Another Language, II

I’m going to die.

There was nothing else that Lancelot could think seeing Percival like this. His expression soft and wanting; his eyes aglow with the touch of magic rising to the surface. His body flushed and panting with desire.

Percival wasn’t nearly as expressive as any of the other lovers he’d ever had, but in comparison to his complete lack of expression earlier in the night, it was as if he’d taken Percival apart already, and he’d only just begun.

Gods be praised and feared.

From their conversation and simple observation, Percival was a man driven by logic. His every movement was calculating and without emotion outside of the kiss they’d shared in the park and now. At least, that was how it seemed, but even a calculating man wouldn’t have licked his ice cream the way Percival did or fall apart like this. If he’d wanted Lancelot, he would have said so instead of resorting to that lascivious display in the park.

That step back earlier wasn’t just about his preferences, but perhaps about getting him naked as well.

Shy, nervous, self-conscious about what Lancelot had no idea. Sure, the other had scars that looked like he’d had a rather violent run-in with a bear, but anyone who had experienced anything in life knew that scars were sexy. The scars glowed dimly just like his eyes, and Lancelot licked his lips. Magical scars— he’d save that question for somewhere down the line when they’d known each other for longer than a few hours.

Whatever the reason for Percival’s self-consciousness, Lancelot planned on assuaging all of that or at least making sure Percival couldn’t think about any of it while they were together.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Lancelot said, “Anything you don’t like?”

Percival shook his head and Lancelot grinned, kissing him gently, almost sweetly, before dragging his tongue down Percival’s neck with a soft hum.

That taste Lancelot had been chasing in the park was alive on his skin in the salt of sweat and the coolness of the air. All the magic he’d tasted in people of Zephyrine had pretty much the same flavor: warm and bright like spring and summer eternal. There had been some variations, but not much. Percival and whatever brand of magic he possessed had a darker, a richer,  decadent taste. It made him think of deep forests and pure animal instinct. There was a power very different from the power of an eternal summer, growing stronger and more potent the longer Lancelot worked him over and the closer to the edge Percival came. It was stronger along his neck and practically oozing from the scars that seemed more sensitive than anywhere else on Percival’s body. He placed a hand on Percival’s chest, at the thickest part of the longest scar before lowering his mouth over Percival’s cock and sucking. As he thought, Percival cried out, his body tensed and his hands tangled in Lancelot’s hair. His body squirmed in an attempt to escape, but as Lancelot didn’t allow it. He removed Percival’s hands from his hair and pressed his wrists into the mattress on either side of Percival’s hips without halting his steady bobbing over Percival’s cock. Despite the difference in their size, Lancelot’s enhanced strength was more than enough to keep Percival from throwing him off as if his magic wasn’t able to bolster his strength like this, perhaps too interested in mingling with Lancelot’s.

Percival’s head shot up as he gasped Lancelot’s name, his eyes wide and desperate for mercy.  It’s the flush cross his body and the light that filled his eyes that tells Lancelot the desperation was more of that strange self-conscious streak Percival had than any discomfort with Lancelot sucking him at such a sensual pace. Perhaps Percival liked Lancelot taking control almost as much as Lancelot did and simply couldn’t admit it.

Men of Paris? He thought, meeting Percival’s gaze for as long as he could manage to hold his head up as Lancelot sucked him.

Had no one agreed to have sex with Percival the way that he preferred? Taking in his size without giving a thought to the personality within?

Percival’s words were more sound and panting than any attempt to communicate as Lancelot tasted his fill, sucked hard and hummed around the length of him. Percival’s orgasm brought more than just the taste of cum spilling over Lancelot’s tongue, but a whole new rush of magic that had tasted completely different than what had lain beneath the salt of Percival’s skin. He moaned around his cock as it rushed over his senses and let it happen. Percival screamed, his body jerked, and Lancelot felt a little smug.

