Pairing: Malcolm Young/Angus Young
Warning: slash, language, incestuous content
Disclaimer: This work is entirely fictional and meant for the reader's enjoyment. I own nothing whatsoever, no profit is being made, and no harm/defame is intended/provoked towards the characters in this story.
A/N: I was
He hadn’t meant to get caught. He was just going to try and get through the day without anyone noticing. And if truth be told, it was Phil’s fault. It really was.
They had been playing poker down in the parlor, wagering a variety of items from things as small as guitar picks to prizes much larger such as Phil’s entire drum set.
Phil won that, thankfully.
But soon, the stakes became a little different. It became like a game of Truth or Dare, but dare was your only option. The two of them were at it for hours, tossing back and forth different maneuvers of torture the other would had to endure.
And each time a set was laid out and the newest was shuffled, the daring became cockier, more eccentric. After one hand, Phil had stalked out to scrounge out a tube of lipstick, shamefully wearing the luscious red slathered across his lips for an entire hand. Angus ended up falling out of his chair in hysterics…
It didn’t take long before it just became utterly ridiculous.
“A’right Ang, I got one for ya,” Phil chewed on the end if his cigarette, inhaling sharply, snorting smoke in the guitarist’s direction, “That is, if you’re willing to take it.” Angus raised a curious brow as he leaned forward, tempted, cards folded in front of him. Phil sat back in his chair, shuffling around in his back pocket before he pulled something out, depositing it on the table.
“There ya go.” He stated simply, a grin cracking across his face.
“What the hell is that?” Angus wrinkled his nose, staring at the heap of what looked like--black lace? He prodded it with a finger as if it were going to jump off the table and bite him.
“O’Linda’s panties.” Phil said flatly, a small smile quirking in the corners of his lips. Angus shirked his hand away, face screwing up.
“Got ‘em when I went up and got the lipstick,” Phil smirked, “You lose this next hand, you’ve got to wear 'em…for the rest of the day, and all of tomorrow.” Phil flicked ashes onto the table, nudging the butt into the edge. Angus stared at him, mouth slightly agape.
“And…and if you lose?” Angus cleared his throat, picking the panties off the table just barely by his nails and flinging them to the side. Phil chuckled, taking a long drag, eyes alight.
“You’re one sick fuck, you know that?”
“I just wanna see what happens when I put your ass in lace.” Phil retorted, swiping away Angus’s cards and sticking them back in the pack. He flipped them about, reshuffling them and then fanned them out on the table before piling them back up. He slapped down five cards before the other and then himself, sticking the deck between them.
“Oh hell no,” Angus shoved himself back from the table, glancing between the hand he’d just laid out and the one Phil had out before him, “You cheated.” He spat accusingly, thrusting a finger at the drummer who just leaned back in his chair, lighting up another smoke.
“Wha’sa matter Ang?” Phil inquired, lips mumbling around the cigarette as he laughed. Angus glared at him, shaking his head.
“You cheated, I know you did.” He stared down at the cards again as he felt a snarl of fear and anxiety worm its way into his stomach, making him jitter. His hand had consisted of a ten of hearts, a jack, a queen and a king. Phil’s included a jack, a queen, a king…and an ace.
“Bloody hell…” Angus ran his hands through his hair as he looked between them again, worrying his lip between his teeth. Phil was watching him, lips lilted in amusement as he reached out snatched the panties, tossing them at the younger.
Angus jerked when they hit him in the face, a yelp tearing past his lips, cheeks flushing as they fell into his lap. He held them up by the tips of his fingers, stretching them out when he scowled.
“You didn’t tell me they were…!” His voice caught in his throat as he gripped the silky material in clenched fists, face pale.
“I didn’t know…” Phil was staring at the lace panties--no, lace thong in surprise, “Malcolm likes ‘em a bit naughty, eh? Should’a figured,” He snorted, “Sucks for you.”
“I’m not wearing them.”
“You already agreed you would, you can’t take that back.”
“No buts, go put ‘em on.”
“I said no. I agreed to wear…panties, not a fucking thong.” Angus snapped, tossing the undergarment at the drummer. His hands were shaking, his throat dry as Phil picked them off his chest and threw them back.
“A deal’s a deal mate. Off you go.”
“Look, I never said I’d tell anybody-”
“So what’s gonna stop you from telling when I get them on!?”
“Shut up will ya? Jesus. What I’m sayin’ is, I won’t tell anybody if you put ‘em on.” Phil lay his chin on his hands, leaning over the table. A thick silence settled over them…
“Promise?” Angus wouldn’t look at him, eyes glancing everywhere else besides so.
