“May I please have your attention to the stage!” A voice boomed over the club and the camera was trying to steady on the stage in front as the chatter quieted down. The lights were low but the stage was bright, shadows of people gathered around to watch. There were big red curtains fluttering and glitter almost looked like it had been poured on the scene, catching your eye all at once. Someone behind the camera was whispering a light conversation to another voice, too soft to actually be heard.
The voice spoke over the speakers once more, “in honors of Veterans Day, the queens have put together a runway to honor the branches of our military. All proceeds are going to charity, so feel free to throw your cash. Let the show begin!” Every one started clapping, the noise echoing all throughout the club and a few people whistled their appreciation. It died down once music started playing, a beat fit for a club with bass that sounded deep enough to be a war drum - maybe that was the goal of the song to begin with.
Then a line of drag queens are coming around the corner, all done up in their outfits and holding signs that are for the military branch they represent. Army is first, a tan woman with caramel hair and dark green camouflage with black streaks on her face. The marines is a dark-skinned woman in layers of dark blue with gold accents and a white hat. “Viveca Lamour representing our sexy sailors of the navy!” The camera zooms in as soon as she turns the corner, showing a beautiful woman with her hair in perfect pin curls. She looks like a proper pin up model straight from a calendar in ‘63. She’s in a beautiful white dress that fits every curve, blue ruffles at the bottom and accenting the top. The outfit is complete with a white sailor hat perfectly placed in her curls and blue heels.
The person behind the camera is whistling loudly, almost drowning out the background music with their excitement. Viveca’s eyes scan the crowd before they land right on the camera and once she reaches the end of the runway, she pauses to blow a kiss with her painted lips. A female chuckles and leans halfway in front of the camera, saying something rapidly to the person behind the camera. When the girl moves away, Viveca comes back into view as she makes her way back to the curtain with a walk that would make any supermodel jealous. Right before she turns the corner, she makes a scene of it by twisting around and winking before she disappears behind the curtain. The person behind the camera is going nuts now, clapping loudly to add more noise with their whistles.
The rest of the queens fly by fast, the air force dressed in dark colors with a pin skirt and a hat with a crest on it. National guard comes out wearing a very fancy suit, tailored jacket and pants with heels. The last is in a bikini that looks like a butchered American flag, shining with glitter and spray with silver high heels. Once they’ve all walked by themselves, they all come on as a group, holding hands. It’s now rather obvious that Viveca isn’t one of the tallest, looking shorter than the rest of the queens she’s standing next to. Her smile is lighting up her face, reaching her eyes, as they all bow in a line while the crowd claps loudly.
It takes a few more bows before the crowd actually settles down enough that the queens can retreat backstage, disappearing behind the red curtain once more. As soon as they’re gone, the voice is telling every one about ways to donate and what causes it’s going to. People are standing up and moving to the stage, putting dollar bills into a little decorated jar there. The woman on the side of the screen stands and reaches into her own small purse, taking out a small amount and making her way to the stage as well. She disappears into the crowd of people and a few seconds later, another familiar face emerges. Viveca’s sifting through people, heading straight for the camera with a smile.
“You were so good!” The person behind the camera says, a man with a smooth voice, and it makes Viveca smile even wider. When she gets closer, she reaches out and the man understands and puts his hand out to grab hers. She chuckles when he pulls her forward, completely off camera now because they probably forgot it was rolling. It’s as quiet as a club can get but it’s obvious that the man behind the camera is whispering lightly. It’s also obvious that the night is still young because people are still chattering in the background, waiting.
A minute passes before the woman reappears, making her way to the camera with a light frown. Once she’s almost taking up the whole screen, standing right in front of the camera, she speaks, “is your brother always like this?” Her question is met with laughter and it only makes her frown more, eyeing the people behind the camera.
“You should have seen him at our wedding,” a voice answers, still chuckling. It makes the woman shake her head, clearly not wanting to know the details.
“Speaking of weddings,” she says as she moves, “let me get you guys on the video.” The shot goes almost completely black as she leans forward, right in front of the lens, but then she’s picking it up. It takes a second but she turns it around until it’s focused on Viveca standing beside a taller man. He’s dressed in jeans and a dark t-shirt, his arm wrapped around her waist and she can just barely reach the crook of his neck with her heels on. “Thomas, why didn’t you dress up?” The woman behind the camera scolds.
The man looks like he’s about to roll his eyes with a small smile. He squeezes Viveca to his side, moving to look down at her as he answers, “I didn’t want to outshine our star tonight.”
Viveca blushes a little, pushing further into the man so they both tilt a little. “That is such a lie. You just didn’t want to spend the time to get dressed.” It definitely was a lie because everyone knew that he owned a matching, much more masculine, outfit to almost anything that Viveca owned. The tall man opens his mouth like he’s about to say something but he closes it again when his eyes dart to something off-screen. He frowns a little before he uses his free arm to point in the same direction, drawing the attention of Viveca and the camera. There’s a man amidst a whole group of drag queens although he almost blends in with them, covered in glitter with a magenta boa around his neck and sunglasses to match.
