to mourn

He's thinking later on that day about how he could torment you with his affections when he passes by the library and sees you struggling, quite poorly, to reach a book. 

His grin grows imperceptibly wider as he silently approaches behind you. He weighs his options on how he should go about it and eventually decides to lean over, until his lips are almost flush to your ear.

“Do you need any help mon cœur?” He almost purrs in your ear and he has to admit there is a certain thrill and exhilaration unlike what he's used to feeling, when you jump from how close his voice is. 

“A-Alastor! I…I didn't realize you were there.” You managed to squeak out as you felt his claws rest on the crook of your waist. The proximity, touch, and whispered voice is clearly a lot for you since he can see your blush has even spread to the tips of your ears. 

How cute. He wonders what other parts of you can so plainly show your feelings because of him? Ah but he's losing focus now.

“Oh, my apologies. How rude of me not to greet you! Hello there.” He hasn't moved his mouth an inch, his voice brushing against you like velvet as he speaks. As soon as he does actually greet you, one of his hands captures yours and brings it to his lips, and he's  able to hear the slight hitch in your breath as he does so. It's certainly a sound he's quickly become a fan of, that he wants to hear over and over again. He once again allows his mind to wander for just a moment on other ways he could have you make that sound for him. But then he's focused once more, his hand dropping yours and snatching the book you appeared to be reaching for with ease before leaning back down to whisper in your ear.

“Is this what you needed mon cœur?” He continues to drawl sweetly in your ear as he repeats the pet name that still manages to make you flush and fidget nervously despite not knowing what the hell he was even saying. He noticed the pet names seemed to make you feel some type of way when they were French, even though he's called you darling and dear and various other things in English more than a few times. But no matter. He doesn't really care about the reasoning behind it, just excited he has another tool in his arsenal to ensure you turn your gaze to him instead of some pathetic sinner that thought they had a chance with you. He can feel his ears flatten slightly in agitation at the mere thought, but thankfully you're unable to see in your current position so he gives nothing away.

He sees he isn't the only one to get lost in his thoughts, since you haven't responded yet, and he's oh so curious to know what is going on in that head of yours. But another time. For now he was making such progress, he feels.

His chuckle in your ear is dark and low, but warm like honey before his voice rings out again, laced with amused curiosity.

“Mon cœur?”

You snap to attention at that, as if just remembering he was even there.

“Y-Yep! That's the book! Thank you!” 

The little stutter was cute, he admits. Especially when he knows he caused it. But he thinks this is enough for now, to help lead your mind down less…platonic roads. The idea was to have you approach him, to maintain that illusion of control. Like you thought of it, and approached him and he'll pretend to entertain the idea before giving it a shot.

But it's fine you were taking a while to grow the courage. He was a very patient man, and the way he was clearly driving you up the wall with his back and forth actions was certainly entertaining enough in the meantime.

“Glad to be of service!” His normal radio host cadence was back again as he pulled away, his touch leaving you entirely, and he's sure it leaves a cold spot in his absence that he's sure you notice, since he can feel the same sharp contrast of the lack of warmth on him from where you're no longer touching.

He seems so cheerful and carefree that it almost makes you wonder if you had hallucinated this whole interaction. But by the time you spin around to talk to him, he's already gone. But even from the shadows he can see the way your flushed face and wide eyes search the room for him, hand over your heart as if you could will your heartbeat to slow. He's certain you must be feeling a sense of whiplash from the drastic change in demeanor and he watches as you lean back against the shelves, holding the book and shaking your head a moment.

“I feel like I'm going crazy…” He watched you mutter and it only made him smile more. So his actions were effective after all. You were just trying very hard to be respectful and polite to him since you knew his nature so well…an endearing gesture that just made him want to sink his claws even deeper into you. 

Knowing his actions affect you just emboldens him further. When you share coffee the next morning with him and the two of you chat, tucked away in whatever room seemed to strike your fancy that day, he notices you seem to be avoiding his eyes, your head tilted down.

He tuts a moment, putting his coffee down and using one claw to tilt your head upward to face him, using his other hand to brush your hair away from your face to stop obscuring his attempts to look at you.

“There we are. Much better.” He smiles brightly at you, even as he sees the crimson rush to your cheeks. He lets his hands linger a little longer than needed before he releases you and picks his coffee cup back up again, as if what he's done wasn't abnormal in the slightest.

“A-Alastor…?” He hears you ask tentatively, and he thinks his patience is finally going to pay off.

“Yes mon cœur?” He asks, tilting his head to the side in an innocent manner that is a laughable contrast to what you know of the radio demon's legacy and reputation.

“I..” He leans forward slightly, eager for your expected confession, his eyes drifting down to your throat as he watches you swallow thickly from nerves.

“...I…n-nevermind. I…forgot what I was going to say.” You eventually give up and his shoulders slump just the slightest bit in disappointment although his smile doesn't falter, although it is strained.

“...No worries. When it comes back to you, I've always got an open ear available for you.” He assures you, although inside he sighs. How can he make you crack? He wants to make you crack before he does, to maintain that illusion of control and so you don't realize the power you possess of how much he could give you if you only asked. He's thinking again, a peaceful quiet settled over the both of you as you each are lost in thought over your individual predicaments.

Perhaps…he could distract you from your date, maybe even ensure you miss it anyway, and perhaps see him in a less…platonic way at the same time. He could simply…take the place of this undeserving date of yours. 

“...You know…I had heard there was a new jazz club that had opened up recently, and I know no one else here has enough taste to appreciate the music appropriately so I wouldn't want to take any of them.” He uses his free hand to wave off the notion before you can even suggest it. 

“Perhaps I could take you with me? Perhaps I can show you how well I bet we could cut a rug together? It's been quite some time since I've gotten to enjoy a dance with a worthy partner.” He says, putting particular emphasis on the last word, eyes partially closing as he makes sure to look at you with a more seductive gaze to further entice you.

You always respond to his compliments so well, a nervous fidget, perhaps a bite of your lip as you think of how to respond, and of course that cute little blush he was quite fond of by now.

“That…” You swallow again, opening your mouth a moment as if searching for words before you continue speaking.

“That sounds…lovely. Just…let me know when to be ready.”

This time his grin is more reminiscent of a spider watching a fly heading right into its web as he gives you all the details needed of when and where.

When the time officially comes, he's delighted that you show up in the lobby at the appropriate time for a few reasons. It meant you were going to go, was the most obvious reason. But the second reason was that unless this idiot wanted to take you dancing on a Sunday night…you probably broke your date with them to be with him. A fact that certainly makes his ego puff up as he takes your hand and kisses it, a routine that feels almost natural now.

