I was born in 1988, Angelo thinks to himself, with a mild expression on his face. "You look pretty good for a couple thousand years old," he says as he finishes his cannoli and gets up, heading back over to the bed and dropping solidly onto it. "What d'you think when you look at me?" he mumbles, reaching out to run his hand over Alastor's chest, his brow softly furrowed.
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