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Kavinsky had stared at his phone for what felt like ages before he'd managed to get the text out, sounding casual and hopefully not weird. He was pretty sure it was weird to request something like this of his totally-not-boyfriend's boyfriend. But since he was trying to make a surprise out of things, that meant he couldn't ask Newt, or Jack, or Peter, and that left a supreme deficit in the number of people he could ask for a thing like this.

An hour and a half after he'd sent the tweet, he was waiting at the mall, staring at the entrance to a lingerie shop like it was some sort of terrifying, gaping maw. He'd gone into places like this before--Skov and Jiang had liked to go to Victoria's Secret in an effort to hit on girls; he and Newt had gone to this exact store when Newt had woken up a girl because he actually had tits to deal with and Kavinsky's bras hadn't fit. Somehow, this was so vastly different. Probably because the last time he'd looked at girl's underthings, they'd either been on his boyfriend, or were generic cotton things.

He cast his eyes skyward. "Dear Jesus," he mumbled. "Please, for once in your fucking existence, help me out for ten minutes. Peace, J-Kavinsky."

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Poison fluffs his hair as he makes his way through the mall. Kav's text came as a surprise and his curiosity has gotten the better of him. He's a little bit later than he intends, since he took some time getting dressed. Part of him had thought to show up full femme, because he's pretty sure it would fuck with Kav if he did. But... he supposes he shouldn't give in to that catty little voice too often.

So he arrives in a pair of painted-on black pants, his boots, and a tight t-shirt. His figure and the cut of everything makes it come off as more femme, and he's done some liner around his eyes, but that's as far as he's gone today. If he stretches or bends too much, a peek of black lace shows at the top of his jeans.

"So, Joseph Kavinsky is texting me about panties. I'm intrigued."

Kavinsky lulled his gaze from the florescent lights he'd been entreating for celestial guidance toward the voice approaching him. Poison looked good, and Kavinsky felt a bit like a schlep, looking at him with his artfully tussled hair and his tight clothes.

"To be fair," Kavinsky said, though it was probably worse, "if I just wanted advice, I would've just asked for advice. This is a, uh. I don't really know what I'm doin' here. Ya know? And I ffigure, you started somewhere. At some point."

"I started by pawing through boxes of probably used clothes at the weirdest traveling flea market you ever saw. I bought my first pair from a dude called Tommy Chow Mein." He points, but he grins. "So you're... into this?" He's kind of surprised, actually, because he just-- well he never thought Kav would be.

Kavinsky couldn't help the bit of a chuckle that works out of him, soft and almost hysterical. Fuck, he was going to need a serious something to get him through this. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a little altoids tin, shuffling through the pills inside until he found a little yellow one. Just take the edge off. There was nothing wrong here, he just needed to calm down a little.

"I--well. I'm into other people who are into it." He winced a little bit, but that was so often how he worked. Reality was a thing made up of other people. "Newt gets hot to me in these cotton ones I got when I was a girl? And--"

He looked over at Poison and licked his lower lip. Was it weird to talk about knowing Jack's kicks, with Poison? Kavinsky just neatly skipped over it. "And I figured, might as well get something that fits a bit better."

Poison waits, almost holding his breath, for their mutual name to come up. That's probably not fair, at all, but he's still getting used to this. "Solid plan. Well, c'mon. Let's break the ice."

He plucks the front of Kav's shirt to get him to follow as he heads into the store, immediately catching the scent of whatever perfume sampler has been puffed recently. Most of the sales people here are at least used to seeing him, even if he hasn't met all of them yet. The hair is kinda hard to miss.

"So you think about like... style at all? Are we sticking with solid color cotton?"

Kavinsky let himself be pulled into the shop. He kept his hands in his pockets, looking around at all the displays, trying to make any sense of it. Fifteen minutes, and the klonopin would kick in, and he'd just ride this out easy-peasy.

"Multi-colored cotton. Uh," Kavinsky started, and then bleated out a bit of a giggle. "Not thongs? I don't want my balls getting scrunched?"

"Ugh, yeah, not thongs," he agrees, flapping his hand a bit. "You have a nice ass, there's other ways to frame it. I like boyshorts." He tugs Kav closer to a table with several styles out on display; there were drawers underneath to find the right sizes. "And I have a thing for lace, but that's not everyone's thing."

