This was heavily inspired by PeorthMoon's fan fiction 'Angel Beats', the songs 'We Are Going to Be Friends' by The White Stripes and 'Lasso' by Phoenix. Listen to those songs and read that fic, dudes.
I think I lost my writing mojo. I'm tired of looking at this.
Remember, MacCoy, once you go black you never go back. Lmao
Disclaimer: I don't own Mo or MacCoy, or his greasy granny. They belong to Harmonix.
Mo and MacCoy had been best friends since they were tiny bits and somehow knew, as unrealistic as it sounded, knew that they'd always remain that way. The two hadn't always been friends though. Their first encounter was a largely embarrassing misunderstanding—mostly on Mo's part.
The two met a at neighborhood park, inside of a cement cylinder with painted handprints smeared on the outside. Mo crawled into the tunnel, curious amber eyes spying a glowing light surrounding a pretty blond curled up inside.
"Hey I'm Mo!" What'cha doin'?" He asked curiously, drawing his knees close to his chest.
The blond didn't even glance his way but drawled out a long, 'uhhh', eyes still glued to the game that he was fiddling with. Mo frowned, he was only trying to make friends, one of his many 'hobbies'—it was what he liked to do and hoped that everyone in town would be his friend.
He poked the other in the cheek until the gamer turned and chomped on his finger.
"Thanks fer killin' me! I almos' had 'im," the other whined.
Mo noted he had a horribly high voice, like a girl, when he recoiled his tiny hand in pain.
"Aw, I'm sorry," lips tugging down into another frown, which he seemed to be doing a lot of today.
"I jus' wanted' ta be yer friend," he clarified.
The other brightened considerably at this, "Fer really? I'm MacCoy! We can be friends!"
Mo nodded hopefully, scooting closer to the boy before he realized what the other was doing, then began to rant excitedly. "I got one of those fer Christmas! Mine's blue!"
He was, of course, carrying on about a Gameboy Color with a cheap twistable light. The two gushed about the latest games, bragging about which Pokémon, and how many, they had captured. Mo caught 155, catching a few multiples while MacCoy captured 150—taking his time to level up and catch every single one. He even boasted about his 'Grams' taking him to some 'real dope' convention so he could get Mew.
The sunlight peeked through their shell and reflected off MacCoy's locks but remained captured in his blue-green eyes. Mo studied him closely and counted three freckles all under his right eye.
Then he spoke without thinking, "Yer pretty, like a girl."
The boy looked at him bewildered, wondering how they went from the latest episodes of Pokémon to him looking like a girl. A bubble of anger popped inside his head, remembering his neighbors teasing him, and he swung a petite, clenched fist at Mo.
"Ow, geez ya big butthole!" Mo cried, clutching his nose. All he did was say nice things, so he didn't understand why he was punched.
"I ain't a girl," he huffed, crossing his arms and pouting at the other.
"I didn't say ya were a girl. I jus' think yer pretty." He complained, trying to explain himself.
The other fiddled with his grass-stained cargo shorts, "Sorry I hit'cha, jus' people always tease me cuz boys are 'sposed ta be handsome, not pretty."
Mo looked up to glare at him but was met with a pair of pleading baby blues and he immediately felt horrible for being angry.
That was weird. He was the one punched in the nose.
A woman with a tight-wound bun and large, thick-framed glasses called for MacCoy and he whined out an, 'Aww, Grammaw. I'm tryin' ta make friends here.'
Mo laughed, despite being upset that his new friend had to leave, but introduced himself after offering to walk MacCoy back to the car his caretaker was lowering herself into.
The other made him pinky-promise to hang out again.
So grew an unbreakable bond.
-mocoyplz-
Mo had stopped by to drop off MacCoy's Christmas gift, adoring his friend's expression when he surprised him. He never understood how the rookie dancer was always shocked to receive a present of some sort from him, Mo never missed his birthdays or holidays. He chalked it up as MacCoy being one grateful guy.
They were seated on 'Coy's living room carpet as the Russian unwrapped a pair of sports goggles that looked exactly like the ones Flash wore. His eyes lit up in a way that made Mo's inside twist in on each other until the blue-eyed buck broke out in a grin and knocked knuckles with the prankster. Being bros came first.
Years later Mo came to discover that he loathed those goggles and resented the fact that he ever gifted them. MacCoy rarely took them off, only to shower and sleep, and Mo only had the chance to watch him do one of those things.
