Chapter Text
Percy’s nervous.
Really, really nervous.
But he’s also really broke and really desperate and really craving real food after an entire week of ramen and canned tuna that tasted a lot like cat food, so he musters whatever courage he can scrounge up and pushes open the glass door to the studio. It’s a dingy little music shop inside, with dank carpeting, harsh fluorescent light fixtures, and shelf upon shelf of labeled cassettes, CDs, vinyl records that make him drool a little. It smells like an attic, in a good way, and Percy thinks to himself that this isn’t the worst place to spend his Thursday evenings, even if it means having the constant anxiety of accidentally pressing the wrong button hanging over his head. The radio is playing softly on the intercom; Percy can hear a guy telling a story about something straight out of the Frat Boy Bible.
By the back corner, he spots a sort of booth, boxed in with top-half windows, bottom-half white peeling walls. Inside, he can just make out a mess of heavy black cables and wires and blinking lights in the dim lighting that make this feel like more of what it is: a college radio station. The biggest light he can see is a panic-alarm sort of red, under which sits a sign that reads in white letters on a black background: ON AIR. Then he notices that there’s someone in there, with a headset and their face to a microphone, the moving mouth matching up with the audio piping over the intercom. Percy vaguely recognizes him as a senior who enters the econ lecture hall after his elective class finishes. He’s wearing a bright red beanie that covers his blond hair- it’s the brightest thing in the dingy corner.
Percy walks around awkwardly, trying to figure out who he’s supposed to talk to about his new job. He’s in as much shock as the next person that he actually landed it. He has no idea how he passed the phone interview, and he barely remembers filling out the application. All he knows is that every Thursday night from now on, he has to talk for a while without swearing in between songs and try to be funny, and in exchange he can buy some apples and get Spotify Premium again. And also play We Is Shore Dedicated on the real actual radio.
He awkwardly makes his way over to the booth, where he sees that it’s actually much bigger than he originally thought, the extension blocked by a huge shelf filled with jazz classics. Inside, there’s a guy with a scraggly goatee, wildly curly brown hair, a rasta cap, and the flannel that Percy thinks he saw the homeless guy outside his old building wear. He looks confused and dazed, but maybe that’s just his round glasses. Once he spots Percy, his expression brightens and he scurries to open the door to the booth and closes it quietly behind him. He walks with a limp, Percy notices. Like he has hooves. And then he wonders why he used that simile, it’s a little weird.
“Hey,” he says, and Percy gets a load of pungent espresso-breath. He reaches out with both hands to shake one of Percy’s. “You must be Percy, I’m really glad you applied. I’m Grover, I’m on tech. Luke will be wrapping up his broadcast soon.”
“Thanks for having me,” he says, remembering that it’s probably not good work etiquette to add on I have no idea why you did though.
Grover leads him over to the booth and lets him through. Percy checks his watch: 7:51. They start on the hour, just after prime time rush. He’s been briefed on what he’s expected to do, that the program mostly consists of caller requests, a few of his and his cohost’s own choosing, and a little bit of banter in between. Mostly music, Grover had assured him. It’s not scripted but I’m sure you and Annabeth will hit it off.
Percy had been wondering ever since he found out he got the job what his cohost would be like. With a name like Annabeth Chase, he figured she would be in a sorority, and that they might have some inane conversation about- something, Percy didn’t even know what- and then they’d call it a night until the next week. When he sees her, sitting in a folding chair in the far corner with her nose buried in a hardback textbook, she isn’t anything like he’s expecting.
Percy feels like he’s been struck by a thunderbolt. He’s vaguely aware that he’s stopped just inside the doorway. That’s secondary to him right now, really, since the only thing he can really feel in his own body is the pounding of his heart.
He’s in love. And no, he didn’t ask for anyone’s opinion, valid or not, thank you very much.
She’s gorgeous. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. She makes him think of the Empire State Building, tall and proud and glorious and graceful. She makes him think of Long Island Sound during hurricane season from the inside of the cabin, controlled catastrophe, just waiting to happen. She makes him think about the ratty T-shirt he’s wearing and hopes there aren’t any stains that decide to magically appear. Her hair is gold, real gold, and falls down her back in princess curls. Her legs go on forever. He can’t see her eyes behind her square-frame glasses, but the intensity with which she’s studying the page in front of her could burn a hole into it. He wants to take this girl out for coffee. He wants to introduce her to his mom. He wants to go for a long walk in Central Park holding her hand and share an ice cream cone.
He wants her to look up from her goddamn book for one goddamn second.
“Um, Percy?”
Grover’s voice snaps him out of whatever haze he’s gone into. He looks up and sees that Grover’s moved to where he failed to notice a second chair, right next to Annabeth. She still hasn’t looked up. He obligingly goes over but doesn’t sit, and instead tries to think of something to say. He checks his watch again: 7:52.
How has it only been a minute since he last checked?
Grover mumbles something about, “I’ll just let you two get acquainted, then…” before he trots off to start fiddling around with some complicated-looking tech stuff as the guy at the mic- Luke, he thinks his name is- now accepts some callers.
Percy sits and, once that garners no reaction from Annabeth, tries to find a way to sink into the floor without drawing too much attention to himself. He can’t stop his foot tapping erratically to the beat of the song that’s being played on the request of someone for their boyfriend’s birthday. He thinks he recognizes Kaleo but he’s too distracted by the tiny sounds she makes as she runs a pencil under some of the passages on the page. It’s thick with text, but spaced out like a script.
“So,” he says, surprising himself. “It’s 7:55.” Percy looks to the side hopefully. She hums a little, acknowledging that she heard him, and then returns to carefully circling and underlining passages.
Percy’s really frustrated by now. He signed up for a way to be able to afford groceries, not for an hour-long snub-fest from the prettiest but rudest girl he’s ever seen in his life.
“Look,” he snaps, letting his New York accent come through a little bit in his anger. Annabeth’s pencil pauses but she never looks up. He knows he oversteps his bounds when he reaches over and plucks the pencil right from between her fingers, but he doesn’t want to mess up tonight. Not on his first day.
Annabeth looks up then, and Percy feels the breath knocked out of him. He’s not one to be all poetic and go on about her eyes, but the way the black rims on her glasses make her gray irises sharper does things to his chest. She snaps the book closed and he can finally make out the cover, although the gilded font does nothing for his dyslexia: An Anthology of the Neoclassical Works of William Shakespeare. He feels smarter just looking at it. He stops thinking about it once he sees the steely look in her eyes.
“Excuse me.” Her voice is so cold that he thinks his ears have frostbite. “I’m fairly certain that pencil doesn’t belong to you, and I’m equally as certain that I don’t really have an obligation to talk to you.”
Percy gapes at her.
“Now, if you’re done, I have a broadcast to do.” She goes to yank her pencil out of his hands but Percy holds tight. What does she mean, she has a broadcast to do?
“What the hell are you talking about?” Percy says, letting his frustration and confusion come out in every syllable. His accent sounds ridiculous even to him, at this point. He glares at her, and he just gets madder once he sees all she does is scoff.
“Seriously,” she bites out, “it’s cutting close and some random is not going to ruin my show.”
“Some- random?” Percy splutters. Now he’s just really, really confused. Did- ? “Grover. Can you come over for a second.”
