Annabeth is everywhere.
On a mental plane, Percy knows that she is good at this because she has done it before. But, from a more emotional standpoint, he doesn't give a shit. After all, it's not Luke that she's kissing right now. It's not Luke that just got to second base. It's not Luke that already has three hickeys-and, as a person who has never had a hickey before, Percy thinks that Luke is seriously missing out.
The idea of Annabeth marking him with her lips and tongue and teeth makes Percy's stomach flip in a way that causes him to press closer and closer to her. He kisses her at an even more furious pace, working hard to pour all of the frustration and anger that he has felt at her into their kiss. When she finally moans into his mouth, Percy takes it as his cue.
He flips her over so that Annabeth is shoved against the pillows at the head of their bed, breathing heavily and staring up at him with puffy lips and slightly narrowed eyes. But turnabout is fair play, and it's his turn to mark her. Percy isn't really sure what to do-this territory, while fucking awesome, is brand new to him-so he surveys his canvas carefully. His eyes travel over the pale skin that is revealed, some new now that she's not wearing a shirt. He looks at the delicate skin on her neck and the soft skin on the parts of her breasts that spill over her bra cups and the smooth skin on her stomach and he thinks of all the places that he wants to kiss and bite and touch, touch in general, because he has spent this entire time stopping himself from touching her, and now she's literally offering herself up to him to do whatever he wants with.
She trusts him enough to do that, and this makes Percy beam as Annabeth puts his hands on the clasp behind her bra.
Getting it undone is his first fumble, but she just rolls her eyes and kisses him and pushes his fingers aside so that she can remove the clasp herself. Percy's heart pounds, thumping violently against his chest, and he can feel it everywhere: in his head, in his fingertips, in his neck. He keeps his eyes on hers even when her chest is bared to him. Annabeth's lips tilt upwards in a questioning manner, but Percy just shrugs before leaning forward to kiss her again.
He doesn't want to talk right now. He knows that words are going to ruin this feeling that's pulsing through his entire body, the love that is fucking throbbing through him. And he's never experienced it as powerfully as he is experiencing now. He wonders if Annabeth can feel his heart hammering from where their bare chests are crushed together, but he doesn't even care because after all of the holding back he wants her to know that she makes his heart pound like
it's about to beat itself out of his chest and fly into the open air.
Percy has heard enough about sex to know that there's a million things he wants to do to Annabeth, but when he's finished kissing her all over her upper body and she's finished with being still, he allows her to take over again. She's got him lying against the pillows, and he can hear his breath as it is released from his body over and over and over again and all he can do is stare up at Annabeth and the crease between her eyebrows and the way she's moving up and down and sucking her bottom lip between her teeth and the flush on her cheeks and the short, rhythmic spurts that her breaths are coming out in and, and, and.
Percy doesn't think he's ever been as observant as he is in this moment, even though the moment is over too soon.
Annabeth is curled cozily into Percy, and her breath is puffing out against the skin on his neck as her chest moves up and down. For his part, Percy feels more than a little bit shell-shocked, as though the bed has moved them from their small, empty life together into an entirely new, alternate universe.
He doesn't say anything for several minutes as he waits for Annabeth to talk.
"You're good at kissing," is her first offer of conversation, and Percy nearly chokes on his own spit as he struggles, a bit too eagerly, to reply.
