Work Text:
the war room at the new york institute was too full. too many bodies, too many voices, too much tension packed into one space. maps were spread across the long table, runes sketched in the margins, old texts stacked in uneven piles.
alec stood at the head, composed and authoritative, walking them through the latest fragments of the prophecy. emma leaned against the wall, arms crossed. jace hovered nearby, occasionally interjecting. the blackthorns clustered together on one side. the centurions stood opposite.
ty was at the table.
that was the problem.
kit tried, he really did, to focus. he leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed somewhere near the maps. but his gaze kept drifting.
back to ty.
he was bent slightly over the table, sleeves pushed up, fingers braced against the wood as he read through a text, lips moving faintly as he processed the words. his hair fell into his eyes, and every so often he’d push it back absentmindedly, completely absorbed.
completely unaware.
kit swallowed. hard.
because all he could think about was this morning.
and last night.
and the way ty had looked under him… flushed, open, completely undone.
now he was standing there like nothing had happened. like he wasn’t still affecting kit in ways that were borderline dangerous in a room this full of people.
ty shifted slightly, leaning further over the table to point something out to one of the centurions.
kit’s eyes followed the movement automatically.
don’t.
he exhaled slowly through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. this was a debrief. important. potentially life-or-death information about his heritage being discussed.
focus.
“—if the first heir’s abilities are tied to proximity—” alec was saying.
kit nodded like he was listening.
he wasn’t.
because ty just moved again (subtle, but enough) and kit’s brain immediately, unhelpfully, supplied an image that had absolutely no business existing in this setting.
ty bent over like that…
kit clenched his jaw.
stop.
he forced his eyes up to the map on the wall. lines. symbols. anything else.
didn’t matter.
because the thought was already there, stubborn and vivid and impossible to ignore.
not just the image, but the memory layered over it.
the way ty had reacted to his hands.
the way he’d trusted him.
the way he’d looked up at kit like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.
kit’s grip tightened against his own arms.
this was bad.
this was really bad.
ty said something in that quiet, precise voice of his and kit’s head snapped back toward him before he could stop himself. their eyes met for half a second.
that was worse.
because ty knew.
not exactly what kit was thinking, but enough. there was a flicker of something in ty’s expression, subtle but there. awareness. heat.
kit looked away immediately, clearing his throat, shifting his weight.
“something to add?” jace’s voice cut in, sharp with amusement.
kit rolled his eyes, grateful for the distraction. “nope. just… listening.”
jace snorted like he didn’t believe him for a second.
kit didn’t care.
he forced himself to stay still, to keep his gaze anywhere but ty.
it lasted maybe thirty seconds.
because ty leaned in again, closer to the table, voice low as he pointed something out in the text, and kit’s resolve snapped clean in half.
i’m actually going to lose my mind.
he dragged a hand through his blond hair, jaw tight, trying, failing, to think about literally anything else. because his body hadn’t forgotten — he knew exactly how ty felt, and some primal part of him wanted to feel him again. and again. and again.
and now, standing in a room full of people, pretending to pay attention to a prophecy that suddenly felt very far away…
kit couldn’t stop wanting him.