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The Things We Do For Love

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Sometimes, when Gwaine wasn't busy at the gym, or bartending for his living, or sleeping off a hangover, or sneaking out of his most recent (and poorly chosen) shag's bed, he would allow Percival to choose what their weekend would look like. He and Perce had met only three years ago, through Arthur when they'd put their footy group together, but Gwaine had to admit Percival was one of those mates that left you feeling like you'd known them forever.

Percival was very tall and very burly, had thick, long legs and wide shoulders and a narrow waist, but was pretty damn quiet and too nice for his own good. Which was why Gwaine had to be nice every now and then for fear that the angels would come down for a visit and snap his neck for being rude to his friend Perce, who was the sweetest and most noble of poofter-like-hetero-men. Seriously though, he was a 'massage therapist,' after all.

He didn't tell Percival this logic. It probably wouldn't go over well.

Anyway, Percival liked to do silly things on the weekends. Like, a lot. Such as attending cooking classes--those were pretty fun actually. Who knew how many recently single, middle-aged shags he could get out of that? Or decorating picture frames with orphans for charity--okay, that wasn't all bad, but Gwaine did have to clean sick off of himself that one time. Or picking out flowers for Gwen when she had her Lancelot-spawn (Cillian was only cute when he wasn't pooping). Or roasting chestnuts over an open fire for Christmas. He'd had that half-smile on his face when he asked Gwaine to come over tonight, the heart-melting one that Elena and Morgana were always teasing him about. It wasn't heartmelting, it was damned manipulative.

Gwaine had at least protested a little, as he wasn't partial to nuts and he'd really rather eat melty marshmallows with chocolate and Digestives. Also, he was still really sore from last night (not a shag, just not sleeping well), so he wasn't up for shenanigans unless they included sugary confections and not healthy crap. He'd been spending a lot of time with Perce, lately, so he figured it was fair.

Thus, Percival had a bag of marshmallows set out next to his chestnuts between them as they listened to Christmas music in front of Percival's fireplace at home. Between stuffing his mouth with the squishy-soft marshmallows and impaling them on sticks to toast, Gwaine was rolling his shoulders and groaning grumpily as Percival held his pan over the flames and set it on the makeshift griddle above the firewood.

"Late night, last night?" Percival asked finally, tone flat, when Gwaine offered no entertainment as usual.

"I wish," Gwaine muttered around a marshmallow. He rubbed at his neck. "Slept a bit wonky, I suppose."

Percival watched the chestnuts roast as he moved over. "May I?" he asked.

"Sorry? Oh--" Gwaine sighed as Percival's big hands squeezed at his shoulders and his thumbs began digging into the knots against his shoulder blades.

Percival tisked lightly. "What have you been doing?" he asked.

Gwaine moaned around his answer, "More like--ah--what have I not been doing."

Percival leaned over him, stomach brushing against his back as he took the chestnuts off the fire and tipped them into a container to cool. Gwaine hung his head forward as Percival's other hand kept kneading at his sore muscles. After, Percival pulled Gwaine backward so they could settle against the couch, and Gwaine successfully made no comment about the fact that Perce wanted Gwaine between his legs when Percival began massaging down his back.

"Mnh," Gwaine said eventually, wincing when Percival chuckled lightly. "Shit!"

"Found one," Percival said, digging a knuckle into his lower back and not letting up even when Gwaine grabbed his knees. Percival shushed him quietly and ran his palms up Gwaine's back to calm him, and Gwaine...

Well... Gwaine was enjoying himself. While relaxing and stupidly wonderful, Percival's poofter-like-hetero-hands were making him tingle all over, making his cock fill.

"Jesus--I really haven't had a shag in a while," Gwaine muttered under his breath.


Gwaine leaned over and cursed his cock for being such a wanton slut. "Perce, I think... I think we should stop."

The warm hands stopped in their pursuit of tension-filled knots and just rested against his shoulder blades, leaving Gwaine feeling a bit bereft. "What's up?" Percival asked.


Percival quirked an eyebrow, waiting.

"I've been spending too much time with you, clearly, because I haven't fucked anyone in a month, and it's starting to mess with my brain, and you really shouldn't use your magical masseuse powers on me because it's not fair."

Percival smiled crookedly. "You're so bizarre, Gwaine."

"I'm bizarre? You're the masseuse!"

"Massage therapist," Percival corrected.

"Whatever!" Gwaine turned around and poked him in the chest. "You're not allowed to use your poofter magic on me!"

Percival barked out a laugh. "Gwaine, do you want to have sex with me? Is that the problem here?"

"NO!--Wait, what?"

Percival was still laughing, and Gwaine remained confused even as his mate wrapped a warm hand around his neck and pulled him close for a kiss.

"Mmph!" Gwaine exclaimed, but was promptly shut up by Percival's tongue.
They didn’t even make it to the bedroom, before Gwaine demanded in the most manly of ways to be fucked six ways to Sunday, and Percival used his poofter-like-hetero voodoo to seduce him out of his clothes and to sprawl, legs spread, on the sofa.
And there that stupid half-smile was again, when Percival wasn’t busy licking his lips or his nipples or his cock or his arse--
“Oh, God! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” said Gwaine, eloquent in his arousal.
“Wanted to do this for ages,” Percival moaned as he shoved Gwaine’s bent knees to his chest and licked one last time before getting his cock out and rummaging through Gwaine’s trousers for lube and a condom. Percival rolled the condom on in a snap and ripped the little packet of Sex Grease*.
“Hey!” Gwaine yelled because, honestly, did the guy really have to pour out the rest of the bottle onto his hands? “Agh--fuck!”
Apparently so.
Percival kissed too much. It was overwhelming, and he smiled too much, and his hands roamed and grabbed and pinched too much and Gwaine was going to come too soon because--damn--Perce was a good fuck.
Percival rolled his hips, probably with the aid of his poofter-masseuse-magic, and fucked into Gwaine like they were lovers. It was intense, and it had Gwaine coming hard over Percival’s big hand as he jerked him, slick and sexy.
“Fuck, Gwaine,” Percival moaned, and Gwaine could feel his cock pulsing as he collapsed on top of Gwaine on the couch.
Gwaine would’ve said something clever but Percival got his tongue in Gwaine’s mouth and he was doing something--again magical--with his fingers on Gwaine’s thigh, so all he said was, “Do I taste like marshmallows?”
Percival laughed.
Gwaine decided he’d be less busy in future, so Percival could give them more ideas of what their weekends would be like. He hoped it involved less of arts and crafts and more of this.
Or, at least, he hoped this would be his reward for doing whatever silly thing Percival wanted. That sounded like a good plan.