“Cross my heart.” Angus looked between him and the underwear in his lap, and back again. He gave a small groan before shuffling up, glaring at the other and slinking out of the room, face aflame.
He was going to kill Phil. He was pretty sure of it.
He hitched his shorts back up around his waist as he shimmied on his feet. How in the hell did women where these things? The lace felt…itchy. And then the fact it was actually a thong? Don’t go there. Don’t even.
“Let’s see ‘em short stuff.” Phil smirked when he walked back in. Angus clutched the waistband of his shorts, shaking his head.
“I put them on, leave it at that.” He snapped down the side somewhat, revealing the elastic hem of black lace before shirking it back up.
“You’ve got no problem mooning a stadium full of people, but you can’t show me, just one fucking person, off the undies?” Phil inquired with a raised brow. Angus glared at him as he stood, advancing in small steps, cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Phil, knock it off,” Angus retreated away, “Phil-” In one slick movement, Phil had him by the waist, pushing him up against the wall, surveying him with his arms straightened out like one might look over a pair of pants. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband, yanking them down, drawing a strangled yelp from the guitarist.
“Hmmm,” Phil nodded, cocking his head as he drew back from a punch aimed at his face, “Not bad.” He snared Angus by the wrist, locking it against the wall as another swipe was taken at his jaw.
“You wear it well.”
“Damn it Phil, let go!” Angus wriggled about as one of Phil’s hands wrenched the waistband forward, dipping his head closer to catch an eyeful downward. Angus nipped his nose.
“Hey!” Phil tore away, palming his nose and giving the other a shove. Angus rolled his eyes, pulling his shorts back up.
“Don’t do that again.” He warned, sitting down once again and scooping up the deck. Phil stared at him dejectedly and sat down across from him, accepting his next hand. But he smiled when Angus shifted uncomfortably…
“Today and tomorrow.”
He’d had to wear them to bed as well. Phil made sure of it.
“Hey hun?” O’Linda shuffled through the bureau, opening and closing drawers noisily. Malcolm blinked against the sun, squinting over at his girlfriend in annoyance. Way too early to be up…
He glared over at the clock on the nightstand. 7:30.
“What?” He propped himself up on his elbows, running a hand through his hair, swiping it behind his ears. For a moment, O’Linda didn’t answer, still rummaging through their clothes. She put her hands on her hips, frowning.
“Have you seen my underwear?”
“Since when do I keep track of your underwear?” He snapped. Yup, far too early. Her eyes narrowed, meeting his with a wary, if not somewhat angry, glance.
“Your favorites, you know, the little, black ones.”
“No idea. They might be in the wash. It was Angus’s turn this week. Ask him, maybe he’ll know.” Malcolm yawned, burying himself back beneath the covers. O’Linda sighed.
“Babe, I’ve got work this morning, can’t you?” She pleaded, the bed dipping as she crawled over to him, nuzzling him through the sheets. Malcolm groaned.
“Well, not now I guess. But later? Please?”
“Alright, ok. Yeah sure…” He nodded, stuffing his head beneath a pillow. O’Linda actually squealed, kissing the nape of his neck before hopping in the shower, readying herself for the day.
Fifteen minutes later, she was gone, and since he was awake, Malcolm figured he just might as well get up too.
Angus stared at the pot of brewing coffee tiredly, not yet awake. He rubbed at his eyes, dropping his head onto the counter, burying his face in his arms.
“Mornin’ Ang,” Malcolm wobbled in, not looking much different, “Make me a cup, will ya?”
“Mmmm…” Came his brother’s hummed response from the sanctuary in the crook of his arms. Malcolm fell heavily into one of the many kitchen chairs, propping his chin up on a hand, eyes fluttering shut. For a moment, he sat there in a daze, before finally a thought bubbled in his mind.
“What are you doing up at this hour?” His eyes flickered open as he turned to stare at his brother. Angus sighed, crooking his head, staring at the other over the rise of his forearm. He shrugged.
“I dunno.” He shifted on his feet, uncomfortable once again as the thong rode up against him for what felt like the millionth time. Malcolm just nodded, too tired really to carry on a conversation at the moment…and then another thought snagged at the back of his mind.
“Hey, you did the laundry this week right?”
“O’Linda’s complaining about missing underwear.” Malcolm chuckled. Angus froze for the barest of seconds, cheeks reddening before he hid his face in his arms again.
“Is she, huh?”
“Yeah, and just wondering if you’ve seen them.”
“I see a lot of things when I do the laundry.”
