Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It happened infrequently.

He knew that well enough at this point. It happened infrequently. Alastor had his moods and there was no telling when the fancy to fuck might strike the Radio Demon. Angel had learned, after a year of highs and lows, of intense rejection and flirtatious teasing, to let the hurtful comments roll off his back; to ignore the stinging insults and smiling mockery; to just wait patiently for when that mood struck him. Eventually, it always did, and when it happened Alastor would come to him, as always, with the same proposition and set of conditions.

Proposition: One night only for Alastor to use Angel’s hole as he saw fit. The Radio Demon simply needed to see to the irritating physical urges of his own irksome body, and there need be nothing more to it.

Conditions: Angel must lie on his stomach, posterior propped up and thighs open wide. He would keep his hands to himself, using the lower pair to spread his cheeks. No talking. No complaining. No telling anyone.

The first time it happened, he nearly “ruined” everything by trying to tease and flirt with Alastor during the lead up to the act. He quickly came to realize that if he spoke, Alastor would turn on his heel and leave the room. Silence was golden. Silence got him a fat dick plowing into his asshole. Silence got him claws digging into his hips. Silence even sometimes got him teeth sinking into his neck.

Nothing would ever get him kisses or caresses though, and with each passing tryst that fact became more and more unbearable. He felt as though he were losing part of himself during this whole process, bits of his heart shattering with each rough fuck; with each long, lonely silence that followed. But what could he say? He was a whore, after all, and Alastor paid him well enough for his discretion. Very well. Ridiculously well.

That proved to be the perfect way out of this heartbreaking cycle. Alastor paid him so well, in fact, that those funds, combined with Charlie’s salary, enabled him to pay back every cent he owed Valentino, and then some. He bought his freedom fair and fucking square; Tricked the bastard into naming a price and went over it. He… left the club with a few more bruises than he would like, but it was worth it. He didn’t need to slut, dance, or whore if he didn’t want to.

He had agency.

And that’s how he got to this point. Angel sat at the hotel bar, sipping a glass of champagne after toasting with Husk. He felt happy, truly happy, for the first time in a long time. He wore a slinky, thin dress of crimson that flattered his form and clung in all the right places. He did his hair and makeup just for the hell of it. He laughed loudly, flirted warmly, and smiled broadly.

A cheerful, pitchy voice cut through his laughter like a record scratching to a halt. “Angel, my effeminate fellow, I see you are in quite high spirits today!” That drawling transatlantic accent. He didn’t need to turn to recognize one of Alastor’s masterful appearances out of thin fucking air. He didn’t need to look at the Radio Demon to know he would be smiling that strange, broad smile; a smile that balanced on the fence between charming and insidious. He knew. He kept his eyes averted and tossed back the flute of champagne, letting the rest of the light golden liquid tingle its way down his throat. “Why I haven’t seen so much bubbly since my live wire days attending ritzy speakeasies during prohibition. Tell me, gentlemen, what’s the occasion?”

“Pretty boy here bought his freedom today,” Husk said in a raspy grumble, shrugging and taking a large swig from the bottle. “Any excuse to open a bottle for me.”

“Awe, Husky. Ya think I’m pretty?” Angel purred in his most silky, flirtatious voice, leaning over the bar to give the grumpy cat demon a peak down the front of his dress. He could feel Alastor’s blazing red gaze on him, could feel the other man moving closer as he magicked a bottle into being and refilled Angel’s glass. A clawed hand rested on his shoulder and firmly pushed him back down until his ass made contact with the bar stool. A tight squeeze. A subtle threat.

“Attaboy!” Alastor boomed, slapping Angel on the back for emphasis. Fucking ouch? His cheery, echoing voice paired with a round of applause from the mic head of his cane. “This certainly calls for a celebration of the highest order. Husker! I see you’re already half seas over on hooch, but do run along, won’t you? Find the ladies, if you can, and have them meet us down here in, say, an hour’s time? We shall turn this joint into a regular den of ossification. Hurry now! On the double!”

It wasn’t a request, and Husk didn’t bother to treat it like one, slinking out of the room and grumbling under his breath. Angel watched him go, heart hammering in his chest. He had been through this shit enough times to know what was coming, had every word prepared and rehearsed so he wouldn’t lose his nerve. He felt… stupid… for being so nervous. The Radio Demon, in all likelihood, would brush off the rejection without so much as a blink.

“Speaking of your deplorable set of skills, I would like to discuss the possibility of setting up a “session” tonight,” Alastor said, casually fixing the sleeve slipping off one of Angel’s shoulders. “The usual terms apply, but wear this.”

Angel shook his head. “Sorry, Daddy,” he said, sipping the fresh glass of champagne in front of him. “Bank’s closed, as they say.”

Silence.

“Pardon?” Alastor gripped and spun Angel’s stool so the two men were facing one other; nose to nose. His smile never wavered. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“No. Ya did,” Angel said, watching the Radio Demon fill up his glass once again. “As much as it pains me t’ say, ya gotta find a new hole t’ release all that pent up bullshit ya got goin’ on. I ain’t whorin anymore. Wanna find myself a fella. Somethin’ real. Maybe even take this whole redemption thing seriously.”

The laughter caught him off guard. Harsh, disdainful, and mocking laughter. He knew it shouldn’t cut him like a knife, but he had finally, FINALLY acquired some semblance of freedom, and he now hoped… there might be the chance he was worth something.

He sighed and looked away from the Radio Demon, sliding off the bar stool. “Goodnight, Smiles,” he said. Today he didn’t feel like arguing or screaming. He didn’t feel like getting into a bickering match or cursing out the arrogant prick.

“Oh, no no no, my dear fellow, we are not quite done speaking yet,” Alastor said. Claws sank into one of Angel’s lower sets of arms and he found himself stumbling along as the Radio Demon tugged him to the couch, shoving him onto one of the plush cushions unceremoniously. He could only gape at the man standing over him, all dapper and grinning with that ever-present bounce in his step. This cocky fucking asshole. “Now, explain to me what exactly it is you require in this imaginary future ‘fella’ of yours.”

“Kind. Affectionate. Gentle.” Angel said, breath hitching as Alastor reached down and moved the hem of the dress up his thighs with a deft gloved hand, humming to himself. The soft fabric sliding along his fur combined with those dangerous red eyes watching his every move had him trembling. He had to tell him to stop. He had to say something. Anything.

The words were stuck in his throat.

The Radio Demon’s smile somehow widened, the corners of his eyes pinching upwards as he flicked the fabric of the dress up over Angel’s hips, revealing a black thong housing the spider’s rapidly rising pink-and-white-striped rod. “Go on,” he said, casually removing his gloves. His claws glinted in the warm evening light.

“Someone… who wants me fa more… than my body,” Angel said, his voice coming out in a whisper now. His fluffy chest heaved with each panting breath, cheeks flushing. Hot. He felt hot. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting back a whimper as Alastor ripped off his thong using those sharp claws and chucked the flimsy piece of fabric aside. The Radio Demon had never… looked at him like this. Face down. Ass up. That was their whole deal. Rough anal. No touching. No kissing. No foreplay.

He jumped and opened his eyes wide when a hand wrapped around his dick and began stroking it. Base to tip. Base to tip. The man’s thumb teased the rounded head of Angel’s cock, swiping over the sensitive, weeping slit. His pressure varied, as did his speed, but there was always a rhythm. “Ahhh gnnn nnnn.” Angel covered his mouth with one of his hands, trying to stifle the little sounds that he usually muffled into a pillow. He noticed vaguely that Alastor had sheathed his claws. He hadn’t realized the man could extend and retract them. His hips thrusted pathetically into the waiting palm. “Someone who likes me…”

Tears stung the corners of his eyes. While one of the Radio demon’s hands had been stroking his cock, the other pressed the head of that damn cane against his tightened hole. No. No. He had to stop this now. He couldn’t just give Alastor what he wanted. He pressed his thighs together tight, but any resolve he’d been clinging to dissolved when the egg-shaped mic began vibrating. His back arched, his thighs fell open, and he moaned loudly. Unabashedly.

And then it was all gone as quickly as it appeared. The hand, the microphone cane, and every last ounce of Angel’s dignity.

He expected to find Alastor walking away, but the radio demon was still there, looming over him, leaning down and arching expectant brows. “Angel, if you please—?”

Assume the position.

“No.” Angel finally managed to get the word out, the one that had been evading him. Tears trailed down his cheeks, probably taking mascara with them. He tugged down his dress, clamped his thighs together. He would salvage some of his fucking dignity of it killed him. “Nah, Smiles. I think I’m gonna hold out fa someone better. Not some ugly fuckin prude mentally stuck in the last century. Ya wanna fuck somethin’, well, I can give ya the names of some gals in the biz who might show ya a good time. But my ass is strictly off fucking limits.”

Silence.

