{Jon}

The first thing Jon loved about drag was Kurt spending hours touching him, fussing over his face and body to get all the details perfect, from the tiny gems he applied to the corners of Jon's eyes, to the glittery powder he brushed over Jon's chest and the exposed strip of his stomach below his sequinned top. Jon couldn't think of a time his own mother fussed over him so attentively and he soaked it up like a thirsty plant after a long dry spell.

Admittedly, Jon would never in his life have let his mother know he wanted to be fussed over. It was a new realization—he was outgrowing his need for his parents to fix what had gone before or change. It felt so natural for Kurt to step in and generously fill in the gaps.

As they joined Cary in the candle-lit kitchen, chatting and laughing over Cary's cheesy baked chicken and gluten-free pasta casserole, Jon felt himself moving on. His parents were diminishing in importance and these two men, his partner and his best friend, along with the supportive community they had in their church, were Jon's primary relationships now, the people he really relied on in his grown up life.

He was so ready to celebrate all of that with a night out.

Finally, the pearl-studded miniskirt was zipped, the feathery choker was hooked, the white heeled boots were laced, and Honey Angel Baby Face was ready to take on the town. Grinning at himself in the mirrored closet in their entryway, Jon found it hard to believe his eyes.

"Tabitha May, eat your heart out," Jon said, cocking his hip and flicking his honey-coloured waves over his shoulder. "I am the prettiest White sister."

He'd expected to feel more uncomfortable, but in the end he really wasn't wearing very many clothes--the boots probably covered more skin than the sequinned top and mini skirt combined. After months of Kurt's unequivocal appreciation of his body, Jon was comfortable with his size and shape. The feathery fake eyelashes made his eyelids feel weighty and odd at first, but the sensation passed and now with every languid blink Jon was just conscious of how startlingly exotic he looked.

Also, tall. If Kurt didn't insist on also wearing a pair of black stilettos they would have been the same height.

"Pictures, pictures!" Jon called, holding out his phone to Cary.

Kurt snugged up next to Jon in front of the Christmas tree, bending to press their cheeks together. Kurt had painted one side of his face with a shimmering teal and purple design that matched the garishly loud peacock-feather suit jacket he'd thrown over a black mesh shirt and black skinny jeans.

"Say queeeeens," Kurt said, and Cary stabbed the phone screen with a big finger a couple times.

"Hopefully one of those worked," he said.

Kurt helped Jon into a fluffy fur coat that smelled faintly of mothballs; the temperature had dropped to frigid depths with the setting of the sun. "Be safe," Cary said, watching them in the entryway with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"You could come, big man," Kurt said, flashing him a grin.

"Uh no," Cary said. "This is one date night you don't need me to chaperone. Me an' Misty will have a quiet night."

"Don't wait up," Jon said cheerfully.

"I'm waiting up," Cary replied gruffly. "Call me if you need me."

"Darlin', my husband has a black belt and her shit-kicking boots on," Kurt said. "Your gays are going to be fine. Don't worry about a thing."

*

Evolution Wonderlounge was in the heart of downtown, and as Jon walked under the streetlights on Kurt's arm he felt a wave of nerves that may have been exhilaration or terror. Pedestrians and clubbers shivering in lines definitely turned to look as they sashayed past—he was dead centre in the spotlight with Kurt and even in this formidable coat and drag battle armour he felt exposed.

Inside the club, Jon's feet froze to the floor in a moment of sheer panic. The music beat on his ears, the strobing lights and press of bodies dazzled his eyes, and the smell of fog machine haze and alcohol and perfumed products overwhelmed his nose. There were so many people: burly oil rig workers and clumps of chatting women and gays of every shape, size and colour moving together like a shoal of brightly coloured fish. He was going to step out of this shadowy entrance-way next to Kurt and a hundred pairs of eyes were going to turn, size him up, and instantly see through the lie of this costume to the all-too-ordinary man underneath.

Kurt's face was alive with happy curiosity, his crest of colourful hair glowing in the UV lights as he pulled the fur coat off Jon's shoulders. "Let's get a Coke and see who's here," Kurt said, speaking over the thud of the bass.

