Edited recently so it flows more smoothly and adds 'depth'. The smut is pretty much untouched since I'm embarrassed to look at it lol
Disclaimer: I do not own Mo, MacCoy, or Angel...Harmonix does. pleasedontkillme
MacCoy stumbled into the Latino's lavish apartment, tripping over himself in particular while managing to kick his sneakers off in the process, partially out of the courtesy Grammaw drilled into his personality, but mostly because they were getting undressed anyways.
He wasn't drunk, buzzed at the most, but Angel didn't need to know that—though he probably already did as he had a knack for simply knowing these things about a person, but 'Coy wanted to feel as though he had the upper hand. Some part of 'Coy, the part of him his pride didn't dwell in, reminded him that Angel would never relinquish control.
MacCoy's Grandma had died earlier that month after ninety-seven years of a life well-lived and Angel promised that he'd somehow make it better. His original intentions eluded the toprocker but after the brunette promised that he would make the pain vanish in whatever way he could he soon caught on. It wasn't as though Angel was less than painfully obvious in his endeavors; MacCoy was still a virgin in so many ways before Angel strolled along and roped him into a sexuality he'd never thought he would experience. MacCoy gave credit where it was due though because the Latino did cure him in some ways, mostly with alcohol at first, but the toprocker soon learned that Angel's physical affection helped soothe the pain too.
Besides, how could the Russian say 'no' to that easy smile and smooth accent?
The blue-eyed man couldn't decide whether or not he hated the older male following him, but he was almost-nearly-positive that he did. The Latino constantly paraded around like the self-absorbed peacock he allowed people to see and was a natural male-chauvinist, which didn't bother 'Coy to any extremes because he was so patient with the faults of others, because he saw too many in himself to judge others, and Angel could be sweet (when they were alone). What proved to be most problematic to him was the fact that Angel was only ever totally unbearable, his ego making 'Coy grit his teeth, in the open, whether at Dance Central or in some public place that Angel was well-known in—which was practically everywhere.
Egging the blond male on when he was already infuriated and constantly challenging his dance skills seemed to be Angel's favorite pastimes and managed to always boil MacCoy's blood, but he couldn't stay away, never quite getting enough but always getting too much; he always came back to him. Plainly put, Angel was a prescription MacCoy found himself picking up off the side of the road and tucking away in his bathroom cabinet to always go back to. Angel was that pill MacCoy swallowed to wipe out all perceptions between right and wrong in the world.
Sex with Angel was like teasing him in the worst way imaginable. The older man's scent (beneath his spicy cologne), his entire being, seeped through the B-boy's pores and 'Coy swore he could feel him invading his veins—coursing slowly, despite how fast his heart was beating. He could feel his essence spreading like a virus, dissipating, consuming, and damn if MacCoy didn't love it, crave it.
Angel existed on an entirely different spectrum of danger.
They had done their little routine a couple times prior to tonight. The couple headed out for a club of MacCoy's choosing, downed a few drinks, feigned flirtation with easy women and went back to whichever place Angel picked out. This routine helped smother the sickening shame MacCoy usually felt before bending underneath Angel for the night. The place was never Angel's, though he was never cheap. Hotel suites that a branch of Angel's company owned and the posh V.I.P lounge that Angel favored, and practically controlled, was their natural setting for their midnight romps. Before tonight MacCoy's preferred place had, in fact, been the soft, leathery couches of that very club, but that would change to wherever he'd end up with the silver-tongued dancer.
In the beginning, their tense 'relationship' primarily consisted of 'Coy begging on his knees for more of the Puerto Rican's affections, despite his reluctance to admit to anyone (much less himself) that he actually enjoyed being fucked by a man, while Angel gave him enough.
Angel strolled in closely behind the blond, his chest would press against the other if MacCoy stopped stumbling for a second, and his hands kept searching for a part of the Russian to touch—any part, it didn't matter; Angel just needed to make bodily contact with the other dancer. His hands found purchase on Coy's broad shoulders and began kneading, nuzzling up to his ear in an effort to soothe the other in the ways he did so many time before.
"Still so tense, pollocito", he purred, grinning as the muscle underneath his fingertips relaxed.
MacCoy shivered at the warm breath ghosting over his neck, unconsciously tilting his head, absently wondering about what his nickname meant.
Gloved hands roamed the dancer's chest, testing boundaries that had already been crossed; skillful fingers found the zipper and pulled down agonizingly slow.
