Each successive day, the hormones were settling more and more, and The Chase aside, more of Alastor's usual personality had slowly and gradually been showing, typically with little teases or boasts to egg on his doe.

This morning, though, Alastor felt as wrung out as a towel. And for the first time in... who knows how long, his head was mercifully clear.

"Hmm... difficult to say," Alastor replied - even under the heavy radio filter, his voice was hoarse. "I think we're both due to stop. I think enough weeks have passed that the rut's run its course," he grumbled, slow to sit up. Fucking hell. Hopefully Lucifer would be more than sated for at least a month, Alastor didn't even want to think of it for a long time. "A bath sounds perfect," he concurred, snapping to zip them out of the bayou and into his even more meticulously hidden away bath - he didn't trust a single resident of the Hotel to not walk in on him. Ignoring the crackling of bones, the burn of the chafing soreness, and the deep muscle ache, Alastor stood to start running the bath.