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The whole situation was quite absurd on paper, really. Moxley, in a grimy bathroom stall, desperately finding relief from a problem caused by one of his worst enemies. Not in the way one would think, though.
The night had started out simple enough: according to Wheeler, the Bucks had informed him that Hangman had lost a bet to some of the guys in the locker room and was going to humiliate himself in front of an entire club of people by performing in drag. Moxley thought that sounded hilarious; who wouldn't want to see someone they loathed embarrass themselves not only in front of their coworkers, but also in front of numerous strangers? It sounded like a great time, so Moxley rounded up Marina and Wheeler (he would've gotten Claudio to come along too, but he had taken one hell of a beating and needed the rest. Moxley briefly considered bothering him about it before remembering he respected Claudio too much to do that.) and they rode in the backseat of Matt and Nick's rental car over to the bar. Moxley felt oddly excited; he usually wasn't one to go out to a club, and even less so to be excited about it, but this situation was definitely different. Moxley was thinking of all the things that could go wrong during the performance: maybe Hangman injures his ankle or wrist or both, maybe he tries to do a split and tears a muscle and can't continue the show, perhaps the crowd just doesn't like him and boos him off stage. And he trips and falls and breaks his nose. Moxley loved the idea of Hangman hurting himself in this, because wouldn't that be hilarious? Hangman having to explain an injury to his "fans" and how he got it, whether that would be by telling the comical truth, or stumbling over himself while attempting to come up with a bullshit excuse which would probably be disproved by a shitty recording somebody will inevitably take and post, if Moxley is lucky.
They all arrived at the bar around 20 minutes before Hangman's performance was supposed to start, which was enough time for all of them to order something small to drink (everyone ordered some kind of mixed drink besides Moxley, who simply ordered sparkling water with a lime slice. Even if Moxley did drink alcohol, he would still want to be completely sober for this experience.) and find a table semi-close to the stage; Nick and Wheeler both wanted to sit somewhere closer to the performance area, but as they were outnumbered and they arrived too late, they sat farther away. Eventually, the show had started, and the first few performers were fine. Wheeler and Matt seemed the most into it, and even Marina seemed to be enjoying herself (at least Moxley thought so; he can never really tell with Marina), but Moxley was too eager waiting for Hangman to pay much attention to the other drag queens. From the little that Moxley did actually process, though, he kinda liked it. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but something about the spectacle and the lights vaguely reminded him of wrestling, so naturally, he at least wasn't miserable or upset.
The lights dimmed for a moment, and when they relit the stage, they revealed the Hangman himself, who turned around to face the crowd as soon as the twangy country music kicked in. He had on dramatic makeup: heavy blue eyeshadow high on his face that faded in at the top and abruptly stopped further down his eyelids, heavy eyeliner that was barely visible because of the large, dramatic eyelashes. Prominent hot pink blush on his cheekbones, and red lipstick. His outfit was even more flamboyant: a sparkling hot pink cowboy hat (Moxley shouldn't have even been surprised Hangman stuck with his cowboy theme), a thick pink sparkling choker around his neck (Moxley particularly liked this accessory), a light pink bra with a bow on it layered under a similarly colored long sleeved velvet top with blue accents and strings of jewels that only covered his collar bones and not much else. A lighter shimmering pink belt with strings of beads connected to it that lay over Hangman's thighs and hot pink shining spandex underwear, pink fishnets, and cowboy boots to match the overarching color of his outfit.
Moxley felt his jaw go lax and his mouth run dry. he really didn't know how to or what he was feeling right now, and based on his short glances to the other members of his party, he wasn't the only one.
