A/N: SLASH. Sprace smutty fluff. Enjoy.
He knew it was wrong; it was a sin, after all. But he never, ever regretted it.
Because Spot's hands would be on his back and his mouth would be on his neck and hot damn, it felt so good. He would mumble Italian profanities and rake his fingernails across Spot's lean back and any previous thoughts of God and what his mama would think would be far from his mind.
Because then Spot would grind their hips together and they would both groan at the contact and their teeth would clash in their eagerness to kiss the other and it would become a contest of who could make the other react more, moan loader.
And even when it was over, both of their needs satisfied, it was a beautiful thing when Race would fall asleep to the slow in-and-out cadence of Spot's breathing, blissfully wrapped in his arms.
And when he awoke the next morning Spot would still be there, watching Race's eyes open through his tousled golden hair and he would kiss the Italian's forehead and declare that he was the luckiest of the Irish because he had someone more beautiful that all the gods to wake up to.
And Race would remember the passion of their nightly antics and shiver in satisfaction and Spot, mistaking this for cold discomfort, would envelope Race deeper into his arms and press his full lips against Race's neck before letting them explore, brushing over his tender olive skin and whispering romantic nothings in his smooth Brooklyn drawl.
And Racetrack would smile and intertwine their legs beneath the blankets before turning to face his lover and chastely pressing their lips together.
Then they would simply lie there, drinking in the sight of one another. Racetrack would ghost his fingers across Spot's gorgeous cheekbones and Spot would smile softly and their eyes would meet.
And staring into the deep Irish blue of Spot's eyes, he would feel the pit of his stomach drop nine floors below them onto the streets of Brooklyn.
And he would feel the love for his boyfriend pour out, and couldn't begin to imagine why something so pure and good and beautiful could be considered so unnatural and evil by his devout family.
But that was okay. Because right now, in the remnants of their rough, starving passions, Racetrack Higgins and Spot Conlon were in love.
There would be time to tell his parents, Racetrack mused. And once his mama got over the initial shock, she would have to love Spot. After all, his virtues were endless.