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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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? ]