As weeks roll into a month, and a month into two, Essek's laboratory comes together. He spends much of his time there, naturally, putting things in order and arranging them as he likes, shelves, furniture, and arcane equipment alike. Percival checks in at times, and Essek is happy--eager, even--to show him each new instrument as it arrives, to explain its function and offer a practical demonstration of his specific use for it.
They've gotten on very well these last couple months. It's impossible not to notice. Essek is introduced formally, and they spend a lot of time together between Essek's newly minted position on the council and beginning to share duties in the management of the castle itself.
But even outside of duty, the leisure time they spend in each other's company has increased exponentially from their previous nightly dinner meetings. They share space in the library often, both companionably quiet and reading or occasionally chatting about whatever topic strikes their fancy. Essek visits Percival's workshop for the first time, and then several times after, intrigued and impressed by his inventions. He even begins, entirely for his husband's benefit, to take riding lessons. He's hilariously bad at it, but at least it's amusing for Percy. They share interests and stories and bits of culture back and forth. Essek learns more about Whitestone and the de Rolo lineage, and Percy becomes privy to more information about the intricacies of the Kryn Dynasty and Xhorhas in general than any other human who hasn't seen it first-hand. Sometimes, after they've passed the morning or afternoon doing one or more of these things, Percival will walk Essek to his chambers in the afternoon just to tell him good night before he trances through the brightest hours of the day. Essek finds it very sweet, and has lately begun to do the same in reverse.
It's strange, but Essek could swear that Percival grows more handsome by the day.
Essek is arranging his personal library in his tower today, perched on the tallest rung of a ladder twenty feet tall and lifting each book individually from a trunk on the floor with magic, floating them up into his waiting hands to be placed where they belong on this topmost shelf. His cloak is tossed over the chair at his desk below, leaving him in the dark, well-tailored Xhorhassian-style clothes he typically wears beneath, fitted breeches and a tunic with a high collar and subtle geometric print.
The knock on the door comes as he's suspending a book midair. It doesn't so much as waver on its way up to his open palm. He and gravity have been good friends for a long time now.
"Enter!" He calls, pitching his voice to carry down the distance to the door. He knows already that was not a servant's knock, and he feels himself smile already in anticipation. It's certainly a little silly, getting excited to see someone he sees every day--the man he is already married to, no less. But he allows himself that slight giddiness with the excuse that it is better to be happy to see one's spouse than not.
The more time they spend together, the more he sees of Essek. Though the wizard can still be subtle in his expression, Percival is privy to smiles, to intelligent conversation and gentle debate, and more information about the Kryn Dynasty than he could ever have hoped to have without living there. Perhaps even then.
And he finds himself genuinely interested - and enthused - as Essek builds his workshop to his liking. Percy is fascinated by the tools of his trade, by what Essek can potentially do with them. It gives him a quiet thrill that his husband has taken to his position on the council with such interest. The others have been somewhat slow to come around, uncertain given how foreign the drow man is, but they have come around, one by one. As Essek proves himself serious in his role, the others have given him more leeway.
He finds himself in Essek's tower again. And Percy realizes, as he steps through the door, that he's here for no particular reason. He'd been walking, wondering, and his feet carried him here. He closes the door after himself and he smiles when he sees Essek on the ladder, a book floating to him. And, perhaps for a moment, Percival allows himself to admire this man he's married. The cut and style of the clothes Essek wears are flattering, and it always feels like something of a treat to catch his husband without his cloak obscuring him.
"How goes it?" he asks, absently taking a book from the trunk, curious about the volumes Essek has been bringing in. He gets reports about the money spent, but he has no reason to curtail the wizard's project. Nor does he feel the need to oversee it too closely.
He looks up at Essek again with a rather fond look.
"Try this one," Essek calls, and quirks a finger to lift the book Percy is currently examining out of his hands and replace it with another, which floats up to him from the box at his feet: On Dunamis and the Magnification of Gravity. Essek grabs the discarded book from the air and shelves it. "Part of my personal collection from home," he purrs--or near enough to it from twenty feet above. "You may find the concepts intriguing."
Rather than climbing down, Essek simply steps off the top of the ladder and drifts in a slow, leisurely drop. It brings him within a pace of Percival, the tips of his toes just barely brushing the floor.
"And as you can see, I have made a great deal of progress."
A sweeping gesture around them indicates a functional wizard's workroom. Mid-morning sunlight would normally be streaming in through the tall windows, but Essek's enchantment has cast them in perpetual night, much like the skies above Rosohna. Stars twinkle there in accurate alignment with the constellations above Whitestone at this time of year. Cool-toned mage lights drift in place of torch sconces around the room, and Essek's desk, a sturdy thing of striking red Vermaloc wood--quite literally a piece of home--is already covered in the work he has begun over the last month. The shelves are lined with books and arranged with strange and beautiful arcane objects, a cabinet on one wall holds a plethora of components, and a basic magic circle, a starting point for most spells, has been carved into the very stone of the floor. Essek has made the space his own both functionally and aesthetically.
"What do you think?" he asks. "A suitable use for a spare tower?"
Without issue, Percy lets one book go in favor of taking the other. He flips it open, skimming the first few pages curiously. He almost doesn't hear Essek as he continues, already sinking into what he's been offered. It takes Essek dismounting the ladder with spectacular effect to draw his attention back. He keeps the book open, fingers lightly on the page where he'd left off.
"I think it suits you," he says with a soft look. He looks up toward the windows, a bit thrown by the perfect rendition of Whitestone's night sky when he knows there is daylight. Still, the stars are familiar and he cannot help but smile. Everything about this tower is so different than his own workspace, and yet... it isn't. Percy has components and tools and all manner of things that he needs there. They just look different.
His gaze drifts to the desk, the rich wood that is almost foreign to him. He's never seen a whole piece of furniture made with it.
"And I am glad to see the tower getting use. It would be a shame to leave the space empty when it can serve a purpose." Percy wanders closer to the magic circle carved into the floor, mostly curious. He's seen things like it before, though he rarely took the time to actually look at them. Then he looks at Essek again.
Essek taps the edge of the book in Percy's hand with a single finger, a satisfied smirk curling across his lips. "Once you get past the forward you will need me to cast Comprehend Languages on you. Most of it is in Undercommon."
He drifts to the desk, where he settles himself in a perch on the edge of it, one leg folding elegantly over the other.
"Honestly, this was the most difficult acquisition. But I had to have it. The Vermaloc borders Rosohna, so homes and furniture are traditionally made with this wood. For my own space, it was...important."
Observing his husband's curiosity about the circle, Essek offers, "I will demonstrate that for you when I next have use for it, if you like. It is useful for casting and crafting spells that require a physical representation of the arcane diagram."
Percival had been partway through planning the journey to Emon when, one night at dinner, Essek suggested that they teleport. It took him a moment to realize that yes, of course Essek could teleport. He was an accomplished wizard and that seems like a trick that, in his experience, they tend to learn as soon as they can manage.
