Punk!Percy and Girly!Annabeth just demanded to be drawn.
"D’ya have to wear the tights all the time?"
Percy murmurs this against the corner of her jaw, even as his hands inch up the backs of her silk covered thighs. The words come out sounding more frustrated (whiny, she’ll say later) than they’re supposed to; Annabeth’s short skirts have a way of doing that to him, especially when they’re hitched up around her hips like they are now.
Annabeth pulls away slightly and gives him an incredulous look, as if he’d asked an incredibly stupid question about one of her blueprints. She’s almost as picky with her outfits as she is with her designs. Almost.
"Of course," she says breathlessly, "Tights tie the whole outfit together. See, the lace matches the pattern on my shirt’s buttons and the color contrasts - "
"Your tights get in the way," Percy interrupts bluntly, hands sliding under the edge of her skirt. He doesn’t know why she’s talking about her shirt when she doesn’t even have it on anymore. "Too many layers."
Her grey eyes flash. “I am not taking fashion advice from the boy whose entire wardrobe is ripped up and full of holes.”
Percy arches his pierced brow in amusement. “Bare legs are just less of a hassle when we do this, if you get what I’m saying.” He rubs his thumb in slow circles against the crease of her inner thigh, making her throat bob and shoulders shiver. “But, now that you mention it, I think you need a few more holes in your wardrobe.”
He digs his fingernails in the material of her tights, and her eyes go wide a second later. “Percy Jackson, don’t you even think - !”
Percy ignores her, ripping the tights wide open and sliding them down to her ankles. She gapes at him in shock, and then smacks him on the shoulder.
"You can’t do that! You owe me a new pair - no, three new pairs, and you’re going to… to have to… ” Annabeth trails off, her voice hitching as Percy’s deft fingers busy themselves in the warmth between her thighs. She burrows her fingers into the base of his mohawk, her back arching. “Oh, Percy.”
He smirks, resting his forehead against hers. “So I’m forgiven then?”
"N-not even close," Annabeth gasps, her face flushed. "But, oh… I’ll think about it. In a bit. Just don’t stop!”
He doesn’t.

