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For months now, Dennis had been feeding Mac his size pills, vehemently reminding him in no uncertain terms of how gross, disgusting, and fat he'd been. Mac, as per usual, wasn't listening. Mac was far more interested in gaining weight and being "as big as a skyscraper," whatever that meant. Mac did listen when Dennis said he would help Mac. That he would help make him big again. Under that ruse, Mac had dutifully taken the size pills, convinced as he was that they would help increase his size when they were in fact doing the exact opposite.It was far from the worst lie Dennis had ever told anyone. Objectively, sure, he knew that conning his best friends was a no-no. Or, more accurately, he understood that other people might see it that way. This arrangement was better for everyone, though. Dennis saw far more than anyone gave him credit for. If he could convince Mac they were working toward the same goals while secretly improving his best friend's health, then no one would be the wiser. Anyone, given Dennis's means and willingness to carry this through, would do the exact same thing. Mac was unreasonable. Trying to talk him out of the weight gain thing would only make things worse. This was a better solution all around. Out of everyone in the gang, too, Mac was surely the one most accustomed to this level of obsessive attention. Being friends with Dennis Reynolds meant you had no secrets. Zero. None. And it also meant that you agreed to a certain level of...interference. Manipulation. Control. Whatever you wanted to call it. And Mac...Mac knew this. Mac had known this for years. Decades. He might not entirely grasp every nuance of every situation, but Mac had to know that on some level, Dennis had a hand in most of his decisions. It was why they worked so well together. As friends. So Dennis was decidedly not lying to Mac. He may be lying about particulars, but the underlying principle remained the same. Dennis hadn't changed, and he never planned to. Mac's size thing, on the other hand, had seemed to come out of the blue. Mac was always a drinker. They all were. But he was also a fitness buff, which was...not Dennis's thing. Dennis preferred fasting and cardio to maintain his figure and fight the beer belly. Mac, on the other hand, would sometimes spend hours at the gym lifting weights and doing leg-crunches or whatever the hell all those other machines were for. Dennis had long assumed that Mac's motivations were the same as his - keep off the weight that came with drinking as often as they all did. Come to find out it was really a latent obsession with size. Being bigger meant being more manly, which meant all those sly, unwanted feelings Mac had about other men were absolved. (Dennis had long ago given up on talking Mac out of that particular train of thought.) Heck, before the weight gain shift, Mac liked the gym so much that he had even talked Dennis into going with him one afternoon. Dennis had agreed, mostly so he could scope the place out and see what it had to offer in the way of attractive hookups. That had been a complete failure. Going to the gym with Mac had entailed hour after hour of Mac waving Dennis over and telling him to watch as he pushed around bars and levers, having the nerve to act hurt when Dennis had absolutely no idea what was happening that he was supposed to be impressed about. Then Dennis had had to be extra nice, complimenting the number of weights Mac was adding to his machines, the very repetitive nature of his lifts, whatever he could think of. Mac had known Dennis had no idea what he was saying, but he had been appeased all the same. All in all, it had been complete waste of time. Dennis had resolved to never again accompany Mac to the gym. It became clear over the years, though, that Mac was preoccupied with his size. He liked looking big and bulky, and when one day he discovered that he could eat a ton of junk food and get even bulkier - accumulate mass, as he called it - Mac had apparently plunged in headfirst. The size thing was old news, but truth be told, the eating thing had taken Dennis by surprise. Dennis would later blame his temporary preoccupation with other matters (like the detective who'd resurfaced after years and tried to pin an old case on Dennis - no one in the gang knew about that one) for the fact that he simply hadn't noticed at first when Mac shifted his obsession with getting bigger to an obsession with getting bigger. It was hard to avoid, after a while, when his loud snoring and heavy-footed stomping to the kitchen in the middle of the night for snacks would wake Dennis up or, even