#sinbin

Alastor hadn't come down for dinner in three days. Charlie visibly fretted, wringing her hands as she cautiously brought up the topic at dinner. "He's just being moody," Vaggie scoffed, cutting into her meatloaf with no worry or care. "He sulks because your dad moved in and calls him out on all his bullshit." Husk just grunted a non-committal agreement into his glass, coughing as Lucifer next to him slaps his back, waving a fork with a bloody piece of steak on it with his other hand. "That's right - who needs a party-pooper like him anyway, he'd just be in the way, right Hugh?". "Husk, dad." Charlie corrected her father with a tired smile, shaking her head at him already babbling to the heaving cat demon about some improvements he wanted to add to the lobby, and with that, it seemed the discussion about Alastor's absence dropped completely. Your eyes caught the princesses, and with a half-hearted smile, she shrugged her shoulders and dug into her portion too. The others went back to their usual chatter, and nobody else seemed to notice the unnatural way the lights flickered when Alastor was mentioned, or the way the hotel's radios, which usually crackled with old-timey tunes, have fallen eerily silent.

But you did. You've always been attuned to those little details, the subtle shifts in atmosphere. The way the shadows in the corners of the dining room seemed to stretch just a little too long when the lights flickered, the way the air grew thick and heavy in his absence. It was unnerving, and a part of you, the part that still felt a twinge of the irrational fear he inspired in you, screamed to just leave it alone, to enjoy the temporary peace and let him rot in his solitude.

But another part, a more stubborn and perhaps foolish part, couldn't shake the image of him, the first time you'd really seen him without the presence of Charlie or the other residents just days ago.

You couldn't explain why you felt so scared and intimidated by him, and the feeling had been more than manageable with Angel safe at your side or Vaggie glaring at him across the room. It was a fortune that he mostly ignored you, and if he acknowledged you, it was with an unbothered disinterest. You weren't interesting, powerful or annoying enough, and there had always been one or another to keep the illusion of communal safety whenever he was near, but even the thought of being alone with him sent your heart in a panic and made you break out in cold sweat. Not that he had done anything to cause it - maybe it was just his nature, and you - being easily scared in general, as a sheep demon would be - were just a bit more sensitive to his terror radius.

But last week, thanks to a new 'Pitchfork Perfect' movie rolling out in the nearby theater, most of the gang had left to watch it (after Charlie enthusiastically invited everyone for free of course), and since you weren't too interested in a film about hellhound a-capella groups, you were part of the few that had stayed back, wandering the now empty hotel in search of something to pass the time instead of sleeping off the various hangovers like the others. He'd been standing by the window in the lobby, staring out at the perpetual light of Heaven in Hell's sky, a strange, almost lonely and bitter expression on his face. It was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual wide, predatory grin when you entered. You froze in the doorframe, your heart hammering against your ribs, a cold sweat breaking out on your brow.

"Well now, if it isn't a little lamb, left behind by its flock." he'd said, his voice a smooth, honeyed poison that dripped from the radio static that always accompanied him. It was obvious that he knew you had caught him in something inexplicably vulnerable, and that he didn't like it one bit. His smile stretched a little too wide for your liking, and you tried to stammer an excuse, but nothing came out of your tightened throat. "Don't look so frightened, my dear. I don't bite... unless you offer, of course." He had laughed then, but it felt humorless and threatening, and you had practically fled the room, your pulse thudding in your ears along his fake laughter. You hated to be this scared, and you felt pathetic that a simple sentence from him could send you running like a frightened deer. And yet...

Yet the fleeting shimmer of something other than deviousness in his eyes before the mask he loved to wear slid back into place had haunted you since. A flash of weariness, of a deep-seated exhaustion that went beyond mere moodiness or exasperation.

