Il était au centre. À genoux. Le regard fixe, la bouche entrouverte. Deux sexes dressés encadraient son visage — l’un effleurait sa joue, l’autre s’approchait de ses lèvres. Miquella ne reculait pas. Il tenait leurs reins, les ramenait doucement vers lui. Il ne dominait rien. Il accueillait.
Puis il commença à lécher, lentement. L’un, puis l’autre. Il goûtait, il retenait. Sa langue allait de l’un à l’autre, absorbant chaque sel, chaque chaleur. Ce n’était pas du plaisir — c’était de l’absorption. Il se laissait emplir. Il offrait sa bouche, sa gorge, son silence.
Lorsqu’ils jouirent, il ne broncha pas. L’un dans sa bouche — qu’il ferma autour avec lenteur. L’autre sur sa joue — les gouttes glissant jusqu’à son cou. Il resta là, recouvert, le sperme brillant sur sa peau pâle. Et dans cette souillure calme, il se sentit… comblé. Saturé. Transcendé.
He knelt at the center. Eyes steady, mouth open. Two erect cocks framed his face — one brushing his cheek, the other nearing his lips. Miquella didn’t flinch. His hands held their hips, gently pulling them closer. He didn’t dominate. He received.
Then he began to lick. Slowly. One, then the other. He tasted, he held. His tongue moved from one to the next, absorbing their salt, their heat. It wasn’t pleasure — it was absorption. He let himself be filled. He offered his mouth, his throat, his silence.
When they came, he didn’t move. One in his mouth — which he closed around with slow reverence. The other on his cheek — drops sliding down to his neck. He stayed still, coated, the cum gleaming on pale skin. And in that calm mess, he felt… full. Saturated. Transcended.