Grover comes over, and Percy can tell that he feels the tension in the air from the way he digs a stick of gum out of his pocket and starts chewing like this life depends on it. He glances down at the time again and starts to get worried. If this doesn’t clear up quickly, they’re in for a whole lot of trouble. In the background, he can hear Luke saying, “And that is how I ended up getting dreadlocks when I was eighteen. To wrap up for tonight, here’s Birth of Afro Space Team by Revolution Void. Goodnight everyone!” Percy can barely stop himself from rolling his eyes.
“Is. Is there a problem, guys?” Grover asks tentatively.
“Could you help us figure some things out here, Grover? Everything’s a bit all over the place,” Percy says. He feels equally vindicated and infuriated by the little look of disdain Annabeth throws him. God, it’s like she thinks she owns the place and he doesn’t even belong here. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to work with someone this rude.”
Annabeth looks like he just slapped her grandmother. “Excuse me? Who do you think you are, swearing at me and insulting me to my face?” She starts to rise from her chair and then sits back down again with a plop, like she just realized something. “And what do you mean, ‘work with me’? Grover?”
Somehow, in the back of his mind, Percy finds the expression she’s making right now, with her nose all scrunched up and her mouth puckered like she just sucked on a lemon, really cute. Adorable, really. Now is not the time, Jackson. Pull yourself together.
Grover laughs nervously and runs a hand over the back of his neck. He pops another stick of gum in his mouth, and Percy doesn’t think he notices that he forgot to take off the wrapper. “Oh, haha, you guys are cohosts, didn’t I mention that, Annabeth?”
Annabeth throws him a look like cut the crap and throws Percy some seriously murderous side-eye. “Grover, you’re not honestly telling me that I have to actually work with this asshole?”
“Who’re you calling an asshole, wise guy!” Percy snaps. He glances down at his watch and his face drains of colour. It’s 7:59. “Shit,” he hisses.
Annabeth’s face drops and Grover doesn’t seem to know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, he settles for, “Have a nice night, Luke!” as the blond guy gives a light-hearted wave and exits the building, and hurriedly begins switching discs and pulling out wires and thank God Grover was organized and asked for their track lists before they got here because the second whatever electronica-fusion garbage Luke signed off with fades out, a catchy bit of pop riff and a smooth voice announcing which station this is segues in the gap before some scrappy guitar starts playing. Percy tilts his head.
“The King of Carrot Flowers Part 1?” he says aloud, and starts when Annabeth replies shakily, “My choice.”
They look at each other and grimly make their way over to the desk, where two microphones have been set up next to two sets of headphones. They’ve reached an unspoken impasse that says This isn’t finished, but I’m scared shitless of messing up so let’s just get through this hour first. Or maybe Percy’s just projecting a bit.
Grover leans over the top of a cardboard box and tells them in a gentle voice, “Since this is your first night I’ll be handling all your transitions and stuff, just give me the signal when you need it. Once you’ve gotten more confident I’ll pass it off to you guys next week and you can even start adding in sound effects and things.” Percy gives a strained smile and a thumbs-up. Annabeth looks like she’s giving herself a pep talk before she charges into an arena full of gladiators. It’s just a college radio station, Percy thinks to himself. How much could go wrong, really?
Turns out, a lot more than he thought.
The song starts winding down, and Percy rams his headphones over his head. He breathes loudly, and some of the sound ghosts over the ending chords. Annabeth throws him a glare and he clamps his lips shut. He turns to stare out the window at the wall of cassettes right in front of him, but he can still feel her eyes on him. Grover waves at them from his periphery and Percy starts saying, “Thanks for joining us today on-” except he’s not the only one talking and they both pause a second in the middle of a jumbled mess of consonants and vowels to stare at each other. Annabeth throws him a look that says What the fuck are you doing? and Percy responds with an equally antsy What the fuck are you doing?
Grover face-palms. Honest to goodness face-palms. Percy doesn’t think he’s seen anyone do that since 2013.
“Welcome to The Underclassmen Takeover, where underclassmen finally get a broadcasting spot in this big bad upperclassmen world.” Annabeth speaks in a steely voice, ploughing on like nothing happened. Her face is too close to the mic and Percy gets an earful of static and wet consonants. Grover adds in a cheering sound effect and Annabeth’s expression softens for a second to give him a grateful smile. Percy swears all the breath leaves his body because as much of an asshole as she’s been in the ten minutes he’s known her, Annabeth is beautiful when she smiles.
He hates it.
“We’ve got a playlist queued up but if there’s a song you absolutely want to hear us play, just give us a call at 212-954-3141. That’s 212-954-3141, and you just heard The King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1 by Neutral Milk Hotel.” Annabeth takes a breath now and looks at Grover where he smiles and gives her a thumbs-up. Percy, meanwhile, is just trying to get a word in edgewise. He’s not going to sit here the whole time and let her talk up a storm, like she’s planning on doing from the looks of it.
“Before we really begin this broadcast,” Percy says, and then panics, because his mic isn’t turned on and the silence on air is deafening. Annabeth looks at him like she wants to kill him. In the calm part of his mind, Percy doesn’t blame her. He scrambles to turn it on and repeats what he just said; he’s relieved to hear his voice, and for some reason Annabeth is still looking at him like he has no right to speak, like it’s her show. “I want to give a huge shout-out to Thalia Grace, who is no longer an underclassman, but manned this show for the past year. If you’re listening, thanks Thalia, and wish us luck!”
Annabeth throws in a light laugh that Percy knows is fake but sounds convincing enough. He tries to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He fails. “’Us’, by the way, is Annabeth Chase, sophomore, double-majoring in architecture and classics and…”
Percy realizes with a little offence that she doesn’t even know his name. He jumps in a little too late for the pause not to be awkward, too lost in his own bitterness. “Percy Jackson, also a sophomore, majoring in marine biology and underclassmen swim team captain.”
Annabeth gives him a look that he can’t really interpret. He’s too distracted by the way she slowly drags her eyes down and gives him a once-over, as if trying to see for herself whether he’s really swim team captain. She continues on. “And we’re here with our steadfast producer, Grover Underwood.” Grover adds a fanfare sound effect and Annabeth laughs, for real this time. The little tinkling notes pierce straight into Percy’s heart.
“To show just how happy we are to be here with you, here’s The Kooks’ Junk of the Heart.” Percy’s impressed with himself for that line, he’s not going to deny it.
Grover presses a switch and the music starts playing, and Percy switches off his mic and leans back in his chair, breathing a loud sigh of relief. He takes off his headphones and sets them on the desk, and only now realizes how hard his heart was beating. He congratulates himself for not swearing a single time.
Grover trots over and pats them both on the shoulder. Annabeth blinks at the contact and jerks her head up to look at him. “Great job guys, really good, especially for your first time. There’s about twenty minutes of music lined up, so you can take a break until about five minutes before. I’m DJ-ing tonight but next week that’s all on you.”
“Grover,” Annabeth says, in a much warmer tone than she speaks to Percy. “Why don’t you have your own show? You’re obviously cut out for it.”
Grover grins a bit sheepishly. “I had one for a while, but eventually we started getting complaints about all the Hillary Duff I was playing, so now it’s Luke’s show.”
Percy snorts. Annabeth gives him another unreadable look. She gets up and pads over to the chair she was at before, where she grabs her book and pencil and then returns. She sits without looking at Percy and opens it to the page she was at before. He double-checks that his mic is off before he leans over and tries to look her in the face.
