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He and his big mouth— always got him into trouble.
Making dares he couldn’t take back, talking up big challenges until they were near impossible to do— all of the sort. Octavio was very talented in the art of being too much , and he loved every second of it.
Especially when it came to flirting.
Ajay always told him he’d flirt with anything with a nice ass. And it’s not like she was wrong — he was a high-energy kinda guy with a big platform and a lot of time to kill. Octavio wasn’t a stranger to a one night stand. Or a quickie in the bathroom. Or a hanjob under the table. Or a blowjob under the table, or— well, it’s not too difficult to understand. He liked chasing the thrill, and he liked pushing limits. Pushing limits was his brand.
He liked getting himself into trouble, so he didn’t mind his big mouth. He just didn’t think it’d get him in any sort of trouble he couldn’t handle. Especially when it came to fine people.
And anyone with two eyes and an interest in men knew Mirage, aka Elliott Witt, was one hell of a fine mine.
Come on, those thighs? The hair? The cake ? And Elliott knew he looked good. Someone who looked good and knew it was exactly Octavio’s type. Not to mention they both had the same type of humor, which only made it all the more fun. Flirting was a language they both understood, and understood well . Which meant a lot of witty banter, a lot of ass smacks when they passed by each other, and a lot of annoyed groans from their fellow legends who were subjected to the constant assault of shameless flirting that they both liked to display.
Which is why, maybe, Octavio would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little surprised when he heard that Elliott was going steady with none other then Bloodhound— the hunter of the gods.
He wouldn’t say he was jealous. Tavi wasn’t a jealous sort of guy— god knows he’d hate anyone getting into his business, so he tried to stay out of others. He supposed he just thought their flirting was actual flirting, not just a game. Wouldn’t be the first time he was wrong about something.
It was cool, though. Everyone knew Elliott was into them. Maybe he just really had a thing for the silent and stoic type, and it’s not like they weren’t a catch. But he never expected the two of them to actually hook up, let alone start dating.
That was all months ago, anyways, and it’s not like it changed anything. It certainly didn’t change his behavior, and Elliott didn’t change either. He didn’t mind a little thrill, and if it was just for a joke, there wasn’t anything wrong with him smacking Elliott’s ass when he bent over to pick up his heavy ammo, or letting out a fiendish wolf whistle whenever those thighs would jiggle while the trickster ran. Nothing wrong with making the ‘call me’ gesture to his decoys, or crude hand motions back and forth at each other as they loaded onto the drop ship. Games were games, after all, and Octavio loved playing games.
It wasn’t until he turned out of the locker room after the latest battle, fresh from the showers and wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a towel slung around his shoulders, that he thought maybe this time, he should’ve stopped while he was ahead.
Bloodhound was intimidating at best, downright terrifying at worst. He’d been at the receiving end of their finisher more then once, and there was something so chilling about the way the eyeglasses of their mask reflected light so perfectly, about their poise and their stance. The height, the broad shoulders, the omnipresent harbinger of doom perched at their shoulder, peering down with beady eyes and a wickedly sharp beak. They were a powerful teammate and a fearsome competitor in the ring, yet relatively laidback outside of it. He’d only spoken with them outside of the games twice, and they never said more than a few words. He supposed that there had to be more to them than meets the eye— at least, Elliott always made it seem that way, crowing on and on about their killer wit and hilarious jokes and gentle heart.
Yet now, seeing them leaning against the darkened and empty hallway that led back to the sleeping quarters, relaxed and yet ready to strike, body adorned with their regular battle armor, they didn’t look very kind or funny. If anything, they looked scarier than usual— even without their little bird cawing at their side.
Instinctually, Octavio’s eyes darted around, hoping that maybe there was someone else nearby to witness this, and a tiny piece inside of him died when he realized that he was completely alone with the hunter. The air was terrifyingly still, and he felt a chill run down his spin when their helm tilted to the side. Even though he couldn’t see their eyes, he could feel their stare.
