Work Text:
Percy’s cabin was unusually still tonight, a rare tranquility settling over the space that felt almost sacred. Outside, the soft lull of waves lapping against the shore filled the silence, a natural rhythm that seemed to synchronize with the beat of your heart. The faint creak of the wooden cabin, the distant chirp of crickets, and the occasional sigh of the sea breeze slipping through the cracked window created an intimate cocoon, shutting out the rest of the chaotic world.
The sharp, sterile tang of the antiseptic wipe you held in one hand contrasted sharply with the earthy, briny scent of the cabin—a scent so distinctly Percy that it was impossible to separate it from him. It wrapped around you like the tide, pulling you closer without permission. You leaned over him, your knee pressing lightly against the edge of his bunk as you carefully swiped the disinfectant across the small, square patch of his forearm. His skin was warm, his pulse steady beneath your fingertips, a constant reminder of just how close he was.
You tried to focus on the task at hand, on the faint outline of the sunspiral you’d sketched there earlier, but Percy’s presence made it nearly impossible. His green eyes were fixed on you, as unrelenting as the sea he commanded. They followed your every move, brimming with a quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken.
You tried to ignore him, to block out the weight of his gaze, but it clung to you, sparking against your nerves and setting your already shaky hands trembling. The needle in your other hand wavered slightly, and you cursed yourself internally for not being better at this.
“This is your last chance to back out, Jackson,” you said, a playful lilt in your voice as you held up the ink-loaded needle with exaggerated drama. The dim light from the cabin’s lights gleamed against the metal tip, making it seem more menacing than it actually was. You arched a brow at him, your grin sly. “I hear tattoos hurt.”
Percy’s lips curled into a smirk, the kind that was equal parts infuriating and unfairly charming. He leaned back against the edge of his bunk, his posture deceptively relaxed, as if he weren’t about to let you jab him repeatedly with a sharp object. The soft, blue glow of the lamp cast shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp line of his jaw and the subtle curve of his cheekbones. For a moment, you forgot what you were doing. He looked older like this, more sure of himself, though the boyish glint in his sea-green eyes betrayed him.
Twisting his pen—no, Riptide —idly between his fingers, he raised a brow of his own. “Please,” he said, his tone light and self-assured, though the sparkle in his eyes hinted he was enjoying this little game. “I’ve fought Titans, monsters, and gods who could squash me like a bug. You think a needle is gonna scare me?”
The pen spun faster between his fingers, a telltale sign of his nervous energy, though you doubted he’d ever admit it. You caught yourself staring at the way his hands moved, fluid and confident, and quickly forced your attention back to the needle in your own grip.
You arched a brow, doing your best to appear unimpressed even as you rolled your eyes. “Alright, tough guy,” you shot back, your tone laden with mock exasperation. “Just don’t cry and ruin my masterpiece, or you’ll never live it down.”
Percy grinned at that, and the sheer confidence in his expression sent an involuntary flutter through your chest that you quickly tried to squash. You shifted your focus back to his forearm, the cool, sea-touched warmth of his skin brushing lightly against your fingertips. The small spiral you’d sketched earlier in careful, deliberate lines stood out against his tanned skin. It was a modest design, simple but clean, and unmistakably familiar.
Art had always come naturally to you—it was in your blood, after all. Being a child of Apollo meant wielding a bow or a lyre as effortlessly as breathing, but ink and skin had become your unexpected medium over the years. A few daring campers had trusted you with their first stick-and-pokes after a particularly rowdy campfire night, and word had spread quickly that you were a safe bet for permanent souvenirs. Even so, this one felt different.
You glanced again at the spiral on Percy’s arm, a smaller, more understated echo of the bold sunspiral etched into your own skin just above your collarbone. The design was uncomplicated but striking, the rays curling out from the center in a delicate dance of symmetry. Yours was a gift to yourself—a quiet nod to your lineage and the brightness you aspired to bring into the world. Percy’s? That was something else entirely.
The idea of him wanting to match with you, even in this small way, sent warmth rushing to your cheeks. You pretended to adjust your grip on the needle to hide your reaction, but your heart betrayed you, hammering a little too fast in your chest. It was one thing to spend years knowing he cared about you as a friend—another thing entirely to think he might care enough to carry a piece of you with him, permanently etched into his skin.
Percy stretched his arm toward you, the easy confidence in his movements making your pulse stutter. The muscles in his forearm shifted just slightly under his tan skin, his grip relaxed yet strong.
“Let’s do it,” he said, his voice laced with a grin that you didn’t have to see to feel. It hung in the air, warm and teasing, as if he already knew the effect he had on you.
You swallowed hard and leaned forward, trying to focus on the task ahead instead of the magnetic pull of his presence. The already snug cabin seemed to shrink with him so near, the small space filled with an almost electric tension. His scent reached you—salt, sun-warmed wood, and that fresh, stormy tang that was uniquely his. It wrapped around you, heady and distracting, tugging at your focus in a way that made your cheeks warm.