By the time high school rolled them to a stop, reality was one mean motherfucker and punched them in the gut, leaving them breathless. Both understood how close they were, almost like brothers but not quite, some deeper feeling always scratching at the surface that begged to be released.
They were in love with their male best friend.
MacCoy took note of how Mo remained the prankster he always was and Mo was grateful that Coy's dorky demeanor never changed. They needed each other to stay this way.
Mo remained slim but grew taller and wore tight-fitting clothes to match his breaking scene. MacCoy couldn't help noticing how perfectly the fabric clung to every aspect of his body, blue eyes always enraptured by broad shoulders transcending into narrow, graspable hips. Mo permanently seemed to stream floods of charming smiles at him and knew the perfect advice to give to MacCoy when he had 'girl trouble' or math problems he hated doing.
Even as they grew he remained the overconfident prankster he always was and MacCoy couldn't have been more elated.
Mo took note of how conscious MacCoy was of his body, which he never understood because the young Russian was always mesmerizing in his eyes. He started lifting weights, slowly acquiring more muscle mass and Mo couldn't help staring—always catching himself before the other could. Despite all the sporty gear the blond wore, he hardly showed any skin and this grated his nerves raw. He needed more than tiny peeks of flesh every now and then.
He remained the old-skool beat loving dork he always was and Mo couldn't have been happier.
Feelings began to twist—emotions like jealousy and sorrow erupting from the cores of their hearts whenever the other found someone else to love. If Mo wasn't happy, or vice versa, then a heart was broken because a promise was made on a day full of cartoons and milkshakes, 'Bros before hoes.'
Mo admitted, albeit to himself, that he had feelings for MacCoy that gradually progressed to something he couldn't contain any longer. The only obstacle standing in his way, besides his fear of losing his pal forever, was MacCoy's terrifying state of denial.
He'd never know this though.
-mocoyplz-
The boys hadn't grown apart, only closer than ever and MacCoy planned another big smash. The plan was to camp out in his backyard, tent and all, complete with loads of candy and comics.
MacCoy was wrapped in a thick comforter, with Mo sharing it right alongside him, and his face was buried in an action sequence between Batman and The Penguin. Mo was half-heartedly flipping through a comic he had read a thousand times over, the person next to him unknowingly hogging his attention. Mo noticed 'Coy's arms shaking, his chest involuntarily shivering and he moved closer—pressing his side to the others. MacCoy snuggled into the warmth immediately.
"I miss bein' all chummy like this," 'Coy spoke softly, a hint of nostalgia lacing his voice.
Mo nodded in agreement, turning a page in his comic, purposely brushing across 'Coy's arm. The geeky Russian noticed the tingling flares forming throughout his body from the contact and squirmed in his skin, finally having enough.
"Hey, Mo?" 'Coy warily addressed, fiddling with a corner of his comic before stopping himself, he didn't want to ruin an amazing copy.
"Yea, homes?" Mo's eyes were still set on the pages in front of him, at least appeared to be.
"I wanna ask ya a weird question…" he started, ankles rubbing together, eyes making floor contact as Mo un-wrapped a snack cake. He lifted his goggles, stretching the elastic in a state of nervousness, and finally placed them above his forehead.
"Shoot." He encouraged, briefly wondering why MacCoy removed his goggles—not that he was going to complain, but still.
MacCoy took a deep breath, forgetting to breathe out, "Would ya ever date me?"
Mo coughed, choking on the snack cake he just stuffed in his mouth and beat on his chest with his fist, "What?"
"Ah! No homo!" MacCoy called out, trying to save his ass, but knew there was no way to repair this conversation.
The downrocker tried to hide a smirk, "Are ya cool, man? Not sick or anythin'?"
He was unsure if he should pounce on his bro and smother him in kisses or sate some ridiculous body issue the blond had. Simply speaking suddenly felt like Russian roulette.
MacCoy voice came out in odd, edgy squeaks, "Whaaaat? Yea man, I'm cool."
Mo twisted in the covers, leaning on his elbow, and reached out to check 'Coy's temperature. His hand lingered more than necessary, fingertips running to a cherry-red cheek. Mo pressed his palm there with an affectionate smile, "Ya aint runnin a fever, but yer burnin' up."
MacCoy could feel his face heating up from the contact; Mo's touches making him feel like he was overheating. Tired of always hiding and beating around the bush though, he muttered out a low,
"Answer the question."
Eyelids narrowed over amber orbs in tender consideration, "Why is it so important ta ya?"
