It’s a give and take.
If only the people watching Macklin’s every move knew that his post-loss crashouts can only be solved by his teammate slowly and systematically taking him apart with his fingers. What they might say about their perfect superstar if they saw how quickly he submits to Will’s every demand.
He’s beautiful, lying here on the bed in the dim light. Will wants to crawl back up and kiss him some more, but he can tell Mack is getting closer, and he has no intention of making this easy for him. He runs his index finger along the seam of his balls and blows gently on the purple head of his dick. Mack cries pathetically in response.
His legs have started to shake, so Will takes his left hand and does his best to hold him down. Any extra friction could throw off the timing Will has down to a science, and that would be a shame. He watches Mack’s fingers tense against the white bedding and admires the way his veins protrude from his skin.
He teases slowly up and down Mack’s crotch for another minute, barely giving him enough attention to worry about an orgasm, but Mack has always been one to shoot off quickly, and anything is possible. His head is rolling against the pillow, messing his hair up in a way that is, unfortunately, very sexy. Between his glassy eyes, spit-slicked lips, messy hair, and sweat-drenched skin, Mack is a wreck.
It’s this distraught, destroyed appearance that makes Will harder than he ever thought possible. All the times he’s jerked off to Mack’s postgame interviews, coming all over the wall of their hotel shower at the sight of his sweaty neck and red-rimmed eyes. There’s something so needlessly attractive about his bad moods and Will goes crazy every time.
Mack’s cock jumps and the sight makes Will want to laugh. He doesn’t, but only because he knows there’s a good chance Mack would cry if he thought Will was laughing at his tiny dick, and Will would probably cum in his boxers at the sight.
Instead, he wraps his hand around the throbbing flesh and squeezes gently. Mack’s breaths are heavy and uneven. His eyes are unfocused, but he hasn’t let his gaze wander from Will’s face. “So good for me,” Will coos, biting back a smile. “Do you want to cum?”
Mack does. He wants to cum so badly, and Will knows it. He lets out a cry in response. There’s sweat dripping down his forehead and his thighs are shaking.
“Use your words, Macklin.”
Mack’s mouth opens several times in an attempt to speak. Will can tell he’s really, really, trying, and he’s about to give up and just let him cum, when hears a quiet “Yes.”
His voice is raspy and fucked-out, throat audibly dry. He’s so close to the edge, and he’s so beautiful. Will really gets off on Mack’s sweaty frustration, but he’s honestly just kind of crazy about him all the time. The fact that his affection is mostly expressed through planning their off-days and edging Mack until he cries is just part of their dynamic.
“Yeah?” Will asks, trying not to show his cards. Mack probably knows Will isn’t going to be that easy on him. Colleen once said that Mack was too soft with Will, but nobody has ever said it goes the other way. Even if he knows Will won’t actually let him cum, his brain is just foggy enough to let him hope, and Will loves knowing he has that power. “Are you close?”
Mack nods frantically, his hips overpowering Will’s half-assed attempt at keeping them pinned down. The more Mack thinks he has control, the better. If he thinks he’s going to get through Will’s defenses, the denial will be even sweeter. Will bites his lip so hard he tastes blood.
He drags a teasing finger across the head of Mack’s dick, letting the precum stick to the tip and stretch in a slick line back to the slit. Mack whines. Will tightens his grip on Mack and quickly increases his speed, jerking him hard and fast. When Mack’s body tenses, he counts to three and lets go.
The scream that leaves Mack is practically blood-curdling. There’s a good chance they’re going to get a noise-complaint, unless the only people who heard it are their teammates, in which case, Will prays, they’ll assume they’re up to something significantly more innocent. He can’t be that bothered, anyway, because Mack has lifted his head off the pillow to glare down at him.
This time, Will can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of his chest. He knows he’s being kind of mean, but it’s so much fun. Reading Mack so easily he can edge him without fail is a perfect use of his evil powers. Nobody knows Mack like Will does, and this area is no exception.
Mack practically growls at him, baring his teeth and reaching for his own dick, which Will swats away. “No.”
He throws his head back again, frustrated but not at all fighting. If he was truly upset, he’d make his grievances clear.
Will’s own rock-hard dick, mostly forgotten in his own boxers, is throbbing so hard it’s painful. He’s going to have to do something about his own erection sooner or later, and Mack is unlikely to be any help in that department- in this state at least.
Getting up for lube feels like a Herculean task, but some journeys are unavoidable. Will pushes himself up onto his knees, leans forward enough to press an extremely gentle kiss to Mack’s chapped lips, and rolls off the bed.
His bare feet slap on the cold tile of the bathroom floor when he steps in. His reflection mirrors Mack’s- flushed, sweaty, and utterly sex-drunk. His hair looks dumber than Mack’s if that’s possible somehow, and his eyes are wild. He shakes off the guilt that sinks in his stomach at the sight of his chain against his pale chest and looks down at his bag. He digs the small bottle of lube out of the pocket next to his toothpaste and prays it won’t be cold.
He’s only been gone for a minute or less, but when he returns to the bed, Mack is on his stomach again, lazily humping the mattress. Will clicks his tongue, indignant, and strips off his boxers.
“Macklin.”
Mack pays him exactly no mind.
“Macklin,” Will repeats, more stern. “What do you think you’re doing?” He steps closer to the bed.
