phenomenon: mutual epiphany

[ritterstand]

Lancelot is tired. The tiredness is different from the that when he was trapped in the dungeon or travelling across the skydoms with the crew of the Grandcypher. It's a tiredness that isn't borne out of physical fatigue, but rather one emerges after long nights of reading endless reams of paper and still be presentable at an audience with the King at 9AM. A job that is happily done but taxes itself on the body heavily. But it is a duty and it is a duty he will carry out well to the best of his ability.

He slumps in his chair behind the grand desk assigned to him in this stately office and sighs deeply as he pushes aside the pile of paper next to him. The recruitment was something that required a lot of his time and attention despite being able to delegate most of it. Now that the hardest part was done, it was time for the formalities of the situation to come to a head. But the letters meld into one another and he debates with himself - is it time to call it a night?

Lancelot decides against it and steels himself. Regardless of what Vane or anyone would say, he needs to continue. It's times like these that Lancelot wishes he had an ounce of Siegfried's being. He made all of this look effortless. He has to remind himself what has happened around him and the accomplishments he had borne witness to and now he must live up to them. The recruitment went well, Vane and Team Chickadee were better than he could have hoped for and it was a promising future for Feendrache.

He needs to pull his weight. He must.

Standing up, he busies himself by making another pot of coffee. He had never been one to drinking the bitter liquid but after a number of late nights requiring some mental acuity, he found himself drinking more and more of it. In fact, he's even enjoying the taste.

Blearily, he rubs his eyes as he watches the kettle boil. Hopefully nobody sees him like this, otherwise there's going to be a lot of explaining to be had.

Comments

[torchlit]

When it's all said and done, Lancelot can thank Vane for any information that's leaked to become part of Percival's knowledge. While some of the recruits had put in their thoughts and concerns once they realized their eavesdropping was not very successful on the two men without being caught almost from the very start, Vane allows them to also speak in whatever to Percival.

For all their bickering and constant back and forth, Vane and Percival are rather forward with one another and cooperative where it most counts. That included more subtle ways that were easy to be missed by those preoccupied. Perhaps it's because Vane can't think of who to bother with his dilemmas when Lancelot is the subject and locating Siegfried is like chasing shadows after sundown.

Although Percival had listened on through, he ultimately had very little to offer for advice, telling Vane (and the the knights hovering) that habits like the ones Lancelot and Siegfried developed were not worth the effort to try and alter. Disappointments and wasted energy that could be put towards other things, including supporting the stubborn captain in question, was all that waited for them as a reward.

However, it's the additional information of what occurred at the final trial during the exam for the potential knights that has him ultimately hesitate when implored for what to do in light of such before once again insisting that, while being concerned with Lancelot and whether he was ultimately putting himself into something more dangerous than realized was understandable, the worst thing they could do was run themselves down physically in a similar manner due to their concerns for their captain. Now more than ever they needed to be at their best despite the tests being over so they could pick up where necessary should shoeing fall out if line.

Percival eventually had reached his threshold for all he could reasonably stand of Vane for one sitting once the other got past his concerns and swayed back to his less mellow normal tendencies. The meeting was put to an end with the information exchanged by telling them he was going to bed because he wasn't an idiot over this such as having to wake early tomorrow; perhaps, he not so subtly suggested, the vice-captain dog and the new the knight puppies should be doing the same. No sense embarrassing themselves—they did well and now they had a responsibility to keep doing so since everyone would be waiting for the moment they slipped up to be watching extra carefully. Percival would not stand to see them let the nobility that played those games come out on top.

It seemed to do the trick. He heard them scatter to clean up and do whatever last minute necessities they had before scampering to their rooms, one eager vice-captain to see his squad squared away before following similar with himself.

... So, of course, the door Percival eventually stops at isn't his room at all. Sighing (and mentally steeling himself for a real headache), he knocks on the door.

"Lancelot, I'm coming in," he announces before reaching for the door knob and doing just that. There were absolutely zero reasons for door etiquette this late at night... and with Lancelot in general, but that's a completely different situation that had no bearing here.

[ritterstand]

There's a hint of confusion that crosses Lancelot's face as he turns to see who knocked on the office door. His eyes dart to the clock hanging on the wall. It's late. Definitely late. There's no reason why someone should be coming to visit him at this hour. Despite what he actually did in his office in the evenings, he would often give the impression that he had retired to his own quarters.

Which mean it was someone who had to know he was here. Or knew about his habits to know he would be here. Those thoughts narrowed significantly who it would be, but it didn't matter, because Lancelot's unexpected guest revealed themselves to him by announcing his arrival. He didn't even need to announce his name, Lancelot knew who it was.

"Percival!"

He turns around from the kettle and the coffee grounds to see the red haired man at the door. This was an unexpected surprise. Lancelot tries his best to mask the confusion in his face by trying to put on an air of dignity, one more suited to his station as the captain. He can already imagine the admonishing that Percival would give him. Lancelot finds himself standing straighter, trying to open his eyes more and trying to be more at attention.

Trying being the key operative word in all of this.

"Good evening. I wasn't expecting guests."

What followed should have been "at this time", but Lancelot tactically drops this bit from the sentence. He doesn't know why Percival is here, and the man's whims lead him to unexpected places. If he was here, it was Lancelot he was searching for.

[torchlit]

For better or for worse, Percival and Lancelot seem to share a mutual and uncanny ability to relay things to one another that in what conversation would take years was instead delivered in seconds by glance. That's not what's going on here, though. Lancelot is a good actor, and he can play his part convincingly to go along with his statements very well for quite a while.

However, Lancelot is only a good actor until he very suddenly isn't, anymore. He's about at that point in overworking himself, Percival hazards as a guess, although it's also quite hard not to notice when the person you view as your only equal tries to change their presentation of mood and body language so suddenly at the arrival of company. He closes the door behind him, stepping forward and holding a very critical and harsh expression as he takes in the other visually until finally stooping near the corner of Lancelot's desk closest to the entrance. Folding his arms loosely, he gives a slight smirk at the greeting given.

"I thought it would be the perfect time to drop by precisely because the chances someone else would be monopolizing your time at this hour would be pretty close to zero."

His eyes don't convey the same message his voice does; they are already pressing judgment on whatever idiocy that Lancelot has himself in currently and trying to hide from the youngest Lord of Wales.

Still, if Lancelot wants to try and hide it some more, Percival will more or less play along for the moment. "Is it a bad time? You almost look like I've caught you in the middle of something, " —that even you know is stupid to be doing.

[ritterstand]

There's something about Percival's gaze that always unsettles him. In battle, he's quite happy that more often than not it's directed towards their enemies. It's unyielding, but not cold. Even if Lancelot were to leave the room, he's pretty sure that gaze would still follow him.

The expression on his face is less surprised and more inquisitive. The lightest of frowns passes along Lancelot's face as he listens to what Percival says. He did have a point, because most of the day is preoccupied with his second in command Vane. At least he doesn't have to babysit the knight anymore and instead merely has to direct him to what he has to do now. Giving him a team to be in charge of has improved Vane's self sufficiency by leaps and bounds. Did Percival not want Vane intruding on what he had to say to Lancelot?

