Vic’s bedroom was a chaotic sanctuary of mismatched furniture, fairy lights twinkling like mischievous stars, and a vanity table buried under an avalanche of makeup and satin nightdresses. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and hairspray, a testament to the hours spent preening in front of that cracked mirror. Sprawled across his bed in a silky lavender nightdress that clung to his frame like a second skin, Vic hummed a cheesy pop tune—wildly off-key, of course—while meticulously applying cherry-red lipstick with a handheld mirror. Each swipe was deliberate, a small act of rebellion against the mundane day he’d endured.
The door burst open without so much as a courtesy knock, and in stormed Sirge and Nico, a whirlwind of energy and smudged eyeliner. They were a sight to behold in their signature long-sleeve sweatshirts paired with scandalously short shorts, their legs on full display as if daring the world to comment. Sirge led the charge, tossing his thin hair with the dramatic flair of a soap opera diva, his sharp eyes zeroing in on Vic’s lips.
“Sweet hell, Vic, are you auditioning for a discount vampire flick?” Sirge drawled, crossing his arms with a smirk. “That shade of red is screaming ‘I vant to suck your blood’—and not in the sexy way.”
Nico, trailing behind with a lazy grin, flopped onto the bed beside Vic without invitation, snatching the lipstick tube from his hand to inspect it. “Wait a damn minute,” he said, holding it up like evidence in a courtroom drama. “This is *my* shade. Cherry Bomb, right? You little thief, raiding my stash again?”
Vic snatched the tube back with a flourish, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “Oh, please, Nico. You couldn’t tell blush from bronzer if your glitter goblin ass depended on it. This is mine, and it looks better on me anyway.” His voice was sharp, a blade wrapped in velvet, and he punctuated the insult with a smug pout in the mirror.
The room erupted into laughter, a chaotic symphony of overlapping voices as the tension of the day melted away. Sirge clutched his stomach, leaning against the vanity for support, while Nico mock-glared at Vic, clutching his chest as if wounded. “Glitter goblin? That’s cold, Vic. Ice cold. I’m wounded—deeply.”
“Good,” Vic shot back, smirking. “Maybe it’ll teach you to keep your grubby paws off my stuff.”
Sirge, still chuckling, pushed off the vanity and clapped his hands together with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Alright, enough of this roast fest. How about we spice up this snooze of a night with a little game? Truth or Dare, anyone?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, his grin promising trouble.
Vic groaned dramatically, adjusting the strap of his nightdress with an exaggerated flourish. “Fine, but don’t think I’m gonna go easy on you, Sirge. Let’s see if you can keep up with my big brain energy.”
“Big brain energy?” Sirge snorted. “Honey, the only thing big about you is that ego. Bring it on.”
Nico, still sprawled beside Vic, propped himself up on an elbow, his smirk widening. “I’m starting. Vic, truth or dare?”
Vic’s eyes narrowed, sensing a trap, but he wasn’t about to back down. “Dare, obviously. I’m not a coward like some people.” He shot a pointed look at Sirge, who flipped him off with a grin.
“Alright, hotshot,” Nico purred, his voice dipping low. “I dare you to strut around this room like you’re on a Paris runway. Full diva mode. Go.”
Vic didn’t hesitate. He slid off the bed with the grace of a panther, kicking aside a pile of clothes as he struck a pose. With exaggerated hip sways and a haughty toss of his head, he strutted across the room, nearly tripping over a rogue sock but recovering with a dramatic twirl. “Eat your heart out, Milan,” he declared, blowing a kiss to his cackling audience.
Sirge was doubled over, tears streaming down his face as he gasped for breath. “Oh my god, you’re a disaster. I can’t breathe. My turn—Nico, truth or dare?”
Nico, wiping a tear from his eye, sat up straighter. “Dare, duh. Hit me.”
Sirge’s grin was pure evil. “I dare you to serenade Vic with the cheesiest love song you can think of. Full commitment. Make him swoon.”
Nico didn’t miss a beat. Clearing his throat with mock seriousness, he launched into a hilariously off-key rendition of some sappy ballad, complete with over-the-top hand gestures and soulful stares at Vic, who was biting his lip to keep from laughing. “You’re my heart, my souuuul,” Nico crooned, butchering the high note so badly that Sirge howled.
“Enough!” Vic interrupted, holding up a hand as if to ward off the auditory assault. “You’re killing me, Nico. My turn to dish out some pain. Sirge, truth or dare?”
Sirge, still snickering, squared his shoulders. “Dare. Lay it on me, queen.”
Vic’s smirk was positively wicked as he reached into his pile of satin and lace, pulling out a particularly frilly pink nightdress that looked like it belonged on a Victorian doll. “I dare you to wear this. Right now. Let’s see how you rock the femme fatale look.”
Sirge’s face fell, but the chorus of “Do it! Do it!” from Nico and Vic left him no choice. Grumbling under his breath about “unfair power dynamics,” he snatched the garment and disappeared behind a curtain to change. When he emerged, looking like a disgruntled flamingo with ruffles up to his chin, Nico and Vic lost it entirely, collapsing into each other with laughter so hard they could barely breathe.
“Laugh it up, assholes,” Sirge muttered, striking a reluctant pose. “I’m a goddamn vision, and you know it.”
“You’re a vision of something, alright,” Nico wheezed, clutching Vic’s arm for support. “A vision of regret.”
The game took a flirty turn as Nico, still catching his breath, fixed Vic with a smoldering look. “Alright, Vic. Truth or dare?” His voice was low, teasing, a challenge wrapped in silk.
Vic raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Dare, glitter boy. Make it good.”
Nico leaned in closer, his breath warm against Vic’s cheek. “I dare you to whisper something scandalous in my ear. Something that’ll make me blush. Think you’ve got the guts?”
Vic’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. He wasn’t one to back down, not ever. Leaning in so close that their noses nearly brushed, he let his breath ghost over Nico’s ear, his voice a sultry murmur as he whispered something so brazen that Nico’s face flushed a brilliant shade of crimson. He pulled back with a triumphant smirk, watching Nico fumble for words.
“Damn,” Nico finally managed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to regain his composure. “You play dirty, Vic. Real dirty.”
Sirge, still in his frilly pink monstrosity, whistled low. “Well, well, looks like the temperature just went up in here. What’s next, lovers?”
The three of them ended up piled onto Vic’s bed, a tangle of limbs and laughter, the fairy lights casting a soft glow over their flushed faces. Lingering glances passed between them, charged with unspoken tension, the air thick with the promise of more daring games to come. The night was young, and with these three, anything was possible.
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