“What is he doing?!” The woman behind the camera asks, the frame shaking a little as they watch the man in the middle of the circle. He’s smiling widely and keeps playing with the end of the boa, head turning to look at everyone as he speaks. It’s quiet as the couple hold in their laughter, Viveca biting her lower lip to do so, before she shifts away from Thomas. The man looks down at her, his arm slipping out from around her waist as she pulls away with a small smile.
“I’ll be right back,” she speaks up to him with her hand braced on his chest, “just going to go check on him.” Thomas nods and she leans up on the tips of her toes, still manging balance in the heels, and he leans down for a kiss. It lasts a few seconds and it ends when she mumbles into his lips, “love you.” The words make the man smile even more, watching as she pulls back before she makes her way across the room.
The woman moves forward, following behind Viveca just enough that she can get it on video. Her legs cross in front of her with every step and the bottom of the dress swishes as she walks, looking like some type of ad. The man doesn’t even notice her approaching, too busy chatting with his head turned away. Viveca slides into a gap in the circle of women, her arm sliding around the man’s waist and leaning her head on his shoulder. By now, the camera’s a few feet away and that’s just enough to pick up what’s being said. “Baby,” Viveca whines for attention, “I thought you said you were coming right back.”
The man frowns, eyes moving down to Viveca as he tries to move away but she stays latched onto his side. The group of queens instantly look annoyed, all huffing to one-another before they turn on their heels to leave. A few manage to cuff the man on his side as they walk by, all very unhappy as they don’t say anything else. The man squirms and starts to try and get them back, “no! No, she’s not my girlfriend!”
“Like I haven’t heard that one before,” one of them say before they’re all gone, leaving the man and Viveca alone together. The woman behind the camera snickers.
The man pulls away from Viveca, turning towards her and slapping one of her arms, “what did you do that for?!”
“Ow, Paul,” she whines back, right hand going up to rub at the spot that he hit on her left arm, “that really hurt.”
“You fucking deserve it! I was getting somewhere.”
“Oh, you were getting somewhere,” Viveca mumbles and it’s just enough to make Paul raise his hand once more, pausing dramatically to show that he will hit very hard.
“Break it up!” The woman behind the camera is scolding again, “seriously you two. How does Thomas deal with you both under the same roof, you’re like two year olds that never learned how to grow out of it. I can’t believe-” the camera goes black right in the middle of her rant, probably sparing all of us watching.
The voice spoke over the speakers once more, “in honors of Veterans Day, the queens have put together a runway to honor the branches of our military. All proceeds are going to charity, so feel free to throw your cash. Let the show begin!” Every one started clapping, the noise echoing all throughout the club and a few people whistled their appreciation. It died down once music started playing, a beat fit for a club with bass that sounded deep enough to be a war drum - maybe that was the goal of the song to begin with.
Then a line of drag queens are coming around the corner, all done up in their outfits and holding signs that are for the military branch they represent. Army is first, a tan woman with caramel hair and dark green camouflage with black streaks on her face. The marines is a dark-skinned woman in layers of dark blue with gold accents and a white hat. “Viveca Lamour representing our sexy sailors of the navy!” The camera zooms in as soon as she turns the corner, showing a beautiful woman with her hair in perfect pin curls. She looks like a proper pin up model straight from a calendar in ‘63. She’s in a beautiful white dress that fits every curve, blue ruffles at the bottom and accenting the top. The outfit is complete with a white sailor hat perfectly placed in her curls and blue heels.
The person behind the camera is whistling loudly, almost drowning out the background music with their excitement. Viveca’s eyes scan the crowd before they land right on the camera and once she reaches the end of the runway, she pauses to blow a kiss with her painted lips. A female chuckles and leans halfway in front of the camera, saying something rapidly to the person behind the camera. When the girl moves away, Viveca comes back into view as she makes her way back to the curtain with a walk that would make any supermodel jealous. Right before she turns the corner, she makes a scene of it by twisting around and winking before she disappears behind the curtain. The person behind the camera is going nuts now, clapping loudly to add more noise with their whistles.
The rest of the queens fly by fast, the air force dressed in dark colors with a pin skirt and a hat with a crest on it. National guard comes out wearing a very fancy suit, tailored jacket and pants with heels. The last is in a bikini that looks like a butchered American flag, shining with glitter and spray with silver high heels. Once they’ve all walked by themselves, they all come on as a group, holding hands. It’s now rather obvious that Viveca isn’t one of the tallest, looking shorter than the rest of the queens she’s standing next to. Her smile is lighting up her face, reaching her eyes, as they all bow in a line while the crowd claps loudly.
It takes a few more bows before the crowd actually settles down enough that the queens can retreat backstage, disappearing behind the red curtain once more. As soon as they’re gone, the voice is telling every one about ways to donate and what causes it’s going to. People are standing up and moving to the stage, putting dollar bills into a little decorated jar there. The woman on the side of the screen stands and reaches into her own small purse, taking out a small amount and making her way to the stage as well. She disappears into the crowd of people and a few seconds later, another familiar face emerges. Viveca’s sifting through people, heading straight for the camera with a smile.
