now, because of the new ads, I am all hyper-inspired or something, so: fic! Beta-glanced-over by layered.
Mac thinks he's going crazy, and PC knows. He's not sure that he isn't going crazy, truth be told, but if he's losing his mind then it's making him brave at the very least. He plays around with his themes, switches to something slick and sleek and racecar red, and even though he knows that Mac is laughing about his 'midlife crisis' when he's not around, he feels better for the change.
Maybe he's just insecure. He doesn't do well with fun, it's true, and the last time he let Mac talk him into trying-- well, pain didn't even begin to describe how bad he'd crashed, and frustration was the name of the game when he was trying to keep up with the faster, younger machine. But now he feels like he could compete, not just keep up. The red works its way out, from a cheery cherry-colored tie to a bright shirt, and by the time Mac stops giggling and starts wondering where PC gets these crazy outfits, the older computer is in a red suit and he thinks he looks pretty dapper.
"You look like Santa Claus," Mac tells him, grinning; PC just smirks and sits down next to him on the couch.
"Why don't you sit on my lap and tell me if you're a good boy, then?" he teases, and Mac does a visible double-take, mouth hanging open a little as he gapes at PC. "Oh, don't look so shocked."
"I am shocked. You don't say things like that," Mac says a little weakly, and shifts on the couch as PC slides just a bit closer. "Or you didn't used to." When PC's hand curls on top of Mac's, warm and soft-skinned and familiar, Mac relaxes under the touch, looking up to meet his friend's eyes. He's not surprised at what he sees there-- amusement, mostly, a healthy dose of the restrained attraction they've been edging around for months, and a bravery that explains why suddenly there's teasing when before PC would blush if Mac took too long to stop networking.
"Does it bother you?" PC starts to slip his hand into Mac's, but the younger computer stands up, pushing dark hair out of his face and looking down at PC measuringly.
"What, that you want to play Santa? Or that I have an open invitation to your lap now?" He paces a little, two steps left to look at PC from that angle, then three steps right, searching his face while the other computer laughs a little.
"No, not really." When Mac sits down on PC's lap, it's not like Santa at all; he loops his arms around PC's neck, and his skinny knees press against PC's soft hips, and there's a second where PC is amazed and Mac is surprised and then everything is okay again, because there are so many better ways to get close than through networking, and PC's been eating cinnamon candy or something because his mouth tastes just as brightly red as his suit. The tight cling of PC's hand in his hair would have surprised Mac even just five minutes ago, but now it seems natural.
Their fans kick on at the same time, just when PC pulls back to take a deep breath, and Mac wonders how he didn't notice before that they whir in near-perfect harmony. "I got my fan replaced last week," PC murmurs, and Mac would have wondered but for their two hands clasped so tight together he's practically hearing what PC's thinking right back.