A Small Act of Control

The car door shut with a heavier thud than usual.

Streetlights stretched long across the pavement as Frank pulled away from the curb, the engine humming low beneath them. For a few blocks, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't comfortable, not quite, but it wasn't surprising either. It had weight to it. The kind that built slowly over the course of a dinner where everyone pretended things were fine.

A red light loomed ahead. Frank braked. Hard. Craig's body shifted forward slightly against the seatbelt as the car jerked to a stop.

"The guy's an asshole."

The words came out flat. Controlled. Which somehow made them feel sharper.

Craig exhaled quietly through his nose, gaze drifting out the windshield. Yeah. That tracked.

Dinner replayed itself in fragments. Bill's voice, easy and conversational, wrapped around comments that never quite crossed the line, but hovered right beside it. Jokes about soft hands. About office jobs. About 'bean counters.' Never once aimed directly at Frank, but never needing to be.

But subtle didn't mean harmless.

"Forget that guy," Craig said, turning slightly in his seat, being careful to keep his pantyhose-clad knees together. "He's just jealous he'll never get half as far as you in life."

Frank let out a short, humourless laugh.

"I can't forget him," he said. "He's dating my mother. That makes him part of the deal. At least until they break up."

The light stayed red.

Outside, another car rolled up beside them, bass thumping faintly through closed windows. Craig leaned back, arms folding loosely across his chest as his mind drifted, not just to Bill, but to everything else layered underneath the evening. Because what had made it worse wasn't just the digs at Frank. It was the contrast.

While Bill seemed to resent Frank, he had liked Craig.

Not just liked, latched onto. The moment 'warehouse' had entered the conversation, something had clicked behind the man's eyes. Approval. Respect. A kind of immediate alignment. From there, it had been a steady stream of praise about hard work. About sweat. About men who used their bodies, who knew how to provide the 'right' way.

Never mind the details.

Never mind that Frank made more money. That he carried more responsibility. That by any measurable standard, he was wildly successful.

Never mind that Craig, sitting there, nodding along awkwardly, had been doing it all in a dress, pantyhose, and heels.

None of that registered.

Because it couldn't. Eros had made sure of that.

The world saw what it expected to see. And right now, apparently, that meant Craig fit Bill's idea of a 'real man' better than Frank did. The thought sat uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

The light turned green. Frank gunned it. The car surged forward, engine rising as they pushed through the intersection. City lights slid past in streaks, familiar streets unfolding ahead. Craig watched them, but his thoughts drifted somewhere else entirely.

How many other things like this were out there? How many other times had Eros intervened in a human's life, transforming perspectives, leaving one person changed while the rest of humanity was unaware. If nobody could see anything strange about him, if a man in a dress and heels could sit through dinner and be treated as completely normal, then what else was slipping by unnoticed? How many people had he passed on the street without realizing something about them had been changed?

How many others were caught in something like this?

Or worse?

"I'm going to tell her."

Frank's voice cut through the thought, sharper now as they turned into their parking lot. Craig blinked, refocusing.

"What?"

"He's a dickhead," Frank said, pulling into a spot with more **** than necessary. "And I'm going to let my mom know."

The engine idled for a second before he killed it. Craig hesitated.

"She seemed to really like him," he said carefully. "Maybe... be a bit careful about that."

"No," Frank said immediately, shaking his head. "She needs to know. If I don't say something, nobody will."

A pause followed. The ticking of the cooling engine filled the space between them. Craig nodded slowly. Maybe he was right. Maybe a little honesty would shake something loose. Maybe it would protect her. Or maybe it would just create a mess.

Hard to say.

Honestly, though? Craig didn't have much room left to worry about other people's drama. His own life felt like it was shifting under his feet every twelve hours. Clothes. Expectations. Reactions. Rules he didn't understand and couldn't predict.

And tonight wasn't over yet. Soon enough he'd be under the covers. And when he woke up in the morning, if the pattern of the last week continued, something would be different again. The thought of what could be changed now that his clothes had finished transforming lingered as they stepped out of the car and headed toward the building.

The elevator ride up felt quieter than the drive. Frank leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, staring at nothing in particular. The earlier anger hadn't disappeared. It had just settled. Hardened.

"I'm sorry," Frank said after a moment. "Tonight should've been easier. You just wanted a nice family meal."

Craig shook his head lightly.

"No, I'm sorry," he said. "And you're right. He was an asshole. She deserves someone better than that."

"Yeah," Frank muttered, pushing off the wall as the elevator slowed. "But I guess she's an adult. She'll make her own mistakes."

The doors slid open. They stepped out into the hallway.

