[fic] Butterflies Drink of the Dew of Your Thighs
Title: Butterflies Drink of the Dew of Your Thighs
Author: creepy_crawly
Characters/Pairings: Nico di Angelo/Stoll Twins, Nico/Pollux, Nico/Percy Jackson
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex, a person undergoing a sex change.
Disclaimer: No own. No money. No shame.
Summary: For a request over on pjo_kinkmeme: "Nico/Percy. Nico is transgender. Percy's okay with that...and by "okay with that," he really means, "really damn turned on.""
Just like the butterfly, I, too, will awaken in my own time.
-Deborah Chaskin
The first time Persephone catches Nico at it, she laughs so hard she nearly makes herself vomit. She clings to the doorframe, her eyes squeezed tightly shut with hilarity as she struggles to keep herself from falling over. She howls with laughter, so loudly that it’s kind of surprising that no one comes to see what’s going on.
She doesn’t see the way Nico flushes a brilliant red, nor does she see the dawning, horrified terror that overtakes those fine-boned features. She doesn’t see the tears that suddenly spring into being anymore than she sees the way Nico stands up and races for the window. By the time she stops laughing long enough to open her eyes and draw breath, Nico is long gone.
The second time Persephone sees it, she has learnt enough from the first time to know not to say anything. She watches from the doorway, unseen and unheard, and thinks of her mother. It has been a long time since she has been home to see her, she realizes, and she is grateful that her six months are nearly up.
She watches Nico move, and wonders if her mother saw her the same way. She looks at the familiar items, laid out so carefully across the room, and silently puts names to each and every one. It’s a little like looking into the future, and a lot like looking into the past. It makes her very heart hurt.
The third time Persephone catches Nico, she sighs sadly and sways into the room. Catching the other’s startled hand before any of the fine powder can spill, she stops any exclamations of surprise or denial with a quick shake of her head. Hanging on to Nico’s hand, she turns them so that they are both facing the large mirror, grown adult behind a still-metamorphising teen.
“Like this,” she murmurs, carefully guiding Nico’s hand through the motions her own memorized so long ago. “You don’t want it to be too heavy. That’s not attractive.”
Not until we show our best side to all living species shall we know peace ourselves.
-David Tomkinson
Annabeth is the daughter of Athena. She is an intelligent, astute young woman. She is wise-very wise-and not half as sheltered as people seem to think.
“I like your hair, Nico,” she says one day, apropos nothing.
He seems startled, and turns to look at her. The motion turns his head into the wind, and his hair flutters all the more. It’s longer than usual, and silky smooth in appearance. Annabeth appreciates the sight, and wonders if he uses any product to get his hair like that. If not, it’s simply not fair. She has to work to get the hair she has, and it’s not half as pretty as his is.
Annabeth smiles at the startled look on his face.
“Th-thanks,” Nico stammers out, though he sounds confused.
He doesn’t know why she would be so kind to him, or comment on his hair, or anything like that. She doesn’t like she is judging him, or like she knows, but…well. He hasn’t gotten this far by being careless, and so he weighs her words with a pillar of salt and prepares, though it pains him, for the necessity of a haircut.
Annabeth sees this all in his face and says nothing, merely smiles warmly at him, in hopes that it will put him at ease. After all, even if it’s not why she brought it up, his hair really does look good this way.
It’d be a shame to lose it so early on.
They seemed to come suddenly upon happiness, as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods.
-Edith Wharton
Persephone and Nico slowly reach an understanding, and, from that understanding, a strange sort of comfort with one another. In truth, it had never really been Nico that Persephone had disliked so much as it had been the idea of Nico; Persephone, now that she has been trapped here, is determined to keep Hades’ eyes from wandering. Nico and Bianca were a physical representation that, once, seventy years back, she had not been as successful as she had thought.
(And how much had he loved her, Persephone wonders in the blackness of the nights in the Underworld, that he went back? Bianca was older than Nico, after all. That’s two children god-born, and not at the same time. And, before he wiped their memories, they knew him. That’s something her heart calls a threat.)
But ever since the Battle of Manhattan and Perseus Jackson’s hijinks, Hades has made more of a point of having Nico spend time with him, and so Nico and Persephone have come to exist around one another. At first, they simply played nice in front of the Lord of the Underworld, but as time went on, they came to understand one another a little bit better.
That is why Persephone is standing in Nico’s room, the door closed behind them, and gently pulling a brush through that long, silken hair. “Your hair’s getting long,” she observes gently.
“I like it this way,” Nico answers, not looking up at her.
Persephone bites back a smile at the argument she hears in the words. “It is nice, yes,” she agrees, slowly gathering the falling midnight curtain into her hands. Nico’s hair is surprisingly thick and heavy, now that it is this long. She enjoys playing with it, startlingly enough. Twining bundle of hair into a quick twist, she lays it over Nico’s shoulder. “But your ends are getting a little split. It will look nicer if you get rid of those.”
Nico’s eyes flicker up to hers in the mirror.
She smiles at him, the gentle, caring stepmother. “See?” she asks, holding forth a strand of her own hair. “God-blood keeps your hair smooth. But nothing keeps the ends from splitting.”
“I’ve never noticed a goddess with split ends before,” Nico says slowly.
That makes Persephone laugh. “Of course not, silly! Goddesses can get split ends, yes. That doesn’t mean we let others see them! But you’re only a demigod. There’s only so much you can do.”
Nico eyes her distrustfully for a moment, and then nods, slowly. “But where will we get it cut?”
The grin that grows on Persephone’s face is positively wicked. “Welllllllll…” she begins teasingly.
Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.
-Dr Seuss
Annabeth hates the necessity of pre-camp haircuts, but unless she wants her hair all up in her face while she’s hunched over a drawing table, trying to design the new cabins in the limited space she’s got, she knows she’d better get one. The water pressure at Camp Halfblood is nothing to write home about, and it is an absolute bitch to wash her hair there. Better to have it short and manageable than long and icky.
Stepping into the salon, she smiles at the woman behind the desk as she signs in. The woman smiles back at her, confused, as the pen drops from Annabeth’s nerveless fingers, but the young woman doesn’t see her.
What she sees is a terribly familiar looking young woman sitting rigidly still as a stylist trims her hair and, beside her, an even more terribly familiar goddess. The young woman is a half-blood, she knows it, and Persephone-Persephone!-is just standing there next to her, neither one of them armed against monsters.
And then the young woman looks up, and Annabeth feels her heart drop out of her chest.
It’s one thing to know, and it’s another thing entirely to know.
Distantly, in the part of her brain that isn’t busy screaming in shock, Annabeth notes that Nico di Angelo makes a pretty…no, a beautiful girl. His…her…Annabeth isn’t sure which pronoun to use, but Nico’s eyes seem larger than usual, and brighter and clearer, too. The awkward lines of his face aren’t half so awkward when paired with loose, long hair, and he’s done something to plump up and fill out his thin, pale lips. They are also darker than normal.
