Chapter Text
“These are Windscale, right?”
“The depth of your brand loyalty never ceases to fascinate me, partner.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes, Shoutaro. They’re Windscale. Would you like me to show you where the logo is?”
Shoutaro almost says, “Yes,” and then starts laughing. “I don’t know why I’m even worried about it, you know me better than anyone. Just, remind me why I’m doing this again?”
“So I can practice some of the essentials of fashion illustration,” Philip says, with a gleam in his eye that says he isn’t being entirely truthful. “It’s unusually specialized, and I would be interested in learning it.”
“Right, right. And you’re not asking Akiko to put this stuff on because…?”
“Because if I asked Akiko to pose for me in lingerie she would hit me with her slipper, and in any case I’d much rather look at you.”
“Good point, I think we’ve both seen enough of her slippers to last a lifetime. Give me a minute, then, and I’ll change.”
Shoutaro can feel Philip watching his silhouette through the privacy screen, which mainly exists to shield the cot in the garage that they keep for other Riders in a pinch. It’s a little weird, being watched getting dressed instead of going in the opposite direction, but it’s also nice to get the reminder that after all these years, it’s still the two of them. It’ll always be the two of them. And, at the moment, a lot of little clips, which take Shoutaro a few minutes to get straight.
“I see what you’re doing,” he says, when he finally gets the hang of them. “You just think it’s sexy when I have to figure something out by myself.”
“You’ve cracked the code, partner.” Philip’s voice is overly solemn. He’s definitely trying not to laugh. “I am sexually aroused by your confusion.”
“Are there seriously people who wear this sort of thing every day? There’s so many little bits.”
“I don’t have data on whether or not these are typically worn every day, but I have gathered that some people, primarily women, do make stockings with garters a regular part of their wardrobes.”
“And the other stuff?”
There’s a long silence.
“It’s ok, Philip, you can just admit that you wanted to look at me in a corset without making it a research thing, we’ve been together for ten years.” Shoutaro pauses to look in the little shaving mirror hung on the wall. “I mean, I gotta say, I do look pretty good.”
Another long silence, and then, quietly, “I will admit that I’m seriously considering abandoning the entire ‘fashion illustration’ research direction in favor of coming back there and keeping you differently occupied for the remainder of the afternoon.”
The hair rises on the back of Shoutaro’s neck in an entirely pleasant way. “I mean, did we have any other plans?”
There’s a pause, and then a soft sound that’s almost certainly a notebook and drawing pencil hitting the ground, and Philip says, “No, I don’t believe we did.”