worse, interrupt one of his dates. So it took a while for Dennis to catch on, but once he did, he was appalled. Mac had turned from a relatively healthy, active individual into a sloppy, fat mess with grease stains and too-tight shirts and it was distracting, damnit. Completely unappealing. It had to stop. For Mac's own good as well as Dennis's sanity. That was when Dennis had procured the "size pills." Those little imported beauties had been working, too. Mac had dropped the extra weight so quickly that Dennis was actually a little envious. Dennis would literally starve himself some days if he the scale in the bathroom showed anything over a certain number. It was hard, and it took forever to drop those few pounds he would inadvertently add on. But with Mac, it was falling away like melted butter. Sure, Mac still had a little flabby overhang where his skin had stretched out from all the extra pounds, but for the most part, it was gone, and he ate a healthy amount now.
And Dennis was happy about that. He was. This was him being happy about that. There was absolutely no reason for Dennis to want Mac to be fat. Only a crazy person would think that horrid mess of couple months was a good idea. So Dennis had been pretty sure he'd had Mac's problem in hand, so much so that it slipped his mind to wonder what would happen if he left town for a few days. Mac could take care of himself, surely. The reason for the trip was...was boring as hell, actually. What mattered was the woman he'd picked up on the plane back to Philly. After an hour of slowplay, some conversation, some subtle hints and suggestions, she had agreed (because of course she had agreed) to come back to his place. He was laughing with her about some insipid inside joke they'd had on the plane (one of his secondary moves - establish the semblance of intimacy) when he unlocked the door to his and Mac's apartment. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find. Truth be told, he hadn't given any thought to what Mac had been doing while he was out of town. Mac was healthier now, he was feeling a hell of a lot better (even if he wouldn't admit it), and he could do whatever he wanted now, not bogged down by his adult-onset diabetes and enormous gut.
Dennis hadn't realized it at the time, but this trip had been the longest they'd been apart in...well, a long time. Looking back, he realized he probably should have given more thought to it. Would have, if he'd known what the outcome would be. See, what he had failed to realize - which became immediately apparent when he opened the door - was that this was his first time away from Mac since he'd started feeding him the size pills. Apparently, without Dennis following Mac around with a pill bottle constantly reminding him to take the pills, and despite the fact that Dennis had left an extra bottle in their bathroom with a very clear and visible note, Mac had apparently stopped taking them. Mac had stopped taking the pills, which meant his full appetite had returned, and now he was systematically undoing all of Dennis's hard work, effort, and money (those pills did not come cheap). And he was throwing away his regained figure for...candy, at the moment, but probably a whole lot of other stuff. It was not a pretty sight. The lights were dim, the TV on, and in the flickering light of some old sitcom rerun sat Mac, surrounded by days-old takeout boxes and empty bags of who-knows-what. The smell of stale takeout alone was enough to throw off much of the carefully-constructed mood he'd been setting up with this woman, Christie, for the past, oh, four hours now. Dennis was trying very hard not to completely lose his shit. "Are you... Are you kidding me with this?" he said, his voice growing shrill. "Are you kidding me with this right now? Mac, what the actual fuck is...is even happening here?" Mac looked up from where he'd been digging through a large bag of assorted candy, probably searching for Mounds, his favorite. Dennis recognized the bag as one they'd bought for Halloween before deciding they hated kids and who the hell wanted to give out candy anyway. During Mac's binge phase, Dennis had buried it behind stacks of paper towels where he hoped Mac would never find it, but apparently...Mac had found it. "Oh, hey man," Mac said, smiling at Dennis as he always did, baring his teeth to reveal a stomach-turning quantity of chocolate adhered to the whites of his teeth. "How was...um..." he snapped his fingers, looking down as he tried to recall where Dennis had been traveling to. But that didn't matter right now. What mattered was..."What about your size pills, Mac? What happened to taking your