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Summary
Alastor strategically presses his hand to Vox’s chest, fingers splaying above that madly beating heart, and he leans in—with an expression that hopefully comes across as seductive rather than desperate.
“I want you,” he purrs, “to kiss me.”
“I—Um. What brought this on?”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
Oh, out of all the times for him to be considerate! Alastor wasn’t expecting such hesitation; frankly, he thought Vox would jump at the slightest indication of permission. Why does he have to rein in his greedy, grabby little hands now?
“This isn’t one of those times when I’m indulging you,” Alastor says after a pause. “You are to indulge me—without questioning what I get out of it. This is not a lead up to anything sexual, and you are not to get off. I just want you to kiss me until my lips are bruised and my jaw is sore and my tongue is numb. Can you manage that?”
Alastor is coming apart at the seams after returning from a summons from Lilith. He decides to try purging the taste of her from his mouth with that of Vox’s.
