[ Eyes narrowed and step light, he stalks his mark gingerly through the sprawling subterranean city. He tries to exercise extreme caution; the current target is no ordinary man. The most recent shared dream suggested to Stiles that Sephiroth has had military training, at the least. Never mind the fact that the “Chimera” is, as per usual, in possession of that singularly wicked-looking sword. With no small measure of curiosity, Stiles notes the addition of wings as another possible complication. If he had his extra limbs, he might have been able to give chase if the other man took to the sky. The Underground feels designed for an Arachne like him, after all. Unfortunately, he only has the exoskeleton and trichobothria on his arms at his disposal – with the new wrist spinnerets as a potential trump card.
Eventually, Stiles decides to strike. Slipping close enough that he can see individual strands of silver hair, he outstretches a hand toward the man’s hip in the hope of sliding it unnoticed into a pocket. He needs that token. ]
[He is not a difficult man to follow. A large frame and a trail of silver hair contrasted so starkly against dark, overlarge wings makes it a simple task for anyone with a pair of working eyes. The length of the steel he carries makes it doubly so.
Their hypogean surroundings are vast and winding, though Sephiroth’s step is fairly muted for how echoing it is. It dictates that Stiles will have to be just as unnoticeably quiet as he approaches, perhaps matching the tempo of his gait, in order to draw just near enough to slip into a pocket. Blessedly(?), he’s shadowed close enough, without drawing Sephiroth’s attention — and there’s a moment when it seems like the impossible might come to pass, that he might just steal away that small, copper prize on the merit of determination alone.
But all it takes is the most gentle brushing-past of a feather pressed flat against those folded wings, barely-there but so new that every little sensation is registered keenly in his mind. A small and peripheral gesture at best turns into a chiming alarm.
So Sephiroth feels it— stops suddenly and on instinct, his free hand reaching behind him to attempt to grasp that searching limb with a firm, confrontational hold, should he manage it. All this before he even deigns to turn, something that’ll reveal a deep frown the moment he does; not to mention the bright glint of Masamune in tandem.]
[ For a moment, Stiles believes he’ll succeed. His heartrate accelerates dramatically in premature triumph as his fingers whisper against the fold of a pocket – steady, steady now, almost there – and then Sephiroth abruptly halts. Eyes widening in belated alarm, Stiles tries to jerk away, the sensitive trichobothria on his exoskeleton warning him of the arm swinging back in his direction before he even visually sees it. He manages to dance just out of reach at the cost of tripping over a hidden pothole at their feet, which knocks him flat on his ass.
On his back, Stiles stares up at the sky woefully. ]
There was a bug on your coat, [ he croaks from the ground, in case Sephiroth is still planning on putting the Masamune to use. ] Just being a good Samaritan. No need to thank me. You’re safe now.
[His grasping hold misses it mark, but it hardly matters. Stiles trips and clatters to the ground just a moment later, doling out questionable excuses to Sephiroth as the latter fully turns to loom over him properly. Disapprovingly.
He isn’t convinced, of course. But thankfully, he isn’t the sort to turn his blade on someone at the slightest offense, even if that offense was suspiciously akin to pickpocketing.]
Stiles Nietzsche.
[Sephiroth’s mind is a steel trap that doesn’t even let woefully erroneous information slip through its teeth.
He eyes him, and those chitinous changes that weren’t prevalent since they last spoke. Sephiroth’s wings flare a bit, then tuck themselves against his back again.]
A bug on my coat, or something of greater interest in my pocket?
[ And so a smart-ass response given in an age past has come back to haunt him. That’s typical, for Stiles. Gawking at the other man, he considers his options. Lie? Confess? Lull Sephiroth into a false sense of security and then try again? Suicidal though it may be, Stiles likes option three the best. Time to live dangerously. ]
I guess that depends on what’s in your pocket, [ comes the coy answer. ] Anything you want to share with the class?
[ Then, because he never knows when to quit, he reaches out a hand like he had in the mirror – wordlessly requesting Sephiroth to once again help him up. ]
[It’s no deep, dark secret what he’s carrying. Accepting the coin itself hadn’t been inconspicuous, given that only a few were approached, and so Sephiroth has no need to lie or dance around the truth.]
The promise of an audience, in the form of a coin.
[Stiles’ outstretched hand, in for what passes as “normal” circumstances these days, would have been accepted, and helped pulled up to his feet. But today, it seems as though they’re both in a scrutinizing mood — Sephiroth is not offended, but he isn’t the sort to immediately extend his trust after someone’s just tried to steal from him.
Instead, a hand fishes out that same copper coin, and he displays it between forefinger and thumb. A pale brow raises, as though to see how he might react with the prize right before him, though held above his head — either be blatant about your thievery or quit being duplicitous altogether, seems to be the implication.]
[ His outstretched hand, which had been loosely held in wait for Sephiroth’s expected aid, stiffens tellingly when the token is displayed. Stiles lowers his arm slowly, recognizing the implicit refusal, and begins to pick himself up while blatantly staring at the coin. His expression is hard and frustrated. The people who were chosen to meet with the Matriarch – were they picked at random? From Itachi to Momo, Sephiroth to Louis…Stiles can discern neither rhyme nor reason for the selection. This small, stupid token that determines who may and who may not speak with the newest lead they have on this world’s history, god does he hate it. ]
Sure am, [ he grumbles, absently wiping grit from the seat of his pants. ] Gonna go out on a limb and guess you have no idea how you ended up with it either? Or is there some secret society I’m missing out on here?
[Eyes follow Stiles as he rises to his feet, and Sephiroth notes the frustration that runs clear across his features. Was it such an offense to not be chosen to speak to the Matriarch? Perhaps to an individual that has something to say; or someone with a mind so crowded with potential questions that it must be agitating to see others be given the opportunity for no reason at all.
Sephiroth palms the coin in the flat of his gloved hand, fingers curling around it. He allows his arm to drop at his side, looking at Stiles questioningly.]
It appears to be random. If you’re asking if I’ve done anything special to earn this, the answer is no. Does that frustrate you?
[It’s obvious that it does, so he hardly gives any time to reply-]
There are better ways of going about showing it. I could have run you through with my blade.
And I’m immensely grateful that you didn’t. Thanks for not skewering me.