He is as flat-chested as a child, still, but the shirt he was wearing suggests, maybe, that that is because he is as skinny as a pole, not because he is not the gender he pretends to be. He is wearing a long, khaki skirt that falls a little past his knees; Annabeth realizes, suddenly, that he has really nice legs.
The two stare at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment. Finally, Annabeth breathes, smiles awkwardly, and waves. It is clumsy and strange, but she is trying.
Nico seems confused, and then slowly, shyly, tentatively waves back at her.
Butterflies are self-propelled flowers.
-R H Heinlein
Annabeth is a little startled at the young woman Nico di Angelo has grown into. She can still remember the awkward little boy who was angry at the world and who didn’t care what anyone thought and who smelled like death and steel. She can remember the fire in his dark eyes and the way his hair always looked like all it needed was a good brushing and the way he always had to work to be on her bad side.
The person sitting across from her is none of that. He is calm and poised-at least on the outside. Some of his anger seems to have resolved itself-because of his father’s acceptance? Because of his sexual reidentification? Annabeth wonders-and the rest of it has become something more akin to a driving fire. He seems to be a little more aware of the cares of the world around him, at least in the sense that he clearly knows that the boy who brought their ice creams is watching him a little too closely. And he doesn’t smell like death anymore, at least not that she can tell. He’s…he’s wearing perfume?
“Are you wearing perfume?” she asks, startled.
Nico laughs, dipping his spoon back into his strawberry-vanilla-pistachio monstrosity. “Yes,” he says. “Farina Red. Do you like it?”
She sniffs experimentally and then, guardedly, nods. “It’s…nice. Subtle.” She’s a little surprised. Most boys go for overbearing, overpowering scents, whether shopping for themselves or for a girlfriend.
A tender flush lights Nico’s cheeks. It’s a delicate, beautiful sight, and Annabeth suddenly, inexplicably, wants to protect him. She wonders why, briefly.
“Sooo…” Nico drawls out, clearly more than a little uncomfortable. He plays with his spoon, twirling it in his ice cream, making fantastic swirls of pink-green-white. He swings his legs beneath the table.
Annabeth can’t help but notice them. They’re long-gods, but Nico is sixteen now, and he’s definitely hit his growth spurt-and smooth, like he’s shaved or Naired or something recently. They’re tan, too, and he’s wearing high heels. Not high high heels, just low ones, fashionable and yet comfortable.
Nico, seeming to sense her attention, crosses his legs, one of the other. It only draws attention to the fact that he’s wearing a charming jean skirt, one decorated with little beaded butterflies towards the hem. He smiles nervously at her.
At the last second, Annabeth manages to avoid flinching away from his gaze. There’s no mistaking her discomfort, though.
The smile slides from Nico’s lips.
How lucky I am to have known someone it is so hard to say goodbye to.
-Anonymous
Hades sighs and does not look at his son-daughter-Nico. He sits, draped across his throne, like a human man, tired and careworn, at the end of a long, hard day.
Nico shivers and bites back the tears that threaten to fall. She will not cry. Not in front of her father. She will not let him push her around like he used to, will not give into him ever again. “I’m sorry, Father,” she murmurs, horrified to hear the wobble in her voice-even as she is proud at how gentle, how high, how feminine she sounds. She turns to go.
But Persephone’s hand on her shoulder stops her before she can leave the room entirely. “Stop this, Hades,” Persephone says firmly, not so much as looking down at the young woman she has in her grasp.
“What?” Hades demands, looking to her. “Stop what?”
“Stop this!” Persephone demands. “She’s your daughter, Hades! She always has been your daughter! She always will be your daughter! And you will accept her!”
“How are you already so comfortable with this?” Hades barks at her, half-rising out of his throne.
Nico is uncomfortable with the blooming argument, but Persephone’s firm grasp keeps her still.
Persephone holds up under his rage with startling aplomb, though maybe it shouldn’t be startling, seeing as she is, after all, his wife. She loves him and is used to dealing with him, all things said and done. “I know,” she says icily, “because I have known for a while. Because I am the one who bought her her first skirt. Because I am the one who took her to the salon. Because I am the one who signed the forms to get her hormones. Because I am the one who accepts her!” Persephone snaps.
Hades seems to wilt beneath the heat of her anger. “But…” he begins weakly.
Persephone shakes her head firmly. “No, Hades,” she says. She draws Nico in front of her. “This is your daughter, Nico. She wants to be accepted by you and by the world. She wants to go to college. She wants to find a cute boyfriend. She wants to be happy. Surely, even you can deal with that?”
Hades blinks at her.
Persephone finally releases Nico, but not before whispering in her ear, “it’s okay. He’s just afraid of losing his little boy. He’ll get over it. I promise.”
Nico flees.
If nothing ever changed, there’d be no butterflies.
-Anonymous
“Are you sure this boy is worthy?” Hades demands, peering through the window at the scene outside.
Persephone, biting her lip to hide a smile, nods. “Pollux is a lovely young man, Hades,” she assures her husband, resting a calming hand on his arm. “He’s been quite kind to Nico, and she’s quite enamored with him.” Tightening her grip to just this side of painful, she treats him to a warning look. “And Nico will not hesitate to slaughter you where you stand if you mess this up for her.”
Hades just looks grumpy as he snoops from inside. “I still don’t think…he’s too old for her! He’s, what, twenty-three? She’s only seventeen, Persephone!”
Persephone resists the urge to point out that, quite frankly, he is significantly older than she is, and besides, seventeen is legal by New York’s standards. Instead, she calmly strokes his arm. “Come along, dear,” she murmurs. “Chiron would speak with you, first.” With that, she gently steers him away from the window.
Nico is grateful to feel her father’s presence move away. It is awkward, trying to talk to Pollux while her father stares at them, undoubtedly glaring fit to explode. Also, she really, really can’t resist the urge to stare at Pollux’s lips, and kind of wants to kiss him, and she’s pretty sure that that would be fabulously awkward with her dad just right there.
Pollux sees her relax and smiles warmly. “He’s gone?” he asks, a teasing note in his voice.
Blushing, Nico nods, a grin playing about her lips. “Perse probably snuck him away.”
“Well, then,” Pollux grins. “That’s good for us, right?”
“That’s very good,” Nico assures him. Reaching across, she slides one hand across the strong line of his jaw, follows it back to behind his ear, and cups the back of his skull. They are of almost of a height, now, though that’s probably courtesy of the heels she is wearing.
Pollux’s arms are strong as they come around her, pulling her close and forcing her to balance on her tiptoes to keep from falling over. “You look nice,” he murmurs before kissing her quickly.
