P.S. The highly talented Ms. pseudoblu posted a lovely little rendition of Avon lady Bill that should explain just how Tom's been suckered so easily into this whole makeup thing. ;)
Before long, Bill had laid out an assortment of the earth tones he'd claimed would match Tom's coloring, and Tom was surveying them all with dismay. He didn't even know what half of the tubes and vials were, much less how to apply them. Besides, Bill's eyeliner and tantalizing lipgloss was one thing, because Bill was the one wearing them, and Bill was the single most gorgeous person Tom had ever met.
Tom, however, was a lazy slob who liked chugging beer, wolfing potato chips, and lounging around in t-shirts and jeans five sizes too large for him. The cosmetics would probably turn tail and run screaming the second they caught sight of his fraying dreadlocks.
"Okay, um," said Tom, once Bill had finished explaining to him that some rich mahogany shadow - Tom had thought mahogany was a kind of pastry, but what did he know? - would accent his features perfectly. "This whole makeup thing's kind of, more of a hobby for me, so I don't really know, uh, how?"
Bill paused, then smiled brightly as he popped the cap off something Tom thought could be eyeliner. "That's just fine. Avon representatives are fully trained in the application of their wares, too, you know."
"Oh yeah?" Tom asked weakly. All right, so having Bill's hands all over his face seemed like a great plan; it was the end result Tom wasn't so sure about.
"Mmhm. Well, I've practiced with plenty of my own- oh!" Bill glanced over at the television, where the crowd at Wrigley had just started roaring. "Come on, come on, come on- yes! All the way out to Waveland Avenue!" he cheered. Tom blinked and realized that Soriano had just slammed a two-run homer out of the park. He hadn't even noticed the two guys before Soriano getting on base, and even now he was more interested in Bill, who made for an adorable sports fan. Bill was bouncing exuberantly as Soriano jogged around the bases.
Tom grinned a little stupidly, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to think of something intelligent to say. "Wow. Guess you must be a good luck charm," was all he could come up with.
"Hm?" Bill gave him a curious look.
"Oh, just, they were losing real bad before you showed up, so," Tom explained. Being new to this whole gay thing, he wasn't sure whether he ought to be using typically masculine sports banter here, or attempting to flirt and get on Bill's good side. The latter seemed safer, so he stuck with that.
Bill laughed, a sound prettier than anything Tom had ever heard from an actress or supermodel's mouth. "Sure. I've been watching every game, and they're still six games out of first."
The fact that Bill was up on MLB standings was quite possibly the sexiest trait Tom had ever encountered in a human being he also found physically attractive. He was starting to conclude that Bill was just the best at everything. "Well," said Tom. "Maybe it's the two of us together. We're the good luck charm, me and you."
"You think?" Bill asked, and smiled at him despite the utter cheesiness of Tom's line. "Maybe. Now, let's get you started with these samples. Just hold nice and still..." Without any further warning, Bill sat up on his knees, taking Tom's chin between his thumb and two delicately manicured fingers. He peered at Tom's face and leaned in with the eyeliner pencil, or whatever it was.
Tom obediently kept still, closing his eyes. If getting a little makeup applied was his ticket to heaven (and hopefully into Bill's pants), then so be it.