[ A heavy exhale, then he relinquishes all hope of meeting with the Matriarch through this particular token. Stiles hasn’t given up, not yet; he just recognizes when he’s wasting his effort with this man. Which begs the question of why he chose a trained warrior like Sephiroth as a mark in the first place. CR obeys no logic. ]
Do you know I’m the only Mirrorbound Arachne? [ he says suddenly, tone sharp with the edge of his aggravation. ] At least, I’m pretty damn sure I am. Still haven’t met everyone, but I’ve seen most of us at some point or another. Now, here we are in a new civilization where the Arachne leader is apparently fascinated by our situation, and I’m not even picked? [ Stiles lowers his voice, a harsh drawl that lacks the dry irreverence of his typical demeanor. ] Some of the chosen people probably don’t have jack shit to talk about. Meanwhile, I’ve been risking my neck every month trying to dig up as much information on this goddamn world as possible. I mean, is this a test or something? They value strength here. Am I supposed to prove myself?
[ Hands on his hips, he turns away with an angry mutter. Yes, he’s frustrated. ]
[Stiles’ frustration is no longer implied; it’s clear as day, for the explanation given to him. Sephiroth cannot relate in the exact same way, but there is the flicker of sympathy crawling somewhere in the back of his mind: being rather one-of-a-kind and looking somewhere desperately to relate, or to possess a keen desire to unearth answers that lie all around them, waiting to be uncovered. It all carries a shade of familiarity.]
No. I didn’t know you were the only one.
[He has not noticed anyone else, now that Stiles points it out.]
Frutrating, I'm sure. …Still, if this is the outlet for that same frustration, it’s only going to be a hindrance for you. You think you’ll endear yourself to anyone here by picking pockets? The audience chamber is surely not the only place to go digging for answers. And you assume those chosen to speak to the Matriarch wouldn’t want to confer with other Mirrorbound — like yourself — first.
[ Sephiroth earns himself the most longsuffering and exasperated eyeroll, as if Stiles is dealing with a parental figure willfully misunderstanding him. God, you just don’t get it, dad! ]
I’ve been making trouble for myself since I learned how to walk. [ A dismissive hand gesture. ] Listen, Sephiroth – [ Stiles pauses, head tilted. The name rolls off the tongue strangely. ] I’m not assuming anything except for the fact I don’t trust people to, A: handle the information I have sensitively when talking with the Matriarch and, two: tell me what I need to know in return once the meeting is over.
[ Yes, he did just use two different value types. No, he hasn’t realized it. ]
You seemed like the type of guy to make his own rules. [ Folding his arms over his chest, he openly scrutinizes Sephiroth. ] Was I wrong? Are you secretly the type of person who follows the straight and narrow instead?
Actually, there’s only so much investment that Sephiroth has in Stiles’ stubborn resolution (or lack of investment) that’ll motivate him to press the point. The question earns an unimpressed look, though perhaps that, too, is nothing particularly unexpected.]
What rules should I break, when I’ve been handed an opportunity more advantageous than most?
[The straight and narrow equals the most efficient route in information gathering. It’s nearly as simple as that.]
If you don’t trust others enough to help in gaining that same advantage, that’s not a problem of mine.
[ Expression creased with a moue of disappointment, he stares up at Sephiroth in clear scrutiny as if coming to some kind of decision. A bitter sigh climbs up his throat, then he shrugs it off. ]
Fine, whatever. What are you going to talk to her about, then? Have you thought about it yet?
[So many people say. He’ll not contest the point.]
I would like to clarify her intent behind summoning us here, though I imagine the answer is as straightforward as curiosity.
[Anything more aggressive, and it isn’t as though they’d have been welcomed here in the manner that they have. Unless this is a very roundabout way of setting them all up for something more malicious, but that isn’t Sephiroth’s initial read on the situation.]
Beyond that? The Cwyld. The moss in this place. The history of this city.
[A beat.]
Any insight they may have about the Mirrorbound, and the potential of returning home.
[ Mouth quirked as he listens, Stiles nods along in silence. Everything Sephiroth plans to ask about seems reasonable – and, more importantly, useful. Once again, he feels that dangerous flare of envy buzzing hot in his veins. Instead of feeding into it, he brings up his comm watch and searches the network for “Sephiroth.” Finding the name, he sends the other man a quick text. ]
Sup.
[ That done, he returns his attention to Sephiroth. ]
Alright. I know I haven’t…uh, well – I probably haven’t endeared myself to you today, but… I just sent you a text. Can you reply to that network username with whatever you learn? I’d owe you one. And I pay back my debts.
[His watch pings with a notification, and there's only a small moment of interruption in which he chooses to check (Sup, it says rather elegantly), confirming that he's won some kind of approval from Stiles to earn potential, future correspondence.]
...Of course.
[It isn't as though endearing oneself to Sephiroth is ever a reasonable task, anyway, and Stiles' attempt at pickpocketing had not so much as pushed the needle into "irritated" territory. The sharing of information is more important, obviously a priority for him. He sees no reason to deny the burgeoning connection of exchange.]
If I learn anything, you'll know. I assume that isn't restricted to only what's uncovered in this city.
[ The presumption gives him a moment’s pause as he internally debates whether or not he wants to start including Sephiroth in the small circle of informants he’s been building. On one hand, he doesn’t really know the man particularly well. On the other, Sephiroth hardly seems like the type to give him bad intel or purposefully lead him astray. He’ll need to take a chance. With a decisive second nod, he holds out a hand for Sephiroth to shake. ]
Deal. There’s some stuff I’ve already uncovered, but I’ve already got someone looking in on that with the Matriarch once he chats with her. I’ll tell you what I know after your meeting with her. Sound good?
[He glances impassively down at that hand. And, as Sephiroth has done to more than one person in the past, neglects it and looks directly at Stiles, only offering him a half-inclined of a nod.]
Whenever you're ready. Until then, don't cause too much trouble in this city.
[You might actually lose an arm next time, buddy!]
Yeah, yeah. Stop trying to make your hair look authentic by acting like an old man. I got it, dad.
[ Rolling his eyes, Stiles turns on his heel and marches back the way he originally came (carefully edging around the pot hole that had tripped him earlier; no need to embarrass himself any more than he already has today). ]
[ The final night of Litha hangs over Aefenglom like the gossamer webs that spiders painstakingly craft in his garden – laden with potential invisible to the naked eye, silvery wisps eager to catch unaware prey. After plucking up his courage, Stiles has invited Jonas out to celebrate the end of the festival, mind endlessly circling the network post his best friend made the previous week. Since then, he’s only managed to broach the topic of Donovan, a conversation long past due. Tonight, he hopes to finally return to the talk that he begged off. Even thinking about it has his heart hammering in his chest, a kind of giddy excitement and dread that Jonas is probably all too accustomed to now from the Bond.
