Work Text:
The traje de luces in its case is fucking exquisite. Bunny knows, he knows, that with that on, the dance would be a guaranteed success. It’s all about presentation, really – put a man in this suit of pink and gold and sparkles and he was practically superhuman, if he let himself believe it.
He’s had a lot to drink. Champagne, beer, as well as tequila shots throughout, he can’t remember how many, the salt wet and swampy on his hand, the lime juice squirting into his eye…
The case hadn’t even been locked. People here clearly had more respect for bullfighting and all its accoutrements than he did.
It had fit him so well, too, and he was having a great time, swishing the cape around and making general vague matador motions, until–
“Put it back.”
Ah. Stephen.
He’s annoyed at Bunny, of course, and he takes the cape off him and tells him not to fight the bull, and blah blah blah, and he’s oh so worried about him, and then…
“Yeah, well. There is something.”
“Oh finally. Come on then.”
“I’m in love with someone.”
Bunny’s drunk, he’s in a haze, he’s not really thinking when he scoffs and says, “Yeah I know, Melanie,” and raises the flask to his lips. Even though the whole reason they’re here at all is Eloisa, is Stephen and Eloisa.
He doesn’t really want Stephen to talk about Eloisa right now. What he really wants, this late at night, dressed up and drunk and inexplicably kind of horny from the combination of all three, is for Stephen (this late at night, overcome with emotion, having figured out some truths about himself throughout their wild journey across Europe) to confess his profound, undying love for him.
“No, not Melanie.”
Here it was. Bunny lowers the flask from his lips. There’s a pause, brief but, to his mind, intensely charged.
“Someone else.”
See, a guy can dream, right? He and Stephen have been best friends for years, and Bunny, for the majority of them (and for a good chunk of them unknowingly), has been in desperate, obsessive, wretched love with him. He screws around a good deal, yeah, but he always comes back to Stephen. And there’s certainly something to be said for the way he habitually sleeps with the objects of Stephen’s own desire.
But there’s something about it that scares him – not that Stephen’s a man, not that, god knows Bunny’s had a wide range of sexual experiences, and if it’s a man that catches his attention one night, he’ll go with him as soon as any woman. That just tends to happen less often, due to obvious demographics. He doesn’t really frequent gay bars, either, just takes the opportunities that come to him.
He tends to avoid eye contact with Stephen the mornings after those hook-ups, though. Not that he reckons Stephen thinks less of him. Well, okay, something in him is terrified that Stephen is disgusted by it, is convinced that Stephen ignores that part of him, mentally cuts it out of him like a rotten bit of pear, but that’s totally irrational at the end of the day. They’re best friends. Stephen might rib him at times for being a bit of a slut, but he’s not going to drop him for being a homo.
They just haven’t ever talked about the subject head-on. Bunny’s not sure how easy it would be, if it came right down to it. All the times he’s called Stephen gorgeous to his face would probably catch up with him, and Stephen might start wondering if Bunny’s attraction to men extended to him. And then where would they be? Either Stephen would reject him outright, or (Christ…) there was the chance (infinitesimal) that he felt the same way, and, well. For some reason both of those options are equally terrifying to Bunny. He’s a love-’em-and-leave-’em type of guy. With Stephen there would be strings attached – strings already attached, actually, strings that have tied them together for many years now. The knots would just get so much more complicated if they actually fucked.
Not that that’s stopped him from fantasising about it when the fancy takes him. Stephen isn’t technically a virgin, but Bunny is sure he pretty much still acts like one in bed. He’s such an awkward guy, in all aspects of his life, it clearly extends to the bedroom as well. Not that everyone minds about that sort of thing. Eloisa probably wouldn’t mind. Bunny certainly wouldn’t – in fact, with the nature of his feelings for Stephen, he’d be pretty actively into it.
So here he is, then, and the room feels so tense, and Stephen has just said “Someone else” like that, staring at Bunny like that, and he knows it’s Eloisa, but he just can’t help it.
He hopes so hard it’s him. Maybe it’s all finally come to a head.
Maybe it’s him.
But god, wouldn’t that be terrifying? Wouldn’t that just be so impossible to deal with?
“Ohh, right.” He sighs.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, um. Um, man… I‘m sorry, Stephen. Guess it’s ahh… Bit awkward.”
“I know.” Stephen says it so simply, looks at him so openly.
Maybe it is him.
What then?
“I mean I’m flattered.”
Stephen’s eyes flutter exasperatedly in a roll. “What.”
Bunny is simultaneously relieved and so, so crushed. No widened eyes, no little hitch of breath, no Stephen flinging himself desperately, thankfully into Bunny’s arms. Everything will just keep going on like it always has done.
Bunny steamrolls on.
“I’ll do snogsies so you got something for the wank bank, but I gotta draw the line at penetration, it’s so messy.” That one just comes out of him, and he doesn’t particularly want to dissect it later. He’ll do anything Stephen wants. He’ll definitely do snogsies for the wank bank, but whose bank it is is unspecified. Although, the thought of Stephen masturbating to memories of kissing Bunny is pretty hot, as is that of Bunny giving Stephen something small, of Stephen wanting more and not being given it – the idea of that satisfies some cruel, dark part of him. It’d be a nice little role reversal, wouldn’t it?
“It’s not you, Bunny.”
“Oh thank god.” He means it. He doesn’t. “You’re not just saying that?” Please be lying. Please don’t be lying. Please insinuate yourself into my personal space right now and kiss me as hard as you can.