“You were so good!” The person behind the camera says, a man with a smooth voice, and it makes Viveca smile even wider. When she gets closer, she reaches out and the man understands and puts his hand out to grab hers. She chuckles when he pulls her forward, completely off camera now because they probably forgot it was rolling. It’s as quiet as a club can get but it’s obvious that the man behind the camera is whispering lightly. It’s also obvious that the night is still young because people are still chattering in the background, waiting.
A minute passes before the woman reappears, making her way to the camera with a light frown. Once she’s almost taking up the whole screen, standing right in front of the camera, she speaks, “is your brother always like this?” Her question is met with laughter and it only makes her frown more, eyeing the people behind the camera.
“You should have seen him at our wedding,” a voice answers, still chuckling. It makes the woman shake her head, clearly not wanting to know the details.
“Speaking of weddings,” she says as she moves, “let me get you guys on the video.” The shot goes almost completely black as she leans forward, right in front of the lens, but then she’s picking it up. It takes a second but she turns it around until it’s focused on Viveca standing beside a taller man. He’s dressed in jeans and a dark t-shirt, his arm wrapped around her waist and she can just barely reach the crook of his neck with her heels on. “Thomas, why didn’t you dress up?” The woman behind the camera scolds.
The man looks like he’s about to roll his eyes with a small smile. He squeezes Viveca to his side, moving to look down at her as he answers, “I didn’t want to outshine our star tonight.”
Viveca blushes a little, pushing further into the man so they both tilt a little. “That is such a lie. You just didn’t want to spend the time to get dressed.” It definitely was a lie because everyone knew that he owned a matching, much more masculine, outfit to almost anything that Viveca owned. The tall man opens his mouth like he’s about to say something but he closes it again when his eyes dart to something off-screen. He frowns a little before he uses his free arm to point in the same direction, drawing the attention of Viveca and the camera. There’s a man amidst a whole group of drag queens although he almost blends in with them, covered in glitter with a magenta boa around his neck and sunglasses to match.
“What is he doing?!” The woman behind the camera asks, the frame shaking a little as they watch the man in the middle of the circle. He’s smiling widely and keeps playing with the end of the boa, head turning to look at everyone as he speaks. It’s quiet as the couple hold in their laughter, Viveca biting her lower lip to do so, before she shifts away from Thomas. The man looks down at her, his arm slipping out from around her waist as she pulls away with a small smile.
“I’ll be right back,” she speaks up to him with her hand braced on his chest, “just going to go check on him.” Thomas nods and she leans up on the tips of her toes, still manging balance in the heels, and he leans down for a kiss. It lasts a few seconds and it ends when she mumbles into his lips, “love you.” The words make the man smile even more, watching as she pulls back before she makes her way across the room.
The woman moves forward, following behind Viveca just enough that she can get it on video. Her legs cross in front of her with every step and the bottom of the dress swishes as she walks, looking like some type of ad. The man doesn’t even notice her approaching, too busy chatting with his head turned away. Viveca slides into a gap in the circle of women, her arm sliding around the man’s waist and leaning her head on his shoulder. By now, the camera’s a few feet away and that’s just enough to pick up what’s being said. “Baby,” Viveca whines for attention, “I thought you said you were coming right back.”
The man frowns, eyes moving down to Viveca as he tries to move away but she stays latched onto his side. The group of queens instantly look annoyed, all huffing to one-another before they turn on their heels to leave. A few manage to cuff the man on his side as they walk by, all very unhappy as they don’t say anything else. The man squirms and starts to try and get them back, “no! No, she’s not my girlfriend!”
“Like I haven’t heard that one before,” one of them say before they’re all gone, leaving the man and Viveca alone together. The woman behind the camera snickers.
The man pulls away from Viveca, turning towards her and slapping one of her arms, “what did you do that for?!”
“Ow, Paul,” she whines back, right hand going up to rub at the spot that he hit on her left arm, “that really hurt.”
“You fucking deserve it! I was getting somewhere.”
“Oh, you were getting somewhere,” Viveca mumbles and it’s just enough to make Paul raise his hand once more, pausing dramatically to show that he will hit very hard.
“Break it up!” The woman behind the camera is scolding again, “seriously you two. How does Thomas deal with you both under the same roof, you’re like two year olds that never learned how to grow out of it. I can’t believe-” the camera goes black right in the middle of her rant, probably sparing all of us watching.
“Vincent, if you don’t get that camera off of me…” the threat really doesn’t need an ending because the glare that’s being sent to the camera is enough to fill in the blanks. The man doing the threatening is standing in a bathroom, looking at the camera in the mirror across from him with stormy blue eyes. It seems that he’s getting ready because there is make up scattered all over the sink, some open and some not. The man behind the camera - Vincent - is barely in the shot in the mirror, covered by the camera he has in front of his face but his grin is obvious.
“Sebastian, let me record you for once.” His voice is almost teasing in his demand but he’s quickly shot down by another glare in the mirror. He sighs over-dramatically, “fine, fine.” The camera stays on for a second longer, just enough to catch Sebastian turning all the way around to personally glare at Vincent, before it goes black on the scene.