Breath trapped in his throat, he glances down tentatively at the hand swinging free by Jonas’ side as they walk through the hedge maze. If he just reached out, if he just hooked their fingers together, if – ]
Alright, that’s it, [ he announces suddenly, coming to a halt. ] We can’t do this anymore.
[ And then…
…he starts pulling spider silk from his wrist, which he then ties to a branch within the hedges. They’ll need to walk a little slower to account for the thread actively being spun by his spinnerets. ]
This way, we can keep track of where we’ve been. Like breadcrumbs. Genius, right?
[ Coward, he berates himself even as he grins lopsidedly at Jonas. Fucking coward. ]
(that little declaration gets his blood a-pumpin' and he regrets how quickly he looks over. too obvious, jonas, when now's the time to push far less than he has been. he didn't let sasuke take his time to decide—there wasn't any to spare when they already knew what the answer would be—but that mistake won't be made again. still, did they really have to come to a love festival? what does it mean, stiles inviting him out like this? is that an answer in itself?
he feels sick. light-headed. thrilled.)
Oh, Jesus, yeah. That's– that's a great idea. Honestly, though, at this point I just wanna' find the witch's house and get baked into a cake already. (considering the fact that he's been burning alive since they met up, hot under the collar and sounding particularly dodgy where the cutesy maze's pathway riddles have been concerned.) But look at you, man, getting all used to your new superpowers. I wish I could do that, but I can really only manage the flare we'll inevitably have to shoot into the sky so someone can come save us.
...
You keep getting stuff stuck to your sleeve, though, stop a sec. (helpfully preening him with picks of finer silk strands away from his forearm and elbow, trying to flap it off of his hand when it sticks to his skin.)
[ Compliantly coming to a stop so that Jonas can fiddle with his sleeve, he holds his arm aloft for his best friend with a cheery air. It feels impossible to discern whose emotions are whose over the Bond tonight, given the strong drag of nauseous, capricious undertow in his own gut. Their close proximity now has him rocking back and forth on his heels, the only outlet he can afford without accidentally putting an elbow into the Witch’s stomach. ]
I dunno what you’re talking about, by the way. Not the cake thing – I already know what a glutton you are for food. (How would that work if you were the cake, though? No, never mind. Don’t answer that.) [ Watches Jonas ineffectually try to get the strands of webbing off his hand. ] I mean, the superpowers bit. You can walk on water. Sure, we’re sans water at the moment, but it’s not like all the X-Men were constantly using their abilities. And, like, you’re a pro at healing. Remember when I slipped off the roof last month after The One got territorial? You fixed my knee up like it was nothing. Not to mention all the cool little stuff. Eddie, your work on an ADHD potion for me, and hey, somehow you don’t stink like cigarettes even though that’s totally normal for smokers, which is a superpower in and of itself. [ A beat. ] Here.
[ This time, Stiles reaches for Jonas. While the spider silk is easier to handle with tarsi, his skin seems impervious to the stickiness of his own webbing. Taking his best friend’s wrist, he delicately plucks the strand off Jonas’ hand and flicks it away. He doesn't remember to let go of Jonas afterward. ]
... thanks... that means a lot. Especially the bit about the lack of stench, even if I think you're just being nice about it.
(he feels hot down to his shoulders, wondering if it's just him getting sweaty over being so close to stiles or the sun that'd been beating oppressively down on their heads all day. it's night now, so the breeze is cooler on his skin; jonas decides it must be the former. which doesn't help him calm down when his friend takes his wrist to hold. the time is now. there won't be a better opportunity down the line, and his hand's on him already. shifting a fraction to push his hand against stiles' would be the easiest thing he's done all goddamn week.
also—evidently—the hardest, since his arm hangs in the hold limply as his nerves psyche him into blurting out the first embarrassing thing on his mind instead.) It's not about the power to me, though. I think you're handling all of this gracefully! ("gracefully?" who is he, itachi? flowery language isn't his schtick.)
It's, like... watching you the past few months has been really cool for me, because you're opening up and getting used to talking about the spider stuff. And I remember being sworn to silence before about it. Because I saw you in that dream. (punctuated with a twitch that makes fingers flex into a fist, then spread on a particularly heavy drum on the inside of his ribcage. the shake-off of stiles' hand is resolutely aggressive, making a grab for it before his strength of will wanes.)
That's, uh– (eyes cast away in no specific direction, tugging him into a walk.) —more impressive than being able to innately do something like magic, Stiles. That's what I think, anyway.
[ Casanova that he is, Stiles is about to make some hairbrained remark on the stench – prepared to insist Jonas smells good, that he likes the way the other boy reminds him of the woodsy scent heavy throughout Beacon Hills Preserve. Then his best friend suddenly claims that he’s handling “all of this” gracefully. All of…this? his brain echoes unhelpfully to the soundtrack of internet dial-up in the background of his mind. For one, hot second, he convinces himself that Jonas is about to preemptively reject him. Were they wrong? What if Jonas was never interested in him that way? Oh, shit.
Fortunately, the Witch continues speaking and allays the hyperactive neuroses spinning Stiles in wide, dizzying circles. This isn’t about dating at all. This is about…him being an Arachne, apparently. Before he can deflate – pleased by the sweet praise and yet now uncertain how to broach the ever-looming Talk with a capital “T” – a warm, sweaty hand clasps his to drag him along. Stiles stares in blank surprise at the back of Jonas’ head as he’s pulled forward, face slowly breaking out into a soft smile. Suddenly, the paranoid fears and insecurities become a dull roar of meaningless white noise in his head, or maybe that’s just the blood rushing in his ears. Either way, his hopes for tonight no longer feel so impossible. ]
It doesn’t need to be a competition. [ Emboldened, he matches Jonas stride for stride, making it more obvious that they’re holding each other’s hands rather than one leading the second. ] We can both be impressive badasses coming into our own. Supporting each other, y’know? [ With a rare streak of confidence, he runs his thumb over the back of Jonas’ hand meaningfully, trying to catch green eyes. Time for an awful, Stilinski-grade pickup line. ] But even if I’m not as freaked anymore about becoming an Arachne, you can still be my secret-keeper if you want.
(stiles doesn't pull away, which makes his reach a successful one. it's been days—which felt like months—of waiting, of skirting the topic, of convincing himself he'd hear another "no" after his friend weighed his options like sasuke did. that'd have been okay, but taking a risk and having it not pay off would've been embarrassing.
jonas glances over at stiles who pulls right up next to him, calming him into slowing to a natural pace that lets them revel in the new development. together, like always.)