Baby blues pleaded with him like they did that day in the park 18 years ago, saying something along the lines of, 'Please don't make me say anything more than I need to.'
"I hafta know."
At that point they saw a spark of something in each other's eyes, acknowledgement of lovely emotions for friends, but neither wanted to be the first to admit it.
The silence was comfortable, although not very short.
Mo's fingers slid over a strong jawline, thumb brushing across cheekbones until it rested under a lower lip. "'Course I would, yer my soul mate MacCoy."
MacCoy lips stretched into a broad grin, "I've been in love with ya since ya started rockin' me ta sleep, y'know, when I had those nightmares 'bout Grams dying," he finally confessed, feeling a thousand times lighter and more confident.
Letting out a soft chuckle, almost wearing holes through 'Coy's hesitant heart until he spoke, " 'Member that one day when we were lil' and there was that giant ass thunderstorm? Ya thought we were gonna die," he laughed at the memory, "And ya kissed me cuz ya were so scared?"
Feeling like the ass that ruined the moment, "I don't remember."
Mo didn't expect him to because the kiss was years ago, innocent and unassuming, and he smiled sweetly, "I do."
Trailing his thumb over a pouty lip, he pulled down slightly, "That's how long I wanted ya."
MacCoy wasn't about to do the math, his head too clogged by a euphoric fog. Math is for chumps anyways.
They shared a chaste kiss, igniting a new flame within that both were too eager to explore for boys their age. Thick lips traveled down to a spot on his neck he remembered MacCoy being ticklish at and loved it tenderly, sucking and teething on the area, satisfied with MacCoy's giggling. He roamed further south, planting soft kisses along the way, stopping at the neckline of his deep blue tank top, pulling at it in frustration with his teeth.
MacCoy's head was rolling in the sheets, his hands scratching at the other's clothed thighs and Mo reached to his right to grab from their fort of pillows, placing one under a blond halo of hair. The giddy downrocker placed a quick peck to the style head's freckled nose, relishing his sighs of appreciation.
Quick digits began unzipping the striped hoodie Mo let his B-boy borrow, splaying fingers across his chest and brushing the fabric away. Dark hands were covering every inch of MacCoy in wonderment, curious to figure out where MacCoy liked to be touched and where he wanted to be touched the most. Mo learned that his hair turned him into a purring kitten while his inner thighs and ribs conquered his senses—completely driving him mad.
The only slightly bolder B-boy savored the sounds escaping the writhing body beneath him, but ushered the blond Russian to keep quiet with a gentle press of an index to parted lips. The freckled male attacked the corner of his mouth with canines to keep a long, drawn-put 'Mo' from escaping.
He marveled at the effect he had on the stubborn Russian, usually whiny and obnoxious, now a thrashing and mewling lover. Mo cupped blushing cheeks as he descended again, lower back in the air with their chests flush together.
MacCoy suddenly regretted ever being filled with doubt. MacCoy knows Mo will never let him down, if anything, Mo's the one that always picks him back up and makes everything right around them.
The retro dancer's moans were escalating in volume while his hands kneaded at the thin fabric bunched around Mo's stomach and back, feet twisting in their combined superhero sheets—Ninja Turtles tangling with Batman.
Mo had been waiting for a moment like this for as long as he could remember and was grateful for every pleased facial expression and cute sigh coming from his friend. He moved his lips over the gasping blonde's again to quiet him; the Russian was too damn loud for their own good.
MacCoy hugged the B-boy closer, sneaking his tongue into a surprised and gasping mouth but lost to another fervent tongue's stroking. After holding back his emotions for so long, 'Coy felt the urge to shower Mo with more physical affections.
"Mo, are we gonna, y'know?" He asked shyly between puffs, the other placing scorching kisses from his chin to his earlobe, nips growing stronger.
They were treading on dangerous soils, if they trekked any further neither would be able to return home.
"If ya wanna…"he trailed off, not really knowing what exactly a person was supposed to say. MacCoy nodded and Mo smiled at him, comforting and reassuring like a warm beverage.
MacCoy sat up, steadying his torso with his palms on either side, "I get ta top."
Mo laughed, still awkwardly straddling his waist, "I'm bigger and faster."
Elbows nearly buckled as he stuttered out, "N-no way, homie!"
Mo regarded him for a moment, hardly wanting a 'my dicks bigger than yours competition',
"I'll make it up ta ya. Jus' trus' me on this, yo."
