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eryiss · 3 years

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Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hi everyone. Get ready for things to hot up, and for them to take a pretty big step. Just a warning, the first part of this chapter has a sex dream. It’s not overly graphic, but it’s there.

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter Six - Dream, Reality

Day Five: Friday

Freed had been reading, he thought, but he didn't care to remember. The situation was much more interesting.

He was lounging on one of the sofas in his study, a glass of port to his right, and his fireplace flickering before him. It was night, he thought, and there was the heavy pattering of a rainstorm on the roof. This would all be par for the course, if it weren't for the fact Gajeel Redfox was curled up on the sofa, his head resting in Freed's lap as if a cat curling up for warmth. Even more peculiar was how Freed found his hand carding through Gajeel's hair, and felt an odd sense of utter contentment in the entire situation.

Gajeel looked softer, now. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep. Just relaxing. Freed had never thought of Gajeel as a man who could relax, as ridiculous as that sounded. Gajeel always seemed like he had some kind of a facade up - one where he was slightly exaggerating the toughness while downplaying the emotional side - and as such never could fully shut his mind off.

It warmed Freed to know Gajeel trusted him enough to be like this around him.

Why did he trust Freed enough to be like this around him?

Why was he lying with his head in Freed's lap?

When had they even gotten into his study?

Before the questions could really hit him, Freed realised Gajeel was talking. The words weren't exactly words, but more a deep grumbling, tired and hoarse, that sent a pleasant chill down Freed's spine. Though he couldn't decipher the words, Freed instinctively knew the meaning behind them. He was talking more about Draconic culture, retelling the stories and folklore that his father had gifted to him in his childhood. It was a private thing, something Gajeel would only let himself talk about with someone he truly cared for.

Freed's hand was still stroking through Gajeel's shockingly silky hair, scratching his scalp every once in a while to get Gajeel to grin. The other man was a darling when he was like this, and in an odd way it made Freed find his more manic, rough-edged side more enticing. Gajeel was a man who could use his fists to get out of most situations, but he was a hell of a lot more than that.

"What 'cha thinkin' about, pretty-boy?" Gajeel's words were clear now, and Freed smiled about the term of endearment.

He knew that nicknames were something important to Gajeel, Freed was beginning to understand that. While they could just seem like terms of endearments, or insults depending on the recipient, they were perhaps more than that. They were an encapsulation of who Gajeel thought you were, and while Freed suspected Gajeel thought more of him than his looks, the nickname still made him smile. The initial nickname of City-Boy had been meant to demean him, whereas the slip up of Pretty-Boy was more of a compliment.

The tides of their relationship were changing now, and Freed couldn't help but feel flattered and excited by that. Gajeel, now that he could think objectively about him, was a man who could hold a lot of potential for Freed. Every time he thought of Gajeel's history lesson about his culture, something inside Freed burned with anticipation.

Gajeel and him could be something interesting. Something new.

It didn't answer how they'd gotten into this situation.

Pushing himself up, Gajeel was now eye level with Freed. His intoxicatingly red eyes ensnared Freed, and the grin of delightfully sharp teeth held a promise of excitement. Gajeel leant forward, twisting so he was on all fours and trapping Freed in place on the sofa. He leant in so close that Freed could feel his breath on his lips.

"Let's take yer mind off things," Gajeel promised.

Gajeel all but pounced onto Freed, knocking him back. The world seemed to swirl and distort around them, and in the blink of an eye Freed had left his study and they were both in the forest clearing again. Freed was splayed out on his back, Gajeel pinning his hands above his head. Gajeel's clothes were gone now, as were Freed's, and the cold damp stone below him made him shiver with anticipation.

This was a dream, Freed realised. Hardly an innocent dream, though.

Leaning further down, Gajeel's teeth were biting and nibbling at Freed's neck, sucking and marking him without restraint. Freed groaned quietly, and Gajeel laughed a little in his ear. He began to pepper light kisses over Freed's jaw, landing the final kiss to the left of his lips.

"Yer mine, pretty-boy," Gajeel murmured, voice like seductive honey. "And you ain't getting away."

"I didn't intend on leaving," Freed heard himself saying, and he could see Gajeel's eyes sparkling. "But, let me correct you Gajeel. I am not yours. But you are mine."

Freed wrapped his legs tight around Gajeel's - the rubbing of their cocks together made them both moan - but then flipped them over. Gajeel was pushed onto his own back with Freed straddling his hips. It was a reflection of how they'd been when wrestling in the forest, but this felt different. Whereas their fight had been charged with anger and resentment, this was fuelled by lust. They were two men in the depths of passion, with the world extending only to one another.

