{Jon}

All three of Jon's exams were crammed over two back to back days; weeks earlier he had mapped out his study schedule to accommodate his work shifts and personal time off. His alarm buzzed well before sunrise Wednesday morning, and Jon blinked blearily at the reminders on his phone screen he'd made for himself weeks ago. One more push. He paused a second to put a kiss on his partner's shoulder before his feet hit the floor and he hit the day running.

Downstairs, Cary was up already, his normally tousled bedhead flat and unwashed, leaning heavily on the kitchen counter as he rummaged through the med box. He glanced at Jon when he came in, his black expression telling Jon it was too early for 'good morning.'

"Using T3s today," Cary said gruffly, "Step out if you don't want to watch me take 'em. Didn't expect you up so early."

Jon turned on his heel and stepped into the hall, stretching his arms and shoulders out while he waited at the bottom of the stairs. As he breathed, he probed the spot where he usually felt a craving to use with Cary. The monkey bared its teeth at him, but its voice was muffled today and easy to ignore. Jon felt good in his skin, happy.

Imagine this being his permanent state of mind...Jon made a mental note to ask Kurt about finding a Narcotics Anonymous meeting when his exams were done. No more screwing around trying to do this on his own; this weekend felt like he'd poked his head above the cloud cover and could clearly see he needed to buckle down and do his work with other people who knew what it was like to live with addiction.

The slap of the med box closing told Jon it was safe to re-enter the kitchen. "Need a coffee, or going back to sleep?" Jon asked.

Cary limped back to his chair and eased into it, white-lipped. "Not going back to sleep," he said.

Between making a pair of coffees and a smoothie breakfast, Jon crammed from his study notes on John Bowlby's attachment theory, the sound of Cary watching National Geographic quiet and familiar in the background.

When Kurt came down for coffee, half dressed in a pair of Jon's yoga pants and his robe, Jon leaned back in his chair, pulling on his neck for a stretch break. "Feelin' sober, Visser?" he asked teasingly.

Kurt narrowed his eyes in a smile back at him, leaning down for a kiss. He squeezed the back of Jon's neck exactly where Jon kept all his tension, almost tipping Jon over backwards in his chair as he kissed him.

Laughing breathlessly, Jon caught his balance when Kurt let him go, still tasting Kurt's toothpaste and strawberry lip gloss. "Good morning to you too, love," Jon said.

"It is a good morning, isn't it," Kurt said, and did a little dance before sloshing coffee in his mug. "I am feeling extremely fabulous, thank you for asking, husband-of-mine."

Jon tapped on his keyboard to scroll down his screen. "I have an exam at eleven today and two more tomorrow I need to study for before my shift at 3. And then I am DONE." He leaned back, lifting his fists in the air and closing his eyes.

Kurt lifted his eyebrows over his cup of coffee. "Quick plan needed for Friday--are we going to Red Deer for dancing? 'Cause I don't know if there's even a club in that one-queer town."

"Didn't you go clubbing around here when you were closeted?" Jon asked. "What did you do?"

Kurt blew out his lips. "Usually I went out as the fabulous Ms. Vee. I mean, I used to love being in drag anyways so that was just a good excuse."

Jon grinned, remembering Kurt's dramatic drag queen persona from his social media page. "Let's just do that then," Jon said.

"Hm?" Kurt said.

"I'll go in drag. You can paint me up, yeah? And get me all the..." Jon waved his hand vaguely over his body. "All the glittery things. Just as long as I can still move in what I'm wearing to dance; I don't care what my face looks like. We already know I can walk in heels."

Kurt's mouth dropped open, momentarily speechless.

Cary's dry laugh came from the living room. "Oh I can't wait to see this," he said.

Kurt found his voice, putting his fingers to his face. "Oh my god I have so much shopping to do! White, you are going to be the most adorable baby queen ever to prance her way over the Evolution Wonder Lounge dance floor."

Jon laughed quietly. "Uh huh. If I have you on my arm, Kurt, I'm pretty much up for anything. I will even manscape my chest." He glanced sideways at Kurt, checking. "That's what they call it, right?"

