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The Most Delightful Kind of Tricycle

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Gwaine is not, by nature, given to secrecy. He's got a few secrets, of course, everyone does, but mostly, he's fairly open about things. Sometimes too open, if Leon and Arthur are to be believed. Percival is maybe a little more secretive, but that's mostly because Percival is quiet.

However, when Percival asks him out (lunch in the park, both of them concentrating on eating their sandwiches, Percival saying “We should do this officially” and Gwaine laughing and asking if he meant eating lunch or mocking pigeons, and then Percival kissing him), almost the first thing Gwaine says after “Yes, Christ!” is “So, we shouldn't tell anyone.”

Probably most people would get offended by that, but Percival stops and considers. Percival is probably wisely remembering how very involved (unhealthily involved, one might say) their group of friends got in Arthur and Merlin's burgeoning romance. And then Gwen and Leon's. And then Morgana and Freya's, because their friend group is pairing off at an alarming rate. It's anyone's guess who's next, though Elena is too adorable to stay single for long and the only reason Mithian has not yet been kidnapped and wed to a prince is that she's probably too intimidating for them. Which, well, ditto Lancelot, actually. And Elyan is too busy making the greater London area fall in love with him, the bastard. “Maybe not until after the first date,” says Percival at last, interrupting Gwaine's train of thought. Fair enough, Gwaine's trains of thought should often be interrupted.

“Great plan,” says Gwaine, relieved, and takes another bite of his sandwich. No need for giddy infatuation to prevent him finishing his lunch. “Maybe not until we need help moving in together, if it gets that far,” he adds contemplatively, and Percival nudges him with a shoulder, and probably doesn't mean to nearly knock him over.

“So what are we doing?”

Gwaine chews on his lip, and then, more productively, on his sandwich. “Going to the pub?” he says slowly. The pub is always a good bet.

Percival gives him a dubious look and for a second Gwaine thinks maybe the pub isn't date-y enough, but then his face crinkles into one of his big, honest grins, and that's why Gwaine wants to date him in the first place. “Sure, the pub sounds good.”

“We can get chips and beat everyone at darts and see how long it takes George at the bar to figure out we're there on a date. Probably the only indicator will be the lack of our other friends.” Gwaine considers that. “And maybe the making out. Mate, are we going to be one of those couples that kisses in public all the time?”

Percival wrinkles his nose. “Probably not.”

Gwaine considers that. Probably wise. He doesn't think their friends can do much more PDA without causing some kind of tear in the fabric of space-time. “When do you want to do it, then?”

“Friday and Saturday everyone will be at the pub or asking us where we are if we aren't with them,” Percival says, frowning. “Sunday I'm supposed to do something with Elyan and Arthur—and you have lunch with Vivian, right, that's why you aren't coming to that. So, Monday?”

“Monday sounds great,” says Gwaine, and returns to his sandwich. And if he holds Percival's hand after, that's their own business.


Their whole sneaky Monday plan (which consists of not telling anyone and praying nobody wants to go out for a beer on a Monday) has a wrench thrown in it before Gwaine even gets to Percival's flat to pick him up, as he agreed. The wrench comes in the form of a text from Percival's number: Elena is over, not sure I have the heart to send her away. Want to try again?

Gwaine is not going to reschedule this date. They'll just have to have it in secret with Elena there. I am not going to reschedule this date, he sends. We will have it in secret with Ellie there.

That sounds like it's going to end well.

There isn't time to answer that text before Gwaine turns up on Percival's doorstep. Percival is wearing a button-up, which Gwaine doesn't think he's seen him do outside of work and sometimes not even then, and Elena is sitting in Percival's armchair (which is massive because Percival is massive, and Gwaine was really looking forward to exploring the size of both the armchair and Percival after their date, he is going to have to find a way to gently send Elena away), legs drawn up under her, hair in a stress-induced rat's nest. “I know I'm crashing bro time—”

“Never call it that again,” says Percival, who has strong feelings on the subject of the word “bro.”

“Fine, I am interrupting manly bonding, and I'm sorry, but you don't mind too much, do you? Because Gwen and Mithian were making noises about watching Buffy and it creeps me the hell out, and I had a stressful day so I thought I'd go to the pub and Percival mentioned you were going too and I sort of invited myself along. I can pretend to do manly bonding.” Elena crinkles up her face like she doesn't know what that entails even though Gwaine is pretty sure she does more stereotypical dude things than Arthur. “We can talk about porn,” she finally says, like that might be the statement that wins him over.

