Well, here you dudes go. Theres no Dance Central fanfics that don't involve OCs or that are finished, or show promise of being finished. So enjoy. Reviews...they'd be swell. This will be on-going. Yea. Imma go crazy in this category. So, suck it up like a big ass glass of kool-aid. Also...I'm prolly gonna need help with this. Yep. Feel free to toss a dog a bone.
Warnings: This has an ass load of cussing, boy-love, and promises of potential buttsecks. Deal.
Disclaimer: I don't own MacCoy, Mo, Dance Central characters, concepts, bullshit yada yada. Not making money off of this shizz.
"Hear ya dig dancin' pretty boy, well-let's dance," A rough voice barked.
Deep laughter followed suit. The sound of feet quickly shuffling together was all the teen heard before turning to greet a solid fist with his face.
The blonde's head whirled in pain and confusion as he attempted to regain his balance and tried to figure out exactly what happened. His jaw throbbed in pain and he could already feel his cheek swelling, the pressure of the orange goggles pressing down on his face didn't help either.
He had been punched. First day here and some ass-hat was already starting shit.
'What the fu-'
Strong, dark hands gripped his blue and white, zippered polo shirt tightly, wrinkling it in the process, and brought the dancer to the other teen's snarling face. Too close for comfort, but then again, there's nothing comfortable about someone larger and helluva alot stronger than you wanting to kick your ass. MacCoy grimaced at the fact that he had ironed this shirt just this morning, neverminding the fact that some thug was about to pummel him. Or at least, try.
"I said let's dance-ya lil' queer," the rough voice spat out.
MacCoy's vision cleared and he could see that the face the voice belonged to was full of sharp angles, angry eyes and a nasty smirk teeming with shockingly white teeth that appeared more menacing in contrast to his dark skin. His cold, obsidian eyes glared at the teen and MacCoy couldn't understand why. Why him? He was sure there were plenty of dancers here, okay-maybe not male dancers, but the ladies go crazy over men with moves. Right? And where the shit were the teachers?
The blond was so close he could almost hear the darker male gritting his teeth.
'Homie's breath is rank' he mused. He weighed his options and opted for trying to weasel his way out of this scuffle. The goggled-teen brought his arms close to his chest, snaked them between his attacker's arms, and swung them outwards effectively causing him to lose his grip.
MacCoy bolted.
The crowd grew wild.
'Bunch'a fuckin' animals.'
His assailant ws too quick and yanked him back by his collar. The other male's iron grip crushed his victim's shoulders close to his sides, lifting him up and shoving him hard against the faded lockers all the while laughing at his failed attempt. Their audience grew louder.
"Ah, shit." MacCoy hissed in pain.
He heard a sharp crack and the back of his head grew warm. He wondered if that was his skull as the clasp of his goggles dug into the wound. He normally didn't have to fight, when he did he could handle himself, but the blond imagined that this guy must've been a professional fucking football player. MacCoy was a dancer, not a body-builder!
"Stop yo' shit, man" a teen with a teal-striped hoodie and forest green shorts stepped into MacCoy's line of vision, behind the crowd, and the grip on his shirt loosened but didn't let go.
'This guy looks so fuckin' cool.' MacCoy thought smugly.
The bully turned around to match a face with the voice he heard and the dancer took this as an opportunity to use his well-toned legs to vault off the lockers, pushing his shoulders foward. The other teen stumbled backwards and MacCoy slumped against the lockers, smearing blood as he went. He braced himself for another blow, but none came. The crowd dispersed, as well as the asshole whose name he still didn't know.
"Yo, man you feelin' aight? Ya don't look so hot," the figure inquired.
MacCoy's muscles tensed up again, ready for a fight now. The adrenaline was still coursing through his body and he wasn't caught off guard this time. He shot up quickly, perhaps too quickly, and glared at his target daring him to move. His vision swam. He was dizzy and was it freezing or what? His step faltered and he felt himself beginning to fall. His face didn't meet-and-greet with the floor like he had expected, someone caught him, someone warm.
Someone incredibly warm.
MacCoy woke up to the sound of a machine beeping, one that wasn't hooked up to him-thankfully-and found a face half-obscured by a familiar hoodie grinning down at him like an idiot.
"Sup." The voice piped in cheerfully.
His stomach flopped and he was pretty sure it was a direct result of the painkillers he was probably taking.
"Name's Mo. I helped ya out a bit back there, even though you looked like ya wanted ta knock my teeth in. That guy that roughed you up a bit back there? That was Malcolm." Mo stated airily.
'Roughed me up a bit?' Considering the neighborhood Maccoy lived in now he figured it could've been worse. Much worse. This guy sure was cheery about the whole situation.
MacCoy tried to find his voice.
Mo earned a groan in response from the teen in the hospital bed, apparently he hadn't found his voice. He was weak and groggy from his injury. MacCoy made another effort to speak, but was promptly cut off by the grinning figure.
"Nah, man. S'all good. got yer ID outta yo' wallet, n' 'fore ya try n' say anythin' I didn't steal nothin'. Ya flat broke anyways. Ya want some water?" he asked with a grin.
MacCoy noted that he talked alot, but was somewhat relieved because his mouth tasted like shit and he didn't want to know what it smelled like. The pale teen gave Mo a lopsided grin when he handed him a mint and water while helping him to sit up.
'It's like he can read minds.' MacCoy thought while taking in his surroundings.
The room was plain and boring, like all hospital rooms usually are, the only things that were adding color were the darker teen's bright clothes and the solemn, yellow-stained blotch corner that suspiciously looked like it was either previously pissed or vomited on.
