To Swear On Styx

Chapter Three: I Use My First Wish

Playlist Part Three:

Time Will Catch Me First - Peter Crowley

~*~

It was late when Percy got back to Olympus, probably about midnight. As Percy walked down the long corridors in the Olympian gods' former palace, he didn't run into anyone, and assumed all the Titans were asleep or something. Did Titans even sleep? Percy did, so they all would too, right?

So, when Percy shouldered open the door to his room, the last thing he expected to see was Kronos sitting on the edge of his bed reading a book, his golden eyes flicking across the words tiredly.

He looked up as Percy entered, setting the book on the nightstand. "Perseus," he greeted, his voice warm.

Warily, Percy wavered by the door, before sighing and stepping all the way into the room, shutting it behind him. "Kronos," he said, crossing his arms. "What are you doing in my room?"

"Reading," Kronos replied, gesturing to his closed book resting on the nightstand.

Percy's eyes lidded, and Kronos' lips quirked up into a smirk.

"How is your mother?" Kronos asked, his eyes following Percy's movements as the younger pulled off his coat and hung it on a hook by the door.

"Why do you care?" Percy bit out, before squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep, calming breath. "...She's fine. Peachy."

Kronos leaned back against the bed, with his arms folded on his lower chest and his feet just brushing the floor. "Is she coming to the wedding?"

Percy, who had moved over to his dresser to gather up his night clothes and a few other things to take with him into the bathroom, glanced up, meeting Kronos' eyes in the mirror in front of him. "She is. Now, why are you really in my room, Kronos?"

Kronos, who had simply turned his head to face Percy rather than sit up again on the bed, let out an annoyed huff. In the dim light of the bedroom, the Titan King looked like a figure out of a renaissance painting, all olive skin and taut, lithe muscle, his black hair curling against the back of his neck and falling haphazardly in front of his eyes. The gold rimmed chiton and traditional strapped sandals he wore added to the illusion that he was just a very good looking thirty-something-year-old man from the seventh century B.C. Athens, off to sell some fine vases or olives at the market.

And then, a feeling of overwhelming abhorrence was curling in Percy's stomach, because, fuck, he had just thought of Kronos as 'good looking'. Kronos was a genocidal monster, he wasn't supposed to be attractive. He was supposed to look like the sinister, decrepit old man that those paintings and statues portrayed of him eating his kids alive.

Percy could see the smirk that spread across Kronos' face in the mirror's reflection, like he had just bore witness to the younger's horrified thought process. "Perhaps-" The Titan King's voice was low, teasing even, and he sat up, carefully crossing the room towards a completely still Percy. "-I came to see you."

Gently, he reached forward, pulling the tense demigod-turned-Titan against him by the waist so that Percy's back was flush against the other's chest. Kronos' fingers dug into Percy's skin firmly enough to bruise, before he let one hand trail up, skirting over Percy's chest, and brushing against his neck and jawline, thumbing the younger's bottom lip thoughtfully. After a beat, Kronos' hand fell back to Percy's chin, and he tapped a finger beneath it, guiding the younger to look forward so their gazes were locked in the mirror.

Percy's jaw was clenched, his mouth dry, and his head pounding. So this was it. This was when Kronos was going to demand that he go to bed with him. The first of probably an infinite number of times. Letting out a half-frightened, half-angry huff, Percy cast his gaze helplessly up to the ceiling, taking in a shaky breath and preparing himself for the worst.