Heart pounding, Jon whirled, grabbing Kurt's lapels and pressing his chest against his to stop him. "I can't. I'm not right for here. Everyone is queer and cool and I'm—not. You know I'm not."

The sound of Kurt's laugh was absorbed in the din of the music, but his eyes sparkled. "Darlin', you should see yourself under the lights right now," he said.

"That's just your make up. That's not me," Jon said frantically.

Kurt glanced over Jon's shoulder at the crowded, rainbow-lit room, then his eyes returned to Jon's face, narrowed in a warm smile. "You could wear your damn hoodie and jeans and have as much right to be here as anyone. More, even, than the straight girls in the corner having a bougie night out."

Jon's laugh was strangled and he tried to catch his breath. Every day that he showed up at high school and ran a gauntlet of stares and taunts was knotted around his chest; just in reverse here. Scratch the surface of Kurt's gorgeous drag creation and all you found was Jon White, barely gay, barely out, barely belonging to this club.

Kurt's expression softened, and he put his lips next to Jon's ear, so the words hummed against Jon's skin. "Jonathon Nathanial White, you're my husband and the bravest queer I know and you look fierce as hell right now. You absolutely belong here." Kurt's hand was firm on the small of Jon's back, and Jon took a breath, steadying himself against his solid warmth.

"Let's just prance across this floor and get a Coke and watch some people, then see how you feel," Kurt said. "You're going to be so mad at yourself tomorrow, love, if you quit before the night's even getting started. Jon White is not a quitter."

Jon's laugh shook his body, shook something loose that had held him frozen in place. He nodded and Kurt turned him back around, rubbing his bare arms reassuringly. "I personally chucked-up in that bathroom right over there the first time I showed up in drag, so I think you are doing excellent."

There was a look Jon wore at the start of a Jui Jitsu match, a lidded, even expression that said he would give as good as he got and didn't give a shit what his opponent thought as they sized each other up. It occurred to him that he could actually kick the asses of most of the people in this room--he was not a skinny fifteen-year-old anymore. Rolling his shoulders back, Jon lidded his eyes, and Kurt tucked his arm around his back. After months of being together, they fell into sync with each other, swaying on their heels as they made their way to the bar lit with colourful stripes of light.

It felt as if the entire crowd parted, watching their progress, but that was probably just the adrenaline making Jon hyper-alert. One big Black queen for sure did a complete one-eighty, waving a red sequinned hand above the crowd and calling out,

"Miss Vee, honey, oh my gawd!"

Tyrell had transformed from his elegant but masculine church look into the big-hair, big hips, big luscious red-lips Miss-T, and she was making serious waves as she plowed through the crowd towards them. She air-kissed both of Kurt's cheeks, then cupped his bearded face in her sparkling hands. Her fingerless gloves left her rhinestone encrusted fingernails on display.

"Oh my this is a masc. look for you, Mister Visser. Yum-mee." Her rich bass voice was plummy with vibrato, and Jon felt himself relaxing under the forceful, feminine warmth of Miss-T's presence. Her big black eyes went even wider as she tried to get a look around Kurt's shoulder. "And who are you with?"

Jon leaned out from behind Kurt, putting a hand under his chin and fluttering his eyelashes. "Recognize me?" he asked in his ordinary voice.

Miss-T gasped. "It is not. Jon White," she hissed in a whisper.

Kurt laughed, then put his finger over his lips. "Shhh. Not tonight she isn't," he said firmly, while Jon grinned, holding out his hand like he expected Miss-T to kiss his fingers.

"That's Honey Angel to you," Jon said.

"Oh Honey, you are gorgeous," Miss-T said, taking his fingers and looking him frankly up and down. She threw up her arms singing, "Glooooory! You know there's so much rejoicing at the pearly gates when a baby queen gets her wings. Oo come here you sweet angel."

Jon steadied himself with a hand on her muscular arm as she leaned in, kissing the air next to her gleaming cheeks the way he'd seen Kurt do a dozen times. The smell of the other queen's perfume lingered around his face after and he couldn't stop smiling.

"What's happening tonight?" Kurt asked. The bare stage was decked out with festoons of multi-coloured Christmas lights and twining tinsel. "Are you performing?"

