Percabeth Dirty One Shots and Drabbles

So Bad But He Does It So Well

@greenconverseson ao3

: realityChapter Text

If he tears her dress, she's going to kill him.

It's not the most generous thought to have when a boy's hands are smoothing up her curves and hoisting her up on to counter in his dingy dressing room, but Annabeth has her priorities and protecting her vintage sheath dress from Percy Jackson's undoubtedly destructive hands is one of them.

He has the look of dress ripper about him - and it's not just the holes in his jeans and the ratty sleeves of his T-shirt that give him away. He's spent all night looking at her from the stage like he's imagined a hundred different ways to get her dress off; she's positive just undoing the zipper and letting it slip down did not feature prominently in any of those scenarios. His touches are impatient, never lingering, as if he can't get enough of any one part of her, and turning rougher as the heat between them grows which each kiss, each lustful sigh and needy groan.

Make no mistake, Annabeth wants her dress off too - god, does she ever want to feel his calloused palms on her skin and, oh, that mouth of his, yes, please - but it absolutely needs to come off in one piece. Hopefully it'll also get hung on the back of the chair, not on the floor, which apparently hasn't been cleaned since the bar was built, but she highly doubts it.

"How'd you even get this thing on?" Percy growls, nipping at the shell of her ear as his fingers fumble with the zipper. He slides it down just enough to loosen the top of her dress, so he can pull down the sweetheart neckline and her lacy bra all in one go. Annabeth gasps as her breasts are exposed, nipples tightening the tepid air. "Magic?"

"M-my roommate had to zip me up," she admits, voice trembling as Percy palms one of her breasts, rolling a thumb over her nipple. "But it's clearly done it's jo - oooh!"

Her nails dig into his shoulder and the nape of his neck as Percy dips his head to take her other nipple in his mouth. He is not gentle. He is demanding, pinching her with his fingers, pulling at her with his mouth, grazing her with his teeth, and Annabeth's body arches into him, rubbing against the thick press of his thigh between her legs until she's whimpering and trembling, on the edge of something great and wonderful.

She's spent more time fantasizing about Percy Jackson than she's willing to admit, her mind often wandering to him during the history class they share together. She's beyond thrilled that he's living up to those fantasies in all the best ways.

"Take it off," she demands, gulping for air. "Please."

He ignores her plea, intently focused on her breasts and making sure she feels every second of his mouth on her. Annabeth appreciates this, she does, but her skin is crawling with heat and she has to get this dress off before she combusts. Unsteadily, she reaches back to finish unzipping her dress, but Percy's hand darts out to stop her.

"No way, princess," he says huskily, kissing his way up her chest to the curve of her neck. She can't even be mad at him for the ridiculous nickname, his mouth feels so good. "The dress is staying on."

"Huh?"

It's not her most eloquent moment, with her breasts out, cheeks and chest flushed with arousal, and legs wrapped around an irredeemable punk of a man. It draws a chuckle out of him, and he cups her face in his hands before kissing her quite thoroughly.

"You have no idea," Percy murmurs into her mouth, "just how many times I've wanted my head under all those skirts of yours, between your thighs, getting you off with my lips and tongue. Not missing my one chance tonight."

"Fuck," Annabeth moans, closing her eyes, overwhelmed by the sharp pulse of want that blazes through her at the image he presents. He would be a talk dirty. She presses her curves into him and kisses him frantically, feeling his awful smirk spread across her lips.

"You ever have someone do that to you, Annabeth?" he replies when they break apart, his hands already sliding under the hem of her dress, pushing it up the length of her thighs. The ache between her legs pulses mightily each time a new inch of flesh is exposed. "Eat you out with one of your gorgeous dresses bunched up around your hips? Pull that skirt back down and leave you dripping down your thighs for the rest of the day?"

His thumbs dig into the edges of her panties and Annabeth lifts her hips so he can drag them down her legs. She doesn't think his eyes can get any darker, his expression any more needier, until she shakes her head and says, "No. You'd be the first."

She barely gets the words out before he's on his knees in front of her, shoving her back on the counter and spreading her wide. His hands dig into her clothed hips and, distantly, Annabeth thinks she should warn him about his grip on the material and -

Oh.

Oh, holy god.