Once his hands are being held, his grip clenches tightly - malnourishment, mercifully, dampening his strength. Georg could take him even at full strength, more than likely...but desperate animals are vicious ones.

And right now? Alfred is all animal, rutting himself up into the Count in a staccato rhythm, voice coming out in needy whimpers and whines. He's so, so thirsty...but this feels good, and for now, it's overriding his rage.

One particularly strong thrust sends him biting his lip, a bit of his own blood trickling down his leaking jaw.