Otto

Alastor was faster. He gently placed two fingers on your lips, silencing you instantly, while his other hand held your hip to keep you still. His smile widened, amused and dangerous. “Please excuse my wife,” he said loudly, in that polite, lighthearted tone of a radio announcer, as if he were presenting the weather on his show. “We were… busy.” On the other side of the door, a male voice (probably the manager or an annoyed guest) stammered:

“Um… I’m sorry, sir. There’s a problem with the room payment and…” Alastor didn’t let go of you. He kept looking into your eyes, and then his voice changed. It lowered, became deep, husky, that handsome tone he knew perfectly well disarmed you even when you were furious.

“Shh…” he whispered just for you, so softly that only you could hear him. “Don’t be upset, darling. Let me handle this… and then I’ll pick up where I left off.” His thumb stroked your lower lip as he continued speaking toward the door in a normal voice:

“Just a moment, please. I’ll be right out and sort it out.” You looked at him, squinting, still breathing rapidly, frustrated by the interruption. You tried to protest, but he leaned in and kissed you hard, deeply, swallowing any complaint.

When he pulled away slightly, he murmured that deep, velvety voice against your mouth:

"You're so adorable when you're moody… That 'what the hell' of yours turns me on more than I should admit. But now be good… stay still and quiet for a minute."

He gave you another quick kiss on the corner of your lips and stood up with that natural grace, unhurriedly buttoning his pants. Before opening the door, he glanced at you over his shoulder and lowered his voice again, just for you:

"When I'm done with this idiot… I'm going to make it up to you double. And I'm going to use this voice… until you forget how moody you were."

He opened the door just enough to get out, blocking your view with his body.

“Excuse the delay,” he said in his most charming and professional tone. “My wife and I were in the middle of an… important conversation. How can I help you?” While Alastor spoke with the man in the hallway, you stayed in bed, your heart pounding and your body still trembling with frustration and desire. Damn it. He knew exactly how to soothe you, tease you, and leave you waiting… all at the same time.

A couple of minutes later, the door clicked shut. Alastor turned the key and faced you, slowly and deliberately removing his shirt.

“All done,” he announced, his voice already lowering again, deep and dangerous. “Now… where were we, my sweet moody one?” He approached the bed like a predator, a wide grin and gleaming eyes.

“Come here. I’m going to turn that ‘what the hell’ into ‘please don’t stop.’”

Rich brown pools dedicatedly followed you across the dancefloor of the packed speakeasy, watching you twirl around and male a tantalizing show of yourself, stirring something fond within his chest. Perhaps it was the liquor, or perhaps it was the overwhelming grace you possessed — either way, you were a sight to behold underneath the hazy golden glow bathing the room.

You, in your short, flowy, knee-length dress and thick pumps, were blissfully unaware that Alastor, your longtime friend, had started frequenting the club you worked at when you first broke the news to him: that you were soliciting to survive.

Nor did you know that he did his utmost to linger in the corners where the lighting typically failed to reach, lithe frame obscured by the shadows, obscured from your line of sight in his fear-driven endeavors to maintain a watchful eye on you.

As he raised his glass to his lips, introducing whisky that had long gone warm to his tongue, Alastor hoped to keep you in ignorance. You couldn’t know that he had no faith in you finding financial salvation in such a profession, let alone safety.

With the stock market crash of 1929 — which happened 2 years ago — most Americans were scrambling to make quick cash. And you, as an unmarried woman with no family to fall back on, just so happened to be one of the many resorting to dangerous means in a last-ditch attempt to save themselves from the throes of poverty and homelessness. You barely made last month’s rent.

“I’ve never seen a man who looks so well alone,” You spoke with a practiced sultry purr, fingers sensually skimming a jaw. “I’d hate to ruin that, but could you use a little company? For the right price, I promise I’ll make your evening worth it.”

The man you had set your sights on appeared to be in his late-30s, inebriated, unkempt, the stench of tobacco clinging onto his sweat-stricken skin, but he wasn’t drinking rank-smelling moonshine. You didn’t know what was in his glass. You just knew that it smelled rich and heady and expensive. And if he could afford the good stuff, perhaps he could afford a session or two with you, too.

“Well, ain’t you just the prettiest little thing?” The drunkard slurred in a flirtatious drawl, thick fingers touching your exposed arm, making the fine hairs on the back of your neck rise. “How’s about we discuss what you cost outside, hm?”

However, in your case, it was unnecessary. You didn’t have to turn to prostitution, you didn’t have to flaunt your beauty to undeserving men, lips twitching and blown pupils constricting as a grimy hand touched your lower back. You didn’t have to desecrate your skin for a few measly dollars. It was plain to see you hated soliciting, even through the facade you religiously wore.

“Shoulda approached her when you had the chance,” A random piped up from beside him, making Alastor bristle, but he failed to notice it in his drunken-haze. “She’s pretty and far from picky.”

Your line of work didn’t exactly lend you any semblance of kindness or forgiveness, either. It was all faux charm and unchecked lust that could prove violent and, what he dreaded the most, dead or disappeared. But with liquor in the mix? Oh, that was infinitely worse. Volatile. He had seen other women willingly take on dumb brutes just because they had little ones to feed.

“My rates are well within reason. If anything, it’s the hotel we gotta worry about if anything, but I happen to know the owner there and —”

“A hotel? Naw, we don’t need that, sugar.”

“Why, of course we do! Don’t you wanna spend our time together in comfort?”

“Look, I ain’t noisy, if that’s your concern.”

“Oh, that’s not it. I just don’t want the law sneaking up on us — they’re typically prowling the streets at this time of night, and the hotel is only a dollar.”

But you were staunchly determined to save yourself in your hyper-independence. You didn’t want help or anything that remotely resembled charity. And though Alastor once found your stubbornness to be rather endearing, right now, he could only tip his head back and down the rest of his whisky, dread washing over him as your flirtatious facade suddenly waned.

Alastor pushed past the random with a halfhearted ‘Pardon me,’ slamming his empty glass down on the bar. However, before he could walk away, the barkeep hollered out to him over the noise.

“Hey! You didn’t pay for your drink —”

Alastor backtracked, reaching behind him, stare trained forward.

“Keep the change,” He tossed whatever loose was in his pocket onto the countertop, oblivious to whether he had under or overpaid.

Alastor just wanted to get to you in case something potentially awful happened to you.

“Oh, well, thank you, mister!”

The barkeep sputtered out, notably grateful, telling him everything he needed to know. A curse resonated in his mind. Every cent in this disastrous economy mattered.

Still, Alastor could only make his way past the crowd blocking his way towards you and the bastard manhandling you. The worst part was that almost everyone you two bumped into scoffed, and, for the rare few who glanced in concern as a string of protests issued from your lips on the forceful trek out back, they couldn’t be bothered to intervene. And all because you were a prostitute.

“Merde,” Alastor muttered a rare curse under his breath, hands curling into fists at his sides, clenching with undeniable rage.

His heart hammered away in his chest, too, beating violently against his ribcage, threatening to break through bone as he struggled to make his way through the slew of people without causing any offense. There was always a racist or two among the crowd, even if it wasn’t noticeable; but with the inclusion of alcohol, he desperately wanted to avoid bumping into an angry drunk.

Alastor couldn’t afford to get sidelined by an unnecessary dispute, or worse, wind up getting sucked into a fistfight. As his feet were forced to a sudden halt from an unmoving group, he could see the back door swing open, a trembling hand carding through his hair. The two of you were gone — no, you were gone from his line of sight, his nostrils flaring in utter frustration.

“Let go of me! I told you, I only offer my services in the privacy of a room,” You gasped, the warm outside air hitting your face. “I ain’t getting arrested just because you want to save a goddamn dollar!”

The drunkard’s grip on your arm was tight, painful, though it wasn’t until he relinquished you to roughly grasp your shoulders and push you down that your fight-or-flight response kicked in.

“I told you I ain’t paying another dollar,” He scoffed. “Nor am I getting scammed by the likes of you! So, go on, get down on your knees, girl. It’ll be quick. Nobody’ll see, I bet ya.”

Your knees trembled and buckled, the gravel beneath you protesting with a grating sound as your heels skid against the ground. The bastard was strong, even in his inebriated state. Tears brimmed your waterline as you realized that you wouldn’t get far trying to defend yourself, but you weren’t just going to let him have his way with you, either. You couldn’t. You did this to yourself.

“Fuck you, you degenerate!” You hissed through gritted teeth, bared in a frown. “I ain’t fulfilling your depraved fantasies of publicly fornicating.”

You seized the bastard’s thick forearms and sunk your nails into them, and though the mere thought of using your mouth had you shuddering, you also craned your neck and sunk your canines in his wrist. Deep. The taste of salty, sweat-stricken skin assaulted your tastebuds, a pained yelp piercing through the outside ambience, the distinct metallic taste of blood trailing closely behind.

You were quick to pull away and shove the bastard back, trying to put some distance in between the two of you so you could retreat, dart off for help.

However, the moment you went to turn around, the drunkard reached out and struck you. Your neck snapped sideways, a large, angry hand mark adorning your cheekbone. You lost your footing in the process, too, colliding with the gravel, fear surging in your body. For a fleeting moment, you thought he was going to follow it up with a senseless beating and leave you aching in regret.

“Oh, God! Please, don’t —” You cradled your cheek in your trembling palm, chest heaving with uneven breaths, shuffling backwards with your legs.

“You… you bitch!” The bastard spat in raging disbelief, rubbing his wrist, staggering towards you. “How dare you try to — oh, you’re going to get what’s comin’ to you, just you wait!”

But then the back door to the club suddenly swung open, a familiar voice ringing out, both of your eyes simultaneously shooting towards the source.

“How dare you strike a lady?”

Your lashes fluttered, teary eyes palpitating in a mixture of shock and relief as you watched Alastor, of all people, come to your rescue.

“Lady? Look at her, that ain’t no lady! That’s a whore!” The drunkard wheezed. “And I paid for her, so why don’t you go and get to wherever you came from, ‘fore I beat the color off of you, boy.”

“You ain’t paid to hit her, you goddamn animal,” Alastor snarled as he positioned himself between the two of you, raising his fists, livid.

He was right to not trust your judgement. Only a month and a half into watching you from afar, enduring the gut-wrenching sight of your clients getting handsy with you because they believed sex workers forfeited the right to be treated with basic human decency, and you had proved him right. The worst part was that he had barged into a sight that could have been far more horrific.

“All right, you asked for it —”

A harrowing crack echoed throughout the night.

Your lips parted with a gasp. The bastard had lunged forwards and raised his fist, striking Alastor straight across his face.

But Alastor had dealt the first reeling punch.

“Oh my… oh my God.”

You collected yourself on shaky elbows and stumbled backwards, watching the scene between the two men unfurl and quickly descend into something violent, especially as Alastor defied your expectations. He was tall, slender, and a bit lanky, but he effortlessly overpowered the stocky man before him, sending him barreling towards the ground with a pained groan.

Only to clamber onto him and seize his shirt, tightly gripping it, his dominant hand raising in a fist once more. You stood a few feet away, eyes wide and heart threatening to lurch out of your chest as Alastor reintroduced his knuckles to the bastard’s jaw with a loud, harrowing ‘Crack!’ — a sound that echoed in your soul, but in a manner that you would say was gratifying. You were flattered.

And Alastor did it again.

— and again and again and again.

His fist familiarized itself with the man’s face.

Refusing to stop until it was bloody and bruised.

— until he was certain he wouldn’t get up.

Which he didn’t.

However, it wasn’t until you touched a hand to Alastor’s shoulder and snapped him out of his self-imposed rage that he realized the bastard had long passed out, face unrecognizable. He clambered off of the man’s unconscious body, standing up on long legs and wiping his hand clean against the breast of his vest, narrowly avoiding bumping into you as he stumbled backwards.

“Christ, Al, you really gave it to him,” You huffed, eyes darting between the two men.

“Are you all right?” Alastor asked, out of breath.

Instead of responding to his question, though, you sank down onto your knees, pressing your fingers on the man’s pulse point, feeling for a sign of life.

“Oh, he’s alive,” Alastor rolled his eyes with a scoff, rich brown pools darting between you and the back door of the club. “You think I would beat a man to death in front of you?”

You tossed an unamused glance over your shoulder, hand retreating after feeling a heartbeat.

“I have a feeling you would have if I hadn’t stopped you,” You huffed, as if you hadn’t mentally braced yourself for the worst. “Anyway, I don’t much like being saved, but… when I have to be.”

Saved? Peculiar choice of words, though he didn’t get the chance to point them out, caught off guard by the sound of clothes rustling.

“Don’t judge me,” You muttered. “He deserves it.”

“I’m not,” Alastor mused, watching you rummage through the man’s pockets for change.

The cheapskate, he had a total of $10 in his pocket — 10 goddamn dollars! It was folded neatly in the front pocket of his slacks, eyes shining and a victorious grin tugging at the corners of your lips as you hastily collected yourself, whirling around on your heel, thumb and forefinger stretching either side of the bill to display it to Alastor, who was staring down at you with unfettered amusement.

Oh, the woman that you are.

Alastor’s heart fluttered, the same fondness he felt before everything spiraled stirring in his chest again, drowning out the ache of his bruised hand.

Still, this was the last dollar you would have to go through the hassle of obtaining.

