Chapter Text
The gym buzzed with activity, mats squeaking, ropes swinging, and wrestlers calling across the room. Will Ospreay perched high above in his hawk form, feathers gleaming, eyes sharp, scanning for the one troublemaker who always found him.
Kyle Fletcher, in short-haired cat form, prowled across the mats, tail flicking, ears flat, eyes gleaming with mischief. He darted around wrestlers, swiped at stray objects, and hissed at anyone who dared approach. Some rolled their eyes, some laughed—but Will’s golden gaze never wavered.
Round one began when Kyle swiped at a water bottle near the ring ropes. Will dove like a flash, talons extended, and scooped him up mid-leap. Suspended in the air, Kyle’s claws raked at Will instinctively, tail lashing, ears flat, hissing furiously. Will’s wings beat steadily, keeping him aloft. He didn’t speak; he didn’t need to. The message was clear: vent all you want, but you’re not getting away from me.
Kyle’s hiss softened slightly, but only briefly. The moment Will adjusted his grip to cradle him securely, Kyle twisted, attempting another escape. A quick, precise adjustment of talons, and Will kept him suspended, letting him hiss and thrash until the tension in Kyle’s body started to ebb.
By round two, Kyle had darted around another mat, knocking over a small stack of towels. Will swooped again, talons outstretched, snatching Kyle mid-swipe. Kyle yowled, tail flaring, ears flat—his small body squirming and twisting—but Will remained unflinching, talons firm yet gentle. Others in the gym stopped, watching the hawk hold the tiny, hissing cat in midair, some amused, some confused. Kyle’s antics were well-known; Will’s handling of them was private mastery.
Round three arrived with Kyle leaping onto a punching bag, swiping at it as if daring Will to take action. With a powerful dive, Will caught him by the scruff and held him aloft, wings steady. Kyle hissed in indignation, claws batting reflexively, tail whipping. He spat tiny growls and yowls, each one dissipating slowly as Will stayed perfectly calm, holding him until every ounce of feline fury was exhausted.
Finally, Kyle’s tail stopped thrashing, claws retracted, ears uncurling. His body relaxed just enough for Will to lower him gently to the mats. Kyle shook himself off, flicking his tail and shooting Will a sharp glare—but the tension had dissolved into the quiet understanding that always existed between them.
Around the gym, wrestlers whispered, some chuckling at the spectacle. Kyle’s mischief wasn’t limited to Will; he liked to stir chaos for fun. But only Will had the patience, precision, and instinct to deal with him in the way that mattered—holding him, grounding him, letting him vent safely.
With a quiet flutter, both shifted back to human form. Will stretched his arms up until he heard something in his back pop, and Kyle simply adjusted his shirt. Their eyes met, a charged, silent conversation passing between them. The frustration, the play, the trust—it all condensed into a single moment of clarity.
Will stepped closer, Kyle’s chest rising with a quiet, steadying breath. And then—inevitably—they closed the distance. Lips met in a kiss that was soft, slow, and intimate, a mixture of relief, affection, and unspoken understanding.
Kyle pulled back just slightly, smirking, a glint of playfulness still in his eyes. “I suppose you win, for now,” he murmured. Will’s smile was slow, deliberate, warm. “Only because you let me,” he replied.
In the midst of a chaotic gym, surrounded by oblivious wrestlers, two shifters shared a private world of playfulness, patience, and trust. Talons and whiskers, feathers and fur, anger and affection—all blending into a single, perfect connection.