“Look,” Percy says in a low voice, “I’m sorry we got off to a bad start.” He doesn’t mention that it was entirely her fault. “But if we’re gonna be working together, we need to be able to talk.”
Annabeth pauses and then huffs, sets her pencil down. She turns to look him in the eye, and there’s still something unfriendly in her gaze. There’s a strange sort of tension in the air that Percy can’t quite put his finger on. He tries to not let his eyes linger on the curve of her neck. (And he certainly doesn’t think about how it would look covered in red and purple bite marks.) She takes off her glasses and sets them down on the desk, and he can’t help feeling like she looks less intimidating now. But still intimidating enough to make Percy feel a little light-headed, in that way that some girls can be so beautiful they’re scary.
“Okay. First things first.” Her tone is sharp, and Percy internally rolls his shoulders back and cracks his knuckles, ready to let out some of the frustration that’s been bubbling up inside him ever since she pulled that stupid attitude. “I didn’t want a cohost. I wouldn’t have applied for this job if I knew I had one, but I’m here, so I might as well follow through.”
Percy opens his mouth to let out a snappy retort but she holds a finger up. He feels like he’s just been slapped. There’s no way she just scolded him like he was a naughty child.
And why the hell did he find that hot?
“Second. I wouldn’t have minded working with someone if they’d been half civil in the first place and didn’t feel like they had the right to walk all over me.” Her expression is rapidly turning into a sneer and it’s making Percy see red.
“So, I guess what I’m trying to say is stay out of my way, let me run this show, and things will work out fine between us.” With that, she turns around sharply and picks up her textbook again.
Percy grabs her arm and yanks her to face him, which shocks himself as much as it shocks her. “Listen, here, wise girl. You’re the one who started this whole shit show and if anyone has to apologize here, it’s not me.”
“Are you really sure? Because I’m pretty I’m not the one who’s been manhandling other people!” she yells, her face turning red. Percy drops her arm like he’s been burned. He isn’t sure whether he’s hoping for Grover to come back from his bathroom break soon or to not come back for a long time. Percy opens his mouth to apologize, because if there’s one thing his mom taught him, it’s to respect other people’s space and consent, but before he can get the words out-
“And maybe you would be able to get all that fucking seaweed out of your brain if you could just get your head out of your ass!”
“So now you’re just going to start insulting my major?” he yells back, feeling blood rush to his face and pound in his ears. “Now you’re just turning this into an unprovoked personal attack! Jesus-fuck, you’re the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”
“Oho, that’s a big word,” Annabeth says scathingly. “Do you even know what it means?”
Percy starts to get up from his chair and he’s not even sure what he was about to do when Grover opens the door and walks back in. He pulls out an earbud and Percy can hear some sort of flute music piping out of it. He tries to calm down, if only for the sake of keeping his job. Also he doesn’t really want to disappoint Grover; he has that kind of face.
“Everything alright guys?” he asks cautiously, like he knows that something happened but it’s their call about how they want to deal with it.
“Everything’s fine, Grover,” Annabeth calls out sweetly. What a calculative shrew. But he knows why she isn’t ratting him out: talking about it means that he wins, somehow. Percy doesn’t know how he follows her logic, he just knows that in his angry lizard brain, it makes sense.
Grover walks back over to the soundboard and doesn’t notice the bit of toilet paper stuck to his shoe. Percy doesn’t have the heart to tell him about it. The last song in the queue is beginning to wind down, and Percy resolutely jams on his headphones and switches his mic on.
“You’re listening to The Underclassmen Takeover with Percy and Annabeth on Olympus Air. Those were the sweet sounds of Teenage Miracle by TOWER.”
Percy cuts in as soon as he can and he doesn’t even have to look to his right to know that Annabeth is giving him a baleful glare.
“Now, on the topic of teenagers, I got into a debate with someone a few days ago about whether Smells Like Teen Spirit or Teenage Dream is the iconic teen anthem, and obviously, Nirvana wins this one. But what about you, Annabeth, what do you think?” Percy feels himself slipping into what he calls a “radio voice” and it’s affecting his syntax and he’s positively gleeful that he’s forced her into this inane exchange where they have to sound friendly and bubbly.
“Well Percy,” she begins, and her tone drips flirtatiousness. For a second, Percy pretends that they don’t hate each other and he takes a deep breath. His heart stutters a little. “The real question here is whether the lyrics live up to the teenage experience. Did you feel contagious and stupid, or did you get so turned on you couldn’t sleep?”
Percy has to make himself look at her when she’s speaking, because if he doesn’t keep her mean expression in mind he’s going to start getting a little flustered with the way her voice has gone smooth and a little breathy. Why was she allowed to be this awful but also this attractive?
Annabeth grins like she knows exactly what she’s doing and Percy doesn’t know whether he’s angry or just really turned on. Maybe both.
“Let us know what you think at 212-954-3141. I’m expecting some stout defence on both sides, people.” Annabeth looks to Grover after this and he smiles gently, saying softly, “I’ve got some callers lined up, just press this button.”
The rest of the show passes in the same vein, with Percy trying to regain his footing, Annabeth deliberately trying to wind him up when she knows he can’t retaliate, and them chatting like old friends to callers who request songs and speak impassionedly about their nostalgia for high school. Finally, finally, the hour is up, and Annabeth presents her last song choice before the night-long hit mix starts playing.
“Here to wrap us up is Good Old War with Tell Me What You Want from Me. Thank you for listening; we’ll be back next week at 8 PM.”
“Have a good night everyone!” Percy adds on, and then drums start playing and Grover flashes them a thumbs-up to say “all clear” as the red light goes out and Percy switches off his mic, takes of his headphones, and slumps back in his chair and breathes a long sigh of relief. That was the longest and most tiring hour of his life, including every conditioning day.
Okay, maybe not including every conditioning day. Those are hell.
“That was great you guys, really.” Grover’s cheery voice floats over to them from behind the soundboard where he’s bending down and fiddling with something.
“Thanks Grover,” he calls, honest and raw. Percy didn’t think he would, but he really does enjoy presenting. It’s just the blonde harpy beside him that ruins it a bit. He runs a hand through his hair and tips his head back, letting his chair tilt onto its back legs. He’s ready to go home and have a long shower. Or maybe even a bath. A bath sounds nice actually.
Annabeth gets up and stalks away, where she calls a cheery, “See you next week, Grover!” and swiftly exits the building. Her departure is sudden and takes Percy aback but he’s not complaining. He sets his chair back on the floor and gets up to turn to Grover, who’s winding lengths of cable into a more manageable loop.
“Can I help with anything?” Percy offers. He rubs the back of his neck, a little awkwardly.
“Oh, um, no, it’s fine,” Grover says, looking at him strangely. “Actually no. Can you. Um. I know you and Annabeth didn’t have the best start-” Percy snorts. “-and that might have been my fault and I’m really sorry but I don’t think this is something that I can fix and like. I know it’s not really my place to ask except it kind of is and it’s unfair to put this all on you but-”
“I’ll try,” Percy cuts him off mid-ramble, and Grover looks grateful.
“Thanks Percy,” he breathes. “It was really worrying me and you guys did a good job of covering it up on air but I could feel the tension and Juniper hates it when I take bad energy inside the house.”
“Your girlfriend?” Percy asks.
