It wasn't that Tony Stark was unaccustomed to the procedures that SHIELD uses to conduct their investigations, it was just that he dislikes having them trampling their way throughout his workshop doing god knows what with his things. DUM-E may be a stupid robot, but he's family at this point and no government stiff is going to get their hands on him.

So he made a compromise: they can set up shop for their investigation on a whole floor of Avengers Tower if they want to, as long as they keep their noses out of his business. Especially the business that may or not be against several international laws.

It seems exhausting to be a secret agent, Tony Stark thinks as he sees Natasha and Clint run to and fro. The nameless, faceless SHIELD agents weren't much better, already setting up their big cork board in one corner. It tickles some part of him to see them still go so old school.

A cork board . What will they think of next?

He sidles up alongside Clint and watches the agents work. "Do you guys get prescribed speed or does everyone just work at this level 24/7?"

He can see Clint's jaw work overtime to keep from biting out something he really shouldn't. "Not everyone needs chemical intervention to do their best work, Tony."

That makes him laugh. "Touche." He slaps Clint on the shoulder. "Tell me when you want me to work my magic after you're done running around like chickens with your heads cut off."

Clint sighs. "We're working on identifying the victim. You could start there."

"Already tried," Tony shrugs. "Can't find the kid in any system from here to Russia. It's like he's a ghost."

Clint swears. "Try again. It'll at least keep you busy while we set up so you don't get in our way."

"Ouch, Hawkguy. You wound me." Tony clutches his chest. "Don't you have some rafters to go climb into or is the Widow keeping you on a short leash these days?"

Clint sends him a scathing look that makes Tony back off.

"Fine," he says. "There's a few systems I can run his face through that I haven't tried yet. But you guys really should give me legal access to all these databases; continually hacking them is getting tedious."

Clint doesn't dignify that with a response.

The file lays on Rachel's coffee table, unopened from the day that Nico gave it to him on the park bench. He doesn't want to see those photos anymore. He doesn't want to see the spilled guts of someone he should know but doesn't. He doesn't want to see the message blaming him.

Was that boy one of them? It haunted his dreams the past few days. The faces he'd seen in his quests for the gods blurred together; it was better when he didn't know their names. Rarely, if ever, did they tell him exactly who it was he was meant to neutralize, but to do their will and do it quickly.

If he came upon this boy at camp or in the streets of New Rome, would he have recognized him? He couldn't fully answer that, not to Rachel, nor Nico, nor himself. He wished, not for the first time that day, that Jason could lend his help to this, but he wondered if that would hurt more than it would help. Jason was worse than he was with faces and the names that accompanied them.

Little fish .

He could almost hear Jason say, almost feel Jason's sure fingers rubbing the back of his neck, tilting his chin to face him. Anything to get Percy out of a spiral. He was so good at that: tending to him when he could not tend to himself.

It's better if we forget .

He never argued with that; it was better. But that willful ignorance was spiraling out of control now and Jason wasn't here to help with that fallout. Sometimes he wondered if he took the easy way out, but living the way he and Jason did was never easy. It could never be when they both knew where they would go once they died, and dieing to escape the will of the gods was a fool's errand.

He wonders about their fate. He wonders how long it will take for the darkness that consumed Jason to consume him as well.

"Having fun?"

Rachel's voice splits the silence. She crouches opposite him by the coffee table and looks at the file.

"Don't touch that—" Percy reaches to grab it out of her hands.

"Fuck!" She slams the file shut, her face pale. "What the fuck is that, Perce?"

He sighs and lays back on the couch, rubbing his forehead. "Nico gave it to me. There's a… case that some people want me to work. Related to the gods."

Rachel shoves the file across the table to him. "Does this case have anything to do with your time… abroad ?"

He hated the way she said it, how her eyebrows waggled with the implication.

"Sort of," he says. "The agency that employs him is investigating the case. Natasha called me in to lend my highly specific expertise."

"You should put that on your resume," Rachel leans her elbow on the table. "Highly specific expertise relating to the cruelty of the hitherto unseen Greek gods."

