[For whatever it's worth, Trevor does manage to clean up nicely. It shouldn't be a surprise, considering his upbringing. Because, despite all the recent unpleasantness, the Belmonts were a rather well-to-do family, and along with that came certain obligations. It wasn't all monsterpedias and combat training; sometimes it was charity balls and fundraisers and whatever else generations-old vampire-hunting families had to pull in order to maintain their wealth and societal status. Trevor never cared for that part, never fit, but he can appreciate that it was good training for nights like this.
Good enough that, when he finally makes his way downstairs, he manages to look positively decent. Adrian sees the patent-leather dress shoes first, followed by pressed slacks and a sharp shirt all in black. The jacket is a sharp cut of deep red velvet, somehow perfectly fit to contain all that muscle without appearing bulky, with black lining and a silk pocket square. God help them, he even managed to properly situate the matching red bowtie, and the requested stubble has been uniformly trimmed.
Trevor's still fussing with the cufflinks when he hits the bottom step, but he freezes immediately when his gaze falls on Adrian. The sudden realization strikes him: this is why they never go out. This is why public is off-limits. Because Adrian has managed to arrange himself into some obscene manner of unearthly beauty, dripping jewels and sex appeal like the royalty he is, and Trevor is utterly undone. It's simultaneously insulting and captivating. Beauty like this attracts attention, and the unfair animal part of Trevor is already bristling at the looks Adrian will attract the moment they set foot in that restaurant.
Composure, he reminds himself. But he can't help the slight grin that tugs his lips when he approaches the couch and extends a hand to help Adrian to his feet.]
Is the jacket supposed to be some kind of warning?
no subject
Good enough that, when he finally makes his way downstairs, he manages to look positively decent. Adrian sees the patent-leather dress shoes first, followed by pressed slacks and a sharp shirt all in black. The jacket is a sharp cut of deep red velvet, somehow perfectly fit to contain all that muscle without appearing bulky, with black lining and a silk pocket square. God help them, he even managed to properly situate the matching red bowtie, and the requested stubble has been uniformly trimmed.
Trevor's still fussing with the cufflinks when he hits the bottom step, but he freezes immediately when his gaze falls on Adrian. The sudden realization strikes him: this is why they never go out. This is why public is off-limits. Because Adrian has managed to arrange himself into some obscene manner of unearthly beauty, dripping jewels and sex appeal like the royalty he is, and Trevor is utterly undone. It's simultaneously insulting and captivating. Beauty like this attracts attention, and the unfair animal part of Trevor is already bristling at the looks Adrian will attract the moment they set foot in that restaurant.
Composure, he reminds himself. But he can't help the slight grin that tugs his lips when he approaches the couch and extends a hand to help Adrian to his feet.]
Is the jacket supposed to be some kind of warning?