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Annabeth watches with heavy eyelids as her clock ticks from 1:59 to 2:00. She inhales and exhales deeply.
There’s a pit in her stomach that doesn’t match the lightheadedness she feels. Like her body is a seesaw.
She sways on her feet and leans all her weight against Percy. Her hip twitches. She wonders if she took one too many hits. Her throat’s burning a little too much.
She follows his gaze straight forward. A brick wall ten feet ahead isn’t much of a view, even less so when it’s pitch black outside. The blinds over the windows are all shut.
“See that stain?” Percy whispers.
Annabeth doesn’t see much of anything. Tawny bricks with gray cement between them. The streetlights a ways down help a bit.
“Mhm,” she nods.
“It looks like, um… who’s that painter dude? The, um. The smiling trees.”
Annabeth looks at him. His hair is a mess, the hood over his head barely taming it, and there’s a very serious concentration on his face. He wears that same face when he crosses a particularly vengeful monster.
“Bob Ross?” she guesses.
He snaps his fingers. “Yeah.”
“They’re happy trees, Seaweed Brain.”
Percy makes a noise, like a chuckle. It’s deep, and she wants to hear more. His voice and the even deeper vibrato that comes out at night is something she wants to bottle and drink selfishly when he’s gone. She wants him all to herself.
“Seaweed Brain…” he remarks. “Nah. It all got dumped out. Splat on the sidewalk.”
Annabeth wishes she could be splat on the sidewalk.
It was a nightmare that led them here. Percy was already awake. Keeping watch, he always joked. It was partly true. Old habits die hard, especially when just a few months ago, keeping watch was what kept them alive.
Annabeth felt glass tearing through her back. That’s all she can remember from her dream. She likes it that way, which seems blasphemous against her mother, to want to know less, but what good will memories of hell do for her?
She reaches for the vape, but Percy draws his hand back. It’s dangling out the window. He just bought it, he should be more careful.
“I think that’s enough,” he says with sincerity, like he’s forcing himself to talk soberly.
Her ears feel like they’re full of cotton. Her limbs twitch a bit.
Annabeth grins stupidly. “That is enough.” She laughs. “There’s no stain.”
Percy frowns again and leans his head further out the open window. “No, that’s… I thought you had night vision.”
“Just because I can turn my head, like, an inch more than you, that doesn’t mean I have owl-like traits.”
Her toes are tingly. Her arms feel disconnected from her body.
“I don’t know. Anytime I see a picture or video of an owl, I’m like, ‘aw, that’s Annabeth.’”
She snorts obnoxiously loud.
“You—you sound so sweet!” she gets out between her giggles. “‘Aww.’”
Percy’s laughing that laugh where no sound comes out, and his eyes have a million crinkles around them. Annabeth clutches her chest. Her hands are kind of fuzzy.
They eventually quiet down and stare out the window again. Suspended between space and time, delaying sleep. Not thinking of how they’ll have to get ready for school in a few hours.
Annabeth will put on her plaid skirt and baggy blouse. She’ll forgo tights, which will be a mistake because the girls will stare at her unshaven legs and violent scars.
Percy will climb out the window and run back to his apartment so he can fall asleep in algebra 2 and text her during econ. Annabeth’s school has a no tolerance policy for phones (she learned the hard way—multiple times), so she won’t see the texts until later. It’s like reading the newspaper.
They’ll meet up at a corner store for lunch, and they won’t talk about tonight, or any other sleepless night.
It’s impossibly cold outside. The January wind cuts through her skin like thousands of needles. It’s one of her favorite feelings. It’s why she never minds her walks (or desperate sprints) to Percy’s place in the winter.
But he came to her dorm tonight, and he never planned on sleeping. That was just fine with Annabeth, even if she wishes they could get out of this limbo.
She prefers when they do this together. It’s more fun that way. Getting high alone just feels like the effects of sleep deprivation. For someone who already lacks sleep to a serious degree, she doesn’t intentionally seek it out.
She looks up at Percy. The grown out curls on his forehead shift with the push and pull of the wind, always falling back in place. The uneven slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth, the depth beneath his eyes to his cheekbones.
He looks prettiest when relaxed. Just another reason Annabeth loves this vice they have.
He’s wearing a hoodie and sweats. She’s picturing them half off, he’s so desperate that no time can be wasted removing them.
She digs her bottom lip between her teeth.