"I don't know if I'm going to take the job," Percy says.

"Why not?"

He rubs his chin. "It's— it's complicated. I'd work it if he wasn't on it, absolutely. But it's— it's a lot."

She sighs. "Well, you need something to get you out of the house. I got my first call from camp asking after you. Someone must have seen Nico visit, or heard him talking about it with Will."

"Who?" Percy's voice is sharp.

"Annabeth." The corners of Rachel's mouth tugs down. "She's worried about you. Business is bringing her back to the city in a few weeks and she wanted to meet up for coffee."

"She asked you to set this up?"

"No, she wants to hang with me, but you're a bonus." She smiles. "You should say hi. Her kid is cute and Andy is pretty sweet, despite the fact that he's a Hermes legacy."

A small laugh comes from his throat. "Maybe. We'll see how I do with… all of this."

She stands, brushing her hands off on her thighs. Rachel was splattered with paint, deep in some painting that obviously required a fair amount of energy and force. He hopes he gets to see it when it's finished and it doesn't attempt to predict his ultimate demise, as some of her paintings have done in the past.

"That aside, I have girl's night tonight, so you might want to make yourself scarce." She gives him a pointed look.

Percy flops lengthwise on the couch. "Thalia's in town?"

"Yep," Rachel says. "And you're welcome to join, but they will ask questions about your little vacation and I can only field so many inquiries into your nefarious deeds. Reyna will keep quiet, but Piper will give you those big puppy dog eyes and I don't know if you can take it."

He snorts, covering his face. "I'll be out tonight, I promise."

Rachel musses his hair and places a kiss on his forehead. "And take the job." She taps the file. "It'll be good for you to have a hobby."

He groans. "You're the worst."

"Love you! Mean it!" Rachel swans out of the room and returns to her studio.

They finished setting up the cork board, but they were no closer to finding out the identity of the victim. Tony had run all images of the boy through every database he could find, all angles of the crime scene and the autopsy report, coming back with nothing. He was not used to being stumped and didn't enjoy being bested by a lowly serial killer from fucking Brooklyn . And not even the fun part.

Tony sits in front of the cork board, gnawing at the end of a ballpoint pen, studying the photos of the crime scene.

"I don't get it," he says, mostly to himself. "Why kill a ghost? Why blame it on some kid who is just as much of a ghost? What's the connection?"

Natasha sits next to him, tilting her head to the side. "There's some things you're not aware of yet, Tony. You don't have access to all of the information."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Oh? And when will One-Eyed Willy here let me have said access?"

Natasha looks at him in kind. "He doesn't even know Percy. It's part of a classified series of missions."

"On a first-named basis with a serial killer, are we?"

"This isn't a serial killer. We've only discovered one body."

"With planning like this, I can't imagine he won't kill again," Tony gestures to the collection of photos with the chewed end of his pen. "It's only a matter of time before we discover someone else covered in spanikopita or Greek yoghurt."

"Hungry?" Natasha smiles.

"Hungry for justice , Natalie. Hungry for the truth."

She rolls her eyes. "Go get a sandwich, Anthony. It'd do us all good."

He crosses his arms. "Not until I figure out who this kid is. It's driving me up a wall."

"His name is Julian Varus," a voice calls out as they enter the room.

The air stills as a figure fills the hallway, approaching the assembled agents in front of the cork board.

He wears a disheveled suit, a bit too small for his frame in places, as if he'd grown out of it. The tie hangs from his neck, rumpled from being pulled. There's blood staining the collar of his shirt and gold dusting the rest of him, filtering to the ground as he makes his way into the room with a hand that holds a gleaming sword, nodding politely to all involved.

"Sorry. Got caught up in something on the way here." He pulls a small cap out of his pocket and places it on the tip of the sword, shrinking it. "Did you know basilisks are coming out of the sewers these days? A guy can't even take the subway without getting ambushed. Nasty teeth, too."

