jhon. ᰔ

LIKES .ᐟ anything buildable. maths. programming. minecraft. the lore of fnaf. checked shirts. biting things. noise. being on the move. being social. honey lemon pancakes. dnd. skating.

DISLIKES .ᐟ read. being ignored. small places. darkness. silence. his father. doing homework. studying alone for exams. violent people. cheating. indifference.

SECRETS .ᐟ he's dyslexic. he tasted alcohol for the first time at the age of twelve. he's afraid of closets. he doesn't know how to tie his shoelaces. he bites his nails.

Alcohol had been a part of Victor’s life even before he knew what it was. He’d see the liquid spilled on the carpet where his father had fallen asleep, and the smell would fill the house all the way to his room, even if he closed the door. Once, when he was twelve, his father—who was unusually quiet that day—offered him a drink. The way it burned his throat made him vow he’d never try it. And yet, there he was, walking into the bar closest to his house after a shitty day.

Because he’d been the one to grow up, he couldn’t let guilt drag him to the bottom of the barrel when he had a little sister who depended on him. Morgan was his whole world. He didn’t care that she was his stepsister—she was his. He promised himself he’d never say a word about this in front of her.

The bar door creaked from lack of oil, the sound of the bell followed, the voices inside a blurry background noise as he entered. Victor rested his face in his hand as he sat down at the bar, his stubble, growing on his chin and lazily trimmed, tickled his hand. It itched. At first he didn’t speak, doing nothing but staring at a stain on the worn table; there was something in his breathing that made him feel heavy.

“Can I get you anything, man?” he heard the bartender’s voice from behind the bar. Victor looked up, blinking a couple of times.

“Oh. Yeah. A straight whiskey, please,” he said, disoriented. The other man hummed and went back to his work. Victor felt disoriented again until he heard a chair leg scrape across the floor as someone sat down next to him.

“Can I have a vodka cocktail?” someone asked in a deep voice. The waiter let out the same hum as before. “Thanks.”

Victor turned to get a better look at him. The man had short, dark brown hair and a beard that was thicker than his own, framing his face. His blue eyes were cold and vacant. Deadly. He wore a red sweater, a black leather jacket over it, and thick gloves. The tension in his broad shoulders screamed “don’t come near me”. His leg tapped lightly against the floor, and the fingers of his right hand drummed absently on the table. All the danger signals went off in Victor’s head, his lips curved into a small smile.

“Hey. That sounds strong.” He chuckled. The sound caught the man’s attention, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Ah. Yeah, it is a bit strong,” he replied in a low voice, as if unsure he was saying the right thing. He cleared his throat. “They make them strong here.”

“And you come here often, I suppose?”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “I suppose so.”

Victor chuckled, it was a warm sound that resonated in my throat. The man almost mimicked it to ease his inner awkwardness. The waiter returned with the two drinks in hand, setting them down in front of the men. Both said “thank you” in unison and exchanged a glance.

“It’s a nice place… small,” he mused, picking up his cocktail glass. He thought he was doing a good job with the conversation. “Do you come here often?”

“Honestly? No. It’s like my, what, third time here?” He raised an eyebrow, reached out, and took the whiskey glass in his fingers. “The prices are good.”

“That’s better than any drink you could have,” they both let out a light laugh. “I’m Bucky… by the way.”

“Victor,” he introduced himself, his smile widening until it was almost contagious. Bucky smiled (or rather, grimaced awkwardly) in response. “Are vodka cocktails any good?”

“You’ve never tried one?”

“I’m loyal to whiskey,” he rolled his eyes. He took a sip of his drink as if to prove his point. “Are they good?”

“The ones here, sure. But I prefer dark liquor.” Bucky thought to himself that he’d ordered a cocktail that was a bit too classy for such a casual conversation with a pleasant stranger.

“Something like… aged rum?”

“Brandy.”

Victor raised his eyebrows. “Ah, fancy.” Bucky chuckled, rolling his eyes. The sound made Victor smile a little wider. “I’ll always prefer a good drink over cheap beer.”

“What’s wrong with cheap beer?” Bucky asked, a touch of sassiness creeping into his feigned offense. Victor covered his mouth with his palm to keep from bursting out laughing.

“Nothing! Hey, do you really prefer beer?”

“You know a lot about alcohol,” he noted. It was like stroking Victor’s pride.

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely,” he waved his hand dismissively, his smile softening into a crooked grin. “Want to hear something funny? Because I have to drink like two bottles of whiskey just to start feeling drunk.”

“Sounds pretty normal to me.” He shrugged.

“Right? I’m sure I’m not crazy!” He downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp. He heard a hint of laughter almost escape Bucky’s lips. “High tolerance for alcohol?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I do. When I was younger, I used to go with my best friend to a restaurant that served drinks and milkshakes. Once we ordered, and they gave me the milkshake and him the drink! I mean, the mistake didn’t make any sense, did it? None at all!”

“Hmm, doesn’t seem so,” Bucky hummed. He’d never met anyone who could talk so fast without needing to take a breath. And he’d only just started.

“And then—oh my God, then we got into trouble! It was stupid. It was so funny! I don’t know what happened, but suddenly we had to go to the Avengers Tower—because I’m the team mechanic and he’s kind of a soldier—without paying because it was an emergency. We barely made it out! A stupid milkshake and a bad-tasting beer.”

“Holy—what? “ Bucky interrupted, his eyes wide and lost, as if he’d missed a part of the story between what had happened from one moment to the next. Victor laughed as if it were a really good joke.

“The Avengers Tower! Do you know what I’m talking about?"

"Yeah, that’s why I’m surprised,─"he frowned at him. "Do you work for the Avengers?"

Victor chuckled. “Something like that! I applied for a job and—well, I got hired.”

“At what, eighteen?”

“Twenty! Although I haven’t been out on the street in a while. I have other jobs and I’m busier. Sometimes I go, sometimes I don’t.”

“Good Lord,” Bucky sighed, stifling a laugh deep in his throat.

It was like finding all the comfort he needed in one person, Victor thought, because he never imagined he’d meet someone who thought it was normal to drink so much alcohol given his tolerance. He didn’t know about the Super Soldier serum, but that wasn’t something he cared about—or that Bucky was likely to share.

“Hey, actually, I’m a 106-year-old ex-assassin who fought in World War II and then for HYDRA. Turns out I’m also an Avenger!” The thought echoed in Bucky’s head like something stupid he wasn’t going to say; it was like feeling proud of acknowledging something he wasn’t going to do, even though it kept spinning around in his head like a broken record. It was comfortable talking to this man who never seemed to shut up, he thought, as he let him keep talking nonstop. Victor ordered another drink while they talked, while Bucky took another sip of his own.

“Have you ever been to the Avengers Tower?”

“Why would I do something like that?” Bucky replied, raising an eyebrow. He was grateful that this man seemed a bit too dim to notice the blatant lie he’d just told.

Victor shrugged, as if he found it amusing to make that assumption about the stranger with whom he had already struck up a pleasant conversation.

“Oh, it’s just that no one sounds that surprised when I tell them what I do for a living. I guess you get used to it, you know? You hear people relating to the public image of the Avengers, and suddenly getting a job isn’t that hard.” He chattered on, finishing the whiskey in his shot glass as if that would soothe his dry throat after talking.

Bucky, seeing that Victor was serious about his tolerance for alcohol, didn’t want to be outdone, so he took a sip of his lukewarm cocktail, which he’d left sitting there while he was focused on the conversation. Neither of them reacted to the strong liquor going down their throats, as if it were just a glass of hot water.

“My mom always says that on occasions like New Year’s or birthdays, you have to drink something strong,” Victor said then.

“Does she really say that?”

“…No,” he couldn’t even hide the laugh that burst from his lips. He ran a hand through his hair; the other found a place on the table. “The truth is… well, she’s not a fan of alcohol.”

“May I ask why? If it’s not too much trouble, of course,” Bucky hastened to say. He feigned interest in his drink.

Victor felt a lump in his throat—something that rarely happened, if ever. Victor never kept quiet; whenever he had the chance, he’d open his mouth to chatter about whatever was on his mind, which was why he was so good at socializing and acting so casual in situations like this. But personal matters? It was as if he knew nothing about himself.

He cleared his throat, his jaw was tense. Bucky was about to apologize awkwardly until Victor managed to find his voice again, and a strained smile spread across his lips.

“My mom dated an alcoholic when I was a kid,” Victor exclaimed, his voice growing low and cautious in a way he never imagined it would. He masked the discomfort in his chest with a small smile. “But you know what? It doesn’t really bother me.”

“It doesn’t bother you that your mother had an alcoholic boyfriend?” Bucky raised an eyebrow with his characteristic bluntness.