Kavinsky snorted, just a little. He knew he had a nice ass, but it was still, maybe, a little weird to hear that from Poison. Maybe not. Maybe he was just still unnerved that there could be such casual, public utterances. Nobody in Henrietta, nobody at Aglionby, was going to be complimenting anyone's ass unless it was a girl.

He stood in front of the display, wary of touching any of the thin little bits of fabric.

"...doesn't that itch on your dick, man?" He picked up a pair of bikini-cut panties, more brightly colored than the ones he had at home, and considered them dubiously.

"Nah, this is good stuff. When it's cheap it does. But you can get ones that aren't all lace. The ones I've got on now just have lace at the top, the rest is all cotton."

He finds a pair and holds them up for Kav to see. "It's all about framing, dude."

Kavinsky stared at the panties for a second, and a deep, lurching sort of bafflement went through him. He was quite certain he was making a face, from the way his cheeks and nose suddenly felt. Maybe it was upset at himself and the fact he couldn't quite puzzle his head around this. Maybe he was just trying not to laugh.

Instead of doing anything, he finally said, "I haven't got a whole lot to frame." Poison had seen him naked, once, though he doubted he'd made too much of an impression in their haze. The comment sat uneasily in Kavinsky's chest. He'd never worried about his junk too much before, because it worked when he needed it to. Why did it matter now?

He shifted through the piles of panties and blew out a breath. "Maybe one of the ones that have a dumb slogan on them or something. Juicy or fat ass or whatever panties say these days."

Poison flaps his hand. "It's not just about your junk, dude. That ass." He points, then finds another pair. There's some Halloween-themed ones and Poison grins, because he's totally gonna get the ones with the jack-o-lanterns and the pair with the candy corn. He finds a pair and holds them up for Kav to approve of disapprove. They said Not your boo across the ass.

"Y'know, if you're not into this... there's no reason you actually have to do it," he points out, because Kav is definitely making a face and Poison isn't sure how he feels about it, or how Kav feels about all this.

Kavinsky sniggered, a little, at the panties Poison had lifted up. He grabbed a pair of obnoxiously orange boyshorts with black cat silhouettes that said take these off right meow on them. Those made him chuckle a little as well. The klonopin was kicking in, and the edge was receding comfortably.

"Nah, it's not that." He shrugged. "I like doing little things that get the boys goin', you know? And it--I mean, the cotton's nice. I'm wearing shit this small anyway, so it's not like my balls feel a difference. But this--this isn't a place I would've come, back in Virginia."

Poison grins when Kav actually laughs. Okay, maybe things aren't total shit. And his expression softens when Kav mentions Virginia. "Hey, I get it. You went to an all boys school, right? Must've been kinda fucked up, especially for any queer kids."

He figures that he is maybe the last person that Kavinsky would want to talk to about it, but he kind of gets it. Or he gets the idea.

"I dunno about any other queer kids, but--hey, I was getting laid on the regular." Kavinsky said it airily enough, but there was a little bit of shadow that floated around his eyes, some truth of what that meant that he refused to put a voice to.

He looked through the collection of those orange boyshorts and then grumbled, "How the hell am I supposed to know what size I am?"

"Probably a medium?" he guesses, thinking Kav can't be much bigger than he is, even if he's taller. "I mean, you could probably try a pair on. Or hold 'em up to your hips, see if they're like, wide enough? With the knowledge that they stretch."

Kavinsky flushed a little bit at the prospect of modeling the panties against his own body, the idea of asking for a changing room. This had been a hell of a lot easier when he'd been a girl and he could just sort of guess about it, because it probably wasn't going to last that long.

He tried to think of the size the panties he already had were. They fit well enough. Maybe a size bigger?

"Can I return these if they don't fit? Or is this like bathing suits? Once my taint touches these, they're mine forever."

"You can return them," he says with a grin. "They just damage them out rather than putting them back on the shelf. Betting you're... a medium? About?" Poison narrows his eyes a little.

What a waste, Kavinsky thought, and was only mildly surprised at it. But it did seem wasteful, to accept a return only to destroy them. Maybe, if things didn't fit, he ought to just donate them. There were second hand shops in Darrow.

