[ His tongue strokes over Alucard's, exploring just a little. Mapping out a warm mouth and blunt teeth. His hands do likewise, stroking over Alucard's body. Up his sides, along his back, over his hips and thighs. ]

Every last fucking part of you is so lovely. How am I meant to choose?

[ The breathlessness when he breaks away from the kiss lends his voice a new quality, low and conspiratorial. The kind of thing that he might attempt to imitate if he were deliberately trying to be sultry and fail. It's a rhetorical question. Because he isn't meant to choose. Alucard is. ]

Tell me where I should touch, to make you feel good.