Chapped lips catch on Cesare's stubble with every inhalation. "You're saying you're not the devil," Alex murmurs. His fingers, glass set down somewhere, curl into the fabric of the long-sleeved shirt somewhere around Cesare's wrist, urging on or stopping, it isn't entirely clear at this point.

"Missing the horns, maybe, but not the intention. Defying your God by sleeping with the vampire slut and me, nice company you keep." He chuckles and bites at Cesare's jawline. "Does it get you off, being so wrong?"