Every time you went out, every time you hit the speakeasies on the prowl for potential clients, you put yourself at risk.

And Alastor couldn’t always look after you.

It wasn’t convenient, to be going out of his way to follow you around and watch over you; nor was it convenient for you to be allowing random men to do revolting things to you, not for a quick buck. However, it wasn’t until you absentmindedly pointed out your luck and simultaneously reached out to gently touch his swollen cheek, that you helped him solidify his choice, though.

“Move in with me,” Alastor boldly suggested.

Your hand immediately stilled against his face, confused, your lips falling slack.

“What?” You eventually sputtered. “What do you mean? You want me to do what with you?”

“You heard me. Move in with me,” Alastor stated, bruised hand gingerly grabbing your hand. “Stay with me, tonight; and come morning, I’ll help you gather your belongings at your apartment.”

“I… but… but why?” You breathed out. “Is this your way of trying to help me? Because if so, I don’t need it. I made last month’s rent —”

“Just barely,” You almost reeled away in offense, but Alastor refused to let you move back. “You can’t keep living like this, you know.”

“I can handle myself just fine,” Your eyes darted behind you. “He isn’t the first one to think he can rough up a girl. Believe me, I’ve taken far worse.”

“You’re not understanding,” Alastor shook his head. “I’m inviting you into my home because I like you,” He elaborated, making your breath audibly hitch. “How jealous I’d be, being forced to share you.”

“And how… how bold of you,” You tried not to stutter, “To think that I return your feelings.”

A furious heat crawled up your neck, sprawling across your features, giving you away.

“Bold, yes, but am I right?” Alastor asked earnestly.

Before you could respond, he relinquished your hand to cradle your face, mindful of the side that was adorned with a red, angry hand mark. His thumb hovered above your aching cheekbone as he leaned down, breath ghosting over yours. It was clear what Alastor wanted — a kiss — but he waited patiently for you. He was giving you a choice, the heat on your skin growing twicefold.

“Well, you did beat up a man for me,” You tentatively started, your eyes darting between thin rings of rich brown pools and supple lips.

You stuffed the bill in your dress and put your hands on his chest, despite the blood blending in with his vest, heart thudding against your palms.

“There’s no limit to what I’d do for you,” Alastor added, mouth curling in a wicked grin, flashing his pearly white canines to you.

The feeling of his heart racing at a similar pace as yours solidified his feelings for you. You neither wanted nor desired help, but if Alastor’s offer was coming from a place of love and not out of pity or sympathy, you could accept it.

“How… flattering,” Your hands slid up his neck. “Before I say yes, though, I ain’t becoming no housewife. I’ll just look for another job, that’s all.”

The grin on his face didn’t falter. In fact, it only widened impossibly further, inspiring hope in your chest that he would be okay with it.

“I’m not your daddy. You’re a grown woman, you’re free to do as you please,” Alastor chuckled. “Well, except for paying rent. I refuse to take your money.”

You suddenly wrapped your arms around his shoulders and leaned in, bridging the gap between your mouths, your eyes fluttering shut. You were out of practice. You couldn’t recall the last time you shared a kiss with someone, a genuine one so smooth and utterly delicious; but as your lips glided across Alastor’s in a riveting dance, you couldn’t find it in you to feel self-conscious.

No, you were ecstatic, relieved.

You would finally be able to return to leading a normal life — something you thought you wouldn’t have for a long while.

And a stable home? Oh, that was comforting.

Alastor, on the other hand, had no intention of revealing his feelings — at least not until he was certain about what exactly he felt, if it was just fondness or something beyond that. His admittance was simply a desperate attempt to stop you from soliciting. Still, as he slid one hand away from your face to grasp your waist, he was glad that he had spurred himself to confront his feelings.

The unmistakable sensation that churned in his gut at the whimper you let out into his mouth — arousal — it told him everything. He hadn’t felt this way about anyone in a long time, a pleased groan reverberating in his throat. But unfortunately, a loud voice decided to interrupt the heated exchange between the two of you, your lips parting from each other’s with equally shocked gasps.

“Hey! You two, stop right there? What are you the pair of you doing at this time of night, huh?”

It was the law.

What were the fucking odds?

“Al?” You squeaked, eyes darting behind you, to the unconscious body. “What are we going to do?”

Alastor grabbed your shoulders.

“Don’t worry, he’s… on the fuller side. It doesn’t look like he runs much, and it’s dark,” He looked past you, quickly assessing his surroundings, trying to maintain his composure. “We’re going to…”

You turned around. The club led to a dead-end. However, there was a stack of crates that happened to be situated neatly on a corner.

“We’re going to run,” You breathed out, body thrumming with adrenaline. “O-Okay. Okay!”

Alastor smiled at you in reassurance.

“Don’t fret, the law is incompetent. We’ll be fine… so long as we never come back here, of course.”

That was true, the law was useless.

If anything, they were purely decorative.

“Oh, don’t you run away from me! … please! Crap, I can only run so fast.”

The telltale scent of debauchery and sin clung to the air as the two of you were strolling back to the hotel; your considerably more challenged state of inebriation being supported by the arm he had politely extended to you.

Even hanging off his arm, you stumbled here and there.

"My dear!" he laughed as he smiled down at you, "a newborn faun could walk better than you are right now."

You shot him a glare, though there was no vitriol behind it. "It's no fair. Why is it that you look the perfect picture of composure while I look like an idiot? We're both drunk, aren't we?"

"Indeed we are," Alastor nodded, humming. "However, the difference lies in experience. I've had plenty more decades than you in Hell to etch how to walk in a straight line into the very marrow of this form's bones."

"Was that your eloquent way of saying I have a "skill issue"?" you asked while staring in disbelief at him.

"Oh dear, you know I'm not in the know with the lingo of your generation. Though, if the shoe fits…"

Playfully rolling your eyes, you both continued walking in a couple stretches of comfortable silence before you piped up, the quiet giving you time to reminisce on the events of the night.

"Al, I still can't believe you intimidated the bartender like that! Then to blame your shadowy tendril thing's 'autonomy?' God, poor guy probably was close to peeing himself in fear!"

"Well, he was flirting with you. Very blatantly, may I add." Alastor said as he flashed a sharp grin at some gawking passersby who clearly weren't aware the Radio Demon had his heart stolen.

"You almost had us kicked out!"

"I do not like sharing what's mine, and mine alone."

"Clearly," you girlishly giggled, replaying the memory fondly within your head. His jealousy always sent a pang of roiling heat straight into your core. You open your mouth to tease him about it, but his riposte was faster.

"But what of you? Threatening that brazen woman away from the seat next to me?"

"Oh, she had it coming," you huffed, tightening your grip on his arm more possessively, "I should've sliced those bony manicured fingers clean off after she thought it was a good idea to touch you on the shoulder. As if I wasn't sitting right there."

He chuckled, the sound honeyed with amusement at your antics; it was a sound you were certain you'd never tire of. You were finding each and every action of his more arousing than the last—after all, he had control over your pleasure the entirety of the outing, the remote to the vibrator inside of you tucked away within his coat pocket. A reminder swept through you in a wave that soaked your panties even more.

You wanted to kiss the cheekiness off of his ever-present smile as you nearly doubled over with a gasp while he only tilted his head at your breathlessness in mock innocence, the sinners walking past looking mildly concerned.

"Something the matter, dear?"

Then, you hissed back at him with a response that would surprise the both of you.

"Keep it up and I'll make you a daddy."

Just as the words left your lips and he raised his brows at you, the hotel's towering building came into view. As you both approached the doors, the world suddenly whirled into darkness for a moment before it materialized before you again.

Alastor had teleported the both of you into his room. The fireplace crackled as if it too was anticipating his next move, and the scent of cedarwood and something so unmistakably him flooded your nostrils.

Before you could open your mouth, he had you pinned against the wall, a knee wedged between the apex of your thighs, and two red-tipped claws tilted your chin up towards his face.

"Care to repeat yourself now that only you, me, and these four walls will be privy to this conversation and all to come after?"

There was a dilation to his pupils as a dawning glimmer of hunger was more clearly visible within them; if you looked close enough, you could've sworn you saw the way a predator lied in wait before pouncing upon its hapless prey.

"I said," you stressed the words just enough for one of his ears to twitch, "keep it up and I'll make you a da—"

Your sentence was left hanging in the air as his lips descended upon yours hotly. Alastor ravished you with a newfound vigor, to which you reciprocated in kind. There was a substantial ache underneath your dress that you've been wishing he'd satisfy all night—and it appeared you were finally getting what you wanted.

The kiss was sloppy, and as it continued, you both became increasingly disheveled; hair becoming mussed and clothes slipping off your bodies while hands sought blissful ruination.

An abrupt collision of a palm to your now bare ass drove a yelp out of you.

"That was for calling me that insufferably inane word," he growled into your mouth, breath laced with the aroma of liquor, before breaking the kiss to lean back and stare into your half-lidded eyes.

Your gaze flickered down to the tent straining against the pristine fabric of his trousers; stifling a laugh, the corner of your lips instead quirked up into a knowing smirk.

"Someone else would beg to differ, I'd sa—AH—!"

That bastard. He hadn't forgotten about the little vibrator still nestled within your walls.

"Apologies dearest, you were saying?" His Cheshire smirk looked mismatched as it was accompanied with an inculpable tilt of his head.

You narrowed his eyes at him, remaining silent so as to not give him the satisfaction of repeating himself in that wicked, wicked way of his. When he quickly realized you weren't foolish enough to walk right back into his trap, he spoke again, tone demanding and smug.

"On the bed. Now."

You complied, but not without purposefully swaying your hips as seductively as you could in your still drunken condition, taking your sweet time to reach his bed.

Seemingly running out of patience for your teasing, shadows slithered quickly around you before depositing you unceremoniously atop the plush duvet. They then positioned you none too gently by pushing you face-first, ass-up in a provocative feast for a certain demon's eyes.

"You little minx," Alastor lowly purred just loud enough for you to hear, the words rumbling forth from his chest in that tone that always guaranteed a night to remember, "you want to be the mother of my children?"

Was it just you, or did the heat you felt initially upon arrival—no doubt due to your intoxication—become even hotter?

You watched as he stalked towards you, the simple motion sending arousal pooling into the seat of your panties. You also watched as his gaze dropped to your rear as you shook it invitingly side-to-side, unable to resist the temptation.

"Mhm," you whined. Your thighs squeezed together as he loomed over you, a claw ghosting over the flesh of your knee, to your thigh, then to your presented ass, pointedly ignoring where you desired him most. "Need you, Al…"

He breathed in sharply through his nose, digits crooking into the band of your panties before a ripping sound could be heard, much to your horror.

"Hey! Those were my favorite pair!" you cried out in dismay, but your husband was far too preoccupied appreciating the way your pussy now looked without any pesky cloth to conceal it from him and his hunger.

A rippling shudder ran down your spine, and not because of the cool air meeting your exposed skin. His voice was now a few octaves lower.

"Demon physiology be damned," Alastor began in an assured whisper loud enough for your ears to perk up at, "darling trust me when I say you will be thoroughly bred by the end of tonight."

Immediately, you forgot about the tattered remains of your panties.

"And by the looks of it… That's what this pretty little cunt wants, isn't it?" he crooned as his tongue darted out to wet his lips as if he was preparing for a particularly tantalizing meal.

With frantic confirmation, you nodded, incapable of suppressing the embarrassingly needy way his name fell off your lips next. A couple claw-tips swiped against you, collecting your arousal in an obscene display that webbed between them. Alastor stared admiringly at it while you felt your cheeks warm, and it wasn't because of the alcohol in your system.

"My my, you're absolutely posolutely drooling down here! Makes one wonder just how long you've been yearning for this, hm? For your stomach to swell full with my progeny."

His fingers splayed out possessively against the skin of your stomach as he leaned over you, his chest flush with your back and his still-covered erection poking at the slick lips of your pussy. You responded by pushing back against him with a whimper tinged with frustration.

"How utterly needy," he shook his head as if in disapproval, "you act like such a common whore once you have a few drinks in you. It's rather unbecoming of a lady… or rather, a mother-to-be."

You had half a mind to shut him up by twisting the both of you around and finally freeing his cock from its confines yourself, especially after that remark, but it appeared as if he had read your thoughts—you started to hear the relieving noises of a zipper and the rustling of clothing. A sob of gratitude nearly escaped you.

Then, with a lewd pop, the vibrator is swiftly removed from you, only to be replaced with his cockhead nudging between your folds.

"Well, what're you waiting for? This 'common whore' is—oh, fuck!" you screamed, interrupted yet again as he plunged deep within your pussy and pulled you impossibly closer. His clawed hand fisted into your hair before wrenching you back with him, the act causing you to gasp out of surprise while instinctively clenching around his length. Then, the pace became unremitting.

Alastor half-groaned at your tightness, half-chuckled at the words dying on your lips in favor of moans he loved drawing out of you. "Cat got your tongue yet again, cher?"

"Sh-Shut up!" you moaned, hands curling into the duvet as he continued to plow relentlessly into you, throat bared to the heavens above.

His other hand retained a bruising grip on your hip while he repetitively sunk back in and out of your heat at a punishing pace, thrusts clumsier than usual. Your breathing alongside his became heavier as sweat began to condense both of your bodies; the bed's headboard rhythmically slammed into the wall over and over as the stench of sex unfurled and permeated the room.

