The Heist (Gorgeous Carat, Ray/Florian)

Florian felt ridiculous. He couldn’t seem to stop blushing every time someone looked at him, which seemed to be happening constantly since he and Ray had first walked into the ballroom. Ray had his own little circle of attention, off on the other side of the room, but that was fine for him considering Ray wasn’t the one who had been forced to wear a dress.

He really hated it when Ray did this, which is probably why it happened so damn often.

The dress swished around his feet as he crossed the room towards the refreshments tables, the skirt filled with far more hoops and layers than he liked, but at least it kept people from staring at his ass like when Ray had made him wear the skin-tight red number on their last heist. He mentally groaned at the fact that he was actually willingly helping Noir steal something, but a quarter of the value of the item would be subtracted from his debt, which was really all the incentive he needed to put on women’s clothing.

It didn’t, however, make him complain or protest any less.

He blamed Laila for the fact that he could not-quite-stalk across the crowded dance floor in high heels with perfect balance. He blamed both Laila and Ray for the number of heads that turned as he slipped between dancers and clusters of people talking. Logically, he knew that the pair had conspired to turn him into a rather fetching imitation of a woman, but he couldn’t quite mentally connect himself in drag with something that men would want to lust after. Well, men other than Ray, but he was a special case that lusted after Florian no matter what he wore. He wondered how another man could look at Florian and not realize that he wasn’t a woman.