ALL MY WORKS JUST DON'T FLOW ANYMORE. HERE, JUST FUCKING HAVE IT.
NOT SURE IF FANFICS GOT WORSE
OR WERE TERRIBAD TO BEGIN WITH
THIS IS SUPER OLD BTW. I JUST. WAT. SO MUCH OOC. JUST.
Theres also a hilarious play on words in this. Free porn if you guess what it is.
Headcanon Mo is so not suave.
DISCLAIMER: I WANNA HUG MATT BOCH. I DON'T OWN DANCE CENTRAL BLAH. THERE.
MacCoy made a beeline straight for the kitchen, his face still burning from his friends' advances; he'd rushed out of the living room so quickly that the white swinging door was still clacking behind him. He paced around the tiled floor, back and forth—around the island in the center of the room, then in front of the fridge. Rose-tinted ears could faintly pick up on deep voices in the other room which were mostly echoes of the voices reverberating through the walls that sounded more like rolling grumbles than anything.
Grabbing a clear glass from the oaken cabinets, he padded back to the fridge for some ice water, his head thumped against the metal door as ice met glass in pretty clinks and cold water slowly streamed out. MacCoy nearly died in anticipation; it looked so fucking beautiful. The blond released a desperate sigh, he reallyreallyreally needed this water.
His mouth turned rigid and eyes remained over-sensitive. The toprocker ran a shaky palm through his hair and tried to clear his mind of his two friends rubbing against him and conquering his senses. Part of the Russian fought the feelings but a more inquisitive side that MacCoy wasn't aware he possessed told him to give in—have fun and learn a thing or two while he still could. This was a pretty good opportunity when he began considering his lack of experience.
Unexpectedly anxious to absorb extra information from his coworkers, he delved into a fantasy. He wondered how flexible his girlfriend was, how far back she could bend, or if he could sling her legs over his shoulders. His eyes now closed, he imagined her guarded features softening into pleased expressions as she moaned his name while her thick eyelashes fluttered spastically. He bit his lip, unconsciously gripping the glass tighter, while bucking his hips a little.
Cold water spilled over his hands, shocking him out of his fantasy and he drank the whole thing in a couple gulps—a testament to the effects of the drugs. His thirst was still not quenched, however, and he frowned because his brain was telling him he was hungry while his full belly was telling him he wasn't. MacCoy decided to make more snacks.
The crew had managed to eat the last three bags of chips, a bucket of gummy worms and half a mini-fridge of stocked sodas. Angel claimed to hate sweets, preferring savory foods, but always kept an excess amount on hand for the two guys that frequented his apartment and practically ate everything in his cabinets.
The DJ was fighting with himself on whether or not he should go back out there, purposely biding his time, thinking that maybe he could get away with baking cupcakes to soothe his nerves and blame it on the 'munchies'. Then again, he guessed Angel would undoubtedly prance into the kitchen after too long, with Mo in tow, teasing and flirting while Mo served as eager back-up. The toprocker's mind could hardly wrap around the concept of Mo flirting with him—it was expected from Angel, but not his best bro.
Then the looks Mo showered him with suddenly made sense; like when Mo would stare a little too long when he finished his showers in the locker room or how his arm always had to press against his on the armrests at the movies. MacCoy touched his forehead to the dripping glass, his face growing too hot, and groaned. Life was so weird, though he was surprisingly okay with it. The drugs mellowed out the effects of what would have happened if he wasn't high.
Okay, maybe he'd just talk it out with them a bit. It was probably the drugs making them so creepy and touchy. He dismissed the idea of running away, his over inflated ego not allowing him to be a coward, and figured popcorn would be easier and less messy to make. Tossing the bag into the microwave, he simply stood there while his mind instantly conjured up an image of his Grammaw yelling at him about radiation. The thought of his family finding out what he was doing caused shame to wash over him before he moved away from the screen of the device. She'd be sooo disappointed in her Buttercup.
AngeMoCoyPlz
Mo fidgeted with his zipper, pulling it up and down, the odd noise comforting him until Angel stopped him with a hand and tossed him a pointed look.
As if to explain his actions, "He's been in there a while, Ange. I don't think he's comin' back"
"He's not goin' anywhere," Angel replied, chuckling lightly, not to mock the other but to help ease the tension. He almost found it impossible to stop. "He's comin' back. Take your hoodie off already. You don't need it."
"I'm nervous," Mo explained, his fingers scrambling to yank up his pink socks more. He was hiding beneath his security blanket again.
Sympathy twisted brown eyebrows, "You don't need to be."
Angel pressed a kiss to his cheek, slowly moving Mo's arm to guide a dark hand away from his socks, "If you want this, you'll trust me."
Mo twiddled with his drawstrings, nodding slowly. Tanned hands pried the abused cords away and deft fingers found Mo's zipper and pulled down, "Now take it off."
Mo obeyed, slipping it halfway off his shoulders, uncovering his grey shirt again and peered at the Puerto Rican with uncertainty before the other male sighed, removing the rest for him.
"I wish I had yo' confidence," Mo admitted.