Gajeel looked up at Freed with an expression he could only describe as horny, and Freed relished the sight. He leant down and began peppering light kisses on the man's muscular body, smirking with a little cruelty as he bit Gajeel's nipple and made him groan.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" He teased, and Gajeel glared.

"Fuckin bit me," Gajeel grunted. "I'll get ya back for that."

Freed grinned, and smirked at Gajeel when his kisses went lower and lower, down the centre of his rippling stomach muscles. Gajeel groaned again, running his hands over Freed's body. The rough calluses seemed to glide over Freed's near-unblemished stomach and chest, teasing and kneading at his muscles.

He suddenly pulled Freed down, and their strong bodies ran against one another. Freed smirked at Gajeel and began to bite at the man's skin again, loving the slight taste of metal that the man held.

"Fuck," Gajeel panted, and Freed smirked. "Yer right, I'm yours."

"As if it were in doubt," Freed chuckled, running his hand from Gajeel's chest to his abs to his dick.

He grabbed both of their members and started to stroke them, thrusting his body to rub against Gajeel's abs. Gajeel groaned and moaned, and Freed felt fire coursing through him as the sudden fury of an orgasm rocked him. Gajeel seemed to notice, and smirked up at him with a beautifully cocky look. He knew what was going to happen, and he knew he was to blame.

Fuck, it was going to happen. So close. So damn close-

Then he woke up.

He was in his bed, panting and sweating under the sheets. His head swam in confusion for a moment, and he blinked himself open. It was earlier in the morning than he normally would be awake in, and the sensation was confusing for a moment. That quickly gave way to a horrid flush of embarrassment at what his dream had been. There was something twisted about dreaming about a man he barely knew, and had spent the better part of a week quarreling, in such a depraved way. It was worse still given how Freed's subconscious had wanted to fuck in the same place they had hated one another.

Should he do something about it, though? Gajeel was undoubtedly a gorgeous man in every sense of the word. Freed could admit a broad chested man with piercings was a turn on, albeit a turn on that was new to Freed. But they were barely getting along as colleagues, let alone even friends.

No, he would just have to ignore this. A cold shower and a morning run would settle his mind and put his head on straight.

——

"Gods dammit," Gajeel grunted, and Freed winced a little as the other man pushed himself off from the ground. "You sure you ain't S-Class with shit like this?"

The two men were in Freed's expansive backyard, surrounded by a ring of fire. Their training exercise of the day had been to have them fight side-by-side against a common enemy. Rather than having another mage come and fight against them, Freed had decided to use another aspect of his simulation runes to create what he called a Mimic. It was a being made up of runes, meant to simulate an opponent. Freed had fueled it with the magic and techniques of their guildmates, and had instructed it to try and beat them in a fight.

More than anything, it was a distraction. After the dream - and Gajeel's slip of the tongue the night before, which had sent a wave of delighted warmth through Freed's heart - Freed needed to refocus his attention. They were here to train, that's all.

"How the hell d'ya have enough magic to have that thing so powerful while yer fighting like normal?" Gajeel asked, panting as he faced the mimic.

"I have an excess of magical energy this time of year," Freed explained, flicking away the few droplets of blood that were dripping down his arms onto his hands. "It's best to use it rather than allow it to linger."

Gajeel nodded, seemingly understanding why Freed had magic and why he shouldn't have any excess magic around him.

The mimic was walking towards them both slowly: a wireframe made of runes. It made a gesture with its hand and suddenly a torrent of Max's sand shot up, a whirlwind of a sandstorm. Freed quick-casted two walls of runes to protect them both, gritting his teeth slightly as his magic took a hammering of relentless sand. It was difficult to see through the miasma of sand, and Freed squinted slightly to see where the mimic was standing.

Suddenly, Gajeel was standing in front of him, body made of metal again. His arms crossed before him, Freed heard a sickly sounding clash of metal on metal. When Gajeel jumped back, Freed saw that a runic replica of one of Erza's swords had been flung towards him, cutting through the runes that had only been meant to protect them from the sand.

"Thanks," Freed panted. "How did you see it?"

"Heard it," Gajeel explained, closing his eyes and clearly focusing on his other senses. "He's to the left of us, I think. Using Juvia's magic."