Angel saw the shift in the way Alastor cocked his head to the other side, the slightest downward curl to his smile that turned it almost into a snarl, and the static that hissed in the air. The Radio Demon was growing irritated. Angel wasn’t particularly surprised. He had become accustomed to certain facets of Alastor’s personality. He knew that he had, in some ways, become a ‘habit’ for the Radio Demon, and Alastor, for all his talk of boredom, fucking hated change. They had been sleeping together for a fucking year at this point, always on the Radio Demon’s terms. Of course he would be a bit irritated the convenient hole he used for dealing with his ‘unfortunate’ physical needs was being ripped from him.

Insulting the bristling Radio Demon would only lead to a brutal maiming, Angel realized, watching Alastor’s teeth grow longer and sharper. “Sorry. Sorry. Daddy, chill,” he said, reaching out to touch the other man but stopping himself when those red eyes shot him a murderous look. Don’t touch Alastor. Be touched by Alastor. Right. Alastor was stepping back, turning on his heel. Angel felt his heart fall in his stomach for some stupid fucking reason. He couldn’t stop himself from saying: “Ya know what? One last time. I didn’t give ya any notice. One last time, Smiles. Do ya want me now or later? Just know, afta’ this, yer on ya own, cause I ain’t fuckin a fella fa money from here on out. I want… ya know… a relationship.” But Alastor’s mood had passed. He could see it in the way the Radio Demon’s shoulders stiffened at the offer. Angel threw all four of his hands up. Well, there was no fucking winning with this bastard. He couldn’t help but laugh, “Or not. Whateva’.”

How did he always manage to end every interaction with the Radio Demon having lost the upper hand? He was tipsy on champagne, hard, and his asshole ached for the man’s cock. Wonderful. Just fucking swell.

Unfortunately the night wasn’t over yet.

Alastor had announced there would be a small celebration, and dammit if the Radio Demon didn’t clearly plan to deliver, even if the whole thing was dripping with 10 layers of irony and malice. As Angel stumbled to his room, his eyes widened in horror to see furniture moving of its own accord, to see shadows hanging decorations, and Nifty cleaning every surface. No no no.

He bolted into the bedroom, slammed the door shut, and groaned the second he saw himself in his bathroom mirror. From classy bitch to hot, slutty mess in ten minutes flat. Mascara running down his flushed cheeks, underwear just… missing (poor Nifty would find them), a wet patch of precum on his favorite dress. “God fucking dammit!” He shouted, ripping off the stupid soiled fabric and sinking into the tub after filling it with scalding water. You know what? He wasn’t gonna play. He just wasn’t.

He ignored the light knock an hour later. He sat in bed, dressed in shorts and an oversized shirt, flipping through a magazine. He had his hair wrapped in a towel. Nope. Not playing. Silence. A soft chatter of conversation. A booming familiar voice bouncing down the hall and shooing the others along, chattering loudly with playful words and assurances. A harder, firmer knock.

Silence.

The lock turned. The door flew open. Alastor sashayed into the room as if invading Angel’s personal space and privacy were the most natural thing in the world. The door, Angel noticed, shut behind the man.

He turned the page of his magazine.

“Angel, my effeminate fellow—“

“No,” Angel said simply. “Call it off. I don’t wanna play.”

“Why, whatever do you mean? The hotel residents are ecstatic to celebrate your latest victory. A year in and you’re finally ready to take ‘redemption’ seriously! Ha! Charlie could not be more thrilled!” Alastor said, trotting up beside Angel and plucking the magazine from his hands. “You are, after all, her longest and most difficult project. It would be a shame to disappoint her.”

Dont listen to him. Don’t let him bait you. Don’t let him get in your head.

“She’ll survive,” Angel said. “Alastor, it’s impolite t’ walk into anotha’ person’s bedroom uninvited, ain’t it?” He looked at the Radio Demon, smiling as sweet as he could manage. “Now I know fa certain yer mama taught ya t’ be a real gentleman, didn’t she?”

He knew he won when he saw the other man’s smile twitch. The courteous smiling apology that followed made him smirk, but Alastor was just as quick on his feet. “Why, of course! My most humble apologies, my friend. How very uncharacteristically rude of me! I simply assumed after our last conversation that your bedroom was still quite open to me for ‘one last time’ as you put it?”

Angel winced.

Fuck this.

“Why are ya bein’ such a bitch about this, Smiles?” Angel snapped, rolling his eyes and grabbing the Radio Demon by the bow tie. He jerked him forward and kissed him HARD, feeling that stiff, surprised body go rigid against his own. Then he let go and pushed him back. “See? Ya can’t even fuckin kiss me. What the fuck do I get outa this ‘arrangement’? It doesn’t even matter if I fuckin cu— mmmph.”

The kiss, desperate and passionate, caught Angel off guard. Deep, sloppy, and ravenous. Tongues dancing. A hand cupped one of his fluffy tits, burrowing into the white fur to find and pinch a hard nipple. He expected the kiss to stop, but Alastor was on top of him, kissing him more and deeper. He had to remind himself to breathe. Breathe.

He felt lightheaded. His fingers tangled in Alastor’s red hair. No static. Just kisses. That stupid cane began playing smooth jazz and he felt himself melt. Fuck. Panting. Trembling. Hot. So hot.

Alastor pulled back, eyes wild. Panicked. Alastor wasn’t in control, Angel realized. He wasn’t in control in the fucking slightest. He bit back a gleeful laugh. That raw, desperate look of bewilderment was just… priceless. “Alright, so ya like kissin me. We learned that t’day,” Angel teased, watching those strange red eyes narrow at his amusement. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Smiles.”

Alastor’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He seemed stressed, ears twitching, smile strained and close-lipped. They kissed again, longer this time, until Angel drew back. “Ya wanna fuck me? Well, I get t’ cum first. Got it? So either get t’ work or get lost.”

Those ears flattened. Angel sighed. He turned on his side, facing away from the Radio Demon. Alastor cleared his throat. “Angel,” he said. “I didn’t say no. Please just be… more specific?”

Angel blinked, sat up, and stared at him. Oh for fuck’s sake.

He pointed down at his own aching cock crammed in those soft flannel shorts. “Al, I’m askin ya t’ suck me off. Avoid usin’ yer teeth.” The Radio Demon considered this and hesitated. Angel could see his brain and his libido shutting down from a mile away. “Too much too soon, handsome? Well, ya ain’t gettin’ t’fuck me ‘till ya get me off, but we can end here fa t’day. No need t’ go any further.”

It happened so quickly Angel didn’t have time to react. One minute Al was giving him what he thought was a searing kiss goodbye and the next he was naked from the waist down with his thighs thrown over the Radio Demon’s shoulders as the other man sucked, licked, and deep throated his striped cock. Angel thrashed and trembled, bucking desperately into the waiting mouth. His eyes glazed, lips parting, as he tangled his fingers in that crimson hair. He felt Alastor’s hands pin his hips to the mattress, holding them steady in one place.

He couldn’t think straight. The pleasure kept building. That hot mouth, that dancing tongue, and the inherent danger of putting his dick in the Radio Demon’s smiling mouth were just too fucking much. And then one of the hands left his hip and he felt a long slender digit push into his tight puckered hole, breaching the entrance and massaging the part inside him that completely undid his already shattering control. “Smiles, I-I’m gonna—“ he started to say, but it was already too late. He came ribbons of hot seed right in the Radio Demon’s mouth.

Silence.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Angel panted, head spinning, and tried to peak shyly at the other man.

He never expected Alastor to swallow.

… or to add a second finger.

The Radio Demon sat up, looking down at him with heavily lidded eyes. Those two fingers fucked Angel’s hole rather roughly, scissoring inside him. Staring up at Alastor, feeling the man preparing him for his cock, all Angel could think about was just how much he wanted to prolong this moment. Al had never… well, he supposed the Radio Demon had his own selfish reasons for making exceptions tonight. The fingers eventually slid out of him.

An expectant arch of a brow. A malicious widening of that strange smile, all teeth once more. Angel could read the request loud and clear: Assume the position. The control, or perhaps the illusion of control, melted away and Angel could feel himself beginning to tremble with frustration and anticipation all at the same time.

Angel bit his lip and quietly rolled onto his stomach. He propped his ass up in the air, spreading his thighs and reaching back with his lower set of hands to pull apart his cheeks, exposing his hole and presenting himself obediently for the impatient Radio Demon.

It always hurt at first. Sure, Angel had taken his fair share of giant cocks as a porn star, and while Alastor’s meaty rod wasn’t the largest he had come across, it could still stretch asshole out to its limits and make him whimper each time. He’d grown accustomed to the way Alastor pressed the thick, bulbous head against his sphincter, the way slammed forward and filled him in one powerful thrust that always made Angel scream, and the way he moved so brutally hard and fast.