"No. Your instinct is right on as always, Percival."

He's not sure how long he can keep up appearances when Percival can discern things with those sharp eyes of his. But Lancelot will make an effort to look composed and together - because that's just what he does. He can feel the aches of the day wearing on him already, feeling the weight of his armour on his shoulders. But he must press on.

"Would you care for a cup of coffee? I have enough for two."

The offer is as pleasant as can be as Lancelot decidely doesn't look at Percival too long. Before Percival would even get the chance to respond, Lancelot is already busying himself finding another mug and another spoon.

[torchlit]

Correct. Percival doesn't want the family dog in the room to hear what he has to say to Lancelot.

E
V
E
R
.

Unless Vane is an actual necessary part of said conversion, that is. The subject of the conversation doesn't even matter for this very clear preference of his.

That has nothing to do with this, though.

Glancing at the clock, he is silent for several ticks before finally looking back to the white dragon captain as he rumages for spare china.

"What are you doing that is so important that you need coffee at this hour and it can't wait until the morning?" he's not saying no to the offer because he might as well take it if Lancelot insists, so it's as good as an acceptance from the youngest lord of Wales.

"Of course, you have no room to slack off in your position by any means, but it shouldn't be like this. You, Lancelot, shouldn't need extra hours just to do your job."

He doesn't say it, but he also knows he doesn't have to for the criticism to slap his friend in the face.

In fact, that he holds his tongue at all is technically progress on the 'niceness' -scale. Are you that inadequate of a fit for the position as captain that you are being ruled by paperwork?

The hopefully lesser conveyed message but far more accurate in to his actual feelings and concern over this, however, is: You're better than this. What are you doing to yourself?

[ritterstand]

I hope that Lancelot never hears Percival talk about Vane that way, because that's a one way trip to a scolding on how Percival should be nicer to everyone - especially someone who has his back like Vane.

But this has nothing to do with the current situation indeed.

Lancelot exhales as he hears Percival addressing him. It's funny about how much gets said in the unsaid portion of their conversations, especially when Percival is involved. He can be so troublesome.

"There was an incident during the recruitment process. The pilgrimage to the ancient shrine turned into an all out fight against what was once residing in the shrine previously."

What he didn't say, was that while he had trusted the Captain and Lyria to get everyone out of there, Lancelot and Vane stayed behind to deal with the skeletal dragon from the shrine. And he was of course, leading the frontal assault against the boney abominations. Which meant that he did get, quite hurt. The bone had pierced through his armour and while it was mostly repaired, the midsection still had the hallmarks of being pierced through on it.

Lancelot pours the coffee out into the two mugs. He has his mostly black with a pinch of sugar, stirring it until it's a nice soothing black-brown colour. Then he adds a heapful of sugar and a large pour of cream into Percival's coffee, turning it into a milky white drink. He's never questioned how the other knight takes his coffee but after stirring it, Percival's sweet tooth had a lot to answer for.

He walks over with both cups towards his desk, placing one of them next to Percival. Leaning back against the desk next to him, Lancelot takes a contemplative sip of his before continuing.

"Further examination of the shrine after the incident has led me to believe there are still efforts being made to destabilise Feendrache."

It's not that Lancelot is incompetent in anyway, he just doesn't know when it's time to stop and rest. He's gotten better at it.

"Thus, a report is being compiled."

Being mostly written by him while he's recovering from grievous injuries. That ends Lancelot's report on the situation, but he's clearly avoiding talking about the maelstrom of feelings that have been circulating within him ever since the incident at the shrine. He would tell Vane, but Vane was too busy being overjoyed that everyone in Team Chickadee had passed. Siegfried was a shadow in the wind and Percival was away, so he had no time to stop and process all that he felt - instead throwing himself into his own work.

He knows that his explanation was entirely insufficient for Percival's liking. But he's not going to delve into the details when Percival can draw his own, mostly right conclusions on the situation.

OK but!! actual reply next

[torchlit]

that scolding already happened in canon what kind of threat is that

[torchlit]

Percival is silent through Lancelot's report summary and, just as Lancelot assumes it's not good enough for Percival but gives him it and nothing better anyway, Percival says exactly what he knows will not help this entire situation but he's going to say it anyway.

"Hmph," he snorts in slight annoyance to the explanation before drinking from the mug given to him. If it's good or bad is anyone's guess. Percival always has a strange few exceptions to his general way about things. Never complaining about something that Lancelot's gone through the trouble of preparing tends to be one of them.

"That's your answer to me? You really believe that can't wait until morning?" better yet, you think your once co-vice captain is going to like intentional glossing over and lack of detail when having asked a specific question?

Honestly.

[ritterstand]

Lancelot takes a breath as he turns to look at Percival. He takes a sip from his mug as he observes the other man. As always, astute. But ever as always, judging. No matter what he says, he has the sneaking suspicion that Percival knows the truth about this situation. It became apparent the moment the other man said "That's your answer to me".

Was it worth keeping it away from Percival?

A frown crosses his face as he internally debates between what Lancelot the Knight Captain would do and what Lancelot the person would do. Lancelot the Knight Captain would exercise his royal authority and turf Percival out, telling him to get sleep and not be so nosy. But that's not what Lancelot the person would do, and as much as he would love to tell Percival everything - he's not entirely sure whether he'd be able to do so.

So instead he opts for another approach.

"Perhaps its better seen than said." was all Lancelot says as he sets his mug down. He steps in front of Percival and proceeds to slip out of his armour. It's a good thing that he removed his gauntlets and pauldrons earlier when he settled to work for the knight, leaving him to slip off the cuirass and backplate with relative ease to reveal the mass of bandages covering his chest, visible under the light undershirt he wore his armour.

Percival can survey the damage for himself, if he really wanted to know more.

[torchlit]

Percival only judges where judgment is due. Lancelot just has a lot of bad habits that absolutely need to be judged.

For what it's worth, Percival is patient for both Lancelot's decision and his reveal. There is a pause from the lord of flames once the white dragon captain is finished before he finally puts his own mug down in order to extend his hand out to the other man to take. Once he does, Percival will take hold of his hand and, with a quick jerk back, pull the other closer to him. There's another pause of looking the other in the eyes but not offering very much hint as to what he's thinking before he lets go of Lancelot's hand entirely and turns his attention to the bandaged areas.

"You're not doing a very good job convincing me that you have good reason to be overworking rather than resting so you can heal adequately."

His fingers brush along the bandaging (or more accurately along the fabric of the light undershirt being worn using the bandages as his areas of interest) , taking mental note of just where the injury (injuries?) lies and what could have happened if it had been worse than what it is. A dragon's claws will rip easily through what is meant to be ripped through, after all.

"You do realize you are most likely alive only because it was aiming for someone smaller and more fragile" —less stamina, less training, less armor— "than you, don't you?"