“Not everyone wants to sleep with you, you know. Or are you so profoundly–”
Whatever. They argue some more. He lets slip (very purposefully) that he’d fucked Melanie, because god, he needs something more from Stephen tonight, even if it’s betrayal and rage and disappointment.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“D’you know what? I’m fucking sick of being patronised by you. If I wanna borrow this suit, then I will, okay? If I wanna fight a bull, then I will. And if some hombre’s caught your eye, then just man up and tuck in. No one’s gonna judge you here, dude. This is Spain.” The last sentences feel far less directed at Stephen than at himself.
“Let’s all just do what we want, shall we?” Stephen’s expression has slid into something uncharacteristically acerbic, his tone hard.
“Deal.”
Bunny spits and holds out his hand. Stephens turns and leaves without another word, and Bunny stares after him until he’s out of sight, hoping fruitlessly the whole time that maybe he’ll turn around and come back, and either punch him or kiss him.
He doesn’t, of course. Bunny, woozy but fired up from their conversation, tips his head back to catch the last drops of whatever it is he’s drinking from the flask. At this point in the night he’s not even sure what it is.
Thinking about what Stephen spat at him before he left, Bunny assumes he’s gone to find Eloisa. Good. Good for him! Fucking finally!
He tries to shove the flask back into the front of the pants, but in his drunkenness fails, catching it on the waistband before it slips past and brushes against his dick.
His mind is already made up, even as he rationalises it to himself – he’s alone, nobody else seems to have come by this spot throughout the night, the fabric of the matador outfit is feeling fucking amazing against his skin, and all this talk (entirely on his side) of snogging and penetration and mess and so on has kind of got him riled up.
Most importantly, didn’t Stephen say they should all just do what they want?
It’ll probably be be kind of an effort to get himself off when he’s this drunk, but he’s a determined man. He’s the one who’s going to fight a bull, isn’t he?
So he backs into a corner, where he can’t be seen from the entrance, and leans against the wall and undoes the ridiculous buttons of the matador trousers and takes his cock in his hand.
What if Stephen had meant him? What if he had been coming to admit that he was in love with Bunny, and what if he’d taken him up on his offer of a bit of a snog?
“Would you?” Stephen might say after Bunny had offered, all wide eyes and trepidation and embarrassment, but hopeful, too, excited at the prospect of even the smallest crumb from Bunny.
“Yeah, I mean, anything for my best mate, right?” Bunny might reply. Was that too gay? Maybe “Yeah well, what have I got to lose from it?” Too uncaring? Fuck it, it doesn’t matter, maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all, maybe he would just crowd Stephen against the wall, look down into his eyes, bring a hand up to rest a thumb on his chin… Then he’d lean in, slowly, and Stephen’s breath would catch in his throat as he leaned in too, so fragile and excited. Their lips would press together, firm but gentle, and Bunny would slide his other hand up to hold the back of Stephen’s neck, hold Stephen to him.
Bunny, in his current real life situation, groans quietly and thumbs over his slit, then slides his hand down and up his dick slowly. For a second he imagines Stephen right now coming up with one last thing to say to him, coming back here and catching him in the act, and his dick twitches (“What are you doing, you–” and Bunny would just leer at him, not even slowing down, and somehow it would end with love confessions and an incredible simultaneous orgasm. Or maybe Stephen choking him while Bunny jacked off, whatever), before he returns to his previous fantasy.
Bunny would deepen the kiss, pull Stephen in even closer, and Stephen would moan in the back of his throat as Bunny slid tongue between teeth, angled his head slightly to the side, kissed him like he wanted to bruise.
He continues bringing one hand up and down his cock, while the other begins trailing up a clothed thigh, over his hip and up his stomach.
They’d keep going for a little while, just making out, wet and hot and needy, bodies pressed against each other, until Bunny would pull back, breath heavy against Stephen’s red lips, and he’d lean in to his ear, and murmur, voice low– something sexy, right, or something made sexy by what they had just been doing, “Hope that was good for you,” or “How was that, then,” or “There you go,” and Stephen would shudder, and suddenly they’d both become very aware of the other’s erection pressing into their hip.
Maybe they’d just pounce on each other then, hungry and desperate, clutching at each other’s faces, bodies writhing against the other. Bunny speeds up his strokes as he imagines them moaning into each other’s mouths.
Or maybe Bunny would turn to leave, but Stephen would catch his wrist, look imploringly up at him, and Bunny would be reminded that while he’d said no penetration (a lie in itself, of course), he hadn’t said no handjobs, or frottage, or thighfucking, or general wanton rutting, and come to think of it ‘penetration’ as he’d said it really just referred to bum stuff, and a blowjob wouldn’t be out of the question, would it?
He’s got his other hand playing with his balls now, imagining Stephen on his knees in front of him, tentative but eager, kissing and sucking at the insides of Bunny’s thighs. He’d be messy, ha, and sloppy and probably really shit at it, but it would be Stephen, and it wouldn’t matter.
Bunny’s thrusts are erratic now, his hips stuttering, grunts escaping him, and he marvels at the fact that such simple fantasies could have him coming so quickly, especially at his current level of drunkenness. But that’s always the effect Stephen’s had on him. It would be him really, the first time, on his knees for Stephen, and he could make it so good for him. That’s the image that has him coming, in the end, of him kneeling in front of Stephen, taking his cock in his mouth while Stephen cradles his cheek and whimpers above him.
Miraculously, he doesn’t get any spunk on the costume (well, okay, maybe a bit, but it’s only the tiniest bit), and as he finishes and his breathing slows he lets his head rest against the wall, and wishes more than anything that any one of his fantasies had been real.
He cleans himself off, buttons up his pants again, runs a hand through his hair, palm brushing his sweaty forehead.
Futilely, he tries to shake Stephen from his mind, tries especially not to think about what he’s doing with Eloisa right now, while Bunny has been pathetically tossing himself off over thoughts of him.
The night’s not nearly over yet.