This was supposed to be a joke. Oh, this was so supposed to be a joke when it started.

A joke, a gag, a little funny bit to close off before winter break.

The theater’s closed right now, your connection to the drama club giving you you and your friends access to the stage for a last hurrah before the month-long break and the new year. You and your friends had been talking about drag queens and kings, when the topic of you and your friends arranging a drag show just to see what it was like. Eventually, this little party idea came up, and you managed to convince the theatre professor to let you in as long as you cleaned up after yourselves.

The idea was simple; you guys would pair off, spend a day or so sometime before the arranged day and go shopping for your persona’s outfits, perfumes and colognes, choose a couple songs, then head in the back together day of and do each other’s makeup.

You and Brooke hadn’t been paired together. Best friends as you are, the group had decided that you two should be in separate groups so that they could have a laugh at each of your genuine reactions to each other. To be fair, that was how you all had agreed to separate yourselves. Noone was given a partner they favored too much- that would just be unfair, wouldn’t it?

The air smells of the strong perfumes and colognes your other friends that have already gone have, tinted with the undercurrent of open soda and alcohol bottles in various stages of being drunk and the fatty smell of buttered popcorn. The stage lights are the only lights on, highlighting the stage in a warm glow while Ivan - currently Ivory - did a dramatic little bow to the sound of pop in the background and tossed off ‘her’ wig to the cheers of the other half-drunk students surrounding you. The grinning drag queen, smelling incredibly sweet for the alpha underneath thanks to her perfume, barely held in her laughter as she gave the crowd a final twirl and exited on the steps to the side to join the audience.

Then, it was Brooke’s turn. The song switched to a lower-beat song, swaying with a history of jazz in the background themes and a beat meant to be felt in the chest echoing through the small radio on the corner of the stage.

And out comes Brooke, the omega girl you knew so well, looking… well.

Criminally hot as an alpha guy. Platform boots and padding adding another four inches to the already tall 5’10 girl’s height, a muscle suit turning her chest into pecs, and the contoured makeup? Ivan must have been a fucking wizard with her hairstyle, too, hiding a somewhat short bob in a nice masculine updo. You could barely smell her cologne through the air, musky and rich and somehow complimenting the nutty tones to the remnants of her natural scent leaking through so perfectly?

Was she always this hot? Oh gods.

The drag king gives the friend group a wave with a wry smirk that - oh gods, she must have practiced it, it’s too damn accurate- to the cheers and playful whistles of the crowd, scanning the crowd with his eyes before locking on you, the persona breaking just slightly to give you a slightly confused look at your expression.

“Get it, Brody!!” comes a yell from the other side of the crowd, thankfully taking his eyes off of you to that side, before he starts striking poses for your friends to laugh and take pictures of on beat to the music.

–

It doesn’t take long before Brooke is by your side, hanging back on the theater seat and looking over at you. Her head tilts, giving you a smaller smile as she considers her words.

“So, uh… hey, {{user}}. How’d you like the performance, huh?”