What Did I Do?

He didn't even think.

The moment the woman was on her feet, Trevor was already rising into the air, lifting straight up into the foggy glow of the city's night sky. One second he was standing barefoot on gritty pavement in a skirt and camisole, the next he was three stories up, hovering like a balloon nobody let go of on purpose.

He didn't look back. Not at the girl, not at the alley, not at the mugger cradling his broken hand. He flew in a straight line, fast and quiet, until the city gave way to rows of dark rooftops and the familiar haphazard cluster of his neighborhood.

Only once his feet touched down on the shingles outside his bedroom window did he start to think through the night.

What the hell did I just do?

Trevor crouched and stepped through the open window, heart pounding—not from the rescue, not even from the flying, but from the terrifying realization that he'd done it wearing his mom's clothes. No disguise. No mask. Not even a hoodie to pull up over his face.

He'd saved someone. But also? He’d been seen.

Seen like that.

Inside the house, everything was silent. Quickly, he peeled his mother's clothes from his body. The camisole, the skirt, the thong. With each item hitting the floor, Trevor could feel the power ebbing from his body. Naked, he felt far more exposed than he had ever felt before. For a moment, he craved to put the clothes back on, to embrace a new identity, one where he was powerful, if embarrassed. But no, Trevor wasn't sure what his future would hold, but he wasn't ready for that.

And so he grabbed a pair of boxers, then sweat pants, then a t-shirt. In his most comfortable clothes, alone in his room, Trevor felt less than he had moments before. Gone was his ability to float across the floor, gone was his supernatural agility, and gone was the protection his mother's underwear provided him.

He tiptoed out of his bedroom and down to the laundry room, stolen clothes in hand. Piece by piece he thrust them back into the pile he had pulled them from. Every item but one.

The thong.

The pink, lacy, delicate thong.

He paused.

It was just a whisper of fabric. Barely anything at all.

Trevor held it in his hand, staring down at it. It had saved his life. Or had made him unkillable. Or... something. A tiny triangle of silk and elastic that had turned him into a god. Being invulnerable could come in handy for a landscape worker. No more blisters, no more sore back. Besides, he's still collecting data. It would before his research.

She probably won't even notice it's missing, he told himself. It's so small. It could've gotten eaten by the dryer.

Crumpling the panties and shoving them in his pocket, he tiptoed back to his bedroom.

He climbed into bed and pulled the sheets over his body like a protective layer of denial.

It took a long while before Trevor was calm enough to drift off to sleep. His heart was still racing. But underneath the adrenaline, there was something stranger.

Something warmer.

He dreamed he was back in the alley.

The brick walls were slick with rain. The streetlights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows that pulsed and breathed like living things. The air was thick with tension, danger, sweat.

The woman was there. Her back was pressed to the wall, her breath quick and shallow, a flicker of fear in her eyes. The mugger loomed over her—larger in the dream, monstrous, with a face made of smoke.

Trevor landed behind him, barefoot on wet pavement.

But this time, he wasn't wearing his mom's clothes.

He was in his clothes. Clothes that didn't exist outside of this dream.

The lingerie clung to him like moonlight. Sheer lavender lace wrapped his chest, crossing over his shoulders and cupping the swell of soft muscle. A garter belt circled his hips, delicate and black, suspender straps tracing the inside of his thighs where stockings clung like second skin. The thong—thin, silky, perfect—disappeared beneath the curve of him.

He felt strong. Exposed. Divine.

"I told you to back off," he said again, voice low, calm, absolute.

The mugger snarled, stabbed, struck. The blade glanced off his chest like it was hitting stone. The punch landed against Trevor's jaw—and shattered the man's hand with a sickening crunch. The mugger fell, wailing, disintegrating into a shadowy smear that vanished down the drain.

Then it was just the two of them.

The woman stared up at him, mouth parted.

"You... you saved me," she whispered, stepping closer. Her fingertips brushed his bare chest where the lace didn't cover. "You're beautiful."

He opened his mouth to speak, to explain, to fly away—but she reached up and kissed him.

And that broke everything.

The air turned electric. Her hands were on his hips, then sliding down, gripping the garter straps. She pulled him closer, her body pressing to his, warm and insistent. The rough bricks at her back scraped against silk as he leaned into her. His hands slid down her waist, into her hair, finding the edges of her hunger like a match searching for the flare of flame.

Their mouths locked. Her thigh hooked around his. Lace and skin tangled together.

He felt her gasp, felt her want him—not in spite of what he wore, but because of it.

"You're mine now," she breathed, "and I'm yours."

And he didn't fly away.

He stayed.

He woke with a gasp.

The sheets were tangled around his legs. His sweat pants west with release. His chest heaving.

Trevor sat up and wiped a hand down his face. His cheeks were hot. His neck, too.

"Jesus," he muttered. "What the hell is happening to me?"

He climbed out of bed and grabbed fresh clothes from the floor. Cargo shorts. T-shirt. Work boots. Nothing strange. Nothing weird. He was just a guy heading out to do yard work.

But before he left the room, he grabbed the thong from his pocket.

His fingers closed around pink lace.

He hesitated.

Then stepped into the thong.

The fabric hugged him, a whisper between his legs, invisible beneath his clothes.

Nobody would know.

Nobody could know.

But as he walked out into the morning sun, work gloves in one hand and thermos in the other, he felt a strange confidence blooming behind his ribs.

Invulnerable.

And just a little bit... dangerous.