But regardless, even though he was accustomed to every move, every thrust, he still found himself biting and moaning into the pillow when the Radio Demon rammed into him. Angel felt like a bitch in heat, his own leaking cock left to rub itself between the sheets and his stomach uselessly. He reached down to touch it with some hesitation, thinking perhaps Alastor might allow him to touch himself this time, but a low guttural growl made him stop in his tracks. Okay. Business as usual then. Mr. Control Freak was back in charge.

Claws dug into his hips. The fat rod slid in and out of him like a hot piston, angled to ram deep inside his slutty hole. Did Alastor know he was hitting his prostate? Did he know Angel felt lightheaded every time they did this? That was the trouble with catching feelings: It heightened every pleasure and made every nerve in his body hypersensitive.

He didn’t expect Alastor’s hand to wrap around his cock and begin stroking him in time with the thrusts. That was a new kind of bliss; one that made him see stars as he came for the second time. The feeling of hot jizz shooting inside him and then overflowing from his hole as the rod slid from of him with a wet pop, also came as a familiarity. Alastor always fucked him raw and came inside him. Always.

And after… he felt empty, used, and sad.

He closed his eyes and sighed shakily, letting all four of his arms finally relax as he hid his face in the pillow, waiting for the Radio Demon to leave him alone to his own devices. He heard Alastor get up, heard the click-clack of his shoes moving around the room. He heard… water running?

He blinked and looked up. Alastor collected him, wordlessly, and carried him into the shower.

Naked in the shower.

They were naked…In the shower… Together.

Angel felt like he might be in a dream; his eyes wide as he lathered his body with suds while facing away from the Radio Demon. He glanced back at Alastor, who seemed altogether uninterested with him now that the necessary act had been completed and his irksome bodily lusts sated. “Smiles, ya don’t hafta—“ he flushed and searched for the words. “It’s fine, I mean. It was the last time anyway, so…”

“Not it’s not,” Alastor said simply, turning up the heat of the powerful spray raining down on them.

Angel blinked. “What? I mean, come on, Al. I know ya don’t like change, but seriously it ain’t like ya particularly like me or anythin’. Yer convenience ain’t gonna outweigh my future happiness.”

“Angel, my understanding is you want a beau. Am I correct?” Alastor said.

“It ain’t that simple, but yeah,” Angel said, rolling his eyes and letting the hot spray rinse away his coiled up stress. “I want a fella. A real relationship.”

“And what does that entail?” Alastor said, shooting him a sidelong glance.

“I don’t fuckin know. Dates? Affection? Love?” Angel bit his lower lip. “Never had one before, so I’m just basin’ what I know off movies and Charlie and Vaggie.” He couldn’t help but laugh a little bitterly. “The only stable couple I know.”

Alastor’s ears twitched. “Outings would be manageable,” he mused. “I am frequently in want of a companion and we have similar tastes in food and certain forms of music. I have seen you dance in the old way, so that is something. Oh! And you are very appealing when you have a gun in your hands. As far as affection goes, I enjoyed all that we did today, though it was out of my comfort zone. Kissing, especially. I liked the kissing. Love… on the other hand… well, lust and companionship combined should suffice.”

“Al, what the fuck are ya on about?” Angel smiled and shook his head. “I just got outta a contract with one overlord. I ain’t getting’ involved—“

Angel’s back hit the shower wall. The kiss swallowed his words as Alastor lifted him by the hips, wrapping Angel’s legs around his waist. Angel yelped as the thick and ready rod plunged back inside him. Twice?! Twice in one day?! The fact that he could see Alastor while the other man fucked him, could kiss and cling to him, had Angel in pieces. If Alastor disliked all his moaning and panting, he showed no indication of it. He knew the Radio Demon wasn’t particularly revved up at the moment, so why was he pushing himself? Why was he so fixed on keeping this thing they had going?

The dick ramming into him quieted his racing mind.

Okay, so Alastor made some very convincing points, he would give him that. Very convincing points. Sure, the Radio Demon was basically just using his dick to puppet Angel, but the Spider couldn’t say he minded all that much.

Still…

“Sometimes ya go weeks without wantin’ t’ fuck,” Angel said, panting. “O-our libidos don’t exactly m-match up.” Probably not the most sound argument to make while being railed in the shower, but he knew it had to be said.

“I have ideas for when such situations occur,” Alastor said simply. “Never you fear.”

Another kiss. He heard someone knock on his bedroom door, saw the malicious smile spread on Alastor’s lips, and felt his stomach drop. The bastard rammed into him harder and faster, pinching and twisting one of his nipples. “Ahhhhh ahhhhnnnn nnnnn!”

Wonderful. Fucking wonderful.

“I’m not goin out there after this,” he hissed, eyes darting to the bedroom door.

“Why ever not?” Alastor asked with mock confusion, feigning a gasp. “There will be more champagne. Perhaps a song or two.”

“I’m not playin’ this game of yours…” he started to say, but lips tickled along his throat and his cheeks blazed. “Alright, one hour. I’ll go down and make nice fa one hour.”

He had the feeling Alastor would be convincing him to do a lot of stupid fucking shit in the future. Ah well, maybe it would be interesting. Alastor might be playing the puppeteer, but Angel had seen that look in his eyes after they first kissed; that raw desperate expression. And Alastor was here, after all, in his room, making compromises for HIS tight ass.

Maybe he could test this little shadow of control he had over the Radio Demon. He raked his claws down Alastor’s back, heard the man hiss and groan. He saw those eyes glaze as he kissed the Radio Demon and clamped his ass around his cock. “But if I’m gonna go down there, ya gotta wait on me hand and foot, don’t ya?”

“Yes yes.” Alastor groaned, pressing his forehead against Angel’s shoulder. “Of course, my dear.. Of course.”

Oh, this was going to be so much fucking fun.

So. Much. Fucking. Fun.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

One hour. He only needed to make nice with the rest of the hotel guests for one fucking hour. Sure, Alastor had agreed to wait on him hand and foot during the course of this short, impromptu celebration, but he knew the other man never put on a performance that wasn’t at least in part a malicious and deplorable trick.

Angel planned on humoring whatever little game the Radio Demon was playing, but he wouldn’t walk into a trap unprepared. He had watched the man bend and now he wanted to test how much he could… well, for lack of a better word he would use the phrase “get away with”… before Alastor snapped.

The problem was, Alastor’s hyper-specific ticks and quirks still remained mostly a mystery to Angel. He didn’t fully understand the other man, and this put him at a steep disadvantage.

At first he considered donning his mafia digs to be safe from any wardrobe-malfunction related embarrassments, but then he veered in the complete opposite direction. No, he would be in control of what he chose to show off, and he would let Alastor stew in discomfort if that happened to be the thing that annoyed the Radio Demon tonight. Dressed in a robe as he dried his hair with a towel, he grabbed a little black dress that seemed fairly innocuous at first glance, hanging it on his closet door to wear after he finished with his hair and makeup.

The Radio Demon, standing in the center of Angel’s bedroom and tugging on a new pair of gloves, barely glanced at the dress. Good. Let it be a surprise. Angel scanned the room, eyes darting in a quick survey, calculating the damage to his sheets. It seemed Alastor had taken care of any mess, at least, though he would never quite trust the other man’s magic touch.

“Ya gonna keep yer word, got it Smiles?” Angel said, taking a seat and making speedy work of his hair and makeup. He had more than a few tricks for throwing together a quick, but appealing, look. You had to get creative between dance sessions, video shoots, and johns; and he had perfected his technique down to each concurrent flick of his four wrists.

“Ab-so-lute-ly!” Alastor boomed, bouncing up behind him with that disarming, too-wide smile pinned firmly on his face. Angel wondered if he was irritated with himself for agreeing to Angel’s request. Most likely, but the bastard would find a way to twist it to his advantage, no doubt. Angel was, at least, mentally prepared for that. Alastor continued, reflection watching Angel through the vanity mirror. “I am, after all, a man of my word; and what a fascinating spectacle this is! What a sight to behold! Why, I have never observed you getting yourself dolled up before, Angel. You certainly hit on all sixes, my dear fellow. A fantastic synchronic performance.”

“Yeah, well, plenty-a arms plus practice makes perfect,” Angel said with a laugh, smile sticking when he saw Alastor’s ears perk up at his use of playful alliteration.

“Positively pleasingly put!” Alastor purred, leaning down so their reflections were side by side in the glass mirror. He could feel the heat of the other man’s face so close to his own, their cheeks nearly touching. Two gloved hands rested on his shoulders, pinching ever so slightly; nails almost cutting into the skin. “You will have my full, undivided attention tonight. I promise.”

Well, that sounded like a fuckin threat if he ever heard one. He finished applying his lipstick and, on some likely-stupid, utterly mischievous impulse, planted his lips in a wet smacking kiss against the Radio Demon’s cheek, using it like a blotting tissue. “Thanks, handsome.”