So, here you were, a tray in your hands, a simple meal of leftover stew and bread, carefully balanced in your trembling hands. A weird peace offering, or perhaps a stupid, reckless test of your own boundaries. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you stood before the door to his suite, the wood dark and imposing. You took a deep breath, the scent of dust and something else, something spicy and musky, seeping from beneath the door. You shift the tray to sit on one hand, and knock with the freed one, knuckles rapping against the wood before you can lose your nerve.

The sound echoed in the hallway, unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet. For a moment, there was only silence, and you consideredthe very rational option of just turning back, setting the tray in front of the door and pretend this never happened. But then you thought to hear a faint sound from within: A choked-off gasp, followed by a low, guttural moan that sounded more animal than man.

Your blood ran cold. Every instinct screamed at you to run, thoughts escalating: This was a mistake. He could be dangerous. You were not nearly confident or equipped for this - What the hell were you thinking? But your feet remained rooted to the spot. You raised your hand again, a little more insistent this time. "Alastor? Are you okay?" you forced yourself to call out as you knocked again, your voice barely audible over your raging thoughts. "It's... it's just me. I brought you some food."

The silence that followed was heavier, thicker than before. You could feel the air crackle with a strange energy, a low hum that vibrated through the floorboards. Then, a voice, strained and tight, filtered through the door. "I'm... quite alright, my dear. No need to... concern yourself." Even through the wood, you could hear the strain in his voice, the forced cheerfulness. "Just leave it there. I'll retrieve it... later."

You hesitated, your hand hovering over the doorknob. The logical part of your brain was urging you to listen to him, to take the opportunity and leave. But the memory of that lonely look on his face, the sound of his pained gasp, held you steady planted at his door. You took a grounding breath, and with a surge of what you could only describe as reckless bravery, you turned the knob and pushed the door open just a crack. "Are you sure? You don't sound..."

The door swung open under your hesitant push, revealing a scene that made the rest of your sentence catch in your throat. The room was a mess, a chaotic jumble of overturned furniture and scattered papers. But it wasn't the mess that captured your attention. It was him.

Alastor was on his knees in the center of the room, his back to you. His usually immaculate coat was discarded in a heap on the floor, his red dress shirt creased and sweat-soaked, clinging to his back. His arms were wrapped around his stomach, his body trembling with fine, violent shudders. He was bent over, his face hidden in the shadows of the few wall lights lit, and a low, guttural sound was ripped from his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony.

He must have heard you gasp, because he stiffened, his head snapping up, and he turned to face you, his eyes wide and wild. His face was pale and drenched in sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, and his trademark grin was contorted to a pained grimace. For a brief, terrifying moment, his eyes met yours, and you saw something you had never seen before in them. It wasn't the usual sadistic amusement or the calculated cunning you had observed from afar. It was a raw, unfiltered vulnerability, a desperate plea for help that he was too proud to voice. The static that usually crackled around him was gone, replaced by a strange, unsettling silence, a void where his power should have been.

"Shut the door." he snarled, his voice a rough, guttural rasp, a ghost of its usual smooth, radio-filtered charm. But there wasn't only heat in his words, but also a desperate, almost pleading edge. He tried to push himself up, but his arms gave way, and he collapsed back to the floor with a choked grunt.

You should have left. You should have run. But you didn't. You took a step into the room, setting the tray on the floor in a shaken hurry and closed the door, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. "Wh-What's wrong?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper, a stupid, obvious question in the face of such obvious distress.

"Nothing," he gritted out, pushing himself up onto his elbows, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Just a... minor inconvenience. It will pass." He waves you away with a jagged wave of his hand, the gesture looking more like a plea than a dismissal. "Now run along, little lamb, adn forget what you've seen. I'm... not fit for company at the moment."

But you didn't move. Your gaze drifted over his trembling form, the way his claws dug into the floorboards, leaving deep scratches in the wood, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed with the waves of pain that washed over him. This was more than a 'minor inconvenience.' You've seen this before, back in late July when you had a flat next to a shameless bison demon as a neighbor, not as intense but similar...