Victor chuckled, shaking his head. Bucky didn’t say anything at the time, but he felt a certain admiration for Victor’s optimism—how it seemed nothing could shake his composure. It was a seemingly unshakable mindset that left him wanting to know more.

“There’s no point in getting angry now over something that happened years ago,” was his reply, shrugging as if it were perfectly normal for him to talk about the subject. He cleared his throat. “She was doing the best she could. The old man looked after me while she worked. He was… a rough sort of guy, if you know what I mean.” He laughed.

A sound that could be identified as a hum vibrated from Bucky’s throat, making him wonder in that moment if what he’d thought before—about how that optimism that had surprised him earlier was slowly fading—was true. This guy needs help. But he still made no move to interrupt; if he could be of any use, it was by listening, even if he didn’t always know what to say afterward.

Victor reached out, whistling and calling over the first waiter who turned to look at him, smiling with his characteristic, persistent euphoria. He ordered another glass of whiskey, just as before, winking at the waiter and turning back to his drinking buddy (as he now called him in his head) as if he hadn’t finished speaking.

“I don’t remember much about my mother,” Bucky admitted with a touch of melancholy. He thought it might be his turn to talk about himself. Victor’s head turned toward him immediately, which caused a sense of unease to settle in his chest at the feeling of being truly heard, but he didn’t stop. “And she, um, was a sweet woman. I had sisters.”

“I’m sorry,” Victor said in a pitiful tone. Any trace of his brilliant smooth-talking had been cast aside.

Bucky shook his head. “It’s okay. They had a good life.”

Victor took a sip of his whiskey once it was in front of him again. “I have a sister. Morgan. She’s the sweetest girl in the world, and I’d give my world for her.” A smile—calmer and gentler—curled at the corners of his lips.

“I bet she looks just like you,” Bucky added. The soft chuckle Victor let out made Bucky smile ever so slightly.

Victor swung his legs over the edge of the chair, his height evident in the way the tips of his feet didn’t quite touch the floor, unlike Bucky, who had to shift to get comfortable, as if his body didn’t quite fit where he was sitting. But it was worth it if he could hear Victor talk more calmly—more genuinely—about his personal life. Like that time he shared parenthood with his best friend over a German Shepherd named Gazpacho. Maybe Bucky was a better listener than he thought.

The night was quiet, for the first time, there were no pending assignments or unfinished work that might compromet the midterm. Instead, the full moon hanging in the sky seemed to shine brighter, and the breeze cooled anyone still walking across campus. Lucifer was lying on his bed, trying to finish one of his many communication assignments, sitting on his bed with his laptop, cursing under his breath as he squinted, trying to read the screen in the dark. His blond hair was combed messily back; his eyes felt red, and he wore a warm apple-red sweater.

A knock on the door snapped him out of his immersion, causing him to reluctantly get out of bed and head to the door to answer it. He shuffled his feet as he stepped off the bed, opening the door into the darkness of the building’s hallway. His bitter expression quickly melted away the moment he saw you in the hallway, waiting for him to open the door.

“Sweetie!” he sang. He leaned against the doorframe, the corners of his lips curving into a cheerful, sly smile, his face immediately softening. His arms went limp as he crossed them over his chest. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

You chuckled softly, leaning toward him to meet his height and invading his personal space. Lucifer felt a blush rise up his neck, warming his pale face. The smile on his face didn’t fade, even in the face of your silence. He took a couple of steps back, letting you in and closing the door behind him.

“My roommate invited another girl,” you sighed feignedly, walking over to sit on the edge of his bed as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You took off your shoes and kicked them to the side of his bed. “I thought I’d come visit my dear friend.”

“Oh, so dear. Of course,” he strutted, closing the distance in a couple of steps until he sat down next to you. His smile widened even more, tilting his head to one side as he continued to look at you as if you were a game he was enjoying getting to know. “Does that mean I have to put up with your presence in my beautiful room?”

You chuckled softly, leaning in until your shoulder brushed against his. You hovered in his personal space until Lucifer was the one to close the distance. His hand moved up to cradle your chin. In one fluid motion, his lips fell upon yours, and everything melted away, becoming hazy and hot.

You were… lovers, yeah. That was a way to describe the dynamic between the two of you. It wasn’t official, for a long time, you put off giving it a name—it meant having to sit face-to-face and talk about what you felt and what you would feel. It wasn’t until the alcohol after a fraternity party that made you admit it and come to an agreement: friends with benefits.

Lucifer and you were very close friends, you met while working on a group project in communications. You met at the university cafeteria to share notes and get the information down to the essentials before finalizing the project. The friendship blossomed because of how easy it was to joke and laugh together, how the brush of shoulders or knees under the table created an intense spark, a tingling sensation on your flushed cheeks, and butterflies in your stomach.

“I have… a daughter,” said Lucifer. You were drunk on the floor of his room, the largest one since he had no roommates. He was rich, had many siblings, and held power through his surname—that was all you knew when he spoke of himself.

You almost choked on your beer. You coughed several times from your bed, crawled to the edge of the bed to look at him, sprawled out on the bed in a star shape, staring at the ceiling with a lost and disoriented look, as if he’d forgotten where he was.

“What?” you finally said, clinging to whatever sober thoughts you had left. “Lucifer!”

“What?” he frowned, lifting his head. He sat up with his back against one of the legs of his desk, squinting as if he were having trouble focusing on you. “Oh. Yeah, I have a daughter. Charlie.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me, dude?,” you waved your arms above your head, beer in hand. You climbed down from the bed and sat on the floor with your back against the foot of the bed. “A daughter?”

“She’s six years old,” he said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It was a nostalgic, affectionate smile—gentle and warm—that you’d never seen before when he talked about anyone else. “She’s in school too, just like me. Why do you think I’m in the morning shift? I spend my afternoons with her. Otherwise, she lives with my father and my siblings. She… she’s the light of my life. She’s creative, cheerful, and has a huge heart.”

His gaze was distant, looking over your shoulder as if the girl were there. She must be blonde, with reddish-brown eyes like his. Or maybe she looked like her mother; you felt a strange tightness in your chest at the thought of him with another woman, the mother of his daughter. But apparently he never mentioned that woman. Suddenly you felt like you didn’t know him, even though you’d been friends for just over the first quarter of the year.

“Why haven’t you ever told me about her?” you sighed, almost sad that you’d never met that little girl who, in your imagination, surely looked just like him.

“I don’t go around telling everyone I have a daughter,” he snorted. “I’m studying so I can give her the best.”

“Luci…”

“I’m afraid of being a bad father.”

“Luci.”

“I don’t want her to think I’m absent. I’m trying to give her a good life.”

“Lucifer!” you exclaimed, cutting him off. He blinked, closing his mouth even as the words, half-spoken, got stuck in his throat. You moved closer to him until you were sitting right next to him. “I want to meet her. I’m sure you’re a good father. Charlie sounds like a lovely little girl.”

Lucifer looked away, if it weren’t for the dim lighting in the room at night, the blush rising from his neck to his cheeks would have been more obvious. You opened and closed your mouth, as if you’d sensed a change in the atmosphere. You blushed too. You cleared your throat, looking away as well, until you both ended up staring in opposite directions.

You reached out, sliding your hand across the carpet toward his. His fingers curled spasmodically, and you saw him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing restlessly. His hand slid until it found yours, their fingers intertwining. Without looking at each other. Lucifer turned his head toward you, gazing at you with his deep brown eyes. A deep reddish brown unlike any you had ever seen before.

“I can introduce you to Charlie this weekend,” he said quietly. His blush deepened now that you were face to face, just a few inches apart. “I’m sure she’d be delighted to meet you.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, the blush on your cheeks ceased to be a source of embarrassment as the closeness became hypnotic. You licked your lips under his gaze, which was the final straw that snapped his self-control.

Lucifer leaned toward you, squeezing your hand as his lips pressed against yours in the blink of an eye, before you even realized it. Maybe it was the alcohol or the build-up of tension, but the apple-like taste of his mouth and his expensive cologne made you dizzy enough to intoxicate you, and you returned his kiss with the same pent-up passion.

His free hand reached out to wrap around your waist, your arm reached for his shoulders to pull him closer to you. His body loomed over you on the floor of his room. Neither of you wanted to stop, even when you needed to breathe or your heads were spinning from dizziness and lack of air, but the pleasure began to build between your bodies, begging to be released.

From that moment on, neither of you stopped.

You two agreed that you would remain best friends and not take things any further. At first, Lucifer didn’t want to do it because he thought it might affect Charlie, but after a make-out session in a classroom, he decided to go along with it in secret—so the rest of the school wouldn’t find out that your friendship had taken that step.

That brings us back to where the two of you were kissing because you barged into his room after your roommate had brought another girl over without warning.