The smooth Latino smirked as he gripped Mo's hands. His soft hands roamed over calloused ones, fingertips tracing the lines in his palms.
"You work too much," Angel let his thoughts slip, purposely, for the sake of speaking.
Bringing the hand up to his cheek and nuzzling it, he kissed a few fingertips,
" I'm sorry, conejito. I miss us." Mo opened his mouth to speak but Angel swiftly scooted away from the downrocker after placing a quick kiss to the center of his palm again. Mo offered him a questioning look.
"He's coming."
MacCoy tumbled in with a large bowl of buttery popcorn, a case of cream soda (which only he was fond of), and a box of snack cakes. Finding his balance, along with the amused stares of his peers, he shifted awkwardly on his feet. "You guys hungry?"
The two on the couch began snickering and MacCoy frowned, plopping down on the couch among them and dumping their snackage on the ground sandwiched between his feet. "Stop teasin' me, homies."
MacCoy absently ate away at the supply, males on either side of him enraptured by the display. Angel made a face behind MacCoy, who was leaning on the bowl with his elbows, and Mo rolled his eyes in response.
"Learn to hold her attention" Angel spoke softly, saddling up closely to the other again, but this time when the DJ scooted over towards Mo, Angel didn't follow.
"Wait, what? How?" MacCoy asked, voice muffled by popcorn.
Angel chuckled darkly into his ear before effortlessly picking his hand up and sliding a couple fingers into his mouth, eyes closing. MacCoy's index left his mouth with a light pop before Angel worked the other into his mouth, his blue eyes hypnotized by the display while his thumb rubbed more friction onto the dips in Angel's cheeks.
Finally gathering enough courage, Mo crept up behind him pressing his lips behind his ear. MacCoy whimpered, his head dipping low in embarrassment. "Guys?"
Both hummed in response, Mo's fingers traveled across MacCoy's shirt in curiosity while Angel trailed the blonde's ring finger over his lip before taking it into his mouth.
"Stop," it came out as barely a whisper and Mo hesitated until Angel let loose a low moan, peeking out from under thick eyelashes ,"He doesn't want us to stop; do you, pollocito?"
"Teach me somethin' else," he breathed.
"Aight, then," a confident edge could be heard in the trickster's voice as he swung a leg over his lap. The scout straddled his hips with newfound self-assurance that increased when he pushed his lips to the blonde's while enthusiastic fingers combed golden locks. Already shallow breaths hitched in MacCoy's throat and he pushed at Mo's thighs—which only squeezed together tighter while a silky tongue swiped at a buttery lower lip.
The agitated toprocker jerked his head back; the other B-boy insistently working his lips against the other, nibbling and savoring the salty, buttery flavor. Hesitant arms slung loosely around Mo's back before MacCoy moaned and Mo snuck his tongue in, batting with the blonde's playfully. His tongue swiped behind two front teeth before Mo pulled back slightly, placing light pecks on the blushing blonde's swollen lips.
"Mo, what was that?"
Yo' third lesson, kiss her like ya mean it."
MacCoy stared past Mo's shoulder in an attempt to avoid the look in his eyes. "Ya meant it?"
Mo gave him a solemn smile and leaned forward again to place soft kisses on the bridge of his goggles and the tip of his nose until they found a pair of abused lips. MacCoy clumsily lowered his hands to just below the dip of his back when darker hands cupped his face. Hungry kisses rode down the side of his neck and he gasped sharply, hands willingly squeezing Mo's ass.
Imagination turned the saggy shorts into a pair of bottom-clinging green shorts and a jersey purposely too big.
"Oh, Em."
Mo's insides curled in on each other, choking up raw emotion from his thoughts while he unconsciously bit harder on MacCoy's shoulder. The B-boy whined, complaining loudly, "Shit, Mo. Yer ruinin' the merchandise."
The covetous B-boy blinked away the green when he realized that he could no longer hear MacCoy's pleased moans or feel his hard body squirm into his, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. The hands that were kneading his ass were now pushing at his hipbones.
"I don't like that, Mo," he repeated.
Mo spat out a "Don't ya mean 'Em'?"
MacCoy shrank back into the cushions unsure as to what he heard escape. Mo scowled and made a motion to crawl off MacCoy but the other hastily pinned his thighs down with his hands. They were already far into this and MacCoy had shaken off the guilt minutes ago, so there was no turning back now.
"I'm sorry."
Mo glared at him, finding it hard to keep eye contact, his heart feeling as though it were tethered to his throat when the blond called out for the Latino's assistance.
"Ange, don't let him stop. Please."
Angel's grin seemed to detach his ears from his head. "I won't, but you have to make it up to me." MacCoy dumbly nodded his head in agreement until Mo interjected. "I ain't gonna stop."
Angel's brows rose in interest, though they weren't surprised and MacCoy eyed the uneasy prankster unsure of what his next move should be.
Mo didn't meet his gaze, pouting with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning back with his head tilted as if he were wearing his hoodie in public. The retro DJ sulked when he leaned forward to steal another kiss, the ones that Mo had been so desperately trying to obtain earlier, when they lacked the passion they contained before.
