TIMING: Current
PARTIES: @loftylockjaw @fearhims3lf
SUMMARY: Mateo eagerly waits for both of his guests to arrive, and when he opens the door to expect Xóchitl there, he finds Wyatt instead. The two get to know each other much better.
WARNINGS: Small mention of grenades, but no actual detail
A-N-A-are-see-H-Y…!
Mateo bobbed his head along to the music in the background, sprinkling a few pinches of seasoning to the simmering pot. He lowered the heat and watched the bubbles settle before moving his attention to Angel, who was pestering him for some attention. “Oye mamacita, you’re gonna have to go to your room soon.” Angel groaned in response, and Mateo couldn’t help but shake his head with a chuckle. “It’ll be fine. Just a few hours. Besides,” He pointed to the window in the room, “You can literally just go out and have fun.”
There was a knock at the door and she huffed, her tendrils lightly caressing Mateo before she trudged her way back to her room. He rolled his eyes, though there was no real irritation in his expression. In fact, there was only fondness for the monstrous creature slinking its way into hiding while Mateo bopped his way to answer the door.
“Hey there, beauti…ful.” He quirked a brow at Wyatt and narrowed his eyes. “You’re not Xóchitl.” He snapped his fingers repeatedly and checked his watch, surprised to see that his girlfriend was running late. “Huh. Time flies, I guess. Well, come on in and have a seat.”
“Very astute of you,” Wyatt laughed, looking down his own front and giving a shrug. “Not since last I checked, anyway. Damn, did I really beat her here?” That was unusual, but then he supposed that her life had been a little unusual lately. To what degree he couldn’t be sure, and not just because she didn’t know how to explain it — his knowledge about things outside of shifters was terribly lacking. “Thanks for the compliment, though. I’ll cherish it always,” the lamia teased further as he followed Mateo back into the home.
As promised, he was carrying an insulated bag with him, which he set on the counter after joining Mateo in the kitchen. “Ooh, that smells good,” he remarked with a nod toward the stove, unzipping the bag and reaching inside. Out of it, he pulled a baking sheet with wax paper tied down to it by string, and next came a large glass container. Setting the sheet on the counter, he glanced around the space until he located the oven. “Gonna need to borrow that for about fifteen minutes, these fellas are only half baked. This, however, is good to go.” Popping off the top, he revealed the elote salad, which still needed to be dressed with the cotija cheese, but that would come after plating. “Beignets,” he explained, gesturing at the baking sheet. “I’m no baker, really, but I made a practice batch earlier n’ they fucked, so.”
There was an easy grin that tugged on the mare’s cheeks, and he patted Wyatt on the shoulder. “Well, we got a shit ton of food tonight, which Xóchitl will love. I went a little crazy and made frijoles rancheros. A bit of more work to make, but it’s always worth it.” Mateo stirred the pot and removed his gorditas from the oven to make room for Wyatt’s container. After, he quickly turned the music down and eyed the tv, which was also a little too loud for conversation. He almost forgot he was waiting to see his latest job on the screen.
“Uh, you mind turning down the volume for me? The remote’s right there.” His chin jutted toward it on the counter as he sorted the food on the island. “The oven is all yours now. It’s set at the lowest heat so it’ll just take a sec to get to whatever you put it at.” He drummed his fingers on the countertop and chuckled softly at the elote salad Wyatt had put together. “Man, there’s just something about white people and their ability to make a salad or casserole out of anything.” Mateo raised his hands to gesture there was no hostility toward the idea. “I ain’t complainin’, mind you,” He winked, “It definitely looks like it tastes good.”
Wyatt let out a laugh, somewhat floored by the very accurate observation. “I am but a simple country boy,” he drawled, hand splayed across his chest as the other reached for the remote as requested. “Anyway, she travels better like this! Gimme a break.” Snickering, he lowered the TV volume before setting the remote aside and permitting himself a better look at his company for the evening. Wyatt didn't think that Mateo had any idea he was the alligator he'd met in the woods, but there was only one way to change that.