Your hand snaked its way until it found its place on his waist, moving up and down his side. Your mouth stifled his gasp. Kissing Lucifer was always a different experience from what you’d had with other partners, perhaps because of the piercings on his tongue or the way he always alternated between taking control and giving it—just like now. His body leaned into yours, your tongue brushing his lower lip, asking permission to enter his mouth, which he granted after a guttural moan you wrung from him along with his hand squeezing your side, pulling him closer to you.

His body loomed over yours, his knees on either side of your hips, both hands cupping your face. His hair fell across his forehead and over his eyes, no matter how much he combed it back, there were always those unruly strands. His eyes were half-closed, refusing to shut, his gaze fixed on yours, not wanting to miss a single thing about you.

You pulled apart, both of you breathing heavily, just a few inches apart, his forehead pressed against yours. Lucifer trailed kisses down your jawline. His hands moved from your sides to your hands beneath his shirt, guiding them to pull off his wool sweater. You tilted your head back, one of your hands moving to the back of his neck to encourage him to continue.

“Is this why you came to my room?”

“You’re still asking?” you gasped, tilting his head with your hand on the back of his neck to look into his eyes. A laugh rumbled in his chest, satisfied with what he was doing.

“You’re so warm,” he leaned into your ear, whispering in a hoarse voice. One of his hands tugged at the waistband of your pants, feeling the blood pooling in your crotch from the intense heat between your bodies. Your breath caught, and his chest swelled with pride. “so receptive to me.”

Lucifer stepped back slightly, just enough to take off his shirt, leaving it on the edge of the bed until it fell to the floor on its own, but neither of them paid it much mind. He leaned toward you again, his body hovering over yours with his arms on either side of your head to support his weight. Your hands moved to his sides, exploring his bare skin─ every mole, every scar from when he played as a child, every memory stored between the two of you. His breath caught in his throat. He leaned in and his lips fell on yours without hesitation.

Your hands clung to his waist, his hands slid down your sides to the hem of your shirt. You pulled apart, panting, and Lucifer took the opportunity to pull your shirt over your head, leaving it somewhere next to his on the floor. His lips fell upon your jawline, your throat, and your shoulders. Your chest was left tingling from kisses as he moved lower, kissing and licking the skin along the way.

Your hand reached for his hair, drawing a growl from him the moment you pulled it. He barely pulled away as he made his way down to your abdomen, his eyes pearly and clouded with lust, his pupils dilated. You bit your lip at the sight of him, pulling his hair once more, eliciting another moan, much hoarser and more pleasurable. You guided his face toward your crotch once he settled between your legs as if he owned the place, trying not to move your hips because of how docile he was being.

“Where’d your big mouth go, huh?” You raised an eyebrow, pulling harder on his hair. A sharp moan escaped Lucifer’s mouth, his hands clenching your hips with painful force.

You lifted your hips. Lucifer understood the look in your eyes and pulled them down until you were left in your underwear. You let out a ragged sigh, and a hint of a mischievous smile played at the corners of his lips at your reaction. His lips touched your V-line in a small, slow, light kiss that made you shiver at the desire coursing through your body like a warm, scorching wave.

Lucifer sat up, his lips falling on yours, demanding a kiss in return. Your hands—one in his hair and the other on his side—pulled him toward you and held him close. Your lips moved with need, hungry and disorderly. His hand slid from your side, slipping into your underwear and taking your heavy member in his hand, making you moan into his mouth. With his other hand, he took care to remove your underwear completely without you even noticing.

Lucifer began to stroke you slowly, almost teasing you; his mouth pulled away from yours to trail kisses down your jawline and neck, focusing on biting and leaving marks as if you truly belonged to him. You arched your back, moaning as your hips moved in time with his hand, which began to speed up its movements as he watched you writhe, begging for more.

Your hands reached up into his hair once more, tangling in his blond locks, damp with the sweat he was beginning to release. Your fingers tangled enough to pull, eliciting a series of pleasurable moans from him, growing increasingly hoarse as if he were the one being manually stimulated instead of you. You moaned in his ear, your other hand sliding down from his hair along his side and slipping two fingers into the waistband of his pants.

Lucifer pulled away just in time, before you could complain about the lack of his lips on your neck. He quickly moved his lips down, scattering kisses across your chest, going lower and lower until he replaced his hand with your member in his mouth. You let out a guttural moan, arching your back off the bed, tilting your head back before lifting it to look at him. His eyes, narrowed, clouded, and bloodshot with pleasure, didn’t look away from yours. For a moment he didn’t move, focusing only on the eye contact and how he was warming your cock.

You growled. Your hand, which had been resting there for a while with your fingers firmly in his hair, gave a pull, which seemed to be enough to shake off his brazen attitude and make him moan. The vibration was enough to make you swallow hard, your Adam’s apple catching as it went down. His hands went to your hips once more to hold on to you. He was gripping you hard enough to make you worry he’d leave bruises, but you were too busy figuring out how to get him to move instead of just staying still on purpose.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Lucifer began to move his head up and down without needing you to guide his movements with your hands on his head, but the sensation of your fingers in his hair sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. With one hand in his hair and the other on the back of his neck, you began to speed up and control his movements as you pleased, moaning hoarsely while he stifled his own moans. His mouth was warm and could take you in well. The bastard had some sickeningly good reflexes.

With a sudden pull, he took you out of his mouth, holding you in one hand while he stroked and licked the base from top to bottom, his tongue piercing heightening the sensation. His eyes never left yours, he was sure of what his gaze was doing to you by the way you clenched your jaw. You felt heat building in your lower abdomen, moaning with clenched teeth while he paid nothing but attention to the head, sucking and drooling like a shameless bastard.

You hoisted one of your legs onto his shoulder, the smile that spread across his face left you wondering whether he actually preferred to dominate or be dominated. He attacked again, taking you into his mouth once more with the ease of someone who did this often. Judging by your encounters, he’d probably had more than just a little experience. He had always preferred giving oral to receiving it, the way you shuddered or how you tasted as he swallowed was his favorite way to destroy you.

“L-Luci,” you moaned again through clenched teeth, wavering between letting him continue and pushing him away. He drew a ragged moan from you when he seemed to want to take you even deeper. Your hips bucked against his mouth, and he seemed to have no problem with that. “L-Lucifer.”

“Yes, sweetheart?” he exclaimed breathlessly, trying to hide it. As soon as he let you go, you regretted asking him to stop. Your chest was rising and falling just as much as his.

You pulled him toward you, your hands on the back of his neck, and without any resistance, Lucifer lowered his body onto yours once more. His lips pressed against yours in a way that made you feel as though you were being tested, but you didn’t complain. Your hands returned to his hips to finally remove his pants and underwear. You rolled over in bed so that he ended up beneath you, panting, his hands resting on your shoulders as if he could never take them off you.

You took a few moments to catch your breath. Lucifer brushed his hair away from his face while you leaned over to his nightstand, opening the bottom drawer to pull out the bottle of lube and a condom.

“You don’t even bother hiding them anymore, huh?” You raised an eyebrow, your tone betraying amusement and surprise as you unwrapped the condom and slipped it on.

“With you?” he gasped, a shameless smile spreading across his lips. He chuckled. “Impossible. I put them in the most comfortable spot for both of us.”

You chuckled too, uncapping the lube and spreading a generous amount on your hand. You could see Lucifer’s breathing quicken slightly as he let out a sigh that relaxed his tense, sweaty muscles, preventing the penetration from becoming painful.

You gave his hip a squeeze—different from the others, much more reassuring and comforting. “Are you okay?” you asked gently. You waited patiently for him to nod or shake his head; once he nodded, you nodded too. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes.” he exclaimed breathlessly, his anticipation betraying his apparent calm. He let out his characteristic laugh, which was meant to be charming but sounded more nervous, which made you laugh once again.

You shifted, kissing his temple and cheek as you slid your first finger into his opening to stretch him. Lucifer closed his eyes and let out a ragged sigh, trying with all his might not to let it turn into a moan, but you’d learned to read his body’s signals well enough to know exactly what he was feeling. You tilted your head to kiss his other cheek, eliciting a nervous giggle from him at your tender gesture.

He spread his legs wider, finally letting out a moan when, instead of moving your finger to let him get used to the initial sensation, you inserted the second one right away. His eyes widened, looking at you as if you’d broken an unspoken agreement, before rolling back as you began to move them in scissor-like motions. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back as his legs twitched with small spasms.

“S-Shit, mhg,” he muttered under his breath, trying to hide his ragged breathing and his face flushed with madness. He opened his mouth, moaning silently before slowly opening his eyes and looking at you with more honesty. “I-I’m sure I’m ready now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Y-Yeah, damn it.” he exhaled. You couldn’t help but chuckle. You leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth, and your heart raced at his whimper once you pulled your fingers out of him.