Nico’s fingers tighten in his short hair, her nails scraping lightly against the skin of his scalp as she parts her lips beneath his. She loves the feel of him, the taste of him-the way he treats her like she’s some delicate work of art. He’s the first real boyfriend she’s ever had, and she’s grateful that he looks beyond the fact that she cannot offer him the same things some of the other girls can.
The kiss is nice and Pollux is strong, and barely any of the campers remember Nico di Angelo before she really grew into herself and the sun is shining above their heads and it’s as close to perfect as any day can get.
So of course there’s a report of a monster attacking some new half-blood out in Arizona.
Change is the essence of life. Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become.
-Anonymous
Travis looks up as she opens the door-Nico has learnt to tell them apart, finally, and the man who looks up from the couch with a textbook spread open in his lap definitely has a tiny little mole under his ear.
“So?” he asks curiously, watching her drop her keys into the little bowl on the spindly little table that stands by the door.
Nico smiles tiredly at him, hanging her purse up on a hook on the wall even as she kicks off her shoes. Next goes her jacket, a gift from Connor for her birthday two months ago. “Where’s your brother?”
“Right here, beautiful,” Connor says, stepping out of the kitchen and coming down the hall. He’s got a spoon in one hand, so Nico stops him with a single warning eyebrow and takes it from his hand before letting him kiss her hello. These are nice pants; she’s not letting him ruin them.
While they’re otherwise engaged, Travis slips his book closed, gets off the couch, and sidles over. Taking the spoon from Nico’s hand, he quickly licks it to taste-test dinner ahead of time.
He tastes like marinara sauce when Nico finally gets around to greeting him.
“So,” Connor finally says, watching them break apart. “What’s the news?”
Nico smiles brightly at both of them. Her face is lit up and her eyes is bright; it looks like she’s about to explode of excitement.
“Less than a year!” she squeals happily, no longer able to hang on to her happy news. “Eleven months!!”
Travis rushes towards her once more, wrapping his arms around her and swirling her in a quick, tight circle, right there in the entrance hall. She’s laughing in his ear, and crying a little too, as he buries his face in her shoulder.
When Travis is done, it is Connor’s turn, and he pulls her close and holds her tight, letting his grasp say everything that he cannot put into words. She leaves a little damp spot on his shirt when he finally lets her go, but she is laughing even as the tears trickle down her face, and so they know that these are good tears.
Later that night, after they have enjoyed the lovely Italian meal that Connor has prepared (for once, absent of jokes or tricks or games) and after they have enjoyed one another’s presence, Travis wakes up, needing desperately to pee.
He notices that Nico is not in bed with them, as she usually is after a night like that, and so when he gets up, he casts around for her. He does not see her, not yet, but the situation with his bladder is getting to be rather pressing, so he heads into the bathroom to take care of that, first.
After washing his hands, he heads out into the living room and finds her there, curled up, almost naked, under a blanket on the couch. She is staring out the window, watching the moon shine on the street outside their window.
“What has you up so late?” he asks quietly. Even he can be serious when the situation calls for it.
She sighs, shifting so that he can sit down next to her. “I’m scared,” she admits quietly.
“Why?”
She turns to him, and he sees that she has been crying. “I…I just need to know that I’m doing the right thing,” she says, her voice low and painful sounding. “Has…has it ever…I don’t know, bothered you, I guess?”
“What? Has what bothered me?” Travis asks carefully. He knows what she’s aiming for; she’s going to have to ask on her own behalf.
She gives him a dark look; she knows what he’s up to. “That I have a dick,” she spits. “That I have to put my boobs on in the morning. Does that bother you?”
Travis shrugs. “Not as much as it bothers you,” he answers simply.
Nico seems startled to hear it laid out this way. “It’s not so easy-” she begins.
But he cuts her off by curving a finger over her lips.
“Maybe it is.”
The green grass and the happy skies
Court the fluttering butterflies.
-Astrid Alauda
The girls at the Aphrodite table look so little, Annabeth reflects, watching them giggling together about something. Then again, they are that young, that little-nothing more than children.
So were we, she tells herself, just before deciding to listen a little closer, having heard Nico’s name. She hasn’t seen him since that incredibly awkward ice cream get-together when he was sixteen, when he asked her not to tell anyone. She wants to know what he’s gotten up to.
“And then,” one of the little girls titters, “Mr Stoll told Mr Jackson to lay off!”
They all bust out laughing again.
One of the little girls, who looks a little older than the others, leans her elbows on the tables and says dramatically, “I think Mr Jackson likes Nico a little too much, if you know what I mean. And you do.”
The girls laugh again. Their laughter is only interrupted by a tall, elegant young woman coming over to the table, rolling her eyes as she stalks through the maze of tables.
“Alright, girlies,” she says in a sweet mezzo-alto, her hands on her hips. “Which one of you told Mr Stoll that Mr Jackson is, and I quote, “a cute little bit of manflesh”? Because we need to have a chat about what’s considered appropriate to talk about. ‘Specially where my boyfriend is concerned.”
The girls start giggling again. “But, Nico,” one of them titters wildly, “you agreed with us last week!”
Annabeth realizes with a shock of horror that that is Nico, that young woman who’s now grabbing the still-laughing daughter of Aphrodite by the shoulders and forcing her to turn around. The long hair swings out of her face to reveal the delicate bone structure he had always had, though maturity has smoothed it out some. She would never have guessed, she thinks, not without staring at Nico’s face for a long, long time.
“I know I agreed with you,” Nico is growling at the girls, somehow maintaining that feminine tone, “but you don’t need to repeat that in front of my boyfriend.”
“But Nico,” the girl pouts, treating him to big puppy-dog eyes, “he’s star-crossed. It’s our job to torment him.”
“Ah, yes,” Nico grits out, “but you’re also tormenting me. And I’ve got the power to make you spar. All. Day. Long.”
And with that, he stalks away.
Annabeth stares after him for a long moment, and then retraces her footsteps, finding one of the Stoll brothers. She’s not sure which one he is, but he’s standing by the fire, making sure that all of the Hermes campers tip a little food into the flames properly.
“Hi, Annabeth,” he says, grinning playfully at her from under the fringe of his still-shaggy hair when he sees her coming. “Travis, by the way.”
She laughs ruefully. “Thanks. Hi, Travis. So. I hear one of you is dating Nico?”
Shooing the kids off to the table, he cocks an eyebrow at her. “Where’d you hear that?” he asks sharply.
“Aphrodite’s little girls don’t seem to be big fans of keeping secrets,” Annabeth says, nodding over to the still-tittering table in question. “And Nico kinda backed it up when he started glaring at them.”
“She,” Travis says firmly.
Startled, Annabeth looks at him. She has never heard Travis Stoll sound so frustrated, so powerful in his life.
“She,” Travis repeats. “Nico identifies as a woman. All of the campers here recognize her as such. Nico uses female pronouns. Just like you.”
“But Nico is…” Annabeth begins.