"You're in rut, aren't you?" The words left your mouth before you could stop them, a quiet, breathless statement rather than a question. It was a gamble, a wild guess based on half-remembered memories, vague knowledge of animal-based sinners like yourself and a gut feeling. But the way he flinched, the way his eyes widened in a mixture of fury and horror, told you that you were right. He didn't answer, but his furious silence was as good as a confession. He just stared at you, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with a primal anger that you had never seen in him before. It was the fear of being seen as weak, of being exposed as slave to animalistic urges, of being stripped of the control that was his entire being.

He let out a choked, humorless laugh, a sound that was more like a sob. "And here I thought you were just a dumb little ewe." He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall, his body swaying. "Turns out, you have a bit of a wolf in you, don't you?" His voice was low, dangerous, but it was weakened, lacking its usual booming resonance. He took a step towards you, his eyes narrowed, a flicker of his old self returning, a desperate attempt to reinstate the status quo. "And what are you going to do with this... information, my dear? Do you think I'd let you just run and tell?"

"I won't," you blurted, forcing your voice to be steady despite the tremor that ran through you. "I won't say anything."

"Oh?" he leaned forward, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. "And why should I believe you? What's to stop you from running to the others, from spreading this delicious little secret? I'm sure they'd love to hear all about it - Me, being reduced to a... to a..." He couldn't even finish the sentence, the words catching in his throat as a fresh wave of what looked like pain washed over him. He doubled over, a low groan escaping his lips, his claws digging into his own arms as if trying to anchor himself to reality.

You watched him, a strange sense of pity and terror warring within you. He was always so powerful, so terrifying, and yet here he was now, brought to his knees by something so primal, rendered helpless against this hellish nature. You saw the shame in his eyes, the fury at the humiliation of being seen in such a state, and despite the danger it posed for you being the one who knew about it it made your own fear seem petty and insignificant. You took a quick breath, the words tumbling out of you in a rush, a desperate attempt to fix this, to help him, to somehow regain some semblance of control in this chaotic situation. "I'll help you."

He stilled, his head snapping up to look at you, his eyes wide with mocking disbelief. "You... what?"

"I'll help you," you repeated, your voice a little stronger this time, more certain. "No one needs to know. I'll help you through it. No questions asked."

He stared at you, his expression unreadable, a mix of confusion, suspicion, and a flicker of something else, something you couldn't quite place. "And why, you foolish little thing," he said, his voice laced with his usual condescending tone, though it was strained, "should I take your word for it? The goodness of my heart?"

Here it was. The part you had been dreading ever since your offer of help fell out of your mouth unprevented, the part that required a whole different kind of courage, the kind that wasn't fueled by adrenaline and fear, but by a calculated logic bordering on megalomania. "A deal," you said, the word hanging in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. "We... make a deal."

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes narrowed, his mind clearly racing. "A deal," he repeated, the word tasting strange off his tongue. He seemed to find a sliver of his old self again, a condescending, twisted smile playing on his lips. "What, pray tell, would that deal entail that would be more beneficial than just getting rid of you right this instant and be done with it?" He stepped closer to you again, his eyes locked with yours, a flicker of the old, dangerous light returning to them. "I've been quite the fool for letting this drag on for so long." His shadow twisted on the floor behind him, rising up and taking on a threatening, vicious shape of his demonic form, its toothy maw bared as if to prove a point.

You flinched, knees weak and heart racing but you didn't move. You met his gaze, your own eyes as steady as you managed to get, clearing your fear-fogged mind. "I'll help you through your rut, and I won't tell a soul what I've seen or what we've done." you said, your voice low and steady. "And in exchange, I just want a promise. Your promise you won't harm me. Ever."

He let out a short, sharp laugh, the sound harsh and derisive. "My dear, you are a terrible bargainer. You stand here, offering yourself like a literal sacrificial lamb, and think I'd believe you'd settle for... my good behavior?"

