Zeph had been hesitant to let people into his life since he was seven, standing on the step of his first foster home and still trying to understand that he was an orphan now.

This job, though? It was nice. The queens were genuinely sweet to one another and him, and he could tell that the comments that sounded catty to him at first hid a deep affection for one another. It wasn’t unlike his own friends in the gym, who he sometimes sparred with, sometimes fought with for money, sometimes shot cheap jabs at while training, but would do anything for.

Hanging out with the queens might not pay well, but it was one of the easiest jobs Zeph had done. And, honestly, the attention from them wasn’t an unwelcome ego boost. He liked being a protector for them.

Still, Zeph didn’t relax until Sunday night.

The first night was learning the routine—staying out of the way of queens hustling between the makeshift dressing room, when the queens didn’t mind audience members pushing singles into their bras and when he had to step a little closer, and so on.

By Sunday, the crowd was smaller and he knew how to read it like they did. He hung back more, waited for their agreed-on signals.

The other bonus was that he got to spare more attention to watch River perform, and his heart lifted with excitement as the MC announced him.

He’d shed the naughty schoolgirl image of his first act and the nightie he’d finished the sexy near-striptease act in. For this, his third and final number, he was walking out in a gold-sequinned dress, already singing that classic about survival.

And… shit. His voice was resonant, even without the sound system. He was in four-inch heels, his lipstick shimmering with gold crystals.

It was hard to picture him being afraid and petrified, as the lyrics went, at all. Not like this.

He glowed with vitality, drinking in every focused gaze and reflecting that energy back on the crowd. Walking among the crowd, he deftly avoided one attempt to grab him—Zeph bristled and nearly started forward, but he didn’t give the signal—and winked instead, indicating that tips could go into his bra.

Zeph watched in awe as River managed to turn the moment into that, then grabbed the guy’s hand and let him get an extra squeeze of a tit.

When River was done with someone, he was done. He snapped away, gone before anyone got a second look at him. He was cruising the crowd for someone else to interact with. He found a college-aged girl and pulled her up to her feet, lifted her chin, encouraging her nonverbally to confidently lean in and sing the chorus.

By the time she sat, she glowed with a little extra confidence boost she hadn’t had a moment ago.

River was great with people. He put himself down sometimes, but Zeph wished he had an ounce of the sparkle River did, no matter who he was around.

And he was beautiful, however the fuck he was dressed. His cheekbones were sharp, his lips full, his aura taking everything physical about him and projecting it twenty feet around him.

River was breathtaking.

Zeph realized his mouth was open and quickly cleared his throat as the song drew to a close, watching to make sure nobody had the wrong idea about whose turn it was to sing next.

The transition went seamlessly, and after a few more acts—lots more tips, a warm crowd tonight—it was over, everyone was bowing, blowing kisses, and the DJ took over to get the crowd dancing.

Zeph followed the last of the queens back to the dressing room, glancing around to make sure no strays snuck in.

By the time he reached the dressing room, it was alive with every ounce of glitz and energy he’d felt out there. It was just like his own locker room after a good fight night, coaches reliving the best moments with their guys, taping them up and checking them over, sometimes ribbing each other good-naturedly.

We’re not so different, all of us.

River was in the center of it all, helping everyone get started undressing, and it took him a minute before he got his turn in front of the mirror in the staff room bathroom. Zeph waited until he was alone in this moment to approach and congratulate him on the great show.

“Fucking thing,” River was muttering as he tried to twist his hand behind himself to grab the zip. “Can anyone—” He spotted Zeph in the mirror and grinned. “My hero.”

“Careful. My ego will swell.” Zeph stepped behind him, a hand on his shoulder.

“And perhaps other things,” River winked.

Zeph’s cheeks flushed. He tried not to acknowledge it, tried not to let his body go there. Everyone was running on a post-show adrenaline high. He knew exactly what it was like. You were liable to talk to, kiss, fuck people you wouldn’t otherwise just because your body needed the contact.

“Need a hand with that?”

They were inches apart—mostly vertically, with River still in those heels. Zeph could still easily see over River’s shoulder, though, and the view of him in the mirror was a good one. Part of him itched to slide his arms around River’s waist and hug him, but he resisted. Way personal contact for just-made-friends-again.

Those gold sequins on his lips looked scratchy, but there was gloss over them. Zeph found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss him again.

Up close, River looked like a fucking angel.

Get a grip, Zeph reminded himself sharply, but… the gold dust that shimmered over his cheeks, the platinum blond of his hair now that the wig was off, everything just seemed to glow with that spirit. Yellow, or gold, really was his color.

Only seconds had passed in his thorough scrutiny, but River hadn’t missed the look over. “If you’re offering.” River’s voice was quiet, but his gaze was still focused on Zeph’s eyes. He hadn’t looked away.

They were unnoticed in the midst of a few of the queens nearly screaming with laughter over one of them breaking a heel on the way into the dressing room, apparently.

This was a moment. Zeph could play along.

“I insist.” Zeph felt the chemistry sizzle between them for a moment when his fingers touched the bare skin at the nape of River’s neck. He tugged the zipper down the first few inches.

He instinctively shivered at the sound of metal catching metal on the way down. It was a primal, sexual noise, and his animal brain was kicking in. It was a fight to let go, but when the zipper dangled just under River’s shoulder blades, he did.

And just in time.

“—who’s car sharing? You two, are you?”

“Uh.” Zeph’s mind was on neither cars nor sharing, and Glam’s question took him aback.

“We’re carpooling,” River answered, turning to reach behind himself and pull the zipper the rest of the way down.

Zeph slipped past Glam and out of the bathroom so he didn’t see River half-naked. He watched the door and held accessories for a few of the queens, happy to be their coat rack while some of them got ready to leave the club and others got ready to party.

Zeph was sure as hell looking forward to the carpool tomorrow.