He sounded animalistic the more he chased his release, but he was still ever the gentleman—even when drunk—and relinquished his grip over your hair to furiously rub sloppy circles into your clit. The added pleasure had you dissolving into a mess of whines and moans of your lover's name.

"Let's see if this little womb is capable of bearing my children," Alastor said with a feral snarl that you thought should not have sent as much of a spark of arousal flaring throughout your veins as it did.

You felt every part the helpless prey to this beast that was becoming more monster than man behind you.

And you adored it. Adored the way his hands couldn't decide where to settle, so they roamed all over the vast expanse of your body, fondling your peaked nipples and flesh. Adored the way alcoholic sex appeared to help him discard more of his social inhibitions. Adored the way your name sounded off of lips that couldn't stop placing hot, open-mouthed kisses all over your back.

You adored it so much so that you felt as if you were increasingly becoming more and more intoxicated, except this time from carnal beginnings that you never wanted to come down from.

Unfortunately, you felt your climax approaching closer, and you felt that he did too as his hips began to stutter in that erratic way they typically do when he was about to paint your insides.

With a roar of static and a few final thrusts, he stilled as his cock pulsed while loads of his desire for you flooded your gummy walls. Just as he cummed, you had also met your end; a cry emanating from you as your own orgasm coursed through your veins. Your cunt was now throbbing as it milked the man above you.

You both remained in place, the static dying down while you both caught your breath for a couple of moments.

Suddenly, he pulled out, causing you to whine in protest at the newfound vacancy between your thighs. In doing so, cum started to dribble out of you—to which he tutted in disapproval before scooping it back into you. You were then carefully turned onto your back.

Your eyes widened at the wild look in Alastor's gaze, his pupils now turned radio dials blown wide until only thinned rings of carmine were visible. Amongst the inebriation, there seemed to be vestiges of intimacy present—intimacy that silently spoke of dark devotion and primal, base needs.

Sweat coated his brow and rolled down the sides of his face. His antlers had also grown in size, and the static that he carried everywhere he went sounded louder as he leveled you with wide eyes of his own. You wondered if he could see how devoted you were to him as well, if he could see the way you also wanted to discover if demonic law could be defied, broken, rewritten.

"Still with me, darling?" Alastor breathed out, to which you nodded with lustful enthusiasm. His lids dropped to half-mast, and a frenzied laugh contended with the static as his cock stirred back to full hardness.

The telltale scent of debauchery and sin clung to the air as the two of you were strolling back to the hotel; your considerably more challenged state of inebriation being supported by the arm he had politely extended to you.

Even hanging off his arm, you stumbled here and there.

"My dear!" he laughed as he smiled down at you, "a newborn faun could walk better than you are right now."

You shot him a glare, though there was no vitriol behind it. "It's no fair. Why is it that you look the perfect picture of composure while I look like an idiot? We're both drunk, aren't we?"

"Indeed we are," Alastor nodded, humming. "However, the difference lies in experience. I've had plenty more decades than you in Hell to etch how to walk in a straight line into the very marrow of this form's bones."

"Was that your eloquent way of saying I have a "skill issue"?" you asked while staring in disbelief at him.

"Oh dear, you know I'm not in the know with the lingo of your generation. Though, if the shoe fits…"

Playfully rolling your eyes, you both continued walking in a couple stretches of comfortable silence before you piped up, the quiet giving you time to reminisce on the events of the night.

"Al, I still can't believe you intimidated the bartender like that! Then to blame your shadowy tendril thing's 'autonomy?' God, poor guy probably was close to peeing himself in fear!"

"Well, he was flirting with you. Very blatantly, may I add." Alastor said as he flashed a sharp grin at some gawking passersby who clearly weren't aware the Radio Demon had his heart stolen.

"You almost had us kicked out!"

"I do not like sharing what's mine, and mine alone."

"Clearly," you girlishly giggled, replaying the memory fondly within your head. His jealousy always sent a pang of roiling heat straight into your core. You open your mouth to tease him about it, but his riposte was faster.

"But what of you? Threatening that brazen woman away from the seat next to me?"

"Oh, she had it coming," you huffed, tightening your grip on his arm more possessively, "I should've sliced those bony manicured fingers clean off after she thought it was a good idea to touch you on the shoulder. As if I wasn't sitting right there."

He chuckled, the sound honeyed with amusement at your antics; it was a sound you were certain you'd never tire of. You were finding each and every action of his more arousing than the last—after all, he had control over your pleasure the entirety of the outing, the remote to the vibrator inside of you tucked away within his coat pocket. A reminder swept through you in a wave that soaked your panties even more.

You wanted to kiss the cheekiness off of his ever-present smile as you nearly doubled over with a gasp while he only tilted his head at your breathlessness in mock innocence, the sinners walking past looking mildly concerned.

"Something the matter, dear?"

Then, you hissed back at him with a response that would surprise the both of you.

"Keep it up and I'll make you a daddy."

Just as the words left your lips and he raised his brows at you, the hotel's towering building came into view. As you both approached the doors, the world suddenly whirled into darkness for a moment before it materialized before you again.

Alastor had teleported the both of you into his room. The fireplace crackled as if it too was anticipating his next move, and the scent of cedarwood and something so unmistakably him flooded your nostrils.

Before you could open your mouth, he had you pinned against the wall, a knee wedged between the apex of your thighs, and two red-tipped claws tilted your chin up towards his face.

"Care to repeat yourself now that only you, me, and these four walls will be privy to this conversation and all to come after?"

There was a dilation to his pupils as a dawning glimmer of hunger was more clearly visible within them; if you looked close enough, you could've sworn you saw the way a predator lied in wait before pouncing upon its hapless prey.

"I said," you stressed the words just enough for one of his ears to twitch, "keep it up and I'll make you a da—"

Your sentence was left hanging in the air as his lips descended upon yours hotly. Alastor ravished you with a newfound vigor, to which you reciprocated in kind. There was a substantial ache underneath your dress that you've been wishing he'd satisfy all night—and it appeared you were finally getting what you wanted.

The kiss was sloppy, and as it continued, you both became increasingly disheveled; hair becoming mussed and clothes slipping off your bodies while hands sought blissful ruination.

An abrupt collision of a palm to your now bare ass drove a yelp out of you.

"That was for calling me that insufferably inane word," he growled into your mouth, breath laced with the aroma of liquor, before breaking the kiss to lean back and stare into your half-lidded eyes.

Your gaze flickered down to the tent straining against the pristine fabric of his trousers; stifling a laugh, the corner of your lips instead quirked up into a knowing smirk.

"Someone else would beg to differ, I'd sa—AH—!"

That bastard. He hadn't forgotten about the little vibrator still nestled within your walls.

"Apologies dearest, you were saying?" His Cheshire smirk looked mismatched as it was accompanied with an inculpable tilt of his head.

You narrowed his eyes at him, remaining silent so as to not give him the satisfaction of repeating himself in that wicked, wicked way of his. When he quickly realized you weren't foolish enough to walk right back into his trap, he spoke again, tone demanding and smug.

"On the bed. Now."

You complied, but not without purposefully swaying your hips as seductively as you could in your still drunken condition, taking your sweet time to reach his bed.

Seemingly running out of patience for your teasing, shadows slithered quickly around you before depositing you unceremoniously atop the plush duvet. They then positioned you none too gently by pushing you face-first, ass-up in a provocative feast for a certain demon's eyes.

"You little minx," Alastor lowly purred just loud enough for you to hear, the words rumbling forth from his chest in that tone that always guaranteed a night to remember, "you want to be the mother of my children?"

Was it just you, or did the heat you felt initially upon arrival—no doubt due to your intoxication—become even hotter?

You watched as he stalked towards you, the simple motion sending arousal pooling into the seat of your panties. You also watched as his gaze dropped to your rear as you shook it invitingly side-to-side, unable to resist the temptation.

"Mhm," you whined. Your thighs squeezed together as he loomed over you, a claw ghosting over the flesh of your knee, to your thigh, then to your presented ass, pointedly ignoring where you desired him most. "Need you, Al…"

He breathed in sharply through his nose, digits crooking into the band of your panties before a ripping sound could be heard, much to your horror.

"Hey! Those were my favorite pair!" you cried out in dismay, but your husband was far too preoccupied appreciating the way your pussy now looked without any pesky cloth to conceal it from him and his hunger.

A rippling shudder ran down your spine, and not because of the cool air meeting your exposed skin. His voice was now a few octaves lower.

"Demon physiology be damned," Alastor began in an assured whisper loud enough for your ears to perk up at, "darling trust me when I say you will be thoroughly bred by the end of tonight."

Immediately, you forgot about the tattered remains of your panties.

"And by the looks of it… That's what this pretty little cunt wants, isn't it?" he crooned as his tongue darted out to wet his lips as if he was preparing for a particularly tantalizing meal.

With frantic confirmation, you nodded, incapable of suppressing the embarrassingly needy way his name fell off your lips next. A couple claw-tips swiped against you, collecting your arousal in an obscene display that webbed between them. Alastor stared admiringly at it while you felt your cheeks warm, and it wasn't because of the alcohol in your system.

"My my, you're absolutely posolutely drooling down here! Makes one wonder just how long you've been yearning for this, hm? For your stomach to swell full with my progeny."

His fingers splayed out possessively against the skin of your stomach as he leaned over you, his chest flush with your back and his still-covered erection poking at the slick lips of your pussy. You responded by pushing back against him with a whimper tinged with frustration.

"How utterly needy," he shook his head as if in disapproval, "you act like such a common whore once you have a few drinks in you. It's rather unbecoming of a lady… or rather, a mother-to-be."

You had half a mind to shut him up by twisting the both of you around and finally freeing his cock from its confines yourself, especially after that remark, but it appeared as if he had read your thoughts—you started to hear the relieving noises of a zipper and the rustling of clothing. A sob of gratitude nearly escaped you.

Then, with a lewd pop, the vibrator is swiftly removed from you, only to be replaced with his cockhead nudging between your folds.

"Well, what're you waiting for? This 'common whore' is—oh, fuck!" you screamed, interrupted yet again as he plunged deep within your pussy and pulled you impossibly closer. His clawed hand fisted into your hair before wrenching you back with him, the act causing you to gasp out of surprise while instinctively clenching around his length. Then, the pace became unremitting.

Alastor half-groaned at your tightness, half-chuckled at the words dying on your lips in favor of moans he loved drawing out of you. "Cat got your tongue yet again, cher?"

"Sh-Shut up!" you moaned, hands curling into the duvet as he continued to plow relentlessly into you, throat bared to the heavens above.

His other hand retained a bruising grip on your hip while he repetitively sunk back in and out of your heat at a punishing pace, thrusts clumsier than usual. Your breathing alongside his became heavier as sweat began to condense both of your bodies; the bed's headboard rhythmically slammed into the wall over and over as the stench of sex unfurled and permeated the room.

He sounded animalistic the more he chased his release, but he was still ever the gentleman—even when drunk—and relinquished his grip over your hair to furiously rub sloppy circles into your clit. The added pleasure had you dissolving into a mess of whines and moans of your lover's name.

"Let's see if this little womb is capable of bearing my children," Alastor said with a feral snarl that you thought should not have sent as much of a spark of arousal flaring throughout your veins as it did.

You felt every part the helpless prey to this beast that was becoming more monster than man behind you.

And you adored it. Adored the way his hands couldn't decide where to settle, so they roamed all over the vast expanse of your body, fondling your peaked nipples and flesh. Adored the way alcoholic sex appeared to help him discard more of his social inhibitions. Adored the way your name sounded off of lips that couldn't stop placing hot, open-mouthed kisses all over your back.

You adored it so much so that you felt as if you were increasingly becoming more and more intoxicated, except this time from carnal beginnings that you never wanted to come down from.

Unfortunately, you felt your climax approaching closer, and you felt that he did too as his hips began to stutter in that erratic way they typically do when he was about to paint your insides.

With a roar of static and a few final thrusts, he stilled as his cock pulsed while loads of his desire for you flooded your gummy walls. Just as he cummed, you had also met your end; a cry emanating from you as your own orgasm coursed through your veins. Your cunt was now throbbing as it milked the man above you.

You both remained in place, the static dying down while you both caught your breath for a couple of moments.

Suddenly, he pulled out, causing you to whine in protest at the newfound vacancy between your thighs. In doing so, cum started to dribble out of you—to which he tutted in disapproval before scooping it back into you. You were then carefully turned onto your back.

Your eyes widened at the wild look in Alastor's gaze, his pupils now turned radio dials blown wide until only thinned rings of carmine were visible. Amongst the inebriation, there seemed to be vestiges of intimacy present—intimacy that silently spoke of dark devotion and primal, base needs.

Sweat coated his brow and rolled down the sides of his face. His antlers had also grown in size, and the static that he carried everywhere he went sounded louder as he leveled you with wide eyes of his own. You wondered if he could see how devoted you were to him as well, if he could see the way you also wanted to discover if demonic law could be defied, broken, rewritten.

"Still with me, darling?" Alastor breathed out, to which you nodded with lustful enthusiasm. His lids dropped to half-mast, and a frenzied laugh contended with the static as his cock stirred back to full hardness.

Alastor glances at the hat on his head like he’s forgotten it was there.

It’s good that Charlie made sure to greet the thing, for everyone surely likes it when they’re complimented . . . right?

Right!