“My…I'll be the envy of everyone there with this beauty on my arm…” He chuckles, smiling wider when he sees that tell tale blush spread down to your neck as you stumble over a ‘thank you’. He offers his arm to you, which you politely take as if he were escorting you anywhere normally. Him initiating contact, even if it was small, was also beginning to feel more natural to you both, even if it was small touches.

He can tell by the way you act that you can sense this is different from other friendly outings you two had been on. Good. He was beginning to doubt his abilities to charm for a little bit there. Perish the thought.

There are also, admittedly, things that he has begun to notice are different as the night goes on as well. Had he always been able to feel how warm your hands were or had he just never noticed? It's easier to notice now as he twirls you around to the lovely jazz band playing up on stage, hand never letting yours go entirely as the two of you dance.

He's also glad to see those pesky nerves of yours finally seemed to be wearing off and you were relaxing with him again, like you had before he began attempting to quietly pursue you. Your smile and laugh were far more carefree and jovial as he dips you, arm wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you from falling before he tugs you back up to continue.

With you relaxing, he finds himself mirroring that demeanor and he's overall less anxious and tense, and much less focused on ensnaring you. Now he was just…having fun. No planning. No ulterior motives. Just having a good time. It's actually quite nice to enjoy the feeling in the moment.

There are a few brief moments where you tense, for instance when his face comes just a little too close to yours, and he can tell you're clearly wondering if he'll close the gap or if you're just imagining things that aren't there. Or when he gives a particularly sultry gaze and accompanying grin as he pulls his lovely dancing partner closer when the distance between you two becomes greater than he wants.

But overall it's an absolutely lovely night and once you've both had your fill you step off the dance floor, Alastor taking a moment to check the time and grinning deviously to himself. It was far too late to meet with up with whoever your date had been, and his ego is admittedly fluffed knowing he was the one able to distract you so thoroughly, as it should be.

As the two of you sit down at one of the tables in the corner, each grabbing a drink from the bar first, you're still laughing with absolute glee over the wonderful night so far.

He enjoys picking your brain as he sips his rye, head resting gently on his free hand as he nods and agrees and puts in his own two cents on this new jazz club. It feels delightfully normal and cozy. While he does quite enjoy flustering you and watching you flounder…he had missed these easygoing conversations he couldn't really seem to have with others. You had been walking on eggshells around him this week, and he didn't realize how terribly he missed this type of interaction with you until now.

It's only after awhile he pretends to check the clock and feigns shock before turning back to you.

“Oh dear! I hadn't realized how late it had gotten. I hope you didn't have any other plans I might have ruined.” His chuckle is easygoing, thinking he knows the answer but wanting to hear you say it anyway. He wants to hear you say you chose him, instead of him just silently knowing.

But you just shake your head, grin still plastered across your face before you take a sip of your cocktail.

“Nope! This was my only plan tonight and I couldn't imagine anything better!” Another delighted laugh from you as confusion crosses his own face immediately.

He cocks his head to the side a little bit, trying to determine if you're lying or not. Although he has never known you to lie to him before…

“Really? It's not nice to lie to me. I thought we were close. No prior commitments to anyone broken to be here with me tonight? No silly little paramour trying to steal away your attention?” He puts emphasis on the word, putting his drink down and using that hand to gently grab your chin and tilt your head up to look him in the eye so he could analyze your expression more acutely. He doesn't mean to say the word ‘paramour’ with such disdain, it simply creeps out into his voice.

But now you just look confused as well as you look up at him.

“No…? I mean. I told Husk about this place and mentioned wanting to go this weekend to check it out. But I didn't say I had anyone in mind to go with me. If anything I was going to ask you, knowing this is your kind of place.” You answer carefully, unsure what the correct answer is supposed to be, and he freezes, hand on your chin tightening almost imperceptibly as the gears begin to turn in his mind.

There's a soft flare of radio static interference that sounds from him that makes others nearby give him more room than they had previously.

You, however, are unafraid. You've become too close to him to really fear he would do anything bad to you. Right now you're mostly just concerned for him and this odd behavior.

His hand drops away from your face, as he takes another sip of his rye, taking that time to collect himself and think of his next course of action.

He should have known better than to trust one singular source of information without double checking…damnit. He had been so wrapped up in his stupid newfound jealousy that he hadn't even stopped to ask Husk if he was absolutely positive that's what you said. He thinks the idiot must have misheard you, and he foolishly accepted it at face value.

But the wheels are turning in your head now too, mouth falling slightly agape as your eyes widen, an outlandish possibility entering your mind that claws at your curiosity so desperately you can't stop yourself from blurting it out.

“...Alastor…Were you trying to stop me from going on what you thought was a date?” You ask, and the excited anticipation in your voice could not be mistaken even though you did try to hide it.

“Of course not.” Is what comes out of his mouth immediately as he pulls away defensively, his ears flattening slightly, two things you pick up on. He's unaware how hard your heart is beating right now as you try to summon the courage to speak your next thought, part of you still thinking it so impossible you shouldn't even bother asking.

“...Are you…jealous over the idea of someone dating me?” You inquire curiously, quirking your head to the side and snaking one hand across the table and taking his hesitantly, unsure if you're crossing some invisible line. You're unsure if you're just firing a shot in the dark and he'll laugh at the notion. But somehow the atmosphere feels far too heavy for him to joke about something like this. It's felt heavy like this all week and you wanted to know why.

But the question just has him put his drink down a little more harshly than he meant to. But he doesn't pull his other hand from yours, the touch a little soothing to him as he deals with his scattered thoughts.

“No.” He says concretely while looking you in the eye, as if daring you to suggest otherwise.

But you still aren't convinced…not with how he had been acting this past week, and this new knowledge. Perhaps…you could try and be a little bold? Perhaps test the waters yourself?

“...That's a shame. I wouldn't have minded if you were.” You state quietly, his ears almost straining to pick up the sound of your voice over the music. Your gaze is pointedly looking away,  unsure you would have had the courage to say the words if you had been looking directly at him.

You startle and look back at him, specifically at his hand holding yours because his grip has become noticeably tighter. He's moving closer again, to the shorter distance he had been before he pulled away and you swallow thickly, wondering if you had made a mistake.

His voice is low, and you can oddly see conflict present in his eyes, as if he was warring over what decision to make.

