Dan and I were discussing cute percabeth headcanons and this happened.
He kisses her in the morning, wrapped up in bed sheets, with toothpaste on her chin, on the way out the door as she leaves him for the day. He kisses her lips, bites and plays and draws her breath from her mouth. He kisses her cheeks, her forehead, her jaw. He kisses the back of her hand like she’s a lady. If just to make her laugh.
When she comes home to him and falls down on the couch, worn out, he gathers her into his arms and she lets the steady beating of his heart soothe her tired mind. She gravitates towards him, like the pull of the tide gathering her towards land, wherever he is in their apartment and presses herself to him, letting his warmth seep into her. She tugs his shirt out of his pants as he stands at the stove making their dinner and tucks her hands underneath, tracing the lines of his stomach and laughing as he squirms.
He finds her in the early hours of the morning, when she’s unable to put her work to bed. He drags another hard-backed chair to where she sits at her desk and rests his sleepy head on her shoulder. His wiry hair tickles her cheek and she sighs because he immediately makes her want to crawl up with him in their bed. Which she does, in the end, his feet press against hers and his fingers roam over her skin and she’s home.
It’s the morning touches she misses the most. Sleepy and reaching for her under the warm covers. Fitting to the curve of her waist and sliding between her thighs. Soft and rough, all at once. Setting her alight with his tender kisses, his firm grip around her wrists, the warmth of his body against hers.
She misses his stubbled jaw waking her up, sending shivers down her spine as he nuzzles against her. His mumbled good morning as he feels her up like a randy teenager. His protests at her leaving the bed, gripping her waist and kissing her neck to persuade her to stay, gripping her tighter when she tells him she’ll be late for work. The dance of his hands across her ribs to make her laugh. A bittersweet kiss which tastes of coffee and pancakes. The quick swipe of his thumb against her chin, wiping away the toothpaste.
She misses his arms, and the way they find her, take her home and wrap her up, whenever she needs him most. She feels the ghost of them sometimes. When she’s lingering on the edge of a dream, desperate to stay within it, in his arms. She misses them, misses him, misses home. Because home is just an empty apartment without him. Without his fast touch and warm hands and cold nose pressed against her neck. Home is a place she doesn’t want to be, because he won’t be waiting there for her when she walks through the door; he won’t walk through that door himself, with long stretching limbs and tired greetings.
Home is not home without Percy in it. It’s cold, and quiet, and dark and she misses him. She misses him with a fierce ache in her chest that bends her over double and has her gasping for breath. And she waits for him still, to find her, to wrap his arms around her and make her whole, to press his fingers to her skin and patch her back up again. Because he always promised that he would. Together, or not at all.