"Don't do it, Luke." These words, Percy has repeated them many times over the years. "I joined you. I'm eighteen. We already proved the Great Prophecy wrong. Our victory is assured; there's no need for this."
He's not sure what's changed. Is it Luke's dreams, that he suddenly won't tell Percy about? Has Luke grown weary of the war, which has been an all-out conflict for three years, ever since Percy joined his side? Something else entirely? Percy isn't sure; all he knows is that his lover—there's something childish about the word "boyfriend" now—is determined. And yet Percy protests.
"Come back to bed. Sleep; or just lie down, if you can't. We can talk about this tomorrow."
"No."
Luke's never been one for laconic answers, and yet he shrugs off Percy's hands and walks away without elaborating.
The next thing Percy knows, Kronos has taken possession of Luke's body and started the siege of Manhattan. Percy only saw him once, when he commanded—commanded!—Percy to guard Mount Othrys. He made a pass at Percy—subtle, not asking in so many words, just touching and creeping close, smirking when Percy's body reacts before he has a chance to remind himself that this isn't Luke—but nothing came of it.
But there's no time for this. Percy knew what he was signing up for all along; his relationship with Luke had always been in conflict with Luke's allegiance. At no point had he thought to wonder where his allegiance lay: with Luke, or Kronos? Does it even really make a difference now?
When Percy wakes up next, he's tied up to a chair. Around him are nothing but the cloth walls of a tent, with little to no personal effects in sight.
The confusion fades when he remembers. He failed; Mount Othrys fell. The throne of the Titans had been taken by the forces of Camp Jupiter, receiving surprise reinforcements—reinforcements that should have been trapped in Manhattan. Percy may have learned a thing or two about strategy from Luke, and his power may make him a force to be reckoned with, but winning this battle would have required a small miracle—one Percy did not get.
If anything, he's surprised to still be alive. He'd been overpowered by half a dozen soldiers, led by a praetor of the Twelfth Legion wielding Jupiter's standard, and Percy had thought for sure he was done for. Unless Kronos deems him worthy of being brought back, that is. Maybe that was what the Romans had thought, too.
He's tempted to call out, to find out where he is and why, but that would mean losing the effect of surprise. If he can just free himself—
He never gets the chance. He's still trying to drag his chair, maybe tilt it enough to fall and hopefully break it, when a young man enters. He's about Percy's age, with blond hair cropped in a legionnaire's cut and clear blue eyes—easy on the eyes, if it weren't for the praetor's insignia pinned to his clothes.
"I've heard about you," the praetor says. "When you defected, it was the final straw for Olympus. They were desperate enough to let Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter know about each other." He eyes Percy up and down, his eyes narrowed. "Can't say I get what the fuss was all about."
"Is that what you Romans do? Insult a man when he's down?"
"I'm here to offer you a deal."
Percy scoffs. "Right. You won, but you want to make a deal. Why?"
"Because, believe it or not, there are people who still care about you. And because I also think you're worth it." He drags a chair and places it in front of Percy, sitting close enough for their knees to almost touch. "My name is Jason Grace. I'm a son of Jupiter."
"I know that."
"And I know why you're on this side of the conflict. But Luke Castellan is gone. I was in Manhattan, right when the siege began; I saw him. You of all people must have noticed that he's no longer there, that it's only Kronos now."
Percy manages a contemptuous pout, as if he was wondering if Jason had a point, but he says nothing. He won't take the bait.
"There is nothing stopping you from fighting with us now. Help us stop Kronos. Help us, and—"
Percy interrupts him with a laugh. "And what? You'll find a way to bring Luke back? I don't think so. Your side doesn't do the whole 'cheating death' thing."
"We don't have to kill Luke. Just take Kronos out of him. I'm sure it's possible, and with your help, we could do it. The Great Prophecy could still come true."