Miss-T leaned her ample bosom over the bar, snapping her fingers for the bartender before smiling back at Kurt. "Of course. The girls and I have a little set of Christmas songs—Mariah, Dolly, some oldies and some gay-ed up remixes. A couple of the pieces we're doing at church next week. This old queen is thinking of throwing out an invite to attend our Christmas Eve service."

She fluffed up her 'fro, throwing a mischievous look around the crowd. "What do you think? Does St. Aidans have enough room in our pews for all these gays?"

Kurt snorted. "If any of them will come."

"Well," Miss-T said comfortably, sipping the iced tea that had arrived with a lemon wedge on the side. "We're bringing the 'O Holy Night' to them, live in forty-five."

Kurt ordered lime and Cokes, and Jon perched on a bar stool, legs crossed and heeled-boot swinging in time with the music as he sipped his straw and watched the whole scene through his thick lashes. He wasn't sweating anymore, and his heart had slowed to a more normal rate.

There was a fascinating collection of people here, all shapes and colours dancing and talking and drinking—from clusters of women in ordinary jeans and tight tops, to burly men in flannel shirts with the sleeves torn off the expose their thick arms, to pierced people whose gender he couldn't be sure of, to a whole host of men and women looking no different than the hundreds of students on campus Jon saw every day.

A few queens towered above the crowd, distinctive in their massive heels and wigs, with glittery, eye-catching outfits. Jon was the only queen wearing his man-shaped body and he lowered his eyes, smirking. Lucky him.

{Kurt}

Music made Kurt's body want to dance, and he barely held himself in check to stick close to Jon at the bar. The smell of alcohol was stronger here, and he kept his back turned to the wall lined with beautiful bottles of the liquid, every shade of red-amber and gold, sipping his Coke to keep his mouth from watering for something stronger.

A glance at Jon beside him picked up his spirits—his partner glowed under the passing spatter of mirror-ball light, and he could tell Jon was relaxed from the way his foot was swinging and his face was bright, watching the crowd.

Jon glanced up at him, setting his empty glass on the bar. "Aren't you going to ask me to dance?" he asked, and Kurt laughed, taking his hand and leading him out onto the floor. Finally—he'd only been dreaming of this moment all week.

There were enough people packing the Wonderlounge dance floor that no one noticed or cared about two more gays bopping and grinding and goofing off. Kurt was high on Jon's happiness, on feeling the release of his partner's tension and self-consciousness. If he was being honest, he missed being able to hug Jon close and run his hands over his beautiful body without caring who was looking, and he lost himself in that simple pleasure and Jon's own obvious enjoyment of a night out with him.

When the lights came up on a chorus line of queens, posing for the opening of the drag show, Jon jumped up and down, clapping and whistling. He turned to Kurt, fanning himself. "I'm parched," he hollered. "Drinks?"

Kurt brushed his lips against the corner of Jon's shoulder and neck, feeling him laugh through his hands. "Don't go anywhere, Angel; I'll be right back."

Mariah Carey was letting it rip in the opening bars of 'All I Want for Christmas' behind him, when Kurt noticed a familiar pair of shoulders in a silky black shirt, leaning into the bar. He pulled up, heart tripping, and almost turned heel to retreat before Nicky could see him.

Kurt touched his thumb to the wedding band, snug around his finger, then closed his fist. So his ex was here—it was a free country and he was thirsty. He wasn't letting Nicky mess up this evening out with Jon.

He pressed his hand against his galloping heart to tell it to hush, wishing he'd worn a dress. This suit jacket didn't feel like armour enough.

At least he had on his new favourite heels—Kurt click-clacked up to the bar, catching the bartender's eye. "Two diet cokes with lime," Kurt said.

No chance Nicky was going to let him pass unnoticed. "Well if it isn't the elusive Kurt Klassen," Nicky drawled. "It's been a while." The other man's lips were pursed inside his oiled beard, looking Kurt over like a piece of meat just past its best-before date.

Kurt tore his eyes away, feeling the back of his neck flush. "Nicky," he said evenly.

