Indeed, Percival has never been content to be anything but an active participant, which Essek both enjoys and admires. It feels good to feel him moving under him, the counterpoint to his own slow, shallow rocking that pushes his cock deep with every thrust. They hold each other close, feeling rather than seeing. When an arm curls around his back, Essek lets himself lean further into his husband's body, cradled there, and in turn cradles the back of his head more tenderly. He rubs soothingly with his palm and scratches lightly through his pale hair with his nails, much as he does when Percival takes his wolf shape.

His touch keeps his mate there against his neck, where he can feel his stifled moans and the distracted movement of his lips. Essek's own breath catches as teeth scrape prominently over his pulse, then latch onto delicate skin with intent. Essek tightens again as the sharp prick of pain winds up the tension in his body. His thighs squeeze Percival's, his cunt throbs around his cock, and Essek lets it wash through him, pushing him toward an end Percival won't share.

By now, his husband knows how to raise marks even on Essek's dark skin, bruises deeper and redder than the cool grey-purple of the rest.