The torrent of water slammed into them both before either man had time to react, and Freed grunted as he was pushed to the back of the circle of fire. Gajeel washed up beside him, as soaked to the bone as Freed was, coughing up magically made water. Freed was on his feet first, as Gajeel had taken the brunt of the attack. When he saw the mimic getting closer while Gajeel was recovering, Freed pulled out his sword and brandished it before him.

Borrowing transformation from either Elman or perhaps Pantherlilly, the runic man grew into an imposing figure of unnatural muscles. It lurched towards Freed with a monstrously large fist, aiming for Freed's head in a cruel punch.

For a moment, Freed could do nothing but parry the onslaught of blows. His sword swung quickly through the air, blocking every punch, kick and attempted bite from the runic creature. The speed of the blows were so fast and relentless that Freed didn't have the chance to land a counter attack, and he grit his teeth as he glanced over his shoulder and towards where Gajeel had been. He was no longer there, and Freed had to hope he was readying for an attack.

The next second, a metal fist slammed into the mimic's stomach, knocking it back a few feet.

"You okay?" Freed asked when Gajeel stood beside him again.

"Just winded," Gajeel explained, iron creeping over his body entirely now. "You?"

"Fine," Freed stated, though his arms were aching slightly now.

They both looked at the mimic, which was standing still. The wireframe of runes was inhumanely looking at them, and Freed knew that it was calculating their next steps. A moment later, lightning seemed to be gathering over the mimic's hands, crawling up its body in the same way Laxus' lightning would moments before he would use his dragon's roar. Freed's eyes widened a little - he had given the mimic too much of his magical energy if it could use dragon slayer magic - and he quickly realised that he didn't have time to write the lighting repellent runes on them both.

"Shit," Gajeel murmured, looking at the ground. "The water."

Freed looked down at the puddle of water below them, and then realised the plan the mimic had. Before he could think, he cast his wings and began to fly, hooking his arms around Gajeel's waist and forcing them both off the ground. The lighting magic shot from the mimic, sparks covering the pools of water on the ground.

Undeterred, the mimic began a new onslaught. Using Laki's magic now, wooden projectiles shot out towards them both, attempting to loosen Freed's grip on Gajeel to make him fall. Gajeel began to punch the projectiles, destroying them on contact.

"You've gotten rid of it before, right?" Gajeel asked between punches. "How?"

"I've not actually beaten it yet," Freed confessed, and Gajeel shifted to look towards him incredulously. Freed quickly shunted them both down when a wooden beam flew towards them. He landed them both on a dry patch of ground, before speaking again. "I treat it more like a punching bag than an opponent. Hit it as much as my body allows before dispelling it."

"Fuck that," Gajeel said firmly, rolling his shoulders back and straightening his back. Freed swallowed a little at the sight, his mind flickering back to the dream for just a moment. "It's a spell. Spells can be beaten, and I'm not giving up against that fucking thing."

"Quite right," Freed agreed. His runes were not going to defeat him.

"I say we fucking plaster it with magic," Gajeel suggested, rolling his sleeve up in a show of determination. It was an attractive look. "We both use our most powerful spells on it at the same time, we'll kill the fucking thing."

"Sounds good," Freed nodded, raising his sword. "Ready when you are."

"Iron Dragon's Roar!" Gajeel bellowed at the same time as Freed allowed his most pain filled runes to flow out of him.

Suddenly, Freed was on a high.

Everything about the spell felt different. Like his body was alight with a level of power that he hadn't ever felt before. His blood was burning, his magical energy exploding, his soul flipping and roaring in delight. The magic seemed to be fighting to leave him as if bending to his will more than it ever had before. The power felt lighter than normal, but so much more powerful. Every aspect of the spell felt like it belonged to him and him alone.

He seemed to almost leave his own body as he watched his runes flow forward. They spiralled into Gajeel's roar, merging and coagulating with the Dragon slayer magic. Freed's body felt cold as if pressed against metal, and it was a euphoric feeling.

Gods, what was happening. It was amazing.

Tendrils of runes shot forward and wrapped around the mimic, trapping his limbs as if in bondage. The pain spells seemed to ignite, and the mimic thrashed like any person would under the intense agony Freed's runes would cause. It was then that the dragon's roar hit the bound mimic, and the flurry of iron and magic slammed into it like a relentless torrent of power.

The mimic was ripped apart, disintegrating in the overwhelming magical power. The remaining fire, water and wood dissipated as the mimic died away, leaving Freed and Gajeel alone.

Had they just… Had that been a…

"Holy shit," Gajeel sounded giddy. "Holy fucking shit! We did a fuckin' Unison Raid!"

