With remarkably steady fingers, Essek strokes the stiff shaft of his husband's erection, lifting it carefully from his trousers as Percival successfully lifts his dress. The heat between his legs only grows as he curses and bites at his neck, and Essek moans sharply when his soaked smalls are quickly and crudely shoved aside and two thick human fingers push easily into his cunt, tight but yielding. A shiver courses through his body as he flutters around them, and he parts his thighs to allow more.

"Of course I can take you," he snaps, but with impatience rather than irritation. The concern is sweet, truly, but he simply does not have the time for it. He's obscenely wet for not being in heat--fuck, is he going to go into heat?--and he is already aching to be filled with his alpha's cock, currently cradled in his palm.

His head spins with the scent of his mate in rut flooding his senses. He's never smelled anything so uniquely appealing. Already it takes effort to remember where they are and why he has to keep his voice down.

"Fuck me," he gasps, hips rocking down onto the fingers buried inside him. "I won't go back there until I am full of your seed."