Ah, Bayville.

Actually, a few towns over from it in Westchester - by no accident on behalf of two certain Brotherhood mutants - is where we begin.

After a few minutes of loitering to make sure there really wasn't anyone in the area they recognized from school, and to make sure the store was as empty as it was going to get, Pietro Maximoff began bodily dragging Lance Alvers toward a Victoria's Secret Boutique they'd found by way of the wonderfully anonymous internet. The former looked like a kid in a toy store; the latter like a cow in a Burger King.

"Tell me again just when it was that I agreed to this." Lance growled under his breath, trying to keep his face as hidden as possible without obstructing his vision

"I think it was immediately after I agreed to be tied to your bed... and, as much fun as that was, you still gave your word you'd do this." Pietro growled back under his breath, but not for fear of being heard.

A store clerk noticed their entry, but instead of hailing them as was policy, she decided they were too engaged in their conversation to bother, and returned to her shelving, making sure she was at least in plain sight. They didn't get many teenage boys who were serious customers, save the occasional cruel dare...and at that, they were *never* seen in pairs.

"Ooooooh! Lookit-this-it's-absolutely-perfect!!" Pietro squealed, diving for a rack. Lance paled when he saw the other boy's target: a strappy, g-string teddy made of very transparent black lace, with matching collar and garter. Pietro wiggled it in front of Lance optimistically, making little whaddya-think noises and waggling his eyebrows.

"NO. WAY."

His brows knitted, but his smile remained. "Whaddya-mean, noway? You promised!"

Lance frowned. "I can't wear THAT!" he said, remembering to keep his voice low only after he'd realized the nearby clerk must've heard him.

"But you promised! I heard you promise!" Pietro was very nearly pouting at this point, fully aware of how alluring Lance found it.

"What, and I don't get a say here at all?"

"You said you'd try on anything I-wanted-you-to!"

"That was before I knew what anything constisted of!"

For a moment, Pietro looked genuinely hurt. "It shouldn't matter," he said quietly, looking at the floor and twisting the garment in his hands.

Damn. Lance ran a hand through his hair and gave up on staying hidden from the clerk. Damn damn. "Fine, I'll try it on, but I won't buy it." He grinned as lewdly as he could manage as he saw his boyfriend brighten immensly. "And yeah, you can see me in it. But for really, can we find something that's at least not completely made of lace?"

Pietro shoved the teddy at Lance's chest, leaving him to find the right size as he darted through the rest of the store, occasionaly plucking very small peices of fabric from the racks. VERY small, Lance noted. The other boy had already forgotten how new this field was to him - the training wheels, apparently, would be skimmed over in lieu of a cadillac. He turned and began inspecting the articles near him...some of this stuff did look like it might be fun to try on, he grudginly admitted to himself. In fact, he admitted just as grudgingly, Pietro had introduced him to a lot of things that had proven to be enjoyable...the kinds of things he never in all his life would be willing to try if he hadn't been staring in a pair of rather pretty eyes at the time, whatever the gender. And boy, is THAT a whole 'nother bucket of worms... He barely had time to chuckle at the bizarrity of the entire situation when he looked over his shoulder and froze. It took all his willpower to not shake the ground in frustration and embarrassment. His boyfriend - his insane, exhibitionist boyfriend, as Lance had now dubbed him, had flagged down the clerk.

She had finally stopped backing away when she collided with a table full of panties, and regarded Pietro as though he were on fire. "You want it for your....?"

"Boyfriend." Pietro supplied easily. "What are the largest sizes you have? Though I guess he wouldn't need a very big bra...still, we don't wanna-rip-the-shoulders-out-of-anything, y'know, so I guess maybe-stretchy-stuff-would-be-best, andanythingyagotinblueorpurpleormaybedarkred..." Pietro continued to mutter to himself, his speech gradually gaining speed, until the clerk gave up on trying to translate and stumbled off to find her manager.

"My, but this place is....PINK," Lance commented, after he'd been properly assured that they'd never ever see the clerk anywhere but here, and that she didn't know anyone they knew. "Think they could get any more girly if they had to?"

"I think that's the point..." muttered Pietro, still rifling through clothes. Lance was already holding several chosen items, including one stretch-fishnet bodysuit that was approximately the size of Lance's breakfast.

"Here, try this one." Pietro giggled, shoving another nightie at him. Lance only sighed in reply and kept walking.

"But it's satin! You'll like satin! It's all slidy!" Pietro quickly and effortlessly avoided Lance's attempt to block him. He snaked his hand out and ran the fabric down his boyfriend's face, watching with no small satisfaction as the boy's eyes widened and a grin formed.

"Hey, that's pretty cool."

