A/N: Set sometime in the future when Leo and Reyna are officially dating.

The idea for this flashfic came from Bronnie (the-perks-of-being-praetor)—thank you, sweetie! And the "when in Rome" jokes-banning headcanon came from Tumblr somewhere.

Disclaimer: I don't own PJO/HoO or these beautiful babies.

"One more 'when in Rome' joke, repair boy, and you are going back to Long Island." Reyna leaned back in her chair and glared benignly at Leo. He only grinned, indefatigable. They sat out back of her villa, rocking in two identical chairs, enjoying the fall weather.

"Come on, reina, they're just begging to be made, and you know it," Leo pointed out. The dogs whined and scratched at the door from inside, like they did whenever they heard him talk but couldn't get to him. Sometimes Reyna suspected they liked him more than they liked her. "And there's got to be at least one person in your camp that's done it too, so when in Rome—"

She tried to snap at him, but somehow she never expected this particular joke (no matter how often he made it) so she ruined her anger by accidentally laughing. "No! Bad!"

The dogs quieted like they thought she was talking to them. Leo's grin widened. "See, the jokes are funny!" he insisted, gesturing wildly toward her. "I don't get why you and Jason want to ban them."

"Because they're dumb," Reyna sighed. She herself didn't generally take issue with Leo's bad jokes—in fact, she rather liked them—but his sense of humor did become questionable when it made fun of her home. "And because you insist on making them multiple times during every conversation."

"At least I have you on my side," he said hopefully. "I do have you, right?"

She shrugged. "You toe a fine line. I wouldn't count on anything if I were you."

Gasping in pretend shock, he hooked his foot around the leg of her rocking chair and tugged it around sharply, so that her knees bumped into his and neither of them could rock anymore. "The one person I thought I could count on," he said melodramatically, pretending to hold back tears. The dogs were still silent—that was unlike them, especially when he feigned hurt.

"Although," she allowed after some thought, "there is plenty of precedent for praetors agreeing to ban a practice—or person—that they both find unwholesome for the Roman community. And, well . . . when in Rome . . ."

She grinned as Leo's jaw dropped. "Ah—wha—if I can't, you can't!" he protested, poking her in the shoulder.

"I do what I want," she said, leaning in with a smirk. "Perks of being praetor."

"I had a prophecy about me," he protested. "I don't get immunity?"

She tilted her head, considered it. "Never," she decided, quiet and content, and for once she kissed him, a firm pressure on his mouth. For a moment he returned it, but then—

"I still think I should get some immunity."

Reyna drew back to give him a dirty look. "If you don't want to kiss me," she started, which was warning enough that he grinned and leaned forward to prove that he did. And they were alone out here on the back porch of camp, no one came out this way, so she didn't mind inching a little closer to him and slipping her hands around his neck to tangle them in his hair. He braced himself against the armrest, teasing her mouth open and touching the tip of his tongue to her lower lip, and she heard the front door creak. Wait, some part of her brain said, wasn't the front door closed?

Then something metallic pressed on her thigh—this was really not the time for Leo to empty out his tool belt. Her eyes flickered open, and she pulled away just soon enough to get head-butted by Aurum, who was climbing onto her lap. Swearing a little under her breath, she rubbed the sore spot, and Argentum jumped up on Leo with a similar greeting.

The front door had been closed. The dog door, she realized now, had not.

"I can't feel my legs," Leo called around the dogs.

Reyna peered around at him. "Join the club," she said sourly.

The greyhounds settled onto their laps, metal limbs hanging over the edges of their chairs. He looked them over, evaluating, and finally stretched himself around his giant silver lapdog. "Bet some kissing would scare them off?" he suggested.

"No," she said, adjusting her own gold leg-crusher and leaning on her armrest. "But we can never know unless we try."

Leo grinned his most troublesome grin—the one that made his dark eyes spark and his dimples show—and he reached for her, to pick up where they'd left off. It wasn't more than thirty seconds before he slipped his tongue in her mouth, and the game of touch-and-go that ensued made her stomach flare and her cheeks heat up. She could almost forget that they had automaton dogs on their laps—

—until said dogs bumped their heads into them again, intentionally this time, it seemed. Aurum placed his cold paws on her shoulders (Argentum reached for Leo's hair), and she became only more confused when, despite their wagging tails and happy demeanor, they began to cough oil onto the demigods.

"No, Aurum, bad. Don't—Leo, what are they doin—ugh." Some oil got in her mouth. Aurum's tail wagged harder.

"They're in fine condition. I have no idea—"

Argentum barked, splattering a little more oil on Leo's face.

"Oh." The way he said it—hmm. She was pretty sure he could converse with his mechanical dragon. Maybe he could speak mechanical-dog too.

"What?" she asked.

He seemed confused, embarrassed, amused. It took him a minute to work up the words: "They think that's kissing. They're trying to participate."

Impossible. Seriously? Reyna stared Aurum down; he gave her a dog grin. "Oh, my gods," she sighed. That would be the end of that. A kennel was in her pets' near future.

"Don't worry, reina, I take rain checks." Leo grinned at her too, which had a significantly different effect on her mental processes. "And anyway . . . when in Rome—"

"Don't even!"