His rather judgmental expression has since faded with no longer focusing on his friend as a whole despite his words

[ritterstand]

There's a moment where Lancelot and Percival's eyes lock into each other. Lancelot's widen involuntarily because in that moment he's caught into Percival's searing gaze and he feels something inside of him stir. It's not uncomfortable, but he can't put a name to the feeling at the bottom of his stomach. It's no mere case of the butterflies, but something a lot more intense. He swallows, before the moment disappears and Percival looks at his chest rather than his face.

He's just going to try and let the flush on his face simmer down before anything else. (Not like he's doing a good job of that, mind.)

"I... would rather not be seen as..."

Lancelot stutters and doesn't finish that sentence. It's a lot more difficult to spit out what he didn't want to be seen as. Weak? But he proved his worth already. Incompetent? No, not that way. Unable to do anything? Felled by a single injury to the chest?

He reaches out to put a hand on Percival's shoulder, gripping it lightly to steady himself. He's still not able to look at Percival properly as the flush hasn't quite faded from his face. Being examined like this is something else. It's different from when the medics do it.

[torchlit]

"As what?"

Percival's voice is quieter, sincerely asking without any arrogance as it is prompted by Lancelot's touch at his shoulder. This time his fingers touch under Lancelot's chin to tilt his head up to draw that blue-eyed gaze to look at him properly. He notices the blush (how can he not, especially when it does things to him that twist in his stomach and refuse to be ignored) but neglects to take the opportunity to tease over it.

He offers a possible finish to that failed sentence.

"Human?"

[ritterstand]

Lancelot exhales, unaware of the fact that he was holding his breath in up until that very moment. He can't divert his eyes away, as much as he wants to. The scrutiny under Percival's crimson eyes was almost unbearable, like he could see through his clothing and his armour to reveal just his naked self underneath. Not just in a physical way, but in a spiritual way too. Percival could see straight through into the core of his being that he thought he kept hidden away. In fact, that was the thing that brought him to Siegfried and Vane as well. Siegfried saw the lost boy underneath all the skilled swordwork and guided his hand as much as his character. Vane saw his heart, his determination and stuck by him no matter what.

But what Percival could see... that was something deeper. A lot more penetrating. Like he grasped the core of Lancelot's being and no matter what he did to disguise it, he could always see through whatever defences Lancelot had built to himself.

"Perhaps."

His voice is quieter as he bites his lower lip.

"Lying to you is useless, isn't it?"

The swirling sensation in his stomach is almost unbearable and it threatens to overwhelm his knees if this keeps going.

[torchlit]

Percival smirks just a little. "What kind of question is that? Have I really been gone that long to you?" The answer should have been obvious before the thought even crossed his mind.

Or, at least Percival thinks it should have. There was some special connection he and Lancelot had, no doubt about it. Right this wasn't some one sided—obviously such thinking is ridiculous. If there wasn't something mutual they would have failed as partners (and as rivals) long before the betrayal.

He holds it back, that more discontent feeling that it eats away at him whenever he thinks about it. Even now, Vane's accusatory words still carry with him from what seems like a lifetime ago. (He couldn't have done anything more, Lancelot had been ensnared by that woman's greedy clutches despite Percival's attempts to keep her away from him when he had been his most vulnerable.)

He holds back the resentment he feels that he was together far longer than apart from Lancelot but that time apart seems to have far more impact on everything (and of course it's obvious as to why, but his stubbornness and frustrations keep him from accepting such and let him stew in it).

[ritterstand]

He leans in towards Percival, cautious as he does so. They're so close, but it doesn't feel like they're close enough. There's still something that needs to be crossed here. Sometimes he's so difficult to read, so embroiled in his own thoughts that Lancelot doesn't even dare try to delve in. But yet, he understands. He understands in a way that he can't put a name to.

"It feels like it."

It comes to mind, what barrier he needs to cross. If he's ever going to sate the tension in his stomach, it must be done this way. This is the only way.

Feeling a bit emboldened, Lancelot takes a breath before looking straight into Percival's eyes. He's struck by how attractive the other man is, the way his red hair framed his face, those defined features which gave him a noble look. Percival's a man who has broken a million hearts, he's sure. But he's sure of one thing - that his will never be. He presses his lips against Percival's, trembling slightly as he does so.

[torchlit]

Lancelot is just as hard to read the face of for Percival, so they are on more even ground than either of them imagine. Percival is almost about to speak up to break the silence before Lancelot does so first. If only it ended there, perhaps this could have gone a little differently. Lancelot is, however, ever one of wonder when it comes to acting as expected or taking a step outside of his normal boundaries.

It's not really as if Percival has much will to complain, either.

Of course, Percival notices the signs suggesting what might be attempted, but he's far too jaded by losing grasp of what (who) he holds dear and being expected to simply move on without them too many times. He's also far too enchanted with the beautiful color of the other man's eyes that complement his friend's ridiculously appealing boyish good looks, anyway, to try and mentally prepare for such a thing.

He begins to squint as Lancelot gets them closer to the point his eyes are practically closed when he finally feels the first hint of that trembling touch brush his lips, that soft and sweet and innocent intention behind such a gesture. In a world of blackened grand halls and corridors, of feigned laughter and friendliness all in the face of prestige—all blindly reaching desperately in hopes of catching onto something (anything, so long as it was for them), using the tactics of sex and intimacy to assist was more than fair, even expected. Yet, here Lancelot is, offering Percival a gesture that has become so tasteless to him that he goes out of his way to avoid it with his single-night affairs (since that's all they ever are).

Lancelot, though... Lancelot is the only one who it's different for.

There's not much hesitation to take that innocent press of lips against his own and make it into something more solid between them, moving to actually kiss the white dragon captain rather than having his lips physically making contact but with nothing more, moving to have a small taste of what he's coveted for so long. Already he can tell it won't be enough. He controls himself from getting to far ahead of himself trying to push for more (even though he wants to go there—really wants to, even) due to concern of coming on too strongly too soon will scare the other away. Percival wants to entice Lancelot to feel a desire for more contact rather than Percival have to thrust him into something he's too uncertain about from the start.

He may have broken hearts, but they don't matter, anyway (he should be kinder, but he's not and he feels no reason to be) . The only heart he wants is the one that beats in the chest of the one he's kissing. His own heart may never have been broken, but that would also surely be because he only has eyes for one person. Lancelot could break his heart all too easily. Maybe in a way he already has—but Percival is patient enough for this and stubborn enough to still want it even after years have gone by.

A long time ago, he walked out of the gate of Feendrache thinking, if ever there were another chance should a reunion somehow someway occur between them, he promised himself he wouldn't pass the opportunity up for anyone. He promised because if that happened, then it was something that was clearly meant to be, and the only other choice would be to ignore it and live hallowed existence. He wouldn't let it go.

So he's not.

[ritterstand]

Lancelot was nervous. He was expecting to be rebuffed by Percival, to be laughed at at him but there's an overwhelming feeling of relief as it never arrives. The other is appreciative, even. But that nervousness melts away into something burning deep inside of him, like ice near a flame.