Connor materializes on her other side, and between the two of them, the men lead her out of the hearing range of the campers. When they are all three outside, under the sun, but still close enough to notice and stop any trouble, the men turn to face her.
“Nico isn’t a crossdresser, Annabeth,” Connor says firmly. “She’s transgender. Mental woman in a man’s body.”
“And pretty soon, she’ll be a mental woman in a woman’s body,” Travis says.
Annabeth looks between them…and sees only protection in their eyes.
And ever has it been known that love does not know its own depth until the hour of separation.
-Khalil Gibran
They’re watching them down on the field sparring-Nico, it seems, does not use idle threats-and Percy’s chewing on an apple right in her ear. Annabeth does her best to ignore it; she doesn’t see Percy frequently enough now to have the heart to mind. She was startled to realize that he has grown into a man. She is still a child, of sorts, not the woman her years would suggest.
“Annabeth…” Percy begins slowly, watching the fighting down on the field. His eyes seem fixed on something. “Can I ask you something weird?”
“Like anything that comes out of your mouth isn’t weird, Seaweed Brain?” she returns, because she has known Percy long enough (and, great heavens, are they in their late twenties? At least Percy looks it. She still looks like a teenager) that she knows he will understand her ‘yes’ for what it is.
He fidgets for a moment, and then sighs. “Nico… well. She…she’s kind of hot, now.” He goes bright red, and she realizes, suddenly, with a pang, that his eyes are fixed on the swing of Nico’s long, dark hair, on the way her body curves into the tank top and yoga pants she is wearing. “Would it be weird if I…I dunno. If I asked her out?”
Though she kind of wants to stare at him, wide-eyed, Annabeth merely sighs. “Have you ever shown an interest in Nico?” she asks.
Percy bites his lip, and she remembers when she found so obvious a sign of hesitation and confusion hot. Zeus help her early-teen brain.
“Yes,” he admits finally. “But I’m not… I’ve never been… not that there’s anything wrong!” he adds quickly, turning to look at her. “But boys just don’t appeal.” His eyes turn back to Nico, who is now taunting one of Aphrodite’s daughters.
“But she’s not a boy anymore,” Annabeth murmurs, the realization settling in at last. “She’s Nico.”
Percy nods. “And I’m not sure if she was ever a boy, really,” he admits quietly. “I think that’s maybe why I lo-why I like her.”
Her eyes much too wise for her years, Annabeth watches him quietly for a long, long moment. Finally, she closes her eyes and lays her head on his strong, broad shoulder. “Percy,” she says finally, “go for it.”
I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free.
-Charles Dickens
“Percy,” Nico breathes, her eyes fluttering shut as she weaves her fingers in his shaggy hair. Her head tips back, revealing the long, elegant column of her throat. In the light of the moon, which comes streaming in through the window, it looks as if she has been carved of ivory.
Grinning, Percy nips the middle of her throat, where just the hint of an Adam’s apple remains. Nico refuses to get the surgery to change her voice permanently; it’s too risky, she says. Besides, her hormone treatments have mostly taken care of that.
Percy loves that, just like he loves the fact that she’s still got a dick, and it’s hard against his leg. He knows it bothers her, the fact that she’s still carrying the equipment around, but for him… There is something hot about the fact that she’s got the remainders of being “he”, that her body used to be his and they are both Percy’s to love.
He also loves teaching her to love herself, even as she is now, before the surgeries have been completed. Cupping her heavy breasts in his hands-just last month, as a birthday gift to her, Aphrodite and Persephone had worked together to make the implants real-he gently thumbs her nipples through the thin shirt she is wearing as a nightshirt.
Nico moans airily, her entire body shivering beneath his touch. A heavy flush has stained her face and throat, and Percy is suddenly desperate to see it in all its glory.
He runs his hands down her body, feeling the curves and the swell of muscle. Nico is a warrior still, strong and powerful and wild. Her arms are strong enough to wield her Stygian iron blade still, though she has had Hephaestus reforge it somewhat, to account for the shift in her balance. If she once fought with it as if it were an extension of her arm, she now wields it as if it is her arm.
It’s stupidly sexy, to Percy’s mind.
That thought in mind, he runs his hands up under her shirt even as he sinks to his knees in front of her. He keeps his eyes on her face, so he doesn’t miss it when she opens her eyes and stares at him. Her dark eyes go wide in her face and her jaw sags a little as she realizes what it is he’s up to, but she doesn’t make a move to stop him.
Instead, she merely reaches down with a trembling hand and twines her fingers through his shaggy hair. “Percy,” she murmurs, her voice shimmering and shaking.
“Nico,” he replies, winking at her. Nudging her legs apart, he starts stroking the insides of her thighs. They are creamy and white, smooth and beautiful beneath the shadow of her oversized shirt. His fingertips teasing, he slowly makes his way up to the apex of the valley of her thighs, hidden in darkness and a pair of black panties.
He can’t help the moan that slides past his lips as he pushes her panties aside. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, crying out weakly as her fingers tighten in his hair, almost to the point of painful.
Percy just takes a deep breath and starts licking at her soft skin. She took a long bubble bath before bed in order to relax, taking advantage of his cabin’s particularly sweet tub. He can taste the lavender bubble oil she used on her skin, and it blends with the unique taste of sweat and musk. It’s a sweet and salty tang on his tongue, and he wants more.
Seizing her thighs in his hands, he pushes her hard against the wall and really starts to go to town. His tongue flicks across her skin, darting now and again into the entrance to her body, teasing once or twice against the soft skin at the back of her balls.
Above him, she moans helplessly, muscles clenching and releasing in fits. At one point, she practically forces his mouth, hard, against her body. Then she releases him with a sound that sounds suspiciously like a sob, and he next hears her nails scrabbling against the wall of the cabin.
Percy is suddenly glad that he has the Poseidon cabin all to himself.
Now twilight lets her curtain down, and pins it with a star.
-L M Child
Percy watches the steady rise and fall of Nico’s breasts, marveling that this beautiful creature, who has all the world, chooses to sleep beside him. Her skin is pale and seems to shimmer in the darkness, as if it has yet to absorb all of the power that Cybele pushed into her body.
He closes his eyes, remembering the way that Nico screamed. It had been a terrible thing, and he is fairly certain that it will haunt him to his dying day, the noise that broke free from her throat as the goddess set to work. Luckily, Nico had fainted soon enough, the pain overcoming years of experience.
Percy hopes that when she wakes, she will still think it worth it. Cybele’s gift-if gift it can be called-was unexpected, and he wonders, briefly, if Nico would have it any other way.
A streak of light across the sky draws his attention, and Percy watches as the shooting stars light up the night sky. He remembers a story from his childhood, that the stars were the souls of the departed, and he wonders if the one that floats the nearest by is, perhaps, Bianca…come to wish her sister well.
(For those of you who wonder, Cybele is, in fact, a goddess. She's not actually Greek per se, though the Greeks did kind of co-opt her. Go here to read more about her. Fascinating stuff!)