"Yeah, you said that," Kavinsky reminded. He grabbed a pair of those orange boyshorts in large, though. They didn't look to stretch as much as the others. Then, clutching them, he perused some of the other displays, finding one with lacy panties in all sorts of colors.

He held up a pair. "How am I supposed to tell the difference between a bikini and a hipster? I feel like I may be contractually obligated to only wear hipsters, since--since apparently I'm into that kinda dude."

"Hipsters sit lower I think, and are uh... a little more cheeky? Like, shows more. I think bikinis cover your ass more." He narrows his eyes, trying to remember what the fuck he wears. He bounces around depending on his mood, between all these and several pairs of boxer briefs.

"I like the hipsters and I like boyshorts."

Kavinsky considered, quiet, contemplative. He grabbed a pair of brilliant red panties, lace, that purported to be hipsters. They looked awful cheeky. The color was almost exactly the color of Poison's hair.

Was that weird? It was just a color. But if he wore these for Jack, would it be weird? He supposed he could just wear them for Newt. For all he knew, Jack's infatuation for dick in panties was just related to Poison, and wearing something like this around him would just make him laugh at him. Kavinsky wouldn't blame him.

He grabbed a similar black pair, too. The lace was a little different. "I feel like I'll pop out of any of these. But I guess that's kind of the point, too?"

"I have those," he says with a lazy grin. "Kinda fun to match." He fluffs his hair; he needs to dye the roots again soon. "Yeah, it's kinda the point. And you can adjust yourself a little to make sure you don't, but. It's kinda hot to see a hard cock held back by lace or some cute cotton. At least I like how it looks on me."

He shrugs, because he knows it's not for everyone. Jack's never tried it, and he doesn't seem interested in doing so. He does get awfully interested in what Poison wears, though. "It's just a show. Don't you wear skimpy shit when you dance?"

"Newt certainly thinks so," Kavinsky said. It was safer to talk about the boy who wasn't mutual, between them, then it was to talk about the one who was. He considered the panties a moment longer, then grabbed that pair of Halloween panties too.

"Three's a reasonable amount to start with, right?"

"Totally reasonable, especially if being femme half the time isn't your thing." Poison has a wardrobe, a collection, because he wears them a lot. Most days, in fact, he at least has panties on, no matter how else he's presenting himself.

"Nah, just--"

Kavinsky thought about it. What was he getting out of this? His boy's heavy gazes and hungry mouths. The vague potential that Jack wasn't just into this when Poison did it. He was pretty sure Peter would laugh at him.

"Nah," he said again. He smiled, a sharp, self-deprecating thing. "Just being a pervert."

Poison lifts an eyebrow, wondering if Kav will think for a second about equating wearing panties and being a pervert while he's standing right fucking here. And he knows he probably didn't mean it like that, but it irks him anyway. Maybe he's being too sensitive around someone like Kavinsky. He rolls his eyes. "Whatever, man."

He finds a few Halloween-themed ones he likes, figuring he might as well get something while he's here. "You ready?"

Kavinsky caught that look at faltered. He didn't know what it meant, what he'd said that had gotten it pointed at him, even as brief as it was. He backtracked through his end of the conversation, then looked down at the panties in his hands and tried to not make a face himself.

What the hell was he doing?

"Yeah, 'm ready," he said.

Poison nods. He's probably being an ass for no reason so he flashes a smile and nudges against Kavinsky. "You're not gonna pass out in front of the nice ladies that're gonna ring us up, right?"

Kavinsky sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'm working myself into a froth," he protested, "not swooning. Bulgarians don't swoon."

Really, he was just trying to come up with some sort of an excuse for buying these. If they'd been back in Henrietta, if anyone had dared to ask him why he was buying something like this, he might have just leered, or made a crude joke, or something. He still could, but that felt wildly disingenuous somehow.

"Why didn't I just dream this shit up," he grumbled, looking down at his selection again. "C'mon," he said, louder, clearer. "Let's do this."

"Because now you can tell your boys that you went out and bought them... and they can imagine this whole scenario, except maybe sexier and without me." Unless it's Jack... No, maybe doesn't quite want his brain to go there. He's happy to imagine that Kavinsky is buying these for Newt, like he said.

"I mean, I'll buy 'em, if you want. I'm here all the time."