Moxley probably should've guessed it, but Adam was a damn good drag queen. His high energy from when he was in the ring translated surprisingly well to the small venue and worked well with his exaggerated mannerisms and lip syncing; there was even a point when Adam jumped on a table with little effort as if he were in some kind of theatre, and in a sense, he was. Moxley imagined that the mindsets and physicalities required for both were relatively similar. While Adam was on this table, his eyes had found their table, and just for a moment, Adam and Moxley shared a look that had something to it, something Moxley didn't bother trying to find out. Moxley broke eye contact almost as soon as it started and took a swig of his drink as if it would make him feel any better. A few seconds later, though, Moxley was back to watching Adam because it seemed as though he had to, like he couldn't look anywhere else if he wanted to. It felt like two opposite magnets coming together through sheer invisible force, and Moxley was trying his hardest not to think about it too much. It was a bit hard, though, once Adam started slowly making his way to their table. Once he had gotten there, he sure was quite interactive. Moxley was used to the invisible barrier in live acts, the so-called fourth wall, if you will, but Adam had completely ignored that boundary by suddenly getting very touchy with Moxley. Sure, Adam had briefly touched other audience members who were also their coworkers, particularly Strickland and Ospreay, but something about Adam's touches lingered. He kept touching and lightly tugging on Moxley's jacket, getting close enough for Moxley's field of vision to be entirely Adam. Ain't no country for a quiter, I get the job done Adam mouthed along to the song, and Moxley briefly wondered what those blood red lips might look like swollen and smudged after making out. Thankfully, before Moxley could feel himself getting any harder in his jeans, Adam pulled away and left their table alone, but not before receiving a dollar bill from somebody sitting next to him. Moxley snapped his head just in time to see the tip getting taken from Wheeler's hand, and Moxley shot him a death glare before Wheeler looked down in his lap with a guilty look, not dissimilar to a sad dog.
Moxley soon turned his attention back to Adam. He knew he was in trouble.
As soon as Adam's applause finished and he left the stage, Moxley quickly rushed to the bathroom he saw on his way in and ran into the nearest stall and fumbled to lock the door. He couldn't believe this was an issue in the first place, but he couldn't just be around his friends and coworkers with a boner, especially after watching what was supposed to be Hangman's ultimate punishment. Moxley's dick was already semi-hard when he got it free from his jeans, and he wasted no time spitting in his hand and jerking himself off. He didn't want to, but the entire time in that stall Moxley kept picturing Adam in his pretty pink outfit and makeup; he imagined fucking him in that outfit so hard he moaned like a porn star and ruined his careful makeup with tears. He thought about what those darling red lips might look like sucking him off like his life depended on it. He pictured pulling Adam's head back by his styled curls, covering his exposed skin in bruises and bite marks and getting blood on Adam's pretty little pink top. He imagined Adam cumming with a shout of his name, and his midsection as well as a bit of his top being covered in his cum. This final picture is what finally got Mox to climax. Moxley covered his mouth with his forearm and had to bite down hard to silence himself, along with squeezing his eyes shut so hard it felt like they would be stuck that way forever. Moxley didn't think jacking off could even come close to achieving the same amount of satisfaction as regular sex, but that right there was easily better than even some of his lower-end-mediocre hookups, which he considered a good thing. Sadly, though, that or maybe even anything obtainable to Moxley could come close to the real deal of fucking Adam in drag: he was practically sure of it.
When Moxley came back down to reality, he pulled his arm away from his mouth and realized he had drawn a bit of blood. He took a moment to clean off whatever semen he got on himself (the lighter spots are very obvious on his black jeans, but as long as nobody looked at his lower half he should be fine) and wrap up his wound with the low-quality toilet paper in the stall that would hopefully last until he left the bar. He was currently trying to avoid the fact that he had gotten off on the thought of one of his worst enemies, whom he was just hoping would get injured not too long ago, but that was a thought to examine once he got back to his hotel room. Moxley took a couple of deep breaths before languidly unlocking the stall door and re-entering the world.
He immediately regretted this decision because he saw Adam at one of the mirrors removing his makeup.
Moxley was briefly hoping that Adam hadn't noticed him, but that was quickly eliminated as Adam made eye contact with him in the reflection of the mirror, which oddly made Moxley feel a bit nervous. He hoped it hadn't shown on his face, though. Thankfully, Adam only nodded towards Moxley, and he returned the favor before walking over to one of the other sinks to wash his hands. He wasn't sure why exactly he was still in there when he could've walked out if he wanted to; he didn't actually use the bathroom, and it's not like he cares what Hangman thinks. Maybe, deep down, he was hoping that Adam would initiate an interaction with him.
Adam cleared his throat before speaking, "Did you like the show?"
Moxley shrugged. "Could've been better. It would have made my night if you fell off that table." He wasn't entirely lying, but he was more so just trying to avoid sounding nice in the moment. Can't go ruining the supposed veil of hatred now, all because he saw Hangman all dolled up looking like a horny teenager's wet dream.
Hangman let out a small, breathy giggle. "I'm not sure what else I expected", he mumbled.