“Yeah, but like, ladies stuff.”
“I might’ve, I dunno…” Angus’s stomach tightened as he lifted his head, “What do they look like? The...underwear that is.”
“Black. Lacey. Thong. You know, the sexy stuff you see in Playboy and shit.” Malcolm pursed his lips, shoulders giving a slight hitch. Angus stared at him, hands subconsciously pulling his boxers higher up his waist. Malcolm eyed him incredulously, sliding out of the chair and hopping up onto the counter.
“Is that Bon’s shirt? Dude, it looks like a dress on you.”
“Yeah, just borrowed it.”
“You’ve got your own, don’t ya?”
“Sure, but I didn’t feel like going through the laundry for my clothes when Bon’s was right there.”
“Damn straight.” Angus shuffled again, wriggling his hips as if to try and rearrange the undergarment none to conspicuously. Malcolm eyed him dolefully.
“You alright? Not got your knickers in a bunch, do ya mate?” A smile tugged at his lips as he watched his younger brother’s face redden.
“No…” He muttered. Yes. The small machine beeped beside them, signaling the coffee was done. It provided a distraction as Angus retrieved it, opening the lid, letting it steam quietly. He pointed at the cabinet over his brother’s head, and Malcolm reached up and pulled out two mugs.
“Thanks.” He kept shuffling his weight from one foot to the other.
“Don’t mention it…and will you stop that?”
“That…squirming thing you’re doing.”
“Oh, uh, yeah, sure.” Angus nodded, handing Malcolm his cup and jumping up next to him on the countertop. Damn it Phil, I hope to God you die a horrible, painful death. Angus cursed mentally as he hunched over, taking a sip of his drink, staring idly at the clock on the wall wondering just how long he could go before the panties drove him insane.
Malcolm leaned back against the cabinets, frowning down at his cup before taking a swallow, the heated liquid burning all the way to his stomach. He sighed, licking his lips, following his brother’s gaze to the clock and then back, trailing over the other’s form absently.
At first, it didn’t register. His eyes just slid over it, missing it completely before traveling back up. It wasn’t until he was looking back into the swirling vortex of foam in his cup that his brain registered something was wrong. He glanced back over, eyes following their previous trail. There was something…not right about what he was seeing, but he wasn’t quite--
And then he saw it, eyes widening when he did. The back of Angus’s shirt had ridden up his hips, the shorts just somewhat slack enough that the elastic band of black lace was visible as it rose up over the waistband and then dipped back down. He stared at it, eyes tracing over it again and again…
He reached out, running a finger lightly over the top, watching as gooseflesh broke out after the caress. Angus jumped, letting out a small yelp as he hopped off the counter, tugging down the hem of the shirt. There was a loud crash as his mug hit the floor, the coffee slopping over the tile, but it was the only noise between them.
The two stared at each other; one whose face was rapidly approaching scarlet, and the other whose face portrayed confusion, if not interest.
“Are those…?” Malcolm interrupted, thrusting a finger at him. Angus stared at the floor.
“Yeah…it’s kind of…a long story…” He scratched idly at the back of his neck. He didn’t think he’d been more embarrassed in his life, and suddenly, he wished more than anything else that it was anyone but Malcolm who’d caught him. With nine siblings, plus their parents, Malcolm had connections to every one of them…what a reunion it would be this year.
Christmas was going to be hell.
“Well, it’s still early, so I’m up for it.” Mal crossed his arms over his chest, the coffee now sitting aimlessly beside him. He hopped down from the counter, leaning up against it as his brother began to go into every last detail. He could hear the rising hysterics in the other’s voice as shame and embarrassment intertwined, the before night’s events finally coming round.
“So, let me get this straight…” Malcolm paused a moment, going through everything he’d just been relayed, “You and Phil played poker, and started to…place bets,” A nod from his brother, “You made him wear lipstick and he made you wear…those,” He pointed at the guitarist again; another nod his response, “Did it occur to you two at any point how ridiculously stupid that all was?”
This time, there was a shake of the head.
“Well obviously…” Malcolm looked Angus up and down, a strange curiosity building up in his chest, “Lemme see.” Angus stared at him, taking a few steps back.
“I wanna seem them. Let me see.”
“Don’t argue with me, come here.” Malcolm crooked a finger, exasperation on his face as his lips compressed in a tight line. Angus approached warily, eyes still to the floor as he kept both hands fisted in the waistband of his boxers. Malcolm caught him by the wrists, pushing them aside and pulling him in. Angus’s hands got caught between them, body molding against his brother’s as his breathing hitched.