Secret-keeper? Oh, god. (blurted out, harassed into smiling and turning his face away to relievedly chuckle in peace. it's already fun... what had he expected? not a cheesy come-on, that's for damn sure.) That was so bad, dude. Is that– is that what you're gonna' call me going into this? Not, like, your date, or... boyfriend, or whatever? Because I'm pretty sure we'd hold hands as buddies, too.
(would they? probably. does that make the situation more endearing? yes.)
And... I don't wanna' assume. I don't wanna' make you say it aloud, either. But I'm kinda' hoping for a sign, if not a verbal agreement.
[ Privately grateful that Jonas slows, Stiles shakes out his free hand in an attempt to loosen the uncomfortable tension of his attached spinneret thread; unused to spinning continuously like this, he’ll need to adjust to their walking speed. But he wastes little time focusing on it – Jonas, his best friend, his date, his boyfriend or whatever, demands his full attention and Stiles is more than happy to serve it up. Grinning hugely, he ducks his head and tries to catch Jonas’ eye from where the Witch has turned away. Cute. ]
You know what they say about the word assume. [ The grin becomes a playful leer. ] But, not gonna lie, you’re welcome to make an ass out of me all you want, bud. Or, if the mood is right, touch it a little. Just a little though. I have a reputation to keep.
[ He squeezes Jonas’ hand, expression sobering somewhat. ]
I like you, [ he says, tone deadly serious now. ] I like you a lot, Jonas. I just don’t know if I’m interested in the “casual” aspect of what you seem to want. That’s…not really my style.
Yeah, yeah. (something about asses, whatever. stiles' joke may be endearing, but it's also incredibly distracting. train of thought derailed, the mention of doing anything remotely sexual has him sighing loudly.) Ugh, I can't believe I hold your hand and your first thought is to relocate it.
Men are sooo shallow.
(another tug, this time to guide him closer until their arms are wedged together, glancing back with a warm smile that trashes all previous looks he's aimed at stiles. that's pure, unadulterated happiness radiating across their bond, very fond, and more than willing to accommodate.)
I think you've got it wrong, if you're implying I want a "friends with benefits" thing. I just thought a few dates together before jumping feet first into things would, you know, set the mood and iron stuff out. But we already live together, and now we're bondmates, so... what's that tell us about how well we get on?
[ The playful remark has him snickering as he obligingly draws closer, eyes glancing down to their intertwined fingers and linked hands. Before Jonas has even corrected the misunderstanding, Stiles feels inescapably tethered to this young man – like his existence here is as bound to Jonas’ as it is to his own mirror’s. If his best friend had insisted on a casual, open relationship…Stiles thinks he would have agreed despite his concerns. He’s already in too deep. How could he refuse Jonas when just holding hands like this has something light and buoyant swelling up in his chest? “Isn’t a little agony worth it?” Ms. Morell is, as always, correct. ]
Oh. Uh… Y-yeah, that’s…kinda where I thought you wanted to take this. [ A little embarrassed to admit as much, like he’s besmirching Jonas’ reputation somehow. ] You’re…okay with this, still? I mean – Sasuke told me what happened. I just want to make sure it wasn’t…
[ Clearing his throat, Stiles drags his lowered gaze away from Jonas’ mouth. ]
…a package deal, y’know? (That wasn’t a double entendre.) [ A beat. ] (Okay, it definitely was.)
It's something I'd go for, if offered. (a boy of simple pleasures, through and through.) But I know it's not your guys' style. Yours and Sasuke's, I mean. Even if he's out of the running, now.
(the words are loose and casual, but his attention drops when stiles' does. a squeeze at his hand is meant to reassure him—they're in this, they're together no matter what—while he addresses the concern honestly.)
Honestly, it was a package deal. At least, I wanted it to be... I just hadn't asked you guys yet. And I still like Sasuke, (an effort to clear the air, transparency his policy,) since him saying "no" isn't gonna' up and change that in a week or two, but he gave us the go-ahead.
I'm definitely down for this. I wanna' go for it. Double entendres and all.
[ Having been bullied into The Talk with Sasuke on this very subject two days ago, Stiles is fortunately prepared to hear his crush admit to still liking the Vampire. It makes sense. Just as Jonas explains, those feelings won’t simply disappear overnight; the fact that they won’t helps bolster his confidence that the Witch isn’t interested in him for a one-night stand or fling. Still, he has no idea what to make of this vision of them as a package deal. Jonas with Sasuke. Stiles with Jonas. And Sasuke with…Stiles? This was somehow so much easier to wrap his head around back when he still thought Jonas just wanted to date them both simultaneously. A three-way polygamous relationship isn’t anything he’s ever considered. And…Sasuke?
Stiles doesn’t get distracted too long – the warmth of Jonas beside him, the strange sensation pulling silk loose from his wrist… He’s forced into the now. It’s healthier for his headspace, really. ]
Sorry it didn’t work out. Like that between you guys, I mean. I know you guys will, um, work it out in other ways? [ No, wait, that still sounds sexual. ] Uh. Hold on. That came out weird. …Never mind. Anyway. [ He laughs, the sound bright and boyishly nervous. ] The point is. Me too, Jonas. I’m down for anything you’ve got for me. I’ve got you.
You've definitely got me. (spoken low between them, courage pulled from stiles' confirmation like a sword that's immediately brandished against his nervous jitters. they stop, and so does his worrying.
his pulse doesn't though, that much stronger now that it's actually happening. it's real.)
I know what you mean. Everything's weird, we're out of our elements, but it's easier with you here. I mean it, I– (a tilt brings jonas closer, searching warm eyes for any sign that this may be moving too quickly despite how slow it began, near enough to him now that he could press their foreheads together. his attention drops, flicks down to stiles' smile, breath quietly shaking out of him–
(hesitantly, jonas looks down to where the click came from. his toe, which—in his effort to lean in for a kiss—has just settled on a discoloured section of the pathway they're standing in the centre of. when he lifts it, debatably not the best idea when walking a trap-filled maze, it clicks again.
and a giant boulder, indiana-jones-style, spit forth from a great stone spire acting as a checkpoint near the middle of the labyrinth, thunders towards them.)
[ A gust of warm breath fans out across his damp lips, recently wetted from the tip of a neurotic tongue, and a full-body shudder follows swiftly on its heels. Head tilting instinctively to perfectly angle the meeting of their mouths, he looks purposefully at Jonas to communicate consent and – just as importantly – eagerness. But as he begins to lean in, fingers tightening around his boyfriend’s to pull their bodies together finally, a click shatters the smooth surface of tension between them. A sixth sense has him abruptly yanking away, brows furrowed, as he glances around in mild confusion. What the hell was that? It almost sounded like a switch. The movement of Jonas’ foot draws his focus downward to that plate, which clicks once more, and – ]
Ohhh my god!