“...and if I say I am?” His voice is heated and almost husky as he speaks, looking you directly in the eye again as he leans even closer now, his face mere inches from yours now.

You're struck speechless by this admission, not even dreaming of that response actually being a reality, and your voice is stuck in your throat as you scramble for a response. Your breath hitches slightly as all you can do is stare at him a moment trying to process this as he waits for your answer, unreadable in this moment.

Your other hand is shaking as you bring it up to rest on his cheek, watching him close his eyes a moment before opening them again as he leans into the touch. It gives you the courage to speak that thought that feels almost too silly to put out into the world.

“...I…I would say you have no reason to be.” You're leaning just the smallest bit forward, as if to silently give permission but not wanting to take that first step yourself and cross his boundaries without permission. 

It just made him adore you more.

He bridges the distance, eyes closing as the hand not holding yours is placed on the back of your neck to push you closer, to silently assure you this was no accident.

He can feel your hand gripping his tightly now in response and he can't help but grin into the kiss as you begin to reciprocate once the shock has worn off, lips moving against his with an eager hunger before eventually parting. There's something almost tender in the way he grips your neck, that makes you melt into the kiss with him with ease.

He has to admit he's definitely a fan of this look of yours. Wide eyed, breathing a bit hard with a flushed face and slightly parted mouth as you gazed at him. He wants to see it again.

“...Good. I'm not the type of person who does well with jealousy I've discovered.” His voice is chipper and normal, as if he hadn't just taken your breath away for a moment. Just the whiplash of going from one side of him to the other has you laughing as you lean back, the hand that was once on his face now covering your own.

“...I'll keep that in mind.” You grin, spreading your fingers just enough to peek out at him. 

Further discussions could wait until tomorrow of course, of boundaries and labels and everything that comes with it. But for now this is enough. His cards are on the table yes, but yours are laid bare for him to see as well. So he relaxes again into his seat, leaning back but not taking his hand back from yours before looking at the dance floor again.

“...Do you feel like dancing again mon cœur?” He asks, already tugging your hand up to bring you with him. He's eager to dance with you again without having to pretend his intimate and more romantic touches were accidental this time. He hears you giggle before taking another sip of your cocktail and then you're tugging him down to be eye level with you. 

“I'd love that, mon amour.” You teasingly breathe into his ear, and you're rewarded by this time getting to see his breath hitch instead of it always being you. You may still not know what he's been calling you, but everyone knows that term of endearment, and there's an almost sinful sense of pride that you were able to pull that type of reaction from him, and now you're even more eager to dance with him again, to find out what else you can see that no one else has before.

You think you understand all the teasing touches he gave you that left you wanting all this week, probably trying to test the waters and bait you into confessing yourself, you can likely guess now. If this is how he felt seeing you react all those times you couldn't blame him.

Perhaps it's only fair to begin to repay him for those tormenting whispers and touches, you think as you two step onto the dance floor, your hand placing itself on his chest before slowly gliding up further and then over his collarbone to rest gingerly on his shoulder for support, your fingers digging in slightly to the flesh of his back. It's hard to tell in this dimly lit lounge but you swear there's a tinge of red to his face, and it just further strengthens the hunger you feel when he growls softly and leans over to whisper to you.

“Tread carefully my dear. I have every intention of approaching this courtship as a gentleman. Do not make that impossible for me to remember…”

Alastor was still at work. At least, that’s what he called it. And you supposed, it was like having a job of sorts, except he wasn’t paid to do it, nobody asked him to broadcast, and people were generally quite relieved when he stopped. You never knew whose last words might be heard between Ella Fitzgerald and Cab Calloway.

He’d given you a key to his room after your first month together. An anniversary present of sorts. If you went in for that sort of thing, which Alastor surprisingly did. 

With a sly smile, he’d slipped the heavy brass key into your palm and closed your fingers around it.

“You can come and go as you please, amour. Though some warning would be appreciated, if at all possible. I wouldn’t want you walking in before I’ve had the chance to tidy up.” He tapped the end of your nose. “And don’t get any funny ideas about slipping into my bed in the middle of the night. I may be a demon, but some things just aren’t proper.”

You rolled your eyes at that.

“God knows, you’re so irresistible, Alastor. I’m not sure how I’ll cope.”

“Exactly. Hands to yourself, cher. I’ve been warned about you modern women.”

His baseline static flickered, and in its place, a canned laugh track zoomed past your ears.

You just shook your head, not even trying to pretend to be annoyed. You were never very good at that when it came to Alastor. Somehow, he always managed to make you laugh, even when you were trying your hardest to find him irritating. 

Even though he’d said you could visit his apartments whenever you pleased, even when he wasn’t there, you did try your best not to push it too far. It was difficult, though. 

Alastor’s rooms were more than twice the size of your own, even without the illusion he had cast. His furniture was ridiculously comfortable, and even though the lack of reception had bothered you at first, it soon became a haven from the chaotic world you’d fallen into. 

You stretched out like a cat and turned over onto your belly, yawning so wide that you almost swallowed the firefly as it floated past you. 

The fire was already burning in the grate when you snuck in, filling the room with a welcoming warmth, as if Alastor had anticipated your arrival. It made you feel drowsy almost immediately, its soft crackling a lullaby all of its own. You’d intended to surprise Alastor, but somehow you didn’t think you’d be able to stay awake. Still, it’s the thought that counts. 

Catching the attention of the hotel’s resident Overlord had never been your intention. 

Hell brought new trials and tribulations with every sunrise, which was rather the point. Burning cars, gang wars in the streets, Exterminations, murder, violence, pain. Though discomforting at first, it all sank to ubiquity after a few years. This job was supposed to be a break from that. You didn’t expect to find a family and a home, and you certainly could never have anticipated falling for Alastor. 

It was difficult to pinpoint when his interest in you started; you supposed you were both in the middle before you even knew it had begun. 

You remembered thinking he was a little ridiculous at first, especially for someone so fearsome. Whenever he passed by the front desk, Alastor never failed to call out an exuberant greeting to you, usually loud enough to make everyone in the lobby look in your direction. 

Silly as it was, it did charm you. Just a bit. Manners were rare in Hell, and even if Alastor’s usually hid an ulterior motive, it was always nice to hear his lovely voice calling out ‘good morning, my dear!’ to you from across the foyer, before he slipped out the door to do Satan knows what.