"I assume from your long absence that you've been doing another stint in rehab," Nicky said. "You look all right, babe. Although--the beard ages you a bit."

Kurt tucked his hair behind his ear with cold fingers. Nicky's voice grated over his skin, but he held his ground. This was a normal conversation between two people who weren't together anymore, in any way. "Just working days and staying in with my partner most nights. Don't see a reason to be out on the scene anymore." He flicked Nicky a narrow look. "Figured it was time to grow up."

Nicky swivelled sideways on the bar stool, leaning on his elbow like he was completely interested, toying with the oiled curl at the end of his beard. "Oh really." He looked amused. "So what're you doing here tonight? Is Kurt feeling a little bored and restless?" He pouted his lips and Kurt grimaced, flashing to the feel of those lips on his skin.

It was a relief to turn away and find Jon's brilliant honey-gold curls in the swaying mass of the crowd. "Nope," Kurt said, nudging his chin at the stage. "My queen's the one in white."

Miss-T was pulling Jon onstage for the next number and Jon's teeth flashed as he laughed and gave in. He glittered under the lights as he joined the other queens, flicking his hair over his shoulder, snapping his fingers above his head and moving his body to the music just like he'd done in their kitchen days earlier. Kurt snorted a small laugh. Get the man in a skirt and lashes and he was anything but shy.

Nicky looked briefly puzzled, like he was trying to think of where he recognized Kurt's partner.

"So how've you been?" Kurt asked, pushing his straw into one of the icy Cokes that had finally arrived. "You here with someone?"

"Nah, bitch," Nicky said. "Here to pick someone up. Actually, I've been trying to reach you." He slid one stool closer and the skin tightened on Kurt's body. Normal conversation. Person he wasn't with in any way. "Recording studio still wants to make a deal." Nicky held Kurt's eyes and named such an obscene amount of money that Kurt blinked, taken aback.

Nicky lifted his thick, groomed eyebrows. "How long have we worked for an offer like that? And it's finally paying off." Kurt was hyper-conscious of Nicky's hands, one around his drink, one spread on his leg as the big man leaned in, a teasing smile on his lips.

"I mean--look at you, Kurt," Nicky purred. "You're made for bigger things than this hick town. I can't believe you're domesticated and settling down with your little day job and your white picket fence. Please. I know you. You're lying awake at night jonesing for a crowd, itching for the music. We could cut you back in. Do a studio album and a tour."

It was some effort for Kurt to say, "Yeah, no. There's nothing real about that offer."

Nicky straightened up, delighted. "I swear it's real. I'll show you the texts." He pulled out his phone. "C'mere babe; what's your new number?"

Kurt looked at the man he'd given years of his life to and saw greed in the shape of Nicky's mouth. After being partnered so faithfully by Jon, it had become clear to Kurt how much of what Nicky called love had really been petty cruelty and control. "Nope. Hard nope," Kurt said.

Nicky leaned in, straining to hear him over the din of club noise. Kurt's chest was so tight he couldn't make his voice any louder but he was saying this, to Nicky's face. "You used me, Nicky. You hurt me an' got off on it. You couldn't pay me any amount of money to get together with you again. In any way."

Nicky laughed dismissively. "Darlin', you've always had a price. Let me just put my number in your phone--" Nicky's hand was on his elbow, his other hand plunging into the pocket of Kurt's pants.

Kurt froze and then jerked away. "Keep your fucking hands off me," he said breathlessly.

Nicky waved Kurt's phone in his fingers. "I'll just give you my number for when you change your mind." He tapped a code into the lock screen, glancing up at Kurt. "What's your passcode now, babe?"

Kurt put a hand on the bar, the smell of Nicky's cologne sticking to the roof of his mouth, his heart fluttering in his throat so he couldn't make a sound.

"Hey love." A touch brushing his shoulders made Kurt whirl. It took him a second to recognize his own handiwork in the luminescent angel-queen who fisted her hand on his jacket to steady him, and another moment to locate Jon's familiar hazel eyes in his exotic makeup and feathery lashes.

