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Stephen loves Erlah, he really does, but he hates the way people take one look at her and laugh knowingly. No one has ever been surprised that Stephen has a cat daemon, and a black one at that. He’s never wished she settled differently, not really, but it would be nice if people didn’t think he was that easy to read. That obvious.
The desire to muddy the waters a little might have had something to do with why he’d agreed to go on a date with Stark.
Tony sprawls over Stephen, the sheets pooled around his waist, and rests his chin on hands folded across Stephen’s chest. “So,” he says. “How many people told you this was a terrible idea after you said yes?”
“Five,” Stephen says, idly running his fingers over Tony’s shoulders. “Apparently, cat daemons and crow daemons—”
“—are always incompatible,” Tony finished, smirking. “I’ve got you beat. It was eight people for me.”
Together, they turn and look at the window seat, where it’s impossible to tell feathers from fur in the inky black huddle of their daemons.
“Idiots,” Stephen scoffs. He lets his hand trail down the length of Tony’s back and over the curve of his ass. In the window, Erlah and Ravari stir. Ravari abruptly darts toward the doorway, leading Erlah in a game of chase. Stephen has a moment to register their playful eagerness before Tony shifts his hips into a much more interesting alignment.
“How about we prove them wrong all over again?” Tony suggests.
Stephen answers by leaning up for a kiss. Their smiles only spoil it a little bit.