No doubt Lancelot’s moaning was wreaking havoc on Percival’s already sensitive nerves, but Lancelot’s head is spinning and the only thing he can think of is making Percival feel as good as possible, coaxing more of whatever kind of magic that lay dormant in Percival to the surface. He wanted more of it, the way it sparkled on his tongue unlike anyone else he’d ever tasted before: heady, rich and addicting.

If Lancelot wasn’t careful he would more than likely become addicted to Percival. His mother had never warned him about the potential for him to become addicted to someone else, but he doubted she’d ever conceived of the idea of Lancelot meeting someone with a magical profile that wasn’t native to Zephyrine who also had such a high potency…

Maybe higher than Lancelot’s…

Reckless, Lancelot thought wryly as he pulled off of Percival’s cock and the man lay trembling beneath him. He licked his lips, chasing the taste of Percival’s orgasm before pressing a kiss to his hip. He released his wrists and got off the bed quickly. His cock was so hard that he was pretty sure that the seam of his breeches wouldn’t last if he didn’t get them off soon. He sighed with relief as he pulled them down and off, grateful for the freedom and cool air. He pulled his shirt over his head and stood naked beside the bed. He took a seat and grabbed the bottle of lube from where it had fallen on the ground from Percival’s squirming and looked over his shoulder at the man. Percival lay splayed across the bed, eyes closed, cock hard, and his mouth wet and panting.

Lancelot moved up the bed to sit beside Percival’s shoulder and lean to stroke his forehead, drawing his attention from wherever his orgasm had taken him. Percival’s eyes blinked like two points of golden light in the darkness, dazed and warm.

“Are you okay?” He asked. “Too much?”

Percival shook his head and turned on to his side, trying to sit up as his body shook. Lancelot watched him, waiting as Percival got up on his knees and rested half his weight on his hands panting. Lancelot kissed his forehead, then the curve of his cheek while drawing a hand through his hair to soothe him. Percival leaned into the touch, another shudder rippling through him. He drew his lips towards Percival’s mouth earning a twitch of the larger man’s hips and a whimper.

“If I’m going too fast, let me know,” Lancelot said against his lips before nipping at one, “I do have all night to debauch you, don’t I?”

He nodded leaning forward to kiss him. Lancelot hummed and turned to bring him closer, enjoying the taste of him while Percival managed to get control of the shudder running through his body. Lancelot wrapped a hand around his own cock, stroking slowly as they kissed and he coaxed Percival into a more active role in it rather than the sex-dazed kissing they’d started.

Percival drew his tongue across the roof of Lancelot’s mouth and Lancelot grunted. Percival drew back with a gasp and met his gaze before allowing it to drop towards Lancelot’s hand stroking himself.

Lancelot’s breath stuttered as Percival’s gaze dragged along the length of his cock. He’d been with a lot of people in his short life, and the moment when he was fully naked with someone he intended to debauch was always the point where he’d figure out where they would go.

Most of the women he’d been with had taken one look at his cock and had either demanded a lot more foreplay or had simply backtracked out of fear. He couldn’t blame them, nor begrudge them that, but he’d made sure to leave them, whatever their choice on the matter was, well-sated whether he got off with the use of hands or the warmth of a body.  

Most of the men he’d been with had seen it as a challenge that they either felt they failed or could not risk undertaking again. There was a man in Zuera who had woken up the next morning and told Lancelot that he was dangerous to a man’s sanity and quality of life. Lancelot would have taken it as a compliment if the man hadn’t been completely serious as he lay unable to get out of bed after a rather long round of sex.

Since then, he’d toned down the use of his sexual expertise to what seemed good enough that Lancelot would always be thought of as a good time, but not so good that he was divesting people use of their normal faculties for longer than a day. The Du Lac family magic was potent, one of the oldest knight families starting from the time of Zephrine and Gwaine Fortier, that coupled with Lancelot’s endowment had been more than enough to make his mother sit him down and advise him on how not to be as reckless though she knew full well he couldn’t help himself.