Author: creepy_crawly
Characters/Pairings: Nico di Angelo/Stoll Twins, Nico/Pollux, Nico/Percy Jackson
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex, a person undergoing a sex change.
Disclaimer: No own. No money. No shame.
Summary: For a request over on pjo_kinkmeme: "Nico/Percy. Nico is transgender. Percy's okay with that...and by "okay with that," he really means, "really damn turned on.""
Just like the butterfly, I, too, will awaken in my own time.
-Deborah Chaskin
The first time Persephone catches Nico at it, she laughs so hard she nearly makes herself vomit. She clings to the doorframe, her eyes squeezed tightly shut with hilarity as she struggles to keep herself from falling over. She howls with laughter, so loudly that it’s kind of surprising that no one comes to see what’s going on.
She doesn’t see the way Nico flushes a brilliant red, nor does she see the dawning, horrified terror that overtakes those fine-boned features. She doesn’t see the tears that suddenly spring into being anymore than she sees the way Nico stands up and races for the window. By the time she stops laughing long enough to open her eyes and draw breath, Nico is long gone.
The second time Persephone sees it, she has learnt enough from the first time to know not to say anything. She watches from the doorway, unseen and unheard, and thinks of her mother. It has been a long time since she has been home to see her, she realizes, and she is grateful that her six months are nearly up.
She watches Nico move, and wonders if her mother saw her the same way. She looks at the familiar items, laid out so carefully across the room, and silently puts names to each and every one. It’s a little like looking into the future, and a lot like looking into the past. It makes her very heart hurt.
The third time Persephone catches Nico, she sighs sadly and sways into the room. Catching the other’s startled hand before any of the fine powder can spill, she stops any exclamations of surprise or denial with a quick shake of her head. Hanging on to Nico’s hand, she turns them so that they are both facing the large mirror, grown adult behind a still-metamorphising teen.
“Like this,” she murmurs, carefully guiding Nico’s hand through the motions her own memorized so long ago. “You don’t want it to be too heavy. That’s not attractive.”
Not until we show our best side to all living species shall we know peace ourselves.
-David Tomkinson
Annabeth is the daughter of Athena. She is an intelligent, astute young woman. She is wise-very wise-and not half as sheltered as people seem to think.
“I like your hair, Nico,” she says one day, apropos nothing.
He seems startled, and turns to look at her. The motion turns his head into the wind, and his hair flutters all the more. It’s longer than usual, and silky smooth in appearance. Annabeth appreciates the sight, and wonders if he uses any product to get his hair like that. If not, it’s simply not fair. She has to work to get the hair she has, and it’s not half as pretty as his is.
Annabeth smiles at the startled look on his face.
“Th-thanks,” Nico stammers out, though he sounds confused.
He doesn’t know why she would be so kind to him, or comment on his hair, or anything like that. She doesn’t like she is judging him, or like she knows, but…well. He hasn’t gotten this far by being careless, and so he weighs her words with a pillar of salt and prepares, though it pains him, for the necessity of a haircut.
Annabeth sees this all in his face and says nothing, merely smiles warmly at him, in hopes that it will put him at ease. After all, even if it’s not why she brought it up, his hair really does look good this way.
It’d be a shame to lose it so early on.
They seemed to come suddenly upon happiness, as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods.
-Edith Wharton
Persephone and Nico slowly reach an understanding, and, from that understanding, a strange sort of comfort with one another. In truth, it had never really been Nico that Persephone had disliked so much as it had been the idea of Nico; Persephone, now that she has been trapped here, is determined to keep Hades’ eyes from wandering. Nico and Bianca were a physical representation that, once, seventy years back, she had not been as successful as she had thought.
(And how much had he loved her, Persephone wonders in the blackness of the nights in the Underworld, that he went back? Bianca was older than Nico, after all. That’s two children god-born, and not at the same time. And, before he wiped their memories, they knew him. That’s something her heart calls a threat.)
But ever since the Battle of Manhattan and Perseus Jackson’s hijinks, Hades has made more of a point of having Nico spend time with him, and so Nico and Persephone have come to exist around one another. At first, they simply played nice in front of the Lord of the Underworld, but as time went on, they came to understand one another a little bit better.
That is why Persephone is standing in Nico’s room, the door closed behind them, and gently pulling a brush through that long, silken hair. “Your hair’s getting long,” she observes gently.
“I like it this way,” Nico answers, not looking up at her.
Persephone bites back a smile at the argument she hears in the words. “It is nice, yes,” she agrees, slowly gathering the falling midnight curtain into her hands. Nico’s hair is surprisingly thick and heavy, now that it is this long. She enjoys playing with it, startlingly enough. Twining bundle of hair into a quick twist, she lays it over Nico’s shoulder. “But your ends are getting a little split. It will look nicer if you get rid of those.”
Nico’s eyes flicker up to hers in the mirror.
She smiles at him, the gentle, caring stepmother. “See?” she asks, holding forth a strand of her own hair. “God-blood keeps your hair smooth. But nothing keeps the ends from splitting.”
“I’ve never noticed a goddess with split ends before,” Nico says slowly.
That makes Persephone laugh. “Of course not, silly! Goddesses can get split ends, yes. That doesn’t mean we let others see them! But you’re only a demigod. There’s only so much you can do.”
Nico eyes her distrustfully for a moment, and then nods, slowly. “But where will we get it cut?”
The grin that grows on Persephone’s face is positively wicked. “Welllllllll…” she begins teasingly.
Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.
-Dr Seuss
Annabeth hates the necessity of pre-camp haircuts, but unless she wants her hair all up in her face while she’s hunched over a drawing table, trying to design the new cabins in the limited space she’s got, she knows she’d better get one. The water pressure at Camp Halfblood is nothing to write home about, and it is an absolute bitch to wash her hair there. Better to have it short and manageable than long and icky.
Stepping into the salon, she smiles at the woman behind the desk as she signs in. The woman smiles back at her, confused, as the pen drops from Annabeth’s nerveless fingers, but the young woman doesn’t see her.
What she sees is a terribly familiar looking young woman sitting rigidly still as a stylist trims her hair and, beside her, an even more terribly familiar goddess. The young woman is a half-blood, she knows it, and Persephone-Persephone!-is just standing there next to her, neither one of them armed against monsters.
And then the young woman looks up, and Annabeth feels her heart drop out of her chest.
It’s one thing to know, and it’s another thing entirely to know.
Distantly, in the part of her brain that isn’t busy screaming in shock, Annabeth notes that Nico di Angelo makes a pretty…no, a beautiful girl. His…her…Annabeth isn’t sure which pronoun to use, but Nico’s eyes seem larger than usual, and brighter and clearer, too. The awkward lines of his face aren’t half so awkward when paired with loose, long hair, and he’s done something to plump up and fill out his thin, pale lips. They are also darker than normal.
