Ilverien by Lferion

Ravishment

Here only joyful work, three rejoining with delight

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Prompts - L:O4 Magical Realism, A:O3 Victorian Palette, P:B5 Alexandrine, F:I2 Lemon

The final line of the poem is not a usual part of an Alexandrine. The characters (Maedhros) insisted.

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O spread your legs for us, your weeping cock display
Your sinewed thighs do tremble as I touch your entrance red
Stretched around the phallus making ready for our bed,
All your assets roused and exposed in proud array
No part will be neglected, your pleasure we assay
And thoroughly debauch you: all shame and sorrow fled
Yes, cry out as we take you, fill and pound you like new bread
Let sensation overwhelm you, come apart in the affray
We will not let you perish — only little deaths today
We will swaddle you with comfort, no need to Namo dread
Let pleasure ring right through you from toes to arse to head
Know we want and love you in all and every way
(Never doubt we love you, in all and every way)

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Fingon lay in the welter of twilight blue sheets, rose and gold and silver pillows, limp, loved, wonderfully, thoroughly used, deliciously wrung, comprehensively fucked. He was dazed with how hard he had come, how many times they had brought him off. Given him the pleasure of bringing them to climax with mouth and hand, breast and cock and arse. Worth the wait. The constraint. The bed curtains moved in the flower-scented air encouraged in by the open doors and windows, muted silver and gold in the candlelight on one side of the room, glimmering starlight on the other. His skin tingled in the faint breeze, still flushed and sensitive from lovemaking and the way Maedhros had bathed him, as thoroughly and intimately as he had fucked him, coaxing a final, bright orgasm from him with oiled fingers and kisses -- a softer pleasure. Ilverien watching them together with delight.

Fingon could feel them in his mind, richly present, far more than the distant awareness that had glowed faintly while they were on the mainland. Neither was far now. Ilverien was bathing, Maedhros fetching Erien for a midnight meal. As much for Fingon's sake as their daughter's; his breasts were almost painfully full now. He shifted until he was sitting nearly upright, pillows arranged for support.

From this vantage, he could see out the eastern window, the horizon where the faintest hint of deep rose lay. Not midnight, approaching dawn. Erien would most certainly be hungry for what he could well and happily provide.

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