She takes a step back, takes a deep breath. There’s a chair, and a table, and she grabs the chair and turns it, then grabs his shoulders and maneuvers him into it.
“There,” she mutters. “Now I’m not breaking my neck.” Then she sits down on his knee and pulls his arm around her waist. “Don’t talk,” she whispers. “Just do.”
Summer settles back against his warmth, head tilted back against his shoulder. “Relax. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. We can just sit here, just be together.” Is Percival a /virgin/? It seems odd, but then she doesn’t know very much of how he came to be a knight, at Camelot. Arthur’s knights are a much more motley assortment than Uther’s knights ever were.
“You can do whatever you like, and if I don’t like it I’ll tell you.” She shifts, a little, so if she reaches forward just a little more, she can kiss his throat.