Alastor's right to think that — there's nothing that turns him off faster than the sound of torn buttons scattering all over the floor. Angelo's grip tightens on the back of his neck again, sharp, his fingers digging in, while his other hand feels around a little blindly, hooking two fingers in the waistband of his pants and sliding around to find the button. He hasn't been thinking about this exactly, just something close enough; if Alastor hadn't showed up here he would have gone out looking for it sooner rather than later, so he's greedy with his touches, shifting the angle of his fingers so he can twist his jeans open, deepening that kiss all the while, his other hand pressing up into his hair and making a tight fist.