There has yet to be a moment when she didn't carry power and beauty in the palm of her hand - especially now, when her palm's pressing against parts of him he doesn't make a habit of letting others near. She's effortless in her charms, so far as he can tell; hers is the grace of a goddess made mortal, offering blessings to the unworthy, providing benediction to whatever poor souls take her fancy.
Percy's never cared to involve himself with the gods more than absolutely necessary, but he could make an exception tonight.
She really is good at this; the entire night, she's managed to be reassuring without making him feel like a milksop, and now she's as sensual as she is practical about washing him. Her hand lingers along his shaft, familiarizing herself with his length as his breath shudders near her ear. Her palm finds his balls, her fingers moving along the seam running between them - and he presses a kiss to her neck, willing himself not to come that very moment. (It's not even a particular touch that's making his thighs tense and his hips nudge toward her, because it's all of it, everything about the fact that he's not alone right now.)
"Vex'ahlia," he moans, embarrassed by the sound of it and unable to stop himself. In an ideal world, he'd be able to follow that up with something coherent - possibly a warning that he's not sure he can hold out much longer, but that his stamina isn't usually this bad, and he thinks he'd be able to manage a second round anyway - but under the circumstances, the best he can manage is, "Please -"
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Percy's never cared to involve himself with the gods more than absolutely necessary, but he could make an exception tonight.
She really is good at this; the entire night, she's managed to be reassuring without making him feel like a milksop, and now she's as sensual as she is practical about washing him. Her hand lingers along his shaft, familiarizing herself with his length as his breath shudders near her ear. Her palm finds his balls, her fingers moving along the seam running between them - and he presses a kiss to her neck, willing himself not to come that very moment. (It's not even a particular touch that's making his thighs tense and his hips nudge toward her, because it's all of it, everything about the fact that he's not alone right now.)
"Vex'ahlia," he moans, embarrassed by the sound of it and unable to stop himself. In an ideal world, he'd be able to follow that up with something coherent - possibly a warning that he's not sure he can hold out much longer, but that his stamina isn't usually this bad, and he thinks he'd be able to manage a second round anyway - but under the circumstances, the best he can manage is, "Please -"