Lancelot hissed a sigh of pleasure and shock as Percival wrapped his hand around Lancelot’s cock. His mouth parted, his tongue anchored at the corner of his mouth and his eyes aglow. He watched Percival’s adam’s apple bob as he stared, blinking rapidly at the picture his large hand made wrapped around Lancelot’s cock.

Lancelot’s laugh came out as more of a scoff, “I would perhaps take it as a compliment, but now I’m a little worried that perhaps I’ve fried your brain.”

Percival licked his lips and worried his bottom lip, still staring at Lancelot’s cock intently, a bit of calculation in his glowing eyes. Maybe curiosity, maybe apprehension, he wasn’t sure. He licked his lips and leaned forward a bit, hesitant, and Lancelot grinned.

A curious one, Lancelot thought, glad that at least fear wasn’t in the equation. Perhaps Percival had never seen a man that large before? Maybe he’d never given a blowjob?

Lancelot placed a hand on the back of his neck and rubbed his fingertips against Percival’s scalp.

“I can teach you,” he said. “If you want.”

PErcival’s eyes darted up to him, hopeful and wanting before nodding and turning to face Lancelot’s lap. Lancelot shuddered at the eager look in Percival’s eyes and offered up another silent thanks to the gods who seemed to favor him today.

“Lick.”

Percival opened his mouth and leaned forward, drawing his tongue up the length of Lancelot’s cock. Lancelot’s face heated, his legs tensed with an effort to keep still and his hand twitched on the back of Percival’s neck. Just watching Percival’s eyelids lower and his tongue dragging up the length of his cock was hell on Lancelot’s control.

I’m going to die, Lancelot thought again. He was going to die in a raunchy inn in Paris at the hands of a Percival from old Germany.

There were worst ways to die, but he could think of no better.

“Again,” he said, guiding Percival slowly, getting him used to the taste and length of him slowly while watching him.

Percival’s eyes closed sometime after Lancelot stopped telling him to lick and he began to do so freely on his own. He panted, moaning softly as he licked, licking away the lube Lancelot had been using and replacing it with a thin layer of saliva.

The sound of Percival’s tongue licking him in between needy pants, the way he squirmed leaning over his lap, the very scent of his skin mingling with Lancelot’s and raw desire would remain in his memory long after he returned to Zephyrine. Lancelot stroked Percival’s neck and shoulders, tilting his head back in pleasure.

New and heady, devouring, consuming– reckless.

“Touch me,” he groaned.

Percival wrapped a hand around his cock and Lancelot took hold of his neck again. Percival gasped and shuddered.

“Suck.”

Percival gained, opening his mouth and lowering his head over Lancelot. Lancelot cursed as Percival closed his mouth, the warm wet suction stealing his breath for a moment. He held Percival still as his vision cleared and slowly guided him down and back up, never letting his lips meet the length that Percival stroked.  

“Perfect,” Laneclot wanted, squirming and pressing Percival down a little further with each bob. “Easy. Just suck.”

He shuddered, the scent of magic radiating off of Percival’s skin was heady and beguiling rush of magic was like an aphrodisiac.

It was a new experience having someone else’s magic mingling with his own like this. No one’s magic had ever pushed and pulled at him like this. Was this what he felt like to other people when he got really into it? No wonder that man had looked at him half dazed, half terrified, and completely sex-drunk. Percival clearly had more skill than Lancelot first imagined, but not enough to make him think Percival had a long line of lovers behind him. He took direction well, seemed happy to do it, but more importantly lost himself in giving a simple blow job.

Apparently, this sex-magic feedback loop that was taking over Lancelot’s brain had already taken over Percival. The sound and feel of Percival sucking him, sliding more of him into his mouth until Lancelot could feel the back of his throat is the only sound in the room beyond their low groans.

Lancelot talked him through catching his breath even as he seemed disinterested in doing so. He’s careful not to thrust up into Percival’s mouth as he stroked Percival’s hair and praised him. When Percival’s lips meet Lancelot’s hips, there’s a moment of extraordinary clarity before another pulse of Percival’s growing magical output washed over him.