You sat up, settling more comfortably between his spread legs. You were more focused on his gaze; on his body language, on his comfort, on every reaction you could elicit from his body, rather than simply entering him and getting this over with once and for all. You sat on your heels, leaning in to plant a series of small kisses on the inside of his thigh, they overflowed with tenderness and affection rather than lust—it was a different kind of desire that went beyond what you could have excused yourself for.

Finally, with one hand on his thigh and the other on his hip, you positioned yourself and entered slowly once his gaze confirmed the genuine consent you had. Lucifer’s audacity to be loud was unleashed as he arched his back and made no effort to stifle his moans. At any other time, you would have worried that the other fraternity students would get angry at the noise, but now you were too busy feeling Lucifer squeeze you once you were fully inside.

You pressed your forehead against his, breathing heavily before finally deciding to move your hips. You had to silence his moans with your mouth over his, kissing him wildly and sweatily while another sound—the wet sound of skin against skin—filled the room. You felt the mattress sink and make barely a sound as your thrusts became deeper.

Your hand, which had been on his thigh, moved up to take his, which was hanging from your shoulder, pressing it into the mattress next to his head. Lucifer intertwined your fingers, squeezing your hand as if it were his only remaining anchor to reality while he felt your firmer, rougher thrusts begin to tear him apart. You broke away from the kiss, panting and moaning into each other’s mouths just inches from your own, eyes half-closed and focused on the clouded pleasure and the hot passion like a sheet that persistently covered you both.

Lucifer threw his head back, moaning shamelessly as your dick started to hit that delicate, delicious spot inside him that began to intoxicate him. His free hand, which had also been hanging limply on your shoulder, moved as best it could to give you encouraging squeezes, signaling that you shouldn’t stop. The way he squeezed you made you growl and moan, your face tense, seeking release, moving your hips harder and more desperately, penetrating him deeper.

“F-Fuck! God, right there”—his voice was hoarse from the strain on his throat caused by his moans. His hand on your shoulder moved up to the back of your neck to turn your face toward his. He pulled so that your lips fell upon his with carelessness but need. “—d-don’t stop.”

You moaned just as desperately when he squeezed you with particular force, urging you to keep up the steady, hard pace. Adrenaline was your staunchest ally, allowing you to speed up your movements even more, the knot in your stomach threatening to break loose inside the condom if he kept moaning for more in your ear.

With one last moan, arching his back, Lucifer’s release hit him chaotically, the hand he kept intertwined with yours squeezing you harder than you thought he was capable of. Thick strands of sticky cum staining his stomach as if demanding the spotlight. His moans turned to whimpers when you didn’t stop your movements instantly, chasing your own release until you reached it with equal chaos and hoarse moans, gasping once you finally came to a standstill inside him.

You collapsed on top of him, your chests rising and falling in unison once the adrenaline had drained from your bodies. You pulled away from him, the tearful moan he let out made you kiss him on the forehead. As much as your body, still buzzing with energy but inevitably tired, wanted to lie down, you forced yourself to sit up and stretch to reach the pack of wet wipes he kept in the same drawer where he stored the condoms and lube.

Lucifer propped himself up on his elbows and then against the simple headboard of his bed, watching you affectionately as you took off and tossed the condom in the trash. You wiped away the mess of cum on his chest, also wiping the layer of sweat from his face even though he acted like a spoiled child with pouts and faces. You left a playful kiss on his lips that made him laugh, unable to be truly serious.

Lucifer offered to get dressed and leave the room to go down the hall and get them some cold water and a few snacks. You didn’t know whether to laugh or feel tender when you saw him clumsily put on just a pair of pants and the sweater he’d been wearing before, then practically run out. You made his bed while you waited for him to return, and he handed you a package of cookies and the water with a silly smile.

“I didn’t need this.” you said as you slipped under the sheets. Lucifer curled up right next to you as he took a long sip of water, closed the bottle, and set it on the nightstand.

“I do,” he shrugged, lying because your well-being was his priority. Your arm wrapped around his waist and he snuggled closer to you, his head falling onto your shoulder but his gaze lifting to focus on your eyes. “are you okay?”

“Hmm? Oh. I am,” you snuggled closer to him, comforting him with your body heat. His expression softened. He leaned in to plant a kiss on your cheek. He chuckled, smiling gently, touched.

His eyelids threatened to droop as sleep began to take hold of him. You felt him nodding against your shoulder as your arm wrapped more comfortably around his shoulders, and the final sigh he let out was a sign that he was dozing off. You settled in under the sheets, kissed him on the temple, and finally fell asleep in the tranquility of your room.

Percy was popular at camp. Who could deny it? The son of Poseidon had a trail of fame following him wherever he went; his name was on everyone’s lips—the well-known terror of the gods—and the best part came when puberty hit him. He began to get used to it, rolling his eyes in amusement at the cheers, the attention, the sighs, the compliments. They made him happy; they might have made him a little proud, but he still had his heart of gold.

Everyone saw Percy coming into his own, and it seemed he didn’t disappoint anyone—his height, his tan, his signature cocky smirk, the dexterity of his hands, the confidence in every step, his sword training, and he knew it. He liked to strut around, be a drama king, make a scene; he was the life of the camp when he wasn’t fighting for his life against monsters or gods trying to kill him. 

Who didn’t love him? Everyone wanted to be with him! With the popularity that followed him everywhere, he had constant invitations to dates, proposals, or girls all over him. Those daring ones in sleeveless, low-cut shirts, shorts, ribbons in their hair, sweet smiles, and big eyes—but none of them were… his type. He’d laugh, flirt a little, but then awkwardly step back with some sarcastic comment. That’s why everyone was confused when he started taking an interest in the withdrawn boy from the cabin next door. 

“Hey, handsome,” Percy smiled, his lips curving into a smug grin. He crossed his arms and leaned against a tree—the tree where you were sitting.

You blinked, once, then twice. You tucked a tangled strand of hair behind your ear, looking up at him. Slowly, deliberately; you took your time, analyzing his features. Every smile, every wink, every blush rising up his cheeks, the twitches in his eyes, the catch in his breath, the tremor in his hand, his Adam’s apple moving. He was nervous. You could see it.

You smiled too, more calmly, more vividly, more awkwardly. “Hey,” you waved awkwardly, feeling a natural warmth in your chest. His heart melted. “Do you need anything?”

“Well… Mr. D sent me to find volunteers for the canoe race.”

“Am I… a candidate for that volunteer position?”

He blinked; for a moment his brain stopped working because he didn’t understand why you’d used that mix of words. He cleared his throat; his hands in the pockets of his short pants didn’t make him look casual, just as uncomfortable as you, but it was different. You knew it was different. 

“I meant─ well, I meant that I think you look like a good guy.” 

"Good guy," you repeated under your breath. You let the words melt in your throat, tasted them, and clicked your tongue. "Do you think I can be on your team for the canoe race, then? "

"Yeah, something like that, " he shrugged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "That’s how it works, right? “I want you on my team for Friday’s race.”

“Oh, thanks. No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no. We’re not in the Devizes-Westminster International Canoeing Marathon.”

“The what?”

You smiled amusedly, as if you found it adorable that Percy didn’t understand a word of what you’d suddenly started talking about. You shrugged, chuckling to yourself as Percy’s confused expression also shifted into something more amused, more curious.

“It’s held in England! It takes place every Easter and covers 201 km from Devizes to Westminster.” It’s been held since 1948," you said calmly. "I read it in a book."

“Wow, not even Annabeth has facts that unnecessary.”

“Thanks!”

You laughed; you didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or just amused, but you found yourself laughing along. As if it had always been fun, as if you’d always known each other and could say things like that. Percy gestured with his hand and you nodded, so he plopped down next to you, sitting with his legs stretched out and his posture relaxed.

“Well… what else do you know?”

You tapped your chin with your finger, lost in thought. This was your chance! If the son of Poseidon was already sitting right next to you, showing interest in your ramblings about random things and asking for more, what was the harm in giving him what he wanted? You used to be very accommodating, with a charming and adorable grin.

“Huh. Do you know the Yeti Crab?”

“Kiwa Hirsuta?”

Your eyes sparkled, your hands on your knees, trembling with excitement at the urge to throw yourself at him. “You know its scientific name!” It was more of a statement than a question, just as you’d planned.

His cheeks flushed, his sea-green eyes widened at your sudden reaction, which was so unexpected to him. His brain couldn’t come up with a quick enough answer without stuttering.

“Y-Yes! As the son of Poseidon, I know quite a few sea creatures, haha.” He laughed awkwardly, then cursed himself for trying to match your energy, but failing.

“Sea dragon?”

“From the Syngnathidae family?”

You were delighted.