[ This isn’t happening. No, of course it’s happening. Of course it’s fucking happening. Right when he’s about to kiss the guy he’s been crushing on for months, of course a goddamn freakin’ boulder comes crashing out from above, as if the gods themselves are cockblocking him from the heavens. Fuck this place. Reason #1019483 why Aefenglom is the worst.
The pocketknife comes out, cutting through the thread from his wrist with a wrench of his hand. Freed from the tether, Stiles grabs Jonas’ arm and then begins to haul ass as fast as his long legs allow. ]
Run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run! [ he shrieks on repeat, voice shrill and nearly drowned out by the exaggerated acoustics of the boulder rolling behind them. ]
(stiles extricates himself, grabs at his arm, and bolts, while jonas stands gawking at the damn thing like a trout out of water. fortunately the tug is enough to get him staggering in the right direction, his daily runs strengthening his strides until they're side by side in a hurry to escape the narrow route they've found themselves on.)
There's– that's an opening! (blurted out with a cursory glance behind him, finding the boulder right on their heels, hollering his surprise:) Second barrier!
(it's not at all meant to block the boulder, not confident in his barrier's ability to withstand a blunt impact of that degree. instead it's used to speed them towards the opening of the maze, practically sweeping them both out and into the bay. his legs don't seem to register they've left solid ground, swinging feet-first into the water with an immediate clap of a hand over his mouth and noise to stay under, to avoid the crash of the rock that'll no doubt follow them in, to keep himself from inhaling at the impact.
but when that doesn't happen, jonas' head breaks and he gasps at the salt on his tongue and the air that fills his lungs. stiles.)
Stiles? (voice pitchy with worry, bobbing up to get a better look down into the ocean, arms fishing under for him to grab at any colour he spots where his legs tread carefully so as not to kick him in the head.) Stiles! Stiles!
[ Propelled forward by the force of that spell and hardly able to keep up with his boyfriend’s powerful strides, it’s a wonder that Stiles manages not to faceplant straight into the ground. The moment he realizes where they’re speeding, Arachne instincts have him belatedly throwing on the brakes. With a shrill mantra of no, no, no! he goes flying out into the ocean after Jonas, sinking beneath the surf like a rock.
When he finally breaks the surface, gasping for air and totally oblivious to Jonas’ frantic searching, it’s only to be bonked harmlessly on the head by the “boulder” as it rolls out after them, which weighs no more than a measly pound of foam. Upon contact, it bursts into an explosion of confetti, raining down on them and incidentally polluting the sea. Rest in peace, fishies. ]
I’m wet, [ wails Stiles dramatically, face scrunched up in his misery. ] I’m wet! I’m weeeeeeeeet. This is the worst! Leave me to die!
[ He’s now floating on his back like the world’s most wretchedly depressed starfish, trichobothria muted and leaving him feeling like he’s got water clogged in his ears. ]
Oh, thank god. Oh, my god. (gasped in relief beneath stiles' loud complaints with a sharp spit to the side to get salt water out from behind his teeth.) I know, man, just hang in there. I'll– I'll get you out.
(after a quick check on how far they are from land, as the maze's tunnel seems to have magically receded to the shoreline, jonas gets a handful of his boyfriend's—a realization that will never get old—shirt to steady them both in confetti waves made by a sailboat cruising past. the dead man's float is probably the wisest technique for stiles to employ right now, even subconsciously, especially when the witch pulls from his well of magic to press a hand down against the surface of the water.
it's suddenly solid, a six-by-six barrier forming a glass-like platform beneath stiles that bumps him out of the water while jonas hikes his arms up onto its edge and treads in place.) Can't believe that rock bounced right off of your head, I'd be pissed right now if it wasn't so funny to witness. (the first dock isn't too far, it'll be a piece of cake to swim them there, but first: a tiny rest.
gets a nice eyeful of his bonded's wet shirt sticking to his chest and stomach, losing one of his shoes to davy jones' locker now far from the forefront of his mind.)
[ The unexpected sensation of water solidifying beneath him into a platform has Stiles startling upright, limbs flailing in his confusion dramatically. It takes him a moment to process what’s happened; he felt Jonas draw power through the Bond, but this is an application of magic that he’s yet to see in person. And, honestly? It’s badass. So badass. Slowly, a huge grin begins to spread across his face as he tests the platform’s stability with his palms. It bobs from side to side in the water under his experimentation, though not enough to dislodge Jonas from the edge. ]
Dude.
[ It’s all he can manage to say for a few seconds, the adrenaline rush of admitting his crush and outrunning a boulder dying down to leave him pleasantly exhausted. ]
This is…so cool. But also? Way too Titanic.
[ Shuffling around on the platform, he tries to tug Jonas up onto it with him. ]
Jack totally could have fit on the door with Rose, and no one can convince me otherwise. Mythbusters can back me up. C’mon, Jonas. We’re gonna show James Cameron how it’s really done.
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Sephiroth; Iuneril 16th; the Underground
Eventually, Stiles decides to strike. Slipping close enough that he can see individual strands of silver hair, he outstretches a hand toward the man’s hip in the hope of sliding it unnoticed into a pocket. He needs that token. ]
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Their hypogean surroundings are vast and winding, though Sephiroth’s step is fairly muted for how echoing it is. It dictates that Stiles will have to be just as unnoticeably quiet as he approaches, perhaps matching the tempo of his gait, in order to draw just near enough to slip into a pocket. Blessedly(?), he’s shadowed close enough, without drawing Sephiroth’s attention — and there’s a moment when it seems like the impossible might come to pass, that he might just steal away that small, copper prize on the merit of determination alone.
But all it takes is the most gentle brushing-past of a feather pressed flat against those folded wings, barely-there but so new that every little sensation is registered keenly in his mind. A small and peripheral gesture at best turns into a chiming alarm.
So Sephiroth feels it— stops suddenly and on instinct, his free hand reaching behind him to attempt to grasp that searching limb with a firm, confrontational hold, should he manage it. All this before he even deigns to turn, something that’ll reveal a deep frown the moment he does; not to mention the bright glint of Masamune in tandem.]
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On his back, Stiles stares up at the sky woefully. ]
There was a bug on your coat, [ he croaks from the ground, in case Sephiroth is still planning on putting the Masamune to use. ] Just being a good Samaritan. No need to thank me. You’re safe now.
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He isn’t convinced, of course. But thankfully, he isn’t the sort to turn his blade on someone at the slightest offense, even if that offense was suspiciously akin to pickpocketing.]