His kisses, which first started as tentative become just a tad more strident as he finds himself leaning into Percival, hands grasping onto his chest. His fingers rest on the armour there, wondering whether he's being too greedy - too eager for the other man to do something with him.

There's something about Percival which is just different to everyone else. Maybe it's the way that he knows Lancelot almost better than he does. Maybe it's the way that he can feel the other drinking him in like he was quenching some thirst which lasted throughout the ages. It made him feel settled in a way that nobody else could do - amongst the swirl of everything happening in Feendrache, Percival still cared about here. About him. About what they believed in and what they wanted to do.

There's an ache in his body as he lets himself get consumed by Percival's lips and he just about manages to pull away so he can catch his breath, because it's all a swirl of sensations and flashes of emotion and Lancelot's insides are burning. Lancelot's face is now a deep flushed red and he forces himself to keep looking at Percival, despite wanting to turn away.

"Percival..."

His voice is a lot hoarser than he expected and he clears his throat out. He wants him. He's longed for him this entire time.

"I need you. I need you to set me right."

[torchlit]

(He does care, because Feendrache is a place he has come to love, too. However, he's come to love it through the people that he loves first and foremost.)

For just a moment, Lancelot stuns him when he says that. With those cheeks burning such a lovely color (and those eyes look just as needy as he sounds, as serious as the intent of those kisses had become with each passing second.)

Lancelot stuns Percival, but not to the point that the lord of Wales is unable or otherwise hesitant to act. Percival is careful, however, because... as much as a certain part of him would love to just take that as a 'please fuck me' and bend him over the desk to take him then and there without further thought, Percival wants something more out of all of this.

Lancelot saying anything along the lines of seeking help is rare enough , but to act and admit to things such as personal needs... It all deserves more care than Percival's normal dominant behavior dynamic he has with the other knight.

Instead, he speaks quietly between them with words said never intended for any other ears but their own. (Not the words and not the way it sounds when he says it, either.)

"Tell me how, Lancelot," he says, a gentle but earnest sincerity that he rarely shows... and with good reason. There's only one person it's ultimately meant for, and as much as their relationship over the years has been clashes of competition and rivalry, there is no doubt within his mind or his heart that Lancelot is his other half because he feels alive when he is with him.

And he wants him. He needs him. He wants every ounce of him, however. Just his body is not good enough for Percival. It never has been.

(he can't have them unless lancelot willingly gives them, however, and percival knows this well. he needs to hear that lancelot wants to be claimed, wants to be taken by his knighthood friend —and he will receive exactly what he desires.)

[ritterstand]

There's a shudder that runs along Lancelot's spine as he hears Percival whispering straight into his ear. Part of him wonders whether this is what he is like when he is intimate with other people, but then he knows the other knight all too well. There's just too much care, too much attention paid for him for Percival to be treating this with any sort of levity.

"Percival of Wales, I want you to..."

Lancelot stops himself. That felt exceedingly bold of him and he wasn't sure how to proceed with that. He was nervous, but he does opt to lean into Percival, his fingers tracing the gaps in between the other's armour as he tries to find the other's skin.

"I need you to..."

He takes a deep breath. He feels strangely uncomposed. Things took a little bit to get together.

"I want to feel something with no artifice."

It seems ironic that Lancelot is asking from this Percival, considering the other's reputation. But he never felt that Percival could lie to him that way. Lancelot needed to be honest with himself and that involved being honest with Percival, no matter how awkward it was for him to do so. He needed to remember what it was like to wish and to hope in the way that he did with Percival back then, before the world tumbled upon his head and took Lancelot with him.

His hand reaches for Percival's and grasps it, their fingers intertwining. Lancelot needed this more than he could explain.

"You can have anything you want, as long as it's me."

[torchlit]

Percival is silent initially as he considers the words spoken, but his fingers do fold once interlaced with Lancelot's without hesitation before moving to bring his lips against the back of Lancelot's hand.

"I see."

Smiling, just a little smugly, it's really nothing more than a farce with how he gently presses his forehead against Lancelot's, murmuring a finally realized response towards those bold but honest statements of his friend's. "How lucky for me, then," he begins before pressing his lips once more against Lancelot's ear, the rest of his said in more of a whisper but with a hot and heavy heat from his breath against the captain's skin. "... that you are the only thing I have ever truly wanted."

He feels Lancelot's attempts to breach his armor for something more alive to be felt underneath his fingertips. It's going to be here, then.

Percival's sincerity is like madness descending in its intensity even as he splits it between Lancelot's mouth to kiss him fully once more (his tongue pressing against the other's lips) and assisting Lancelot's hands in undoing and removing his armor pieces for an opportunity to splay fingers against bare skin.

He'll assist in undoing straps and ties, especially for his armor plating (that he will drop—almost toss, really —immediately because he has far more important things to concentrate on than where his armor is put), and proceed to lead the other's fingers correctly to the places where the leather pieces of his armor are fastened so the other can make actual progress in what he is seeking.

There is a desperation in him to see and feel Lancelot far more than vice versa, though. Which means he leaves Lancelot to the task once he feels he the currently undesirable under armor is loose enough to be left to the other while he focuses on thoroughly ravishing the white dragons captain's mouth (to start). Percival starts with teeth and tongue because kisses are what matter most now to be able to taste Lancelot and to feel him, too, even as he backs his partner against the wall behind the desk. His hands go to lift the lingering layer of cloth (besides the bandages, anyway) off of his body to finally expose the hidden flesh that he's yearned to touch without obstruction and without limit for so long. He only breaks the contact with their mouths to get the clothing fully off of Lancelot before leaning in again to bring his lips to his neck now, moving to scrape his teeth against the pulse there rather possessively.

[ritterstand]

There are a number of loud metallic clunking sounds as Lancelot works nimble fingers on shedding Percival's armour. Lancelot barely pays them any mind but a thought crosses his head on whether someone would hear them - no, what if Vane were to stumble upon this? What would he think of his two friends then?

No, he can't get caught up in those kinds of thoughts now. This really isn't a scenario he should feel guilt or shame about, yet the feeling lingers there as a distant shadow. To be addressed when it is longer, but can be ignored for now in the light of Percival's blazing intensity.

He's not particularly the jealous type but it's the kind of thought that he'd put aside for now. Lancelot surprises himself at how he wants Percival to possess him, a yearning not to be some mere vassal but rather for Percival to direct his aimlessness. Focus him.

All he wants to do is focus on Percival, focus on the fact that he's here with him and not somewhere else. Percival's tongue slips into his mouth and he eagerly meets it with his own, a sound of contentment escaping from his throat as he does so. He barely notices that he's being shoved against the wall until he feels the cold material flat against his back. They've barely started and Lancelot's already like this, allowing himself to get pressed up against the wall. There's no resistance on his part, just a nervous energy which was quickly changing into arousal.