The annoyed man isn’t there now, only the one who was trying to record him. He has silver scattered throughout his brown hair and a pair of sunglasses are perched on top of his head. When he speaks, his voice is scratchy. “I am Vincent and this video is for my boyfriend, Sebastian. He has been doing drag since before I met him and it’s just something I am used to now. His stage name is Dama Viuda. He also does not know that I am making this because he is very self-conscious and he hates cameras but I think that being in your competition would help him with that. I also believe that he can win.” Vincent smiles and looks like he’s about to continue but then his eyes move up to something off of the camera. After a second, he shuffles and he’s reaching for the camera and then black.
When it comes back on screen, it’s obvious that Vincent’s behind the camera once more because he’s mumbling to himself. The view is a street and it’s dusk as he walks and a few feet in front of him is Dama Viuda, all black and tall boots, looking a lot more feminine than the previous clip. Her black dress is ruffled near the bottom, splayed out over her knees. Below that are chunky boots that have a ribbon laced all down the back, a bow tying at the top. Her make up is beautiful, red lips and smokey eyes that compliment the perfectly messy, dark wig. Clear blue eyes and the pale skin almost make her look like some sort of vampire as she stands at the curb waiting for Vincent to get there as well. It’s rather obvious why Vincent said that she has a possibility of winning the show.
“Vincent, stop!” She must have noticed the camera because now she’s covering her face with both hands, showing off long, painted nails. Vincent chuckles and his own hand comes up, trying to pull hers away from her face with no luck. “Stop!” Vincent continues to tug on her hands, only succeeding in occasionally jostling them enough to see a small glimpse of her face. She’s determined not to be seen, though, growling insults from behind her hands that only have Vincent laughing.
“Baby,” Vincent whines as he gives up trying to do it himself, “please let me see you.” It seems that Vincent’s whining or begging don’t do any good because Dama still doesn’t let up, hands still blocking her face. Vincent admits defeat just like he had before, “fine, fine.” Then the camera is moving down the length of Dama, catching the clothes from an even closer view and when you get close, you can see red hints throughout the black clothes, a nice splash of color. The last view before it goes black is the cement of the sidewalk, dark from shadows.
The next clip is obvious that time has passed because now they’re outside of a club, standing on a sidewalk with cigarettes in their hands. Both Vincent and Dama are in the clip, huddled together in the cold, and someone new must be behind the camera because they shift to stand closer to the couple. They’re both leaned up against the brick wall of the club and Dama’s now just a little taller, the boots adding height that wasn’t there before. Vincent is searching his pocket for something with one hand, cursing under his breath when he’s having trouble finding it. He continues to grow frustrated and the things leaving his mouth become more obscene, making Dama laugh as she listens.
“Front pocket, Vinco. Left.” Whoever is behind the camera is chuckling as he gives Vincent instructions and it just makes Dama laugh even more. Vincent finally manages to pull a lighter from his pocket and Dama turns to look at the camera, to the man behind it. Just like the times before, it’s expected that she’s going to start throwing a fit about being record but it doesn’t happen. Instead, she smiles and there’s a flash of teeth behind the painted red lips, eyes crinkled from happiness. They’ve been drinking a little more than their fill and that’s probably brought on the change in attitude about cameras, too.
“We gotta get you home,” the person behind the camera speaks and Dama nods like a child being told to eat their chicken nuggets, pushing away from the wall. She drops the cigarette and stubs it out with the toe of her right boot just as Vincent’s lighting himself a new one, not moving. It’s dark and roughly midnight now and they’re more than a little tipsy from the drinks that started as soon as they’d gotten there. Vincent shakes his head, only shifting enough to tighten his jacket around himself to avoid the cold breeze.
“I’m hungry,” he whines.
Dama speaks, hand moving to grab Vincent’s free one, “I’ll make you eggs when we get home, okay? It’s cold out here.” Apparently that’s all it takes to convince the man because he holds onto Dama’s hand and allows himself to be pulled away from the wall. The camera follows behind them for a few seconds, walking home with the lights of the shops and streetlamps, before it goes completely black once more.
No one’s behind the camera for the last scene, the camera must be sitting on a counter because a huge portion of the kitchen is in view. Somewhere along the lines, Dama making eggs had turned into the man behind the camera making eggs instead. A short redhead is moving about the kitchen, hovering over the stove and a pan, while Vincent sits in a chair at the kitchen table with Dama in his lap. Her boots are gone, revealing the stockings underneath, and her wig seems to have gone missing, too. Even with short hair, she still looks quite beautiful and the make up that was applied so carefully is just barely smeared from the night’s activities. Vincent leans his head into Dama’s shoulder blades, hands around her waist as they wait for their food.
“Guys,” the redhead speaks with his back towards them as he uses a spatula to push at the eggs in the pan, “no sex at the table, okay? I’m making your late night food, please do not scar me for life when I turn around.” Vincent smirks into Dama’s back, lips pressed against the fabric, and she just rolls her eyes even though the man’s not looking. It takes a few more minutes of quiet before he finally presents a plate in front of them, a heap of eggs on it as he turns the stovetop off. Vincent seems to not mind Dama in his lap, he just maneuvers until he can reach around her and leans to the side to eat. After a bite, he offers the fork up to her and she leans down to take a bite as well.