Stiles Nietzsche.
[Sephiroth’s mind is a steel trap that doesn’t even let woefully erroneous information slip through its teeth.
He eyes him, and those chitinous changes that weren’t prevalent since they last spoke. Sephiroth’s wings flare a bit, then tuck themselves against his back again.]
A bug on my coat, or something of greater interest in my pocket?
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I guess that depends on what’s in your pocket, [ comes the coy answer. ] Anything you want to share with the class?
[ Then, because he never knows when to quit, he reaches out a hand like he had in the mirror – wordlessly requesting Sephiroth to once again help him up. ]
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The promise of an audience, in the form of a coin.
[Stiles’ outstretched hand, in for what passes as “normal” circumstances these days, would have been accepted, and helped pulled up to his feet. But today, it seems as though they’re both in a scrutinizing mood — Sephiroth is not offended, but he isn’t the sort to immediately extend his trust after someone’s just tried to steal from him.
Instead, a hand fishes out that same copper coin, and he displays it between forefinger and thumb. A pale brow raises, as though to see how he might react with the prize right before him, though held above his head — either be blatant about your thievery or quit being duplicitous altogether, seems to be the implication.]
Interested in this?
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Sure am, [ he grumbles, absently wiping grit from the seat of his pants. ] Gonna go out on a limb and guess you have no idea how you ended up with it either? Or is there some secret society I’m missing out on here?
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Sephiroth palms the coin in the flat of his gloved hand, fingers curling around it. He allows his arm to drop at his side, looking at Stiles questioningly.]
It appears to be random. If you’re asking if I’ve done anything special to earn this, the answer is no. Does that frustrate you?
[It’s obvious that it does, so he hardly gives any time to reply-]
There are better ways of going about showing it. I could have run you through with my blade.
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[ A heavy exhale, then he relinquishes all hope of meeting with the Matriarch through this particular token. Stiles hasn’t given up, not yet; he just recognizes when he’s wasting his effort with this man. Which begs the question of why he chose a trained warrior like Sephiroth as a mark in the first place. CR obeys no logic. ]
Do you know I’m the only Mirrorbound Arachne? [ he says suddenly, tone sharp with the edge of his aggravation. ] At least, I’m pretty damn sure I am. Still haven’t met everyone, but I’ve seen most of us at some point or another. Now, here we are in a new civilization where the Arachne leader is apparently fascinated by our situation, and I’m not even picked? [ Stiles lowers his voice, a harsh drawl that lacks the dry irreverence of his typical demeanor. ] Some of the chosen people probably don’t have jack shit to talk about. Meanwhile, I’ve been risking my neck every month trying to dig up as much information on this goddamn world as possible. I mean, is this a test or something? They value strength here. Am I supposed to prove myself?
[ Hands on his hips, he turns away with an angry mutter. Yes, he’s frustrated. ]
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No. I didn’t know you were the only one.
[He has not noticed anyone else, now that Stiles points it out.]
Frutrating, I'm sure. …Still, if this is the outlet for that same frustration, it’s only going to be a hindrance for you. You think you’ll endear yourself to anyone here by picking pockets? The audience chamber is surely not the only place to go digging for answers. And you assume those chosen to speak to the Matriarch wouldn’t want to confer with other Mirrorbound — like yourself — first.
[whew that was a lot of words.. for sephiroth
He adds:]
You're just making trouble for yourself.
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I’ve been making trouble for myself since I learned how to walk. [ A dismissive hand gesture. ] Listen, Sephiroth – [ Stiles pauses, head tilted. The name rolls off the tongue strangely. ] I’m not assuming anything except for the fact I don’t trust people to, A: handle the information I have sensitively when talking with the Matriarch and, two: tell me what I need to know in return once the meeting is over.
[ Yes, he did just use two different value types. No, he hasn’t realized it. ]
You seemed like the type of guy to make his own rules. [ Folding his arms over his chest, he openly scrutinizes Sephiroth. ] Was I wrong? Are you secretly the type of person who follows the straight and narrow instead?
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Actually, there’s only so much investment that Sephiroth has in Stiles’ stubborn resolution (or lack of investment) that’ll motivate him to press the point. The question earns an unimpressed look, though perhaps that, too, is nothing particularly unexpected.]
What rules should I break, when I’ve been handed an opportunity more advantageous than most?
[The straight and narrow equals the most efficient route in information gathering. It’s nearly as simple as that.]
If you don’t trust others enough to help in gaining that same advantage, that’s not a problem of mine.
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[ Expression creased with a moue of disappointment, he stares up at Sephiroth in clear scrutiny as if coming to some kind of decision. A bitter sigh climbs up his throat, then he shrugs it off. ]
Fine, whatever. What are you going to talk to her about, then? Have you thought about it yet?
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I would like to clarify her intent behind summoning us here, though I imagine the answer is as straightforward as curiosity.
[Anything more aggressive, and it isn’t as though they’d have been welcomed here in the manner that they have. Unless this is a very roundabout way of setting them all up for something more malicious, but that isn’t Sephiroth’s initial read on the situation.]
Beyond that? The Cwyld. The moss in this place. The history of this city.
[A beat.]
Any insight they may have about the Mirrorbound, and the potential of returning home.
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Sup.
[ That done, he returns his attention to Sephiroth. ]
Alright. I know I haven’t…uh, well – I probably haven’t endeared myself to you today, but… I just sent you a text. Can you reply to that network username with whatever you learn? I’d owe you one. And I pay back my debts.
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...Of course.
[It isn't as though endearing oneself to Sephiroth is ever a reasonable task, anyway, and Stiles' attempt at pickpocketing had not so much as pushed the needle into "irritated" territory. The sharing of information is more important, obviously a priority for him. He sees no reason to deny the burgeoning connection of exchange.]
If I learn anything, you'll know. I assume that isn't restricted to only what's uncovered in this city.
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Deal. There’s some stuff I’ve already uncovered, but I’ve already got someone looking in on that with the Matriarch once he chats with her. I’ll tell you what I know after your meeting with her. Sound good?
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Whenever you're ready. Until then, don't cause too much trouble in this city.
[You might actually lose an arm next time, buddy!]
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Yeah, yeah. Stop trying to make your hair look authentic by acting like an old man. I got it, dad.
[ Rolling his eyes, Stiles turns on his heel and marches back the way he originally came (carefully edging around the pot hole that had tripped him earlier; no need to embarrass himself any more than he already has today). ]
Jonas; Iuneril 23rd; Litha
Breath trapped in his throat, he glances down tentatively at the hand swinging free by Jonas’ side as they walk through the hedge maze. If he just reached out, if he just hooked their fingers together, if – ]
Alright, that’s it, [ he announces suddenly, coming to a halt. ] We can’t do this anymore.