“Hey, I got a question for you, before the lady gets here… where's a guy gotta go to get grenades ‘round here? I still got the one you gifted me, ain't found the perfect thing to blow up with it yet, but you awoke somethin’ in me, I think.” He was giving Mateo a knowing smirk, brows raising expectantly as he awaited a response, moving to the oven to adjust the temperature.
Mateo’s brows rose, almost immediately cinching together as Wyatt asked about grenades. He could count on one hand how many people he’d given grenades to. In fact, there was only one person. Felix hadn’t wanted to take the gift, going so far as to not even touch the thing in fear that it would explode right in front of them. That left only the alligator man that had rightfully complimented Mateo’s ass. Unless somehow the mare had forgotten he’d given Wyatt one, and he wouldn’t put it past himself.
The man had needed a lot of cheering up as of late, and men love explosions, but he would’ve remembered handing over such a powerful item. He decided to pry a little. “Uh…you sure I’m the one who gave that to you?” Mateo wet his lips and leaned on the island, scrubbing his face. “Do you even know how to handle that thing? Do you…” His eyes widened, “Do you have it on you right now?”
Wyatt scoffed, turning away from the oven to look at Mateo. “No, I don't have it on me now. It's safely tucked away at home. Come on… ‘course I'm sure you're the one that gave it to me. How could I forget such a spectacular ass that you made me compliment before you'd help me kill that fuckin’... whatever it was?” He folded his arms across his chest, looking terribly amused by the whole thing.
“Shockin’, I know. How can such a big, beautiful reptile fit into such a… comparatively small, less impressive human body? Easily, it turns out. Learned that trick when I was four or five.” He recalled Mateo having said something about how he wouldn't taste good, which could mean more than just ‘don't eat me please’, but Wyatt wouldn't press it. Yet. “Good thing I didn't eat you… woulda been awkward when I found out you were datin’ my best friend.” He smiled in spite of the grim statement. “Glad for it, even! That's new for me, congrats on breakin’ ground.”
A bewildered but impressed look skidded across Mateo’s features, and he had to stifle a chuckle of disbelief. Wyatt was the reptile that helped him kill the giant Godzilla thing a few weeks ago. They had blown that thing up into smithereens, and Mateo was miffed that he was none the wiser to what Wyatt truly was.
“You…you were that crocodile guy.” It sounded more like a question than a statement, but Mateo’s voice eventually settled into something much more grounded. Which was good because Mateo’s next question was an important one. “Does Xóchitl know?” He blinked several times, continuing to drum go fingers as his eyes grew distant in thought. “She doesn’t know what I am, to be clear. Been trying to find a way to bring it up, but it ain’t easy.”
Las Vegas celebutante found murdered in his home. Details to follow.
The screen took the mare’s attention for a blink, but he kept the conversation on topic. “Haven’t been this way since I was a kid like you, so it’s been weird. Didn’t even want a relationship, and well,” Clicking his tongue, Mateo idly stirred the salsa he made. “Here we are. At least playing friendly with you is gonna be even easier.”
“Mm… technically yes, but let’s not go callin’ every gecko n’ salamander we see a lizard… follow?” Unlikely. How was anyone supposed to be able to follow his train of thought when he could barely do it himself? “Alligator. And no, she doesn’t.” Wyatt’s gaze jumped after Mateo’s to the TV screen, but he didn’t think much of it. “Ah… right. You mentioned you were undead.” There had been something else, too, but Wyatt was having a hard time remembering it. He closed his eyes for a moment, brows furrowed, trying to recall the brief conversation they’d had after blowing that bitey bastard to bits. “You said somethin’ ‘bout… bein’ nightmarish.” A comment he’d thought nothing of, before, but now…? Now his eyes opened again and he gave Mateo an inquisitive stare.
“Don’t suppose that was literal, was it?” There was a sort of agonized strain in the lamia’s voice that appeared once he realized he was potentially speaking to someone of the same species as his tormentor… and maybe someone that could help.
