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“I just- I just like how they look, okay? I just fuckin like fashion. They’re always made a such nice fabric too an masculine fashion is so fuckin boring an—” You break off. It’s pointless to try to explain anything having to do with fashion to him, anyway. “But fuckin go ahead, laugh at me, I know you’re fuckin goin to anyway,” you snarl and take that stupid dress off again. Even him seeing you half-naked in your underwear is better than that now. You don’t even want to look at the dress at all anymore.
“I wasn’t,” he says quietly, and you think it’s earnest, too.
You look away, casting your eyes down. What you’re about to say is going to take you a whole fucking lot of effort, but you desperately need to say it. “Sollux,” you start, and almost lose your resolve after all. You have no choice, do you? “Please don’t tell any a the others, please, I’m beggin you,” you manage to squeeze out. God, you sound fucking pathetic.
“Why,” he simply asks.
“You know why,” you retort bitterly, still avoiding his gaze.
He just looks at you for a moment before he says, “Yeah I guess I do.” Pausing, he crosses his arms. “I guess I can see them do that. To be such fucking hypocrites that they’d applaud and cheer on anyone else doing it, for being so brave to be themselves and so unique and blah blah, then turn around and relentlessly mock you for it, just because you’re you and they don’t like you.”
You nod. He gets it.
“I’m not going to say anything.”
Can you trust that?
“I’d tell you something embarrassing about myself just so you’ll actually believe me when I say I won’t tell anyone, because I know you’re inclined not to, but I can’t think of anything other tha—” He looks away and shakes his head. “Actually, nevermind,” he mutters.
You turn around to properly look at him. “Other than what?” you ask and are aware that you sound inappropriately demanding. Like some interrogator.
He sighs. “It’s not even close to how embarrassing they could make this for you.”
“Yeah? What is it?” It’s curiosity now more than anything, and hey, maybe it’s better blackmail material than he thinks it is. Otherwise he could have just said it, right?
He sighs a second time and looks around the room. “I tuck my shirt into my underpants when I sleep sometimes,” he admits through his teeth.
You can’t help letting out a snorty laugh. Yeah, you are kind of an asshole, what can you do? “Sollux, that’s not embarrassin, that’s adorable,” you say with a smirk, until you actually realize what you’ve just said and your smirk drops. “I mean- That’s- It’s-” you stutter and quickly look somewhere else. What the fuck were you going to say? That you meant it’s platonically adorable? Hypothetically? In principle? Yeah. Sure. You can feel yourself blushing and know that you’ve lost.
Well maybe it serves you right for being an asshole laughing at him, when he didn’t laugh at you.
You dare to steal a glance at him because he’s not even saying anything and... is he blushing, too? “Well whatever,” he finally spits. “You know it now.” He turns on his heel and walks out.
Now that he left, you realize he never said what he actually wanted, why he came to your room in the first place.
You don’t get to ponder it much, though, because you suddenly hear him say from behind you, “By the way, it looked really good on you.”
He’s gone again before you can turn around or react at all, other than blushing furiously.
Later that day, you walk outside and spot him on the grass, a grey-and-black contrast to the red brick wall he’s leaning against - yeah, Sollux Captor and grass, but you know he goes there because it’s quiet, when he can’t take everybody’s fruity rumpus any longer.
It’s something you get all too well. Sure, you’re saving on rent like this, but sometimes you’re really sick of sharing your living space with so many people. Some of which you have a rather... complicated past with.
Like you do with him.
Sollux is just sitting there, in a patch of sunlight even, not even playing with his phone or anything. What, is he ""just chilling""?
Walking over, you are greeted with an annoyed “What, fishface.”
His posture remains relaxed when you sit down next to him, suggesting a level of comfort with you that you’re not used to. The afternoon sun is casting golden highlights on his hair. You guess he must like it because it’s warm.
“So... you didn’t think it was embarrassin?” you ask slowly. “Earlier.”
“What, walking in on you or the dress.”
“The fuckin dress,” you hiss. He’s doing that on purpose and you don’t appreciate it.
“Oh please.” He scoffs, and you think he’s rolling his eyes, too. “I couldn’t give less of a shit about something like that if I tried.”
You aren’t sure if that’s supposed to be mean or not, but you don’t feel offended by it. It’s actually reassuring.
“Why do you care what I think about it.”
Yeah, why do you?
“Same reason as anybody else I guess,” you reply.
“Nah I’m not buying that.”
You start playing with your rings. You maneuvered yourself into this, and now you can’t get out, can’t say anything, can’t not say anything, can’t stay, can’t run away.
“I give you shit about everything, why care about that particular thing.”
Because that one’s personal. Because...
Because even though he gives you shit it sometimes feels like he’s the only one who’s even slightly on your side.
You couldn’t possibly fucking tell him this.
“I dunno, Sol...” you attempt pathetically.
“I think you do.”
How the fuck are you getting out of this now. You scratch your neck in embarrassment, nail accidentally catching on your gill and you hiss.
Sollux looks at you briefly.
“Do you really think I’m adorable,” he suddenly says, “or was tha— God, what the fuck.” He puts his hands over his face, shoving them under his glasses. A moment later, he jumps up and runs off.
