Summer could hardly form words anymore. With every thrust of his fingers she moaned again, and fine tremors formed in her muscles. From the first sharp crest of her climax he was keeping her riding it, as a wave, and the pleasure was so overwhelming it was almost pain.
Tag Archives: sirpercivalofcamelot
(You’ve got the entirety of one ask to try and get my character to hit yours) Percival burst into Summer’s room with an operatic shout. “SUUUUUUMMMMUUUURRRRR IS A LOVVERLY PERRRRSON!” He jumped onto her table, sweeping everything off and sliding into his best model pose. He poked her nose. “Hello, shnookums.”
Summer narrowed her eyes at him, a fingertip tapping on the table. “Percival.” Then she smacked him on the head. “Get off my table.”
She was hazily grateful when he pressed her into the chair, kneeling before her. Her fingers splayed across his scalp, flexing and gripping, before she leaned her head against the back of the chair and cried out, sharply.
She shuddered hard when he touched her. “By the gods, Peredur,” she rasped, Kentish accent thickening and voice breaking on a moan. She clung to him, knees going to water. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, but her body burned, and once again she kissed him greedily.
E.
Summer tugged the stack of blankets out of the closet, balancing it carefully — the stack was taller than her head. “Did you get all the pillows?” she shouted, trying to navigate down the hallway without dropping, tripping, or suffocating. A crick was starting to form in her neck when she finally made it to the den, and she dropped the pile to the floor with a soft ‘whump’.
A heap of pillows, and a slightly woebegone Percival, met her eyes.
“The movie we picked has a scratched disc.” Percival was very concerned. “I only brought three movies, and your internet is really freaking slow for Netflix.”
“Fix the fort,” she instructed. “I’ll take care of the movie.” Picking up the remote, she switched the input channel to something labelled ‘Plex’. “It’s easier if we just stream it off the computer.”
Heart pounding and body burning, Summer shoved herself off Percival’s lap, ignoring his shock. She stripped her skirts off, then swallowed and stepped back close to the knight. Taking his hands, she pulled them around her waist. “Don’t stop,” she breathed.
How was she even supposed to answer that? She had no idea what was normal. “I — I suppose so,” she managed. Maybe the better answer was — she dipped her head and caught at his mouth, trying to show instead of say how good she was with everything he was doing.
E.
Summer tugged the stack of blankets out of the closet, balancing it carefully — the stack was taller than her head. “Did you get all the pillows?” she shouted, trying to navigate down the hallway without dropping, tripping, or suffocating. A crick was starting to form in her neck when she finally made it to the den, and she dropped the pile to the floor with a soft ‘whump’.
A heap of pillows, and a slightly woebegone Percival, met her eyes.
(It’s a high school dance, and my muse is standing off outside waiting for their date that ditched them. How does your muse react to this?) Percival walks up to Summer with his hands folded behind his back, head ducked low. “Do you want to dance? I really like this song.”
“I, uh … ” Summer gave one last futile look around for her date, who had abandoned her over half an hour ago on the pretext of getting drinks, and ran her hands down the front of her deep green ballgown. “Yes. Of course. Let’s dance. Percival, right? Or do you prefer Percy?”
“Percival?” Summer whispers, when the silence and stillness have stretched out. “What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?” She shifts back, curling a hand under his chin to tip his face up, eyes dark and frightened instead of shadowed with desire. “I don’t want you to stop.”