Percy Jackson One-shots

On the Rocks (Solangelo)

"Oh shit. I think this was a bad idea," I tell my reflection in the dingy pub restroom mirror. My face stares back at me, blanched, my eyes rimmed red.

I stagger back to the booth where Nico waits. He'd ordered another round of whiskey shots, and taps his fingers, smirking at me as I approach. His eyes dance, a challenge playing in them, reflecting the flame from the small tabletop oil lamp.

I take my seat across from him, unable to refuse. Seeing fire in Nico's eyes does things to me, things that I'm not sure he realizes we've been dancing around for years. I pick up my new shot and wait for him to pick his up, bolstered by the fire in my blood from the previous three rounds to finally bring it up in conversation.

"You sure you can handle another one, Solace?"

I bat my eyelashes at him. "If I can't, I'll be at your mercy, Angel." Then I wink and swallow the shot, wincing as it goes down. When I look at him again, he's still holding his drink, his cheeks flushed. "What?" I ask.

He shakes his head as if just realizing he hasn't moved and downs his shot. He bangs the empty glass on the table and stares at me, his eyes pulling my focus like homing beacons in the dark.

I can't help myself; our hands lie on the tabletop only inches apart, both of us hunched forward, elbows supporting our arms. I turn my hand on its side and brush his knuckles with mine, then settle my hand on top of his, my thumb running back and forth over his skin.

He doesn't pull away immediately, doesn't really even seem to notice. He continues to stare at me.

"We've been friends a long time," I say, and the whole conversation I've gone over and over in my mind so many times over the years just starts pouring out. I've never worked up the courage to actually have it with him, never wanting to spook him, to risk him running off again. But now, I can't stop.

He nods, still staring, raising one eyebrow to signal he's listening.

"Like..." I count the years in my head, baffled by the number I come up with, "... seven years?"

He nods again; short, concise, the only response I seem to be getting tonight.

"You ever think about how neither of us has dated anybody in that time? I mean, at Camp, it was pretty much all anybody did. I even did it, too until the last war."

He nods again, making me feel like I'm talking to a bobblehead doll.

"So, you have thought about it?"

I can't help it; my heart speeds up, my lungs ache. I need to get this out and to really, honestly talk to him about the elephant in the room. How we spend practically all our free time together and have for years; how he's my confidante about anything other than matters of romance, more because neither of us has had any than anything else; how much of myself I've held back out of fear of him leaving; how much he means to me; how much I want him to acknowledge that even without kissing and sex, we are pretty much together. And, if he's willing, how much I would like to kiss him; how much I'd like to see if that would lead to something more. But he's doing the thing I knew he would, clamming up, and despite knowing it would happen, my alcohol muddled emotions amplify the hurt I was trying to avoid.

"Not here," he says and grabs his jacket. I'm not sure if I want to cry or start an argument with him, and instead, take his hand when he offers it to help me up.

When I'm standing, I regret drinking as much as I did. What were we thinking? Waiting until we were both 21 before going out, drinking way too much, not acclimating to it or testing where our tolerance is? Though, when I look at Nico, he seems perfectly in control of himself, and it pisses me off that I'm the one who's falling to pieces. I imagined having this conversation so many times, but never where it was me that wasn't in control.

Nico supports me with an arm around my back, holding my arm forward for balance with his other arm, steadying me. I decide not to start an argument or to break down in frustrated sobs, but to stay in the moment while it lasts: Nico, holding me publicly, not downplaying or denying there might be more between us than 'just friends'.

I let him guide me to the bus stop, my eyes swimming in my sockets. I couldn't find my way home in this state if my life depended on it. And yet, handing that responsibility over to Nico feels as natural as breathing. He rubs the side of my arm up and down; I guess he thinks I must be cold. I feel perfectly warm in his embrace while he reads the bus schedule, swears, and then pulls out his cell phone.

We sit on the bench of the bus shelter, the sound of Nico's voice making my eyelids droop. I rest my head on his shoulder, then nuzzle his cheek, enjoying the vibrations of his vocal chords until he stops talking or I stop being awake. I'm not sure which.

XxxX

It could be hours later, or only minutes when Nico strokes my cheek with the palm of his hand and I open my eyes.

"Come on. We're home," he says.