“Yeah,” Grover sighs, his face turning wistful. “We would be married by now except that she believes that marriage is an institution of oppression and I agree but we’ve been living together since graduation.” He sets his cables down and starts organizing folders on the shelf behind him.
“That’s…that’s really special, Grover, I’m happy for you. What does she do?”
The dreamy look intensifies. “We met at a Conservation International rally.”
Percy sees that Grover isn’t going to come back from his thoughts any time soon and moves to shrug on his jacket that he’s draped over the back of his chair. He pauses when he sees the embossed cover of An Anthology of the Neoclassical Works of William Shakespeare lying on the table. Percy suddenly feels a rush of resentfulness. Why did his mom have to raise him to be a good person?
“Grover?” he calls without looking back. He keeps staring at the cover and wonders if picked it up, would he be able to feel the heat of her hands?
“Yeah?”
“Do you have Annabeth’s number? She left her textbook here.”
***
>>To Annabeth: hey, u left ur textbook at the studio [sent 8:23 PM]
>>To Annabeth: where can i give it back [sent 8:23 PM]
>>From Annabeth: Where did you get my number? [sent 8:57 PM]
>>To Annabeth: grover [sent 8:59 PM]
>>To Annabeth: hey look…im sorry about today [sent 9:34 PM]
>>To Annabeth: do u think we can start over and move on [sent 9:34 PM]
>>From Annabeth: Meet me at the Starbucks next to the astronomy department. Tomorrow at 4. [sent 9:44 PM]
>>To Annabeth: ill be there [sent 9:45 PM]
***
The scent of caramel and roasted coffee beans fills Percy’s senses as soon as he steps into the crowded Starbucks. He’s always liked this smell; it makes him feel safe and warm and reminds him of his mom’s hugs back when she was working at a coffee shop, before she’d met Gabe.
He waits patiently in line, tapping his foot and rubbing quarters together in his pocket. Yes, he’s going to pay for his caramel macchiato in small change. No, he’s not embarrassed about that.
Maybe a little.
He orders and gets his coffee before he starts scanning the shop for Annabeth because it’s going to be awkward and the least he can do is give himself something to hide behind. He takes a sip and it burns the flat of his tongue but that’s fine because the barista added a little too much caramel sauce, just how he likes it. He sees her in the alcove by the corner, a shiny chrome laptop open in front of her and her hair pulled up into a knitted beanie. He wants to pull it off and run his hands through her hair, find out what kind of shampoo she uses. He wants to share a caramel macchiato with her after a long walk in the cold, holding hands. He wants to push her glasses up when they start slipping down from how intensely she’s staring at the screen in front of her.
He wants to stop fantasizing about romantic domesticity when he’s literally only here to return the textbook she forgot because she was too busy trying to get away from him after they spent a full hour arguing and spewing some pretty petty insults and revenge tactics.
“Hey,” he says, dropping into the chair across from her. Annabeth looks up and Percy can barely keep up with the flash of emotions on her face before she settles on something in between guilty, angry, and uncomfortable. She takes off her glasses and Percy doesn’t know whether he’s grateful or not.
“Hey,” she says, softly, and it’s so different from how she spoke to him yesterday. She cradles her mug in both hands (a London Fog, according to the Sharpie scribble on the sleeve) and blows across the top.
“So.” Percy reaches into his coat pocket and draws out the textbook. He places it on the table and she doesn’t immediately snatch it up, which confuses him, and then he’s confused about why he’s confused. Shakespeare’s bored expression stares up at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts, and Percy’s really surprised now. She chews on her bottom lip and he can’t tear his eyes away. “I…I thought a lot about what happened yesterday and while it wasn’t entirely my fault it was still partially my fault and I’m really sorry for how I acted. It wasn’t mature and I didn’t have the right to treat you like I did.”
Percy can feel his face softening. There’s a surge of warmth in his chest. He wraps his hands more securely around his mug to stop himself from doing something stupid like taking her hand or brushing the hair off her cheek or holding her face. “It’s- it’s not just you. I’m sorry too, it was out of line.” He looks up hopefully. “Can we start over? Like. Put this behind us, water under the bridge or whatever.”
Annabeth laughs a little. She seems relieved that he’s not grilling her for yesterday. If he’s honest, he’s just as embarrassed.
“Is making bad water-related metaphors part of your curriculum criteria?” she asks, kicking his ankle gently under the table. It feels like a yes. Percy runs a hand through his hair and grins, maybe a little too big. He doesn’t really care if it is.
“Is being snobby about figurative language part of yours?” he asks, kicking her ankle back. He nearly bites his tongue off when she hooks her ankle round his, his jeans riding up and his skin burning from the contact with hers. She rolls her eyes, and this time there’s no mistaking the fondness. If this is how he’s going to die, it’s not too bad a way to go.
“So, Shakespeare?” he says in a would-be-casual voice. “I didn’t think he was classical.” He takes a long swig of his coffee, trying to get the burn in his throat to ground him. The last of his short-lived but killer grudge against her dissolved sometime between him sliding her textbook on the table in front of them and her locking her ankle around his and he’s dizzy with how he feels when she directs that teasing smile at him. He doesn’t think anything of the fact that she’s done a complete one-eighty since they apologized. So has he. He’s just glad that they now have a solid foundation for a good professional relationship.
Well, maybe not purely professional. Percy is a weak, weak man.
“He’s not,” she replies, idly rubbing her leg against his and Percy is burning. “But we’re doing a module on neoclassicism in my lecture and Shakespeare’s pretty standard neoclassical repertoire, even if some of his work is a little bit saucy.”
Percy doesn’t think he can stand her drawing lazy circles on his ankle with her sneaker-clad toe and hear her talking about saucy poetry at the same time without spontaneously combusting. He can’t wrench his eyes away from hers when he says, “Saucy, huh?” His voice sounds like it’s coming from a tunnel.
“Mmm,” she hums, drawing out the sound in a way that makes Percy’s ears turn red. “Very saucy. Especially the poem we’ve been assigned for discussion tomorrow. It’s often considered his cheekiest work.”
“Cheeky,” Percy echoes, feeling his face turning the same colour as his ears.
“Venus and Adonis,” she says softly. “You know. ‘Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase; hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn; sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, and like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.’” Her eyes never leave his, too clear and too gray and too intense and everything is too everything right now. Percy can feel every shaky breath he takes rattle out of his chest and past his lips. He’s hyperaware that Annabeth has stopped drawing circles, and is instead drawing the leg of his pants higher and higher, making sure that he can feel the slide of each inch of her calf that’s pressed against his.
She pauses. They keep staring. People rush past outside the window but Percy doesn’t notice, can’t notice. Not when this feeling is blooming in his chest. Slowly, painfully slowly, Annabeth draws her bottom lip into her mouth again and-
“I’m glad we worked this out! I’ll be going now good luck with your lecture catch you next week okay see you.” Percy jumps up, everything coming out in one jumbled breath and he stumbles out of the Starbucks, bumping into at least three tables and keeping his eyes trained firmly anywhere but behind him. He rushes out the door and practically starts sprinting. He slows down once he passes the observatory and tries to take some deep breaths but it’s not doing anything to stop the pounding of his heart.
He only notices that he left his half-finished macchiato on their table when he’s safe inside his apartment, back pressed against the door. He can’t help feeling like he also left a few other things, like his rationality and a little bit of his dignity.
