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Open post.
Open post.
text, action, pic prompts, whatever, do what u want i'm not ur mom
The most courtesy Alastor ever offers is the texts or calls that give Angelo fair warning. Beyond that, there's no knock or even the sound of a key in what was certainly a locked door two minutes ago: he just bangs his way in and swings the door shut behind him.
"Cannoli delivery for one--" he pretends to peer at a delivery slip. "Michael Corleone? That can't be right."
"Cannoli delivery for one--" he pretends to peer at a delivery slip. "Michael Corleone? That can't be right."
"Very funny."
Angelo's apartment usually smells like cigarette smoke, which he never notices unless he's been elsewhere for a while. He's been away on business for a week and he just got back, so he can smell it, which is why there's a candle that smells like Christmas burning on his coffee table, to offset the tobacco. It's nowhere near Christmas. Besides the candle, there's no lights on, just the warm orange from the flame and the blueish lights from the city outside. All his windows are open and it's bitterly fucking cold; he never opens the windows usually because it's too high up to get a nice breeze, but he's airing the place out. Needs must.
Needs must, again: he has no pants on. This wasn't an 'Alastor is coming' thing, he just has no clean pants right now. Maybe it's antithetical to his candle plans, but he's smoking on his couch. No pants on, big shirt. It's fucking freezing in here.
"When do you have time to watch movies?" He tips ash onto a saucer balanced precariously on the arm of his couch. "I don't have time to watch movies."
Angelo's apartment usually smells like cigarette smoke, which he never notices unless he's been elsewhere for a while. He's been away on business for a week and he just got back, so he can smell it, which is why there's a candle that smells like Christmas burning on his coffee table, to offset the tobacco. It's nowhere near Christmas. Besides the candle, there's no lights on, just the warm orange from the flame and the blueish lights from the city outside. All his windows are open and it's bitterly fucking cold; he never opens the windows usually because it's too high up to get a nice breeze, but he's airing the place out. Needs must.
Needs must, again: he has no pants on. This wasn't an 'Alastor is coming' thing, he just has no clean pants right now. Maybe it's antithetical to his candle plans, but he's smoking on his couch. No pants on, big shirt. It's fucking freezing in here.
"When do you have time to watch movies?" He tips ash onto a saucer balanced precariously on the arm of his couch. "I don't have time to watch movies."
"I make time. I saw The Godfather parts I through III in theaters. And every once in a while I rewatch it, just to make sure I've got the right mindset for dealing with your family."
Whether or not he's joking is entirely up for interpretation and probably not worth considering, ultimately. Also antithetical to Angelo's intentions is the fact that Alastor brings heat with him wherever he goes -- usually little more than an aura of warmth, sometimes as noticeable as the flare of the candle when he passes. Occasionally he'll burn an entire building to the ground. That's not really his style, though.
"You could make time, you know." He joins Angelo at the couch, balancing on the end of one arm, wafting a cannoli past his face. "You work too hard."
Whether or not he's joking is entirely up for interpretation and probably not worth considering, ultimately. Also antithetical to Angelo's intentions is the fact that Alastor brings heat with him wherever he goes -- usually little more than an aura of warmth, sometimes as noticeable as the flare of the candle when he passes. Occasionally he'll burn an entire building to the ground. That's not really his style, though.
"You could make time, you know." He joins Angelo at the couch, balancing on the end of one arm, wafting a cannoli past his face. "You work too hard."
"Say that on fuckin' record, will ya," he grumbles, snatching for the cannoli irritably. That little waft of warmth that comes with Alastor isn't enough right now, he's all goosepimples in the chill. "I've been told I don't work hard enough. You believe that? Me?" He gestures emphatically at himself, beating his chest with the flat of his hand, the cannoli already forgotten in favour of some choice gesticulations. "Anyway, since when are you dealing with the rest of my family? You get an invite to my little cousin's sweet sixteen?"
Alastor clicks his tongue in soothing disapproval, shaking his head. "I know. It's no wonder you can't relax. But you know how hard you work. All the effort that goes into maintaining an empire like this -- and the secrets it keeps." He rises from the arm of the couch and crosses to the window. "Your little cousin doesn't interest me," he adds, as he closes the window and locks it. "You know that."
"What I mean is," Alastor says patiently, drawing the curtains shut with just a glance back over his shoulder, "is that I'm not here for anyone else in your family now." A little grin, wicked in the dark. "Just you."
