Percival is struggling. They have never done this before with Essek in heat and to do it now, while he's like this, feels overwhelming. He doesn't want to hurt Essek, his desire to protect this man above all others is down in his marrow like this. But as soon as his heavy cock slides past his husband's cunt, all he can think about is burying himself in him. It's been a while since he's been through a real rut and he doesn't think he has one coming on (gods, he hopes not), but all he can think about is this. Essk is meant to be right here, beneath him: safe and cared for and receptive. The sound of his voice fills Percy's head.

He shifts his hips, adjusts his stance to get closer, to try to get the angle right. He growls as the head of his cock nudges against Essek's opening without fully penetrating: pressure just makes him pop out again and graze higher.

Help. Even his voice in Essek's head sounds ragged. Percy bears his teeth as Essek's hand touches him again, giving him the guidance he needs. The tip presses against his husband again, and this time as Percy thrusts forward, he sinks in. Percival fights to remember that he can't just shove deeper, not yet. There's a soft mantra that Essek might catch rushing through his head, Percy repeating over and over to himself that he isn't going to hurt his husband. He'll stop, or Essek will stop him and he'll listen. He isn't losing his mind. Again.

Even as he tries not to bury himself, he can't quite help the small, abortive movements of his hips as he seeks the slick, tight heat of Essek's body, generating friction that both takes the edge of and makes him feel more urgent all at once.