There is a compromise to be made, though: Percival isn't actually sure that he will be able to get someone to pass along the sigils of a teleportation circle in the palace of the sovereign, and he isn't sure that Allura would allow them to just teleport into her tower, either. So he suggests they travel to Emon without the assistance of magic.
And, if Essek would like, the two of them can teleport back to Whitestone rather than taking the long way.
It means a week on the road, but it isn't a hard week. Percy isn't traveling as part of Vox Machina, he's traveling as the lord of Whitestone, and is far more willing to spend money on comfort along the way. Besides, the journey gives him time to fill Essek in on some of the people they might be meeting, including the members of the ruling council.
As they approach Emon, they take a road to the southern side of the city. There, on top of a grassy hill surrounded by a river, is a keep. Apparently that is where they'll be staying.
Essek doesn't travel this way. He only rarely travels at all, and when he does it is almost always via teleport. This isn't that, and it isn't days spent delving into Aeoran ruins with the Mighty Nein, either. This is just--
Honestly, this is just frustrating. They could have spared themselves days of monotonous travel if he'd just teleported them. He's never been to Emon, true, but he knows about it. He knows where it is. That has always been enough to bring him to his destination before.
But Percival had insisted, and so he'd caved to his husband's wishes. A compromise. He'll handle the considerably shorter journey home.
Essek, reading as their carriage bumps along the road, looks up when Percival raps on the outside and points out the keep that will be their temporary lodging. He'd lived there once, he said, with his friends. Essek leans out through the window to squint at it. The sun is setting, at least, so it could be worse.
"We'll need to remain here for at least long enough for me to install a teleportation circle," he says, refraining from commenting on the unremarkable slab of grey stone that is the keep itself. "It should not take much longer than the week we were planning to spend in the city already, provided all of the materials have been delivered as I requested."
"We'll be staying here for the duration," he says with a little smile. "This is the embassy to Whitestone now, and perfectly suitable as a base for our business here. And it will give us some privacy when we aren't wining and dining."
Once they're across the bridge and in the courtyard of the keep, Percy dismounts. A moment later, he's offering Essek a hand down from the carriage. The courtyard is well-shaded at this time of day, though the sky above them is streaked with the colors of sunset.
"Welcome to Graystone, Essek." Percival is as comfortable here as he is in Whitestone and a brighter smile flashes across his face. "I thought I might show you around a bit while they get our things settled. Give you a chance to stretch your legs."
He's teasing a bit on that last part, but Percy knows the journey has been... uncomfortable for Essek. He wants to make it up to his husband.
There's a clear fondness even in Essek's resigned sigh when he allows Percy to help him out of the carriage, hands clasped until he gets his feet on the ground--or hovering above it, rather.
"I would relish the opportunity to stretch my legs, actually," Essek says primly, though he flashes a small smirk as he draws his cloak closer around him--the white one again. Behind them, their carriage is already being unloaded. "So by all means, Percival, give me the full tour."
Percy has a bright look as he releases Essek's hand and clasps his own behind his back as they head across the courtyard and into the keep proper.
"Off to the right is a chapel dedicated to Sarenrae, but it's also been designed as a general space for quiet contemplation. Conference hall, armory..."
There is a specific space he thought Essek might take interest in, and while he'd like to draw it out longer, he doesn't. Percy stops by a heavy oak door and opens it. He sort of has to push his shoulder into it - it's clear the room isn't often used, or perhaps hasn't been in some time.
"And the arcane laboratory."
The room features two round tables and a long, heavy workbench. Books and component cabinets line the far wall. There's even a small cot tucked out of the way.
"It hasn't been used much since Vox left the keep, but now that Whitestone has a Conservator of Arcane Interests..." He trails off and moves so that Essek can come into the room.
With Essek getting his way, the return trip to Whitestone is much shorter than the journey to Emon. In fact, it lasts only as long as it takes him to cast Teleport.
Preparations for Winter's Crest are in full swing now with the holiday encroaching rapidly, and the atmosphere is so different from holidays as Essek knows them--all solemn, rigid, heavily religious affairs to do with the Luxon's divine light--that he feels the need to do some more specific research. But books can only tell him so much. He visits his husband in his study to learn more, with the awareness that he will have to come up with a suitable gift for him before the end of the month.
Essek had abandoned his long cloak on entering the room, laying it over the back of a chair and perching on the corner of Percival's desk, one leg crossed over the other. He's dressed casually in his usual boots and dark high-waisted trousers, this time with a white tunic, its high collar and billowing poet sleeves secured at his wrists ensuring that he isn't showing any more skin than when he had been wearing his cloak.
"Having never celebrated Winter's Crest before," he continues, "I wondered if you may have any...advice? Traditions unique to Whitestone, or ways that I may assist with the festivities."
Percival finds himself looking forward to Winter's Crest. The holiday brings with it bittersweet memories, but it is also something he finds himself eager to share with his husband. Especially after learning that the holiday falling on the same day in Wildemount is called Barren Eve. How dismal.
He's sorting through a pile of papers that had been left for him in their absence when Essek appears in his study and Percy cannot help the small smile that appears as his husband abandons his cloak and hops on the edge of his desk. The white tunic is a particularly fetching contrast against Essek's dark skin.
"Well, it's generally a secular holiday. Some people give more tithes to various gods, but that's about as religious as it gets here. There will be feasts and most of the preparations in the city are for the fair. Games and revelry from sun up through the night. Winter's Crest is the longest night, so lights will abound."
The lights are, honestly, one of Percy's favorite parts. He remembers watching the city below light up and stay lit even after he'd been sent off to bed.
"There's usually a bonfire, people toss bundles of herbs onto it for winter blessings. Gift-giving is traditional."
He's already been trying to think of what he might be able to give Essek. One of his stewards dryly pointed out that he'd already financed the wizard's entire tower, but, to Percy, that tower allows Essek to do work for himself and on behalf of Whitestone. It might be personal but it isn't... personal. He'll sort something out.
"We'd wake up early and climb up to the parapets to watch the sun rise, just to feel it touch our faces. And we'd inevitably stay up all night to see the sun rise the next day, the end of the longest night."
Those were more personal traditions. Percival is sure that other people in Whitestone do the same, but it was something the de Rolos had done together, not as sovereigns but as a family.
Truly, in almost every way, the holiday Percival describes could not be more different from what he is used to. It sounds warm and inviting, focused on inter-personal relationships, and fun. The corners of Essek's lips lift slowly in a subtle smile as he listens to his husband describe how his own family celebrated. Feel emboldened by the recent shift in their relationship, Essek doesn't hesitate to reach for Percival's hand to lay his own over it, squeezing gently.
"I would be glad to participate in any of these traditions with you," he assures. "I am...looking forward to my first Winter's Crest, in fact."
From all he has observed, it's an important holiday here culturally, and perhaps especially important to his husband in particular, who has lost most of the family he used to celebrate it with. Essek desperately wants to make this year, their first together, enjoyable for him.
