No Homo, Bro // CharlieXMac

No Homo, Bro

  
   Mac liked kissing Charlie and Charlie liked kissing Mac. It was as simple as that.

It was something that sparked out of necessity as children; a distraction, an easy escape from their unconventional home lives.

Charlie's mom would frequently forget to buy him food. She was too caught up with the never-ending revolving door of Santa Clauses, plumbers, repairmen and empty handed pizza deliverers. That one really gave him trust issues, as every pizza man that set foot in his mother's bedroom, had never actually had a pizza. They were empty-handed, like all the men, except for a wad of cash in their pocket.

Occasionally Charlie would wait till it was dark out to scavenge back alleyways and dumpsters for scraps of food. When he was full on mystery topping pizza, he'd pretend to be a worm and wiggle his way home.

Mac loved his family more than anything in the entire universe, maybe even more than God himself, but they couldn't care less about him. He denied his parent's blatant rejection of him and hoped that if he prayed hard and long enough that maybe one day, they'd say 'I love you' back.

It was the day Mac's father was sent to prison that Charlie and Mac kissed for the first time.

"Don't cry." Charlie awkwardly places his hand on Mac's back, maintaining an alternating pattern of reassuring patting and gently rubbing his back in soothing, circular movements. Charlie wasn't the best person at expressing his emotions, but he was trying and that was enough for Mac.

   "I'm not crying." Mac grumbles defensively as he wipes what looks suspiciously like tears from his eyes with the back of his jacket sleeve. As an added bonus, he left behind a surprisingly long snot trail.

   It hurt Charlie to see his only friend so helplessly upset. He wished he could make everything better, to give Mac everything he deserved; a loving family, a beautiful home, and a plethora of warm, home-cooked meals, he'd give him it all without a second thought and expect nothing in return.

   The only thing he could do now was to simply be there and to comfort him to the best of his limited abilities.

Charlie leans in to kiss Mac.

   It was no more than an innocent press of skin against skin, lips against lips. Charlie lingered against Mac, unsure how long this sort of thing was supposed to last, this was his first kiss. Around the minute mark, Mac finally relaxes into his friend's contact, the traumatizing images of his father being drug away by the cops fading till they were no longer in the forefront of his mind, and replaced by Charlie.

   It was a weird sensation at first, being so close to someone, using your own wet mouth to touch someone else's wet mouth, feeling, tasting...ew. This was the reason Charlie hadn't kissed anyone prior. Now that he had done it, he wished he'd tried it a lot sooner.

   Once he moved past all the initial ick, it was surprisingly pleasant. There was a certain warmth he'd never experienced before that spread through his veins like wildfire and was more addicting than the candy his mother's friends would leave behind.

Mac was more surprised than anything else at first. Kissing was for when two adults loved each other very much and not between two friends who were boys. He wanted to stop Charlie, to push him away, to vigorously wipe his mouth off and pray till the knees of his jeans wore thin. None of that happened, in fact, quite the opposite did.

   Mac clutched desperately to Charlie, with fists full of his dirty t-shirt, pulling him desperately close against him till their chests touched. The salt from Mac's tears coating their dry, chapped
lips.