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Hawkins is a decent town, all things considered. A nice sized place, enough to have lots of workshops and some schools, a thriving market square, half a dozen shrines with clerics of all stripes, ripe with the prosperity of the Western Heartlands. Not the most urbane or progressive of places, but not like some of the filthy backwater villages—cannibals, it's true, it's true!
Okay, okay, it's not true, but never let the truth get in the way of a good story, right?
The thing about Hawkins—an all-around comfortable, if bland, place—is that it's not safe. There's not much crime to speak of, petty thefts and vandalism, nor natural disasters. Unnatural disasters, on the other hand...
Hawkins has not only an entrance to the Underdark thanks to a dark wizard, but also boasts its very own Hellgate, courtesy of the same dark wizard. It's okay, though! The gate is closed now! Mostly. There are people keeping an eye on it.
Those people, like most bands of heroes, keep company at a local tavern. Of course, the compensation for heroism is vastly overstated in the popular media—lookin' at you, bards and chapbook authors, they know who they are—so these heroes need to sing for their supper. Figuratively. Mostly. Sometimes the barman, Steve, will sing to himself while doing barmanly things, it's hilarious. Oh, and one time, one of the kids' girlfriends made him sing their favorite ballad before she helped him solve a riddle for this quest they were doing. The best part? It was over a scrying mirror, so everybody heard the whole thing. I wasn't there—
Me? Oh, I'm no hero. I'm but your humble narrator, and these are
Tales From the Crooked Cock
(just imagine the calligraphy being written on parchment and then the words burst into flame, like a spell effect)
We find ourselves in the tavern one unremarkable evening...
Eddie picks idly at his lute, looking out over the tavern while perched in his usual spot on the bar top. It's a slow night, people kept inside by the foggy drizzle, which isn't good for his purse, but at least he has some time to work on a new ballad. Steve's wiping the bartop for the thousandth time, mouth pulled into an annoyed moue as he picks at a gouge in the wood; Robin's laughing with a table of patrons over in the corner; Nancy and Jonathan are at their usual table, bent over a map and having an intense conversation. The kids have already gone home for the evening, as no whiff of adventure had presented itself and they had school in the morning.
Of course that peace couldn't last forever. The door bangs open in dramatic fashion and in strides a figure in a long black cloak, hood drawn over their face.
"Steve Harrington!" the figure shouts, tone pure venom. It's a woman, of course it's a woman, and Eddie's pretty sure he's not going to like where this is going. Gods, he hopes there's not a doofy, hazel-eyed baby under that cloak. Has to happen sooner or later, balance of probability.
Steve looks up and squints at the woman, confused.
"Becky?" He doesn't sound completely sure of that. Yikes.
She stalks up to the bar and begins a tirade, something about Steve leading her on and making her wait for years; she's not the first jilted lover to come through the tavern, so he mostly tunes it out. He doesn't need the reminder that Steve has no trouble getting girls into his bed.
The rest of bar quickly loses interest as well, having seen variations of Steve being browbeaten (sometimes actually beaten) and his placating more times than they care to remember.
So no one's really watching except Eddie as the woman pulls back the hood of her cloak to reveal the bald head and tattoos of a Red Wizard. She speaks an arcane phrase and points a finger at Steve; he's hit with a bolt of blue lightning that momentarily engulfs him in an opaque white shimmer, then dissipates in a shower of pink sparks.
That's not good, Eddie thinks.
Nancy's elven reflexes have her on her feet first, arrow already knocked and trained on the woman before Eddie can reach for his dagger.
The woman, apparently having done what she came to do, twists a ring on her finger, muttering as she steps through the portal that appears; it closes so fast that Nancy's loosed arrow thunks into the wooden pillar next to Eddie's head.
"Whuuu-aat just happened?" Robin asks, holding her serving tray in front of her like a shield (Eddie has time to notice her defensive stance just so happens to protect the fey-looking redhead she's been laughing with all night).
"How in the Nine Hells do you know a Red Wizard?" Eddie asks, wiggling the arrow out of the wood.
