~For all things Alastor~

first vs final

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Ah, February the 14th, the day you’d come to dread the most since a friend of yours visited you at work to hit you with a gut-wrenching revelation — that she’d seen your boyfriend having dinner with a woman at a restaurant in the outskirts of town, when he was supposed to be miles away in Baton Rouge on a 5-day business trip.

You had thanked her for letting you know, even though you had been overcome with anger, grief, the timing being nothing short of unfortunate.

The bastard had cheated on you a week before Valentine’s Day. A damned week.

“I don’t get it. I gave him everything I had. I was… I was a good girlfriend,” You ranted, waving your hands around. “Unless there’s something wrong with me…? Maybe I’m… God, no. I can’t believe this. The asshole has me belittling myself!”

Luckily, your two best friends had swung by your apartment, spontaneous and unannounced.

They had linked their arms with yours and dragged you to their favorite bar to catch up over some drinks on the most romantic day of the year.

And though you were grateful to not spend Valentine’s Day alone, to not spend it with that cheating son-of-a-bitch, you still felt pretty awful. It didn’t help that your boyfriend had yet to return home from his business trip, exacerbating your anger, your grief. He was supposed to be gone for 5 days, not 7. Not an entire week.

“To make matters worse, he hasn’t come back home,” You continued, absentmindedly tracing the rim of your empty glass with a singular finger. “And I’ve been waiting for him like a goddamn dog —”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Vincent sputtered, confused. “Are you planning on hashing things out with him? Because you’d told us on the day of —”

You vigorously shook your head.

“Christ, no! In fact, I don’t want to see him and his stupid face again,” You told him. “I really don’t, but… the curiosity is gnawing at me, you know?”

A hum sounded from beside you.

“Well, get used to it, my dear,” Alastor chimed in. “I have a feeling he’s not coming back. Men like him typically do not, at least.”

“But he has to come back. His clothes, his belongings, he needs them. I mean, sure, he packed a bunch of his suits before he left… but that’s because he needs to change his…”

Your words trailed off to a whisper, realization settling in your gut, where your heart already sat. The business trip wasn’t real. It was a dirty lie, a pretense. Your boyfriend had packed a hefty suitcase of his best clothes to run off with this new gal to God-knows-where. They had probably just grabbed themselves a bite to eat on the way out.

“I need another drink.”

“Why, of course! I’ll head over to the bar and —”

“No, Al. I need a drink, like, now.”

You turned away from Alastor and plucked the glass of whiskey Vincent was nursing, plush lips latching onto the rim, mismatched eyes narrowing in displeasure. You didn’t care, though, not in the slightest. In fact, you locked eyes with him as you tipped your head back, the thick, amber liquid steadily trickling down your throat.

“Oh yeah, go ahead! Help yourself to my drink! It’s not like I was trying to finish it or whatever.”

It was hot and bitter on your tongue, the edges of your vision growing blurry with tears, but you forcefully swallowed each and every drop Vincent had left in his glass. The astringent burn felt infinitely better than the ache of being cheated on, of being abandoned by someone you had invested 3 years on by a long stretch.

“My, my! Look at you, pounding whisky like a sailor,” Alastor chuckled, downing whatever was left of his own drink. “And here I thought you were the one who had served in the Navy, Whittman.”

“Ha-Ha, very funny,” Vincent drawled, clearly unamused. “In fact, how about you go and enlist in the circus right now? I’m sure they’d love you!”

“Says the one who aspires to embarrass himself on some noisy picture box,” Alastor waved him off as he pushed his chair back. “Anywho, I’ll be back with another round of drinks for us, too-da-loo!”

You dropped your head and gently lowered the empty glass, placing it in front of you on the table, where only you and Vincent sat now. The table was situated in the furthest corner of the bar, right next to one of the exits, which nobody used because it led straight to a dark, inconspicuous alleyway instead of the brightly-lit main street.