His patience was wearing thin when he palmed between the taller male's legs, but he waited until Mo's knees gave out. He lifted his hips, awkwardly grinding against the bottom of Mo's thigh. MacCoy let out a yelp of embarrassment, at missing his mark, and Mo's face screamed distraction—eyes trained on the old skool dancer while thinking about something else. His breath came out in hard puffs and transformed into gasps when the determined toprocker clutched at his trembling thighs and shot up once more. He missed blindly, but must've ground against his thigh again because he let out this guttural moan that had Mo wanting to make him see stars.
Mo swiftly swatted his hands away pinning them to the cushions above his head before pressing their torsos together and languidly rutting his lower half over 'Coy's crotch and lower stomach. Mo groaned like an animal, panting hard and staring at the Russian with wild eyes. MacCoy's head lolled to the left in the cushions and he drew out Mo's name, curling the moan into musical notes. That was all the motivation the darker male needed and soon his hands were all over his shoulders, clutching desperately, while his hips rocked a slow motion. Their lips smashed together in a slow dance, teeth occasionally scraping tongues and lips.
Angel's cock twitched further to life and he widened his legs, slipping his hand inside to pull his swollen member out. A low groan escaped his mouth; MacCoy's whimpering captured his undivided attention while he stroked himself. Golden eyes strolled towards Mo's half-lidded eyes and hanging mouth; he envied MacCoy more than Mo, with the darker male riding him like a horse to he was trying to break in—one hand gripping the cushion beside his head, fingers constantly searching for purpose but the constant movement not allowing it, while the other held their faces together.
Mo's eyes were fully closed now, his lips parting and closing quickly when they weren't forming 'MacCoy', while his head rolled to the side once, then twice. Angel had seen this look plenty of times before and he grasped the back cushion tightly, mouth letting loose strings of Spanish, while his mind surrendered to the memories.
Languorously tilting his head to look at Angel, body still rolling with the ebb and flow of MacCoy's less than experimental grinding, he tossed an appreciative smile his way that looked more like he wanted to fuck him more than anything else—his eyebrows quickly knit together while his lips pursed. Angel didn't give him a cocky smirk back, he was stuck between pleasure and a deeply pained expression and Mo briefly wondered why—this was his idea.
It finally clicked together when Angel's thumb slid over his nipple and moaned Mo's name softly. Angel wanted him tonight. Mo solemnly motioned towards MacCoy, not that Angel was the type to wait for permission anyhow.
Angel positioned himself next to MacCoy, knees pressing into the sides of the boy's thighs, with his erection still in his hand. "He likes getting a lil' rough, let him bite you."
MacCoy's mind was in a haze, feeling close to the edge, surprised he lasted this long and he gasped out a shaky, "Wha?"
Angel smirked, slick fisted and heavy hearted, and bit the Russian's lobe, and "I suppose you want a tip." A wet muscle slide across 'Coy's cheek, "If someone else hit it before and offers you advice on how to make you both feel good, take it."
MacCoy was hesitant but willing all the same—he wondered how it could feel any better than this. The goggled male peered at Mo with pleading eyes and his expression quickly changed to that of worry when the other hastily began pushing off his pants, yanking MacCoy's slim hips up to yank his sweatpants down too.
MacCoy pulled them back up, "Woah, man. No."
Mo's voice took on a pleading, desperate tone, "Please, I jus' wanna feel it."
Angel's teeth scraped across the point of his shoulder, leading the tongue that followed after, "Don't be a cockblock"
The blonde's scowl deepened at the Latino's teasing and relaxed back under his friend again in some odd form of one-upmanship.
Loving digits dipped between each rib until they reached the hem on his boxers. Mo wrapped his fingers around MacCoy's cock first, stroking it to life, before it joined his own. The tagger leaned down to sample MacCoy's neck as he relaxed the tense muscles there, while He figured Angel over exaggerated when Mo pressed soft kisses to his pulse before rubbing his nose there. His mind quickly changed when he practically chomped down on his neck, squeezing their erections together harder as MacCoy whined. Recalling Angel's advice, he refrained from making noises and the older B-boy took notice.
"Don't ya like it?" he punctuated each word with an individual jerk of his hand.
"Too rough," he breathed, shaking his head, "Too rough fer me, Mo."
Mo frowned immediately, tenderly kissing his neck in apology. He was being selfish; MacCoy came first, both literally and figuratively—his body freezing against Mo's mid-tempo. Mo came after, pressing their foreheads together, his whole body jerking.
MacCoy's flushed face turned towards a panting Angel and he saw everything—his mouth slightly hanging open, tan hand slick with his own fluids and making the throatiest noises he'd ever heard. Blunt nails raked down his chest and he arched into the contact, eyes fluttering shut when lips touched his temple.
"Be willing to accommodate their needs," he whispered.
"Speaking of which, DJ MacCoy owes me."
The expression on his face was comical to say the least and he patted Mo's bare thighs for support, he wanted out of whatever deal he made because Angel's eyes were more than intimidating. The two B-boys shared a glance at each other and the darker man smiled.
"I'll pay his tab."