Summary: Annabeth gets a rush. 100-word love story.
Silver on silver. It clatters with the collision, heavy and loud. Metal slides against steel. Swords whistle through the air.
His technique is all grace. Lean muscles flexing and stretching, pulling and jerking effortlessly on his command. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his skin, golden brown rich in the dying sunlight.
So sidetracked are her gray eyes, awareness slides away and his breaths rasp in her ear.
Long fingers dance up her sensitive throat. Heat floods her face in a frenzied blitzkrieg attack of her senses.
Percy smirks at her blush, eyebrows high.
Annabeth succumbs to the rush.
Just messing around. I've had an awful dry spell lately. I'm trying to coax myself out of it. Anyways, this is my first attempt at a "drabble" sort of concept. I'm trying to fit as much description into a small amount. Pah, blah, blah. Thanks for reading :)