Sweet Transvestite
Title: Sweet Transvestite
Author:
goshdarnheck
Characters: Pete/Patrick
Word Count: 595
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Profanity.
Summary: Patrick hates his RHPS outfit.
Notes: What can I say? I was in a RHPS mood. Cut text and title from "Sweet Transvestite" (RHPS soundtrack).
Disclaimer: This was written for entertainment purposes only.
“Come on out, Patrick.” Pete sighed, softly knocking his curly ’fro - fake, of course - against the bathroom door. His feet were already starting to hurt in his four-inch sparkling silver heeled stacked stilettos. How Tim Curry, or any woman for that matter, could wear them were a mystery to him.
“No.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad. Just open the door.” Pete touched the doorknob, jiggling it slightly. “Please?”
Patrick sighed, his fingers already twisting open the lock on the knob. “J-just don’t say anything.”
Pete opened the door and instantly started grinning. “Trick…”
“Dammit Pete, I said don’t say anything!” Patrick tried to close the door, but Pete slammed his hand on the door to stop him.
“Calm down, Patrick. I’m sorry, but you look hot.” Pete’s eyes roamed over Patrick’s body, taking in every inch of him. The gold briefs Patrick wore shone under the harsh florescent light of the bathroom. Pete wanted to comment on his choice of shoes - white and black Converse instead of the matching gold boots - but kept his mouth shut.
“I don’t look hot. I look like an idiot.” Patrick huffed, pushing past Pete and opening the closet door, snatching his hotel robe off the hanger. “I feel stupid. Naked and stupid. No-” He wrapped the robe around his shoulders and tied it tightly around him. “Fat, naked, and stupid. Yeah, that’s it.”
“Dude,” Pete flung his feathered boa over his shoulder and clomped over towards Patrick, doing his best not to fall over (again, Tim Curry is a god among men). “You look hot. That’s all that matters.”
“I’m not leaving this room wearing this tiny little Speedo.” Patrick sat down on the edge of the bed, struggling to keep his robe closed. “Besides, no one will get what this is from. All they’ll see is me looking like a beached whale in a gold-”
“Stop.” Pete stood in front of Patrick, his hands on his hips and his foot tapping impatiently. “First off, you do not look like a beached whale. You never look like a beached whale and if I ever hear you say that again, I’ll smack the fuck out of you. Second, who gives a fuck if no one gets your outfit. You’ll know and I’ll know and that’s all that matters.” Pete gently caressed Patrick’s cheek.
“I still don’t understand why I’m Rocky,” Patrick sighed. “Why couldn’t I be Brad or, um, the butler guy-”
“Riff Raff.”
“Yeah, him. Why couldn’t I be him? Hell, even Dr. Scott would have been fine with me.”
“Because Andy’s Brad, Joe is Riff Raff, I’m Doctor Frank-N-Furter, and we needed a Rocky. You cannot have Rocky Horror Picture Show without a Rocky. It wouldn’t make any sense.”
“But look at me!” Patrick jumped up, nearly knocking Pete backwards. “Pete, I’m in a gold fucking Speedo!” Patrick was nearing tantrum level.
“I know, Patrick.” Pete calmly said, undoing the belt of Patrick’s robe and opening it. “How else could I do this?” He leaned down and slowly licked Patrick’s nipple before kissing it gently, holding back his giggle when he heard Patrick shudder.
“Dammit Pete. A fucking Speedo-” Patrick sighed, putting another mental notch in his Pete Gets His Way column. So far the tally was Pete 100, Patrick 1.
“Yep.” Pete nodded slowly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he gently pulled Patrick towards the room door.
“I’m wearing my robe all night.” Patrick huffed, tightly tying it closed again as Pete led him out.
The End.
© 2007
Author:
goshdarnheckCharacters: Pete/Patrick
Word Count: 595
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Profanity.
Summary: Patrick hates his RHPS outfit.
Notes: What can I say? I was in a RHPS mood. Cut text and title from "Sweet Transvestite" (RHPS soundtrack).
Disclaimer: This was written for entertainment purposes only.
“Come on out, Patrick.” Pete sighed, softly knocking his curly ’fro - fake, of course - against the bathroom door. His feet were already starting to hurt in his four-inch sparkling silver heeled stacked stilettos. How Tim Curry, or any woman for that matter, could wear them were a mystery to him.
“No.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad. Just open the door.” Pete touched the doorknob, jiggling it slightly. “Please?”
Patrick sighed, his fingers already twisting open the lock on the knob. “J-just don’t say anything.”
Pete opened the door and instantly started grinning. “Trick…”
“Dammit Pete, I said don’t say anything!” Patrick tried to close the door, but Pete slammed his hand on the door to stop him.
“Calm down, Patrick. I’m sorry, but you look hot.” Pete’s eyes roamed over Patrick’s body, taking in every inch of him. The gold briefs Patrick wore shone under the harsh florescent light of the bathroom. Pete wanted to comment on his choice of shoes - white and black Converse instead of the matching gold boots - but kept his mouth shut.
“I don’t look hot. I look like an idiot.” Patrick huffed, pushing past Pete and opening the closet door, snatching his hotel robe off the hanger. “I feel stupid. Naked and stupid. No-” He wrapped the robe around his shoulders and tied it tightly around him. “Fat, naked, and stupid. Yeah, that’s it.”
“Dude,” Pete flung his feathered boa over his shoulder and clomped over towards Patrick, doing his best not to fall over (again, Tim Curry is a god among men). “You look hot. That’s all that matters.”
“I’m not leaving this room wearing this tiny little Speedo.” Patrick sat down on the edge of the bed, struggling to keep his robe closed. “Besides, no one will get what this is from. All they’ll see is me looking like a beached whale in a gold-”
“Stop.” Pete stood in front of Patrick, his hands on his hips and his foot tapping impatiently. “First off, you do not look like a beached whale. You never look like a beached whale and if I ever hear you say that again, I’ll smack the fuck out of you. Second, who gives a fuck if no one gets your outfit. You’ll know and I’ll know and that’s all that matters.” Pete gently caressed Patrick’s cheek.
“I still don’t understand why I’m Rocky,” Patrick sighed. “Why couldn’t I be Brad or, um, the butler guy-”
“Riff Raff.”
“Yeah, him. Why couldn’t I be him? Hell, even Dr. Scott would have been fine with me.”
“Because Andy’s Brad, Joe is Riff Raff, I’m Doctor Frank-N-Furter, and we needed a Rocky. You cannot have Rocky Horror Picture Show without a Rocky. It wouldn’t make any sense.”
“But look at me!” Patrick jumped up, nearly knocking Pete backwards. “Pete, I’m in a gold fucking Speedo!” Patrick was nearing tantrum level.
“I know, Patrick.” Pete calmly said, undoing the belt of Patrick’s robe and opening it. “How else could I do this?” He leaned down and slowly licked Patrick’s nipple before kissing it gently, holding back his giggle when he heard Patrick shudder.
“Dammit Pete. A fucking Speedo-” Patrick sighed, putting another mental notch in his Pete Gets His Way column. So far the tally was Pete 100, Patrick 1.
“Yep.” Pete nodded slowly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he gently pulled Patrick towards the room door.
“I’m wearing my robe all night.” Patrick huffed, tightly tying it closed again as Pete led him out.
© 2007