#ch:poseidon

Patrick doesn’t flinch. His breathing is steady, his jaw tight, and that sharp, unbothered glint in his dark eyes never wavers. If Poseidon’s amused, fine. That just means Patrick’s already managed to get under his skin—exactly where he wants to be.

His fingers press a little harder against the god’s chest, not enough to be a challenge, but enough to remind him he meant to grab him.

“Well,” he drawls, his voice smooth with just the right amount of bite, “lucky for you, I’m not ‘a lotta people.’” A slow smirk pulls at his lips as he tilts his head, studying Poseidon with deliberate boldness, like he’s deciding whether the god is worth his time.