Eyes sparkling, Kurt clasped his hands over his mouth to cover how hard he was giggling. "Well I know what I'm doing this week." He leaned out the kitchen doorway. "And taking you to physio, big man. We need you back on your feet ASAP. How many basements do we need to finish to take some days off for Christmas next week?"

*

Later that morning, Jon's leg jumped under the folding desk-arm in the University auditorium, while he dumped everything he'd learned about attachment theory and the Canadian foster system out onto the exam paper. He left with a bounce in his step, aware that all his studying had paid off.

He texted Kurt: <killed that exam *bam emoji* one down two to go>

All afternoon as he studied in the library, his phone pinged with notifs from Kurt; photos of heeled boots and feathered chokers and glittery tops and lace up things he didn't even recognize. Clearly, his partner was shopping. Jon laughed softly to himself, scrolling through the images. He'd never seen so much fancy frippery all in one place, let alone worn it on his own body. What had he got himself into?

There was more good news waiting for Jon at his work house; a phone call from the Kickingbird's social worker informed him that Darla was expected to complete her treatment program the following day and was coming in person to pick up her children on Friday. Jordin and Dusty's mom had never made it to the end of a treatment program before, and it was hard for Jon not to feel hopeful that maybe this time his kids were going to get a happy ending.

Dusty was a monster pretty much from the minute he stepped in the door from school; the little boy snapped at his sister, slammed the door of his room, broke his LEGO creation, raged and cried over the fragments, threw them all over the floor and sulked through supper.

Some days were just like that.

Sighing, Jon helped him rebuild his space ship and pick up his LEGO, counting the hours until he could put Dusty to bed and just hit the reset button. Finally he negotiated Dusty into pyjamas and tapped on the boy's open door for their bedtime ritual.

Dusty wouldn't look at him, slumped against his headboard turning his re-constructed space ship between his small hands.

"Hey, Dust," Jon said. "Ready for me to pray the tent?"

Dusty's lip pouted out and he shook his head.

Jon hesitated, then swung the door open wider and stepped into Dusty's room, kneeling beside his bed. "What's up, Dust? You haven't been yourself today. Did something happen?"

Dusty's black eyes flicked to his face, then away. "Angel said mom's coming Friday." His voice wobbled a little, and he frowned fiercely. "Jordin says she won't. She always says she will but she never comes."

Jon bit the corner of his mouth, looking at Dusty's hunched body and guessing how much fear Dusty had carried all day, wrestling with his own hope and past experience. "I think she's coming," Jon said softly. "But if she doesn't, you'll have Christmas with Kokum or with us, same as last year."

"What if we move in with her and then she leaves again?" Dusty's voice broke and his eyes filled with tears. "Will you come and get us, Pops? Will we come back here to this house?"

It stole Jon's voice for a second, because he couldn't lie. Their house didn't take kids for a second stay; once Dusty had moved out he wouldn't be able to come back. He cleared his throat to say, "No, Dust. Social services will find another place for you and Jordin. But you won't go to your mom if we don't think she's ready to take care of you, right?"

Dusty grabbed Jon's hand, hugging it against his chest. "I'll write you letters, okay?" Dusty said, blinking his dark tear-filled eyes at him.

Jon wrinkled his nose against the stinging in his face. "You're seein' me after Christmas, love." The word slipped out after so many months of using it with Kurt. "You're coming back here to finish your school year. Don't worry, Dust, you're not leaving us yet."

Dusty shoved his face into Jon's chest and tried to wrap his short arms around Jon's shoulders, taking a shuddering sigh of relief. Jon put a hand lightly on the sharp shape of Dusty's shoulder blade, swallowing his own tears down hard. Jesus-God, take care of this one. You promised to be good. Please, please take care of Dusty and Jordin for me when I'm gone.

When Dusty snuggled back under his blankets, he kept Jon's hand, unfolding Jon's fingers and tracing the ring on his finger. "You got a new ring, Pops," he said. "You never wear rings and things like Naomi."

Jon laughed, ducking his head. "Just that one," he said. "Someone I love gave it to me."