"Among other things." He comes back across the room, and the candle flares again, like it's reaching for the ceiling before settling back into its bright glow. Alastor would have preferred a fireplace, personally. He comes up behind the couch, toward the end where Angelo is resting his head, and leans over it, arms folded, gazing down at him steadily in the near darkness, with just the candle making his eyes gleam, too bright.
"You know I could take the weight off your shoulders, for a little while. Or forever. If you wanted."
"You know I could take the weight off your shoulders, for a little while. Or forever. If you wanted."
"You think anybody gets where they're going without a little help from time to time?" He moves again, coming the rest of the way around the couch, settling down behind the arm that Angelo is resting his head on. Alastor crouches, and leans close, his voice soft between them as if anyone else could possibly hear it. "You would still be in control. You'd always have control. Sure, it's always fun to get your hands dirty now and then, but... imagine what you could do with just a snap of your finger."
There's a long pause where Angelo doesn't say a goddamn thing, just lets the low sound of Alastor's voice tingle its way through him like radio static. And then all at once he bats a hand in Alastor's direction, sitting up. "Starting to make me feel like you only came over here to practice your spiel on me, amore."
Alastor pretends to look hurt, as he straightens up again but doesn't move away from the couch. "I came to take your mind off of things for a little while. Don't tell me you're dismissing me already."
"Dismissing, that's a strong word. Why don't we we talk about somethin' else, huh?" This fucking candle. Angelo swings his legs off the couch and lurches up to blow it out, immediately plunging them both into darkness as he pinches the wick between finger and thumb and twists it to squeeze out the ember. In the dark, now, he looks over his shoulder at Alastor, tilting his head to one side. "You ever get bored?"
Alastor doesn't approach him, interested as he is in the kinds of things Angelo does when he feels like moving. He leans against the couch, not quite sitting, resting a hand against the back. "Sure. Who doesn't get bored sometimes?"
"You noticed you never answer my questions properly?" What he means to say is, that's not what he meant, not really. It was a specific question phrased vaguely, but of course it can't be Angelo's fault that Alastor didn't answer it the way he wanted. He stalks across the room, going from fluffy rug to cold tile, aiming for the ornate black wooden cabinet which holds a vintage brandy in a decanter and a collection of matching glasses, as well as a pack of cigarettes he'd tossed on there when he got in. He sticks a cigarette between his teeth, unlit, and talks around it out of the corner of his mouth as he's pouring them both a drink. "You ever get bored of doin' the same thing with different people over and over?"
"No."
There; that's a proper answer, isn't it? There's even a touch of vehemence in Alastor's voice, a fierce gleam in his eyes that Angelo can't see. He pushes away from the couch, crosses the room to stand by Angelo's side, and plucks the unlit cigarette delicately from Angelo's lips, sticking it between his own. With a slow inhale, the red glow of embers appears at the opposite end, a little tendril of smoke drifting up, and then a plume of smoke from Alastor's mouth in the darkness.
"There's nothing in the world more liberating than using your greatest strengths, for the things you desire most. Sometimes it's business... sometimes it's pleasure. Occasionally..." he takes the cigarette from his lips, and replaces it between Angelo's. "Someone especially interesting comes along."
There; that's a proper answer, isn't it? There's even a touch of vehemence in Alastor's voice, a fierce gleam in his eyes that Angelo can't see. He pushes away from the couch, crosses the room to stand by Angelo's side, and plucks the unlit cigarette delicately from Angelo's lips, sticking it between his own. With a slow inhale, the red glow of embers appears at the opposite end, a little tendril of smoke drifting up, and then a plume of smoke from Alastor's mouth in the darkness.
"There's nothing in the world more liberating than using your greatest strengths, for the things you desire most. Sometimes it's business... sometimes it's pleasure. Occasionally..." he takes the cigarette from his lips, and replaces it between Angelo's. "Someone especially interesting comes along."
Angelo can't help staring. Maybe it's that there's only one light source in the room, now, the cherry at the end of the cigarette, but he's not some moth dancing haplessly around a flame and not knowing why. He knows why.
His lips part a little just to accept the cigarette, and as he pulls in a breath and feels the drag of smoke at the back of his throat, Angelo wonders for a moment what the harm would be. Power is power is power, doesn't matter where it comes from; it just matters that you hold onto it. It just matters that you take the opportunities you're given.
