Bad Medicine

MacCoy stumbled into the Latino's lavish apartment, kicking his sneakers off in the process, partly to be courteous, but mostly because they were getting undressed anyway.

He wasn't drunk, buzzed at the most, but Angel didn't need to know that. The brunette probably already knew, given his experience with these sort of situations, but 'Coy wanted to feel as though he had the upper hand.

MacCoy's Grandma had died earlier that month and Angel promised that he'd somehow make it better. The brunette promised that he would make the pain vanish in whatever way he could and he did in some ways, mostly with alcohol, 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 dancer couldn't decide whether or not he hated the older male following him, but he was sure he did. The Latino acted self-absorbed and was almost a natural male-chauvinist, which didn't bother 'Coy to any extremes because he was so patient and Angel could be sweet. What bothered him the most was that Angel was only ever totally unbearable in the open, whether in the clubs or in some public place that he was well-known in, which was practically everywhere.

The brunette was constantly egging him on and challenging his dance skills 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 bad medicine. Angel was that pill a person 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 his 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 a whole new spectrum of danger.

They had done this a couple times before; they went out to a club or local bar, downed a few drinks, feigned flirtation with easy women and went back to whichever place Angel picked out. The place was never Angel's, he wasn't cheap though. It was usually a suite in a hotel that a branch of his company owned or the posh VIP lounge in their favorite dance club that Angel seemed to control. He did advertise their logo for them.

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 and Angel giving him a perfect dose but MacCoy hardly wanted to be temporarily comforted.

He wanted to overdose.

He wanted to drown.

That's why he took the plunge and they were where they were.

Angel strolled in closely behind the blond, alcohol barely on his breath either, 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 shoulders and began kneading, nuzzling up to his ear.

"Still so tense, pollocito", he purred.

MacCoy shivered at the warm breath ghosting over his neck.

Gloved hands roamed the dancers chest, testing boundaries that had already been crossed, skillful fingers found the zipper and pulled down agonizingly slow.

MacCoy shifted nervously.

"Gloves off this time." he managed.

Angel smirked against his neck, biting hard and soothing it with his tongue in response.

"Say, 'please'."

MacCoy trembled at the command but complied.

"P-please, Ange. I need this," MacCoy admitted, his face flushed crimson with embarrassment and damaged pride.

Satisfied, the brunette took his time removing 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, every bit 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 perked nipples slightly, eliciting a moan from 'Coy who arched his back, thrusting into warm hands.

The Latino fought back a grin.

"What a virgin", he teased and immediately regretted it the instant it left his mouth. The stylehead didn't appear to be fazed, only more excited, but that did not relieve Angel; something still didn't sit right with him.

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 behaved this way-so truly untouched.

He needed love, he really had nobody else. Except for Mo, whom he had moved in with after he was evicted for late rent, and Angel would not lose MacCoy to him.

The two were dancing rivals and Angel hated to admit it, but Mo would sometimes best him in games of poker and battles. He prized his ego and reputation too much for that.

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 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," the mocha-skinned man 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 blond's sweatband in one swift movement and undid the latch of his goggles. 'Coy started 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 blond'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. He claimed to only kiss someone when there were feelings to be heard, feelings beside lust and greed. He 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 as caught off-guard, and stared at the Russian 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 blond'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 are 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. "Ya 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 teen's skin. 'Coy writhed helplessly, despite his boldness earlier (fueled by Angel's arrogance and his own frustration), under the Latino.

The blond'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.

Thick lips placed searing, 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."

the retro dancer 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. The Latino 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. Blue orbs eyed him expectantly, challenging him. He smirked, lips curving up, unlatched his belt and suddenly 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.

He 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 lube on Angel's fingers. The hispanic forced 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 down. Quick digits slipped out and MacCoy complained quietly.

"Calmate mijito. I know this is all very exciting," he purred.

He steadied impatient hips with strong hands and pressed into the stylehead deeply, shuddering at the feel.

Starting out at a slow pace for the other dancer, he leaned over to nuzzle a cheek in 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 rhythym 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 themselves 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, then spoke anyway, "Ya want me ta stay?"

"Sí Ruso. Stay."

They lay in a pleasant silence this time, not angry nor awkward like the previous ones. (The obnoxious Russian 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.