"I doubt they're gonna think of it sexier." Kavinsky meant to say it in an implicating way--we're both sexy, and we were together, therefore the task was sexy--but it came out a little more resigned then that. Kavinsky was still looking down at the panties in his hand, and he sighed a little.

"No, I got this," he promised, and nodded. Now that he was resolved, he could do this. He'd set his mind to the task, and he'd see it through.

He walked toward the cash registers, but his eyes passed over a display of garter belts and stockings. He stopped. He let himself look. He tried to imagine what it would look like.

"You've got pretty great legs," he says when he notices Kavinsky eyeing the garters and stockings. Jack loves those, but he doesn't say that, longing to keep something between them. Maybe it won't last long.

Poison manages not to fidget and just gives Kav a smile before he heads to the register to pay for what he has.

Poison was looking at Kavinsky for a moment, and then he was gone. Kavinsky tried not to think about it too much. He appreciated--he thought--the sentiment of the statement. He told himself that the purchases were for Newt, a joking temptation he didn't need but that he knew that Newt might like based off some of their silly games.

He let himself peruse the selection of garters and stockings, wondering if he could work them into a strip routine too. That would take some more consideration than he was willing to give a one-off shopping trip. Finally, he settled on some dark stockings and a high waisted garter belt with a lacy front panel.

What the hell was he doing? He brought it all to the front so he could pay for it, hoping he wasn't too red in the face.

"Don't pass out," Poison says, soft and surprisingly gentle after he moves away from the counter. He's got his bright pink bag in hand and he stays by for some moral support. He definitely caught sight of Kav grabbing a garter and stockings, and he's not going to give him shit about it because he's pretty sure if any more blood rushes to the guy's face, he's going to pass out.

Poison reassuring him like that was not, actually, all that reassuring. Kavinsky kept his head ducked down and avoided small talk with the cashier, just answering the necessary questions--yes, he was paying with card; no, he didn't want to sign up for emails. Once his items were bagged, he took them and trailed out of the store to catch up with Poison.

"You survived," he says with a little smile when Kavinsky appears. "Anywhere else you wanna hit with moral support?" Hey, he doesn't know if Kav wants to do the whole nine and find some clothes to wear on top of his new panties. He doesn't know how far he'll take it.

Kavinsky considered. He didn't think he wanted to go full drag or anything. The panties and stockings and whatever were a nice touch to what he already had--that dumb grey dress Newt adored, and the makeup he'd never gotten rid off. He scrubbed at his hair a little bit and then, sort of meekly, said, "Shoes? Like, just to get the idea of them."

Poison grins. "This way, man." He nudges against Kavinsky - casual, friendly - and heads towards the place he's been looking at. "I just got a pair... not sure I can do much without killing myself yet, but I'm sure that takes practice? I'll figure it out... got an interview at that drag club. Not sure it's quite my thing, but like... I dunno. The camp is fun."

"Comfort issues, or just not used to the height?" Kavinsky asked, because he could, surprisingly, talk about shoes. Shoes had always been a strange, nebulously neutral ground. He hummed a little bit. "I still owe you a pair, don't I? I--for my...friend? Uh. I made him work shoes. Little queen. They are dapper as hell, but never hurt his feet, he could wear them for days, probably."

Was it weird to talk about the fact that he was seeing other other people, besides Jack and Newt, with Poison? Kavinsky didn't know. He was pretty sure he'd just made it weird.

"Not quite used to the height," he says with a laugh. "I don't know, I didn't think you owed me anything." Poison couldn't remember asking for anything, but that doesn't mean he hasn't.

His eyebrow lifts when Kav starts talking about another person, this little queen. It might not have thrown him except for the uncertain hesitance around the word friend.

"Who?"

"I offered," Kavinsky said, thinking back on it now. "When we talked at the drag show eight hundred fuckin' years ago. Before--everything settled out."

Things weren't all that settled though, were they, and now Poison was giving him that scrutinous look again. Kavinsky had brought it on himself this time, he knew exactly what he'd said that had prompted it. He was fidgeting, suddenly, and he didn't know why. He turned the fidget on his ring with his thumb, around and around and around. I am enough.

"Peter Simmonds?" What was the protocol here? Was he obligated to tell Poison that he was seeing someone else, since he was seeing Jack? Kavinsky didn't know. He'd never been in this situation before.