"Thought so. I'll go see if they have it in purple." As Pietro wandered off to bother the clerk again, Lance caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye, and snatched it before Pietro could see it, reasoning that he must have missed it. No WAY had he purposfully passed up a number like that...

The clerk (thanks to rather...assertive prodding by her manager) had finally decided that paying customers were paying customers, and unlocked the dressing room for the two, silently vowing that if she found ANY mysterious new stains anywhere in the vicinity, she was calling the police. Lance found himself in a room that had been pinked and hearted and gilded and cushioned within an inch of its life. He dumped the armload of clothes on the seat provided, shoved Pietro out (much to Pietro's chagrin), and began unlacing his shoes, still slightly unsure if he really wanted to do this.

"Can I see?"

"No."

"Pleeeeeease? Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease...."

"No, Pietro."

"Then what's the point?"

"I look like an albino RuPaul! These things were meant to fit girls, anyway!"

"I won't tell anybody, promise. Please-lemme-see?"

"Dude, you have got the weirdest fetishes..."

"Tch, say-it-alittlelouder, I-don't-think-everyoneheardyou."

"If I show you just this one, will that get me outta trying on all the other things?"

"Depends on how good you look in it. Now open up."

Lance closed his eyes and nudged the door open a few inches, feeling at once both scandalized and exhilerated as Pietro stepped in, closed the door behind him, and stopped dead in his tracks.

Lance was wearing a two-piece, the top being a short, sheer tank with embroidered pearl buttons and fluttering short silk sleeves, and the bottom being a dangerously short satin wraparound skirt over a spaghetti-string thong. Lance could tell the other boy rather liked what he saw, and decided to take advantage of it. Almost in spite of himself, he wiggled in front of Pietro suggestively, making little whaddya-think noises and waggling his eyebrows. Pietro responded instantly by crushing him to the opposite wall and taking his mouth greedily, his hands running over the fabric, memorizing the texture, grabbing at the skin underneath. Lance was at first taken aback. Somebody might hear us. Somebody might know, he thought frantically, but was in no place to object as he found himself being ground and fondled into arousal. Hands that slid over fabric now dipped beneath it, as a tounge did the same with his mouth. He was about to hook a leg around Pierto's hips when the sounds of a ready-and-willing Pietro mingled with the sounds of a store in buisness and brought him fully back to reality with a jarring thud. He wrenched his lips free and disengaged himself from the embrace, albiet rather awkwardly: the outfit had been tangled around him so as to almost immobilize him, and his boyfriend's superspeed certainly wasn't helping matters.

"Are you crazy??" He hissed, trying to look as vicious as he could given the ludicrous position he was in. "You know that lady out there'll skin us alive if she thinks anythi-"

"You weren't objecting," Pietro cut in giddily, still slightly out of breath. He saved Lance from having to answer by turning around and slipping back out of the dressing room with a sly grin. "Lemme know when you're ready to show me the next one, handsome."

It was several hours and nearly two hundred dollars later that they finally exited the store, both loaded down with brown paper bags (after making a scene to get out of using the pink striped ones). The clerk had been glad to see them go, after secretly admitting to herself that they really were kind of a cute couple, and thanking all that was holy that they'd bought nearly everything they'd tried on. They now sat together on the subway, trying very very hard to not cuddle - they hadn't gotten very far in the dressing room, due to Lance's indignant protests, but it was far enough to raise a few appetites, and they both willed the tram to go faster.

"Now, aren't you glad-I-made-you-go?" said Pietro, fiddling with Lance's collar as nondescrpitly as he could.

Lance rolled his eyes. "You just hafta say 'I told you so', doncha?"

"No, I-believe-I-said 'arentyougladImadeyougo'."

Lance glanced over his shoulder to be sure noone was looking, then laced his fingers with his boyfriends. "It was kinda fun, yeah. At least we found some stuff in your size too." He grinned evilly as the tram lurched to a stop. "But since it was your idea, you get to be the one to do all the special laudry voodoo this stuff needs." He glanced down at a bag and spied a stray tag. "Hand wash with like colors? Sounds like fun." Lance couldn't help but chuckle at his own mad genius.

"Fair enough," Pietro grinned, picking up their bags and standing. "Then you get to be the one to explain to Mystique where our weekend expenses went." Pierto darted off through crowd, leaving Lance so dumbfounded with horror that he failed to jump off the subway in time, and thus missed his stop. Which actually worked out just fine, as walking home from the stop after that gave him plenty of time to think of a good cover story to tell the others - both for where their money had gone, and for why they would soon find Pietro unconscious on their kitchen floor, bound and gagged by women's nighties.