The bunk creaked slightly beneath you as you shifted, your knees brushing against his leg. The contact sent an unexpected jolt up your spine, your breath hitching just slightly. Percy didn’t move, but you swore you saw a flicker of something in his expression—a spark of awareness that made your chest tighten. You willed yourself not to overthink it, but the heat in your face only intensified.
Clearing your throat, you forced your attention back to the ink and needle in your hands, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere but at him. You dipped the needle into the small pot of ink with deliberate precision, the soft clink of metal against glass grounding you.
“Okay,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt as you gave him a quick glance. His eyes met yours, steady and trusting, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. You forced yourself to look away, focusing on his arm as you brought the needle closer. “Hold still.”
The first prick of the needle against Percy’s skin made him suck in a sharp breath, his chest rising sharply for a moment before he exhaled and settled. His arm remained steady, the tension in his muscles controlled, though you could feel the faint tremor of restraint as he held perfectly still. The warmth of his skin pressed against your fingertips, a quiet reminder of his presence. You focused on the slow rhythm of the needle, the tiny dots forming the outline of the spiral you’d sketched, but it was hard to ignore the steady drum of his pulse beneath your touch. Each beat felt magnified in the heavy quiet of the cabin, syncing with your own thundering heart.
The silence between you wasn’t new—it had always been easy, a natural rhythm you both fell into over the years—but tonight, it felt different. Charged. The air was thick with everything unsaid, every glance and almost-moment between you, hanging like a weight neither of you was ready to acknowledge. Your hands moved with practiced precision, but your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t quite pin down.
“Why a sun?” you asked finally, the words breaking the silence with a quiet vulnerability. Your voice was calm, casual on the surface, but the way your heart hammered in your chest betrayed how much you wanted to hear his answer. You didn’t look at him—couldn’t. Not yet. Instead, you focused on the tiny inked curve forming beneath the needle. “You don’t exactly scream ‘ray of sunshine.’”
Percy huffed out a laugh, the sound deep and familiar, vibrating through his chest. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else,” he said, his tone laced with teasing, but there was an underlying warmth to his words that made the space between you feel even smaller. “But… I don’t know.” He paused for a beat, his voice softening. “Yours always looked cool. Thought it might, you know… balance out my whole ‘brooding sea prince’ thing.”
The honesty in his response made you falter for the briefest moment, your hand stilling just above his arm before you quickly recovered. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth despite yourself, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep it in check. “It’s not brooding,” you said, your voice quieter now, almost gentle. “It’s… thoughtful.”
His gaze softened, the teasing glint in his eyes melting into something quieter, deeper. You could feel the weight of it on you again, as tangible as a hand brushing against your skin.
“Is that what you think?” Percy asked, his voice low and unguarded, like he was peeling back a layer he rarely let anyone see.
You swallowed hard, your fingers faltering for just a moment before you forced yourself to continue. The needle moved with careful precision, the tiny inked dots coming together slowly, but your focus was splintered now. The steady rhythm you’d maintained wavered under the intensity of his stare, which seemed to strip away every wall you’d ever put up.
“I think a lot of things,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand stilled again, just briefly, as the words caught in your throat, heavy with meaning you weren’t ready to admit. Taking a breath, you forced yourself to steady your grip and push forward, though the pounding in your chest made it feel impossible.
“Like what?” he pressed, his tone soft but probing, and it made your heart stutter.
You bit your lip, pretending to concentrate on the tattoo as though the design demanded your full attention, but it was a flimsy excuse. The warmth creeping up your neck was unmistakable now, a telltale flush you couldn’t will away. “If I told you,” you said, your voice trembling slightly, “you wouldn’t be able to handle it.”
Percy tilted his head, leaning in just enough that you felt the faintest brush of his knee against yours. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make the air feel thinner. His voice dropped, quiet and edged with something that made your pulse quicken. “Try me.”
The teasing lilt was still there, but underneath it, there was something raw. Vulnerable. It pulled at the edges of your resolve, making you falter once more. The needle in your hand paused, hovering over his skin as if the tattoo itself could sense the shift in the moment.
You glanced up, finally daring to meet his eyes, and the breath caught in your throat. The look he gave you wasn’t playful anymore—gone was the cocky smirk or lighthearted banter. What you saw now was open and searching, as if he were trying to see past every word you hadn’t said. There was a quiet intensity to him, a vulnerability he rarely let anyone glimpse. It wasn’t just curiosity in his gaze; it was a silent plea.
Say it.
Tell me.
Your chest tightened, the unspoken weight of the moment settling between you, and for the first time, you wondered if he’d been waiting for this as long as you had.
The words caught in your throat, tangled up in years of stolen glances, lingering touches, and unspoken confessions that felt too fragile to say aloud. The weight of everything you hadn’t said pressed against your chest, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he could see right through you. “I think…” Your voice faltered, your hands tightening their grip on the needle as you tried to collect yourself. You swallowed hard, forcing a wry smile to your lips. “I think you’re going to move and mess up your tattoo if you keep distracting me.”
Percy’s laugh was soft, a quiet rumble that seemed to fill the small space between you. “Fine,” he said, though there was a subtle warmth to his voice, like he wasn’t entirely convinced you meant it. “I’ll behave.”
