Percy Jackson had a bit mystery on his hands.
Or, at least, located in his dresser.
He was 90 percent sure he unpacked all of his shirts yesterday with the rest of his clothing and bedroom items. There were several discarded cardboard boxes with T-shirts written in his mother’s neat handwriting in the hallway that proved that, after all. Besides, he distinctly remembered arguing with Annabeth about why his Mets jersey had to be in the closet instead of shoved in the drawers and no, he didn’t need to waste that space for his work shirts, that was what an iron was for, gods.
So, he should have at least two drawers full of shirts, not to mention the select few that got crammed in the closet, but... there was not a single shirt to be found.
The rest of his clothes were still present in their spots — he’d been able to put on his boxers and jeans after his shower, but not a shirt. At first, he’d been confused, but now, he was mildly pissed off. He knew those shirts were supposed to be in here.
Percy scratched the back of his neck and glanced between the drawers and the closet one more time, wondering if there was some kind of shirt stealing gremlin from Greek mythology he’d yet to meet. And if there was, he was going to kick its ass for making him look like an idiot.
Sighing, he closed the open drawers and tossed his damp towel into the laundry hamper by the door. He peered in it as he walked past and frowned, noticing that his dirty shirt from yesterday was missing too. What in the name of Hades’s gym shorts was going on?
“Annabeth?” he called, padding out into the hallway and toward the kitchen. Although it was a little after 10 a.m., their apartment was still dark except for the gold glow coming from the overhead light in the kitchen — gloomy storm clouds were sitting in the sky and the radio had mentioned a possible rainstorm later in the morning. “I think I’m having a wardrobe malfunction.”
“You say that as if it’s a rare occurrence,” Annabeth replied as Percy rounded the corner. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that incident with my mother and those awful jellyfish boxers.”
She was sitting on the kitchen counter, her bare legs dangling tantalizingly in open space. A plate of toast and a cup of coffee sat beside her, and she was reading a copy of the New York Times, her brow scrunched in concentration. Percy’s heart did an embarrassing sort of flip-flop motion at the sight of her. He was 23 years old, dammit. He really needed to stop being so sappy about this whole moving-into-an-apartment-together thing.
“That was totally not my fault and you know it,” he huffed, his cheeks heating as he scowled at her. “Anyway, my shirts have all gone missing. Did you run a load of laundry downstairs or... hey!”
Annabeth shifted to flip to another section of the paper, and Percy stopped short, noticing the distinctive blue fabric and the orange logo on her clothes. He shot forward and snatched the paper out of her hands, ignoring her squawk of, “Percy, don’t crumple it!” as he tossed it aside and uncovered her. There.
“My jersey! Where did you find it?”
“What, this old thing?” Annabeth said, glancing down at herself, as if she’d just noticed she was wearing the jersey.
Percy’s gaze followed hers and di immortales, was that a bad idea. She was just wearing the jersey, which barely covered the tops of her thighs properly, giving him a glimpse of her lacy black underwear. He loved Annabeth in blue and she looked fantastic in that jersey, all legs, undone buttons and tousled golden curls, and fuck, what was she saying?
“I took the liberty of raiding your closet for unsuitable items while you were in the shower. This was the worst of the lot, of course. I still can’t believe my boyfriend is a Mets fan... ”
Percy’s eyes narrowed and he planted his hands on the counter either side of her, leaning forward until their noses were practically touching. Annabeth smirked at him, clearly enjoying herself, and Percy told himself there was absolutely no way he was going to kiss her until she told him where his clothes were. No way.
“Wise Girl,” he said slowly, a low rumble of thunder from above punctuating his words, “what have you done with my shirts?”
She batted her eyelashes innocently. Percy didn’t buy it for an instant.
“Who says I did anything to them?”
“You’ve got a shit eating grin on your face that says otherwise, so you better spill. Why did you take my shirts?”
Unexpectedly, Annabeth’s heels hooked under his ass and tugged him forward, into cradle of her legs. His hands slipped against the counter, causing them to bump chests as her legs locked around his waist. Her hands pressed on his bare chest, and Percy’s skin warmed with desire instantly. She had a way of completely undoing him with one delicate touch, and she knew it too.
“New house rule,” she replied, tracing her fingertips down his chest. A shiver went down his spine. “When we’re alone, I’m the only person who gets to wear your shirts around.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her, trying to keep his cool. That was hard to accomplish when his dick was already half-hard and was demanding that he bend Annabeth over the counter. Hell, that was probably what she was hoping he’d do.
