Hi there! Chelseyelric here with, what I think, is a long overdue contribution to one of my favorite shippings! Have you noticed that there's hardly any HotGear stuff on this site? Well, I hope to remedy that with this. My main inspirations for writing this were crystallicsky, sparklinburgndy and C2ndy2c1d.

At the top of each fic, there will be an article of clothing and a rating. Some of my fics are short and will be put on the same page, but I basically give it it's own page if it contains 500 words or more.

This fic is filled with all sorts of lengths, ratings and genres, but that doesn't change the fact that this is entirely a boy love/ yaoi/ guyxguy/ pairing. If you don't like it, I'm not really sure how you found this but please exit this story.

Please, let me know if there are any articles of clothing/ wearable objects you would like to see me write about, and remember that, though they may not be posted yet/ are in progress, I have many remaining and should update regularly.

Well, enjoy, fave and comment as chelseyelric lives on comments and peanut butter XD~

(K+)

An incredible aroma slowly woke Virgil Hawkins from a deep sleep one Saturday morning, making his foggy mind confused. He would have assumed that somebody was cooking something next door but it was too strong a smell for that to be true.

7:34am, Virgil's alarm clock read when he turned over to look at it.

What?

His Pops was the only decent cook in the family these days, but he tended to work late Friday nights and sleep in the next morning, leaving his kids with the options of cereal or toaster waffles. Neither of which Virgil could smell now.

His sister…well, he ruled her out immediately. The girl couldn't make ice!

Suddenly too hungry to sleep, the teen threw his comforter back and decided to investigate, yawning and following his nose down the stairs toward the kitchen.

Upon turning the corner from the living room, he was surprised to see the back of his best friend in front of the oven.

"Richie?" he asked.

The blond in question turned at the sound of his name, gently waving the spatula in his hand.

"Hey, Verge. Ya hungry?"

The sound of muffled laughter mixed with the sizzling of bacon on the stovetop. "Dude, what are you wearing?"

Richie looked down at the only thing Virgil could be talking about: Sharon's white, frilly knee length apron with a few spatterings of miscellaneous food stuffs.

"What?" he asked defensively, the start of a blush staining his cheeks. "I needed one and this was all I could find."

"Hey, whatever, man. Not judgin'," he said, raising his hands in surrender and took a noticeable sniff at the air. "Dang, what's that amazing smell?"

Happy to hear the subject change, Richie turned back to the food he'd been slaving over all morning. "I know its kinda weird to make lunch for breakfast," he said, "but my best dish is tomato bacon spaghetti and garlic bread. Thought I'd make it as a thank you for letting me stay the night. Hope you don't mind."

Virgil was practically drooling. "Nah, man. That's cool." He pulled out a chair and had a seat at the table. "So, uh, why are you here?"

"You know, the usual," Richie replied monotonously, stirring a pot of marinara sauce. "Fight with my dad. Let myself in early this morning. I couldn't sleep, though, so I just started cooking." He turned some dials on the back of the stove.

This random appearance was by no means unusual to Virgil. He knew just how rocky of a relationship Richie had with his old man. The two friends had come to the agreement shortly after the blond ran away from home months ago that, if a fight ever became particularly bad, Richie could come crash at Verge's place, no explanation necessary. However, that didn't keep the teen hero from asking. "What about now?"

Richie snorted to himself in anger. "It was The Big One," he said, mixing the contents of a couple of pots together in a large kettle. The resulting steam created a noticeable fog on his glasses, which he wiped away in mild irritation.

Virgil cringed at the code they'd been using, understanding just how serous this was. "How'd he find out about that?"

"He went through my phone when I left it on the counter to answer the door," Richie replied in a prickly manner, clearly still upset about the fact that his father had invaded his privacy in such a way.

He darted here and there for a few seconds, grabbing last minute herbs and silverware to finish the dish for Virgil and smiled proudly when it was done.

The blond set a huge piping hot plate of bread and pasta topped with chunks of tomato, bacon and parmesan cheese in front of his very best friend and crime fighting partner.

"Dig in, dude."

Virgil shot a concerned look toward Richie before he gladly pulled the plate closer and picked up the fork that had been stuck into the side of the mound.

"Aren't you gonna have some?" he asked, noticing that his friend pulled up his own seat rather than get some spaghetti for himself.

"Nah. I'm not really hungry."

