It was his own spur of the moment decision to take a brief intermission after Fireside was over. The band felt neither this way nor that way about it but kept a watchful eye on Alex from afar to make sure he wasn’t running a fever or feeling ill. No, he wasn’t sick—at least he didn’t think he was—he just wanted to try something new. Deafening roars and cheers from the impatient crowd outside made his hands shake as he unzipped one of his personal suitcases and fished out what he had been thinking about all night.
He couldn’t even remember when or why he bought the outfit. Vaguely, he recalled purchasing it online for Taylor while he was drunk, but even that didn’t suffice as a good explanation for him. Sure, he could certainly wear her size—he was a fairly small man, after all. It wasn’t implausible to think that he got it for her. Not that it even mattered one bit, though. He didn’t exactly want to think about her of all people right now. This was his moment.
Alex scanned the room out of mere paranoia, knowing full well no one else was in there with him. He wasn’t completely sure how long he had been staring at the clothes in his hands, but he knew he’d better get them on fast before the guys start to worry about him—or worse, before the crowd begins to riot. Taking unnecessarily long strides over to the mirror nearby, Alex finished unbuttoning his half-opened white shirt and tossed it onto the floor.
His eyes danced over his own lithe frame in the mirror. Admittedly, he was in great shape—something he didn’t mind giving himself credit for. Nonetheless, watching himself do something he’s done so many times before just felt weirdly intimate now. His cheeks burned with an unidentifiable heat as he picked up the black crop top from the pile next to him, squeezing his eyes shut and quickly throwing it on, only struggling slightly to fit his arms into the snug sleeves. The collar squeezed at his throat in a way that he couldn’t describe as anything but wonderful. He had to laugh a little when he opened his eyes and saw the word HONEY printed in big, white letters screaming back at him. Running a hand down his chest slowly, he exhaled and stared at his reflection. Aside from all the weird elements factored in, it looked pretty damn good on him and hugged his figure in all the right ways.
Now, he supposed, is where the real icing on the cake came into play.
Not wishing to waste any more time, Alex unbuttoned, unzipped, and kicked off his dress pants along with his shoes, leaving them to their own devices with the shirt on the carpet. He stared at his reflected image once more clad in only a crop top, briefs, and socks. Out of sickening curiosity, he turned to his side, then, after finding himself pleased with what he saw, to the front again. The skirt lying on top of the suitcase seemed to taunt him viciously for doing such a thing. Alex snatched it up in defiance and stretched the waistband before stepping into it carefully, pulling it up his long legs slowly until it rested snugly on his hips. It was made of the same material as the top and felt nice on his skin, but something about it was immediately brought to his attention when he looked up at the mirror. He discovered, much to his horror, that it left nothing to the imagination.
He wasn’t even entirely sure when he started getting aroused, but he was now sporting quite the hard-on that made itself known through an unmissable bulge in his skirt. His first response was to moan, and he did, ghosting the hand from earlier over the raised section of the skirt. Something inside of him felt twisted up like a spring, and it scorched him in a way that was so good. Maybe if he indulged a little bit…
“Al! Hey, Al!"
The sound of a familiar voice calling his name from outside brought him back to reality. Panic surged through his mind, and he tried with all his might to will his boner away with unsexy thoughts about his childhood home or his first time riding a bike, but nothing seemed to catch. Alex was about ready to just take the damn skirt off and put his trousers back on when a loud knock at the door followed, making him freeze in place.
“Al? You havin' a heartattack in there or summat? Please tell me if you are so I can at least finish singin' the rest of the songs for you,” Matt joked from outside, a twinge of urgency in his voice nonetheless. Alex fumbled with his words to string up a helpful response, but all he could get out was a strangled “NoI’mcomingoutnowsorreh.”
He quickly put his shoes back on and clambered over to the door, throwing it open and finding his friend staring him in the face. Thankfully, all he got was a curious once-over from the drummer and a succinct “Alright then,” before they were rushed back out on stage. Alex gripped his guitar with the force of a thousand gods when the audience erupted into screams that could probably rupture Earth’s core. With everything in him, he tried not to imagine how he must have looked under those neon lights. Over the explosion of hoots and hollers and whistles, he slurred out the next song’s introduction into the mic.
“Sorreh for the wait, you might know this next one — it’s called Knee Socks.”