"Not settling," you countered, your mind racing, pulling together the thin threads of logic that had held you in place. "I'm being... practical. Think about it. You aren't getting out of this room anytime soon on your own waiting out what could take weeks. Everyone else thinks you are just being a dramatic brood, sulking in your room. They aren't concerned, you know that. They won't come looking after you. In fact, Lucifer is probably overjoyed by your absence. He has free reign over the hotel now, doesn't he? He can walk around un-opposed, 'improving' things, all while you are stuck here. How long until Charlie won't need you at all, with her dad established as the new, helpful head of the hotel?"

The mention of Lucifer made him tense up, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he gritted his teeth. His shadow wavered, its form flickering for a moment before solidifying again. He knew every word was true and he didn't like that. He didn't like that one bit.

You pressed on, your voice gaining a little heap of confidence as you saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes. "The power is shifting in your absence. And I'm the only one who has noticed. I'm the only one who knows." You took a small, deliberate step forward, closing the gap between you just a fraction. "This deal gives it back to you. It gives you control. Deniability. We both get what we want. You get relief, a way through this without losing face or power, and I... I'll be able to live here without the constant dread I feel around you."

His head tilted, a slow, unnerving motion, his smile a thin, bemused line, though it was a taut, strained thing. "Dread?" he crooned, the sound raspy and weak, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, intrigued by your boldness. "My dear, you wound me. I thought we were on... mildly accepting terms."

"We are," you said, fidgeting with your hands to release some of the nervous pressure within. "When others are around. When I'm not alone with you. But when I see you alone? Right now? I'm terrified. It feels like my heart is about to beat out of my chest." The honesty was a weapon, a disarming tool. You weren't just a tool to him; you were a person with genuine fear, and that fear was a direct consequence of his power and reputation. "And yet, I'm still here. Isn't that proof enough that I'm serious about this?"

The silence stretched, thick with tension. He studied you, his red eyes scanning your face, searching for any sign of deception, any hint of a trick. All he found was a terrifyingly sincere, frightened determination.

"It's a good deal, Alastor," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "It's logical, beneficial even. It's transactional, just the way you like it." You held your breath, waiting for his verdict, your life, your future in the Hotel, hanging in the balance. It was a test of his pride against his desperation, of his carefully constructed facade against the raw, carnal need that was tearing him apart from the inside.

Finally, he let out a slow, shuddering breath, a sound of defeat, of surrender. He looked away, his gaze falling on the darkened window, his reflection a distorted, monstrous shape in the glass. "You're more cunning than I thought," he murmured, his voice a low, defeated whisper. "to use my own methods against me."

He turned back to you, a new fire in his eyes, a desperate, hungry gleam that sent a fresh wave of fear through you. "It's a deal then?" he said, his voice suddenly stronger, the radio filter returning, though it was still distorted, glitching with static as he stretched out his hand. The air crackled, green energy sparking around his fingertips, moving, vivid shadows filling the room. You swallowed the clump in your throat, reaching out your hand to meet his, and at contact, a faint, glowing chain materialized in the air between you, a shimmering green tether that pulsed with a low, rhythmic hum. One end wrapped around your wrist, the other around his, a metaphysical manifestation of the pact. It felt cold and heavy against your skin, contrary to your almost burning hot skin.

"A deal for relief, for secrecy, and for your... security," he said, his grin stretching back into its familiar, terrifying shape, though it was tinged with a new, raw desperation. "And you, my dear, are now as bound to it as I am. Speak of this to anyone, and the consequences will be... severe." The chain snapped tight for a moment, a silent, chilling reminder of his power, even in his weakened state. You just nodded, not daring to speak.

He let out a harsh, ragged breath, his body swaying with the effort of maintaining his composure. "Now then," he said, his voice a low, guttural growl, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your blood run cold. "Let's get this over with."

He was on you in an instant, his movements a blur of desperate energy. One hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him as he straddled you. He was burning up, his body radiating a feverish heat that seeped through the layers of his sweat-drenched clothes. The smell was instantly overwhelming, musk, sweat, and a metallic, spicy tang of his demonic energy. He was all hard lines and trembling muscles, his body a contradiction of strength and vulnerability.

