What I Wanted

Sorry I Let You Die

Nico di Angelo x Octavian Simmons {b x b}

Nico di Angelo had always considered himself a rational person, with a pain tolerance appropriate for a son of Hades. So why, in the name of his father, did he always feel so annoyed whenever he saw that bloody augur? He'd dealt with Midas, for god's sake. And it had been him that had let Octavian fling himself to his death, not the other way around. Surprisingly enough, he hadn't stayed dead. Hades, in one of his rare moods, had released his claim on Octavian, a rather creepy smirk on his face as he snapped his fingers. And if Nico noticed the pinkish tinge in his father's eyes, well, he wisely kept his mouth shut.

And now, it appeared that the augur had made it his personal mission to piss Nico off in retaliation. Everywhere Nico went, if Octavian appeared to be in the freaking state, he popped, with a terrifyingly cheery "Hi, di Angelo!" Nico shuddered, hand straying to the pommel of his Stygian iron sword as he blew a dark strand of hair out of his face. Sighing, he shrugged off his leather jacket, mentally counting down.

Five, four, three, two...

"Di Angelo. Pleasure as always..." Suppressing a groan, the son of Hades turned to face the blond legacy. "Simmons." He made to stalk off, scanning for someone, anyone, who would distract him from the almost golden quality of the augur's hair and the things that British accent was doing to him. His stomach roiled in a mixture of revulsion and attraction. However many times he told himself it was pure physical attraction, it never seemed to do him any good in the blond's presence.

A hand on his forearm stopped him.

Octavian swallowed, feeling the hard muscle under his palm flex unconsciously. His eyes quickly raked over the dark features in front of him; Nico di Angelo had grown into a truly handsome demigod, and he looked utterly delicious in black. Those skinny jeans did wonders for the muscled legs, and his cheekbones...

"You done, Simmons?" His cheeks flushed immediately, but he noticed with some pleasure that Nico's voice was more amused than annoyed. "Sorry," he squeaked. Biting his lip savagely, he hastily withdrew his hand. Nico's eyes turned from granite to dark chocolate. "Did you want something?" he asked, his tone more gentle. Octavian drew a breath, releasing his lower lip. "I just thought... we could get over this thing..."

"Thing?" laughter was evident in Nico's voice now, but his gaze became even more intense. Octavian huffed angrily, swiping his golden fringe out of his eyes to glare at the son of Hades. "Everyone else is pretty much fine with me now except you," he snapped, "Sorry for wanting to clear the air!" He spun around, fully intending to go and rant to Rachel, who he knew would sympathise laughingly.

"Hey, hey..." strong fingers clamped around his wrist. "I'm sorry," Nico said, lips twisting into an appeasing smile. "I didn't mean to mock you. Yeah, you're right, we should clear the air... Sorry for letting you fling yourself to your death." Octavian paused, partially to ascertain Nico's sincerity, partially relishing the feeling of the calloused fingers on his own delicate skin. "Fine... Sorry for being a pain when you first arrived."

The sun glinted on Nico's teeth as he laughed. Those intense, expressive eyes met Octavian's. "I think we're even," he replied, voice low and ... suggestive? Octavian made to answer, when Nico's fingers trailed down his wrist to lock with his own. Lips still slightly parted, the legacy glanced down at their entwined hands. When he looked up again, Nico's face was much closer, eyes gleaming with something that made Octavian shiver in delight. Breathlessly he replied, "No... I think you still owe me for actually letting me die."

"Mm..." Nico's lips just brushed his own. "Let me make it up to you, then." Octavian wound his arms around the Italian's neck in reply. "Finally," called Rachel, "Dammit, Nico, I owe your dad 20 drachma!"