Alastor immediately straightened upright; his gloved hands tucked behind his rigid back. Angel could swear he heard the faintest buzz of radio static, saw the faintest flush on those gray-tinted cheeks. Oh, someone was fucking flustered! He resisted the urge to smirk. The feeling of superiority was short lived, however. As soon as his eyes strayed back to the vanity mirror, he became privy to a tendril of black shadow encircling his throat. It squeezed, cutting off his air supply with a grip that felt like a hand choking him. For the briefest of moments, he felt a spike of panic. He couldn’t breath. The pleasure of that burning, helpless feeling made him dizzy, but the shadow was gone almost as soon as it appeared, and he found himself left only with the faintest flush of color around his neck to suggest anything had ever been amiss. That, and an all-too-familiar heat pooling in his crotch.

Why were his survival instincts so twisted? So ass-backwards? While normal people had instincts that compelled them to ‘fight’ or ‘flight’ in the face of danger; his, apparently, told him to ‘fuck’. Alastor’s reflection, standing almost innocently behind him with that twisted grin, made prolonged eye contact. His gaze seemed to say ‘I am in control,’ and Angel felt the stirrings of something competitive and hungry brewing inside him.

Well, they would see how long THAT lasted.

“Hands and lips to yourself, my dear fellow. Do respect the five foot rule,” Alastor purred in a chastising, sing-song voice, but then those sharp eyes considered their reflections in the mirror, the brilliant red imprint of a kiss stamped on his cheek, before adding: “Your color choice, I must say, is impeccable!”

Angel let out a shaky breath. “Ha! O-of course,” he said, putting the finishing touches on his face with hands that were, to his dismay, not quite as steady as they had been just moments before. “Ova’ 70 years in this shithole and I’ve got myself a few talents outside just fuckin’ and suckin’. That’s yer shade, Smiles.”

“Hooey! What modesty! Certainly you’ve acquired more than just ‘a few’ talents. Why, you have talent in spades!” Alastor laughed as he spoke, spinning in his heel and bending to pat the head of a nervous Fat Nuggets. The little pig had, at some point, wandered out of the walk-in closet to sniff cautiously at this invasive newcomer. Apparently, the sudden movement and Alastor’s feral smile were more than enough to make him regret his decision. Bravery depleted, Fat Nuggets squealed, swiveled, and bolted back into the closet.

“Oh, baby. It’s alright!” Angel stood and hurried after the small animal, scooping up the quivering bundle and shushing him. “Shhh shh. He won’t hurt ya, Nuggs. Papa’s got ya.” He tossed an awkward smile back at Alastor who watched him with thinly veiled amusement. “Sorry, Smiles. He’s a bit nervous around, well, anyone but me and Cherri. I guess ya can add bein’ an emotional support demon t’ the list of my bizarre fuckin’ talents.”

“Mmm,” Alastor mused. The Radio Demon tilted his head and looped an arm around Angel’s waist, drawing him in close. So much for the 5 foot rule. The tiny pig squirmed and screamed in Angel’s arms at the unwelcome proximity to those smiling dagger teeth. “I’d say his sense of self preservation is particularly impressive given his ‘papa’s’ lack thereof. But I suppose he better understands that he is LUNCH.”

Oh fuck no.

Angel offered up his sweetest smile, setting the little pig down so he could flee back into the comfort of the closet. “Alastor,” he breathed, peering at the other man through long lashes. He saw the way Alastor stiffened at this perceived flirtation, but continued, leaning down and whispering in one of those plush red ears, “If ya eva’ threaten my baby again, not only will I dump yer sorry ass, but I’ll dismember ya in ways that would make a cannibal fuckin’ blush. Ya know, they say venison is an aphrodisiac. I might wanna find out if that’s true. So don’t fuckin’ push it, Smiles.”

The slightest widening of those wild eyes. The smallest twitch of an ear. The faintest, almost inaudible, intake of breath. The briefest flash of that raw, desperate hunger across smiling features. These were the only signs Angel received that his words had any impact— any weight— but he saw them. He was sure he saw them.

Alastor laughed loudly, grip around Angel’s waist tightening. His clawed hands, despite the gloves, dug through the thick material of Angel’s white plush robe to graze his hip. “Ha ha ha! My dear fellow, you are all balled up! I don’t think you know WHO you are threatening right now, but no need to cast a kitten, I was merely jesting!” He said, pinching one of Angel’s cheeks. “Now, I think we have chattered for long enough, don’t you? Get yourself dressed and we’ll be on our merry way!”

Angel’s eyes strayed to the little black dress and he repressed a smirk.

He and Cherri called it by many names: ‘the fucky dress’, ‘how the fuck is this happening’, ‘the little dress that could… become a fuckin shirt’, and ‘butt boobs’ to name a few. It always started the night at a regular length, even a ‘conservative’ length by Angel’s standards. Mid thigh. However, where it started and where it ended were two vastly different places. The dress had a strange habit of riding up after about 5-10 minutes of wear, just barely exposing 1-2 inches of the wearer’s ass cheeks. If he really did have Alastor’s full attention, he might as well use the opportunity to tease the Radio Demon a bit, and he didn’t mind a little indecent exposure so long as he was in control.

Was he planning on purposefully irritating Alastor by wearing a dress that would make the prude bristle with indignation? Of fucking course he was!

Why walk into the Radio Demon’s trap empty handed?

Angel walked into the little last-minute party fashionably late, certainly, but apparently Alastor’s shadows, Husk’s alcoholism, and Charlie’s optimism that he just needed “a couple more minutes” to get ready kept spirits high.

The place was too decorated. That was the first thing he noticed. Streamers. Balloons. A “congratulations” banner. He resisted the urge to stomp on Alastor’s foot. This fucking bastard. A quiet drink with a few pals, that was all this called for, but he had known The Radio Demon planned to make a game of his ‘step towards redemption,’ a subtle mockery of Charlie’s idealism wrapped up in an overblown party. He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and mentally counted to 10 to keep himself from thinking about how fucking nice it would be to hide from his embarrassment in the arms of a delicious high.

“Something wrong, Angel,” Alastor said, eyes narrowing with glee as his smile widened. “No need to be shy. The whole hotel has come together to rejoice in your great step towards redemption.”

Fucking sadist.

“Of course not, Daddy,” Angel purred, putting a crooning emphasis on the endearment which caused Alastor to visibly twitch in disgust. The difference between Alastor when he was revved up and when he was at his usual untouchable self really did stand out. He wondered if he could inspire any reaction from the Radio Demon outside of disdain now that they had thoroughly taken care of his ‘unfortunate urges’ for the time being.

He didn’t have time to mull over this thought for long.

Charlie bolted to his side the second they made eye contact, wrapping her arms tightly around him with such a warm and gleeful expression that he almost felt guilty for some strange, unknown reason. “Angel, congratulations on leaving the studio,” she said, rubbing a tear from her eye. “I had no idea… we thought you WANTED to work… I mean… when I heard you were saving up all this time to buy your way out of a contract with Valentino… I’m just so proud of you and so happy for you!”

Annnnnd he needed a drink.

“And howl!” Alastor cheered, with a sharp laugh as he handed Angel a glass of champagne which the spider immediately downed. His throat felt so fucking dry, anything to lather his mouth and lighten his head. He flushed when one of those emphatically gesturing hands rested on his waist. “Yes, we are all so incredibly PROUD of our indomitable Angel Dust, pinching pennies and going without; all to purchase his freedom so he could finally ‘take this whole redemption thing seriously’. That IS what you said earlier, is it not Angel?”

Angel blinked. Charlie’s eyes were grew wider and wider by the second. Her eagerness and joy brightened her features. She looked… radiant. She looked like mother fuckin’ sunshine personified.

Oh Satan, no. Not a fucking song. She was going to sing a fucking song, he just knew it. He looked around for an escape route, but the hand on his waist felt like a ball and chain. He gave her an awkward, sheepish smile and quickly blurted, “Ah um, it’s really nothin’, Charlie. I was a bit tipsy earlier. I said a lot’a stuff. No need t’ get ova’ excited—“

Too late.

“Angel, you’re an angel.

You’ve been here for a year now and I know,
It must be hard to feel all alone.
You spend your days hiding in a haze,
Because God forbid you’re known.

But I see you,
Smoking in a corner with shadows all around,
Trying not to make a sound;
Because there are tears in your eyes,
And god forbid we realize,
That you’re not always strong.

You don’t have to be strong all the time...

But I see you,
Laughing, telling stories.

I see you,
Smiling so bright.

I see you,
You’re luminous, I swear.

Angel, I see you, standing there.

Why keep crying deep inside?
Angel, there’s nothing left to hide.
You can let go of your pride.
We’ll stay by your side.
You don’t have to be alone.
Just let us be your home.”

