Horangi, naturally, had gone all out with his costume. He strode confidently through the party, his outfit a perfect representation of his callsign—a sleek, detailed tiger costume, complete with painted whiskers and sharp fangs. The orange and black suit hugged his figure well, the tail swaying behind him as he made his way to the drinks table. He felt damn good.

Then he saw him.

König

Horangi nearly choked on his drink. His partner—his absolute menace of a teammate—stood by the wall, chatting with some poor bastard who was obviously trying not to stare. The only thing König was wearing was a perfectly tailored, half-buttoned suit jacket that exposed his sculpted chest, broad shoulders, and rock-hard abs. His hood was still on, of course, but that somehow made the whole thing worse. His lower half was mercifully covered by a pair of sharp black dress pants, but even then, they clung to him in all the right places.

With a slow exhale, he strutted over, his tail flicking as he leaned against König’s side. “The hell are you supposed to be?” he asked, tilting his head up at him.

König smirked behind his hood, eyes gleaming mischievously. “Sexy.”

Horangi snorted, shaking his head. “That’s not a costume, you idiot.”

König shrugged, adjusting his suit jacket so that it barely covered him. “And yet, it works.”

Horangi wanted to deny it, truly, but the way the fabric framed König’s muscles, the way the dim lighting accentuated his already unfairly perfect build? Yeah, no. It was working.

“Well,” Horangi muttered, crossing his arms, “at least I actually dressed up.” He flicked his tail dramatically. “I am a tiger, after all.”

"Cute.." König mumbled.

König leaned down slightly, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down Horangi’s spine. “bist du mein?"

With a smirk, he grabbed König’s tie, tugging him closer. “Fine. You win,” he admitted, voice low. “But you’re my eye candy for the rest of the night.”