no subject

[ he hasn't the will to move, to object (not that he's even thinking to), when claude releases inside of him. much less so, once he's finished. if moving his straining, writhing body, earlier had been effortless, surely it's like moving a feather, now. it's how limp he is, all over, laying worn and immobile and slightly damp with sweat, trying to catch his breath. he groans, whines, softly in claude's arms. then, he fidgets a little, and wonders how he's able to quiver again; re-adjusting to the feeling of claude still buried in him (still of great size, even after marking alois' insides) is virtually impossible in his unaroused state. he feels beaten. though, he has been, hasn't he?

with shallow breaths and whimpers, and still tear-filled eyes, alois weakly tries to pull away from him. he aches all over; exhausted and marred with bruises, he doesn't have the strength to move much. ] It— I can't— Claude, please.

[ his sides rise and fall rapidly, mouth open as he stumbles over his own inhalations and exhalations. ] Claude.