Work Text:
“The fuck is that?”
Armand swans in from the hallway, pausing where he sees Daniel stalled at the foot of his bed fresh from a shower, hair still damp and dripping at his shoulders.
“Your clothing for this evening,” he says as he crowds behind him, feels the warmth of his scrubbed pink skin. Daniel’s blood is still hot from the water, thrumming in his veins. It calls to him, but he won’t indulge just yet.
He’s laid out what he thinks is a very sensible getup for Daniel. Far better than his preferred leather and blue jeans combination. A fine tweed suit jacket. Pressed cream trousers. A white dress shirt that’s busy enough without a tie, so Armand had brought the outfit together with a different accessory.
“The clothes are fine, Armand. I meant that.”
“It’s a hat. You wear it on your head.”
He’d bought it months ago when Daniel was on contract in Manchester. He’d meant to give it to him before, but the timing was never right.
“I know what a hat is, thanks.” Daniel picks up the offending flop of fabric, inspects it closer. Though plain, it resembles the flat caps currently in style - with one key difference. “What is this made of? Looks like a fuckin’ napkin.”
A huff from Armand as he plucks the hat from his hands and situates it firmly on Daniel’s head, ties to the back. He smiles then, at the picture he makes clad only in the hat and his towel.
“There,” he says, drawing one clawed finger along the cut of his jaw. Daniel tries to act as if he doesn’t melt into it. He fails, eyelids fluttering closed with the sensation. “It suits you. You look dashing.”
Turning to face the mirror above his dresser, Daniel takes himself in. “Dashing, huh?” He throws a look at Armand over his shoulder, affectionate and somewhat confused. “You really like this?”
“I do. And you, beloved? What do you think?”
Daniel pretends to mull it over as he turns back to the mirror. “Nah. Sorry, babe. I look like a British fag.” He adopts a rather terrible posh accent: “A real London lad.” He’s grinning when he pulls the hat off.
“Fine,” Armand pouts, “no hat. You win.”
Daniel bumps him with his bare shoulder. Kisses his cheek to ease the sting of rejection. “Thank you. Rest of it looks nice, though. Where are we headed tonight?”