"I mean, she wasn't a Red Wizard when I knew her!" Steve defends. "We went out like twice and she said she got this apprenticeship for like this really powerful guy, so she was moving, but she hoped we could keep in touch, or whatever."
"And you didn't keep in touch," Eddie says flatly.
"Man, everybody says they'll keep in touch. It's like a nicer way of ending things than 'it isn't you, it's me.'"
"Sune's sweet ass, Steven!"
Steve opens his mouth to protest, but Robin (who had, by this point, joined them at the bar along with Nancy and Jonathan) leans in close, peering owlishly at him.
"Uh guys? Does anybody know what that spell was?"
"You're literally a mage and you speak Thayvian!"
"Not fluently! And I was across the room, I couldn't hear exactly what she said," Robin says, eyes darting sheepishly over to the table with the redhead.
Well shit, Eddie thinks.
*
It's hours after they've closed up for the night when Robin gathers up the notes they'd made; the rest of the evening had been spent trying to reconstruct the spell. They've gotten about as far as they can get, apparently there's a bunch of tonal stuff in the spellcasting and something to do with how that interacts the tattoos and Robin needs to consult some books.
They see her out along with Nancy and Jonathan, locking up behind them. Steve's got a suite of rooms to himself above the kitchen, and more nights than not Eddie finds himself in the second bedroom; it's a long walk to his uncle's hovel in the shantytown of Forest Hills and Steve says he likes the company.
"Hey, no, c'mon man," Steve protests when Eddie drags a chair into his room, propping it against the wall to face Steve's bed.
Eddie sits himself in the chair and crosses his arms, giving Steve a challenging look.
"It's fine, you even said it yourself, if it was gonna kill me, I'd be dead already!"
"Maybe you'll turn into a werewolf or something and I'll have to stop you."
Steve gives him a look that says I find it laughable, yet cute that you think you could stop me as a human, let alone a werewolf. Then he rubs his hands over his face and throws them in the air, having already given up. He turns away to get himself ready for bed.
"It's your back, dude. I don't want to hear you complain tomorrow. Oh, my neck, I can't go into the cellar to bring up more wine, oh my ass, it's bruised from how bony it is—" Steve mocks, pulling back the blankets and crawling into bed.
"Hey, you'll thank me when you don't wake up with like, blood and guts dripping from your claws because I stopped you from slaughtering the town."
"You and this fucking werewolf thing! You're spending too much time with Dustin. I'm not going to turn into a werewolf," Steve complains, rearranging himself to get comfortable, ending up on his side turned away from Eddie. "Night."
"Night," Eddie echoes.
He should have brought a book, he thinks. Watching Steve (probably) not turn into a werewolf all night is way less interesting than one would think. At least it's a full moon, so he can actually see if anything does happen.
In the space of one blink to the next, the silvery moonlight changes to the warm glow of dawn; Eddie's suddenly very aware that his surroundings have changed, followed quickly by the realization that he'd fallen asleep and it is, in fact, morning.
He scrambles to sit up, not remembering until it's too late that his chair is tilted back on two legs; he starts with a yelp and ends up on the floor with a clatter and a thud.
Steve wakes with a shout and is standing on top of the bed looking around wildly by the time Eddie's able to get all his limbs to cooperate enough to sit up.
"Uhhhh, Steve?" Eddie asks when he's reoriented himself to being upright. He can't parse what he's seeing.
"What? What's going on?" Steve shouts. He coughs and clears his throat, his hand coming up to rub his neck. His eyes go wide and he pats the skin there, then starts touching his face with increasing panic.
Yeah, so then Eddie definitely is seeing what he's seeing. Steve is backlit by the window, the morning light outlining a decidedly feminine body through his paper-thin sleeping tunic. And yes, that is the curve of an ample bosom with just the barest hint of dark nipple peeking out of the deep slash in the front of said tunic.
Steve buries his hands in his hair and pulls, holding a hank of finer, longer locks up to his face.
"Oh shit," Eddie says quietly as Steve's frantic eyes meet his.
At least we know what the spell was? he thinks, a bit hysterical.
*
The day goes about as well from there as one can imagine.
