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"Whoops."
Jason looks up from the box he's unpacking to find Percy sitting across from him, hands empty, a pile of Jason's sketches spilled onto the floor of their new bedroom. Dozens of them, and there are hundreds more in manila folders tucked throughout other boxes.
"That's the third time you've dropped something in the last hour." They're old and a little embarrassing, but he can't bring himself to throw them out–over by the half-built dresser is one of the worst, but also the most sentimental, done in ballpoint pen in the margins of a math sheet. D-minus. Percy, crosshatched and roaring, sash filled in with red sharpie. Jason's stepmother had been less than thrilled with his lack of professionalism, almost as much so as with the crappy grade.
(It was late fall of senior year, Jason had just failed his second test that semester, and Percy had been pacing the stage and singing through his entire part, getting used to moving around and breathing in his costume. The sash didn't really matter, since he could tie it exactly as tight as he wanted, but it had immediately drawn Jason's attention; a vibrant, true ruby red that lit him up like a candle. Jason learned that day how stellar that shade was on him, and by extension pretty much every dramatic jewel tone he's ever tried on. A bright winter–that was what Silena had called him; warmer than other winters, he could get away with orange without looking like the walking dead, but he was especially magnificent in saturated, bold, cool colors that set off the deep blue-pink in his complexion and made his eyes look like shimmering abalone.)
"Butterfingers."
He's rocking the amethyst of Jason's high-school sweatshirt at the moment, the logo for the Legionnaires emblazoned across his chest–the sleeves are too short for Jason now, and it's essentially Percy's already–and smirking like he's got a plan going. Jason raises an eyebrow, but Percy calls his bluff, staring directly into his eyes. (One of Jason's greatest weaknesses. Look at me when I'm talking to you. That penchant for getting lost in staring is what made him pick up a pencil in the first place.)
"Bullshit. This is your smartass way of telling me to take a break."
"You're so tense , babe," Percy coos, crawling over to kneel behind him, and Jason knows immediately that he was right. But, as well-practiced fingers dig into all of his sore spots, he decides it's not the end of the world if he lets it happen.
"And you're a brat," he tells Percy, shutting his eyes and leaning back into the pressure. "Dollar in the jar, when we're done here."
"Oh, come on. You want to beat me up and you know it; I'm just indulging your disciplinarian side."
"You still could have used your words. I would have found something to punish you for, if you'd given me the opportunity."
"You're going to make me pay for it, huh."
It's not a question, and it comes with arms looping over Jason's waist and a chin resting on his shoulder. Percy is determined, and Jason is much weaker to his wiles than he'd like to admit. But that's not the game, so Jason traps Percy's hands with his own.
"I'll have to improvise. The toys are still packed and Will had the boxcutter, last I checked." Percy shivers, and Jason can feel it against his back, waking something primal in him. "Alright, you've convinced me. Clean up the mess you made and then lie on the bed, on your stomach."
"Make me."
Silence.
Jason tightens his grip on Percy's wrists. The beast growls, hackles raising with a heady combination of excitement and pride.
"I beg your fucking pardon?"
"I said…"
Percy leans over Jason's shoulder, and when he turns, they meet gazes, sparking.
"... make me."
"You're not giving me much of a choice, are you?"
Percy shivers again, and really, Jason does need this–they've been unpacking for hours, and his neck is cramping and he's starting to feel static shocks under his skin, antsy for movement. He needs to let go sometimes, just as much as Percy does. They both need this.
So Jason pushes to his feet and drags Percy after, shoving him onto the mattress. He follows, pinning Percy by the wrists before he has a chance to move away, holding him there while he struggles against the grip.
"I've been a little shit all day, trying to get you to pay attention to me. I gotta hand it to you, dude, you've got more patience than I gave you credit for."
"Are you angling for me to make you shut up, too? Because that can be arranged."
Percy grins and redoubles his efforts, so Jason meets them with more of his weight. Of course, Percy could throw him off if he actually wanted to, but when they're pressed this close to each other, it's obvious he doesn't.
"If you think you can. "
"Hold that thought."
Within reach is a small box designated for silk–ties, boxers, a shirt or two; mostly gifts from Nico. Jason keeps Percy pinned with his legs as he sits up and grabs it, pulling out three of the ties. Black, silver and royal blue. While Percy's hands are still free, Jason takes the chance to strip him from the waist up.
Stunning.
The black tie goes around Percy's left wrist and the headboard, and Jason knows immediately he'll be repeating that restraint, a thrill washing over him at the sight of it. The silver one goes around the other wrist, and just like that, Percy's staying exactly where Jason put him, no matter how much he struggles.
"Thought you wanted me on my stomach."
