#malconnor

He is also not one to take the high road. Make him a low move, and he’ll go lower. Pride is perhaps not his fatal flaw, but it is inherently part of him, shapes his actions, guides his decisions, and pride dictates that winning is more important than staying an honorable loser. For that reason, the same one Annabeth follows, they have (almost) never lost a game of Capture the Flag. Not when they know every cards on deck, have tricky aces up their sleeves, have the drive and undeterred motivation to win. Game is game, and his cabin has always been the favorite player, the leading one, the team high above the rest.

Capture the Flag is, in terms of understanding, a relatively easy game. Two teams pitted against each other, all lead by one cabin. In Malcom’s eyes, that means that among all the players, only two stand out, can change the tides of battle, dictate the outcome : the strategists. Of course, the pawns on the battlefield are not to be underestimated. He can be the sharpest mind, if his muscle is weak, debilitated, he will lose. There is no brain over brawls, but only brain and brawls. As much as they dislike to admit it, the Ares Cabin is dangerous in itself, and when their two cabins lead opposite sides, it is tough battle. But they manage.

It’s the same for all the other cabins, except one. An oddity in the deck of cards he knows so well. Unpredictable as the wind, cunning as a fox. A smart fool.

A joker.

“Ready to lose ?” Connor Stoll raises one eyebrow in his direction. His flag, a silver caduceus, floats with the wind, and Malcolm hates how he already knows that it won’t harbour the golden owl later tonight. Because every time the Hermes Cabin lead against Athena, they have won. It’s even worse because they can lose against all other cabins, except his apparently. No, against his, they win.

Every time.

Even Annabeth has lost against them - and if Annabeth has failed, Malcolm cannot help but follow her footsteps, always in her shadow - because Connor, beneath his easy smile and flippant posture, is smart. He is resourceful and dangerous, his father’s trickery glinting in his eyes, turning him into a formidable opponent. A too formidable one, as they have yet to manage to beat him.

He knows why. Connor has told him.

“You always follow the same pattern.” His boyfriend had said, legs dangling from where he’s sitting on a branch up in the tree, making Malcom tilt his head to see him. He had grinned broadly, mischief dancing in his eyes. “There’s more than one road leading to the same place, you know ? But you guys always take the same one.”

Infuriating words, but wise advice that Malcom had followed, had applied on previous games. And yet. He can’t seem to stop walking the same road over and over again.

“Not this time.” He grumbles, walking past Connor who cackles, terribly relaxed, as if he already knows the game is going to end in his favor. Malcolm can’t really blame him.

But this time, this is it. This is the day he’s beating Connor. Tonight, Athena is going to win against Hermes.

“If you say so.” Connor muses, moving swiftly to put himself in front of Malcom, teasingly close. He is like him, not afraid to use all kinds of tricks to win, and Connor happens to know very well how much of a distraction he is to his eyes. Therefore, he shamelessly uses it.

He tilts his head toward, his nose brushing Malcolm’s face as he leans in to whisper in his ear. His curls brush over his cheek, sending tingles down his entire body.

“But I don’t believe you.” Connor says, low, playful.

It is infuriating that the best Malcolm can do to retaliate is push him back weakly, blood pooling under his face, earning himself a satisfied and proud grin on Connor’s lips. And because his boyfriend doesn’t know when to stop, because he enjoys pushing him to his limits, stretch the string until it is nearing its breaking point, he takes, steals, the flag from Malcom’s slack hands.

“Be sure to guard it well.” He says, false concern dripping from his sarcastic words. He smiles, the sharp and full of malice grin that the entirety of camp knows and fears. “I have a lot of surprises in store for you tonight.”

“Of course you do.” He mutters, reaching for his flag, Connor letting it go easily. “You always do.”

A trickster, his boyfriend is. The joker Malcolm has no idea how to handle. When the horn blows in the air, signaling the start of the game, he knows. Malcolm knows today isn’t the day he beats Connor.

But it’s fine. His fatal flaw is not pride, like Annabeth’s. When Connor comes, much later, gold laurels sitting lopsided on his curls, and kisses him under the moonlight, Malcolm is more than happy anyways.

Connor: I think that I love you :)

Malcolm: ...