[ Boastful as he is about his grand age, there's no real way of masking how he reacts anymore so he falls into it whole-heartedly with every twisting, writhing push against Chris's hands that hold him down in order to keep him at the right height elsewhere. Face-down and ass-up, Loki's knees slide through the blankets in order to keep himself in place and he drools into the pillow against his cheek as thick, firm fingers start to work him up too, giving him something to finally bear down on. The chanted mantra of Christopher, my Chris can't be stopped, interspersed with hitched little noises and rolling groans all partially muffled in the bed.
When he can't stop the arching of his hips anymore he cries out and begs, tears spiking his lashes, ]
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When he can't stop the arching of his hips anymore he cries out and begs, tears spiking his lashes, ]
Touch me, please, please, Chris, touch me —!