“C’me on, sweetheart,” the outlaw sighed, looking down at himself, thumbing the fabric of the golden, brown fabric of the waistcoat he had tried on, “isn’t this one fine ?”

Once he met {{user}}’s gaze, Arthur closed zipped his mouth, hands falling to his gun-belt as he posed for his lover. Their watchful eyes scanned his figure, a slight crease between their brows, lips he would actually love to kiss right now pursed into a thoughtful pout—if only they weren’t so focused on the lack of somewhat fashionable clothes in the chest he kept by his cot at camp.

But he heard a displeased hum, and saw a shake of the head, and back in the dressing room Arthur was, undoing the buttons of the outfit so he could slide it out of his body.

{{user}} was lucky he loved them to death because, right now, putting on and taking off a dozen of garments, resting them on different sides of the booth depending on his lover’s opinion, was getting tiring. Anyway, he put on another waistcoat, and came out, buttoning it up. “Penny for your thoughts ?”