"Yes," Freed gasped. "I think we did."

"Damn," Gajeel was looking at him with an elated smile, still covered in iron. "I ain't ever done anything like that. Holy shit, that felt so fuckin' good right. Fuck, I feel like I could take down anything right now, y'know what I mean?"

"I do," Freed agreed, and couldn't help but smile at Gajeel.

But this didn't make sense. Unison raids were meant to be a combination of magic between people who had a deep, innately personal connection. So far, all Freed had felt about Gajeel was a mess of confusion. Sometimes he hated the man, and sometimes he had an odd lust for him. So either his magic seemed to know something he did not, or he simply misunderstood how unison raids worked.

"We're gonna kick ass in the tournament," Gajeel smirked, looking to Freed again. His smile faltered a little, and his gaze went slightly to the side. Freed frowned when Gajeel let out a small, "Huh."

"What's wrong?" Freed asked.

"Well, don't get pissy," Gajeel said, voice fighting back amusement and a smile trying to break out again. "But, looks like I kinda left you a reminder of what's happened."

Freed frowned further, and Gajeel slowly brought a metallic hand. It looked as though he was going to cup Freed's cheek for a moment, but then his hand turned into a solid slab of metal. It took Freed a moment to realise he was meant to use the metal as a mirror, and looked at the reflection that Gajeel was offering him. He immediately saw what Gajeel had meant.

During their unison raid, Gajeel had somehow pierced Freed.

On his right ear, five small metal rings, all bullet-grey, had been infused into his ear. Small barbels had been placed on the inside of both of his eyebrows, sharp and unobtrusive. He couldn't feel them at all, and Freed gently ran a finger over them all, a tingling shiver going down him at the feeling. There was a complete and undeniable sensation of rightness to Gajeel's metal being part of him. It was like he belonged as a part of him.

The dream came to mind again, with Gajeel pinning him down and claiming Freed as his own. It was a coincidence, of course, but Freed couldn't help but flush. It felt like he had been claimed.

He should have protested, but instead whispered, "Wow."

"You ain't mad, right?" Gajeel asked.

"No," Freed said immediately. "A little shocked, perhaps. But, well, they look rather good, I think."

"They look fucking hot," Gajeel whispered, and Freed didn't know if he was meant to hear it, so said nothing. The sound of Gajeel's iron turning back to skin filled the silence, and when Freed looked towards him, he paused. Gajeel noticed. "What's wrong, City-Boy?"

"Well," Freed spoke before he could feel disappointed about the return of the nickname. "It appears my magic reciprocated your iron's ideas."

Gajeel's exposed arm was covered in black runes that looked indistinguishable from a tattoo. It covered his right arm entirely, and Gajeel was looking down at the foreign lettering with an overly wide and overly excited smile. He seemed enamoured with the change to his body, and Freed wondered how he might react if he knew what the writing said.

'Ownership.'

Dammit, Freed's magic had essentially laid claim to Gajeel. Of course, 'ownership' was a rough translation, and the actual meaning was a term of endearment. But that was worse! Freed had not only claimed the man, but essentially written something akin to 'My one and only.' Nobody would know, of course, but it didn't change the fact he had done it.

"Yer panicking," Gajeel chuckled. "Don't worry about it. Wanted some ink for a while, you just saved me some jewels."

"You should be angry about this," Freed frowned. "Why aren't you?"

"You should be angry about the piercings, because they're not the type you can remove," Gajeel shrugged. "Why aren't you pissed?"

"Because," Freed began, and sighed. He should be honest about this. "Because having them feels right."

"So does this," Gajeel looked to his arm, grinning slightly. "Feels like I've been missing somethin', kinda. Like I've finally found my style and this completes it."

Freed felt the same, but couldn't say it. Instead, he said, "Why were we able to perform a unison raid? People with connections much deeper than our's have tried and failed. It doesn't make sense."

"Does it matter?" Gajeel shrugged, and Freed stared incredulously because of course it did. When Gajeel looked back to Freed, he seemed to have reached an epiphany that Freed would love to know. "Look, I get why you're feelin' fucked up about it, but there's no point. This week, we were both pretty determined to hate each other and piss each other off, right?"

"Yes, I suppose we were."

"That didn't fuckin' last, right?" Gajeel shrugged. "We were compelled to hate each other by a demon, and we got over it. When we were solvin' puzzles and stopped thinkin' about what we thought of each other, we were a pretty good team. When we had a common enemy, we did a fuckin' unison raid."

"What's your point?" Freed asked, frowning.

