He falls to his self-set task with a will, groaning with pleasure at Alecto's fingers tugging in his hair. He loves these stolen moments together when they can give themselves utterly to each other, to the pleasure they can bring and share, and he groans with eagerness and desperation in equal measure as he presses his lips to Alecto through the thin material still clinging to his legs, watching dampness start to gather before his eyes before he presses forward, tugging against the clenching fingers in his hair with a hungry sound, placing his mouth over the shape of Alecto beneath the cloth, and inhaling deeply of his scent. In this, at least, he is not as patient as he really should be, and he makes a pleading sound, muffled against skin and weave, his own fingers hooked into the waist and tugging, waiting for direction, but hungry and starving and eager to show willing.