“Asshole,” Vincent muttered under his breath.

“He’s getting us a round of drinks on his own dime,” You shrugged as you turned to look at him. “I don’t think that constitutes asshole behavior.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d know.”

You narrowed your eyes in a glare, liquid courage churning in your belly, making you bolder.

“Fuck you.”

He planted his elbows on the table, leaning in, voice lowering to something low and gravely.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

You slowly blinked, lips curling upwards in a smile that was a mix of amusement and mild disbelief.

The audacity he had to hit on you.

If the whiskey wasn’t so strong, you probably would have told him an unsavory thing or two.

“Neither. Keep dreaming, Whittman.”

He leaned in further, mismatched eyes fleetingly darting down to your lips.

“I don’t need to,” Vincent admitted under a sultry whisper, as if the bar wasn’t bustling with music and chatter. “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Ever since Alastor introduced you to Vincent, almost each and every exchange between you two had a suggestive undertone to it. At first, you thought it was a similarity he and Alastor held, that their unbridled charisma came off as flirtatious. But with time, you realized that Vincent’s words were purposefully insinuating, not accidentally flirty.

You always brushed off his not-so-subtle advances, and when your boyfriend came into the picture, you just ignored them altogether.

However, you couldn’t do that now.

The man had you all to his own, something that rarely transpired in your friend group. The three of you always hung out together, never one on one.

And, to make matters worse, Vincent was handsome. You would be as big of a liar as your boyfriend if you said that he wasn’t. He had streaks of silver in his hair, sharp brows, green-blue eyes, a roman nose, a cleft chin, a jaw that could cut into stone, and you were certain that the rest of him wouldn’t disappoint you. Still, he was your friend.

You’d known him and Alastor for years. You couldn’t risk ruining your friendship for a romp in the hay, even if it happened to be a one and done kind of thing. God knows what the repercussions of allowing Vincent to get in between your knees would be, especially on Alastor, who was particularly fond of your strange dynamic as a trio.

“Hey, one night wouldn’t hurt,” Vincent shrugged, moving back and relaxing in his seat. “I’d make it worth your while, doll.”

“You’re kidding me,” You shook your head. “It’s been one week. One. Fucking. Week. Why would you try to make a move on me now?”

“I’ve known you long enough to know that it takes you a while to get over things,” Vincent drawled. “Waiting would have hardly made a difference.”

“You’re… God, you’re such a dog… you have no shame,” You snorted in disbelief. “Seriously, you need to keep that ego in check, Whittman.”

“Look, I don’t hear you saying no. And besides, if that asshole does show up — which I doubt — I’m sure it’d feel great knowing you stuck it to him.”

You had every intention of breaking up with your boyfriend if he wound up returning to your shared apartment, of course. There’s nothing more you wanted to do than confront him, to find out why he’d decided to betray you after 3 years worth of what you once thought to be a happy relationship. Closure would help you heal much quicker.

Revenge sex with your best friend, on the other hand, would certainly not.

However, as Alastor announced himself with a whistle, you sat back and found yourself mulling his words over. Perhaps it was the whiskey thinking for you. Straight liquor always clouded your better judgement, and it didn’t help that you had another drink placed in front of you… that or you were simply searching to stave off the ache in your heart.

Whatever it was, Alastor noticed it.

Rich brown eyes carefully regarded you, taking notice of the contemplative creases etched into your features, the sad air around you all but gone.

Taking notice of the tension in your muscles, shoulders squared instead of slumped in grief, piquing his curiosity.

Vincent also wasn’t trying to be discreet.

He was already awful at concealing his true sentiments in the face of excitement. Last night was a testament of that. Alastor swore the corners of Vincent’s lips had touched his ears while he helped him hack your unfaithful lover into pieces, mirroring the same maniacal grin he’d greeted him with on the day he was hired at the new TV station.

