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"What happened there Chuck?" Thomas uttered confusingly, approaching the smaller boy in an uncertain pace. "Why is everyone cheering?"
Chuck eyed back at the brunet, his eyes still glittering in excitement. "Good that greenie, you just missed the most kickass scene in this shuck place ever."
"What was that?" Thomas was now even more confused. He stopped right beside Chuck, managing to peer through the wavering crowd in front of him. He saw Frypan on the other side of the circle, with one hand holding a glass of drink and the other waving wildly a roasted gigot, and he was shouting, as Thomas could read from his lips moves, stuffs like "that's it man" "shuck his ass off". And the others around him, too, appeared to be extremely fanatic, yelling and whooping. If it weren't for the next scene Thomas saw, he would very well believe they just caught a griever and was burning it alive to make supper.
But then Thomas saw Minho, the well-built asian runner. He stood at the center, his chest heaving drastically and his look stern. Minho's shirt was scraped at several sights, and thus his bumping muscles were partly exposed under the worn fabric. His complexion appeared to be golden in firelight, with bloodstains drenched in sweat streaming down his flesh...- Thomas had to admit the guy looked damn attractive. Following Minho's gaze, Thomas saw another boy lying on his stomach only a few feet away, his face distorted in desperate agony. Is it Frankie? Thomas thought to himself. He recognized the boy as a builder, who was tall and strong, but obviously from his current situation not as tall and strong as Minho.
"Who's next?" The runner yelled sarcastically. Thomas noticed a triumphant twitch at his lips. The asian glanced around with a fierce and dangerous look in his eyes, silencing the boisterous gladers within a split second. Then Thomas heard Chuck whispering into his ears:"Minho never did wrestling before, never, though every shuck here knows he's the best when he does."
It took a while for Thomas to process the information, but he soon questioned:"So why today?"
"Who the hell knows." Chuck grumbled."He, Alby and Newt are the original gladers, and original gladers never enter these stupid games they planned for us greenbeans. I don't know what happened to that guy to make him act this way but I'm more than ready to enjoy the show." Then Chuck bit his lips, and Thomas knew the kid wasn't available for questions anymore.
Suddenly someone called out from behind. Though his voice was muffled by distance, Thomas could make out the sound as "The last shank!". Soon a boy was pushed out of the crowd. He looked completely wigged out and Thomas knew from the very first second how this slapstick would end. Minho stepped forward quickly and grabbed the boy's both arms, and although the poor boy attempted to struggle under the firm grip, before he knew he was flung to the ground and began to moan painfully against the rough stone floor. Another burst of hailing, whistling and hissing filled the glade, and Minho started walking back towards where Thomas stood, a self-satisfied smirk spreading on his face as he did so.
Thomas noticed that Alby and Newt was only a few feet away from him, and that Minho was walking towards them. Thomas looked back and saw clearly Minho and Newt's gaze met, and the blonde began walking slowing with his bad limp toward the asian runner.
"What was that all about?" Newt uttered first, looking pleased and somehow intrigued.
"What? You impressed babe?" Ignoring Alby the leader, Minho stepped directly in front of their second-in-command, staring down into the British's caramel eyes.
"Slim it Minho."Despite the more-like-flirting retort, Newt looked not at all offended. He slipped both hands to the back of Minho's neck, pulling his hero closer. Then he examined the wounds and scrapes on the asian's bare skin, his hand tracing the scars in a careful manner. Thomas saw from far away the British boy's gaze filled with excitement and satisfaction as it moved along Minho's scarred muscles, and he bit his bottom lip nervously, looking completely aroused, while Minho fixed his gaze amorously on the blonde's face, appreciating the other boy's infatuated expression when he stared at his fit body.
Then Newt looked up again and spoke hesitantly: "So what do you think...? Am I impressed?" He blinked then stared straight into Minho’s eyes, and Thomas could swear from Minho's broader smirk that he liked Newt doing that.
Minho leaned forward and whispered into Newt's ear, "Yes, apparantly you are."
"Well I am then." The British boy now snuggled helplessly into the runner's body, his head buried in between Minho's neck and chest. Minho's arms circled around Newt's waist, and he enjoyed fondly the tickling of Newt's blonde locks on his chin.
Thomas blushed. He now knew exactly the two was flirting, and he noticed that even Alby averted his gaze and tried to start a conversation with a random slopper about the possibility of hybridizing a hen and a drake.
The two maintained this posture for some time, and then it was Newt who moved first. Thomas's heart skipped a beat when Newt leaned against Minho's cheek, his lips parted and he spoke in shallow breaths: "Fuck me, warrior."
Minho stiffened. Then the next second he was tugging at Newt's sleeves and dragging them both to the map room. Alby shook his head at the snickers Newt let out from not far. He decided to leave the two to that, and abruptly ended the meaningless conversation of biological science.
Thomas swore that before he left, he heard Minho mumbled contently, "As you like it, your majesty."