1.
Because Percy is (usually) a gentleman, he eats her out before her face can get anywhere near his dick.
Which is completely fine with Annabeth.
They’re sitting on the bed in Percy’s tiny apartment, pretending to watch the movie playing on his flat screen. Really though, they’re making out. Annabeth hates that phrase, (why not just kissing?) but there’s really no better word for it —what they’re doing is pure, American-teenager making out — hot, sloppy kisses, oddly pleasant groping, and a thousand hickeys-in-the-making.
“I want to try something,” Percy murmurs when they’re both swollen-lipped and panting, and Annabeth can only nod in agreement. She’s in one of those moods where if the “something” he wants to try is throwing her off a cliff, she’d probably let him.
“OK,” Percy says.
“OK,” Annabeth repeats, dumbly.
She moans and squirms as his lips drop from hers in favor of smearing kisses a little lower on her body — along her jaw, down her neck, across her chest.
They never have time for this type of thing, but it was an off-weekend for the both of them, and Annabeth would be damned if she complained about Percy wanting to use the time to explore her body the way he was currently.
“sh*t,” she hisses when he pulls one of her nipples into his mouth. It felt good, really good, but this was all familiar territory, even for Percy and Annabeth and the painstakingly slow-paced physical side of their relationship.
And Annabeth’s completely fine with the fact that Percy thinks they should “take it slow.” She reminds herself that it’s not every guy who’s so understanding, as virtuous and loving as her boyfriend. Percy’s special, and he’s all hers. She’s lucky.
And she reminds herself that “taking it slow,” just makes it so much better when they do get time to themselves.
But right now, Annabeth needs some relief. Something — anything.
So when Percy runs his hand along the underside of her belly, right where the heat is stirring inside her, she can’t help but arch into his touch. “Percy,” she gasps, “do not stop.”
Thank gods he was a good listener.
He pulls her shorts the rest of the way off, drags her panties over her ankles. And then she’s naked except for the bunched up tank top around her torso. And he’s looking at her.
And because it’s Percy, his stare isn’t condescending or judgemental. No, he’s looking at her now with an innocent feeling curiosity, even a little awe.
“Percy,” Annabeth whines, “Are you gonna, you know, follow through, or what?”
“Wise Girl. . .” He chuckles, low and breathy. Then he wraps his arms around her thighs and tugs her down the bed, (towards his face!) in a manner thats all I’m-Percy-Jackson-Hero-of-Olympus confidence.
His warm breath fans out against the warmest part of her as he kisses a line up her thigh. “Annabeth, is this OK?
“OK,” she says again. Then the heat that she’s already feeling everywhere Percy’s body is touching hers spreads up her neck and to her face, too - he hasn’t even touched her yet. “I mean, yes, this is OK. Very OK.”
And then — Percy lowers his lips to where she has been aching for him to be for what feels like centuries and he’s eating her out.
(Annabeth hates that phrase, too.)
There are no good words, she thinks.
She’s surprised she can even think — she’s sure her brain is going to mush at the same pace Percy is moving his tongue against her. She certainly can’t breathe.
It’s like when Thalia would trap her in a mini wind storm during Capture the Flag at camp and there’d be so much sensation that you’d be force to submit, and gods, why is she thinking about Capture the Flag when Percy’s head is between her legs.
And then suddenly it’s too much for Annabeth — the heat that’s running through her and threatening to rip her apart. She wants to push Percy away from her, yet, she’s forcing him closer, threading her fingers through his hair.
From somewhere far away, she hears herself scream.
When Annabeth recovers her wits she realizes she’s not quite sure what the protocol is now. She doesn’t like not knowing what to do. Does she return the favor? Get up and clean off? She’s definetly feeling a bit sticky down there.
But when she turns from her back to her side to look at Percy, he’s fast asleep.
She sighs, “Thank you,” and rests her head on his chest.
2.
Annabeth knows Percy isn’t keeping score, but she can’t help but want to repay the favor.
Because she is an architect through and through, she makes a plan.
The first step to her devilish plan is to send an Iris Message to Rachel — technically, the Oracle of Delphi is supposed to remain a virgin, but Annabeth’s sure this Oracle’s given more blowj*bs to a certain son of Hades than she wants to count. Rachel doesn’t answer the Iris Message, but Annabeth leaves a detailed message and some emojis that indicate urgency, and an hour later, Rachel facetimes her.
“I’m sending you a video,” the redhead sings when Annabeth picks up.
“Of you and Nico?” Annabeth replies, mortified.
Rachel tuts. “Of course not — it’s p*rn.”
“p*rn?” Annabeth’s only slightly less mortified.
“Yes. Don’t be such a prude.” The irony is not lost on Annabeth that it is the Oracle calling her a prude.
Still, when she bids her friend goodbye (after half-an-hour of incredibly graphic conversation) she opens the video and watches the whole thing. Its’s melodramatic, really -- the girl is wearing far too much eyeshadow and far too little lipstick, judging by the way most of it is on the guy’s co*ck only 2 minutes in to the video. The Girl With The Misfortunate Makeup is making way too much noise, while the man she is pleasuring says nothing at all. By the time Percy knocks on her dorm room door, she is even more nervous than before.
So nervous, that she forgets step two of the plan: invite Percy over. Thankfully, her Seaweed Brain has pretty decent timing.
“Annabeth?” He raps on the door again.
“Coming!” She shouts, pulling her blonde curls out of the bun they had been in all day. That was step three.