Steve hasn't lost any height or overall width, but his proportions have definitely shifted, making it impossible to wear any of his very well-fitted trousers or shirts designed to show off his impressive, manly chest. Tears are shed. Robin is scryed. Steve is finally dressed in attire more appropriate to his current figure, including the most eye-wateringly yellow bustier Eddie has set eyes on outside a circus or a whorehouse.
Reinforcements are called. Steve is poked and prodded, divinations are cast, books are consulted.
By the time Steve has to open the tavern again for day, they've reached the consensus that the spell was relatively straightforward in its scope and Steve's been turned into a woman.
Reversing it is going to be another matter. It's not a glamour or the kind of transmutation that only lasts for a certain duration. It might or might not be tied to the caster in some way. It's definitely powerful and therefor very expensive, which Steve thinks is an unwarranted display because they'd only gone out twice.
Regardless, they rally the troops and send The Party out canvas the city for Becky the Red Wizard (once they've all stopped laughing, it takes a while). Nancy and Jonathan set off to consult with a very secretive wizard in their acquaintance. Robin can't stay, she's got some kind of potion brewing lab or something that she can't miss because she needs the grade.
The first day is a bust; everyone that reports back does so empty-handed. Steve's spirits are low when Eddie follows him upstairs at the end of the night. They've liberated one of the nicer bottles of wine from the cellar; it's been a long day.
Long and eye-opening. Most of the customers didn't notice or didn't care that Steve had changed—it's Hawkins, weird shit happens all the time. More than a few did notice and treated the new barmaid like fresh meat.
Make no mistake, watching Steve squirm as the likes of Callahan hit on him was hilarious at first, but lost its shine as the night wore on and the men got bolder. Eddie isn't the type to step in to defend a lady's honor when she's perfectly capable of it herself, but there were a lot of accidentally spilled drinks and oops, clumsy me!s when dudes got a little handsy.
"And like, I can't believe how many of them just flat out asked if I wanted to fuck them later. Do they think that works?" Steve takes a long pull from the bottle.
"And this fucking thing!" he says, reaching behind himself to tug at the laces of his corset. "I mean I get why I need it, but they can't make this shit more comfortable? More padding, less bones?"
"Do you, uh, want help with that?" Eddie asks. He's not trying to be a pervert; Robin had laced it up that morning and Steve was just making the knots tighter because he couldn't see them.
Steve waves his hand in a sure, whatever, have at it gesture and takes another swig before he keeps talking. "I mean, it's not like I'm not curious, who wouldn't be? But sex is like a bigger deal for a woman, you really need to trust a dude to pull out, y'know?"
Eddie hums in agreement, picking at the knotted cord with his fingernails. "You could always do oral. Hey, what about Ro—"
Faster than Eddie can react, Steve is out of his chair and clamping a hand over his mouth.
"No," he says sternly, making intense and prolonged eye contact that goes straight to Eddie's dick. He's definitely gonna examine that later.
Satisfied Eddie's never going to revisit that idea, Steve sits back down and gestures for Eddie to continue with the laces.
"I mean, I could let some dude go down on me, but then they're going to want at least a blowie in return and I am not ready for that."
Eddie might be a little drunk and also temporarily insane when he says, "You know, I'm quite the cunning linguist and honestly, if I were in your shoes, I'd definitely be taking that filly out for a test ride. And! I ask nothing in return, except your honest and heartfelt praise. Or criticism, if you feel it necessary."
"Have you ever actually—?" Steve asks cynically, turning to fix Eddie with a look.
"I hardly think that's pertinent to the conversation, considering your options," Eddie argues.
"Oh for— You want to use it as a practice pussy!" Steve accuses.
And well, yeah, but he was hoping Steve wouldn't figure that out. It's too perfect! Steve would be going into it with zero expectations and still get an orgasm out of it, Eddie would get a low-stakes learning experience with no threat of humiliation.
Steve grinds the heel of his hand into his eye and shakes his head.
"Yeah, you know what, why not," he says, sitting up straighter and tossing his hands up.
"Really?!" It feels like it shouldn't be this easy.
"Yeah. You only live once, right?"
"Right, yeah," Eddie says. "So, uh, now? Or...?"
