"The stage is a world of Entertainment."

It took all of Angel’s strength to not comment on the noises coming from Alastor’s lips, but he’d probably lose massage privileges if he did– and that would be a damn shame.  So, he kept his thoughts to himself, though a smirk did curl his lips.

“Color me fuckin’ shocked.  I would a’ been bedridden if my shoulders were this fucked up.”  His hands moved closer to Alastor’s neck, thumbs rubbing circles at the base of it, near his spine.

If those noises amused Angel, the ones Alastor emitted once those thumbs got to his neck would be more of a struggle to hold his tongue at. 

“Ah! That-Right in that spot. It-fuck.”

At the light nips he lets his lips part, and as eager as he is, he lets Alastor set the pace. He could be patient and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally overwhelm the other. Letting his thumb brush along their cheek and smiling as he felt the soft heat there.

Alastor pulled away for a moment, a soft pant now filling the air around them. Without much thought, he pressed his cheek against Angel’s hand. He was fine taking things slow, he much preferred it this way. 

Eyes still focused on Angel, he took the other’s hand and began to lad him up the stairs. 

Angel was honestly a bit… surprised, that Alastor had actually bared his shoulders, but he certainly wasn’t complaining about it.  Made massaging him a hell of a lot easier.

A hum, and his hands returned to the bare shoulders, thumbs pressing deep against his flesh, rubbing circles deep into the tissue.  “Fuckin’ hell, how are you livin’ wit’ so many fuckin’ knots?”

Alastor strained to remain in his taught, upright position. Those thumbs were working and it was the best magic he’d ever felt. Soft pants were rolling off of his tongue.

“ A̴͏͎̬̭͓̻͉̺͇̳m̛̙̗̥͇̻͖̀     ̸̠̩Í͔͇̳̭̖͇͡!?” Alastor’s grin sharpened to a fine point.

19 - My muse puts a blindfold on your muse.

Angel releases a pleased hum as he finally feels lips press against his own, and one of his hands move to gently grasp the front of their jacket. His other, at first hesitant to move, eventually slowly moves to cup their cheek and press forward a little with the kiss.

9 - My muse leaves bite marks all over your muse.

With Alastor’s permission, Angel’s hands went right back to Alastor’s shoulders, working away at them.

“Y’ know, I’d be able ta’ do a betta’ job if you at took your shirt off.  Or like, slid your shirt down off your shoulders.  Don’t have ta’, jus’ a suggestion.”  The padded shoulders were aesthetically pleasing, sure, but they were completely in the way of getting to the muscle.

Alastor sighed through gritted teeth. Just once. Maybe if I do this he’ll avoid surprising me by entering my personal space.

“Okay.”

Part of the demon wants to complain about the hesitance when he was so close. Yet, there was definitely a part of him that appreciated the question. He was so used to others just taking what they wanted from him. Sometimes he forgets that it wasn’t supposed to be like that. So he lets out a quiet breath and smiles. “Yeah. Please kiss me.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

brimstone-radio​:

Continued from X with @nebula-gaster

That was the beauty of alcohol, it gave you a major confidence boost, made you feel like you could do anything. In this case, it made Alastor feel like he could just pin Ombra to the wall, act like he had any semblance of control, give himself an antler extension and kiss the shadow demon like they were on the fourth date.

Well, why not let him feel all that?

Ombra met the stag’s lips with his own, allowing him to take control. He was fairly confident he was the only one in life or death to have been drunkenly kissed by Alastor; he would hold this over the stag’s head for a long, long time. He wouldn’t boast to all of Hell, though, because that would be rude.

Something stirred in Alastor and a rhythm was found in their kisses. While Ombra would be incorrect in his assumptions, he wouldn’t be corrected by Alastor who wished not to think of his time alive. 

But this was for another day, one preferably when Alastor was not more focused on figuring out where the best place to put his hands without being too forward would be. Hips? No. Shoulders? Maybe. Hands? Well, did Ombra have hands that he could easily find? Shoulders it was.