Beset by some kind of panic, you feel like you have to do something. “Sollux,” you call out to him, and he actually stops short.
Just barely, he turns his head in your direction.
“Yeah, I do.”
He walks away.
After the incident by the wall, you’ve been mostly avoiding each other. Occasionally, you catch each other staring, the one that got caught always looking away quickly. You don’t know what to make of it.
Well, you don’t know what to make of him doing it. You know painfully well what’s going on in your own head.
And what’s going on in your head isn’t just your dumb ass unnecessary crush on Sollux.
Maybe you should just get rid of those fucking dresses. Sell them on the internet. Maybe they’d be right to mock you for it. It’s silly, frivolous.
It’s stupid and embarrassing.
But if he doesn’t think it is...?
No, no, it most definitely is stupid.
Yeah. Then why do you enjoy it so much?
“You know, I’ve thought about this,” you hear Sollux’s voice from the door frame and freeze. “And I think you should let everyone know that you like wearing dresses.”
You whip around to protest, threaten, beg, whatever you need to do to stop him from telling everybody, but the words die in your throat when you see him.
“By showing them.”
He’s wearing a dress.
“And maybe that’s easier if you don’t have to do it alone.”
It’s yellow, of course it is, satin or something else shiny, with black lace covering most of the softer fabric.
The skirt ends well above the knee, ruffled under outer layers of chiffon and lace. Seems a bit frilly for him. The top part is just a simple cut, camisole-style with thin straps, the slightly rigid lace bulging in mournful emptiness where a lot more boob than Sollux has should go. He’s wearing sheer black pantyhose with it - probably grabbed the first one he saw - that already has a big run down the length of it, or maybe they’re leggings because he’s also wearing socks. And the sneakers he always wears. He finished off the look with some old, black-and-white striped zip-up hoodie over it, that’s a bit loose on him and the sleeves are slightly too long.
It— It is—
It’s terrible, and it looks amazing on him.
“There’s that stupid party later that everyone insisted on having today for no reason? Perfect occasion.”
“What,” is all you can say, dumbfounded. But then: “No I, I don’t think that I should be doin that, Sol—”
You get no further than that. Before you know what’s going on, he’s crossed the distance between you, put his hands on your face, and he’s kissing you.
On his tiptoes.
Slowly, your arms close around him as you kiss him back.
“Well, clearly it needs to be something that complements your personality,” he smartasses you from your chair as if wearing a dress for probably the first time in his life somehow made him a fashion expert, feet up on your desk.
It got a little awkward after the kiss, with neither of you knowing what to say or really even able to look at the other. But then he kissed you again, and since then he’s been acting like you’re boyfriends now, and you’re desperately trying to contain the electric current under your surface that makes your skin feel raw with goosebumps every time you think Is this actually real.
And you think it about every ten seconds.
“You should stop doin that unless you wanna treat people to a fuckin pantyshot,” you advise him. Doesn’t matter he’s not wearing panties. “Cause those tights hide fuckin nothin. An also, get your fuckin dirty ass shoes off my desk.”
Amazingly, he actually listens to you, leaning back in the chair. Knees wide apart.
“You also don’t wanna be doin that,” you point out.
He groans and sits up properly, daintily crossing his legs instead. “This better?”
“Perfect,” you drawl sarcastically.
“OK back to your outfit.”
The hell is he so excited about this? “Well I don’t fuckin know what complements my personality,” you growl.
“So what options do you have.” He does like problem-solving, doesn’t he. That’s what it is. Programmer.
You just stare at him for a second, then you start taking them out of your closet, hanging them up on the full-length mirror you were standing in front of when he walked in on you.
“Holy shit,” Sollux utters. “I didn’t realize you had this many of the things.”
Yeah, not the only thing you didn’t realize, you think.
“You should wear the violet one.”
‘The violet one’ is a floor-length, strapless A-line dress in pretty much precisely your color, with a black top and a long slit. It’s made from a soft fabric, glitter woven into it. “Why that one?”
“It’s a pretty elegant dress.”
Your cheeks feel hot. “You think that’s—”
“Yeah.”
The tips of your fins must be bright violet now.
“An who the fuck did you borrow that from,” you ask to distract, gesturing at him.
“I didn’t.”
“What you bought it? Just to do this with me?”
“Honestly? I think I’m kind of starting to enjoy it.”
After taking a shower - you’re getting the impression that Sollux had mild regrets about not having an excuse to join you - and once you’ve gotten dressed and styled your hair, you rummage through your assortment of makeup, thinking about what colors to go with.
“You’re gonna put makeup on, too?” Sollux blurts out when you get to work applying it.
“You’ve seen me wearin that before.”
“Yeah but.”
“But what? God Sollux, I can’t go there wearin this,” you gesture at your dress, “an then look like I just fell out a bed otherwise.”
He gets right behind you, cranes his neck to look over your shoulder. His chest just barely brushes against your back. Like touching a live wire, but you ignore it.
Unsuccessfully. You sigh in exasperation. “I can’t do this if you keep doin that.”
“Why not.”
