Work Text:
He’d been warned, months ago, that a daughter of Minerva was skulking around New Rome.
Frank had personally handed him her dossier shortly after she’d arrived, with a comment or two about her closeness to the Graces and an interesting war record – Percy couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said. Most of their conversation had focused on whether or not her presence would cause a problem, what with their parents being age-old enemies and all, and what that would entail for New Rome.
Percy hadn’t seen much of a cause for concern. She was just a daughter of Minerva, after all. How much trouble could she cause? Her mother didn’t have the power or influence of her Greek counterpart in this city – never had, even before a son of Neptune was in residence. She was no one, with no powers or serious connections. Definitely not someone worth upsetting the city’s delicate balance of stability over.
Still, he’d meant to check up on her at some point. He always liked to know who was in his city and why they were there, especially if they were Greek demigods. Percy wouldn’t put it past that smug asshole Jason Grace to sneak in a Trojan horse of problems for him.
But the file had quickly disappeared under the pile on his desk and the task — she — had slipped his mind.
Until tonight, when she’d somehow ended up in his arms, both of them caught under a sprig of mistletoe.
‘Tis the gods damned season indeed.
+
Percy Jackson shouldn’t have even been out and about in New Rome tonight – and he wouldn’t have, if Reyna hadn’t literally twisted his arm into going to an party at the newly reopened Appian Way plaza.
Reyna thought it’d be good PR for him to make an appearance at their first event, a much-needed olive branch to the city district that hated him the most. Personally, Percy didn’t think the Appian Way folks would appreciate the guy who’d buried the original plaza under a couple hundred tons of drakon being anywhere near their shiny new building, but he knew when to argue with Reyna and that wasn’t when she had him locked in a death grip.
If he’d known it was a holiday party, though, he might’ve risked her wrath.
It’d been a few seasons since he’d publicly participated in New Rome’s boisterous holiday festivities. When he’d been a praetor, he’d been required to attend almost all of them and it had worn on him. Parties in general tended to wear on him these days. He was tired of managing large crowds and their expectations, of donning the mantle of the devil of New Rome and all that came with it – the anxiety and fear, the jealousy and anger, the worship and plotting. No one actually wanted the son of Neptune at their events and ruining their fun during the most wonderful time of the year.
And knowing that didn’t exactly put him in a holly jolly mood.
Still, he could suffer through it for an hour or two for the good of the city – especially if there was an open bar.
Tonight’s party was a perfectly fine event. The organizers had seemed pleased to see him and made a show of giving him a tour of all the new features on the building and grounds. He’d done his duty, made the rounds and politicked enough of the right people to make Frank and Reyna happy, and had now largely been left alone to brood menacingly on the sidelines until he could make a timely escape.
Percy had maybe been too focused on the brooding (expensive whiskey, sparkling lights, and cheery holiday music tended to have that effect), because he didn’t register the jeering group approaching him until they were nearly on top of him. It was an embarrassing lack of awareness on his part.
And it led straight to a blonde woman getting shoved unceremoniously into his arms.
“Oof!”
At least his reflexes hadn’t deserted him. Percy caught her easily, one hand settling on her velvet-covered hip, the other trying to steady her without sloshing whiskey down the front of her silvery dress. Her hands scrabbled at the front of his suit, finding purchase and pressing against her chest so she could right herself. She glanced up at him through the fringe of her hair, apology and anger warring in her eyes, a blush already spreading across her cheeks.
She was pretty, Percy noted immediately. Very pretty.
With her heels on, she was nearly as tall as him, her lithe body practically poured into the velvet of her dress. Wisps of blonde curls, freed from her updo, framed her sharp face and her lips were painted a dark vintage red. But it was her eyes that really drew his attention, stormy gray and full of keen intelligence and fire that would set mortal men ablaze with one look.
He knew of only one line of demigods that had eyes like that.
“Sorry,” the daughter of Minerva said, pulling her hands away. “I didn’t – ”
“Go on and give him a kiss!” one of the men cheered. “Let’s see if that puts an end to your parents’ rivalry!”
Percy glanced over her shoulder, at the snickering group that had accompanied her, and then up over their heads, where he spotted it, hanging in the middle of the arch he’d been standing under for the last 15 minutes.
Mistletoe.
Shit.
How had he missed that? He’d made it a priority to avoid mistletoe at holiday parties after one too many incidents involving the damn plant. There was always someone willing to throw themselves at him — or throw someone else in his path, just to see what he would do.
Whether it was for their own amusement or to push along some political agenda, there would always be those in New Rome who couldn’t resist trying to provoke him. Percy had a fairly tight rein over his temper these days, so the ones hoping for a classic, earthshaking outburst were usually left wanting. Tonight’s fools were probably aiming for some quick and dirty humiliation instead.
Though he wasn’t sure he was the main target of their prank.
“Show her how Romans do it, Jackson!”
The daughter of Minerva’s face flushed an even darker shade of pink as she glared at the group and hissed, “Assholes!”
They burst into drunken laughter and more taunts, drawing more attention to the scene from other party goers. Some already had their phones out, ready and waiting to film the magic moment.
Percy frowned. Tricking Roman and Greek demigods into kissing under the mistletoe was a fairly common prank; social media had made it even more popular, with new challenges and rarer pair-ups surfacing every season like clockwork. A video of the children of Neptune and Minerva locking lips would probably break the internet.
“Kiss him!”