“Good morning to you as well, Princess Charlotte,” Alastor says, smile still so small and polite. “I enjoy my hat as well.”

“Charlie,” she says, a little automatically because this was a small game that Alastor seemed to like to play with her. He would call her by her full name, and Charlie would always correct him because they were just friends like that. Inside jokes and all. “Just Charlie.”

“Oh . . .,” he says, blinking a little. “Then a good morning to you as well, Charlie.”

Charlie doesn’t quite know what to do with that, for Alastor has never gone off script today. He’s being so polite this morning, and maybe, just maybe¸ she could push her luck just a little more.

One day.

That’s all she needed.

“Sooooooo just to remind you, but I’ll be doing our usual greetings before lunch,” she says. It’s important that she get to know each guest. “Can I count on you to be in the lobby with me?”

Alastor hums a little, annoyingly dragging out his answer. “Very well.”

“You’ll . . . You’ll be there?” Charlie doesn’t know why she sounds so surprised.

“I believe I just agreed to your request.”

“No tricks?”

“No tricks.”

Charlie gets a little too excited, and jumps into Alastor for an excited hug. It’s a squeal that comes out of her lips. “I promise it’ll be so fun!”

“Oh! A hug.” Alastor returns her hug, pulling her into him just as tightly as she does. “This is . . . nice.”

Charlie laughs a little. “Is it?”

“I’m not actually sure," he says. "They're just hugs."

Today will definitely be a good day.

Everything needs to be perfect for Charlie today. That’s one of the many reasons as to why Vaggi willingly hunts Alastor down. She spots him roaming around the halls of the hotel, whistling some kind of happy tune.

It’s simple to step into his path, bracing herself to start a conversation with Alastor. “The hat’s new.”

Now . . . that’s not really the first thing she meant to say, but she’s never seen him wear a hat before, not has she seen him with a tie.

“I’ve always had this,” Alastor says, a little simple as he raises an eyebrow at her. “Hmmmmm, I suppose I have no use for it anymore. It does cramp my ears, but I don’t really need to hide them anymore.”

Vaggi rolls her eyes a little. “Since when did you try to hide them?”

“Since the beginning,” he says, still a little simply. It’s unusual to see him without that annoying flare. “I wasn’t too keen to be associated with that man.” Alastor’s face scrunches a little, before a sigh escapes him. “But that’s before I realized Mother was running around here this whole time.”

Vaggie isn’t surprised that Alastor’s mother was in Hell as well. It just seemed like a family thing. “Uhhhhh okay?”

“But I suppose it’s good to show a little bit of good faith,” he says, placing a hand on his chin to think. “The hat does cramp my ears quite a bite. It’s decided then—you can have it since you’re so interested in it.”

Vaggie doesn’t fully understand what he’s talking about, but half of what Alastor says never makes sense anyway.

Alastor pulls off his hair with a flare . . . and he does it with a more awkward one instead of his usual bright one. “I don’t know how he does it,” he says, grumbling a little at his awkward movements. “But the bow on this one matches the color of yours.”

Without the hat, Vaggie can see that he parted his hair differently today, and apparently decided to curl it as well. It’s quite different from his usual straight style. Still, Vaggi is neither interested or foolish enough to mention it.

Vaggi braces herself for Alastor to slam the fedora onto her head, but he drops it lightly instead, adjusting the edges around her so that it doesn’t disrupt her bow.

That small smile of his quirks just a little higher, but it clashes with the absolute dead look in his eyes. It almost reminds her of a dead fish.

There’s a moment where Vaggi is about to tell him to take the hat back, but her eyes linger on his tie clip instead. She’s never seen Alastor wear a tie clip, but when leaned down to straighten the hat, she can’t help but notice it.

Alastor follows her gaze. “Are you curious about it.”

“Not even remotely.”

“Very well,” Alastor says, taking a step back when he finished adjusting the hat on her head. “I think it looks quite nice on you.”

“I . . .” Vaggi takes a moment. “What?”

She’s so confused.

There’s this moment where Alastor sighs, looking a little tired of this conversation, but that polite smile of his neve wavers. “Mother gave me something like this as a present. It was her last one to me,” he says. “Apparently, it belonged to her husband. It was a habit to carry it around, and I just brought that habit with me in death.”

“That’s . . .” Vaggi blinks at him. “That’s it?”

Alastor tils his head all the way to the side, and his ears flop a little as he does. “Was there supposed to be more?”

“No winding backstory?”

“. . . Did you want one?”

“Niffty is stuck inside the toilet again,” Vaggi says instead. “Can you grab her?”

The corner of his eye twitches a little. “Do I have to?”

“Yes!”

Alastor slumps a little, and she swears she sees him frown a bit. Weird, but she’s knows better than to press her luck with Alastor, lest he decides to add a winding backstroy this time.

Niffty is still dripping wet when the stranger pulls her out of the toilet. She stares at him, and that small smile is what she gets in return. “You’re not Alastor.”

This stranger looked similar enough to Alastor though.

They had the same red hair, and the same fluffy ears that twitched whenever he was annoyed, and this stranger’s ears were definitely twitching.  

But there were some differences as well, like the curls on his head and the fact that he had glasses instead of a monocle.

The stranger gently lands her on the floor, and there’s an honest frown on his lips. “I’m not really trying to be.”

Niffty thinks for a moment. “Do you like my bugs?”

“Not really.”

It clicks right then and there. “Oooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” she says. “You’re just like your mother—she said the same thing.”

Theodore’s smile brightens immediately. “Am I really?”

“Not really.”

Niffty waves at him as she scurries off to kill more pests.

She had an important job to do.

One day.

That’s all Charlie needed, because one day could turn into two then into three. So, she needed one day where everything went right in the hotel.

And there was a moment where it did.

Alastor was there with her, greeting those who were checking in with a politeness she’s never known him for, and a firm handshake. Charlie had a feeling that her one good day could actually come true.

 . . . Of course, that’s when her dad finally decided to settle the score with Alastor, and drop a buck of water right on top of his head.

The force of the water crashes Alastor to the ground, and he’s lying there, looking like a grumpy wet kitten, with a very, very, defeated look on his face. It seems he’s keen on staying on the ground, that bucket still on his head for some reason.

“I’m a little hurt you excluded me from all the fun!”

Charlie turns to look . . . and sees Alastor, standing by the door with a wide smile on his face and looking dry.

Charlie blinks a little. “Alastor?”

Alastor waves his hands in the most annoyingly dramatic flare she’s ever seen. “That’s my name!”

“Wait!” she says, then points to the stranger on the floor. “Then who the fuck is that?”

The real Alastor steps towards the imposter, skipping the puddles of water, to pick him up by the scruff, showing him off like a kitten. Even as he’s determined to sag into the floor. “This is my son,” he says, a little happily. “Say hello, Theodore.”

“Hello,” Theodore says, waving at her with a bucket still on his head. “Just Theo will do.”

Theo makes no movement to stand, seemingly content to be held up by Alastor, even as it only reinforces the image of a soaking kitten.

Charlie scratches the back of her neck. “I thought he was you.”

She’ll yell at her dad later, but the revelation that Alastor had a son made her freeze. It’s a bit embarrassing now that she thought about it, she made Theo run around the hotel as a host just because she thought he was Alastor.

Alastor opens his mouth to speak, but the sound of a record scratching interrupts him. It scratches the air as soon as he spots Vaggi. “I didn’t think the hotel would be so cruel to take my son’s hat.”

Vaggi pulls the hat closer to her, taking a step away from Alastor. “It was a gift.”

Alastor pulls Theo just a little higher to meet the bucket around his face. “That was yours,” he says, raising his eyebrows a little. “Yet you gave it away?”

Theo’s voice echoes a little. “I don’t want to hide my ears anymore.”

Alastor laughs into the air, and Charlie swears that his smile softens around the edges. “I see that prank was meant for me,” he says. “But even that Brain Dead King should have known that we look nothing alike.”

Theo shakes his head to deny what Alastor said, and the bucket clinks a little. In the end it’s Alastor’s shadow that removes the metal bucket around his head. Alastor’s shadow curls around Theo trying and failing to dry the poor guy.

There’s a bored expression on Theo’s face.

“Loot at him,” Alastor says, all she sees is more similarities than differences. “He’s just like his mother!”

The powerful whirr of the bus matches your antsy energy as you fiddle with your purse. Alastor sits calmly as if it's just any other regular day, part of you has always envied the way he manages to stay collected in seemingly every situation life throws at him.

His coat sits heavy on your shoulders as you stare outside at all the people moving on about in life, some returning home after hard shifts and others who's night has just begun.

You flinch hard when you feel him grasp your trembling hand, interlocking your fingers together. His thumb drags against the back of your hand in a vain attempt to soothe.

"Whatever is the matter, my dear? You look like a prisoner on his way out to death row."

He questions gently into your ear with a light chuckle at his own joke. He watches your throat bob as you swallow nervously, feeling your chest getting tight with worry. Alastor lets out a small sigh as your eyes tell him everything he needed to know.

"Dear, d-"

He began before the bus jolts to a stop in front of a innocent looking cafe, the colors of it are a bit dull. He stands and offers you his arm, which you take with a slight hesitation in your movements.

Alastor leads you inside said cafe and looks around before knocking on a wall, his knuckles cracking against the wood sternly.

"Joe sent us."

He speaks into the wood as you stare at him like he's lost his mind. Suddenly the wall opens up to reveal a cozy bar inside, full of men and women drinking to their hearts content.

he ushers you into another room and you spot Mimzy waving excitedly at the both of you which earns her only a nod back.

The room is small and reeks of alcohol, a shabby room to get ready in but it'll do. You scurry over to the mirror as you grab your makeup out of your purse.

Alastor wraps his slender arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder, the woodsy scent of him reminds you of home.

"You've practiced this for years, mon tŕesor! Don't let those silly thoughts pollute your spirit."

Alastor soothes as he brings his hands up to your face and drags the sides of your lips upwards. "Besides you're-"

"Never fully dressed without a smile, I know I know."

You finish with a sassy eye roll as you push his hands away but your smile stays nonetheless, making Alastor chuckle warmly. You finish putting some color on your lids but find your hands are still much too shaky to apply the lip pomade but he grabs the tube from you.

"Allow me, my dear."

He says before guiding your face towards him then gliding the product across your lips with a tender touch, his nose almost touching yours.

"There we go, beautiful, darling."

Alastor praises as his eyes scan your face, not unlike one studying a fine art piece. You feel your cheeks warm up, your eyes darting away from his as if you could burn up in his gaze.

"Th-Thank you, Al."

You voiced your appreciation with a light tremble in your voice as you find yourself entranced with his lips so close-

BANG

The door opens and Alastor jumps off you like you are made hot coals while giving the intruder a very displeased look. Mimzy gives you two a suspicious look at your frazzled faces but shrugs as if it's not her concern.

"Hello you two! How are my little stars in the making doing?"

She asks with a too cheery smile while her dark heels click against the hardwood floor.

"We're quite alright, Mimzy, how long until we need to be stage?"

"About 5 minutes, now lemme see ya dress!"

The short woman nearly squeals with excitement as you take off Alastor's coat, clapping her hands together. You give her a small twirl to show off a bit, soaking up the attention of anotherr woman.

"Ooh!! Aren't you just the cat's pajamas! Ain't she, Alastor?"

Mimzy compliments while your twin just nods along, a part of him sparking with a ugly jealousy as he remembers other people will get to marvel at you.

You add some finishing touches to your look and before you know it, you have to stand in front of the stage curtains.

This very night could make or break your career and it's not just you have to worry about... both of you need this to work.

You look to Alastor as Mimzy announces you two and he gestures for you to smile.

Your head snaps back to the crowd as the curtains slide open and you greet them with a big grin...

You and Alastor bow as the drunken cheer fills the small room, your heart pounds like a drum with utter glee. You nearly skip your way back to the boudoir, your cheeks hurt from all the smiling.

You don't notice Alastor locking the door behind you.

"We did it, Al! They loved it!"

You declare proudly while he reaches for your cold cream, "See? There was never a need to worry, mon ange."

He says slyly as he taps on top of the vanity, encouraging you sit on it. "Good girl," He praises while scooping up some of the cream and applying it to your face. He wipes away the remains of your makeup with a tissue before taking notice of your jittery hands.

"You need some help with that, mon cherie?"

He whispers in your ear with a gentle concern as he splays his long fingers across your thighs, his thumb dangerously close to the hem of your dress.

"Help? How?"

"Oh just a little something ma told me about, it should help you... relax."

He explained before dropping down to his knees in front of your legs, making you snap them shut in shock.

"Alastor! What on heaven's earth are you-"

"Have I ever done you wrong or lead you astray?"

"N-No- wha-"

"Harmed a hair on your head or caused you even a moment of discomfort?"

"Of course not-"

"Then please, my little song bird, trust your big brother to help you."

Alastor pleads as he rests his cheek on your knee, staring up at you with his dark pools. Your mind is at a war with itself, it's posterous to think he could hurt a fly but your gut screams there is something very wrong here. You chew on your bottom lip before spreading your legs apart, making his grin get impossibly wider.

"A-Alright, just please don't make it weird."

"Wouldn't dream of it, my dear, now just let me take care of you."

You gulp as you feel his hands traveling up your dress, eager to explore his new territory. He pressed soft kisses to your inner thighs, causing your stomach flutter in heated excitement.