"Perci--" Before Lancelot gets to finish, he felt the scraping of teeth against the flesh of neck and he lets out an involuntary moan as he shudders. His hands cling onto the other's back, nails lightly digging into his flesh there. A state of fervour has possessed his friend and it seems as if nothing is going to stop him. He barely catches his breath before gasping Percival's name again, after several aborted attempts.

"Is it, to your liking?"

Pushing that sentence out of his mouth was difficult than he imagined, considering that Percival's aiming straight for a sensitive part of him. (And who knew, that he actually liked that? Was this Percival marking his territory?) Even though Percival made explicit that he wanted Lancelot, there is a lingering thought that he's not enough for the other man.

[torchlit]

If only Percival knew the brief concerns going through Lancelot's mind, he could at least assure him Vane had very little reason to still be awake. How he might feel if he caught them? Can't say it's much of a thought that's crossed his mind if only because Vane is a real special sort of individual in the way he processes things—and he means that endearingly so... and not so endearingly, as well, Of course.

Really, though, he concedes that he would say or do just right about anything to get Vane out of Lancelot's thought process along with every single other person and thing. Truthfulness was relative at this stage.

Those nails are difficult to ignore, but in a good way that sends sparks through Percival's spine and splitting through his lower abdomen. The pleasure is enough for him to loosen his bite and lavish his tongue over the visible teeth marks even while still catering to the area of skin inside the markings as he considers how to answer that question.

Is what to his liking, exactly?

The way Lancelot folds like a deck of cards to his advances despite always meeting him head-on in everything else? The way his skin, hot and smooth to the touch of his fingers as he slides his hands slowly down either side of the captain 's now bare torso? Or did he mean the taste of his soft flesh beneath that pulsing of heat that practically sings to him in its rhythm beneath his clutches? Then there's the way the other sounds, especially when trying to say his name (and that just did things to him that make him want to forget everything else and simply take his friend mercilessly but he has control and he will use it until its gone). That all still didn't even begin to touch the surface of Lancelot actually responding, actually eager and desiring Percival's attention—his advances.

Pulling back his mouth just enough to speak (just enough to leave the final flick of his tongue off the wet skin as it's exposed to the dry air particularly noticeable), a soft heh leaves his lips. He could ignore his question and let him figure it out by his actions, he could tease him, even too but he's not in any mood to miscommunicate his thoughts or intents towards the other.

"You are exquisite," he admits quietly while being this close that their breaths mingle and their heartbeats can almost be heard via touch alone. And he will run him down with his words and his touch until Lancelot really can't think of anyone or anything else but him.

"However, I've barely done anything to you and already you're like this. What if I... "

Percival brings his mouth fully away from Lancelot's neck to press on new skin, testing—tasting—various points stretched over muscle and bone like at his shoulder, and the collar bone area as he continues down. Only once he's reached the chest where the flesh changes and hardens with arousal does he pause before dragging his tongue over one of Lancelot's nipples and then return back to be more precise by using the tip of his tongue to tease it. He glances up towards Lancelot as he works, admittedly quite interested in how he might react to the touch, forgiving as it may be for the moment.

... Or, perhaps he is actually going too slow if Lancelot is able to worry about such things?

tfw percy wouldn't approve of this icon choice but the idea is the same

[ritterstand]

Lancelot's relative inexperience in these fields is showing as he finds himself a great shade of cherry red in the face, the cause being somewhere between his own arousal and Percival's words. His breaths are quick and short and he looked more like he had just done some rigorous physical activity than have let Percival have his way with him.

He feels like he's being examined, like nothing will stop Percival from his exploration over his body. It was almost as if the other had wondered upon many an occasion what it would be like to touch him, to feel him and to spend his time admiring him. That in itself is a thought that sends Lancelot's head in a tailspin, because it is slowly starting to sink in that Percival wanted him and him alone. Percival, from the House of Wales - a noble from a high background who women (and men) flocked to in drove compared to some fairly ordinary boy from a no name village in the kingdom. The pulsing in between his legs becomes more difficult to ignore and he almost wants to close his legs. (He can't really though, cause there's a Percival in the way.)

Opting to wrap his legs lightly around the other's waist, Lancelot shudders as Percival's tongue finds its way to his chest. He knows that this is just a taste of what's to come later, but he can't help but already be overinundated with blissful sensations. Lancelot lets out a moan before stifling it by biting his lip. The man is almost embarrassed to admit how aroused he is, how much he really wants Percival to take him and how much there is an aching want not just in his chest but in his lower abdomen. He wants to say something, but every attempt to start a sentence doesn't seem to come out right. Some indistinct sound of pleasure leaves mouth instead and it's driving him insane.

Finally letting one hand go from digging into Percival's shoulder, Lancelot brings it to his mouth as if to prevent more sounds from leaving him. He honestly did not expect him to be this good, but he did have one flaw in underestimating what Percival could do.

he'll live

[torchlit]

Lancelot may be overwhelmed and showing his inexperience, but Percival rather likes it this way. Or, at least he likes it in Lancelot. It's not a particularly fascinating response—any woman who likes to pretend she's a pure and innocent maiden (—all the while riding every man she possibly can behind closed doors in bed should she believe they have the power and wealth to get her she wants—) does the same more or less. He's seen too much of it; all over-rehearsed to the point it's no longer attractive even to base instincts. Which is why he can tell how sincere Lancelot's reactions are to him here and now, and Percival is enticed as a result making sure to feel every movement and hear every sound to commit to memory.

Indeed, Percival is quite pleased with how Lancelot responds—not simply from an intimate standpoint but also from one of rivalry as well. Was Lancelot really so caught by surprise of what this all feels like? (... a simpler side of him wants to know if that means Lancelot has ever thought about a situation like this with him in it. Did he think even half as much about Percival as Percival did him? He shouldn't push his luck while already being presented such a chance. )

Lifting his mouth away from his friend's skin finally, he allows his hand to continue down from there until it reaches between the dragon captain's legs to carefully feel along the very obvious bulge that is most likely quite uncomfortable by now what with being so restricted by those trousers. He should take some time to assist with that, and he has every intention to reach up and undo their fastening but halts when his hand settles at the waistband.

"...Lancelot," he murmurs once he notices the other trying to quiet himself and presses his lips once more to touch him; and this time it's on one of Lancelot's deeply shaded cheeks as an innocent kiss as he finds himself overall amused by the situation, even as he gently reaches to place his hand over his friend's. Letting his words drift to the ear rather than speaking them directly against it, Percival hovers around the area between his cheek and ear pressing innocent brief kisses randomly as his breath ghosts along lovely pale skin. It's a silent attempt to give Lancelot a moment's chance in order to try and calm himself ( a little ) rather than being so bombarded by the entire experience. Too much of a good thing can become painful in the wrong sort of way if allowed to go too uncontrolled for too long.

