One arm slipped comfortably around Alastor's waist as he pulled him close, pressing another quick kiss. He doesn't really care if any of Al's bosses see them now when he's picking up Alastor from work.

"Hey, baby," he murmured warmly. "You been waiting long?"

Alastor sighed loudly as he finally pulled himself out of the recording booth. It had been quite the long day at the station and as much as he loved the place, even a man like him needed a time off. He'd offer Thompson and Anderson a goodbye wave before giving Johnson a nod as he made it out to the front. He quickly grabbed his coat off the hanger as he pushed himself through the awaiting double doors of the exit.

Al was just starting to lock up after himself when he more felt than saw the larger man stalking his way up from behind him. The little brunette gave a soft giggle as a familiar scent brushed his nose and the warmth of the ex-boxer coiled around his petite frame in a protective hold, tugging him to a large chest with one slow move.

"Mhmm, hello darling. Missed me~?'' The brunette teased, tipping his head with a happy purr as kisses brushed his cheek and neck, the man's stubble tickling his jawline. Alastor gasped, clutching to his lovers chest when he revealed what he had been hiding with his free hand.

"Oh, Leo! They're lovely~! Really all for me? Ever the romantic my dear." He teased, taking the offering with both hands and pressing the delicate pedals to his pointed nose. Oh! They smelt so nice. Now he'd have to put them by his window when he got home. The little brunette kissed him back, peppering more little kissies where he could.

"Thank you, sweetheart~"

Alastor smirked as his darling hunk of a man dragged him protectively closer to his side. He hummed innocently, pressing closer like a damsel against the big barkeep.

"Oh, daaarling, he grabbed my little dainty arm and everything~! He could've broken my hand y'know. I say? Kick him out. Literally~"

Alastor smirked at the sweet little kiss.

Oh no no no~! That just wouldn't do~

With a sly grin, he'd yank Husker farther over the counter to kiss him harder, swiping his tongue against his lips just to be a brat as he did.

Injury / Injured Prompts || Accepting !

@huskersgamble sent: 😴 Carry the unconscious receiver somewhere safe after a brutal fight. (your choice)

It must be underlined, for the record, getting in bar fights wasn't a habit or even just common for Virgil. Hell, this was basically his first one, if you didn't count the scuffles he had gotten into with his fellow soldiers while he was serving his mandatory training time in the military. And they did not count, since that was a part of his life he pretended never happened.

In all truth, he could have easily avoided going through it to begin with, thanks to his father's influence, but he would have taken that shitshow over breathing the same air of his old man any day. No hesitation.

Once back, he had immediately left for college, gotten his degree in Electrical Engineering and gotten his first job as a technician at a broadcasting station. From there, his aspirations had grown and expanded and the young man had set his eyes on more prestigious positions. Rising through the ranks was a delicate job of precision, one that at times required more patience than Virgil had. Luckily, it helped that he had never been afraid of getting his hands dirty when needed.

His latest plans had led to his current circumstances. He had wormed his way into getting invited out for drinks after work by some of his colleagues. A bunch of sanctimonious pricks, if you asked him, but he needed to be on their good side to get recommended for the promotion that would soon be opening, once the man currently holding the position would have lost his life in an unfortunate accident.

It should have been a simple, even if grating, affair. Offer a round when it was his turn, play cards, laugh at the right times, come up with the fitting replies. It was an old script for him, one he had danced to a hundred times before. What he hadn't anticipated had been for one of those idiots to pick up a fight with another patron, a guy who was much bigger than any of them, and Virgil had found himself forced to step in and save the day.

Or, rather, try to, since he had gotten his ass brutally ended to him by the time the brawl had ended. At least, none of his colleagues had gotten too injured and they were all sort of impressed with him.

Oh, the things he did to get the recognition and attention he rightfully deserved.

He didn't remember passing out, but between the alcohol he had been consuming before the fight and the harsh blow to his head, his awareness of the events that had taken place wasn't fully reliable. He had a vague memory of someone picking him up from the floor and then...nothing.

He couldn't have said how much time had passed after that, but when he came back to his senses, he was greeted by a splitting headache and an upset stomach. His clothes were all creased and there were blood stains on the upper part of his shirt and jacket. His blood, he quickly found out, as his fingers met a nasty gash just under his hairline. And his glasses were cracked.

Real fucking wonderful. How was he supposed to go live looking like that the next day?!

Also...Oh god, he was so going to throw up.

And he might have, ready as he was to roll over the couch he was lying upon, if his mismatched eyes hadn't caught a silhouette, sitting just a few steps away from him. Virgil froze, blinking a few times at the stranger to clear his blurry sight, and a spark of recognition hit him once he had put the figure into focus. The man...he was the bartender from the bar he had been at. And where he was not anymore.

"...Uh," was the only noise that left the TV host's lips, his gaze darting around to take in his surroundings, without however managing to put the pieces together.

Husker lazily trailed a finger over smooth skin. Ah... those freckles.