Hm. The corners of his mouth pull down a little, and he pinches the cigarette between his finger and thumb to take it out and blow out a smoky breath. "What am I? Business or pleasure? Be honest."
His lips part a little just to accept the cigarette, and as he pulls in a breath and feels the drag of smoke at the back of his throat, Angelo wonders for a moment what the harm would be. Power is power is power, doesn't matter where it comes from; it just matters that you hold onto it. It just matters that you take the opportunities you're given.
Hm. The corners of his mouth pull down a little, and he pinches the cigarette between his finger and thumb to take it out and blow out a smoky breath. "What am I? Business or pleasure? Be honest."
The audacity of Angelo demanding honesty from him might put a less experienced demon on edge, but Alastor simply finds it charming. Maybe that's part of the answer in itself. He smiles.
"Can't it be both?" He leans against the cabinet's counter, still watching Angelo. The glow of the cigarette embers catches in his eyes. "A little more business could mean a lot more pleasure."
"Can't it be both?" He leans against the cabinet's counter, still watching Angelo. The glow of the cigarette embers catches in his eyes. "A little more business could mean a lot more pleasure."
Both is a wrong answer in Angelo's book, unless he's the one saying it. He's not, so his jaw hardens a little, a muscle jumping. But abruptly, almost out of nowhere, he smiles, practically cheery with it, and uses his free hand to pat Alastor's cheek with the flat of his palm. "See, that's what I like about you. Real persistent." His hand lingers, sliding to the back of Alastor's neck, his grip hardening just a little as he steps right into his space, tipping forward so their foreheads touch. "But I'd appreciate it if you changed your tune." This kind of schtick might have terrified someone else, but he knows Alastor will just find it amusing, so he lets go, tapping some ash from the end of his cigarette and then lifting up his glass for a drink. "Pretty please."
That gleam in his eyes flares like a spark, the meaning of which is entirely up for interpretation since he doesn't actually react in any real way to Angelo manhandling like that. Just watches him, with a smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth, his eyes brighter in the darkness than they were before.
"Which one would you rather be, Angel?"
"Which one would you rather be, Angel?"
"Whose pleasure?" Alastor reaches out and takes the second glass, without lifting it, and in doing so brings himself into Angelo's space again. "Mine, or yours?"
"Mmm, you see, that's what I don't think you understand."
He takes a long sip of his own drink, licking his lower lip for the taste of liquor when he lowers the glass. Once again his voice lowers like he's sharing a secret.
"There are plenty of ways I could please you. Simple, easy, fleeting. That's just pleasure, and believe me, I think about it plenty. I could fuck you... within an inch of your life." His tongue darts out again, but he doesn't look away from Angelo's eyes in the darkness. "Or you could fuck me. Show me what the true Salucci heir can do."
Alastor finishes the drink in one swallow and sets the glass down with a heavy sound, before he reaches out in the scant space between them to drag his fingers down the front of Angelo's loose shirt. They find the waistband of his boxers through the fabric and hook in, bunching it, not quite pulling, but his knuckles slide in very low before his hand goes still.
"But you never think so small. Imagine my power at your fingertips, whenever you wanted. Imagine what I could do for you. What we could do to each other -- and no one would ever know about the demon in your bed."
He takes a long sip of his own drink, licking his lower lip for the taste of liquor when he lowers the glass. Once again his voice lowers like he's sharing a secret.
"There are plenty of ways I could please you. Simple, easy, fleeting. That's just pleasure, and believe me, I think about it plenty. I could fuck you... within an inch of your life." His tongue darts out again, but he doesn't look away from Angelo's eyes in the darkness. "Or you could fuck me. Show me what the true Salucci heir can do."
Alastor finishes the drink in one swallow and sets the glass down with a heavy sound, before he reaches out in the scant space between them to drag his fingers down the front of Angelo's loose shirt. They find the waistband of his boxers through the fabric and hook in, bunching it, not quite pulling, but his knuckles slide in very low before his hand goes still.
"But you never think so small. Imagine my power at your fingertips, whenever you wanted. Imagine what I could do for you. What we could do to each other -- and no one would ever know about the demon in your bed."
Edited 2020-08-22 18:42 (UTC)
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