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Harris pinned the phone between his ear and shoulder as he continued going through the suitcase. It wasn’t his, but it was the only clothes he had in the entire city, and he needed to wear something for tonight's game.
“Look, I’m not saying your clothes aren’t gorgeous, because they are,” Harris said, as he picked up a sheer, white button-up blouse lined with gold trim. “I don’t think any of them are really…me. Not to mention the size difference.”
On the other side of the line, Fabian huffed. “Your clothes are not gorgeous.”
“Hey!”
Fabian laughed. “I’m sorry, babe, but I don’t know what to do with this much flannel."
“Well you’re going to have to do something, unless you want to take the stage in your travel joggers.”
On the other side of the line, Fabian went silent as if he was actually considering it. “I still can’t believe this happened,” he said, after a long moment. “Like, what are the chances that we both had the same black and red luggage? This is what we get for carpooling to the airport together.”
“You do realize that black and red are the Centaurs' colors. It makes more sense for me to have it than you.”
“You’re telling me now that my whole late summer tour aesthetic matches the Centaurs’ colors?” Fabian groaned. “Please don’t tell Ilya, he’ll somehow make it inflate his ego.”
“Trust me, that would bruise his ego way more. You were at the kids hockey camp in Ottawa for the last two weeks. Yet you still have no idea what colors hung from the banners.”
“Whatever, I was distracted by my man coaching adorable children.”
“It is a sight, isn’t it?” Harris sifted through Fabian’s clothes, past what looked to be a stack of skirts, to a few overly large t-shirts. “Oh wow. So you’re actually adorable.” Harris held up a large, plain, black t-shirt.
“What are you on about?” A sigh. “Honestly, Harris, do you really need green, red, and blue flannel shirts? It's July!”
“I was packing for the City! It gets cold at night year round. And don’t go changing the subject.” Harris put the two t-shirts onto the bed, and kept searching for anything else he could wear.
“And what subject is this?” He could practically see Fabian’s cocked hip and pursed lips. “The subject of my lumberjack debut?”
“The subject of your sentimental ass wearing Ryan Price t-shirts to bed.”
“Hey, he’s my gentle giant and his well-worn cotton tees are softer than silk so--Wait.” A beat of silence. “No. Absolutely not. You are not wearing my boyfriend’s clothes to your whatever work thing--”
“Hockey game. Then post meet-up at Kingfisher.”
“Yeah, same thing. Those shirts are private. Intimate.”
Harris rustled on the other side of the luggage but knew these Ryan Price shirts would be the only clean clothes he’d want to wear from its contents. And tomorrow, he’d need to go shopping.
“Fabian, babe, they are plain black t-shirts and they fit. I’m wearing them. Thank you!”
“What if I walked on stage wearing Troy’s clothes?”
Harris laughed. “I'd wonder how you got your hands on them, considering only one of us is a complete sap who brings his boyfriend's clothes as pajamas on roadies.”
Fabian sighed dramatically. Harris could hear the wisp of air as he presumably threw himself on the mattress. “Punished for my romanticism. What is our friendship coming to?” Another rustle of movement and Fabian’s voice came out clearer, like he’d sat up. “You know what? I’m going to look drop dead gorgeous in your clothes tonight and if Ryan jumps me backstage you deserve it.”
It took a moment for the message to click, and then Harris grimaced. “Ew, please don’t hook up in my flannels.”
“You brought this on yourself,” Fabian sang.
“I hate you.”
“You love me. And I’m off, I have to wear my travel clothes through soundcheck, apparently.” It sounded like Fabian pushed himself off the bed, and after a beat, an overhead bathroom fan filtered through the phone. “Can we sue the airline for emotional distress?”
Harris closed Fabian’s suitcase and made his way to his own shower. “The team didn’t even want me using my powers for good and leaving an airline review from the official account. I doubt either of our teams will support a frivolous lawsuit.”
“Ah, see, I’m a team of like four and all of them love me, so they’d support me in my moment of need.”
“Oh my god, it’s just flannel!”
~~~
Ryan Price
Ryan stood at the back of the club, watching as it filled for Fabian’s latest show. He’d left his boyfriend backstage to get ready forty minutes ago and he already itched to be back in his presence.