size pills that I carefully set in front of your toothbrush where you would see them and take them like you're supposed to, remember?" "Oh yeah, man, I guess I like...forgot? But look!" He happily dropped one hand to his middle, shaking it as if to show Dennis what looked to be the start of re-gaining all that weight Dennis had so meticulously helped Mac drop. What the hell. "What the hell, Mac?" "Yeah I know, right? Turns out I don't need the size pills any more, I - ""This is...I cannot....I can't deal with this right now. Christie? Shall we?" Christie, mediocre as she was in the brains department, seemed to have clocked that there was something awry, but thank goodness, she was still easily swayed. She smiled at Mac, only grimacing a little at his appearance. Maybe the night wasn't entirely ruined. Dennis scowled as she waved a little at Mac, apparently trying to be friendly. "All right, yes, lovely, now that you've met my ah...unfortuate...roommate, let's just..." He pushed her in the direction of his room. While her back was turned, he glared at Mac, hoping to convey that this conversation was emphatically not over. Mac just grinned and went back to digging through his candy bag. Hopeless. Well, whatever made him happy. Dennis was done with the interventions. It took a minute, but Dennis was able to set aside his reaction to Mac unraveling so much of Dennis's hard work in just five days - honestly, it was like he couldn't even let the man out of his sights - and shift his focus to Christie, who was still ready and willing. Cameras rolling, as always, Dennis got to work. He was surprised to realize he was already a little aroused. But by what? Certainly not by the abhorrent sight he'd just witnessed on his couch? No, Dennis was just on his game. This was going to be amazing. It was. An hour and a half later, Dennis prepared to walk Christie to the door, already thinking - he would have to confirm this by watching the tapes, of course - that this would easily rank in the top twenty sexual encounters of his life thus far. And that was nothing to sneeze at. He was so high on success that he completely forgot about the shitshow awaiting him. He was walking Christie back through the living room, chatting pleasantly to mask any of her attempts at conversation and just get her out the door, when she gasped and a hand flew to her mouth. As if in slow motion, Dennis turned his head to follow her line of sight, already knowing on some level what she was probably noticing. Just as he'd suspected. This time it was a pleasant discovery, too. "Fabulous. Okay," he turned back to Christie and clapped his hands together cheerily, injecting enthusiasm into his tone. "What say we get you to that hotel." He took her overnight bag from her, guiding her toward the door and pushing her out, shoving the bag into her chest. Her eyes were still a little too wide, her mouth open as if she was trying to catch her voice. Perfect. He slammed the door. It only rammed into her a little. No harm done. As much as Dennis abhorred seeing Mac stuffing his face again, this part was absolutely no surprise to him whatsoever. It happened like clockwork every time Dennis brought someone home. It was like Mac could sniff out Dennis's exploits from miles away. Even if the apartment was empty when Dennis walked in, if he had brought a sexual guest of any sort, nine times out of ten he would find almost exactly this scene when he walked his guest to the door. The TV would be turned on, but the volume would be on the lowest setting, like it was just on as a plausible excuse for his proximity to Dennis's door. Mac would be alone, usually drinking, probably to mask anxiety about what he was doing (which, let's just be totally honest, was only anxiety-inducing for Mac because he wasn't exactly getting off to the women that Dennis was bringing home, but rather the other part of the equation, which Dennis never mentioned, like the his friend he was - also because it would probably drive Mac away entirely - and whatever, the reasons didn't matter). And Mac would either be in the process of jerking it or would be asleep, dick out, a spray of evidence on his hand and sometimes the couch. Now granted, it was a given that Mac jerked it to Dennis's sex tapes. Dennis had offered the tapes himself on a platter to his friends whenever they wanted some extra viewing pleasure. Mac and Charlie watched for different reasons, of course, but that was neither here nor there. So this close-quarters voyeurism was nothing more than a natural extension of that initial offering. It was part of the lifestyle Dennis offered his friends. (Actually, this particular