The man hovers, watching the couple for a second, before he speaks, “I’m gonna take off now. I’ll see you Friday?” He’s already heading off, out of the frame before anyone answers. Dama nods at him with a smile while Vincent takes another bite.
“Sebastian, let me record you for once.” His voice is almost teasing in his demand but he’s quickly shot down by another glare in the mirror. He sighs over-dramatically, “fine, fine.” The camera stays on for a second longer, just enough to catch Sebastian turning all the way around to personally glare at Vincent, before it goes black on the scene.
The annoyed man isn’t there now, only the one who was trying to record him. He has silver scattered throughout his brown hair and a pair of sunglasses are perched on top of his head. When he speaks, his voice is scratchy. “I am Vincent and this video is for my boyfriend, Sebastian. He has been doing drag since before I met him and it’s just something I am used to now. His stage name is Dama Viuda. He also does not know that I am making this because he is very self-conscious and he hates cameras but I think that being in your competition would help him with that. I also believe that he can win.” Vincent smiles and looks like he’s about to continue but then his eyes move up to something off of the camera. After a second, he shuffles and he’s reaching for the camera and then black.
When it comes back on screen, it’s obvious that Vincent’s behind the camera once more because he’s mumbling to himself. The view is a street and it’s dusk as he walks and a few feet in front of him is Dama Viuda, all black and tall boots, looking a lot more feminine than the previous clip. Her black dress is ruffled near the bottom, splayed out over her knees. Below that are chunky boots that have a ribbon laced all down the back, a bow tying at the top. Her make up is beautiful, red lips and smokey eyes that compliment the perfectly messy, dark wig. Clear blue eyes and the pale skin almost make her look like some sort of vampire as she stands at the curb waiting for Vincent to get there as well. It’s rather obvious why Vincent said that she has a possibility of winning the show.
“Vincent, stop!” She must have noticed the camera because now she’s covering her face with both hands, showing off long, painted nails. Vincent chuckles and his own hand comes up, trying to pull hers away from her face with no luck. “Stop!” Vincent continues to tug on her hands, only succeeding in occasionally jostling them enough to see a small glimpse of her face. She’s determined not to be seen, though, growling insults from behind her hands that only have Vincent laughing.
“Baby,” Vincent whines as he gives up trying to do it himself, “please let me see you.” It seems that Vincent’s whining or begging don’t do any good because Dama still doesn’t let up, hands still blocking her face. Vincent admits defeat just like he had before, “fine, fine.” Then the camera is moving down the length of Dama, catching the clothes from an even closer view and when you get close, you can see red hints throughout the black clothes, a nice splash of color. The last view before it goes black is the cement of the sidewalk, dark from shadows.
The next clip is obvious that time has passed because now they’re outside of a club, standing on a sidewalk with cigarettes in their hands. Both Vincent and Dama are in the clip, huddled together in the cold, and someone new must be behind the camera because they shift to stand closer to the couple. They’re both leaned up against the brick wall of the club and Dama’s now just a little taller, the boots adding height that wasn’t there before. Vincent is searching his pocket for something with one hand, cursing under his breath when he’s having trouble finding it. He continues to grow frustrated and the things leaving his mouth become more obscene, making Dama laugh as she listens.
“Front pocket, Vinco. Left.” Whoever is behind the camera is chuckling as he gives Vincent instructions and it just makes Dama laugh even more. Vincent finally manages to pull a lighter from his pocket and Dama turns to look at the camera, to the man behind it. Just like the times before, it’s expected that she’s going to start throwing a fit about being record but it doesn’t happen. Instead, she smiles and there’s a flash of teeth behind the painted red lips, eyes crinkled from happiness. They’ve been drinking a little more than their fill and that’s probably brought on the change in attitude about cameras, too.
“We gotta get you home,” the person behind the camera speaks and Dama nods like a child being told to eat their chicken nuggets, pushing away from the wall. She drops the cigarette and stubs it out with the toe of her right boot just as Vincent’s lighting himself a new one, not moving. It’s dark and roughly midnight now and they’re more than a little tipsy from the drinks that started as soon as they’d gotten there. Vincent shakes his head, only shifting enough to tighten his jacket around himself to avoid the cold breeze.
“I’m hungry,” he whines.
Dama speaks, hand moving to grab Vincent’s free one, “I’ll make you eggs when we get home, okay? It’s cold out here.” Apparently that’s all it takes to convince the man because he holds onto Dama’s hand and allows himself to be pulled away from the wall. The camera follows behind them for a few seconds, walking home with the lights of the shops and streetlamps, before it goes completely black once more.