It was a bit uncomfortable, the way Wyatt’s eyes developed so much emotion in them. Xóchitl had briefly mentioned what was plaguing him, how he needed her in his times of distress. Every small detail was familiar to Mateo, having been through it himself. There was a huge difference, though. While Mateo had asked for it, taking the nightmares as a trial and less as a torment, he knew the implications there’d be when he confirmed what he was.
That was just a leap he had to take, considering how ingrained Wyatt was to Xóchitl’s past. Mateo just hoped those nasty teeth—alligator teeth— wouldn’t need to immediately find something to chomp.
“Yeah.” He nodded, trying to look indifferent about his answer. More than ever, he wished it was just a bit closer to night so he could vanish into thin air if things went awry, but it appeared luck wasn’t on his side. Swallowing, Mateo figured he’d just have to settle for above average reflexes and the hidden weapons around the apartment. “Died after some…intense night terrors over several weeks, and here I am. Causing them to eat.” He clicked his tongue, “But I sure as hell have never tried anything on you, that’s for sure.”
Wyatt stared at Mateo quietly as he explained. His expression was hard to read, and he almost seemed to be making up his mind about something before saying the first words that came to him, which was unusual. The long pause following Mateo’s admission was both silent and deeply uncomfortable, stretching on and on until the oven beeped to signal that it was pre-heated. Wyatt relaxed his posture with a shrug.
“I figured. We’re good, by the way—I don’t got a problem with you. It’d be too hypocritical for even me to stomach if I gave you grief for that—I eat people. It’s whatever.” He frowned. “I just want to be left alone, is all. It’s fuckin’ me up. Been months of this shit. Can’t even fight right anymore.” He was losing control, yes, but not just of his decision-making abilities—he was starting to lose control of his shifting in general. Sometimes it took longer than he liked to make the shift happen in either direction. Sometimes it was only partial, even when he wanted it full. That was not sustainable, especially not in the Pit. It’d get him fucking killed in the ring. “Guy I know told me about usin’ salt… and somethin’ about a creature called a baku.” He shook his head. “I don’t… wanna do anythin’ that might… linger, you know?” Because I don’t want to accidentally fuck you up, was the part he left unspoken but likely still communicated to the other. “I just need real sleep.” He managed a somber smile, picking up the tray of beignets and sliding them into the oven. “Anyway. Help an idiot set a timer on this thing, would ya? Twelve minutes.”
Mateo listened, and though he knew that it was likely another mare hurting Wyatt, he had to do something. There was an unspoken rule that you didn’t mess with anyone’s meals, but there was also an unspoken rule that you helped your girlfriend’s friends. Mateo was caught in the middle, and he really didn’t like it.
“Okay.” He took a breath, taking out his phone and starting a timer to give himself a little more time to think, which was difficult when his latest kill was all over the tv screen. It was Mateo’s favorite pastime to watch as police had nothing on his victims, looking like idiots on the news, but that sadly had to wait. “Salt works, yeah. Put it around your bed. And-and really put it around. If you have it pressed against a wall, pull that shit away from it and make sure you close the circle.” He huffed, “For good measure, get the keyholes on your doors covered. Won’t allow them to get inside for sure.”
Setting his phone aside with the timer going, Mateo approached Wyatt and carefully put his hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. For all intents and purposes, he truly did feel for him. None of his victims asked to be fed on, but the major difference was that he didn’t know them. Mateo knew Wyatt, and he mattered to Xóchitl. That changed everything, which was why it was so easy to make an offer. “Hey,” Mateo’s voice was soft, his eyes matching. “Stay here tonight. Couch is comfy, but, uh…” He chuckled, “Bed is big enough too. I help Xóchitl get a good night’s rest with my nicer talents. Can do the same for you, and no creepies will get in your head when I’m around.”
That made sense, which made Wyatt feel a little stupid for not thinking of it. Of course the wall wouldn't be enough of a barrier for one side—granted he didn't know how mares worked, really… still. He'd be pulling his bed away from the wall as soon as he got home.