Since his dismembered body and the evidence of his murder was properly disposed of, this was the first time you had been single in 3 years.

Like an impatient hawk, Vincent swooped in and asked you for a chance.

A chance at what? Alastor didn’t know.

He just knew that Vincent had always held a soft spot for you, he was no oblivious fool.

Tonight was the first time he’d seen you entertain him, and he was eager to find out why because, between you two, you mattered to him the most.

So, once you all had a fair share of liquor churning in your belly, and you decided you wanted to head back home, Alastor refused to let Vincent take you. Not alone. He saw how you immediately went to link your arm with his, skin flushed, pupils blown to giant saucers. It wasn’t just the dazed look of an alcohol-induced haze. It couldn’t be.

The two of you had clearly discussed something in the small time frame he’d left the table to grab another round of drinks, but what?

As the door that led to the alleyway shut behind him, he reached for your other arm.

“What are you doing?” Vincent whispered under his breath, brows furrowing and mismatched eyes narrowing, brimming with obvious displeasure.

“I could ask you the same thing, pal,” Alastor whispered back with a sarcastic bite.

They jostled you around as they spoke in hushed tones, your back meeting Alastor’s chest.

Even through his vest, even through your blouse, the warmth of his body penetrated your skin, a shiver wracking your spine.

Still, you craned your neck and looked up at them, tipsy, curious, and confused.

“I’m taking her home, that’s what I’m doing, pal,” Vincent told him. “So, why don’t you —”

“Oh, is that so?” Alastor interrupted him, leaning in, sharp nose grazing his hooked one, making him bristle. “Well, how about I accompany you two?”

You opened your mouth to say something, however, Vincent was faster than you.

“That won’t be necessary.”

He tried to pry you away from Alastor’s grip, but because he refused to let go, you wound up being caught between their bodies instead.

Your breath hitched, your chest pushing up against Vincent’s stomach.

The ache in your heart was suddenly replaced with something else, something debauched and forbidden but excitable all the same.

“Bâtard sordide, profiter d'elle.”

“You know I don’t understand a lick of French, you tacky piece of shit,” Vincent hissed, tone rising, pale skin flushing in frustration and annoyance.

“Sleazy bastard, taking advantage of her,” Alastor translated for him with a snarl. “You’ve no shame.”

They started to bicker with each other, both of them still holding onto one of your arms.

And yet, the only thing you could focus on was the hard press of their bodies against yours, arousal rippling through your skin.

The alcohol in your belly, the betrayal of your lover, it made everything infinitely worse.

“Let. Go,” Vincent demanded, placing his other hand on top of Alastor’s bicep, warning him.

“Ha! Over my dead body,” Alastor flashed him his canines in defiance, hardly flinching at the harsh grip the other man had on him.

Your best friends were the most insufferable people you knew, in their own respective ways, of course.

And though it was irritating, you didn’t put it to a halt because of their arguing. You put it to a halt because you decided to cast your friendship aside.

You didn’t want Vincent to take you, not alone. You wanted both Vincent and Alastor to take you, to unashamedly have their way with you, the arm in Alastor’s grip moving back to grasp at the top of his thigh. The one in Vincent's grip moved forward, the tips of your fingers grazing his crotch through his slacks, immediately catching their attention.

You felt their bodies stiffen against you.

The dark alleyway was ensnared by a deafening bout of silence. Alastor, from shock, and Vincent, from obvious gratification.

“Please,” You merely said, chest heaving, voice high-pitched and indisputably needy.

Mismatched eyes stared into rich brown ones with an ‘I told you so’ look.

“You heard that, Alastor?” Vincent grinned, dropping his hand from his bicep.“Still think I’m taking advantage of her?”

Despite your grip on his thigh, he steeled himself, nostrils flaring in irritation.

“She’s inebriated and heartbroken, what do you think, Vincent?” Alastor bit back.

A curse seeped past Vincent’s lips as you tossed your head back against Alastor’s shoulders to gaze up at him with a silent plea.