"The Kryn observe a holiday on this day as well," he reveals conversationally. "Like most special occasions in my culture, it is very religious, particularly among the Dens. We also remain awake through the night, though gathered in ceremony at the Lucid Bastion. Our arcanists release the magic of eternal night over the skies above Rosohna so that we may welcome the dawn. It is all symbolic of the Bright Queen leading our people out of the Underdark into the light of the Luxon, of course. The first sunrise after the longest night of the year is considered especially sacred."
It's clear from his tone, verging on contemptuous, and the hand he waves dismissively through the air that Essek not only puts no stock in that particular meaning, but actively disdains the entire affair.
"Personally, I found it uncomfortable and a waste of time at best, though my position both within Den Thelyss and as Shadowhand meant that my presence was required. Traditionally, I would leave as quickly as permitted to return to my research, for which I thankfully had an excuse. The swelling of leylines and thinning of the veil between the planes means that it is an ideal day for arcane experimentation and casting more powerful spells. Much more worthwhile than participating in largely pointless idolatry."
Warmth grows in his chest as Essek's hand rests over his. The casual affection is new, but he welcomes it. His thumb strokes over Essek's as he listens to him explain how, precisely, the Kryn mark the same day. And he cannot help the way his eyebrows lift, not only at the solemn nature of the proceeding but also at Essek's arguably heretical interpretation. And he tries to hide a smile.
Percy can imagine why the Kryn were eager to foist Essek off if killing him did not seem like a straightforward option. Someone in such a high-ranking position doubting a religion that is so pervasive would be... inconvenient. Never mind his other crimes. But, this gives him some insight into why his husband might have been willing to, say, possibly have a hand in bargaining away a sacred object. Maybe he will be able to bring himself to ask about that someday.
"I won't insist you give up all your time if the day is particularly useful in conducting experiments." But he is glad to hear that Essek wants to participate in Winter's Crest. There will be just a handful of official appearances that they will need to make, but having Essek at his side beyond that is--it's something he's quite looking forward to.
"But it's become a--it's bigger now even than it was before. It wasn't celebrated while the Briarwoods were in power."
"No, I think I will not be quite so eager to leave the festivities this year. They sound far more entertaining, for one." Essek reassures Percy of his interest, even as he is slightly distracted by the thumb rubbing back and forth against his. Despite sharing a bed more than once--and despite having sex more than once, eager as Essek had been to repeat the experience the very next morning--he is remains unused to casual intimacy, and can't help giving each touch careful attention.
Percival doesn't often mention Whitestone's usurpers, and for good reason. But the memory of them still taints this place; it is impossible to be unaware, especially now that he is seated on the council. Essek imagines that he is aware, as much as he strictly needs to be, of what happened here. He knows of the Briarwoods from his early days as Shadowhand, and Delilah had been long gone before he ever made contact with the Assembly himself.
"I see," he murmurs. "Then all the more reason to celebrate now." Essek's legs uncross in a graceful motion so that he can inch over on the desk and lean forward far enough to press a kiss to Percival's forehead. He doesn't linger long, but even initiating such a gesture is enough to bring a little warmth to his face. "As your husband, I hope to make it something special."
Essek sleeps. This alone is a rarity. That he comes blearily awake roused by the stirring of a larger body curled around him--that is entirely new.
He closes his eyes practically as soon as he opens them, tucking his face between the soft pillow and warm skin under him to hide from the morning light streaming in through the window on the far wall, but also to buy another few moments to collect himself. His body is pleasantly sore from last night's exertions, the sheets are comfortable, and the arms around him are familiar. They belong to his husband. This is his bed and his room where Essek had willfully and happily fallen asleep last night, following an intimate dinner and even more intimate activities here afterward.
It was intentional. He remembers a kiss after they laid down together freshly clean, he remembers smiling like a besotted fool, stroking Percival's face with a tender touch. Still disoriented with sleep, the lost hours in between make the memories hazier than they might be otherwise. Essek doesn't enjoy the sluggishness sleep leaves behind in his mind, drowsiness clinging like so many cobwebs, but he does feel rested. Percival must be awake too, unless he was shifting in his sleep.
Carefully, Essek shifts against him. One of his thighs is pressed between both of his, and the arm that isn't trapped between them is draped over Percival's side, fingers brushing his back. Even, measured breathing is easy to maintain. Perhaps he could slip back to sleep, or even into a brief trance. But the hour must be late if the sun is so bright already. That, or it is just reflecting off the snow in the way that always makes Essek's eyes smart no matter the time of day. Still, knowing the importance of this day only makes him want to stay in bed longer, reassured here of his place; in this castle, in this room, in his husband's arms and heart.
Percival wakes slowly and, as he does, his arm tightens around the body tucked against his. He tips his head down, nose buried in his husband's hair. As his mind shakes sleep off, he realizes that it's the first time Essek has spent the entire night with him. The first time they have slept together. That alone sends a pleasant, lingering warmth through him and he presses a kiss to the top of Essek's head. He's fairly certain he felt the other man move.
"Good morning," he murmurs, chancing that the wizard might indeed be awake and not just restless. His fingers stroke over Essek's smooth, dark skin and Percy breathes a soft sigh. He wouldn't mind going back to sleep for a while longer, to delay the day, to have this time just between them. They might manage a quiet breakfast. But friends are arriving today - Percy's - and that means being awake and present to greet them. He has missed them, keenly aware of their absence after they all scattered. Knowing that most of them will be here brings a dizzy sort of happiness.
But they will also be meeting his husband for the first time, and most of them have had opinions about the marriage and everything that went into it. at the start. Vex'ahlia and Keyleth, in particular, had words of concern. Percy has since written to them, keeping them abreast of certain changes, but it is one thing to read a letter and another to see things in person. He does not envy the scrutiny Essek will face, different entirely to what he managed in Emon.
Noticing the way Essek has tucked against him, Percival makes a mental note to get proper curtains for his bed.
So he is awake. Essek tucks still closer if possible and lets himself sigh at the kiss against his hair and the first deliberate brush of Percy's fingers. "Good morning," he replies, slightly muffled. He apologizes by pressing his lips in a more deliberate kiss where he's buried his face, right at the join of neck and shoulder.
He isn't entirely sure of what to do. Every other time they have shared a bed, he has gotten up hours earlier at the end of his trance, leaving his husband to wake in his own human time. He's never woken in his arms before. More than anything, he finds he wants to stay there. Even discounting his nerves regarding the imminent arrival of Percival's friends, it feels so good to be warm and comfortable and relaxed with him like this, lazy and indulgent. He hooks his thigh tighter over Percival's, lifts a hand to reach for his face. When his fingers find his jaw, Essek gives a pleased hum at the rasp of stubble he feels. With his eyes still closed, he's able to find Percy's lips with his this way, bestowing a proper good morning kiss.
"I will admit," he says softly, "this is a new experience for me." He swallows, wracks his brain. "Did you, ah...sleep well?" He sounds uncertain of the question as he says it, slightly stilted, his Common more accented than usual as he wakes up. But from his understanding, this is the first thing one asks in this situation. Isn't it?
