you see, i’ve been through the desert

In this film, Carmen Berzatto and Mcondance give us a man wrestling with something that’s already beaten him. She’s not his. It’s not his. But for a night, he’ll accept that it is. Join Carmen as he grapples with a question he knew the outcome of the first time he ever touched her.

In their pre-premiere interview, Mcon and Carmen touched on what the audience can look out for.

Carmen speaks first, giving us some insight into his character. "In this film, Mcon and I decided that we'd focus a lot on my internal struggle with this relationship, so that's something I think is important. It's angsty, man. I cried a couple of times."

Mcon, the director, was all business. "I guess I'll give you all the technical side of it. While we've got this big, emotional aspect, there's also f*****g. They're fucking. It's pretty tame though, so there's not really anything to be warned about, other than Carmen's amazing portrayal of a conflicted man. Oh, and we were inspired by the amazing artist Miguel and his song, ‘Pussy Is Mine’.”

Mcon and Carmen were pulled away by one of their close friends and colleagues, Richie Jerimovich. Based on the information given, this film is sure to start “Mcontober” off with a bang. “Sorry it’s late!” Mcon and Carmen shouted as Richie rushed them into the theatre.

The first showing of Mcon's feature film saga "Mcontober" begins now. Please take your seats, and silence your cellphones. We hope to see your face again on the 7th. Happy Mcontober.

Carmen knows your answer is gonna be a lie before he even asks the question. Maybe it isn’t even a lie to you, just something to have fun with, something else you use to have a good time. 

Carmen wishes he was more than a good time for you. 

Maybe in another lifetime, you see a future with him that’s more than his head between your legs, or your hands running down his chest and stomach, or this, your legs wrapped tight around his waist as he fucks his dedication right into you, wishing you feel that he’s fucking you like he loves you.

Carmen fucking loves you. He loves you apart from getting his dick wet. He loves the way you smell when you first come over, the way you laugh with him in small talk that he can tell you want to end, the way you coo so sweet to him after you’ve used him up and you’re just fucked enough to give a fuck about him aside from fucking him. You don’t love him. He knows you don’t. But when you’re running your nails down his heated skin and singing his name into his ear, he can’t do anything but picture you being there for breakfast in the morning. 

So he fucks you like he loves you, every time, every fucking time, cause it’s the only thing that keeps him from saying the three words that’ll bar your entrance from this shoddy ass apartment for the rest of time. He bites his lip as you tighten around him and cry out, throwing your head back onto his pillows, giving him room to litter kisses on your neck, his lips burning down your skin. In the light streaming in from his open window, cracked to let out some of the stuffiness that always manifests itself when Carmen is graced with the chance to have you in the only way he ever will, you look like a god. You are God. Your skin glows so beautifully he’s sure you’re some divine being, and it helps him for just a second. When he thinks about you like this, when he relates his devotion to one of a believer and their God, he feels better about your indifference toward him when you aren’t joined in this way. 

When you wrap your fingers in his curls and tug, he lets out a sound so pathetic you squeeze him again, hugging him tight enough to make his head spin. Dizzy, he stops his kisses and tucks his twisted face into your slick skin. It’s vulnerable, something any sane person wouldn’t do with a friend with benefits, but he doesn’t think he’s been sane since he first laid eyes on your face. “Jesus..” he groans, head still spinning as he slides into the heat that is ever-present in you. You feel so good around him it drives him crazy sometimes. The way he’s so obviously broken by you fills you with sick pride.

With your tight grip on his hair, you lift his head and crash your mouth against his before the poor boy even has the chance to groan into the air, instead sending that pitiful sound straight into your mouth. Harsh and sweet, rough and so good, you kiss him like this just because you can. Later, you’ll laugh to your friends about the sounds he’s making into your kiss, about the way his moves inside you get all sloppy, the way Carmen’s lips falter against yours for just a second when you cup his face so gently, warm and deceiving as you just keep kissing him. Carmen’s unspoken dreams for your future spill off his tongue into your mouth, the fervor with which he kisses you a failed attempt to get you to comprehend the magnitude of his love and become changed by it. 

In all this time, you’ve remained unchanged by his love. And in all this time, he’s kept his heart unprotected and unsafe, even as he listened to you pad quietly out of his bedroom before you think he’s awake. He doesn’t want to bother you, so he never gets out of bed before you make your escape. He won’t embarrass you like that, even though you embarrass him every time. But he pulls away heaving, eyes morphed into supernovas as he gazes upon your divine countenance, your face a perfect picture of a blameless being in ecstasy. You entertain his fantasy, give life to his wonder and give him doe eyes like you always do when he’s splitting you open, giving you exactly what you came here for. Your faux-innocence, your masquerade of feelings less shallow than lust, satisfaction of your flesh. Love does not lie in your heart, but your eyes lie to him, soothing him for just a while. 

And if Carmen can’t get you to love him, he can give you something he knows you love. “You’re so pretty,” he rasps, a whisper over a sea of feeling that he can barely keep his head above water in. 

“Yeah?” you whine, a saccharine smile spreading across your face. 

“Fuck, yeah,” he admits, earnestly, his blues glossy and bright. Pride swells in you, again, your ego stroked by his confession. 

You know Carmen loves you more than you’ll ever even like him. That isn’t your concern; your only goal here is to scratch an itch only dick like his can. Inside him, Carmen’s heart breaks as he watches that smile grace your wicked face. Sitting at the foot of your throne, kissing your feet and observing your pleasure in reverence, you’re his for just a little while. 

So he asks the question, though he knows you’re gonna lie to him.

“You’re mine, yeah?”

“Mhm-hm,” you whine, gritty from the back of your throat, cause the fantasy’s just as fun for you. For just a second, you’re his, and no one else is touching you when you leave his house, and the orgasm that he feels creeping up doesn’t signal the passing of the night, and the coming of the lonely morning. 

He knows you’re lying to him, and he knows that this is just some sick form of roleplay for you, but in this amnion, in this vignette, you’re telling the utmost truth.