behavior of Mac's was usually quite convenient, truth be told. Most women, with a couple of notable exceptions, were completely grossed out by the idea of his roommate perving out in pain sight on their sofa. Because when Mac orgasmed, he was dead to the world for about 30 minutes, usually out cold before even cleaning up after himself. That or he was lazy. Either way, it helped with the S part of the D.E.N.N.I.S. system - separate entirely. Again, with a few exceptions, nothing seemed to get women out the door quicker. So yes, Dennis knew about the listening in. Hell, he even encouraged it. It had even helped him out a few times when the sex was less than motivating to think of Mac listening in the other room. If he wasn't into performing for his date, at least he could perform for someone else in close proximity.) So that was all anticipated if not welcome. What made this situation worse? Well, Mac had racked up his shirt - that in and of itself was a huge win, though. Dennis had drilled into Mac over and over the importance of cleanliness during sex, which had saved him on many a cleaning bill. No, the problem was the fact that Mac's shirt was staying up, and might be permanently staying up, because it was caught on the crest of a round, fat stomach, not filled in yet with fat but certainly filled in with thousands of calories of sugar and who knew what else. "What... What the hell, Mac," he said, defeated, as he walked over to Mac. Mac barely had the energy to grumble an "Mmph" at Dennis, slipping into a peaceful slumber with one very wet hand still on his dick. "No, no, no," Dennis said, suddenly angry. This was unacceptable. "You...look at you, you're disgusting." Mac got a little smile on his face, but Dennis still wasn't sure if he was reacting or just dreaming. "Oh, you're happy about that? That's what you're going with? Gonna be happy about it? How about this?" He went into the kitchen and pulled out bag after bag of chips, pretzels, and snack mixes - the ones they usually set out when they drink beer all night. "You're happy with this? Then here," he said, opening one of the bags and emptying the contents onto Mac's face, realizing he was overreacting and not caring in the slightest. He was awake now. "If you're so happy about it - ""Dude, what the hell?" Mac woke up enough to brush the food off his face and then realized his hand was wet with come, which was now smeared over his forehead, sticking to a pretzel. "Aw, gross, dude.""Yeah tell me about it! Gross! That's... This is... Ugh! You're just..." Dennis was apoplectic.Mac was now struggling to get up, one hand propped under his bloated middle and one hand behind him on the couch. "Oh Jesus Christ, you look like a goddamn pregnant lady," Dennis said. (He made no effort any more to refrain from swearing using religious terms. None of them did. The fact that it sometimes spurs Mac into a lecture about taking the Lord and savior's name in vain yadda yadda was really just an incentive to keep doing it, if anything. Mac's ramblings at least kept things interesting, and he loved doing it, after all. They were really doing Mac a favor by setting up those opportunities.) "Mmm, oh," Mac hissed as he stood up. He winced and hunched over a little, both hands on his stomach, with a few still-gooey fingers held out away from his skin on instinct. "Hurts, does it?" Dennis said, continuing his tirade. "Feel like you ate... Oh, I dunno, our entire stash of old Halloween candy and what, three liters of soda? Two boxes of girl scout cookies?" He held up the remains of each item as he went through the list, which now included a red box. "Tagalongs? Tagalongs, Mac? My tagalongs? What's wrong with your... Old Samoans, or whatever you call them?" (To be fair, they hadn't actually paid for the cookies, but it was the principle of the thing, damnit.)Mac was now stumbling, still half-asleep, over to the sink in the kitchen. "Mmgh, ate 'em," he mumbles. "You... Excuse me, did you just say you ate them? Your ate seven more boxes of cookies in the last... What, five days since I saw them in the freezer last?" "Mmf," Mac said, rinsing his gooey hand in the sink and brushing the pretzels stuck in his hair into the disposal. When he was done he didn't even make an effort to dry his hands before returning them to his gut, which was making some awful churning noises all of a sudden. He leaned hard on the counter, eyes closed, hands clenching into fists. His breath started coming in pants, and he swallowed thickly once, twice. His face was pale. "Jesus Christ, are you..." "Hhlp," Mac hiccuped, followed by another swallow. His stomach jumped and he returned one