Oh, he's - he's close, he's very close. Alfred can feel it, both in the way his lover sounds, the way he says his name, the way he's moving as though one wrong squirm will send him tumbling over the edge -

And so, trying to suppress a shudder of his own, he pulls abruptly off of Herbert, reaching up to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand and leaving a sideways trail of lipstick across his jaw. "Good boy," he growls, his own hips bearing down against the bed, desperate for friction. He's...holding it together, still, but only just.

"Engel...get the oil from the nightstand for me."