Jason looks at Percy intently, earnest and passionate. He genuinely believes what he says—that much is clear. Percy holds his gaze, unyielding in his contempt, until Jason finally looks away. Only then does Percy look away too, keeping Jason in the corner of his eye.
"Well—" Percy says, and immediately Jason's gaze snaps back to him. He bites his lip, thoughtful, and Jason's gaze latches onto that as well. "I may have a few conditions. And," he adds before Jason can speak, "don't say 'anything'." Jason blushes at the rebuttal, and Percy smirks. "If I do switch sides, I won't have Luke. He'll never forgive me, even if we do get him back. I'd need a new boyfriend…"
He lets silence hang between them, forcing Jason to break it. "Is that all? A boyfriend? That's what you want?"
"Not just any boyfriend. One who's my type, and who can satisfy my ambitious streak. A praetor, maybe?" Percy smirks, glancing back at Jason, shy and hesitant. Jason meets that gaze, surprise and unsettled. He hasn't seen it coming.
But Percy isn't going to give him time to consider it. Luke showed him plenty of ways to use his powers he'd never have considered—or accepted—before. The human body holds so much water, and it's all under Percy's command even when he's tied up and helpless. At the softest touch of his mind, Jason's blood heats up just a little, his heart beats faster, his adrenaline level increases.
The blush that spreads on Jason's face isn't entirely Percy's doing, though. A subtle manipulation like the one he's aiming for would never work if there was no seed to work with in the first place. If Jason hadn't stared at Percy biting his lip, if his breath hadn't hitched slightly when Percy had requested a boyfriend, Percy wouldn't even have tried. Besides, he wouldn't do this to someone's who's completely unwilling. Removing inhibition, giving a few pushes is fine, but he's not a monster.
Jason isn't moving, showing exemplary control for someone whose blood Percy can feel rushing to his groin. Maybe he needs just another push. "Why don't you give it a test run right here, when I'm completely at your mercy?" he asks, with a wiggle of his eyebrows as he leans in as far as his bounds will allow, close enough for their knees to touch and for Percy to feel Jason's short breaths on his face. "See if you might at least consider more?"
He knows he's won when Jason gulps and inches forward. Jason's kiss is shy, uncertain, and decidedly inexperienced, but that isn't what Percy cares about. He catches Jason's lip between his teeth, gently, and Jason jolts in surprise, freezing as if he'd expected Percy to bite his for real. But Percy has no intention of hurting him.
It takes a moment, but Jason lets Percy take command of their kiss, moaning softly into Percy's mouth. Percy tugs at his bounds a couple times, and Jason gets the message, leaving his chair to straddle Percy's lap instead. Percy can feel Jason's erection pressing into his stomach, but he doesn't mind—Jason's sudden abandon is exactly what he wants.
Jason breaks their kiss, panting, and stares into Percy's eyes. "Is this really what you want?"
"I don't have a say in this," Percy purrs. "If you want it, just take it. I'm all yours."
He realizes his mistake at the change in Jason's expression. Of course; that's not what someone like Jason would want to hear. Even if he fantasizes about it—and oh, is Percy sure that Jason fantasizes about it—he'd never indulge in it.
Percy manages to keep his flirty smirk unwavering. "But yes, I want this. I did ask for it, you know."
Jason stares into his eyes, silent, then gets up. Percy's ready to move on to plan B, but waits when he notices Jason's moving behind him. There's a sharp sound, and then, suddenly, Percy's bounds come loose.
Percy doesn't dare stand up, but turns around to stare at Jason, and the dagger in his hand. Jason holds his gaze. "And now?"
He could fight. Controlling the water of Jason's body wouldn't be enough to win—Jason would resist it too fast, Percy guesses—but it could be enough to disarm him and get the upper hand. But it's a test—Percy realizes that. And he still doesn't want to hurt Jason.
"Nothing's changed," he says, breathless.