hand to it, gently resting just under his rib cage where his stomach was massively bloated. "Oooooh," he moaned, his throat clicking as his mouth opened and closed. "Yeah, buddy, that's what happens when you..." Mac's whole body tensed as he arched over the sink, only managing to strain his muscles and letting out a weak cough. "Ah fuck, alright. You're okay." The wind was finally out of Dennis's sails, which didn't happen often. Turned out it wasn't as fun harassing people when they didn't fight back. Mac took a sharp breath that ended prematurely, like he couldn't physically inhale all the way for how full and bloated he was. It ended on a low, breathy groan as he leaned further over the sink, his head bowed. Dennis thought, on closer inspection, that he might even be crying. "Jesus, dude, are you crying?" Just to clear that up. Mac sniffled a little, and it was about the saddest thing Dennis had ever heard. "Hurts, Den," he whimpered. "Of course it does, you complete and utter idiot," Dennis said in a gentle but patronizing tone. He was close enough now to lean on the counter by the sink, laying a hand on Mac's back and rubbing gently over his tight and straining form. Mac sniffed again but this time it was cut off by a loud, throaty hiccup that jolted his entire body. "Oooooh," he moaned again, his hand rubbing ever-so-lightly over the crest of his stomach. "Welcome home, Dennis," Dennis said to himself, mimicking Mac's half of a conversation. "Guess what I decided to do while you were gone." "Hhlp - ah," Mac hiccuped again, spitting saliva unproductively into the sink. He curled again over a gag that seemed to tense up his whole body but yielded nothing but more coughing, then he was panting again, shallowly, punctuated by spitting more saliva into the sink. "Okay, buddy, just relax, this isn't gonna be fun, but you're gonna be okay, alright? You hear me Mac?" He patted Mac on the shoulder. "I swear to god if you puke on me..." he whispered to himself. Mac gagged again. Dennis sighed. This was going nowhere fast. "Listen to me pal, you gotta relax. Just... Aim for the sink and let go. I've got you. Okay? You're gonna be fine." At this he got to work massaging one hand up and down the muscles surrounding Mac's spine - they didn't call him magic fingers for nothing. Mac shuddered out a deeper breath, moaning lowly and sickly. "That's it, just give in," Dennis said. If only people listened to him more. Mac usually seemed to, but then he would go and get himself into messes like this. It was infuriating. (Dennis would never, ever, ever admit this to himself, but it was also reassuring. Mac would always be here, always need him. Dennis had a twin, worked every day alongside the man who raised him, had numerous extremely short term relationships he could have probably turned into something more lasting, and this would probably always be the most stable and predictable relationship of his entire goddamn life.) Beneath his hand, Mac was shuddering. He tensed slightly and let out the smallest, tightest burp.Dennis turned away momentarily to gain his composure, bringing the back of one hand over his mouth for a moment. "Hugghh." He shook his head, grimacing, and turned back to the task at hand. "Alright. That's it. C'mon, I know you've got more in there, pal." "Mmmmgh, -hulp-" Mac replied."Hoo boy." This was not gross, this was not gross. He could totally do this. Deep breaths. "C'mon, baby, just let go," he tried in a sweeter tone, easily slipping into his pretend caretaker persona. With Mac, he was never entirely sure it was pretend. He didn't think about it too much. Mac, his forehead now resting on one arm in front of the sink, hiccuped again, this time ending in a longer, wetter burp followed by the sound of something liquid creeping up his throat. He swallowed it back down and moaned deeply. "Oh, for the love of..." Leaving one hand on Mac's back, Dennis reached around with the other hand to massage at Mac's overly-large stomach, as well. He could actually feel the muscles cramping, bubbles churning away in the protruding organ. What the hell had Mac done, and why the hell hadn't he stopped himself sooner? Surely he'd been feeling ill for hours now, if this was the end result. Dennis poked around a little, feeling Mac's beach ball of a belly churn and contract. He was disgusted with the whole situation, with Mac obviously forgetting (or refusing) to take his pills while Dennis was gone, with how Mac immediately returned to bingeing when his body clearly wasn't primed for it, when if Dennis were here he'd have eased him into it, and he certainly wouldn't have started with the sugar, that was