Annabeth slammed the door closed, pulling off her scarf. She winced slightly at the sound. She hadn't meant to slam it, but it'd stuck as always, and you had to use a little force.
The apartment was strangely dark. Was he even here? She'd been the one to storm out, not him, which meant he was supposed to be here waiting and ready whenever she chose to return and make up. She sank down on the couch, letting out a long, deep breath and rubbing her temples. It was so stupid when they did this. People had warned them, when they'd started this relationship. They were both too headstrong, too hot-blooded, too determined to be right. Things had built up; a forgotten, unpaid bill, a switched-off morning alarm, a couple of thoughtless remarks. It had all escalated when he'd said he had to spend the evening finishing a project instead of going out.
"You know, you could have started earlier, like you're supposed to in college." She'd said with an eye roll.
He was in the kitchen, the sink running. The rooms were joined though, and she could see most of his face. He'd turned off the tap.
"Why do you have to be so condescending all the time?"
It had went from there, ending with her throwing on random coats and slamming out the door, wishing she could just stay angry and composed and not end up crying. But now she was tired and cold and sorry. It had only been the result of too much stress, and she reminded herself that Piper said fighting was healthy. "It clears out all the toxins and built-up relationship debris! I wish Jason would fight with me more. And then, of course, you get the amazing make-up sex."
Annabeth was interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of a door, then footsteps, and – the bathroom fan? Oh. He'd been taking a shower. He emerged, then, dressed and toweling off his hair. She only had to look at his face to see that he was sorry now, too.
She got up and went to him, throwing the towel aside. His hands went into her hair, cupping her ears. "Your face is cold."
She leaned in, dragging her fingers not-so-lightly down his back. "So warm me up."
Slowly, he backed her up against the wall, caging her in. His forehead was pressed against hers, noses brushing, his fingers hooked through the belt loops on her jeans. "I'm sorry I yelled." He said in a low, penitent voice. She tried to take a steadying breath; he wasn't giving her any space, she couldn't think properly when he pressed up against her this way, when his hands were circling her hips and tugging at her waistband, and he smelled intoxicatingly of minty, spicy shampoo. Finally, she whispered, "I'm sorry, too. So sorry. I love y–" His mouth cut her short, whispering something back as he kissed her, their lips meeting over and over again as his hand slowly found it's way into her jeans.
After a couple of minutes, she pushed him playfully back, reaching expertly into his back pocket for his wallet. She extracted a condom, tossing the wallet on the counter, and led him to their only armchair, pushing him down. It was among one of their favorite places for sex; the angle was perfect, his feet rested squarely on the floor, and she could easily hold on to the back of it. She climbed on top of him, feeling his rock hard bulge through his jeans, and immediately began removing his shirt, dropping it to the floor. When she nuzzled in to kiss his neck, he stopped her. "Babe, you know I love this shirt you're wearing, but I just really, really need to see your tits tonight."
So she stripped for him, letting him do the part of one-handedly unclasping her lacy black bra, adding it to the pool of clothing on the floor. And then his big hands were cupping her breasts, squeezing and feeling, and her breathing turned shallow and loud as he leaned forward and began sucking hard on her nipples, his tongue swirling. She grasped the back of the chair beside his head and gave a breathy moan. "Percy…yes…more…"
Her burning ache for him intensified as his hands slowly squeezed her ass. And then his head was resting back against the chair, and she was kissing and sucking at his neck, and then reaching down to undo the button on his jeans. She pulled his length free, moving her hand up and down it a few times as he grunted, his eyes going all dark and hooded as they always did during sex. She kissed him once, whispering, "I'm really, really glad you're going to make-up fuck me now."
He gave a lazy half-grin. "Actually, I think you're about to make-up fuck me…either way, best way my night could've gone."
She laughed and tore open the condom, expertly rolling it onto his member while he watched her, a shudder rolling through him. She settled her hands on either side of his head as she sank slowly down on his full, rock hard length.
"Fuck, Annabeth…you feel so good…" Percy breathed in a husky voice, his hands gripping her hips. She tipped her head back languorously, feeling him fill her and fill her and fill her, feeling herself impaled on him, the two of them connected more intimately than they'd ever been with anyone else. This sacred thing here, that was just for them.
She moved up and down, finding a slow, steady rhythm with her hips, bracing herself against the chair, and then against his broad, strong shoulders, tracing his lean muscles with her hands as he gave low moans of satisfaction. Burning pleasure consumed her from her toes to her fingertips as he rocked into her, matching her pace. His hands cupped her bouncing breasts, sliding to squeeze her hips, her thighs. She leaned forward to kiss him, sweet and slow, and shivered when he whispered huskily in her ear, "I love you, beautiful girl. You're the sexiest person alive. I love to be inside of you like this."
Moans filled their apartment as they got lost in each other, in the heat and friction and sweaty skin, mingled swear words and sweet murmurs of affection. She waited until he couldn't take the slow pace any longer. With an impatient grunt, he began thrusting upward more forcefully, one hand first gripping the back of her head, then both hands on her hips. She'd have a bruises there tomorrow.
Their rhythm became increasingly frenzied as he found her g-spot and hit it over and over and over. "P–Peeercy….." she moaned out, tilting her head back in ecstasy. She realized he was determined to put her first, to take care of her, to truly show her how he felt. The rough pad of his thumb found her clit, circling just how she liked it, sending her into a state of heightened bliss, and her hand reached back to grasp her hair out of her face as she arched backward, consumed with ecstasy as she panted and moaned his name, over and over again as she came.
The sight and feel of her coming undone sent him off the edge before she'd entirely come down, and he shuddered under her, swearing under his breath as his hands gripped her hard, the feel of him losing it under her prolonging her own climax into the most rapturous, toe-curling bliss she'd been needing, that they'd both been needing.
When they both came down, he transferred them to the couch where she curled on top of him, both tired and relaxed, trading small kisses as he stroked her hair. "What are you thinking?" She whispered sleepily, tracing his ear under her finger.
He grinned at her in a very boy-ish way. "You don't really want to know." He paused. "What are you thinking?"
She laid her chin down on his chest and smiled. "That sometimes I like fighting with you."
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