"Good. Because I don't—I don't sleep with people when they're tied up against their will." His hesitation is obvious, and Percy's tempted to call him out on his bravado, to say I know you're a virgin with enough smirks to make it more a tease than a mockery, but Percy resists the urge. He stands, silently, and closes the space between them, bringing Jason's lips against his.
There's a bed right next to them—it has been out of Percy's sight until now—and Percy realizes that this isn't a prison tent or even just a regular tent. He's in Jason's own tent, the sigil decorating the sheets is proof of that. He idly wonders if Jason expected this, but the thought is wiped away when Jason's hands slide under his waistband.
Jason's not wasting any time, his own eagerness adding up to what Percy inspired in him now that his reluctance is gone. He presses his body against Percy, grinding with enough force to push Percy against the bed until he falls into it, Jason following the movement.
In this, Percy can lose himself. They're kissing, eyes closed, body against body, and Jason's just taller enough than Percy, just muscled enough, that Percy can almost believe that it's Luke on top of him. And yet, the scar on Jason's lip, the different scent of his body, the sound of his voice in his moans, less needy and heavier with pleasure, all those details remind Percy that it's not Luke, that it may never be Luke again.
He expects a feeling of wrong, but it never comes. Jason's different, and it brings out a wave of nostalgia when Percy needs to adjust his rhythm because he moved to what he knows Luke would do now, but there's nothing in his heart and mind than heat and lust. He'd expected to have to force himself, to fake maybe, but his cock is hard when Jason's presses against it through the layers of their clothes.
It's confusing, but even that fades. Percy feels like he's less a person and more a ball of want. He tears Jason's shirt by tugging at it too hard, but Jason only chuckles and helps him get rid of it. He moves to remove Percy's shirt, but he stops, his breath hitching when Percy's hands are suddenly on his chest, tracing muscles and teasing nipples and caressing relentlessly.
Percy pulls Jason down, shifting his weight to roll on top of Jason, and pauses for a moment, staring into Jason's eyes, relishing in the wonder he finds there, drowned in dark lust. Percy pushes himself up, straddling Jason's lap to take off his shirt, then work on Jason's shoes, socks, pants, then his own—all one after the other. He should slow down, make this last, but he can't bring himself to do it.
Jason doesn't seem to mind the rush, and brings Percy back down for a short kiss as he slides his hands under the waistband of Percy's boxers. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he tugs them down, and Percy lets him, observing Jason's amazed expression as Percy's cock comes free and Jason reaches out to touch it.
It's barely a stroke, but Percy feels overheated, and it's enough to make him moan, which Jason seems to take encouragingly, asserting his grip and leisurely stroking again. Percy lets him, doing all he can so he doesn't collapse on top of Jason. He rests his head against the crook of Jason's neck, and whispers, "Fuck, Jason. Just…fuck me."
Jason freezes, his hand still wrapped around Percy's cock. "Um. I—I don't have anything in here. Like condoms, or lube."
Percy props himself on his elbows, smirking. "Forget the condom. There's nothing ambrosia won't cure anyway. And for the lube…let me take care of that."
He pushes himself up the rest of the way, and kneels between Jason's legs, glancing up to meet his gaze one last time before he takes off Jason's briefs. He sees the tension in Jason's body, the way his blush darkens ever so slightly, as if he expects Percy to mock him or find him inadequate—though there's definitely no need for him to worry on that front.
Percy wastes no time on niceties, though. He wraps a hand around the base of Jason's cock, and lowers his head to take him in his mouth. Mostly he meant to use his own saliva and turn it into lube—another trick he'd learned with Luke, though for very different reason—but at the moan Jason lets out, he can't help but linger, sucking on Jason's cock and teasing the slit with his tongue, giving a stroke with his hand before sinking back down. It's a dance he knows he's particularly good at—and reading Jason's reactions only helps him get better.
