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08 July 2014 @ 08:31 pm
Disney - Found  
Title: Stilettos And Style
Fandom: Disney - The Emperor's New Groove
Prompt: Found
Pairing: Kuzco/Pacha
Words: 498
Rating: G
Notes: Cross-dressing

Wow, it feels good to be back in his own body again. And yet there’s something nagging at the back of Kuzco’s mind, like an itch under his skin he can’t hope to reach.

For a while he thinks he actually misses being a llama, which is just ridiculous. He doesn’t miss the hooves, the shaggy hair, trying to walk on four legs, he doesn’t, and he’s so sure of that fact that it puts his mind at ease, at least for a while.

But then the nagging comes back, the sense of longing. He doesn’t understand, but it’s there all the time, telling him that something’s wrong.

He tries to explain it to Pacha, lying in the solid warmth of his arms. Pacha listens intently, but he can’t shed any light on what Kuzco’s yearning for, any more than Kuzco himself can.

He discovers it by accident. He’s eating berries distractedly, eyes raking over scrolls of announcements he needs to approve, because he actually cares about that stuff now. Kuzco glances up, catches sight of his reflection in one of the many mirrors around his room, because he may have learned to care about other people, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna stop being a narcissist any time soon.

Kuzco sees the juice stains across his mouth, dying his lips a deep shade of scarlet, and thinks oh.

He remembers dressing as a woman in that diner, and feels a flush of heat.

He keeps it to himself, at first. Mostly because he doesn’t really understand it. And because keeping it a secret makes it feel naughty, and that excites him almost as much as the way his face looks in the mirror when he deliberately paints his lips red with juice each night.

For a while, it’s enough. And then it isn’t, and Kuzco goes searching for more.

He means to tell Pacha, but in the end he doesn’t have to. The one time Pacha doesn’t knock, too excited to share the news of the baby’s first steps, happens to be the first time Kuzco tries on one of Yzma’s old dresses.

Pacha stares at him with wide eyes, and Kuzco’s torn between covering himself and staring back in defiance.

“That’s not your colour,” Pacha says slowly, stepping further into the room. “We should get you something that fits.”

So they do. Kuzco decides he’s done with secrecy, because he’s the Emperor, everything he does is awesome by default. He has the royal tailor design him gown after gown, and Chicha teaches him how to use real make-up, and then complains affectionately when he ends up better than her at applying eyeliner.

Kuzco models every dress for Pacha, twirling and strutting, and watches the way Pacha’s eyes get dark as they sweep over the form-fitting lines, the way he looks dazzled and titillated by sequins and thigh-high slits in the skirts.

Whatever was missing, Kuzco’s found it now, and damn his legs were made for heels.