He was introduced to you as the facilities manager, but Alastor seemed to drum up a new title for himself every week. He would give himself promotion after promotion, whatever was necessary to garner the influence he desired, and when he needed an excuse to not get involved, his job title abruptly dropped several rungs, for a few hours anyway. 

And for some reason, everyone let him get away with it. You supposed the other residents were keen to appease the hotel’s largest benefactor, or they were too frightened to challenge him, or they simply did not care what Alastor did, so long as it didn’t involve them. 

You hovered between these three categories for a while, varying your attitude to match Alastor’s moods, which shifted from day to day with an unpredictability that was frankly unnerving.  

After a while, he became more of a nuisance than anything. Oh, he liked to play the mysterious Overlord, but you’d met plenty of supercilious men like him before, in life and in death, and would not be mystified by a winning smile and rumours whispered behind hands.

Eventually, these small courtesies grew to idle chat. For someone who claimed to be outrageously overworked and far too important to worry about anything he deemed beneath him, Alastor sure found a lot of time to linger around the front desk. 

He began by asking fairly routine questions, how many guests had booked in that week, if any tasks required his attention, that sort of thing.

“As host, I should be kept up to date with all the comings and goings, don’t you think?”

You just smiled and reeled off everything you thought might be relevant to Alastor’s duties, whatever he thought they were that week. 

He never made any notes, in fact, he hardly seemed to listen at all. When you had finished and were fumbling for something more to say to satiate his curious expression, Alastor interrupted you with a bright laugh.

“Very good, very good, yes! Keep up the good work, my dear.”

You stared at his back as he strode off, bewildered, and a little relieved that the interaction was over. Being close to Alastor felt like holding your hand over a lit candle. Stay there too long, and you could sear the skin of your palm. But the warmth, and the beguiling, exciting stab of danger, were worth it. 

Soon these check-ins grew longer, and before you knew it, Alastor began to hang around the front desk, as if he had nothing better to do. 

He did most of the talking, at first. He was made for radio. It would take an army to make Alastor stop chattering. You couldn't help wondering how he managed it, and had been caught staring curiously at his mouth several times.

Alastor would pause suddenly, jaws open, showing off his fearsome teeth. His painted-on smile would soften into something a little more real, and he’d reach across the desk to tap the end of your nose. 

“See something you like, dear?” he’d say, eyebrows raised.

You just scoffed and rolled your eyes, making some half-assed dig about how he was distracting you from your work, and anyway, didn’t he have something better to do than bother you? 

All the while, Alastor just smiled, before continuing his monologue. 

He hovered by the front desk most days. The only time he paused for breath was when you had to help a guest, and even then, he watched your every move with bright, incisive eyes, like a cat with a mouse.

One morning, he finally broke through the barrier that separated you and slipped behind the desk, under the guise that he was helping you with paperwork. 

Alastor insisted that there be no digitisation at the hotel, and after everything that had happened to him, you understood his distaste. But it meant that your desk was constantly covered in countless sheets of paper, no matter how hard you tried to keep the place organised. 

Of course, Alastor was no help whatsoever. 

He picked up random scraps, holding them close to his face so that he could read the blurred black type.

“My dear, this is hardly legible,” he teased.

“I’m still getting to grips with it.” You eyed the typewriter that took up most of your desk. “You know, they make electric keyboards. It wouldn’t even need to have a screen, I could just-” 

“Don’t give up now! Not when you’re just getting the hang of it!”

You huffed and shook your head, but couldn’t keep back a smile. 

He was absolutely ridiculous. It was pointless arguing with Alastor, but he seemed to enjoy it as much as you did.

He pulled another sheet of paper closer, holding it right up to his face until his nose was practically pressed against the page. It was an invoice for the last food delivery, so he didn’t have the excuse of your poor typing skills to blame. 

You’d always thought his monocle was just for show. You didn’t know much about fashion from Alastor’s time, but it had always been your understanding that they were more of a statement than anything useful. But perhaps his eyesight truly was quite poor. 

You smiled to yourself.

“Having trouble, old man?”

Alastor narrowed his eyes down at you, then flicked his gaze back to the invoice.

“I’ll have you know, my eyes failed me long before I ever got the chance to actually get old. Actually, I’m fairly certain I may be younger than you, dear.”

“Don’t ever say that again.” You pulled a face. “You know, I could get you some proper glasses.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can see just fine, thank you very much.”

“You sure? They might help. Plus, all the better to see me with.”

At that, Alastor’s gaze slipped to you again, though now something new glinted in his eyes, something uncharacteristically soft. 

“Well, now there’s a persuasive argument.”

Immediately, your face began to burn. You hadn’t meant to suggest anything, it just slipped out. You hadn’t been thinking at all. 

But that’s how Alastor always got you to admit to things you might not have said otherwise, he made you comfortable and then let you confess without any effort at all. It’s how he found out where you were born, when you came to Hell, and what you did with yourself for all those years before seeing an advertisement for the hotel. 

You pressed your lips together, embarrassed, and watched his gaze drop to your mouth. It was so fleeting, you almost could have convinced yourself you were imagining things if Alastor hadn’t looked so guilty afterwards. 

After that, he found all sorts of excuses to be close to you. Alastor hovered over you while you worked, double-checking your decisions and asking endless, pointless questions. 

He sat beside you at dinner. He was there when you needed help carrying anything, and was always the first to greet you good morning, and the last to bid you goodnight. 

He opened doors for you, he spoke highly of your work ethic to Charlie, both behind your back and, more frequently (and more embarrassingly), right at the front desk while you were trying to hand out room keys. 

Guests would approach you, redirected to you by Alastor, not because he was too busy or uninterested, but because, they said, he had said you’d be able to help them better than anyone else could. 

And all the while, he stood close enough to hear your thudding heart, without ever once touching you.  You’d caught him looking a few times, but those spidery hands of his never once came close to you. That didn’t mean you hadn’t thought about it. You were only human, and those long fingers of his were endlessly distracting.

You thought it might be some kind of strange intimidation tactic, a way of getting under your skin and to the marrow of you, while still retaining plausible deniability. After a while, you thought maybe Alastor was just bored, and somehow, bothering you was the only way he could think of to keep himself entertained.

This job brought a semblance of balance and routine to an otherwise chaotic existence. And though the hotel itself barely scraped by from day to day, thanks to its lawless guests and even more anarchic staff, this too became the new normal eventually. Alastor provided a welcome sense of excitement. 

Husk was quick to warn you about how dangerous it could be to catch Alastor’s attention. You appreciated the gesture. If anyone knew what Alastor was capable of, it would be Husk. But the advice had come far too late. 