He closes his eyes again as Essek's mouth finds his. And Percy can't stop the smile that creeps across his face as his husband struggles to find the proper way to... wake up with someone. It's rather sweet, actually.
Percival slides his fingers up into Essek's hair and gives him another tender kiss.
"Yes," he answers quietly. "I hope you did, too. How long has it been?"
Maybe that's an odd question to ask, but he is curious, knowing well that his husband prefers to trance. And why wouldn't he? Percival certainly would if it was something that would actually give him true rest. As it is, he is bound by the habitual human need to be completely unconscious for several hours at a time. Inconvenient, at best. But... there is something to be said for waking up like this.
Being kissed again at least reassures Essek that he isn't doing this entirely wrong. With Percival's face blocking out direct sun, he lets his eyes flicker open just enough to see him. And light, what a sight he is. His bedhead, his sleepy eyes, his soft mouth, the stubble on his cheeks--imperfect and handsome, and all the more stunning for it. Essek's heart swells with the same emotion that had made him smile so openly last night. This time it just makes him gawk, like he can barely believe how beautiful his own husband is.
"I--yes, I slept well," he answers, hushed. He surprises himself as he says it, because it is true. Normally he detests sleeping, finding it both a waste of time and a damper on his mental acuity, to say nothing of dreaming. But while the process of waking alone is deeply unpleasant, waking beside Percival today has been the very opposite, and as far as he can recall, he slept soundly through the night without dreams to interrupt or make him restless.
How long is a question he has to ponder for a few moments longer before he comes up with the answer. "Nearly four years ago." It was around the time he had first contacted the Cerberus Assembly about possible collaboration, and the combination of excitement and paranoia had kept him up for nearly two days straight, distracting himself with work. "I was awake for more than forty hours when my body decided without my permission that I had worked too much and required rest. As I recall, I passed out the moment my head touched the back of my chair." The memory is a strange one, especially now. His thumb scrapes along the line of Percival's jaw as he adds, "This was much more comfortable."
Essek's husband tastes of sparkling wine. He cradles his face between his hands and kisses him slowly, feeling chapped lips give way under his own, fastidiously moisturized and soft. The silken slide of his tongue is a luxury all its own. Essek tilts his head for a better angle, catches Percival's lower lip between his sharp teeth just to hear the sharp intake of breath. Their mouths fit together with simmering, lazy heat again and again as they lay entangled together in the center of the bed they've been sharing more often than not lately. Essek's luxurious black robes are in the process of sliding off the coverlet to the floor, and Percy's clothing has fared even worse.
Essek has removed everything but his jewelry, his long ears and slender throat and slim wrists sparkling with clear diamonds and lustrous pearls that catch and reflect light. They drip from delicate polished platinum chains, accentuated by the backdrop of his dark grey-purple skin. Occasionally his simple gold wedding band, the only ring he wears, flashes in the warm glow of the fire illuminating and heating the room.
They've done nothing but this since returning from the Eve of New Dawn party, just languid grinding and making out. It is late; the new year arrived hours ago. They should be resting in preparation for their planned appearance tomorrow morning, but Essek has spent all evening socializing and weeks sharing his husband with others, and he guards their time alone jealously. He also does all he can to make every moment count.
This is one of the Dynasty's holiest days of the year. If he were in Rosohna, he would be among the other important figures of the Bright Queen's court and representatives of the main dens, dressed in ceremony and remaining awake in vigil, awaiting the first rays of the New Dawn sun breaking across the horizon. For a century and more he has forgone rest on this night in favor of worship. He will do so again tonight. But Essek Thelyss is a heretic in exile. It is not the Luxon to which he intends to give his full devotion.
A bare thigh slides across Percival's and Essek pushes himself up to kneel over his lap, still kissing him deeply. Graceful dark hands brace against his broad shoulders, the shape of him so very ruggedly human. The sharp points of his long nails don't press into his skin. Not yet.
Their lips part with a wet slide and Essek sits up. Here, now, he thinks he may finally understand something of what his mother sees in the Luxon. A creature worth devoting one's life to. Worth enduring centuries, millenia, all for the pursuit of something greater.
Percival is a vision against the navy blue bedsheets, his carefully styled hair in disarray courtesy of Essek's fingers. There are miles of pale, scarred skin and long, lean limbs on display, flushed from full flutes of champagne and from desire. The beard he'd committed to just before Winter's Crest is short and neatly trimmed, both soft and bristly to the touch, and utterly fascinating. His blue-green eyes are locked on Essek's, his glasses set aside some time ago.
"You are radiant," Essek says, each word so carefully, softly enunciated in his odd accent. His skin prickles with the uniquely illicit thrill of claiming the language of worship for himself. He wonders if Percival recognizes what significance those words hold, the sacrilege he has just committed by uttering them in praise of an imperfect human. His hands run up the long line of his husband's flank, over his solid chest, up through his beard. His fingers crook beneath his chin. "And you are mine."
Percy wonders if he should avoid encouraging the way Essek has so fiercely guarded their time alone, but he appreciates his husband's determination to do so too much to suggest he needn't do it so ardently. Knowing that he can disappear into his friends, Percival has been just as firm about taking time away from them. He doesn't want Essek to feel eclipsed. Not when they are finding their stride together more intimately.
And after several glasses of champagne and falling into bed, Percival's entire world has narrowed to his husband. Most of his clothes are on the floor and he can feel Essek's slipping as the wizard's thigh brushes against him. Percy gets his arm around the other man's hips, trying to keep their bodies close as they kiss, as they try to devour each other, now that they are finally alone. Essek's elegant hands press into his shoulders to keep him down, for the most part.
He drops his head back against the bed when they part and he looks up at his husband with bare desire and adoration. A calloused hand slides over Essek's thigh, touching as much bare skin as he can reach. It's a small miracle his glasses have made it off - probably thanks to Essek, since Percy tends to forget them. His smile grows as his husband's fingers run over his beard and hook beneath his chin. The words are not lost on him, and maybe it's wrong, but Essek's particular form of blasphemy is very attractive. Percy still finds it an impressive coincidence that someone like him should end up in a city dedicated to Pelor. Pike or Keyleth might say it's something more than that, but Percival has no intention of thinking too much about either of them right now.
Instead, Essek's claim sends heat sinking through him and his hand tightens on his husband's thigh as he tries to pull their bodies closer together. Percy rocks his hips up to ensure a bit of friction.
"I quite like being yours," he says warmly. The only jewelry Percy wears with any consistency is his wedding band, and it is the only piece he almost never takes off.
A smile curls at the corners of Essek's lips at this response, pleased and far more touched than he expected. The sharp intensity of his gaze softens with affection. How lucky he is to have married this man. If he were more devout, he would say that the Light guided him here. But of course, it is his lack of devotion that has caused him to be exiled.
