Dust

Date (6)

It was a Saturday evening. Normally, Phelan would be working, Ambrose up on stage in glitter and body paint and the tightest outfit the stylist wanted him in. Tonight was different. Booked off for a single special reason: he had a date.

Feather, despite being a little put out that their slot was put off for a couple nights, stood in Phelan's tiny dorm room, rifling through his wardrobe for something that at least looked like it was meant for a date. It took a little while, but she found something, to Phelan's mild surprise. Holding them up with a proud grin, Feather cocked a hip.

"Toldja," she said.

"Yeah yeah, thanks," Phelan said, taking the clothes from her.

Even dressed in the distressed grey jeans, blue shirt, and a grey waistcoat, Feather wasn't finished with him. His discomfort didn't register with her in the slightest, to Phelan's dismay, as she went on to comb and style his hair and then proceeded to paint eyeliner and mascara on him. In any other situation, especially if he was going out with Feather or his usual crowd, Phelan wouldn't have questioned it, but as it was, he was nervous. Would they find it strange that he was wearing makeup? It wasn't something they'd seen him do before. Then again, they'd watched him dance in body paint and glitter on many occasions, so maybe they wouldn't care. Feather dusted his face with highlighter, and then sat back to admire her work.

"Damn I'm good." Smirking, she stepped back so Phelan could see her handiwork.

She was good, admittedly. It was easy to pick up on the touches that brought out his eyes and made his cheekbones look sharper.

"Thank you," Phelan said, finally able to relax.

Dating wasn't exactly Phelan's forte, despite being the one to suggest it.

"Please," Feather waved a hand. "If only you'd let me dress you in drag. Now that would be good."

Ten minutes after Feather left, Phelan was sliding on his black, high heeled boots, considering whether or not to do a line when his phone buzzed with a text from Angel.

'Get your pretty ass down here. Now.' It said.

Yes, Daddy, Phelan sighed, happy despite the lack of a smile. Even the questioning looks he got from his flatmates couldn't ruin his mood. Outside, Bear's car waited for him, and after a quick pat of his pockets for his phone and keys, he hopped in.

"Hey," he said, and then pressed a kiss to the lips of both men.

"Hey, gorgeous," Bear's voice was more gravely than usual.

"Hello, Fey," Angel smiled bright. "Are you wearing makeup?"

"Yeah, Feather coerced me into it," he admitted.

Bear flashed a smile over his shoulder. "Looks good."

Cheeks flushing, Phelan mumbled a thank you and then did his best to avoid eye contact with them, not willing to let them see how much he was affected by the simple compliments.

"Did we say something wrong?" Lionel asked.

Phelan blinked. "Not at all, I just..." His volume dropped. "Made me happy."

Our of the corner of his eye, Bear and Lionel shared a glance, matching smiles on their faces.

The restaurant was fancier than Phelan has expected, and his men had dressed accordingly. Not having seen them properly before, Phelan short circuited at the sight of them. Bear in a navy blue three piece, Lionel in a charcoal pinstripe suit. Clearly, both suits were expensive and tailored because there was no way any old shop would accommodate Bear's muscle or Lionel's height. But damn, if they didn't look absolutely edible.