Dusty's eyes widened. "You have a person? Am I gonna meet them? I already know Theodore and Felicia and Ray." He named the spouses of three of Jon's staff.

"Nope," Jon said, smiling sideways at him. "Sorry Dust. I have two homes I love: this one with you, and mine. I don't mix them so they can both be...the good things they are."

This puzzled Dusty for a moment, before he shrugged and just accepted that at face-value. "Well I like it," he said, patting Jon's hand. "Now you can pray."

*

When he got home shortly before midnight, Jon was glad to see that the chair in the living room was empty, which meant Cary was up and walking again. He jogged up the stairs where light and music poured out of the room he shared with Kurt.

He blinked; Kurt was wearing a suit jacket printed with peacock feathers so loud they made his eyes hurt. The walls of their tent were shoved back and the bed was covered with glittery, feathery items of clothing he wasn't even sure he knew where they were supposed to be worn.

Apprehensively, Jon knocked on the door-frame and Kurt whirled, his face lighting up. "There she is! Oh my god I have so much to show you, Jon. I bought a couple different looks because I can always take them back and then you can try them on before deciding."

Jon laughed, and held out his arms. "I need a hug first," he said. "Be kind, love; this is my first time and seeing all this is making me a little nervous."

Kurt wrapped him up in his arms, picking him up and spinning him once. "How was your day, White? Ready to kill your exams again tomorrow?"

"I think so," Jon said. He touched a shimmering pearly white top on the bed, running a finger down the sequins, then back up to reveal their pale pink underside.

Kurt hung back, fingers over his mouth, his eyes sparkling. "See anything you like?"

Jon tapped the tall, lace up white boots with a blocky heel. "Thank you for skipping stilettos," he said wryly.

"Well you said you still need to kick ass in your shoes?" There was a bit of a question mark at the end of Kurt's sentence. "I thought maybe you meant literally?"

"Correct," Jon said. "I'll take these for a spin on the bag before bed."

Kurt snorted a laugh. "Well—you do you. Just don't break the heel off that boot, darlin'. Those shoes were made for walking." Kurt picked up a wig delicately; it was a mass of curled locks the colour of honey. "On short notice and keeping to a somewhat reasonable budget because I am a grown up and that's what I do now--all I could get is this flat ass 'shake and go.'" He gave the wig a little shake to demonstrate. "But I have a rhinestone clip that might juuj it up a bit."

"I'm seeing a lot of white?" Jon said, fingering a mini skirt with pearls sewn all over the ivory fabric.

"Mm-hmm." Kurt's face was mischievous. "Going for a sexy angel vibe. Can I try a few things on you to see if it's working?"

Jon sighed, pulling his sweater and shirt over his head, then climbing out of his pants. He put his bare arms out. "Try all the things on me, Visser. Took me forever to shave with Cary's electric razor this morning and you're lucky I still have both nipples."

Kurt laughed, coming at him with a lace-up something or other, ribbed like an accordion. Jon backed up a step, holding up a warning finger. "Wait. Just to be clear. I'm going dancing with my husband tomorrow night and I need to be able to move."

It turned out that was an important point to mention: it meant definitely no to the corset, and maybe no to the bra. Squirming against the tight elastic band around his ribs, Jon adjusted the bra padding against his chest and stuck out his tongue. "Bleh. I'm sure there's a reason my Maker didn't give me a pair of these, or any interest in them whatsoever. Can't we just put the top on me how I am?"

Kurt scrunched his face in the mirror behind him, but Jon widened his eyes pleadingly and put his hands over his head for Kurt to unhook him. Sighing, Kurt obliged, setting the bra aside and threading Jon's arms through the tiny straps of the sequinned top without it.

As Kurt adjusted the drape of the garment over Jon's body, his dubious expression cleared. "Well darlin', you might just start a trend," he drawled. "I'm not missing those boobies on you one bit."

Jon's muscular chest and narrow waist fit the top in a way that was completely distinct from a woman's shape, but it was obvious even to Jon that it worked. He smoothed the curls of his wig carefully over one shoulder and cocked his hip, smiling slowly. "Visser, I think I'm hot."