His eyes flitted down, heart lurching in his chest.

Blown pupils stared up at him through thick lashes, shooting him a look only his admirers who tuned into his radio broadcasts had ever expressed — desire. And though it slightly intimidated him, your friendship being something he held dearly to his cold, wicked heart, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone with Vincent.

The man was the epitome of what he constantly praised and admired, a predator. A shark.

Vincent wanted to have his fill of you, and you surprisingly became his willing prey.

He looked up to meet mismatched eyes, the corners of his lips twisting to form a scowl.

The bastard had the audacity to toss him a shit-eating grin, but the only reason why Alastor found himself nodding his head in determination in lieu of resignation was because he noticed traces of displeasure on Vincent’s features. He probably wasn’t overtly fond of the idea of sharing you. However, he had no say in the matter.

And he wasn’t idiotic enough to open his mouth and start protesting, not after years of pining.

“Very well, then,” Alastor hummed. “Let’s take her home, shall we, Vincent?”

He hissed a ‘Yes’ through gritted teeth, swallowing the urge to argue.

And Vincent continued to do so long after you had made it to your apartment, shooting occasional daggers at the other man as you writhed against them, bare skin highlighted by the moonlight filtering through the gap between your curtains, your labored breaths and bodies colliding together resonating throughout your bedroom.

“Fuck, Vinny, please! That feels so good.”

Two pairs of hands glided across your bare skin, feeling, squeezing everywhere they traversed, one more eager than the other.

“Yeah? You like that? You like when I do that?”

You found yourself on all fours on the bed, your eyes screwed shut and cheek plastered against Alastor’s slacks as Vincent plowed into you from behind, his cockhead relentlessly abusing that sweet spot nestled deep within your walls. He also had two fingers rubbing your clit in quick circles, a familiar pressure already coiling in your belly.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had been screwed this good, one of your hands scrambling to clutch at Alastor’s thigh as Vincent pushed into your cunt with a particularly harsh thrust, your nose squashing into a clothed erection.

Vincent had been plowing into you from behind for a few minutes already, yet Alastor patiently stood in front you, mostly clothed. He had his vest folded neatly on your dresser, his shirt completely unbuttoned, and his suspenders hung at his sides, his slacks still fully done. Even though this was your first time with him, you weren’t surprised.

Unlike Vincent, Alastor was patient, long, slender fingers threading into your hair to caress your scalp, gently coaxing you to the tent in his slacks.

Your eyes fluttered open, the hand on his thigh sliding up, fingers finding the button on his slacks.

It was hard, trying to pull his erection out with Vincent’s cock sliding in and out of your slick cunt, but you eventually managed to do it.

Your eyes flitted up, thin rings of rich brown staring down at you as you wrapped your fingers around the base of his length, thumb and middle finger barely meeting from how girthy he was. With your other hand, you reached out to steel yourself on his thigh, body lurching forward from how often Vincent’s hips rudely collided with your ass.

“Slow down, you damned animal,” Alastor hissed, skin flushed in a mixture of arousal and irritation.

As your tongue laved across the side of his length, tracing the vein leading to his cockhead, you felt Vincent’s pace slightly stutter.

“Fuck you, don’t you tell me what to do.”

The fingers scratching your scalp suddenly gripped your hair, tugging. It stung a bit, chest vibrating with a small mewl, but you didn’t stop.

“Why do you have to be so insufferable?”

Despite his words, Vincent slowed down, allowing you to move your head back and guide Alastor’s length to your mouth.

“Only because I’m getting close,” Vincent muttered, the fingers on your clit moving away.

As you wrapped your lips around Alastor’s cock, your hand slowly pumping the base in a corkscrew motion, you tried not to protest. The pressure in your belly slowly subsided, clit throbbing in longing, but upon hearing the man above you emit a shaky breath, you remembered that giving pleasure was just as delicious as receiving it.

