PC woke from his nap slowly. He liked taking time to wake up--listening to the sounds in the room, opening his eyes carefully and making sure everything was as he'd left it, stretching on his pallet before sitting, then waiting for his head to stop spinning before standing. If he was interrupted, he tended to snap at whoever did the interrupting--and it sometimes messed up his whole day. Sometimes he was so thrown by being interrupted that he had to immediately go back to sleep to get his bearings. He always felt guilty about it, but he knew he'd do it again.
Not Mac. He woke up bright-eyed, smiling, ready to run. PC watched as he almost jumped out of bed and started jogging around, lifting weights, working on puzzles. It was tiring just to watch. PC wasn't sure if he was annoyed or jealous. Eventually, PC couldn't take watching anymore, and he stood up.
"Hey Mac, c'mere," he said, and Mac bounded over to him and took his hand. Just like that. PC sighed. It always surprised him. He remembered all the trouble he'd had, learning to make that connection, learning to reach out and not fear rejection or a slap... Mac made it look so easy.
Maybe that's not the only easy thing about him, PC thought. He gave the hand a slight squeeze. Mac's hand tightened a bit in return. Mac gave him that sideways glance that said, I'm watching you, but I'm so cool I can do it without even looking at you.
PC cleared his throat, not sure what he wanted to say, but unwilling to let go of Mac's comfortable hand. He felt so lost these days when he was alone. He used to be self-sufficient, but now... he really needed that connection. Mac looked at him expectantly, his face a mask of bemused patience. Or maybe condescension. Again, PC wasn't sure whether he felt annoyed or jealous.
The silence stretched between them. Mac was looking like he wanted to be somewhere else--not like he didn't like it here, with PC stroking the back of his hand with his thumb, but like he'd like to be doing something, anything, because that's what Mac liked--doing things. PC wasn't ready to try all those things Mac liked to do. He gulped. Suddenly, the tension was all too much for PC, and he crashed, falling back onto the bed and pulling Mac off his feet, keeping his grip even as he lost his balance.
"Hey!" said Mac. "You're not supposed to do that! Crash like that, I mean, and bring me with you!"
PC chuckled briefly. "I do a lot of things I'm not supposed to," he said, trying to sound suggestive. He knew he was probably failing. Even when he was younger, not so... bulky... he was never lithe and sexy like Mac.
Mac raised his eyebrows. "Think you could teach me anything? I'm quicker than you, I have a better memory, and I'm a lot more... versatile," he finished, as he twisted around and off the bed until he was standing, pulling PC to sitting since PC still wasn't letting go of his hand. In a moment, PC knew he'd start to pull his hand away, and now he had the leverage to escape. PC would never catch him.
PC reached over with his other hand, stroking the top of Mac's hand with his fingertips, then moving up to the forearm, gently pulling Mac closer. Mac wasn't pulling away anymore. He was looking at PC curiously. Head tilted, eyes narrowed, that little wrinkle between his brow... PC could get used to that expression.
PC switched his hold from Mac's hand to the sides of his jeans. They were loose, comfortable... like all his accessories--easily changeable, eminently practical, he thought almost bitterly. Still... I've got a couple of tricks he doesn't know. He gripped the sides of Mac's jeans, pulling them taut, letting his thumbs run over Mac's hipbones. He thought he heard a catch in Mac's breathing, but he wasn't sure. He shifted his hands around to the front... he was holding just the waistband of the jeans now, not Mac, but he was trailing his fingers inside as he moved closer to the central button. He didn't look into Mac's eyes; he couldn't. He looked straight ahead, at the slight but growing bulge in the front of Mac's jeans. He wet his lips. Cleared his throat again; it'd gone dry.
"You... you're a nice guy, Mac. A nice computer. Reliable. Dependable. A lot of people don't think I'm a nice computer. But you know what they say about nice computers, don't you?" He looked up. Mac was looking down at him, his mouth open--maybe I surprised him. PC smiled up at him, and slowly licked his lips.
"Nice computers... nice computers don't go down." And he popped the button open.