Still, you weren’t afraid. If Alastor wanted to hurt you, he would’ve done so already. And if his strange behaviour toward you did mean he had some ulterior motive, it would arrive in your lap whether you entertained his interest in you or not. 

And, admittedly, you began to enjoy his attention. At first, you thought he was just like this with everyone, but after a slightly tipsy confessional with Angel, you’d found out that that was definitely not the case. 

After a while, you came to expect the helping hands and soft words he offered you. ‘Rare’ didn’t even begin to cover just how scarce genuine kindness and gentleness were in a place like this. It was easy to get addicted to feeling like you mattered to someone after so long without it.

By your sixth month at the hotel, you prided yourself on having a pretty good fix on Alastor’s character. He was as arrogant as he was charming, and as silly as he was frightening. And when he was relaxed, and had no reason to keep up his usual facade, he was nice to talk to. 

So, when after almost a year of knowing each other, Alastor asked if you’d do him the honour of accompanying him to dinner, the shock sent a shiver up your spine, awakening every part of you that was still clinging to your lost humanity. 

You stared, lips parting as you slowly processed what Alastor had asked you. Atrophied by routine and the direness of your circumstances, it took your heart several moments to start beating again. 

He watched you, still smiling, always smiling. Eventually, he leaned forward over the desk, bowing his head so that he might lower his voice away from any prying ears.

“I’ve surprised you. I can see that.” He seemed almost giddy at the thought. “Apologies, my dear, but I’ve waited long enough.”

“Waited…”

“Well, I’ve been courting you for the best part of a year now. I know things move a bit quicker nowadays but,” He spread his long fingers, palms open and turned towards the sky. “I wanted to be sure. And I’m very sure of you, dear. If you’ll have me. I’m… I’m very fond of you.”

That day, you were amazed to find you were very fond of him too. 

You’d shared endless arguments about how long you’d officially been together. 

“Oh, it’s been well over a year. We’re practically an old married couple.”

“First of all, we definitely aren’t. Second of all, I know you think that,” you said, with valiant calmness. “But two people cannot be 'dating' if one of them doesn’t know they’re dating.”

“Well, it’s hardly my fault you’re so unobservant, cher.”

That had earned him a bop on the head with the book you were reading. Not hard, but enough to wipe the smug grin off his face for a second. 

Courting, whatever that meant to Alastor, was still a bit of a mystery to you. He was sweet to you. He took you on dates. He brought you presents. He let you lounge in his radio tower while he was recording, a privilege, you’d been reliably informed, that had been granted to no one in known memory. 

Still, the exact definition of your relationship evaded you. You’d asked around, targeting older demons specifically, and had discovered that it did mean dating, but with more intent. Alastor didn’t seem like the marrying kind, but this was a commitment all the same. You were his, he was yours, and you were happy. 

There was only one problem, aside from the natural complications that arose from being the infamous Radio Demon’s partner. He didn’t seem to enjoy getting close to you. Alastor was old-fashioned, yes, but you were sure that they had invented kissing by the 1930s. But he never initiated anything, it was always down to you. 

Again, this wasn’t something you minded all that much. Romance had never been high on your list of priorities after arriving in Hell, and it’s not like you were worried about running out of time. An afterlife was a long time to spend with someone, you had no reason to rush, but almost a year without a good kiss? That was a little ridiculous. 

The first time you tried it, you were tucked into the corner of his favourite sofa together. Behind closed doors, Alastor loved to lounge around with you. 

It was second nature to you now. Whenever it was just the two of you, he would pull you into his chest and tuck his long arms around your waist, keeping you close. He murmured soft words into your hair, talking about anything and everything, asking about your day and moaning about every minor inconvenience he came across. And all the while, his long fingers pressed into your hip, kneading at you like a kitten taken from its mother too early. 

He was always so warm, it was enough to distract you from how bony his lanky body felt under yours. He smelt divine too, like Earth and home, and of something dizzyingly addictive. It was all you could do to stop yourself pushing your face into his chest and inhaling a lungful of him. 

Instead, you’d slipped your fingers around his angular jaw and pressed your lips to his. Nothing crazy, more like a peck than anything. 

When you pulled away, Alastor stared at you, starry-eyed. Then he gave a half-hearted laugh to hide his surprise and pulled you closer.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve that,” he murmured, and kissed the tip of your nose. “But thank you, amour.”

But that was as far as it went. Lingering touches you knew wanted to go further. Pecks on the cheek when no one was looking. Sometimes, he brushed his long fingers against your jaw and looked at you like he had something he wanted to do, something he wanted to say, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Amongst company, he kept his hands to himself. Alastor still had an image to maintain, plus you didn’t think he’d ever be the sort to entertain public displays of affection, even if he didn’t have a reputation to stake on it. He always sat close to you though, and on the occasion you were forced into one of Charlie’s group bonding activities, his hand always found yours in secret.

One night in particular stuck in your mind. The group discussion had dissolved fairly quickly into swapping stories from your past lives. By the time you all decided to call it a night, you were all exhausted. 

Alone in the corridor, you and Alastor slumped off to bed together, your room now just a few doors down from his (at his insistence). His ears were low, his smile relaxed and soft, and he looked so handsome, you hadn’t been able to resist. 

Alastor had folded so easily under your urgent hands. He let you back him up against the wall, his clever mouth open and inviting. You kissed him, overeager but certain, your hands pressed against his chest, while his hung from your hips. Contrary to popular belief, he did have a heart, and it felt frantic under your palm.

Gently, so gently you could have cried, he’d kissed you back, one brief press of his mouth to yours, then another, until you’d completely melted into him. 

You remembered smiling against his lips, so pleased to finally be allowed in, to see Alastor as so few had.

He whispered your name against your mouth, then swallowed your soft moan with another gentle kiss. 

But it ended as quickly as it began. Alastor slipped his hands around your arms and carefully moved you away from him. His chest heaved under your palms, his eyes a little too wide. And before you could say anything, Alastor apologised for forgetting himself and suggested you both get some sleep. It was one of the only times you could remember seeing him without a smile. 

Something had to change. So you’d decided to ambush him today, just like any good partner would.

When you heard the door to his room click, you sat up on the chaise just in time to see Alastor slip in. 

“Welcome home, honey,” you called out, arms outstretched.

At the sight of you, Alastor visibly relaxed, like you’d cut all his strings. He crossed the floor in three long strides to cradle your face in his hands. 