His body moves naturally with Percy's as his hips roll up beneath him, rocking down in counterpoint. Entirely bare while his husband is still half-clothed, his calloused hand is a warm and welcome presence on his thigh, and he feels the stiff heat of his growing erection against his ass. With a hum of approval, a hand leaves Percy's face to slip between his own legs. His fingers curl delicately around his slender cock, which fills out with his slow, languid strokes, a deeper, warmer shade of purple than even the rest of his flushed skin. Nails scratch lightly through Percival's beard before that hand retraces its previous path in reverse, all the way down to the waist of his pants.
"Good," he replies. "Because I intend to keep you."
His skilled fingers deftly slide the top button through the fabric holding it in place, then trail down to do the same with the next. He repeats the process without urgency, building anticipation, until the front of Percival's trousers is open. Light, he does look delicious like this. Essek wants to sink his teeth into him.
So he does the nearest thing. Leaning over the pale form beneath him, he seizes his mouth in another string of heated kisses, and makes sure his fangs catch as he nibbles playfully at his lips. Not enough to cut or tear that delicate skin, but enough that his husband will certainly feel how easily he could.
"It is remarkable," he murmurs between kisses, "how much I want you. You have no idea how rare a thing desire such as this has been in my life."
Percy is very aware of what Essek's hand is doing without even looking. He does look, of course, because his husband's cock is beautiful. Even as the wizard works buttons open, Percival's attention doesn't waver until Essek leans down to give him sharp, heated kisses. His hand tightens on the other man's thigh and Percy gives another lazy rock of his hips.
Heart beating harder, Percival leans up to kiss Essek again and promptly rolls them over. It will, theoretically, be easier to get out of his trousers this way and gods how could he resist this urge? His fingers stroke through Essek's pale hair and his thumb strokes gently over his delicate brow.
"No? I'm honored then," he confesses quietly, and while he might have meant it to sound playful, it comes out far more sincere. Percival has known desire in his life, and it's something he's not indulged as much as he might have wanted. He didn't deserve it, or it was inconvenient, or some other reason kept him from allowing himself to feel like this. He'd not been celibate before Essek, but he certainly avoided real intimacy. Having both now - desire and intimacy - feels like more than he has ever deserved. And all from a man who is beautiful and brilliant and sharp.
Percival's hand leaves Essek's hair to press to the bed and the other reaches between them, more interested in feeling his lover than he is in finding relief for himself just yet.
"It feels like I have been held under for a very long time," he murmurs against the delicate shell of Essek's ear. "And I am finally able to breathe again."
As skilled a graviturgist as Essek could easily prevent the roll to swap their positions, but he does not. He enjoys Percival's impulsiveness and the desire it betrays, and he enjoys the display of strength and self-awareness it takes to move him this way. The view is as good from below as from above. Percival looks so handsome leaning over him, and he sounds as though he genuinely does feel honored. That brings a flush to Essek's face that has nothing to do with his husband's hand reaching between them and sliding down his body. Not directly, at least.
Still, he gasps sharply when his warm, broad palm slides over his cock. His slender hips lift from the bed in a wanton thrust, and a shiver goes through him as his husband's lips just barely brush his sensitive ear. His low, confessional words drip through him hot and sweet to pool in his stomach.
"Now you are stealing my breath," he murmurs in return, silky and sensuous, unable to even begin processing how genuinely romantic that sentiment was. His heart is beating very fast all of a sudden, where until now he has felt much more in control.
He hides this well, as his hands are remarkably steady trailing down Percy's torso to his open trousers, grasping the parted fabric and avoiding interference with the other man's hand around him.
"Take these off," he implores, meeting his lover's eyes with a sharp and direct gaze, dark violet and shining faintly in the low light. "Let me see you."
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They've gotten on very well these last couple months. It's impossible not to notice. Essek is introduced formally, and they spend a lot of time together between Essek's newly minted position on the council and beginning to share duties in the management of the castle itself.
But even outside of duty, the leisure time they spend in each other's company has increased exponentially from their previous nightly dinner meetings. They share space in the library often, both companionably quiet and reading or occasionally chatting about whatever topic strikes their fancy. Essek visits Percival's workshop for the first time, and then several times after, intrigued and impressed by his inventions. He even begins, entirely for his husband's benefit, to take riding lessons. He's hilariously bad at it, but at least it's amusing for Percy. They share interests and stories and bits of culture back and forth. Essek learns more about Whitestone and the de Rolo lineage, and Percy becomes privy to more information about the intricacies of the Kryn Dynasty and Xhorhas in general than any other human who hasn't seen it first-hand. Sometimes, after they've passed the morning or afternoon doing one or more of these things, Percival will walk Essek to his chambers in the afternoon just to tell him good night before he trances through the brightest hours of the day. Essek finds it very sweet, and has lately begun to do the same in reverse.
It's strange, but Essek could swear that Percival grows more handsome by the day.
Essek is arranging his personal library in his tower today, perched on the tallest rung of a ladder twenty feet tall and lifting each book individually from a trunk on the floor with magic, floating them up into his waiting hands to be placed where they belong on this topmost shelf. His cloak is tossed over the chair at his desk below, leaving him in the dark, well-tailored Xhorhassian-style clothes he typically wears beneath, fitted breeches and a tunic with a high collar and subtle geometric print.
The knock on the door comes as he's suspending a book midair. It doesn't so much as waver on its way up to his open palm. He and gravity have been good friends for a long time now.
"Enter!" He calls, pitching his voice to carry down the distance to the door. He knows already that was not a servant's knock, and he feels himself smile already in anticipation. It's certainly a little silly, getting excited to see someone he sees every day--the man he is already married to, no less. But he allows himself that slight giddiness with the excuse that it is better to be happy to see one's spouse than not.
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And he finds himself genuinely interested - and enthused - as Essek builds his workshop to his liking. Percy is fascinated by the tools of his trade, by what Essek can potentially do with them. It gives him a quiet thrill that his husband has taken to his position on the council with such interest. The others have been somewhat slow to come around, uncertain given how foreign the drow man is, but they have come around, one by one. As Essek proves himself serious in his role, the others have given him more leeway.
He finds himself in Essek's tower again. And Percy realizes, as he steps through the door, that he's here for no particular reason. He'd been walking, wondering, and his feet carried him here. He closes the door after himself and he smiles when he sees Essek on the ladder, a book floating to him. And, perhaps for a moment, Percival allows himself to admire this man he's married. The cut and style of the clothes Essek wears are flattering, and it always feels like something of a treat to catch his husband without his cloak obscuring him.
"How goes it?" he asks, absently taking a book from the trunk, curious about the volumes Essek has been bringing in. He gets reports about the money spent, but he has no reason to curtail the wizard's project. Nor does he feel the need to oversee it too closely.
He looks up at Essek again with a rather fond look.
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Rather than climbing down, Essek simply steps off the top of the ladder and drifts in a slow, leisurely drop. It brings him within a pace of Percival, the tips of his toes just barely brushing the floor.
"And as you can see, I have made a great deal of progress."
