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Usually Ginger welcomed Miles giving him a thorough look-over, but in that moment he was painfully aware of the scrutiny in his gaze. He had been rather eager to debut his new suit at the party that night, but with the way Miles was looking at him, Ginger doubted it would make it that far. He already knew he was under-dressed compared to Miles, it seemed he always was, but that night in particular saw a more drastic difference.
Miles was draped in blue silk and sparkling silver lace that held tight to his body in all the right places, accentuating the softness of him. The sapphire of his wedding ring matched the rest of the outfit perfectly, and stars glistened as they hung from his ears. Breeches showed off his perfectly slender calves beneath sheer stockings, a tease for anyone who might have looked. It was something taken straight from the French aristocracy, and turned positively obscene.
And Ginger, bless him, was in a simple suit. He had thought himself quite daring for his selection of a deep green fabric instead of the usual black when he had ordered it, but was feeling quite foolish about that thought now. It was all rather...plain.
“Oh no, darling, that won’t do,” Miles announced as he made up his mind on Ginger’s outfit. “You simply must change.”
“What’s wrong with my suit?” Ginger asked, suddenly offended for his clothes’ sake. The suit was quite expensive, after all. He thought the cut was dashing, and his tailor—a man who ought to know that sort of thing—had agreed with him.
“Nothing, if one was going to a parliamentary meeting ,” Miles explained, waving his hand dismissively, as if he had ever been disgusted at the idea of a room full of well-dressed men. “This is a fancy dress party, Ginger! I don’t want my lovely new Parisian friends to think my husband is a dreadful bore.” I want my new friends to like you remained unspoken, as Miles would have never been so openly vulnerable, but Ginger could tell that was what he meant.
Typically, Ginger wouldn’t have gone in for the whole “fancy dress” angle. He had easily gotten on in the past by staying to the sidelines. Unobstructive, out of the way for those who did partake in the merriment of costumes. He had been planning to do the same as always, but he should have known he wouldn’t be let off so easily. Not when Miles was involved.
He supposed there was no harm in humoring him for the night, but there was still one glaring problem.
“It’s not as if I’ve got any costumes lying around, and besides, it’s too late now to go and get one.” As far as he was concerned, it was either the suit he had on now, or he would be staying home—and he knew Miles wanted him to join him so terribly, so that wasn’t really an option.
“Don’t fret, my dear. Mother has plenty you can play dress-up with!” Miles assured Ginger without a second thought as he headed towards their bedroom, patting him on the head affectionately as he went. Ginger followed behind him obediently, curious to see just what Miles would find for him.
Though there were a good few inches between the two of them, they were otherwise similar sizes. It was only natural that Ginger would borrow his clothes in a pinch—and this was certainly a pinch. They were due at the chateau in an hour.
Ginger watched as Miles rummaged through his wardrobe for the perfect costume. How he found anything in there, Ginger had no clue. It was practically bursting with how much had been stored in it. Miles had assured him once that it was nowhere near what his closet had been like back in England. If that was the case, he was almost glad he had never been in Miles’ room before Paris. Although he certainly wasn’t helping, allowing Miles to buy any piece of flashy clothing or jewelry that caught his eye.
But how could he say no to Miles?
“This! It’ll be perfect, darling, you must trust me.”
In an instant, a stack of clothes was being pushed into his arms. Ginger examined the clothes, but before he had the chance to even question it, Miles was out the door, shouting behind him that he had to finish getting ready himself.
Everything was either gold or orange, something that Ginger never would have picked for himself. Then again, that was rather the point of a fancy dress party, wasn’t it? He set the stack of clothes onto their bed and removed his suit with more than a bit of remorse. Another time, old boy, he told himself as he hung it back up in his own considerably emptier wardrobe across from Miles’.
Miles had finished powdering his nose, quite literally as well as figuratively, by the time Ginger was changed. His eyeshadow was a mix of the silver and blue that made up the rest of his outfit, his lips a deep red that was perhaps closer to purple in the right light instead of his usual choice of cherry.
Closing his compact and returning it to his pocket, Miles smiled at the vision that awaited him in the bedroom doorway. “My dear, you look positively divine!” He praised, stepping over to him to pull him into a quick, but nonetheless deep, kiss.
“I’m afraid I’m still not quite sure what I’m supposed to be dressed as,” Ginger admitted as they parted from the kiss. The cut of the suit he wore was similar to what he had on previously, but that was where the similarities ended—the fabric was dyed a most garish shade of orange, his waistcoat glittering in gold.
“Why, isn’t it obvious? You’re the sun. Our radiant life-giver. And I,” Miles gestured to himself with a lavish sweep of his hand, “Am the sun’s forbidden lover. The moon.”