She feels heavy, like a bag of sand is churning inside her, and a balloon—her head—is attached to the top. Her eyes are kinda buzzing.
Percy catches her watching him. Her thoughts must be plastered to her forehead for the way his faint smile drops.
Annabeth wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down into a kiss.
She’s envious of every person who gets to have him when she doesn’t. They get to see what he’s doing, hear his voice, share the same space as him. The people who sit next to him in class, the people he gets paired up with for group projects. Annabeth wishes she could do a group project with him.
They know what Percy looks like when the third period bell rings, and he knows he’s going to meet up with her in twenty minutes. They know what Percy sounds like when he gets cold called and has to bullshit about intertextuality.
Annabeth doesn’t.
She has to go to this stupidly expensive all girls school. She has to go to a school that’s a forty-five minute walk from his place, which isn’t long, but anything longer than a minute’s distance is already unbearable.
Every second of December was terrible. Each time she blinked, she needed to know where Percy was, terrified that he had disappeared again, just like last year.
He never went anywhere.
Percy responds immediately, opening his mouth and grabbing her waist. She doesn’t catch him off guard much these days. Either she’s grown predictable, or Percy’s that fast.
He tastes cool and vaguely like weed. Just a hint of that strawberry flavor.
Annabeth presses up against him, their hips fitting together.
It’s a chore to move her arms, but the height disadvantage requires it.
She moves one arm in a blind attempt to close the window. It’s a lot harder than it looks. Her hand catches and falls over the latch, all while Percy’s kissing her like it’s the last time.
“Wait, wait,” she says. Her feet land flat on the ground. He looks dazed. Annabeth can almost see the birds flying around his head. Maybe he can see them around her.
She turns away from him to close the window all the way shut. The temperature stills.
She’s shivering but also kind of sweating. Is this what greening out is? Or the start of it?
Annabeth reaches for Percy’s hand, anchoring her.
They stumble to her bed, tripping over air and falling onto the mattress.
Her brain is caught in a whirlpool.
She climbs over him, knees on either side and she leans down and trails her mouth along his sharp jaw. Percy’s always been good looking, but ever since she saw him across that Roman forum, just looking at him steals her breath. His defined features and muscles and hollowed out cheeks.
She wants him in more than life. Nothing’s enough for her, no promises or vices or hopes for the future. Just the miserable dread that she carries every day, and the fear that comes out at night.
His large hands settle comfortably on her hips, molding over the bone there.
He’s so—soft. Annabeth doesn’t think either of them are going to leave bruises tonight. None that come from pain, anyway.
Her eyes take a second to catch up with her. There’s a faint pulse in the center of her forehead. There’s no light in her room, only the very faint orange glow that comes through the window. She can barely see Percy’s outline.
Annabeth rocks her hips against his. Forward and back, forward and back. She feels slow and syrupy. Like everything is happening through a veil.
His hands tighten around her hips, not forcing her, just helping with the hazy rhythm. His eyes are inky black. His throat jumps when he swallows.
“So good, baby,” he whispers.
Annabeth can feel how wet she is through her clothes and how hard he’s becoming. Friction builds over the perfect spot, a little spark igniting in her chest.
She trails her lips down to his neck, grazing with her teeth, and he groans.
Annabeth helps them both out by taking her hoodie off. Her tank top is thin and a little too see-through for the public, but perfect for just him. The coral charm is smooth against her sternum.
Taking his shirt off, Percy winces when his arms stretch above his head.
“Are they hurting again?” Annabeth asks, reaching out but not touching. Her voice comes out breathy.
He runs his hands from her waist to her ribs to her back. Like he wants to map out every inch of her from memory. Like he can’t already.
“No. Just kinda tight.”
The hem catches over his fingertips, and warm hands slide under, meeting her skin. His fingers are calloused and rough.
“You should’ve told—”
Percy cuts her off with a kiss, which she thinks is a little rude, but nothing they haven’t done before. His hand is just below her breast.
He drags his other hand along her thigh to her hipbone and down her lower stomach. Her head falls like a weight to his shoulder. She pushes out and his fingers push in, barred by her spandex. She gasps.
Her draw to him is like being repelled by a magnet. Heavy.
Annabeth wraps her arms tight around his neck, forehead in his bare chest, trying to bury herself into him. He can’t leave. Please don’t leave.
Percy lays her down, her head at the foot of the bed, and he drags her top up to her collarbones.