Your eyes fell shut, cheeks hollowing, slick sounds filling the room as you reverently sucked what you could of his length.

“Merde,” Alastor huffed, the muscles in his abdomen flexing, the grip on your hair loosening.

You felt Vincent throb inside of you, and it made you wonder if he was watching. Your eyes fluttered open, Alastor’s cock falling out of your mouth, tongue trailing down his length as you stole a peek.

“Oh, fuck…” Vincent muttered under his breath, pale skin flushing red. “Why am I watching?”

How curious. That was something you also wanted to know the answer to, but he was just as clueless as you were, apparently.

Either way, you took Alastor’s cock back in your mouth, wiggling your hips before pushing them back, fucking yourself on Vincent’s length. Despite how riveting it was to pull grunts and groans from such a usually composed man with only your mouth, you still wanted to be screwed, and Vincent had promised to make it worth your while.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

Ultimately, it was Alastor who snapped him back to reality.

“Are you going to make yourself useful?”

A hiss sounded from behind you.

“Useful? Listen here, you tacky piece of shit. I’m always useful, remember last night? I did most —”

Alastor quickly interjected.

“Last night, what? Last night, nothing. Now, either you fuck her properly or I will.”

The bastard almost let it slip.

“Shit, sorry — I mean yeah, sure, whatever.”

He almost let the true fate of your unfaithful lover tumble from his lips in a petty fit.

“Christ, Vincent. Just do it.”

You tried to pick up your head to say something, to inquire about their exchange, especially because Vincent wasn’t one to apologize, even when he was clearly in the wrong. But they were both quick to dive back into your debauched affair, Alastor suddenly forcing his cock down your throat, Vincent’s hips colliding with your ass once more.

And soon, your bedroom resonated with the filthy sound of two men grunting and groaning in tandem, including your muffled cries and whines.

The pressure in your belly eventually returned, too, their exchange growing distant with each thrust that drove you closer and closer to tipping over the brink of ecstasy, your mouth slowing down.

Alastor noticed it. The muscles in your body had tensed up. So, he pulled his cock out of your mouth, replacing your hand with his own.

With his other hand, which was still buried in your hair, he pulled your head back and instructed you to open your mouth. Despite how harsh, how unforgiving Vincent was as he rammed his cock into that sweet spot in your walls, you complied, parting your lips to allow Alastor to pump himself to completion on your tongue.

“Atta girl,” Alastor praised you, his breath stuttering, length stiffening and cockhead pulsing.

Thick ropes of his spend painted your tongue, the inside of your mouth, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes at the bitter taste.

Still, you sealed your lips shut and swallowed, earning yourself another praise from Alastor, including an affectionate pat on the cheek.

“F-Fuck… that’s it,” Vincent huffed, following closely behind, his thrusts growing sloppy.

You were close, so, so close, but it seemed as if the man behind you was far closer than you to coming undone, yet another thing Alastor noticed. So, after he tucked himself away, he clambered onto the bed and promptly encouraged Vincent to take you on your back instead of all fours, leaving you both equal parts confused.

“Why do you want me to —”

“Jesus H. Christ, Whittman! Why is it such a challenge for you to do anything?”

“Fuck, I was so close, but fine!”

Vincent complied, cock sliding out of you and hands seizing your waist, a gasp tearing from your throat as you were flipped onto your back. Alastor wasted no time, not even a millisecond, leaning down and resting his cheek against your mound, hot breath ghosting over your clit. It was then that Vincent understood what his intentions were.

And so did you, your legs falling wide open, a hand flying down to pet at the mess of curls on top of Alastor’s head.

The tip of his tongue grazed your clit, the muscles in your belly flexing with a moan.

“Oh, okay, I’ll just try to pretend as if this isn’t weird,” Vincent shakily said, grabbing the base of his length and tentatively guiding himself to your entrance. “As if you’re not close to…”

As his cockhead parted your folds, sinking back into your walls, Alastor hissed at him to shut up.

