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“So I saw this teapot on Pinterest the other day and I was going to show it to you, but then Scott called and then the thing with Stiles happened and everything became an intervention and that took a whole lot of energy that I had to recover from, so I completely forgot to show you until now.”
Mason glances up from the book in his lap, faintly amused at his best friend’s characteristic rambling overture, and watches from the corner of his eye as Liam ambles into the kerchief-sized living room of their three-bedroom apartment and flops unceremoniously on top of Theo. Well, drapes himself across Theo’s middle would probably be a more accurate descriptor, but these days Theo and Liam are almost constantly in some state of body-melding that distinguishing between the various permutations thereof hardly matters anymore.
Theo squints up at his boyfriend—having evidently been awakened from a fitful nap, if the balled-up blanket in his hand and the folded pillow under his neck are anything to go by—and doesn’t even bat an eye as Liam shoves his phone in the chimera’s face. He doesn’t move to take the device from him, either, when Liam wiggles the screen impatiently.
“That’s not a teapot,” Theo says at last, after several interminable seconds of suspense (on Mason’s part, at least). “That’s a walking horror show. Wait. Does it even walk?”
“Oh, lemme check…”
“Never mind, I do not want to know.”
Mason decides to intervene in whatever it is that has Theo Raeken, resident witness of all things Beacon Hills-level horror and beyond, looking shaken. “Do I want to know?”
“Yes,” Liam crows.
“No,” Theo interjects simultaneously. When Liam frowns, Theo insists, “No, Mason, for the love of G-d, keep your insatiable curiosity to yourself.”
“I grew up with Liam,” Mason deadpans. “I doubt anything at this point can corrupt me further.”
In response, Liam leans up into a sitting position (damn, maybe Mason should be doing more crunches to develop the core strength to pull a move like that…or maybe he should just fall off a roof and get bitten by a noble teenage werewolf) and shoves his phone screen under Mason’s nose.
“I stand corrected,” says Mason. “That...has definitely corrupted me further.”
“We’re getting one,” Liam chirps.
“We are not getting one,” says Theo.
“Blessed Mary, full of grace, save me from this shit,” Mason mutters.
“It will add character to the place,” Liam insists.
“I think we’re doing plenty fine with two questionable characters already, thanks,” Mason manages to choke out.
Liam frowns at him. “There’s literally four of us living in this apartment.”
“Yeah. Me and Corey, who are the most balanced people in the world to have gone through a star-crossed romance in the middle of an interspecies war, and then there’s…whatever the hell you two are,” says Mason, flicking a hand in Liam and Theo’s direction in the very incarnation of duh.
“Make it one questionable character,” Theo bargains. “I’m with you on banning the horror teapot from this place.”
Liam gasps dramatically. “Et tu, Theo?”
“Yeah, yeah, et me, whatever. I’m hiding your debit card so you cannot purchase that monstrosity when I’m not looking.”
“Controlling each other’s financial decisions and spending habits is a sign of an abusive relationship,” Liam says, not sounding for a minute like he believes what he’s saying applies to the situation.
“Forcing me to open the cabinets every morning and see that monstrosity on legs is what’s abusive,” Theo mutters.
“Anyway, doesn’t matter if you hide the debit card if I grab it now and memorize the number for later.”
“Shit,” says Theo. He wraps his arms around Liam’s torso in an obvious preventive measure so the beta doesn’t bolt off the couch to grab the debit card right then and there. Liam obviously doesn’t get the message, misinterpreting the contact for affection, and as he burrows further into Theo’s embrace he ends up nestling snugly into the chimera’s lap while scrolling through the rest of whatever home décor atrocities he’s saved in his Pinterest.
Theo and Mason exchange a look over the top of Liam’s head. They seem to share the same train of thought, counting down the seconds before Liam pipes up again:
“Mase, buddy, my man…you do know you’re my best friend, right?”
Mason looks the fucker dead in the eye and says, “Absolutely not. I will not have a teapot on legs sitting in our fucking apartment.” He shudders. “Or coming alive and crawling into one of our beds.”
“But—but—” Liam’s attempting to pull off the puppy dog eyes, which would work under any other circumstances except where multi-legged arachnid-looking teapots are involved. “It’s my birthday in three days!”
Theo scoffs from where he’s tipped his forehead forward to rest against the soft skin of Liam’s nape. “You already used that to get a blowjob from me,” he complains. “That’s enough.”
Liam squirms around to look over his shoulder at his boyfriend, but the position is awkward and Theo is adamant about using Liam’s soft hair at the back of his head as a pillow. “Okay, but you did promise me last time that my actual birthday surprise would be way better. Could this…like…be a substitute?”
“Are you seriously asking for a teapot over birthday sex right now?” Theo grumbles into the back of Liam’s sweatshirt.
“Okay, but like, it’s not like we wouldn’t have mind-blowing sex again if we skip it on my birthday because we have sex every, like—”
“Nope. No. I do not want to know. I do not need to know,” Mason says loudly, clapping his book shut.