"Well like, not at the table. I mean that's kind of hot in a kinky sorta way? But the floor is going to kill your knees, so—" Steve tilts his head towards his bedroom.
It's only a little awkward as Eddie follows Steve to his room.
"What are you doing?" Steve asks when Eddie strips his shirt once inside the door.
"It's a clean shirt and I don't know what's going to happen down there, man." He uses the leather thong on his wrist to tie his hair back, too.
Steve shrugs, fair, and tries again to get the stupid corset off.
Eddie, ever helpful, steps up behind him to finish what he'd started with the laces; after a few moments of picking with his nails, he gives up and drops to his knees, ready to gnaw through the knot if need be.
Steve twists to see what Eddie's doing, a little bit of color to his cheeks as he watches. The knot loosens and gives as Eddie wiggles it between his teeth; he stands and helps Steve get the thing off. He's only being practical, expedient, and he refuses to recognize the intimacy of the act of helping someone undress.
Steve takes off his skirt, leaving him in just the linen shift borrowed from Robin. He settles himself on the bed propped against the headboard, knees drawn partway up.
Eddie has a little flutter of nerves as he climbs on the bed and knee-walks to rest between Steve's legs. He's no virgin, thank you very much, but he's never had the occasion to do this before. It's more for Eddie's own benefit when he rubs soft circles to the inside of Steve's knees, then slides his palms over the tops of Steve's thighs.
"This okay?" he murmurs, sliding his fingertips under the hem of the shift.
"Yeah," Steve says, voice breathy.
Eddie pushes the shift up Steve's thighs and exposes the soft thatch of dark pubic hair, already curling and clumping with wetness. He runs his thumb over Steve's hipbone, then follows the curve down along the crease of hip and thigh. He traces Steve's labia and Steve sighs, lets his legs fall farther open in invitation.
Eddie plays with him a bit, using his fingers to tease slick, pink lips; he kisses the inside of Steve's knee before he shifts down the bed and makes himself comfortable between his legs. He rubs his cheek over the smooth skin of Steve's inner thigh, dropping light kisses as he moves higher. The desire to sink his teeth into the soft flesh is almost overwhelming, so he settles for sucking lurid red marks that will fade before morning.
He rubs the tip of his nose along the crease of Steve's thigh, trying not to be too obvious about breathing in his scent—it's salty and floral and ripe. His cock throbs where it's pressed into the mattress.
Steve's much quieter than Eddie would have expected. He's definitely watching, holding his breath while Eddie noses his labia. He opens his mouth and licks a wide, flat stripe up the seam, making eye contact as he does.
Steve jerks and makes a surprised sound; his breasts wobble with the movement and Eddie can see how painfully hard his nipples are under the shift. He'd like to get his mouth on them, too, but back to the task at hand. He uses his thumb to help spread Steve open as he dives in in earnest, starting with soft, slow licks. Saliva floods his mouth as he savors Steve's taste.
He tries everything he's ever fantasized about and then some, taking Steve's grunted and moaned and sighed direction on tempo and pressure, yes there, just like that, fuck Eddie so good—
Steve's hands are buried in his hair, his legs spread wide, his face contorted in pleasure when Eddie chances a glance upward. Gods, he wants to fuck him, sink into that sweet, soft pussy—
Eddie sucks Steve's clit and he knows that's what's going to take Steve over the edge; he gets louder and his whole body tenses to the point he begins to shake. Eddie clamps his hands tighter on the top of Steve's thighs, holding him in place. He eases up enough to let Steve fuck his mouth like he's still got a cock and that's what does it for him—
Steve goes stock still, pressing himself hard against Eddie's mouth; he bucks and moans and Eddie can feel the contractions against his lips and tongue. He grinds his own hips into the bed and definitely does not whine against Steve's pussy.
Steve curls up into himself and then jackknifes away from Eddie, rolling onto his side and shaking, what the fuck?!
Eddie's up and at his side in an instant, belatedly thinking oh shit, what if it's part of the spell, what if I just killed Steve Harrington by eating him out?!
"Holy shi— shit," Steve groans, convulsing in on himself, "Oh my gods, oh fuck, I think I'm still coming or I just came again, ah! What the fuck—"
"Are you—? Uh, are you okay? Do you, uh, want a cup of water, or maybe an exorcist?" Eddie's only panicking a little.
