[ All surveys point to his heart exploding before this is over. Lloyd idly thinks that if this is how he goes, there's not really a better death than being fucked so good your heart gives out. That's how porn stars go out, right?
As if there needed to be another reason to make him feel all flustered, that drawled out 'darlin'' makes his legs feel like jello. Is that what they're doing? Making love? He knows it's part of a rock song and that's kind of a thing, but this feels so carnal and animalistic compared to the things people sing about. Feral, almost, with the way Flagg had growled, making him feel like a cornered rabbit, too stunned to run away but knowing a wolf's got its teeth poised for eating.
His hand moves down to his own aching prick, even though Flagg's been taking care of him, has always taken care of him. He doesn't come until Flagg does, and it's with a low, croaky moan. God, he'd do anything for the man if he asked.
Lloyd already feels dazed, thoughts jumbled and caught in a fog, this will be two times that he's come and the refractory period has been nonexistent. He knows that's not natural, even on his best days, jerking off more than twice went from pleasurable to overstimulated and toward the edge of painful. Not to mention, his knees are starting to ache from bracing himself against the porcelain of the tub. ]
One more. [ He arches his back, wrapping his arms around Lloyd like he was the most precious thing in the world. ] Do one more for me and I'll make it the best you've ever had.
[ Flagg could go another ten times, or twenty, or more. He could come fifty times and still not be used up. If anyone wanted him to be exclusive with them, they'd quickly change their mind upon discovery of the sexual appetite they were now in charge of satiating.
Lloyd couldn't go as long as he liked. It'd break his poor little human mind, or give him a heart attack, or both. But he could do one more, and Flagg would make it well worth his while. ]
[ He's pretty sure the only thing keeping him upright are Flagg's arms around him and his grip on the edge of the tub. His legs are trembling like leaves on a tree and he doesn't know how he's going to orgasm again. Or how his dick is still hard.
Lloyd moans, shaking his head. He's not a quitter, but it seems pretty damn impossible. He's not saying no, he just needs a few moments to pull himself together enough for once more. Chest heaving, he pushes himself back up with shaking arms. ]
Okay..Okay. One more, I can do it. [ For Flagg, he can do damn near anything or he'd die trying. ]
[ Most people would have begged to be released by now, but Lloyd's not most people. He probably doesn't even know how special he is, how uncommonly loyal. Anyone can be grateful and keep their word but it's a talent of sorts to be full of such vibrant passion for the object of your worship.
God has his preachers and Flagg has Lloyd Henreid. ]
Just count to ten, my dear. Ten and you'll feel like you're in heaven. [ But these last ten thrusts aren't going to be as fast and feral as he's been going before. They're slow, calculated, each time he withdraws and slams back in it's almost beyond time.
One. Two. Three.
He's fully infiltrated Lloyd's mind now and swarms him with pleasure that touch alone, no matter how intimate, could ever give.
Four. Five. Six.
'You alright, Lloyd?', he means to say, but all that comes out is a guttural growl. His fingertips press deep bruises into Lloyd's shoulders, and perhaps it's a good thing that Flagg's riding him from behind so he can't see the hungry look in his deep red eyes.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
He withdraws one last time and then, with a howl that shakes the walls and sinks into the bones like the vibration of a tuning fork, he thrusts (Ten.) and comes so hot and hard it feels like he must have been holding it in for a thousand years.
He's finally, mercifully soft once it's over, and so is Lloyd. ]
[ That little bit of praise goes a long way and helps him find just enough energy to keep upright. He rests his head on top of his arms, panting as he counts. It's hard to focus, each thrust feels like it lasts forever and goes deeper than the one before it. Lloyd gets to three before he loses count and all sense of reality. He only exists, pleasure hitting him in waves that feels a bit like drowning in it.
It's like an itch he's never been able to scratch being sated. Flagg's voice in his head is overwhelming, even though all that comes out is that growl that makes him shiver and his heart speed up. It scares him, but there's nowhere he'd rather be in this moment. Not that he could go anywhere.
Everything is too much and not enough, his nerves feeling raw and overused.
Lloyd tries to pick up counting again, but he's so lost in where he left off, all that comes out is a tormented whine. Flagg makes him feel impossibly full, like he's going to explode taking anything more, but he's selfish and will take until there's nothing else to give and be grateful for it.
Given that final release, Lloyd's cry of ecstasy turns into a sob of relief, tears sliding down his face from exhaustion. He doesn't think he'll be able to get hard for days with how wrung-out he feels. Even his dick had given a lackluster performance at the end, jerking through the motions. Every bit of him is trembling, right down to his bones, and his head still feels muddled, not quite coming down from the pleasure just yet. Too exhausted to try. ]
Don’t worry, hon, I’ll carry you. [ He slides his cock all the way out and scoops Lloyd up in his arms, effortlessly. Then he carried him back to the comfort of the penthouse bed, nice and soft everywhere to take the strain off of his knees.
He kisses Lloyd on the forehead before crawling in beside him, sliding under the blankets so smoothly he may as well be some bedside phantom. ]
You did good, Lloyd. [ Was Lloyd awake and aware enough to hear his praise? Who knows. But he was good, and he managed to hold out until Flagg was done, which was worthy of some reward. ]
[ He shudders, letting out a whine of discomfort as Flagg pulls out of him, and he can feel cum dripping down his thighs. He doesn't really have it in him to care about that. Lloyd doesn't do anything to ensure he doesn't fall, trusting that he won't. Not that he'd be aware if he did tumble to the ground. He wouldn't be able to get up anyway.