***
To Annabeth: hey do u wanna meet up sometime this weekend
To Annabeth: sorry for running away back there
To Annabeth: i really like you
***
“Mr. Jackson!”
Percy jerks up and stares at his professor like a deer in the headlights. “Sir?”
“Having a good dream?” he asks bluntly. Percy cringes.
“I’m sorry sir, it won’t happen again.”
“It better not. Now, this particular family of Actiniaria is particularly recognized for its symbiotic relationship with Lybia boxing crabs…”
Percy sits ramrod straight for the rest of the tutorial and takes notes almost religiously. When he goes to reread them after class he finds it hard to believe that Adamsia palliata is a sea anemone with perfect skin and a laugh so lovely it makes him feel like he swallowed the sun.
***
>>To Annabeth: should we meet up to go over tech before thursday [sent 12:17 PM]
>>From Annabeth: I can manage on my own. [sent 10:38 PM]
To Annabeth: have i upset you
To Annabeth: i cant get you out of my head
To Annabeth: did u kno that a group of jellyfish is called a smack
***
Percy’s greeted with the now familiar smell of old paper and attic once he steps into the dingy little campus music store again. He’s been counting down the days to Thursday with a heavy feeling in chest, equally dread and anticipation. He’s also been waking up every night in the wee hours of the morning gasping for breath, covered in sweat, and his pajama pants uncomfortably tight but that’s not quite about the broadcast.
Luke’s voice is piping over the speakers again, this time talking with a caller about the football team’s performance at the exposition match against the Titans, a rival school. Luke, for some reason, is trying to defend the Titans’ abysmal match.
“Hey Grover,” Percy whispers as he steps into the booth. Grover gives him a cheery wave through a mouthful of enchilada. Percy shrugs off his jacket and drops it onto a chair in a heap before checking his watch again: 7:30. He figured he would get here early so he could figure out which buttons to push and which switches to flip. He stands a little behind Luke and follows his every movement, registering which control he’s pressing when and mentally filing it away for later that night. He’s so engrossed that he barely registers the door to the booth creaking open and being swiftly shut.
Luke wraps up his broadcast and Percy stands back to give him room to pull out his chair. He claps Percy on the shoulder and leaves with a wave to Grover and another towards the back of the booth. Percy wonders how he’s warm enough in just a letterman jacket.
He feels more than hears Annabeth walking up behind him; he freezes. All he can think of is the way her pupils were the size of the moon in that Starbucks, how he couldn’t get her laugh out of his head all week, how he’s been woken up every night with the image of her calling out his name in a broken voice branded into his brain.
“Hey Grover,” she greets, brushing past him and purposefully ignoring him. Calculating is a word he would associate with her. Intimidating. Icy even, sometimes. Flirty wasn’t exactly something he thought would be a fitting description of Annabeth Chase when he first met her but. It’s definitely a fitting description if last Friday says anything about her. Percy knows enough about her to know that she doesn’t waste words or actions and if she wants something, she gets it.
Which makes Percy pause and try to muddle through his thoughts. He knows that’s something relevant, important even. The only problem is that he hasn’t been able to think straight for a week.
The announcement for the turn of the hour plays again and then a song he doesn’t recognize starts playing. It must be Annabeth’s choice again. It’s heavy and slow and there’s almost something sensual about it. He sits in his rickety plastic folding chair and goes over all the funny anecdotes he has prepared. His thick headphones block out everything except the sound of the broadcast and this is good, this is what he needs so he can focus. Distraction. He’s going to throw himself into work today.
“You’re listening to Heavy in Your Arms by Florence + the Machine on The Underclassmen Takeover,” Annabeth begins, and Percy’s mouth runs dry because apparently he’s not the only one with a “radio voice” but which deity has he either pissed off or pleased to make it that smooth and sultry?
“Welcome back on this chilly Thursday evening, where our producer, Grover, eats cheese enchiladas to his heart’s content, Percy stares off into space, and Annabeth actually does all the work,” she says, and Percy can hear her grin. He swats at her arm and he hears the muffled thwack on the air. Annabeth glances at him from the side and suddenly the atmosphere doesn’t seem light and playful, if it ever was. Now it’s charged and heavy and the way Grover starts coughing is probably not an accident.
“Hey now,” Percy says. He barely recognizes his own voice. “I’ll have you know that I did some research before the show and now I’m probably a lot more qualified than you are.” He’s not sure whether he’s banter-ing or flirting. Probably both.
Annabeth doesn’t even look at him, just scoffs lightly and crosses her ankles. “Mhm? Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” he says. He leans his forearms on the table and rubs the back of his neck. “I know exactly which buttons to push.”
Annabeth gapes. Percy tastes victory and it’s still driving him crazy but sweeter than he thought it would be.
“Now let’s start off tonight’s playlist with Pyramid from the Two Door Cinema Club. You’re listening to The Underclassmen Takeover on Olympus Air.” He pushes the button to start the queue with a little more vigour than is warranted. Soft guitar fills his ears and he slips his headphones off and then stretches, his T-shirt pulling tight. He has practice after his last class on Thursdays and he loves how it breaks the monotony of his day but he doesn’t love the ache it left in his shoulders and his calves after his coach insisted on working his butterfly endurance and his front crawl kick. A small whine pushes itself out of his chest the further back he stretches. Finally he feels some of the tension release; he lets out a low moan and collapses back in on himself. In his peripheral vision, he can see Annabeth shifting in her chair. He remembers that he has an essay on hydra reproduction due tomorrow that he’s barely written the introduction for and suddenly feels a deep need for caffeine.
“Hey, is there anywhere close by I can get coffee?” he asks, getting up from his seat and turning to face Grover, who’s nursing a cup of espresso that Percy can smell from here. It’s probably a safe bet that he keeps a stash somewhere in the vicinity.
“Yeah,” he says, “there’s an office behind that big shelf full of Dean Martin records, it has a coffee machine and stuff.”
Office, Percy thinks, is an overstatement. It’s barely got room for a desk, a few filing cabinets, and a stained coffee machine that’s sitting on one of those foldable little tables from IKEA. A sad stack of paper cones sits upside-down on the remaining space. Not even cups- cones. But Percy appreciates that they’re a lot more environmentally friendly- less material and no plastic that ends up in the ocean. He’s also really dreading the all-nighter he’s going to have to pull to piece together a decent analysis of budding and other means of asexual reproduction in sea jelly, so he figures that questionable coffee in a paper cone is probably going to be the best part of his entire night.
Percy downs three espressos like they’re shots and then washes it down with some water because it leaves a funky aftertaste in his mouth. His watch blinks up at him to tell him that he has ten minutes left. Frankly, he’s getting claustrophobic in this office. He’s turning around to leave when he sees Annabeth padding over.
Be cool, Percy, he tells himself. Don’t be awkward and everything will be fine.
He drops his cup on the floor.
A blush rapidly spreading on his cheeks, he bends over to pick it up and prays to whatever deity may be that he’s struck dead on the spot. A pair of gray Converse come into view and slowly, with a fair amount of dread, he stands, trying to control the rush of blood to his face. A pair of skirt-that-screams-important-presentation-clad legs longer than the Montauk shoreline are connected to them and unconsciously, he trains his eyes in a straight bottom-up path until his eyes reach Annabeth’s and he’s standing at his full height. Her cheeks are tinted pink and suddenly Percy realizes that he just checked her out. All of her. Up close. Shit.