Percival liked giving blowjobs, more than that, he had a bit of an oral fixation and need to give up control.

“Gently,” Lancelot breathed, massaging his neck as Percival pulled off and gasped. There’s a smudge of saliva and precum on his reddened lips that makes Lancelot smile.

“But…” Percival said, his voice fading away as Lancelot wiped the smudge away with his thumb and across Percival’s tongue. He shuddered and looked at Lancelot like a man possessed by a desire he didn’t fully understand.

“You okay?”

Percival nodded panting, his eyes fluttering as Lancelot dragged his thumb across his swollen lips. Before Percival could close his mouth around Lancelot’s thumb, he dragged it away from his mouth and pulled him down to kiss.

“Lean over my lap,” he said against Percival’s trembling lips. He kissed Percival’s cheek and licked at the shell of his ear before directing Percival to lean down over his lap. Percival folded his arms to pillow his head and trembled as Lancelot coaxed him into spreading his legs and arching his back.

Lancelot opened the bottle and poured a generous amount of lube onto his fingers before closing it. He set it aside and placed one hand on the back of Percival’s neck.

“Let me know if you’re uncomfortable, okay?’

Percival nodded and stilled when Lancelot’s lube slick fingers, swiped over him only barely pressing against the ring of muscle. Percival was tenser than Lancelot anticipated and he grinned at the prospect of a longer bout of foreplay than he first thought. It was almost his favorite part of sex, honestly, especially with partners like Percival who seemed so sensitive to touch that they fell apart.

Percival whimpered as he passed his fingers over the ring of muscle again. The lube he’d brought with him from Zephyrine was the kind he preferred, formulated to help his partner relax as well as slicken the passage. It would kick in soon enough, especially with how high Percival’s magic was running.

Lancelot hushed him, stroking a thumb over the back of his neck, “Patience, sweet.”

Percival’s hips shifted, and he whimpered before Lancelot felt the tension in his neck release. The lube was working faster and more completely than he expected. Percival’s shoulders relaxed with a sigh, his back arched a little more as his upper body sunk into the bed, and his legs slid further apart.

Lancelot nudged a finger gently into him with a smile. He was still tight, but not impassable. Percival let out another sigh of relief, rolling his hips with Lancelot’s finger in him. Lancelot pressed a kiss to a scar that wrapped around his rib cage and watched light fill it at the touch.

“Let me take care of you,” he said, pumping his finger into him as Percival squirmed.

He kept his voice soft even as he worked Percival open. He stroked, Percival’s hair as the man relaxed into the position and Lancelot added another finger. He managed three fingers before he could manage to get them deep enough to toy with the spot that makes Percival wail desperately and quake over his lap.

“There we are,” he breathed, pressing on the back of Percival’s neck to keep him still as he rubbed against the spot and heard Percival’s desperate sounds.

He sounded like he was dying, his neck hot with a flush and his body squirming trying to get away from Lancelot’s fingers as well as get more pressure from him.

Lancelot,” Percival whined.

“I’ve got you, I promise. Let go for me Percival, let me take care of you.”

He groaned as Lancelot slid another finger in him and stretched him open. Percival’s back arched. Though he wailed high and desperate like a cry for help, his eyes open, unfocused, he rolled back into the thrust of Lancelot’s fingers as they grew harder and Lancelot curled his fingers inside him.

Lancelot rolled his eyes in pleasure, letting the sound, scent, sight, hot, and tight feel of Percival fill his senses. He could taste magic in the air and lowered his head to suck at the scar wrapping around Percival’s ribcage.

What idiot had let Percival, open, sensitive, vocal, pliant Percival, slip through their fingers? Were the men Percival had been with before so inadequate in the bedroom that they’d never seen Percival like this? Never heard, tasted, or felt Percival like this?

