Handbook of Erotic Fantasy: Couples Costume (Patreon)

Fighter was an excellent girlfriend. She had to be. More than her life depended on it. And so she stood with the rest of them, cooing and oohing and making appreciative noises where appropriate. She loathed the sound of her own falsetto.

“Are you sure I can pull this off?” It was Magus’s voice, and it came from behind a pink floral curtain. A curtain which, these many months later, still haunted Fighter’s nightmares. A furtive feline face peeked through a small gap in the fabric. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I’m sure you look fine,” said Inquisitor, her smile slight and her eyes sparkling. “Now come on out and—  Oooooh!”

“...” said Ranger. She clapped her hands daintily.

“OMG,” said Fighter flatly. “You look totes adorbs.”

Magus stood before her partymates in antlers and leaves. She brushed one stray lock back behind her false elven ears. “I guess I do have the hair for it,” said the catfolk. Then she did a little twirl, and her cape shed several leaves, and for one brief moment, as the dressed-to-match Inquisitor stepped in to steal a kiss, it was as if the hopes and dreams of a thousand fanfic writers had all come true. But then they parted, and the dingy dressing room of Alchemist’s shop was around them again, complete with its second hand suits of armor and mislabeled potions and “all costumes 75% off” tags.

It was this sale that had brought them here. For a costume party was a fine thing on Devil’s Night, but it was so much more affordable the following weekend. And for one of their number at least, these costumes presented an opportunity for vengeance.

“Your turn,” said Inquisitor. “Let’s see if your couples costume can beat ours.”

Curtains rustled. Buckles were buckled. Fighter and Range reemerged. And for once, the busty blonde wore a genuine smile.

“I think I can live with this,” she said. “The quarterstaff is kind of lame as far as weapons go, but the coat is badass! Plus it brings out my eyes. And why the crap do you look constipated?”

This last question was directed at Ranger, who had stepped from her own booth. She shifted uneasily from foot to foot, her coat hanger wings bobbing, black gauze swaying with her movements. She seemed decidedly unhappy.

“...” she said sheepishly. And then, with a pained expression painted across her face, she gestured towards her costume’s breeches. The very tight, very confining leather breeches.

Realization dawning, the others chorused a mutual, “Oh.”

“We’re not getting these, are we?” said Fighter.

And Ranger could only shake her head ‘no’ before retreating —  bow-legged — back to the dressing room.

“Not to worry,” called Inquisitor after her. “I have some other ideas for the two of you.”

A chill ran down Fighter’s back. For although she did not possess danger sense as a class feature, she could still sense peril on the wind.

*****

It was evening. They were en route to their un-Devil’s Night party. Fighter was very cold.

“This is degrading,” she whinged.

The body painting hadn’t been so bad. Dragons were reasonably cool monsters after all, and the prospect of role-reversal was something Fighter had grown accustomed to of late. But most fire-breathing terrors of the countryside didn't have to worry about their pasties falling off. Even worse, Fighter felt sure the tail wasn’t meant to be worn in public. No decent accessory should come with a vibration enchantment anyway.

“Careful, Fighter. You want to keep your knight in shining armor happy, don’t you?”

Inquisitor was clearly enjoying her role in all this. She’d found all manner of ‘perfectly good’ options in the back corners of the shop. Fighter had managed to talk her way out of ‘slutty princess,’ ‘slutty slime,’ and ‘slutty-back-end-of-a-drider.’ But after Ranger had fallen in love with the helmet and the lance of her half of the costume, there was no escape.

“Remember,” smirked the dark elf. “Bad dragons lose their secret identity.”

“And get slain?”

“And their corpses turned in for the bounty. So act the part. You’re Ranger’s slutty dragon tonight, and you’re going to make sure she enjoys this party.”

There was nothing to do after that but grin and bear it. And so the bounty hunters walked. Fighter’s everything bounced. The cold wind of autumn left gooseflesh across her arms and thighs, and the semi-nude warrior wished that she really could breathe fire. Then Ranger’s arm was unexpectedly around her, holding her close and keeping her warm.

“...” said Ranger.

“Thanks, I guess,” said Fighter. “You look pretty too.” And maybe it was the tail’s intermittent buzzing (or possibly the onset of hypothermia), but in that moment, as far from her manly physique as she’d ever been, one slutty dragon kind of sort of wanted her hoard to get plundered.