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The AC in Percy’s apartment is broken. It stutters out weak breaths of mildly cool air every few minutes before packing in, leaving the air sticky with heat. Heat which increases further as Annabeth lines her torso up to Percy’s, feeling every little bit of him as she sucks on his lip. The hard curves of his collarbones beneath his damp t-shirt; the small indents between his ribs; the smoother ones defining his stomach. Which swoops down to the V of his hips, broken by the straight line of his belt, barring her from entry. Annabeth clutches at his back, scrunching the material of his shirt in her hands as she pulls him down to her, begging for contact.
Percy gives it to her, seemingly helpless under her roaming hands, letting the weight of his body press her into his mattress. She’s consumed, utterly, by the heat between their bodies, sluggish in its build, heavy with want. Because she wants . Wants his weight pressed into her and the harsh cut of his belt against her inner thigh as she bends her knee, wants the slick slide of his abdomen against hers and the rasp of his breath mingling with hers.
“Annabeth,” he stutters, gasping as their lips part.
The respite is too long for her, she dives in, using the hand she’s threaded into his hair to pull him down to her. Denied access to his lips, she arches, kissing his jaw as he mumbles unintelligibly.
She hadn’t intended to get him this way when she’d come over. But he’d been standing in the doorway with mussed hair curling at his temples and t-shirt sticking to him and those green eyes raking over her exposed arms and legs and he’d said, “My parents are out,” and she’d devoured him.
She’s surprised, actually, that they’ve made it to his bedroom. His narrow bed is too small for them both but they are sprawled across it anyway.
Percy tastes like sweat and sugar. Annabeth kisses a neat line along his jawbone from his chin to his ear, feeling him shudder against her. His hands, one fisted in her hair, the other holding her hip, tighten and she feels a delicious sting of pain. Percy is never rough with her. It isn’t that he’s controlled, it’s just against his nature to ever hurt her. But Annabeth wants this, needs this. She wants his hands gripping too tight, she wants his teeth to leave marks on her skin, she wants to feel his touch the next day.
But getting that out of him is difficult. She has to be explicit.
“Annabeth,” he mumbles again, barely coherent.
She relents, hearing the desperation in his voice, and allows his face to align with hers again. He’s panting, pink lips parted with breath, eyes blown wide in panic, or lust. She’s not sure. Her hands slide from his hair to his neck where his pulse pounds furiously and she brushes the sides of his jaw with her thumbs.
“You okay?”
He swallows. Nods. Blinks.
“Is this too much?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “Just gimme a second.”
“Okay.”
She waits, biting her own lips as they tingle at the loss of him. Both of Percy’s arms come up to rest on either side of her head, caging her in, holding him up, and his breathing slowly calms. His forehead drops to hers and he steadies himself.
Annabeth likes that she can rile him up and calm him down in the same breath.
“Okay,” he says.
His eyes flash open and lock onto hers. The look growing on his face, mischief in the familiar quirk of his mouth and the slant of his eyebrows, it starts a heat in her belly all over again. But she steadies herself, reaching up to his his warm cheeks between her palms.
“Really?”
Percy dips his head. His parted lips hover over hers, their breaths mingle and she tastes coffee and toast and him.
“If you’ll have me,” he whispers, voice rough.
There’s a different colour to their kisses now. It’s tinted more brightly, with bold pinks in their needy lips and vibrant reds in the heated blush under their skin. It’s filled with less urgency and more certainty. Percy’s body is sure over hers, her hands on his skin are confident, his tongue finds hers steadily, coaxing more heat out of her.
This is a different Percy, fueled by want and steadied by his surety of them. He draws out their kisses languidly, dragging one hand down the side of her body like a wet cloth draped over her skin, clinging to her curves. Annabeth’s breath hitches as he finds her hip, dips his fingers under the hem of her shorts, drags her leg up around his hip.
Her own hands are even less restrained as she roams what of his body is available to her. She wrecks his shirt, fisting it up around his ribs, tugging the collar down so that she can kiss his collarbones, sliding underneath it to feel the muscles of his back jump as he shifts over her. She moves lower, dragging her blunt nails over his skin, yearning to leave her marks on him, and tucks her fingers under the elastic of his underwear, exposed above his jeans. Percy’s hips jerk into hers and a rush rises up through her belly, arching her chest up and tilting her head back as her breath sprawls out of her. Percy takes this opportunity to kiss her neck, grazing lips and teeth and tongue to her skin, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. She tilts her head back further into the pillow, senseless under his touch.
Enough , she thinks. Enough .
She snaps her head back up and drags her hands to his hair, pulling him up to her mouth again. When she’s sure he’s going to stay there, she moves her hands to his shoulders, bundles of taut muscle and tendons beneath her searching fingers, and locks his hips between her legs. Then Annabeth uses her well-earned strength to flip her boyfriend over until he’s pressed between her and the mattress.
He stares up at her, blinking. His hands rest weakly on her thighs which are bracketing his torso.
My turn .
Annabeth threads her fingers through his, lifting them from the sweaty skin of her legs to the pillow above his head. The action causes her to move over him, hips lifting away from his, drawing their mouths level as she hovers and holds him in place. She likes this feeling, being in control. She always has. It’s a thriving hunger which burns under her skin and leaves her entire body thrumming with energy. Seeing Percy beneath her, essentially helpless to her whims, is deliciously enticing. He stares up at her, nothing but unbridled trust and desire in his expression.
She crashes into him, self control dissipating at the sight of him underneath her, her lips press to his with bruising force. Percy groans, deep in his throat, and it sends tremors down to her thighs. Unable to move his hands to her, Percy’s legs lift under hers and she slides down them until her hips are pressed to his again. She shifts and then...oh.
Oh .
Feeling the effect she’s had on him underneath her sends a new wave of desire through her entire body. She presses down, lips still pressed to Percy’s, and grinds against him. Percy groans, helpless into her mouth.
“Fuck,” he says. “Fuuck. Fuck fuck. Annabeth .”
She grins devilishly against him and takes his bottom lip between her teeth. Another hoarse noise breaks free of his throat and Annabeth is as consumed by him as he is by her. She’s distracted enough to let go of his hands and cup his face instead, pushing his hair back and pulling him closer as his mouth takes her apart. His newly freed hands grasp her waist, moving around to her back, palms pressing flat on either side of her spine as she arches against him, helpless.
His hands move lower, canting over her hips, ghosting over the exposed flesh of her thighs before he grips them tight, dragging her impossibly closer. He pushes her up, until he’s sitting and she’s in his lap, tucked against him. A bundle of breaths pass between them, clustered in the hot air which envelops them.
She grasps his hair, holding him still with his nose pressed to her cheek because her heart is beating wildly, frantically in her chest. Like it begs to be free. Her body buzzes with lust, flame stoked by the feeling of his lean body against hers, by his hands gripping her, by his staggered breath against her neck. And she needs this swelling storm to calm, she needs to think. Because they are dangerously close to crossing an unbreached threshold and despite her unwavering trust in Percy, Annabeth recognises a twinge of fear in her own mind. And now that she’s stopped them for long enough, she can feel it in the tremble of Percy’s arms, in his stillness as he holds her.
“We should stop,” she whispers, even now feeling slightly betrayed by her own words as he body burns.
“Okay,” he breathes, tucking his face into her neck. “Okay.”
Annabeth takes a deep breath, allowing her body to relax, stroking one hand through Percy’s sweaty hair and the other over his shoulders.
“Okay,” she says, feeling lighter.