No one’s behind the camera for the last scene, the camera must be sitting on a counter because a huge portion of the kitchen is in view. Somewhere along the lines, Dama making eggs had turned into the man behind the camera making eggs instead. A short redhead is moving about the kitchen, hovering over the stove and a pan, while Vincent sits in a chair at the kitchen table with Dama in his lap. Her boots are gone, revealing the stockings underneath, and her wig seems to have gone missing, too. Even with short hair, she still looks quite beautiful and the make up that was applied so carefully is just barely smeared from the night’s activities. Vincent leans his head into Dama’s shoulder blades, hands around her waist as they wait for their food.
“Guys,” the redhead speaks with his back towards them as he uses a spatula to push at the eggs in the pan, “no sex at the table, okay? I’m making your late night food, please do not scar me for life when I turn around.” Vincent smirks into Dama’s back, lips pressed against the fabric, and she just rolls her eyes even though the man’s not looking. It takes a few more minutes of quiet before he finally presents a plate in front of them, a heap of eggs on it as he turns the stovetop off. Vincent seems to not mind Dama in his lap, he just maneuvers until he can reach around her and leans to the side to eat. After a bite, he offers the fork up to her and she leans down to take a bite as well.
The man hovers, watching the couple for a second, before he speaks, “I’m gonna take off now. I’ll see you Friday?” He’s already heading off, out of the frame before anyone answers. Dama nods at him with a smile while Vincent takes another bite.
“Yeah, thanks for the food,” Vincent manages through a mouthful of eggs.
“Bye Nathan,” Dama adds and there’s the sound of a door clicking shut and she turns back to Vincent. He offers her another bite and she accepts it easily before she turns to set her feet flat on the floor. “I’m going to take a shower.” Vincent hums his understanding and she stands, turning on her heel to kiss his cheek before she’s gone, too. Vincent wipes at his cheek with his shoulder, paranoid that make up has rubbed off on him, before he sets his fork down next to his plate. He smiles directly at the camera and then stands from his chair, making his way over to it. The last view is of his t-shirt, his hands reaching for the camera and then black.
The first thing that comes into view is a couch, dark brown leather that’s torn in spots and worn from being used. Then the camera’s moving up and over a living room too fast for anything to properly be seen before it lands on a tall man with curly hair. He’s leaning against a doorway and there’s another man half-hidden in front of him, wavy dark hair peeking over his shoulder. He notices the camera and quickly ducks out of view, face buried in the chest of the taller man. “Don’t record me! I don’t have my face on yet.”
The reaction makes whoever is behind the camera chuckle, taking a few steps forward to try and get a better view of the man who’s hiding. The curly haired one turns, looking straight over the lens of the camera and to whoever is behind it. “Henri, leave him alone.” As he speaks, he slips an arm around the man pressed against him with a small smile. Then the screen goes black.
It doesn’t stay dark for too long because a few seconds later, another clip comes on screen. It’s the curly-haired man sitting at the kitchen table (you can tell because of the stove behind him) and he’s frowning. He looks up at the camera before he turns to the side and then he’s yelling, “Xavier!” It’s quiet for a second and then there’s a voice yelling back but it’s too far away to hear what’s actually being said. “You have five minutes or I’m leaving without you!” Then he sighs, glancing at the camera once and the guy behind it chuckles again.
“Gaspard, what’s it like dating a drag queen?” His voice sounds amused and Gaspard rolls his eyes. Before Gaspard can even open his mouth to answer, the voice is yelling through the apartment for him again. Annoyed, Gaspard moves to stand and the camera follows behind him as he makes his way through the living room and down a small hallway to a closed door. The voice is coming from behind the door and Gaspard knocks to show that he’s there.
“No camera!” Gaspard turns to look at the camera before he opens the door and slips inside, shutting the door behind him. The camera’s focused on the door now, showing how the paint’s chipping and how harsh the florescent lights are. Then there’s a quiet voice, “it looks terrible.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“Gaspard! Yes it does. I look terrible. I’m not going out.”
“Baby…” it’s quiet again. “Baby, listen to me. You look beautiful. Now come on, we’re gonna go show you off, okay?” It falls quiet again except for small noises, like shuffling around and things are being moved, before the door cracks open. The camera moves up a little bit until Gaspard comes into view, eyes on the floor as he hurries past. His hand’s stretched out and he’s holding a gloved one (fingerless black gloves with spikes, that is), that’s the first thing to come into view. Gaspard tugs a little bit and then the door opens even more and there stands…wow.
Henri whistles from behind the camera and it makes Gaspard send him a glare while the drag queen smirks a little. It seems that within a few seconds, her attitude has completely changed because she struts out of the bathroom now, her hips swaying. She’s in leather pants so tight that they almost look spray-painted on, and her top is so tight that it almost looks the same. Henri’s surprised that he can’t see a bulge in her pants but he definitely sees them on her chest instead. Her heels are black and high enough that they make her as tall as Gaspard, the heel on them a silver cross that must be ridiculously hard to walk in. The most shocking thing to Henri is that her hair is the same way it was before, just maybe a little fluffier with the curls laying on her cheeks. Henri really doesn’t know how Gaspard lets his boyfriend out of the house like this.