“Ohh, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He brushed his nose against yours, then pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Good evening, sweetheart. Did you miss me?”

“To the point of tears.” 

It was a little joke you shared. Since you lived and worked together in the same building, you never went more than a few hours without seeing each other. 

“How was the show?” 

“Wonderful, as always. I’ll pretend not to be offended that you didn’t listen.”

“You don’t like it when I listen! You said it’s embarrassing!”

“Yes, well, I was obviously just trying to sound modest.”

“Noted.” You beamed. “I’ll tune in next time, dial turned all the way up.” 

Pleased, Alastor kissed your cheek before moving towards his bed to get changed into something more comfortable. 

You watched him, always fascinated by the control he had over his powers. With one wave of an elegant hand, his jacket and tie were gone, and he’d switched his pants out for another, more comfortable pair. 

“Alastor?”

“Mm?”

“Am I the first person you’ve dated?”

He turned his head to you, his nose all scrunched up in that way it always did when he was confused.

“Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered. You know, I’ve noticed, uh…”

Annoyingly, your confidence suddenly vanished, as well as the bullet points you’d been carefully rehearsing all afternoon. 

Sensing your discomfort, Alastor slipped into the shadows and crossed the room, reappearing beside you on the chaise. 

“I sense I’m in trouble. I’ve done something wrong. Which I find hard to believe, considering I’ve been at work all day.”  He was teasing you, but there was a flash of worry in his brilliant eyes. “Unless that’s the problem? I know I haven’t been the most present recently, I could spend less-”

“No, Alastor,” You laughed, and put your hand over his. “I’m very happy. You’re doing a great job.”

With a big, toothy grin, Alastor visibly relaxed. 

“I did rather think I was. For example…” 

He swept his hand in a circle. When he flattened out his palm again, a small, delicate flower appeared with a theatrical puff of green smoke. 

“Oh, very well done.”

“I aim to please, cher.”

You rolled your eyes, annoyed with him for always managing to be charming, even when he was being an idiot. 

Unable to help yourself, you smiled wide enough to match his as Alastor carefully tucked the flower behind your ear. 

“To answer your question, yes, you are my first. And without getting too maudlin, I had hoped you might be my last.”

He spoke quietly, his eyes not quite meeting yours, and you wondered if you’d found something that made the all-powerful Radio Demon shy. 

You caught his hand in yours as he drew back, turning it over in yours so that you could press your thumb to the centre of his palm. 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Last night…”

Recognition flickered across Alastor’s face. He knew exactly what you were referring to.

“I just wondered if… I don’t know, is it something I’m doing wrong? Or is this some old-fashioned idea you have about taking things slow? Or do you just not like kissing?”

He blinked, his pretty eyes wide. 

Alastor loved to rattle on about how keeping up a smile was the best defence one could have. He prided himself on always appearing serene and calm, he never let anyone see that they'd got to him. Which is why it was so funny that his long, fluffy ears were a dead giveaway to how he was feeling, and right now they were pinned back against his head. That, and the crackle of static that radiated from somewhere in his chest, and into yours. 

“I’ve been ambushed.”

“You’re being dramatic.” You squeezed his hand. “Whatever it is, it’s fine. And it’s fine if you don’t want to kiss me, or anything more. I just want to understand so I can, I don’t know, make you feel more comfortable.”

Alastor’s gaze dropped to the velvet that covered the chaise when his long claws audibly pricked the material, his hand flexing agitatedly beneath yours. 

“It’s not something that…”

It was so rare to see Alastor unrehearsed. He never stammered or tripped over his words. So to see him searching for the right thing to say, the right way to explain what he was feeling, was an almost unnerving sight. 

“It’s okay,” You smiled. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

Alastor clucked his tongue. 

“Don’t be absurd.” He frowned for a moment, then, “I’ve been kissed, if that counts.”

“I know, I was there.”

“I meant when I was alive.” 

“Oh.”

That you hadn’t expected. 

Admittedly, you had rather hoped that if you were his first partner, you might be the first person to ever get this close to Alastor. It was something you were immensely proud of, but of course, he was so handsome when he was alive, and so talented, it shouldn’t be surprising that everyone was completely infatuated with him.

You only realised you were scowling when Alastor leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, smoothing out your frown. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you look divine when you’re jealous.”

It was your turn to feign irritation, tutting under your breath and taking back your comforting hand.  

“Don’t change the subject.”

“It was a fundamentally unpleasant experience. But that was more because of the misguided girl who was doing the kissing.” 

“And when I kissed you?”

Again, Alastor looked uneasy. The static had returned, rolling around the room and back to you. 

“I trust that I can rely on your discretion. Not a word of this conversation can leave this room.”

“It’s just you and me, handsome,” you said, crossing your heart. 

Alastor sighed, his dramatics a mask for how nervous he truly was. 

"It wasn’t my intention to make you worry, cher. You haven’t done anything wrong, it just surprised me.” He looked thoughtful, his ears twitching nervously. “It’s not something I ever really thought about when I was alive. There were always more important things to do. And admittedly, the mechanics are a bit strange to me.”

“It is a little weird,” You smiled. “You just get used to it.”

“Physical affection of that kind never really meant anything of importance to me, and to suddenly have it, I- I find myself feeling… Unprepared. I don’t know the steps.” Frustrated, Alastor sighed again. “These things just do not come easily to me as they do to others.”

You found that hard to believe. Everything came easily to Alastor. You could tell that about him from the moment you met. Even as he vigorously shook your hand on that very first day, you could read it in him instantly. It was clear in the way he carried himself, in the glint in his eyes. 

That wasn’t to say he’d lived without troubles, it’s just that they simply rolled off his back, and he was able to stride on without missing a step. Challenges that stopped others in their tracks were mere suggestions to him. He could put his astute mind to anything. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it. You admired him for it. You hated him a little bit for it too, at first.

“Why do you think that is?” you asked. 

“These things simply do not feel natural to me. Either I feel nothing, and it’s a waste of my time. Or I overthink, and it ceases to be enjoyable.”

You smiled.

“I think you’re just worried about not being good at it.”

“That may factor in. But I would like to, cher. I’d like to know you better. And, well, I feel hampered by…”

Alastor bared his teeth and tapped one long claw against them.

Taken aback, you laughed.

“Really?”

Alastor closed his mouth again, but you noticed him run his tongue over the fronts of his teeth behind his closed lips. 

“They tend to get in the way.”

