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Summary
He swallowed hard and tried to push down building shame at the fact that Alastor was absolutely right. This was about fucking control of all things.
Alastor's smile slowly twisted thin and his face turned sour.
Husk began to panic. This was it. Al had clocked his shitty, poorly planned sexual revenge fantasy and was now going to kill him.
With a jerk of motion that freaked Husk's cat brain out, Alastor tipped over and landed on his hands and knees and started violently puking onto the hotel floor.
Okay. Well. There's the alcohol poisoning.
Husk stood awkwardly and just watched Al dry heave onto the carpet. He was stuck somewhere between overwhelming regret, guilt, and whatever was leftover from vague remnants of the horniness that had been building up all day, before Alastor ruined it with the idea of not being a sexually coercive dickhead.
After a good five minutes of throwing up his stomach lining and about twenty gallons of alcohol, Alastor rolled over onto his back and crossed his hands over his chest like he was being lowered into a grave.
"What are you doing?"
"Waiting for you to ravish me, I suppose." Al says, emphasizing "ravish" with jazz hands.
Series
- Part 1 of Twilight, Triptych.