Steve laughs the kind of exhilarated laugh that comes with running away from the City Guard and other near-death experiences; Eddie relaxes a little.
Then he gets really fuckin' smug, because he almost just killed Steve Harrington by eating him out. He picks up the corner of the blanket and wipes his mouth, grinning.
"C'mon, man, who does that? Use the sheet, not the blanket, now I have to wash that," Steve complains, straightening out to lie flat on his back.
"Just wait til it dries and pick the crust off," Eddie says, pulling his neck to the side and then working his jaw. Good thing he doesn't have a gig tomorrow, his whole body's going to be sore.
"Classy," Steve says, stretching and ending on a yawn. "I'm gonna sleep like the dead tonight. Hey, you think maybe I'll turn back? Like kissing a sleeping princess kind of thing."
"More like kissing a frog, dude," Eddie says, just to be a little shit.
Steve looks appropriately annoyed.
"If you uh, don't need anything else, I'm just gonna—" Eddie gestures to the door.
Now that everything's settled down a bit, he's acutely aware of the ache in his balls and the stickiness inside his pants. Just the outline of Steve's body through his shift is enough to have Eddie chubbing up again.
Steve waves him off with a yawned g'night and Eddie makes haste back to his own room. He doesn't even try to make it to the bed, just leans against his closed door and fumbles his breeches open enough to pull his cock out. It doesn't take long before he's got part of his shirt stuffed in his mouth, biting down on it and groaning as he comes his fucking brains out.
He has the faintest inkling that he might be in trouble.
*
The next day brings news, both good and bad: Murray, Nancy and Jonathan's secret contact, can probably reverse the spell. Steve's met him like, once—it was that time some Red Wizards pulled forth some abomination from they Abyssal Plane and blew up the Market Square, it was before Eddie was around—and says he's kind of a weird guy, but he speaks fluent Thayvian and knows a lot about their spellwork, so it's legit.
In order to reverse the spell, Murray needs a bunch of rare and expensive ingredients that will require the kids to do some fetching and carrying and Nancy and Jonathan making a trip to the Forgotten Forest.
Steve's going to be a woman for a tenday at least. If Nancy and Jonathan join up with Argyle, it'll be a month—that guy's always on Druid Time; everything happens when it needs to and not before.
Steve just rolls with it because he's that kind of guy. As long as there's a plan and a solution on the horizon, he can be as patient as a saint. Eddie knows he wouldn't be nearly that cool about it.
He's not really surprised when, at the end of the night, Steve doesn't even bother to grab some wine or make small talk, just detours straight to Eddie's bedroom.
"My sheets are clean, I'm not getting them dirty," Steve says, working his corset free by himself.
And like, it's presumptuous, but they both know full well Eddie's not going to turn down a free meal.
And thus begins the happiest and most exhausting eight days of Eddie's life. He finally gets his mouth on Steve's amazing tits, first over the shirt and then skin-on-skin. Steve's totally fine with Eddie jerking off before he goes back to his own room for the night, sometimes Eddie'll even get him off again after. One night he even lets Eddie straddle his ribs and fuck his chest, it's fucking wild.
And then they get a message from Nance that she and Jon (and Argyle) are headed back to Hawkins and it shouldn't take more than three days. Steve'll be back to normal before the new moon, even. Steve's definitely relieved; he doesn't hate being a woman or anything, but he's more than ready to have his body put to rights, if only so he can swing a sword again without overbalancing.
"Hey, so, since I'm going to change back soon, I was thinking maybe we could fuck," Steve says later, as they head up the stairs for the night.
Eddie trips and catches himself before faceplanting into Steve's luscious ass. Is it his birthday?
"I mean, you still have to pull out," he adds warningly.
"Ye— yeah, right, of course, no question," Eddie's quick to reassure.
They start out like they have for the past few days, Eddie sucking and licking Steve's nipples while he teases his clit, getting Steve all squirmy and panting before he goes down. He's barely gotten started when Steve pushes his head away.