bound to end in disaster...No, he couldn't think like that. Focus. He was disgusted by all that, but he was even more disgusted by the heat in his own belly. Arousal. What the ever-loving fuck. He was snapped back to the present by Mac spitting in the sink again. "I think it's...Den, I think it's..." Sure enough, the hand Dennis is using to massage at Mac's gut was suddenly pressed inward as Mac curled around an enormous gag. It ended in a cough, but only a second later, before Mac had a chance to breathe, it happened again. Dennis kept his hand pressed to Mac's stomach, wondering if he was even doing any good. It seemed like he might be when Mac's own hand pressed on his as if asking him to keep going. Dennis complied. By now Mac was spewing half-air half-chocolate-colored-liquid into the sink. Mostly into the sink. Dennis cringed at the mess he'd have to clean up later. He knew it would be him to clean it up, not Mac, because Mac would be back on the couch whining like a five-year-old and expecting Dennis to take care of everything. It was a pattern for them. Not the throwing up in the sink thing. But - well, actually, that had happened a handful of times before, too. Just usually after they were both beyond wasted.Round after round of burping, heaving, and gasping for breath later, Mac finally seemed about to slow down. He still had one hand over Dennis's on his belly, which was quite deflated, actually, compared to before. Still unnaturally rounded. But deflated somewhat. Dennis prodded around in curiosity. Mac groaned unhappily and gripped Dennis's hand harder, halting it's movements. "You about done there, Old Faithful?" Dennis asked, attempting to pull his hand away. Mac held it in place. Fine, so not done then. Geeze. He waited. And waited. Mac sniffed unpleasantly, some of the liquid having apparently gone up his nose. Gross. "Gross, dude. You need a tissue or something?" Mac swallowed hard and started panting again, a little more unevenly this time. "Not...mmm," Mac groaned. "Not..." - swallow - "...Not done...hlp, ah," he hiccups. "Hicc-ulgh." His stomach jumped again and again under Dennis's hand. Dennis would admit he found it all a little morbidly fascinating, seeing Mac's body pushed to its absolute limits like this. Mac was resilient. Hell, without Dennis here, he'd probably be back at the snack food within the hour. Dennis had no idea how the people in his life survived without him. Well, survive, maybe, but how they managed to lead productive lives. A few minutes went by, and Mac was still struggling with what was left of his soda and candy binge, his body still clearly unhappy and demanding the rejection of so much rich food all at once. Mac wasn't even to blame in this situation. In the absence of his pills, he'd gone right back to his pre-size-pill habits. Back then, he could put away a couple dozen beers and a literal trash bag full of food over the course of a day. In his mind, he was probably still just as capable. But he wasn't. The weeks-turned-months of reduced appetite had considerably shrunk his capacity. Nor was this Dennis's fault, either, just to be clear. Mac always felt like shit when he ate tons of sugar, and he'd clearly eaten way over capacity, so this should be no surprise to him whatever. And Dennis was stuck, once again, cleaning up the mess of Mac not thinking things through. This time literally. Mac was clammy now, sweating like a sinner in a confessional. Darn Mac and his Catholic imagery getting into Dennis's head. Dennis tried to think what he could do to help Mac relax a little and dislodge the last of the gluttony. He tugged his hand away and opened a cabinet by the sink, leaning over Mac to fill a glass with water. "Here, drink this," he said, handing Mac the glass. Mac squinted at Dennis's hand, fumbling the glass in shaky hands. "Jeeesus," Dennis bemoaned. "Fucking hell. Alright. Stand up." He momentarily set the glass on the counter and tugged on Mac's shoulder. Mac honest-to-god whimpered. "Not good, not good," Mac muttered around rapid shallow breaths. "Oh, it hurts..." Dennis pulled Mac up the rest of the way and held the glass up to Mac's lips. Most of it overflowed, draining onto Mac's shirt, which was still tucked over top of Mac's middle. Dennis set down the empty glass, which Mac had managed a few unhappy swallows of, and tugged Mac's shirt up and over his head, pulling it roughly down his arms. Mac's dick was still poking out of his pants, which were unzipped but had wriggled somewhat back into position when he'd moved over from the couch. Dennis cringed at the sticky white goo still on Mac's stomach. Gingerly, he used the wet t-shirt