Chapter Text
The gang are all sitting in their own respective areas. Charlie, Mac and Dennis have been debating pointless hypotheticals for about an hour now while Dee is on the sidelines, nursing a beer and pretending she doesn’t hear the nonsense to contain her remaining sanity. (Which isn't a lot.)
For some ridiculous reason, the conversation turns into something else entirely, and Dennis is tired of it already. He zones out and stares at some dusty corner in the room until he hears something that throws him for a loop entirely.
“Dude, with God, anything is possible. So yes, men can get pregnant.”
Mac kisses two fingers, raising them to the sky with a self satisfied grin and Dennis incredulously furrows his brow. “I will make a bet right now—you can’t do it—can’t get a guy pregnant.” Charlie laughs in response, fumbling for his wallet to slap down $1 and a bent toothpick onto the counter’s surface. Mac opens his mouth to point this out, then seems to visibly shrug it off with his response.
“You’re on.”
Dennis Gets Pregnant
PHILADELPHIA, PA
5:45 PM.
“Oh my god, Mac, I am not debating this with you!”
Dennis yells, avoiding eye contact with the other man as he tries to get past him and into the living room to finally lay down on the couch without some gaybo getting in his way. “Dude, come on, it’s interesting—“ his words don’t stop, but they do turn into garbled mumbles as Dennis sticks his palm right into his face and pushes him out of the way by force. Mac wipes his mouth off dramatically. “—as I was saying, me and Charlie have a bet. Come on man.” He says hopingly, pleading for god knows what, it all sounds like an audible headache right about now. “What are you asking of me??” Dennis exasperatingly cries out, covering his upper face with his fingers like it’ll wash his tension headache away magically. He grounds himself in the hard press of his fingers. “Have you—have you even been listening to me?” Mac gapes, offendedly. Dennis couldn’t give a single fuck. “No.” He answers, not-giving-a-fuckingly.
“You’ve gotta help me find a dude-hooker so I can get him pregnant. You see,” Mac paces his posture like he always does when he’s about to explain some preposterous bullshit. Like he knows full well that if he lets himself look stupid, Dennis will know he’s stupid. “If it’s a hooker, how could we know it’s my kid? I’ll just knock ‘im up, stay in touch, and wait to find out if he’s preggo or not. No strings attached.”
“And how again will you manage to get a man pregnant in the first place?”
Mac is stumped for a few seconds at this response, before he remembers and lights up again, his mouth turning into a grin that Dennis wants to claw off of his face. “If I do good enough deeds, pray like crazy, and do good by God… he might give me a miracle!” He exclaims, as if it makes any fucking sense at all. He looks like he believes this, but really, Dennis knows it’s about being right even if by now Mac has definitely realized religion hasn’t ever done that before. Dennis nods, humming in faux-understanding. “Yeah, yeah…” Mac lights up. “That’s the dumbest thing I have ever heard in my life.” He deadpans, and Mac groans with his body slumped and annoyed. “Whatever. I’m going out to find my dude-hooker, while you lie there on the couch,” he waves around his hands at Dennis vaguely, who is splayed on the cushions, as if he’s committing a grievous sin. “With no dude-hooker pregnant with your blessed seed.” Dennis grimaces. “Gross. Have fun though.”
The front door slams shut, and the angry footsteps of Mac fade away from behind the walls until it’s quiet, something rare these days. For a while he relishes the peace like a resting god on a cloud, smiling as he leans the back of skull against his palms and spreads his legs out like a pampered house cat. He tires of this soon, though. It’s only so fun for so long to stare at a ceiling. It’s oddly dim without Mac there to talk his ears off.
Dennis groans out of boredom and throws himself off the couch to wander around aimlessly, fiddling with random stuff around the apartment as he leisurely strides with his arms unbound from his sides. He stares out the window, his mouth a thin line as he tries to find any sort of entertainment happening outside. There aren't even any crazy hobos jousting with broken broom sticks. What a boring, stupid day. He hardly even thinks about the fact that his idiotic roommate is currently trying to impregnate a male hooker, having grown used to bullshit by now.
What a funny thought, a guy getting pregnant. Well—if Mac were right, if God could really impregnate a male like the new Virgin Mary, that’d be…interesting. Oh god, I’m agreeing with him now! This is the exact bullshit that gave me this god damned fucking headache—
“OH MY—DENNIS, MY GOD—YOU WONT BELIEVE THE IDEA I HAVE!”
