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The dull wash of the waves behind me and Jason numbs my mind. My eyes are half-lidded and Jason is grinning at me.
“What are you staring at, Grace?” I smirk, voice rough.
“You, Jackson,” he whispers, eyes scanning my face.
My heart beats softly. My eyes roam over his body, locking at the scar on his jaw. Suddenly, I want to run my tongue over his neck, feel his lips on my own, drown in the warmth of his skin. I want to press against him and trace the lines of his muscles.
He seems to notice the velvety lust shining in my eyes, because his own eyes slowly mirror my own. My mouth curves into a sharp grin and I lean towards him cockily, raising my eye brow slightly. His breath shudders and he quickly closes the space between us. Our lips meet, and my mind goes a blinding red. Shock splatters my mind like blood. I smell ozone and salt. I press my lips deeper into his mouth, savoring the sweet flavor of his mouth. His lips are soft and he kisses me innocently. My mouth is sharper and more sinful. I press against his lips desperately and frantically. He wraps his arms around my body and drags his tongue around my mouth. I retort with just as much enthusiasm. The air around us seems to be snapping and electric, and alive. The ocean away from us practically glows. Streams of water flow close to us and form liquid icicle-looking tundrels. They float around us and cover me. Water flows down my face and my eyes are filled with salty tears of the ocean. I break apart from him and let my head drop to his chest. We walk to my cabin slowly, and smile at each other knowingly. But I can’t help the sinking feeling in my stomach.
The door to my cabin creaks noisily as I open it, and Jason and I step inside. I immediately bring my lips to his and I run my hands along the muscles of his back. He makes a noise of regretful protest before pulling away. He grabs my hips and leads me to the bed. My knees hit the frame and we lay onto the mattress. He is sprawled beneath me, eyes lit up and mouth pulled in a shy smile. I shoot him a sharp, crooked grin. He shrugs off his shirt and I can feel myself getting aroused at the sight of his bare skin. He keeps his jeans on and looks at me expectantly. I swallow thickly. I know if I tell him no he won’t get mad at all, he’ll simply just kiss me and whisper soft things in my ear and we’ll sleep. But I don’t want to sleep. Yet, the dread pooling in my stomach still remains.
“Percy? Are you okay? We can stop—“
“No—no, I’m fine. It’s just,” I clear my throat. “I have…scars. A lot of them.”
“So…?” He seems genuinely confused.
“So, they aren’t as pretty as you, Superman.” I feign sarcasm, but the tremble in my voice gives the gnawing sensation in my chest away.
“I don’t care about scars, Perce. And besides, I think your scars are badass.” He winks.
I have never seen Jason Grace wink.
And for some reason, it arouses me.
I shift my hips so my shorts hide the embarrassing…ahem…thing.
My hands make a quick work of pulling off my shirt, and I feel my face pale when his eyes roam over my scarred, pale, lean torso. He’s more muscled than me, more bulky. I’m more lithe and skinny, yet still strong despite that. He runs his fingers over a particularly long scar on my torso, touch feather-light, and my hips buck into him.
“Holy fuck—“
He smiles and does it again, this time making his touch even lighter, even more intense.
My problem becomes more apparent.
I grind into him and try to hold myself back. I bring my face to his neck and trail my lips along his neck. He grinds up into me, still flitting his fingers over my scars. Another drag of his fingers, and I gasp, digging my crotch into his again. We find a rhythm, up and down, gasp and bite, kiss and trail.
“Percy…”
The sound of my name in his mouth makes my body shudder. My hand spasms pathetically, and Jason gasps.
“Percy! What the hell—“
“What?” I pull back, concern etched on my face.
His body squirms beneath my own. My knees lock his hips in place, and he tries to wiggle them. The outline of his boner is slightly visible, held back by his jeans. I look at his lower abdomen and see a slight bulge. Confusion swallows my eyes. I tilt my head.
What is going on?
I bring my hand to the bulge. My pale, nimble fingers softly touch it.
And Jason makes a kneeling noise that makes my eyes narrow like a cat's.
It’s a drawn out groan, but more high-pitched and breathy and beautiful.
“Haaahhh…”
His hips are rougher and more viscous than before. Sort of desperate.
Oh.
Oh.
Maybe there’s a reason people call me seaweed brain. I have water powers. My powers are more uncontrollable when I’m…emotional. Enough stalling. I accidentally made Jason Grace need to piss, badly.
“Oh my gods, I’m so sorry Jason—“
“No—haahh—no. I’m—” his hips give a strong buck. “I’m okay.”
His ears turn a dusty pink, and I realize with a start that he likes it. I smirk and feel excitement bubble in my chest. This is going to be fun.
I tease him, locking my knees at his hips so he can’t move them. He makes a start to grab himself, but I grab his hands first and he realizes what I want. With what seems like a lot of inner debate, he keeps his hands on my neck. Then, I close my eyes. Concentration camps inside of my mind, making a point of drowning out any other noise trying to break in. I squeeze my fist gently and Jason writhes beneath me. He grips my back with strong yet gentle hands, breaths labored. I do the same thing, and Jason’s back arches. His thighs are shaking from the effort of holding back.
“Percy—oh my gods.”
His whole body seems to deflate and warm liquid soaks my pants. It darkens his jeans and I can see his dick straining against his pants. I let out a husky breath, watching Jason’s legs tremble. I grind against him, our crotches rubbing together, the material of his wet jeans and my jorts that sit low on my waist creating even more friction. His arms grip my shoulders and he falls off his own cliff of pleasure with a soft sigh. I follow suit, groaning into his neck.
“End the story now…I dare you…” I whisper to myself.
“I can’t! Just ending it without any real conclusion is not good writing!” I snap at myself, gesturing broadly.
“You’re writing a literal piss fic and you’re worried about ‘good writing?’” I mumble, exasperation written across my face.
“Good writing my ass, you’re literally talking to yourself,” I retort.
“Says you!”
“Whatever. The end….”