You were… weird, and not in the way the other campers were used to. You talked a lot but had no one to talk to; you were always reading, but not like the Athena kids—books about insects, strange animals, fiction, and fantasy, never history or math books. You preferred to gaze at landscapes without doing anything, listen to artists no one knew, skip workouts, ask questions no one else asked. You were weird, and even though no one picked on you, you had the label plastered on your forehead. You lived quietly, too deep in your thoughts, and then Percy set his sights on you, and you raised an eyebrow.

No one knew where it all came from, how from one day to the next they were walking everywhere holding hands, kissing on the cheeks, or when you whispered in his ear about your fixations. When you accompanied him to his training sessions, he helped you focus or reminded you of things you would have otherwise forgotten. You were way too close; the girls who had a crush on your handsome boyfriend would just roll their eyes when they saw you together, while the guys who secretly had a crush on him too would just sigh in disappointment. You had no idea how lucky you were; you lived in your own little bubble.

How could he not love you? You could spend hours on end talking about the origins of an invention whose name he couldn't even pronounce; you were very intelligent and talented, but there was more to it than that. The way you looked at him, the way you smiled at him, the crafts you made for him, how much you loved spending quality time together, the hugs, the nights sitting by the campfire; you were popular enough to make the girls feel like their jealousy couldn’t go far when you ran after Percy chattering about the new series you’d read.Well, but you were also a dumb. It sounded harsh, but it was the truth. You were clumsy at fighting, socializing, planning—you didn’t try to improve because sometimes you just didn’t care. You were caught up in the magic of being too distracted or too embarrassed to take steps forward; one in front of the other, smiling at others as if they weren’t judging you. As if you didn’t trip over your own feet, didn’t understand when people spoke to you, when your ADHD made you feel different even when you were supposed to fit in. You were a loser. And that was okay.

Summer was gradually coming to an end, which meant the weather was changing, along with the activities and games Chiron organized for his beloved campers—or so Percy thought as he took your hand and led you to the pier to watch the sunset. They sat on the sand; Percy draped your legs over his, his hand on your knee and yours on his shoulder, while you rambled on about the new video game coming out at the end of the year.

“Where are you going this year?” he asked. He wasn’t usually one to interrupt, but the question had popped into his head, and he decided to voice it.

You blinked, tilting your head to one side. “Where am I going?”

“Yeah, for winter holiday."

“Oh. Nowhere, I’ll stay at camp like always,” you replied, as if it were obvious.

“Like always?”

“Yeah, I spend the holidays at camp.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah. Hey, it’s fine, this isn’t anything new,” you patted him on the head. He almost laughed.

“Are you sure?” He tilted his head to one side. He saw you nod. “You don’t have to… be alone.”

“Hey, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s only until next summer.”

“What if we texted each other using Iris?”

“Of course!” You gave him a little shake by the shoulders. “We could play that new game I was telling you about; I wouldn’t let you miss a thing.”

Percy hummed, nodding. He didn’t say anything for a few moments, then finally leaned in and kissed you on the temple, telling you with his eyes that you could keep rambling if you wanted to, and that was the end of the conversation, because that’s exactly what you did. At another time, Percy would have been concerned about your lack of concern over the fact that you’d be alone after the summer, but he didn’t want to smother you with questions about why, so he let you keep talking.

His free arm wrapped around your waist while his hand, which had been on your knee, moved up to rest on your thigh. The nervous chuckle that bubbled from your lips made his chest swell; a mischievous smirk spread across his lips as he leaned in to get even closer to you, if that were possible. He was delighted by the way your cheeks flushed red at just a single approach.

“What?” he feigned innocence.

“What? No, nothing,” you hurried to say, looking away.

Percy chuckled, closing the distance with a gentle kiss that landed on your lips, leaving you even more dazed. Your hand on his shoulder slid down in an attempt to grab hold of something as you felt his tongue on your lower lip, asking permission to enter, which you didn’t know how to accept. You tightened your grip on the collar of his shirt, causing him to let out a sigh over your mouth as he leaned into your touch, deepening the kiss.

His mouth danced over yours, your free hand went to the back of his neck, and in a matter of moments your legs were wrapped around his. No matter how much shame or inexperience you felt, you didn’t back down—you managed to keep up with him. You felt his teeth capture your lower lip, making you gasp, and he took advantage of it to slip his tongue inside, which made you melt even more in his arms. Your whole body was vibrating with tingles from your cheeks to the tips of your toes; you let out ragged sighs at the slightest separation between you, desperately pressing your lips back together.

He would have pulled you onto his lap to keep kissing if it weren’t for the footsteps of the campers running behind you toward the dock, which startled you, causing you to pull away abruptly. Percy watched you catch your breath while he let out a disappointed sigh.

“Well… so you’ll be staying here for the holidays?”

You blinked, almost as if you’d forgotten what you were talking about before the kissing session. You chuckled and nodded, running a hand through your hair.

“Yeah… I’ll stay at camp. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Percy clicked his tongue. “Well… if you say so,” he took your hand. “I want you to be okay.”

“I will be!” you smiled at him.

Your smile was contagious enough that Percy smiled too, leaning in to press a kiss on your lips, gentler than the last one.

Besides kissing him, you loved being in Percy’s cabin, sitting on his bed and chatting away while he tried to use those quiet hours to rest, because when he wasn’t fighting monsters, he had the chance to cuddle up with you, and nothing could compare to that. With his head on your chest, murmuring nonsense while your heartbeat lulled him to sleep.

You yawned; your throat moved as you swallowed, dry from spending half an hour discussing the different endings of a single game that you and three other people had been playing since it came out. You rubbed your eyes with your hand, exhaling a breath of air you didn’t know you’d been holding. Percy, barely awake and knowing it wouldn’t be long before exhaustion got the better of you too, turned his head so your eyes met.

“Tired, pretty boy?” His voice was hoarse and deep, the words drawn out lazily, as if they didn’t really have to come out.

“A little,” you admitted. A yawn interrupted you again, and you heard Percy’s laughter rumbling in his chest. “Just a little.”

“Are you sure? You can fall asleep.”

“Yes, I’m sure! I haven’t finished telling you yet—”

“You can tell me tomorrow.”

“But… but summer ends tomorrow,” you thought aloud. Your voice took on a higher, more nervous pitch as you rambled on. “Summer ends tomorrow, you’ll go back to your mother, and—and I’ll stay here!”

Percy blinked; any trace of sleep had now vanished at your response. He slid off you, sitting down beside you. Memories of that conversation on the beach hit him; it was as if a wave of guilt were tossing him about and he couldn’t do anything about it.

He took your hands and squeezed them. “Come with me.”

“What?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows until you were sitting next to him, your hands resting in your lap; your fingers nervously fiddled with the strings of the bracelets adorning your wrists, along with the large rings you’d found rummaging through the junk in Bunker 9. You bit your lower lip, and Percy fought the urge to kiss you right there, but he had to remember what he was talking to you about in the first place.

“Come with me… spend the holidays with me! I’m sure my mom won’t mind. Neither she nor Paul, and I’m sure Estelle will love you.”

“But… but I don’t know them.”

“What better time than Christmas! Come with me—you don’t have to stay at camp.”

“Percy, I don’t want to be a burden.”

“A burden? Don’t give me that,” he frowned, personally offended by your accusation. “Do you really think you’d be a burden?”

You bit your lip, shyly, then nodded. Percy’s frown deepened even more.

Percy cupped your face in his hands, his fingers gently caressing your cheekbones—with the caution of someone who fears breaking what’s in their care, yet with a desire simmering just beneath the surface. His eyes drifted down to your lips and then back up to meet yours. Before you could say anything else, he leaned in and planted a kiss on your lips. It wasn’t as if you could say anything more with your mouth occupied by someone else’s.

You returned the kiss when you realized there was no point in arguing; you leaned in and agreed to his terms. It didn’t take long for his tongue to caress your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine and drawing a gasp from you when he next captured your lip between his teeth, demanding more of your mouth with a passion that was more than just tender love.

“Come with me,” he said between kisses. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

He didn’t pull back far enough for you to say anything; he risked hearing you protest his plan. His hands moved from your face to your waist, his fingernails digging into your camp shirt, making you shiver as you leaned into his touch. Your hands found their way to his chest, seeking support so you wouldn’t fall, clinging once more to the fabric of his shirt. His intense sea-green eyes refused to look at anything but yours; he wanted to be attentive to every reaction, every expression, every shudder. Blinking felt like a punishment.

His hand slid beneath your shirt; yours traveled up to the nape of his neck, keeping your mouths pressed together—breathing wasn’t really necessary anyway. His pupils dilated, his eyes narrowed and finally closed as he felt your fingers tangle in his jet-black locks, clinging to him as you leaned forward to press yourself against him.

“Is that a yes?”

“Please shut up.”

“Yeah, okay.”