“Go on,” Henri encourages as he steps back so that the camera can capture the length of Xavier, “introduce yourself.” Xavier tugs on Gaspard’s hand so that he stops as well, pausing an arms length away with an irritated sigh. She focuses on the camera, almost smirking as she cocks her hips to the side and sets her free hand on her own hip.
“I’m Minx.” She almost purrs, the sex appeal rolling off of the words easily. Her eyes are hooded and dark, her lips quirked in a way that almost align with her hips. It’s enough to make Henri take another small step back and Gaspard’s in the shot, frowning.
Henri can’t help but ask, “how did you get into those pants?”
Minx grins, teeth flashing, “wouldn’t you like to know.” That’s the final straw because then Gaspard’s pulling her arm and she’s being led away, to finally go out like they were supposed to half an hour ago. Henri follows behind them, getting a nice shot of exactly how tight Minx’s pants really are, before it fades to black once more.
“Gaspard, no!” The voice is heard before anything comes into view and it’s easy to tell why: Henri moves his hand away from the lens and then Minx appears, arms folded and pouting. Gaspard is rolling his eyes, standing next to a Harley that looks almost half the size of him, all silver and black and intimidating. Minx’s hips are cocked to the side again, pushing against the leather in a way that almost looks like a snake trying to break out of its own shedding skin. “I am not going on the motorcycle.”
Gaspard looks even more irritated but still calm - it’s the weirdest combination but it seems to work for the taller man. “Xav-”
“Look at my hair!” Minx stresses, hands moving up to frame her face to make her point clear. There’s a little wind blowing it around already and the sun’s starting to set in the background, the orange light reflecting off of the cross. “Do you know how long it took to get it to stay like this? I am not going on the motorcycle, Gaspard. We are driving.” Henri snickers behind the camera, amused with the argument, and Gaspard quickly shuts him up with a harsh glare. It seems like he’s not in the mood for fighting because he gives in, heading towards a little blue car instead. The scene goes black when Henri makes it to the car, hand on the door-handle the last shot.
The new scene is loud and dark, music and people’s voices as they talk and some are yelling over others to be heard. Henri is walking through a sea of bodies, following Minx who’s being tugged by Gaspard to the back of the bar that they’re at. When they finally make it, they’re beckoned to a table that looks near-capacity as it is, various people in the same leather jacket as Gaspard’s got on. Minx smiles and moves to Gaspard’s side to give a one-armed hug to a woman sitting near the edge of the table. The woman grins up at him and says something but her voice drowns over the rest of the noise of the bar, Minx leaning down to hear her. When Minx laughs at whatever was said, the woman moves over as best as she can, offering the end seat to her.
Minx looks over to Gaspard, who’s also leaning down to listen to the conversation, and she tugs on his to get his attention. Gaspard turns his head to the side and Minx is pulling him over easily, tugging until he’s standing in front of the open seat instead. Minx lets go of his hand to push him towards the seat and Gaspard obeys, sitting down next to the woman with their thighs pressing together from the lack of space. Minx follows after, sitting down in Gaspard’s lap sideways so that her right shoulder is pressing into Gaspard’s chest and her long legs are out in the walkway. No one at the table seems bothered by this scene as the conversation continues amongst them.
Minx smiles down at Gaspard, who has his head cocked back to look up at her, and then she’s leaning down so that their lips can meet. She balances herself with a hand on Gaspard’s shoulder, sitting at the base of his neck, and Gaspard has a hand around her waist as well. It doesn’t take long for the kiss to become more than innocent and Henri shifts closer, still trying to keep enough distance. “Oi, guys. I’m still recording.” It’s Gaspard who responds by lifting his right hand and flipping the general direction of the camera off. Minx laughs into his mouth and Henri sighs, his hand moving to cover the lens. Then it goes black.
The reaction makes whoever is behind the camera chuckle, taking a few steps forward to try and get a better view of the man who’s hiding. The curly haired one turns, looking straight over the lens of the camera and to whoever is behind it. “Henri, leave him alone.” As he speaks, he slips an arm around the man pressed against him with a small smile. Then the screen goes black.
It doesn’t stay dark for too long because a few seconds later, another clip comes on screen. It’s the curly-haired man sitting at the kitchen table (you can tell because of the stove behind him) and he’s frowning. He looks up at the camera before he turns to the side and then he’s yelling, “Xavier!” It’s quiet for a second and then there’s a voice yelling back but it’s too far away to hear what’s actually being said. “You have five minutes or I’m leaving without you!” Then he sighs, glancing at the camera once and the guy behind it chuckles again.
“Gaspard, what’s it like dating a drag queen?” His voice sounds amused and Gaspard rolls his eyes. Before Gaspard can even open his mouth to answer, the voice is yelling through the apartment for him again. Annoyed, Gaspard moves to stand and the camera follows behind him as he makes his way through the living room and down a small hallway to a closed door. The voice is coming from behind the door and Gaspard knocks to show that he’s there.
“No camera!” Gaspard turns to look at the camera before he opens the door and slips inside, shutting the door behind him. The camera’s focused on the door now, showing how the paint’s chipping and how harsh the florescent lights are. Then there’s a quiet voice, “it looks terrible.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“Gaspard! Yes it does. I look terrible. I’m not going out.”
