"Impertinent Wench," he grumbled fondly, shaking his head.
Alastor wasn't so sure he was doing anything. He blustered and snapped and ordered people about. But, it was Stephen Nott who was doing the real work. Alastor was just...hovering like a lovesick puppy too frightened to leave home for fear of not finding his way back. "I'm trying to," he said softly. And, for all his innate pessimism and paranoia, he was trying stubbornly to have faith in something.
Feeling her tug on his shirt, he muttered a quick charm to unbutton it and give her the contact she wanted, though he didn't take the time to remove it. Instead, he shifted so he was leaning over her, weight still on one arm but that arm now positioned on the other side of her body from where he sat so he could continue to kiss her while at the same time she could lay back comfortably. "We can do this for as long as you like," he whispered back between kisses. "Neither of us is going anywhere."