Not that he needs winning. Gwaine adores Elena more than he adores most people. He's just a little sad over his date being crashed. Not very sad, he still gets to spend a night with Percival and hopefully snog him at the end of it, but a little shot of malaise, perhaps. “We can indeed talk about porn,” he agrees. “You can weigh in on the very important subject of whether you often find yourself uncontrollably attracted to plumbers or pizza delivery men.”

Elena snorts out a laugh. “Well, people who bring me pizza definitely have some kind of upper hand. I'm not sure about plumbers, my plumber is a woman.” Gwaine considers that and Elena rolls her eyes at him. “Yeah, yeah, not a deterrent. Now are we going? I haven't had dinner yet, I came here in hopes of Percival feeding me.”

“Yes, Ellie, we can go get dinner.” He gives Percival a quick look, but Percival is just standing with his hands in his pockets smiling at both of them, because Percival is heart-warmingly fond of his friends even when they interrupt his dates, and also heart-warmingly fond of Gwaine. It's one of his better traits. The adoration and the biceps. Gwaine would date him for either alone, the combination is winning.

“Could use the meal myself,” says Percival mildly, and holds out Elena's jacket like the gentleman he is.

Elena chatters on most of the way to the pub. Gwaine lets her walk on ahead and doesn't hold Percival's hand even though he really kind of wants to. Instead, they walk close together and bump shoulders occasionally and grin at each other every time Ellie says something ridiculous or almost runs into someone turning around to walk backwards so she can gesticulate. By the time they get to the pub, she's told them all about her stressful day and seems to have settled a little.

“I'll grab the first round,” says Elena as soon as they're through the door, and Gwaine would accuse her of trying to hit on the bartender if the bartender weren't, well, George, who is hopelessly awkward and strange and who also carries around an autographed portrait of his famous girlfriend around in his pocket all the time (Gwaine thought he was making up dating her until she came into the pub and kissed him, and his respect for George has been much higher since).

Gwaine drags Percival over to the table next to their usual, since their usual has people in it. “You don't mind having Ellie along?” he asks. “We could … find some way to send her away, I guess.”

Percival frowns a little. “I don't want to be responsible for upsetting Elena. It's fine.”

“We can always have our first private date sometime else. I'm free Thursday, I think?”

“Thursday should be good, as long as we aren't out too late, I've got an early morning on Friday.”

Elena chooses that moment to show up with their drinks on a tray, since she isn't allowed to carry more than one drink at a time. “Beer for all,” she says, handing them out around the table. “And George says he'll be around to take our order in a bit. Now, tell me about your days, I've been monopolizing the conversation.”


Gwaine's seen first-hand that sometimes it's hard to make the transition from being friends to being in love. He wasn't expecting it to be easy with Percival, and with Elena along, no matter how determined they are, it should feel like every night at the pub ever has. And to some extent, it does: they play darts and Elena never gets anything but out of bounds or a bullseye and Percival buries his darts so deep in the board they have to be worked out and Gwaine makes lewd jokes about it; they eat dinner and steal food off each other's plates, all three of them; they drink more beer than they should given they're all working professionals and get well and truly pissed.

So, okay, maybe it's partly the booze that makes it easy to be a date, but Gwaine doesn't think that's it, not all of it. And if he doesn't trust himself to separate the drinks from the good times, he can see in the little smile on Percival's face that it's good for him too. They tell stupid date stories they know the real versions of, and Elena tells a few of her own, and Gwaine doesn't mind, laughs along and manages to be surprised when she tells one from a ladies' night and refuses to tell them the real version of what happened.

“This is nice,” Elena says, four beers and a whole meal in, sometime after the third game of darts, happily drunk and listing a little in her chair. “Why don't the three of us hang out more? I like you bunches.”

“I like you bunches too, Ellie,” says Gwaine, just past tipsy and expansive with it, and doesn't say anything about the three of them hanging out because he's in favor of it if all the nights are warm and fun like this, but if he and Percival are trying to be together, he doesn't want Percival to think Gwaine isn't serious about this, because Gwaine is, much as he's so rarely serious about anything.

But Percival is watching them with his head tilted, a thoughtful look on his face. Gwaine raises his eyebrows to make sure it's good thoughtful, and Percival smiles. “We should hang out more,” he says, and Gwaine doesn't know what it means, but Percival presses their legs together in the booth, so he isn't too worried about it.


Elena doesn't figure it out until she comes back from the bathroom and Gwaine's reflexes are shot so he doesn't snap back from holding Percival's hand in time. “Oh,” she says, a quiet, shocked little sound that makes Gwaine feel like a heel. “Oh, I didn't interrupt manly bonding, I interrupted a date. Didn't I? Fuck, oh, you've got to tell me these things or I miss them, I didn't want to interrupt, I didn't even know you were—whatever.”

