They have new gear. Silas hates it, which somehow makes it even better, but the Boys feel sleek, strong in the new, cheerful tights with peacock feathers all over the glittery fabric that's somewhere between green and blue. "I like this," Brent says, ghosting his fingertips over the hints of Dalton's influence in their tights. "The design came out better than I thought it would."
"I'm surprised Silas didn't outright burn them when he saw them," Brandon murmurs back. They have indy events coming up, rare periods of time where Silas has agreed to let them leave his sight, so of course they needed gear made. It had all gone smoother than either Boy had expected.
"I'll be checking for anything unmanly on social media about it, though, so don't get too comfortable," he had warned them and Brandon shakes his head at the memory, exhaling roughly. They're at the arena for the scheduled Ring of Honor events, waiting for Silas to decide what he wants from them this week, and both Boys are bored. Antsy. Can almost smell Dalton in the air- sweet and spicy and just him- but not brave enough to search him out, in case Beer City Bruiser or Silas himself have eyes on them.
For this reason, both Boys tense up and stare when Dalton sneaks into the room they're hanging out in to stay out of Silas' way, their jaws dropping as he winks at them, holding a finger to his lips. When everything remains quiet, calm, he reaches over and locks the door. "Just in case," he says softly, inching over to them. "Hello, Boys."
"You shouldn't be here!" Brandon finally finds his voice, even as he instinctively reaches out for Dalton. "If Silas or Bruiser sees you-"
"I'm not concerned about that," Dalton says, taking Brandon's hand and lifting it to his lips, softly kissing his palm. He searches Brent's face while Brandon shivers and lets out a soft, needy noise. "How are you both?"
"Fine," Brent forces out through frozen lips. "Miss you every minute of every day."
Dalton exhales sadly and steps closer, cupping Brent's face. "I know. My poor Boys. I miss you both too." He presses a soft kiss to Brent's temple, hugging him close, and Brent closes his eyes, squeezing Dalton's sides. "Now let me look at you." He holds Brent at arm's length, examining his and Brandon's gear side by side. "That's some impressive looking gear, Boys." He smooths his hand over the feathers sprawling over their hips, bringing them into him for another hug, his arms tucking both of them into his sides. "The gear of winners. The gear of Men." He smiles sadly at them.
"No!" Brandon bursts out, surprising both Dalton and his brother with his vehemence. "We're not Men. We're always gonna be your Boys. No matter what." There's a fire that's usually not there in his eyes, in his voice, and Dalton presses his forehead against Brandon's, stroking his jaw until he calms down.
"Of course you are," he soothes him. "Of course. I know that, Brandon. I want nothing else to be true." He reluctantly pulls away from them after a few more moments of this togetherness. "Unfortunately I have to go before I get you both in trouble." He presses soft kisses to the side of their faces, and smiles at them. "Stay strong, and I look forward to seeing you kick so much ass in these new tights." His fingers graze over the sleek fabric, and he grins as the Boys stare up at him adoringly. "Take care of each other. I'll see you soon."
They want to hold onto him, convince him to stay a little longer, but they both know it's too risky, so they let him go, turning to look at each other with troubled expressions on their faces once he's snuck back out of the room. "Well, you heard the man. Time to start kicking some ass."
Whether that means Silas, or just their opponents at their scheduled indy dates, neither Boys are exactly sure.