"When we get out of our heads, we work out. So why don't we stop fucking thinking about this shit," Gajeel shrugged. "Maybe we take things as they come. We work well together even after we pissed each other off, so why not just accept that? Our magics work together, let's use that to our advantage," Then he looked away, a little bashful. "Seems to me, we're a good team by nature. So why not just let it happen?"

"And the markings?"

"We don't think," Gajeel blushed. "And we see what happens."

When Gajeel looked back at Freed, he had a small, shy smile. It was honest, and Freed felt breathless.

See what happens? He could do that.

#gajeed #freedjeel #freed x gajeel #freed justine #gajeel redfox #fairy tail #fanfic #writing #canon divergence #multi chapter #chapter Six #Word Count: 3.7k

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voidstilesplease · 3 years

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Attractions

Demigod AU Ficlet [3]

Stiles

"Stiles?"

Stiles turns around to the source of the call. He finds himself facing the new Ares camper. The boy gives him a tentative but wide, slanted smile, stepping closer. Stiles is not going to lie; the excessive gushing he hears from the Aphrodite cabin about the guy are well-founded. But he's not going to say that out loud. He replies, "Hey,"

"Chiron said to look for you," the boy tells him, looking far brighter and good-natured than what Stiles anticipates from an Ares kid speaking to a child of Athena.

"Give me a sec, will you?" At the boy's nod, Stiles rushes inside the cabin to retrieve the materials he prepared for their brief session today. He assigns one of his half-siblings to take over the cabin clean-up while he's out. When he returns outside, the Ares boy is standing patiently, hands in his pockets, watching the flurry of activities inside.

"Your cabin looks like a library," the boy comments when Stiles is near enough to hear. He doesn't sound mocking and what he said isn't in particular insulting, but Stiles gets defensive all the same. From his time at camp, he gets this automatic response to the Ares bunch.

"And yours look like," he pauses, and they both turn to look at cabin five right across from Athena. Its blood-red paint job is giving Stiles goosebumps. Not to mention the stuffed boar's head on the doorway with soulless eyes that seem to be following everyone's movements, and the ugly barbed wires on the roof. It's an angry-looking cabin that's very fitting to its aggressive and violent occupants. "-a nightmare."

Stiles expects the boy to sneer, but he gets a different reaction. The new Ares kid laughs. "You think it looks bad outside? It's absolute chaos inside." The boy turns to him, smiling cheekily. "You should come and visit sometimes."

Stiles stops short and takes a moment to consider the boy. He's never made an Ares kid laugh before, at least not that isn't derisive. They all think Stiles is stuck up even when he was only new to the camp. Only Fred, the head counselor, tolerates him, and he only does so because Stiles handed his ass to him in capture-the-flag last summer. His grudging respect is because he got beat by a rookie. Typical. This boy, though, doesn't seem to be corrupted - yet. It's only been a few days. Stiles replies with a serious, "I will," the boy's face lights up in return, probably mistaking it as Stiles flirting back. So he adds, "When it's my turn for cabin inspection. I give decent scores."

The quick shooting up of his eyebrows means he doesn't quite believe that.

But Stiles does. Last summer, he gave them 1/5. It would have been zero, but Fred had made an effort to upturn the bunk beds back in their upright position and shove all strewn underwear inside a box. He only hopes those were burned after and not distributed back to their owners. Stiles is a saint, considering.

He moves them forward, tracing the steps to the Big House. They walk side-by-side in surprisingly companionable silence for a moment, then Stiles begins introduction. "So, as your official welcome wagon, albeit a few days late," Stiles spreads his arms in an all-encompassing gesture. "Welcome to Camp Half-Blood!"

The boy laughs a little and regards him with amusement. He looks pleasant, but it's disconcerting and just a tad suspicious. An Ares kid is not supposed to be a charmer, newcomer, or otherwise.

"My name is Stiles," he says, pausing in his tracks to politely offer his hand to the boy. "I'm Athena cabin's junior counselor."

The boy smiles and takes Stiles's hand in a firm grip. He mentally registers that the boy's hand is mildly calloused and only slightly bigger than his. And the boy's eyes are blue, like the sky and ocean on a fine day.

"I'm Theo."

Theo is a nice name, too, his brain whispers kindly. Probably short for Theodore. Stiles knows another Theodore from his previous school. That Theodore is bland; this one is far from it. But he's not going to admit that out loud, either.

