A/N: Draco a la "Sweet Transvestite" from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Seriously toned down for rating. Some verses have been omitted. They didn't fit well. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco opened his eyes to find himself standing, no bed in sight. He was allowing a small smile of relief to grace his features when he felt the cold stir of air against his skin. All of his skin. Oh, bollocks, he thought, I'm naked. A glace down informed him that not only was he wrong, the truth was worse.
He was convinced that the soreness in his feet had nothing to do with the shimmery platform heels he had on. He would have preferred this slight on his masculinity be hidden beneath elegant Slytherin robes. This was not the case, and he was glad he was alone. Clinging to his, finely toned, legs were sheer, black stockings. Thigh-high they were secured by a garter belt that Draco was certain would have been more appropriate in his last hallucination. His…special parts… were feeling a bit confined; he was wearing what he could only describe as women's underwear. He refused to acknowledge that the silky material felt good against his sensitive skin. In fact, he was sure that wasn't the case at all. Clearly he was still feeling the sensations of his luxurious bed linens. The corset laced around his torso was tight and certainly did not resemble a comfortable hug.
The embarrassment flushing his body faded but returned full force when he turned around and found himself face to face with a crowd of Muggles? dressed more oddly than he. Considering his state, that was quite an accomplishment. He possibly could have preferred his upscale ladies' lingerie to the horrid vests, ill-fitting trousers, and gaudy hats, masks, and glasses. Yes, at least his attire was tasteful. Two dreadfully unattractive people stood gaping at him. A house elf, to be punished later no doubt, seemed to have led them to him.
How d'you do, Draco began, I see you've met my faithful handyman. How faithful can he be if he brought these idiots to me? He's just a little brought down because when you knocked he thought you were the candyman. Like hell they are. That trashy woman looks like a slut, and her companion is probably a complete arsehole. Don't get strung out by the way that I look. Don't judge a book by its cover.
To his chagrin, Draco did an effeminate, although perfect, 360. He tapped his foot knowing that the heels accentuated his legs. He could not fathom why he was doing these things because they definitely did not make him feel sexy. I'm not much of a man by the light of day, but by night I'm one hell of a lover. The moves Draco was making were too lewd for words. I'm just a Sweet Transvestite from Transexual, Transylvania. The Slut seemed to enjoy his dance. Her admiration was actually rather disgusting.
"I'm glad we caught you at home, could we use your phone?" Merlin, castles don't have telephones, Arsehole. For some reason, the Arsehole thought that it would be appropriate to interrupt Draco's fabulous vocal rendition to ask a stupid question. A particularly aggressive pelvic thrust made the Slut shake and the Arsehole interrupt faster. "We're both in a bit of a hurry. We'll just say where we are, then go [sleep in] the car. We don't want to be any worry."
Draco raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. So you got caught with a flat, well, how about that? Figures. An Arsehole like that. Well babies, don't you panic. By the light of the night when it all seems alright, I'll get you a satanic mechanic. I'm not dancing. I'm not singing. I don't feel sexy. I'm not dancing. I'm not singing. I don't feel sexy. I'm just a Sweet Transvestite from Transexual, Transylvania. Oh, Merlin. I'm dancing. I'm singing. And I feel sexy. With those humiliating, and thankfully private, thoughts, Draco slithered to the floor.