Title: In Which Drowning Is Imminent

Description: In which drowning is imminent, whether it's by water or not. Percy/Luke, attempted suicide.

A/N: I should be working on the longer story I have planned for this couple, but no. My very being just rejects multi-chapter stories. Too bad. We get this instead.

If you want to know, this was inspired by the first stanza of a lovely poem on fictionpress called d.o.a by Susie Mango. Look it up if you have the time (or any of her writing really, brilliant stuff).

NOTE: This takes place after Luke runs off to be all evil with Kronos.

He asks Nico, one time, what the best form of suicide is.

Nico takes the question in stride, but then he is a son of Hades. He plucks at some imaginary fluff ball stuck to his pants and 'hm's thoughtfully.

"Best?" he asks. They're standing outside, in the dark. Everyone else is asleep, and the words ring in the silent night air. Percy couldn't sleep, and he supposes neither could Nico. Now though, with Nico's voice hanging heavy like death in the air, he thinks it might not be such a bad idea to go back to his cabin and curl up under the blankets for another restless night. But then he would have to think about what (or rather who) he isn't sleeping because of, so instead he stays.

"Yeah. Which way would be best? Just...in general?" Percy asks.

Nico glances at him, eyes squinted, and shrugs. "I don't know. I mean, hanging is pretty theatrical if someone's going for show, and there shouldn't be pain if it's done right, but it's completely overused in movies and stories. I'm not particularly fond of a lot of the messier ones though, or ones that could manage to hurt other people too."

Fond. He isn't particularly fond of the messier ones. Percy shivers at the words, wondering why he brought it up again. His mouth feels dry, his stomach squirming violently inside him. He misses the next few sentences that his friend goes on with, too absorbed in the nausea building in his stomach. When he manages to calm it down, he just catches, "…I guess you don't have to worry about the whole drowning thing being a Son of Poseidon and all, huh?"

"Guess not," Percy replies. A halfhearted shrug accompanies the words, and he lets his eyes slide closed.

He can hear the Son of Hades breathing slowly in and out beside him, which is ironic, as the boy is a Son of Hades. A god of death can give way to living, breathing beings.

Percy wonders if a god of the ocean could give way to a drowned boy. Not that he ever wants to really find out.

He eventually falls asleep out there, listening to the conundrum of Hades' boy breathing, and dreams of drowning in golden pools.

Later that week he creeps out of camp, unnoticed. It was strange to do at first, a terribly risky feeling, but after doing it as many times as he has it's become more of a chore than anything.

He picks his way through the woods, out to the main road, and it's waiting for him, as always. A black car, smooth and sleek, shimmers in the moonlight, reflecting its surroundings on the slick, curved sides. He sees himself, pale and misplaced in his pajama bottoms and wrinkled 'Camp Half-Blood' T-shirt, distorted against the metal, and averts his gaze to the sight.

The door to the back seat opens before he gets there, and he averts his sight away from the person inside too as he climbs in and secures the seat buckle.

As they drive off, he feels the other person's hand rest on his knee, stroking, trailing upwards here and there. The touching is kept at a minimal for the time being; more will come later, when they've arrived at their destination. The hand trails up a little too far to be proper, just for a moment, and he lets out a small whimper. He feels like…like…

A whore.

A fucking whore. Except he's not getting paid for this. He's doing this for himself, because he can't stop. It's an addiction.

He squirms in his seat, pushing away the hand and taking in a deep, shaking breath. Some sort of prayer falls from his lips, though he's never sure exactly to whom his prayers are going these days, and his head rests with a soft thud against the chilled glass of the car window.

He hears his name whispered, the tone low and questioning: "Percy?"

A shudder runs through him violently, and he has to fight to keep control of himself. "What?" he whispers back, terse.

The other person leans close to him, chest pressing against his side, and the warmth of another body permeates the space around him, a familiar scent drifting in after.

"Gods, Luke, just—" he mutters, curling into himself. Before he can finish the car stops. The engine goes silent. The driver in the front shifts uncomfortably, though Percy isn't sure why the man isn't used to this whole thing by now. He drives them every time.

For a moment, there is silence, and then the chest pressed against him pulls away, and the sound of the opposite door opening fills his ears. His own car door opens moments later. Percy picks at his seat buckle for a minute before slowly pressing his thumb into the release button and climbing out.

His legs feel shaky beneath him.

