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"This one." He rummages through Matt's wardrobe some more, his clothes hangers are flung to the side. "And... this."
The... shorts are sinfully short. They're old and worn. And won't fit, and he tells him so.
"How about you try them on and if it really looks terrible I'll find you something else?"
Matt goes to change. The tee has a slutty neckline and, ugh, he just knew he'd pick that one. The sides are open, only held together by a smidgeon of fabric at the bottom. Matt remembers when Nate picked it out for him at the shops. He even made him do a little twirl. People were staring, because it's not every day you see a pudgy, hairy 30-something rock something that looks like it should belong to some K-pop kid.
Nate bought it and would hear no objections.
...
Matt wants to pull his nonexistent jacket tighter around himself. He feels exposed. Nate, ridden by some no-longer-dormant sadistic desire, made them walk all the way.
But Nate said no fidgeting or pulling on his shirt to hide anything, so he just crosses his arms in front of his chest to have some kind of physical barrier between him and people's staring.
And hell, they are staring. Matt wants to duck his head but he can't. He's not giving in that easily. His pride wouldn't allow it.
Instead, he holds his head up high, and keeps walking. He focuses on the clack clack clack of Nate's preppy heels, tries to match his pace.
His own shoes sound almost too quiet in comparison. He does his best to change that.
People are talking but he blends them out. He knows they're almost there and he'll be safe from judgmental whispers inside.
It's not that long a walk but it sure feels like it.
They make it to the venue.
Nate is basically ignoring him, walking a few steps ahead and leading the way through the crowd. He barely even turns to see if Matt's still there.
He feels lost in the sea of people, a bunch of guys in the usual leather, black suit wearers, subs of various varieties. He gets glances, stares, appreciative whistles, but he could do without all their curiosity if Nate would finally deign to spare him more than a glance. What's the point in dressing up like a slut vying for attention if he's not going to get any?
He waits at the bar in his appointed spot for Nate to finish whatever business he's doing. The minutes pass like molasses and Matt can't help but feel lonely, and dejected. He's starting to get cold in the getup.
He's toying with the idea of going home, when warm arms wrap around him from behind.
"I'm sorry that took so long. I'm all yours now."
Nate smells nice, as always, and Matt just kind of sinks into the embrace with a sigh.
Nate's face fits into the space between his neck and shoulder perfectly and he turns his head to kiss him on the cheek.
His hands move towards his hips and slip underneath the thin fabric. Matt grumbles unhappily and moves away, he's not in the mood for that right now.
Nate squeezes his waist with firm purpose. He mumbles into his ear: "Remember, you're mine today. To do with as I please."
He pauses.
"Unless you want out," he offers but doesn't let go.
Matt hates that the hot air on his ear makes him shiver. Nate knows exactly how to play him, like an instrument that's finely tuned to his whims.
Nate notices of course, and kisses his neck, pulls the braid out of the way.
"You're beautiful," he says, and Matt almost believes him.
....
They're sitting in the lounge and conversate with some of the other patrons.
Well, Nate is.
Matt's legs have fallen asleep a while ago, the cold floor doesn't help any.
He kneels at his heel like a good bitch and of course the other man's questions aren't actually addressed to *him*. His only use here is to be pretty and sit quietly.
It should be boring him to tears but he's currently busy floating somewhere vaguely outside of himself. Nate's thumb is rubbing soothing circles into his skin. It's almost meditative.
His name falls mid conversation and Matt catches vague snippets of what comes after.
He doesn't like what he's hearing at all. That is personal business, and the stranger is being rude about it.
He turns his head to look at the man who said the insult. "Hey -" he's about to call him out, when Nate's hand flies at him- and-
His cheek stings.
He's been slapped. Not very hard but he feels it nonetheless.
His face burns with embarrassment, his cheek burns from the impact. He breaks eye contact with the stranger immediately, his gaze returns to Nate's shiny shoes.
They're both staring at him, Nate is telling him to *be quiet* and Matt presses his thighs together to hide his shame. Which is pointless because Nate knows. Everyone knows *exactly* how much he is enjoying this. How much he gets off on being bossed around by someone who looks like a preppy college kid.
....