“Hey, Wise Girl,” Percy says when she finally opens the door. He leans in to kiss her lips, soft and sweet —there’s barely any heat behind it at all. Leave it to Percy to be romantic the one night she wants him to be horny. Forget what she said about his decent timing.
His timing is terrible.
She’s in a mood for the better half of the night, and Percy knows better than to mess with her, so he focuses on emptying her minuscule kitchen of Ramen, instead.
Because Percy is Percy though it only takes about three minutes of cuddling on Annabeth’s roommate’s ratty couch before he’s straining against his jeans.
And because Annabeth is Annabeth, it only takes about three more minutes for her to take pity on him.
Step three: She slides off of the couch and unto her knees in front of him. Step four: Put her hair back into a ponytail.
“Annabeth?” Percy protests feebly. “You don’t have to —“
But his heart’s not really in it. He wants it, too. More than Annabeth, probably.
She runs her palm over his crotch slowly, makes eye contact, because Rachel told her to. Then she pushes the Oracle (along with steps five and six and seven) from her mind. Her and Percy have their own rhythm.
“I want to,” Annabeth whispers as sultry as she can, then stops and returns to her regular voice.
She sounds ridiculous.
“. . . try something,” she finishes, borrowing his line from last weekend.
“OK,” he laughs, taking the hint.
Percy’s quiet, though while Annabeth makes (not-so) short work of his pants.
She undoes the button on his tacky pink shorts, unzips them (the zipper gets stuck at the last minute, so she just tugs them the rest of the way off.)
When she reaches into his boxers and pulls out his length, he’s warm and heavy and sort of throbbing in her hand. There’s the tiniest drop of precum on the tip. She runs her thumb over it, and Percy shudders.
She understands, suddenly, the curiosity that burned his eyes just a couple of days ago. She loves him, and she wants to know every part of him. And he’s hers to get to know.
The revelation makes her shudder.
After that, it’s all very quick. For some reason, even though they’re on pretty equal footing when it comes to sexual experience, Percy is a lot better than her at expressing himself in bed — giving her orders and asking questions, his voice all low and throaty.
(Can I hold on to your ponytail? Use your hands, Annabeth, for what you can’t reach.)
It’s the one area, she thinks, where he bosses her around. It’s incredibly sexy.
It doesn’t take him too long to cum — but it’s still long enough to make Annabeth’s fingers cramp and her jaw ache a little. When he does, she swallows it all — partly because she’s just honestly curious about the taste, and partly because some part of her mind has remembered a bit of Rachel’s advice, after all.
“Annabeth, can I ask you something?” Percy is saying one night after he shuts the door behind his mother. Percy and Sally usually have dinner together on Wednesday nights, which means that Percy usually invites Annabeth over on Wednesday nights.
“You just did,” Annabeth replies and then leans in to kiss him.
And kiss him.
And kiss him.
“Percy, what did you want to ask me?”
“Oh, yeah, um, do you want to move in with me?” She can’t say anything but yes to him right then, when there’s a quiet note of hesitation in his voice and his lips are all red and his hair all mussed because of her.
3.
“Condom?” Annabeth asks quickly.
“Oh — oh yeah,” Percy starts, climbing off his bed — their bed. She wants to giggle at the sight of him throwing open the bedroom door and rushing down the stairs naked, but nothing is really funny right now. On his way out, Percy does his best not to trip over the boxes Annabeth has neatly labeled Shirts, and Pants, and Pajamas.
She’s not officially moved in yet, and Percy has been promising to clean out his closet for her for days now, but it is the fourteenth consecutive night that she has spent here, as opposed to her dorm.
“Are you sure?” Percy says when he climbs back into the bed. The only light in the room is coming from the tiny crack underneath the door. Of course she’s sure.
He can’t open the little square package, so she does it for him, and then the condom is in her hand and there’s a beat of silence and then she’s rolling it on him.
Her heart is beating very fast in her ears. Beating with anticipation, and nervousness, and love. Always her love for Percy.
And when he slides into her it’s uncomfortable, (she’s never had anything there other than a finger or two, the little vibrator Rachel got her for her birthday) but not painful (he goes slow, and she’s experienced so much of it that physical pain is an alien sort of concept to her now.)
And when he begins to move it’s not great (first they can’t find a good pace, then they do, then they don’t) but it’s kind of perfect (the surprising way moments can be when you realize you’ll remember them all your life.)
Annabeth moans, but it’s less in pleasure and more just a way to let some of what she’s feeling right now out of her.
She can’t tell he’s trying hard to make it good for her, too. Reaching a hand between them to rub her cl*t, peppering wet kisses all over her chest and face. But she already knows she’s not going to come tonight.
So when Percy’s thrusts become even sloppier, and his breath in her ear is heavy and erratic she whispers, “It’s OK,” and strokes his damp hair softly as he buries his head in the crook that connects her shoulder and neck and finishes.
After a moment, he pulls out of her and rolls over to throw out the condom. A small, hormone-addled part of her wants to push him away and tell him to never come back, but she immediately feels silly. Annabeth always wants Percy to come back to her. And when he does, he wraps his arms around her —sweat and tears and all — and says, “I love you,” in the firmest, most indisputable voice ever.
Annabeth doesn’t have to explain to him why she’s crying, which is okay, because he already knows, even if she can’t quite explain it herself, anyways. She says a quick, silent prayer to the gods — thanks them for letting Percy Jackson be hers.
Like everything else in Annabeth and Percy’s lives, she knows that one day this aspect of their relationship will be perfect, too.
But not right away.
And thats OK.