"Don't hide your voice, I want to hear you." His fingers curl to grip the other's hand and carefully ( but firmly, if necessary ) pull Lancelot's hand from his mouth ( and this time he is the one to initiate lacing their fingers together ) before pinning it back against the wall just above their heads. He runs his tongue lightly against Lancelot's jaw bone and then also just beneath it before stopping finally pressed up against his now free mouth. It's not a kiss, not yet, just an affectionate touch—a whisper of lips that mimic the volume of his voice. "No one else is going to hear you... yet, if you really must insist on continuing to try to suppress it... then do so using me, instead."

Kiss him, bite him; do whatever Lancelot feels he needs to do if he can't freely give Percival what he wants and has asked for—if he really must hide such proof that he's enjoying it.

Percival rather likes hearing what his partners sound like as a result of him touching them, but that too, can have its limits when it's done with some random tryst. Not with this one, however. Already he is quite sure he will never hear enough of it from him.

Then again, he's already sure now more than ever he will never be able to get enough of this man—all Percival has left to do now is get Lancelot to feel the same for him.

[ritterstand]

When Percival gives him that respite to breathe, Lancelot can hardly believe how considerate Percival was at this moment. He had always imagined that Percival would be the type to just take everything at full throttle, because there was a kind of appealing selfishness that Percival had that Lancelot always wondered about. He would never admit it but occasionally he did find himself idly thinking about how it would go with his friend, pushing the boundary between friend and something more --

And here's his chance now. The boundaries between what he considered Percival are considerably blurred at this point as he feel the other's lips on his skin - tasting him, feeling every part of him that's available to touch. And this is beyond what he had imagined happening. If Percival was concerned with committing everything to memory, Lancelot was concerned with letting this entire world of sensations opening themselves up to him.

"I, my apologies Percival." murmurs Lancelot against Percival's lips weakly as he doesn't resist the other in the slightest. "I won't hide it."

There was something irrevocably tempting about this scenario. It was something straight out of a tawdry romance novel but Percival was the type of character who would be the love interest in those kinds of novels. Never in a million years did Lancelot think he was going to be the subject of his affections, or rather he didn't dare to let himself think that. The inexperienced protege and the sower of temptations leading him...

Lancelot turns his head and with his free hand, turns the other's cheek so that they were facing each other once again. Trying not to let his nervousness show, he dives in again for a kiss this time as opposed to those light interludes - something with fervor and a lot more tongue.

[torchlit]

Lancelot isn't wrong about that selfishness, and he certainly could use it (and does) on others, but again... it's different. It's different because they aren't hormonal teenagers, anymore, possibly looking for a thrill in the moment, looking to satiate a curiosity rather than so much as act on a very real longing that he has had for quite some time. It's different because Lancelot isn't some noble looking to Percival as an object or opportunity to increase their influence rather than a human being. It's different because it's Lancelot.

That apology is... so innocent in its sincerity, so much that he is tempted to actually assure the other that it is not really something so serious. He doesn't, however, merely letting the smallest smile grace his lips, instead. It's cute.

He is caught off guard with Lancelot's decision to make such a move when it happens, though. Not only is it bold to initiate but the intimate use of tongue and the passion behind it... well, he supposes that he felt, despite Lancelot's words of wants and needs, that he wouldn't have the courage to do anything but take what was offered to him.

In no way is this a poor surprise—but it's still a surprise nevertheless. Percival finds himself perhaps even the smallest bit impressed by his longtime friend and rival's agency. The initial hitch of his breath that he had been absentmindedly holding as a result of Lancelot's boldness is released in an amused sigh. His eyes that had widened in his state of shock narrow until they are shut closed even as he leans in a bit to press into the open-mouthed kiss, running his tongue along one so boldly trespassing in his mouth instead of the other way around.

He... could easily get used to the idea of this type of behavior from Lancelot (as if it's going to happen again, he's getting far too ahead of himself. He's not sure what exactly it is that triggered Lancelot's lust so suddenly here nevermind know what the other is actually feeling being physical signs) . For now, he'll leave such complicating possibilities for later.

Indulging in what—who—he has in this moment is all that matters.

Stepping back, Percival pulls Lancelot away from the wall by the waist, continuing to leading with his back until he feels the three seat of the captain's chair up against the back of his legs. Only now does he (reluctantly) pull away from the other man's lips (and subconsciously lick at his own to steal and savor as much of Lancelot's taste that lingers there as he can even though they've delayed momentarily) he lowers himself to sit. Not once does he take his eyes off of his knighthood friend, keeping one arm firmly around his waist to have him as close to Percival as he can be without getting onto his lap.

The way he looks up at him, however, is a silent beckoning for Lancelot to do just that.

[ritterstand]

There are things that Lancelot wants despite his relative inexperience in these matters. Currently they all circle around Percival. He felt lost when the other knight left Feendrache and Lancelot knew that he would have to work doubly as hard to catch up to the other knight's brilliance. He knew that if he wanted to look Percival in the eye without any doubt in them, he needed to learn beyond what Feendrache offered him. In a way, he had a certain captain to thank for that...

The way that Percival was breathing in sync with him, their hearts beating to a similar frenzied rhythm as they stumbled upon the room - not really caring about what they knocked over in the process. He could hear something clattering onto the floor but he doesn't care, not when he could just keep kissing Percival as if his life depended on it.

He settles onto Percival's lap clumsily, his knees resting on the chair while he shifts his weight on to the other man's hips and Lancelot is keenly aware of how erect he actually is. Shifting his sitting position again, he moans as he finds himself enjoying the friction he got from the contact between their bodies.

Exhaling, Lancelot wraps his arms around Percival's neck and leans in, his forehead pressed against the Lord of Flames so that he could see those burning eyes and feel ensconced in them.

"I've never... done this in anywhere besides a bed." admits Lancelot bashfully in a low whisper.

[torchlit]

The immediate response to such a enticing enticing sound escaping Lancelot is to use his hands settled firmly on such delightfully defined hips to pull the other even closer. Ultimately, one of Percival's hands moves, away from just clutching at bone structure underneath skin but wrapping around the knight captain until he can run his fingers and palm across the man's ass to press them flush against one another and make that friction stronger between them in Lancelot's movements. Percival wants to feel it (get a real taste of what Lancelot is so sensitive to), too and he is intrigued by Lancelot's shy admittance. On the outside, it manifests itself as a familiar smirk, and he speaks quietly. "Heh, you never were so adventurous for such a bold thing, so that's unsurprising," he mocks even as one hand begins prying to undo that clasps at the other's waist, letting his fingers initially glide over the obvious bulge that's being sported by the other man.

Truthfully, if he had it his way, this also would unfold in the bedroom—his own specifically because for all his numerous little flings he had never once bedded any of them in his room. Not in Wales, not in Feendrache, and certainly not on the Grand Cypher, either. He doesn't know if someone or even someones has already slept with Lancelot in the other's or not, and he won't take that chance of any potential for memories thinking about doing it with others randomly getting thrown into their thoughts because the mind can be a funny thing without any sense to it whatsoever.

(Lancelot is his now. For the moment, for the night, and much longer if he is allowed.)