“At this rate, if you somehow find a way to buy that fucking teapot, we wouldn’t have mind-blowing sex ever,” says Theo.
Silence falls. Liam gapes at Theo, then at Mason—clearly pleading for help where his best friend is cheerfully uninvolved—then back at Theo.
“You wouldn’t,” Liam whispers, half in horror, half in awe. He turns to Mason. “He wouldn’t.”
Look, Mason may know a thing or two about how insatiable his roommates’ sex drives are—it’s sort of a thing that keeps him up at night sometimes and the only reason he doesn’t say much is because he and Corey are kind of guilty of the same thing—but he has no doubt right now that Theo can see this threat through out of pure spite if he puts his mind to it.
Maybe. Probably.
“I would,” Theo says, at the same time that Mason nods and agrees, “He would.”
Liam slumps in Theo’s hold, the picture of puppy-eyed dejection. He runs his thumbnail along the line of thread in the seam of his sweatpants for a minute, quietly considering, and then he asks smally: “Can I have something else for my birthday, then?”
“Oh, G-d,” Mason mutters.
Theo seems about done with this conversation. “Sure. Whatever, Liam. Nothing can be as bad as a flesh-eating eight-legged teapot, anyway.”
Liam definitely looks like he wants to quibble about the flesh-eating part of Theo’s assessment of his home décor choices, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut. Instead he asks tentatively, “Could I…could I maybe take you to the dance?”
There’s a beat of absolute silence. And then Mason can’t hold it in anymore. He barks out a laugh, slapping his palm on his knee and wheezing himself right to the edge of tears.
Theo’s expression crosses over from nonplussed to unimpressed as he glances rapidly back and forth between the two best friends. “What the hell is going on here?”
Liam can barely suppress the twitch of his lips. Mason just keeps on guffawing until he has to wipe the moisture from the corners of his eyes.
“Just tell me yes or no,” Liam says, tugging on one of Theo’s hands that’s still locked around his waist.
“What—yes, of course I’ll go to the dance with you, Liam, anything except that fucking teapot.”
“Oh, man,” Mason crows breathlessly in Theo’s face. “You just got played.”
Theo scowls. “What?”
Liam finally gives in to his snickering. He’s too caught up in his glee to respond, so Mason explains for him. “It probably won’t work again next year, but boy, were you just victimized by Liam’s brutal Give Me This One Thing for My Birthday scheme.”
Theo looks back at Mason, flat-eyed and tight-lipped. “His what now?”
“Been doing it for years,” Liam tells him conspiratorially.
“Yeah. He’ll ask you for something so outlandish or—or—straight up terrifying, and then when he bargains for the alternative, which is really the thing he wanted all along, you’ll fall straight for it out of relief,” says Mason.
“Son of a bitch,” says Theo.
“No takebacks now,” says Liam. “You’re coming to the dance with me.”
“Noo,” Theo moans, dropping his nose in the crook of Liam’s neck.
“Yes,” Liam cheers. He wriggles around so he can cup Theo’s cheek in one hand more comfortably and pepper the top of his boyfriend’s head with enthusiastic kisses. “We’re going dancing, we’re going dancing, we’re going daaaaancing—”
“Mason, help me,” Theo growls.
“Sure,” Mason drawls, all saccharine. “Would you like me to help you with the suit fitting or the haircut and cologne?”
“You two are fucking unbelievable.”
In answer, Mason simply raises his socked feet and plants them against Theo’s thigh at the other end of the couch, nudging Theo with his toe just to rub in his and Liam’s victory.
“Hey,” says Mason, sensing Theo’s disgruntled state, even without a werewolf nose to sniff it out. “It’ll be fine, I promise.”
“You’ll have fun,” Liam assures him. “And you will not look silly.”
Mason stares at Liam. “Is that it? Is that why he didn’t want to go to a dance?”
“I don’t know how to dance,” Theo just about whines. He’s still hiding his face in Liam’s neck. It’s kind of adorable, actually, except that Mason clearly has his work cut out for him.
“Okay, that’s it. Enough wallowing. We’re putting on my finely curated early 2000’s playlist and we are practicing dancing.”
“Can I sit and eat while I watch you guys?” says Liam.
Mason is already on his feet and snapping his fingers at the two miscreants to get up off their asses. “Nope. Get up.”
“You’re the one who tricked me into saying yes to the dance, so you’re definitely helping me,” says Theo.
Mason snaps his fingers again in Theo’s direction. “Murder boyfriend with two left feet has a point.”
“I do not have two left feet,” Theo grouses.
Mason opens his mouth and then shuts it. The droll look he rolls in Theo’s direction is enough to let the chimera know his exact train of thought: So that’s the part of my sentence that you find contestable?
Liam is still stuck in a loop of bargaining. “Okay, can I make some s’mores and then come back and eat while we dance?”
“No,” Mason says. “Absolutely not. Next thing I know, you’ll be feeding him with your fingers, and that is not an image I even remotely signed up for.” He feigns gagging.
“But it’s my birthd—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Theo and Mason tell him in unison.