"There, now purse your lips and rub them together a little," Bill instructed, in a voice that probably would've encouraged Tom to at least consider doing just about anything. There was a husky edge to it - a masculine edge, his dying heterosexuality tried insisting, and Tom swatted it absently back into its corner - that had Tom's hormones working overtime. Thank god he wore huge pants, and a huge shirt over them.
Tom obediently pursed his lips and rubbed them together. That technique, at least, was also applicable to chapstick, so he had more than a vague idea as to what Bill was going for here.
"Oh, yeah, there you go." Bill smiled at him, still cupping Tom's chin and leaning close, and Tom's stomach did a series of backflips. Every one of his internal organs apparently decided to copy the move when Bill used the pad of his thumb to wipe what was probably a smear of lip gloss off the skin just below Tom's lower lip. "You look like a million dollars, Tom," said Bill proudly. "I think you'll like it. Want to see?"
"Um," said Tom, giving Bill another dopey grin. "Huh? Sure."
He stared dreamily at Bill as Bill rummaged around in his box again. The poor Cubbies could've been losing a hundred to two, and he wouldn't have noticed or cared. Tom had, after all, sat through the application of foundation ("Not much lighter than your skin tone, or it'll make you look like Interview with the Vampire Tom Cruise," Bill had warned him, and Tom had possibly recalled that a movie with that title existed), some kind of powder, eyeliner, eyeshadow ("Just a touch. You don't want to go overboard with it," Bill had cautioned, while Tom gazed at Bill's lips and sort of paid attention to what he was saying), mascara, and now the lip gloss. What was a little ballgame after all that? Especially when 'all that' meant Bill caressing and cradling Tom's face the whole time.
Bill brandished a compact mirror, smiling brilliantly as he held it up for Tom to inspect his reflection. "There."
Tom's eyes threatened to pop right out of his head when he saw his own face. His wide eyes had been shaped by the eyeliner, extended at the corners like Bill's, but more subtly, with a dark brown liner. A lighter shade of eyeshadow colored his lids, his eyebrows had been darkened- at least he thought they had; he didn't really spend enough time inspecting himself or primping in front of his bathroom to know for sure. His lips were covered with shiny brown gloss, and his complexion was fucking perfect. He'd never had any reason to even contemplate the word 'complexion' before, so that was a miracle in and of itself.
I look like Natalie Portman, Tom realized dazedly.
Well. At least Natalie Portman was seriously hot.