He dragged his tongue and teeth over your chest to your jugular, tearing any obstruction in their way into shreds. It was brutal, hungry, and without finesse. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, drawing a small bead of blood, and he let out a low growl, his tongue lapping at the coppery taste. You whimpered against his mouth, pure instinct making your lips senselessly chase his.

"None of that." he snarled against you, his voice a ragged, breathless command as he pushed you away. You felt foolish to have expected kissing - that hadn't been part of the deal, and it must've been too much of an affectionate gesture... but even though the initial rejection, the rest of his body betrayed him. His hips ground against yours, a desperate, seeking friction that sent a jolt of unwanted heat pooling in your core while his tongue was roaming any skin he could find, as if to lick you raw. There was a strange kind of intimacy in every movement, a forced detachment that wavered in the waves of his urges.

With a sharp tug, he ripped open what was still left of your shirt, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the silent room. His mouth was on your breast, hot and demanding, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin, his tongue laving over the marks he left behind. It was possessive, a raw, stinging claim that left you trembling, followed by almost gentle soothing, a confusing mix of fear and strange, traitorous arousal. Inch by inch he got rid of bothersome fabric, stripping you down until you were completely bare. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to disconnect the body from the mind, to remind yourself that this was a transaction for him, a deal, not an act of passion. But your body responded on its own, just like his did, your back arching into his touches, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

"I... I have to." he growled, the words muffled against your skin. He sounded almost angry, frustrated with the way his body ached for yours. His hands roamed your body, mapping out every crease and every curve, his touch lingering on the most sensitive parts of you. His breath hitched when he felt you shiver under his ministrations, and he halted at your already dripping core, his fingers stroking probingly through your folds. The sharp tips were a looming threat, a constant reminder of the danger he still posed, but he was surprisingly careful, his movements almost reverent.

A particularly sharp gasp escaped you when his thumb found your clit, circling it with a pressure that made you see stars. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of that delectable friction, and you let out a low moan as a result, a high sound of pure, unadulterated need. "Don't flatter yourself, dear... This is just... a necessary step." he rasped, his voice strained as he pushed a single digit inside you. He was trying to fight it, to deny the instinct that demanded him to prepare you, to make you wet and wanting for him, but the stretch was a welcome intrusion, a relief from the empty ache that had been building within you that you didn't care anymore. There was little to no fear left in you, the voices that screamed at you to flee silenced now - maybe it was the pheromones of his potent rut, maybe the adrenaline that coursed through you at the mercy of his hands - whatever it was, it made you pliable to him, seeking his touch instead of begging you to flinch away.

He added a second finger, his movements becoming more confident, more deliberate, scissoring you open with a slow, torturous rhythm. His other hand held your wrists in place over your head, his clutch tight enough to bruise - a possessive grip that effectively caged you under him. His eyes were fixed on you, his gaze intense and unreadable, a mixture of frustration, hunger, and a strange, almost pained curiosity. He watched your every reaction, the way your body moved under his, the sounds you made, the expressions that crossed your face. It was as if he was studying you, trying to understand this new, unfamiliar need that was consuming him, this desperate urge to see you fall apart for him to make space for his own relief.

You were lost in a haze of sensation, your mind clouded with a desperate, all-consuming need. The room narrowed down to the feel of his fingers inside you, the rough pad of his thumb on your clit, the heat of his body pressing down on you, the view of his growing antlers sprouting out of his crimson hair. You could feel the tension tightening at your core, a hot knot of pleasure that threatened to snap at any moment. You wanted to beg, to plead with him for release, but the words were stuck in your throat, replaced by breathless moans and whimpers.

"Almost there..." he growled into your neck, his voice a low, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest and into yours. He curled his fingers, finding the soft spot inside you that made your vision white out, your back arching off the floor. A strangled cry tore from your lips as your orgasm crashed over you, your walls clenching around his fingers, body shaking uncontrollably with the sheer force of it. He didn't stop, his fingers continuing to work you through the almost painful waves of pleasure, drawing out your release until you were a trembling, boneless mess beneath him.

