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Ed always goes all-out for Halloween. Izzy knows this, and still he hadn’t anticipated getting dragged into the madness, had been counting on precedent to see him through.
Normally, on Halloween, Izzy stays home and doles out sweets while Ed and Jack go clubbing—an arrangement that’s been working out perfectly well for the last ten years, as far as Izzy’s concerned. But this is the first year he and Ed have been—dating, or whatever it is they’re calling it. It’s the first year Ed wants them to do something together.
This year, Ed has entered them into a couples' costume contest.
“Can’t you just enter with Jack?” Izzy asks.
Ed grabs one of Izzy’s hands in both of his, widening his eyes. “And disrespect the sanctity of our marriage? Iz.”
“Right, so, wearing a costume with him would be wrong, but making out with him on the couch last week…?”
“Fucked you right after, didn’t I?” Ed grins. “Doesn’t matter, anyway: he’s doing the Powerpuff girls with Anne and Mary. He’s the pink one.”
“Thank god for that.”
“Don’t be a prick.” But Ed’s grinning as he says it, and his hands are warm around Izzy’s cold one. It’s times like this Izzy knows he’ll do anything Ed wants of him—and it’ll take until Ed’s out of eye- and earshot for him to realise what a stupid fucking idea he’s just agreed to. “They’ll look cute. We’ve just got to look cuter.”
“So we’re competing with Jack?”
“Well, not officially. They can’t enter a couples contest as a threesome, so they’ll be in the group costume division. But, unofficially, yeah.”
Izzy tries to stand strong—he really does. But even without counting the weakness he’s got for Ed, the weakness Ed never hesitates to take full advantage of, he’s also been called (by Jack, no less) ‘the most competitive little bastard I’ve ever met.’
“Right,” he says, “what’re we going as, then?”
“I love you,” Ed says brightly. He directs Izzy to the couch and pushes him down, straddling him. It’s one in the afternoon but Ed’s only just woken up: he’s still sleepy-soft, pillow creases lining the side of his face. Last night’s eyeliner is settled in perfect half-moons beneath his eyes. “Been planning this for months.”
This surprises Izzy. Ed isn’t normally one to keep his plans secret for more than a few hours; he needs someone to appreciate them. Izzy figured this was going to be an Amazon Prime overnight shipping situation, but apparently not.
“Yeah?” Izzy puts his hands on Ed’s thighs, which are bare and soft: shaved, he realises. Maybe even waxed.
“Yeah. Couldn’t pick just one, though,” Ed says. “Ended up with a bunch of different choices. Thought I could show you, and then you pick.”
Even within parameters, it’s strange that Ed’s giving him any input in the matter. Izzy communicates this with his eyebrows, and Ed laughs.
“Fine,” he says. “Whichever one makes your dick hard, we’re going with that.”
By the time Ed emerges from his room, Izzy’s halfway through his second cup of coffee; he’s read four chapters of his book. He promptly chokes on the coffee and drops the book—a heavy hardback about the English Civil War—directly onto his stomach.
“What the fuck,” he wheezes.
“You like it?” Ed says, stepping further into the room. He’s swaying his hips, either a side effect of the heels he’s wearing or a deliberate attempt to court Izzy’s vote for this particular costume.
“You can’t stick leaves on your dick and say it’s hidden.”
“Who’s saying it’s hidden?” Ed does a twirl. Izzy, who is regularly sleeping with the man, feels tempted to avert his eyes. “Come on, you like it. Admit it.”
“Doesn’t she wear clothes in the comics? Some sort of leotard?”
“This is what she looks like in the Arkham games,” Ed explains. “And I’m wearing clothes.”
He’s not: he’s wearing a cranberry-coloured shirt with one button done up, the sort of thing that’s meant for a comic book character with balloons for tits. He's managed to pin it up in just such a way as to leave his midriff bare, tendrils of leaves climbing up from the strappy stiletto heels he has on and up to the cluster of foliage at the crotch, then over his hips in inviting spirals. There are flowers threaded through his hair.
“What’s my role in all this?” Izzy asks faintly.
“Harley Quinn.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even seen the outfit,” Ed says. “You’d look hot.”
“I’d look like a prick. Especially if it’s as—” He waves a hand. “—revealing. As all that.”
Ed pouts. “Y’know, you’re pretty prudish for someone who likes getting beaten up in bed,” he says, which is true enough.
“And you’re pretty slutty for someone who likes being called a virgin in bed,” Izzy replies. “Go change.”