Percival grabs her wrist before she can wander off in confusion, which is good, because she is not sober enough to get home safe on her own. “Hey, don't run off,” he says, and looks at Gwaine.

“Sit down, Ellie, okay? We'll talk about it.” A few people are watching them, including George at the bar, who looks more disapproving than he really has a right to. “First off,” he says when she's sitting and looking miserable and apologetic and everything Elena really never should, “Percival and I both decided it was fine that you're here. This is our first date, so it honestly hasn't been a secret for—”

Wrong thing to say. “Fuck, I interrupted your first date,” she almost wails.

“It's okay,” says Percival, while Gwaine is just processing his alarm. He's not great with upset women unless they want to be romanced into a better mood. Vivian tells him it's a failing. “It's fine, Elena, we don't mind—no, we want you here.”

“And of course, why am I surprised,” Elena is saying, obviously not listening a bit, “you're both gorgeous and wonderful, why would you not be getting together—”

“In all fairness,” says Gwaine, “you're gorgeous and wonderful and we're—” Gwaine has a sudden epiphany that he knows what Percival was looking so thoughtful about earlier. A look at Percival confirms it with a nod, dating one of his best mates was an awesome plan, this communication business is a lot easier when you're already practically psychic with each other.

Elena, meanwhile, is totally ignorant of the greatest stroke of genius Gwaine has ever had (even if Percival had it first). “I've made such a tit of myself,” she says mournfully, and looks with great longing at her almost-empty glass, which is water instead of beer this round because she believes in moderation and not having hangovers at work, clever woman, Gwaine is going to have to tell her how clever she is when she is not being slow to pick up the fact that this was indeed a first date, but one without a third wheel. Or if there is a third wheel, it's because they're on the most delightful kind of tricycle.

“You really haven't,” says Percival.

“And it's not like I haven't thought about it with you. Both of you,” she continues, still not getting it.

“At once?” Gwaine asks, in the spirit of scientific inquiry.

Elena turns pink. “That's a horrible question.”

“It's an important one,” says Percival.

Gwaine watches the light dawn. It's beautiful. He wants to preserve it for posterity, and also, he wants to kiss Elena. That's weirdly surprising, given he's spent the last several minutes attempting to get her to stop talking for a minute so he can convince her that he is an excellent candidate for co-boyfriend. “Oh,” she says. And then again, “Oh.” She narrows her eyes. “Did you have some kind of master plan to get me to invite myself on your date to seduce me?”

Percival grips her shoulder bracingly. “That would be a terrible master plan.”

“This was entirely accidental,” says Gwaine, spreading his hands. “We were having a date, you came along, all three of us had a date, and I don't know, I think it's gone fairly well. How about you, Percival?”

“It's definitely gone well,” he says with one of his smaller smiles, the private little ones that always make Gwaine want to badger him into saying what he's thinking. “Elena?”

She waves an arm and nearly knocks Gwaine's glass over. He grabs it before it tips into his lap. “This kind of thing doesn't happen to people!”

“Because it's too awesome?” Gwaine hazards.


“Well, fear not, it's actually happening.” He beams at them both. This is the best idea, he's so disappointed he and Percival didn't think of it before. Not that Percival isn't amazing and wouldn't be an awesome boyfriend on his own, but the addition of Elena makes everything even better, he has no idea why it wasn't the most obvious thing in the world to them then like it is now.

“You are going to have to be really clear about what's actually happening,” says Elena. “Like, a second date. Is that happening?”

Gwaine lets Percival take that one. “Yes. If you like.”

“No, I hate dating hot men who want to have sex with both each other and me.” She eyes them. “Sex is on the table, right? You're not just in this for my skill at darts?”

“The darts are just a wonderful bonus,” Gwaine assures her. “Mostly it's the fact that you're awesome and sexy.”

He lets Elena have a minute to process things. He sort of needs a minute himself, anyway. Percival seems totally fine, but that's Percival all over, Gwaine doesn't think much fazes Percival. “Maybe,” Percival finally says, when Elena doesn't do much besides look between them, “maybe we should leave.”

“Your plans are the best plans,” says Gwaine, and stands up, dropping a few notes on the table as he goes, Percival and Elena chipping in their contributions like it's a normal night at the pub. That's good. Gwaine has no idea what the protocol for paying on accidental threesome dates is. This is the kind of question he should probably ask Morgana. Or possibly Lancelot, he's a sly dog.