And, for once in his life, Vincent kept his mouth sealed in a fine line, his hands closing around the back of your knees, casting his gaze to the ceiling.

He resumed his previous pace, but with each slick drag of his cock, he swore he felt Alastor’s tongue graze his flesh as he simultaneously lapped at your swollen clit. It felt… wrong, but Vincent couldn’t muster a single protest, driving his hips into yours and focusing on the delicious sound of your labored breaths instead of the warm muscle.

Thankfully, the coil in your belly quickly snapped with the combined efforts of Vincent’s cock and Alastor’s tongue, your head tipping back against the mattress with a long, obscene whine.

“Oh, oh my… fuckkk! Vinny, Al, please,” You chanted, your pleasured noises coaxing the man inside of you over the edge. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Alastor lifted his head from your pulsing clit at the same time Vincent pulled out of your fluttering walls, a strangled moan leaving his lips, thick, hot ropes of his spend coating the inside of your thighs.

The hands gripping the back of your knees let go, your legs falling limp with the rest of your body. You felt the mattress dip beside you. It was Alastor, splaying himself out, his chest heaving with a tired sigh. Vincent, on the other hand, stumbled back into the wall, muttering something about getting a towel for you in a second.

“Shit, I’m sorry, doll. I’ll clean that up in a bit, I promise, just let me… doll?”

However, you didn’t respond.

Apparently, you had knocked out, an amused hum seeping past Alastor’s lips.

Vincent blinked.

“I thought your performance was… subpar, but I guess she felt otherwise.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Take your own advice, Whittman. You were this close to slipping up. This. Close. And under no pressure, too. How pathetic.”

“It was the liquor, it loosened my tongue.”

“If she ever finds out what you did, what we did, this will never happen again.”

“Good. Fine! I don’t want to share her with you.”

“That’s not what I meant, you buffoon! The next time you slip up, rest assured, this will never happen again. I won’t have any liabilities.”

“Are you fucking threatening me?”

“Yes, so clean up the mess you made and show me that I can trust you to be alone with her.”

Why did he listen?

Why did he leave the room to get a towel from your bathroom to clean you up?

He scowled at Alastor.

“Why do I have to prove myself to you? I mean, what? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Whatever it was that Alastor was trying to do, Vincent loathed it. All three of you were friends, and though he recognized that his move had been poorly-timed and a tad bit sleazy, his intentions with you were pure. He wanted you. He had wanted you for the longest time, and now that your boyfriend was… gone, he needed you.

The way he had vigorously stabbed your unfaithful lover last night testified to his impatience.

And impatience made people sloppy.

Sloppiness would lead to them losing everything they had worked for, which Alastor dreaded.

“She cannot find out what we did,” Alastor reminded him later, but in a way that would not inspire offense. “You will lose her, and after all these years, well… I doubt that’s what you want.”

Your cheek rested against Vincent’s chest, arms wound around his waist, sleeping.

They had rummaged through your dresser for a fresh pair of clothes, making you decent enough for bed before tucking you in.

Alastor sat on the edge of the bed, arm behind him, fingers playing with the strands of your hair.

Alastor's cock fills you in such an incredible way and is a delicious torture at the same time...

You shift uncomfortably in his lap, frustrated by the fact that you can't move your hips any more than his grip allows, which, at this moment, is minimal. You feel his member rubbing against your inner walls as you search for a better position because your legs feel numb, and a small whimper escapes your lips as you grab his jacket tightly.

“What's wrong, my dear? Everything okay?” he says casually with a satisfied smile because he knows exactly what he's doing to you. And believe me, he's enjoying it to the fullest.

