Chapter Text
Jason bit his lip and pushed his fingers deeper, wrist aching.
His mind supplied the images readily, having fantasized about this so many times before: forearms covered in inky sea monsters; eyes the color of murky waters; a smirk that got away with murder. He thought of those eyes pinning him, of those forearms holding him down, of that smirk as a thick cock pushed in, in.
“That's it,” that raspy voice would say. Plush lips would kiss his neck. “Good boy.”
Jason's breath hitched. Legs stretched. Hips pushed up, up.
And then shuddered back down. Jason swore.
His neighbors swore louder through the paper-thin walls and just like that Jason was pulled from his fantasy. He opened his eyes with a quiet sigh and made unfortunate eye-contact with his cat. Jupiter stared judgingly from his corner of the bed. A car alarm went off somewhere far below.
**
Jason Grace did not like his apartment. He did not like the roaches and he did not like his curtains and he did not like his furniture. He did not like his building and did not like his burrow and did not like New York City. But most of all, he did not like his job.
It wasn't that Jason was a negative person. He had just had higher expectations for himself. In college, he'd dreamed of directing films with his friends and writing plays that would get swooped up by producers. He'd go to New York City and work for some big publishing company while waiting to get discovered. He'd get some big apartment and pay off his loans and be able to take his cat to the vet regularly for check-ups.
And yet Jason had made few friends in college; his plays were still in his head and not on paper; he'd received no call back from Penguin Books; his apartment was a broom closet; and his cat's left eye had been watering for three months.
Luckily enough, he had managed to acquire a job at a small law firm near Midtown. The work was fast-paced and hands-on and Jason liked it well enough. It certainly payed well enough for him to be able to afford both his rent and his student loans. But the company itself, well. That was a different story.
It had first started when Jason was told he wasn't allowed to drink coffee from the reception area; that was for the lawyers, not for the people who worked for them. After that, it was the assistant manager threatening to fire him for eating a bagel; the co-worker muttering homophobic comments under his breath; the constant threat of being screamed at for making a small mistake; the heartless “how are you”s and the answers provided before the questions could be fully asked.
Jason hated it more than anything.
But there was one thing that made it worth it: the design department.
When Jason dropped off the mail in the morning, it was like stepping into a whole other company – a sea of color in the midst of an ocean of black. The cubicles were covered in photos and posters, sketches and oil drawings. A full-sized cardboard cut-out of Gandalf stood in the back, right corner. It was messily professional, casual yet fashionable – a real-life Pinterest post. And in one of those cubicles was the bane of Jason's existence and also the best part of it: Percy Jackson.
Percy Jackson had been the first person to hold eye-contact when he asked Jason how he was, the first person to say 'thank you' when Jason gave him his mail, and the first person Jason had heard casually drop an f-bomb. He wore graphic t-shirts under vibrantly colored blazers, leaned forward when Jason spoke, and his forearms were covered in American-traditional style tattoos: squids and whales, mermaids and sharks. Scylla gnawed at his left elbow. And what was worse was that he was hot like burning: his skin was a soft, chestnut brown; his eyes the color of drowning seas; and his hair hung about his head in fluffy, black curls.
Stopping by Percy's cubicle was the absolute highlight of Jason's day.
And it was no less of a highlight the Friday before the 24th.
**
Other than the lateness of the mail in lieu of the holiday rush, it was like any other day at the office. Jason helped Frank record the UPS tracking, sorted the mail, and then unsorted the mail into piles on his cart according to department. He then plastered a smile on his face and wheeled around the building, asking the usual and falsely interested 'how are you's to the regulars.
When he got to the design department, Jason's smile turned genuine. He heard bits of conversation as he passed out envelopes, glimpsed casually at advertisements-in-progress. Then his heart tripped over itself when he realized he had a FedEx package with PERSEUS JACKSON written across it in all caps.
He licked his lips and abandoned his cart, moving through the cubicles until he got to the last cube in the second aisle. Percy was wearing a black sweater with something on it Jason couldn't quite read. He was hunched over, too close to the screen, staring at his mouse as he pulled anchors around with the pen tool on some zoomed-in object.
Jason muttered, “Hi.”
Percy did not respond.
Jason noticed his headphones. Chewed his lip. Stepped forward. “Um,” he said. And gently touched Percy's shoulder.
Percy jerked.
Jason jumped.
“Shit,” Percy said, tugging one of ear-phones out and turning to look at Jason. “Sorry. Hey, man.” He smiled and took out the other ear-phone. Glanced down at Jason's hands. “That for me?”
“Yeah,” Jason said, stepping back a little even as he handed the box and sign-sheet to Percy. He caught the scent of a smooth cologne and for a brief moment his eyelids fluttered shut.
Percy scrolled his name down on the sheet and handed it back with a 'thank you'. But rather than going back to his work, he sat back in his chair so that the back of it pushed back even further and then swiveled in a circle so he could place his box on his desk and then turn back to see Jason all in one movement. “You doing anything for the holidays?” he asked.
Jason laughed softly at the spin. “No,” he answered. “My sister's stationed abroad, so it's just me this year.”
He waited for the question – what about your parents? – but was surprised when Percy didn't ask. Instead, he frowned and drummed his pen against his leg. “That sucks, man,” he said. “You're not doing anything with friends?”
“Nah,” Jason said with a shrug. “All my friends are in California.”
“Shit.”
“What about you?”
Percy tugged down his sweater so Jason could see a giant, gold menorah stitched on it with a series of eight–
“Oh my god,” Jason muttered.
'The festival of lightsabers,' the sweater read. Just to cause Jason pain. “I'm celebrating the first night with my mom,” Percy said, “but then she's gonna head up to Massachusetts to celebrate with my step-dad's family.”
“So you're by yourself?” Jason asked.
“Yeah,” Percy said and then gave a shrug. “But hey, I'll be working, so whatever.”
“Yeah,” Jason agreed, “whatever.”
They were silent for a moment.
Percy finally nodded toward his Mac screen. “I gotta...”
“Oh!” Jason shoved his sign-sheet under his arm. “Right, sorry. I– Chag Sameach.”
Something passed over Percy's face – like sudden recognition. “Thanks,” he slowly said. “Chag Sameach.”
Jason left his cubicle.
Only to immediately come back.
Percy hadn't shifted his position, but his eyes drew up from the floor to Jason's face at the sight of him again. “Forget something?” he asked.
Jason didn't know what he was doing. In reality, he didn't even really know Percy. He just knew his coffee order because he once had to stand behind him in the copy room and watch him pour five hazelnut creamers into his travel mug consecutively; he just knew that Percy had an angry gray tabby named Triton because he'd once asked about the bite marks on his hands; he just knew that Percy had tattoos wrapped higher up his arms than his shirt let the office believe; he just knew that Percy had a little freckle on his left cheekbone, that Percy rewarded himself with Chinese food on Fridays, that his sense of humor could be horribly dark when he wanted to be work-inappropriate. But most of all, Jason knew he wanted to know more about him.
“Do you want,” he asked, “to celebrate Hanukkah with me?”
Percy blinked.
Stared.
And Jason suddenly realized how incredibly forward he was, how awkwardly and definitely not attractively forward he was. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck–
“I mean,” Percy said, “I don't know how fun celebrating with me would be. I've been told my singing voice is terrible.”
“That's fine,” Jason said. His face was flushing. “Mine is too.”
“And I kind of drink a lot.”
“Me too.”
“And I'll probably eat way too much of your food.”
“Only if I can eat too much of yours.”
Percy grinned, full on grinned. Jason's heart fluttered. “Well, then,” he said. “You've got yourself a date.”