Percival rocked back and rolled his hips against Lancelot’s fingers, panting in between the desperate cries he couldn’t stop. With his body flushed from exertion, he looked like a wet dream– one that Lancelot would enjoy a thousand times more than the amateurs who had just left the room next door and had been quickly replaced with a new set. The banging of a headboard in the room on the other side and across the hall had started and stopped at least three times since Lancelot had gotten Percival naked and Lancelot had yet to get into Percival quite yet, but that would change soon as he grabbed for the other bottle of lube. This one was made to coat, slick, and keep them both safe from any sort of disease that could pass between them. He knew Parisians had other methods that weren’t as absolute as a magical serum to do that, but he never bothered to fix what already worked well.

He pulled his fingers free of Percival who whined and rocked back, a whimper of desperation passing through him. Lancelot hushed him, stroking his hair and coaxing him back onto his knees so Lancelot could move. He grabbed a pillow, rolled it and placed back on the bed for Percival to rest his hips on as he bent over. He crawled behind Percival and pulled his hips back until he was practically sitting on his ankles, his knees spread as wide as possible with his back arched.

Satisfied that their height difference wouldn’t interfere in this position, he leaned down and kissed up Percival’s spine to the base of his neck, smiling at the way Percival shuddered at the warm press of his lips against his nape.

“Comfortable?”

Percival nodded, panting and squirming as Lancelot placed a hand on his hip to stop him from moving. Even with all the preparation, he could still hurt Percival if he went too quickly. He poured more lube into his hand than he thought he would need and stroked himself, slathering the rest of it across Percival and slipping his fingers into him. Percival keened, lifting his head and moaning.  He drew himself across the cleft between Percival’s cheeks slowly with a steady pressure to make him relax, pressing in more and more at each pass until he’d breached him and he could place both hands on Percival’s hips to keep him from moving. He took note of Percival’s sounds, every moan and gasp as he slid in slowly.

*

Percival dropped his head and let go of any hope of resisting falling head first into this moment. With the son and his lover in Troyes, he’d managed to keep his wits about him for a good deal of their sexual escapades. It wasn’t really until their moments stretched through the night that he lost grip on himself.

Whether it was the difference in size, Lancelot’s painstaking and overwhelming foreplay, skills, or the fact that Percival hadn’t had sex in a over a year and had needed it, he didn’t know. What he did know was that there was no hope for sanity.

Whatever that warmth was that kept Lancelot’s touch feverish and heady had been pouring into him non-stop since Lancelot had gotten his hands on his bare skin. His fingers had been a lot to take, so hot that Percival thought he would be burned alive and so pleasurable he wasn’t sure of his own existence anymore.

Having Lancelot inside him had washed any sense out of him and the deeper Lancelot worked himself with those slow and torturous rolls of his hips, the more terrified Percival became of not being able to walk away from this.

The screaming was silent, the memories, the guilt, the voices–everything was quiet save Lancelot and his labored breathing and the sounds of the rest of the inn’s activities.

Simply the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one in the building getting screwed into a mattress made the entire experience more real as if his entire purpose, and the only purpose he could be in this room, was to have sex.

Somehow, that made it easier to let go of the world beyond Lancelot inside him, his hands on his hips and the length of him slowly edging deeper.

“Lancelot,” Percival breathed, lying pliant, bent over beneath Lancelot who continued to work himself into Percival impossibly deep.

The pleasurable pressure building in his hips ricocheted up and down his spine and through his limbs at every thrust forward. It’s so hot, pulsing inside him reaching deeper and deeper to where Percival usually ran cold.

He couldn’t.

It was impossible.

How big was Lancelot?

He hadn’t been fully conscious from the point of when he’d began licking Lancelot, hadn’t had a chance to fully register the length, girth, and weight of him in his mouth and down his throat.

“You’re doing so well,” Lancelot panted, keeping a firm grip on Percival’s hips. “So good.

His eyes burned with tears. The spikes of pleasure almost painful as they ripped through him, stealing his breath. He was so big, larger than made sense, heavier. It was too much.

So much.

Magic, a small voice he didn’t recognize whispered and he gasped.