An agent offers him a napkin for a few cuts on his cheek that ooze blood and he thanks them as if this were just another day at the office for him.

The visitor was handsome, that much was undeniable, even as he swipes at the blood from the cuts on his cheek. Dark, shaggy hair that comes down to his chin in waves almost rivals Bucky's when he was the Winter Soldier, and piercing green eyes shone from across the room. He was tall, with strong features, seemingly bewildered by how large he was in any given space. He alternates between hunching and unhunching his shoulders, as if trying to decide how large he should seem. Both appeared to be natural and unnatural to him in equal measure. Stretching his arms, now free of the sword he came in with, revealed just how close he was to busting out of that suit. Like the Star-Spangled Man himself, the stranger was built for war.

Tony narrows his eyes at the intruder. "And you are?"

The guy smiles— smiles , of all things to do during a murder investigation— and holds his hand out for Tony to shake. "Percy Jackson. I'm the name painted under the dead body. Pleased to meet you."

Percy hates this fucking suit. He hates it even more now that it's covered in monster dust and his down damn blood because he decided to take the subway. He could have taken a taxi, but he knew some monsters drive those as well and didn't want to take his chances. The bigger the crowd, the safer he'd be. Or so he thought.

The tower was the next obstacle. Normally, he'd have Nico shadow travel him in, or contact them ahead of time. But he knew if he'd told anyone he was coming, he'd just chicken out due to nerves. It wasn't that hard getting to the floor where the SHIELD agents had set up their investigation considering how much they were coming and going.

He wasn't expecting to run face-first into Tony Stark himself, but there were worse people he could have seen first.

"Julian Varus," Tony says, trying to place the name. "How do you know?"

Percy approaches the crime scene photos and looks at the boy. He received the intel from Nico on a small, typewritten note included in the back of the file. Despite his insistence on not being involved in things like this, Nico was far from a passive observer.

"He's a kid who grew up in New Rome," Percy says. "He wouldn't be in any of your files because he's never left. Never been caught on any of the security cameras you likely searched, never been in any government database. A ghost, as you say."

Tony looks Percy up and down. "New Rome. Explain."

"It's a training camp," came a familiar voice.

Natasha Romanov looked just as stunning as the first day he'd met her. Long, beautiful hair tied up in a braid, SHIELD uniform looking like some kind of expensive suit in a way only she knew how to do. She embraces Percy warmly, her arms wrapping around his torso as she lifts him up off the ground.

"I missed you," Natasha says when she sets him back down.

Percy chuckles and squeezes her in return. "It's been a while."

He did miss her. Despite everything, they had no bad blood between them and he thought of her on and off. She smiled for very few people, but he was one of them.

"How's the last few years been treating you?" Natasha brushed some dust off of his suit. "I can see you're keeping up with your same nonsense. How many monsters did you fight to get here?"

"You know New York: it gets more dangerous every year. Besides, Big Three kids get it the worst."

"At least you weren't with that blonde friend of yours. Double trouble."

Percy's jovial expression falls, his brows drawing close. "He—" He looks around the room. "I'll fill you in later."

A flicker of concern shows through Natasha's mask, but she has enough training and discretion to keep her questions to herself. She pats his arm. "Good to have you back, Percy. Drinks on me tonight."

He cracks a smile. "How generous of you." He pulls her in close to kiss her temple. "I never thought I'd see the day."

She wrinkles her nose at him. "You clearly could use one. Consider it a public service. We'll put it on SHIELD's tab."

"Make it my consulting fee," he says. "Wait, scratch that. Pay me money. That'd probably be more useful."

Tony watches all of this with open curiosity and a decent amount of confusion. When Percy pulls away from Natasha he indicates him with his chin.

"Stark, right?" He asks. "Heard about you."

"I have heard nothing about you." Tony blinks at the scene before him. He looks at Natasha. "Natalie, explain."

Natasha shrugs. "He's a friend."

Tony blinks again. Agents are so fucking weird.

A soft swear comes from the door near the elevator and they turn. Clint Barton reaches down to pick up the file he dropped.

