Like most men, Corvin had always had an idea of what would happen the moment he met the woman of his dreams. The usual romantic moment where their eyes met across a crowded room and, Corvin being male, the normal "getting to know you" crap was minimal, replaced instead by a bout of hot, sweaty sex en route back to his apartment.
In all his thinking on the subject, which was rare since men as a whole and Corvin in particular didn't tend to think in happily ever after -- more happily for now, preferably ones involving blow jobs -- he certainly hadn't expected said moment to occur at the worst possible time for romance.
Namely, when he was in drag.
"Jesus Christ, these heels are fucking killing me." Hex stumbled into Corvin's back. "How do women wear these things?"
"Intelligence and a higher pain threshold than you pathetic men," Storm, the only girl in their trio, threw back. The comment earned her a sneer from Hex as he tried to negotiate climbing onto a barstool in a miniskirt and the heels he was complaining about.
One eye on the woman and one on the farce unfolding to his left, Corvin had to smother a smile as Hex approached the puzzle in his usual manner, bull in a china shop.
"Would you two give it up and get a fucking room sometime this century?" Corvin's voice was bored as he slid behind the opposite side of the table to Hex. Both of his friends turned toward him, horror and disgust on their faces.
"What, with him?"
"...her? You gotta be fucking kidding me. I'd rather screw a keres demon."
"You look like a fricking keres demon!"
"Better than sounding like a harpy all the time!"
Corvin shook his head as the two started to squabble again. They were perfect for each other; they just couldn't see it. One day he was going to lock them up together in a room for a weekend. They'd either kill each other or fuck each other's brains out. Either way, he'd get some peace.
A waiter approached their table, and Corvin let Hex order as he looked for his dream woman again. The club was crowded but they'd had no trouble getting a table. They never did. Known as the god pack, all three had divine blood but they weren't full demi-gods, just the offspring of a few.
Hex was the son of Hecate so he threw a mean spell when pushed or pissed off, which was often. Storm's mother was Tempestas, Goddess of Storms -- even deities struggled for originality when naming their offspring -- and she'd inherited her mother's temper. Last but not least, Corvin's mother was Minerva, Goddess of Poetry, Medicine, Crafts, Magic... blah, blah, blah.
Corvin wrinkled his nose and glanced past his friends again. There she was, over on the other side of the bar, collecting empty glasses. Corvin took a moment to admire her. Small and curvy, her dark hair was pulled back from a heart-shaped face and clipped up to reveal the slender curve of her neck. His gaze devoured her as she turned, and the sensual curve of her breasts was outlined for a moment in the club lights as she tried to juggle glasses.
Lust hit him like one of Cupid's arrows. Or rather would have if the God of Love hadn't said "fuck it" and gone AWOL last year after breaking up with his latest squeeze.
"Need a piss, back in a minute," Corvin announced as he slid off his stool. Still squabbling, Hex and Storm didn't notice his departure. Corvin put them from his mind as he negotiated the crowded club, heading toward his target like a tiger on the prowl.