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“Fuck.” Lancelot muttered, a few drops of blood trickling down his face, mixing with the shaving foam to create a pink toned swirl. He grabbed a flannel and wiped away the cream and blood, frowning at the small nick on his cheek and prodding it. Luckily he hadn't cut deep, and it stopped bleeding after a few seconds.
“What's wrong Lancelot?” Percival walked into the bathroom, occupied cleaning his glasses and not looking at the other for a second. When he did look up, he noticed that Lancelot was only in his boxers, shaving foam on his face and a straight razor lying on the table next to him. Percival knew several stitches spanned across Lancelot's back, barely healed from the explosion a few weeks prior to their current stake out. Percival couldn't see them, but he knew Lancelot was in pain and struggling to move properly for fear of aggravating his wounds.
This one wasn't a hard mission, so Kingsman sent two injured agents to do it since they had nothing better to do than paperwork at the office. To be fair, Lancelot was doing well – he was always insufferable when he was off missions or in pain. His main complaint over the past few weeks was pulling his stitches out of place if he reached up too far and being stuck in medical for two days directly after the accident (Which was his fault anyways, as usual.)
“I'm trying to shave, but it's hard to get it right when I can't move properly.” Lancelot said sourly, glaring at his straight razor with evident distaste. Percival stared at it for a few seconds before sighing and placing his glasses back onto his face; pushing them up his nose so he could see properly and walked over to Lancelot, placing the cloth he had been using to wipe his glasses next to the razor on the side table.
“Let me do it before you slice your own damn neck open.” Percival muttered, picking up the brush and applying cream back over Lancelot's face where he had just wiped it off. Lancelot didn't reply, but his heartbeat sped up and a slight blush spread across his cheeks. He was eternally thankful Percival didn't see the blush under the thick white foam.
Percival picked up the blade and turned it over in his hands, just looking for a second. That done, he leant down next to Lancelot's face height and put the blade against Lancelot's face, dragging the razor up from his jawline. Lancelot stayed stock still, watching Percival's face of concentration with his own face a expression of adoration.
Percival bent for a better angle, pulling Lancelot's face around to try and do the next part. Lancelot could see Percival try and take his weight off his bad leg as he moved to position the razor, and Lancelot reacted before he really thought about it. He was aiming to help Percival, who looked like he was in serious pain from his leg.
Lancelot grabbed Percival around the waist and pulled him forwards to sit on his lap; Percival essentially straddling Lancelot in the new position. Percival's breath hitched slightly, but other than that and a weird look Lancelot couldn't place, he didn't respond to the action, just settling comfortably and turning Lancelot's face to shave another part of it. Lancelot regretted the action as soon as he did it, but didn't try to stop his hands from lingering on Percival's slim yet muscular thighs a few seconds longer than was necessary. Then a few seconds beyond appropriate too, because he really didn't want to let go just yet.
“Careful now, this is the dangerous bit.” Percival muttered a few minutes later, tilting Lancelot's head back and placing the blade against the base of Lancelot's throat. His fingers lingered on Lancelot's jaw as he dragged the blade up. When that stroke was done, Percival placed the blade on the side and grabbed the towel, wiping the remaining shaving foam off of Lancelot's face.
Lancelot made another split second decision and leant forwards, both hands going to the small of Percival's back and pulling him forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. Percival went rigid in Lancelot's arms, tensing up instantly at the sudden movement.
Lancelot put everything into the kiss, figuring that if it was the only one he got, he might as well make it a proper kiss. 'No going back now anyway, so you've gotta commit.' was all Lancelot really thought. Percival didn't move a muscle until Lancelot pulled back, blush now clearly staining his cheeks a traffic light red..
“I...I'm sorry, that was completely uncalled for and-” Lancelot was cut off by Percival slapping him across the face – not particularly hard, just enough to leave a mark and make a small smack sound as it made contact. Lancelot let his head turn with the slap, not turning back to face Percival, looking at the ground and muttering “Okay so I deserved that.”
Lancelot waited for a secondary reaction from the other, not looking up at Percival and feeling rather ashamed of his actions of initiating the kiss like that. He knew Percival hated being taken advantage of and not being in control of his own body more than anything, and even Lancelot felt he had overstepped on that boundary – and he was more forward than all the other knights combined.
“Look I'll just-” Lancelot was cut off again by Percival, though not how he was expecting to be cut off.
Percival ducked his head to the side, grabbing Lancelot's face as it was angled at the floor and pulling him forwards, kissing him forcefully. As he did so, one of Percival's hands slid across Lancelot's cheek and into his hair as he deepened the kiss. Lancelot responded enthusiastically, hands going to hold Percival's back once more and tilting his own head to the side.
When they pulled back, gasping for breath and both in some state of shock, Percival rested his forehead against Lancelot's shoulder, hands falling down to rest on Lancelot's neck and shoulder too.
“That was pleasantly unexpected.” Lancelot finally muttered. Percival laughed at him, body shaking as he laughed at the sheer situation they had somehow found themselves in. Sure, there'd been weirder, but still.
“You're telling me. I fucking owe Harry twenty quid now.” Percival replied, burying his head deeper into the crook of Lancelot's shoulder. Lancelot made a vague hmm? Sound, confused.
“Harry bet me twenty quid you'd act first.” Percival explained briefly. Lancelot raised a eyebrow and ignored that, well used to his friends antics by now. Betting on each others lives was practically a social norm at Kingsman – even if Arthur technically banned it after the great prank war of 2000. Percival shuffled around slightly on lancelot's lap, leaning back, faith in Lancelot not to drop him on the floor unceremoniously.
“We should talk about this, or, uh, us, I guess.” Percival muttered, starting to make a clearly unwanted move to stand up. Lancelot didn't let him get up far, using the hands on Percival's back to pull him back down and towards himself, effectively pressing them both chest to chest. Percival gave a small, sharp intake of breath as he moved, before dropping his shoulders and attacking Lancelot mouth in a 'fuck it' kind of way.
Lancelot responded again, smiling slightly into the kiss and biting lightly on Percival's bottom lip. Percival responded by rolling his hips, making both men cling to the other a little tighter. Percival pulled his head back and grinned.
“Fuck it, we can talk about this tomorrow.”