He finally pulled his fingers out of you, and you felt a strange sense of loss at the emptiness he left behind. He brought his hand to his mouth, his darkened eyes locked on yours as he licked his fingers clean, his tongue lapping off your arousal. The sight was absolutely obscene, bizarre in the face of how he had always presented himself, and it sent cold shivers through your already spent, overheated body.

He was panting, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, his control visibly fraying. Gone was the composed demon that strutted the halls with devious non-chalance. His antlers had grown into a twisted, black mess crowning above him, his limbs slightly elongated and spindly around you, his hooved feet scratching impatiently at the floorboards as he shifted his weight. "Turn over now." he commanded as he tugged open his shirt, revealing taupe, sweat-stained fur on a lean chest, the scar Adam struck still looking fresh and painful under its stitches. His coarse growl left no room for argument - you obeyed, still weak from your orgasm, pushing yourself to your knees and turning away from him. You felt him grab your hips and he positioned you on all fours, his hand pressing you down by the shoulders so your body was exposed to him in a way that made your cheeks burn with sudden shame. It felt embarrassing, with your ass in the air, listening to the hasty rustling of metal and fabric, and you didn't dare to look back to add visuals to the sounds of him undressing in a frantic hurry. He kicked your legs apart with a rough, impatient movement, his knees settling between them. He pulled you back against him, his erection pressing against your bare ass, hard, wet, and enormous in size.

"Oh god, you're... huge..." you whimpered, your head hanging down, your hair falling in a curtain around your face, hiding your expression. He answered by rubbing himself against your folds, coating himself in your slick. "It's.. not going to..."

"It'll fit." he rasped from behind you, his voice a harsh, guttural pant mixed with a fuzzy static. "You'll make it fit." Sharp nails dug into the flesh as he lined himself up, his fat tip prodding impatiently. He pressed forward, and you cried out as he began to push inside you, a burning, stretching sensation that was on the verge of pain. He was too big, too much, and your body resisted, clenching around him in a panicked attempt to keep him out. He snarled in frustration, his hips urging him forward but your body refusing to allow any movement.

"You... have to relax," he pressed, heavy with need, leaning his body over yours. You felt his hot, steamy breath fan over the back of your neck and shoulder. "I'm trying..." You whined as he tried to push again, the blunt head of his cock pressing relentlessly against your entrance. You could feel your muscles straining and felt like a failure, making you whimper in desperate frustration.

He stilled, his breathing ragged, his body twitching with the effort of holding back. You could feel the tension in him, the wild urge to just take what he wanted, to bury himself inside you and find his release. But he didn't. He waited, his body coiled like a spring, his twisted shadow overlapping with yours, melting together on the dark wooden floor.

You had offered this, and now you were unable to deliver, not because you were unwilling - oh no, definitely not because of that - but by sheer physiology. "Breathe, dear." Alastor's voice sighed into your ear, quiet now, hoarse but not as distorted as before. The sudden touch of his hand on your breast made you shudder, and his thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over your nipple, a tender, almost coaxing touch that was completely at odds with his still present desperation.

You let out a shaky breath, easing into his hand, and slowly, he began to slide into you. "That's it..." he hummed as he started to move again, all while his hand stayed busy, kneading and stroking and pinching while filling you slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The burning stretch gradually melted into a dull, pleasurable throb as your body adjusted to his size and responded to his attentive caress with renewed wetness. But you could still feel every ridge, every vein on him, the sheer size of him a heady, overwhelming sensation that made you feel impossibly full, stretched to your absolute limit.