His grin fell when he sipped his water and half of the cup's contents spilled out onto his paper gown, causing the gown to cling to his chest and Mo to fidget nervously. Tearing his eyes away from the blond's damp chest Mo found that the drawstrings on his hoodie had become the most interesting things in the universe, not that the now transparent "fabric" clinging to the contours of the dancer's near-flushed torso wasn't interesting. It just made him feel like an asshole, staring at some beat up dude from school lying in a hospital bed. He had saved his bacon, but still.
The blond cursed under his breath trying, in vain, to blot out the water that was slowly destroying his paper gown with the starchy blankets on the hospital bed. The water continued to grow, expand, just fucking consume his damn gown is what it seemed and MacCoy decided to just suck it up and deal with it.
Mo regained his mirth and snickered quietly to himself, tilting his head down slightly as to hide his apparent grin, but it seemed the boy wasn't paying his much attention anyways. His grin turned more devilish as he watched the other dancer take another sip, causing more water to spill out onto his chest. The other B-boy cursed again, loudly this time, while mo bit his lip until bursting into maniacal fits of laughter.
"Laugh it up, man. Ain't funny." he grumbled and failed to see what was so damn hilarious. Today was really not his day.
"Yea. Yea, it is. Ya got a whole in yo' lip or sometin'?" Mo managed to choke out.
Realization dawned upon MacCoy.
"Oldest damn trick in the book, dude. Cuttin' holes all up in a cripple's cup! S'wrong wit'cha?" MacCoy replied good-naturedly crumpling up the paper cup and tossing the ball at the other teen's hoodie'd head. Mo caught it and flung it uncerimoniuosly into the wastebasket across the room while casting MacCoy a cheeky grin. He didn't miss his mark and the paper plopped in with a light thud.
Soon both boys were beaming and howling with laughter. The joke wasn't that funny but it just seemed right to laugh at that moment in time with his new friend. Mo made him feel at ease and MacCoy was able to ignore the pain in his swollen cheek from laughing so hard.
'His smile is contagious' the blond thought, popping the mint into his mouth and sighed happily when a burst of mint invaded his taste buds.
Their laughter died down and the settled for simply staring at each other in a rather comfortable silence. Something was exchanged between the two of them and neither knew what yet. It was something rather delicate.
"So, wanna tell me why I'm lying here in this dinky ass hospital bed?" MacCoy was the first to break the silence. Mo eyed him strangely and MacCoy almost regretted speaking, not because he was afraid but because he felt he'd ruined something in that moment.
"Small fry name Malcolm jumped yo' ass from behind, what I heard. Knocked yo' head into the lockers a couple times, got yo'self some stitches. Ain't as bad as it could be. He was still on ya when I stopped 'im. He don't really need a special invitation to fuck wit' people. It comes naturally, like a rabid animal that needs to be shot. An' don't worry, he ain't gonna screw wit' ya again, so don't sweat it." There was a mischievious glint in his eyes and a quirk in his smirk that would set some people off. MacCoy didn't seem to notice.
"What makes ya say that, Mo?" MacCoy chuckled.
Mo's tone went rigid, body stiffening, mouth set in a tight line, "I said don't sweat it, aight?"
Seeing the boy's near-upset and confused expression Mo winked at him, "I ain't mad, 'Coy. Jus'...let it go." MacCoy nodded and realized that from this angle he could barely make out the upper portion of the darker boy's face. He smiled when he had winked at him, it made him feel special, made him feel like that wink was some sort of rare treat since Mo's face always seemed hidden by his hood. He took a deep liking to his nickname too although he couldn't fathom why.
In wonderment his fingers crept to the back of his head. He flinched. Ironic how an injury didn't hurt until a person either confirmed it for themselves or someone drew attention to it. A broad-set stitched gash lined the middle of his head, shooting across diagonally. Lucky for him they hadn't the need to shave his hair. He'd die. MacCoy wasn't vain, but he loved his hair. He frowned at the thought of how stupid he'd look and how many more ass-kickings would come his way; kids in school were like that.
MacCoy ceased his musings when a warm hand swatted his own away and deft fingers faintly traced the area around the stitches while curling his golden, feathery locks between them. Mo raised his other hand and calloused fingers danced towards his jaw, his thumb slowly trailed his busted, lower lip before gliding gently over his swollen cheek. MacCoy let out a soft sigh and leaned into the touch. Mo's right hand, stroking the blonde's hair, crept down his neck lightly squeezing.
MacCoy shuddered and Mo leaned in.
"Mr. MacCoy? You can leave now, you're all checked out." A shrill voice interrupted them.
Mo abruptly straightened himself and jerked his hands away like he was caught stealing, deeply noting MacCoy's half-lidded gaze and flushed cheeks. He filed this information away for later.
The nurse hadn't appeared to notice and continued on with their rounds. And taxpayers paid for this sort of treatment?
MacCoy blamed his behavior on his medication.
Mo blamed it on MacCoy's adorable features and attitude.
"Eh hehe. Got'cha" Mo chuckled nervously, fiddling with his drawstrings.
"Yea. I'm a real sucker." MacCoy mumbled tossing Mo a half-hearted smirk.
Mo blushed. His train of thoughts de-railing at some town called 'Perv-dom' and he inwardly scolded himself. The silence that followed this time was an uncomfortable one. It wasn't a joke. They both knew this.
Clearing his throat the blue-eyed teen broke the silence again. Mo was grateful.
"Guess I better hit the road..." The blond trailed off.
A short silence.
"Want me ta walk ya?" Mo offered, shifting on his feet uncomfortably still twirling his drawstrings.
Dark blue eyes brightened at this. "Hell yes! I bet my Grandma's whipped up some of her homemade zalvyne. You gotta try it, man! Real good, lemme tell ya!" he ranted excitedly.
Mo grinned wildly. "Aight." He noted that he didn't know what zalvyne was either, or if it even existed, but was relieved that he wasn't missing a couple of teeth.