Soft hair brushes against her chest as he lowers himself, tongue circling around her nipple before taking it in his mouth and sucking.
Annabeth fits her fingers through his curls, surely knotting the strands. She sighs when he squeezes her neglected breast, thumb passing over the sensitive bud. Just at the precipice of too much, too hard.
Sometimes, it upsets her that bruises aren’t nearly as visible on her skin as they are on his. She wants evidence of him when he isn’t by her side.
Her legs spread and she uses her knees to push him down. His chuckle vibrates against her.
His skin is rough and the scars are dry. He caresses down her abdomen and under her spandex until he reaches where she’s hottest. He kisses her open mouth.
Annabeth might be shaking. It’s the cold in the room, or the high, or his touch. Maybe all three.
Nimble fingers run along her slit, just barely teasing in. Her stomach dips and tenses.
Percy draws back to hook his fingers over the elastic band and pulls the fabric down past her knees. Annabeth kicks them off to somewhere on the floor.
“Wait, I wanna see you,” he slurs. Her face warms.
“Do the, uh…” Annabeth gestures above her head. “The strings.”
He kneels on the bed and twists around, trying to find her nightstand.
“Drawer,” she says. She pushes back her hair, noticing her damp neck, and leans back on her elbows.
There’s some clattering and whispered swears from Percy, but a second later there’s a warm glow above them. The string lights are dim, nearly dead, but she can actually see his features now.
His face is prickled pink and his hair flies every which way.
It used to scare her, for him to see her naked. He’d seen her in enough bathing suits, but this was different. Her body is something no one else has seen or will see. Except for Percy.
It should’ve come easy. They trust each other with their lives, they have for years. They’ve seen each other at their worst. But sex is different.
Despite all they’ve been through, it doesn’t stop Annabeth from being scared that this will end. That one day he’ll leave, and he’ll take all her secrets and the intimacies they shared with him. That a part of her will die along with them.
Sex shouldn’t have scared her. It’s nothing compared to tying your souls together, of being the only person capable of killing him.
But sometimes it still scares her. Her hands are clammy and she can’t smooth the crease between her brows.
Percy knows all this. All he has to do is look at her, and everything shifts into focus.
Percy smiles dopily as he climbs back over her. He guides her to lay down again. “Love looking at you.”
Annabeth hums. “You’re pretty.”
His forehead drops to her shoulder, and he lets out a breath of laughter. “You are too, baby.”
He latches his mouth over her jaw, licking without direction, tasting her skin.
Two fingers graze her chin and up to her swollen lips. Annabeth opens her mouth without a word and sucks on them.
“Good girl,” Percy tells her, quieter than a whisper.
Her mouth falls open with a soft whine. Her center pulses.
He passes her clit and moves further down. Two fingers fit inside her flesh, and Annabeth inhales sharply. Two of his are like three of hers.
“Easy,” he says. Annabeth forces her body to relax. He thrusts his hand in and out slowly, coated to the knuckle. Velvety and wet and she’s letting out little whimpers every time he hits a new spot.
She likes not having control over what he does, and how he uses it to his advantage. Because every time, he just wants her to feel good.
When Percy picks up the pace, he moves down, his lips just an inch from where Annabeth needs him. He meets her eye but she has to look away, or else she’ll come too soon.
“Perce, please.”
He removes his hand so he can prop both her legs into a bend, feet flat on the mattress.
His head dips and—fuck.
They haven’t been having sex for an obscene amount of time. Some heavy making out and hands beneath clothes during the first few months of dating, but this is relatively new. If four or so months is considered new.
All that is to say, Percy’s really good at this part. Really, really good. It’s only annoying because it hasn’t been that long of doing this, but that just means he’s only going to get better.
Annabeth doesn’t know where to put her hands, needing an anchor. The sheets, her breasts, his hair, her thighs, anything.
Percy licks a strip along her with the flat of his tongue, spreading her wetness to the top. He circles around her clit, not teasing, just drawing it out.
There’s something thick in her throat that’s desperate to come out. Annabeth wishes they were somewhere where noise didn’t matter, but that’s rare to come by.
The hot coil tightens when his mouth closes over those sensitive nerves.
She drags her blunt nails along his shoulders, as much skin as she can get. She swallows thickly, tipping her head back.
Annabeth feels a little unhinged, rolling her hips along his face, his nose rubbing over her center. His hands steady on the crease of her thighs don’t do much to hold her down.