"Percy."

Clint stands with his back ramrod straight, the file now clutched in his hand. His suit is equally as disheveled as Percy's, the tie tugged loose in a similar fashion. They mirror each other, Percy taking his arm off from around Natasha's shoulders. He gulps.

"Clint."

Percy nods slightly, putting his hands in his pockets. It's a small gesture, but the biggest one he can bring himself to make. He'd thought about this exact scenario for years, what he would do if he ever saw Clint Barton again. How would he react? He couldn't tell if he wanted to fight him or pull him close, or neither. So there he stands, hands in his pockets, a gulf of silence between them.

Clint breaks it first, clenching his jaw. "Julian Varus, you say?"

Of course they talk about work. What else is there to say?

Percy takes a moment before nodding. "He's a Camp Jupiter kid, Varus descendant but also a child of Moneta, hence the coins."

Clint walks closer to them to look at the crime scene photos. "So he's making a statement with the staging. Why drachmas? Shouldn't they use the Roman coin?"

Percy wants to scream. He can't take the space between them, a thing that feels so tangible despite his physical proximity. He exchanges a look with Natasha and approaches the board as well, pointing to one of the photos. His finger goes to the necklace the victim is wearing.

"The killer is Greek, or trying to pin it on the Greeks. The message was one thing, but he knows what he's doing with the drachmas. Romans don't use their coins to communicate." Percy drops his finger. "Someone wanted you to call me specifically."

"Wait," Tony interjects. "Can any of you translate this for the layperson?"

Percy turns and rubs the back of his neck, looking first to Natasha, then to Clint before looking away quicker than he should have. His cheeks burned and he hoped it wasn't as obvious as it felt.

"Your choice, Percy," Natasha says. "SHIELD doesn't have to write down the secret stuff if you don't want them to."

"No, I—" He looks at Tony. "Why is he here?"

"Ouch. You agents are so rude," Tony says. "Stark tech was found at the scene and I happen to be good at finding people who want to be forgotten. Usually."

"The kid is from a training camp… of sorts," Percy says. "There's a place in California that trains demigods, Roman ones to be specific. But there's another camp too, one here in New York that trains Greek demigods. We haven't always gotten along."

Tony nods, the gears turning in his mind. "Like Thor."

Percy laughs. "Yeah, sorta."

"You have powers?" Tony narrows his eyes at Percy. "Is your brother going to come through with an army and try to kill us too?"

"Yes to powers, no to brother. My half-brother is a Cyclops but he's not really into world domination the way Loki is." Percy rocks back on his feet. "Besides, we fought in the Battle of New York too, you just never noticed."

"Huh." Tony looks off into the distance, as if reaching far back enough in his memory to see if he'd met any stray demigods during his various escapades. "What can you do?"

"Water," Percy answers. "I'm a son of Poseidon. You're tied to symbols of your godly parent in our world. Unfortunately for Julian, our killer took it a bit far. His life was already hard being a Varus descendant. Michael Varus was a prominent leader in the Roman camp, and he fucked up hard enough that the group he led were cursed for decades after. Being a child of Moneta just lends irony to that."

Tony tilts his head. "Let me guess, she's not just about money."

Percy shakes his head. "Money, yeah. She's responsible for the mints in New Rome, but she's also the goddess of memory and warnings. They never forgot what Michael Varus did, so much so that his descendants managed to attract the memory goddess herself and out comes Julian."

"Rough life," Tony says. "What's the necklace for?"

Percy's mouth sets into a frown.

"It's Percy's."

Until now, Clint had stayed silent, listening to Percy's explanation. He could have caught Tony and SHIELD up on all of this, but he chose not to, not until Percy had arrived to do it himself. It puzzled Percy; Clint had no reason to keep his secrets. It wasn't as if there was any loyalty between them anymore. Or was there? Did Clint do this to protect him or embarrass him?

Percy looks at Clint, a mess of conflicting emotions behind his eyes.