“Whose place?” says Elena when they're all out on the street, in a little cluster a few buildings down from the pub, nobody holding anyone else's hand, which is a shame as far as Gwaine is concerned. “Or, I mean, no one's place is also an option, I guess.”

Gwaine is struck by the image of them wandering the streets of the city all night, holding hands, pretending to look up at the stars past the light pollution, and finds that it pleases his romantic soul, before Percival and his psychic powers ruin Gwaine's romantic daydreams. “If nothing else,” says Percival, “I don't think we're all sober enough to get to each other's respective flats. Mine is closer, and Elyan is out for the night anyway, so we can have a little breathing space to figure this out.”


The walk back to Percival's is quiet. Gwaine mostly sticks to holding Percival's hand, partly because Elena is still looking shell-shocked and partially because she can't walk at one pace for more than three steps at a time, always stepping around cracks or slowing down to watch a particularly interesting pigeon.

Gwaine is feeling all the beer he had, that's for sure, and it makes the walk fuzzy and pleasant. Judging by Elena's stumbling and Percival's great care in making sure one foot goes in front of the other, he isn't the only one. At least if they're starting this relationship drunk they're all starting it drunk.

When they all get up to Percival's flat, coats off and lights on, they're left standing in a loose circle in the living room, nobody quite sure what to do. Well, Gwaine is sure what to do, it involves kissing and considerably less clothes, but there's a certain element of choice that he wasn't expecting when the night began. “Okay,” says Elena, with a concentrated frown on her face. “There's got to be a fair way of doing this.”

“Rock paper scissors?” says Gwaine.

She rolls her eyes and that makes her look less shocked than she has since she ran across Gwaine and Percival holding hands. Which is good. Ellie off-balance just makes him want to cuddle her, it's very distracting. “Okay, so, fairness. You two were on the date first, you should kiss first.”

“But we've kissed already, shouldn't we let you catch up?” Gwaine argues, mostly for form's sake.

“Gwaine,” says Percival, and kisses him, which quite neatly deals with all that arguing. Gwaine clutches at his shoulders, because he's only human, and feels one shift as Percival reaches out, presumably to beckon Elena over. Sure enough, there's a third warm body next to them in a second, and Gwaine reluctantly releases one of Percival's shoulders in order to sling an arm around hers, Percival's sliding around her waist, and then she's so close as to practically be forcing them apart except she seems really invested in them keeping on with the kissing.

Eventually Gwaine pulls away, because Elena is licking his neck and it is very distracting, even more distracting than the wanting to cuddle her. “One moment, please,” he tells Percival, and drags Elena's mouth up to his, kissing and kissing and Christ but she's good with her mouth, this is data he should have. “Now you,” he says when they pull apart, gasping.

Percival has to bend to frame her face with his hands and then he kisses her like they're the cover of a romance novel and she melts into him like she's totally on board with that. Gwaine wants to take a hundred thousand pictures and frame them all. He's going to do it.

“I feel like people would judge,” Elena says breathlessly, at which point Gwaine realizes his brain-to-mouth filter is very possibly completely shot.

“Fine then, Instagram,” says Gwaine, and kisses her again while reaching out for a good handful of Percival's arse, because it seems like a golden opportunity and he's not going to let it pass him by.

“I have a bedroom,” Percival eventually says.

Elena pulls back. “You are a genius.” With that, she pulls her shirt off over her head, and even the fact that her lingerie isn't sexy is sexy. Percival beams at her and takes his own shirt off, and he is not wearing lingerie at all, which is definitely sexy. They both eye each other up and then turn to him expectantly. “You're still wearing a shirt,” says Elena in disappointed tones.

“Let it never be said that I missed an opportunity to strip,” says Gwaine, and takes his shirt off, and then his jeans, for good measure, striking a pose that makes Percival grin and Elena giggle. “Now, I heard mention of a bedroom. Shall we?”

In answer, Percival scoops Elena up in his arms and starts carrying her as she shrieks and laughs, and Gwaine follows along behind because he gets a view and he never can resist a good view. Percival has the biggest bed of any of their friends, which Gwaine did not realize would be so handy before but which he now blesses Percival for. “Thank fuck you're so tall,” Elena says, apparently in complete agreement.

“It comes with perks,” Percival agrees, dumping her on the bed so she bounces on the mattress and lets out a breathless giggle.

“Reaching things,” contributes Gwaine.

“Annoying Arthur,” says Elena.

“Fucking people against walls,” says Percival, and takes his jeans off.

