Title: Pretty for a Boy

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Carey is so pretty—oh-so-pretty for a boy.

Dedication: To Jamie Jax, Anne Bowman, and DropsOfJupiter for being such wonderful reviewers and all-around great people. I'll have to dedicate some actual, quality stories to you guys later—once I've written some. ^_~

Warning: Many of you will dislike me for writing this. Therefore, I am giving you ample time to turn back now if you are underage or easily offended; be aware that you may never see canon!Carey the same way again, because I have corrupted him into a more fleshed-out, less kiddy-accessible character, complete with human inconsistencies and deviations from the "norm" and hidden (and to some, perverse) dynamics. That said—to those of you who are left—let's read the story then, shall we?

Carey is a beautiful boy, and he knows that.

He can feel the crowd's pulsing appreciation when he strums his guitar—he smiles through his fragile cheekbones and people love that. They love him, and Carey loves them for that simple fact.

But Carey likes to be alone, too—he likes that more than anything.

When he knows that everyone is gone, and no one will walk in—he is at his most magnificent then.

A lace and silk confection slides down his chest and past his lower back; he shimmies and pulls so it hangs, loose and lovely, over his thighs—high over his thighs, and his awkward boy-body legs are suddenly a million miles long and perfect.

Hair is slicked and styled to a glossy golden sheen that shimmers; it is a beautiful frame for a beautiful face in a beautiful, fake little world.

And he could be on the cover of any magazine—if he were a girl.

Powder pressed against his face and lipstick sleek and slick and shiny red, and Carey is so pretty—oh-so-pretty for a boy.

He puts on the mascara carefully, carefully...very carefully, and the sticky black wax smudges like soot in a way that Carey knows is alluring.

Because Carey is alluring; gender is a backdrop and Carey's center-stage.

He smiles at the mirror and his soft green eyes leap to life, like there are lights just behind their surface and he's watching something we can't see; he can't share because it's something we don't or we won't or we can't understand.

Brilliant bright blush softly dusted over the apples of his cheeks, and he is vibrant, even though he's the only one who knows—the only one who needs to know.

Carey is pretty, but he's always prettiest alone.

Author's note: There, then. That wasn't so bad, was it? (As long as you ignore the frequent passive sentence structure and unnecessary repetition of words.) Yup, it's just your everyday, run-of-the-mill Disney cross-dresser fic. #Thinks about what she's said# Disney's going to sue me for this, isn't it? #Runs away# In other notes, this is also The Shortest Story Ever. Will attempt longer one later. That is all.