While Ed’s getting changed, Izzy googles the version of Harley Quinn from the Arkham games, who turns out to be clad in a leather bustier and frilly skirt. He gets up and makes another coffee.
Ed next emerges covered head to toe, which is briefly disorienting. Then again, it’s a form-fitting purple catsuit with thigh-high black boots and matching gloves, so it’s not too far a departure from the previous costume. His hair is loose beneath a mask and cat ears, and his lips are painted a dark hue of purple.
“Catwoman?”
“Hot, right?” Ed responds. He’s smirking; he already knows.
“And I’d be…?”
“Batman.” Ed bats his eyes, which are heavily lined under the mask. “My hero.”
“I can’t be Batman,” Izzy says. “I’m six inches shorter than you when you’re not wearing heels.”
Ed frowns. “We can get you platform boots. Really, really high platform boots.”
“Or we could try and get through the night with everyone’s ankles intact.”
“Come on. Batman can be short,” Ed says, wheedling.
“Not if we want to win, he can’t.” Izzy reaches out, his fingers dipping beneath the top of Ed’s boots. “You should keep this, though. Could win a singles' costume contest.”
Ed smirks. “You like it.”
Izzy flushes, trying to pull his hand back, but Ed whips into motion and holds him where he is. His expression turns evaluating; Izzy does his best to give away nothing in return, but before long his eyes are flicking down, giving himself away.
“The boots?” Ed steps away, then lifts one of his legs and nudges Izzy’s thigh with a heel, digging in hard when Izzy resists moving. Once Izzy’s legs are sufficiently parted, Ed kneels down and captures him in a kiss, hard enough to make the purple lipstick smear. Izzy can taste the faint waxiness of it on his own mouth.
When he pulls back, Izzy says, “Yeah. Keep them.”
Next is Cruella de Vil: a huge fur coat and a slinky black dress underneath. Ed looks good—he’s looked good in all of them, doesn’t need Izzy for that—but he also looks devious, like there’s something Izzy’s not in on. Izzy sighs.
“I’d be the dog, then, I s’pose.”
“Could call you good dog in public,” Ed offers, failing to wag his eyebrows because of the way he’s drawn them on for the costume.
“Exhibitionism’s your thing, not mine.”
“My things are your things,” Ed argues. “Are you gonna shoot all of these down?”
“I’m making an informed decision.”
“You’re being boring.”
Izzy shrugs; he’s well aware that, left to his own devices, he’d spend Halloween finishing the Civil War book.
Ed flops down beside him on the couch, swinging his legs up and over Izzy’s lap. Izzy buries a hand in the fur coat, which is lovely and soft.
When the silence stretches a little too long, Izzy says, “You look—you know, beautiful. In all of them. If you need me to tell you that.”
Ed hums, pleased.
“But I also do want us to win this fucking competition.”
Ed falls back against the arm of the sofa laughing. “Ruin a sweet moment, why don’t you?”
“Just show me the next one,” Izzy says, pushing his legs off.
“Dear god above.”
“What’s wrong with this?”
“The fact that you need someone to tell you what’s wrong with sexy Peter Pan…”
“Hey, you’re the one saying it’s sexy, mate, not me.”
“Edward. You’re reusing the leaves from the Poison Ivy one.”
“Yeah, being thrifty. Thought you’d appreciate it.”
“Right. Suppose I’m Captain Hook, then?”
“Tinkerbell.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
The final costume doesn’t take long to change into. Izzy only manages to read a couple of especially dense paragraphs before the door to Ed’s bedroom opens, and he’s coming out in leather trousers tighter than the ones he usually wears, offset by a silky pink jacket.
“Tell me about it, stud,” Ed purrs, crossing the room with a hand on his hip.
“Suits you,” Izzy says, mouth gone a little dry.
“You’re easy,” Ed says. “Bit of leather’s all it takes.”
“I like the—” Izzy gestures at the Pink Ladies jacket. “—too.”
“Bet you do.” Ed perches on the arm of the sofa, presumably to show off his legs to best effect. Izzy indulges him, mostly because he’s helpless not to. “Think this one’s a bit simple to win. Didn’t even have to buy you anything for Danny—you’ve got jeans and a leather jacket in your wardrobe already.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Izzy says. “If we do it right, though…”
“You’ll end up fucking me in the bathroom and we’ll miss the winners being announced,” Ed says with a grin.
“Could try getting it out of my system now,” Izzy suggests.
Ed lights up. “Finally,” he says, and pounces.