Work Text:
Brody never understood why people speculate on whether a luchador is hot “under their mask.” Isn’t the mask part of the appeal? No need to question a free lunch.
Such questions wandered through Brody’s mind as he watched his tag partner on the pull-up bar. Bandido saved his sparkly, show-stopping masks for matches, but his training masks were pretty cute, too. This one was solid black with some silver accents. It was a little worn around the edges, a sign of wear-and-tear from travel and washing.
Bandido’s hair was up in a bun, though the rigor of his workout made the style pretty loose. There were some wisps of his long, dark hair cascading down now, but the luchador didn’t seem bothered. He continued his pull-ups at a brisk, impressive pace. There was one rather captivating bead of sweat moving down Bandido’s chest, over his abdomen…
Bandido let go of the bar and dropped to the gym floor with a huff. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, looking down with his hands on his hips. He then reached up and pulled out his hair tie, catching Brody’s attention all over again as he let his hair down and shook it out.
“Very bonita,” Brody flashed a grin at his partner, who softly chuckled back.
“Bonito, you mean. Or guapo, if you are talking about a man,” Bandido answered. “Unless you think I’m pretty like a girl.”
“Maybe you are.”
Shit.
Bandido hung his head, laughing quietly as he moved on to do some squats. “You are funny, amigo.”
Brody wondered if there was a blush under Bandido’s mask.
For the next ten minutes, Brody was on his best behavior. He did some chest presses, which allowed him to keep his eyes on the ceiling and eliminated the daunting temptation to watch Bandido’s rear end as he added more weight to the bar and did another set of squats.
Brody even managed to pretend that he was too focused on his workout to hear Bandido come over to him. Once the luchador gave him a little wave, Brody set his weights on the rack and sat up.
“What’s up?” Brody asked, doing his best to keep his eyes up on Bandido’s face, and not his tanned chest, or his toned abs, or the rippling muscles of his thighs (but come on, how often does Brody get to see him in shorts?)
“I have an idea, for a finishing move,” Bandido said, taking Brody’s hand and leading him to the crash pads on the other side of the room. Brody was happy to go wherever Bandido liked.
Bandido let go of Brody’s hand to arrange the mats in a “T” shape. One was half the thickness as the other. He gestured to the thinner pad. “Lay down here, on your back,” he told his partner. Brody obliged.
Bandido then moved to stand by Brody’s feet before bending down and gently picking them up. Brody became aware for a second of just how malleable he was in his partner’s hold, despite how much bigger he was than him.
Bandido was looking between Brody’s legs and the crash pad behind Brody’s head. Brody could see there were some complicated calculations being done in the luchador’s head.
“Okay…” Bandido mumbled. “This will work.”
“What will work?” Brody asked curiously.
“I’m thinking, maybe you push me with your feet, like a monkey flip, yes? And then I can do a 450 onto the other wrestler, who would be… there,” Bandido explained, pointing to the mat behind Brody’s head.
“Oh, shit. You trust me enough for that?” Brody asked.
“Of course,” Bandido answered warmly. The corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly, telling Brody there was a smile under his mask.
Before Brody could think it through, a question jumped out of his mouth. “…Why?”
Bandido tilted his head, a little confused. “Why?” he repeated, “because you are my partner, that is why.”
Brody grinned, suddenly feeling a little sheepish. “Yeah, yeah. It’s just that we haven’t been teaming for long, you know? I could be evil or something. A secret member of the Death Riders.”
Bandido outright laughed at that (Brody made a mental note to try and make Bandido laugh more). The luchador leaned his hands on Brody’s knees and looked down at his partner’s face.
“I do not think that will happen, Brody.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Bandido tilted his head again, but before he could ask what Brody meant, the bigger man spread his knees out, causing Bandido to fall in between them.
The luchador’s face hit the soft cushion of Brody’s belly, while his hands braced on either side of Brody’s hips. Behind him, Brody crossed his ankles, trapping Bandido against him.
Bandido let out a breathless laugh, kicking halfheartedly and trying fruitlessly to push himself up onto all fours. Instead, Brody flipped them over and readjusted so he was sitting on Bandido’s stomach. A hefty, inescapable weight. Not that Bandido minded much.
The luchador’s hands were limp by either side of his head. He smiled up at Brody, who grinned down at him.
“See? I could attack you at any moment. You’ll never see it coming,” Brody said, reaching a hand out to cup Bandido’s face through his mask.
“Yes, I see,” Bandido answered warmly. “I guess I am at your mercy, then.”
Brody felt his face grow hot, but did his best to stifle the butterflies in his gut. Still, he couldn’t stop his hand from finding Bandido’s hair, fanned out on the mat around his face, and running his fingers through a strand.
“I knew it’d be soft,” Brody mumbled. He paused for a moment, looking at Bandido’s brown eyes, before murmuring to him,
“Bonita.”
Brody didn’t have to take Bandido’s mask off to know the luchador was blushing now.
“You— You are just messing with me now,” Bandido threw an arm over his face, as if to shield him from Brody’s gaze.
“Sorry,” Brody said, preparing himself to get up, and probably find a new tag partner…
“Don’t be sorry,” Bandido said with a soft chuckle. One of his hands moved under the triangular fabric of his mask and flipped it up, showing Brody his pink, parted lips. “But if you think I’m so bonita, why don’t you do something about it?”
Brody didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned down and captured Bandido’s mouth in a hungry kiss.