"Seriously," Craig added, walking alongside him. "There was no reason for him to act like that."

Frank let out a small, tired chuckle.

"And to think we got all dressed up to meet that idiot."

Keys jingled. The lock turned. The apartment door swung open, warm light spilling out to meet them. Craig stepped inside first, heels clicking softly against the floor as Frank held the door.

"I think I'm going to hit the hay," Frank said, kicking the door shut behind them. "Got a lot to think about."

"Yeah," Craig replied, already heading down the hall. "I'd better get some sleep too. Mondays are hard enough normally, but when I don't get enough sleep, they're ****."

"G'night."

"G'night."

The bathroom light flicked on with a soft hum. Routine took over. Toothbrush. Running water. The familiar, grounding rhythm of small, normal things. A moment alone in front of the mirror, just long enough to catch his reflection and immediately look away again. Craig didn't want to dwell on how he looked in the dress, how the heels made his legs seem longer, how smooth the pantyhose made his skin look. He just wanted to go to sleep.

The door to his bedroom closed behind him with a quiet click. Nothing had changed since they left for the dinner. Same bed. Same dresser. Same closet. The stillness almost felt deceptive now, like a stage set waiting for something to shift the moment he turned his back.

Craig stood there for a second, taking it in. Already a feeling of familiarity had begun to seep into him about his room, about his clothes. He wasn't sure if it was the magic, or a psychological trick his brain was playing in order to keep him from freaking out, but knowing that he knew where his panties were, where his dresses were, all of it gave him a sense of safety. It was the knowledge that, when he woke up, something new will have changed that really had him on edge.

Then his hand reached behind him. The zipper slid down. Fabric loosened, then fell. The orange dress pooled at his feet, leaving him standing in lace panties, sheer pantyhose, and heels. The air felt cooler against his skin.

A pause.

A decision.

Every night so far, he'd gone to sleep in one thing and woken up in something else. Silk. Lace. Something chosen for him. Eros playing dress-up while Craig slept.

"Not tonight," he murmured under his breath.

Tonight Craig was taking back a small amount of control. Yes, he would still be wearing women's clothes. Yes, it would be revealing lingerie. But it would be Craig that picked the clothes, not some ancient, overly attractive god manipulating his life from another world. Craig, for the night, would be the one who chose what to wear.

His dresser drawer slid open. Rows of sleepwear greeted him. Nighties. Babydolls. Sheer fabrics in soft colours, all of them designed with a very specific purpose in mind. Craig sifted through them slowly, fingers brushing over textures he was still getting used to.

Eventually, he stopped.

White. Simple, relatively speaking. Lace. Sheer. A match to the panties he currently had on. A chemise that left very little to the imagination, but at least it wasn't trying to be clever about it. That would do. Not because he liked it. Because he chose it.

The bed dipped slightly as he sat down. One heel slipped off, then the other. Carefully, keeping his toes pointed so that he didn't get a cramp, he rolled the pantyhose down his legs, inch by inch, mindful not to snag the delicate fabric. Did these go in the wash? With everything else? Separately?

A small sigh escaped him. Another thing to learn. Another part of this life he hadn't asked for.

The pantyhose were folded, badly, probably, and set aside. He could search how to care for them tomorrow. Then the heels went back on. Relief washed over him as he stepped into them. How quickly his mind had changed about high-heeled shoes. What had once been something to admire but never wear he now thought of as necessary, comfortable.

The chemise slid over his head. Light. Soft. It settled against his skin like it belonged there, and that familiarity, that growing ease, felt more unsettling than the outfit itself. Would lingerie become the new high-heels for him? Would he start to see them as a vital and important part of his clothes?

Craig glanced at himself in the mirror. Then looked away.

"Good enough," he muttered.

The bed welcomed him a moment later. Blankets pulled up. Body sinking into the mattress as exhaustion finally caught up. It had been a long weekend. Too long. In the morning it would be Monday, and he was not prepared for what was waiting for him. Not just work, but a life in flux. Every morning, something new was waiting for him. Every morning was a journey of discovery and disappointment.

Each time he woke up, Craig felt like something had been stripped away from him, replacing it with a poor substitute, a feminine, unwelcome, and undesired addition to a life that he hardly understood.

In the morning, there would be no more pretending he could ease into this. No more halfway measures. The version of Craig that walked into that warehouse in the morning wouldn't have jeans. Wouldn't have anything remotely masculine to fall back on.

Just this.

Just whatever Eros had decided he was now.

Craig rolled onto his side, eyes closing slowly. Somewhere out there, an ancient god was still at work.

And in the morning, Craig would find out what that meant next.