Junk in das trunk

[im_a_mac]

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

Comments

[im_a_pc]

PC squirms.

"You, ah, um...is it that noticable?"

It is, of course, and PC knows it. He's been huffing and puffing his way around for days, although he appreciates Mac's feigned ignorance.

"Trial software. I'm not sure it was my best idea."

In fact, looking down the front of himself, PC is fairly certain it was not.

[im_a_mac]

Mac cranes his neck and smiles at PC. "No, no. It's not that noticeable. I just, you know, I spend a lot of time looking at you. And you look ... uh, winded

[im_a_pc]

PC watches Mac's hand. Pat, bounce. Pat, bounce.

"You are a dear, good friend, Friend," he says. "But you are also a terrible liar."

PC, as always, means this in the nicest way possible.

"Yes, please," PC begs. "Delete me. Delete the hell out of me. I never should have allowed that install. I see now the importance of trusting one's instincts. My belly button has become an outie."

[im_a_mac]

Mac laughs, "That just means you're done. Like a turkey."

He sits up a little and removes the bowl of popcorn from PC's lap. He starts poking and prodding around. Biting his lip, he makes an appraisal. "Okay. Let's go through it. Do you want this? No. You have that. You have a better That. What about this? I think we could get this again if you find it's necessary. And this, no. No, PC. Bad idea."

Mac untucks PC's shirt from his khakis and gently brushes his knuckles against PC's bellyskin. "I still like how you look."

He kisses PC's neck lightly and asks, "Do you feel better? Should I keep poking around?"