Ms. Machina if you nasty (tinamachina) wrote in fic_on_demand,
Ms. Machina if you nasty
tinamachina
fic_on_demand

FIC: "Ronno Hates It When Bowie Gets Ideas"; RPS for brokenwindmill

Title: Ronno Hates It When Bowie Gets Ideas
Author: tinamachina
Fandom: Mick Ronson/David Bowie
Rating: PG13 (for mild, non-explicit slash)
For brokenwindmill and the request found here

**

"I have a new idea for the show," he says, his mismatched eyes twinkling.

Oh no, I think. I hate it when David gets "new ideas." My heterosexual male ego has already taken a major blow after his faux-blow-job-on-my-guitar routine.

He insists on a rehearsal–without Trevor or Woody. He’s standing on the stage, in some skin-tight red leather corset and thigh-high platform boots. I swear the bloke has seen "The Rocky Horror Show" one too many times. David is holding a long length of white rope, and wearing the most evil look on his painted face.

"‘Width of a Circle,’" he commands, "And will you just relax? I’m not going to hurt you."

I play. He sings, twirling the rope around in his slender, spider-like hands. Nothing really out of the ordinary is happening so far.

Then we get to the middle–the part about God and the devil and their little "fling", as David explained it. The red-headed devil creeps around behind me, "No matter what happens, keep playing!"

Suddenly, he pulls the rope around my arms. I’m thinking, "What the bloody hell?" I keep playing anyway, and David keeps singing, winding the rope around my legs, my chest, my arms. It’s getting harder to play. It’s damn near impossible to move! David pulls the rope tight. I’m losing my balance! I start to tip over forwards...

David catches me up front. Our foreheads are leaning against each other, our noses brushing up against one another. Dave has one hand on my shoulder, and his mike in his free hand, under his chin. He’s supporting my full weight on his own bony chest, our bodies separated only by my hands and my guitar. My knuckles are dangerously close to David’s private area.

I keep my mind focused on the song, but my eyes are locked on his–that kabuki demon! That androgynous freak! He’s daring me to break my concentration, testing my limits, my patience...

He kisses me. Hard.

Suddenly, I wake up. We’re all on the bus–the band, David and I.

"Sleep well, mate?" David looks at me, his eyes narrowed sleepily.

I glare at him, "If you ever try to tie me up on stage, I will break your legs and give them to Mick as drumsticks!"

He just stares at me, confused. I roll over in my cot and go back to sleep.


Tags: bandslash, fic, rpf
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