Page 41 of Speak in Fever
"Do you want to talk about this, or do you want me to blow you?" Rath asks, raising an eyebrow with forced bravado, but the deflection doesn't have quite the same effect when it's easy for Percy to feel the tension running through his body, the way he's holding himself carefully still.
Despite everything, Percy's not a robot, and he swallows hard around the mental image of Rath on his knees in front of the couch, kneeling between Percy's thighs with his mouth hot and eager.
His dick gives an interested twitch in his pants, and for a moment he's tempted to let the distraction work, to lose himself in physical pleasure instead of pushing for emotional honesty.
But the reminder that this is important hangs heavy between them, JP's words echoing in his head about Rath needing to know where he stands.
Percy doesn't want to fuck this up. For once in his life, he wants a relationship to work out, wants to do right by someone who matters to him.
And if it's going to work, they're going to have to be honest with each other. There's no way around it.
"How long?" he asks again, his voice gentle but implacable.
Rath holds his gaze for another moment, then seems to deflate all at once. He leans forward, resting his forehead against Percy's shoulder, and groans in defeat. Even with his head buried in Percy's neck, Percy can tell he's turning red with embarrassment.
"Since rookie year," Rath murmurs into Percy's throat, the words barely audible, and Percy almost chokes on his own tongue.
"Rookie year?!" Percy jerks back, dislodging Rath from his hiding spot, and his suspicions about Rath's blushing face are confirmed. The younger man looks mortified, his cheeks flushed red and his eyes fixed firmly on Percy's collarbone rather than meeting his gaze. "Rath, rookie year?"
Rookie year. Two years ago. Rath has had feelings for him for two fucking years.
The revelation hits Percy like a body check he didn't see coming. Two years of working together, of arguing and pushing each other's buttons and building the foundation of whatever this is between them, and Rath has been carrying this attraction the entire time.
Rath sighs and gently pushes Percy's hands off his hips, moving to the other end of the couch with obvious reluctance. The distance feels like a loss, but Percy can see that Rath needs the space to have this conversation without the distraction of physical contact.
"You fought me about everything," Percy says, trying to reason this out, trying to reconcile the Rath who'd challenged his authority at every turn with the Rath who'd apparently been harboring a crush. "I thought you hated me."
"I was nineteen and thought I knew everything," Rath says with a self-deprecating shrug, like it's something he's come to terms with through hard-won experience. "But I liked the way you put me in my place."
Percy makes a strangled sound that might have been a laugh or might have been something else entirely.
Rath gives him a withering look that's undermined by the lingering flush in his cheeks. "Don't make it weird, Percy."
But it is weird, or at least surprising in ways that Percy is still processing.
Rookie year means Rath has had feelings for him for two years—longer than any relationship Percy has ever been in, longer than he's maintained interest in anyone else.
That seems significant in ways Percy doesn't fully understand yet.
The timeline also explains so much about their dynamic, the push and pull that's characterized their working relationship from the beginning.
If Rath has been attracted to Percy this whole time, then all those arguments, all that challenging behavior, takes on a different meaning.
It wasn't just professional disagreement or youthful arrogance—it was complicated by personal feelings that Rath couldn't express directly.
"This doesn't have to be an issue," Rath says quietly, and Percy can hear the careful control in his voice, like he's trying very hard to sound casual about something that clearly isn't casual for him.
"Yes, I've had a thing for you for an embarrassing amount of time.
Don't let it make you feel like... pressured or whatever. This doesn't have to be complicated."
The words are clearly meant to be reassuring, but they have the opposite effect.
Percy can hear the resignation underneath Rath's attempted nonchalance, the way he's already protecting himself from potential rejection.
It makes Percy's chest tight with something that might be panic or might be the opposite of panic.
Because the truth is, Percy wants it to be complicated.
He wants this to matter, wants it to mean something beyond physical attraction and convenient timing.
The knowledge that Rath has been carrying these feelings for years doesn't feel like pressure—it feels like proof that this thing between them is real, that it has foundations deeper than either of them has acknowledged.
He knows it's not his place to ask, that pushing for more information might be crossing a line, but the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them: "Do you want it to be complicated?"
Rath's jaw clenches, his expression shuttering again in that way that means Percy has hit too close to something vulnerable. Percy immediately wants to take the question back, to apologize for pushing when Rath has already given him more honesty than he had any right to expect.
"I'm not planning on hooking up with anyone else," Percy says quickly, backpedaling like he's trying to avoid a penalty. "If you want to keep doing this."
Some of the strain in Rath's face softens at the assurance, and Percy realizes that uncertainty about exclusivity might have been part of what was making him tense.
Of course Rath would be worried about that—he's young, relatively inexperienced with relationships, and Percy has a reputation for keeping things casual.
"Do you want to keep doing this?" Rath asks, and there's something carefully neutral about the question that suggests he's prepared for either answer.
Instead of responding with words, Percy holds out his hand and keeps it extended until Rath finally takes it. The contact is simple—just their palms pressed together, fingers intertwining—but it feels significant in ways that more dramatic gestures might not.
Percy guides Rath back onto his lap gently, giving him every opportunity to resist if he wants to maintain distance. But Rath comes willingly, settling against Percy with a soft sigh that suggests relief more than anything else.
Percy cradles Rath's face in both hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones in a gesture that's more tender than sexual. "I want to keep doing this," he says simply, and watches something fragile and hopeful bloom in Rath's expression.