His eyebrows raise in surprise and he turns around as the front door is practically kicked down and a gust of wind blows over his face, blowing the thought bubble from the air.
An overexcited Charlie with a metallic sheer coating his face is yelling maniacally while ranting and raving about some new insane thing he’s gotta listen to. He prefers boredom over this now, his mind doing a full 180. “I’m going to get an abortion.”
He pauses.
“What?” He asks, twisting his face and flinching back with his arms out incredulously. “Charlie—you can’t get an abortion—you can’t even get pregnant! What is with the pregnancy talk today?!” He yells out, a desperate plea for answers and now he kind of understands the urgency for God. He is getting tired of the male pregnancy talk. “Man, listen. Here’s the plan. We put a baby in me, then Frank helps me abort it to prove a man can’t be pregnant cause…then I wouldn’t be pregnant.” That makes even less sense than what Dennis was saying. “What the actual fuck are you talking about? Wouldn’t that just prove you could get pregnant, since you have to be pregnant to even have an abortion?” Dennis asks, his curiosity almost genuine at this point. “Well—okay. If I get an abortion, then I won’t be pregnant.” Charlie concedes again, his eyes blank and blown wide as if he got hit in the head with a bat moments before walking into the place. He probably did. “Charlie, none of this makes any sense. Stop huffing shit and get the hell out!” He yells, rolling his eyes and starting to walk past and into the kitchen.
Charlie doesn’t follow, pulling two small objects out of his pants pockets and shrugging. “Yeah—yeah, not making…doesn’t make any sense.” Charlie pauses for a few moments. “I’m gonna go throw firecrackers at cats.” He says slowly, walking towards the door and yelling "Gotta start locking that door, man!” Before leaving hastily.
Dennis now realizes those two small objects were firecrackers. He can’t help but notice Charlie has green paint stains on his clothes, and how he walks out shuddering and stiff like a maniac. He’s really gotta stop huffing and consuming chemicals.
What a useless conversation.
Dennis finds himself waking up groggily as he realizes now he momentarily fell asleep on the couch, stretching his arms out until they pop and he’s satisfied. He makes no move to get up. He stares at the clock on the wall, reading it through the bleary sheer of his vision.
7:40PM.
Yawning and turning, his gaze locks onto an oddly salaciously dressed stranger standing in the living room close to Mac’s bedroom door, eyeing him awkwardly. His brows tighten and he shoots up, propped on his hands and looking around for Mac. “Who is this? Is this the male prostitute you’re trying to get pregnant?” He tiredly asks. He is seriously sick of this pregnancy shit now. He reminds himself to kick Mac and Charlie’s asses later. Mac makes a face like Dennis is the crazy one here.
“Uhh…yeah, dude. We just got here. Can I go get this guy pregnant now? Please?” Mac whisper-begs so the hooker doesn’t hear, like he needs the go ahead from Dennis, which irks him. “Do whatever the hell you want.” He whispers back and throws his hands up, about to turn before he decides to clarify. “No fucking male prostitutes in the living room.” He eyes the blonde twink standing in their living room wearing a god damn crop top. “Kay? Thanks.” Dennis concedes, throwing his hands up and letting them drop to his hips before stumbling into his room in his still groggy state. Flopping down ungraciously onto his bed belly down.
He drifts off, glad that he can’t hear whatever may be going on.
He dreams of nothing at all.
Yelling and a thud woke him up, quickly turning his mood from confused to agitated. Dennis shoots up to investigate whatever the hell is happening now. He opens his bedroom door to see Mac kicking that same nameless hooker out, pushing his broad shoulder out of the door and giving a quick “Bye!” Before slamming the front door. Looking at the clock, Dennis squints to read it.
8:00 PM.
That doesn’t make any sense, it’s only been twenty minutes since that damned hooker even came into his and Mac’s apartment, but now he’s getting kicked out? Despite his body being chained to his mattress, pulling him in, he decides to investigate, pulling at his shirt to adjust where it became lopsided in his small amount of rest.
“So… what’s with the hooker now?” he gently asks, as if he’s not shamelessly prying. Mac just sighs, scratching the nape of his neck and swishing his tongue around his mouth before answering. “Well okay, here’s what happened. I was about to bang this dude, right? And then I looked up—and staring right at that cross on my wall I thought, ‘no way, no way God would bless me with a dude-hooker baby. Isn’t prostitution a sin?” He gauges Dennis’ reaction, and he doesn’t respond, just raises his eyebrows as if to show that he doesn’t know where this is going at all. Mac’s lips press together in frustration, continuing his explanation.