"It is, isn't it?" Clint asks. His eyes flicker to Percy's neck, currently devoid of his trademark necklace.

"Yes," he says. "But it's not mine. Mine is in a box somewhere far away. It's someone else's, or at the very least, a good replica of it."

"It's missing some of the beads," Natasha says.

She was right, only half of the beads hanging on the string. He hadn't noticed upon first glance, but it was an odd addition.

"We receive a bead at camp for every year of training," Percy says, his hand running over the five beads present. It went up until the Titan War, fought here in New York City. "It only has my first five years."

"Mean anything to you?" Clint asks.

Percy shakes his head. "No, but it means something to him."

"How sure are we that this killer is a man?" Natasha asks.

That gives Percy some room for pause. He wasn't entirely sure, but he can't imagine anyone else he knows at camp doing something like this. Even Clarisse, who has hated his guts ever since he came to camp, would rather fight him face to face than resort to something like this.

"Everyone else at camp would take the fight to me, they wouldn't do this," he says, his eyes roaming over the crime scene photos. "I know maybe a handful of people who hate me quietly enough to resort to killing others, and they're all men." His mind wanders to the murky list he has gathered from his thoughts. "And most of those people are already dead."

"So a ghost did it," Tony says. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Percy leans back to see the whole picture. "I'm not sure. But I know we have to figure it out before it happens again."

Natasha looks at him, a smile spreading across her face. She holds a hand out to him with a tilt of her head. "Welcome to the team, Perseus."

He tries to fight a similar smile, but can't help feeling like he did back in the day. He glances at her hand in amusement and shakes it. "Happy to be here."

Clint doesn't speak to Percy for the test of the day, instead choosing to work around him, speaking in terse sentences when necessary. The atmosphere in the investigation room was tense, many of the SHIELD agents not knowing why Clint and the mysterious newcomer were at such odds with each other.

Percy is on his fourth cup of coffee as he pours over the case details before it's suggested that he looks over the actual crime scene, something so obvious that he kicks himself for not thinking of it.

"Didn't you guys already clean that up?" He asks Natasha, squinting.

"We moved the body and picked up the drachmas, but it's still a crime scene," she says. "Besides, after the day we've all had, we're getting drinks after. Consider it a mostly happy ending to your first day on the job."

He stands, grabbing his suit jacket. "After you, Agent Romanoff."

She cackles to herself, spinning her keys on one finger.

The ride to the crime scene is quiet, not even the radio playing, with just Percy and Natasha in the car. She assured him that Clint would be joining them once they got to the crime scene, as he apparently lived nearby. Percy could feel his skin begin to itch at the mention of him and he has to force himself to sit still, the car's air conditioning blasting high enough that it helps to numb him.

"He doesn't want to see me," Percy says in a small voice.

Natasha looks to have a response, then pauses. After some time, she says, "Give him time."

"He's had a few years." Percy regrets saying it as soon as it comes out of his mouth.

She barks out a laugh; there is no mirth behind it. "Absence does not always make the heart grow fonder, Perseus."

They arrive at the crime scene in terse silence. Natasha rubs his arm as soon as they park, as if trying to unwind his muscles, but they were already stone. The day is nice, even as the sun goes down. It's a decent part of town, he notes. How did a killer get away with something as elaborate as this?

A figure leans against the brick of the building next to the crime scene.

"Clint."

Percy hovers at the entrance of the alleyway. Clint crosses his arms, observing Percy from a distance.

"Percy."

Natasha comes up behind them. "Have at the scene. Just follow protocol and you should be fine. If there's anything we didn't catch, tell us. I'll wait out here."

She gestures to the yellow caution tape. Percy looks at Clint and ducks under to enter the crime scene.

It's less gruesome than he thought it would, but that is typical when the body isn't there. Still, the sloppily-painted Greek patterns the ground and walls around them. It was curious to Percy that the paint was so poorly done; it pointed to whoever did this not being Greek themselves, but perhaps they were in a hurry. He's crouching to observe under a dumpster when the hair stands up on the back of his neck.