Her moans are muffled against the sheets, but her harsh breaths echo through the room. The last thing Annabeth needs is a noise complaint while high and in the middle of getting fucked.
This too, isn’t as good when alone. She can touch herself just fine, but it’s never the same as Percy’s hands. Everything is dialed up to 100 with him.
He’s letting out these little noises too, like doing this to Annabeth is giving him pleasure.
She raises her head a bit to watch him. Wide, scarred, freckled shoulders; waves of overgrown hair covering his face; working at her like he wants nothing else, like this is where he’s meant to be.
His hips are moving too, against the mattress, just barely. Annabeth’s brain is functioning too slowly to comment on it.
Percy removes one hand and ghosts over her entrance before easing in. Just one finger this time, but combined with his mouth on her clit, it’s better than enough. Her breath comes out harsh and sharp.
The stinging pressure builds, gathering low in her stomach and spreading through her like wildfire.
“Percy…” she warns.
He doesn’t stop.
Her back arches as she comes. Her breath stutters and she has to bite her hand to not let out any noise. Her thighs twitch around him, aftershocks of electricity.
Percy pants against her and drags his mouth up, moving lazily along her hip bone. Annabeth’s hot and a little sore between her legs. She feels lightheaded for a new reason.
He licks his lips and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“You’re so pretty,” he says, like it’s a confession. “I wish it wasn’t like this.”
Annabeth raises herself, leaning back on her elbows. She realizes her tank top is still bunched around her shoulders. “Like what?”
“Nightmares and shit. How this is the only way…”
Her heart hurts.
“It isn’t,” Annabeth promises, but offers no alternative.
Percy lays beside her and peppers kisses along her shoulder and neck, up to her ear, brushing her hair back. He tugs at her top and she lifts her arms to take it off. He pushes his pants and boxers down, and she feels them gathered around his ankles.
She’s comfortable with him, always. Safe. But sometimes the situation isn’t right or she feels off, but she goes through with it anyway. Her head and heart don’t match.
One day they’ll talk, but tonight is for haziness and instinct.
He’s thick and ready, and Annabeth briefly wonders if this is a hallucination. Maybe she’s having a really good dream for once.
Her nose bumps against his and she captures his mouth with her own, tasting herself. Her hips roll against the air. The wetness between her legs is uncomfortable. Her mind is too foggy to care about it.
Percy turns her over to her side and presses his front against her back. She raises her outside hip to wrap around his.
Their hips align and then he’s pressing into her, smooth and deep. He draws back once and goes in deeper. Annabeth lets out a silent moan.
Percy wraps his arm over her bare chest. Clipped whimpers flee from her lips as he moves again and again, her hips following the rhythm he’s set. They move as one, the closest two people can physically be.
Maybe that’s what initially scared her so much about sex. That they had already been the closest two people can be, their life forms tied together. To Annabeth, sex was the physical manifestation of that.
Percy reacts the same way when she touches the old spot and when she touches his dick, anyway.
She stretches her arm back to grab his hair, his chin digging in the crook of her neck.
He groans her name in her ear, panting and sweat gathering more and more by the second.
In the back of her mind, Annabeth wonders how he can keep such a stable pace when he was higher than her at the beginning.
She covers the arm over her chest with her own, interlacing their fingers.
She could come again if she tried, rolling her fingers over her clit, but she doesn’t have the energy or focus for it.
His hips stutter and he thrusts in a few more times. Slow, deep, sated.
Annabeth doesn’t come, which is fine. She’s satisfied, he’s satisfied, and it’s just another night of this routine. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if it stops feeling good.
As they come down from their highs, they don’t say anything. Annabeth’s too exhausted to lift a single sweaty muscle. The city is quiet for once.
They don’t always exchange I love yous, but for some reason, Annabeth notices the lack of it this time. She’s too strung out to use her voice, like she’s an unraveled spool of thread.
He pulls out and puts his boxers back on. Annabeth realizes how warm and stuffy the room’s gotten, and how they’ll fall asleep semi-naked above the sheets.
Percy asks if she’s okay, and she just nods, staying where she is.
Annabeth tries to read her clock, but dyslexia doesn’t pair well with an altered state. Whatever time it is, school is going to be miserable. Dread builds in her chest.
Percy runs his hand up and down her arm, slow and all dead weight.
They fit like puzzle pieces.
A couple hours later, they wake the same way.