Gwaine considers the many dizzying possibilities involved in three people and walls and decides that first things are first, and ambitious positions are for the sober. He takes his underwear off and jumps on the bed in time to help Elena with her trousers, undoing her bra as he goes because only one person involved in this has breasts and he is not going to pass up on them. Elena is laughing, maybe at him and maybe at something else, and he's about to ask her what it is when Percival joins them on the bed, and then she's all wide-eyed and curious, one of them on either side of her, her hands on their abs and her eyes definitely on Percival's cock. It's a view worthy of examination. “I really hope you intend to use that to its fullest potential,” she says.

“I have condoms.”

“So do I,” says Gwaine.

“So do I,” says Elena, and then grins at them when Gwaine stops easing her panties down her thighs. “What? I thought I might pull tonight, I've done it before while out with friends. I just didn't expect to be pulling both of you.”

“We should probably stick with my condoms,” says Percival mildly, “because I put them under my pillow with the lube before Gwaine came to get us earlier.”

“You are a genius and a scholar,” Gwaine informs him, and then rethinks that. “A gentleman and a genius?”

“Shush,” says Elena, and kisses him. She isn't touching him anywhere else, Gwaine realizes, and opens his eyes while they kiss to find that she's gotten ahead of him on the handjob front, the minx.

“Hey, I wanted to help,” he objects into her mouth, and pulls away to meet Percival's eyes, which are on them, wide and dark. “I'm afraid you're going to have to fuck one of us. It's just going to happen, we should all be prepared for this.”

“I'm willing to cede rights to first fuck,” says Elena, like the big-hearted woman she is. Gwaine cups her breasts in thanks. And also because they're right there and he is only human. “You two were on a date first, after all.”

You are a gentlewoman and a—” Gwaine breaks off because Elena, with unerring instinct, bends down and catches his nipple between her teeth, bites.

“I'll fuck you,” says Percival, and his little shy grin should probably be illegal in bed, it's really good that he's built like a fucking Michelangelo because otherwise he would look about twelve years old. “Sort of hard with Ellie in the middle. Ellie, mind if I shift you? And what should we do about you?”

Elena flaps her hand and whacks Percival in the chest, probably on purpose. He is made of chiseled marble and wet dreams, Gwaine can't blame her for the impulse. “Oh, we can figure me out, I'm not too worried about me, I'm fairly sure I can get myself off just watching you two do your thing.”

“Do our thing, what charming phrasing,” says Gwaine, and she pinches him this time.

“But then neither of us gets to get you off,” Percival interjects, honestly distressed.

Gwaine grins. “Multiple orgasms. Women are great.”

“Well, now you've committed,” she says, and gets out of the tangle of limbs, climbing over Gwaine until he's in the middle, which, it turns out, is a nice place to be. She makes a grand gesture. “Go on, then, get on with it, you've promised me multiple orgasms now, may as well get started.”

That strikes Gwaine as funnier than it probably would if he were entirely sober, but at this point it's worn off enough that he can get an erection, as his dick is informing him, which means he's sober enough that he won't regret this in the morning, not that he thought he ever would. Hopefully the other two are about there as well. He ducks his face against Percival's shoulder until he's done giggling (and yes, he'll admit that's what it is) and then looks up when he's calmer to find Percival watching him, serious and intent. “Want to?” Percival asks, in a great show of chivalry and romanticism, and Gwaine would tease him if he weren't so sure that he means it, and if he weren't a little breathless with the knowledge.

“Yes,” he finally says, and Percival gets the lube and condoms out from under his pillow. There is a really gratifying amount of both. They may not have to leave the bed for weeks, except for food breaks. Gwaine turns over and wriggles until he's in a helpful position. With three of them in bed and all of them not quite at the top of their faculties, they may as well make things easy on each other.

“I'm going to help,” says Elena, and then there are three hands all over Gwaine and he loves the middle, he is going to stay in the middle forever. For a second, he wonders why there are only three hands, but a glance over at Ellie shows she's got her other hand down between her legs, which he can't really grudge her. If he weren't propping himself on his elbows Gwaine would probably be doing much the same.

Percival is great with his fingers, although his fingers are also big, and Gwaine shifts with discomfort before he gets used to the stretch and can enjoy the feeling of Percival's lubed finger working slowly in, Elena's softer hand petting his back like he's a horse that needs soothing, Percival's other hand clasped tight at his hip, keeping him anchored. “This is great,” Gwaine says to nobody in particular.

“It really is,” says Percival, crooking his finger, trying again when he misses the first time, and yes, that's it.

“Can I try?” Elena asks, with admirable enthusiasm. Gwaine looks over his shoulder to find them grinning at each other. He's got the best taste.