MacCoy shifted nervously, the smooth trails Angel traced across his torso managing to make him hyperaware of everything.
"Gloves off this time." he managed—needing to feel more of Angel physically if he wouldn't connect with him emotionally.
Angel smirked, nipping hard at the flesh his lips were pressed against, and then soothing it with light strokes of his tongue. "Say, 'please'."
MacCoy crumbled under the command and complied. "P-please, Ange. I need this," MacCoy admitted, his face flushed crimson with embarrassment and damaged pride. Satisfied with his toy's answer, the brunette languidly removed his gloves and MacCoy heard leather sliding against skin in awful clarity, reminding him of their romps in posh lounges. Everything was slow with Angel and MacCoy hated every bit of it, all of him. The thoughts that nagged his conscience were nullified by a fresh wave of pleasure. Angel ran smooth palms down a pale chest, brushing against perked nipples slightly, and eliciting a moan from 'Coy—who arched his back, thrusting into warm hands.
The Latino fought back a grin as he felt MacCoy's body tense once more, his shoulders lightly pressing into his collarbone as the younger's head flung back dramatically , landing on his shoulder. Another moan left the heavily freckled male's mouth when Angel twisted each nipple, the fingers of his other hand occasionally running down the length of his happy trail and stroking the light blond hairs found there.
"What a virgin", he teased, regretting it the instant the words left his mouth. The style head didn't appear to be fazed, only more excited once he tried pulling the Latino's occupied hand past the elastic of his sweatpants, but that did not relieve Angel's concern.
The younger wasn't a virgin, at least in the physical aspect, and an emotion akin to guilt gnawed at Angel's insides because he knew exactly why the toprocker acted like he'd never been loved properly. The poker champion realized that he hadn't been, not yet, and the freckled dancer deserved more than what the Puerto Rican was used to dishing out.
Angel decided that the man needed love, he literally had nobody else, with exceptions to his best friend Mo that Angel refused to play second note to. The two were dancing rivals and Angel hated to admit it, but Mo's skills as a dancer surpassed his as well as half their city. Luckily, for Angel, the "just friends" card popped up frequently even though he knew what the darker male was after.
Hell, Mo would probably be a better choice.
He would be a safer choice, too.
Angel inwardly cursed himself for wanting to make it up to the man shamelessly squirming in his hands. He crossed alcohol off the blame list and found that he should be held accountable, he pushed this. He had let himself get too close and never realized what was happening. His walls, composed of one-night stands and metaphorical concrete bricks, were crumbling too fast—like sand. They were worn down and washed away by hard liquor and MacCoy's easy loving.
'Damn the boy's charm.'
He snaked his arms around his slim waist, pulling the blond close to him possessively and MacCoy gasped, pleased but confused. Angel made him feel good, but never with touches like this. "I'll make it right. I'll fix this," he murmured against a pink tinged ear before kissing it tenderly.
Spinning the pale dancer around in his arms, Angel took the time to drink in his features, what would appear to be flaws perfected the other. The toprocker was beautiful in his own way—with his high cheekbones, large lips that formed a natural pout and a perfect splash of freckles adorning his cheeks and nose. Angel was a bit jealous to say the least but, of course, he still found himself to be better looking than the other.
"Ange, wh-what are ya doin'?" The boy was beyond confused, Angel more than enjoyed taking his time, but these touches were different and 'Coy never adapted very well to abrupt changes.
Where did their ongoing game of cat-and-mouse go?
"Hush." Angel smiled reassuringly, running his fingers through golden locks reverently. He removed the blonde's sweatband in one swift movement and undid the latch of his goggles. 'Coy began to protest, worried about what would happen to his precious goggles and his sight, until the V.I.P silenced him with his index. He promptly shut his mouth but that didn't keep his eyes from flickering over to glance at where they were placed. Angel cupped the blonde's cheeks, smoothing his thumbs over the freckles, and kissed him softly. 'Coy's knees dipped and Angel smirked, holding him steady.
"Easy now," he chuckled. He was too easy to please.
However horrible it seemed, this was the first chaste, proper kiss Angel shared with MacCoy. Angel claimed to only kiss someone when there were feelings to be heard, feelings beside lust and greed. The Puerto Rican did, however, leave his mark on the B-boy on more than one occasion, perhaps turning himself into a hypocrite.