Moxley hastily dried his hands in an effort to leave the bathroom before he could make a fool of himself, but on the way to the exit, Hangman had grabbed his shoulder to still him and asked him to wait. Moxley sighed, turned around to face Hangman, and gave him a look to get on with whatever he had to say.
"I saw the way you looked at me. Back out there."
"Really? And what way was that?"
Hangman took a step closer and really looked into Moxley's eyes, like he was trying to get a read on him. Moxley leaned away, but returned the favor anyhow. "Like you wanted to fuck me senseless. Am I right?"
Moxley lifted his head back and glared down at Hangman. He desperately wanted to be defiant, tell him to fuck off and leave without another word; attempt murder on Hangman the next time they wrestled and make sure he knew it was all because of Hangman's suggestion in the bathroom of a bar on this very Friday night. Too bad his mouth moves on its own accord.
"Hard to want anything else when you're being all handsy and looking like that." Moxley's voice came out low and rough as he tilted his head back down and leaned forward towards Hangman. They both stared back at each other, the tension increasing to the point of feeling stronger than the ropes on a wrestling ring. The moment it had finally been broken was when Hangman surged forward to kiss Moxley with pure lust and wanting, nay, needing. Nothing about the physical contact was soft and romantic; it was hard and fast-paced as they both fought to take control of the kiss. It wasn't until Hangman had bitten down on Moxley's bottom lip that his body weakened, allowing Hangman to take control and shove Moxley back against the wall next to the sinks. They continued like this for the next few minutes: making out, pressed against each other closer than close and trying desperately to find any type of friction. The blood Moxley could taste in his mouth from Hangman's bite turning him on even more; it was almost like Hangman knew exactly what to do to turn on Moxley, and from the looks of it, it was working well.
Finally, they had broken apart to catch their breath. Once again, they gazed at each other. This time Moxley got to examine Hangman's face a bit more closely, and he almost saw some faint leftover makeup that Hangman must've forgotten to wipe off completely. Moxley had thought of Adam's look from earlier that night, but he also realized how pretty he was in general. He had joked about it with the other Death Riders and the Young Bucks before, but he never got to truly process and appreciate it until now. Moxley had suddenly initiated the next kiss very quickly, a bit softer but still mostly comprised of desire. Hangman reciprocated this contact for a moment before suddenly pulling away again.
"shit, man, what hotel are you staying at?" Hangman's voice was barely above a whisper and even a bit pathetic sounding, which made Moxley more turned on than he already was.
"I dunno, probably the same one as you"
"right." Hangman said with another short, breathy laugh that almost vaguely made Moxley feel a bit fond for a fleeting moment. Hangman turned to the counter next to them and reached into a small leather bag next to the sink he had claimed earlier to grab some eyeliner. Moxley was temporarily confused until Hangman rolled up the sleeve of his leather jacket (thankfully not on the arm with the bite. Shit, that probably bled through the makeshift bandages by now.) and wrote down his hotel name and room number, Hilton + 315.
"Meet me at my room at, say, 10:30. Sound good?" Hangman asked, probably more polite than he should.
Despite having an urge to beg for sex in that bathroom at that very moment, Moxley checked his watch for the time. Not too far away, but still enough time to mentally prepare. "Yeah, sounds good", Moxley replied. Hangman gave a small smile before stepping away from Moxley, letting him free for now. Moxley started walking to leave the bathroom, but before he opened the door, he turned back to Hangman.
"Hey, Hanger?" Hangman looked towards Moxley with an expression and demeanor that made it very easy to picture Hangman with dog ears perking up in confusion (That gives Moxley some ideas for something fun to do in the future, if this becomes a Thing). "Have that outfit on when I get there. It looks good on you." Moxley remarked before turning around to leave the bathroom, but he sensed that Hangman smiled.
When Moxley got back to the table, he was immediately bombarded with questions about what took him so long. "We were starting to think that you died on the toilet, y'know, like Elvis." Nick joked, though with the way his humor is, his delivery sounded serious. Somehow, though, it got a laugh out of Wheeler.
The rest of them quickly went back to watching the final acts of that night's show, but Moxley was completely unfocused. The only thing he could do was think about what the rest of the night might entail once he got back to the hotel. He would constantly take small moments to lift his sleeve just enough to see a bit of Adam's handwriting to make sure it did happen, and he hadn't just hallucinated it randomly. Once the show ended at 10, Moxley finished the rest of his water and made sure he got back to the hotel as fast as he could.
This might be the best night of his life, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be late to it.