Percy found himself in a bit of a predicament when swim practice for his college team started up again.
Because he knew the moment he stepped into that locker room and took his shirt off, his teammates were going to give him endless shit.
Ever since he and Nico got together, “enthusiastic” didn’t even begin to cover it. Nico was… expressive. Handsy. A little bit ruthless, honestly—and Percy wouldn’t change a thing about it. Even if his back might disagree.
Because Nico was a scratcher. And a biter.
Percy’s upper back and shoulders were a mess of marks—different lengths, different depths, some fading while others were still fresh. And then there was the one spot that never really went away, right where his neck met his shoulder, a semi-permanent bite mark Nico always came back to, especially when he was trying to muffle himself.
Percy loved it.
Loved the marks, loved what they meant, loved the quiet reminder that Nico was his and he was Nico’s—that they had finally found their way to each other.
So when he pulled his shirt off in the locker room and the noise hit—shouting, laughter, a couple of loud wolf whistles—Percy just rolled his eyes and smirked.
They gave him shit for it the entire practice. Of course they did.
But Percy didn’t bother hiding it.
If anything, he swam a little harder, a little sharper, a quiet sort of pride settling in his chest.
Because those marks?
He’d earned them.