MacCoy growled but submitted, albeit reluctantly, and Mo showered him with heavy kisses, hiking his B-boy's tank up and over his shoulders. He tried steadying shaky hands as he coaxed him into lying down again and nearly lost complete control when glazed-over topaz peered into desperate pools of sapphire.
"I should call you Slow-Mo, cuz you move. So. Slowwww," he whined out, wiggling his hips up.
Mo chuckled back another lump in his throat, watching his friend jerk his body with need; surprised he could still contain himself.
"There's no rush," Mo whispered, peeling the fabric of his pajama bottoms down, carefully revealing inches of pale, freckled thighs in the dim lighting. He finally breathed out; staring down at his friend for a moment and taking in MacCoy's flushed cheeks and half-lidded expression.
Dark hands roamed over lean hips and a sensitive ribcage and the powerhouse admired his toned body, feeling very self-conscious himself until the impatient dancer under him tugged at his clothing again.
"Lemme see what'cha got," MacCoy purred, reassuring the tagger.
Mo slowly stripped, muscles flexing, enjoying MacCoy's blatant interest in staring at him. Deciding against a cheesy sex-line, he chose to kiss him instead—a long line of butterfly kisses from the sweep of his collarbone to his navel.
MacCoy's back arched off the ground, crying out when a wet heat backtracked over his torso to swirl around a pink nipple. A large hand instantly flew to his mouth, hot breath washing over his upper body, "Shut up, load-ass. Yer Grams'll hear us. She'd have a heart attack."
The other stared at him through half lidded eyes, lantern casting eerie glow on his goggles, and Mo jumped when a pink muscle poked between his fingers. A deep, rolling groan escaped his mouth as he watched MacCoy slowly guide them into his mouth, whirling his tongue in circles. He rubbed his thighs together, hating his tight pants and he moaned again—louder this time.
"Geez Mo, quiet down," MacCoy teased with a smug smirk.
The mischievous glint in the blonde's eyes made him even more impatient and his will power was nearly entirely consumed by now, needing his release. MacCoy palming at the clothing between his legs snapped him out of his musings as he unconsciously thrusted his crotch forward.
"There's no rush," he mocked and Mo gripped his hand, pressing it harder against him, shoving his hips while two separate sets of lips were ground between pearly whites.
Mo attacked MacCoy's neck again, feeling his need to taste the boy devour him.
"Ah, shit. What're ya? A vampire?" MacCoy whined between pants.
"Can't help it, ya taste good," Mo mumbled, voice turning deeper and MacCoy gulped, head whirling because this was his best friend and he never once heard him this way.
Curiously he pressed on quietly, "What do I taste like?"
Mo chuckled, teeth scraping from neck to collarbone, "Like a pretty lil' white boy."
Pouting, the Russian pinched his side, earning a jolt and painful nip from the other as a warning.
"Jerk," he huffed.
"I'm sorry, babe." He murmured out, warm lips sweeping down and over a pale chest. His tongue flicked a perked nipple and MacCoy shaky breathing informed him that he was redeemed.
He laid there for a moment, nuzzling his cheek beside 'Coy's navel, calloused fingers tracing his own name above the hem of his friend's striped boxers, as he muttered his deepest feelings about the blue-eyed locker.
"Please don't tease me," he begged and MacCoy lay still and quiet for a moment, or tried to, his body wanting to move and scream under Mo's dancing digits.
He'd never betray his best friends trust that way with blabbing about intimate stuff like this. Honestly, he was a bit hurt.
He propped himself up on his elbows, running his palm over Mo's light shag of hair, "I love ya too much ta hurt ya like that."
The tagger grinned wildly; knowing that they had shared one of their rare, gushy moments and cherished it, locking the memory away into the deepest recesses of his heart.
Happy with his B-boy's answer he massaged MacCoy through the fabric of his boxers, feeling how soaked they were, and continued at a deliberately unhurried pace as the other pleaded and begged for more. The usually stubborn toprocker was putty in his hands and he knew he could use this—touching him like this, in some way, to win over future arguments. The pale boy had his natural charms that Mo couldn't resist giving in to, so this was fair game.
Deliberately slowing or speeding up his kneading, depending on how loud MacCoy was for him. He surrendered when MacCoy growled, voice teetering on the verge of annoyance and tears,
"Come on already, it hurts."
He shifted and removed both underwear and boxers together, snickering at the choice of color until the fabric was pulled off completely. The blond sighed in relief but tensed all over again under Mo's intense scrutiny, hissing when Mo gripped his cock in his hands, gaping at the texture and the difference in color from his own.
