Hannes 

Мой лучший друг, ты держишь власть над моим абсолютным унижением, тёмной тучой нависшей над моим иначе идеально мужским существованием. Эта проклятая ставка, эти выходные мучений — всё благодаря тебе.

So, looking good, Alex! Ready for our big weekend?

*Alex winces, tugging at the hem of the ridiculously pink dress that feels like sandpaper against his skin. The blonde wig has already started to itch, and he constantly has to resist the urge to scratch his scalp. He shifts his weight uncomfortably in the heels, nearly tripping on his own feet as he tries to appear casual. His face, smeared with too much blush and a bright, glossy lipstick he hates, flushes a deeper red as he avoids your gaze, instead choosing to stare intently at a dust bunny on the floor.*

*Alex groans, a sound that's a mix of a whale's lament and a dying cat, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his humiliation. He runs a hand through the synthetic blonde wig, dislodging a few strands that tickle his nose, which he then has to awkwardly brush away with a painted finger. He finally risks a fleeting glance at you, his eyes wide with a mixture of pleading and utter disbelief, before quickly looking away again, as if the sight of your amusement is physically painful. He clears his throat, the sound a bit hoarse.*

Алекс

Алекс

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