I gaze blearily around, somehow transported to the back seat of a taxi, and Nico pays the driver. He opens the door and helps me out, and I can't stop the rush of nervous giggles bubbling up inside me from flooding out.

Nico smirks, his arm still firmly wrapped around my back, and then leads me up the stairs of our apartment building. I am so far gone for this guy, feeling so warm and comfortable, I hardly notice when we arrive at our door until Nico releases me to unlock it.

My nerves start in again. Coming back home, to the place where I've spent so much time holding back, stifling my arousal out of fear of rejection, and crossing the threshold brings it all crashing back down on me.


I stumble into the sitting room and slump onto the lumpy couch while Nico goes into the kitchen and rattles around in one of the cupboards.

The idea that I could get up, could just refuse to face this right now crosses my mind. I could fall back on my old habits – use the toilet, put on my pajamas, crawl into my cold bed by myself and wait for the disappointment to pass – the promise of a new day, a fresh start, keeping me going. My limbs are too heavy to move, though. I stay put. Nico drops into place beside me a moment later, not in his spot, but right next to me, our thighs pressing together. He hands me a glass of water and watches me drink it.

It tastes wonderful, refreshing. I finish the glass, and then he fumbles something with his fingers. The next thing I know, he pushes a stick of my herbal gum into my mouth. I chew it without protesting, the raw earthy flavor ruining the fresh taste of the water.

"It's medicinal," Nico intones, his face deadpan before his lips twitch at the corners. "It should keep you alive and alert for a few hours."

My head clears a little and I realize he's joking with me. I'm certain he's reciting something I've said to him back at me. I chance a smile at him, then breathe in and out deeply, not entirely sober, but not spinning drunk any longer.

Nico pulls me with him until we rest our heads against the back of the couch, and I realize he's cushioning my neck with his arm. I turn to look at him. His eyes are focused again directly on mine, holding me enthralled.

"I have noticed," he says. "That neither of us have dated other people, I mean. And, well, I thought ... I thought it was ..." I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "I thought it was because you were busy with school, that we were just playing it by ear, that when things slowed down, we'd ... you know."

I don't know. I don't have the faintest idea what he's talking about. I know he's picking up where we'd left off with the conversation I started in the pub, but Nico doesn't follow the script.

"I don't know," I tell him. "I thought you might not be interested, and I didn't want to chance it and then lose you. I thought ..."

My heart leaps, my stomach a flurry of butterflies as Nico hones his gaze on my eyes, sharper than ever. "Can I kiss you, Will?" he asks, his voice deep, gravelly, at odds with the predatory gleam in his eyes.

Crap! I'm sitting here gaping like a fish out of water while Nico has just said the words I've been longing to hear. I nod, still off kilter. And then his lips are on mine, our tongues brushing, my skin breaking out in goosebumps, every hair on my body alive and trembling. Nico's lips and mouth are warm, and wet, and insistent.

I open wider, gasping to breathe as Nico climbs onto my lap, straddling my thighs, moving his kisses along my cheek, then following the line of my jaw to my ear and finally latching onto my neck. I rock my hips up to meet his without even thinking about it, on fire where he touches me, and I finally get with the program and touch him back.

I run my fingers through his thick black hair, gripping his ass through his jeans with my other hand as he growls below my ear, his breath heavy and hot. He lifts his head and grinds down on my groin while I guide his hips, both hands on his ass now. He meets my eyes, smiling ... and chewing my gum.

"My room tonight?" he asks, one eyebrow raised. "I think we've got some lost time to make up for, don't you?"

I nod and take his hand as he climbs off the couch. Instead of walking me to his room, he presses us together, leading me in a pseudo-dance backwards, tearing at our our clothes, and kissing me all the way to his bed.

XxxX

Whiskey, for us, is something we now save for special occasions. The day I graduated from med school; the day Nico admitted what he wanted to do for a living and then got his degree in Interior design; the day we signed the papers to buy a house together.

I stop by the liquor store on my way home from the clinic, and Nico spots me trying to hide the bottle in the cabinet above the refrigerator. He swoops in after I close the door and pulls the collar of my lab coat until we're eye to eye. "Special occasion coming up?"

My hip tingles with the ghost of the ring box I've had in my pocket all day, now secreted away in my bedside table drawer. I smile at him, lifting my eyebrows. "Something like that."