“So, I’ve gotta find a non-hooker guy who I can impregnate, someone who is not a sinner, and is in fact a holy person. And before you ask, I’ll repent after to make sure I knock back the sin count by a few points ‘cause of the gay stuff.” Mac finishes with a prideful flourish, obviously proud of his thinking skills. Dennis shakes his head. “Who will it be then?” He asks, gliding past Mac to get a drink out of the fridge before sitting down on the couch, looking back at him from behind the backrest. Mac is lost in thought.
“I’m not sure, honestly. I was thinking God would just tell me if I did enough good deeds to earn enough points for a blessing.” There’s a hint of smugness amongst his idiocy, and it nearly pains Dennis to even hear those words. He feels like an Einstein amongst cavemen. Mac grabs a coat, shocking Dennis a bit since he knows how much the guy loves showing off his ‘beefy’ arms to ‘all the chicks’ despite cold weather. The sound of him grabbing keys jingles through the room, and he makes haste to the front door, presumably heading to God knows where now. “Good luck!” Dennis calls out, cringing at the fact that he would ever wish good fortune on a lunatic about to pray to God with the hopes of achieving (and likely failing) male pregnancy. He needs to reel it back with the kindness he’s been putting out lately, if he smiles at another patron he’ll start to develop lines around his mouth.
A sweat breaks out on the soft hairs of his nape as he rushes to the bathroom to apply anti-wrinkle cream to his skin in a fervent manner.
Dennis looks up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, eyeing his figure. God, he’s slowly being mentally infected by the thought of male pregnancy. It’s ridiculous, and he snorts at the hysterical situation he’s in. All of his friends have finally lost it, and he’s the only sane one left, that he thought up until now as he loses track of his thoughts and immerses himself in thought.
Would it be that bad?
He flinches at his own thought, eyes wide and fingers paused over the halfway unscrewed lid of a small container, blinking in a short succession as if he’s dazed, setting the facial cream down on the counter with an aborted clack as he entertains himself.
He pictures it now, his flat stomach protruding unnaturally, his hips filled out in the way he dreads so often, in the way they insist on being despite his dieting and, frankly, ludicrous amount of cardio. But—it’s not a bad thought, just a curious idea, his eyebrows twitching in consideration as he pushes through this scenario deeper, and now he’s imagining what it’s like for broads to get pregnant, to feel someone in them. He blushes a bit, knowing it’s not the first time he’s wondered such a thing, and he looks down at the sink tap as he closes his eyes and imagines what it would be like to be a woman, bent over the sink as he feels broad hands moving up his hips and under his ribs, cupping his chest. Dennis’ hands mirror the fantasy, biting his bottom lip softly as he flushes at the emasculating motion, but he doesn’t stop, instead imagining more.
The way he’d be pressed firmly into the counter, hip bones bruising at the pressure of a broad chest against his bony upper spine, the hot breath fanning on his neck as he’s penetrated, and he can’t help but shudder at this progression, pressing one hand into his pajama pants as the other still cups and gropes at his flat chest, his body slightly hunched over the sink. He makes no move to look at his reflection, eyes squeezed shut, and his mind supplies noise to mask the quiet hum of cheap lightbulbs. ‘God, I wanna come inside you so bad.’ The vaguely masculine voice would normally get under the skin of Dennis if it popped up in other fantasies, but he can’t help moaning out into the empty room in response.
“Please,’’ he begs, as if somebody is really here to give him what he wants. He feels dizzy, thrusting his hips into his open palm to grind his leaking cock into the warmth, moving his other hand to run up and down his body gently as he shudders and groans.
Dennis comes into his pants with a muffled moan, moisture running down his face as he focuses on the image of two hands grasping his hips painfully hard, a brow bone and dark brown hair pressed into his neck as he’s knocked up.
Fuck, he really needs to go to sleep now. His hand is tacky with come, and he hadn’t even washed his face like he had planned to. He washes up hastily, pulling off his soiled clothes to toss them in a basket before pulling on clean pants and boxer briefs, falling forwards onto his bed and huffing as he quickly finds a comfortable laying position.
He tries to pretend he doesn't recognize the voice of his fantasy, from earlier. He knows that if he thinks about it he’ll go mad, and he can’t stand the thought of losing his grip on his sanity right now like the others apparently have already.
He dreams of hazel eyes and a palm pressed gently against his lower stomach.