"Surely so," Alastor hummed in agreement, though he seemed distracted - he took Lucifer's wrist in his own hand and held it firm, but without squeezing. Alastor pressed a thumb against the inside, rubbing gently to find the veins, feel the thump of life coursing through the fallen seraphim.

What a strange, morbid little thing for Lucifer to offer him. And in thanks. But a gift is a gift... he shouldn't peer too much at the horse's mouth, right?

Bending at the waist, Alastor almost looked as though he was bowing to kiss the royal hand. But his teeth sharply cut into flesh instead, puncturing and not slashing, careful not to give Lucifer a grievous wound. And from there... he wrapped his lips around the bleeding gold, dribbling from the gradient of flesh, and drew in mouthful after mouthful to coat his tongue. It did taste different... Lucifer's magic sung in his blood, and Alastor's pupils dilated in fixation.