A sweeping gesture around them indicates a functional wizard's workroom. Mid-morning sunlight would normally be streaming in through the tall windows, but Essek's enchantment has cast them in perpetual night, much like the skies above Rosohna. Stars twinkle there in accurate alignment with the constellations above Whitestone at this time of year. Cool-toned mage lights drift in place of torch sconces around the room, and Essek's desk, a sturdy thing of striking red Vermaloc wood--quite literally a piece of home--is already covered in the work he has begun over the last month. The shelves are lined with books and arranged with strange and beautiful arcane objects, a cabinet on one wall holds a plethora of components, and a basic magic circle, a starting point for most spells, has been carved into the very stone of the floor. Essek has made the space his own both functionally and aesthetically.
"What do you think?" he asks. "A suitable use for a spare tower?"
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"I think it suits you," he says with a soft look. He looks up toward the windows, a bit thrown by the perfect rendition of Whitestone's night sky when he knows there is daylight. Still, the stars are familiar and he cannot help but smile. Everything about this tower is so different than his own workspace, and yet... it isn't. Percy has components and tools and all manner of things that he needs there. They just look different.
His gaze drifts to the desk, the rich wood that is almost foreign to him. He's never seen a whole piece of furniture made with it.
"And I am glad to see the tower getting use. It would be a shame to leave the space empty when it can serve a purpose." Percy wanders closer to the magic circle carved into the floor, mostly curious. He's seen things like it before, though he rarely took the time to actually look at them. Then he looks at Essek again.
"Have you been able to get what you need?"
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He drifts to the desk, where he settles himself in a perch on the edge of it, one leg folding elegantly over the other.
"Honestly, this was the most difficult acquisition. But I had to have it. The Vermaloc borders Rosohna, so homes and furniture are traditionally made with this wood. For my own space, it was...important."
Observing his husband's curiosity about the circle, Essek offers, "I will demonstrate that for you when I next have use for it, if you like. It is useful for casting and crafting spells that require a physical representation of the arcane diagram."
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Emon
There is a compromise to be made, though: Percival isn't actually sure that he will be able to get someone to pass along the sigils of a teleportation circle in the palace of the sovereign, and he isn't sure that Allura would allow them to just teleport into her tower, either. So he suggests they travel to Emon without the assistance of magic.
And, if Essek would like, the two of them can teleport back to Whitestone rather than taking the long way.
It means a week on the road, but it isn't a hard week. Percy isn't traveling as part of Vox Machina, he's traveling as the lord of Whitestone, and is far more willing to spend money on comfort along the way. Besides, the journey gives him time to fill Essek in on some of the people they might be meeting, including the members of the ruling council.
As they approach Emon, they take a road to the southern side of the city. There, on top of a grassy hill surrounded by a river, is a keep. Apparently that is where they'll be staying.
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Honestly, this is just frustrating. They could have spared themselves days of monotonous travel if he'd just teleported them. He's never been to Emon, true, but he knows about it. He knows where it is. That has always been enough to bring him to his destination before.
But Percival had insisted, and so he'd caved to his husband's wishes. A compromise. He'll handle the considerably shorter journey home.
Essek, reading as their carriage bumps along the road, looks up when Percival raps on the outside and points out the keep that will be their temporary lodging. He'd lived there once, he said, with his friends. Essek leans out through the window to squint at it. The sun is setting, at least, so it could be worse.
"We'll need to remain here for at least long enough for me to install a teleportation circle," he says, refraining from commenting on the unremarkable slab of grey stone that is the keep itself. "It should not take much longer than the week we were planning to spend in the city already, provided all of the materials have been delivered as I requested."
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Once they're across the bridge and in the courtyard of the keep, Percy dismounts. A moment later, he's offering Essek a hand down from the carriage. The courtyard is well-shaded at this time of day, though the sky above them is streaked with the colors of sunset.
"Welcome to Graystone, Essek." Percival is as comfortable here as he is in Whitestone and a brighter smile flashes across his face. "I thought I might show you around a bit while they get our things settled. Give you a chance to stretch your legs."
He's teasing a bit on that last part, but Percy knows the journey has been... uncomfortable for Essek. He wants to make it up to his husband.
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"I would relish the opportunity to stretch my legs, actually," Essek says primly, though he flashes a small smirk as he draws his cloak closer around him--the white one again. Behind them, their carriage is already being unloaded. "So by all means, Percival, give me the full tour."
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"Off to the right is a chapel dedicated to Sarenrae, but it's also been designed as a general space for quiet contemplation. Conference hall, armory..."
There is a specific space he thought Essek might take interest in, and while he'd like to draw it out longer, he doesn't. Percy stops by a heavy oak door and opens it. He sort of has to push his shoulder into it - it's clear the room isn't often used, or perhaps hasn't been in some time.
"And the arcane laboratory."
The room features two round tables and a long, heavy workbench. Books and component cabinets line the far wall. There's even a small cot tucked out of the way.
"It hasn't been used much since Vox left the keep, but now that Whitestone has a Conservator of Arcane Interests..." He trails off and moves so that Essek can come into the room.
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Whitestone in Winter
Preparations for Winter's Crest are in full swing now with the holiday encroaching rapidly, and the atmosphere is so different from holidays as Essek knows them--all solemn, rigid, heavily religious affairs to do with the Luxon's divine light--that he feels the need to do some more specific research. But books can only tell him so much. He visits his husband in his study to learn more, with the awareness that he will have to come up with a suitable gift for him before the end of the month.
Essek had abandoned his long cloak on entering the room, laying it over the back of a chair and perching on the corner of Percival's desk, one leg crossed over the other. He's dressed casually in his usual boots and dark high-waisted trousers, this time with a white tunic, its high collar and billowing poet sleeves secured at his wrists ensuring that he isn't showing any more skin than when he had been wearing his cloak.
"Having never celebrated Winter's Crest before," he continues, "I wondered if you may have any...advice? Traditions unique to Whitestone, or ways that I may assist with the festivities."
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He's sorting through a pile of papers that had been left for him in their absence when Essek appears in his study and Percy cannot help the small smile that appears as his husband abandons his cloak and hops on the edge of his desk. The white tunic is a particularly fetching contrast against Essek's dark skin.
"Well, it's generally a secular holiday. Some people give more tithes to various gods, but that's about as religious as it gets here. There will be feasts and most of the preparations in the city are for the fair. Games and revelry from sun up through the night. Winter's Crest is the longest night, so lights will abound."
The lights are, honestly, one of Percy's favorite parts. He remembers watching the city below light up and stay lit even after he'd been sent off to bed.
"There's usually a bonfire, people toss bundles of herbs onto it for winter blessings. Gift-giving is traditional."
He's already been trying to think of what he might be able to give Essek. One of his stewards dryly pointed out that he'd already financed the wizard's entire tower, but, to Percy, that tower allows Essek to do work for himself and on behalf of Whitestone. It might be personal but it isn't... personal. He'll sort something out.
"We'd wake up early and climb up to the parapets to watch the sun rise, just to feel it touch our faces. And we'd inevitably stay up all night to see the sun rise the next day, the end of the longest night."
Those were more personal traditions. Percival is sure that other people in Whitestone do the same, but it was something the de Rolos had done together, not as sovereigns but as a family.