"I met him at the party in July," he says. "He's cute. Kind of a dreamer, right? Not sure if he's the kind to go up in flames, though." Poison knows that feeling. All-consuming, unending drive to see something to an end, even if it wasn't a good one.

Kavinsky's fidgeting a lot all of a sudden and Poison tries not to scrutinize too closely. But it means something. It means something about Peter, and he's almost not sure he wants to know what. But he can probably guess in short order.

Kavinsky nodded a little bit, a smile curving up the corner of his mouth. He knew, from the feel of it, that sit was the smile he wore when someone said something about Newt or Al, about Jack; he wore it about Peter too, and that was probably more telling then words ever could be.

"Yeah, he's a good kid," Kavinsky said vaguely. He tucked his hands in his pockets. He probably shouldn't call Peter a kid; he was older than Kavinsky was, both literally and in terms of the whens they had come from. It didn't matter though. They were, ultimately, still just boys.

Poison looks ahead as they walk, though his jaw gets tight for half a moment. Yeah, he sees that smile. Yeah, he's seen it directed at other people before. But Kav's not talking about one of those people.

"You fucking him?"

Maybe that's not fair; maybe that counts as an ambush but Kav's the one that brought him up, and Kav's the one going schmoopy-faced at the mere mention of him. But something under his skin is bothered and he wants to know

Kavinsky froze. Poison was still walking, but Kavinsky had drilled himself to the place. He hadn't expected the words to hurt so much. But they did, a sharp, aching pain. He wanted to snap something back, but what grounds did he have? Jack had made passing mention of Poison's side piece, but Kavinsky only really knew the guy in passing.

He ducked his chin to his chest and squared up his shoulders, then looked at Poison.

"Yeah, we are." And he loved him and didn't have to shove that down into his stomach every time he thought it, like he did with Jack. "Same terms as with Jack."

Poison turned when he realized Kav had stopped walking. He stared him down, watching tension play over different parts of him. Part of him wanted to be angry. He wanted to fight, ask who the fuck Joseph Kavinsky thought he was. There had been no small agony in working through how their relationship would look in the aftermath of a moment and before the growing pains had even stopped, Kav had someone else? Was Jack not enough? Because he is for Poison.

He wanted to spit all of it.

It feels like walking a tight rope on a windy day, and Kav doesn't even have a balance stick. He shakes his head. Maybe it's not his fucking business, but it kind of is, because there's a thread that'll always come back to him.

"Fine," he says. Kav doesn't need his permission to fuck other people. "Does Jack know or is this one of those things that you are compartmentalizing? Like nothing is ever gonna touch?"

Poison looked riotous. It was the face he'd worn coming into the studio that day, after he and Jack had fucked for the first time without Poison there. It hurt as much as the question had originally, a stab, a barb that plucked at guilt.

He turned his ring on his finger in his pocket. I am enough, I am enough, I am enough. Poison could think whatever he wanted about him. That didn't matter. If he wanted to close things up, that was fine, but he'd have to take that up with Jack, and not with Kavinsky.

"I've mentioned him," he said, and shrugged. "'s not any of Jack's business, as long as I'm clean, right?"

And then, because sometimes his mouth ran without him wanting it to, Kavinsky said, "I'm just there for Jack to get off with. The whole thing's gotta be pretty fuckin' compartmentalized. Wouldn't want the side piece gettin' an idea he's worth anything than bein' a hole."

Poison's face went stone blank for a moment. The insinuation that Jack is using Kav bothers him. "Fuck you, Kavinsky. Jack gives a shit about you, even if it's not the way you want him to. And if you don't like it, you can break it off. You've got someone else, right? Three someones. And none of them - not Jack either - think you're just a fucking hole."

Edited 2016-10-27 20:14 (UTC)

There was a difference, though, and even his broken, addled brain knew that. There was a different in the way that the others looked at him, in the place he kept around them. He turned the fidget on his ring and ran his tongue against the back of his teeth.

When he looked up, he'd put it all away. Neat and clean and as tidy as he could make it. His voice was calm and clear, rational, expressive without being weighed down with unnecessary feelings. "I never said he didn't care," he said. He hadn't. "Forget it. I'm clean, that's all that matters."

He shrugged. He was trying to not think too hard, too particularly on that one bit--you've got someone else. So did Jack.

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