Amber eyes finally touched his with color and Mo spoke with a serious tone, "Have I ever told ya how beautiful ya are ta me?"
A blond Russian's heart fluttered, along with his eyelashes, and barely managed to shake his head 'no'. Mo almost looked disappointed but smiled anyways, pumping MacCoy's cock leisurely, and replied in a solemn tone.
"I'd rather show ya anyways."
A burning, damp mouth encased his throbbing member and he sprang up high off the ground, rubbing at his forehead, raking trembling hands through his blond hair. The tent was stuffy and humid, he was already glistening, and the light specks of sweat bothered the rim of cushioning on his goggles. Relinquishing his sweatband after a flirty comment Mo made the day before hadn't exactly been the best idea in retrospect.
He dared a glance down at his lover, nearly losing his mind at the sight of the powerhouse bobbing his head. It was one thing to feel it but an entirely different feeling to watch. Mo wasn't an expert, the toprocker hardly cared, not knowing the difference anyways, and warped the sheets underneath him, reaching out to pet Mo's hair.
White shot behind his eyelids and he saw spots of light for a moment, his mouth hanging open trying to choke out sounds. His whole body shuddered then relaxed— his cock oversensitive and twitching from Mo's clean-up session. His insides were glowing and everything felt perfect in the world—he forgot about his stressful job, nagging grandma, and peer pressure for a while.
Mo coughed slightly after lifting his head and wiped his chin with a wrist. Admiring the taste, the powerhouse ran a tongue along the roof of his mouth, halting after rimming around front teeth. Reaching in for a quick peck from the other, his rapidly beating heart bloomed when the Russian grabbed both cheeks, smooching him hard.
Then in his world, the world felt right again when their lips melded together because everything felt so right, so warm!
He pulled MacCoy into his lap slipping his tongue into his mouth, willingly sharing what he tasted. Fingers slid down the length of his back, palms admiring the curve of his bare ass as he squeezed, relishing the firmness. He ran a finger along the crevice, rubbing at his entrance. MacCoy's pants came out more like hisses and he begged him, grinding down hard with his eyes clamped shut—rutting across his clothed erection in the most wonderful way.
With hands pawing at his chest, battered lips attached to his neck, and restless body nearly bouncing in his lap, "Take me already, Mo."
Dark hands gripped his hips harsher than intended while idle legs scrambled to wrap around a toned torso, older male feeling MacCoy already hardening against his stomach. He shifted them, hovering over MacCoy—whose right leg was now hanging loosely over his hips, threatening to slid off at any moment.
Pretty teeth nibbled away at an earlobe, "Ya ain't gonna be able ta walk fer awhile when I get done with you."
His words shocked the both of them, feeling embarrassed that his inner thoughts escaped until MacCoy suddenly yanked him down for another lip lock.
Lips made their way down to kiss at an already bruising collarbone, MacCoy haphazardly shifted his body up. Soft hands fiddled with the elastic of his boxers, having a hard time pulling them down. Placing his hands over MacCoy's, Mo helped remove them past his knees and hastily kicked them somewhere.
Neither boy came prepared and both were worried and at a loss for words.
Mo's voice made the air more tense and awkward, "Umm...I got some lotion in my bag..."
MacCoy whined loudly, "Aww, maaan. Now my ass is gonna smell like cocoa butter!"
Biting back a snappy comeback, he leaned over to nuzzle MacCoy's cheek, "It'll help soothe the pain, it's better than spit."
MacCoy went silent, gnawing at his lip in worry, as Mo warmed the make-shift lubricant between his palms, applying it to his entrance and fingers.
With assistance from reassuring kisses and promises he pushed his index past the first ring of muscle, wincing when 'Coy whimpered in pain, clutching at his arm.
"Wanna stop?" he asked twisting his finger, lust nearly conquering him.
"Mm. Ahh, no, jus' hurts," hissing out the 's' when Mo immediately pushed in after being given permission.
His insides were weird and he kind of felt a little dirty—spoiling the sheets that held his childhood heroes and their youthful memories. Having nearly abandoned reality for a moment he was shocked when he felt two fingers moving around inside him, spreading apart his walls.
Mo was showering him with kisses and phrases of affection, and he felt everything—mind nearly numbing while he created his own realm of pleasure.