MacCoy whimpered as Angel ran his tongue along his lower lip, hands pawing at the other's chest, trying to grip his cropped trench coat. The toprocker's grip landed and he pressed himself flush against the body, leeching heat off of him greedily. Relishing the feel of so much open contact, so much skin, he rolled his hips against Angel's, bit back a girlish moan, and blushed at the Latino's throaty groan.
Watching Angel's eyes flicker shut and his throat arch MacCoy felt bolder, so he nipped lightly at the tanned throat and marveled at the affect it had on the V.I.P.
The romantic quickly regained his composure, having lost it for a moment because he was caught off-guard, and stared at MacCoy with a hazy gaze wondering what was currently running through his mind. Finally relinquishing his coat, he decided it'd be best to take the younger somewhere softer than the floor or table, which might happen if the blond kept rutting against him like that. Barely thinking ahead, he knew he did not want to buy another sofa so he opted for the bedroom, even though he could afford more furniture.
The dancers locked their mouths, in a battle for dominance, their tongues performing an animalistic dance. MacCoy gave in easily, allowing Angel to ravish his mouth, but was still determined to take over somehow. The B-boy managed to lead him over to the couch, despite the other inching them towards the bedroom and propped himself up on the armrest. He clumsily broke the kiss for a moment and leaned in for another from Angel, who backed away.
"No. Not here," he breathed setting his hands on 'Coy's thighs.
"Well, where do ya want it? The floor? Cuz I can give it ta ya on the floor," he challenged, his voice dropping a couple octaves. Angel felt a jolt shoot straight to his groin; legs unsteady, and briefly wondered where the blond picked this up from.
'He shouldn't objectify himself like this,' guilt piercing his heart again. He just wanted some fun. He didn't want to have to fix all this mess.
The Puerto Rican released a breath he didn't know he was holding in and placed sweet kisses to 'Coy's forehead, nose, and lips. MacCoy sighed, hands running down his back and admiring Angel's sculpted torso.
Angel covered the blonde's neck with his lips, planting kisses and causing his blush to grow.
"Stop it," the blue-eyed teen stated almost reluctantly, hardly moving away.
"Hm?" He asked offhandedly pressing a hot kiss to his neck again.
MacCoy continued, voice unsure, "Stop touching me like that."
"Like what?" He asked pulling back, chocolate orbs searching for an answer, a brown brow neatly arched.
"Like it means somethin', man" He couldn't stand to look at his face and force these words.
"It didn't before?" He inquired.
"Not ta ya," 'Coy replied coldly.
Not beating around the bush, "You're right, MacCoy."
The stylehead frowned.
"But...I think it does this time," he finally admitted making eye contact.
"I don't really give a damn" MacCoy snarled, lying to himself.
He wrapped his legs around Angel's middle, bringing him closer. Angel bore a confused expression before he lifted him up, 'Coy straddling just above his hips, the bulge in his sweatpants pressed to Angel's stomach.
"C'mon." MacCoy growled impatiently. "You promised," he continued grinding lightly.
Angel let a curse pass his lips and swallowed a shaky moan, stumbling to his bedroom. 'Coy's breathing deepening, his erection pressing harder against him, driving Angel up a metaphorical wall.
MacCoy mewled underneath him on the bed, hands fisting chocolate brown hair. Angel lowered his head to nip at a smooth pale neck and freckled shoulders; he nibbled and worked his tongue over his skin until marks blossomed across the blue-eyed man's skin. 'Coy writhed helplessly, despite his boldness earlier (fueled by Angel's arrogance and his own frustration), under the Latino.
The blonde's hands wove through soft brown locks, massaging the scalp and scratching gently.
Angel swiped his tongue along the wing of the younger's collarbone admiring how 'Coy whispered his name; he yearned to hear it again and again. He was such a sweet boy and Angel, despite who made himself out to be, didn't want to ruin that. He was able to break hearts but never crush people, and this boy was close to shattering.
'Coy shakily brought his hands down to lightly stroke the tan chest, memorizing every plain and valley of Angel's abs. He hated to admit it but this actually felt nice. The poker champ groaned quietly, eyes closing briefly. The VIP placed hot, open-mouthed kisses down the expanse of 'Coy's toned chest, stopping to teeth at the elastic of his sweatpants, making the blond attempt a curl-up with hands digging in the sheets. Angel laughed playfully, hot breath splashing over slim hips, and hooked his index fingers in the waistband pulling down.
Two brown eyebrows shot up in amusement, "Nice chonies."
MacCoy bit his lip in embarrassment. "Shut up."
The toprocker was sporting a pair of underwear with the logo of 'Flash', his favorite superhero.