Her song, sung so gently and coaxingly, felt like a stab to the heart. He thanked her as best he could, but his words sounded almost inaudible even to his own ears. The corners of his eyes burned. Fuck. He glanced at Alastor, noting that the Radio Demon also appeared particularly caught off guard by her tender song choice. His ears flicked back. His grip on Angel’s waist softened slightly. After making some smooth excuse about ‘mingling’ with the other guests, he steered the shell-shocked spider to the couch. Angel didn’t have time to dwell on whether or not Charlie found it odd that Alastor was basically tugging him around the room. It didn’t really matter. They all knew there was no use questioning the Radio Demon’s whims anyway.

Another glass of champagne down the fucking hatch. He glared at Alastor from over the glass.

“Fuck. You.” He hissed, poking the other man’s chest with one of his index fingers for emphasis.

Alastor batted his hand away, undaunted. “Not a fan of the musical number then?” He said, arching his brows in a show of mock concern. “Why, was it the rhyme? The tune? I must say, my effeminate fellow, I never took you for such a high hat!”

Angel gritted his teeth. “Listen here, asshole—“

“Or such a wet blanket.”

Angel paused for a moment, studying his new, so-called beau. “Ya really wanna play this game right now, Smiles?” He asked, tilting his head just slightly. He brushed Alastor’s hand with his own, watching the Radio Demon go very still before that gloved hand discreetly folded around it. Somehow, that small gesture felt so… strangely intimate. Angel bit his lip, but continued: “‘Cause I think ya have a whole lot more t’ lose than I do by pissin’ me off. I didn’t make any deals, I didn’t shake yer hand, and I sure as hell didn’t agree t’ this whole ‘relationship’ idea ‘cause I like bein’ mocked and belittled. Ya have two choices right now. Either ya get me anotha’ drink and start pamperin’ me, or ya keep playin’ these twisted little games and I find someone else t’ fuck my tight ass. Ya know I can find someone real easy, don’t ya? I’m the hottest fuckin commodity in hell, and more than a few fellas would kill fa exclusive access.”

Silence.

Those red eyes narrowed, but Alastor said nothing as he refilled Angel’s glass with a wave of his hand. Despite the chill in the air and the faintest buzz of irritation humming around them, Angel took comfort in the fact that their hands remained entwined.

“Well, I must agree I overstepped,” Alastor said, scanning the crowd for watching eyes as they spoke. “You are indeed a choice bit of calico. I will endeavor to play the gentleman tonight.”

One final squeeze, and the hand was gone.

Angel arched a brow, sipping his drink. “A ‘choice bit of calico’ that ya just so happen t’ be ashamed of,” he said.

“Oh? And here I thought discretion was the name of the game! If you like, I can certainly make an announcement,” Alastor said with a laugh.

Angel looked around the room, eyes falling on Charlie. He imagined explaining this shit to her in a way that didn’t make her face pinch with genuine concern for his well being. “No,” he said, plastering on his most charming smile as one of the newer guests, a 1920s flapper by the name of Mimzy, sidled up to him and began making small talk.

“Well isn’t this just berries! You know, we three really are the old timers in the room,” she said with a little laugh and a far away look. “Oh, Husk too. He nearly slipped my mind.”

“Didn’t die young like the three of us,” Angel said, shaking his head. “He made it inta his fuckin’ 70s. I would says he’s a lucky fuckin’ bastard, but my life wasn’t worth shit back then.” A pause. Alastor studied him with renewed interest that he didn’t bother to investigate. “I do miss it sometimes though. Not my life, but the FEEL of the old days…ya know? I mean, sure I get inta’ all the new shit. New music. New tech. New fashion… but ya rememba’ how everythin’ just felt… bigger? The world, even hell, seems somehow…cramped and small nowadays…”

“Bigger and so full of possibilities… at least in the 20s,” Mimzy said.

Angel laughed. “I was a kid and a teen in the 20s,” he said. “Possibilities seemed endless… but that didn’t last long. A Mafia family, the depression, and then the war… options got real fuckin’ sparse.”

“Mm hmm,” Alastor mused. “You may both complain to me from your seats at the front of the bus,” he purred, that broad smile never straying from his lips. “Now, a little more giggle water, my dear fellow. That should clear your head of these melancholy thoughts!”

“Smiles! I didn’t know ya were—“

“Mixed-Raced. Creole.” Alastor’s words were clipped, the sentences short. He wasn’t going to elaborate. A nugget of information supplied and nothing more.

Angel leaned in a little closer as the Radio Demon filled his glass. His chest fluff brushed the other man’s arm. Alastor, surprisingly, didn’t move away. “Ya think we woulda gotten along back then, Al? Say when I was a young adult… before ya died? I think ya woulda been my type. I bet ya were a looker.” He couldn’t help but flirt a little. It would be strange if he didn’t, right?

Alastor pressed the rounded edge of the champagne flute against Angel’s lips, tipping it so the liquid slid gradually into his mouth. “Maybe.” Was all he said.

Well, he would consider that a win.

Alastor was right. The drink did clear his head of all melancholy thoughts. It also put him firmly on the road to champagne dunk. With each glass that followed, he found himself more giggly, more clingy, and more loose-lipped.

“Did I eva’ tell ya how cute yer ears are, Al? So fuckin’ cute,” he slurred several drinks in, leaning against the Radio Demon and reaching for one of those red plush poofs. It twitched away from his grasp.

The world wobbled, but Alastor’s smile remained in high definition, widening. No, I don’t believe you have,” he said, almost crooning in that playful way of his. “But do go on.”

Angel hugged Alastor’s arm with his two lower appendages, nuzzling into the man’s shoulder. So close. So warm. He giggled, perhaps a bit too loudly. He barely even noticed all of the eyes on him, or the anxious shuffle of Charlie’s footsteps.

“O-oh goodness!” She gasped, looking between himself and the Radio Demon with wide, panicked eyes. “Al, I’m so sorry. I know you… oh, you’re being so patient. Angel, how much have you had to drink? Al, do you think he’s—?”

“Oh he’s absolutely, positively zozzled! Plastered! Owled! Embalmed!” Alastor’s laughter sounded like an alarm, drawing more eyes to them. His cane echoed the sentiment with an audience laugh track. “So very unfortunate that he should spend this little celebration of his meager successes and renewed interest towards seeking redemption in a state of utter intoxication, though perhaps you might have given the rummy a two drink limit. It seems he has not the tolerance nor the self control of, well, anyone else in the room. He is lucky I am in a forgiving mood, or I might have bitten off his hand by now. Quite the snuggle pup. I must say, I do not appreciate being petted by a quiff.”

Wait. Wait.

This fucking… sure, Angel couldn’t see perfectly straight, and sure Alastor spoke entirely too quickly and too fancy for him to catch all the words, but he got two things loud and clear. Alastor had gotten him drunk on purpose so he would make a fool of himself, and the Radio Demon had just called him a fucking quiff— a cheap prostitute… a slut.

Well fuck this.

Angel smacked him.

He smacked Alastor right across the face. He couldn’t believe he’d done it, even as the sound of skin striking skin seemed to resound around the room, silencing all other chatter. Time sputtered to a stop after his hand made contact with the Radio Demon’s cheek. Eyes fell on them. Horrified, panicked and confused eyes. Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Angel—“ A pitchy low voice, muffled with radio static. A slight hiss of venom behind the words.

Angel stood and… walked away.

He just got up and walked away.

He walked… away… from the seething radio demon. Surely, it wasn’t the stupidest move he could have made? At the very least it was a… unique choice. But Angel didn’t fucking care. He was drunk and angry. He was so fucking angry.

So he walked away, hips swaying, and leaned against the bar. “Husky, be a dear and get me somethin’ stronger than champagne. And whateva’ ya got in mind right now, double it.”

Husk stared at him, blinking slowly as if to determine whether or not he was actually conscious. “Drink it fast, kid,” he said, tossing together a drink and sliding it to Angel with a flick of his tail. “It’ll be your last.”

Angel shifted his weight from one long shapely leg to the other, feeling the approaching heat without needing to turn and acknowledge the blazing red gaze. Closer. “Oh, I dunno,” he said, throwing his head back with a sharp laugh. Closer. “What’s he gonna do? Maul me in front of the princess and all the people he wants t’ fuckin’ charm?”

“Nonsense, my dear fellow! Clearly the champagne does not agree with you,” Grabbed. Turned. Pinned. Trapped. Angel’s hair stood on end as those two dials stared back at him. He could hear static, static everywhere. Static coming from inside his own head. “However, I must insist we speak privately about your unfortunate outburst.”

Angel paused, considered, and flipped off the Radio Demon, turning his back to him. “Yeah, no. I’m not talkin t’ ya until ya apologize, Smiles.”

“Excuse me?! Apologize to—“ Alastor started to say, but then there was more static. Angel glanced back at the Radio Demon and realized the angry red glare had drifted downwards and was now stuck on his round ass. Ah, good ole ‘butt boobs’ was at it again! The dress that wanted to be a shirt! He watched Alastor glance around in irritation, moving his body directly behind Angel to block others from the view.

