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Summary
Alastor had never considered himself a man of the "flesh." Sure, he partook when the occasion called for it - usually when his body needed it - but he'd never had any interest in deeper desires.
And now that he was in a relationship with Lucifer, he was more than happy to realize his partner's pleasures. Though he didn't always climax, they were still enjoyable enough for him and his little star was sated.
But ever since that state dinner, and he'd carried a half asleep angel back to their rooms, someone tell him why he can't get the image of Lucifer's smudged makeup out of his head?