Page 31 of Garbage

Evan hesitated before he brought up the next thing. But Quincy deserved to at least know. “And… I want to mention that there are some people who feel that people who have bodies that look like yours, what’s often thought of as male, should wear certain types of clothing. And that shouldn’t restrict your choices in any way! It shouldn’t. You should wear what makes you happy. Always. But there might be some… judgment that you’ll want to be prepared for.”

Quincy’s face went blank for even longer. The sundress and the sweater blinked out. Then the scarf. The lingerie.

Fuck. That was dismal. What was left looked appropriate, masculine, and completely boring. Only the garbage truck tie reflected a little bit of Quincy’s sunny personality.

All the light had gone out of Quincy’s eyes. Almost like he was lost.

“Oh, Q. I didn’t mean you should take them off the list. I just…” Evan had wanted to protect him, but he’d hurt him instead. “All of the things you chose are beautiful. Will you please put them back?”

“I’m sorry, Evan. I don’t want anybody to judge me. I don’t… I looked up the hate crimes. It’s… it’s as bad as the Human Firsters.”

Evan smoothed his thumb over those big, broad fingers, which now felt so fragile against his own. Quincy seemed so strong, but he’d already been victimized once. Maybe even more times that Evan didn’t know about. “It’s actually usually the same people. A small group who put out a lot of hate into the world. But you should never, ever have to feel that way. It’s your right to wear anything you damn well please and feel safe and proud doing it. I’d love to see you in all of those things. Anywhere you want to go.”

Evan turned to him. “Would you? I wasn’t thinking of wearing them outside. I have to wear my uniform for work, so I thought it would just be here anyway. With you?”

God, those gorgeous brown eyes. How could they be synthetic, and yet so emotive? Evan could get lost in their sorrowful sparking depths.

“That would be perfect. Honestly. We’re going to buy all of them.”

He could already imagine it now. Instead of those too-tight pajamas Quincy put on each evening, he might step out of the shower in that rough leather jacket. A flowing evening gown. A tux.

That fucking lingerie.

Evan hadn’t ever really thought about that possibility—he usually steered hard in the leather jacket direction when thinking about men—but Quincy in ribbons and lace?

His mouth went dry.

God. That would be a vision.

He could imagine Quincy, floating around the kitchen, joyously efficient with his muscular arms and thick chest, while Evan caught glimpses of the skin through scraps of lace…

Evan’s cock plumped.

He was going to hell.

“You’re sure?” Quincy asked. “I don’t have to…”

“You absolutely do.” Evan wanted to raise his fingers to his lips and kiss them. To curl Quincy into a hug. Instead he just gave Quincy another squeeze. “Put everything back on the wishlist. We’ll go shopping this week.”

This was something Evan could definitely give him.

Though he did have some questions. “Quincy, have you thought about your gender?”

He waited a moment while Quincy did the inevitable information search, then turned to him with a return question. “Can you tell me more?”

“Well, a lot of humans identify as either male or female. Your body is designed to have masculine traits—the size of your torso, the shape of your face, things like that. You might feel like you’re male. Or female. Or both. Or like none of it applies to you at all.”

Quincy’s brow furrowed and he looked down at his hands. “Does it matter?”

“Only if it matters to you. For example, you might want to be called she or they instead of he. You might decide to exchange or add to your body parts to more closely match a gender representation. Or you might like your body just as it is, but still think of your gender in different ways.”

“I want to change my feet,” Quincy announced.

“Ah… to take off your boots?” That wasn’t what Evan had been expecting, but he should have. Quincy hadn’t brought it up in weeks, but of course it was still bothering him.

“Yes. I shouldn’t wear them in the house. Especially not on the couch.”

“I’ll ask Ben about that. Or really, you can ask him yourself.”