Mack lets out another muffled cry and stops, rolling onto his side, one leg up. His eyes catch Will’s and the tears on his lashline reflect the bathroom light. Mack isn’t a crier, but his frustrated teary eyes make Will all fucking soft and gooey on the inside. He has never been a fighter, but if he thought killing people would make Mack happy, he’d do it without question.
Will makes it to the bed and climbs up on his knees. He pushes a hand on Mack’s shoulder, rolling him back onto his stomach. He’d really like to fuck Mack, but he knows neither of them have the patience for the prep tonight, so he chooses the next-best thing.
“This may or may not be freezing,” he warns, then drizzles lube directly from the bottle to Mack’s thighs. Mack tenses and lets out a long hiss. “Sorry,” Will apologizes, but he really isn’t.
He uses his hands to spread it around a little, wincing at the temperature against his own warm skin, then takes his dick into his hand, giving it a couple quick strokes. “Don’t cum, Macky,” he instructs, “not until I say.”
The pathetic sound that comes from Mack is close enough to an acknowledgement, and Will takes that as a win. He guides his dick between his slicked-up thighs. Mack’s legs are incredibly muscular, and he knows to keep them pinched together slightly so Will can get good pressure from his thrusts. Will’s dick rubs against the underside of Mack’s and along his balls.
“Fuck,” Will breathes, inhaling shakily. He’s done this once before, but holy shit. Fucking Mack’s thighs should not feel almost exactly as good as actually fucking Mack, but it does. It’s warm and tight and perfectly slippery, and the friction of his dick against Mack’s is perfect.
He isn’t going to last long, and he knows it isn’t fair to edge Mack a third time, so he purposely slows down his thrusts and changes the angle, missing some of the drag of skin on skin.
It’s only a matter of a few minutes, tops, before Will’s hips are stuttering. He’s losing control quickly, and it’s getting harder to hold himself up in the plank necessary to make this position work long-term. He may be a professional athlete, but his arms have never been his strong suit. Sue him.
Mack is getting close again, too. He probably never really backed far from the edge after last time, but his body is bouncing with the force of Will’s hips, and the grind of the fabric has to feel great. If Will told him to right now, he’d probably cum instantly.
Will’s arms give out, and he has to drop to his elbows. Mack groans at the additional weight across his back when Will lowers himself, but doesn’t complain. Both of their thighs are shaking uncontrollably, and Will’s thrusts are slow but powerful. He chases the drag of his dick on Mack’s, drunk on the feeling.
Eventually, everything is too much. Will pushes one of his forearms under Mack’s torso and pulls him impossibly closer, hips thrusting a final time before he’s cumming all over the soft pale skin of Mack’s muscular thighs. His eyes screw shut as cum splatters across Mack’s balls and all over the sheets.
“Fuck, Mack,” Will groans, humping through the tail-end of his orgasm. All he gets in response is a pitiful whine, and that’s when he snaps back into reality and remembers Mack won’t cum until Will gives him permission. Despite being a little heady with the power, he hadn’t meant for it to cause Mack any actual distress. He never would have punished him for cumming before he gave him the O.K.
“You can cum, baby,” Will says when he catches his breath. He reaches his hand under Mack’s body and uses his own cum to help the slide. It’s only a matter of two or three strokes before Mack cums all over his fist with a strangled cry.
They lie there in silence for a few minutes, hearts pounding in their chests. Will can feel Mack’s heartbeat and allows that to ground him. He times their breaths so they end up in sync, analyzing the pattern of Mack’s breathing. He knows Mack’s sour mood will be worse in the morning if he wakes up sore and covered in dried cum, so he needs to get them up and clean before he falls asleep.
Luckily for them both, Will can tell by the depth of Mack’s inhales that he hasn’t passed out yet. He’s been relaxed with the combination of an orgasm and the weight of Will’s body on top of his own, but he isn’t asleep.
“Macky,” Will whispers. “We have to clean up.” He knows Mack is going to protest, so he doesn’t let himself hear it. He pushes himself out of the bed and retreats to the bathroom.
After washing Mack’s cum off his hand, he lets the sink run until the water is warm, then soaks two washcloths under the stream and wrings them out. This time, he avoids looking at himself in the mirror. He inhales, shuts off the sink and the light, exhales.
As he strides back over to the bed, Will knows he isn’t ashamed. He spent too many years trying to repress this part of himself. The part that likes men, but also the part that loves this one. He knows, by the sight of Mack’s impish, fucked-out smile and his messy hair, that this is the closest he’ll ever feel to God.
Wiping their cum from Mack’s thighs with a damp washcloth is practically a form of worship in itself. Will coaxes him into flipping over so he can get the rest, then trails gentle kisses up his stomach. He lets his hands wander the length of Mack’s body and sends a prayer up to whoever might hear, thanking the universe for sending him someone who makes Will feel so whole.
He throws the towels on the ground when they’re cleaned up and knows he’ll regret it in the morning, but can’t bring himself to care. Mack’s breathing has evened out, and Will knows he’s drifting. They really should move to the other bed, where the sheets aren’t still damp with cum and sweat, but that’s entirely too much work.
They’ll wake up early in the morning to dead phones and morning breath, rush through a joint shower, and meet their team for breakfast before their flight. They won’t talk about the mind-blowing night of kinda shitty sex, and everyone around them will look at them and laugh because Will and Mack are attached at the hip.
And they’ll have no idea how true that is.