"Change of plans. I want to see your pretty face when you realize what you got yourself into."
"And what is that, exactly?"
Jason answers by stuffing the blue tie in his mouth, watching those beautiful irises recede as his pupils blow. It's exactly the right color to be near his face–it sticks in Jason's head, and he knows later on he'll be recreating it in oil pastels.
"You'll find out."
Helpless, willing, the gag is like magic and Percy melts, all that fight rushing from his limbs. It's perfect, and Jason rewards him with a satisfied smile, just to watch him arch a little.
"Mhnn…"
This part is important, though–they have a collection of cat toys somewhere, the little kind with bells inside, that they use for a nonverbal safeword, but fuck if Jason has any idea which box they ended up in and like hell is he going into this without an alternative. "You know what to do if you need me to stop, right?"
Percy nods, knocking three times on the headboard above him to demonstrate. Just in case, though, Jason doesn't bother actually tying the tie in his mouth–that way, if he really has to, he can just spit it out.
(And if he doesn't, the knowledge that he could , and has chosen not to, thrills so deeply it defies words of explanation.)
"I don't believe you, you know."
With Percy safely tied down, Jason's free to get up and start moving through the bedroom. There has to be something floating around they can use; it's just a matter of finding it.
"Mmh?"
"Even when you're being a little shit, you're still my good boy. I don't care how much you try to pretend you aren't. It doesn't work on me."
There's a noise of protest from the bed. Jason ignores it, as little as he wants to. "You said it yourself. You're only acting out because I'm stressed and you wanted to give me a release valve."
Maybe a few more of the ties. If he knots them together, they'll approximate a flogger, though without much weight to the tails–which won't be all that satisfying for either of them. He pauses to take in the image, Percy splayed out on the mattress, twisting against his restraints. Next option.
"You knew what you were doing. You know what you do to me in general."
Jason trips over the solution, literally. A shoebox by the closet full of belts, thin cloth to thick leather and every size and material in between. He lets himself make noise as he rummages through them, knowing Percy can't actually see what he's doing, but can probably guess from the clinking of metal.
"Nnh!"
The sound is high-pitched and needy. Bingo. Jason lets himself smirk, lets it widen as he stands back up and turns around. Lighter and wider than a lot of his other belts, which makes Percy throw puppy eyes in his direction, but Jason can make dastardly plans too.
"Don't look at me like that. This is just a warmup."
That helps. Percy settles down for a second, and when he picks his squirming back up, there's a deliberateness to it. Play-acting at captive prey, rather than lodging an actual complaint. Jason sits on the edge of the bed and undresses him the rest of the way, running his palm over every inch of bared skin.
"You know how this goes." Jason loops the belt in half, running the fabric over the hollow inside Percy's hip. "You have to earn the heavy stuff. Most of the punishment is to get you really wanting your reward."
The belt comes down with a crack , hard enough to leave a stripe of pink, but light enough not to bruise. That will come later, when Percy's well and truly desperate–not that he isn't a little desperate already, but they've barely even gotten started, and Percy is a lot tougher than that. Even through the muffled groan, he's still mostly in control of himself. Jason brings the belt down again, on the other leg this time.
"You're really, really bad at being bad."
A burst of giggles, cut off by a yelp when the belt hits him a third time, harder still. Percy's hips lift up off the mattress, seemingly involuntary.
"It always comes out you had some kind of altruistic motive the whole time–you're worried about me, or you've sensed that I need a kick in the pants before I'll let myself unwind. The worst you can manage is getting passive-aggressive when I've been neglecting you."
That makes Percy go quiet, which is the opposite of what Jason was going for, so he pulls him back with another hit, much more forceful. It works–Percy jumps and makes another whining sound into the silk, pulled far enough away from whatever hole he'd been on the edge of to stare up at Jason again, focused back outward.
"Not that it isn't cute when you try, because it's adorable, and I do appreciate the excuse."
The harder Jason hits, the more noise Percy makes, and the more noise Percy makes, the more it riles Jason up. He abandons the intent to hold back, too wrapped up in the reactions he's getting to care about his own rules.
"But you are never going to convince me you're anything less than perfect."
Percy often makes fun of him for it–that deeply romantic streak he's been sporting as far back as he can remember, the reason he's so turned on by showering Percy in praise–and can't seem to stop himself from grinning around the tie. Jason hits him again, watching his eyes roll back.
"You're in no position to complain just now. You wanted it, you're getting it, sap and all."
He could watch Percy for days, really. Has, a few times, when everything was so much so fast he'd temporarily lose the ability to do anything but watch Percy, usually right after finals or a code push at work. As shy as it tended to make him, Percy never objected–seemed to intuit that for whatever reason, the sight of his face was the most grounding thing he could offer when Jason's brain shorted out like that. He still doesn't get why , and has said as much, but he's impeccably good at tuning into Jason's frequencies anyway.
