Unshelled, peeled back and exposed, Essek covers his mouth with one hand, humid, shameful breaths puffing against his sweaty palm. He has a goal in mind, a need, but nothing seems to matter quite so much in the moment as whatever his alpha wants to do to him. He fights a moan as Percival's hot mouth envelops and then releases his cock, but can't stifle his gasp when two thick human fingers slide down to slip between and spread his folds, pressing against the wet heat of Essek's core.

"Light," is the next word Essek manages to gasp against his bit-tender palm. Tomorrow there will be bruises on the meat of it from his own teeth, no doubt. "Your hands," he moans, one leg falling open further, foot slipping entirely off the bed as his husband's rough, clever fingers move inside him, massaging his cunt, pressing up and in and over while his tongue laps at him, until Essek thinks he'll melt right into the bed. The wet, obscene sounds of them are barely muffled at by the disarray of his loosened robes.

His free hand grabs for his husband's hair, but finds his glasses instead, pushed thoughtlessly up and promptly forgotten about. He pinches the thin bridge of gold wire between two fingers, and with a thought and a flick of his wrist, gravity lifts them away to the safety of the nightstand. For such a delicate instrument, Percival really is quite careless with them.