“Is that so? I don’t remember voting on this.”
“Executive order, no voting required,” Annabeth grinned at him, her hands gliding low enough to make Percy’s breath catch. “Your shirts interfere with my ogling time, which I’ve had significantly less of in recent months, and you owe me.”
Percy was vaguely aware that he had a pretty decent body — constantly fighting for your life and godly genetics would do that for a guy. He certainly knew Annabeth (and half the underage population of Camp Half-Blood when he popped around for a visit) liked to look at him shirtless, but really. Stealing his entire collection of shirts to make it happen seemed to be a bit of a ridiculous and convoluted plan, even for her.
Well, two could play at that game. Sort of. Percy tended to not play by the rules, especially when Annabeth was involved.
“You could’ve just asked, you know,” he said, nuzzling her neck as his hands moved to her waist. He heard her sharp intake of breath as he rucked the jersey up around her hips and he pressed a kiss to the corner of her jaw, hoping to draw another one out of her. “You’re so difficult sometimes.”
“You love it.”
Percy pulled back and stared at her. Her grey eyes glittered with warmth and challenge, and her cheeks flushed a rosy pink when he reached up to touch her face. She was seriously gorgeous and he was the luckiest guy in the universe. “Yeah, I kinda do.”
Annabeth’s indignant scowl ruined the tender moment. “Only kinda? What does that even mean, Percy Ja — ”
He swallowed the rest of his name with a rough kiss, sliding his hand from her cheek and back into the tangle of her curls. His other hand busied itself between her spread legs, shoving her underwear aside, his thumb unerringly seeking out her clit. She was already wet — gods, arguing really did get her going — and he didn’t bother to tease, making fast, hot circles around her swollen bud with his thumb. Annabeth arched against him, clearly not anticipating such a response from him, and moaned loudly, her legs loosening their grip around his waist.
He broke their kiss and pushed her back on the counter, lifting one of her legs up and setting her heel against the edge, spreading her wider. “Lean back,” he murmured, slipping a finger and then two into her as he mouthed against the trail of buttons on the jersey
Annabeth’s hips rocked against his hand, matching his pace, and her nails raked up his back as his mouth moved downward, creating a deliciously pleasurable sensation he desperately wanted more of it. A low mewling sound escaped from her throat as his fingers crooked inside her and he gave her clit a good tweak — that rare sound he craved more than anything — and he knew she already close to coming.
His eyes flicked up to her as he kissed her trembling, exposed stomach; she was watching him through half-lidded eyes, flushed and panting, and fuck, this was going to be hard —
As quickly as he’d started, Percy pulled away, leaving Annabeth right on the edge of what he was sure was a fantastic orgasm. (Humble, Percy Jackson was not.) He took a few steps backward, out of harm’s way, and Annabeth stared at him uncomprehendingly, chest heaving.
“Wha — what...?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “Can I have my shirts back now?”
Annabeth’s pretty pink flush turned into an ruddy angry color faster than Percy could blink. “Seaweed Brain, I am going to murder you!”
She hopped off the counter in a flash and Percy hightailed it back to their bedroom, Annabeth hot on his heels. Of course, he was trapped once got back there, and Annabeth had that look in her eyes that meant she was probably going to pin him down and tease him ten times worse than he had her, so his shirts probably weren’t going to be found today.
But Percy really didn’t care, considering that meant Annabeth was going to be naked with him for the rest of the day and naked Annabeth was the best kind of Annabeth.
Sure enough, an hour or so later, when they were both sweaty and pleasantly exhausted, limbs entangled under their sheets, listening to thunder rumble and the soft pitter-patter of the morning rain against the window, clothes were not at the forefront of Percy’s mind.
At least, they weren’t until Annabeth swore and suddenly shot up, shoving his arms off her and hurriedly wrapping her sheets around her bare torso. How she could move that fast after how much sex they’d just had, he’d never know.
“‘Smatter?” Percy asked, far too tired to lift his head from where it was buried in the pillow. If there was some kind of mythological crisis or T-shirt eating gnome, she was going to have to go on without him. He was certainly not getting up anytime soon.
Blindly, he reached out and tried to pull her back to him, but she swatted his hands away and got off the bed.
“I’ll be right back — I left your shirts out on the fire escape!”
That solved that mystery.