Annabeth’s eyes are boring into his and it feels simultaneously invasive and vulnerable and he can see himself reflected in her pupils. She takes a step forward. He takes a step back. It’s like there’s a chord connecting them for all Percy tries to look away but can’t- between their eyes, between their chests, between their feet. Annabeth keeps walking forward, Percy keeps walking back, and suddenly the back of his legs hits the edge of the desk and the air thickens until everything feels syrupy and heavy and meaningful. Percy can hear the blood rushing past his ears. The sounds of the song playing on the tinny speakers sound like they’re coming from the long end of an echoing tunnel. Annabeth steps forward, forward, until she stands between his legs and Percy can feel every single inch of space where they are close enough to be pressed together but are not. He aches to touch her, a deep pain in his chest that’s worse than anything he’s ever felt before. Like looking at his mom’s fresh chocolate chip cookies right out of the oven and know he’s not allowed to have them yet. Not allowed to devour them, savour them. Feel them come apart in his hands.
Percy raises his hands like they’re moving through quicksand, the cup plonking onto the carpet, and brings them up, up, and then they stop an inch away from her hips. He finds that it’s impossible to swallow. His fingers are trembling from being this close to her. He feels more than sees Annabeth squeeze her hands into fists and breathe shakily through her mouth, because he can’t look anywhere but her eyes; he’s transfixed, he’s enthralled. It’s an orgy of unabashedly drinking in Annabeth’s equally intense expression directed at him, solely at him, and he can feel the heat radiating off of her like she’s a flame and he’s a moth because that’s a reasonable comparison of his higher thinking ability around her. She makes his brain short-circuit in a good way. She leans forward at the waist, her back arching, and Percy feels something shoot through him that goes straight to his crotch. His entire world shrinks to her lips, pink and bowed at the top and a little bit chapped. He feels the next breath she exhales wash over his cheeks.
“Hey Percy, what song did you have queued after Annabeth’s? I can’t find the list you gave me.” Grover’s voice rings out like a gunshot, drifting through the half-open door. He jumps up and Annabeth jumps back and there’s ringing in his ears and he’s pretty sure his face is permanently going to be firetruck red if the heat of his blush is any indication. He sidesteps her and jogs back into the booth. He tries to school his face into looking normal but he knows that’s not going to happen.
“Crazy Bird, by Wild Child,” he says, and he’s proud of how steady his voice is.
“What?” Grover asks, looking vaguely uncomfortable.
“The song. My song. The one after Annabeth’s. The one you didn’t have.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Um. What was it again?”
“Crazy Bird. By Wild Child.”
“Right. Okay. Got it.”
“…”
“You sure were getting coffee for a long time.”
“What- no! No, no! I- I just. It just- I have. Uh.”
“It’s fine as long as. Um. You clean up. Um. After.”
“Oh my god is this actually. Wow. It’s-uh. Nothing happened. It’s not like that.”
“Oh. Oh. Sorry. Well, um, now you know. Just, um, just in case.”
“Yeah. I- uh. I’ve gotta get back to- uh, to my spot. And you too. Right. Okay.”
Percy sits down and hides his face in his hands. He can’t believe that just happened. Maybe tonight was just a weird fever dream and he’ll wake up and things will be totally not like this.
He hears Annabeth come in and forget about butterflies. It feels like there’s a Green Day concert happening in his gut. She whispers something to Grover and he laughs a bit and there’s a questioning lilt to the end of his murmured response. Annabeth hums and then comes to sit next to him. Her cheeks are still pink and Percy thinks that’s a nice colour on her. He feels her sitting less than a foot away from him more acutely than the ache in his shoulders now.
“And that was River by Bishop Briggs, requested by Silena from Alpha Theta Epsilon. You’re listening to The Underclassmen Takeover on Olympus Air.” Annabeth pauses. She ploughs on with a question sent by anonymous text and then they have some witty back-and-forth about it and then they start ringing callers in. Percy struggles to construct sentences through all of it, because Annabeth set her hand on his knee with a featherlight touch as soon as they went back on air. With each new call they take, her hand slides up a few inches and by now, four crucial things are happening: 1) whoever’s on the phone right now is taking up way too much airtime and they have to cut them off soon, 2) Annabeth’s hand is now splayed across the upper part of his clenched thigh, 3) Grover can’t see anything that’s happening since everything that’s going on is going on under the table and 4) Percy’s so hard that it hurts and he’s afraid that if Annabeth moves her hand one more time she’s going to know. Almost as if she can hear his thoughts, she squeezes just a little bit and Percy manages to turn his squeak into a cough. The person speaking stalls.
“Sorry, but that’s about all the time we have for this topic, but if you still have any thoughts you want to share, hit us up on Twitter.” Percy tries to sound as apologetic as he can, then starts mentally reciting the species in the infraorder Cetacea, thinks about the way Gabe smells, tries anything to try to contain the situation in his pants. It works a little.
“Since it’s so cold out tonight, I figured I might play something that gets you feeling a little bit warmer. Here’s BITE by Troye Sivan.” Annabeth releases him hastily as she finishes speaking and Percy feels like a dog being led in circles. He can’t pretend that doesn’t hurt. She’s mean and then she’s begrudging and then she’s downright flirtatious and then she’s aloof and then she’s just as nervous about him as he is about her and then she’s back to being unapproachable again and Percy’s so confused. His brain is tired of shutting down and then rebooting and all he wants to do is kiss her and then take her out to dinner.
Percy listens to the words of the first stanza, slumped in his chair, and feels his face begin to burn. Did Annabeth know when she picked this song? He closes his eyes and turns his face upward. He stays sitting and doesn’t plan on getting up for the rest of the set. He figures that if he stays quiet then nothing else will happen tonight and then he can go home and take a nice long bath and then finish his essay and maybe turn in before the sun rises.
He doesn’t realize he’s dozed off until his headphones are being lifted away from his right ear. He blinks sleepily.
“We’re back on in a minute,” Annabeth says gently. It takes a few seconds for her words to register. And then he feels soft and dry lips dusting over the top of cheekbone before his headphones are carefully replaced. His heart squeezes; he feels like his ribs might burst from how his chest swells.
That tiny kiss, that nothing of a kiss- it occupies his mind for the rest of the hour and he wonders whether he imagined it. He thinks about what he wants: he wants to do this right with Annabeth. He wants to hold her hand, take her out to a movie, kiss her goodnight. He thinks about what she’s telling him: flip-flopping between everything and nothing. But he can’t stay away, not in thought, not in words, not in deed. Percy doesn’t know why he can’t just ask her out like he wants to. There’s a layer of doubts in his mind, maybe that’s it. Full of mixed signals and maybe he’s not good enough for hers and every time she smiles at him he gets too damn tongue-tied. This is way more than he signed up for when he took this job.
And then with the end of the broadcast comes Annabeth’s final song choice. It’s Let’s Get It On by Marvin Gaye. If Percy thought he was confused before, he doesn’t even know what to do now.
“You’re good to go for tonight, thanks a lot,” Grover says. He starts his after-show clear-up again and Annabeth is out of the booth and then the front door before Percy has his headphones off. He stands up and stretches.
“Need any help?” Percy asks, hoping he says no. Almost like he can read his mind, Grover waves him off with a, “Don’t worry, go on home.” Percy gives him a grateful but tired smile and pulls on his jacket. The front door closes behind him with a muffled snap and he’s hit with air that must be close to 32 degrees. He huffs and tucks his chin in, trying to reduce the amount of bare skin exposed to the chill and wishing that he had a scarf.