[ And then…
…he starts pulling spider silk from his wrist, which he then ties to a branch within the hedges. They’ll need to walk a little slower to account for the thread actively being spun by his spinnerets. ]
This way, we can keep track of where we’ve been. Like breadcrumbs. Genius, right?
[ Coward, he berates himself even as he grins lopsidedly at Jonas. Fucking coward. ]
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(that little declaration gets his blood a-pumpin' and he regrets how quickly he looks over. too obvious, jonas, when now's the time to push far less than he has been. he didn't let sasuke take his time to decide—there wasn't any to spare when they already knew what the answer would be—but that mistake won't be made again. still, did they really have to come to a love festival? what does it mean, stiles inviting him out like this? is that an answer in itself?
he feels sick. light-headed. thrilled.)
Oh, Jesus, yeah. That's– that's a great idea. Honestly, though, at this point I just wanna' find the witch's house and get baked into a cake already. (considering the fact that he's been burning alive since they met up, hot under the collar and sounding particularly dodgy where the cutesy maze's pathway riddles have been concerned.) But look at you, man, getting all used to your new superpowers. I wish I could do that, but I can really only manage the flare we'll inevitably have to shoot into the sky so someone can come save us.
...
You keep getting stuff stuck to your sleeve, though, stop a sec. (helpfully preening him with picks of finer silk strands away from his forearm and elbow, trying to flap it off of his hand when it sticks to his skin.)
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[ Compliantly coming to a stop so that Jonas can fiddle with his sleeve, he holds his arm aloft for his best friend with a cheery air. It feels impossible to discern whose emotions are whose over the Bond tonight, given the strong drag of nauseous, capricious undertow in his own gut. Their close proximity now has him rocking back and forth on his heels, the only outlet he can afford without accidentally putting an elbow into the Witch’s stomach. ]
I dunno what you’re talking about, by the way. Not the cake thing – I already know what a glutton you are for food. (How would that work if you were the cake, though? No, never mind. Don’t answer that.) [ Watches Jonas ineffectually try to get the strands of webbing off his hand. ] I mean, the superpowers bit. You can walk on water. Sure, we’re sans water at the moment, but it’s not like all the X-Men were constantly using their abilities. And, like, you’re a pro at healing. Remember when I slipped off the roof last month after The One got territorial? You fixed my knee up like it was nothing. Not to mention all the cool little stuff. Eddie, your work on an ADHD potion for me, and hey, somehow you don’t stink like cigarettes even though that’s totally normal for smokers, which is a superpower in and of itself. [ A beat. ] Here.
[ This time, Stiles reaches for Jonas. While the spider silk is easier to handle with tarsi, his skin seems impervious to the stickiness of his own webbing. Taking his best friend’s wrist, he delicately plucks the strand off Jonas’ hand and flicks it away. He doesn't remember to let go of Jonas afterward. ]
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(he feels hot down to his shoulders, wondering if it's just him getting sweaty over being so close to stiles or the sun that'd been beating oppressively down on their heads all day. it's night now, so the breeze is cooler on his skin; jonas decides it must be the former. which doesn't help him calm down when his friend takes his wrist to hold. the time is now. there won't be a better opportunity down the line, and his hand's on him already. shifting a fraction to push his hand against stiles' would be the easiest thing he's done all goddamn week.
also—evidently—the hardest, since his arm hangs in the hold limply as his nerves psyche him into blurting out the first embarrassing thing on his mind instead.) It's not about the power to me, though. I think you're handling all of this gracefully! ("gracefully?" who is he, itachi? flowery language isn't his schtick.)
It's, like... watching you the past few months has been really cool for me, because you're opening up and getting used to talking about the spider stuff. And I remember being sworn to silence before about it. Because I saw you in that dream. (punctuated with a twitch that makes fingers flex into a fist, then spread on a particularly heavy drum on the inside of his ribcage. the shake-off of stiles' hand is resolutely aggressive, making a grab for it before his strength of will wanes.)
That's, uh– (eyes cast away in no specific direction, tugging him into a walk.) —more impressive than being able to innately do something like magic, Stiles. That's what I think, anyway.
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Fortunately, the Witch continues speaking and allays the hyperactive neuroses spinning Stiles in wide, dizzying circles. This isn’t about dating at all. This is about…him being an Arachne, apparently. Before he can deflate – pleased by the sweet praise and yet now uncertain how to broach the ever-looming Talk with a capital “T” – a warm, sweaty hand clasps his to drag him along. Stiles stares in blank surprise at the back of Jonas’ head as he’s pulled forward, face slowly breaking out into a soft smile. Suddenly, the paranoid fears and insecurities become a dull roar of meaningless white noise in his head, or maybe that’s just the blood rushing in his ears. Either way, his hopes for tonight no longer feel so impossible. ]
It doesn’t need to be a competition. [ Emboldened, he matches Jonas stride for stride, making it more obvious that they’re holding each other’s hands rather than one leading the second. ] We can both be impressive badasses coming into our own. Supporting each other, y’know? [ With a rare streak of confidence, he runs his thumb over the back of Jonas’ hand meaningfully, trying to catch green eyes. Time for an awful, Stilinski-grade pickup line. ] But even if I’m not as freaked anymore about becoming an Arachne, you can still be my secret-keeper if you want.
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jonas glances over at stiles who pulls right up next to him, calming him into slowing to a natural pace that lets them revel in the new development. together, like always.)
Secret-keeper? Oh, god. (blurted out, harassed into smiling and turning his face away to relievedly chuckle in peace. it's already fun... what had he expected? not a cheesy come-on, that's for damn sure.) That was so bad, dude. Is that– is that what you're gonna' call me going into this? Not, like, your date, or... boyfriend, or whatever? Because I'm pretty sure we'd hold hands as buddies, too.
(would they? probably. does that make the situation more endearing? yes.)
And... I don't wanna' assume. I don't wanna' make you say it aloud, either. But I'm kinda' hoping for a sign, if not a verbal agreement.
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You know what they say about the word assume. [ The grin becomes a playful leer. ] But, not gonna lie, you’re welcome to make an ass out of me all you want, bud. Or, if the mood is right, touch it a little. Just a little though. I have a reputation to keep.
[ He squeezes Jonas’ hand, expression sobering somewhat. ]
I like you, [ he says, tone deadly serious now. ] I like you a lot, Jonas. I just don’t know if I’m interested in the “casual” aspect of what you seem to want. That’s…not really my style.
