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It’s not that Jesse hasn’t seen his commander sporting makeup before. Gabriel turns up to briefings with the sharpest eyeliner Jesse’s ever seen, leads them through gut-wrenching training in lipstick almost the same color as blood, and practices at the shooting range in what Jesse’s been told by Chava is an excellent smokey eye.
It feels weird to see him applying it, though. There’s no way for Jesse can hide from the fact that his commander, all six-foot-one of muscle and danger, is putting on eyeliner. Years of Deadlock think wrong, and something else, something small and frightening, leans forwards in curiosity.
“You wanna take a picture, vaquero?” Gabe says, and Jesse startles at being caught. Without looking up from the little mirror in his hand, Gabe adds, “What’re you doing here?”
Jesse fidgets, not daring to step away from the relative safety of the doorframe. “Roth sent me to deliver the training reports from today, sir.”
The corner of Gabriel’s mouth quirks up. “You gonna bring it over here, then?”
Jesse swallows. “Uh. Yessir.” He doesn’t move.
Gabriel snorts. “Jesse, you’re not gonna lose your dick just by being within a yard of fucking mascara. C’mon,” and he finally puts down the mirror, gestures, “the reports.”
Jesse swallows again, and makes himself walk forwards. Gingerly, he puts the reports on the desk and slides them towards his commander. Gabriel watches him the whole while, brow furrowed like he’s watching a puzzle, or a problem. It makes the hair on the back of Jesse’s neck rise. Even while he’s leaning back in his chair, boots up on the desk, Commander Reyes looks like it would only take a little effort to switch from ‘lazy’ to ‘outright threatening.’
“There y’go, sir,” Jesse says, and waits to be dismissed.
Gabriel ignores the reports, though, and sits back a little more in his chair. “You’ve gone through the sensitivity training, right, Jesse?”
“Yessir.” He gives a jerky little nod. “Took notes an’ everythin’.”
“Hm. Well then, mind telling me why this,” and Gabriel waves the mascara wand, gesturing towards his own made-up face, “looks like it’s bothering you?”
“It don’t–”
“Don’t you go lying to me,” Gabriel says, slow and lazy still. Jesse feels like a mouse being surveyed by a very large cat. “C’mon, vaguero, out with it.”
Jesse shifts his weight, thinks briefly of bolting. With his luck, though, he’d just end up tripping over his own boots. He goes for the half-truth instead. “It’s just–in Deadlock, y'put on makeup, you’d be teased at best an’ dead at worse, an’… I see ya an’ I get a little scared, is all.”
Gabriel tips his head over to one side. “Scared of what?”
Jesse glances away, taps anxiously at Peacekeeper’s holster. “Scared t’see somethin’ happen to ya, sir. Was taught that if y’wanna do somethin’ like this, y’hide it away. Y’don’ hide at all.”
When he glances back, Gabriel’s eyes have gone all soft. “Nothing’s gonna happen here, kid.”
“I know, I just–”
“You gotta wait until we prove it to you, I know.” At Jesse’s surprised look, Gabriel laughs. “I grew up queer, in a family that was queer as fuck, and then went into the army, kid. Big adjustment right there.” His grin softens. “That’s why Blackwatch is the way it is–the rest of the deal may be shit, but any of you can wear what you want, love who you want, be who you want. Me and you included.”
“Oh,” Jesse says, and doesn’t know what to do with the sudden unfurling of hope in his chest. He’s not even sure what he’s hoping for.
Gabriel might, though, because he says gently, “You want to try it on?” and offers the mascara.
“I dunno how,” Jesse manages.
“That’s okay.” Gabriel grabs a bag out from under the desk and stands. “I can do it for you, if you want.”
There’s a feeling like vertigo in Jesse’s stomach, but there’s something else that has him nodding. He can barely breathe when Gabriel sits him gently down in the chair and starts going at him with all those little brushes.
“You’re okay, vaquero,” Gabriel says, low and soft. “We’re in my office, door’s closed, no one’s gonna be hurting you. You just gotta sit there and let me make you pretty.”
Jesse takes in a slow, shaky breath. “An’ I’m still a man?”
“Still a man,” Gabriel replies, lips quirking in a gentle smile. “Still whatever you want to be. Still safe.”
“Okay,” Jesse says. “Okay.” He takes another slow, shaky breath, and closes his eyes.
“Thattaboy,” his commander breathes, sounding proud. As the little brushes start to dance over his face, something in Jesse starts to relax.
“Can we do this again?” he asks, five minutes in, when he’s gotten used to the little noises of brush and powder and Gabriel humming in thought.
“Sure, kid,” his commander replies. “Whenever you want.”
“Okay,” Jesse says, and something in him starts to sing.