“Percy.”
Her voice makes him stop. He doesn’t even question that she’d been waiting outside. He can’t look back. His body won’t turn around.
She stops beside him. He feel her eyes on him, on the side of his face. Her hand goes out to touch him and then stops halfway. He tells himself it doesn’t hurt.
“Percy, I-”
“What do you want from me?” he snaps, pivoting to face her. Annabeth’s face is a picture of surprise at his outburst. He’s just as startled. What is he doing? “I’m so tired of you toying with me, Annabeth, I’m so tired of it.” His voice sounds more defeated than he wants it to. He feels angry, he feels hurt, he feels strung-out, he feels like he wants to wake up next to her every day for the rest of his life.
She opens her mouth, her face more open and vulnerable than he’s ever seen it. He cuts her off before she can make a sound.
“I have no idea what you’re trying to do. If you want something, just fucking say it. Or take it, I don’t care-”
Annabeth grabs the collar of his jacket in her fists and yanks him down to her. Their mouths collide and it’s messy and there’s tongue and there’s teeth and Percy feels like he’s drunk. She moves her lips like she’s trying to devour him, and Percy is more than okay with being devoured. The force of his response almost knocks her off her feet; her back arches backwards to compensate. Percy groans low in his throat. His hands spring out of his pockets and he wraps them around her waist, tries to draw her into him. She’s pressed against his chest and her arms are stuck in between, still gripping the fabric of his collar; one of his hands is gripping the back of her jacket, the other cradling the back of her head. Nothing feels real except no, he can feel the cold air and he can hear the aborted, hungry breaths they’re taking when they get the chance. This isn’t the gentle first kiss he imagined with her. This is needy, this is raw, this is almost carnal.
She nips at his bottom lip none too gently and smooths it over with her tongue. It goes straight to his crotch. She starts pulling away, panting, but Percy chases her with his lips, eyes still tightly shut. She gives up on breathing and frees her arms from where they’re pinned between them. Her hands latch onto his hair instead, pulling, too hard. Percy groans again, and abruptly starts walking forward. Annabeth stumbles over her own feet until her back slams in the brick wall of the alley beside the music store. He swallows her gasp, stores it away somewhere safe so he never forgets it. Everything he gives, she takes. She matches him inch for inch, breath for breath, kiss for kiss.
Annabeth breaks away again, her breathing so laboured that somewhere in his brain, in the part that’s not drowning in sensation and lust and instinct, he decides to let her. He directs his lips instead onto her cheek, places wet, open-mouthed kisses on her jaw, sucks on the skin behind her ear, trails kisses down her neck and latches onto her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, hard enough to bruise. Hoping it’ll bruise. Her breath hitches and it drives Percy crazy. Her jacket’s stopping him from going any lower but he stops thinking about it when she drags his mouth up to hers again. He feels every inch of her pressed against him. He’s a drowning man and she’s a lifeboat; he’s dying of thirst and she’s an oasis. He’s only known her for a week but in this moment, when the only sounds are cars in the distance and their own struggle to breathe, she’s his entire world.
Any poetic thoughts get promptly wiped out of his mind when she rolls her hips into his, where they’re cradled in between her legs. Instinctively, he thrusts up, and they both gasp out an aborted moan. Percy’s embarrassed by how hard he is already, but when he breaks away to breathe, he sees how wrecked Annabeth looks: hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, pupils blown. There’s a trail of red marks down the column of her neck, like a painting. Her head rests against the wall as her chest heaves, taking advantage of his rare pause to gulp in huge breaths. The night is still cold, and Percy doesn’t know how she’s surviving in that skirt.
He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against hers. Kisses her gently, softly. Achingly tenderly. Tries to pour his heart into it. His arm is braced on the wall next to her head, caging them in. Annabeth huffs and presses her lips to his more forcefully. Percy doesn’t fight the change.
And then stops when he feels her fingers slip under the waistband of his boxers and brush against him.
All of a sudden, everything is on fire. A strangled sound escapes from the back of his throat and Annabeth grins against his lips, wrapping her slender fingers around him. Percy’s knees start to shake. It kills him, it kills him, but he pulls her hand out and steps back. They are not going to have sex in this alley, pressed against a dirty brick wall. Annabeth deserves so much better. He wants to take his time with her, fuck her slowly until she’s trembling underneath him, and fall asleep holding her in his own sheets, in his own bed, in his own apartment. All his dating plans are screwed to hell and back anyway. They’re not doing this in the order he wanted, but hell if he’s not going to do this right nonetheless.
Annabeth’s giving him a hard look. He tries to explain but his breath is coming out in gasps and none of it is making sense. Eventually he just gives up and says, “My apartment’s only a few blocks away.” He hopes she takes the hint.
She does.
Percy thinks he deserves a medal for being able to drive with Annabeth sucking bruises onto his neck.
The elevator ride is torture. They crowd into it along with an old lady and her yappy dog who live on the floor above him. Annabeth keeps her hand in his back pocket and squeezes every once in a while. Percy struggles to make polite conversation with his neighbour. Eventually, the elevator dings and they clamber out. Percy fumbles with his keys and drops them a fair few times, cursing in between breathless kisses. As soon as the knob turns and they’re inside he shuts the door and pushes Annabeth back onto it. He didn’t think he would be so rough with her but from the way she’s grinding on him he figures that she doesn’t mind.
“Oh god, Annabeth.” He whispers her name like it’s a prayer and she keens, rocking into him harder. Percy tries to slow down, be gentler, because if he doesn’t this is going to end very soon and he wants to make this good for her. He tries, he really does. But it’s hard to give gentle, loving kisses as a prelude to slowly and adoringly peeling off each layer of clothing between them and then laying her down on his bed and then just staring at her for a while when Annabeth is having none of it and starts fumbling with the buckle on his jeans. Before he can blink she’s pulled down his jeans and his boxers in one go to pool around his ankles and damn if it doesn’t feel good to be free of those tight pants. She grips him in her hand and pumps him once, twice, and Percy sobs a little against her neck, bites down to stop himself from doing anything louder.
“Touch me,” Annabeth breathes, her voice imperious. Percy wants this to be slow and sweet but with the way she’s squeezing her hand he’s too far gone to try. He shoves his hand up under her skirt and doesn’t even take off her panties, just pulls them to the side. Her hands brace themselves palms flat against the door. When he rubs her clit between his forefinger and thumb her knees buckle and it’s just his arm around her waist that keeps her standing. When he slips a finger inside her she whines so loudly he’s afraid his neighbours will send him noise complaints. When he starts thrusting and then adds a second finger she chokes out his name in a way that sends a shiver down his spine and straight to his dick.
“Now,” she pants, her irises almost entirely swallowed by black. “Right now, don’t make me wait any longer.”
Percy pauses, fingers still inside her. “Here? Against the door?”
“Yes, Percy, oh my god what are you waiting for?”