A second later, Percival shifts out of the way, handing the lube over to Elena, and then she's at it, much faster and messier about it than Percival, but also with smaller fingers, so it all works out. Gwaine lets her have her turn, moving encouragingly until she's finding his prostate with impressive regularity, until he misses Percival moving in him, since Percival is still now, his hands resting but not moving on Gwaine's skin. “You again,” he says. “She can only stretch me so much.”

They have a silent conference while Gwaine catches his breath, and then Percival is behind him, always quick to move for someone who should by rights lumber around about as gracefully as the Hulk, and Elena is apparently sorting through condoms at his side. “Ooh, you've got the sort with the studs, even, I've always wanted to see if that made a fuck better.”

“Not this time,” Gwaine says, or gasps really, with Percival sliding two fingers inside him, making a pleased noise, and coming back with three, which is much more of a stretch but certainly not a bad one.

“Colors, glow-in-the-dark, and oh, some flavored ones, where do you even get all these?”

“When I volunteer at the clinic people keep handing them to me. You all right there, Gwaine?”

“Peachy keen,” says Gwaine around a moan that's got to sound obscene. “Think you could move your finger just a titch—yeah, right there.” Elena pets his hair and continues going through the condoms like she's planning on cataloguing them all. “I'll give you a shot with one of the rough riders if Percival doesn't fuck me unconscious,” he offers.

“Sweet of you. I was hoping I was going to get fucked tonight, there are nights when being eaten out is rather subtle for my mood.”

“Everything is awesome,” Gwaine decides, and then Percival starts being really distracting and Gwaine doesn't make noises that are actual words for a while. More in the line of incoherent moans, really, and Elena's done talking too, gasping sharply every once in a while. When he looks up at her, she's propped up against Percival's headboard, watching them, condom packets scattered all over her lap and the sheets around her, eyes half-lidded, touching herself with enough purpose that she's got to be aiming for getting off. And he's going to get to fuck her. This is definitely in contention for the best night of Gwaine's life.

“I think you're good,” Percival finally says.

“I'm great.”

“Hey.” Percival's hand tightens where it's resting on his hip. “You ready?”

“Like … some kind of metaphor, yes I am.”

“Have a condom,” Elena says, tossing one and not even losing her rhythm, like the miracle of a woman she is. Given a little practice Gwaine thinks they could fuck for England.

“Thanks. One second, Gwaine, let me put this on.” There's a startling moment where no one's touching Gwaine at all, and then Percival's hands are back on his hips, and Percival's cock is pushing so, so slowly inside him. It's a stretch, fuck but it's a stretch when he's out of practice at this, but he's gratified by the gut-punched noise Elena makes and the way Percival's hands flex, tight enough to bruise.

It seems like it takes forever before Percival is all the way inside of him, and Gwaine has to drop his head and pant in the end just to take the stretch. “Don't stop,” he says before Percival can ask if he's okay. “Just give me a minute, yeah?”

“I'll give you lots of minutes,” Percival says, and if he's far gone enough to give in to the urge to talk nonsense then he's definitely into this, and that's gratifying.

“Please not too many minutes, or I am going to have about six orgasms to both of your one,” Elena says, and when Gwaine forces his eyes open her hand is moving ever faster and the other is clutching the bedframe like it's all that's keeping her from drowning.

“Okay,” says Gwaine, riveted.

“Actually okay, or you got distracted by her breasts okay?” says Percival, sounding a little more with it but still unsteady, still like he might come undone any second. Which would be a damn shame, Gwaine is looking forward to a nice long fuck.

“South of the breasts, but also actually okay.”

“Tell me to stop if it's too much,” says Percival, and takes him at his word.

And Percival's cock is a goddamn wonder of the world, it seems, big enough that even after all the preparation the first few thrusts of the fuck feel almost-too-much until the angle changes, and Gwaine does his best to relax into the fuck, taking everything he can, pushing back into the thrusts and encouraging Percival to speed up, use those muscles of his to push them both on.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” says Elena almost as soon as they find their rhythm, and Gwaine looks up in time to see her bucking into her hand, coming, head tipping back. She stays there, chest heaving, and it only makes Percival go faster, harder. “You have no idea how amazing you two look,” she adds, still short of breath, hand still where it was but stilled.

“Tell us,” says Percival.

Elena looks at them, wrinkles her nose. “Gwaine's the one who's good at porn talk. But God, Percival, you should see his face, it's not like his joke sex face at all and I think I'm really into it.” She reaches out to touch Gwaine, oh fuck, she reaches out to touch him with the hand she was masturbating with, and Gwaine laps out, licks her fingers, moans around them, more because Percival thrusts especially hard than because he wants to be theatrical. “Definitely really into it.”

