[ 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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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? ]