to mop up the mess. They could deal with the pants situation later. "How you feelin'?" He asked Mac, patting him heartily on the shoulder. "About ready for another round?" Mac shivered. "Why'd you... Hic, oh. Why take...hic...shirt..." "Because you'd be even colder with the wet... You know what, it doesn't matter. Focus. Are you going to throw up again." He enunciated every word like Mac was going deaf.Seeming to suddenly remember his predicament, Mac looked down. "Belly. Big." "Yyyep," Dennis agreed sardonically. "Mmh," he whimpered sadly. "Why... Why does it... Hhlrp." With that, Mac, turned instinctively back to the sink, hands on either side now as he spit saliva over and over again down the drain. He took a deep breath, probably catching a whiff of what was already in the sink before letting out a sickly, rolling belch that ended in a cough. It immediately spiraled into another deep, wet belch. "Eeeeeuuuuuuurrrrrrp. Eeeerrrrrrrrooooop. Hic. Uuuuurrop. Uuuuuur-cack," he coughed and sniffed weakly. "I c-can't..." "Sure you can pal," Dennis enthused, whapping Mac on the back. Mac faltered before steadying himself on the counter and taking a deep, shaky breath through his nose. He coughed as it dislodged something in his throat and finally, the muscles in his stomach contracted again as he gagged silently over the sink. He took a couple shallow breaths, which ended in a loud retching noise. This round would be more difficult, apparently. Dennis really wanted to just leave him to it, but Mac seemed to be having a hard time holding himself up, sinking lower and lower with each retch. Dennis steeled himself and propped his hand over Mac's forehead, which Mac immediately leaned into, nearly toppling them both over. Dennis squared a hip on the counter for extra support as Mac pushed what felt like his whole body weight into Dennis's hand, coughing and burping up round after round of fluid. Eventually, it was nothing more than pale yellow bile, but Mac had stopped up the drain, which was unfortunate. Dennis was resolutely ignoring the lake of discharged liquids at this point. Mac spit a few more times, his arms finally giving out altogether. "Oh fuck, alright, Jesus, you're heavy." Dennis draped Mac's arm over his shoulder, leading Dennis not to a bed or couch but to their bathroom sink where he insisted that Mac prop himself up and clean out his nose and brush his teeth. Dennis wasn't a clean freak by any means, but these things were done a certain way. Mostly convinced Mac would be self-sufficient in his task, Dennis went to Mac's room and hastily grabbed one of everything in terms of clothing. Better to assume everything had been contaminated by one bodily fluid or another. He was starting to get annoyed at this point. Mac was a grown-ass adult. He tossed the clothes on the bed and figured he could find them if he wanted them. Somehow, he was still aroused. It had started when he came into the apartment and somehow not flagged through everything that had taken place since. That might be a problem. Either he was turned on by Mac eating again or he got off on being required for Mac's well-being. It could honestly be either of those things. Damnit. One of these days he would need to take a closer look at why he'd reacted so strongly to Mac gaining weight. Maybe it had to do with Dennis's own lifelong obsession with weight and appearances. Maybe he liked seeing someone else be so carefree about weight. Or maybe it had to do with feeling like he had no control over Mac's life changes for a little while there. Maybe...Maybe he could just never think about this again and do what he wanted. Yep. That one sounded like way more fun. Then he remembered the mess waiting in the other room. Maybe in Dennis's hands, this wouldn't have to get so unpleasant the next time. Wait. Why was he thinking about a next time? Later, after Mac had drifted off to sleep, his neck at an uncomfortable-looking angle on the back of the couch, Dennis had left him and gone to bed. In the dark quiet of his own room, he allowed himself to picture Mac's overindulgence and had had his second orgasm of the day, images of Mac's maybe-not-so-disgusting fat belly in his head. Well. Fucked up though it might be, Dennis was certainly never one to deny pleasure. In this case, he'd been denying Mac's as well as his own. This would take some careful planning, even more orchestration, but Dennis was already working on a plan to make everyone happy. With the right amount of intervention, he might even still preserve Mac's long-term health whole granting them both undeniable satisfaction. This could work. Oh yes, this could most definitely work.