You nodded briskly, more for yourself than him, and forced your focus back to the tattoo. The cabin seemed impossibly quiet now, the only sounds were the faint scrape of the needle against his skin and the rhythmic rush of the waves outside. Your hand moved with precision, each tiny dot of ink meticulously placed, but your mind buzzed with everything you weren’t saying. You felt Percy’s steady gaze on you, but he kept his promise, staying perfectly still, as though he knew how much you needed the silence to steady yourself.
When the last dot of ink was in place, you sat back and let out a quiet breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as you wiped away the excess ink with a clean cloth, revealing the finished design beneath. The tiny sunspiral gleamed against his skin, the ink still fresh and dark, each line precise. It was simple but undeniably perfect.
“All done,” you murmured, your voice soft, almost hesitant, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile quiet of the moment. You set the needle down carefully, wiping your ink-stained fingers on the cloth in your lap. Your gaze flicked to his face, searching for his reaction. “What do you think?”
Percy lifted his arm, angling it toward the lamplight as he studied the fresh design etched into his skin. The tattoo was simple but striking, the sunspiral inked in bold lines that stood out against his tan forearm. His lips curved slowly into a smile, warm and genuine, the kind that always managed to disarm you. “I think it’s perfect,” he said, his voice carrying an unguarded sincerity that made your chest tighten.
His eyes found yours, and the weight of his gaze was enough to make your breath catch. The cabin felt impossibly small, the air between you shifting as the unspoken tension that had been simmering all night rose to the surface. You were still close—too close—and this time neither of you seemed inclined to move away. The faint hum of the waves outside seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears.
Percy let his arm drop slowly to his side, the tattoo still gleaming faintly from the antiseptic. Before you could second-guess yourself, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly over the freshly inked spiral. His skin was warm under your touch, and the delicate lines of the tattoo felt like they carried a weight much heavier than their size.
“You’re not just copying me, are you?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly, caught between teasing and something deeper.
You weren’t sure if you wanted to hear the answer or if you were terrified of it.
Percy’s hand came up, gently catching yours and holding it in place against his arm. His grip was steady, but his touch was feather-light, as though he was afraid you might pull away. “Maybe,” he said, his tone soft and contemplative, “I just wanted something that reminds me of you.”
The words hung in the air, sinking into the silence between you. Your heart clenched at the quiet honesty in his voice, the vulnerability in the way his eyes held yours. It wasn’t a joke, wasn’t an offhand remark. He meant it.
Percy leaned in slowly, his movements deliberate and cautious, giving you every opportunity to pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The thought of creating distance between you felt impossible, like stepping away from gravity itself. Your breath hitched as his lips brushed against yours, feather-light at first, testing the waters. When you didn’t resist—when you tilted toward him instinctively, meeting him halfway—his kiss grew firmer, more sure.
It was nothing like you had imagined in the stolen moments of your daydreams—it was better . The kiss was warm and steady, like the tide pulling you under, overwhelming but safe, as though he’d caught you before you even realized you were falling. His free hand slid up to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently through your hair as he tugged you closer, eliminating the small space that had dared to remain between you. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a warmth that spread through your entire body.
Your own hands found their way to his shirt, curling into the soft fabric as if anchoring yourself to him. The texture under your fingertips was as real as the rapid thrum of your heartbeat, and you swore you could feel his pulse mirroring yours. Everything about him—his touch, his scent, the way his lips moved against yours—felt like a wave crashing over you, powerful and inescapable.
When you finally broke apart, it was only because you both needed air. Your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the small space between you as you tried to steady yourself. His hand remained on the back of your neck, thumb brushing absently against your skin, as though he wasn’t ready to let go.
Percy’s eyes met yours, his gaze softened by something raw and unguarded that made your heart ache. He was as breathless as you were, but the small, crooked smile that tugged at the corners of his lips spoke volumes.
“You’re going to ruin my reputation as a brooding sea prince,” Percy murmured, his voice low and tinged with that teasing smile. The corners of his lips quirked upward in that familiar way that made it impossible to tell if he was joking or being entirely serious. His breath was warm against your cheek, still uneven from the kiss, and it sent a shiver through you that you hoped he didn’t notice.
You let out a soft laugh, the sound quiet and intimate, as if the moment belonged only to the two of you. Your hand was still resting against his arm, your thumb instinctively brushing over the edge of the fresh tattoo. The ink stood out starkly against his skin, vibrant and raw, a permanent mark of this night and everything it meant.
“I think it suits you,” you said, your voice gentler now, the words holding more weight than you intended.
Percy tilted his head, studying you with a quiet intensity that made your cheeks warm. His gaze dipped briefly to where your fingers lingered on his arm before returning to your face, and for a moment, you thought he might say something snarky to break the tension. Instead, he surprised you.
“So do you,” he said softly, the teasing edge in his voice replaced by something deeper, something that made your heart stutter in your chest. His words hung in the air, quiet but undeniable, like a wave pulling you further into him.