He looked down at the chaise again. Only the very corners of his clever mouth were upturned. He looked uncharacteristically self-conscious, and you wondered if Alastor was finding this conversation more difficult than he let on. Well, you couldn’t have that.

“You know,” You scooted closer on the chaise, draping your arm along the back. As you spoke, you slipped it around Alastor’s shoulders, like a teenager on a first date at the movies. “If you want to get better at something, all you need to do is practice. How does that sound to you?”

Alastor eyed you almost warily. Oh, yes. He was the most powerful sinner in all of Hell, but you were the only one who could make his cheeks go a lovely rosy colour, so what did that make you? 

His natural bravado won in the end, and Alastor pulled you in closer, until you were almost, but not quite, sitting in his lap. You swept both arms around his shoulders now, and felt a thrill shoot up your spine when you felt one of Alastor’s big hands curl around your hip. 

“You think you can teach an old dog like me new tricks?” he asked, bending forward to bump his nose against yours.

You hummed, preening under the affection. 

“I’d like to try. We’ll go slow. And if you want to stop, we will.”

“Should we agree on some kind of signal in case I can’t prise you off of me?”

“You know, you get less and less kissable by the second.”

“That cannot possibly be true.” Alastor leaned forward and pressed a clumsy kiss to both your cheeks. “C’mon, amour, give me another chance.”

You slipped your hand around his face, your fingers running along the underside of his jaw, while your thumb swept a soothing metronome beat across his cheek. 

“Can I?”

Alastor closed his eyes and let his head rest in your hand.  

“Yes.”

For a moment, you completely forgot what you’d been about to do. Just seeing Alastor like this, so completely at home and so unguarded, it held more meaning than you dared think about. 

A part of you wanted to find Angel immediately and tell him all about it, how you’d held the Radio Demon in the palm of your hand and had him completely at your mercy, and over a kiss of all things, but you knew this secret would stay with you. You’d never do that to Alastor. Oh, he was a conniving, deceiving, selfish old demon, but he was yours, and he trusted you. 

You rose up and gingerly tilted his head back, granting you a better angle. 

Alastor’s eyes opened, and he blinked at you, almost drowsily. 

“Yes, what?” 

Something flashed behind Alastor’s bright eyes, a neuron that had never fired before suddenly bursting into life. 

He tilted his head back a little further, showing off his long, slender neck, just begging for your teeth. 

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

Sweeter words had never been uttered, not on Earth, not in Heaven, certainly never in Hell. 

Just the brush of your lips against his was enough to make you dizzy. There was just something so intoxicating about Alastor, something so gorgeous and warm and enticing. You’d wanted to know more about it from the moment you met, and you found that curiosity had not been extinguished. 

There was a small, selfish part of you that was indescribably excited to finally get the attention you’d been craving. Hell was Hell, but you never could have prepared yourself for the aching loneliness you felt here. Another’s hands on your body, another’s mouth on yours, the thought alone was enough to send your mind reeling. 

But you had promised to go slow, and if you were going to secure more little moments like this, you needed to keep to your word. 

His face still held delicately in your loving hand, you pressed a little closer, capturing his lips with yours. Alastor’s nose was all scrunched up again, though you thought with concentration now, rather than confusion, and it was so endearing you could have throttled him. 

“There,” you murmured against his lips. “Not so bad, hm? You doing okay?”

“I’m not fragile, sweetheart. You don’t have to keep checking in with me. You won’t break me.”

“Well,” You kissed him again, once, twice, getting him used to the feeling. “Maybe next time.”

“You’re a cheeky little thing. I should’ve known. I'd better watch myself around you.”

He was playing for time, distracting you with his sharp tongue while he fought to get his heart back in line. You could feel it now as you had last night, hammering under your palm as if he’d run a mile. That smile could hide a thousand emotions, but he couldn’t disguise how his body reacted to you, not when he was pressed up against you, his hands now clutching at your hips.

You really couldn’t care less about coming up with a witty retort, not when you could be kissing him, so you did just that. 

You kept up the gentle, brushing motion now that he’d had time to grow accustomed to it, only pushing harder when you felt Alastor begin to unwind under you. 

Though clumsy at first, he was a quick learner. It reminded you of when he’d taught you to dance at the last Sinsmas party. He’d bent his head to whisper by your ear, and told you to follow his lead, keeping your body close to his. Alastor had a big smile on his face all night as you spun around the room, not his usual calm, stoic grin, but something bright and relaxed and human. 

You paused to catch your breath, showing him how he might fill the in-between moments with soft, briefer kisses, pressing them to the corner of his lips, his cheek, before returning to his mouth. 

You felt him murmur something about not being sure what to do with his hands, and it took you a moment to understand through the haze you’d drifted into. 

“You can touch me wherever you like, Al.”

He tensed under you. He liked the sound of that. But it still took Alastor several kiss-filled moments to let his hand slide up from your hip to the small of your back. He pressed in, pulling you closer, while his other hand came to rest on your thigh. 

You could feel the very tips of his claws sinking into you, not enough to hurt or break the skin, but it made you shiver all the same. 

Wanting to give him a break, you moved back and felt your stomach flip at the wet sound your parting lips made. 

Alastor wrinkled his nose, and you knew he’d thought it was a little gross. He pressed his lips together and ran his tongue along them, and the taste of you was enough to smooth out his expression. 

“Not so bad?” 

You ran your fingers through his soft hair, fiddling with the few strands that you’d caused to fall out of place. He always looked so perfect. How did he do that? 

Alastor carefully shook his head, not wanting to dislodge your fingers. 

“Terrifying.”

“I’m terrifying?”

“Being good enough for you. Being good to you. Not making a mess of something that feels… Safe. These things I find utterly petrifying."

“You think too much. And talk too much.”

Alastor caught your hand and pressed a kiss to the centre of your palm. 

“You’ve resorted to bullying very quickly. Some teacher you turned out to be.”

“Just kiss me, red.”

And so he did. It was the first time he’d initiated anything, and he was still adorably clumsy with it, but he soon found his rhythm again.

The hand that still held yours slipped down to your wrist, then tugged your hand back into his hair. 

Without waiting for permission, you grazed your fingertips against his scalp. The soft groan you felt in his chest would have been clue enough that Alastor liked that very much, let alone the white noise coming from him now, and the way he didn’t stop kissing you to nod his head, imploring you not to stop. 

The idea that this could all be pretty overwhelming to him ran through your head, and you were reminded of the promise you’d made to take things slow. You were just supposed to be teaching him, showing Alastor that this could be a nice thing rather than something to be scared of, and you didn’t like the thought of him getting carried away and feeling bad when the euphoria had ebbed. 