He leans his forehead against hers and presses a kiss to her cheek. “We’ll have to go back to my room to get condoms-”
“It’s fine, I have an IUD, Percy please.” Annabeth sounds more impatient than pleading, but the way her voice makes that inflection on please is enough to make Percy lose the last of his self-control. He brushes the hair off her sweaty forehead with trembling fingers and Annabeth closes her eyes at the touch.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes. For fuck’s sake, just-”
The rest of her sentence gets caught in her throat when in one swift movement, Percy grabs her ass, lifts her up, and pushes inside her. She wraps her legs around his waist, skirt rucked up, and moans, high and loud. Percy nearly collapses from so much feeling. She’s hot, so hot, and wet, and pulsing, and Percy nearly comes right then. He shudders and breathes out shakily, his legs trembling from the effort to stay still. When she squeezes her thighs to tell him to start, Percy pulls out almost all the way, slowly, and pushes back in even slower. His arms already feel the strain. Annabeth growls- honest to goodness growls- and pulls him by the hair into a messy kiss.
“More,” she breathes. “Faster.” And Percy can’t refuse her anything, not really. He starts thrusting, powerfully, relentlessly. The door rattles in its frame every time and anyone in the hallway would know what they’re doing especially with the sounds coming out of Annabeth’s mouth, filthy and fucked-out. Percy breathes her name against her lips, swallows every gasp she lets out. They’re a mess, this isn’t how he wanted their first time to be: fucking against the front door of his apartment. They haven’t even taken off their shoes. Every time he rams back into her he can feel the cloth of her panties brushing against him where they’ve been shoved aside, not even removed.
“Percy,” she chokes out, her thighs trembling around him. “Percy, I’m-”
“I know,” he grunts. “Me too.”
His rhythm is erratic. He doesn’t know how long he can keep up this pace. His thighs are burning and his cock is throbbing and his shirt is gross with sweat. After a particularly vicious thrust Annabeth lets out a long, keening note and then he feels her clench around him and shudder against him and the feeling of her coming around him is too much and then he’s coming harder than he ever has in his life, sobbing out Annabeth’s name. When he comes down from his high he presses a tired kiss to her forehead. It’s too tender for the way they did what they just did. After another heartbeat he pulls out, sets her down on shaking legs, and looks, dumbfounded, at the streaks of semen running down Annabeth’s legs. He hopes it won’t stain her black skirt, it looks formal and expensive.
“Is there anywhere I can clean up?” Annabeth asks him, her voice a little bit wrecked and it pulls at Percy’s heart.
“Yeah,” he says, taking her by the hand and intertwining their fingers. He kisses her knuckles. “There’s a bathroom right by my bedroom, let’s go.”
Annabeth tugs her hand out of his. “It’s fine, I can manage on my own.” It’s the same thing she texted him that left him so broken-hearted earlier in the week. Percy’s not having it. If he doesn’t get to worship her during, he’s going to worship her after. He has to if he doesn’t want to feel like a sleaze.
“Annabeth,” he says softly. “Please. Let me do this for you.” She looks at him and sees how earnest he’s being and then acquiesces, joining their hands together again. She takes off her skirt when she sits down on the edge of the tub but leaves her panties on. Percy’s mouth goes dry when he sees the black lace and cotton, making the skin of her thighs look like porcelain. He wets a washcloth with warm water and runs them gently over the insides of her legs. His touch is reverent, even though he knows she won’t break. He just can’t believe that she’s here, in his apartment, and his. He sets it down on the toilet and looks up at her from between her knees and Annabeth’s eyes are dark and flashing again.
He grins up at her wolfishly from the floor and bends down to kiss her ankle. She sucks in a breath. He layers wet, open-mouthed kisses up to the curve of her calf. The inside of her knee. By the time his trail of kisses reaches her upper thigh she’s panting and gripping his hair again. He smiles against the smooth skin and starts biting, licking, sucking at the innermost juncture between her hip and thigh, only removes his mouth to switch to the other side and then again to slide her underwear past her knees and then onto the floor. By the time he finally presses a kiss right in between her legs Annabeth looks and sounds thoroughly and utterly debauched. She fists his hair harder and pulls him closer. He glances up at her beneath his lashes and realizes that he is totally ruined for anyone but her.
Percy wakes to soft sunlight filtering through his blinds. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and starts to yawn. It dies in his throat when he looks down.
Annabeth is sleeping with her head on his chest, her hand curled with his on his ribs. His other arm is wrapped around her bare waist and he can feel each deep, slow breath she takes, her breasts pushed against his side. Her hair is splayed over her shoulders and looks golden next to his blue sheets. Her face in sleep is breathtaking. The only sounds are birds outside the window and their gentle, sleepy breathing. Percy wants to freeze time and stay in this moment forever, with her leg thrown over his and feeling each little (adorable) puff of breath she releases on his collarbone. His heart feels achy and tender; something swells up inside him until he feels the corners of his eyes prickle. He thinks about feeling this kind of bliss when he wakes up every day for the rest of his life and yeah, he’s happy. Really happy.
He’s also still a little tired, but he expected that after swim practice. And that first time against his door. And then going down on Annabeth in his bathroom. And then fucking her against the cool ceramic of the shower. And then fingering her against his bedroom wall until she cried out his name. And then fucking her again in his bed. Oops.
Annabeth starts stirring. He lets his lips linger on her forehead in a feather-soft kiss before she hums as she stretches against him and wow Percy’s definitely awake now. He laughs as she scowls at the sunlight coming through his blinds.
“Morning,” he hums, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Annabeth stiffens and her eyes snap open, all drowsiness gone.
“Morning,” she says, business-as-usual. And then her eyes widen. “Shit. Shit,” she hisses. “What time is it?”
Percy glances over her head at his alarm clock. “7:33.”
“Shit. Okay, no time to shower, clothes, go.” Annabeth jumps out of bed and starts scanning the room for her clothes. She has to track them all the way out the door and into the bathroom. Percy hears the tap running. He sits up and rubs a weary hand over his face. He knew the tranquility couldn’t last, but no one can blame him for wanting it to. One day, he thinks. It buoys his spirits considerably. He slides out of bed with a lot more effort than is warranted and pulls on a pair of boxers.
He walks into the kitchen at the same time that Annabeth bursts out of the bathroom, her clothes immaculate and not a hair out of place. She hurries to the door, calls a see you later and slips out the door before Percy can even offer to cook her breakfast. He tries not to panic. She probably has an 8 AM class and needs to run. That makes sense.
He tries not to dwell on the fact that she didn’t even look at him once from the moment she woke up.
He boils the kettle and makes himself a mug of instant coffee. It doesn’t hide the lingering smell of sex in his apartment. Percy suddenly remembers his neglected paper on asexual reproduction in hydras and groans. He needs more coffee.
***
>>To Annabeth: can we meet up sometime this weekend? the aquarium has a new giant sea turtle exhibit [sent 8:47 AM]
>>From Annabeth: What time do your classes finish today? [sent 10:45 AM]
>>To Annabeth: 4.30 [sent 10:46 AM]
>>From Annabeth: I’ll meet you at your apartment at 5, does that work? [sent 10:49 AM]
>>To Annabeth: the aquarium is closed by then and id rly like to take u out [sent 12:31 PM]
>>From Annabeth: I have other plans, some of which include you taking me, and none of which include clothes. [sent 2:17 PM]
>>To Annabeth: annabeth i am IN CLASS [sent 2:18 PM]
>>From Annabeth: Is that a yes? [sent 2:25 PM]
>>To Annabeth: yesyesyes i rly want to see u [sent 2:25 PM]
To Annabeth: why do i feel like you just turned me down if you said you wanted to come to my place