Title: Just a Sweet Transvestite
Fandom: Pairing: Eureka: Jack/Nathan
Rating: R for mental imagery and assumed kinkiness
Concrit: Please. If you spot a typo or a grammar glitch, feel free to tell me in comments.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks: Cross-dressing, incorrect assumption of foot-fetishism
Summary: Jack finds something disturbing in the back of his closet. Nathan shares what's in his drawers.
Notes: Written for beautybecks's comment_fic prompt of: Eureka, Nathan Stark, Sweet transvestite, from transexual, Transylvania. I want to see Ed Quinn play Frankenfurter, although I may die from the hot!.
Thanks also to outsideth3box for giving it a quick once-over.
Just a Sweet Transvestite
They'd been living together for three months when Jack found the box tucked away, way in the back of the closet, behind Stark's riding boots and his hiking boots and his running shoes and cross-trainers and a pair of ratty moccasins that looked as though they'd been chewed up and spit out by a very large dog – at least twice.
It was a very unassuming box. One corner was slightly crumpled and the panel at the front looked like someone had torn a label off it in several jagged pieces. It was plain and off-white and totally unremarkable. Jack's suspicions were well and truly aroused.
He lifted the lid, nudged a double layer of light grey tissue paper aside, and then just stared, for a small eternity.
He didn't have a clue how to raise the subject. Tact was something other people always told him he should look into developing more of, but he'd never quite figured out how, or why. Most of the time it just got in the way, but right now he'd be grateful for anything that stopped him feeling quite so awkward and unsure. And it didn't help that Nathan had taken one step into the bunker and figured out he had something troublesome going on in his head. He'd watched and waited all through dinner without pressing Jack to spit it out, but the angle and elevation of his eyebrows said Jack's time was almost up. Jack took a deep breath and jumped in with both feet.
"Uh… I was looking for something earlier and I found your, um… Well, I thought at first maybe they were Alison's - they're sure as hell not Zoë's - but… They're waaaaaay too big for her, and totally not her style, so…"
Jack could tell Nathan was waiting for him to say something else, but his tongue felt about three sizes too big for his head and he'd just about exhausted what little supply of tact and diplomacy he'd managed to scrape together. He stared pitifully at Nathan, willing him to figure it out without Jack having to actually explain.
As Jack watched, Nathan's expression morphed from puzzled endearment to embarrassed realisation, and he slumped back into his chair in relief, quickly swallowing a snort of laughter at the way the tips of Nathan's ears abruptly turned pink.
"You went through my drawers?"
Wait. What? Jack sat back up and leaned forward, mouth open, one accusatory finger half extended in Nathan's direction, but Nathan wasn't finished.
"I already told you I didn't take your lucky football jersey; I don't know where it is. Maybe a stray moth got in and ate the damn thing as a mid-morning snack; it certainly wouldn't have got a decent meal out of it. I've worn safety goggles that are less transparent. Anyway, it's not what you think."
The temptation was there to let Nathan distract him from the problem at hand – that jersey had sentimental value, dammit, he'd bought and worn it at the Superbowl in '85 and screamed himself hoarse when the Chicago Bears won – but Jack was sure Nathan was telling the truth, about the jersey and about… that other thing. The relief was immense.
"Thank god for that; I'm really not into feet."
Nathan stared at him, obviously bewildered.
"What do feet have to do with a…?" he started to ask, talking over Jack's agitated, "Wait. Drawers? What the hell else have you…?"
"…basque and panties."
It felt to Jack as though all the air had been sucked out of the room, and he had to resist the momentary urge to ask S.A.R.A.H. if B.R.A.D was back in control. And then Nathan's conversation-killer started playing over and over on a loop inside his head – basque and panties, basque and panties, basque and panties - and at that point he wouldn't have noticed it starting to snow indoors, he was so completely focussed on, and distracted by, the thought of Nathan in a basque and panties, along with the three inch heeled, size ten stilettos that had triggered this whole trainwreck of a tête-à-tête.
Nathan seemed to realise Jack's brain was temporarily overloaded, and quickly took control.
"S.A.R.A.H., I'd like a beer for Jack, please, and a large single malt for myself; alcohol can't possibly make this evening any worse."
Nathan had to lift Jack's hand from where it was resting limply on the table before he could slap the perfectly chilled bottle into place, but instinct had Jack's fingers curling tight around the neck as soon as contact was made, leaving Nathan free to sit back down in his seat and take a slow, steadying sip of smoky oak-matured Scotch.
"So, what exactly did you find while you were going through my things?"
Jack blinked several times, rapidly, and then took a long pull from his beer.
Jack whined. "Stilettos. I found size ten stilettos." He lifted the bottle back up to his mouth and drained it. "Stockings? Really? Did Alison…? I mean, was she…?"
Only by biting his lip did Nathan stop himself from laughing at the glazed look on Jack's face. He hadn't even thought about what Jack might think if he stumbled across any of his old stage gear. It was just there. Nathan couldn't resist the urge to lead Jack on just a little bit more.
"Of course Ali knew. It's hardly the kind of thing a man could hide from his wife for very long. She was really into it."
The lie stung, just a little. Oh, she'd gone along with it on the one occasion he'd managed to convince her to join him, but she'd never really let go and enjoyed herself. He wondered if Jack would, once he knew the truth.
Time to find out.
"While I was at university, I got involved with a charity that raises funds by putting on theatrical performances. My girlfriend convinced me to audition for their new show, and three months later I was standing in front of a room full of strangers wearing a basque and panties, stockings, stilettos, black lipstick and a string of oversized pearls."
Nathan's description of his outfit had Jack trying to suck more beer from his empty bottle, but the chagrined eyeroll of belated realisation that Nathan had expected to see never appeared, and he was forced to come to the stunning conclusion that he must be living with a 'virgin'.
"I played Dr Frankenfurter. In The Rocky Horror Show. The Time Warp? Brad and Janet? Rocky? Does none of this mean anything to you?"
Jack's unbroken blank stare was his only reply, and in desperation, Nathan began to sing, hopelessly out of practice and most probably out of tune. His twisted sense of humor had him picking the most appropriate inappropriate lyrics he could come up with – anything to snap Jack out of his dazed stupor.
"I'm just a sweet transvestite, from transexual Transylvania."
And, amazingly enough, it worked. Jack's lips formed a perfect O of comprehension for maybe a second and a half, and then he asked S.A.R.A.H. for another beer, which very quickly went the way of the first. As he stood to fetch the brew, Nathan noticed that little Jack wasn't entirely unaffected by the evening's events. Good to know.
"So, you're telling me you-" Jack's hands waved about expressively while his face crumpled up in new and interesting ways, "-in front of all those people, and you enjoyed it so much you… what? Kept the costume all this time?"
Smirking, Nathan made Jack wait while he finished his Scotch before he replied, "Oh, no. I was as thin as a rail back then. I've only had these about eight, no, nine years." He paused while Jack's eyes grew wider and wider, until Nathan was afraid he was going to strain something. "It was a huge success; it pulled in more money than any other two shows combined, so we decided to make it a regular thing. Every four years, to be precise. I was going to hand the pearls on to the younger generation the next time round, but you could probably persuade me to change my mind, if you really wanted to."
Slightly glassy-eyed, Jack stood and tugged Nathan to his feet, the fingers of one hand locked tightly around Nathan's left wrist.
"Maybe you should try it all on, see if it still fits; practice walking in those shoes before you make any final decisions, yeah? Black lipstick, you said? Um… wow."