“Yeah, Smiles,” he said, sipping his drink. “Apologize t’ me fa bein’ such a fuckin’ dick. Until then, I’ll just keep minglin.’” He hadn’t expected fingers to ghost over his cheeks, to feel Alastor’s deft hands casually brush the bubbly globes without so much as a second thought or a warning. One swift tug, and the Radio Demon had yanked the dress back into place. Angel yelped, flushing instantly at the unexpected touch. “H-hey! Hands t’ ya self, S-smiles.”

“I am sorry if my teasing offended you,” Alastor hissed. “Come with me NOW.”

“That ain’t a real apology,” Angel said, deadpan. He loved seeing the Radio Demon balk and bristle while still holding a smile in place. He stirred his drink with a bendy straw, humming. “That’s one of those fake fuckin apologies. The ‘I’m sorry I offended ya’ apology. It’s all just you bein’ a dick again. Hey Baxter! Ya got a second? I wanted t’ ask ya about yer latest experiment.”

And off he went.

That was one advantage of long legs: he could be across the room in the time it took most men to blink. Of course, Alastor could fucking teleport, but it was growing increasingly clear to Angel that the Radio Demon was trying NOT to draw attention to their little quarrel. Charlie was watching, after all, and Satan forbid she realize what an unbelievable fucking prick the Radio Demon actually was before he’d finished having a laugh at her expense.

At first, Alastor endeavored to ignore him. He behaved in an overly animated and sickeningly charming manner with the other hotel residents, all the while subtly encouraging them to drink, gamble, or engage in some paltry little sin that would eventually lead to an all-out bender. He laughed, chatted, and joked, avoiding Angel; though the spider found his glass was always full, a handkerchief was always on hand, and every once in a while something like a hand tugged his dress back into place when it threatened to expose him. Fucking prick.

However, with each passing moment that Angel did not cave, the Radio Demon grew visibly more irritated; with each inch the dress slid up his thighs, those eyes became more pointed; and with each smile Angel flashed to another fella, the Radio Demon’s grin became tighter. Eventually, the alcohol began to overwhelm all of Angel’s senses, loosening every limb and deepening every laugh. He flirted and flounced around the room. He brushed off Charlie’s concerns and ignored Vaggie’s thinly veiled threats. So, Alastor wanted him to act like a messy ho at this party? Well, he’d be the messiest ho he could be.

“So then I said t’ the John, ‘well, it ain’t on the price list ‘cause I ‘neva thought anyone would ask fa that, ya sick fuck’. He didn’t take kindly t’ that. I got a shiner and a fuckin’ enema all in one fuckin’ day. Anyway, at least it paid well. But t’ answer ya question… nah, I don’t care fa fizzy water.” He found himself brutally wrenched from telling his fascinating tale by a tight grip encircling one of his lower arms and quite literally yanking him out of the room and into a hallway. A few twists and turns, and the Radio Demon apparently settled on a suitably nondescript location.

“What in Satan’s name is WRONG with this damned dress of yours!” Alastor half shouted, half whispered , pushing him up against the red, tacky wall. Angel yelped as a gloved hand groped his partially exposed ass. Two fingers dipped between the cheeks, rubbing the thoroughly-fucked hole with enough fervor to make him shiver and whine. The other hand slid down the front of his dress to grab one of his fluffy tits, finding a nipple, pinching, and tugging.

“No,” Angel gasped. He wanted to push Alastor away from him, but the hungry lips on his throat made it very… difficult. Instead, he settled for leaning down and kissing the Radio Demon, sinking his fangs into the man’s lower lip and earning a hiss. “I already told ya… if ya wanna play with this fuckin ‘quiff’ then ya better fuckin offer up a real apology.”

“Oh, Ab-so-lute-ly, my dear fellow,” Alastor purred, spinning the spider around to face that dated maroon wallpaper. Two fingers breached the twitching hole, slamming into him with punishing force. Angel’s cheeks flushed, lips parting. He stifled his pathetic, breathy moans with a trembling hand. “I truly apologize for my behavior. My insinuation that you might be a bit of a handsy quiff was SO utterly uncalled for.” A third finger added for emphasis.

“That’s sure cheeky comin’ from such an…ahhh ahhhnn… insecure… ghnnn… p-prude. Fa someone who keeps insultin’ me, ya sure do like fuckin me, Mistah High and Mighty.” Teeth brushed his neck. The fingers left his hole. He heard the sound of pants unfastening. The Radio Demon’s meaty rod took no time ramming itself into his ready ass. Claws dug into his hips, holding him firm as the steady thrusts rocked him. He bit back a scream. “Hnnnn Fuckin’ hypocrite. Ya know, yer a fuckin’ TYPE of John, right? Plenty-a’ pricks just like ya.”

Teeth sank into his shoulder. Red blood staining white fur.

“Shut up.”

“What? Ya don’t like bein’ compared t’ other Johns, Daddy?” Angel snapped, tightening himself around the pulsating thickness inside him. “Ya wanna treat me and use me like a whore, yer gonna get a fuckin’ whore. Only problem is, yer too fuckin stupid t’ realize I can make this all fuckin’ end wheneva’ the fuck I want.” There was a reason he was famous. Angel bounced back on the rod, squeezing and sliding on it with practiced eased. He knew how to make a man cum QUICK if he wanted to. He knew how to MILK a dick dry.

He heard Alastor gasp— felt that buzzing in the air.

Angel reached back with his lower set of arms, grabbed the deer demon’s firm ass, and jerked him forward to force that large cock deeper inside himself, guiding each rolling thrust. He turned his head, sank his fangs into the Radio Demon’s neck, and injected him with a shiny green venom that made the man’s eyes go wide— made his body shake.

The strangled moan that sounded from those smiling lips as Alastor came early inside him was just… delicious.

With little ceremony, he slid off the rod and shoved the Radio Demon roughly onto the ground once the man’s dick finished spasming and spurting inside him. He placed a heeled foot on Alastor’s chest, smiling down at him. Oh, what a fuckin sight: Stunned, wild red eyes. Angry. Hungry.

“Don’t use me as yer pawn, Smiles,” he purred, leaning down and stroking his knuckles against the Radio Demon’s cheek in a touch both tender and menacing at the same time . “I’m a fuckin’ queen.”

The red ears flattened. He watched Alastor shiver under his touch, eyes squeezing briefly shut. “I’m sorry, Angel,” he said, words softer than before. “I’m sorry.”

Much better.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Angel woke the next morning in a bed that wasn’t his, in a room he didn’t recognize, with a raging hangover he knew all too well. The bedspread wrapped around his slender form appeared deep red in color with silver leaf accents. He studied it dazedly; a vintage silk brocade that felt entirely too pleasant against his skin. The room, though large, seemed cluttered with antique furniture made from dark cherry wood that had been intricately carved and crafted during a time when opulence and detail were in vogue. The floor had been softened by rich Persian rugs, but the walls screamed at his aching head with their use of that familiar hotel wallpaper. He saw tassels, portraits in golden frames, and an assortment of STUFF lined neatly on every shelf. Knick knacks, decorations, odds and ends.

He also felt a chest, rising and falling, pressed against his back. A slender but strong arm had entwined itself around his waist in a vice grip. He didn’t know when or how they ended up in Alastor’s bedroom the night before, though he supposed falling into bed together was inevitable given the circumstances. He really needed to slip out before the Radio Demon woke up. The fact that Angel had drunkenly one-upped and humiliated the bastard the night before should have felt like a victory, but he knew better.

Lessons don’t always stick so quick.

Alright, so he needed to escape the Radio Demon’s bedroom. Unfortunately, he was naked and wrapped in the other demon’s arms. Where the fuck were his clothes? He scanned the room. Nowhere. Fuckin perfect.

Could he book it from Alastor’s bedroom naked? He imagined running out of the room, dick swinging, at a full sprint. He then imagined what anyone seeing him would think. He imagined explaining that shit to Charlie and Vaggie. Nope.

He shifted slightly. Bad move. The grip around his waist squeezed him closer. A large bulge encased in the thin fabric of pajama pants pressed itself against his bare ass. Oh. Oh fuck. He bit his lip. No no no. He needed to focus. He could not be distracted by a soft dick pressed against his ass. It wasn’t even hard, dammit! He could do this. His fucking asshole was wrecked as it was, aching and thoroughly fucked from the night before. Sure, this wasn’t his first rodeo; and sure, he’d taken far more cocks in one night, and had— on occasion— gone so many rounds that he was a loose and drooling mess by the end of the day, but he was TRYING to be classy now.

Kinda…

A soft grumble from behind him. He felt Alastor wake up; felt the way his body tensed instantly, the sharp intake of breath, and the buzz of a radio struggling to find the right channel. The arm left his waist. White noise… and then a strange, disjointed voice, “Why, good morning, Angel Dust, my effeminate fellow. Ha ha ha. I hate to be a bit a bluenose, but if you would please—“

Angel slipped out of the bed swiftly, wincing a bit when he finally stood. His fucking head. “Smiles,” he said, rubbing his temples and glancing around the room. “Where’s my dress? I need somethin’ unless ya want everyone t’ see me leavin’ ya room naked.” A pause. He looked down at his bare feat and cringed. “And my fuckin heels.”