"Don't wanna come like this, I wanna come on your cock," Steve says, urgent and matter-of-fact at the same time.
Eddie thinks he's going to pass out from how rock hard his dick gets.
"How do you want—?"
"Like this?" Steve says, propping himself up on his elbows to look down his body at Eddie.
As if Eddie's going to say no to anything Steve suggests, let alone the most vanilla of missionary positions.
"Yeah, okay," Eddie says, moving up to kneel between Steve's legs.
And like, again, Eddie's no virgin, and he's gotten to know his way around Steve's body a bit by now, but he still feels a little thrill of fear as he rubs the tip of his cock between slick labia. He cannot fuck this up, Steve is trusting him. Not only that, but Steve's been with way more women than he has; he doesn't want to underperform, either.
Alright, he can do this. He gets the head of his cock in position and nudges himself forward enough to to be considered just the tip. He looks back up to gauge Steve's reaction; Steve is biting his lip and looking down his body, watching.
Oh fuck, Eddie thinks, hips twitching involuntarily. Steve makes the most delicious little moan as Eddie slides deeper. Steve's thighs open wider, drawing Eddie in; Eddie lets go of his dick and grabs the round of Steve's hip with a slick hand, pulling him closer. Steve grips Eddie's forearm with one hand while he fists the sheets with the other.
Eddie pulls back just enough to thrust in a bit more; Steve makes a high, breathy noise that Eddie can feel in his balls. He does it again, and again, reveling in how tight and hot Steve is around him. Eddie's cock flexes of its own accord when he's fully seated, making Steve gasp.
"Oh Hells that's good, do that again," Steve directs, letting his head drop back on his shoulders.
Eddie, of course, obliges; he flexes his cock again before grinding his hips up against Steve's.
It's the slowest he's ever fucked someone, but he's more turned on than he's ever been in his life. Steve's definitely enjoying it, too. His hand drops from Eddie's forearm to between their bodies, using his fingers to feel where Eddie's sliding out and back in; he moves higher to circle his clit.
"Think—" Eddie's throat clicks and he swallows "—think you can come like this?"
"Yeah," Steve says, giving an experimental thrust of his hips.
It doesn't take much for them to find a rhythm; Eddie's a bard, after all, he can harmonize with just about anyone.
Steve's more vocal than ever, Eddie fucking all kinds of noises and nonsense words out of him.
Eddie barely pulls out in time as Steve begins to come; he watches Steve's pussy contract around the absence of his cock as he paints thick stripes over Steve's pubic hair.
"Holy shit," Eddie says, crashing onto the bed next to Steve like a toppled pillar.
"Nn," Steve concurs.
Steve ends up falling asleep in Eddie's bed, which is really convenient for the both of them when they fuck again the next morning, Steve just kind of rolling on top of Eddie and putting it in, pulling Eddie's hands to his tits as he rides him like he's got nowhere to go and all day to get there.
Eddie has more sex in three days than he's had in his entire life. Steve wants to know what it feels like from every angle, probably filing all that information away for when he gets his dick back and can use it on the first willing strumpet he comes across.
It would be stupid to say that the thought makes Eddie jealous, even if it happens to be a tiny bit true. Jealous of whom, though, that's a question for dudes more prone to navel-gazing than he.
*
Eddie's starting to understand why everybody is a little shifty when they talk about Murray. He's a nice guy, all smiles and laughs until you find the dagger in his honeyed words. And those rare and expensive ingredients he needed? Weren't even for the spell to get Steve's dick back! In true asshole wizard fashion, he had them do his godsdamned grocery shopping. He'll probably offer them five gold to clear the rats out of his cellar before they leave.
Eddie's not even sure if it's a boon or an insult when the spell is a few words, some swirly hand movements (that are possibly just a personal affectation and not a somatic component of the spell), a couple embers in a brazier and cloud of cloying blue smoke. Hells, he might as well finish it off with a ta-da! and a grin, the lack of gravity to the whole thing is almost comical.
"That's it?" Steve asks, understandably wary. Nothing's changed, he's still a woman.
A little more ritual to the proceedings, that's what Eddie's saying. Steve gets it.