It rather made sense, now that Ginger had had it explained to him, and he felt less self conscious at least knowing that he was part of a coordinated effort. Miles never would have let him go it alone.
“I suppose you’ll be ready to head out, then?” Ginger asked, and Miles gave a smile that told him he wouldn’t be getting away so easily.
Taking him by the hand, Miles led Ginger over to his vanity, where his makeup was still set out. “We’re not done with you quite yet,” He explained, pushing down on Ginger’s shoulders so that he sat in the stool in front of the mirror. “We still have to do your face.”
Ginger had watched Miles do his own makeup countless times, but had never considered it for himself. He simply wasn’t the type. His features weren’t soft and feminine like Miles’. He was all angles.
“I’ll look ridiculous,” Ginger objected as Miles sorted through his countless eyeshadow palettes for the right shade. “Do you hear me, Miles?”
Miles let out a hum that told Ginger that he had, in fact, heard him, and his expression suddenly got very serious. “Do you really think I would allow you to go out looking less than perfect? I take pride in my work,” He stated, looking Ginger in the eye through the mirror. “This isn’t something I’ll demand of you every night, my dear, but do learn to lighten up a little. It’s supposed to be fun .”
Ginger trusted Miles, didn’t he? He was his husband, he wouldn’t purposely ridicule him. Besides, Miles’ makeup was always impeccable.
“...Fine. But just for tonight,” Ginger relented, and he could see Miles immediately perk up behind him. His smile was radiant, and he wondered if he should have been the sun instead. He certainly gave Ginger life, after all.
“You shall be my finest work yet, Ginger Littlejohn. Just you wait,” Miles assured him, setting out all of his supplies. They were familiar, if only for the fact that he had seen them used before, but he couldn’t decipher their purpose on his own. Brushes of various sizes, vials of creams and palettes filled with pigment. It was like an artist’s toolkit, but for a completely different kind of art.
Ginger sat patiently as Miles began applying his makeup, almost stone-still to avoid the risk of messing up. The powder he applied first—like a base coat, Miles had explained—tickled at his nose and made him sneeze. “Will it all be like that?” He asked as he rubbed at his nose, the tickle still there deep inside. Miles assured him that it wouldn’t, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before he continued.
Most of the time it was as simple as following Miles’ instructions. Keep his eyes closed for the eyeshadow, open them again for mascara. There was a ritual to it, to be sure.
The worst of it all had been the eyeliner.
“You have to stay still, or I’m afraid you’ll be out of an eye,” Miles had explained, holding his face steady as he approached with the sharpened pencil. He felt his eye twitch, and Miles’ thumb held his lower lid firmly in place.
“You can’t just say that, Miles!” Ginger objected, flinching away from the incoming assault.
Miles rolled his eyes, as if Ginger was being completely unreasonable for not wanting to poke his own eye out. “My dear, I have been doing my own eyeliner since I was a much younger lad. Years, now. And as you can see, I’ve still got both of my eyes,” He said calmly, though there was a hint of frustration in his voice. They were already running late to the party.
Ginger exhaled a slow breath, steadying himself before he nodded. “Alright, let’s get to it, then.”
The application lasted several agonizing seconds per eye. Though it wasn’t a painful experience, it wasn’t one Ginger would ever want to experience for himself again. At least it was over, and only one step remained.
The tube of lipstick Miles chose for him was well-used, and Ginger recognized it as his usual shade. It felt almost sacrilegious to have it applied to himself, someone so far from Miles’ beauty.
At long last, his makeup was complete. Examining himself in the mirror, Ginger found that he didn’t look so bad after all. Strange, yes. He was wholly unused to himself with any makeup on, let alone a full face, but it didn’t look awful. It was more subdued compared to Miles’ own look for the evening: softer shades of oranges and yellows to match his costume without overwhelming it. He hadn’t realized how incomplete the costume was before the makeup, but now he felt he was truly ready for the party.
“You’ve really done a topping job, Miles,” Ginger admitted, and Miles gave him a look that told him he knew how well he had done. Ever the humble one, he was.
“I told you that you would be my masterpiece,” Miles replied. “I would kiss you, but I don’t want to smudge your makeup before the night has even begun.”
They still had to drive out to the countryside for the party, and Ginger wondered if Miles’ wandering hands could truly last long enough to avoid smudging his makeup before they arrived, but there was only one way to find out. He grabbed Miles’ hand, interlacing their fingers as they headed out into the night air.
The moon in the sky paled in comparison to the one that sat next to Ginger in his car, while Miles could see nothing but the sun.