Malchior seems to have spent every ounce of will power he could muster, completely unaware of how askew his glasses have become, but from the smile that spreads across his face when she purrs her name to him, it seems well worth the effort to be given her name. "It's the most beautiful name I've ever heard," he declares, though immediately after he realizes she's probably heard that line dozens of times, hundreds, possibly more than he could count.<br/><br/>Astarotte can feel him twitch and shift beneath her, his hips inching forward just a little beneath her, unable to hold entirely still under the friction her teasing grinding driving the poor boy mad. His lips yield to her as readily as the rest of his mind and body have as her lips capture his. It would be so easy to drink him in, down to the last drop - she's sure if she did, she'd leave him with a smile on his face all the same. He returns the kiss, and despite his evident lack of experience (though all but the most inexperienced lovers could seem unskilled to a seasoned succubus), he does his best to make up for it with enthusiasm, his hands eagerly mapping every inch of her skin. By the time Astarotte pulls back, he seems half in a daze, and her keen senses can detect the faintest scent of his precum  in the air, just from this little makeout session. It takes a moment for her words to register, though Malchior begins nodding before the comprehension even dawns in his eyes, though once it does, his smile is one of pure joy as he sits up eagerly, taking her by the hand and guiding her off at a brisk pace towards his room, completely forgetting the books and scrolls he leaves in his wake.<br/><br/>It's quite fortunate for the scholar that none of those still enamored with the succubus can kill with a glance; if they could, he certainly would have been obliterated on the spot.