His thumbs hook up the sides of your plain panties before sliding them down your thighs, letting the flimsy fabric fall. You feel his hot breath against your bare pussy as he divides your folds, sending shivers up your spine.

"Gorgeous..."

Alastor whispers which earns him a soft impatient whine and he decides to leave teasing for another time. He drag his tongue against your slit slowly which makes you gasp, your hands gripping the poor vanity for purchase.

His lips feel so familiar but so foreign all at the same time, years of kisses against your skin hadn't prepared you for this.

"A-Al! I-I don't think this is... is.."

You attempt to protest in vain before his twisted tongue finds your clit and you have to cover your mouth before the entire bar is made aware of what you two are up to.

Wetness seeps from your core as Alastor laps up your bundle of nerves, his short nails leaving indents on your trembling thigh. He stops only to get your thighs over his broad shoulders before diving right back in.

You feel yourself sink further and further right into the palm of his hand as your mind fogs with pleasure.

"You taste divine, so utterly sweet..."

He breathes out his admiration before wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking. You feel his slender index and middle fingers rub at your tight heat, getting them wet with your slick.

"Al... don't say stuff like that.."

You plead with a embarrassed tone before a sharp squeak escapes you when Alastor slides a finger inside your hot canal.

"What? I cannot compliment my dear sister? You wound me, darling."

He remarks then focuses his attention back on your poor clitoris and began to trace shapes with his hot tongue. The pace with his finger starts slow but soon finds it's rhythm. It takes you a minute to realize but...wait, is he-

"Alastor! Are you seri-"

You attempt to scold him before you cry out and squish his cheeks with your thighs as his finger finds that spongey spot. You squirm against the never-ending heat of Alastor's mouth while tangling your hand in his dark curls, careful to not tug.

His tongue continues to trace his name across your sensitive flesh, his mind repeating a possessive mantra of mine, mine, MINE. Much too many men thought they had a chance with you tonight, no fault of your own really, men see a pretty lady and assumes that she'll be theirs.

But no. Not Alastor.

He knows you are his alone and he must have this simple fact made VERY clear to you.

He slides another long finger inside you then curls them up with a 'come hither' motion, delighting in the sounds you desperately try to muffle as your body cries for more.

You feel a odd tightness in your stomach and try to push Alastor away in a panic but all he does is dig in deeper, refusing every poor attempt at removing his mouth that he might as well be glued on.

"Al! S-something is happening- please!"

You beg in vain while your walls clamp around his slender fingers, your need getting hotter and hotter. You feel your mind fly away as all you can focus on is Alastor and the attention that he lavished on you, nothing else matters.

"Good girl… just let go."

He groans into your flesh as his fingers start jamming into your sloppy hole, needing to see you come undone for him. You feel your eyes water as every sensation becomes too much.

Your toes curl before you cry out his name with a sob, accidentally squishing him in between your tensed up thighs. You pant out as tears slide down your cheeks, feeling utterly boneless.

"...guess it worked."

You try to joke breathlessly before turning your face up to look at the spinning ceiling. Alastor pulls his fingers out of you, which earns a overstimulated whine from you, and shamelessly licks his digits clean.

"See? I just want the best for you, my dear, no matter what."

He replies as he stands and puts his hands by your sides, caging you in against his tall frame. He gives you a sweet kiss, not unlike the ones he'd share with you while hidden away from the other children on the playground. His hands caress your hips before kissing away your tears.

But Alastor was the only one feeling funny, and you were utterly oblivious about it.

Well, until you wrapped your legs around his slender waist, constricting, hips uniting so you could switch your positions.

Then that’s when you felt his desire, warm and thick and heavy.

Your skirt was knee-length, but the cotton fabric had bunched up to your thighs, and he knew that you could feel it, his erection throbbing as your clothed heat came into contact with his.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and your heart kickstarted in your chest, visibly shocked.

Alastor was your friend, that’s all you and him had ever been; and you were 19 years old, just barely deemed old enough to go out and about in the streets of New Orleans by your parents.

Neither of you went out without each other.

So, to have you pinned underneath him, wrists held hostage, crotches stuck together, it was entirely overwhelming.

The worst part was that you refused to utter a single syllable.

Alastor watched you stare up at him, wide-eyed and skin all hot and flustered, looking like the embodiment of innocence.

Guilt began to bubble up in his throat.

And so did an apology, his lips shakily parting, sweat trickling down his forehead.

But then the grip your thighs had on his waist tightened even more, and your hips moved and gave a tentative roll, a feeble moan slipping from his lips instead of an ‘I’m sorry.’

“Pl-Please?” You mustered sweetly, wrists anxiously flexing in his grip.

Alastor could only lean down, forehead meeting yours, eyes screwing shut, his hold on your wrists slackening.

He didn’t know what to do.

Hell, he didn’t even know that he was capable of feeling such things.

He thought he was immune to desires of the flesh after a friend of his, one he no longer spoke to, showed him a stag film. He had also gifted him a few photos of random nude women.

Alastor had grimaced at the film and tossed the photos to the trash.

So, for a little rough-and-tumblr to elicit such a volatile response from his body, it was astonishing and nothing short of unexpected.

And Alastor was ill-prepared to grant you your request, even though he desired you similarly.

He had a general idea about what to do, but what he knew, it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy you. He would most likely leave you disappointed.

Still, he found himself nodding his head anyway, his cock throbbing longingly in his trousers.

“Okay,” Alastor merely said.

His hands slid down your wrists, fixing to remove your skirt, but you were quick to tell him no.

“No, k-keep them there,” You breathed out, looking a bit embarrassed. “Keep holding me like that.”

His eyes fluttered open, brows knitting together, confusion swirling in his gut.

“You don’t want me to take your skirt off?” Alastor tentatively asked. “What am I to do, then?”

Your tongue swept over your lips, wetting them.

He stared down at you, waiting, anticipating your response, his heart hammering against his chest.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it,” You nervously swallowed. “Just… pretend as if our clothes were off, all right?”

Alastor was no idiot.

You wanted him to rut into you like some animal, but the way you refused to be specific was what had him complying with a newfound confidence.

His hands returned to your wrists, gripping.

And his hips pressed down against yours with an experimental roll, massaging his erection on your clothed cunt, bumping your clit.

“Like that?” Alastor breathed out.

You didn’t say anything, nor did you nod.

However, you did part your legs and toss your head back against the grass, eyes shut, chest heaving, telling him everything he needed to know.

And so he proceeded to rut into you like a wild animal, rubbing your crotches together.

Your clothes softly rustled with each and every roll of Alastor’s slender hips, soft mewls and whimpers poured from your lips, and his trousers grew damp as your wetness penetrated the thin cotton fabric of your panties.

Neither of you were paying attention to your surroundings.

You were completely and utterly lost in the sensation, and though Alastor had his eyes open, they were trained on you and only you.

Something about keeping you hostage underneath him, entirely at his will and power, it was riveting.

Alastor felt a hot pressure steadily building up in his gut, a tight coil that was ready to snap, his cock stiffening in his trousers and his thrusts growing sloppy and uncoordinated.

You were close, too, your back arching up in a sinuous curve, shaky, high-pitched breaths tumbling from your lips.

The two of you were so busy chasing your peaks that you forgot you were outside, in broad daylight.

His mother could stumble into the two of you rutting against each other like the inexperienced virgins you were, but at that moment, it was just you and Alastor.

The only thing that mattered was how your clothed cunt pulsated and throbbed against his cock.

How you writhed and moaned underneath him.

How you let out the filthiest cry known to mankind with every wave of pleasure that rippled through your body as you cane undone.

Because that’s what coaxed him over the edge.

“Oh, fuck,” Alastor’s forehead met yours once more, eyes screwing shut, his trousers growing damp and sticky with his pleasure.

It was delicious.

He wanted to feel it again, but as you wriggled your wrists out of his hands to caress his face, nimble fingers touching his sweaty cheekbone, a familiar voice called out to you two.

It was Alastor’s mother.

“Lunch is ready if you two want to come eat!”

He instantly rolled off of you, back colliding with the grass, legs clamping shut to conceal the dark patch on the crotch area of his trousers.

Of course, you pulled your skirt down and scrambled to sit up on your elbows, eyes wide open, heart hammering in your chest.

“C-Coming, maman!” Alastor hollered out.

Thankfully, his mother didn’t bother coming out to retrieve the two of you.

But unlike you, Alastor couldn’t easily conceal his dignity. He had to walk into his home with his trousers soiled in sin.

You looked at him, an apologetic look befalling your features. Before you could utter a syllable, however, Alastor stood up.

“I’m going to sneak into my room,” You blinked, confused at his words. “I can’t walk in like this! She’ll… she’ll — well, I don’t know what she’ll do, admittedly, but I have no intention of finding out!”

He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, towards his house, panicked and flustered.

“Are you asking me to distract her?” You asked.

He vigorously nodded his head, strewn curls bouncing all over the place, glasses sliding down the bridge of his sharp, upturned nose.

“Yes. Please. You owe it to me. It was your idea.”

As soon as you huffed out a fine, Alastor darted off with trembling knees and both hands in front of him, tucked in between his legs, making a beeline for his window.

His back was turned to you, of course, but he knew you were fighting the urge to giggle.

Hell was...a lot more tamer than you thought it would be.

Not that it was actually tame by any means, but...it wasn’t as stuffy as you thought? No, that wasn’t the right way to describe it either…

Long story short, it wasn’t filled with demons who tortured sinners, but rather sinners who turned into demons and tortured each other by living in a sort of anarchist state ruled by Lucifer and other demon lords. Hell was a free-for-all territory where only the strong survived and the weak were either eradicated by the yearly purge from ‘angels’ or killed by other demons.

Had you not been so lucky as to transmigrate in your game avatar’s body then you’d probably be unlucky enough to materialize as an imp, the lowest of the low in the demonic hierarchy here. Thankfully you were a dragon, with scales that were practically impervious to most magic and impenetrable against almost any weapon, and an innate affinity for conducting magic alongside a shit ton of other abilities generally associated with dragonkin.

All in all, you could have been given a much worse situation than the one you were in now. Like, you could be an ordinary fragile human summoned in hell without any way to protect yourself so you’d need to perhaps make a pact with some random powerful demon just to ensure your continued survival even if it meant you were basically signing your soul away to them.

So you supposed life in the netherworld wasn’t all that bad.

Besides, you felt more relaxed and at peace than you had in years. You lived in a quaint bungalow-style house just beside some place called the “Happy Hotel” which you managed to buy for cheap for some reason. Apparently the lot where your house now stood was once another building, but got destroyed by either a turf war, extermination, or freak accident. Either way, you didn’t really care since it meant you now had your own home. 

At first there were some foolish enough to try and burglarize or vandalize your home, but that was quickly rectified after you personally decorated the front gates with their severed heads. A little magic can do wonders to preserve once living bodies and extinguish foul odors.

Your new life consisted of waking up, gardening, reading, cooking, and pretty much every hobby you never had time to cultivate when you were still a simple wage slave. 

And so you passed your first days in hell quietly and without any incident.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“...W̷H̷O̷ D̷I̷D̷ I̷T̷???!!!¿¿¿¡¡¡”

The Happy Hotel’s residents turned at the sound of a new voice entering the scene, spotting a draconian young woman standing in front of the tattered ruins of what was once a house that stood just beside the hotel.

“Ah, one of my lazers misfired earlier, but it was good target practice...Well, I suppose you owe me thanks for destroying your house without you in it, missy—”

“[̵̗͓͔̔Ḭ̷͕̓͑̏̈́̕g̷̳̱̎̐̽̕̚͜ṅ̶̜̼̮̑͛ì̴̡̮̮̳̫ș̷̐͝]̷̺̌̆̉”

As if Alastor’s beatdown wasn’t enough for him, Sir Pentious was simply unfortunate enough to earn your ire today and get a taste of what it meant to be the <<𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐠𝐠𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥>> .

A small purple flame flickered into existence on the palm of your hand before swiftly speeding through the air and making contact with Sir Pentious, igniting the serpentine demon in a blaze of malevolent fire and smoke.

While everyone else was preoccupied with the smoldering remains of the serpentine demon, a certain overlord had his sights set on you instead as an eerie grin settled on his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You didn’t tell me something like this was going to happen!”

“Ahh, but sweetheart I couldn’t have known such a fact when I’ve never tumbled in the sheets with anyone before and nor did I want to…” the radio demon ran the back of his clawed finger against your cheek, feeling the heat that radiated from your body in waves. “...until I saw your pretty little face and experienced for myself just how much of a spitfire you are.”

And how fierce you were indeed, with power that easily dwarfed his own and much of hell’s every other notable powerhouse, but beyond the raw strength was a soft sort of kindness he hasn’t experienced in decades. It was the sort that would have anyone lowering their guards and baring their whole being to the small sliver of light you possessed despite living in a world as bleak as hell. 

“...didn’t you at least research about your body’s capabilities?”

“Of course I did, but it’s not as if I was testing out my body’s skills with a roll in the hay every now and then. AHAHAHA!”

“Hey! Be serious about this, Alastor…”

The red-haired demon chuckled, the constant static fuzz that accompanied his voice warping the sound as he wrapped his wiry arms around your soft waist to pull you even closer if that was still possible in this situation. Alastor made sure to not to jostle the hard cock plugged into your cunt, the fat knot at the base having slipped in earlier and preventing either of you from disentangling with one another. 