"Do you prefer a bed, Lancelot?" he asks once he's tilted his head enough that he can keep contact at their foreheads while easily still ghosting his lips and leaving his words across his rival's own. "I would be more than delighted to do it with you on a bed and give you an experience there unknown to you, regardless of matter how many others you've been with."

He's well confident in his sexual prowess (and not without reason, but still).

"Think about it, I'll ask you again after I've claimed you here." His and no one else's, ( and that includes Lancelot belonging to Feendrache, as well ) .

"More dire is my question for you: how do you want it? Shall I take you on the desk or would you rather go for a ride? "

... Not that it really matters, he is going to have many more opportunities to passionately make love to the other every possible way if he is ultimately successful. He just needs to be patient for now... Even if he doesn't want to be, even if he wants to thrust into the other so intensely without end that it overwhelms Lancelot's awareness of reality—until he forgets who he even is because the ecstacy felt is the only thing his entire existence can focus on— that and begging for more.

[ritterstand]

There's a small exhalation of breath as Lancelot shudders against Percival's touch ghosting over his still clothed yet hard member and he tries to move his hips upwards to get more of that contact. A small gutteral groan of aching for something beyond him. The fact that Percival is offering it to him is a tantalising prospect and he can feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He moves his arms from around Percival's neck to have his hands rest on the other man's chest, clinging on to the shirt there with a grasp of his fingers. Lancelot doesn't quite believe he's here, in this position and yet here he was, Percival's desire for him laid bare right in front of him.

If it were possible for Lancelot to flush deeper at what was being said, he just did there. He doesn't offer a response, merely looking extremely flustered at the thought that the other man was going to show him an even better time than what he's going to offer him now. It also meant that Percival wanted to do this again, that this wasn't just some impulse of the moment and for that his heart beat just a tad faster. Percival was deadly serious in wanting him this way and... well, that was a lot to take on especially his feelings towards the other man (of which there were numerous and plenty, ranging from the mundane to the complex.)

"I want to see you." murmurs Lancelot as he gently sticks his tongue out and gives Percival's lips a gentle lick with them. He could get used to this; the way that Percival seems to want him. He's perfectly happy to be claimed in this manner and he can feel his inhibitions coming undone slowly. If Percival was going to guide him through them, then who was he to refuse?

He's allowing himself to be more honest about his thoughts here as he slowly rolls his hips against the other, noting a certain bulge pressed up hard against him. "To be wanted by you in this way is thrilling."

[torchlit]

Lancelot is playing with fire acting like that, taking an initiative and displaying such forwardness... but to hell if Percival doesn't like it.

With Lancelot rolling his hips like that against him Percival is immediately using his arm wrapping around to grope the others ass as a means to grind them both together even more than initially allowed by Lancelot's actions alone.

He'll return the affection given by Lancelot's tongue with his own, tempting the other man to come closer and stay there even as his hands now slide to grip at Lancelot's waist and slowly move in to begin undoing the buttons and ties keeping the others trousers up and in the way.

(Of course, he'll get to his own cock-freeing, this just has to come first because he needs to get that obstructive clothing removed to fuck him at all unless he's content with just fingering Lancelot into climax.

Spoilers, he's certainly not.)

He lifts and pulls and guides Lancelot to work with him to remove the garment easily as he distracts the other with full kisses and his tongue and teeth work diligently to prevent the white dragon captain from letting his thoughts wander too far, if at all—by the end of this Lancelot is going to only be able to crave for more, beg for one cock only.

Percival guarantees it—he's never going to let it end until it is reality.

[ritterstand]

He doesn't get a moment to think too hard about what's happening, because Percival is being very good at what he does. Lancelot can barely get a breath out in between Percival working swiftly to disrobe him and his mouth working it's magic on him. Letting his trousers and underwear fall off and pool around his ankles, he settles back on Percival's lap and Lancelot's hands wander to find skin on skin contact - nimbly working on undoing the other man's trousers too.

The thought does cross his mind about how indecent this whole situation is, how this is the kind of situation he only envisioned in idle thoughts that never really went anywhere - only disappearing into the aether as soon as they popped into his head. He was too busy, too dedicated to Feendrache to take care of himself in this manner - which meant that he let it build up and threaten to overwhelm him. He's glad that Percival was able to... indulge him, to say the least. He won't let Percival not be preoccupied by him as he kissed back with all the fervour he could muster.

Finally, Lancelot manages to pull away - breathing heavily as he can barely hold himself back despite every thought in his head telling him to slow down and not get too ahead of himself.

"Percival..." he murmurs. "Fuck me."

Lancelot pulls back from Percival to rest on his ass, stealthily kicking his bottoms away as best as he could despite the swollen erection between his legs. He lifts his legs up, keenly aware that Percival is watching him and his every move. Without much further ado, he reaches down in between his legs to spread himself wide, as much as he could for Percival in this position.

"Please." he continues, face flushed at how much of himself he's putting on show.

[torchlit]

Percival is watching very closely every detail with focused precision and his eyes are wide but not with shock. It's a rather predatory look of barely there restraint as he takes in the situation before him, silently warning Lancelot that he's treading into unsafe waters.

And, oh, how very much Lancelot isn't helping him obtain any success in his restraint with such a performance. It takes all he can muster to not grab Lancelot and slam him down on his dick right then and there. With only slight movement as to not lose control he brings one hand to stroke his own erection to placate it (—as little good it does with Lancelot offering up his ass and even using his own fingers to open himself in desperate invitation—) just a little longer. While his other hand moves towards Lancelot, shoving two fingers into Lancelot's presented ass, the lord of Wales leans in just enough to make sure he's heard as an amused hiss escapes him.

"Well, well... so even the captain of the order with all his by-the-book rules can be a slut for cock, who knew," he observes, there just the slightest hint of excitement in his tone, that sort of sharp-edged anticipation not quite so different than his on his expression, electrifying throughout his body.

He had planned to do this all gradually, and while in the chair but something about that filthy little display and that position Lancelot takes on... well, he changes his mind. Lancelot only has himself to blame for any discomfort once he is thrust into for the first time tonight. He doesn't want Lancelot in his lap on even level with him anymore, he wants his rival beneath him and writhing uncontrollably just like the sounds he'll make.

That's how Lancelot ends up laid out on his own desk and Percival above, being sure to press his hands firmly on either side of his rival and cage him. (... Or at least, both hands will cage him after he takes enough time to finger fuck the other a few times, alternating to spreading his two fingers in a scissoring motion and moving back into that ass again; after he's removed his now damp fingers and lets his hand wander back gather up more precum from his own dick before bringing it back to offer out his fingers covered in liquid sex up to Lancelot's lips—)

"What else do you have to show me, Lancelot? What kind of face are you willing to make for it?" He's well aware of how shy the other was in general over this sort of thing and the embarrassed feeling of being so lewd, but Percival wants to see more of that. It may embarrass the other, but Percival already can't get enough of it. "Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you." As he speaks, he shifts back (only a little, though) to reach for his own erection again, this time guiding it to press up against the other's opening.

