Listen I love me the stereotypical trope of big dom Percy and small sub Nico but sometimes I want a Nico who’s just a bit taller—two or three inches at most. Still lean, still dangerous, but with a little more muscle now. No longer the ghost of a boy. There’s weight to him, quiet strength in the way he moves.
And Percy adores it. He loves the way Nico’s presence fills a room, the way his hands fit against him, firm and certain. Loves when Nico tilts his head down to whisper something dark against his ear, when fingers curl into his hair and guide him into deeper kisses. Percy loses track of who’s leading, who’s following, who’s devouring who.
It’s not about dominance anymore—it’s about reciprocation. About the push and pull, the equal claim. Nico leaves marks on Percy’s neck and Percy leaves them right back. They bruise where love meets possession, and both of them smile at the sight of it later.
Because what they have isn’t gentle. It’s worship laced with hunger. It’s love that burns hot enough to scar, and neither of them would ever trade it for anything softer.