#steo events

"Because you look ridiculous, Stiles," Lydia answers, annoyed. "Just once, I would like to be able to take a photo of everyone at this party and have us all look good. This pack is, literally, supernaturally attractive, but I don't have a single photo of us all that showcases that, because you two always insist on wearing the most absurd costumes you can find."

"Aww, Lyds, you think I'm hot?" Stiles grins, deliberately ignoring everything else she said.

"Not dressed like that, you're not," she returns, flat and annoyed.

"Aw, babe, don't listen to her," Theo says, wrapping an arm around Stiles' waist. "I think you look hot. The pink really suits you."

"You don't get a vote. You're an enabler, and besides, he could wear a paper bag and you would think he looks hot in it," Lydia says, and Theo tilts his head to the side, considering.

"We should test that theory. Do they make human-sized paper bags?"

"Ugh," Lydia says. "Absolutely ridiculous, the pair of you. Though at least Theo looks good. How you managed to make that absurd outfit look attractive, I'll never know, but whatever."

"He really pulls it off, doesn't he?" Stiles grins, leaning in to press a quick kiss against Theo's cheek. The angle is awkward, what with the visors both of them are wearing, but he manages it. There's a lip-shaped stain of shimmery gloss left behind on Theo's cheek when Stiles pulls away, but it adds to the overall costume, he decides.

"Aw, thanks, babe," Theo says, sending a smile at Stiles that's a perfect replica of Ryan Gosling's empty-headed smile.

"You're welcome, babe," Stiles grins back, and then he turns his attention back to Lydia, wriggling in place uncomfortably and tugging at his bodysuit. The multi-fluro-coloured lycra bathing suit is digging into him in some very unfortunate places, even with the hot pink bikeshorts he's wearing underneath. "I think I'm with you about this not being my best costume. How do women wear shit like this? The wedgie is killing me."

"It serves you right," Lydia says, haughty, and Theo laughs at her utter lack of sympathy. Rude.

"Well, you'd better come inside and curse everyone else with your horrible outfits," Lydia continues with a sigh, holding the door open.

"Hey, it could have been worse," Stiles tells her, as he and Theo step inside. He holds up his yellow rollerblades. "Be thankful that I decided to just carry these, instead of wearing them. I nearly did, but then I pictured me several drinks into the future and decided against it."

"If you had tried to set foot onto my freshly polished hardwood floors in rollerblades, then I would have murdered you on my doorstep and turned you into one of my Halloween yard decorations," Lydia says, and turns, sweeping up the hallway, trusting them to follow.

By the door, Stiles turns to Theo.

"Shall we go join this party, Ken?" he asks, and Theo grins and reaches out to wrap an arm around Stiles' waist.

"Lets go party, Barbie," he says, then leans in to kiss Stiles, who is too busy groaning at the terrible line to manage to kiss him back.

...

Stiles wets his lips, trying to get a read on the guy. It’s possible, after all, that telling him could go really badly. The townsfolk are a bunch of suspicious, close-minded idiots, and if this guy shares their mentality, then Stiles really would be better claiming to be lost.  

But, well… he’s been searching the woods for hours now, and feels like he’s going in circles. And the attractive guy who appeared out of nowhere doesn’t look like anyone Stiles has seen in the village. So… 

“The witch,” Stiles announces, putting on a mask of confidence, as though there’s not a significant chance that this guy will arrest Stiles himself for witchcraft on the spot, and never mind that Stiles doesn’t know the faintest thing about performing magic. If he did, he wouldn’t be in the woods looking to hire a witch for their services.  

The handsome man straightens, his expression curious and his eyes intent.  

“The witch?” he echoes, moving forwards. Moving closer to Stiles. Stiles thinks about backing up, and decides that to do so would be a show of weakness. He holds his ground.  

“Now what would a strapping young man like yourself be doing, searching for the evil witch?” the man continues, strolling forward in a way that somehow manages to look casual while feeling threatening. Like he’s prowling forward. “You’re not hunting, I hope? You’ll need more than just little old you, if you’re going to try and kill the witch.”  

“Not a hunter,” Stiles says, setting his chin and refusing to step backwards as the man gets ever closer and closer. “I wish to buy her services.” 

The man pauses in his approach.  

“Do you now?” he asks, and starts to stalk around Stiles in a circle. “And what are you hoping to buy, hm? A love potion, perhaps? Is there a lady who’s caught your eye, but you’ve not caught hers? Or—” 

The man – behind Stiles, now – steps in close; close enough that Stiles can feel the heat of his body at his back; can feel the ghost of his breath against his ear.  

“Or are you wishing to buy success?” the man whispers. “Wanting to purchase a life of plenty; of riches untold? The witch could do that. For a price.”  

Stiles shakes his head.  

“It’s for my father,” he explains, as the man steps away and resumes his stalk-like stroll around Stiles. “He’s sick. The doctor says there’s nothing that can be done.”  

“Ah,” the man says, coming to a stop in front of Stiles. “So you seek to delay the inevitable. Death comes for us all, in the end. What does a short delay achieve?”  

Stiles shakes his head, stubborn.  