"Tell me you only want me, that you're mine." (Percival wants affirmation this is real, that Lancelot isn't playing him simply to get off with a one night stand. Percival wants Lancelot very aware of the exact same thing, he wants any lingering doubts gone from the both of them.)" Tell me."

He wants to see exactly how desperate Lancelot really is to be asking to be fucked raw.

Make no mistakes, though. He will give exactly what Lancelot wants.

[ritterstand]

At first he's worried that he may have done something to turn Percival off him, but that couldn't be anything further from the truth. That much became quickly obvious when he feels Percival staring at him with an unwavering intensity that would make most people wilt away. Not Lancelot though. He's seen that look, variations of it throughout the years. Usually though, it was the same look that he saw when he saw Percival across him on the battlefield, eyes fixed on him with a look that burned with the acknowledgement that Lancelot was his rival and the only one who could match him. But now... now this was something else.

He can't help but squirm when he feels those fingers going inside of him, opening him up and Lancelot moans, unabashedly at how he wants more than those slender digits inside of him. Not helping his case particularly when he's called a slut and locked in between Percival's arms. All he can see is Percival, all he can sense is the other man and it's almost suffocating. But if anything, Lancelot wants more. He'd take all of Percival's dick straight into his ass, because he's aching and he's wracked with the need to just not be in his head.

With lidded eyes, he keeps his eyes on Percival's as he opens his mouth and lets his tongue dart out to lick those proffered fingers. At first it's a flick of his tongue, licking the stringy liquid on there with a barely there touch. But he takes more of the tip of that finger into his mouth, sucking on it gently and sensuously. He wants Percival to know he's serious, he's here to be taken by him. And he'll use any means necessary to convince him of that fact.

"I'm --" begins Lancelot, pressing himself up against Percival's body with his own, wanting to feel more of that warmth. "I'm yours. I need you now... and later. And for the foreseeable future."

It wasn't a bad thing to admit, that he wanted to be possessed in this way. He was so used to being in control, in keeping everything in order than Percival was a welcome conflagration of emotions and feelings that was beyond reason. And he'd indulge and that over and over again if he could. Even though Feendrache has his soul and mind, Percival probably has his heart (and his body) at this point.

[torchlit]

It's a good enough answer, he supposes. There are a lot of loopholes and other such things but considering it's Lancelot the potential of it being used in that kind of way in the aftermath is next-to-zero.

Of course, he doesn't expect too much currently, either, because there's been no establishment of what... ever this is that is furiously unraveling between them. Perhaps it's nothing new, perhaps it's merely been there all along waiting for the right circumstances to make itself known. Something about it seems sincere enough, too, even without the words directly said. Even if Percival only voices the more debased variants of sex rather than anything that sounds like it could carry feelings along with it, it's not particularly hard to tell there are feelings behind lust driving his actions.

For all the lewdness, the double verbal consent to this satisfies Percival in giving Lancelot a chance to correct his mistake before it went too far, should he have considered this interaction such.

Pulling his hand from Lancelot's mouth, he moves to gently brush the pad of his thumb against Lancelot's cheek lovingly before moving away as he brings his hand to grip on one thigh of the other man's. He makes sure that his partner is properly lifted and angled enough before Percival moves to actually push himself inside.

It's certainly a strange sensation even if Percival has done this countless times before (and will continue to do so... although, he finds himself vaguely hoping that he 'll be continuing specially with the man beneath him rather than any others). Lancelot is tight enough that it makes getting past the natural rejection from his body more of an effort than wishful thinking would like.

Its fine to Percival, however, so long as Lancelot can bare it. Because while that squeezing muscle around his dick is not exactly what he would call the ideal pressure for extracting pleasure, it's quite tantalizing in what it suggests to come. Percival grimaces slightly as he pushes steadily forward while in a slow manner—despite Lancelot's impatience (his very own impatience, even)—as well as works to be steady and quick as possible with care. He has no interest in hurting Lancelot by slamming right into him, nor does he (either of them, to be honest) have the patience to take forever and inch along progress while drawing out the pain.

Leaning down, he presses his lips to Lancelot's, murmuring between kisses words of affection and encouragement, letting him know how good he feels to be inside of, that he'll make sure it'll feel just as good for the other as soon as possible at each sound or flinch in discomfort from the other. He caters and soothes and comforts, offering a multitude of distractions to ease the pain (because Lancelot is no better off with that inevitable unpleasantness no matter how badly he wants dick all the way inside him.

The only halt in movement is once Percival is fully inside Lancelot without the possibility of even an inch further left to take advantage of. A puffed sigh escapes him before leaning in once more to nip affectionately at the underside of Lancelot's jaw. And he waits a moment, taking the time to focus on his lover and be particularly mindful of the other man. He wants him adjusted to this as best as possible, so it feels less like something to endure until it feels more like pleasure than not rather than force him through the process to the 'good part' . If he was going to do the latter, then he would have skipped quite a few actions taken to arrive to this point already.

"Tell me when you're ready for more," he whispers before returning to letting his tongue and lips explore skin in slow sensual actions meant to distract and please. That includes dragging one hand down Lancelot's side and draw inwards to finally to brush along the length of the other man's exposed erection.

[ritterstand]

Lancelot is impatient if only because his body is absolutely craving it. He absolutely wants it more than anything else right now, to feel Percival inside of him and making a mess of him. All Lancelot can think about right now is how good it'll feel soon, how much he's enjoying Percival hovering above him and blurring out everything else at this moment in time.

But what he's not enjoying is Percival taking his sweet time with him. Before Lancelot can really protest anything, he lets out a yelp of surprise from feeling Percival's dick slide into him. Sure the process is long and harder than it needs to be (just like Percival's dick at this point in time) but Lancelot is willing to bear through the unpleasant part because he knows that beyond that short duration of pain. (Hopefully it is short, otherwise Percival is going to have a lot to answer for on his supposed sexual prowess.)

Lancelot's squirming at how full he feels, unable to form proper words as he finds himself completely distracted by Percival's little actions - small mewls of pleasure as he finds himself looking up hopefully with a barely focused gaze as he tried to relax his entire body as much as he could. But it was difficult, really difficult with how much he just wanted to squeeze around Percival's cock and make the other man unable to control himself. As much as he enjoys Percival being domineering and overpowering, Lancelot wants to see Percival completely lose it. And if he's the one to do it, so much the better.

His fingers dig into the table below him, suddenly acutely aware of how Percival was fully in him. Lancelot's eyes come back into focus, just a tiny bit as he lets out a long exhalation of breath and shivered, enjoying that deeply satisfying sensation of being filled and those fingers brushing over his swollen erection.

"Nngh." is all Lancelot manages as he moves his hips up against Percival's cock, showing that he just wants to be taken right now. "Percival, I want you to move..." Consequences be damned if this hurts afterwards, he's already this far into it and all he wants to feel is to be consumed by Percival entirely.