Work Text:
He's still wearing that stupid wig when Angus walks into the hotel room.
The band – Angus included – didn’t know that Bon was going to show up for their Countdown performance dressed as a schoolgirl. It wasn’t anything half-assed either. If Bon was going to do something he was going to give it everything he had.
The low light from the bedside lamp catches on the glossy sheen of his mouth and the shimmer of blue shadow painted on his eyelids when he turns his head.
He smiles at Angus without a care in the world.
"What a pair we make, eh?"
Angus looks down at his shoes. He tries to think of something normal to say.
"You're too old to look like an actual student."
Bon scoffs, breaking into laughter that beats in time with Angus' blood.
"Better than the alternative," he says jovially. "Still having a baby-face at twenty."
"Oi!"
Bon just laughs some more and walks to the bedside table. The skirt of his school uniform moves with him, swishing over his thighs in a way that's distracting. Where did he even get such a thing from, and in his size?
Angus swallows.
He should leave.
Angus only comes to Bon at this time of night for one of two reasons. Either they’re working on music together, usually with Malcolm, but also just the two of them sometimes. Or it’s to get off.
Just like they do in the army, Bon had said the very first time, men got to help each other out when there's no ladies around.
Which already didn’t make total sense, because there were ladies around. Plenty of them in the crowds and after the shows. Angus may not tango with the fairer sex as much as the others (yet), but he’s aware that they’re not exactly hurting for choices.
But sometimes you just weren't in the mood to smooth talk or make the effort of inviting a lady back to your room. Sometimes, you just wanted to take the easy route.
It's perfectly normal.
He and Bon aren’t together - they're not anything other than a couple of friends and band mates taking care of each other's needs on the road. Bon could probably pull whichever lady he wanted and he did, but every other night… well, he seemed alright with settling for Angus.
A handie here and there doesn't have to mean something, Angus tells himself.
He isn't- Just because they're both men-
Angus collapses the tunnel on that train of thought before it can go anywhere substantial. Lets it scatter like smoke.
"Want a drink?" Bon asks, knocking back what's left in his glass before pouring another.
Angus shakes his head.
"No."
While Bon lights a cigarette Angus turns around and takes off his bag and cap. He deposits them on a cushioned chair and debates on what to do next. He could still leave now. Bon would have questions, but Angus could just say he wasn't feeling very well. Or he could stay. Something compels him to the second option, someone more likely.
He looks at Bon again and worries the inside of his cheek between his teeth.
"Aren't you going to change?"
"What? You're not embarrassed, are you?"
Bon sits on the corner of the bed and grins. He takes a drag from his cigarette and blows smoke in Angus' direction. Angus who, against his better judgement, takes a step closer.
"Why would I be-" he stops himself before he starts to sound too keyed up. "Just, weird seeing you in that get-up, that's all."
"But you should like it," Bon says. His eyes glitter behind the smoke and then he's up again, setting his glass on the bedside table and placing his cigarette in the dish. Then he faces Angus again and pats his skirt down, adjusts his sleeves and rounds the end of the bed to stand in front of him.
"It's a school boy's dream, isn't it?" Bon clasped his hands together, knuckles pressed to his cheek and head tilted in the facsimile of a playing demure schoolgirl. "A cute young lady who likes him, wants to be with him. A little feisty and willing to break the rules."
"Maybe, yeah, but you're not a lady, Bon!"
Bon gasps, looking affronted.
"How could you!?" he accuses in a poor falsetto. Then he smiles like a mischievous imp. "Are you sure you're not embarrassed, Angus?"
Angus ignores the way his face feels warm, the way his hands tighten into fists, the way his head feels fuzzy like TV static.
"I'm not," he grounds out.
It's not enough. There's not really anything that can stop Bon once he gets going, and the chance is exponentially lower when he's been drinking. Angus really should have walked out of the room when he had the chance. To do it now would feel too much like admitting defeat.
"You want a pretty girl, don't you?" Bon asks salaciously.
He bats his eyes and slips back into that strange effeminate schoolgirl persona like oil sliding on water.
"Oh, Angus!" he croons in that high-pitched voice. "You're so handsome and talented. Please, take me to bed and have your wicked way with me."
"Stop it."
"I want you! I want you so much," Bon pinches the skirt between his fingers and lifts it playfully, swishing to the left and then the right. "Don't you want me?"
"Bon, seriously-"
"Because I've just been aching for it," he nearly giggles, hand trailing down his stomach, down, down, down. "And I'm so-"
"Shut up!"
Angus tackles him onto the bed and Bon goes down with a braying laugh.
"It's not funny!"
In the flurry of motion Angus' jacket is pulled off one shoulder and his tie, already loosened earlier, nearly unravels completely. The blonde wig on Bon's head ends up a little lopsided.
He grins and surges up to press a gloss sticky kiss to Angus' cheek.
