MacCoy didn't see the harm in it, Mo wouldn't know and he hadn't found out yet so the blond figured he was in the clear. He'd done this a couple years after Mo started spending the night at his house. He was ashamed at first, could hardy look Mo in the eyes without feeling as though the other could read his mind and know that he recently finished masturbating to images of the darker male writhing under him. It was strange how hardly a few weeks passed and MacCoy grew accustomed to the ritual, addicted to it, and yearned for the days Mo could stay over.
MacCoy studied Mo whenever they were alone, but only in the confines of his bedroom-perhaps to persuade himself into thinking that this odd obsession of his was perfectly fine in a place where he made the rules. He enjoyed their routine and predicted Mo's every action within the first week of stalking him while being utterly enthralled. Mo was nearly always the one to open and close his door, MacCoy loved to watch the way the prankster drummed his fingers along the frame while he did a false curtsey for the blond before allowing him to enter the room next. Mo's bags hit the floor after two steps into the door and his ass hit the bed after ten or twelve depending on how grueling the dance routine they practiced that day had been.
MacCoy counted.
Sometimes he'd make a move on an unsuspecting Mo, he viewed it as general kindness, and Mo would allow the geek to fight the tension from his neck and shoulders with his hands. The darker male hissed when skilled digits found bruises from a hard fall, rocks littered the ground when he flopped on his back earlier in the day for a difficult move and the blond retreated from the damaged muscle with a lingering gaze while he understood he'd never summon the courage it required to press his lips to them. The unbridled heat emanating from the darker B-boy intoxicated 'Coy and the Russian always had a hard time restraining from turning his massage sessions into groping.
The down rocker enjoyed idle chatter with his friend while said pal relished the relaxing muscles under his fingertips and the occasional pleased sigh. At times, MacCoy made himself believe that the rare groan or shudder, they had to be accidental because Mo mumbled nervously about them and apologized, was enough for him. They were at times, but he still chased after more.
As soon as Mo stumbled off to the shower his hand would find his dick and he'd imagine thrusting into Mo's tight heat, the other shuddering and whispering his name. The thought alone would be enough to get him off. Mo's voice would trigger the ending of the session and he'd thank MacCoy with a bro-fist but when the tightness left Mo all of it seemed to enter the other male because the darker B-boy stripped down to only his boxers on his way to the bathroom.
Mo never left the comfort of the steamy room if he needed something, this was a general rule, once someone forgot something it was sort of stupid to stumble around sopping wet and cold. The water ran and he'd hear the loud thunk of a mechanism turning a waterfall into a strong downpour. While he usually set up his nest of sorts on the bed, he'd carefully place items that belonged to Mo around him in a circle at his feet but always held whichever hoodie Mo chose to wear that day closest to him. The older male was infamous for his ridiculously long showers, giving 'Coy more chances to move slowly and relish the moments.
Nimble fingers crept through the elastic of his boxers, he stripped his sweatpants down to his knees minutes ago, and simply touched himself while imagining Mo exploring new grounds with his right hand kneading the striped hoodie crumpled up beside him. He didn't hear the wet clap of feet hitting the cold tile but he did hear Mo call out for him, causing him to hastily jump up and brush himself off. He hadn't been expecting this to happen, it never did before.
"Yo 'Coy, can ya get me a rag? Ain't none up in this bitch!"
MacCoy didn't trust his voice so instead he hobbled towards the bathroom door on wobbly legs, still hard cock pressing painfully against its restraints, and shoved a washcloth from his closet into the B-boy's expectant hand. The hardly audible sound of the plastic curtain sliding closed reached his ears and MacCoy shimmied out of his sweatpants completely this time, taking a minute to listen for any signs of the other leaving the stall for a second time.
When he was safe he retreated back to his nest of things and started slow again, brushing the insides of his thighs softly, imagining Mo's lips there. The muscles in his stomach twitched when he flicked the bar in his nipple. He stared at them through cloudy eyes wondering what possessed him to have them, his Grammaw would kill him if she found out. But then his mind replayed a conversation he had with Mo earlier in the year after the B-boy showed him the studs in his hips. 'Coy thought that maybe appealing to Mo's secret kinks would increase their chances of being together. He was more than disappointed when all the down rocker did was call him silly and poke at one with what seemed to be mild disinterest.
He pinched and tugged at one repeatedly, cursing hotly, imagining Mo's front teeth grinding down on them while stroking his dick. That thought fired him up and he roughly gripped his erection before lubricating himself with the beads of precum that barely did the job, though he never cared at this point, and frantically pumped. His heart beat double-time. The scent of antique packets of hydrangeas clouded his sense of smell but he needed more Mo. The striped hoodie the B-boy was so fond of now lay next to him nearly forgotten for some unknown reason and he greedily snatched the article of clothing up to bury his face into it. Mo's scent shocked his system and he curled into himself and jerked his cock with speedy flicks.
The thought of fucking his hand to Mo's face when he was in the shower occurred to him but he never did. The skin to skin to contact and slicking himself with natural lubricant was something that drove him away from the idea. Mo never left any warm water anyway.
He could feel the place beneath his stomach bubbling up, lust reaching its boiling point and he conjured up a new image-Mo showering. (How it never occurred to him before he'd never know.) The room increased in temperature, as well as his pace, at the prospect of suds and blue eyes sliding down a well-toned body before traveling past the studded hips that started it all. Visions of the African American languidly washing made his balls twitch and he let loose a low moan.
Thick lips mouthed who he wished to be his lover into the soft fabric as his toes curled into the fluffy carpet of his floor. Hips began to shift and he felt heat building up, the muscles dancing and freezing in his abdomen. He orgasmed hard, his heel digging into his ankle, coming in thick ropes after a moment.
He felt silly but he always needed to say something afterwards, like that would make the event real. Whispering into the hoodie that filled him up, "God, Mo. That was good."
The blond remained hunched over for a moment, his face buried in the crook of his elbow, until the feeling of the come sliding down the sides of his thighs finally made him start moving. Regret seeped in, as it usually had once he finished, and he used the old sweatpants to clean himself up and stuffed them to the bottom of his hamper. He was tired too, not new to this routine, and scooted from the edge of the bed to curl into his pillows.