He is as flat-chested as a child, still, but the shirt he was wearing suggests, maybe, that that is because he is as skinny as a pole, not because he is not the gender he pretends to be. He is wearing a long, khaki skirt that falls a little past his knees; Annabeth realizes, suddenly, that he has really nice legs.
The two stare at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment. Finally, Annabeth breathes, smiles awkwardly, and waves. It is clumsy and strange, but she is trying.
Nico seems confused, and then slowly, shyly, tentatively waves back at her.
Butterflies are self-propelled flowers.
-R H Heinlein
Annabeth is a little startled at the young woman Nico di Angelo has grown into. She can still remember the awkward little boy who was angry at the world and who didn’t care what anyone thought and who smelled like death and steel. She can remember the fire in his dark eyes and the way his hair always looked like all it needed was a good brushing and the way he always had to work to be on her bad side.
The person sitting across from her is none of that. He is calm and poised-at least on the outside. Some of his anger seems to have resolved itself-because of his father’s acceptance? Because of his sexual reidentification? Annabeth wonders-and the rest of it has become something more akin to a driving fire. He seems to be a little more aware of the cares of the world around him, at least in the sense that he clearly knows that the boy who brought their ice creams is watching him a little too closely. And he doesn’t smell like death anymore, at least not that she can tell. He’s…he’s wearing perfume?
“Are you wearing perfume?” she asks, startled.
Nico laughs, dipping his spoon back into his strawberry-vanilla-pistachio monstrosity. “Yes,” he says. “Farina Red. Do you like it?”
She sniffs experimentally and then, guardedly, nods. “It’s…nice. Subtle.” She’s a little surprised. Most boys go for overbearing, overpowering scents, whether shopping for themselves or for a girlfriend.
A tender flush lights Nico’s cheeks. It’s a delicate, beautiful sight, and Annabeth suddenly, inexplicably, wants to protect him. She wonders why, briefly.
“Sooo…” Nico drawls out, clearly more than a little uncomfortable. He plays with his spoon, twirling it in his ice cream, making fantastic swirls of pink-green-white. He swings his legs beneath the table.
Annabeth can’t help but notice them. They’re long-gods, but Nico is sixteen now, and he’s definitely hit his growth spurt-and smooth, like he’s shaved or Naired or something recently. They’re tan, too, and he’s wearing high heels. Not high high heels, just low ones, fashionable and yet comfortable.
Nico, seeming to sense her attention, crosses his legs, one of the other. It only draws attention to the fact that he’s wearing a charming jean skirt, one decorated with little beaded butterflies towards the hem. He smiles nervously at her.
At the last second, Annabeth manages to avoid flinching away from his gaze. There’s no mistaking her discomfort, though.
The smile slides from Nico’s lips.
How lucky I am to have known someone it is so hard to say goodbye to.
-Anonymous
Hades sighs and does not look at his son-daughter-Nico. He sits, draped across his throne, like a human man, tired and careworn, at the end of a long, hard day.
Nico shivers and bites back the tears that threaten to fall. She will not cry. Not in front of her father. She will not let him push her around like he used to, will not give into him ever again. “I’m sorry, Father,” she murmurs, horrified to hear the wobble in her voice-even as she is proud at how gentle, how high, how feminine she sounds. She turns to go.
But Persephone’s hand on her shoulder stops her before she can leave the room entirely. “Stop this, Hades,” Persephone says firmly, not so much as looking down at the young woman she has in her grasp.
“What?” Hades demands, looking to her. “Stop what?”
“Stop this!” Persephone demands. “She’s your daughter, Hades! She always has been your daughter! She always will be your daughter! And you will accept her!”
“How are you already so comfortable with this?” Hades barks at her, half-rising out of his throne.
Nico is uncomfortable with the blooming argument, but Persephone’s firm grasp keeps her still.
Persephone holds up under his rage with startling aplomb, though maybe it shouldn’t be startling, seeing as she is, after all, his wife. She loves him and is used to dealing with him, all things said and done. “I know,” she says icily, “because I have known for a while. Because I am the one who bought her her first skirt. Because I am the one who took her to the salon. Because I am the one who signed the forms to get her hormones. Because I am the one who accepts her!” Persephone snaps.
Hades seems to wilt beneath the heat of her anger. “But…” he begins weakly.
Persephone shakes her head firmly. “No, Hades,” she says. She draws Nico in front of her. “This is your daughter, Nico. She wants to be accepted by you and by the world. She wants to go to college. She wants to find a cute boyfriend. She wants to be happy. Surely, even you can deal with that?”
Hades blinks at her.
Persephone finally releases Nico, but not before whispering in her ear, “it’s okay. He’s just afraid of losing his little boy. He’ll get over it. I promise.”
Nico flees.
If nothing ever changed, there’d be no butterflies.
-Anonymous
“Are you sure this boy is worthy?” Hades demands, peering through the window at the scene outside.
Persephone, biting her lip to hide a smile, nods. “Pollux is a lovely young man, Hades,” she assures her husband, resting a calming hand on his arm. “He’s been quite kind to Nico, and she’s quite enamored with him.” Tightening her grip to just this side of painful, she treats him to a warning look. “And Nico will not hesitate to slaughter you where you stand if you mess this up for her.”
Hades just looks grumpy as he snoops from inside. “I still don’t think…he’s too old for her! He’s, what, twenty-three? She’s only seventeen, Persephone!”
Persephone resists the urge to point out that, quite frankly, he is significantly older than she is, and besides, seventeen is legal by New York’s standards. Instead, she calmly strokes his arm. “Come along, dear,” she murmurs. “Chiron would speak with you, first.” With that, she gently steers him away from the window.
Nico is grateful to feel her father’s presence move away. It is awkward, trying to talk to Pollux while her father stares at them, undoubtedly glaring fit to explode. Also, she really, really can’t resist the urge to stare at Pollux’s lips, and kind of wants to kiss him, and she’s pretty sure that that would be fabulously awkward with her dad just right there.
Pollux sees her relax and smiles warmly. “He’s gone?” he asks, a teasing note in his voice.
Blushing, Nico nods, a grin playing about her lips. “Perse probably snuck him away.”
“Well, then,” Pollux grins. “That’s good for us, right?”
“That’s very good,” Nico assures him. Reaching across, she slides one hand across the strong line of his jaw, follows it back to behind his ear, and cups the back of his skull. They are of almost of a height, now, though that’s probably courtesy of the heels she is wearing.
Pollux’s arms are strong as they come around her, pulling her close and forcing her to balance on her tiptoes to keep from falling over. “You look nice,” he murmurs before kissing her quickly.
Nico’s fingers tighten in his short hair, her nails scraping lightly against the skin of his scalp as she parts her lips beneath his. She loves the feel of him, the taste of him-the way he treats her like she’s some delicate work of art. He’s the first real boyfriend she’s ever had, and she’s grateful that he looks beyond the fact that she cannot offer him the same things some of the other girls can.