"'That's it?'" Murray repeats, offended. "Yes, that's it, go home, sleep it off and you'll wake bright and... bushytailed... tomorrow morning."
And, well, that's that, they all suppose. Eddie follows Steve back to the tavern, Steve works his shift and Eddie does what Eddie does—he plays a few sweet tunes, eavesdrops, liberates a couple coins from the creep that keeps ogling Steve's tits and asking borderline inappropriate questions. It's not pickpocketting, it's collecting an asshole tax.
They don't go upstairs right away after closing; nobody leaves before at least three candles have burned any time Argyle is in town. He always comes bearing the skunkiest pipeweed this side of Scornubel, how could they possibly kick him out?
The air's kind of heavy as they clean up after everyone's left. They're silent on the stairs, a somber feeling settling between them.
Steve stops in front of Eddie's door. "We probably shouldn't, y'know, fuck or anything tonight, just in case it would like, mess with the spell, right?"
And it probably wouldn't, but it's not like Murray gave any aftercare instructions or anything. It would be Eddie's luck that something unfortunate would happen, like him absorbing the spell and getting turned into a girl himself, or Steve getting accidentally knocked up and changing back but still being pregnant, or any number of horrific physical consequences he doesn't want to think about.
"Yeah. Um, thank you? Is it gauche to thank somebody for sex?"
Steve huffs a laugh and Eddie's going to miss that sound. It would definitely be gauche to tell Steve he's going to kind of miss him as a girl, and not just because of the sex. In just a few days, he and Steve had developed a closeness he's never really had with another person. Maybe it was because it was easier to let his guard down with someone soft and woman-shaped, or maybe it was just because he was forced to see Steve as Steve, past the pretty girl or the manly man. Whatever the reason, it's going to be hard to go back to how it was before.
"I think I should be thanking you," Steve says. "The sex was awesome."
They spend a moment grinning at each other, and then Eddie figures fuck it and goes in for a hug. Steve holds on tight.
"Do you want me to bring a chair over, just in case?" Eddie asks. He kind of wants Steve to ask him to sleep in the same bed one more time, but he's also kind of afraid of what might happen if he actually sees the transformation (people have gone mad from witnessing high-level magics head-on, it's true).
"Nah dude, I'm good," Steve says, squeezing tighter before drawing back. He leaves his hand on Eddie's shoulder, big and warm even as a girl, gentle. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
"Unless the spell makes you go blind or something," Eddie says, groping in the dark for some levity and missing by a country mile.
"Wow, thanks dude, really needed that in my head," Steve says, but there's no real annoyance to it. "Night."
"Night," Eddie says, letting himself into his room so he doesn't do something sad and creepy like watch Steve until he disappears behind his own door.
It's gonna be a long night, he thinks.
*
"Eddie! Eddieeee!"
Eddie wakes with a start, sitting up in bed, head whipping around to look at the door as it's flung open.
He belatedly realizes Steve's voice is back to normal. The rest of him, too, by the looks of it; he's not sure what he's seeing at first when Steve hikes his usual sleep shirt up to his chest.
"It's back!" Steve shouts excitedly, waggling his hips.
Yeah, he's totally seeing the meaty cudgel Steve calls a cock bounce around merrily.
Steve turns to the side, thankfully letting the shirt drop, and runs his hands over his chest to emphasize its flatness.
"As much as I’m going to miss your giant mommy pillows, I’m glad you're back, dude," Eddie says, blinking hard and picking the crust out of his eyes, mouth a little faster than his brain.
"Mommy pillows?" Steve asks, eyebrows drawn together and making a break for his hairline.
"Fuck off, dude, it's early," Eddie says.
*
Eddie sits on top of the bar, picking out an idle tune on his lute. He looks up from his fingering.
"So what if there's no moral to the story? No happy ending? Be fuckin' grateful dude, this is Hawkins and nobody died," he says.
"Hey loverboy, if you're finished, I need a fresh keg from the cellar," Steve shouts from the other end of the bar, a flat look of annoyance on his face.
Eddie sighs heavily and sets his lute aside.
"The things we do for love," he laments airily, sliding off the bartop. "Coming, dear."
-fin-