“And Percival?” Gwaine asks, words pushed breathlessly out of him.

Elena smiles over his head. “Might be having a religious experience. What say, Perce? Seeing stars and angels?”

Percival grunts, thrusts especially hard, doesn't answer. Gwaine rocks forward with the force of the thrust and drops his head to grin. “I'll have to watch sometime,” he says.

“We should film it!” Elena seems to reconsider her plan. “And make sure the recording is somewhere Morgana will never, ever think to look for it, and where Merlin won't run across it accidentally.”

“Or we can all just take turns watching,” says Percival, sensibly, and shifts his weight until he can give Gwaine a reach-around, bless him.

“Don't make me come,” Gwaine warns, because he can remember that, no matter the amount of beer he's had. He made a promise. An orgasm promise, the most binding kind of all. “I still have to fuck Ellie.”

“Have to?”

Gwaine grins at her tone, then lifts his head so she can be sure he's grinning. “Work, work, work, you know me. I'm dedicated to the cause. My life is hard. So are other things.”

“That is terrible and you should feel bad about yourself.” Elena is touching herself again, much more leisurely than she was before, getting herself ready for Gwaine, which is highly gratifying. She's got a condom clutched in her other hand like she wants to be sure not to lose it, which probably means it's the studded kind she wants to try.

Percival is as steady as a machine behind him and in him, and Gwaine listens for the way his breath shakes as it goes in and out, the hints that he's just as into this as Elena implies he is. Next time he's going to do this on his back. Or he'll fuck Percival. Or he'll watch Percival fuck Elena. It seems imperative that their next sexual encounter involves him watching Percival's orgasm face. “Come on,” Gwaine finally says, when he can't stand it anymore, caught between Elena watching him and Percival inside him, and Percival's response is to let go of his cock and start fucking faster, harder, faster.

“Go on, come,” Elena says, hand moving faster again, eyes on Percival entirely now, and Gwaine shifts around, puts his own hand down to his cock more to keep from coming than to bring himself off, because he's made a promise, and it is really hard to remember that when Percival's cock is a fucking miracle. In both senses, even.

When Percival comes, he groans, something that might be Gwaine's name and might not be a word at all, and he freezes where he is, chest pressed up against Gwaine's back from the last rush towards orgasm, heaving with his breath. Elena makes a little noise, going still herself, and Gwaine breathes and tries to keep from moving too much and losing Percival before he wants out. “Good?” he asks when what must be half a minute passes without anyone moving or talking.

“Great,” says Percival, his voice a rumble, and pulls out, both of them wincing. Gwaine is still hard enough to make him dizzy, but the discomfort is enough to bring him back to himself and straighten up, work the kinks out of his back. When he turns around, Percival is red in the face from exertion and grinning, even as he ties off the condom and tosses it with unerring aim into the trash can near the bed. “Are you going to fuck Elena?”

“If she's still amenable. Are you, Ellie?” He catches her nod out of the corner of his eye. “What are you going to do, then?”

Percival's grin gets improbably wider. “Watch.”

“Both of you have had a turn to watch,” Gwaine complains, or pretends to complain, moving his concentration to Elena, who's handing him her choice of condom and manhandling him around until he's positioned to her satisfaction, over her and between her legs so he can give her a good fucking. “I'll want a turn watching in the morning, it's only fair.”

“I think we can accommodate that,” says Elena, and reaches up to grab on to his shoulders, fingers leaving slick trails on his skin and fuck but that shouldn't be as hot as it is. “Come on, put on the condom, I've been wanting this since we got in bed.”

Gwaine does, because he's never one to turn down a lady. Sure enough, it's one of the so-called “rough rider” condoms, and the article itself is thankfully just a little bumpy, not spiked or any of the other alarming things he might have imagined. He rolls it on and waits for Elena's nod before he settles against her, and then inside her, feeling like he's been waiting to do it forever even though he was quite content to have Percival fuck him (and he really must make a note to see if he can manage to do both at once some time, because wonderful as this is he's feeling a little strange and empty now, like there should be something inside him and it's frustrating that there isn't).

Elena is warm and tight around him, and she grips tight on his shoulders when he slides in. “Oh, fuck, that's really strange, and—don't stop, did I say it was bad strange?” Gwaine shakes his head, unable to concentrate on anything but staying exactly where he is. “It's definitely good strange. Sort of gets you everywhere. Would you move?”

“Oh, of course, as my lady commands,” says Gwaine with as much sarcasm as he can muster when he's just had his brains fucked out by one incredibly hot person and is about to fuck another. On top of the beer. His witty repartee is definitely taking a hit.

