#ch. orion boyd

[hoodiercynolds-archive]

closed starter for: @orionboyd​ time & location: orion’s drag performance

He learned about drag queens the way only Hoodie Reynolds can learn about drag queens: he’d slept with one. No, there was no wig, no dress, no pumps. He’d merely told him what he did for a living, I do drag racing, and you? to which the guy gleefully said, Oh, me too! But it wasn’t until after Hoodie had asked, What do you drive? that they both realized they were barreling towards a misunderstanding.

Drag, as it turned out, meant quite a few different things in Hoodie’s life. Taking a drag from his cigarette. Drag racing with his (his boss’) Ford Torino. Dragging his feet to the gas station so he can open the store. Drag queens.

Hoodie let himself be dragged—yet another notable use of the word—to the bar where Josh performs as Eve Apple. And Hoodie adored Eve Apple. As well as the other girls in their glittery makeup and shimmery shoes. Josh... well, not so much. And despite the relationship having been ended three dates in, Hoodie kept coming back to the bar. Much to Josh’s chagrin.

Because aside from Eve Apple, there was one girl in particular who’d caught Hoodie’s attention. The tallest of the bunch, Hoodie figures, and even more so in heels. The one they call Celeste. Great body. Even better dancer. She’s got this way about her, when she swings her hips a certain way and turns and then her dress flares up— the room goes crazy. And the way she handles that attention? So fucking hot.

But that’s besides the point. Not only is she the prettiest girl there, but she’s also the best dressed. Clad in all this shiny jewelry, in gowns that look like they’re worth three months’ rent, and lace front wigs that, according to Josh, are a lot more expensive than non-laced ones. Celeste must have money.

And it’s why he’s sitting at the front row for the third time that month, always arriving just in time for Celeste to come out on stage. He orders a scotch and the waiter gives him this look like he just knows he’s not a scotch person, but he returns with a glass, anyway. It’s the only classy drink that Hoodie knows from what he’s learned from the businessmen that visit Willow’s bar. And damn expensive, too. But if tonight’s going to go the way he’d planned it to, he’s sure this prop will be made up for.

He paces himself with the drink, making sure not to finish it all before Celeste’s slot is over. He makes sure to give her bedroom eyes the entire time, too, leaning back, sitting with his legs slightly parted, and then slightly more. He bites his lips. Lets his unoccupied hand linger on his thigh, pretending to rub at it absent-mindedly as he watches her perform.

Finally, the emcee returns onstage and Hoodie hurried leaps from his seat, drink in hand and, just as he’s about to sneak in backstage, pours a little bit of the golden liquor onto his white shirt.

Celeste had just entered the dressing room. Hoodie takes note of the door as he swiftly turns the corner and bursts in.

“Oh! Oh, my god, I am so sorry. I, uh... this isn’t the bathroom...”