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in
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No Rest for the Wicked ☿ Luke/Percy
title. No Rest for the Wicked
pairing. Luke/Percy
fandom. PJO
written for. venacavaa @ pjo_xchange
wordcount. 1,124
notes. major spoilers for TLH
There's a blond boy at the Roman camp, and Percy feels like he's seen him before.
Some things are definitely coming back to him. He can fight. He's a son of Poseidon, not of Neptune, that much is obvious. He knew how to handle his magic, so he wasn't new to this. He was invincible.
But there's this boy at the Roman camp, mingled in among the children of Mercury, who Percy feels inexorably drawn to. There's something about the way he smiles - like he knows something Percy doesn't, and it gets right in under his skin and tickles at the memories he can't quite grasp. There's something about the scar, running down the length of his face, and the true sky blue of his eyes. Percy can't stop staring at his eyes.
His new friends elbow him in the side and snap him out of it, but there no way that can be the end. Those eyes follow him, and he can't decide if it's because there's something wrong about them or something eternally, infinitely right.
Somehow they end up in the amphitheater and the boy's there - guy, really, he's older than Percy by a few. Tan, tall. Handsome. Percy wonders if maybe he's gay, maybe he had a history with this guy. Who knows? But that's crazy, no one here even knows who he is.
"Luke," he says by way of introduction. He makes it sound hilarious, like it's a big fucking joke to him. Not to Percy. None of this is a joke. He wouldn't've known the name, if anyone asked. Percy grips his practice gladius a little harder. (He hasn't told anyone about the pen in his pocket. He doesn't want to. It's his secret, his ace in the hole. It's something no one can take away from him - literally.)
"Percy," he mutters. He's determined, for some reason, not to let this guy get the better of him.
But Luke throws his head back and laughs freely. It rings like a bell in Percy's ears. Yeah, he knows this guy, and something about him makes his skin crawl and his stomach do sickening somersaults. "I know. Perseus Jackson - not the hero."
People have been telling him since he arrived that he's not a hero. This sounds different, this has the warm cozy feeling of an inside joke, and Percy understands the intent - even though the joke itself is beyond him.
Luke nods at the gladius and Percy, on instinct, looks at it too. "Come on, Percy, I want to fight you for real. Put that thing away." His head snaps up, brows furrowed. Luke laughs that laugh again. "Come on. I want to face Riptide again."
Shit, Percy thinks, he knows. But he doesn't panic - it doesn't feel unnatural, so he goes with it; instinct is all he has left. He tosses the gladius away and reaches in his pocket for the pen, but doesn't draw it out yet. His eyes are still narrowed. This isn't all about the past - he's learned a few things from the Romans, too. How to play dirty. How to push himself past his limits. How to trust no one.
"Good," Luke whispers like sand scraped into gravel. "You're getting the hang of this." He draws his sword.
Something wrenches in Percy's chest and he's so close - so close - to remembering who this Luke is and what he means to him, but the closer he gets, the more he feels like maybe he didn't know. Maybe it was too complicated, maybe there were layers upon layers of history between them, and each new action sparks a different and charged reaction. He doesn't know what to think. But he knows that sword. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and a terrible aching loneliness lodged in his chest.
He spits on the ground and cocks his head like a defiant gladiator. Luke's eyes and grin only widen. "Yeah," he mutters, and only now does he pull out Riptide and let her extend. "Let's do this."
Fighting Luke is both electrifying and weirdly comforting, more so than anyone he's sparred with in his short and recent memory. Every Roman fights like he's fighting for his life, and Percy fights well, but he can't enjoy himself. Invincible or not, he has to struggle to survive - to keep up with the constant, brutal, untiring pace of these other-world demigods. But this. This feels like breathing underwater and dancing and synergy, there's a fierce and heightened emotion there but it's the connecting kind, and when Luke twists suddenly and Percy's sword skates over his shoulders with a very familiar clattery sound, he suddenly understands.
He's like me. He's just like me. Somehow, somewhere, we became invincible.
Percy feels a deep, primal urge; one he's probably had for years but never let himself feel. It's got that bitter urgency to it, the terror-laced overwhelming wave of words unsaid, feelings unfelt, the road not taken and the never-was. There's something about this boy, Luke. He feels like missed chances.
They don't hold back. The fight is short and completely impossible, and Percy feels light-headed with power and ability and euphoria. We're invincible, he keeps thinking, in a high-pitched whispering tone. We, you and me, we could do this forever. We're inhuman. I want to.
But, if they both have the same advantage, they both have the same flaw.
They screech and slow to a halt and Percy realizes, with some surprise, that they're leaning on each other. Luke's breathing just as heavily as Percy is. It's mesmerizing - the way his chest moves up and down, the nubbed feeling of his sweat-soaked shirt and the warmth radiating through to Percy's hands. His collarbones were sleek and shiny and Percy wants to touch them. It isn't quite a memory, but suddenly, he doesn't care about the memories. They aren't coming back any time soon, and whatever he had felt towards Luke in the past - whatever messed-up mix of aversion, fear, attraction, loneliness, and respect that had built them into the similar shells they wore today - it's gone now. It's in the past.