They discovered early on in the tour that Ryan should not be backstage when Fabian was getting ready for the stage. Something about the way Fabian focused as he applied his eyeshadows and lipstick made Ryan yearn to pull him close, run a finger down the delicate curve of his jaw.
So, now Ryan watched the crowd come in, scanning for anyone who might be starting trouble, as he waited for Fabian to walk onto the stage.
The already dimmed lights of the club lowered entirely, so only a few shaded wall lights along the bar remained. The stage lights changed from pitch black to a deep, shadowed violet. Ryan straightened and, just like that, all of his focus locked on the silhouette of his boyfriend. With the dim light he could see that Fabian had changed his look, forgoing his tighter clothes that clung to his frame for something baggier, a bit longer, different.
Ryan’s breath caught, waiting for the stage lights to change from shadowed to spotlight, wondering in what way Fabian would surprise them all next.
As the lights changed, a low murmur followed, flowing over the crowd like a wave. Fabian wore a flannel shirt, red and black checkered, hung open over his bare chest and a pair of dark, loose, denim jeans. Swathed in too-large fabric, he looked as gorgeous as ever.
Fabian, never one to be sheepish, gestured to his clothes and did a little twirl, then he came to the microphone and held up a hand until the crowd silenced.
“Yes, things are a bit different tonight. Let’s blame a friend from Ottawa and Air Canada for this new look.”
The audience chuckled, Fabian twirled again, and then he began to sing.
After the show, the crowd parted for Ryan, a few people whispering behind their hands as they seemed to recognize him as Fabian’s unofficial bodyguard.
Ryan had heard rumors that there were social media pages dedicated to him and that exact role as bodyguard, but Ryan didn’t give any time or energy to the internet. If the reputation kept people from trying to harm Fabian, that’s all that mattered.
Once Ryan reached the side of the stage, Fabian fell into his arms. He locked his wrists behind Ryan’s neck and stepped on the tips of his heeled boots to brush their lips together.
The flannel was soft under Ryan’s hands as he slid them up and down Fabian’s back, well-worn and probably well-loved. How Fabian got his hands on it was a mystery.
“What are you wearing?” Ryan whispered into Fabian’s ear.
Fabian stepped back with a raised eyebrow and a smile that quirked up at the corner. “Oh you’re one to talk. Harris is wearing your clothes in New York.”
That was absolutely the last response he’d been expecting. “....What?”
“It’s a long, ridiculous tale. But hey, now I know I can rock any genre on my stunning, sensual body.”
Ryan shook the surprise from his head and tugged Fabian even closer. “I never doubted that for a second.”
~~~
Troy Barrett
Troy walked into the Kingfisher, buzzing with the residual energy that lingered after a close game. They’d won in the end, and that meant joining a small contingent of Admirals who nursed their bruises and losses at the bar Bennett and Hunter now owned.
As soon as they walked inside, Troy’s focus locked on Harris. He was sitting with his back towards Troy at the bar, talking with Kip and Kyle. Something Harris said must have made the two bartenders laugh, and Troy felt such an urge to wrap his arms around Harris’ back and pull them close, feel Harris’ responding laughter vibrate through him.
“Oh, there’s your tall, dark, and brooding,” Kyle greeted over Harris’ shoulder.
“I’m actually tall, dark, and celebrating,” Troy corrected, but his attention was immediately taken by Harris turning on the barstool, stopping Troy short with a bright smile.
“Now that his apple farmer is here, we’ll never hear the end of the story of how he ended up wearing Ryan Price’s clothes,” Kyle lamented to Kip.
Troy would normally let their bantering fall away in favor of kissing Harris, but he was aware enough to pull back and pin Harris in place with his hands on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, what?” He took in the too-large black shirt. A heated jolt of possession surged through Troy unlike anything he had ever felt before. He didn’t even pause to consider how Harris always managed to introduce him to new emotional levels, as he ran his hand down Harris’ arms.
“Why are you wearing Ryan Price’s clothes?”
A twinkle of mischief and delight glowed in Harris’ eyes under the low lights of the Kingfisher. He lifted to his toes and brushed their lips into a soft kiss. “Oh,” Harris began. “It’s a long story.”