You moved back a little, trying to give Alastor some space, but he only nosed in closer, his grip on you tightening. A hum of displeasure rumbled in his chest, and you couldn’t settle your broad smile, even if you tried.

By way of an apology, you caught his lower lip and sucked gently. It had been years since you had done this with anyone, you’d feared you might have lost the knack, but then you felt Alastor moan softly, a sound that began somewhere deep in his belly and ended up in yours. 

Then he surprised you by returning the favour, sucking your bottom lip between his sharp teeth and biting down gently. 

“Fuck…”

You could help it, your groan slipped from your parted lips before you could even think about it. 

Alastor’s eyes searched your face, his big hands kneading at you. 

“That good, hm?”

Cheeks hot, you buried your face in Alastor’s neck, working your lips way down to where his thready heart pulsed as an excuse to look away. 

“It’s been a while,” you reminded him.

Your breath sent a shiver across Alastor’s warm skin. 

“Good.” Alastor’s voice was rough as he guided your face back to his. “I have enough trouble keeping this place afloat. I don’t need a string of old suitors to see off as well.”

“You’re so ridiculous…” You moved away to speak, but Alastor followed you, swallowing half your words. “And good at this…”

“Naturally.”

Whatever nervousness he’d felt was apparently all gone now. He was still gentle, curious, but when Alastor kissed you now, there was intent there, initiative. He bit your lip again, just because he could, and because he liked the little noises he could get out of you.

But then, the inevitable happened. Getting too cocky would always be Alastor’s downfall. He tugged at you again, his concentration lost, and accidentally pierced your bottom lip with one of his pointed teeth. 

You hissed, more of a reflex than because it hurt, and Alastor’s hands immediately shot to your shoulders, keeping you still so that he could pull back, just as he had the night before.

“It’s okay, I’m alright!” you said, before he could even think about clamming up again. “Look, I’m fine. See?”

You licked your lip, swirling the tang of iron against the roof of your mouth until the taste disappeared. Alastor watched your tongue dart out again and swallowed hard, his fingers flexing around your upper arms. 

“Sweetheart…”

Before he could begin to talk himself out of it, you climbed into Alastor’s lap, your knees on either side of his narrow hips. He gazed up at you, starry-eyed and lost, so you kissed him again, reminding him how good this could feel. 

The new position stirred something in Alastor that he’d never felt before. Being this close to someone, being intimate, it was still an unpleasant thought, but his body knew what to do, even if his mind was whirring like an old ceiling fan. 

But soon, even this faded away to nothing, like you’d slowly turned down the volume of his worries, until there was nothing left but the hammering of his own heart, and the sweet sound of your lips moving against his.  

Soon, he stopped worrying about not being good enough. With a deep inhale, he allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of your soft body against his, the sweet taste of your blood, and the warm sounds he somehow, against all odds, was able to pull from you. The world faded away, and all that was left were your pretty eyes and clever hands. 

You shifted in Alastor’s lap, edging closer to him, and couldn’t hide your delight at the soft, cervine sound that slipped from his mouth. His ears pinned back, Alastor looked like he wanted to deny ever forming such a noise, but you kissed him again before he got the chance. 

His hands skirted up your back, palms flat, so that only the smooth edges of his claws grazed you now. Hyperaware, you thought, of accidentally hurting you again. It was sweet, but you weren’t delicate either, and you missed the feeling of his needle-sharp claws sinking into you. 

Eager to make him bleat again, you slipped your fingers back into his hair, one hand seeking out and cradling the back of his head, while the other caught some of his soft hair between your knuckles and tugged. 

Alastor moaned into your mouth, his eyebrows all scrunched up as warmth flooded his body. You took your chance and pressed your tongue against his slowly, taking your time, showing him how to move. 

Somehow, Alastor’s grip on you tightened even more, and he hefted you forward, so now he was leaning back against the plush arm of the chaise with you draped across him like a blanket. He licked his way into your mouth with admittedly more enthusiasm than skill, but it was still enough to make you see stars. 

If someone had told you all those months ago that a job behind the desk at this ridiculous hotel would lead to you sitting in the Radio Demon’s lap, lazily making out, you’d say they had lost their damn mind. But here you were, and you couldn’t think of anywhere you’d rather be. 

You existed in a hazy world of long, open-mouth kisses, moving slowly, keeping each other close. With every soft moan you managed to draw from Alastor’s talented mouth, you grew dizzier and less aware of what your hands were doing. But he didn’t seem to mind. He just kept sinking deeper and deeper into you, as lost in your mouth as you were in his. 

Alastor seemed to be having the same problem with wandering hands. His long fingers were enough to cover the expanse of your back, caging you in so that you had no chance of escape, even if you’d wanted to. His ears were set back on his head, relaxed and happy, and when you drew a fingertip up the length of one, it made him shudder beneath you. 

It was so much, but never enough. You lost track of time, of space, of your promise to go slow. When Alastor tugged you closer again, you rolled your hips against his, but stopped when his hands instantly dropped to your waist to still you.

“Too much?” 

Your voice was rough. For a moment, you didn’t recognise it as your own.

Alastor’s long fingers pressed into your hips, pulling you down a little harder against himself, an experimental move that made you both sigh. 

“Too much,” he agreed, eyes closed. “But not ‘no’. Maybe another night. It’s… You’re…”

“It’s okay.” Smiling fondly, you brushed back some of his soft hair from his forehead. “We’ve got all the time in the world, Alastor. I just want you to feel good.”

“You don’t mind hitching your lot to a man who might not ever…”

He swallowed thickly, his eyes darting across your face as he tried to think of the right words. One of his long ears flicked, giving away his feverish apprehension. 

You just smiled and ran your fingers through his hair. He looked nice like this, all flustered and scruffy, his hair a bit of a mess from your wandering hands and his cheeks flushed. 

“Of course not. You’re all I want, Al. So long as we’re happy, that’s all that matters to me.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then he stretched his back to kiss you again, soft and slow, and full of promise.

“Thank you, my love.”

It was the first time he’d used those words. You really did try not to make a big deal out of it, but your broad smile could not be dimmed, even when you hid it in the crook of Alastor’s neck. 

“No need to thank me, handsome. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Amour,” Alastor purred, sliding the point of his nose down the length of your neck. “I’d give you the world.”

“I just want you.”

“Oh, cher. You must know. You have me, sweetheart. You have me.”

//