“Yo, Hound.” He said, clearing his throat a little, before offering up a quick wave. Something about them now— their energy, their presence— it set him on edge. And for someone who was always on edge, it felt like he was ready to start bouncing off the walls. Jesus, did they have to look so horrifying even during off-time? How Elliott was able to make goo-goo eyes up at those lifeless lenses, he had no idea.
“You are interested in Elliott.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement. It was as sure as every other word they always spoke, and Octavio couldn’t help but shiver a little. Was it cold in here? Was it just him? He couldn’t tell if the droplets running down the back of his neck were sweat or condensation from his wet hair. Goosebumps broke out over his skin, and he straightened up a little, tapping a metal foot against the floor— nerve unable to be contained.
“Pfff— haha, Elliott’s right, you really are funny, amigix !” He grinned helplessly, but the words fell flat and empty between them. “I— I mean— we just joke around, y’know, we’re buddies like that. Can’t tell me you’ve never joked around with someone before, haha—“
“I have not. I mean what I say when I speak. Do you not?”
Their words cut right through him, like ice shooting straight to his bones, and Octavio felt helpless as they stood to their full height, closing the distance between them little by little. Their boots sounded so heavy and loud, each step strong and sure. The dull thud , thud, thud bounced around the empty hallway, and Octavio has to crane his neck up to look at their face— well, mask . The lenses glinted cruelly, and they tilted their head to the side once more, as if inspecting an insect. He felt like he was going to piss himself on sight.
They’d been on his team today, with Elliott by their side, but now Tav felt like he was their enemy. No, not even their enemy. Enemy implied an equal fight. Right now, he felt like prey.
“ L-Listen, buddy— I— I didn’t mean any disrespect or anything— not trying to take what is yours or anything like that, yeah?” He shot out quickly. As if instinctively trying to protect himself, his hands came up, palms facing forward. He took a few hurried steps backwards, feet scuttling across the tile with sharp little clicks, only to feel his back press snugly against the doorframe. Octavio was good at running— running was kinda his whole deal— but Hound’s reflexes were fast , and he didn’t have any stim on him at the moment. What were his chances of ducking past them and booking it for the door? Probably zip.
They didn’t stop coming forward until they were towering over him, an impressive shadow shrouding over his form. Octavio knew he was a small guy, but fuck if he didn’t feel tiny compared to them. His body was practically bristling with adrenaline. He had to glance down at his hands to make sure they weren’t shaking.
Their hands, hidden behind thick leather, came up, and Octavio flattened his spine against the wall behind him, his breathing catching in his throat. “Woah, woah woah woah there , amigix , I— i just—!!” He stammered, the words bubbling up his throat and fumbling from his lips. Holy shit— holy shit— what ?? He really expected to die in something much crazier, like ‘The Gauntlet Part Two: Blowing Up My Arms This Time Edition’, or maybe drinking a whole gallon of five hour energy shots so he could pull through a 24 hour charity livestream, or— or— fuck , anything other then being strangled to death by his fellow competitor in the Apex locker room. He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling heavily through his nostrils.
Instead of feeling strong hands snap his neck , however, all he heard was a soft click , a muffled and dull sound, and the rustle of shifting.
“You misunderstand.” Their heavily accented voice rang out— however it was much softer, less echo-y. Octavio risked cracking open an eye, and his jaw instantly hit the floor. “I have no issue with your little joke . Actually, I am quite interested in it.”
Before him stood Bloodhound, their helm tucked under their arm, maskless . He stared openly, eyes devouring the sight before him. He couldn’t believe what he was witnessing, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times, blinking and gaping like a fish. Their brow quirked, and it was like he couldn’t process the sight before him .