Without looking, he knows the scene in front them. Tacky neon lights flash on and off on a sign that reads: Mam's Motel. Silly, really, considering what most people go there to do. Beside that, there's a long building that trails off with about twenty slightly broken, incorrigibly filthy doors presenting entrance to the rooms inside it. There's a pool in the back too but no one ever uses it, let alone cleans it, as far as Percy can tell.

"Percy?" Luke urges beside him, fingers curling and uncurling impatiently as he waits. Percy looks up at the other boy through his eyelashes, shoulders hunched almost defensively, and nods. Without speaking, he reaches out and wraps his hand around Luke's wrist, pulling him towards the room they always have.

When they get there, he reaches into Luke's pocket and pulls out the keys, knowing just where they'll be, and pushes them into the lock. It takes a bit of effort to turn, but it gives and rotates in the hole, allowing the door to open.

Percy stops again here, and closes his eyes. This isn't worth it. He's screwing things up. Luke is the enemy.

Luke is touching him. Luke is pulling him in. Luke is closing the door behind them. "Percy…" Luke moans, fingers in his hair and lips crushed against his, and Percy moans back sweet nothings that mean everything in the world.

Gods, it's not worth it but—Gods, it is.

After they've finished, they lay intertwined, hearts beating against each other at a slow, steady rate. Thoughts are muted in the aftermath of their movement, and in this way Percy stays contented for a time, listening to their breathing even out in the silent room. "Love you…" he mumbles, and he's sure it means something, but there's no real reason to think about it when he doesn't have to.

Luke's fingers trace down his spine, across his stomach, along his sides, all comforting and all encompassing. In return to his words the blonde makes a soft noise of agreement, and then moves in closer. "We should do this more often," Luke says. Percy agrees automatically, but gradually the words work into his mind, like a slow developing disease.

He can't come more often. He can't betray his friends like this more often. He can't remember how screwed up he is any more often than he already does. He shouldn't even be with Luke in the first place. Luke: the leader of Kronos's army. Sometimes, he's not just that either.

Sometimes, Luke is Kronos. Percy can see it when the gold leaks into his eyes, pulling away Luke and leaving something else entirely. It's not there now, but he has seen it. The thought of it makes him sick.

He pulls himself away from the sweaty entanglement between them, murmuring something about needing a breath of fresh air. It's one of the worst excuses of all time, but he can't bother to think of anything better. He needs to get away.

Luke sits up partially, leaning on his elbow and watching, but doesn't move to stop him.

Percy pulls on his pants, and grabs a shirt (he thinks it's his, but doesn't want to take the time to check), then practically runs out the door, slamming it behind.

Somehow, he makes his way to the back of the motel, where the pool sits. There isn't much thought in the action, just movement for movement's sake.

The water is probably some of the filthiest he's ever seen, but it is water, and he slips himself in with a small splash, letting it surround him. The familiar action gives him a small comfort. He doesn't have to think about doing it, and thinking is something he really needs to avoid right now. If he thinks, he'll think about Luke. He'll think about how everything couldn't be any worse. He'll think about how he just wants it all to be over with.

Percy touches down at the bottom of the pool, amongst the dead leaves and dirt, scrunching his eyes closed as debris makes a small cloud around him.

He's betrayed his friends, and his mother, and his father, and himself. It's sick, and he can't do a damn thing to stop it because he's too wrapped up in it all. He's in love.

Wouldn't Aphrodite just be so pleased with herself.

Percy screams out beneath the water, then takes a deep breath back in to try and calm himself. It doesn't work.

He wishes he wasn't a son of Poseidon. Wishes that he could just drown here and have it be all over with.

He breaths in and it's just fine though. It's like air. He wills the ability to go away, like he can with others. He wills himself to choke on the water, and let it fill his lungs to where he's suffocating from it.

Another breath in, and he's gagging on filth and liquid.

His eyes come open of shock, hands flying to his throat. He tries to gasp in another breath but there's just water pouring down his throat. Kick up, kick up, he thinks. He didn't mean it—doesn't want it. The last bubbles of air in his throat are floating out of reach. If he could just get to the surface—

Two hands grab him firmly, pulling him up out of the water, and for once in his life he's glad to be away from it. He coughs violently, water spilling from his mouth and dripping down from his hair into his eyes. The hands that pulled him out are now supporting him on either side, holding him tightly. He hears his name repeated a couple times, followed by: "Are you alright?" He nods in response through the coughing, which has started to abate.

Percy turns his head to the side, seeing Luke's face, concerned and closely positioned to his own. He looks into the blue-gold eyes there, and the coughing renews itself with a vicious perseverance. The water may be gone, but he's still about to drown.