Work Text:
The greenhouse doors shut behind you with a hiss, and at once the air is damp, heavy, alive. Rows of flowers open as though they’ve been waiting only for you, petals quivering, their colors impossibly rich. You take a step inside and it begins.
The first touch is a kiss against your wrist. Soft, wet, sweet. Then another brushes your neck. A vine bends toward you, blossoms yawning wide. Their lips are not lips, yet they press with hungry intent, sticky nectar smearing across your skin.
Your breath stutters. You tell yourself you should pull back, but your knees weaken as the kisses multiply. Mouth after mouth finds you—your throat, your shoulder, your breasts, your stomach. They bloom open wider, tongues of petal and filament slicking trails of honey down to your thighs.
You gasp when the first flower presses between your legs. Its mouth latches over your folds, petal-tongues stroking with an eagerness that makes your eyes roll back. Another joins at once, fastening itself on your inner thigh, drinking from you as if you’re the sweetest bloom in the greenhouse.
The flowers swarm like lovers, a chorus of mouths. They cover you until you’re dripping with their spit-sap, until you can’t tell where their kisses end and your own wetness begins. Every breath you take is full of perfume, dizzying, aphrodisiac-thick.
You moan for them. You beg without words. The flowers respond, opening wider, nectar flooding over your lips, into your mouth. You drink them down, delirious, while more tongues flick over your pussy, your clit, your ass—everywhere at once.
There’s no rhythm, no mercy. Just countless mouths consuming you, feeding you, making you their feast. Orgasm rips through you, and they don’t stop. They never stop.
The greenhouse echoes with your cries. The flowers bloom brighter, louder, hungrier, until you’re lost to them entirely—drenched, worshiped, swallowed in kisses that never end.