It's tantalising, for a minute. While Alastor's talking, before he's finished his drink, while he's touching him. Angelo is hypnotised, and he knows he is, and he likes it. And then Alastor asks him to imagine and he almost rolls his eyes. He restrains himself, but just barely, gusting out a heavy breath through his nose. Times like these, he can't tell if he likes Alastor or just tolerates him.

It's not a thought to dissect right now, he knows, especially when Alastor is touching him the way he is. "Imagine if you talked less," he mutters back, his hand moving to the back of his neck again, pushing a little with the pads of his fingers. "Maybe you'd be perfect." And he closes the gap between them to kiss him, rough, leaving his glass still half-full on the cabinet.