Percy Jackson: The Love You Take
Title: The Love You Take
Rating: NC-17 (Warning for Annabeth's age in this one)
Characters/Pairings: Annabeth/Luke
Summary: Luke's attempts to sway Annabeth to his side spiral out of control
A/N: For the pjo_kinkmeme, prompt "Luke/Annabeth, his last visit to her in San Francisco." I wrote this almost a year ago at this point, but I wrote it, posted it, realized what Annabeth's age in canon was at this point in time, and promptly got creeped the hell out. So uh... fair warning. Don't get my journal disabled over this, mkay kids?
Also this is unbeta'd, lol.
Annabeth had never imagined that she could be so cold in San Fransisco, and in the summer as well, but as Luke slips his hand under her shirt all Annabeth can think about is how cold the brick of the house feels against her back through her shirt, how icy Luke's fingers feel as they creep up her stomach to cup her breast. She shivers against him, bites back a groan, and tries to focus on what few points of heat she can identify: Luke's mouth against her neck, and the heat that's pooling between her legs.
She's never felt anything like this before, not by another's hand, and had honestly never pictured Luke's face being attached to the hand that was currently tugging at the drawstring to her pajama bottoms and slipping underneath. Her knife - the knife he'd given her - is laying on the ground a few feet away from them. She has no other weapon and can't summon the strength to fight him, not when he's slipping a finger between her folds, letting his thumb run over the trembling muscles of her stomach, and oh gods, years of archery have given him a callous on his index finger.
She throws her head back; Luke bites hard enough to leave a mark. She knows she should be fighting him, she knows this is probably a trick, that he's tricked her before and just because he swears that he's not armed doesn't mean that anyone with him couldn't be armed...
But then that finger that had been gently exploring moves inside her; the suddenness of it is enough to make her tense up and squeal, clutch and dig her nails into his shoulders. He shushes her gently, but lets the palm of his hand rub against her clit. Her breathing is ragged and sharp, and with some small sense of awareness she realizes that he's panting the same as she is, matching her breath for breath. He's pressing all of his weight against her, and she can feel his erection pressing insistently against her thigh, hot and frighteningly real through the thin fabric of her pajamas.
When he crooks his finger the right way her knees go weak. Luke wraps his other arm around her waist and holds her against him as she rocks frantically. In between his orders that she stay silent, he's talking to her, murmuring in a quiet, pleading tone: "With me, stay with me, with me, Annabeth, with me."
She can't think about these words and their implications, not now, not when she's so close, not when she's already told him that she can't go with him, when she's told him that she's fighting next to Percy, that she can't trust him, not after Mt. Tam. As if he's thinking of it to, he nuzzles her temple, where the gray streak of hair is tucked behind her ear, and the noises he makes as he kisses her forehead, her cheek, her ear are low and sorrowful and mournful.
Despite his insistence that she stay quiet she cannot help the moan that escapes as her orgasm washes over her. Luke's arm is strong around her, holding her up, but she finally summons the strength to push him away as the security lights on the backporch flip on and her father steps out onto the patio. "Annabeth?" he calls out uncertainly. It's not the first time Annabeth has rushed out of the house in the middle of the night this summer to fight a monster, but even she can admit that she doesn't normally take this long.
"I'm here, Dad!" She responds, trying to step away from Luke even as he reaches for her, grasps her wrist.
"Do you need help?" He calls out into the darkness. "I still have some of those celestial bullets..."
"No Dad!" Her reply is too harsh, too quickly. "I'm fine! I'm done."
She wrenches her arm from Luke's grasp as she takes a few staggering steps back to the house, entirely unsure of who she's responding to. "I'm done. I'm done."
Rating: NC-17 (Warning for Annabeth's age in this one)
Characters/Pairings: Annabeth/Luke
Summary: Luke's attempts to sway Annabeth to his side spiral out of control
A/N: For the pjo_kinkmeme, prompt "Luke/Annabeth, his last visit to her in San Francisco." I wrote this almost a year ago at this point, but I wrote it, posted it, realized what Annabeth's age in canon was at this point in time, and promptly got creeped the hell out. So uh... fair warning. Don't get my journal disabled over this, mkay kids?
Also this is unbeta'd, lol.
Annabeth had never imagined that she could be so cold in San Fransisco, and in the summer as well, but as Luke slips his hand under her shirt all Annabeth can think about is how cold the brick of the house feels against her back through her shirt, how icy Luke's fingers feel as they creep up her stomach to cup her breast. She shivers against him, bites back a groan, and tries to focus on what few points of heat she can identify: Luke's mouth against her neck, and the heat that's pooling between her legs.
She's never felt anything like this before, not by another's hand, and had honestly never pictured Luke's face being attached to the hand that was currently tugging at the drawstring to her pajama bottoms and slipping underneath. Her knife - the knife he'd given her - is laying on the ground a few feet away from them. She has no other weapon and can't summon the strength to fight him, not when he's slipping a finger between her folds, letting his thumb run over the trembling muscles of her stomach, and oh gods, years of archery have given him a callous on his index finger.
She throws her head back; Luke bites hard enough to leave a mark. She knows she should be fighting him, she knows this is probably a trick, that he's tricked her before and just because he swears that he's not armed doesn't mean that anyone with him couldn't be armed...
But then that finger that had been gently exploring moves inside her; the suddenness of it is enough to make her tense up and squeal, clutch and dig her nails into his shoulders. He shushes her gently, but lets the palm of his hand rub against her clit. Her breathing is ragged and sharp, and with some small sense of awareness she realizes that he's panting the same as she is, matching her breath for breath. He's pressing all of his weight against her, and she can feel his erection pressing insistently against her thigh, hot and frighteningly real through the thin fabric of her pajamas.
When he crooks his finger the right way her knees go weak. Luke wraps his other arm around her waist and holds her against him as she rocks frantically. In between his orders that she stay silent, he's talking to her, murmuring in a quiet, pleading tone: "With me, stay with me, with me, Annabeth, with me."
She can't think about these words and their implications, not now, not when she's so close, not when she's already told him that she can't go with him, when she's told him that she's fighting next to Percy, that she can't trust him, not after Mt. Tam. As if he's thinking of it to, he nuzzles her temple, where the gray streak of hair is tucked behind her ear, and the noises he makes as he kisses her forehead, her cheek, her ear are low and sorrowful and mournful.
Despite his insistence that she stay quiet she cannot help the moan that escapes as her orgasm washes over her. Luke's arm is strong around her, holding her up, but she finally summons the strength to push him away as the security lights on the backporch flip on and her father steps out onto the patio. "Annabeth?" he calls out uncertainly. It's not the first time Annabeth has rushed out of the house in the middle of the night this summer to fight a monster, but even she can admit that she doesn't normally take this long.
"I'm here, Dad!" She responds, trying to step away from Luke even as he reaches for her, grasps her wrist.
"Do you need help?" He calls out into the darkness. "I still have some of those celestial bullets..."
"No Dad!" Her reply is too harsh, too quickly. "I'm fine! I'm done."
She wrenches her arm from Luke's grasp as she takes a few staggering steps back to the house, entirely unsure of who she's responding to. "I'm done. I'm done."