The kiss is nice and Pollux is strong, and barely any of the campers remember Nico di Angelo before she really grew into herself and the sun is shining above their heads and it’s as close to perfect as any day can get.
So of course there’s a report of a monster attacking some new half-blood out in Arizona.
Change is the essence of life. Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become.
-Anonymous
Travis looks up as she opens the door-Nico has learnt to tell them apart, finally, and the man who looks up from the couch with a textbook spread open in his lap definitely has a tiny little mole under his ear.
“So?” he asks curiously, watching her drop her keys into the little bowl on the spindly little table that stands by the door.
Nico smiles tiredly at him, hanging her purse up on a hook on the wall even as she kicks off her shoes. Next goes her jacket, a gift from Connor for her birthday two months ago. “Where’s your brother?”
“Right here, beautiful,” Connor says, stepping out of the kitchen and coming down the hall. He’s got a spoon in one hand, so Nico stops him with a single warning eyebrow and takes it from his hand before letting him kiss her hello. These are nice pants; she’s not letting him ruin them.
While they’re otherwise engaged, Travis slips his book closed, gets off the couch, and sidles over. Taking the spoon from Nico’s hand, he quickly licks it to taste-test dinner ahead of time.
He tastes like marinara sauce when Nico finally gets around to greeting him.
“So,” Connor finally says, watching them break apart. “What’s the news?”
Nico smiles brightly at both of them. Her face is lit up and her eyes is bright; it looks like she’s about to explode of excitement.
“Less than a year!” she squeals happily, no longer able to hang on to her happy news. “Eleven months!!”
Travis rushes towards her once more, wrapping his arms around her and swirling her in a quick, tight circle, right there in the entrance hall. She’s laughing in his ear, and crying a little too, as he buries his face in her shoulder.
When Travis is done, it is Connor’s turn, and he pulls her close and holds her tight, letting his grasp say everything that he cannot put into words. She leaves a little damp spot on his shirt when he finally lets her go, but she is laughing even as the tears trickle down her face, and so they know that these are good tears.
Later that night, after they have enjoyed the lovely Italian meal that Connor has prepared (for once, absent of jokes or tricks or games) and after they have enjoyed one another’s presence, Travis wakes up, needing desperately to pee.
He notices that Nico is not in bed with them, as she usually is after a night like that, and so when he gets up, he casts around for her. He does not see her, not yet, but the situation with his bladder is getting to be rather pressing, so he heads into the bathroom to take care of that, first.
After washing his hands, he heads out into the living room and finds her there, curled up, almost naked, under a blanket on the couch. She is staring out the window, watching the moon shine on the street outside their window.
“What has you up so late?” he asks quietly. Even he can be serious when the situation calls for it.
She sighs, shifting so that he can sit down next to her. “I’m scared,” she admits quietly.
“Why?”
She turns to him, and he sees that she has been crying. “I…I just need to know that I’m doing the right thing,” she says, her voice low and painful sounding. “Has…has it ever…I don’t know, bothered you, I guess?”
“What? Has what bothered me?” Travis asks carefully. He knows what she’s aiming for; she’s going to have to ask on her own behalf.
She gives him a dark look; she knows what he’s up to. “That I have a dick,” she spits. “That I have to put my boobs on in the morning. Does that bother you?”
Travis shrugs. “Not as much as it bothers you,” he answers simply.
Nico seems startled to hear it laid out this way. “It’s not so easy-” she begins.
But he cuts her off by curving a finger over her lips.
“Maybe it is.”
The green grass and the happy skies
Court the fluttering butterflies.
-Astrid Alauda
The girls at the Aphrodite table look so little, Annabeth reflects, watching them giggling together about something. Then again, they are that young, that little-nothing more than children.
So were we, she tells herself, just before deciding to listen a little closer, having heard Nico’s name. She hasn’t seen him since that incredibly awkward ice cream get-together when he was sixteen, when he asked her not to tell anyone. She wants to know what he’s gotten up to.
“And then,” one of the little girls titters, “Mr Stoll told Mr Jackson to lay off!”
They all bust out laughing again.
One of the little girls, who looks a little older than the others, leans her elbows on the tables and says dramatically, “I think Mr Jackson likes Nico a little too much, if you know what I mean. And you do.”
The girls laugh again. Their laughter is only interrupted by a tall, elegant young woman coming over to the table, rolling her eyes as she stalks through the maze of tables.
“Alright, girlies,” she says in a sweet mezzo-alto, her hands on her hips. “Which one of you told Mr Stoll that Mr Jackson is, and I quote, “a cute little bit of manflesh”? Because we need to have a chat about what’s considered appropriate to talk about. ‘Specially where my boyfriend is concerned.”
The girls start giggling again. “But, Nico,” one of them titters wildly, “you agreed with us last week!”
Annabeth realizes with a shock of horror that that is Nico, that young woman who’s now grabbing the still-laughing daughter of Aphrodite by the shoulders and forcing her to turn around. The long hair swings out of her face to reveal the delicate bone structure he had always had, though maturity has smoothed it out some. She would never have guessed, she thinks, not without staring at Nico’s face for a long, long time.
“I know I agreed with you,” Nico is growling at the girls, somehow maintaining that feminine tone, “but you don’t need to repeat that in front of my boyfriend.”
“But Nico,” the girl pouts, treating him to big puppy-dog eyes, “he’s star-crossed. It’s our job to torment him.”
“Ah, yes,” Nico grits out, “but you’re also tormenting me. And I’ve got the power to make you spar. All. Day. Long.”
And with that, he stalks away.
Annabeth stares after him for a long moment, and then retraces her footsteps, finding one of the Stoll brothers. She’s not sure which one he is, but he’s standing by the fire, making sure that all of the Hermes campers tip a little food into the flames properly.
“Hi, Annabeth,” he says, grinning playfully at her from under the fringe of his still-shaggy hair when he sees her coming. “Travis, by the way.”
She laughs ruefully. “Thanks. Hi, Travis. So. I hear one of you is dating Nico?”
Shooing the kids off to the table, he cocks an eyebrow at her. “Where’d you hear that?” he asks sharply.
“Aphrodite’s little girls don’t seem to be big fans of keeping secrets,” Annabeth says, nodding over to the still-tittering table in question. “And Nico kinda backed it up when he started glaring at them.”
“She,” Travis says firmly.
Startled, Annabeth looks at him. She has never heard Travis Stoll sound so frustrated, so powerful in his life.
“She,” Travis repeats. “Nico identifies as a woman. All of the campers here recognize her as such. Nico uses female pronouns. Just like you.”
“But Nico is…” Annabeth begins.
Connor materializes on her other side, and between the two of them, the men lead her out of the hearing range of the campers. When they are all three outside, under the sun, but still close enough to notice and stop any trouble, the men turn to face her.