You shivered as each movement from either of you made you feel just how much cum he’d poured into you after each time he came until this final round made you both realize that he did in fact, have a knot.

Such a thing shouldn’t have come as too much of a surprise considering that he was rutting and you were in heat, but a pair of inexperienced virgins (one of choice and one of circumstance) could only think so far.

Your tummy looked a little bloated and even sported a little bulge because your mate was still piercing the thickness of his cock into your tight walls, unable to leave thanks to the combined efforts of both your bodies to ensure conception.

You knew you should be more worried, but your body was sending signals to your already tired brain that this is what you wanted, this is what you were made for. Having such a strong and capable mate such as Alastor also eased your worries, the man releasing low rumbles of happiness from his chest and receiving satisfied chirps from you.

“If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn’t want to share this experience with anyone other than the most charming belle in all of hell. (That’s you!)” He rubs the swell of your belly with deft and gentle fingers.

“Why don’t you close those pretty eyes for me? Get some rest in the meantime, dearest. We still have much to enjoy and continue later…”

While most beings found any face he made to be utterly terrifying, you simply thought that the rows of pointed teeth and thin lips set into a beaming smile looked stunningly handsome on the demon.

he knows this because he has been there long enough for the ice in his untouched glass upstairs to dissolve into something thin and flavorless. he prefers it that way because it tastes like nothing, like rubbing alcohol, clean, innocuous. a purging translucence that makes him feel hospital clean the next morning, prepped for a blood transfusion.

you are seated at the bar between angel dust who drapes himself across your shoulders like a feather boa and that unfortunate soul you dragged in on your arm. vaggi it's with charlie who seems simply delighted that everyone is in the same room without immediate bloodshed and husk is nursing on a bottle.

the wretched creature decides to lean in, hand sliding just a fraction too familiarly along your waist, mouth hovering near that delicate hinge of jaw. and alastor balks.

for some reason, he can stomach the thought of you doing what you're doing—finding a surrogate who fits the part, works like a band aid, fills the void—but the thought of another man touching you like he has touched you makes him sick.

( maybe because nothing has ever been so totally and completely his as your body. not even his own body, not since rosie's deal. but you— you give yourself to him. every fraction, every whole belongs to him. your mouth and all it's teeth, your flesh and all it's blood. )

that is when charlie's eyes flick over your shoulder and wave an overly enthusiastic hand to him.

"oh, alastor!" she chirps, bright as a flare. "i'm happy you accepted the invitation!"

of course she does. he had not planned to assist in the first place. he had been occupied— either with swallowing and torturing sinners to relieve stress or ripping his hair off and measuring amber liquid in a glass. not like it matters.

"why, of course," he says, stepping forward into the light, "it would be rather dull if i didn't."

your shoulders go rigid before you school them into something looser before you turn, expression morphing into a wince, like you've bitten your tongue and tasted something metallic.

"you didn't tell me you were coming." you all but hiss through clenched teeth.

"you never asked," he makes a non-commitment sound at the back of his throat.

"and i'm supposed to know these things?"

"no. hence why you are supposed to ask"

angel dust lets out a low whistle, gaze ping-ponging between you and alastor. "ohhh, this is new. is this sexual tension or am i just projecting again?"

"angel," charlie warns gently, even if you can hear her swallowing. "everything's fine. we are all friends, right?"

"perfectly fine," alastor's forces his smile wider.

it's weird, trying to find something salvageable amid the wreckage. trying to be his partner when he's still so in love with you, and when he's not your partner, you're still his ex-wife. alastor doesn't want to be your partner and certainly he doesn't want to be your fucking ex, but at least there are seconds to count.

your date clears his throat. the fellow has the audacity to look confused rather than afraid. "uh, hey. i'm—"

"irrelevant," alastor supplies, but he extends a hand anyway just so he can have an excuse to squeeze until he feels the tremor in the other man's bones. "a pleasure. any friend of our dear princess is a friend of mine."

crossing your arms, you lean against the bar. "we were in the middle of something, you know."

"i apologize" he says after he finishes cleaning his hand along the front of his suit. "i must have mistaken this for a public establishment."

husk coughs into his hand.

"it is," you reply, and your frown deepens. "but you're making everyone uncomfortable."

"am i?" alastor snaps his neck back unnaturally. "charlie, dear, does this feel uncomfortable to you?"

"w-what—?" vaggi pets her back when charlie chokes on her own drink, a painful smile stretching her lips. "um— i think maybe we're just all a little tense?"

"that's one word for it," you repeat. "some people have a habit of inserting themselves where they're not wanted."

a small flinch at the corner of his mouth, there and gone.

your fingers curl around your glass but you do not drink. he wonders if you let the burn do the talking for you. he hopes not. he hopes yes.

"we were just talking about—"

"i can imagine," alastor interrupts lightly. "you do seem the talking sort."

the man bristles, and you shoot alastor a vexed look. it only makes him want to bare his teeth wider, to see how much of your patience he can peel back before he hits bone.

"you don't have to stay if you're bored."

"on the contrary," alastor folds his hand behind his back, "i find myself invested in how your peculiar tastes has evolved. i'd think you might refine your selection process."

your jaw tightens. "that´s none of your bussiness."

the man shifts, uncomfortable. "if this is a bad time—"

"it is," alastor answers.

"it isn't," and you snap back, placing a hand on your date's chest, reassuring. alastor watches your fingers splay there and thinks about how easily he could fold that hand back, knuckle by knuckle, until you remember the proper shape of it.

out of the corner of his eyes, he can see angel dust gesturing "what the fuck is happening?" while vaggi murmurs something urgent to the princess. charlie, bless her saccharine heart, claps her hands once.

"okay! maybe we all just take a breath?" she jumps out of her sit. "alastor, do you want a drink? we have—"

"no," he says, too quickly, then softens it into a lilting chuckle. "i'm quite satisfied, thank you. wouldn't want to overindulge."

the glitter, the bar, angel's soft snickering, husk's bottle clinking against wood, sound dipping and warping. the gilded molding gleams like rows of polished teeth. he imagines biting down on the moment, cracking it open, tasting the marrow inside.

you slide off the stool before anyone can corral you, disentangling from your date with careful fingers.

"we're fine, charlie," you insist, and turn to alastor, furious, "stop it. you only show up when—"

"when you invite carrion to feed?" alastor leans in, enough that the din of the bar swallows the rest. "i thought the buffet was open."

the man beside makes a pitiful, scandalized sound "maybe we should—"

"maybe you should," alastor doesn't even look at the creature anymore, and the temperature drops a degree.

"and maybe you should stop being angry," you say softly. it´s a warning. a plea. he can taste both.

"oh, i would never" he places a hand to his chest in mock offense. "i simply wanted to make sure this gentleman was aware of how fortunate he was."

"he does."

"mm." his gaze drifts to the man beside you. "i imagine he appreciates many things he hasn't earned."

no sleep, his mouth everywhere, his stomach a cavernous pit of hunger eating him alive. you look at him with those exhausted, angry eyes like you're a benevolent god. like you don't also destroy the things you create.

"why the fuck do you care now?"

something fractures: an invisible glass barrier rendered to glittering dust around him. he feels wild—like a dog with it's leash unclipped at the park. he spins, he does donuts. he salivates, he bites. it all comes out as laughter—wheezing, hysterical, on the edge of tears.

"whyever would i ever do something like that?" he asks, smiling with every last one of his teeth. "i only keep things that make me laugh."

that makes you flinch, expression pinched and savage as it reduces him to cinders. he planned for the possibility of something coy, don't flatter yourself, sweetheart, maybe, but then your hand jerks, and the edge of your glass tips. amber arcs through the air in a brief, glittering parabola before cascading down the front of you.

there's a colective silence before angel moves first.

"shit— that's a look" he hops down from the stool, already snatching up a rag from behind the bar to press the cloth to your chest.

you stand there, looking down at yourself, at nothing at all. your date hovers uselessly at your side, half-reaching, half-withdrawing, as though you might bite. alastor knows you would.

"oh my gosh! are you okay?" charlie and vaggi are hovering as well, but you don't seem to notice.

alastor's fingers twitch behind him. for a moment, he has this impulse to press his mouth to the damp fabric, tasting the spill, proving a point no one else in this room would understand.

"i need a moment," you spin on your heel without sparing a glance, pushing past angel towards the stairs.

the silence you leave behind is thick enough to chew.

"what the fuck was all that?" vaggi is talking, probably, or so he thinks.

alastor is quiet for a moment and prays she won't bring it up again, won't push, because the truth is, he feels as he is made from wet tissue paper and he'll rip if someone pushes him. alastor resisted you once and it was the hardest fucking thing he has ever done and he is not sure he can do it again.

"if you'll excuse me," he says instead, already stepping toward the stairs, "i've just remembered something terribly important."

the wanting is what ruins him. the desire for something more makes him feel like his skin has been torn off and what lies underneath has been exposed for everyone to see. he feels like a disgusting mockery of a man. to feel is abhorrent. to want is repulsive. sometimes you look at him like he is absolutely transparent and he cannot handle the sensation of being scrutinized any longer. he wants to tell you the truth so whatever deluded idea you have about his nature can be shaken out of your thick skull.

"what is wrong with you?"

you turn left, another five steps. you pass the tall window at the end of the hall, red neon from the street below staining the carpet, and then your feet suddenly stop.

he does none of that.

"my dear," he drawls from the dark, because of course you know he is there, poured into the shadows like ink, "i haven't the faintest idea what you mean."

he can see your squared shoulders where he stands, smell the sweet, acrid booze that clings to your dress like a second skin. you don't have to turn around for him to know what kind of expression you must be wearing.

"so we're gonna act like you didn't make a fool out of me in front of everyone?"

"that wasn't necessary," he steps forward, cane tapping once against the carpet before he stills it. the red light from the window catches in his grin, paints it infernal. "you did a splendid job of that on your own."

"this isn't a joke."

"oh, but it is a joke." he spreads his hands. "an exceptionally funny one, i must say. you always liked to play make believe."

you whirl on him then, eyes wet as two open wounds, sulking and skinny. you are enacting some elaborate plan to punish him, but it doesn't work because he is so good at punishing himself.

"look around and tell me what part of this is make believe, alastor."

there are no longer delirious afternoons of seeing you in the kitchen and memorizing every freckle and mole and stroking your hair and seeing you wake up, drifting and hazy. he ruined that by trying to protect you, and now, when it happens it comes in short, pathological bursts of near-violence. a swinging pendulum on a broken clock.

sometimes he keeps his distance and you stop being regular in the hotel and he lies to himself it's over, he's cured, until he can't take it anymore and he erupts in a overflow of maddening, animal desire.

"you surely didn't expect me to applaud you." he says instead. there's a trapdoor beneath his feet.

you take a step toward him this time.

the hallway holds the echo of the party three floors below—distant laughter, the faint clink of glassware, someone shouting something that might be angel dust's voice carrying through the stairwell. it all feels very far away. the carpet here muffles everything, turns the world soft and padded like the inside of a mouth.

"you know that's not the point."

"then do enlighten me."

your jaw tightens. another step.

"whatever. not like it matters, now. you're going to decide for me one way or another."

"i decided nothing," he laughs. it sounds too big for the walls. "if your companion wilted under minimal scrutiny, that hardly speaks well of him."

you take a step. then another.

the corridor feels suddenly narrow. the neon glow from the window across your face, painting one eye red and leaving the other swallowed in shadow.

alastor wonders briefly if this is how prey animals see predators in tall grass—half revealed, half imagined. he should know this.

"you're jealous."

"of that?" alastor can feel his ears pinning, wrestles them back into place by sheer force of will while you close the distance in three quick strides before he can decide whether he intends to move and shove him in the chest.

it is not particularly hard. you have never been especially violent. it is, however, startling enough that his cane skids a fraction against the carpet. alastor also knows you are not trying to hurt him, but your palms hit solid muscle under tailored fabric and the contact sends a bright, stupid spark up his spine.

"jealous," you repeat, and shove him again. this time your hands don't retreat, fingers bunching the fabric of his coat for half a second before doing it again.

up close, the smell of alcohol blooming from your clothes becomes something warm and sweet and faintly medicinal. it reminds him of sterile rooms. antiseptic. the clean burn that scrubs rot from wounds.

"you—" you start, breath hitching with anger, "—you ruin everything i try to build and then you act like i'm crazy for being upset about it."

your fist lands against his sternum this time. it barely moves him. but it keeps happening—small angry pushes, the heel of your palm bumping his chest, your knuckles knocking against the bone beneath his ribs.

"you had no right," you say, breath sharp. "none."

alastor lets it continue longer than he probably should. it's almost comical. almost. and maybe there is some humor to be found there but humor is another one of these emotions that alastor doesn't feel too strongly these days, and even if he is maybe considering laughing, something deeply unpleasant sears into his stomach.

"is that enough small talk, or do we need to run a few more lines before you get to the point?" he asks instead.

"shut up," you hiss. tap, tap, tap. "stop acting like you are the victim here when you were the one who left. you said—"

alastor catches your wrists mid-swing. it happens quickly: one moment your hands are hammering uselessly against his chest, the next they're pinned between his palms. his grip it's firm, the bones shift slightly beneath his fingers.

"how curious." his head tilts, antlers casting crooked shadows along the wall. "i seem to recall the situation being a touch more mutual."

you stare up at him, burning vicious and bright.