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"I would be glad to participate in any of these traditions with you," he assures. "I am...looking forward to my first Winter's Crest, in fact."
From all he has observed, it's an important holiday here culturally, and perhaps especially important to his husband in particular, who has lost most of the family he used to celebrate it with. Essek desperately wants to make this year, their first together, enjoyable for him.
"The Kryn observe a holiday on this day as well," he reveals conversationally. "Like most special occasions in my culture, it is very religious, particularly among the Dens. We also remain awake through the night, though gathered in ceremony at the Lucid Bastion. Our arcanists release the magic of eternal night over the skies above Rosohna so that we may welcome the dawn. It is all symbolic of the Bright Queen leading our people out of the Underdark into the light of the Luxon, of course. The first sunrise after the longest night of the year is considered especially sacred."
It's clear from his tone, verging on contemptuous, and the hand he waves dismissively through the air that Essek not only puts no stock in that particular meaning, but actively disdains the entire affair.
"Personally, I found it uncomfortable and a waste of time at best, though my position both within Den Thelyss and as Shadowhand meant that my presence was required. Traditionally, I would leave as quickly as permitted to return to my research, for which I thankfully had an excuse. The swelling of leylines and thinning of the veil between the planes means that it is an ideal day for arcane experimentation and casting more powerful spells. Much more worthwhile than participating in largely pointless idolatry."
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Percy can imagine why the Kryn were eager to foist Essek off if killing him did not seem like a straightforward option. Someone in such a high-ranking position doubting a religion that is so pervasive would be... inconvenient. Never mind his other crimes. But, this gives him some insight into why his husband might have been willing to, say, possibly have a hand in bargaining away a sacred object. Maybe he will be able to bring himself to ask about that someday.
"I won't insist you give up all your time if the day is particularly useful in conducting experiments." But he is glad to hear that Essek wants to participate in Winter's Crest. There will be just a handful of official appearances that they will need to make, but having Essek at his side beyond that is--it's something he's quite looking forward to.
"But it's become a--it's bigger now even than it was before. It wasn't celebrated while the Briarwoods were in power."
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Percival doesn't often mention Whitestone's usurpers, and for good reason. But the memory of them still taints this place; it is impossible to be unaware, especially now that he is seated on the council. Essek imagines that he is aware, as much as he strictly needs to be, of what happened here. He knows of the Briarwoods from his early days as Shadowhand, and Delilah had been long gone before he ever made contact with the Assembly himself.
"I see," he murmurs. "Then all the more reason to celebrate now." Essek's legs uncross in a graceful motion so that he can inch over on the desk and lean forward far enough to press a kiss to Percival's forehead. He doesn't linger long, but even initiating such a gesture is enough to bring a little warmth to his face. "As your husband, I hope to make it something special."
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before winter's crest part two
He closes his eyes practically as soon as he opens them, tucking his face between the soft pillow and warm skin under him to hide from the morning light streaming in through the window on the far wall, but also to buy another few moments to collect himself. His body is pleasantly sore from last night's exertions, the sheets are comfortable, and the arms around him are familiar. They belong to his husband. This is his bed and his room where Essek had willfully and happily fallen asleep last night, following an intimate dinner and even more intimate activities here afterward.
It was intentional. He remembers a kiss after they laid down together freshly clean, he remembers smiling like a besotted fool, stroking Percival's face with a tender touch. Still disoriented with sleep, the lost hours in between make the memories hazier than they might be otherwise. Essek doesn't enjoy the sluggishness sleep leaves behind in his mind, drowsiness clinging like so many cobwebs, but he does feel rested. Percival must be awake too, unless he was shifting in his sleep.
Carefully, Essek shifts against him. One of his thighs is pressed between both of his, and the arm that isn't trapped between them is draped over Percival's side, fingers brushing his back. Even, measured breathing is easy to maintain. Perhaps he could slip back to sleep, or even into a brief trance. But the hour must be late if the sun is so bright already. That, or it is just reflecting off the snow in the way that always makes Essek's eyes smart no matter the time of day. Still, knowing the importance of this day only makes him want to stay in bed longer, reassured here of his place; in this castle, in this room, in his husband's arms and heart.
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"Good morning," he murmurs, chancing that the wizard might indeed be awake and not just restless. His fingers stroke over Essek's smooth, dark skin and Percy breathes a soft sigh. He wouldn't mind going back to sleep for a while longer, to delay the day, to have this time just between them. They might manage a quiet breakfast. But friends are arriving today - Percy's - and that means being awake and present to greet them. He has missed them, keenly aware of their absence after they all scattered. Knowing that most of them will be here brings a dizzy sort of happiness.
But they will also be meeting his husband for the first time, and most of them have had opinions about the marriage and everything that went into it. at the start. Vex'ahlia and Keyleth, in particular, had words of concern. Percy has since written to them, keeping them abreast of certain changes, but it is one thing to read a letter and another to see things in person. He does not envy the scrutiny Essek will face, different entirely to what he managed in Emon.
Noticing the way Essek has tucked against him, Percival makes a mental note to get proper curtains for his bed.
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He isn't entirely sure of what to do. Every other time they have shared a bed, he has gotten up hours earlier at the end of his trance, leaving his husband to wake in his own human time. He's never woken in his arms before. More than anything, he finds he wants to stay there. Even discounting his nerves regarding the imminent arrival of Percival's friends, it feels so good to be warm and comfortable and relaxed with him like this, lazy and indulgent. He hooks his thigh tighter over Percival's, lifts a hand to reach for his face. When his fingers find his jaw, Essek gives a pleased hum at the rasp of stubble he feels. With his eyes still closed, he's able to find Percy's lips with his this way, bestowing a proper good morning kiss.
"I will admit," he says softly, "this is a new experience for me." He swallows, wracks his brain. "Did you, ah...sleep well?" He sounds uncertain of the question as he says it, slightly stilted, his Common more accented than usual as he wakes up. But from his understanding, this is the first thing one asks in this situation. Isn't it?
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Percival slides his fingers up into Essek's hair and gives him another tender kiss.
"Yes," he answers quietly. "I hope you did, too. How long has it been?"
Maybe that's an odd question to ask, but he is curious, knowing well that his husband prefers to trance. And why wouldn't he? Percival certainly would if it was something that would actually give him true rest. As it is, he is bound by the habitual human need to be completely unconscious for several hours at a time. Inconvenient, at best. But... there is something to be said for waking up like this.
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"I--yes, I slept well," he answers, hushed. He surprises himself as he says it, because it is true. Normally he detests sleeping, finding it both a waste of time and a damper on his mental acuity, to say nothing of dreaming. But while the process of waking alone is deeply unpleasant, waking beside Percival today has been the very opposite, and as far as he can recall, he slept soundly through the night without dreams to interrupt or make him restless.