(They wouldn't be here now, like this, if he wasn't. Eyes locked, both of them hard and breathing heavily, Percy striped in the deep blush-red that looks so good on him.)
" Hhngh– !"
Jason has to pin him again to stop him from thrashing his shoulders out of their sockets, but it's worth the trouble just to feel him try.
"My sweet, wonderful boy. You always know exactly what I need, don't you?"
He's mesmerizing like this. Still fighting a little, but it's the kind where he's trying to push Jason into fighting back, asking without words to be overpowered. Put in his place. Marked up, flushed hot–Jason can feel his hair standing on end, can practically hear the snarling of his inner wolf at the sight, the feel of Percy held down under him.
Mine.
Like it often does, the glinting of Percy's collar draws Jason's attention to his throat. Exposed, vulnerable, practically begging for another mark. Another brand of ownership, one everyone around them will immediately recognize.
Usually, Jason leaves his hickeys in places that are easy to hide, just for the sake of propriety. Today, knowing they're tied up in last-minute wedding prep–as Nico's best man, Jason's in charge of a fair amount of the behind-the-scenes work–and won't be out and about much until it's over, he throws propriety to the wind and bites down hard just underneath Percy's ear.
It's a lesser-known fact that wolves don't bite each other's throats as an attack, but as a dominance hold; Jason can't wrap his head around how anyone who's had a lover gasp and arch and writhe under them could possibly miss it.
Percy whimpers through the silk, canting his hips as he rolls his head back to give Jason more room to work. By the time Jason pulls back, Percy's breathing hard, turning to meet his eyes like he's been pulled there with a magnet.
There's only one way to end this, unfortunately, and Jason sits up and pulls the tie out of Percy's mouth before reaching up to free his hands.
"Damn it," Percy mutters, husky, not quite suppressing his smirk. "I knew you wouldn't make it that easy."
"We'll see how you behave until after dinner," Jason promises. God, Percy's so hard it looks almost painful, and he feels his own dick throb in sympathy. Fuck, this won't be easy, but it'll be worth it in an hour or two.
"Can I at least–" Percy sits up, hair mussed, and starts to reach over. Jason grabs his hand and laces their fingers together instead.
"No, I want to be riled up with you." It can be a little bit of a sore spot, so Jason pulls Percy to his feet and drags him in close, grinding his hips. "What do I always tell you?"
"The longer the wait, the better the reward." Percy nips at Jason's shoulder–payback, probably, though Jason can't stop himself from swatting Percy's ass in retaliation. "I'm still mad, but in the fun way. I trust you."
That's the most comforting moment in all of this. Knowing, from the proximity of the warm body in his arms, that Percy is willing, able and happy to follow Jason's lead.
"Hey, smut fiends, sushi's here!"
Will accompanies it by banging on their door. Jason feels his back loosen in relief, and at the same time, Percy sags against him.
"Oh, thank god."
They say it in unison, and for a second they lock eyes, then both of them are beset with laughter. Perfectly in tune with each other, as always.
Jason steps back and Percy runs for the door, which seems like a grand idea, and Jason's so focused on his ass he misses the obvious problem until they're halfway to the stairs.
"Babe. Pants."
Percy stops, looks down at himself, takes a second to touch one of the marks on his thigh–and dissolves again into peals of frantic laughter.
"Shit, I didn't even–you are a menace , dude. I can't even remember to dress myself in the glow of your breathtaking visage."
"And clean up those sketches while you're in there."
Percy sighs and leans in close, winding an arm around Jason’s waist and tipping his head back. Cheekily, he bites at the base of Jason’s throat. They’ll match, and really, that’s appropriate; Jason is just as much Percy’s as Percy is his.
“Yes, Sir,” Percy whispers when he’s done, lips curving against Jason’s skin, then kisses the mark he left and detours back to the bedroom at a half-run.
He’s perfect. All Jason wants to do is follow him and throw him back on the bed and fuck him into oblivion, but he forces himself to descend the stairs instead, knowing if he hangs around much longer he won’t be able to stop himself from giving in to that damned adoring face.
Tonight, and hopefully as many nights after as they can possibly stand, he’ll make up for it. In the meantime, the idea of being buried as deeply inside Percy as he can get and expanding that bite into a necklace of bruises is enough to tide him over.
Hopefully. If they both lose their composure and have to escape into the bathroom or onto the couch or even, like one memorable afternoon back in their old apartment, the kitchen counter, well, Will and Nico have been privy to worse.