"get your creepy hands off me."

your arms jerk to no effect.

"temper, temper," he sighs, leaning down just enough that his voice brushes your forehead, "we're far too old for tantrums."

you twist against his hold. he can feel the tendons flexing, the stubborn strength in the movement. you have always fought him like this—quietly at first, and then with your whole body.

"fuck off. all this drama because you can't—"

"can't what?" he snaps, something sharp finally slicing through the sugar. "can't what, darling?"

you yank again, and he tightens his grip just enough to stop you. your chests are nearly touching now, alastor can feel the damp chill of your dress through the fabric of his own.

"can't stand that i'm finally happy without you" you finish.

and that's the thing, isn't it: deep down, at the heart of all this, he wants you so bad because he loves you. he has loved you so hard his whole life that in this after life, he dugs straight through the crust and the mantle and the molten center of the earth to the other side, where everything is upside down and backwards. he has loved you through blood and rot and grief and mud and agony and one hundred nightmares, through normal and not-normal and whatever this is, here, now. he loves you, and he was alive, and it's over a hundred degrees outside every day, and a decade ago you died.

"if that is happiness," he replies quietly this time, "you have set a remarkably low bar."

you half growl, half laugh, before surging forward instead of back. for a split second, alastor genuinely thinks you've struck him across the face— his teeth knock together, jaw snapping shut on instinct.

you make a small sound against his mouth but you don't pull back. if anything, you press closer, fingers bunching in his suit while the other fist into his shirt as though you intend to drag him down with you. he can taste copper now— breath hot, liquor-sweet and blood-bright.

you are bleeding, and you are not stopping.

your hand slide from his lapels to his jaw, gripping, insisting. alastor it's not entirely sure if the strangled noise at the back of his throat it's meant to be a laugh or a growl because for a brief, terrifying second, alastor considers the possibility that this is a hallucination brought on by some delayed intoxication. it doesn't matter, you're furious and shaking and still choosing him in the most reckless way possible.

his hand slides up your back, fisting in your hair just enough to tilt your head. it's been so long since he kissed you alastor forgets how to kiss you. a broken dam, a sudden downpour—he just lick at your mouth like an animal, claw at his skull, try to eat you alive. everything is wet, like you're both bleeding. you bite back, just to show him you have teeth too. the neon from outside paints your skin like a fresh wound and he has the irrational thought that if he presses hard enough, he might crawl inside your ribcage and sit there where it will always be warm for him.

your mouths finally part with a wet, loud sound. a thin thread of saliva stretches and snaps between you like a severed wire. your lip is split where his teeth caught you earlier. a bead of red gathers there, bright as a dropped cherry. yours, mostly. perhaps a little his. he can't tell anymore.

alastor's gaze fixes on it, the way one might watch a drop of syrup sliding down the rim of a glass. it's just you and him—this messy, mutant, melted-together thing—you'll talk him out of it. you'll get in his head, you'll get him high, you'll poison his spit with your spit and he'll end up lost in the taste of you all over again.

he has to hurt you, he decides. he has to hurt you to make it stick. hurt you for real.

"well," he hums, a little breathless around the edges, "that was profoundly embarrassing for you."

your expression snaps from stunned to furious so quickly it almost makes him proud.

"excuse me?"

alastor releases your hair as he smooths a nonexistent wrinkle from his sleeve.

"you heard me," his thumb brush absently across the corner of his mouth where the blood has begun to bead. "if this is how you behave when denied, it's no wonder none of your companions could keep up."

( he feels like every night he's digging himself deeper into dysfunction, destroying his shot at living a normal life again. he has create a high that's unreachable without you. no one in the whole world has skin as soft as yours. lips that taste like this. no one will ever, ever look at him with more adoration or more hatred. other futures forevermore pale in comparison to the thrill of this.

every night he is condemning himself to a life of that is either empty, or on fire. eternally oscillating between dullness and danger. )

your grip loosens, the muscles in your hand suddenly remembering how to work.

"i—"

it's almost casual, the way his leg slips forward between yours. the polished edge of his shoe nudges past your ankle, then further, until your stance falters and instinctively widens to keep your balance. suddenly you are propped up on his thigh with his knee pressed into the wall behind you.

the movement presses you back a fraction into the wall, whatever hurtful thing you could have said died on your tongue, replaced instead with a shaky, quiet breath.

"you are doing wonderfully," he murmurs, voice smooth and venomous, tilting his head. "do try again."

your mouth open, then close it again. it's mostly a testament of your willingness to play this game, or else is his knee that keeps pushin up, up, up— until he feels the heat of his skin againts your clothed crotch, and you jolt.

"move," it's all you can spit out before it stumbles into nothing because alastor's hand is squeezing a side of your hip, fingers digging into your pelvis, close to your cunt.

"oh?" he lets his eyes widen in faux surprise, pausing his claw's slow, inevitable descent. "i thought touching you is exactly what you wanted from me,"

"i want you to get the fuck off my life."

you wince because it sounds so bad, like that, so clear, so indisputably fucked up. his stomach betrays him as it twists around the shape of you, the memory of your body against his, that terrible perfect fit.

"i can tell," he says immediately. the words drag against his ribs on the way out. "you've been doing a marvelous job demonstrating that, haven't you? cycling through replacements like a child with broken toys."

there's hurt seeping in your face through the anger before you can seal it over, and alastor relishes in the treacherous, sickening curl of satisfaction coil warm in his gut. he needs it to. he is the one who tears open his ribs for the sake of becoming less of him and more of you, and you are the one who cradles the heart inside

( tell him to close you up again, he will close you up from the inside )

"i've never done that," baring your teeth, alastor can feel the tremor in your legs now. the effort it takes for you to hold yourself rigid above his thigh rather than sink your weight into it. "but i guess i would be bitter too if i realized i've never needed yo—"

his legs shifts upwards at the same time he lifts your body up just a little, it's not enough to carry you, not enough to truly move you anywhere— but it's breaks your footing completely before his hand tighten on your hip and drags you down against his thigh.

the sound that leaves your mouth is mortifyingly soft as your head tips back against the wall with a small, helpless sound. your fingers tighten in the fabric of his suit like you might tear it off him.

"what was it you were saying?," he coos. his fingers drum lightly along your hip, the same idle rhythm he once used when hearing you talk—tap, tap, tap. "something about not needing me?"

"i´m—"

alastor is reaching down, shushing you, but even then, that grip of his on your hip, the one that keeps you right where he wants you, starts grinding you hip down and forcing you to surge and move as he shifts you. the angle has you moving up more against your cunt than your clit, another impossible-to-satisfy little trap of looping pleasure.

"see," he hums, almost gently, as if explaining something obvious to a particularly slow child, "this is precisely the problem, my dear." his thumb traces an absent, idle line against your side, mockingly soothing. "you insist on saying things you clearly don't mean."

it makes you melt all the same, forehead knocking lightly against his collarbone when you sag forward for a second before catching yourself. there's sheen gathering at your lash line. they cling stubbornly, making your eyes shine in the dim hallway light.

"i said i don't need you," you force out, quicker this time, like if you rush it you might outrun him.

it's okay. if he has to choke on this—on you, on everything you've ever been to him—then you will too.

"i'm beginning to suspect otherwise," his eyes flick briefly toward the direction of the stairs, where distant laughter still echoes faintly "then should i fetch your charming companion from downstairs?"

you make something akin a whine. your hands have landed on his shoulders at some point, whether you are trying to push him or just helping yourself to rut against him, the intent has clearly been lost somewhere along the way.

"what— no."

he leans in and down until he curves closely around your head. his hand grips your hips bruisingly now, guiding your back on his thigh as you whimper in relief at the long-desired friction to your cunt. alastor knows it's a bad angle, shallow and not quite firm the way you want it, but it's something.

"no? you don't think he'd enjoy it? you seemed so keen on his attention" he presses. alastor can feel the tremor run through you where your body rests against his leg. it travels up through bone and fabric and settles somewhere low in his stomach. "though i can't imagine he's ever seen you like this."

alastor hates thinking about it, his teeth itch and his guts tie into knots. he has mapped out every part of you with his lips. he has licked your shin bones, kissed the back of your knees, the crease of your thigh, the bones of your sternum until your little pink nipples pebbled up into hard points and then he licked those, too. nothing in the world is as his as your body, and that means all of it.

"don't— talk about him," you bite out, though it lacks its usual edge, probably because alastor decides that would be the perfect moment to shift slightly so the friction hits you just right, and you can feel him tensing under you to help you along. your mouth gap open as moans and whines push their way out of you at the abrupt change, hands digging into his shoulders. "alastor— "

the friction burns right through you, a lot but not enough- not enough for you, even if you are so fucking wet that you're sure he can feel it by now, the damp patch steadily ruining your flimsy lace, slick against where his fingertips are just shy of pressing against your cunt.

"what do you suppose he'd think?" he hums conversionally. "would he still look at you the same way, i wonder?" alastor's tone brightens, cruel amusement curling through it. "or would he finally understand what exactly he was borrowing?"

small whines and whimpers leaving you, despite the fact that you're biting your lower lip in an attempt to stop them, eyes are all bleary and unfocused.

but you shake your head once while a tear slips free this time, it gathers at the corner of your eye, then another. your lashes clump slightly as they spill over, sliding hot and silent down your temples.

alastor look absolutely livid about it.

"sweet girl, crying for little ol' me," he coos, acrid tone and all. "don't look so upset," he says, almost fondly, thumb brushing just beneath your eye. he doesn't wipe it away, just smears the evidence of it, like ink dragged across paper. "you're the one who wanted attention, aren't you?"

he pulls back to admire his work. you're debauched like this, erratic pants leaving your mouth, and then you finally meets his gaze, eyes a dark, sexed shade, pupils blown from the rush of the moment and your red of him.

"you don't need me," his smile tilts. "and yet you're still right where i left you."

in hindsight, alastor is surprised it didn't happen sooner. it was unspoken but he expected you to snap sooner than this. every thought is gone. your hands snap up, fingers closing tight around his throat, where you squeeze to feel his pulse, his swallows.

a sharp, jagged burst of sound cracks out of him, distorted at the edges. static crawls up his spine, spills from his mouth in a brief, violent flicker of radio feedback. you surge foward, and in an explosion of blood-red static sends both of you crashing down in a dull, carpeted thud. every denial and precaution and restraint wholly obliterated by the steady, unrelenting churn of your body.

his heel skids on the carpet; his staff clatters somewhere useless. alastor hits the floor first, back meeting the ground with a soft impact that knocks the air (not breath, exactly, but something adjacent) out of him. you follow immediately after, landing over him. teary-eyed, clothes a wreck, something like praying.

his antlers scrape faintly against the floor as his head tilts back, red eyes blinking up at you.

"well now—"

"you know what the worst part about you is?" you cut him off with a laugh, cracked down the middle, "is that you talk too much for someone who couldn't even stay."

you're considerated enough to remove your hands for a moment, fingers no longer at his throat but fisted tight in his lapels. a shame he can't say the same about your knee that keeps pressing uncomfortably against his crotch and the obvious hard-on.

another flicker of static threatens in his throat, instinctual, but he swallows it down this time. barely.

"what is it, then?" you drag him up slightly by the coat before letting him fall back again. it echoes in alastor's skull. "can't stand the idea of me choosing someone else? or is it that you can't stand not being the one i come back to?"

that gives you just enough time to rip apart the suit. you snatch the bow tie first, you're grabbing his red shirt next until the first buttons give up. alastor is acutely aware that you would be tearing him apart if he hadn't been wearing clothes.

your eyes are half lidded and it makes him throb and you're going to leave and he misses you even though you're right there, scalpel bared, and just like that, alastor lets you cut him open.

"or maybe—" your voice dips, quieter now, crueler for it, "—maybe it's simpler than that. maybe you just hate i'm the only thing you've ever wanted that you couldn't keep. embarrassing for you, huh."

well, you had your fun. at least you don't have to worry about him using his tentacles or his demonic form because alastor has the upper body strength to hook one arm around your waist while the other catches your shoulder, grip iron-tight as he uses your own forward lean against you.

he twists, shifts his weight, and suddenly the balance tips again.

you make a startled sound when the carpet rushes up to meet your back. alastor even catches your leg mid-flailing kick, jamming it into the floor before latching both of your wrists to the floor.

"i do admire the effort," he murmurs, watching a stray lock of hair trail down and brush against your temple "truly. it's not often you bare your teeth first."

you swallow, eyes flicking to the side. you have a look like you're about to say again something alastor suspects he will not like at all, but self-preservation clearly gets the best of you, so you stay quiet.

"pity you don't know when to stop biting." he can see the slight shiver of your starched collar as alastor's breath brushes against it. the closeness is that of a lovers' intimacy in all ways except that alastor's intentions are not so benevolent as any of that. "shall we correct that?"

"as if ever beg for you again," you spit, even as shadows writhe out from under the floor to hold your hands above your head, pinned like a butterfly. "i should have left when we were still alive."

alastor is too pleased with himself to fully feel the sharp sting of those words.

"now there's a thought," he muses instead, and slides down your legs until positions himself primly between your thighs. you don't try to kick him this time, which says a lot about your pants and cries.

alastor puts his hands above your knees and shoves your legs apart, wrenching your dress up in the process.

"fuck you."

