Junk in das trunk
Mac has never found himself in this situation. He played it off well enough the previous evening, during his private networking with PC -- he'd gone down on his zaftig friend and happily let it be all about him. Mac had stroked his thighs and tickled his belly and kissed all over and around the central processing unit before he got down to business. It was while he was down there, the blanket all twisted around Mac's legs and PC left completely bare and exposed that he'd noticed. PC had gained some serious, serious weight.
So, tonight, Mac brought up the subject casually while the two of them were lounging on the couch, catching up on some backlogged Apple TV and enjoying some freshly popped popcorn (no butter).
Mac lay his head on PC's shoulder, watching the screen absently and rummaging through the bowl of popcorn on PC's lap, searching for the unpopped kernels. Mac is into kernels, unsurprisingly.
"Hey, PC?" He asks, his voice slow and curious. "Did you download something new this week?
So, tonight, Mac brought up the subject casually while the two of them were lounging on the couch, catching up on some backlogged Apple TV and enjoying some freshly popped popcorn (no butter).
Mac lay his head on PC's shoulder, watching the screen absently and rummaging through the bowl of popcorn on PC's lap, searching for the unpopped kernels. Mac is into kernels, unsurprisingly.
"Hey, PC?" He asks, his voice slow and curious. "Did you download something new this week?