“He’s still young,” he says. “Too young to die, at least. He’s still got years ahead of him.”  

“He doesn’t, not if you’ve come into the deep of the woods, searching for a cure you’re not certain exists,” the man argues.  

“He should have years ahead of him,” Stiles corrects. “He’s a good man and the town relies on him and – and I can’t lose him. He’s all I have left.”  

The man stares at Stiles, his blue eyes piercing.  

“And what will you give the witch, in exchange for this cure?” he asks, after a long moment.  

“Anything,” Stiles says immediately.  

The man throws his head back and laughs.  

“Anything?” he echoes, amused – and then his demeanour shifts and he steps in close to Stiles, who startles and goes to step back only to find a tree at his spine.  

(Was that there before? Stiles could swear there wasn’t a tree there before.)  

“You should be careful with your words, Mieczyslaw,” the man says, his breath hot and sweet in Stiles’ face, and Stiles doesn’t even get the chance to ask how he knew his real name before the man is continuing.

“I could take your firstborn,” he whispers, and he’s caging Stiles in against the tree; his hands resting against the bark on either side of Stiles’ head and his body pressing in close from the front. “I could take your life in exchange for that of your father’s. I could take your freedom. Take you with me, and never let you leave. Your father would live, but you would never see him again. And all because you promised me anything.”  

Stiles swallows, trying to ignore the way the man’s arms are bracketing him in place.  

“So, uh,” he says. “I’m… guessing I’ve found the witch?” 

The man laughs, startled and amused, and draws back, giving Stiles room to breathe again.  

“I would say that I found you,” he corrects, lips curling in a lazy smirk.  

“Do I get to know your name? Since you apparently know mine?” Stiles asks, feeling oddly bold, and the man’s smirk widens into a grin.  

“You may call me Theo,” the man – Theo – says.  

“I may call you that?” Stiles echoes. “So that’s not your real name, then.”  

Theo laughs again, entertained.  

“You are walking through a fae filled forest looking for a witch that you hope can give you a magical cure for a deadly illness,” he says. “I assume you know enough about this kind of thing to know that names have power?”  

“Yeah, I do,” Stiles says, and sets his jaw. “So what are you gonna do with mine?” He doesn’t bother asking how the witch got his name in the first place. He has it, now, and all that remains to be seen is what he’ll do with it.  

Theo’s grin brightens further.  

“Oh, I do like you,” he says. “You’ve got spark. And a good helping of stupidity, but that can be trained out.”  

Stiles blinks.  

“Uh,” he says. “What?” 

“The cost of the cure will be your company,” Theo announces, ignoring Stiles’ questions. “Two days per week, indefinitely. So long as you keep visiting me, your father shall continue to live.”  

It takes a second for that to sink in.  

“You—wait, what?” he asks, because what? This… is not going the way he expected. At all. None of it is.  

“Your company, in exchange for the cure,” Theo repeats, patient. “The two days per week can be concurrent or they can be staggered, but two days is the minimum. You fail to uphold your end, and your father will wither faster than a worm left in the sun.”  

“My – company?” Stiles asks, because that… can’t be it. Can it? He’s missing something here. There’s a loophole or a trick or something that he’s not seeing.  

“That’s what I said,” Theo confirms. “So? Do we have a deal, or no?”  

“My company, that’s it? That’s all you want?” Stiles asks, because there has to be something else. Right?  

“That’s all I asked for,” Theo says. “And it’s all that this contract requires. Why? Do you object to the conditions? I thought they were rather reasonable, myself.”  

“No, they are—” Stiles hurries to say. Too reasonable. He feels like he’s being tricked, but he can’t see how. “Just… why?”  

Theo shrugs.  

“Perhaps I’m lonely,” he says. “Perhaps I’m tired of all the townsfolk hating me, and I want you to be able to tell them that I’m not the evil creature they think I am. Or perhaps I want an apprentice.”  

He steps in close suddenly, into Stiles’ personal space again.  

“Perhaps I wish to woo you,” he whispers, his breath brushing Stiles’ lips. “Perhaps it’s been too long since I took a lover.” 

Stiles swallows, the sound audible in the quiet clearing.  

“And… if I don’t want that? If I don’t want to be your lover?”

Theo grins, slow and amused.  

“I think that you wouldn’t be as opposed as you’re trying to pretend to be,” he whispers, and his lips brush Stiles’, the fleeting touch enough to Stiles’ stomach swoop.  

And then he steps back, out of Stiles’ space, and Stiles sways a little in surprise.  

“I would not force you, of course,” Theo says, back to a normal tone. “Your presence twice a week is all that is required for this deal. Anything outside of that would be unrelated to the deal, and would not affect it in any way.”  

Stiles swallows again, thinking hard, trying to work out if there’s a loophole he’s missed.  

But really, who’s he kidding? He came here willing to trade anything to save his father. Visiting the woods witch twice a week is a substantially lighter cost than he was expecting, even if there are any loop holes.

“Ok,” he says, and holds out his hand. “I agree. Deal.”  

Theo looks down at the hand in veiled amusement.  

“Oh Mieczyslaw,” he says. “Witches don’t seal agreements with a handshake.”  

