Percival is certain that seeing Essek lick his own palm earns an extra pulse from his cock. He keeps his gaze on his husband's face as an elegant hand strokes along his jaw. He leans in for another kiss, wanting badly to taste Essek and finding this a reasonable compromise.

Slowly, Percival lowers his weight to rest on Essek's slighter frame. He kisses his mate again, sweeter now that the immediate need has momentarily passed. They won't get to rest long, but Percy takes comfort in the quet between them.

With a gentle squeeze, he releases Essek's hand in favor of getting both arms around his lithe figure. Percy drags Essek close to him, holding him against his chest to ensure they stay locked together. Percival manages to shift enough that he can lay back against the pillows. His arms relax bit stay draped around his husband's back as he encourages Essek to rest against him. His hands slide over the wizard's sides, back, and thighs in tender lazy caresses. Even like this, he can't get enough.

"Better?" Percy feels recovered enough to be a bit smug. Deep down he feels a simmering anxiety he knows must be tied to his rut: he wants this to work. He wants to produce an heir, not for the sake of Whitestone but simply because it is what they both want, and Percy realizes that urge runs much deeper that any biological imperative: he always wants to give Essek what he wants.