That would take some doing anyhow. He's not playing anymore by any definition, moaning softly and encouragingly, the scent of Mort's enthusiasm stoking his. Without turning down the masker any, the air's even thicker the way pheromone production is rising, and he's suddenly tired of teasing on the edge of the bed. Mort's undoubtedly stronger than he is, but he's also not that firmly balanced. Nadayki pulls away panting, gives him a defiant look, and drops back into the bed, aiming to drag Mort along with him.