[ You don't have to check under your bed if the monster's right on top of you, showering you with affection. No one in their right might would describe Flagg's presence as a comfort but if you could look beyond him and what he was - no other monster in the universe would mess with you, not if you were his.
Maybe someday when he grew tired of Vegas and was overcome with that familiar wanderlust, that itch in his soul that got him to walk and walk and walk until he arrived at a destination just as unknown as this one was before the plague, he'd take Lloyd through his old haunts. Discordia. Thunderclap. Dixie Pig. Words that weren't relevant to his current state of being and thus only conjured up vague memories, half-formed and fleeting, like a dream. But it was enough for him to see himself, arm around Lloyd's shoulders as he shook like a human maraca, paraded through a veritable smorgasbord of mankind's worst fears.
Not one of 'em would lay a finger on Lloyd's pretty little head. They wouldn't even snap or snarl. They'd know who he belongs to, and eventually he'd learn that he could walk this most terrible of worlds (and by extension, all worlds) without fear.
As long as he stayed loyal. Flagg was cruel but let it be known that he was generous when he wanted to be.
Perhaps it was Lloyd's clumsy handjob (and he didn't mean that as a pejorative, no siree, he liked his lovin' a little rough around the edges) that sparked his generosity, perhaps it was his use of sir. Either way, he's in a good mood. ]
Attaboy. [ You take care of me an' I'll take care of you. His cock grows stiff in Lloyd's hand, a suitable scepter for a hellish king. The noise that escapes his lips is somewhere between a moan and a growl, and it echoes through the room. ] That's it. Keep goin'.
[ He presses his palms into the bed, back arched as he starts to buck his hips a little, gentle enough that he won't throw off Lloyd's rhythm. ]
no subject
Maybe someday when he grew tired of Vegas and was overcome with that familiar wanderlust, that itch in his soul that got him to walk and walk and walk until he arrived at a destination just as unknown as this one was before the plague, he'd take Lloyd through his old haunts. Discordia. Thunderclap. Dixie Pig. Words that weren't relevant to his current state of being and thus only conjured up vague memories, half-formed and fleeting, like a dream. But it was enough for him to see himself, arm around Lloyd's shoulders as he shook like a human maraca, paraded through a veritable smorgasbord of mankind's worst fears.
Not one of 'em would lay a finger on Lloyd's pretty little head. They wouldn't even snap or snarl. They'd know who he belongs to, and eventually he'd learn that he could walk this most terrible of worlds (and by extension, all worlds) without fear.
As long as he stayed loyal. Flagg was cruel but let it be known that he was generous when he wanted to be.
Perhaps it was Lloyd's clumsy handjob (and he didn't mean that as a pejorative, no siree, he liked his lovin' a little rough around the edges) that sparked his generosity, perhaps it was his use of sir. Either way, he's in a good mood. ]
Attaboy. [ You take care of me an' I'll take care of you. His cock grows stiff in Lloyd's hand, a suitable scepter for a hellish king. The noise that escapes his lips is somewhere between a moan and a growl, and it echoes through the room. ] That's it. Keep goin'.
[ He presses his palms into the bed, back arched as he starts to buck his hips a little, gentle enough that he won't throw off Lloyd's rhythm. ]