Clint has entered his space. It's distracting, and he hovers for a few minutes, observing Percy for an unknown reason.

"Can I help you?" Percy asks.

Clint crosses his arms again. "Maybe. I'm just trying to figure you out."

"Nothing to figure out, Clint." Percy sighs. "Do you want… to talk?"

"Why would we want to do that?" Clint forces a casual tone.

"Because you were the one who called me?" Percy knows he's doing something wrong, he just can't tell what.

"Purely professional," Clint says. He makes as if to observe the crime scene as well. "Natasha suggested you as a consultant and I had the means to contact you."

A crooked smile finds its way onto Percy's face. "You still had the drachmas?"

Clint stiffens. His movements stop. "Yes."

Percy looks at him, noticing the innumerous small bandages covering his face and arms. He'd been in some brawls lately, his nose broken and rehealed way too many times over the past few years they'd been apart. He looked tired, so tired that Percy could feel it in his bones.

"Why didn't you call sooner?"

Clint resumes looking over the scene. "I tried. You weren't taking my calls."

Percy presses his lips together. It was true, he'd refused all Iris Messages for months after leaving Clint and the guilt settles over him. "I took it this time."

"No, you didn't." Clint tucks his head down lower, as if looking at Percy would make it real. "Your cousin did. Nice guy."

Percy swallows. "Clint, I—"

"Don't." Clint's voice is harsh. His hands are trembling, but his voice is even. "Just— don't, Percy. Fucking don't try to smooth this over. It won't work."

Percy is about to respond but bites his lip instead. It was too soon.

"Just do your job and then go back to whatever the fuck you were doing these past two years." Clint shoves his hands into his jacket pockets sullenly. "And leave me the fuck alone. It's what you're best at."

"Clint—" Percy starts, but he's already leaving. Percy slumps back and lets out a breath.

Clint leaves the crime scene. It's only moments before he's replaced by Natasha.

"That went well."

She'd seen them fight before, but this was another beast. Percy wasn't even supposed to see Clint again after what happened before; this was a fluke. A terrible, horrible fluke.

"I don't know what I was expecting." Percy shakes his head. He looks up at her, his face drawn. "I could use that drink now."

She glances at her watch. "Fine. But we're going to my house after; you look like you need feeding and I have some pierogi in my fridge."

Percy nods, standing up wordlessly. His failure to reach out to Clint settles in him. It feels dark and endless; it feels like something he can't come back from. Natasha slings an arm around his waist. He can tell she's worried for him and he tries to smile down at her. It doesn't work, but it helps.

He throws back more pints than he's comfortable with. Percy was never much of a drinker, but Natasha and Clint were. Natasha herself had an impressive tolerance that Percy could match when his demigod metabolism was kicked into full gear.

After the bar, a time filled with fewer words than Percy thought himself capable of, they return to her apartment. It was a modest place that he hadn't visited before, likely new in the time he'd been away. There were a few personal touches in the space that made him smile.

"You've got that look on you," Natasha says. She pulls out a massive bottle of vodka and two shot glasses.

"What look?" Percy takes his jacket off and slings it over one of her dining room chairs.

"Like you're planning on staying over." She pours him a glass, shoving it his way. "What's got you so wound up? Besides the obvious."

He does the shot like it's water. "My roommate has friends over." He slams the glass down on the counter, indicating for another with his eyebrow. "Camp friends."

"Ah." She pours him another, as well as one for herself. "Well, all things considered, you will always have a place here."

They toast and drink.

"On my couch," Natasha adds.

"Aw, c'mon, Nat," Percy makes a face.

Natasha pours herself a second shot. "I don't do strays anymore."

He raises an eyebrow at a one-armed jean jacket that was hanging up near her front door. "That begs to differ."

"Not a stray," she says after taking the shot. "Just a friend."

He nods. "Uh huh, sure. I believe you."

"Fuck off." But she's laughing. She's laughing and ruffling his hair, just like she did before.