When he was finally fully sheathed inside you, he paused, his body still, his chest heaving against your back. "See... I told you you'd make it fit." The words were so tight with restraint it felt like his voice would snap anytime soon. It was a weak attempt at his usual condescending tone, but the effect was ruined by the shudder that wracked his body and the desperate way his hips ground against your ass, as if he was trying to get even deeper. Still, he held himself back from moving, pressing you into him, his arm around you, hand still on your chest in a cramped grip.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, a question that held a surprising amount of deference despite the circumstances, as if he was actually asking for your renewed consent. As if he would stop if you said no, even if it meant breaking the deal, leaving him as desperate as before - if not worse. It was a small, almost insignificant gesture, but it was enough to break through the haze of fear and frustration that had clouded your mind. It was a reminder that this was still a choice, not just a violation.

"Yes," you breathed, the word a soft, whispered consent. "I'm ready."

With a guttural groan that was more animal than demon, he began to move. His thrusts were slow at first, a deep, powerful rhythm that pushed you forward with every stroke, your knees scraping against the floor. You braced yourself against the floorboards, your fingers digging into the wood as he set a punishing pace. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place, his claws digging into your skin, leaving angry red marks in their wake.

"Mine," he growled, the word a low, possessive rumble that vibrated through his chest and into yours, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more demanding. He was chasing his release, his movements growing more erratic by the second, leving you no room to really breathe, let alone talk. The room was filled with the noise which absence had so unsettled you - now it was everywhere, so loud through the chaos of feelings you worried the others might hear you cry and moan, hear his growling grunts, hear how his balls slapped against your clit with every push. But the thought was fleeting, lost in a storm of sensation, the stretch and burn of him inside you, the friction against your walls sending sparks of pleasure through your veins, the overwhelming scent of him filling your lungs like a cryptic aphrodisiac.

It seemed he was completely lost in it as you were now, his instincts taking over, his rational mind consumed by the primal need to claim, to dominate, to breed. "So good for me..." he snarled, his voice so distorted it was barely recognizable. He leaned over you, his chest flush against your back, both of his arms now wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He nipped at your shoulder, his teeth sinking into your flesh, hard enough to break the skin, to leave a vivid mark, a physical reminder to his claim. "Mine, MINE, Ȧ̷̘̎ͅĽ̴̔̎L̷̈ ̵̖̀́ M̵̟̥͖̿I̴N̸̊͐͝Ê̵̝̾͛..."

You cried out at the sharp sting, the sound swallowed by the static that crackled in the air. The pain was evanescent, quickly replaced by a surge of pleasure so intense it made your head spin. You were already teetering on the edge, your body a taut wire of need, and the feeling of him marking you, of him vocally claiming you as his own, was enough to push you over.

Your release came with a choked sob, your body convulsing around him, your walls clamping down on his thick length as waves of pleasure washed over you. You threatened to collapse onto the floor, your limbs giving out beneath you, but he didn't stop. He kept holding you up, his grip on your waist iron-clad as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. He could feel you cumming around him, your cunt gripping him like a vice, and this sensation was his undoing.

It was a feeling he'd never experienced before, a tight, wet, feverish heat that milked him for all he was worth. He'd always prided himself on his control, his ability to resist the more base, animalistic urges that plagued lesser demons. He'd never given in to a rut, preferring to lock himself away and wait it out, no matter how agonizing it might be. But now buried within your pliant body, he felt a strange sense of surrender, a willing abdication of the control he'd clung to for so long. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, a heady, confusing whirl of unknown emotions that he found himself unable to contain.

He slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, his body going rigid as he finally found his release. You felt the hot, sudden flood of his cum inside you, thick, potent waves of warmth that filled you to the brim. He let out a long, audible sigh, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm's aftershocks. It seemed endless, and you had the absurd thought that you would burst from the sheer volume.

Seconds turned into minutes, but he didn't even try to pull out of you, his forehead resting against your back, his arms refusing to let go, keeping you in place, pressed into him. The static had died down to a low, soft hum, a gentle crackle that was almost soothing. You could feel his heart hammering against your back, a frantic, unsteady rhythm that mirrored your own.