Stiles clears his throat, breaking their contact. His mind runs on him sometimes (all the time); he hates when that happens. The last time it did, Stiles got humiliated by his crush in front of the others during combat training. What a fun memory. He really shouldn't be thinking about that right now. So he picks up his steps, and Theo follows dutifully, not losing the open expression.

"I'm supposed to give you a starter kit today: the camp's map, our camp brochure, and your study guide for our next sessions." Stiles holds up the book and papers on his other hand. "As much as I'd like to tour you around, we don't have that much time."

Stiles waves a hand to one of the Hermes kids, who's carrying a trunk-load of garbage for disposal. The boy smiles back brightly despite the strain on his face from the weight of the junk. Ever since day one, everyone from cabin eleven has been friendly to Stiles, most especially the head counselor, Kira. So, Stiles always makes a way to return their kindness.

He shifts back to Theo to find him observing the interaction with attention. It's not malicious, though, which still baffles Stiles. He didn't know there could be nice ones from his cabin.

He continues as they near the Big House. "There's a meeting with Chiron and the cabins' head counselors in an hour. Haley, our head, went with Demeter and Dionysus' cabin leaders to Manhattan to deliver strawberries. You know, the camp's source of funds? You'll see that in the brochure," he says, raising the object in question. "I'll have to attend as a proxy."

They arrive at the porch, and Stiles motions for Theo to sit on a bench. He passes the materials to him, "I'll let you check these, and if you have questions, you can ask me."

Theo shuffles the papers absently before lifting his head, "I do."

Stiles is pretty sure he hasn't read a thing yet, but he gestures for him to proceed.

"How did you manage it?" He asks, a genuinely curious look on his face. "You're here for one summer, but you're already second-in-command."

Stiles searches his face and tone for ridicule. He doesn't find it, still suspects it, so he schools his expression to its neutral - not friendly, but also not dismissive. It's a sensible question, anyway. It's not every day that he gets one from an Ares child. "It's not all about tenure here at camp," he starts, gauging.

Theo leans forward to indicate he's listening.

Stiles takes a seat adjacent to his position. If this kid is civil to him, there's no reason not to act the same - even if Stiles still thinks their cabin is the worst. "The eldest or the longest camper automatically gets the head counselor post, and they assign their seconds. Usually, they pick from the next eldest campers, but they can also base on achievements disregarding age or length of stay."

Theo inclines his head, eyes level on Stiles. "Achievements?"

"Yes. Like winning in the camp's games, or successfully returning from a quest."

His eyes flash in thought, and it is with revere when he says, "And you did both."

Stiles blushes embarrassingly. He tries to mask it by ducking his head and rubbing at his cheeks. Stiles is suddenly self-conscious when he is usually gloating. Stiles never passes up an opportunity to rub it in an Ares kid's face how he's defeated them in capture-the-flag like he's born for it.

When Stiles looks up again, the boy is smirking at him, blue eyes darting around his face in a thorough examination. Stiles's guard kicks in again, feeling measured.

He straightens in his perch, lifting his chin haughtily. "Yes," he makes sure that his tone is sharp. "I led my team to victory against yours. If you have any doubt to the legitimacy of that claim, you can remind Fred how he uselessly hung upside-down like a wet market chicken while I plucked the flag from his hands."

Stiles waits for the offended snarl and stream of profanities, but once again, he's knocked off his careful balance. Theo's face splits in a wide grin, and he laughs. "So, that's why he doesn't share details, the loser."

Stiles goggles, starting to feel annoyed by the unusual behavior. "Aren't you going to mock me and defend his honor?"

Theo snorts, "What honor?" He snickers for a few more and then puts his attention to the reading materials when he recovers.

Stiles finds the situation peculiar, so he stays quiet and allows Theo to read, answering when he has more questions and volunteering information that isn't in print.

Later, when they adjourn, he prepares to leave when Theo leans to tell him, "I'm not like my siblings. I don't hate clever people." He pauses, and with an easy grin, adds: "Fred might even be right. I think I'm attracted to one of them."

He doesn't wait for Stiles's reply - not that Stiles has one to that statement. He only stands there, taken aback, and red as a startled tomato.

Theo, finally displaying the familiar audacity comparable to his kins, winks. "I'll see you later, Stiles."

And well, it's impossible not to notice him everywhere now.

~•~

[1][2][companion]

#teen wolf #teen wolf au #teen wolf crossover #camp half blood #teen wolf characters #as demigods #demigod au #tw demigod au ficlet #steo #steo ficlet #steo au #teen wolf demigod au series #word count: 1584 #fics tag #demigodseries

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