“Oh,” Stiles says, dropping his hand. “How do—” 

He doesn’t get to finish the question.  

He barely has time to cut himself off in surprise before Theo is there again, pressing Stiles back into the tree again and pressing his lips against Stiles’.  

Stiles makes a startled sound, and Theo takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, licking his tongue into Stiles’ mouth.  

And Stiles could fight it; absolutely he could; his father taught him how to fight years ago. But – it’s automatic, to relax into it and kiss back. He’s not opposed to the kiss – just startled by it. It’s not even about the deal they’re making. He’d thought Theo was beautiful when he first laid eyes on him. He would never have imagined that this is where they would wind up, only a few minutes later, but he’s certainly not complaining.   

And then Theo sucks Stiles’ lower lip between his teeth and bites down, hard.  

Stiles yelps, and Theo draws back, blood smeared on his lip and his eyes alight with satisfaction.  

“That’s how you seal a deal with a witch,” he says, and Stiles – one hand pressed against his bleeding lip, stares at him incredulously.  

“Was the biting really necessary?” he demands, and Theo throws his head back and laughs.  

“You’d best be starting home, if you want to make it back before dark,” he says once he’s done laughing, completely ignoring the question. “Your father will be recovered by the time you get to him.” 

“I –” Stiles says, reeling a little bit from this whirlwind of a conversation. “Thank you,” he settles on. He’s not sure that he’ll fully believe his father is recovered until he sees it with his own two eyes, and he’s not opposed to hunting Theo down if it turns out he’s lied, but if Stiles takes this whole conversation at face value, then he can expect to return home to find his father healthy and hale for the first time in months. And that deserves all the gratitude that Stiles can muster.  

Theo doesn’t acknowledge the thanks, but merely turns and starts walking away.  

“I will see you later this week, Mieczyslaw,” he calls over his shoulder, and then he’s slipping between a pair of trees, and he’s gone.  

Stiles runs his fingers over his lips, wondering if any of that really just happened. Had he hallucinated it? 

But then his finger catches on the small wound on his lower lip, and he hisses in pain. Yeah, no, definitely not a hallucination.  

He drops his hand and looks at the sky, judging the position of the sun. Theo was right – if he leaves now, he can make it back home before dark. And he definitely wants to do that. Quite aside from wanting to get home to his father, he also doesn’t want to still be in these woods come nightfall.  

He sets off, retracing his steps through the woods. He’d best get used to the trip, he figures. Since he’s going to be coming back here twice every seven days for the conceivable future.  

And, he thinks – as he recalls the press of Theo’s body against his; the slide of lips; the curl of a warm tongue; the sound of a low chuckle – that he doesn’t really mind all that much.  

“It was hardly hard work, Stiles,” Theo says, amused. “It took you twenty minutes, tops.”

“To cover you in the stuff, sure – but then it took like three hours to get all the glitter off me.”

Theo snorts, his bare chest glittering wildly in the bright light spilling from Lydia’s doorway.

“Yeah, but only because you jumped me the second you were done.”

“And what of it?” Stiles asks. “What, was I supposed to look at you in all your sparkly glory and not want to get up close and personal? That would have been out of character. Both for me, and my costume.”

“Oh my god, shut up and get inside before the neighbors report your precious boyfriend for public indecency,” Lydia interrupts before Theo can reply.

“The neighbors should be thanking me,” Stiles says, as Theo chuckles and tugs him inside. “It was my idea, after all.”

“Oh, trust me, I could tell,” Lydia says, and she doesn’t sound impressed. Rude.

“Don’t worry, babe – I think your idea was great,” Theo says,

“The only part of his costume that wasn’t already in his closet is the wig,” Lydia complains, and Stiles blows a long strand of dark hair out of his eyes.

“So Bella Swan has great taste in clothes – how is that my fault?”

“You’re literally wearing your own regular clothes with a black wig,” Lydia says, annoyed.

“Yeah, but I’m only half the costume. Theo’s the other half; you have to view us together to get the full picture.”

“Putting your boyfriend in a pair of Calvins and covering him in glitter doesn’t count as a high effort costume, Stiles. And it certainly doesn’t make up for your own lack of effort. Do better next year, or I won’t let you in.”

And with that, she flounces off – graceful and flawless as always.

“Psh, she’ll let us in,” Stiles says, turning to Theo and letting himself be reeled in for a kiss. “She secretly loves our costumes.”

“My only complaint is that you’re all covered up,” Theo says, tugging on the collar of Stiles’ flannel. “We both should have been Edward. Then I could have covered you in glitter.”

“And deny Lydia our terrible-awesome couples costumes?” Stiles asks. “No way. It’s the highlight of her year.”

Theo laughs outright at that, and reaches down to take Stiles’ hand.

“Well then, Bella – we shouldn’t keep her waiting any longer.”

“Lead the way, oh sparkly vampire-mine,” Stiles says, and lets himself be drawn down the hall to the party.

(This ficlet is a follow on to one I wrote for last year's Steo event, in which Stiles comes to the party as the Big Bad Wolf, Theo comes as Little Red Riding Hood, and Lydia is thoroughly unimpressed with both of them.)