"if you insist," alastor says, and finishes yanking your dress. you whine once.

you're wearing surprisingly regular panties. alastor isn't sure what he expected—something more deliberately sensual, perhaps. you did wear pretty lingerie when you were with him back then, at least in the few special occasions. alastor doesn't know how to feel with the fact that you didn't dress up for your date.

"good grief, what a mess you've made of yourself tonight." alastor hums, tracing a claw up the inside of one of your thighs. the muscles don't so much as twitch. "and you were so worried about making a scene."

and you really are such a mess: wet with arousal, the swell of your clit visible through the dampened fabric of your panties and moulding to your pussy lips, leaving nothing to the imagination. slick beading through the material of the underwear.

alastor pulls them aside, but clicks his tongue and just cuts them off entirely, dragging the sharp edge of his claw through the simple fabric until you are entirely naked below the waist.

then he snaps his fingers and peculiar toy manifest in his hand.

"what—" you choke out, scandalized, voice still ragged with tears. "why— how do you have that?"

alastor's grin is unfriendly but wide. he is holding a—sex toy. yours, he may add, and it sits awkwardly in his palm: a thick, textured, gaudily purple thing with a strange weight to it that he assumes you sometimes use and alastor just happens to know you keep it hidden in a drawer under your clothes.

"all those little outings and not a single one capable of satisfying you?" alastor sighs, shaking his head like he's genuinely disappointed. he bumps the head of the toy up against your cunt, watching idly as the head of it parts your labia and nudges teasingly at the underside of your clit.

"you don't know anything about that." your eyes flick up from where you're straining to stare at what alastor is doing, and your eyes meet for a split second before you avert your gaze.

"i know enough."

he takes his time positioning you just right. he'd shoved your legs apart haphazardly earlier—now he takes care to set them at the appropriate distance, bending them at the knees and propping them up. it's like posing a helpless little doll, if the doll was whimpering and dripping all over herself about the whole thing.

"i know you keep this tucked away like a shameful little secret," alastor says, dragging the tip of the dildo down to prod at your entrance—this earns you an anticipatory gasp, which he rewards by pressing in just slightly before dragging the dildo back up, reveling in the way your face drops and then twists in annoyance. "i know you only reach for it when whatever poor substitute you've dragged home fails to measure up—"

"that's not—"

"—and i know," he cuts cleanly over you and taps it lightly against your clit, watching the involuntary reactions of your body with fascination, "that you never needed such tools before."

alastor is too frustrated, with this, with you, to argue and instead he finally works the head of the toy inside your drooling cunt unceremoniously. you're shaking, trembling, as he pumps the cock into you slowly, feeling it fill you to the brim and beyond. you squeeze, shocked at the intrusion, and your back arches with a cry ripping from your lips.

it's a stretch, your mouth drops open in silent pleasure. you can't utter a single word, not with the silicon abusing your cunt at the pace he's set. he doesn't even provide you with enough time to adjust, so you just lie there and you take it, blinking back tears and your walls fluttering around the toy, sobbing and chewing your lip until you're choking on your own tears, and throws yourself into getting fucked with the same aplomb at the exact same time.

alastor imagined that this would bring him some sort of satisfaction, to see you undone like this. he's meant to be getting his revenge, in truth. making you feel as wretched as you made alastor feel. he doesn't know what this is. he doesn't want to know, but you are perfect and putty beneath his hands, with all the hard-won inches he finds inside of you and begs him to find your heartbeat up there, a precious nervy tremble.

he touches it and your head tilts back, your eyes roll. he touches it and wonder if this is what it felt like for god when he made you, then let you slip away all the same. something so striking, so beautiful, so fragile, he knew it couldn't last.

"wait, fuck," the toy it's pounding into you, alastor's steady hand pumping it into you at a speed that has you seeing stars, that has you on edge. "you're—such a bastard."

"that may be," alastor responds flatly. a moan is punched out of your lungs. satisfaction and pleasure makes a mess of your nerves— so worked up you have to make effort to breathe around the pleasure. "i assure you, i'm far more offended than you are."

you moan his name feeling especially helpless to it. your mind feels completely blank, you're barely able to respond to his taunting. all you can feel is white-hot pleasure, heart pounding as your fingers curl up. the euphoric drag of the head through silken walls.

( it makes him feel like he wants to touch you again. or let you touch him. he feels hot under the collar, watching you cry and writhe. the cold satisfaction of violence is gone—all that's left is the memory of your warmth.

and it's really fucking pissing him off. )

"don’t you think its unfair, acting so shameless when i’m meant to be taking it out on you?" alastor hums, and snaps the toy against you with such intensity, that it makes you feel like he hates you. it borders on painful. "that certainly explains how you seem to be incapable of doing anything except thinking with your littler brain, sometimes."

he can hear the slick sounds of the dildo driving in and out of your pussy, feel the arousal dripping from your hole down your thighs with every thrust and it makes you breathless how quick he's changed the pace.

"fuck, i can't—s-slow down—oh god—it feels so oh—" just as the words leave your mouth, his hand is re-angled to push up into your pussy, the right-bound hook he sports curving right up to a gummy cushion in your walls.

"but that's not what you are trying to say," alastor smirks down at you, shaking his head mockingly, like his heart isn't thumping a rabbit-quick pulse in his throat, "tell me what you want"

he's not wrong though. you can feel how wet you are, sticky on your skin as the thrusts make it hard to think. you can't even focus on how it makes you feel good, how he manages to push it deep enough inside against your sweet spot and paints dark spots in your vision. your eyes are going hazy, thr pleasure building and threatening to send you over the edge.

"i-i want—" the sheer weight of this impassioned thrusting has you jolting up the floor and thrashing around under him, looking to escape the white-hot harvest of pleasure pulsing in your pussy. "cum oh— i'm cumming—!"

"well, i don't want you to"

you come with a shriek of snapping electricity. sort of. alastor doesn't know what he's doing—all he knows is that he's angry, so he rips the dildo out off you in one, swift motion and tosses it away, vanishing it into the extradimensional space.

"what—what are you—" you make a small, wounded sound. the shadows tighten instantly when your hips trash senselessly against the floor while your thighs try to rub together, but with alastor between them there's so much you can do.

tears stream down your cheeks to mix with a layer of slobber splayed on your skin—a pitifully nasty mess, born out of the relentless palms of him. he has the liberty to see you at your most vulnerable: degeneracy painting itself all over your body. a beautifully disgusting mess, you are, and he only makes it worse.

"oh dear, that looks like it really hurt" alastor laughs, delighted.

your clit is so engorged with your arousal that it twitches with your frantic heartbeat, and your abused opening leak, almost incessantly. it spams and clenches over nothing even as alastor smooths a hand over the inside of your knee.

he doesn't try to touch you again, instead watching until the pitiful not-quite-orgasm fades.

"this isn't fair," you whine—and then wince, the breath leaving you all in one go, before alastor pulls his hands away. one of your heels kicks at the ground, somewhere to alastor's right.

then it ends, the shadows loosen first at a snap of fingers—reluctant at best, curling back like they were never there, and your wrists drop, your body following a second later while the sensation returns in uneven, trembling waves. you don't move immediately. you can't.

alastor has the half-mind to help you, or tries to, pulling your dress down over your thighs again as you gasp, abjectly appalled at the disgusting, wet sensation between your legs before you threaten to boot his side. your hands fumble with your clothes instead, smoothing, pulling, fixing what can be fixed. it's a losing battle, but you try anyway.

across from you, alastor is already standing.

he straightens to his full height, settles his suit back, tugs his cuffs into place shortly after and adjusts the bow tie at last—the torn fabric you left behind doesn't even last; it mends under his touch, threads slipping back together until there's no evidence left of your hands on him.

by the time you've managed to sit down, a tendril is already handling the microphone to him. alastor thinks you're about to ask him for help, see if he can carry you to your room and then clean you up.

you do none of that.

"why did you leave?"

ah.

that is the absolute last thing he wants to deal today, a figment from a far off daydream in which he finally got the chance to tell the you how he felt, not unlike a ragdoll being dragged around by its owner under the promise of eventual love and affection.

"now, now," he starts, and he can feel his smile straining at the corners, "i hardly think dredging up old domestic grievances is—"

"was it me?" you insist, looking dazedly around the walls until your eyes fell on him, an unrecognizable emotion blossoming behind them. "was there something i did that—"

"don't be ridiculous"

you push yourself to your feet, slower when your shaky legs threaten to betray you, one hand dragging along the wall for balance while the other fists at your side like you're bracing for impact.

"then why?" your voice rises just slightly, the remnants of breath mold into something ugly, something animalistic, something that makes you sound like you got blood in your mouth and you're trying to swallow around it. "because you never gave me a reason until—"

you swallow the words, and while it never bothered him before, this time he needs you to say it, need to hear you dismissing him from your own mouth. the desire is utterly masochistic, yet his reasoning behind it is one of the most selfish things he has ever felt, ironically coming from him. alastor wants more from you.

the silence is heavy, and he's wrecked.

"it wouldn't kill you being honest for once. you owe me that much."

"owe you?" he echoes, a soft, incredulous laugh slipping through. "i don't owe anyone anything."

"except maybe the person you married."

he stands there, despite he knows you want to go for his jugular. he's irritated for no real reason. alastor's fingers twitch againts his staff.

"i—"

"well!" he claps his hands together once, the sound makes you flinch all together. "that's quite enough of that. i appreciate the entertainment—"

you blink at him. "what?"

you're genuinely confused, and for a moment he feels bad for using you to quell his own rapidly growing hunger. there's no way he can be honest. he never learned how to chew through without choking.

"—but i do believe we've overstayed our welcome and frankly, it's becoming boring."

"alastor—"

"do try to compose yourself before returning downstairs. wouldn't want your date to get the wrong impression—"

"i don't care!" you shoot back. "i don't know what i did wrong! i don't know what to do, i don't know why you left!"

"it wasn't my fucking choice."

neither of you speak, and he's conscious of another line in the sand between the two of you. he's well acquainted with boundaries. he's the first one to cross it.

alastor can feel his ears flatten, an involuntary reaction to information that he was never meant to share. fuck. fuck, he hates this—you always do this, always makes him feel things and say things and do things that he doesn't want.

your breath catches, but he doesn't wait for you to finish. doesn't give you the chance.

"goodnight, my dear," alastor hisses, and turns to the shadows. a split second before he fades, he can see your mouth moving—but he's already gone, too far to hear what you're saying.

he returns to his room and wonders what in the hell could have possibly been worth all this loss.

he keeps forgetting why he did it, he lets himself just want, purely with his chest, his guts, it's okay because you're safe, and so is he. he is those holes that keeps getting bigger the more the storm erodes away its sides. mud in the pit of it, worms, sludge. he is bad at being good. even if he bit, he can't pierce your skin. he can't make new holes in you. it's better this way, he thinks.

he lies face down in bed, does nothing about the uneasy ache between his legs and pretends he is made of acid rain.

maybe you both deserve this. to fit against each other, one begging, one dying inside.

You whimper as he stops again. God, you just want him to fuck you dumb against the wall, have wanted it for so long–

“Did you know I’d never touched myself before?” he whispers. He leans forwards until his chest is pressed against your back, his hair tickling your cheek. “Not before I met you, that is…”

You writhe against him, trying desperately to fuck yourself against his cock, but you find yourself unable to move, pinned between Levi’s warm body and the cold wall in front of you.

“You,” he hisses, “strutting around, distracting me from planning our next heist because I was too busy fucking my fist every damn night, wishing it was you–“

And then, without warning, he thrusts forwards, bottoming out until his crotch is pressed against your ass. You feel yourself spasm around him, and Levi curses in your ear. 

“You don’t know teasing,” he repeats. “And then, tonight, watching you flirt with fucking Winther of all damn people.” He emphasises his words with another roll of his hips, still in that agonisingly slow rhythm. “Making me fucking lose it before I could take you to a proper bed.”

You moan as he moves again, and you feel his cock twitch inside you. “But maybe, you like it like this? Against a wall in a filthy alley where anyone could fucking see us– fuck–“

You clench around him and finally, finally, he increases his pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the narrow alleyway while your slick runs down your thighs, ruining both your pants.

You find that you don’t care – you don’t care that you’re heard or seen or that you’ll have to explain to Furlan why you and Levi had to change clothes on your way home – no, all you care about is Levi and the way his cock moves in and out of you, the way his breathing stutters and his grip on your hips becomes bruising, the way he groans into your ear and places searing hot kisses along your neck–

“I want to feel you come around my cock – think you can do that?” he breathes, and that’s all it takes before the heat coiling low in your stomach erupts into burning pleasure.

Levi’s hips stutters, and you feel him empty himself deep inside you, the warmth of his cum coating your walls and running down your thighs, mixing with your own.

You twist around in his arms to face him, but Levi presses a hand to the back of your neck, keeping your face to the wall.

He hasn’t pulled out yet, and to your surprise, you find that he’s still hard.

“Tch. We’re not done yet.” He caresses the side of your neck with calloused knuckles. “You think you can get away with only one round, after riling me up like that for months?”

You shake your head, wishing he’d start moving again – because despite your recent orgasm, his words make want and heat course through you again (he’s always had that effect on you, after all, and it pleases you to no end to discover that you have the same effect on him).

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

Then, he starts rolling his hips again.

sketch above is by me and part of my 100 day Levi art challenge

more of my Levi works