How long is a question he has to ponder for a few moments longer before he comes up with the answer. "Nearly four years ago." It was around the time he had first contacted the Cerberus Assembly about possible collaboration, and the combination of excitement and paranoia had kept him up for nearly two days straight, distracting himself with work. "I was awake for more than forty hours when my body decided without my permission that I had worked too much and required rest. As I recall, I passed out the moment my head touched the back of my chair." The memory is a strange one, especially now. His thumb scrapes along the line of Percival's jaw as he adds, "This was much more comfortable."
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the eve of new dawn
Essek has removed everything but his jewelry, his long ears and slender throat and slim wrists sparkling with clear diamonds and lustrous pearls that catch and reflect light. They drip from delicate polished platinum chains, accentuated by the backdrop of his dark grey-purple skin. Occasionally his simple gold wedding band, the only ring he wears, flashes in the warm glow of the fire illuminating and heating the room.
They've done nothing but this since returning from the Eve of New Dawn party, just languid grinding and making out. It is late; the new year arrived hours ago. They should be resting in preparation for their planned appearance tomorrow morning, but Essek has spent all evening socializing and weeks sharing his husband with others, and he guards their time alone jealously. He also does all he can to make every moment count.
This is one of the Dynasty's holiest days of the year. If he were in Rosohna, he would be among the other important figures of the Bright Queen's court and representatives of the main dens, dressed in ceremony and remaining awake in vigil, awaiting the first rays of the New Dawn sun breaking across the horizon. For a century and more he has forgone rest on this night in favor of worship. He will do so again tonight. But Essek Thelyss is a heretic in exile. It is not the Luxon to which he intends to give his full devotion.
A bare thigh slides across Percival's and Essek pushes himself up to kneel over his lap, still kissing him deeply. Graceful dark hands brace against his broad shoulders, the shape of him so very ruggedly human. The sharp points of his long nails don't press into his skin. Not yet.
Their lips part with a wet slide and Essek sits up. Here, now, he thinks he may finally understand something of what his mother sees in the Luxon. A creature worth devoting one's life to. Worth enduring centuries, millenia, all for the pursuit of something greater.
Percival is a vision against the navy blue bedsheets, his carefully styled hair in disarray courtesy of Essek's fingers. There are miles of pale, scarred skin and long, lean limbs on display, flushed from full flutes of champagne and from desire. The beard he'd committed to just before Winter's Crest is short and neatly trimmed, both soft and bristly to the touch, and utterly fascinating. His blue-green eyes are locked on Essek's, his glasses set aside some time ago.
"You are radiant," Essek says, each word so carefully, softly enunciated in his odd accent. His skin prickles with the uniquely illicit thrill of claiming the language of worship for himself. He wonders if Percival recognizes what significance those words hold, the sacrilege he has just committed by uttering them in praise of an imperfect human. His hands run up the long line of his husband's flank, over his solid chest, up through his beard. His fingers crook beneath his chin. "And you are mine."
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And after several glasses of champagne and falling into bed, Percival's entire world has narrowed to his husband. Most of his clothes are on the floor and he can feel Essek's slipping as the wizard's thigh brushes against him. Percy gets his arm around the other man's hips, trying to keep their bodies close as they kiss, as they try to devour each other, now that they are finally alone. Essek's elegant hands press into his shoulders to keep him down, for the most part.
He drops his head back against the bed when they part and he looks up at his husband with bare desire and adoration. A calloused hand slides over Essek's thigh, touching as much bare skin as he can reach. It's a small miracle his glasses have made it off - probably thanks to Essek, since Percy tends to forget them. His smile grows as his husband's fingers run over his beard and hook beneath his chin. The words are not lost on him, and maybe it's wrong, but Essek's particular form of blasphemy is very attractive. Percy still finds it an impressive coincidence that someone like him should end up in a city dedicated to Pelor. Pike or Keyleth might say it's something more than that, but Percival has no intention of thinking too much about either of them right now.
Instead, Essek's claim sends heat sinking through him and his hand tightens on his husband's thigh as he tries to pull their bodies closer together. Percy rocks his hips up to ensure a bit of friction.
"I quite like being yours," he says warmly. The only jewelry Percy wears with any consistency is his wedding band, and it is the only piece he almost never takes off.
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His body moves naturally with Percy's as his hips roll up beneath him, rocking down in counterpoint. Entirely bare while his husband is still half-clothed, his calloused hand is a warm and welcome presence on his thigh, and he feels the stiff heat of his growing erection against his ass. With a hum of approval, a hand leaves Percy's face to slip between his own legs. His fingers curl delicately around his slender cock, which fills out with his slow, languid strokes, a deeper, warmer shade of purple than even the rest of his flushed skin. Nails scratch lightly through Percival's beard before that hand retraces its previous path in reverse, all the way down to the waist of his pants.
"Good," he replies. "Because I intend to keep you."
His skilled fingers deftly slide the top button through the fabric holding it in place, then trail down to do the same with the next. He repeats the process without urgency, building anticipation, until the front of Percival's trousers is open. Light, he does look delicious like this. Essek wants to sink his teeth into him.
So he does the nearest thing. Leaning over the pale form beneath him, he seizes his mouth in another string of heated kisses, and makes sure his fangs catch as he nibbles playfully at his lips. Not enough to cut or tear that delicate skin, but enough that his husband will certainly feel how easily he could.
"It is remarkable," he murmurs between kisses, "how much I want you. You have no idea how rare a thing desire such as this has been in my life."
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Heart beating harder, Percival leans up to kiss Essek again and promptly rolls them over. It will, theoretically, be easier to get out of his trousers this way and gods how could he resist this urge? His fingers stroke through Essek's pale hair and his thumb strokes gently over his delicate brow.
"No? I'm honored then," he confesses quietly, and while he might have meant it to sound playful, it comes out far more sincere. Percival has known desire in his life, and it's something he's not indulged as much as he might have wanted. He didn't deserve it, or it was inconvenient, or some other reason kept him from allowing himself to feel like this. He'd not been celibate before Essek, but he certainly avoided real intimacy. Having both now - desire and intimacy - feels like more than he has ever deserved. And all from a man who is beautiful and brilliant and sharp.
Percival's hand leaves Essek's hair to press to the bed and the other reaches between them, more interested in feeling his lover than he is in finding relief for himself just yet.
"It feels like I have been held under for a very long time," he murmurs against the delicate shell of Essek's ear. "And I am finally able to breathe again."
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Still, he gasps sharply when his warm, broad palm slides over his cock. His slender hips lift from the bed in a wanton thrust, and a shiver goes through him as his husband's lips just barely brush his sensitive ear. His low, confessional words drip through him hot and sweet to pool in his stomach.
"Now you are stealing my breath," he murmurs in return, silky and sensuous, unable to even begin processing how genuinely romantic that sentiment was. His heart is beating very fast all of a sudden, where until now he has felt much more in control.
He hides this well, as his hands are remarkably steady trailing down Percy's torso to his open trousers, grasping the parted fabric and avoiding interference with the other man's hand around him.
"Take these off," he implores, meeting his lover's eyes with a sharp and direct gaze, dark violet and shining faintly in the low light. "Let me see you."
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