"How bold! I like that in a man."
Angus bares his teeth and scrubs at the lip gloss coating his skin.
"Why do you have to be so annoying sometimes," he grits out.
"You're not very good at dirty talk."
Angus grabs the front of Bon's top and leans over him, "Because I'm not trying to-!" He stops suddenly, because he can feel Bon hard against him, and they've never been this close before. Not in this kind of situation. And, fuck, Angus can feel his blood rushing south in jittering rapids, unable to stop it.
"Performance anxiety?" Bon simpers. "You can't freeze up like that, leave a pretty girl hanging."
He reaches for the button of Angus' shorts and undoes it with deft fingers. Angus feels halfway out of his body, unable to move, watching as Bon makes quick work of tugging his shorts down and pulling his half-hard dick out.
This part is something they've done before, and the feeling of Bon's hand on him isn't alarming like everything else going on. If Angus can just focus on this one part.
Bon strokes him lazily. Angus' head tips forward between his shoulders, his grip on Bon's top weakening. His free hand grasps at the bed sheets as he pushes his hips forward, wanting more friction, more heat, the feeling of Bon's calloused palms on his skin.
Bon's skirt has ridden up and Angus short circuits at the feeling of Bon’s warm thigh touching his skin.
"You're not going to make me do all the work, are you?" Bon asks, suddenly stopping, and Angus makes a pitiful kind of whining noise in the back of his throat that he promptly ignores like everything else buzzing in his head.
"You started it," he says, intending to sound irritated, but it comes out breathy and ragged.
Bon squeezes his cock and Angus bites his lip to stop anymore noises from coming out. His throat clicks traitorously.
"Well, some girls like that," Bon says, shrugging with a crude smile. "A little boytoy they can boss around."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Angus’ frustration bleeds into his voice again.
"If you can't please a lady on your own the least you can do is what she says."
"You- You're-"
"Like this," Bon says without letting Angus get another word in. He uses one hand to push his briefs down and drags his tongue over the other.
Then his hand is on Angus again, but this time he nudges Angus forward with a leg until they're close enough that Bon can wrap his hand around both of them and, fuck, it feels good. Angus' pulse thunders in his ears and he can barely hear whatever noise he makes as Bon strokes them together. The hard line of Bon's cock against his is- It's good. And it's unnerving. He shudders when Bon's fingers curl at the crown and glide back down, slick and warm, and it shouldn't feel this good.
He makes the mistake of looking down between them and the image seems to burn itself to his memory.
Quickly overwhelmed he turns his gaze up, halfway. The sky and navy blue of the school uniform is almost calming for a moment. The cut of it, the upturned skirt, he could almost pretend- But Angus' eyes continue drifting upward, taking in tanned tattooed skin and the shadow of stubble. The wig is completely off now, Angus doesn't even know where it is, trapped behind Bon's head or fallen off the bed, but it's the last straw. There's no denying that this is a man, it's Bon, and Angus has never felt more turned on or terrified in his entire life.
"Fuck me, Angus, come on. Move your hips. Just like that..."
He closes his eyes and does the only thing he can. What he's told to do.
Bon just keeps talking, egging him on as Angus fucks against him and into his hand.
It takes only a few more strokes, a handful of seconds that feels like eternity, before Angus comes harder than ever before. He shudders through it, gasping as he spills into Bon's hand and feeling Bon still stroking, until he groans under him and squeezes them together and Angus nearly blacks out.
It can't be more than a moment or two before he opens his eyes. He twitches when Bon takes his hand away, fingers brushing over his sensitive skin. His eyes are as wide as Angus' feel as they stare at each other. Bon turns his gaze down to the mess that is the skirt, stained and stretched.
"Well," he says, wiping his hand as clean as he can on the material. "This is ruined."
Angus doesn't trust himself to speak. He nods.
"We didn't get your shorts, did we?" Bon asks. We, he says, as in together. Reminding Angus that he's played an equal part in what just transpired.
He looks at himself, his clothes, and feels silly as he tucks himself away with little fanfare. He still feels twitchy and hot all over and lets himself flop over on his side. Instead of staying Bon moves to stand up. Angus watches him stretch an arm above his head and scratch his stomach, yawning and smacking his lips together. When Bon turns to look at him Angus has already laid on his other side, so all Bon can see is his back.
"We should do that again sometime," Bon says, chuckling.
"Yeah, sure," Angus says, unable to tell if he's lying or telling the truth, or both.
He hears Bon's footsteps get quieter as he enters the bathroom and shuts the door. And then it's just Angus lying in the bed on messy sheets and staring at the wall. There's a pit in his stomach, yawning wide and dark for him to fall into. The sheets smell like Bon.
Angus pushes himself up and off the bed, fixing his clothes and fumbling for the pack of cigarettes on the table.
He lights one and breathes in, out, watches the smoke sway and tries not to think about anything at all.