"Oh my god there's so much to do still," Kurt said, rolling his eyes. "Can you shimmy your 'hot' ass into these tights so I can zip this miniskirt on? It needs to be tight but not so tight you split it stomping around in your boots like I'm sure you will. There's no time to train you to walk properly. I am not taking you out if you're a busted mess--some of us have a reputation to maintain."

Kurt fussed over him for another forty minutes, before Jon ran out of patience and started to tease his fingers over Kurt's bare chest under his jacket. Kurt laughed softly. "One more thing, one more thing," he said, biting his lip while he did up the row of tiny snaps under Jon's chin, securing a feathered choker.

"Not one more thing," Jon said. "Take this all off me so we can go to bed. Unless you like me like this."

"Uh yeah. I like you quite a bit like this," Kurt said, narrowing his eyes in a smile as he slipped his fingers under the silky straps of Jon's top.

Jon lifted the wig off his head and laid it aside, finally able to scratch his itchy head. "Really? Even though I'm wearing woman's clothing?" He slid his hands under Kurt's jacket to help the other man out of his own clothing.

Kurt's fingers were rapidly undoing all the buttons and fastenings he'd done up over the course of the evening, the warm press of his body telling Jon just how much he did like it. "You look like a fierce queer man to me, love," he said huskily. "Drag is battle armour in my world." His eyes sparked with heat, and he cupped Jon's face to kiss him deeply.

Kurt never did get the feathered choker off and Jon was ten minutes in front of their mirror after, figuring out how to unhook the tickly thing while his partner snored softly in the bed behind him. Kurt had dropped off while they were cuddling and talking in the afterglow of hastily disrobing and jumping into the tent together.

Finally the choker came free and Jon laid it aside, sighing with relief and rubbing the skin on his neck where it felt like the feathers where still touching him.

He picked up the glittery items of clothing scattered on the floor and folded them gently in a pile on his dresser, feeling a quiet thrill of anticipation. He was plunging into Kurt's world Friday night, after years of hiding his own queerness to survive.

He felt the same nerves he had facing a Jui Jitsu tournament; you didn't hide in the ring, and it had been one place Jon was comfortable to show off his body. He'd put in thousands of hours of sweat and tears to go from the skinny wreck he'd been in the aftermath of breaking his ribs and abusing opes, to the strong, physically competent person he was today.

In the beginning he'd been motivated by the thought that no one was going to hurt him again; the day he punched the school bully in the face, splitting his knuckles on his teeth and knocking the other boy flat on his ass, marked a turning point. After serving that suspension, Jon walked through the halls of King George with his chin up, one gay kid no one dared lay a hand on.

He had been hooked on the feeling of being strong and quick ever since. The deep waters of his emotions and his ongoing private battle with addiction felt out of control sometimes, but even in the worst lows Jon could count on his body.

His body's queerness was another thing; its alert attention to other guys had never felt to Jon like anything but an inconvenience at best, a tragedy at worst. It was a quirk he'd come to tolerate like the freckles that popped out on his face at the first hint of sun and made him look like a wholesome child in a Norman Rockwell painting, or the duelling cowlicks on the back of his head that absolutely refused to lie down in an orderly way. Just part of what made Jon, Jon-- nothing special worth celebrating.

So he was completely surprised to discover how powerful he felt in drag when Kurt had zipped the last zipper and tied the last lace. The mirror told him, and Kurt's own alert attention told him that his queer body was beautiful.

Still buzzing with that very different high, Jon pulled on his workout shorts and the longest pair of athletic socks he owned, then laced the white heeled boots back onto his feet, heading down the stairs to kick the bag around in his 'drag battle armour' just for fun before bed.

3251 words.

*Oh gosh the conversations with my drag queen friend to put Jon's look and these scenes together were so much fun. Did you ever think you'd see the day that Jon White would step out in heels and fake lashes??

Can't wait to visit Evolution Wonder Lounge with you next week, lovelies. Thanks as always for the reads and votes!*