His hands on your waist guided you onto his lap; he spread his legs and took you on top of him without hesitation, your legs on either side of his hips. His hips thrust instinctively; he had to pull away from the kiss to breathe, his forehead resting on your shoulder, his chest rising and falling rhythmically as he caught his breath. You were breathing just as heavily, your head tilted back, your Adam’s apple bobbing as you swallowed before speaking.

“Yeah… that’s a yes. I’m coming with you.”

You heard an amused snort escape his lips with the little breath he’d managed to catch, and he looked up at you with amusement and passion.

“You idiot…”

“You kissed me!”

He laughed even harder, his hands pulling you close. He fell backward onto the mattress with you on top of him, your head resting on his chest and your arms at your sides, with nowhere to go. You let out a laugh that was joined by his, leaving you on top of him like a proud man.

The next morning, you were picked up by the camp bus and dropped off at the local train station. You had never been to the town of Percy, New York. You didn’t know where to go, what to see, where you were, or why it was so crowded. Your eyes sparkled when you saw every hint of something you liked in the shop windows, when you stumbled while walking through the crowd to keep up with him, when you stumbled over your words ordering something to eat. Everything was new, and Percy was falling more and more in love with you.

“What if she doesn’t like me?”

“That won’t happen.”

“What about your stepfather?”

“Everyone likes him.”

“And what about your sister—”

“Honey,” he interrupted, a calm, affectionate smile on his face, trying to calm your frayed nerves.

You had bought bus tickets and arrived at the door of Percy’s new apartment, since he had told his mother he could go alone because he had a visitor. He had told her all of this in a text from Iris the night before, after you had fallen into a deep sleep—his mother was a very smart woman; of course she knew what her son was planning.

“My mom will love you,” he assured you with a smile wide enough to make you smile too, more shyly, with a tingling sensation on your cheeks.

“Okay… oh, okay, you win.”

Percy pinched your cheeks; the laughter that burst from your chest made him want to cover your face with kisses. His hands lingered insistently on your cheeks, massaging your skin as if you were a small child, and judging by how you laughed and your eyes sparkled, you were happy with that treatment.

The Jacksons' house was noisier and warmer than you expected, with the smell of freshly baked cookies and sea salt lingering in the air, toys and papers scattered across the floors, loud music, and lots of laughter. You were taken aback when you felt a little girl at your feet as soon as you walked in, followed by the laughter of a kind woman whom you recognized as Mrs. Jackson when she peeked out to greet you. Her smile was so much like Percy’s that you felt a blush rise to your cheeks. You received a few pats on the back from her stepfather.

It turned out Percy was right—the household was so close-knit and chaotic that you couldn’t help but feel at ease. Paul listened to you talk about your new book series while you served yourself dinner, Estelle let you brush her hair while you sang softly, and Sally taught you how to bake cookies while you danced around the kitchen. Percy was happy about how quickly you’d fit into his family; he didn’t even have to tell his mother about his boyfriend because you talked about him so much.

“So… you and Percy?” She raised an eyebrow. Her voice was feigning innocence, but inside she was brimming with maternal concern and a hunger for gossip.

You choked on the mixture you were secretly eating and had to cough a little before looking up. Your cheeks were red, you felt hot, and suddenly your body felt heavy with a tingling nervousness. What were you supposed to do?

“I, um…” you stammered. “W-what did he say, Mrs. Jackson?”

She chuckled. “Come on, dear,” she gestured with her hand. She bent down to your height, her thumb wiping a bit of cookie dough from your face—the very dough you’d been sneaking a bite of just moments before. She smiled sweetly. “I’m not here to judge you. Make yourself at home.”

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. You didn’t know if Percy wanted his mother to know, and you didn’t know how the family would react. But even so, he gave you enough confidence to know that you could be sure nothing bad would happen, right? Because that was what you were really hoping for as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

“I, um…” You swallowed hard. “Mrs. Jackson, h-he and I… um, he and I…”

“Darling,” she sighed, moving close enough to you that you could smell the sweet scent of candy wafting from her Christmas sweater. She smiled at you sweetly again. “Do you think I don’t know?”

You blinked. You choked on your saliva.

“W-What?”

She chuckled. “Oh, you two are so obvious. Adorable!” she sighed happily. “I know my son all too well; of course I’m going to notice how head over heels he is for you. You know what? You’re a good guy, and I’m happy that you’re the one with him.”

“A-Are you serious, ma’am?” you asked timidly.

“Absolutely. It’s clear that the two of you love each other very much.”

You smiled. You really did—radiant and excited, a warmth like that of the sun pulsing through your chest; it must have been the thrill of acceptance, of Sally’s genuine love behind her words and that charming smile that made you feel like you truly belonged there, or that they were simply treating you as if you’d been there your whole life. Every laugh, joke, or hug was new to you; the first day was so welcoming and new that your cheeks ached from smiling so much.

Percy? Oh, he was delighted. Every time he saw you with Estelle in your arms, chatting with Paul, or following Sally around like a lost puppy, he felt his heart rate quicken; he couldn’t help but sigh with love every time you walked into the room, which seemed to glow brighter. He couldn’t ask for anything more than to be by your side, and you’d be at his house for the entire vacation.

“He’s cute,” Sally sang when it turned 5 p.m., her lips pressed against the coffee cup she was holding. You were learning how to use the over-the-air TV channels with Paul’s help, while Sally sat with her son at the kitchen table.

“Huh?” Percy looked up, swallowing the sip from his glass of juice. “Who are you talking about?”

“Him,” she replied. Slowly, a mischievous, knowing smile spread across her lips, making Percy feel small as he suspected what was on his mother’s mind. “You really like him, huh?”

He laughed awkwardly, blushing deeply. He bit his lip, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Y-Yeah, he…” He paused, swallowing. “…h-he’s cute.”

“Cute, you say?” she chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, young love.” She patted him on the back.

“Mom!” he exclaimed, sitting up straight, his face flushed and his eyebrows furrowed in embarrassment. The woman burst out laughing.

“What? I’m just saying you two are adorable!” She shrugged. Percy muttered something under his breath that his mother couldn’t quite hear. The woman placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I’m glad you’re happy with him. He seems like a good guy.”

He swallowed hard; the blush on his cheeks betrayed his embarrassment at being so close to his mother, but he still felt her words warming his heart with their obviousness—his mother had noticed his crush on you, even without him having to say it outright.

“Percy!” you shouted, turning to look at him from your spot on the couch. You had a huge, excited smile stretching from ear to ear. “They’re showing The Lord of the Rings!”

Percy sighed, knowing that now he’d be stuck watching the nearly three-hour movie—or at least part of it—before your ADHD got bored and made you want to do something else. He wasn’t upset; he was just used to dealing with whatever you were hyper-obsessed with that week.

Actually, he wasn't wrong, because after almost half an hour of the movie, even you got bored. The two of you started talking; the hum of the movie's soundtrack faded into the background. It didn't really matter as you chatted and rambled on about a thousand things at once, the way only the two of you knew how.

Percy got up to find a set of sheets and pillows to create a cozy nest—or a fort, as you called it. You followed him, went into his room, and sat on his bed, taking in everything around you. There was all sorts of stuff there—from photos of the two of you to trinkets like gifts and more mementos that you both treasured.

“Do you still have that?” You knelt in the middle of his bed and reached up for the beaded bracelet sitting on a shelf next to his bedside table.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. It’s the color of your eyes. I wear it when I feel like I’m not going to lose it.” He walked over to stand beside you, taking your hand with the bracelet on it. He’d pushed the blankets and pillows to one corner of the bed just to be close to you. “Is that okay?”

“I think it’s adorable,” you assured him with a smile.

Percy could only chuckle; the blush spreading from his neck to his cheeks spoke for itself. You reached out to cup one of his cheeks, a gesture to which he responded by leaning into the natural warmth of your body. His hand sank into the mattress beside you; after this gesture, he leaned in even further, just enough for you to read him all too easily. Your two hands cradled his face completely; you pulled him toward you and swore you witnessed the exact moment his mind melted away.

Your lips met his like an old magnet that always found its way, soft and loving in every sense of the word. His hand rose from its resting place on the mattress to hold you by the waist. His heavy hand was comfortable in its position, with no intention of moving as he leaned in further, his intention to press you beneath him became more obvious. Though it didn’t seem like he was trying to hide it either.

Percy’s body ended up pressed against yours, one of his arms at your sides while the other wound its way from your waist to your hip, his knuckles were white from the force with which he was holding you. You didn’t complain—in fact, you enjoyed the attention, despite the marks he intended to leave you with.

His kisses moved from your swollen lips to your jawline, descending to your neck as if he were tracing a delicate map with every mark he left. Your hands moved from the nape of his neck to his back, making sure to explore every inch of him with your touch. They were like flames of fire striking his skin, and he found himself not wanting to let you go anymore.