Virgil could see the worry on his friend's downturned face, probably wondering if he'd ever get to go home. He reached a free hand out to grasp Richie's shoulder in reassurance.

"You gonna be okay? This is pretty serious, isn't it?"

The blond tried to seem nonchalant. "Oh, no. Its fine. I mean, its not like I've ever cared what he thought of me before." He picked distractedly at some frayed cloth on the edge of Sharon's apron.

Virgil could tell just what he was thinking.

"Hey, it'll be okay, Rich. Your dad got…well, he hasn't exactly gotten over his racism, but he's been trying because he loves you. It'll take some time but I'm sure he'll accept you being gay someday."

Richie reluctantly raised his eyes to meet Virgil's. "I hope you're right, Verge. He seemed really…disappointed."

"I usually am," he said with a confident smirk. "And you know you can stay here whenever you need to."

Virgil removed his hand from Richie's sweater and finally took a bite of his spaghetti. A few seconds passed where he just sat still, looking straight ahead, his eyes wide.

"Is it…okay?" Richie nervously questioned, trying to snap his friend out of whatever trance he was currently trapped in.

Virgil slowly turned his head toward Richie and asked something under his breath.

"What, dude?" the blond inquired.

He found his shoulders being suddenly grabbed and shaken, skewing his glasses and forcing a noise of fear and confusion to slip from his throat.

"Where have you been while I was eating Sharon's horrible excuse for food!?" the hero wailed.

In the following minutes, Virgil could have put a competitive eater to shame and Richie couldn't help but chuckle to himself despite his dour mood.

Around a particularly large mouthful, Virgil asked, "How long have you been able to cook like this?"

Richie shrugged. "Not long. My boyfriend's been teaching me."

"Mr. Mystery? Dude," Virgil said, looking completely serious. "I might steal him from you if he cooks like this all the time. I don't care."

To his surprise, Richie began laughing so hard that it brought tears to his eyes. The blond was having trouble imagining his incredibly straight friend trying to seduce one of their long time arch enemies simply because his food had flavor.

"No, man," Richie gasped out when his laughter had eventually petered into giggles. "I really don't think you would. He's not your type."

Virgil handed his now empty plate to Richie, silently begging for more. The genius happily obliged.

"Yeah, you're probably right," he said, obviously joking about the whole thing. "So, uh, not tryin' to seem nosey but why didn't you head over to his place last night? You guys are serious enough, right? And I'm sure he would have-" Virgil dropped his voice a couple of octaves suggestively, "-comforted you."

Richie rolled his eyes over his shoulder. "Maybe because I don't have a key to his apartment?"

"Coulda knocked."

"At three in the morning?"

Virgil shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

The blond shook his head in exasperation. "Well, Verge," he said, turning to flash a mocking smile.

"Maybe he's not really the sensitive type and would have just felt awkward if I'd just shown up crying. Maybe, he offered the kind of comfort you're talking about when I texted him about this last night but I didn't want that kind of comfort at that point. And, maybe," Richie declared, setting the refilled plate on the table, "now that I've calmed down a bit and talked it out, I do want the kind of comfort he wants to give."

A sudden buzzing sound came from the blond's pant pocket, spooking him out of his heated rant and beckoning him to fish out his phone (which now had a lock on it, thank you very much.) After typing in his password, the banner on the screen read that he had a new text message.

'You ok?' –FStop

Richie smiled and texted:

'I am now. Still at Virgil's. I made him my spaghetti and he flipped out :D' –richierich~

'Yeah? Better bring some, babe. Starving…for the spaghetti too ;)' –FStop

"Whossat?" Virgil asked, his mouth stuffed with food yet again.

"Dude, you're gonna get sick. Slow down," Richie scolded nervously. "It's just my Mr. Mystery. He asked me to bring him some of this when I head up there. Do you mind if I bounce?"

"Nah, man, 's you're life. You coming back later?" Virgil inquired over the clatter of Tupperware.

"Most likely. I don't think I should see my dad just yet, but I'll probably swing by my house while he's at work to grab some stuff I forgot." Richie undid the drawstrings of Sharon's apron.

"Keep it," the ravanette all but pleaded when Richie tried to place it on the table. "Lord knows Sharon has absolutely no idea how to use it. Maybe if she can't find it, she'll stop trying to poison me."

Richie laughed and was out the door with his jacket, container of pasta and new-to-him apron in minutes.

It was about this time when Sharon poked her head into the kitchen. "What's that smell?"