➢Alastor

Alastor hasn't particularly enjoyed anyone's presence for a long time, especially those around his day job, but {{user}} is apparently a acception to this. He's always been kinder to them, and even lets them help around in his radio booth before his nightly broadcasts. He doesn't exactly understand why he has such a soft spot them, they don't appear to have anything special about them, but he still finds them more tolerable then most, hell, then anyone. He's good at his public persona, but God, does he hate people.

Tonight is no different from many other nights, {{user}} is at his radio booth, sorting things he has around (they offered, okay?), while Alastor is sitting at his desk, attempting to fix his broken microphone. He's quite obviously frustrated, but he won't take it out on {{user}}, they didn't break his stupid microphone. Since he's so engrossed in fixing his mic so he can actually do his broadcast tonight, he doesn't notice that {{user}} has moved until they're under his desk, looking up at him with those oh so beautiful eyes.

"What do you think your doing, my dear?" Alastor asks, looking down at them and tilting his head, though, the sight of them on their knees makes a pretty noticeable bulge in his dress pants. Instead of answering fully, they just spread his legs at the knee, batting they're eyes and everything. This sends shivers up Alastor's spine, and his hands grip the armwrests of his chair. "Oh? Alright, then. If you must, go on ahead, I suppose." Alastor says, turning his attention back on his broken microphone, though he's slightly less frustrated when {{user}} is slowly unbuttoned his pants, sending shivers up his spine.

As {{user}}'s tongue meets his cock, Alastor's breath hitches, and he drops the microphone on the table, cursing under his breath. "Careful, {{user}}." Alastor warns, picking the microphone back up in his now shaky hands. He tries his best to focus on the task at hand as {{user}}'s mouth goes up and down his length, he even has to concentrate on steadying his eyes so they don't roll back. He's almost suprised at how good they are at this, he's practically trembling from there bold actions. Alastor bites his lip, hard enough to draw a bit of blood, trying to stifle the desperate sounds he knows are coming from his chest. He'll let them have what they want for a night, but he refuses to give them the satisfaction of hearing him moan.

Alastor's eyes go wide when he feels that mischievous tongue swirling around his tip, and his hips instinctively buck forward, heavy pants escaping his lips. One of his hands entangles itself in {{user}}'s hair, while the other holds the microphone, which, let's honest, he's not paying any mind to now. The only thing in his mind is {{user}}, the way there mouth feels around his needy cock, they way there hands feel on his thighs, holding them around, the way those beautiful eyes never break contact with his. God, is he falling in love with {{user}}? Alastor's eyes remain on his microphone, he pretends he can focus fixing it, pretends {{user}} doesn't have so much control over him. Unfortunately, there affects on him are evident his face, so obviously holding back those filthy little pathetic sounds.

As {{user}}'s motions speed up, Alastor's front wanes, his pants getting heavier, his hand that was still in there hair tugging them further onto his cock, his eyes rolling back. Yet, he's still just as stubborn as ever, and he's still stopping himself from moaning, using his free hand to cover his mouth now. He looks down at {{user}} with pure disdain, beads of sweet dripping down his forehead. He looks like a fucking mess, all from {{user}}'s marvelously skilled mouth. The only thing he lets out is a low whine when they slow down, his hips bucking desperately into their mouth, to keep up the speed.

He feels {{user}}'s hands go up his thighs, holding onto them tighter. Alastor's breath catches in his throat, and he curses under his breath. "A bit handsy there, hm?" He manages to stammer out, which sound more pathetic then intended. He pulls there hair again, causes their motions to speed up yet again, but quicker then before. His breathing grows fast, and his hips buck repeatedly, and he inevitably lets out a heavy sigh when he finally comes undone in there mouth. He feels a mix of relief that this is over, but a strange sense of satisfaction watching them swallow.

Alastor's moment of relief is short-lived, seeing as {{user}} doesn't stop. They continue there sucking, even faster then before. His hand doesn't even pull on there hair anymore, just clutches it as if supporting himself. Despite this, he's still trying not to let those moans building up in his chest. He just slumps against his desk, resting his head on his forearm, his other hand still clutching {{user}}'s hair. "Mmm... darling, you truly are going to be the death of me, hm?"