Vulnerable. Exposed. He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling anxious as those piercing red eyes began to study him. Alastor sat up, made a point of changing his own outfit with a wave of his hand, vanished, and reappeared beside him, smiling far too broadly with a fiery gaze that seemed to glow with malice.

Oh no.

“Nonsense!” Alastor boomed, swatting him across the ass with his cane and shoving him, rather roughly towards the door. “Why, it’s early morning, the sun is just now rising, and I am sure all the residents are still sleeping soundly after last night’s festivities. Run along, my little milquetoast. Worse comes to worse, someone gets an eyeful of the goods, which you were more than eager to display last night while you were loaded to the muzzle! You were four sheets in the wind, by Satan!”

“Ya can’t be serious,” Angel said, feeling his stomach sink as that tight smile widened. He watched the doorknob turn. It opened slightly. Well fine. Two could play at that game. He wasn’t gonna fucking beg, cry, or plead. “Alright then,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and striding towards the door, hips swaying. “Might as well put on a fuckin’ show. Maybe I’ll run inta’ Husk.”

The door slammed shut before he reached it. He heard the resounding click of the lock.

It would seem he had called Alastor’s bluff.

He turned back towards the Radio Demon, hands on his hips. “Alright, handsome. Wanna magic me up an outfit then or are ya gonna pout?” He said, catching the way those eyes narrowed and the smile lost its teeth. Then the eyes strayed down to his feet and briefly lost their malice, widening in interest.

Sure, it wasn’t the first time Al would have seen them, but Angel had kept the other man pretty thoroughly distracted that time they showered together. Now, the horror of being on full display, completely naked without his goddamn shoes, without any distractions, really sunk in. He folded under that intense observation.

He hated his fuckin feet. Horrific spider feet. Usually he did everything he fuckin could to hide them. Never went to bed without knee high stockings. Never went barefoot. He grabbed a sheet off the bed with one rough yank and wrapped it around himself. Viola.

It disappeared.

“Smiles, what the fuck!” He shouted in a voice that cracked at the end. That smile was back and he found his ass hitting the bed after being shoved by some unseen force. The Radio Demon approached him with chipper bouncing steps.

“Now now, Angel. Why suddenly so nervous?” He asked, grabbing and lifting one of the fluffy feet. His gloved hands were surprisingly careful as they ran over the sensitive toe beans. Angel shivered. No one touched his feet. No one touched his feet. Val made him hide them. Fuck, that was why so many of his fans sent creepy fan mail asking him to show his fucking feet. Neither he nor Valentino would ever allow that.

HE HATED HIS UGLY FUCKING FEET.

So then why was he getting flushed, hot, and bothered under Alastor’s searching gaze— under his exploring touch.

“I know they’re ugly, Al,” he said, feeling himself lose the high ground when tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. “Ya don’t gotta rub it in.”

Baffled.

Alastor looked baffled. Whatever game he had been playing screeched to a halt. “Ugly?” He repeated, studying the spider foot. “Bushwa! Who told you they were ugly? Angel, all teasing aside, there isn’t a part of you that isn’t keen. The bees knees! You are physically—and I will never say this again so listen closely— perfect.”

Angel grabbed Alastor, yanked the man down on top of him, and kissed the startled radio demon with more passion and vigor than he had ever put in any performance.

At first Alastor was all rigid, completely startled, but Angel was inwardly pleased to find it didn’t take long for the man’s tongue to partner his own in that passionate dance, to twist and move together. Hungry. He felt their breathing synchronizing. Heat. Lips. Dizzy. So dizzy. Hot and dizzy.

He wrapped his thighs around Alastor’s waist as they kissed. A gloved hand cradled his cheek almost tenderly. More. More. More. He watched through a hazy gaze as Alastor pulled back, just briefly, to gasp for air and yank at his bow tie with his free hand, clearly flushed and heated as well. Once he had tossed the offending article aside, he dove back into the kiss, and Angel was grateful for the return of those warm lips against his own. He raked his claws down Alastor’s back, felt the man groan against him. Teeth, ever so lightly, nipped Angel’s lower lip in response. He showed admirable control by not to sinking them in too deep.

And then…

BANG BANG BANG!

The knock rattling the door nearly gave Angel a fucking panic attack. He felt his heart hammering in his chest. He knew he was positively pink all over, especially around his cheeks and chest where the blush tended to congregate most.

Alastor sat up, ears twitching, but placed a gloved hand on Angel’s breast to keep him from moving. His smile, close lipped and strained, paired surprisingly well with a furrowed brow. Angel noticed the hastily bottled frustration clearly present in those flashing eyes. “Good morning!” He boomed in the best approximation of his usual cheery tones that he could manage. “And who might I have the pleasure of addressing in these early morning hours?”

“Al, it’s Charlie. Angel isn’t… in his room.” A voice said, all concern. Alastor glared at the door, absentmindedly running a hand through the flushed pink chest fluff. He flicked one of the hardened, budded nipples; then rolled it, used his thumb and index finger to pinch and tease it. Angel wanted to fucking scream. He tightened his thighs around the Radio Demon and covered his mouth with his hand to quiet his whimpers, back arching. “Fat Nuggets has been squealing for hours and when we went to check we realized Angel wasn’t there. We’re worried… after last night… maybe he got into some trouble.”

Awww. Fuck. Poor little Nuggs. He would have to take him on a long walk and carry him around for the rest of the day to make it up to him.

“Oh, I am sure Angel is just fine, Charlie,” Alastor said. “Return in, say, an hour or two and I shall assist—“

“An hour or two?” Charlie sounded confused. Alastor was usually up and bouncing around the hotel before sunrise.

Alastor’s hungry eyes fixed themselves on Angel. “An hour,” he said firmly, leaning down to twist his tongue around the other neglected nipple. Hot. So hot. Angel found it hard to keep in all his little mewls and moans. “Goodbye—“

“Al, are you putting on a fucking broadcast!” Vaggie’s voice now, a bit harsher. Less trusting certainly. “We asked you not to maim people at all. Much less in the hotel.”

The jingling of keys.

Alastor’s eyes snapped to the door, shifting into dials. His shadows slithered from the corners of the room to block it. God fucking dammit.

They weren’t gonna be able to continue in peace.

“Oh fa fuck’s sake!” Angel said finally, nearly screaming in frustration. He stroked one of Alastor’s ears, watching his eyes shift back to normal under the coaxing touch. “I’m fuckin fine! I had a rough fuckin night. Lotsa fuckin pukin’ and Al takin care of me outta the goodness of his black fuckin heart. Let me get my face t’getha and I’ll talk t’ ya in a minute, toots—“ His words were muffled by Alastor’s lips crashing against his own. He tangled his hands in that bright crimson hair, arched against the Radio Demon. They had to get up.

But… just one more kiss.

Somehow the pain of wrenching away from the kiss felt worse than his migraine fucking headache. He sat up, allowed Alastor’s magic to dress him in slippers and flannel pajamas, and walked to the door after the other man had made himself prim, proper, and presentable. He swung it open and could tell, immediately, that the two women believed him upon seeing him. Their horror and pity said it all.

Fuck.

He didn’t want to see himself. Moving was agony. Light was agony. If he looked in a fucking mirror, he was sure he LOOKED like a dude who had been vomiting all night… instead of what he had actually been doing.

Charlie hurried over to him, eyes wide. “Oh, Angel. Are you alright? Here, let’s get you back to your room. Do you want some water? Al, thanks for taking care of him. That was so good of you! I think you two are really becoming friends!”

Alastor sidled up alongside him, belting out his usual sardonic laughter as he looped an arm around Angel’s waist. Oh god. Too fucking loud. “Why of course!” One of those hands cupped Angel’s face, pinching his cheek in a mockery of the tenderness they had been sharing just moments before. “And after our quarrel last night, such a pleasure to see him crying and suffering. So many tears. Well, now that the secret of your shameful night has been uncovered, I shall let the ladies whisk you away, my effeminate fellow. Try not to get woozy again any time soon.”

Angel considered biting his hand and reminding him exactly how the night had actually gone down, but he kept his mouth shut. The lie was more believable and more convenient than the truth.

“I’ll try,” he said, running a hand through his hair and offering the Radio Demon a sheepish smile, perhaps less outwardly loud and flirtatious than his usual schtick. “See ya later, handsome. I would say I’m sorry fa smackin ya silly last night, but ya deserved it. No regrets.”

Charlie looked confused. “Why did you—“

“Charlie,” he said, stifling a laugh as Alastor’s grip tightened around him almost painfully. He continued regardless. “Ya know just ‘cause he sounds all sophisticated and shit, don’t mean he ain’t insultin’ me. A “quiff” is old-time slang fa a slut or a cheap whore. That’s why I slapped the fucker!”