“Baby…” it’s quiet again. “Baby, listen to me. You look beautiful. Now come on, we’re gonna go show you off, okay?” It falls quiet again except for small noises, like shuffling around and things are being moved, before the door cracks open. The camera moves up a little bit until Gaspard comes into view, eyes on the floor as he hurries past. His hand’s stretched out and he’s holding a gloved one (fingerless black gloves with spikes, that is), that’s the first thing to come into view. Gaspard tugs a little bit and then the door opens even more and there stands…wow.
Henri whistles from behind the camera and it makes Gaspard send him a glare while the drag queen smirks a little. It seems that within a few seconds, her attitude has completely changed because she struts out of the bathroom now, her hips swaying. She’s in leather pants so tight that they almost look spray-painted on, and her top is so tight that it almost looks the same. Henri’s surprised that he can’t see a bulge in her pants but he definitely sees them on her chest instead. Her heels are black and high enough that they make her as tall as Gaspard, the heel on them a silver cross that must be ridiculously hard to walk in. The most shocking thing to Henri is that her hair is the same way it was before, just maybe a little fluffier with the curls laying on her cheeks. Henri really doesn’t know how Gaspard lets his boyfriend out of the house like this.
“Go on,” Henri encourages as he steps back so that the camera can capture the length of Xavier, “introduce yourself.” Xavier tugs on Gaspard’s hand so that he stops as well, pausing an arms length away with an irritated sigh. She focuses on the camera, almost smirking as she cocks her hips to the side and sets her free hand on her own hip.
“I’m Minx.” She almost purrs, the sex appeal rolling off of the words easily. Her eyes are hooded and dark, her lips quirked in a way that almost align with her hips. It’s enough to make Henri take another small step back and Gaspard’s in the shot, frowning.
Henri can’t help but ask, “how did you get into those pants?”
Minx grins, teeth flashing, “wouldn’t you like to know.” That’s the final straw because then Gaspard’s pulling her arm and she’s being led away, to finally go out like they were supposed to half an hour ago. Henri follows behind them, getting a nice shot of exactly how tight Minx’s pants really are, before it fades to black once more.
“Gaspard, no!” The voice is heard before anything comes into view and it’s easy to tell why: Henri moves his hand away from the lens and then Minx appears, arms folded and pouting. Gaspard is rolling his eyes, standing next to a Harley that looks almost half the size of him, all silver and black and intimidating. Minx’s hips are cocked to the side again, pushing against the leather in a way that almost looks like a snake trying to break out of its own shedding skin. “I am not going on the motorcycle.”
Gaspard looks even more irritated but still calm - it’s the weirdest combination but it seems to work for the taller man. “Xav-”
“Look at my hair!” Minx stresses, hands moving up to frame her face to make her point clear. There’s a little wind blowing it around already and the sun’s starting to set in the background, the orange light reflecting off of the cross. “Do you know how long it took to get it to stay like this? I am not going on the motorcycle, Gaspard. We are driving.” Henri snickers behind the camera, amused with the argument, and Gaspard quickly shuts him up with a harsh glare. It seems like he’s not in the mood for fighting because he gives in, heading towards a little blue car instead. The scene goes black when Henri makes it to the car, hand on the door-handle the last shot.
The new scene is loud and dark, music and people’s voices as they talk and some are yelling over others to be heard. Henri is walking through a sea of bodies, following Minx who’s being tugged by Gaspard to the back of the bar that they’re at. When they finally make it, they’re beckoned to a table that looks near-capacity as it is, various people in the same leather jacket as Gaspard’s got on. Minx smiles and moves to Gaspard’s side to give a one-armed hug to a woman sitting near the edge of the table. The woman grins up at him and says something but her voice drowns over the rest of the noise of the bar, Minx leaning down to hear her. When Minx laughs at whatever was said, the woman moves over as best as she can, offering the end seat to her.
Minx looks over to Gaspard, who’s also leaning down to listen to the conversation, and she tugs on his to get his attention. Gaspard turns his head to the side and Minx is pulling him over easily, tugging until he’s standing in front of the open seat instead. Minx lets go of his hand to push him towards the seat and Gaspard obeys, sitting down next to the woman with their thighs pressing together from the lack of space. Minx follows after, sitting down in Gaspard’s lap sideways so that her right shoulder is pressing into Gaspard’s chest and her long legs are out in the walkway. No one at the table seems bothered by this scene as the conversation continues amongst them.
Minx smiles down at Gaspard, who has his head cocked back to look up at her, and then she’s leaning down so that their lips can meet. She balances herself with a hand on Gaspard’s shoulder, sitting at the base of his neck, and Gaspard has a hand around her waist as well. It doesn’t take long for the kiss to become more than innocent and Henri shifts closer, still trying to keep enough distance. “Oi, guys. I’m still recording.” It’s Gaspard who responds by lifting his right hand and flipping the general direction of the camera off. Minx laughs into his mouth and Henri sighs, his hand moving to cover the lens. Then it goes black.
