Work Text:
“Oh fuck,” Roche gasps, and then “Oh, saints,” as the tongue licks in deeper, deeper. He wants to pray to a god he does not believe in for salvation as it twists and curls inside him.
He scrabbles for something to hold onto and finds Iorveth, perched by his head and watching with alarming intensity.
Iorveth threads their fingers together. “What do you think of my queen now, Vernon?” he asks, eye gleaming.
Roche makes a noise, speared helplessly on the queen's massive, rippling tongue.
There is a flash— his ears pop— and Saskia leans over him, licking her lips.
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