Angel shot him a cocky grin before pulling them off completely.
"Well...hah...lets see yours then. Shit, it's c-cold.." he panted, Angel's mouth currently latched to his inner thighs and moving up. Angel ceased his ministrations, much to 'Coy's chagrin (even though he started it), and lifted himself to his knees, peering down at the body panting on his bed. MacCoy eyed him expectantly, challenging him. He smirked, lips curving up, and unlatched his belt. He regretted wearing such tight pants while working them off of his knees quickly.
MacCoy, making it a point to get on his knees, tried turning over. A warm hand held his right knee in place, effectively halting his actions. A wide-eyed expression swept over 'Coy's face.
"Mirame en los ojos. I want you to look at me this time," he explained, rubbing soft circles into the smooth knee.
MacCoy had been avoiding this, not wanting to have to stare into those heavy brown eyes. He scoffed at himself. The guy that enjoyed "driving the ladies wild" was being driven into by his rival. Was he his rival? What else did he have to lose? He knew he wanted this though, despite his inner conflict.
'Coy grit his teeth, "I think I can do that."
Angel smiled, a bit relieved.
He leaned over 'Coy, digging in the pillows, and brought out a small bottle.
"Easy access, huh?"
Angel chuckled, "You were at practice and I was hard."
MacCoy searched his brain for a smartass comeback and couldn't find one, the statement was so honest. Oddly enough, he couldn't find a reason for a snarky remark at this point either.
Angel leaned back down, his face becoming fuzzy in the other's sight again, and kissed him softly. He popped the cap and the blond bit down on his lip at the expected noise.
The toprocker hissed at the semi-cold feeling of the gel on Angel's fingers. The Hispanic eased his fingers in, feeling 'Coy tense around his fingers. MacCoy whimpered, eyes clenched, nose scrunched up.
"Relax." he muttered sweetly, pumping and spreading his digits slowly.
He found and rubbed at a smooth bundle of nerves, satisfied when MacCoy cried out sharply and shoved himself more towards Angel's hand. Quick digits slipped out and MacCoy complained quietly.
"Calmate mijito. I know this is all very exciting," he purred.
He steadied MacCoy's impatient hips with strong hands and pressed into the toprocker deeply, shuddering at the feel. He started out at a slow pace for the other dancer, leaning over to nuzzle his cheek for comfort and to drink in his scent. MacCoy smelled like Old Spice with a vague hint of fresh spring rain and Angel lost himself in it.
"F-faster, Ange," he muttered hotly into his ear
Angel complied, speeding up his rhythm and trying to match 'Coy's anxious tempo. Kissing along MacCoy's jawline, his lips locked the Russian's mouth in a sloppy kiss. The two sweat- slicked bodies leeched heat off each other, slamming unabashedly in sync, both trying to reach their peak.
Angel peered down through half-lidded browns, unaware of when he had fully closed them, to peek at MacCoy's flushed face. 'Coy was already staring at him with glossy sapphires, his eyelids fluttered shut momentarily before plump lips mouthed an 'o'. Angel needed to see that face again. He angled his hips to receive the same reaction again and was rewarded, a loud moan slipping from his own mouth.
His thrusting quickened and he allowed a string of nonsense to escape his lips, in both English and Spanish, and they floated unsettled in the air, mixing with the scent of sex. This time he was sure he meant them but couldn't find the proper state of mind to piece them together.
The toprocker clenched tightly around him, keening softly, and Angel came soon after—both riding out their orgasms simultaneously. The salsa dancer pulled out, arms trembling, and collapsed next to the blond. He made a lazy attempt to cover them with the sheet, they somehow lost the blanket, and MacCoy lifted his hips to help Angel barely cover just above the curves of their asses.
MacCoy opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then spoke anyway, "Ya want me ta stay?"
"Sí Ruso. Stay."
They lay in a pleasant silence this time, neither angry nor awkward like the previous ones. (MacCoy usually made it awkward, at least for himself).
'Coy wiggled closer to him smiling widely, "Thanks, homie."
Angel admired the smile; it was such a pretty and perpetually mischievous smile. He wasn't sure what he did to deserve it.
He nodded, still trapped in his thoughts, and kissed 'Coy on the mouth again.
"Get some sleep," he muttered curling an arm around the stylehead.
'Coy laughed lightly, snuggling up closer to Angel, leaving the Puerto Rican to wonder what just happened to him.
He became attached.