Angelo's gaze locks on Alastor. He doesn't move an inch, but he thinks very, very hard, hard enough for Alastor to feel it, about running just one finger up his spine with a touch light enough to feel like little more than a droplet of water going the wrong way, almost tickling. He thinks harder still about his hand stopping at the base of Alastor's neck, fingers sliding into his hair and making a fist, yanking back, wondering if he'll actually move with the feeling or not. "I like turning you down."