Mutifandom Pretend Dating/Relationship fest!
So last year (ha!) hermette was talking on twitter about a pretend dating fest, which I hijacked like an appropriate metaphor. Now the holidays are over I thought this would be a good time to host it! Without further ado:
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“More than I expected to,” he admitted, heart thumping as Gwaine moved closer, resting his head against Percy’s shoulder. He smelled of cigar smoke and the hair product he denied using.
“You’re a legend, mate.” Gwaine had always been a sentimental drunk; his words came out sounding thick. “Doing this for me. No one else would.”
“Yeah, well someone has to look after you.”
“You always do, don’t you. Huh.”
Percy sighed and drained his glass, then set it down on the side table. Gwaine had somehow managed to snuggle even closer, insinuating his arm across Percy’s stomach. He looked around to see if they were being watched, but most of the men were crowded around the table watching Uncle Gaius take on Mordred.
“Mmm tired,” Gwaine mumbled. Even so, his hand was creeping down to the hem of Percy’s shirt, fumbling there to untuck it. Gwaine was also a horny drunk, and Percy didn’t have the fortitude of a saint.
“I know. Let’s get you to bed.”
Gwaine let himself be manhandled upright, grumbling a little in objection. “No fun, Perc.”
They managed to make it out of the room without further debacle, Percy wondering all the while how Gwaine had managed to get so pissed off his arse. He nearly carried Gwaine up the stairs and into their shared room, easing him onto the bed with a quick beating heart. But before he could step away, Gwaine was upright again, tugging at his waist and trying to pull him onto the bed.
“Let me suck you off,” Gwaine whispered, palming Percy’s rapidly hardening cock. “Come on.”
“You’re drunk,” Percy said, though it was hardly an objection. Gwaine looked up at him with sleepy eyes.
“So.” The hot pressure of a mouth replaced the hand groping him through his trousers. Gwaine’s mouth. “Fuckin’ want it,” he said, reaching between Percy’s legs to cup his balls. Percy hissed, losing his mind and pressing into it for a moment, letting Gwaine stroke and mouth at him until his cock was begging to be sucked for real.
Gwaine laughed a little . . . it had the unnerving sound of triumph.
“Gwaine. Stop.” Somehow that laugh gave him the strength to step back. “We can’t.” He was breathing heavy, had to adjust himself. Gwaine bit his lip, still staring at his crotch, then threw himself back on the bed and flung an arm over his face. His own trousers bulged at the front.
“Fuck. I’m so drunk.”
“Yeah,” Percy said, hurt even though he’d brought it on himself.
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"And then there was Mordred, a brooding, sullen lad of about seventeen who kept shooting daggers of teenage angst at everyone." I cracked up. Best description of Mordred ever.
And "It was like a bad rendition of Pride and Prejudice." That's exactly what I was thinking when you mentioned the genders separating.
You're making this hard on poor Percival. :( I'm glad Gwaine stopped, but I sort of want to slap him upside the head...
Did I mention I'm loving this? Because I'm loving this!!!
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I am loving this so much. YOU are a legend, my dear!
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