He turned, his body ending up beneath yours this time. Without stopping to assault your mouth with kisses, his hands on your waist pulled you down to kiss you hungrily (again) while he slipped his hands under your shirt. Your legs were beside his hips, your back arched as you leaned over him.

Yeah, the two of you would have kept up your horny teenage business if it weren't for the footsteps in the hallway.

You were the first to recognize the sound, the first to pull away from the kiss with particular haste. Your hands on his chest for support pushed you further away. You slipped out from beside him and sat up on the bed. Your breathing was ragged, as if you’d run across the entire camp grounds, your hair disheveled and your lips swollen and bruised. You blushed suddenly.

Percy took longer to react, he blinked several times, trying to take in his surroundings, as if he’d forgotten where he was. You tugged at the collar of his shirt to get him to sit up and compose himself too; his cheeks were flushed, his gaze dazed and clouded by lust, his hair standing on end in every direction. You would have laughed if it weren’t for Paul peeking through the door to announce dinner.

It was pure luck that Sally left the two of you alone, or it was pure luck that the movie Estelle had been begging to see on opening weekend happened to fall on the weekend you were visiting. That’s what you told yourself as you searched for nature documentaries about your favorite animal, because you were sure you’d already seen every one that existed. You were sitting in the living room armchair, scrolling through the catalog that Percy’s Netflix membership offered you with the remote control.

“Hey, sweetie,” Percy sang with a big smile, plopping down in the seat next to you with two bowls in his hands. “I brought you some fruit.”

“Awesome!” you squealed, lunging toward him to snatch the fruit plate. You chuckled, popping a piece of fruit into your mouth. “Mmm! Thanks.”

“No problem,” he chuckled, seeing how excited you were, and popped a piece of fruit from his plate into his own mouth.

After eating comfortably in silence for a few moments, boredom set in faster than you were used to. Well, you were both restless. Percy yawned, his arm stretching behind the armrest of the chair, falling discreetly onto your shoulders. You didn’t seem to notice, but you leaned into his touch anyway, as if your body were already accustomed to his.

“Did you find anything to watch?” he sighed, his face close to your ear. It wasn’t a seductive tone, but calm and relaxed, like waves lapping the shore at dawn. He kissed your shoulder, desperately wanting to curl up with you until their bodies became one.

“The vampire squid. Vampyroteuthis infernalis.” You barely turned your head to look at him, smiling tenderly when your eyes met his.

Percy licked his lips, his head peeking through the hollow of your neck until it was just a few inches away. He looked at your lips, then at your eyes, his hand rising to lift your chin with a finger. The atmosphere had shifted too quickly; you could feel it in the tingling sensation on your cheeks and lower abdomen. You swallowed, leaning in instinctively. The shadow of a mischievous smile that didn’t reach his eyes played at the corner of his lips.

“Have I ever told you how much I love hearing you talk about sea things?” he whispered. His voice dropped to a hoarse rumble, audible only to you, the only other person in the room besides him.

You swallowed again, your gaze frantic, not just on his eyes but on his face—his lips, cheekbones, nose, eyebrows, simply everything. You remembered every detail—how his lips were split, the small scar on his eyebrow, the mole on the side of his chin, his dark circles, the scar near his temple, the barely noticeable trace of stubble that not even he knew about. You were sure you knew everything about him, but still you never tired of looking at him—that’s why it took you so long to nod in response to his question.

“Good,” he gestured, because he didn’t even say it—it was just his breath that sounded like words. He cleared his throat, realizing he hadn’t heard his own voice. “Because I don’t want you to forget it.”

Then he closed the distance between them, his lips falling on yours as if gravity had vanished. The fruit plates were forgotten on the floor at the foot of the armchair, the fabric and cushions sank under their weight as Percy brought his free hand to your waist, sliding down to your hip while squeezing and groping whatever part of you was within his reach.

This kiss was different from the others, much more passionate, wet, and messy than the previous ones, a tangle of tongues and teeth. Being alone definitely stirred both of your hormones, even yours when you swore you were calmer than he was, while your hands went to the back of his neck to hold on to something, your thighs opened instinctively, and he took the opportunity to slither between them as if he had always belonged there.

Percy’s hands on your hips applied just enough force to lift you up easily, your mouth was too busy with his for you to protest when he lifted you onto his lap—or maybe your head was just too dizzy to think of anything other than him. Your arms wrapped around his neck; your hair stuck to your forehead from the sweat caused by the heat building up between your bodies as they rubbed against each other.

“Can we—” he tried to say, moaning into your mouth as your thighs fell to either side of his hips, the weight making his body tremble. He swallowed. “can we go to my room?” he finished saying.

You nodded. That was how, without much effort, he picked you up, his arms were under your thighs as he lifted you off the couch. Your legs were wrapped around his waist as if by instinct, your mouth fell on his once more without giving him time to say anything else, to which he was totally on board with keeping up the pace.

Percy kicked open the door to his room and, stumbling, found his way to the bed, where they both fell onto the mattress. The initial laughter caused by the weight of one on top of the other turned into ragged moans, and the silent house filled with gasps and heavy breathing that made you two grateful to be alone at home.

His body was on top of yours, his hands roaming from your waist to your hips, touching everything in their path, marking you and groping you possessively, not wanting to miss a single part of your body. Your hands were clinging to his shirt, the fabric wrinkled across his back as you nearly tore his clothes off with your nails.

Then—you felt him move. His hips jerked forward, and you felt a hard bulge pressing against your crotch. Startled, you jumped back, your hands on his chest; the shock left him dazed, blinking dazedly for a few moments.

“What—”

“I-I’m sorry, um… I-I just felt something…”

Reality hit him as hard as a bucket of ice water, his cheeks flushed even more—as if that were possible—and his eyes widened as if he’d suddenly realized exactly what you were talking about in a matter of seconds. He swallowed hard after nearly choking on his own saliva. He sat back on his heels, his hands going to his crotch in a discreet attempt to hide the uncomfortable bulge that was growing.

“S-Shit!” He bowed his head, his ears were burning like crazy. “I-I’m sorry! Gods, I’m an idiot—”

“Percy,” you reached out your hand to touch his face. His lower lip trembled slightly, but he met your gaze. “C-can I ask you something?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Can you do it again?”

“Do it again?”

Your face flushed, and you felt a warm sensation in your lower stomach. You struggled to find the right words to express how you felt, opening and closing your mouth hesitantly. Percy was confused, stupidly excited, and staring at you, waiting for you to say what he himself had said. Any trace of confidence or his usual playful personality had gone out the window when he realized he didn’t know what he was doing.

You took a deep breath. You cradled his face with both hands, pulled him closer, and guided him. Your body leaned backward until your back rested on the mattress. Percy’s body leaned over yours, his hands resting on either side of your head. He tilted his head to one side, his sea-green eyes resembling those of a confused puppy with no orders to follow.

Your hands found their way to his hair, stroking his jet-black curls as your brain sent commands to your mouth to speak up already, but at the same time you were lost in the moment. Finally, you swallowed and cleared your throat.

“Can you… move your hips again? Like you were doing before?” you found yourself saying. The heat embracing your cheeks was starting to become scorching, like a barrier standing between you and lust and consent.

Percy blinked, the corners of his mouth turning down in an awkward grimace of sheer embarrassment, as if the mere memory of what he’d been doing when his hormones had clouded his judgment had left him frozen in place. But when he saw you, how your beautiful eyes were shining and pleading, it was as if whatever self-control he had left had vanished. He nodded, his lips moving to the corner of your mouth to plant a small kiss before positioning himself better between your legs.

His hips began to move against yours, you immediately felt the heat of his crotch brush against yours, and your breath caught in your throat. Percy hesitated for a moment, his eyes opened wide, and a wave of concern washed over them, but you gave him a nod to keep moving—and he did. You spread your legs wider to give him more room to settle in. His hands clenched the sheets on either side of your head to hold on tightly.

It was like a warm tingle that energized your body like a shot of adrenaline. Your hands moved from his hair to the back of his neck to pull him toward you, your lips collided with his frantically, your energy motivating him enough to give him confidence in his movements. You moaned into his mouth and he growled. You began to feel the blood rushing through your body at an accelerated pace, accompanied by a buzzing in your ears.

You moved his head, guiding it to the hollow of your neck as you tilted your head back. Percy let out a muffled sound, his lips fell against your skin, kissing and licking. You bit your lip, stifling your moans, your eyes narrowed, clouded with lust and a hunger for more. Percy pulled away after a few moments, breathing heavily as he tried to regain his composure. He felt a shiver run down his spine at the protesting whimper you let out when he stopped.

“Are you okay?”

“You’re still asking?” You raised an eyebrow. Your hands moved from the nape of his neck to his shoulders, and you settled back against the headboard, watching as he leaned in toward your body heat. “I… I want you, Percy.”

