Work Text:
Vince stared at himself in the mirror, slightly bemused at the work he had to put in just to leave the house most days. Not only in terms of makeup and hair, but under all of it, the work he put into binding his chest and ensuring he passed. His shirtless frame and low rise jeans made his tiny figure overtly visible. His ribs, hips, and collar-bones poked out in jagged angles that left shadows on his sunken stomach. He had chafe marks in splotches on his chest, specifically where the bottom elastic of his binder rested. He felt better though, it was much easier to breathe without the tight fabric rubbing against his skin constantly.
“‘Oward!” He yelled through the apartment. He yelled a responsive piece of nonsense, alerting Vince that’d he be coming soon. Vince met his own eyes in the mirror, studying the uneven eyeliner as a way to avoid his own small breasts. Oftentimes when he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t help but see a scared young girl.
Howard knocked on the door gently before opening it — it creaked with his entrance. “Hey, handsome.” Howard smiled as he always did when he saw Vince, delicately and just enough that it disturbed his crows feet. “Can you… can you help me?” He mumbled, more vulnerable than ever before as he turned to face him. He had an arm crossed over his chest, knowing he had to take it off sooner than later. “What’s up?” Howard asked, closing the door behind him in case Naboo or Bollo returned. “I’ve never used this before and… yea?” Vince asked, genuinely shy for the first time since he was very young. Howard nodded as Vince lowered his arm, revealing the rash and bruised skin of a binder left for too long.
It occurred to Vince that this was the first time he’d ever been the powerless one in their dynamic; it was always Howard who got in trouble and Vince who saved him, but right now no amount of charisma or magic could help him. Howard nodded, shuffling through the medicine cabinet first and pulling out Cortisone. Behind him, sitting on the top of the toilet was a roll of pale cotton tape, and scissors. He nodded, assured. He’d never taped up Vince’s chest before, but he thought it couldn’t be that hard.
For the first two months Vince was on testosterone, Howard administered his shots, and helped him wean himself onto being able to push the little syringe into himself. After that time together, he found himself confident that he could do anything Vince asked.
He opened the Cortisone, squeezing a little onto his fingers. He hesitantly touched the small red dots and irritated skin with his fingers, rubbing the white paste into his skin. The coolness of the ointment pulled a small whine from Vince, suddenly the sensitivity of his skin flushed over him. “I really wish you’d be a little more mindful when binding…” Howard muttered, commenting more on the difficulty Vince had breathing recently than the yellow bruises and red chafing, though they were certainly part of the statement. “I know.” Vince responded bluntly, as Howard cut a piece of tape from the roll and applied it rather mechanically to Vince’s chest, pulling it back and down. “Does that feel alright?”
Vince nodded, chewing his lip anxiously. Howard repeated the action on the other side. “Have’a look.” He said, finishing.
Vince eyed himself in the mirror, turning sideways and running a hand over his chest. He always thought that tape didn’t do as good of a job at masking his breasts as a binder, but Howard was right, the overuse of his binder had developed a small whistling note with his breathing, which tended to go away after a day of not wearing it. “Thank you.” Vince smiled a little. “Mhmm…” Howard nodded, “you look nice.”
“Thanks.” Vince said again, sliding a sweater on and following Howard down to the shop. “See, now we’re both late…” Vince laughed a little as Howard unlocked the door. He slid up on the counter, sitting on the wooden bar and kicking his feet as he watched Howard readjust bits and pieces of inventory.