But he has to stop when Jason starts to buck his hips up, his legs tensing. He pulls away, chuckling as he wipes the pre-come off his lips. "Don't come just yet. You owe me a fucking. Did you know most industrial lubes are water-based?" He works his hand along the length of Jason's come, and the sticky, half-dried spit turns into slippery lube.
Jason realizes what he's done, too, and stares at Percy with wide eyes, unmoving. "I—"
"Or do you want me to ride you? I can do that, too."
He sees the brief moment of conflict in Jason's eyes, but he shakes his head—though Percy wonders if it's not out of pride more than anything else. "No, I—I want to—do it myself. Just…how do you want to—?"
Percy can't help but chuckle at the wording, which he's sure Jason thinks is a clever way to hide his inexperience, but he says nothing. Instead, he slithers up Jason's body, kisses him once, then pulls him along as he rolls on his back. Jason ends up on top, looking almost bewildered, but Percy's already spreading his legs and reaching down to Jason's cock, guiding the tip to his entrance and pressing it there. "Do I need to spell it out even more?" he teases.
He doesn't—on the contrary: Jason pushes in immediately, way too fast, sinking in to the hilt in a single movement. Percy winces; it's been too long already, and he's not prepared. But Jason doesn't notice, and Percy doesn't say anything, though he's grateful that Jason's stopped moving. Instead, Jason moans, his eyes closed. "Fuck, this is—" he says, never finishing his sentence.
In this moment, Percy's body finds its bearings, getting used to the feeling of Jason as it did so many times for Luke, and Jason's immobility goes from a relief to unbearable. He reaches for his own cock, stroking himself, the feeling of fullness and the pressure against his prostate making each movement of his hand feel like pure bliss. He notices that Jason is watching him, staring as if he's forgotten what he was doing himself, so Percy grabs Jason's ass with his free hand, urging him on.
Finally, Jason moves, feeling like he was meant to fit in with Percy with each thrust. Jason's close already, Percy knows it, but he hadn't realized he was. Part of him wants to hold on with pride, to refuse to be the first one to come, as if it was some kind of competition, but then, Jason thrusts right against his prostate, and Percy can't bring himself to care. His hand gains in speed, and he's soon spilling come over his own stomach, crying out—wordless, thankfully; he wasn't sure whose name he would have called otherwise.
Even through the haze of his orgasm, he's keenly aware of Jason crying out his name as he comes, and he's just as aware of the feeling of Jason coming inside of him, making his own orgasm feel that much better, that much more satisfying.
Jason finally crumbles, pulling out and falling onto the mattress next to Percy. He doesn't mention cleaning up, but Percy takes care of it on his own, willing the fluids away—not really caring where, so long as they weren't clenching to his skin.
"Yeah, okay," Jason huffs out, panting with his face pressed into a pillow. "I'll be your boyfriend."
"I figured," Percy said, pressing a kiss to the back of Jason's neck. He sees the goosebumps that it elicits, reflexively commits to memory to try and find out more, and that's when it hits him: he likely won't get to find out more.
He lies next to Jason, catching his breath and listening closely to Jason's. When it slows down and grows regular, with a hint of a snore there, Percy sits up—slowly, careful not to make any noise.
It's grown dark in the tent by now, but he knows exactly where he tossed all his clothes—he memorized it all, even in his earlier frenzy. He gets dressed in a hurry, keeping his shoes in his hand to avoid making noise while walking. Briefly, he thinks about tying up Jason, or gagging him, then he decides it's not worth it—better to let him sleep.
He feels a hint of regret when he walks out of the tent under the cover of darkness, but represses it. Percy still doesn't know if he's loyal to Kronos, but he is loyal to Luke. That Jason stirred him up like that was irrelevant. Everything he'd done was to get out, to go back to Luke.
A gale whips his face, chasing away the remnants of sleepiness induced by his orgasm. There in the distance are the lights of Manhattan—and somewhere in there is Kronos's camp. Jason's come to surround them; what he hadn't expected was that, in doing so, he'd put Percy close enough to warn them in time.