Percy grabs his shirt and hauls him down lips first.
pairing. Luke/Percy
fandom. PJO
written for. venacavaa @ pjo_xchange
wordcount. 1,124
notes. major spoilers for TLH
There's a blond boy at the Roman camp, and Percy feels like he's seen him before.
Some things are definitely coming back to him. He can fight. He's a son of Poseidon, not of Neptune, that much is obvious. He knew how to handle his magic, so he wasn't new to this. He was invincible.
But there's this boy at the Roman camp, mingled in among the children of Mercury, who Percy feels inexorably drawn to. There's something about the way he smiles - like he knows something Percy doesn't, and it gets right in under his skin and tickles at the memories he can't quite grasp. There's something about the scar, running down the length of his face, and the true sky blue of his eyes. Percy can't stop staring at his eyes.
His new friends elbow him in the side and snap him out of it, but there no way that can be the end. Those eyes follow him, and he can't decide if it's because there's something wrong about them or something eternally, infinitely right.
Somehow they end up in the amphitheater and the boy's there - guy, really, he's older than Percy by a few. Tan, tall. Handsome. Percy wonders if maybe he's gay, maybe he had a history with this guy. Who knows? But that's crazy, no one here even knows who he is.
"Luke," he says by way of introduction. He makes it sound hilarious, like it's a big fucking joke to him. Not to Percy. None of this is a joke. He wouldn't've known the name, if anyone asked. Percy grips his practice gladius a little harder. (He hasn't told anyone about the pen in his pocket. He doesn't want to. It's his secret, his ace in the hole. It's something no one can take away from him - literally.)
"Percy," he mutters. He's determined, for some reason, not to let this guy get the better of him.
But Luke throws his head back and laughs freely. It rings like a bell in Percy's ears. Yeah, he knows this guy, and something about him makes his skin crawl and his stomach do sickening somersaults. "I know. Perseus Jackson - not the hero."
People have been telling him since he arrived that he's not a hero. This sounds different, this has the warm cozy feeling of an inside joke, and Percy understands the intent - even though the joke itself is beyond him.
Luke nods at the gladius and Percy, on instinct, looks at it too. "Come on, Percy, I want to fight you for real. Put that thing away." His head snaps up, brows furrowed. Luke laughs that laugh again. "Come on. I want to face Riptide again."
Shit, Percy thinks, he knows. But he doesn't panic - it doesn't feel unnatural, so he goes with it; instinct is all he has left. He tosses the gladius away and reaches in his pocket for the pen, but doesn't draw it out yet. His eyes are still narrowed. This isn't all about the past - he's learned a few things from the Romans, too. How to play dirty. How to push himself past his limits. How to trust no one.
"Good," Luke whispers like sand scraped into gravel. "You're getting the hang of this." He draws his sword.
Something wrenches in Percy's chest and he's so close - so close - to remembering who this Luke is and what he means to him, but the closer he gets, the more he feels like maybe he didn't know. Maybe it was too complicated, maybe there were layers upon layers of history between them, and each new action sparks a different and charged reaction. He doesn't know what to think. But he knows that sword. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and a terrible aching loneliness lodged in his chest.
He spits on the ground and cocks his head like a defiant gladiator. Luke's eyes and grin only widen. "Yeah," he mutters, and only now does he pull out Riptide and let her extend. "Let's do this."
Fighting Luke is both electrifying and weirdly comforting, more so than anyone he's sparred with in his short and recent memory. Every Roman fights like he's fighting for his life, and Percy fights well, but he can't enjoy himself. Invincible or not, he has to struggle to survive - to keep up with the constant, brutal, untiring pace of these other-world demigods. But this. This feels like breathing underwater and dancing and synergy, there's a fierce and heightened emotion there but it's the connecting kind, and when Luke twists suddenly and Percy's sword skates over his shoulders with a very familiar clattery sound, he suddenly understands.
He's like me. He's just like me. Somehow, somewhere, we became invincible.
Percy feels a deep, primal urge; one he's probably had for years but never let himself feel. It's got that bitter urgency to it, the terror-laced overwhelming wave of words unsaid, feelings unfelt, the road not taken and the never-was. There's something about this boy, Luke. He feels like missed chances.
They don't hold back. The fight is short and completely impossible, and Percy feels light-headed with power and ability and euphoria. We're invincible, he keeps thinking, in a high-pitched whispering tone. We, you and me, we could do this forever. We're inhuman. I want to.
But, if they both have the same advantage, they both have the same flaw.
They screech and slow to a halt and Percy realizes, with some surprise, that they're leaning on each other. Luke's breathing just as heavily as Percy is. It's mesmerizing - the way his chest moves up and down, the nubbed feeling of his sweat-soaked shirt and the warmth radiating through to Percy's hands. His collarbones were sleek and shiny and Percy wants to touch them. It isn't quite a memory, but suddenly, he doesn't care about the memories. They aren't coming back any time soon, and whatever he had felt towards Luke in the past - whatever messed-up mix of aversion, fear, attraction, loneliness, and respect that had built them into the similar shells they wore today - it's gone now. It's in the past.
Percy grabs his shirt and hauls him down lips first.