post your unfinished brian-in-drag fics here.
Yes, I know you have them lurking on your hard drives. Brian Kinney in lipstick, mini-skirt, fishnets, eyeliner - maybe you lost your inspiration and never finished the fics, maybe you just didn't think they were in-character, whatever...
But such a phenomenon must be encouraged, regardless of quality or likelihood. So post them now!
And if you actually don't have something written already (you're lying), I challenge you to write a Brian-in-drag drabble, or simply an idea of an in-character way that you could get Brian into stilletto heels, or, anything else. Details are fun.
I will start us off, with this:
Brian in a skirt was not hot. Brian in a skirt was not funny. In fact, Brian in a skirt was really fucking scary, and Justin thought everyone should have realized this by now.
Emmett waved his hands in an elaborate flourish and practically squeaked. “Look! Look what miracles a couple of queens can accomplish!”
Justin cut a quick glance over to Darren, and saw that he looked somewhat proud of his work, but also had a hefty dose of fear damping his enthusiasm, and there you go, Justin had known that Darren was a smart guy.
Darren, face pale and bloodless, said “Yes, it was - quite an endeavor.”
Justin looked over at Michael and Ben, who were both convulsing in silent laughter, and were absolutely no help.
“Umm,” said Justin. “Umm.”
Brian glared at him, lips pressed together so tightly they looked white even through the layer of deep-red lipstick. “Not one fucking word,” he hissed.
Emmett squeaked again and clapped his hands together, and wow. Makeovers must be like an instant sugar buzz to Emmett, because Justin hadn’t seen him this ecstatic in a long time.
Justin wished he had some idea of what was going on. When he’d gotten to Woody’s, Brian and the guys had already been there for a couple hours. Michael and Ben were the only ones at the table to greet him, and they only managed to blurt out the phrases “Brian’s in deep shit,” “some stupid bet with Emmett,” “and “Ted’s getting laid” before Brian himself came out of the bathroom, followed closely by Emmett and Darren.
Justin also wished he could have had a more entertaining reaction than just blinking and sitting down hard. Maybe screaming would have been better. Or fainting. He’d never fainted before in his life, but he could probably have faked it. Anything would be better than being asked -
“So Justin,” said Emmett brightly, “What do you think?”
Brian looked back at Justin from where he had been casting death glares at Michael, Ben, and the rest of the patrons of Woody’s, who had been staring at him in rapt fascination and horror for about a full minute and a half now.
“Yeah, Justin,” he parroted. “What do you think?”
Justin blinked again, reconsidered the merits of a dead faint. Girly, fake, yes, but at least it would give him some way out of this situation.
“Umm,” he said.
Brian was wearing a tight blue skirt with big white flowers on it. It stretched oddly across his hips, taut in all the wrong places. This could be because Brian was standing as stiffly as Justin had ever seen him stand, his feet wedged uncomfortably in a pair of high heels that must be Emmett’s, toes angled inward to keep his balance. The skirt shifted and rode up, displaying a little more of his (luckily still) hairy leg.
The shirt they’d put him in was white, off-the shoulder, and was embroidered around the neckline. The material was rather gauzy, and frankly, Justin thought Brian had more of a chance looking feminine in a leather motorcycle jacket. The slight fabric skimmed Brian’s chest when he took a breath, and Justin shifted uncomfortably. No, no. This was not good.
Apparently they hadn’t been able to get Brian into a wig, which Justin was thankful for, really not wanting to live with that image for the rest of his life, but they had gotten him in make-up. Aside from the lipstick, there was pale foundation covering his cheeks, forehead, jaw, and his eyes were covered in big black swoops of liner and dark green shadow. Brian squinted angrily, mascara cracking at the corners of his eyes. His hair was heavily gelled in an Elvis-esque cowlick, and that part, Justin had to admit was kind of hot. God. He could never let his mother know. She would blame herself (if she still did that kind of thing), cause she’d always played Elvis really loud on car rides and maybe that’s what had done it, maybe that’s what had turned him gay and -
Justin made a rather hysterical bleating noise and considered making a run for it.
Brian beat him to it, though, taking a couple faltering steps forward and grabbing Justin’s wrist, tugging him out of his chair. He looked around at the rest of Woody’s, said loudly, “It was a fucking bet!” and took off back for the bathroom, Justin a beat behind him.
Emmett twirled around, clutching at Brian’s arm and missing, and for a split second Justin was convinced that Emmett would pursue. Instead, he just yelled “Goddamnit, you - you - Brian Kinney! The bet was for two more minutes! Come back here!” and Brian slammed the bathroom door shut behind them.
“Tell me this doesn’t turn you on,” Brian said urgently, and Justin shook his head.
“No, no, it really doesn’t,” he said, and swore he heard Brian sigh in relief.
“Good,” Brian said. “Cause you’re going to help me get out of this get-up.”
Justin nodded, and glanced down to where Brian’s hand was still around his wrist. They’d painted his nails, too, a dark maroon color that made Brian’s fingers look like they were tipped in blood, and made Justin’s skin look white and vulnerable beneath Brian’s fingertips. Justin’s cock began to firm despite himself. Fuck.