He had no desire to go viral (again), least of all for a stupid stunt like this… with her, of all people. Pretty face aside, she was still a Greek and connected to his father’s most hated rival. She probably wanted to be in this position even less than he did.
“C’mon, Chase! I thought you said you’d handle him!”
...or maybe she was just where she wanted to be.
“Handle me?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
The daughter of Minerva winced, but to her credit, she met his gaze with guilty yet unflinching eyes.
“I didn’t mean,” she sputtered, gesturing vaguely up at the mistletoe, “like this.”
He wondered what she had meant. Greeks liked to showboat when they had an audience, and a party like this was a perfect opportunity for that. Had she boasted about challenging him to her friends?
He almost laughed. Like that would happen. He didn’t fight Greeks and, even if he did, fighting her would be a waste of time. She was a nobody in New Rome; he didn’t even know her name. The physical spectacle of her humiliation at his hands would only cement her low status, prove once and for all that Minerva was an unworthy goddess.
Catching him under the mistletoe was definitely her better option. She could prove her desirability to the city and raise her status with a simple kiss — surely, if the son of Neptune kissed her, she couldn’t be all that bad. And if she refused him… well, that would be understandable, too. Admirable, even, in some circles.
Percy’s eyes darted to her wine red lips, delectably full and definitely kissable. He wouldn’t mind kissing her, he decided, but… he preferred to spend his time with people who came to him willingly and without a scheme. If the daughter of Minerva wanted a kiss from him, she’d have to come and take it.
No reason he had to make it easy for her, though. She was looking for something to handle, wasn’t she?
Percy threw back the last of his whiskey, making a show of perusing her body, and set the glass down beside him. He pulled her flush against him and dipped her backward slightly, one hand traveling down to hike her leg against his thigh. She gasped in surprise, grey eyes widening, and he smirked as a cheer went up from the crowd.
“Well, this is what you get,” he said, arrogant and annoyed. “So, are you going to kiss me or what?”
For a moment, he was sure she would slap him. He knew plenty of women who would’ve for just his tone, let alone for manhandling them like that. It probably would’ve been better for them both if she had.
But she must’ve seen something in his face — the amused curve of his mouth or the dare in his eyes, maybe — because her stormy expression quickly settled and narrowed with a brazen determination that stirred Percy’s blood. She was here to play — and win, whatever that meant.
Without a word, the daughter of Minerva threaded a hand through his hair and yanked his mouth down to hers.
As soon as their lips met, Percy forgot about the mistletoe, the heckling crowd, the consequences plan she’d cooked up — there was just her, in his arms like she’d always been meant to be there.
He hadn’t expected a kiss like this. A hot, electric thing that teased and consumed, roaring through every inch of him. The taste of her stirred his blood, the lush press of her body igniting a possessive ache that became downright unbearable when she tugged at his hair and moaned into his mouth.
Fuck.
Her lips didn’t just look like wine, they tasted like it. A vintage red he could spend all night sipping and savoring. He wanted more. Needed more than this.
A painful sting on his lip brought him back to his senses. He fought the desperate urge to chase her as she pulled back, looking as just stunned as he felt. Dumbly, he could only stare at her swollen lips as he set her back on her feet, his own chest heaving as he tried to get himself under control. Gods, what had she done to him?
He was sure she’d felt the kiss as intensely as he had, but it only took her a second or two to compose herself, pulling on a rigid aloofness like a second skin. She stepped back and cleared her throat — Percy would kill something if she thanked him, but no words ever came. Her gaze flicked to his lips, eyes lighting up with satisfaction at what she saw. She turned, offering nothing more than a haughty smirk over her shoulder as she melted into the uproarious crowd.
Percy touched his bottom lip, huffing out a bemused chuckle when he came away with a smear of blood on his thumb. This, he’d expected.
He had been warned about her, after all.
coda
The son of Neptune and daughter of Minerva meet again.
Percy’s on his way out and she nearly bowls him over as she’s leaving the coat check area, haphazardly pulling on red wool coat and not watching where she’s going.
“Oh!” she gasps as he grasps her elbow, steadying her once again. A gorgeous flush rises on her cheeks as she recognizes him. “You. Again.”
“It’s Percy, actually,” he says, voice low as the memory of their kiss sizzles through him. Reluctantly, he lets go of her. “And you’re the daughter of Minerva.”
“Athena, actually,” she corrects, pulling the coat on fully. She fluffs her golden hair out from under the collar and Percy’s spellbound by the way it falls around her face. “And my name is Annabeth.”
“Annabeth. Nice to meet you. Properly.”
She snorts a laugh, eyes sparkling, and falls into step beside him as he heads toward the exit. “The last thing I expected tonight — or ever — was to meet you like that. But… it wasn’t the worst way to do it, I guess.”
“Glad to know kissing me ranks just above the worst, I guess,” he says dryly, mostly to deepen the flush on her cheeks. He holds the door open for her. “Great for my self-esteem.”
Annabeth casts him a sidelong glance, lingering just long enough for him to realize she’s checking him out, and smiles slyly. “I’m sure you can do better with another chance.”
She moves to squeeze past him in the doorway, but freezes beside him, their chests just barely brushing. They glance up as one, but there’s no mistletoe hanging above their heads this time. Percy’s surprised by the small pang of disappointment that rings through him.
The lack of mistletoe doesn’t stop Annabeth from tilting her chin up, that burning, brazen determination back on her face.
“So, Percy,” she says, licking her lips, “Are you going to kiss me or what?”