ʜᴇʟʟ's sᴡᴇᴇᴛʜᴇᴀʀᴛ.

if there’s one thing angel is not expecting when it comes to spending some time in the hotel’s communal areas, it’s this oversized moggie suddenly making himself at home in his personal space. such boldness was usually reserved for the spider’s own bombastic personality — and, of course, being the establishment’s bartender, had rendered husk himself victim to a cocktail of fluffy cleavage and slender thighs on more occasions than he’d probably care to admit. but, it seems, this time around, hell’s finest is getting a taste of his own medicine.

   Alastor allowed himself to be tugged forward. Generally it seemed he easily went along with a surprising amount of thing, keeping himself amused with what others were doing as though everything was a show for his entertainment. Until of course he’d had enough, and Alastor was very capable of putting an end to things when he grew tired of what was going on.         "I don’t think anyone who made the connection to yours truly would think it was 'cute' per say.“ He considered for a moment, there was potential benefits to be had here - depending on if he choose to pursue certain -interest- regarding Angel. Couples shared clothes, lovers even. If he used them as promotional images gossip would eventually turn to them as some sort relationship. Angel might look cute in his jacket, but no way anyone would think he let someone wear his clothes just because they asked nicely.     ” You see if you wear my clothes, and share that image around. Folks are far more likely to assume something much less innocent is going on in this hotel my dear.“ Of course, his words didn’t change the fact claws were ever so slightly tapping against Angels exposed leg.  

         — ♡ —

“ newsflash, bambi: if i’m involved, innocence is already high-tailin’ it down the street with its tail between its legs. what, you afraid the masses’re gonna think the lil spider tamed the big scary deer ‘n took his pelt as a trophy ? maybe that wouldn’t be so bad for my rep, i dunno ‘bout yours ... ”

mismatched eyes travel to the sudden sensation against his thigh, white betwixt crimson, prompting a raised eyebrow from the taller demon, along with a chitter of a laugh and silk-covered digits dropping atop the other male’s forearms. looks like rumors aren’t anything of concern to hell’s finest after so many years in the industry, but he sure does love to play with his food.

“ well hi there ! you’re sure gettin’ touchy for a guy with only two hands, ears. i usually charge for this level a’ contact, y’know. lucky for you, you got somethin’ i want. it’ll suffice as payment, between me ‘n you. ”

of course, meddling with a man bestowed with the kind of reputation alastor had meant parking himself right in his lap and erasing all concepts of personal space was a risk of great magnitude — but if anyone lived ‘life’ on the edge, it was angel dust. when you literally fucked with the worst of hell’s masses, metaphorically fucking with them didn’t seem like such an extreme.

“ whaaa ? s’my heartfelt gratitude not enough for ya ? come on now, i just want a lil picture or two ! for promo purposes ! it’d be cute ! ”

well, he hasn’t lost an arm yet. the spider adjusts himself in his newfound seat, a third set of arms taking hold of his poor victim’s lapels and drawing him in with a swift tug, smile still lingering.

time flies down in hell. years passed, people changed, yet that same smoulder persisted in the air, atmosphere still coated in the deepest scarlet, patent boots and sharp magenta eyeshadow remaining seared into the mind of every decrepit demon gracing the underworld’s confines. indeed, angel dust was still sitting pretty atop the ever-growing pile of socialites and potential somebodies that clambered to make something of themselves during their eternal stay down below, and that meant many things, but one thing in particular crossed the demon’s mind a little more often than he’d like — he wasn’t heavenbound yet. heels clack against pavement, and then onto steps, and then through the doorway of some bar or another. he doesn’t pay the name any mind, nor the glances and mumbles he’s greeted with by crowds of congregating patrons.      it didn’t matter that he wasn’t at god’s precious little golden gates after all this time.                                                                                                                                   it didn’t. who’d give up this life ? booze and stares. drug-fuelled fantasies. still under the guidance of a princess who probably felt so ready to be rid of him but couldn’t find the right words ... fuck. best hurry along whatever poison was destined to taint his bloodstream this time because lord are the bad thoughts rushing in aplenty. and what better way to be rid of them than the same shit that kept him here.

“ ahehehehehahahaaah ! a’ight, a’iiiight ! watch the hair, y’fuckin’ bimbo ! ”

despite his words, he’s quickly reciprocating the tangle of limbs, yanking the shorter demon into his side and attempting to free his poor bangs from the assault of her fist. it’d probably be more concerning if he wasn’t laughing through his speech like a madman. or, y’know, if it wasn’t her.

the pentagram was never kind. even to its own children of unbridled flame. it seemed every day was laced with some sort of punishment or another, probably something that was etched in fine print at the bottom of the soul contract of every befallen demon daring to grace the red-tinged realm. gotta repent for those sins somehow. today’s test of patience? vending machine’s busted. and surprisingly not from the incessant kicks a too-sober-for-his-liking spider is dishing out to the pink tin can keeping his namesake from his clutches.

“ for fuck’s SAKE, at LEAST give me back my fuckin’ paper y’no good piece a’ shit -- ”

skilled hands invade note slots, compartments, jab at buttons; a padded shoulder gifting the thieving machine another quick bump as if it would make any difference at all. sorry angel, doesn’t look like your vendor is looking to do business today. still muttering obscenities beneath his breath, the arachnid rights himself, two hands smoothing out the luxurious fabrics concealing his form and his neck twisting at an almost unnatural degree in the search of someone, anyone who could --