“It’s distractin,” you hiss.
“But I wanna see how you do it.”
“What for, you wanna pick up some pointers on how to do your own?” you ask sarcastically.
“What, no.”
While you finish doing your makeup, he awkwardly hovers around you, still trying to watch, but from further away.
You turn around to him, say, “C’mere,” beckoning him to you.
He steps closer.
“Do you trust me?”
“W-With what,” he stutters, inclining away.
“Not to hurt you.”
“... I guess...?”
“Then hold still.” You take off his glasses, and he actually does, although he looks bewildered. When you pull his lower eyelid down with your thumb, he stops you.
“What the fuck are you doing,” he protests.
“I said hold still,” you repeat. “An trust me.”
“What is that eyeliner in your hand?”
“Just trust me.”
“God I’m gonna regret this,” he says through his teeth, but actually does you the favor.
When you’re done, he squeezes his eyes shut, blinking a few times, smudging the eyeliner just right. You smirk to yourself.
Looking at himself in the mirror, his brows draw together. “That actually looks pretty cool,” he admits grudgingly.
“Would look even better with mascara,” you hint, smugly.
He sighs. “Fine.”
You’re almost ready to leave, but— “Uh,” you say.
“What?”
“I don’t actually have shoes for this...”
“You have all these fucking dresses but no shoes to go with them?”
“Look I didn’t think I was ever gonna wear them anywhere, okay,” you snarl.
“Just wear sneakers then, too.”
“No.”
Looking at your limited collection of shoes, Sollux picks out a pair of boots and says, “I think these would go well with it.”
“You’re fuckin insane.”
“Well fucking go barefoot then, I don’t care.”
That would actually work in a weird way, you guess, but you’re not that insane.
He’s not wrong, though. Out of what you have, those boots are the least terrible choice. “I’m gonna step on this fuckin dress all night,” you sigh.
“Don’t be fucking stupid, with how tall you are,” Sollux objects. “Besides, if that’s so, you’d be stepping on it in anything.”
You make a face.
“Fucking, just - put on some fucking shoes so we can get going already for fuck’s sake!”
Yeah. The two of you already have that boyfriends thing down pat.
The closer you get to the place everyone decided to have the party at, the more nervous you get, until finally you feel ready to abort this mission in front of the entrance. “Sol I’m not sure this was a good idea. Maybe we should— Just—”
“No this is a great idea. Come on.” He grabs your hand, dragging you inside.
For a second, you have the horrible feeling that he only set you up to all this so he could laugh at you with everybody else, but in your daze being pulled along, you couldn’t stop this now, anyway.
Immediately, you’re greeted by Roxy, who is practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh my God, look at you two,” she nearly yells. “This is so cute! You look amazing!”
Throwing her arms around you, she gives you a kiss on the cheek, then does the same to Sollux, who seems even more surprised than you.
Not going to lie: You’re so relieved that you’re now worried you’ll mess up your eyeliner if you don’t get a grip on yourself.
You get a few more compliments from others, even Dave of all people. While he’s next to the two of you at the bar, he gives you a double thumbs up. “Cool dresses, bros,” he says before leaving with his drink.
But then, Vriska comes up to you, an expression on her face that makes you wish you’d stayed home.
“Is this some kind of a joke? You two nerds, holding hands? In dresses?”
“First of all, it’s none of your business what we’re holding hands in, Vriska,” Sollux counters. “And secondly - you take a look in the mirror before you got here?”
She looks down on herself. You have to admit, the suit jacket over a casual shirt and dressy slacks look pretty good on your ex. “Eh,” she says. “I guess you got me.” Giving you a feisty grin, she adds, “Don’t overdo it on the soporifics, girls,” before sauntering off.
A good while into the evening, you’re just hanging out watching people as Kanaya walks past you. When you hear a “Quite stunning, I must say,” with a wink and a teasing smile that you’re sure couldn’t possibly be directed at you whatsoever, you wonder if maybe you should really quit the soporifics for the night.
Sollux, who has mysteriously lost his hoodie somewhere, is doing enough of those for both of you, anyway.
Having remembered why he doesn’t go to parties with people and knocked back one after the other, he’s pretty drunk.
He bumps into you, and you have to grab him around the waist to keep him from tripping or something.
He gets on his tiptoes again to kiss you, and, feeling a little exuberant and rambunctious in a manner quite unseemly for your - mostly - refined styling, you put your hands on his ass, pull him against you. Really, you’d like to shove them up his skirt and— Ah, damn it, no, he’s wearing pantyhose, that’s right.
No bare cheeks to get to easily, anyway.
You’re going to need to suggest stockings to him for next time.
Gaze unfocused, he grins up at you. “You gonna carry me home or something.”
“If I got to.”
“Yeah you definitely got to,” he confirms, leaning against you heavily. “Can we. Can we go to your room.”
“Why.”
“Your bed is nicer.”
Without warning, you pick him up easily in a princess carry, asking “Is it?” as nonchalantly as possible, trying to hide that you’re so nervous you might actually drop him.
His arms around your neck, he gives you a wet, sloppy kiss in reply, and you nearly do.