“Nico isn’t a crossdresser, Annabeth,” Connor says firmly. “She’s transgender. Mental woman in a man’s body.”
“And pretty soon, she’ll be a mental woman in a woman’s body,” Travis says.
Annabeth looks between them…and sees only protection in their eyes.
And ever has it been known that love does not know its own depth until the hour of separation.
-Khalil Gibran
They’re watching them down on the field sparring-Nico, it seems, does not use idle threats-and Percy’s chewing on an apple right in her ear. Annabeth does her best to ignore it; she doesn’t see Percy frequently enough now to have the heart to mind. She was startled to realize that he has grown into a man. She is still a child, of sorts, not the woman her years would suggest.
“Annabeth…” Percy begins slowly, watching the fighting down on the field. His eyes seem fixed on something. “Can I ask you something weird?”
“Like anything that comes out of your mouth isn’t weird, Seaweed Brain?” she returns, because she has known Percy long enough (and, great heavens, are they in their late twenties? At least Percy looks it. She still looks like a teenager) that she knows he will understand her ‘yes’ for what it is.
He fidgets for a moment, and then sighs. “Nico… well. She…she’s kind of hot, now.” He goes bright red, and she realizes, suddenly, with a pang, that his eyes are fixed on the swing of Nico’s long, dark hair, on the way her body curves into the tank top and yoga pants she is wearing. “Would it be weird if I…I dunno. If I asked her out?”
Though she kind of wants to stare at him, wide-eyed, Annabeth merely sighs. “Have you ever shown an interest in Nico?” she asks.
Percy bites his lip, and she remembers when she found so obvious a sign of hesitation and confusion hot. Zeus help her early-teen brain.
“Yes,” he admits finally. “But I’m not… I’ve never been… not that there’s anything wrong!” he adds quickly, turning to look at her. “But boys just don’t appeal.” His eyes turn back to Nico, who is now taunting one of Aphrodite’s daughters.
“But she’s not a boy anymore,” Annabeth murmurs, the realization settling in at last. “She’s Nico.”
Percy nods. “And I’m not sure if she was ever a boy, really,” he admits quietly. “I think that’s maybe why I lo-why I like her.”
Her eyes much too wise for her years, Annabeth watches him quietly for a long, long moment. Finally, she closes her eyes and lays her head on his strong, broad shoulder. “Percy,” she says finally, “go for it.”
I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free.
-Charles Dickens
“Percy,” Nico breathes, her eyes fluttering shut as she weaves her fingers in his shaggy hair. Her head tips back, revealing the long, elegant column of her throat. In the light of the moon, which comes streaming in through the window, it looks as if she has been carved of ivory.
Grinning, Percy nips the middle of her throat, where just the hint of an Adam’s apple remains. Nico refuses to get the surgery to change her voice permanently; it’s too risky, she says. Besides, her hormone treatments have mostly taken care of that.
Percy loves that, just like he loves the fact that she’s still got a dick, and it’s hard against his leg. He knows it bothers her, the fact that she’s still carrying the equipment around, but for him… There is something hot about the fact that she’s got the remainders of being “he”, that her body used to be his and they are both Percy’s to love.
He also loves teaching her to love herself, even as she is now, before the surgeries have been completed. Cupping her heavy breasts in his hands-just last month, as a birthday gift to her, Aphrodite and Persephone had worked together to make the implants real-he gently thumbs her nipples through the thin shirt she is wearing as a nightshirt.
Nico moans airily, her entire body shivering beneath his touch. A heavy flush has stained her face and throat, and Percy is suddenly desperate to see it in all its glory.
He runs his hands down her body, feeling the curves and the swell of muscle. Nico is a warrior still, strong and powerful and wild. Her arms are strong enough to wield her Stygian iron blade still, though she has had Hephaestus reforge it somewhat, to account for the shift in her balance. If she once fought with it as if it were an extension of her arm, she now wields it as if it is her arm.
It’s stupidly sexy, to Percy’s mind.
That thought in mind, he runs his hands up under her shirt even as he sinks to his knees in front of her. He keeps his eyes on her face, so he doesn’t miss it when she opens her eyes and stares at him. Her dark eyes go wide in her face and her jaw sags a little as she realizes what it is he’s up to, but she doesn’t make a move to stop him.
Instead, she merely reaches down with a trembling hand and twines her fingers through his shaggy hair. “Percy,” she murmurs, her voice shimmering and shaking.
“Nico,” he replies, winking at her. Nudging her legs apart, he starts stroking the insides of her thighs. They are creamy and white, smooth and beautiful beneath the shadow of her oversized shirt. His fingertips teasing, he slowly makes his way up to the apex of the valley of her thighs, hidden in darkness and a pair of black panties.
He can’t help the moan that slides past his lips as he pushes her panties aside. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, crying out weakly as her fingers tighten in his hair, almost to the point of painful.
Percy just takes a deep breath and starts licking at her soft skin. She took a long bubble bath before bed in order to relax, taking advantage of his cabin’s particularly sweet tub. He can taste the lavender bubble oil she used on her skin, and it blends with the unique taste of sweat and musk. It’s a sweet and salty tang on his tongue, and he wants more.
Seizing her thighs in his hands, he pushes her hard against the wall and really starts to go to town. His tongue flicks across her skin, darting now and again into the entrance to her body, teasing once or twice against the soft skin at the back of her balls.
Above him, she moans helplessly, muscles clenching and releasing in fits. At one point, she practically forces his mouth, hard, against her body. Then she releases him with a sound that sounds suspiciously like a sob, and he next hears her nails scrabbling against the wall of the cabin.
Percy is suddenly glad that he has the Poseidon cabin all to himself.
Now twilight lets her curtain down, and pins it with a star.
-L M Child
Percy watches the steady rise and fall of Nico’s breasts, marveling that this beautiful creature, who has all the world, chooses to sleep beside him. Her skin is pale and seems to shimmer in the darkness, as if it has yet to absorb all of the power that Cybele pushed into her body.
He closes his eyes, remembering the way that Nico screamed. It had been a terrible thing, and he is fairly certain that it will haunt him to his dying day, the noise that broke free from her throat as the goddess set to work. Luckily, Nico had fainted soon enough, the pain overcoming years of experience.
Percy hopes that when she wakes, she will still think it worth it. Cybele’s gift-if gift it can be called-was unexpected, and he wonders, briefly, if Nico would have it any other way.
A streak of light across the sky draws his attention, and Percy watches as the shooting stars light up the night sky. He remembers a story from his childhood, that the stars were the souls of the departed, and he wonders if the one that floats the nearest by is, perhaps, Bianca…come to wish her sister well.
(For those of you who wonder, Cybele is, in fact, a goddess. She's not actually Greek per se, though the Greeks did kind of co-opt her. Go here to read more about her. Fascinating stuff!)