#napobythesea

there are friendships, connections, you make when you come from an affluent background and enjoy a good party. friendships that involve stories told in hushed whispers through a litany of giggles. friendships that create deep bonds rooted in excess and hedonism, joy and honesty.

sure they may not be a constant presence, but crossing paths always feels like being on the precipice of a supernova, electricity just barely contained.

teo's always felt drawn to napo like a moth to a flame. napo's a few years older, and so comfortable with himself in a way that teodoro has never seen anyone else be. his energy soothes a part of him that he can't fully put into words. teo likes to think he can let loose, but there's always an element of control, even if it isn't a conscious choice. there's always a line he won't cross, something to keep him in check. freedom and pleasure under safe enough conditions, comfortable enough boundaries.

napo makes him feel like anything is possible, like he can push past that last barrier holding him back. especially when he's got a few drinks in him, and napo is looking at him with that dazzling smile, and soulful eyes. teodoro is quite literally hanging off of him where they're sitting at the bar, invading his space, laughing loudly into napo's chest.

after a few steadying breaths, he pats him lightly on the chest and lifts his head, backing up a bit to straighten himself up in his seat as the giggles subside. teo's eyes don't leave napo's face though, and he finds himself lost between his eyes and his lips, warmth coursing through him from the tip of his head all the way to his toes. he swallows hard, his tongue wetting his lips as he regards him.

"fuck. you really are a handsome man," teo finds himself saying, filter obliterated at this point. the flush on his face could probably be attributed to the alcohol. "like the kind of handsome you only see in the movies..." teo looks down, laughing at himself in mild embarrassment. "i'm being weird. i just got caught up lookin' at you too long, making me think all kinds of crazy things...pretty motherfucker."

⟣ ─ ˑ 〃 ۫ the  house  was  alive ,  a  pulsating  mass  of  music  and  bodies ,  all  spinning  on  the  chaos  napoleon  had  orchestrated .  nick  leaned  against  the  counter  like  he  owned  the  place — because , in a way ,  he  did — along with fifteen other men . but  it  felt  different  tonight ,  like  every  inch  of  the  party  had  napoleon’s  fingerprints  on  it .  his presence larger than life . drunk  and  riding  a  sharp ,  shimmering  high ,  nick  cannot  decide  if  it  annoys  him , or  . . .

he  slides  up  next  to  him ,  close  enough  that  their  shoulders  almost  brushed .  " you ’ ve  outdone  yourself ,  napoleon , "  he  said ,  voice  carrying  a  teasing  edge.  " but  all  this ? "  nick  gestured  toward  the  packed  living  room  with  a  lazy  wave ,  his  smirk  growing .  " feels  a  bit  wasted  if  you’re  just  standing  here . "  he  leans  in  closer ,  tone  dipping  low ,  conspiratorial .  " come  on ,  show  me  what  you’ve  got --- or . . .  are  you  afraid  you ’ ll  be  outdone  on  your  own  dance  floor ? "

Not that Casimiro was one to ignore them. He had his way of dealing with things. Sometimes, his methods just weren't looked upon with the most positive of attitudes.

He's walking through the cabin now, trying to figure out which of the demigods were called and chosen. Did he know all fourteen of them? Had he had any interactions with them since his time on the island? There were far too many to know for certain and now would be the best time to set aside differences or work things out, if necessary. He's at Room Three, a trident etched into the door, a symbol of Poseidon. The door is open, unsurprising, as he looks inside and sees the party man himself, Napoleon Veela.

He can't help the laugh that drifts out of him. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the threshold. "Recovering from a night of partying?" Casimiro asks, left eyebrow arched. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself last night, in the few moments I saw you." He remembers seeing Napoleon with his tongue down someone's throat on more than one occasion. If he had been feeling more adventurous, he might have been one of them. He was, after all, planning on loosening up.

He gestures toward the inside of Napoleon's room. "May I come in or do you want me to keep talking to you from over here?"

@napobythesea

⟣  ─  ˑ 🏆   ۫ dylan ' s  hands  are  still  slick  with  soap  when  he  hears  the  creak  of  the  gate ,  bear ’ s  paws  skittering  on  the  stone  path  as  he  hears  a  figure  approach .  dylan  glances  over ,  just  in  time  to  see  the son of poseidon  step  through  the  garden gate ,  and before  he can  even  blink ,  bear ’ s  bounding  forward ,  all  floppy  paws  and  uncontainable  energy ,  nearly  tripping  napoleon  over  in  his  excitement .  “ watch  out , ”  dylan  calls,  wiping  his  hands  absently  on  a towel ,  “ he ’ s  a  bit  of  a  flirt . ”  the  pup ’ s  tail  whips  the  air ,  eyes  bright  as  he  circles  napoleon ,  pushing  up  against  his  legs  like  he ’ s  testing  the  waters .  dylan  grins ,  watching  the  scene  play  out .  “ you ’ ve  got  that  ‘ new  person ’  charm — but if  you  toss  him  a  ball , you ' ll be his best friend for life . ” 

the phantom taste of napoleon veela still haunts casimiro ladron like an ever present ghost; a nightmare wrapped in desire and longing, tied with ribbon and spritzed with the salt of the sea. days ago, before the choosing ceremony, when they were both just children of gods with no titles to their name—a lie, the son of poseidon always has a title, he is nearly singular, never one of many—he had let himself get caught by the hook of napoleon's charms, the bait of sweet words and sea glass eyes was too much for casimiro to resist.

he isn't sure that he wants to. he remembers their conversations, text messages about loosening up, about letting go, the innuendos laid on thick, like algae to wrap casimiro in and drag him down, like a net napoleon cast to scoop him out of the sea of want and desire so that casimiro can walk through it on his own two legs.

now, casimiro searches for napoleon through the crowded rooms of the large house that belongs to them. bodies move together, pressed tightly in different areas of the house. music flows through the air like a breeze, the bass of it thudding beneath his feet like an ever present earthquake, a rumble that is comforting and discomforting all at once. hazel eyes scan faces, scan bodies, peak into closed rooms. he's all but given up when he enters a bathroom—to splash water on his face, to regroup himself because why is he searching for napoleon? the man is probably hilt deep in someone already.

when he opens the door, he sees the son of poseidon and someone has their hands on him, someone who isn't a chosen demigod. heat flares inside of the son of hecate, like flames of tartarus, conjured through a spell. his eyes narrow. he turns the lights on, brighter. "get out." his voice is hoarse, gravel and silk, from screaming earlier while dancing with some of the others. he had pulled himself from his room to enjoy himself, to be spontaneous, to let loose, and now he was wishing he hadn't.

his eyes dart over to napoleon. "not you. you're staying." he takes a step forward, looking at the other demigod, he's not sure which child they belong to, he can't recall seeing them around much. "you're dismissed. this is chosen business." his words are laced with venom, a hex that dances on the tip of his tongue. when the other is gone, casimiro waves a hand and locks the door before he turns back toward napoleon.