And like her promise before, she makes him the pierogi in her fridge and they watch something stupid on television as the moon rises in the sky. Percy checks his phone to see when it's okay for him to go back home, but isn't getting the all clear text from Rachel.

Percy leans back against Natasha's legs after setting down his plate on her coffee table. His head lolls to the side as she rakes her fingers through his scalp.

"This got long," she says. Her nails catch on a few of his curls and trails down his neck.

"Didn't have the energy to cut it most of the time," he says. "Did it once when it was long enough to put it up in a ponytail with a pair of scissors I found in a dumpster, but that was the only time.

She snorts. "What should we even do with you? You're like a cat someone found in the trash and decided to take home."

He angles his head up to look up at her with a wry smile. "Don't play coy; you know exactly what to do with me."

She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow. Another scratch along his scalp and Percy is melting in her arms again. "I don't think Clint would appreciate that."

Percy chuckles. "From what I remember, Clint liked to watch."

Sharp memories filter to the surface of their limbs tangled together in the bed sheets of a hotel he forgets the name of. He thinks of the softness of her skin, the rough stubble of Clint's beard against his cheek. The way they felt, both of them. It was rare then; all three of them together. So often did he run into one or the other on his travels that it eventually became three.

Still, he was always more attached to Clint than he was Natasha, but he didn't play favourites. Not like that. Percy and Natasha had an easy relationship compared to the others in his life, something complicatedly uncomplicated. And while Clint occasionally saw red at the idea, he shared the same type of easy comfort with her that Percy did.

"Besides," Percy says. "I don't think Clint wants that anymore. Not from me, at least."

Hypocrites, the both of them.

Natasha's fingers still, then resume their scratching of his scalp. "You're under too much stress."

He laughs despite himself. "Pot, kettle: black."

She snorts. "I have ways of dealing with it. You are clearly keeping this in until it kills you."

He shifts between her legs to look up at her. "Hmm? What do you have in mind?"

"Come on." She rolls her eyes at him when she realizes what he's implying. "You can't solve every problem you have with sex."

Percy shrugs. "I can try. Listen, Nat, it kills many birds with only one stone: stress relief, a time-passing activity, and the best way to tire out the hyperactive Greek demigod who is currently seeking refuge in your living room from his overbearing family."

She has to close her eyes to stop herself from laughing. With pursed lips, she sighs and widens her legs. "Alright, but you're doing all the work."

He grins. "Of course."

Percy lifts one of her legs and settles it on his shoulder, meandering his way up with soft, lazy kisses. "Remember that time in Istanbul? I think I managed to get five from you while Clint was recovering from that bullet wound."

She levels a look at him. "Coming five times seems like the opposite of you doing all the work, Jackson."

He snickers as his kisses take him towards her knee. "Fine. Three. You deserve to be exhausted too, Romanov ."

Natasha hated it when he threw her attitude back at her. While Percy was never SHIELD agent material, he'd adopted enough of Natasha and Clint's traits to fake it and it was terrifying when the mirror was turned her way. At least during sex she got something out of it; out in the field, it was like seeing glimpses of herself and her lover in the shaggy-haired man.

"Get on with it then," she says in amusement, widening her legs. Natasha leans back on the couch and attempts to make her breathing slow enough that the awkwardness of the anticipation abates.

"Yes ma'am," Percy chuckles and shifts her thighs over his shoulders.

Her skirt ruched up over her hips as he divested her of anything that would stop him from trying his hardest to make her eyes roll into the back of her head. It had only been a few years, but that was a few years too long for a man who had only managed to get comfortable with a scant number of individuals in the time since.

Her moans fill the room; music to his ears. He once mentioned that he'd go down on her until he developed gills, and he plans to make good on that promise. Licking his way into her, he moves his attention to her clit, lapping at it slowly. Just as her pleasure begins to build, he retreats, moving his tongue around everywhere she wanted it, but not touching her at all. Just as it become unbearable, he returns to her clit, repeating the same song and dance.

"Percy," she tugs on his hair. "Don't be such a fucking tease."