“I want you too,” he gasped, leaning in to rest his head in the crook of your neck again. His lips traced a path of kisses from your shoulder to the cup of your ear, pulling away to look at you. “Are you… sure?”

“We’re not sixteen.” you said without hesitation. Your arms hung around his shoulders as if it were perfectly natural to be there, touching each other in each other’s personal space.

You needed to touch his skin, not just rest your hand on his shoulder over the fabric of his shirt. One of your hands slid down his side, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt and feeling his skin beneath your fingertips. You heard a stifled gasp from him, a shiver running down his spine, and felt his posture suddenly straighten. You didn’t know whether to chuckle or ask if everything was okay.

“We… we’re nineteen, we’ve been dating for almost a year…”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“I, um…” You blushed even more, trying to find the exact words instead of rambling out of nervousness. You swallowed, feeling small under his penetrating and intense gaze. “…I want us to have our first time. Me with you and you, uh, w-with me.”

Percy’s eyes widened the moment he realized what you were really saying. It wasn’t just the blush on his cheeks that made him look flushed; if you squinted, you could see sweat beading on his temples and his jet-black curls sticking to his forehead. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. You felt a pang of guilt that made you feel awkward and guilty for choosing those exact words. Just as you were about to apologize and move to get out of bed, you felt his hand clench your arm, stopping you.

“Wait!” he finally managed to say. If only his brain could work faster when he was horny. “I-I never said no.”

It was your turn to blink. “What?”

“Want to give it a try?” He tilted his head to one side, looking pretty excited to have his first time with you. The faintest hint of a smile played at the corners of his lips. “I have condoms in my nightstand.”

“W-Why the hell would you have condoms in your nightstand?!” you replied hastily, your eyes wide and a deep blush caressing your cheeks. Percy couldn’t help but finally chuckle under his breath.

“Remember when we were in my room talking about whether you’d come with me on winter holiday? He raised an eyebrow. When you nodded, he hummed. “Well, I’ve had my contacts ever since. Ouch!”

“You idiot!” Your hand slapped his chest. Your lips threatened to curl into a smile.

“What? I’m just being honest!” He couldn’t hold back the laugh that burst from his chest. “Are we going to have sex or not?”

“Don’t be obscene!

“I’m not being obscene!”

“I should say no and leave your house.” You frowned, your lips curling downward into a scowl. Your hands went to the hem of your shirt, and any teasing Percy might have had died in his throat as you pulled the shirt over your head.

His brain short-circuited. It wasn’t that he’d never seen you shirtless before—he’d convinced you to work out together when you weren’t sitting on the steps of your cabin counting rocks; sometimes you’d bathe together or play in the lake. But this? The context was so different that his arousal began to manifest itself by tightening his pants.

Percy pounced on you and everything went blurry. His hands touched every part of your body they could reach, your hands roamed his body and you pulled his shirt over his head in one swift motion, touching everything within your range with his body hovering over yours. The kisses were like fireworks; hot, brief, and repetitive. You could never get enough of each other’s mouths—the way he bit your lower lip before caressing it with his tongue, or how your mouth let him treat it however he wanted.

Two pairs of pants ended up on the floor, without such a sudden barrier between you, the physical closeness felt even greater. Bites on your neck, on your chest, scratches on your arms, hickies on your shoulders and throat. The room began to fill with whispers, laughter, and jokes that quickly turned into moans, gasps, and groans when he rubbed his hips against you again.

His breathing was ragged, his head was nestled in the crook of your neck, his teeth clenched against your skin, but without biting or applying pressure. It was a way to stifle the sounds he was trembling to let out. His hands were running along your sides. He reached one of them toward his nightstand to open a drawer and rummage for a condom. You were so overwhelmed by all the new sensations you were feeling that you didn’t bother to ask him when he’d hidden them, since he’d spent the whole day with you.

His movements were clumsy as he stripped off his underwear, suddenly looking away from you, shy, as he opened and put on the condom. Shy—the same cocky guy who had just bitten your shoulder hard, leaving a white mark with purple bruises around it. You raised an eyebrow, torn between amused tenderness and the desire to milk him dry, so you decided to strip off your underwear too.

“Is it okay if I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“What part of me makes you think I do?”

“Right. Okay, good point.” He laughed awkwardly, a laugh that made you laugh along with him in the same way.

You lay back down fully, your back against the mattress and your body turned toward him. You bit the inside of your cheek, your nerves and anticipation making you sweat. You could feel the adrenaline making you breathe heavily no matter how hard you tried to hide it. You ran your hands through your hair, keeping your gaze fixed on Percy as he settled between your legs, one hand on your side and the other next to your head. His sea-green eyes pierced right through you.

“Ready?”

“N-No.”

“Oh. Um. Me neither. Do you want to keep going?”

“Yes.” You nodded. He nodded.

With a breath he tried to pass off as confident but failed miserably, he positioned himself at your entrance and slid in slowly. He cursed under his breath, biting his lip, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again just to look at you, not wanting to miss a thing. A groan vibrated in your throat, your face contorted with pleasure, and immediately you felt your legs tremble with slight spasms. You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, where to touch or where to rest them.

One of Percy’s hands—the one that had been on your side—moved up to rest on top of yours, placing it on his shoulder. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, he remained immobile inside you with no intention of making a move until the two of you had grown accustomed to the new sensation. His hand returned to your side, caressing your warm, sweaty skin with his thumb, gentle movements in an attempt to ground himself. The hand that had been resting beside your head moved to take yours, intertwining your fingers, pressing your hand against the mattress. You squeezed his hand, exhaling heavily but less tensely as you began to get used to the sensation of having him inside you.

Percy’s movements were slow. He wasn’t very loud, but he groaned with his head nestled in the crook of your neck, trembling and lost. His head was spinning, he couldn’t believe what was happening. He was so in love with you that taking this intimate step could only have existed in his wildest dreams—dreams he never spoke of. You began to suspect something was wrong when there were days he wouldn’t look you in the eye.

The room filled with moans, ragged breaths, and clumsy movements. Sweat covered his olive skin, the marks you’d left on him just moments before were beginning to turn purple and red. Your hand on his shoulder moved up to the back of his neck to tilt his head and pull him toward you in a wet, messy kiss. Percy moaned into your mouth and deepened his thrusts, making them deeper and faster.

Everything was disorganized and blurry, the assault of touches and thrusts making both of you dizzy. It was hard to say anything amid the tension and nerves, your gazes were fixed and honest, with love and passion filling the air. His thrusts were deep and unbridled, when he wasn’t moaning against your lips, his head was on your shoulder, biting and kissing marks in his name. His hand found its way to wrap around your member, making you arch your back as he began to stroke you.

“Mhng! P-Perce—”

“I know,” he said, lifting his head. His lips pressed against yours roughly, as if to drown his moans against your mouth. He squeezed your hand and pressed it deeper into the bed, his hips moving even faster as the knot in his stomach threatened to break free. A sharp moan, like a whimper, was torn from his throat. "j-just let me take care of you."

Curses and incoherent prayers overwhelmed him as he spoke, his movements became desperate and pleading, frantic in their search for release at any cost. His head returned to the hollow of your neck once more—the one that wasn’t as marked or bitten as the other side. His teeth dug into your skin as the knot came loose, his release ending in the condom inside you. His hand paused when he felt the warm liquid coat his hand and your chest.

Their breathing slowed after a few intense, frantic moments. The room remained silent until Percy kissed the fresh bite mark, tilting his head to the other side to return the kisses—gentle and comforting after leaving you aching and trembling, with spasms and moans escaping your lips.

Percy pulled out of you, removed the condom, tossed it aside, and got out of bed. His legs were shaking, and it hurt to move as the adrenaline began to wear off. You propped yourself up as best you could on your elbows, frowning and feeling a pang of longing in your chest at the absence of his warmth against yours.

“Percy…?”

“Just a moment!” he said over his shoulder. He bent down to pick up his underwear, put it on, and left the room. From where you were still lying in his bed, you heard him moving back and forth, turning on the faucet, and grabbing things. When he returned, he had a damp towel and a glass of water.

He sat on the edge of the bed, helping you clean up, get dressed, and drink some water before lying down again. You didn’t move a muscle. He leaned over you once more when he was done, his arms wrapping around yours so you could stay embraced. His lips brushed your temple with a ghostly kiss, keeping his head so close to yours that your breaths mingled.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and weary. His eyes were threatening to close, but he wanted to stay awake with you just a little longer. To feel you with him just a little longer.

“I love you too,” you said softly, dragging out the words lazily. You turned your head to kiss him on the corner of his mouth, smiling with the weary smile of someone in love.

Percy pulled the sheets up to cover both of you. You curled up in bed, holding each other, exchanging occasional little kisses, whispering private words, or laughing wearily. The intimacy wasn’t just sexual, it was the intimacy of finding someone who made you feel whole and at peace.