His head hits Flagg's solid shoulder and he sinks into that warmth. He smells like sweat and sex. That's about the last thing that flits through his mind before he just can't anymore. Whether it was sleep or simply unconsciousness, he slips into it without much warning. If he'd have been able to last just a bit longer, he'd have reveled in the extra bit of attention and praise.
He wakes up briefly, on the edge of too-warm, but unwilling (or more like unable) to move, so he doesn't. He just goes back to sleep. The next time he opens his eyes, everything is sore and he shoves his face petulantly into the pillow. ...or maybe it's a chest. How is he to know? ]
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no subject
As if there needed to be another reason to make him feel all flustered, that drawled out 'darlin'' makes his legs feel like jello. Is that what they're doing? Making love? He knows it's part of a rock song and that's kind of a thing, but this feels so carnal and animalistic compared to the things people sing about. Feral, almost, with the way Flagg had growled, making him feel like a cornered rabbit, too stunned to run away but knowing a wolf's got its teeth poised for eating.
His hand moves down to his own aching prick, even though Flagg's been taking care of him, has always taken care of him. He doesn't come until Flagg does, and it's with a low, croaky moan. God, he'd do anything for the man if he asked.
Lloyd already feels dazed, thoughts jumbled and caught in a fog, this will be two times that he's come and the refractory period has been nonexistent. He knows that's not natural, even on his best days, jerking off more than twice went from pleasurable to overstimulated and toward the edge of painful. Not to mention, his knees are starting to ache from bracing himself against the porcelain of the tub. ]
Oh fuck, oh fuck.
no subject
[ Flagg could go another ten times, or twenty, or more. He could come fifty times and still not be used up. If anyone wanted him to be exclusive with them, they'd quickly change their mind upon discovery of the sexual appetite they were now in charge of satiating.
Lloyd couldn't go as long as he liked. It'd break his poor little human mind, or give him a heart attack, or both. But he could do one more, and Flagg would make it well worth his while. ]
no subject
Lloyd moans, shaking his head. He's not a quitter, but it seems pretty damn impossible. He's not saying no, he just needs a few moments to pull himself together enough for once more. Chest heaving, he pushes himself back up with shaking arms. ]
Okay..Okay. One more, I can do it. [ For Flagg, he can do damn near anything or he'd die trying. ]
no subject
[ Most people would have begged to be released by now, but Lloyd's not most people. He probably doesn't even know how special he is, how uncommonly loyal. Anyone can be grateful and keep their word but it's a talent of sorts to be full of such vibrant passion for the object of your worship.
God has his preachers and Flagg has Lloyd Henreid. ]
Just count to ten, my dear. Ten and you'll feel like you're in heaven. [ But these last ten thrusts aren't going to be as fast and feral as he's been going before. They're slow, calculated, each time he withdraws and slams back in it's almost beyond time.
One. Two. Three.
He's fully infiltrated Lloyd's mind now and swarms him with pleasure that touch alone, no matter how intimate, could ever give.
Four. Five. Six.
'You alright, Lloyd?', he means to say, but all that comes out is a guttural growl. His fingertips press deep bruises into Lloyd's shoulders, and perhaps it's a good thing that Flagg's riding him from behind so he can't see the hungry look in his deep red eyes.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
He withdraws one last time and then, with a howl that shakes the walls and sinks into the bones like the vibration of a tuning fork, he thrusts (Ten.) and comes so hot and hard it feels like he must have been holding it in for a thousand years.
He's finally, mercifully soft once it's over, and so is Lloyd. ]
no subject
It's like an itch he's never been able to scratch being sated. Flagg's voice in his head is overwhelming, even though all that comes out is that growl that makes him shiver and his heart speed up. It scares him, but there's nowhere he'd rather be in this moment. Not that he could go anywhere.
Everything is too much and not enough, his nerves feeling raw and overused.
Lloyd tries to pick up counting again, but he's so lost in where he left off, all that comes out is a tormented whine. Flagg makes him feel impossibly full, like he's going to explode taking anything more, but he's selfish and will take until there's nothing else to give and be grateful for it.
Given that final release, Lloyd's cry of ecstasy turns into a sob of relief, tears sliding down his face from exhaustion. He doesn't think he'll be able to get hard for days with how wrung-out he feels. Even his dick had given a lackluster performance at the end, jerking through the motions. Every bit of him is trembling, right down to his bones, and his head still feels muddled, not quite coming down from the pleasure just yet. Too exhausted to try. ]
no subject
He kisses Lloyd on the forehead before crawling in beside him, sliding under the blankets so smoothly he may as well be some bedside phantom. ]
You did good, Lloyd. [ Was Lloyd awake and aware enough to hear his praise? Who knows. But he was good, and he managed to hold out until Flagg was done, which was worthy of some reward. ]
no subject
His head hits Flagg's solid shoulder and he sinks into that warmth. He smells like sweat and sex. That's about the last thing that flits through his mind before he just can't anymore. Whether it was sleep or simply unconsciousness, he slips into it without much warning. If he'd have been able to last just a bit longer, he'd have reveled in the extra bit of attention and praise.
He wakes up briefly, on the edge of too-warm, but unwilling (or more like unable) to move, so he doesn't. He just goes back to sleep. The next time he opens his eyes, everything is sore and he shoves his face petulantly into the pillow. ...or maybe it's a chest. How is he to know? ]