Which… sounded like it might not be tonight. The invitation was a little unexpected, in spite of the light flirting that had occurred online and Xó's assertions that Mateo would be open to that sort of thing. Unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. Wyatt felt a smile creeping over his lips once more as he glanced at Mateo, not overlooking that gentle tone and expression he wore. “Yeah?” he asked quietly. “I wanna hear more about these nicer talents, but… that sounds great.” And it would certainly be a development he knew Xó would be ecstatic over, eager as she was to convince the two men to get to know each other.
Waving some spirit fingers toward Wyatt, the mare booped the man’s nose and chuckled with a hint of endearment. “Can’t visit your place with those precautions, but like I said,” Mateo stepped a little closer, a breath away from Wyatt when he added, “Plenty room here.” He smiled, letting his lips brush against Wyatt’s cheek before he moved his attention toward the tv.
With the reveals and explanations mostly out of the way, Mateo could focus on the jabbering cops and be amused with how clean his getaway was. They were stumped, and they would stay that way. For all intents and purposes, Mateo Lara didn’t exist on any payroll, and any contact information under any false identities he had given were dead ends. Victory was his, and Mateo felt like he couldn’t lose at all that night. Which left him to wonder how much he could win. He grinned, and patted Wyatt’s bum just before he trotted his way to the sofa.
“Why don’t we talk about both our talents over some beer while we wait? Grab two from the fridge and meet me on the couch.”
That was fine… Wyatt didn’t really want anyone over at his cabin right now, anyway. It had seen better days, and he hadn’t had the time or energy to take care of all the shit he’d broken in his nightmare-fueled panics, not now that he was working triple shifts at the Pit.
A shiver ran up his spine at Mateo’s sudden proximity. If there’d been any shadow of doubt over his interpretation of the mare’s words, he was beyond it now. There was no misinterpreting that, and it was an arena that Wyatt was so well practiced in, he could do it in his sleep. … hah. He immediately felt more comfortable, slipping back into an old, familiar role as he watched Mateo’s attention shift again to the TV. What was that about? Having the news on to listen to stories about a murdered famous person was peculiar, but come to think of it, Mateo still hadn’t answered Wyatt’s question about where to get grenades. Not that he cared about the answer, but still… He gave the other a curious glance, wondering if… nah. That was silly.
Okay, so they were getting familiar quickly. Good. Wyatt preferred quick. He smirked, doing as he was told and getting said beers from the fridge before wandering his way back into the living room. Passing one to Mateo, the fighter sat beside him, draping an arm over the back of the couch behind him. “Talking about them sorta pales in comparison, don’t you think?” He knew Xóchitl would be arriving any moment now, but of course that would do little to deter him, all things considered. Anyway, he wasn’t sure how easily he could get through the shared meal if he was still wondering, and so before either of them could even crack open the drinks, Wyatt buttoned his question with proof of his point and let that free hand find a home on Mateo’s neck, pulling him closer as the shifter stole a hungry kiss.
“Well if I show you all my tricks, one’d leave you asleep on the couch, and I’m pretty sure you wanna be awake right now.” Mateo laughed a little easier then, taking the beer and tilting it up in a silent thank you. “I’m sure your transformation to that form of yours is pretty dope, though. Is that at will?” He glanced briefly at Wyatt’s hand and arched a brow. “How sharp are those claws?” And how often did he use them?
The man next to Mateo ate people, and had done so his entire life. Probably. At that point, it was speculation, but given that Wyatt has been whatever he is since he was born, the mare could only put two and two together. Mateo was just grateful that Xóchitl wasn’t on the menu, and likely never would be. She was well taken care of, and that’s all Mateo really wanted. She’d had enough grief as of late, looking like her sanity was on a tightrope most days, and it was thanks to Wyatt that she’d been able to cope.
