The deep, filling thrusts shake his hold on Angelo's hair loose at the risk of yanking out a handful, and Alastor drops his head forward with a shuddering groan as he braces both hands on the counter, gripping the edge. When Angelo is in the right mood, it sometimes gets hard for Alastor to stay solid in his own skin. "I'm yours," he gasps out, glancing over his shoulder with eyes that are too bright, even as he thinks nearly hard enough to make it out of his mouth You're mine. You always have been. "You want me, you have me -- you're so fucking magnificent, I can't keep my hands off of you."