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No. 1858
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"It was perhaps the most liberating thing he had ever done and yet Cyrus Flannigan’s heart still pounded in his chest and drummed in his ears. If Dean hadn’t walked in on him trying on his brand new, shiny, patent leather pumps, a deep blue number that rather complimented the uniform he wore, then none of this would have happened.
But when the Pyro simply shrugged it off with a polite but honest compliment of “Nice shoes, manâ€, Cyrus had been left wondering. His roommate was an artist and perhaps, maybe, well how would it feel to be treated like a model? Not some fitness and health model. Some ideal of peak male physical perfection. But perhaps a sultry if not enigmatic… well not a -woman- per se but certainly feminine.
Though his friend agreed, the Medic couldn’t help but tremble as he added stockings and a garter belt to his ensemble. He had more fine examples of lady’s fashion in his wardrobe but they would be saved for another day perhaps. “You won’t show this to anyone, right? Please, this is just between us.†It was a very necessary plea but he hoped he could trust that this night would remain private.
As he first posed, he was stiff, uncertain, and unnatural. The artist never complained, however; He only suggested relaxing. The two made small talk for a while, never discussing exactly how Cyrus came to crossing but rather how the weather had been and what their day was like. At some point, the Medic realized he had been running his hand up and down the nylon that adorned his leg. That’s when he finally laid back and propped one leg up.
“You know, I just want something that makes me look as beautiful as I feel.â€"
Art by me, ficlet by Duckie!
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