leashy_bebes | fic: Swearing Fealty (1/1)

Title: Swearing Fealty (1/1)
Pairing: Arthur/Percival
Rating: NC-17
Summary: PWP
Warnings: Arthur has some thoughts/fantasies that might be considered dub-con-ish (but um. Blink and you'll probably miss it?) IDEK, I fail at warnings. Porn, porn, size kink, dirty talk, porn. Unbeta'd so feel free to point out typos etc
Wordcount: ~1600
Disclaimer: Not mine.

It's there in the moment they meet, even in the midst of everything, a lurch of desire so completely inappropriate that Arthur almost laughs. He grew up in the company of strong men with capable hands, warriors who have that physical assurance pouring off them, but he has never seen a man like Percival before. And he just wants to give it up there and then, uncaring of the others, wants to offer himself to this mountain of a man who smiles and speaks softly and seems awed by Arthur's presence.

But it's not until later, much later, after battles fought and narrowly won that Arthur allows himself to think of it again. And when he does it's unstoppable, a torrent of filthy images and unthought-of desires. He hasn't been this desperate this often since he was a teen, and every night and far too much of each day is occupied with thoughts of thick fingers in his mouth, of being pressed face down in his sheets until he's gasping, or forced onto his hands and knees, of just taking it. Letting it happen.

Arthur wakes rock hard from vaguely unsettling dreams – Percival's broad arm across his throat, his hand rough and persistent on Arthur's cock – often enough that he's jittery. Training with the knights, which has always been a welcome distraction becomes an exercise in self-restraint instead. Arthur has so many other things he should be thinking about. He can't afford to turn into a desperate untried boy every time Percival sets one of the other knights on his back at the first attempt. Partly because it's unbecoming for a prince, but mainly because it happens almost all the time. None of them have yet found a technique that will match Percival's brute strength for more than a few minutes. He always looks almost apologetic when he leans down to pull his opponent to their feet, as though he knows the advantage his bulk gives him and is embarrassed to exploit it.

One day after drills are over, Arthur stays to watch as Gwaine and Lancelot team up against Percival, all three of them wielding blunt practice swords. Arthur wants to join in, all the more so when Percival still makes it look fairly effortless. He's unexpectedly light on his feet, and with his greater reach he can keep out of their way but still deliver flat-bladed blows to Gwaine and Lancelot almost as he pleases. Gwaine laughs and Lancelot looks fond and amused. Arthur doesn't know how either of them can be anything but breathless when Percival disarms them with a swipe of his sword at Gwaine and a nudge of his elbow into Lancelot's ribs.

Lancelot and Gwaine admit defeat and head off but Percival's slower. He looks Arthur up and down as he gets closer and Arthur imagines his desires are plainly written on his face. There's something in the way Percival looks at him, understanding or expectation or something.

"Is there anything else, Sire?"

Arthur doesn't think twice.

***

Arthur doesn't know what he was expecting, but Percival is quiet and reverent as he undresses Arthur, sinking to his knees and bowing his head to mouth kisses the length of Arthur's cock through his breeches. Arthur bites his lip and curls his fingers into Percival's shoulder, his mouth going dry at the hard, unyielding strength of the man.

"Get up," he urges. Percival looks taken aback but he gets to his feet. Arthur has a moment to think that he's never had to lift his head to kiss someone before, and then Percival's hands land on his shoulders, holding firm. Percival leans into him, mouth hot and devouring and Arthur fists his hands in Percival's tunic, pulling it tighter across his broad shoulders. Arthur only has to tug once and then Percival's walking him backwards, his body barely parting from Arthur's.

Arthur's half-blind, clumsy with lust and the dizzying rush of letting Percival's strength overwhelm him, but he manages to steer them to his bed nonetheless. He wants to fall straight into the sheets, greedy for the knowledge of how it feels to be pinned under that strong body. Percival stops him though, hands firm on Arthur's hips. He strips Arthur's breeches away and then pushes him, not even that hard, but Arthur sprawls down onto the bed. Percival's astride his thighs in a heartbeat, bending down to press sloppy kisses along Arthur's chest.

Arthur doesn't recognise his own voice when he tangles a hand in Percival's collar and tugs upward, begging, "Please, please."