Go ahead! Feel the power of the fanfic crossdressing.
(This post is me rewarding myself for not going crazy the last couple of days. Am still not really back.)
But such a phenomenon must be encouraged, regardless of quality or likelihood. So post them now!
And if you actually don't have something written already (you're lying), I challenge you to write a Brian-in-drag drabble, or simply an idea of an in-character way that you could get Brian into stilletto heels, or, anything else. Details are fun.
I will start us off, with this:
Brian in a skirt was not hot. Brian in a skirt was not funny. In fact, Brian in a skirt was really fucking scary, and Justin thought everyone should have realized this by now.
Emmett waved his hands in an elaborate flourish and practically squeaked. “Look! Look what miracles a couple of queens can accomplish!”
Justin cut a quick glance over to Darren, and saw that he looked somewhat proud of his work, but also had a hefty dose of fear damping his enthusiasm, and there you go, Justin had known that Darren was a smart guy.
Darren, face pale and bloodless, said “Yes, it was - quite an endeavor.”
Justin looked over at Michael and Ben, who were both convulsing in silent laughter, and were absolutely no help.
“Umm,” said Justin. “Umm.”
Brian glared at him, lips pressed together so tightly they looked white even through the layer of deep-red lipstick. “Not one fucking word,” he hissed.
Emmett squeaked again and clapped his hands together, and wow. Makeovers must be like an instant sugar buzz to Emmett, because Justin hadn’t seen him this ecstatic in a long time.
Justin wished he had some idea of what was going on. When he’d gotten to Woody’s, Brian and the guys had already been there for a couple hours. Michael and Ben were the only ones at the table to greet him, and they only managed to blurt out the phrases “Brian’s in deep shit,” “some stupid bet with Emmett,” “and “Ted’s getting laid” before Brian himself came out of the bathroom, followed closely by Emmett and Darren.
Justin also wished he could have had a more entertaining reaction than just blinking and sitting down hard. Maybe screaming would have been better. Or fainting. He’d never fainted before in his life, but he could probably have faked it. Anything would be better than being asked -
“So Justin,” said Emmett brightly, “What do you think?”
Brian looked back at Justin from where he had been casting death glares at Michael, Ben, and the rest of the patrons of Woody’s, who had been staring at him in rapt fascination and horror for about a full minute and a half now.
“Yeah, Justin,” he parroted. “What do you think?”
Justin blinked again, reconsidered the merits of a dead faint. Girly, fake, yes, but at least it would give him some way out of this situation.
“Umm,” he said.
Brian was wearing a tight blue skirt with big white flowers on it. It stretched oddly across his hips, taut in all the wrong places. This could be because Brian was standing as stiffly as Justin had ever seen him stand, his feet wedged uncomfortably in a pair of high heels that must be Emmett’s, toes angled inward to keep his balance. The skirt shifted and rode up, displaying a little more of his (luckily still) hairy leg.
The shirt they’d put him in was white, off-the shoulder, and was embroidered around the neckline. The material was rather gauzy, and frankly, Justin thought Brian had more of a chance looking feminine in a leather motorcycle jacket. The slight fabric skimmed Brian’s chest when he took a breath, and Justin shifted uncomfortably. No, no. This was not good.
Apparently they hadn’t been able to get Brian into a wig, which Justin was thankful for, really not wanting to live with that image for the rest of his life, but they had gotten him in make-up. Aside from the lipstick, there was pale foundation covering his cheeks, forehead, jaw, and his eyes were covered in big black swoops of liner and dark green shadow. Brian squinted angrily, mascara cracking at the corners of his eyes. His hair was heavily gelled in an Elvis-esque cowlick, and that part, Justin had to admit was kind of hot. God. He could never let his mother know. She would blame herself (if she still did that kind of thing), cause she’d always played Elvis really loud on car rides and maybe that’s what had done it, maybe that’s what had turned him gay and -
Justin made a rather hysterical bleating noise and considered making a run for it.
Brian beat him to it, though, taking a couple faltering steps forward and grabbing Justin’s wrist, tugging him out of his chair. He looked around at the rest of Woody’s, said loudly, “It was a fucking bet!” and took off back for the bathroom, Justin a beat behind him.
Emmett twirled around, clutching at Brian’s arm and missing, and for a split second Justin was convinced that Emmett would pursue. Instead, he just yelled “Goddamnit, you - you - Brian Kinney! The bet was for two more minutes! Come back here!” and Brian slammed the bathroom door shut behind them.
“Tell me this doesn’t turn you on,” Brian said urgently, and Justin shook his head.
“No, no, it really doesn’t,” he said, and swore he heard Brian sigh in relief.
“Good,” Brian said. “Cause you’re going to help me get out of this get-up.”
Justin nodded, and glanced down to where Brian’s hand was still around his wrist. They’d painted his nails, too, a dark maroon color that made Brian’s fingers look like they were tipped in blood, and made Justin’s skin look white and vulnerable beneath Brian’s fingertips. Justin’s cock began to firm despite himself. Fuck.
Go ahead! Feel the power of the fanfic crossdressing.
(This post is me rewarding myself for not going crazy the last couple of days. Am still not really back.)