They were a sprawling, intimate constellation scattered across the warm, buttery canvas of Alastor's skin. A dusting across the sharp jut of his shoulder blades, clustering thickest on the nape of his neck. A faint, tawny spray across his lower back, and then, darker, more concentrated, on the curves of his hips, disappearing under the edge of the sheet.

He realized with a slow, breathtaking clarity, that his lover looked... like a doe. A long-limbed, secretive thing, all elegant, quiet strength. The spots on his his hidden beauty, only visible to whoever he allowed to get this close.

Husk propped himself up on an elbow, the mattress sighing under the shift in weight. Then slowly, reverently, the bartender leaned down, lips brushed the first one, right on the crest of Alastor's left shoulder. It was the size of a small pea, a perfect little smudge of cinnamon.

"One," he murmured against the skin, his voice a gravelly whisper. He moved to the next, a hair's breadth away, lower. Another soft kiss. "Two."

Husk trailed down Alastor's spine, following the scatter. He kissed a tiny trio clustered by his ribs. "Three… four… five." Each kiss was a slow, deliberate act of worship. A promise. He wanted to seal them to memory. Not just with his eyes, but with the feel of his lips. The taste of his skin, clean and salt-tinged.

When he reached the curve of Alastor's right hip, the sheet had slipped lower, revealing the cluster. A whole galaxy of them, large and small, swirling over the sharp bone. Husk pressed his mouth to the largest one, right over the jut of his iliac crest. "Six."

Then another, just below it. "Seven."

And another, closer to the soft skin of his inner hip. He felt the muscle there jump under his lips.

"Eight."

Husk pulled back just enough to look up and lock eyes with his slighter lover. His usual sharp, kilowatt smile was gone. His dark eyes were wide, luminous in the dim light, and his lips were slightly parted. Husk traced a fingertip lightly over the freckle just below Alastor's navel, the last one he'd found. He hadn't kissed that one yet.

Husk traced a fingertip over the last freckle, just below his navel. "You look like a fawn with all these spots," he murmured. "And I'm gonna memorize every single one. So I can find 'em in the dark."

"And you look like a hungry beast." Came Alastor's sleepy murmur in turn. He had just gotten comfortable in his blankets when the larger man began to leave his sweet kisses down his slender bare frame. He chuckled breathlessly, hand still covering his tired eyes with his forearm, but his ever present smile was there, faint and sweeter than normal.

Alastor was a man who didn't much care for touch. He hated it most times. Reeling back with a hiss when some foolish man thought he was a simply too small and too polite to pull back from them. Nobody respected his personal space, nobody treated his distrust as a cause of their own, but a fault of his. It was vial.

But for Leo he-...he had long forgotten the sensation of shuddering in disgust and grimacing at the foreign invader pawing his caramel flesh. He never snarled or slapped Husk away. He enjoy it. The caress of his palm, the gentle drag of his fingernails against his pale peanut butter skin...he liked it.

Alastor seemed to purr with each dainty press of lips against his petite form half hidden in the blankets. He whined but never struggled away. Each quite gentle peck soothing him, calming him from his already bad mood.

He had been tired from a long day at the station and had barley done anything else since he came home but lay limply in bed through his exhaustion. Husker must've figured it out since he silently followed him to bed after dinner.

"They wish for me to take more shifts." Alastor sighed, reaching up to run his fingers through messy ebony locks. "Apparently I am too good at what I do. They wish to keep me from you even longer now..."

Necking with Leo is always an experience. His arms box Alastor in, his hands grab roughly, pulling at the radio host's fancy clothes and grabbing at his soft skin. He wasn't a delicate flower, he didn't need to handled with care.

The devilish side of him didn't want to be handled with care.

'I could ruin you.'

Leo's gravelly voice in his ear made his stomach coil hot with want. Alastor's nails scraped at the other's scalp, fingers buried in his hair as they kissed and bit at each others mouths in dark alley in the late hours of the night. If he strained, he could have heard the horns of band in the jazz bar. But the thigh pressed between his legs was much more consuming.

Alastor would let Husker ruin him. Take whatever he wanted from Alastor, have him however he wanted, hurt him however he might want. As long and Leo kept looking at him with want and desire in his eyes. Kept his hands on Alastor's body.

"Then do so. Ruin me for everyone else," Alastor groaned, pressing his body against the other man's. He bit at Leo's neck, sharp and bruising. He had to know, right? That he was object of Alastor's affection and obsession? The sinful man would hurt for him and be hurt for him?

He would ruin Husker's life right back.

❛❛ No, no no no nononono . . . ❜❜ Shaking head, a series of mumbled denials. Tears well in those mismatched eyes as teeth clench, biting back a sob. Anthony blinks furiously, trying to clear his vision, not wanting to miss a moment of the light still in the other man's eyes. ❛❛ Don't do that. Please, don't say shit like that. Y' gonna be fine, okay? Y' can't — y' can't leave me. Not you too. ❜❜

Alastor’s death, so sudden and horrific, still didn’t feel real. Anthony is still reeling — they all were. Now this . . . He had run from his life in New York to find a new one here with people who cared about him, who understood him. What is he meant to go back to when he burned every bridge, what can he build when everyone he loves is gone?