Oh, gods, Lancelot had magic. Visceral magic that filled every part of his body and it was pouring and thrusting into Percival. The whole rich, magical history of Zephyrine sliding into him alongside the horrors of the Black Forest.

It was too–

*

Percival’s body locked up, clenching the full length of Lancelot in a hard, wet, and hot grip that was almost painful. Lancelot choked, gritting his teeth through it and trying to get Percival to relax with soothing strokes across his back.

P-Percival, you have to…” Lancelot grunted, as he felt Percival’s magic retreat into him, leaving Lancelot breathless and his magic confused. “Percival? Sweet?

Percival didn’t seem to be breathing, every scar on his body glowed with a bright hot light. He’d thought he was going to die from sheer erotics, but never imagined that he’d kill someone with his cock.

Percival?” Lancelot asked more desperate for a reply as the grip didn’t relax around him.

A strangely, choked sound like Percival had been stabbed escaped him and with it his body relaxed and the magic that had retreated came exploding out of him, storming through Lancelot and filling the room with the scent of a deep forest and desire so strong that Lancelot had to bite his lip to keep himself still and conscious.

Percival’s grip on him relaxed enough to allow Lancelot to pull back just a bit and slump over Percival’s back, panting against the terror the moment had inspired.

What the hell was that?

Percival panted practically liquid beneath him, whimpering as Lancelot reached up to stroke his short hair off his face.

“Percival?” Lancelot asked. Percival’s eyes opened all golden light without a sign of his pupils. It’s the same light that made his scars glow.

He added that to his growing list of questions about Percival but smiled as Percival continued to breathe.

Not dead and somehow Lancelot was still as hard as he was when he’d first started sliding into Percival.

“Nod if you’re with me.”

Percival nodded.

“Should I stop?”

Percival shook his head, reaching back for Lancelot’s thigh to pull at him with what little strength he could muster.

“Okay,” Lancelot said, trailing his fingers down Percival’s back and pressing his arm back down to the mattress. “I won’t stop until you ask me to, but I don’t promise you the use of your legs tomorrow.”

Percival’s hand twitched as Lancelot slid back into him fully and worked his hips in slow circles. Percival was still insanely tight, too tight to thrust into him the way he wanted to, but slowly he relaxed allowing Lancelot to pull out more with every swivel of his hips. At every thrust, Percival’s body twitched, a ripple of light washing through his scars and up into his eyes as Percival lay pliant. His mouth open and drooling into the mattress; he was a sexed up and magically overwhelmed mess. Small, desperate whimpers at Lancelot’s steady and unhurried pace. He let the pleasure wash over him, mingling with the scent of magic in the air and the rush of confidence that came with the sight of Percival beneath him.

Percival slid forward and his legs slid out from beneath him, easing his weight down onto the pillows beneath him. Lancelot helped him straighten his legs as he thrust a little harder into Percival. Percival sobbed his name as his next thrust rocked the bed into the wall with a loud bang. His body tensed but the two lubricants had done their jobs well and he was just relaxed enough that Lancelot had no fear of hurting him even if he continued to thrust through the tension.

“Perfect,” Lancelot breathed, leaning down to place both hands on Percival’s back, pressing him down into the mattress and giving himself more leverage to angle himself into Percival.

A pleasured howl ripped through him with a ripple of tension that squeezed Lancelot tighter, at once begging him to stop and wanting him deeper. Lancelot grinned, letting his body continue to rock them and the bed towards the wall. The sound of the headboard echoed in the small room, blotting out the sounds of the activities in the rooms around them. Nothing mattered beyond Percival’s high-pitched and rough sobbing, the way his body thrashed and clenched around Lancelot and the immeasurable high coursing through him.

He hadn’t experienced this sort of focus outside of battle. He could hear every hitch of Percival’s breath, smell their sweat and desire mingling, taste their magics clashing in the air, see every expression that passed over Percival’s face and feel every shudder of their bodies as Lancelot thrust. He prayed that Percival wouldn’t hate him when it was over for not having a voice come morning.

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