A Very Plaid Birthday
“How in world did I let you talk me into a themed party, Strife? I mean what is this criss-crossy... clashing colors - what the heck is this stuff?!” Cupid tugged on a trailing end of a swag.
“It’s plaid.” Cupid rolled his hand in the ’and’ gesture. “You know, as in tartans.” Cupid huffed and grabbed a fist full of Strife’s leather vest. “It’s a future thing, just go with it blondie.”
“Fine. But tell me why you felt the need to festoon my entire ceiling in it?”
Strife pulled the other god’s hand off his clothes. “Oh, come on Cupid.” Strife smirked and slung an arm around his cousin’s shoulders. ”It’ll be fun I promise. But first! We must get you dressed. Can‘t have the birthday-boy running around without the proper costume.”
“Why do I suddenly have the urge to flee?” Strife cackled and drug his resigned lover to their room.
“Un-huh. No way.” Cupid held up his hands warding off his advancing lover.
“It’s traditional!”
“I’m not wearing knee-high socks! And since when do you stick to tradition?” Cupid backed around the bed edging his way toward the door.
“Hmmm. You’re right.” Strife tossed the socks over his shoulder. “But you have to wear the kilt and those Doc Martins the twins got you last year.” Cupid stopped trying to make a break for it and raised his eyebrow in question. “The black boot things.”
“Oh. Ok. That’s it though, I’m not wearing any weird hats or anything.”
“Deal.”
The party was in full swing and the main room was crowed with most of Olympus in attendance. Cupid was trying not to look to closely at any of the groups. It seemed that everyone showed up in a different variation of plaid and the riot of colors was nearly nauseating.
“I need a drink.” Cupid declared. It was his birthday and damned if he wasn’t going to get drunk. With any luck he’d pass out and not remember this in the morning.
“I am just in time then.” Strife handed him a glass. Still wary after the clothes issue Cupid took a tentative sip. Strife slid around behind the winged god and let his hands rest over lean hips.
“Not bad. What is it?” Cupid took a larger sip.
“It’s called ’Kilt-Lifter’.” Strife flicked up the front Cupid’s kilt causing his lover to choke on his drink.
“Strife!” Cupid elbowed his lover. “I can’t believe you flashed my bits at Aunt Demeter!” He turned around to face Strife.
“I only flipped the bottom part up. I know you hang low, but not that low.” Strife grinned at Cupid evading the blonde’s batting hands to wrap his arms around the shirtless god’s waist.
“Why do I put up with you?” Cupid asked sounding more fond than exasperated.
“Cause I’m good in bed?” Cupid shook his head. “Cause I spiked Zeus’ drink with enough special brew that he’ll be clucking like a chicken in under an hour?” Cupid laughed and pulled Strife into a kiss.
When the broke apart Strife took Cupid by the hand and started leading him toward the buffet. “Come on, there is lots of goodies. I had Hestia make them - ok, so she might have insisted. She didn’t think haggis would go over well...”
Cupid wrinkled his nose. Haggis? He didn’t even want to know.
“I tried telling her we could use Hercules as a guinea pig but she wouldn’t budge. Oh well. I’m sure you’ll like her treats much better anyway.”
Cupid agreed silently. They swung wide around a cat fight that had broken out between a couple if muses. Attention more focused on Strife’s ass then where they were going it took Cupid a moment to realize they had made it to the side room where the food had been set up. Cupid groaned, the walls were plaid, the table runners were plaid...
Cupid was so going to make Strife pay for this. The bastard had a birthday of his own coming up. See if he didn’t end up with daisies pasted to the walls and wearing a frilly pink dress.
-END-
Windles_Orbit prompt #12 Kilt-Lifter
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