Percival puts a hand on Gwaine's back, a warm heavy weight, and that's it, just the right impetus to get him moving, fucking Elena as hard as he can right off because she doesn't seem to be in the mood for gentleness or teasing. To prove his point, she goes right along with him, letting out a sharp breath that's almost a grunt with every thrust, and Gwaine has to bite back a smile because he saw her on a trotting horse once and he's pretty sure she made those exact noises. “That's it,” she says when he finds the right rhythm, and her nails bite into the skin of his shoulder.

“This isn't going to be a very long one, I'm afraid,” he says, because he can already feel his orgasm approaching. A man can only take so much.

“You can do better another time,” she says magnanimously, and then they don't talk, Gwaine just gives her everything he has and her hands grip his shoulders as she moves against him, and Percival keeps his hand right where it is, a solid anchor, a reminder that he's there.

It's only a matter of minutes before he feels it coming, the sharp pleasure he's been holding off for so long now. He speeds up and Elena takes the cue perfectly, reaches down between them and gets herself off, meeting Gwaine's gaze, both of them wide-eyed and open-mouthed, too involved in the rhythm to even bother kissing. When she comes again, the pull of her muscles and the look on her face are what tip Gwaine over the edge, his hips stuttering, his muscles seizing, Percival's sudden movement to hold onto his shoulders and pull is all that keeps him from collapsing on Elena, which is good, because that wouldn't have been very gentlemanly of him at all.

“This was the best idea,” he finally says when he collects himself enough to pull himself out of Elena and dispose of the condom. He misses the trashcan, which makes Percival snort, but he decides he can deal with it in the morning. The only reason he's leaving the bed before it's time to wake up is going to be to go to the bathroom.

“Really not how I expected my Monday night to end,” says Elena faintly, staying right where she is. Gwaine lets her have the middle and flops over on her other side, leaving Percival room to curl around her and put a hand on Gwaine's elbow. Percival is a cuddler, apparently. Who knew?

“Kind of a surprise for all three of us,” says Percival, and kisses Elena, a soft, matter-of-fact sort of kiss. If he wouldn't end up elbowing Elena in the throat or something equally untoward, Gwaine would kiss him too, and contents himself with smiling across her instead. “A good one, though. Gwaine, the light's on your side.”

Gwaine feels around for the light switch and manages to hit it, plunging them into complete darkness. He settles against Elena, who sighs happily, and pulls some covers up from the bottom of the bed so they'll be warm when the afterglow wears off.

“I think,” he says as he starts to drift off, “I am on top of no less than six condom packets.”

The last thing he hears as he falls asleep is Elena laughing.


Gwaine wakes to sunshine in his face, his head fuzzy from the aftereffects of a drink or two too many and his everything else sore from … “Ugh, why did you two have to seduce me on a Monday night of all times?” Elena is saying next to him. She isn't touching him, and when he pries his eyes open she's tucked against Percival, the two of them having a quiet chat. “I'm supposed to go to work, it's only Tuesday, couldn't you have done this on a Friday so we could spend a weekend shagging each other rotten?”

“We thought people would get suspicious if we weren't available to go out Friday or Saturday,” Gwaine manages, voice low and rough with the morning, and the two of them turn around with their wide, bright smiles, and it doesn't seem any less right in the morning than it did last night. He's glad. “Also, I'm going to go to the bathroom and then I'm going to get all our phones and we're all going to call in sick to work and shag each other rotten today.”

There's a brief silence while they exchange glances and then shift around so they can see him without straining. “Okay,” says Percival, at length. “I don't have anything big on at work today.”

“Me either.”

“I do, but I can't be arsed about it. And there's not a soul alive who would blame me.” Gwaine groans and levers himself out of the bed.

When he comes back, mouth rinsed out and three phones gathered in his hands, Elena is straddling Percival in an apparent prelude to round two, judging by how passionately they're kissing. Gwaine interrupts them by putting their phones on Percival's chest and starts a text to his boss professing to have a sudden and devastating stomach bug. A few seconds later, the other two finish with their phones and hand them back for him to put off to the side.

“I'll blow you after Elena and I are finished,” Percival says, getting right back down to business.

“I'm looking forward to it,” says Gwaine, and grins, settling in to watch.


“So, don't take this the wrong way,” Elena says some time later, eating a sandwich in Percival's bed, “but I think we should probably not tell people about this just yet.”

Percival tilts his head, considering that. “Okay, but I feel we should tell you that the last time we said that we ended up dating an extra person, so you may want to take that into account.”

Gwaine starts laughing and doesn't stop until the two of them pull him in to shut him up with kisses.