Malcolm pulled one side down first, hooking a thumb in the lacey elastic and giving it a yank up. He snapped it.
“Oh bloody hell, just shut it.”
He repeated the motion with the other side, fingers tracing the edge airily. Angus shuddered under the touch, burying his face in Malcolm’s shoulder. He wished Malcolm would just stop because certain parts of his body were most definitely not responding to those wispy fingers damn it, but just in case…
Malcolm leaned into his brother, coming up somewhat on his toes as craned his neck over Angus’s shoulder, pulling at the back of his boxers. Angus wriggled, panicking as his brother’s hands delved into his shorts, palming his ass, groping him roughly.
“Malcolm, what the fu-” His sentence was cut short by a small shriek as he was practically lifted off the floor and turned around, his back slamming into the edge of the counter. He groaned, the small of his spine throbbing painfully.
“That hurt damn it!” He growled, squirming about, arms still caught between them.
“You wear these better than she does.” Malcolm mumbled, lips suddenly sealing to his brother’s neck, drawing out a startled cry. He bit down, sucking gently, tongue lapping over the soft skin. His hands, meanwhile, returned to running along the elastic band of lace, rubbing the material between his fingers.
“Mal…” A soft sigh echoed in Malcolm’s ears as he crushed the other against the counter edge, meshing their lips together. He reached down between them, yanking down the guitarist’s shorts by the hem, shirking them off. He kicked them away with his feet. Angus fisted his collar, dragging him in closer.
Bon’s shirt cascaded back down about Angus’s thighs and Malcolm pushed it back up, catching a glimpse down at the lacey underwear he normally loved to see O’Linda swaying her hips in. But no thoughts of his girlfriend inhabited his mind. Where he should’ve been more than happy to see curves and angles, he found himself aching for far more when he could only see the thin frame of his brother grinding up against him.
“Are…are you g-gonna…take th-them off?” Angus bit his lip, shivering violently as Malcolm’s hip rocked against his own. He could feel his brother’s cock straining against his pants, hard against his groin, grinding almost desperately along the length of his thigh.
“What? The panties? Fuck no.” Malcolm snapped, crushing their lips together before his brother could protest. Malcolm wrenched down his pants, grinding his cock against the silk and lace, the friction driving him wild.
Later on, both would reflect on how such an intimate activity in that plain of sight was more than just a stupid idea. It was idiotic, it was dangerous, and it was a lot of other things pertaining to the situation at hand. But for that moment, neither could care less as they worked against each other, curses and each other’s names hissing through gritted teeth.
Angus wound a leg around Malcolm’s upper thigh, arms coming up behind him and grasping the edge of the counter in an attempt to hold himself up. Malcolm smirked, swallowing dryly as he nuzzled his face into the crook of Angus’s neck, hands once more caressing up his thighs and grabbing his ass, holding the other to him.
The rocking slowly started to lose its pattern, each movement becoming jerkier with each thrust. Malcolm grunted against his brother’s neckline, eyes fluttering shut as the room suddenly felt too hot; almost sticky…humid and wet.
“Maaaaaal…” A strangled whine tore past Angus’s lips as his head fell back, hips jerking with an unsteady passion as he arched away from the counter, arms shaking. He cried out, his legs buckling as Malcolm caught him, ramming him back against the counter. He curled a hand in his brother’s hair as the fire of his release rushed through his veins, wrenching him forward, sealing their lips together once more in a heated embrace…
For a moment, Malcolm couldn’t move, face still hidden against the side of his brother’s neck as he panted for breath, his lungs burning. He could hear Angus heaving against him, feel his chest rising and falling.
“Jesus…” Angus gasped, unhooking his leg from Malcolm’s thigh, trying to stand as he quivered. His legs felt like rubber, and Malcolm drew away, hands holding him up around the waist. He looked at the other, kissing him once more while one hand dazedly fondled the lace elastic. He felt the guitarist shiver, felt him try to suppress it…
“How long was the bet on for?” Malcolm looked him in the eye, curious. Angus stared back, brow furrowed.
“Um, last night and all of today…why?” Angus raised a brow at the Cheshire-like grin that cracked across his brother’s face.
“Whadaya say to not wasting the rest of this wager, eh?” Malcolm smirked, letting the shirt fall back down, a hand snaking beneath it and snapping the elastic. Angus jumped, but returned the smile with the same amount of mischief and fervor.
“I don’t think I have anything to say.”
Phil had to wonder why he found a pair of boxers on the kitchen floor. That and why coffee was staining the tile.