He pulls away slightly, just enough to give her a cocky grin. "I'm sorry, I thought you wanted me to do all the work."

She grips his hair, growling. "Do it like you mean it or I will do it myself."

A zip of electricity alights down his spine at the tug, his grin becoming even wider. "Yes, ma'am."

Percy's eyes go hazy as he returns to his work, his arms winding around her thighs to pull her closer. It's moments before she's shaking in the throes of her first orgasm. He pulls back slightly, kissing her inner thigh and watching her through half-lidded eyes.

"Better?" He rubs her leg, his fingers stroking her through the aftershocks.

"You're better at doing what you're told these days." Natasha pants from where she's laid out on the couch.

Percy absentmindedly explores, inserting one finger into her up to the knuckle. "I had a good teacher."

Her chuckle becomes a gasp as he adds a second finger. It was so soon on the heels of her last orgasm, but she liked that. Things with him were… uncomplicated. It was perhaps an uncharitable way of looking at Percy, but he was a simple man compared to those she normally shared her bed with.

"I can take more than that," she says in a tight voice, her back arching.

He kisses her knee and obeys, adding a third finger. It is not until he curls them within her that he receives the broken moan he was so craving. He watches her, how she arches off the couch for him at the slightest thrust of his fingers and easily coaxes a second orgasm from her when he dips his head down to suck as her clit in tandem with his movements.

She looks beautiful like this, her come covering his hand and face, her eyes closed in pleasure. He thrusts his fingers as she shook and it wasn't until she shoved at him that he released her clit from his mouth. He took his fingers out from her and spread them, rubbing her inner thighs as her breathing returned to normal.

"Two," he says, leaning on her leg. "One more to go."

She laughs, her eyes still closed. "You're very determined, you know."

"I want a favourable performance review this year," he traces light patterns on her thighs, her wetness glistening in the low light of the TV. "Going for a promotion."

"Oh?" She cracks an eye open. The hand in his hair nudges him back and he lays on the floor, her straddling his face. "Then be good for me."

She sits back on his chest as they both get settled, stroking her fingers down his face. She hadn't pegged him as the submissive kind of man, but it was obvious through their nights together and his nights with Clint that he enjoyed it. Still, there were some nights where he was the one ordering her about, tugging on that long, red braid of hers with a forceful glee. She didn't mind it, but she preferred being on top.

"Ready?" she whispers, her nail caressing his lower lip almost lovingly.

Percy nods, his eyes hazy.

"Good boy," she says softly and sits on his face.

Natasha reaches out to use the coffee table as leverage as she rides him, his tongue out for her pleasure. She took care not to squeeze his head between her thighs too tight, but just enough for him to feel that rush he craved. He was so good for her and she rewarded him by tugging on his hair every so slightly, for which her reward was a moan that vibrated from his mouth to her body.

She was so strung out, she couldn't tell if what she felt was remnants of her past orgasms or a new one building, but it was upon her before she could blink. Percy was more astute, pulling her down to his face with his arms, ready to receive her as she gasped and leaned her weight against him.

"Percy—" she cries, her thighs trembling. She pushes at him weakly but he moves his tongue in a way that has her gasping for air.. "I—"

And then there's another following right on the heels of the first and her vision blurs. She can barely sit upright, her voice coming out in soft whines as he continues to eat her out through the never ending waves of pleasure. Her whines build into a shout as she crests the wave and sensation explodes behind her eyelids. Percy, to his credit, takes all of it in stride and only stops when she pushes hard enough at him to sit back.

They're both breathing heavy, but it's Percy who's grin could light up the room.

"Four," he says, looking like the most sated man in the world.

It takes her a moment, but she rolls her eyes. "Fuck you."

His face is glistening and he licks his lips. "You wish."

They collapse into bed together, too tired for anything but sleeping. Percy's phone vibrates with missed messages, forgotten in the couch cushions.

MISSED MESSAGE

Maybe : Tony Stark

Hey kid, get to the tower. They found another one.