Chapter Text
TELEMACHUS knew it was late.
The sun had left the sky hours ago and he was still sitting here, at the same desk deeply hidden inside the library where he had taken his work to after dinner. Percy had just come back after an exhausting day down by the docks, helping the sailors to tie their ships safely for the coming storm (Lady Kymopoleia had been kind enough to warn them in advance this time). So, the demigod was nearly dead on his feet when he’d stumbled into the prince’s chambers and crashed into bed literally a few seconds later.
His drooling husband had been adorable as always, and Telemachus couldn’t look away for at least five minutes even if he had tried (which he didn’t). But his duties were not yet done for the day…
To not disturb his Dearest’s rest, the prince had thus decided to move his after-dinner work on the reports of the newest export from the last harvest. The library was the perfect place for that, empty and quiet this late in the day. He couldn’t have anticipated just how tedious and time consuming the task would actually be.
But now that the candles had burned low and the shadows began to stretch, Telemachus still wasn’t quite finished with the report, his mind drifting regularly to the cozy demigod waiting for him in his bed.
Rubbing his eyes, the prince of Ithaca gently smacked his head to get the wandering thoughts back to the matter at hand. He sat the quill onto the paper again and finally began writing the conclusion, vision blurry and body heavy.
He didn’t even feel his eyes close until his head nodded forward and he jolted painfully back into the chair. A tired groan left Telemachus’ lips, as he tugged at the strand of his hair to keep his focus. (It must’ve looked like a tornado assaulted him with how often the prince had run his hands through it…he was turning into Percy.)
Desperate to finish this blasted piece of work today, Telemachus dove back into the numbers and jumbled math, trying his best to make sense of the chicken scratch littering the parchment.
He was so out of it that the steps slowly closing in went right past him, until a shadow began to fall over the smudged papers in front of him. Not having the power or dexterity to whirl around, Telemachus exhaled in relief when the gentle hand on his shoulder brought with it the faint scent of apples and salt.
“Telemachus?”, Percy’s deep voice was rough with sleep, as his fingers unconsciously began to massage the tense muscle right by the prince’s neck. “What are you doing? It’s ass o’clock in the morning…”
But Telemachus’ brain was mushy from the sudden relaxation after having his brain’s capacity exhausted by numbers all day, so his answer was just a mumbled try to explain.
The hand on his shoulder slowly wandered down the prince’s chest, as Percy leaned over the back of the chair, black hair tickling his cheek as he was engulfed in the presence of the demigod.
“Come back to bed, Love.”
Exhaling, the prince already began to shake his head, frustrated with his lack of progress and too stubborn to give up this close to the finish line. “Just a few more minutes. I’m nearly done.”, he bargained and dipped his quill back into the ink, “Go up and wait for me. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Percy hummed into his neck, lips moving gently across his skin as he said: “No. I’ll wait.”
Which was exactly what he did. Telemachus didn’t dare to shrug off the warm blanket of love and care the Percy draped over him through his own body, staying leaning over the prince. Telemachus finally found the strength to quickly write the last few paragraphs.
Not for his own sake, but because he knew how painful this position would get for Percy further down the line and he knew by now that the son of Poseidon would stay exactly like this until he finished, no matter what protests the prince (or his back) might state.
Signing in relief, Telemachus finally threw down the parchment and leaned back, but before he could reach to add the last necessary piece, he already felt his chair being turned around over the rough stone floor.
“It still needs a royal stamp of approval.”, the prince protested weakly, but he let himself be pulled up by the warm hands of his husband and into a hug that felt like heaven.
Telemachus closed his eyes, basking in the feeling of love and safety, until he felt Percy’s arm move over his shoulder. Blinking around, the demigod had reached for the blue candle burning dangerously low, tipping it over the edge of the export report, splattering wax far more carelessly than the prince would’ve.
“Percy!”, he chided, but the grumbling chest pressed against the side of his head silenced everything else. With a nimble twitch if his wrist, the demigod pulled the ring from his finger, turning it around and pressing the image of Riptide right into the wax, sealing the document.
“Done.”, the son of Poseidon mumbled into Telemachus’ hair, “A royal stamp of approval.”
The prince chuckled: “Not the right one, I’m afraid.”
It earned him a deadpanned and tired side-eye, as Percy said: “Babe, literally no one will care.” Before he scooped up the other man in a bridal carry, ignoring the shocked little shout, and walked right out of the library, not even caring to extinguish the candles.
Telemachus looked back and slapped the chest of his Dearest in reprimand: “Fire hazard!” But Percy simply twitched his head and two tendrils of water shot out of the jug on the desk, putting the light and fire out as they left the place of books and wisdom.
As Telemachus had long since learned, protesting against being carried was often in vain, and seeing as he was dead tired on his feet, the prince didn’t feel like the pain would be worth it. So, he simply leaned back and let himself be brought wherever Percy pleased.
Which turned out to be the kitchens, instead of their bedroom.
“What-“
“You haven’t eaten much at dinner.”, Percy interrupted, “Ody told me to make sure your fed and watered when I find you.”
Telemachus scoffed, but his stomach grumbled regardless: “I’m not a plant!”
“No.”, his Dearest agreed with a stare so soft it made the prince’s heart flutter, “But I like taking care of you all the same…please?”
It was such a mean thing, for the owner of his heart to look this devastatingly in love that it allowed for Telemachus’ answer to be nothing else but: “Alright.”
Watching Percy Jackson, Hero of Olympus, Slayer of too-many-foes-to-count, cook for little old him was a sight nearly as lovely as seeing him train half-naked on the edge of the ocean. Telemachus enjoyed both views immensely, but the first always made him feel so disgustingly in love that he swore no one would ever find out about it.
His Dearest was no chef, but having learned a thing or two from Sally Jackson, his meals were still the most delicious Telemachus ever had the pleasure to enjoy (maybe it was also his bias talking, but who cared?). The blue pancakes (and hadn’t the prince given up finding out where Percy got the dye years ago?) were a treat and the prince devoured them soundly, while he leaned against his demigod, eyes already halfway closing from tiredness and exhaustion.
Leaving the cleaning for the servants in the morning, both men tumbled through the hallways, smiling and chuckling right until they passed the archway through their chambers. After the door fell close, no sound could be heard, but the feeling of warmth and comfort, accompanied by the scent of roses, drifted through the palace for a few hours still…basking the palace in a love so great, it transcended time.
For all eternity.