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Men are sooo shallow.
(another tug, this time to guide him closer until their arms are wedged together, glancing back with a warm smile that trashes all previous looks he's aimed at stiles. that's pure, unadulterated happiness radiating across their bond, very fond, and more than willing to accommodate.)
I think you've got it wrong, if you're implying I want a "friends with benefits" thing. I just thought a few dates together before jumping feet first into things would, you know, set the mood and iron stuff out. But we already live together, and now we're bondmates, so... what's that tell us about how well we get on?
I'm in this, Stiles, if you are. Like, totally.
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Oh. Uh… Y-yeah, that’s…kinda where I thought you wanted to take this. [ A little embarrassed to admit as much, like he’s besmirching Jonas’ reputation somehow. ] You’re…okay with this, still? I mean – Sasuke told me what happened. I just want to make sure it wasn’t…
[ Clearing his throat, Stiles drags his lowered gaze away from Jonas’ mouth. ]
…a package deal, y’know? (That wasn’t a double entendre.) [ A beat. ] (Okay, it definitely was.)
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(the words are loose and casual, but his attention drops when stiles' does. a squeeze at his hand is meant to reassure him—they're in this, they're together no matter what—while he addresses the concern honestly.)
Honestly, it was a package deal. At least, I wanted it to be... I just hadn't asked you guys yet. And I still like Sasuke, (an effort to clear the air, transparency his policy,) since him saying "no" isn't gonna' up and change that in a week or two, but he gave us the go-ahead.
I'm definitely down for this. I wanna' go for it. Double entendres and all.
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Stiles doesn’t get distracted too long – the warmth of Jonas beside him, the strange sensation pulling silk loose from his wrist… He’s forced into the now. It’s healthier for his headspace, really. ]
Sorry it didn’t work out. Like that between you guys, I mean. I know you guys will, um, work it out in other ways? [ No, wait, that still sounds sexual. ] Uh. Hold on. That came out weird. …Never mind. Anyway. [ He laughs, the sound bright and boyishly nervous. ] The point is. Me too, Jonas. I’m down for anything you’ve got for me. I’ve got you.
1/2
his pulse doesn't though, that much stronger now that it's actually happening. it's real.)
I know what you mean. Everything's weird, we're out of our elements, but it's easier with you here. I mean it, I– (a tilt brings jonas closer, searching warm eyes for any sign that this may be moving too quickly despite how slow it began, near enough to him now that he could press their foreheads together. his attention drops, flicks down to stiles' smile, breath quietly shaking out of him–
click.)
...
2/2
(hesitantly, jonas looks down to where the click came from. his toe, which—in his effort to lean in for a kiss—has just settled on a discoloured section of the pathway they're standing in the centre of. when he lifts it, debatably not the best idea when walking a trap-filled maze, it clicks again.
and a giant boulder, indiana-jones-style, spit forth from a great stone spire acting as a checkpoint near the middle of the labyrinth, thunders towards them.)
–Jesus Christ!
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Ohhh my god!
[ This isn’t happening. No, of course it’s happening. Of course it’s fucking happening. Right when he’s about to kiss the guy he’s been crushing on for months, of course a goddamn freakin’ boulder comes crashing out from above, as if the gods themselves are cockblocking him from the heavens. Fuck this place. Reason #1019483 why Aefenglom is the worst.
The pocketknife comes out, cutting through the thread from his wrist with a wrench of his hand. Freed from the tether, Stiles grabs Jonas’ arm and then begins to haul ass as fast as his long legs allow. ]
Run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run! [ he shrieks on repeat, voice shrill and nearly drowned out by the exaggerated acoustics of the boulder rolling behind them. ]
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There's– that's an opening! (blurted out with a cursory glance behind him, finding the boulder right on their heels, hollering his surprise:) Second barrier!
(it's not at all meant to block the boulder, not confident in his barrier's ability to withstand a blunt impact of that degree. instead it's used to speed them towards the opening of the maze, practically sweeping them both out and into the bay. his legs don't seem to register they've left solid ground, swinging feet-first into the water with an immediate clap of a hand over his mouth and noise to stay under, to avoid the crash of the rock that'll no doubt follow them in, to keep himself from inhaling at the impact.
but when that doesn't happen, jonas' head breaks and he gasps at the salt on his tongue and the air that fills his lungs. stiles.)
Stiles? (voice pitchy with worry, bobbing up to get a better look down into the ocean, arms fishing under for him to grab at any colour he spots where his legs tread carefully so as not to kick him in the head.) Stiles! Stiles!
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When he finally breaks the surface, gasping for air and totally oblivious to Jonas’ frantic searching, it’s only to be bonked harmlessly on the head by the “boulder” as it rolls out after them, which weighs no more than a measly pound of foam. Upon contact, it bursts into an explosion of confetti, raining down on them and incidentally polluting the sea. Rest in peace, fishies. ]
I’m wet, [ wails Stiles dramatically, face scrunched up in his misery. ] I’m wet! I’m weeeeeeeeet. This is the worst! Leave me to die!
[ He’s now floating on his back like the world’s most wretchedly depressed starfish, trichobothria muted and leaving him feeling like he’s got water clogged in his ears. ]
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(after a quick check on how far they are from land, as the maze's tunnel seems to have magically receded to the shoreline, jonas gets a handful of his boyfriend's—a realization that will never get old—shirt to steady them both in confetti waves made by a sailboat cruising past. the dead man's float is probably the wisest technique for stiles to employ right now, even subconsciously, especially when the witch pulls from his well of magic to press a hand down against the surface of the water.
it's suddenly solid, a six-by-six barrier forming a glass-like platform beneath stiles that bumps him out of the water while jonas hikes his arms up onto its edge and treads in place.) Can't believe that rock bounced right off of your head, I'd be pissed right now if it wasn't so funny to witness. (the first dock isn't too far, it'll be a piece of cake to swim them there, but first: a tiny rest.
gets a nice eyeful of his bonded's wet shirt sticking to his chest and stomach, losing one of his shoes to davy jones' locker now far from the forefront of his mind.)
... you okay?
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Dude.
[ It’s all he can manage to say for a few seconds, the adrenaline rush of admitting his crush and outrunning a boulder dying down to leave him pleasantly exhausted. ]
This is…so cool. But also? Way too Titanic.
[ Shuffling around on the platform, he tries to tug Jonas up onto it with him. ]
Jack totally could have fit on the door with Rose, and no one can convince me otherwise. Mythbusters can back me up. C’mon, Jonas. We’re gonna show James Cameron how it’s really done.