Work Text:
in the pursuit of bliss
In the pursuit of the sating of his wife, Messmer is relentless.
Thighs clamped at the sides of his face now reddened with effort and with a lack of breath much too delightful for them both, her trembling unceasing with each hungry massage of his forked tongue, Rellana shatters.
Once, her bliss overflowing.
Twice, her tearful joy bordering on rapture.
Thrice, the whole of her near unraveled.
And yet the serpentine hunger beneath would only aim to devour her further—devour her ecstasy and miseries and yearnings until she is but mindless with pleasure.
Until Rellana’s encouraging cooing becomes one with her weeping.
Until her own thrusts relent into a careful dance between too much and a budding rekindling she oh so craves.
Until her breathlessness matches Messmer’s own.
Until he rips from her the last of her conflagrations.
Then, and only then, does Messmer allow himself to take a breath and the delirious plunge of his sole, untouched release—abundant as are now his gasps, warm as Rellana’s soothing caresses amidst his disheveled tresses, thick as is her voice as she whispers hopefully:
“... Again?”
Messmer’s hands suddenly, eagerly pushing her still much too tender petals against his seeking mouth—his lips latching tightly once again onto her bud—is all that he replies Rellana with.
And with her mirthful, shaky laugh gracing his ears, Messmer renews his devotion.