So when he pulled the mare in for what felt like a ravenous kiss, Mateo complied easily, with his own type of hunger. A need that had been ingrained in him for as long as he could remember. Because for as evil as Mateo could be, he knew he had to be the one to take on that burden. Being wild and dangerous was fun, sure, but it took a lot out of him most days. It wasn’t easy to watch a man’s life spill from his skull and drip from Mateo’s weapon. That was the price, though. And he’d pay it, gladly, through gritted teeth, every time.
Especially when he could feel the sighs of relief against his lips. When a body’s tension detached away and sank into him instead. That’s what Mateo sought after for those he cared about, and he could see himself extending that to Wyatt, feeling it as he pulled him onto his lap.
“Yeah, at will.” At least it was supposed to be. It had always been, until after he’d murdered Samir in the ring. “And sharp enough to rip open just about anythin’,” Wyatt explained, more than a hint of pride in his voice. He’d shredded through all sorts of materials with his teeth and claws besides the obvious flesh, muscle, and bone. The design of his lineage was similar to that of the alligators that populated the bayous, but better. Stronger, hardier, more agile… crocodilian in every way that mattered, plus more.
Wyatt was aware of the situation he was getting himself into here, and honestly? It seemed pretty fucking sublime. The cherry on top would be the both of them being able to be honest with Xó about what they were, but that would come with time, he figured. For now he’d rather focus on the rewards to be reaped from fraternizing with both halves of a couple, the promise of attention he’d receive from such an arrangement almost more enticing than whatever magical influence Kieran was able to exert over him. It was neck and neck, really.
Speaking of necks, his hands braced on either side of Mateo’s, beer abandoned on the coffee table. Those claws they’d been discussing started to make an appearance, thankfully at Wyatt’s behest this time, the tips of his fingers transforming effortlessly into something scaly and green-hued. One hand fell to Mateo’s shoulder, nails digging in gently, only a whisper of a threat that would never be made good, but was instead here for play. He pulled back for a breath, huffing against Mateo’s lips with a grin as he felt the other’s hands grip him tight. “How late you think she’s gonna be, cher?”
The delicacy of the situation wasn’t lost on the mare. He was venturing towards not one, but two relationships, for as long as Mateo could remember, he said he never even wanted that idea near him in the first place. Xóchitl had shown him how wonderful it could be, that the monotony and comfort of a single person could be fulfilling in countless ways, and it had been. Mateo loved it, even. He felt into pace with it easily and found himself happier than he had been in a while.
But there were countless ways to be happy, weren’t there? No two were ever the same, and more than that, there was more than one way to have a relationship. Or rather, two. Or was it just one if they were all involved with each other? Or…was it? Mateo shook the thoughts away and shifted his focus elsewhere. Like the claws grazing his skin, but never quite digging in. He found that he liked that, and enjoyed more that Wyatt was being mindful of his flesh and of the time, but he was forgetting one thing.
“Late enough, I think.” Mateo chirped with a grin, “But uh…what about those beignets?”
“Fuck. See, this is why I don’t bake,” Wyatt laughed, returning himself to a fully human state as he poked his head up over the back of the couch. Right on cue, the timer on Mateo’s phone went off, and the shifter groaned while grinning. “Alright, okay… just... hold that thought. Hold it.” He pushed himself up and off of Mateo, grabbing the can he’d previously left on the table as he stood to go tend to the dessert and popping it open. He took a few steps toward the kitchen, paused and pointed a finger at Mateo, and raised his eyebrows. “Are you holding it? …. just makin’ sure.” God, it’d been a while since he’d felt comfortable enough to be his more relaxed, playful self. This was good. He didn’t know if it was the promise of a truly safe night of sleep or what, but he felt lighter than he had in months. It was something he hoped he could hold on to for a while.
The doorbell rang just as he was snatching up an oven mitt and pulling out the tray of pastries. Wyatt grinned in the direction of the front door, calling out a long-winded cajun-french greeting that Xochitl had heard countless times before, retrieving the honey and powdered sugar from his bag. “You’re just in time, babe!”