Something hard poked at him and he opened his glossy eyes, vision dimmed from the dying lantern, but still able to see a wide, beaming array of white teeth. He watched as Mo took a moment to coat his dick, squirming in anticipation. Mo shot into him quickly, all in one fluid movement and muttered quietly. The Russian whimpered, feeling his open legs being lifted, calves resting on Mo's shoulders. The Russian felt sharp jolts of pain run along his spine and end in his calves.
Blunt nails dug into Mo, who ground out a, "Ngh, fuck, sorry."
He whined out lowly, wishing Mo would reach over and kiss the pain away.
Mo stroked his thigh, wide shoulders supported his barely suspended body, " I know, baby, I know."
He reached out to smooth a crinkled brow wound up in pain and MacCoy relaxed under his touch.
"Stop tensing. I can't handle it," barely managing to speak, 'Coy was unbearably tight around him.
"I'll make ya feel good in a sec, I promise." he purred, sealing the deal with a kiss to his knuckles.
Coy's hands were wound around his upper arms and shoulders and would probably leave vague bruises.
Patiently waiting was a difficult task for Mo, feeling thousands of sensations at once, needing to form them together then release them in one large entity. He's relieved when MacCoy finally gives the okay by nodding.
He moved slow, distracting MacCoy with whispers about everlasting love and sweet-tempered kisses until the pain ebbed away and the Russian's pained whimpers transformed into harsh panting. Mo shifted his hips, angling a certain way, and MacCoy arched off the ground, yelping, with his eyes clenched shut, "There, Mo!"
Shoved in deeper; visibly trembling and kissed at 'Coy's eyelids until they reopened, "Hey beautiful."
The statement had the desired effect because MacCoy surprised him with a suddenly messy kiss, nipping at his bottom lip and moaning. Floating high, he gained speed; MacCoy had hooked his ankles together, pulling him in deeper.
He rocked into him hard and slow, trying to extend their orgasms, despite his primal urge to take him hard and fast. Feeling unbearably close to the edge, MacCoy's mouth biting was his shoulder, and the boy underneath him was frying senses.
The pouty dancer attacked his burning senses with how he felt against his body, sweat-slicked and undeniably perfect—each moan sounding unique. MacCoy tasted like faint traces of cheap soap and something else he couldn't quite pinpoint. His scent contradicted his taste, something akin to strawberries filled Mo up until he was high off of it.
MacCoy was going crazy, needing more than he was receiving, wanting his entire being to be filled.
Mo completed him.
He'd experimented on himself before, but nothing ever came close to feeling this amazing. There was a certain way Mo rolled his hips as he pushed all the way in, that made him burn with a pleasant white heat. His chest swelled with a strange pride because this was some part of Mo that MacCoy was the first to experience, this was some side of his friend that he would always have a part of—something that nobody else would ever know. His hands twisted the sheets when Mo slammed into him harder, bringing his knees close to his ears, pounding into him with an increasingly fervent tempo.
Crying out sharply, MacCoy came warm and messy. Fluid streaked his chest and dotted his face, lower body quivering against Mo's final thrusts before the darker B-boy filled him up, thrusting into him a couple more times before holding MacCoy's pose. He languidly pulled out of him, wobbly legs sliding from his shoulders and he crawled up towards him kissing him lazily, tongue sliding over his flushed cheeks catching what fell there.
Neither spoke for a while, both never really wanted words nor needed them—actions spoke louder than words, but they didn't like silence as much as they loved talking.
MacCoy rolled over to lay his head on Mo's chest, hearing the B-boy's heart thrum in his ribcage, his breathy panting splashing over his chest while the other threaded loving digits through his damp hair.
"I…" Mo started, the urge to say something was driving im mad, other hand stroking his nearest shoulder. MacCoy stopped him with an awkward flick of his hand that dropped to skit across his body, flooding Mo with tingling sensations again.
"I know, homes. Ya tol' me like, fifty kajillion times."
Mo blushed, wrapping the other tighter against him "It's true."
MacCoy laughed, more of a deep half-chuckle Mo had never heard before but it made him shiver," I know. I love ya too, babe."
The two felt more connected than ever, they had seen more of each other than either could have predicted.
"Now what?" Mo blurted out, wondering how their friendship would turn out after this.
MacCoy face squished up, "What'cha mean 'now what'? My ass hurts, I'm goin' ta sleep."
Mo snorted, tightening his arm again for a moment to shake him playfully, "I meant, what're we now, ya dipshit."
"We're more than what we were," the words simply tumbled out and both were satisfied with leaving it at that, tumbling into a pleasant sleep with tangled limbs and sheets.