"Are... are you better now?" you dared to whisper into the quiet, your voice hoarse and raw from your own cries. He didn't answer immediately, instead, he licked the bite wound he caused on your neck, his nose tracing the line of your shoulder, the gesture so strangely gentle it sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold air on your bare skin. He finally shifted his hips, pulling out slowly, but keeping you pressed into him as he let hiself fall on his side.

"Not even close, my dear." he muttered, the words heavy with an underlying meaning that eluded you. He seemed deep in thought, yet curled around you, legs intertwining with yours. There was an odd sense of safety in being held by him like this, a strange comfort in his possessive grip that felt more protective than threatening now. The initial fear you had felt when you entered the room had evaporated, replaced by a weary, utterly bewildered contentment.

You closed your eyes, a strange warmth spreading through your chest like his seed that begun to leak out of you. Was this it? Was this all there was to it? A few moments of awkward fumbling and a brutal, almost painful coupling, followed by this strange, quiet intimacy? It felt... incomplete. The bargain had been for him to get through his rut, for you to provide the relief he so desperately needed. But somehow, this quiet moment after felt more significant, more real, than the frantic act that had preceded it.

"So..." you began, your voice small and hesitant. "How many times until you... are?"

He let out a soft, humorless chuckle, his arms tightening around you. "I wouldn't know, darling. I've never done this before." The admission was so quiet, so unexpected, that it took you a moment to process its meaning. He'd never been with someone during his rut. Never allowed himself to be so vulnerable, so out of control. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through you, a strange sense of pride and a dizzying, foolish feeling of being special.

"Then... what do we do now?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"We rest," he said, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "And then we do it again. And again. Until it's... over."

You shifted, turning in his arms to face him, your hand resting on his chest. His fur was still damp with sweat, his heart still beating a frantic, uneven rhythm beneath your palm. It oddly reminded you of the weird, eccentric jazz tunes he liked to play in the lobby when he wanted to annoy Husk - a thought that once might've made you uneasy while it now almost made you laugh. His eyes were half-lidded, his angled face softened in the dim light, his expression no longer pained but weary and spent. The predatory grin was gone, replaced by a small, almost sad smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"A deal's a deal." you forced the words out, more to remind yourself than anything else. It felt wrong to bring it up now, in the quiet intimacy of the aftermath, but you needed the anchor, the cold, hard logic that had brought you here in the first place. This... whatever this was... it was too tempting, to think of it more than what it was intended to be. And your heart, you realized, was way more ahead than it should be.

His smile widened slightly, a genuine, almost fond expression that made your breath catch. "Indeed it is." he said, his thumb tracing circles, over the small of your back up your spine. Then he paused, his gaze drifting to your neck, to the vivid wound he'd left on your skin. His touch lingered there, his fingers ghosting over the bruised flesh. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, then he looked back at you, his eyes filled with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher.

"And yet, it seems I didn't fully adhere to the terms," he murmured, tilting his head so that his face edged closer to you. "I believe I promised not to harm you." He gently traced the outlines of the bite mark. "Which would render the deal null and void."

A shiver ran through you, a jolt of cold fear of a whole different nature than the ones you had felt before. "A technicality," you quickly said, avoiding his eyes. "You were... out of your mind. A temporary loss of control, due to circumstances beyond your usual self."

He let out a soft, almost musical laugh, a sound that was devoid of its usual maniacal edge. "My dear," he said, his voice a low, husky rumble that made your toes curl. "You truly are a terrible at negotiations."

He closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a sudden kiss that was as surprising as it was gentle. It was a stark contrast to the brutal, animalistic fornication that had just occurred, where he had actively denied you this kind of show of a ffection. It was an exploring kiss of someone who lacked experience, a gentle press of his lips against yours that was curious in nature, asking for forgiveness in meaning and utterly terrifying in presence.

"Rest now, little lamb." he said as he broke away, burying his face in the crook of your neck, and you felt grateful for it as your cheeks burned with flushed heat. "I have a feeling we're going to be here for a while."