A barrage of thoughts attacked him, all at once. Facts just listing, all about the person before him. Their skin was rich and warm, like redwood. Shiny dark eyes, not unlike their feathered friend, were trained directly on him. Beneath their eye on their left side was a marking— a tattoo , he realized belatedly. He had no idea what it meant or what it even was, but it seemed to fit them all the same. Their lips were full and looked surprisingly soft, despite the scar that bisected their upper lip on the right side. Actually— scars had been carved on most of the right side of their face… across their cheek, their brow, all the way up into their hairline. And speaking of hair— they had a whole lot of it. Wild auburn curls, like the mane of some great beast, framed their features. He wondered stupidly how it all fit into their helmet.
They seemed to enjoy his staring, their mouth curling into a sly grin, sharp white teeth peeking from behind their lips, along with the hint of something metal. Octavio’s throat suddenly felt very dry.
“I… uhhhhh…” Octavio said slowly, heart thundering in his ears, body still strung tight with adrenaline. He had so many questions, but his brain had dissolved into absolute muck. He was pretty sure it was leaking out of his ears, actually. Reduced to nothing but worthless sludge.
“I’d be interested in finding out how far this ‘joke’ goes, actually.” They said slowly, and Octavio felt like his legs, even though they were made of metal, were about to crumple beneath him. He couldn’t process any of this— their coy expression, the way their voice sounded without their mask, the way they were grinning down at him, eyes glittering, so inviting… as if they were eating him alive—
They brought up their gloved hands once more, this time settling one on the wall above his head, while the other cradled his chin, tilting his face upwards. He gulped audibly, still just soaking in the sight of them, wondering if he was having some sort of hallucination.
“You… you what?” Octavio still couldn’t form coherent sentences. They seemed delighted by this, only smiling wider. Their teeth looked absolutely wicked sharp. He shifted his feet nervously, uncertain if the tightness in his stomach was still caused by fear, or something else entirely.
“I’m extending an invitation. To dinner.” They spoke, and he couldn’t decide if he was more interested in their sharp gaze, or the way their lips moved to form each word. “With both Elliott and myself. Hopefully, you wouldn’t mind including me in this little joke you two share.”
Octavio didn’t know what to say. Suddenly, everything he thought he knew was turned on his head. Usually he was pretty quick with this sort of stuff (no pun intended). Like he always said— flirting was second nature. But now, it felt like his lungs were both too full and too empty at the same time. He didn’t know what to say, what to think.
“Uhh… okay.” He settled on. It probably sounded really dumb. He wasn’t sure if he even remembered saying it, but he must've because Hound’s smile became downright dangerous .
“Wonderful. I’ll let Elliott know.” They spoke, and, carefully released him, taking a step back. He still kept himself pressed against the wall, as if his body physically didn’t know how to react to what was being told to him.
“Tomorrow night?” They asked, and Octavio barely registered the question. Only watched, mouth still open, as they carefully tucked their hair up into their helm and settled it back on their head. It wasn’t until they stopped and looked back towards him, those lenses dark and full of mystery, that he'd even realized they had spoken.
“H-huh?”
“Tomorrow it is. Elliott is making pork chops.”
Now that he knew what it looked like, he could hear the smile in their voice. He didn’t know what this newfound information was doing to him, but it was definitely doing something. His brain kept replaying the last few moments, over and over again. He didn’t even notice they were leaving until they were gone, and the hallway was dark and empty and silent.
Octavio wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring at the door that closed behind them, before he finally took a deep breath, exhaling with a wheeze and bringing his hand up to push back his spiky green locks.
His stomach felt tight and hot, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He just stood there, for the longest time, before settling that it wasn’t going to take care of itself, and he turned on a metal heel, scurrying back towards the showers.
This was fucked up on so many levels. His hands were shaking as he threw his towel back over the stall door and tugged his sweats down haphazardly, kicking them away. His thighs were trembling, his mind was racing, and his heart was beating so heavily he was almost certain it was about to give out.
Octavio fumbled with the faucet, turning the water back on and setting it on the hottest temperature. Before he grinned, wider and wider, until the muscles in his cheeks hurt. This was risky. This was some dangerous shit.
Just the way I like it.