Percival comes closer and the drag of their lower bodies is perfect, but he keeps his elbows braced on either side of Arthur's head, holding a space between them. Arthur makes a low, dissatisfied noise and works a hand in between their bodies, supposing that a quick grope is probably the most effective way to get Percival riled up enough that this will turn into something more like his fantasies. As it is, he gets his fingers inside the front of Percival's breeches and his mind positively grinds to a halt.

It's no great leap of the imagination to assume that Percival is...well endowed, but this. Arthur wasn't expecting this. He swallows, his throat dry, and then catches his lip between his teeth and bites down hard on a whine. He's so thick. And hot, and Arthur wants it. He has a mad breathless moment wondering if he could even fit his hand around it. If Percival fucks him with that cock Arthur will be feeling it for days.

Percival obviously misreads Arthur's reaction because he gets that half-abashed look on his face again and says haltingly, "I'm – used to being careful."

Arthur's stomach twists and he gathers up all the command he has left in him.

"Don't be."

Percival's eyes widen and there's a long silent moment before he gathers Arthur's wrists up in one hand, lightning fast, and pins them above his head. Arthur arches and Percival presses one thick, hard thigh between his legs. Arthur gasps out a curse and grinds up against him, not caring about the rough rub of Percival's clothes on his naked skin, dignity forgotten as his mouth falls open on a long, low moan. Percival nips at Arthur's lip, his jaw, down over his taut throat. His free hand skims the length of Arthur's body from chest to thigh, soft at first and then harder, testing.

Arthur lets his legs fall further apart and he arches until he encounters solid resistance and then falls back into the bed with a groan. He's so hard already, aching, desperate, and then Percival's hand closes around his cock and the only reason Arthur doesn't scream is because he turns his head, pressing his face to his own arm.

"Don't," Percival says softly, nudging Arthur's face with his own until he turns back, looking up again. He's panting for breath and Percival kisses his open mouth, absurdly gentle even as he moves his hand along Arthur's length, so slowly Arthur thinks it could reasonably be described as torture.

"Faster," Arthur insists, breathing the word against Percival's lips, shifting so Percival has to press down on his hands. It works though, and soon that large, capable hand is working over his cock and Arthur feels like he might cry from the pleasure of it.

"Is this what you wanted?" Percival asks, a hot rush of air over Arthur's ear before teeth close on his lobe and tug.

"Yes," Arthur groans, but – "No – more – "

"Later," Percival insists. "More later."

Arthur can't find the words to complain and anyway, Percival's hand alone is already driving Arthur mad, he won't last through anything more adventurous than this. He feels wrung out and clumsy already and all he can force out through his lips is, "Come on, come on."

Percival's hands tighten on his wrists and his cock both and Arthur whines. There must be something needy in it because Percival murmurs soft nonsense into his ear, at odds with the way he's holding Arthur down, wringing pleasure out of him. When Arthur makes a broken, wrenching noise low in his throat Percival noses along his throat to his jaw and asks, low and hot,

"Shall I make you, Sire?"

"Yes," Arthur bursts out. "Yes, yes, make – "

He's bucking now, spine arching off the bed and Percival presses down hard on his wrists before letting go of them. Arthur just fists his hands in the pillow and clings on. Percival's hand, heavy and fucking huge lands on his chest, pressing hard, pinning Arthur and making it seem like the easiest thing in the world. Arthur's breath is scorching hot in his throat, and through it all Percival just watches, quiet and calm as though he's not expending even a fraction of his strength to best Arthur.

Then he ducks his head and mouths at the line of Arthur's throat, his lips lush and warm, his voice a low rumble through Arthur's body as he orders, "Do it, Sire. Spend yourself for me, I need you relaxed so I can open you up. My fingers. My tongue, Sire. Whatever you need, it's yours, anything so I can make you ready for me."

"Yes," Arthur gasps and he lurches upward without thinking about it. Percival pushes down on his chest, hard, all but knocking the breath from him. He doesn't let up the pressure even when Arthur cries out, once, then again, rising and desperate. The hand around his cock is too tight and he can barely breathe and he can't move and it's perfect.

He comes like that, stretched out and pinned down, Percival's mouth at his ear promising, "Just as you need it, Sire. Anything you need. I swear it."

Current Mood: hungry
Current Music: Amy Winehouse - Addicted