You can't deny that part of why you're going through this suffering is your own fault. Yes, your fault. Well, maybe Sinstagram is also to blame for showing you that post about cock warming that made you want to try it with Alastor. At first, it was just curiosity and excitement at the prospect of doing something you'd never heard of before. But let's be honest, after thinking about it carefully, the idea of having Alastor's cock buried in your pussy for hours had made you very horny.

You thought it wouldn't be difficult to convince him, at least because technically it wasn't having sex. However, it's true that the look of confusion and shock on his face when you mentioned it to him is worth framing. Too bad you didn't take a picture to tease him with later.

For the radio demon, this whole situation seemed highly entertaining. At first, when you came to propose it, he wasn't convinced at all. What was this strange idea of warming up his cock? Had you gone crazy? There was no way he was going to try that.

Your pouting and the word “please” repeated ad nauseam prompted him to agree, as long as you shut up and stopped bothering him. After all, he was just going to have his dick buried deep inside his favorite thing (which was you) for hours. It didn’t sound too bad.

It didn't sound too bad until it seemed like one of the best ideas you could have had in terms of sex. He was casually reading a book and taking notes for his next radio broadcast while you, his sweet little thing, with your soaking wet pussy wrapped around his sword, couldn't move. Your heavy breathing every time the slightest movement made you clench your fists and bite your lower lip to stifle a broken moan was music to his ears, and although he would never admit it, it turned him on.

He could tease you for hours, watching you break down and beg him.

Oh, beg him, plead with him to leave that fucking notebook alone and let your screams be the stars of the next broadcast he's pretending to plan while prolonging your suffering indefinitely, and I assure you he won't be able to control himself and will fuck you so hard that not only Hell will know you're his. Perhaps the psychopathic deer hides exhibitionist tendencies deep down when it comes to showing everyone who you belong to?

“Fuck you,” you whisper as you tighten your inner walls, squeezing his member, unable to make any other movement. “You're a bastard, Alastor.”

He growls and his writing stops momentarily. The last word he wrote is not finished when the pen draws a slow, sinuous line towards the bottom of the page.

“I wasn't the one who suggested this, my dear. It's your fault you're in this situation.”

“Look who's talking. Don't tell me you don't enjoy making me suffer,” you say as you watch Alastor throw his notes across the sofa with a mocking smile and grab your hips firmly to lift your body up and drop it forcefully onto his cock. The scream that escapes your throat is silenced by one of the tentacles inserted into your mouth, preventing the sound from echoing through the hotel lobby.

“Careful, beautiful. You don't want everyone to hear you and come down to see what you're doing down here. Who would have thought you had such perverted tendencies inside that little head of yours?” He admires the sight of your mouth being abused by his tentacle as drool begins to slide down your chin. You look so beautiful with your teary eyes and flushed cheeks...

Your arms wrap around his neck as he lifts you both up, still buried deep inside you. He begins to climb the stairs to his room calmly, a sinister smile adorning his face and a penetrating gaze that you don't dare identify as desire.

“Shut up and fuck me already,” you ask, to which he lets out a low chuckle that makes the hairs on your skin stand on end and gives you goosebumps.

“Don't worry, darling,” his claws grab the doorknob, turning it decisively before entering and locking the door from the inside. “That's what I plan to do all night long.”

His voice deepens as static fills the air to the point of unbearability, his red eyes fixated on you, and you can see the horns on his head growing and growing with no end.

“After all, you promised me you'd be the star of my next radio broadcast".

Your shirt is gone in less than five seconds with a simple swipe of his claws.

Vox: "Y'know... you're right Val..."

Vox: "I CAN FUCK ALASTOR AND TAKE HIS VIRGIN ASS! AND HE CAN'T DO SHIT ABOUT IT! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Alastor: "I'm not a virgin."

Vox: "B-but only with women, right?"

Alastor: "No."

Vox: "But you haven't bottomed, right?"

Alastor: "Mmm..."

Vox: "Oral? Doggy style? 69? YOU HAVEN'T 69ED, RIGHT?????"