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    Summary

    Seven wide ruby-pink eyes stared up at Alastor in naked, gleaming longing, and a maniacal smile twisted across Sir Pentious's face. Chest heaving as he panted, he hissed again, "Bite me!"

    "Yes, I thought that's what you said."

    "Well?" Pentious rolled his spine in that beautiful way he had, showing off how his scales slick with Alastor's perspiration gleamed in the dull warm light. "Go on, then!"

    "Hold on. You want me to—what? Are we talking about real bites?" Maybe this was a euphemism he wasn't familiar with.

    Pentious blinked, some of the lustful mania draining out of his face. "Real bites," he confirmed. "With those fangss of yoursss." He smirked as he spoke, his tongue flicking out between his own sharp fangs.

    "Right! Got it." Alastor nodded. "And—why?"

    (tl;dr: Alastor is surprised to learn that what Sir Pentious wants done to him is what Alastor wants to do to him.)

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