Jon read him in a second, flicking such a sharp look at Nicky that Kurt wondered if Jon had been watching them. He wanted to say—Please can we go—and—I need my fucking phone back—but he couldn't find his voice. Even with a lock on his phone now, Kurt felt violated and afraid for all the incriminating photos and information about Jon that Nicky held in his hand, just a four-digit code away.

Using the lapels of Kurt's jacket, Jon neatly moved him out of the way, putting his body between Kurt and Nicky. "Where's our drinks at?" Jon asked lightly. He hopped up on the stool beside Nicky, crossing his legs with a silky rustle and spreading his arms along the bar. His muscular torso was on full display, the sequinned halter top rucked up on his sweaty stomach. "I'm so hot, Kurt."

"Nice look," Nicky said. "You do her, babe?"

Jon slowly turned his attention from Kurt to Nicky, his eyebrows lifting. "Helloo bish," Jon sang softly. "Don't talk over me when I'm right here." He pouted, shifting his body in a way that was very distracting and Nicky took the bait, eyes wandering over Jon's gleaming, bare skin. In that moment of inattention, Jon's arm flicked out, scooped Kurt's phone out of Nicky's hand and passed it back to Kurt. Shoving it back in his pocket, Kurt felt like he could breathe again.

Jon was still watching Nicky through his lashes, his freckled hands alive on the counter, fingers running over the wood grain. "What were you doing with Kurt's phone?" Jon asked, feather-light and perhaps merely curious.

Kurt thought of Jon's hands in the first minute of a match, open, quick, looking for the weakness in his opponent's stance.

Nicky smirked, apparently not picking up that this glowing, feminine person beside him was any kind of threat. "Oh, me and Kurt go way back. You're gonna need a shorter leash for that one, doll."

Kurt hunched his shoulders. "Fuck you Nicky," he muttered.

"Huh," Jon said. Dragging his fingers over his bare chest, Jon licked his bottom lip, then smiled slowly. "I haven't found that to be necessary." He turned to Kurt, stroking the back of Kurt's hand. "He really doesn't know you at all, love." The familiar sound of Jon's voice was steadying Kurt, and one corner of his mouth answered Jon's smile.

Leaning back on the bar, Jon swept his honey-gold waves over one shoulder, eyes glowing up at him. "All Kurt Visser needs is honey in the honey pot," Jon said, his voice humming with the sultry warmth he usually reserved for their bedroom. He oozed off his stool, stretching from side to side, the miniskirt doing very little to cover more than his narrow hips as he did so. "One more dance, love? Or should we head home?"

Kurt caught his partner's bare waist, tugging him inside the 'V' of his legs. "Or whatever," Jon laughed.

Holding Jon's face in his hands, the familiar shape of his jaw, the gorgeous makeup, and his laughing hazel eyes, made Kurt feel anchored and entirely himself again. Nicky might as well have blinked out of existence for all that he mattered. "Honey in the honey pot?" He chuckled. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Well, look at me," Jon said, his eyes sparkling back. His voice dropped to a whisper, and he stroked a hand across Kurt's chest. "I'm hella hot, darlin', but my feet are killing me and these feathers are making me crazy."

Jon's rose-gold lipstick had rubbed off a little, revealing the soft pink of his own lips just where they opened into his warm pink mouth. Kurt leaned down to take that enticing bottom lip in his mouth, feeling Jon draw a breath as he wrapped his strong arms around Kurt's back.

"Get a room," Nicky muttered, disgusted.

"Hm, how about that," Kurt said, smiling into Jon's eyes. "We don't need a room. We have a whole house together."

Taking Jon's arm, he swept his queen out of the bar, head held high to appreciate all the faces turning to follow their fabulous procession. He didn't see Jon flipping Nicky the bird behind his back, but he laughed about that part of the story later.

3908 words.

*Yass queens! Finally a last confrontation with Nicky and he gets a little taste of what he deserves...nothing like being ignored and left behind to really drive home what a petty villain you are.

Did that go how you expected? In what way did that feel like a victory for Jon and for Kurt each in their own way?

Evolution Wonderlounge is loosely based on a gay bar of the same name in Edmonton, AB, where our story is set. It's a relatively small city so there aren't a lot of exclusively queer options. I tried to give the vibe that this is a cool place, but kind of small and folksy as well.*