Yes, that is where he belongs, isn't it? Percival is right. He should be on his knees. He wants to be. But on his back works quite nicely, too. It feels like he sinks more heavily into the bed as he relaxes, as his lover's fingers fuck him slow and careful, the motion growing smoother as his body grows used to being spread open. He touches himself for his own pleasure, and for the pleasure of Percival's hungry gaze, allowing him an unimpeded view of his hand stroking slickly over his cock and his fingers trailing over his stomach and chest, plucking and twisting at his nipples until they are sore.

Essek warms beneath his alpha's praise, blinking slowly, lips curling at the corners, faintly smug. There is an element of teasing to it, and perhaps in another state of mind Essek might even find the words somewhat patronizing. But as he is now, in heat, filled more than he ever has been and still aching with want, he hears the notes of desire and admiration above all.

"I did," he murmurs, accent heavy. "Many times." Almost dreamily, he slips into Undercommon to add, "No one believes in me like I do."

Reminding himself of how long he has waited to attempt this, or even to admit to wanting it, he feels suddenly impatient. Reaching between his legs, his fingers curl around his husband's wrist to stop the motion.

"I want you now," he says simply. As soon as Percy's fingers slip free, he slides his leg from his shoulder and turns onto his front, then pushes himself up onto hands and knees, as mentioned. If Percival wishes to arrange him to better suit his needs, he will yield, but he looks over his shoulder to urge in less than intentional Undercommon, "Come, my dearest. Let us see what I can take."