“WHAT?! Al, that’s so—“

Angel slipped away. He’d leave Alastor to explain his way out of that bullshit— a little sweet revenge for making Angel sound like a sobbing messy drunk. Besides, it would do Charlie some good to actually analyze some of the charming bullshit that came out of Alastor’s mouth.

He regretted his choice to end on a sour note a week later.

A whole week without dick. A WHOLE FUCKING week. He hadn’t gone a week without dick since… fuck… he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone a week without dick.

It wasn’t that Alastor was ignoring him. On the contrary, the Radio Demon had continued teasing and chatting with him the same as ever. However, he hadn’t given Angel any indication he was even remotely interested in fucking. He expertly dodged all flirtations, moved away from Angel’s touch, and played dumb to any suggestions of engaging in, well, anything.

By day three, he had nearly convinced himself that Alastor was done with him. He’d dressed up, prepared himself to go clubbing with Cherri, and resigned himself to finding some strange cock. But then, just as he was walking out the door, Alastor caught him around the waist and planted a light peck on his lips, telling him to stay out of trouble.

Well fuck.

Needless to say, he didn’t look for any strange dick after that, but Alastor never followed up the kiss with anything resembling an invitation. He managed to get a few more kisses, found the Radio Demon compliant to an impromptu make-out session on occasion, though sometimes not.

He needed to get to the bottom of this

“Hey, Smiles,” he said on the seventh day. He had dressed in his mafia attire and was preparing to leave on a little job collecting some new explosives for Cherri from an underhanded supplier who made the mistake of stiffing his girl buddy. “I’m headed out now, but if yer up fa it ya wanna fuck t’night when I get back?”

No one was around. Might as well ask.

Alastor glanced at him, eyes widening only marginally in surprise, but didn’t miss a beat, seated in his high-backed chair and flipping through his newspaper. “No thank you, Angel.”

“Alright. Guess it’s a night for Mr. Reliable instead,” Angel said, shrugging and trying to let the rejection roll off his back. He knew their libidos wouldn’t quite match up, but… the feeling of those lips against his… well… he’d just deal with it. Mr. Reliable and his 20 different vibration and automated thrusting settings ought to do the trick for the time being.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Alastor teleported in front of him. His smile looked… feral, eyes flashing. Why the fuck was he pissed now?!

“Excuse me, my dear,” he said, cocking his head to the side. Too far. Necks don’t fucking bend that far. “I don’t believe I heard you correctly. Mister… who was it? What was his name?”

Angel blinked. “Huh? Oh! Al, that’s—“

“Hey, Angel!” Nifty came tumbling into the room, feather duster in hand with her single eye wide with excitement. “Charlie is looking for you! Did you know? She said something about a chore wheel. Are you gonna run? Oh oh oh! Before you go, my last pic of you did so super well on Voxtagram. Can I get another while you’re in your sexy Mafia outfit!? My followers are gonna eat it up!”

“Huh, oh… um… sure thing babes,” he said, laughing awkwardly as he and Alastor both took several steps back from each other. Alastor, he noticed, scowled at every hellphone like it owed him money. Angel was never gonna get a selfie with the bastard, was he? “Ya sure ya don’t wanna get in on this photo shoot action, Smiles,” he teased, striking a pose for Nifty as she set aside the duster and brandished her phone.

“Pics of Angel get SOOOOO many likes and new followers,” Nifty said, sticking out her tongue in concentration as she lined up the shot. “Especially from MEN!”

His feet flew out from under him.

His view of the world shifted to upside down.

Angel never expected to be, quite literally, swept off his feet. Those slender arms caught him up in such a strong and possessive hold, a clawed hand subtly digging into his flesh. Alastor had dipped him low, and Angel found himself with his head tossed back— hat lost and hair falling loose. Nifty nearly dropped her phone, letting out a small startled gasp. He glanced up to meet Alastor’s piercing red eyes. They briefly caught his own in a meaningful stare but then focused forward, seeming to gaze into the camera; a dark, threatening challenge in his glare. Nifty shrieked as she snapped the picture. “Oh my SATAN. Thank you, boss. Thank you thank you thank you. It’s not even blurry or pixelated. My followers are gonna flip!! Angel, you look SO PRETTY and boss looks like he could KILL with his smile and glare. Sooooo cool!”

Angel flushed, a bit dizzy, as he was carefully lifted back onto his feet. Alastor handed him his hat with a playful little bow and then offered Nifty a charming smile. “Happy to be of service, my dear,” he said, making a show of straightening Angel’s outfit with finicky and precise hands. “But never again, of course. Now, Angel, why don’t I accompany you on this little outing; make sure all this business of yours is on the level? Miss Magne did ask me to ensure you stay out of trouble. I certainly hope you do not plan to get yourself into some caper, or worse, to meet with some cake-eater!”

“Suit yourself, Smiles,” Angel said, arching a brow. Whatever. He could use the Radio Demon’s help with this job anyway. It might even be fun.

And he did love seeing Alastor so… jealous and rattled.

Maybe he’d chase that feeling.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

He could have lost a limb.

Sure, nothing was permanent in Hell, and sure, eventually he would have found himself whole again, but the fact remained that losing a limb fucking HURT and he really appreciated Alastor encasing him in a shield of shadows when the bomb went off.

Perhaps having a little extra backup really was a good idea, particularly when explosives were involved.

“Thanks, Smiles,” he said, filling one of the offending goons with a stomach full of bullets. Seventeen down. Five more to go. “Losin’ a leg would be a fuckin’ pain. I owe ya one.” He watched in awe as four of the men were devoured, shrieking, into a void of shadows.

At first, he had worried the Radio Demon would balk when he heard about the job Angel planned to undertake, but Alastor had proven himself surprisingly pliant. Sure, the seedy warehouse district in the city wasn’t his usual playground, but he seemed to enjoy helping Angel mangle some schmucks, and Angel enjoyed the way those eyes fell on him when he handled a gun.

Also… they worked well together.

In a way, it was like a dance. A really bizarre dance full of dodging, leaping, climbing, and shooting. But a dance nonetheless. He ran along one of those writhing columns of shadows to make a shot, ducked behind one to avoid a bomb, and found that whenever a directive, however coded, left his lips, Alastor followed the order without missing a beat.

And with each body that fell, the Radio Demon’s glowing grin widened.

Alastor currently stood some paces behind him, practically rippling with power. His clawed fingers moved and then clenched as his shadows obliterated their victims. “Happy to be of service,” he said, both his shark-like grin and playful glare alight.

A familiar heat rushed to Angel’s crotch. He would really… really need to take care of this throbbing hunger between his thighs soon. After seeing Alastor in action… he required what could only be referred to as an extensive session with his box of “work shit”.

It was starting to become a problem, this intense hunger. Perhaps he really did have a problem. One week and all he wanted to do was to crawl up to Alastor on his hands and knees and beg the other man to fuck him raw.

Decades of sex and perpetual high had left him… craving the rush of release, and the Radio Demon did something for him that he couldn’t explain.

He needed to push through it. It happened infrequently, but it always happened. Alastor would come to him eventually. Until then, he could take care of his own sexual appetites and just… let this be enough. The kisses, the time together… it could be enough.

It could really be enough.

Angel shook away the thoughts.

Just one more creep to go.

Angel scanned the perimeter. He focused, silent and listening for even the slightest shuffle of movement. The subtlest intake of breath. The faintest beating of a heart. The briefest flash of skin.

Bingo.

Right between the eyes. A nice shot given the distance.

“Ha! That’ll teach these fuckers t’ stiff my bitch,” he said with a little laugh, putting away his gun— his one magic trick, making weapons vanish. “I think we’ll be cleanin’ out their inventory. Stupid bastards.”

“Attaboy!” Alastor beamed, bouncing up to Angel with that chaotic and gleeful expression. “Quite the aim, my dear fellow! Why, you certainly hit on all sixes. I have not seen a shot like that since the bullet that put me six feet under! Ha!” He yanked Angel down to his level and crushed their lips together in a fierce kiss that tasted like blood. Angel felt his thighs quiver. Fuck. What was wrong with him? Why was he so desperate after one fucking week. “Now, let’s deliver these explosive toys to your lady friend and be on our merry way.”

Needless to say, Cherri was more than thrilled.

“Fuck, Ange, ya didn’t have to do this. I love you so fucking much!” She said, throwing her arms around the spider and hugging him tightly. “I can’t believe you did this, you crazy fuck! We coulda gone together. You coulda been hurt! Last thing we need is to go through regrowing your fuckin leg all over again.”

“Hey, nobody stiffs my girl buddy and gets away with it, bitch,” he said, glancing back at Alastor. “And don’t worry. I wasn’t completely alone this time. Had some very convenient back up. Cherri, this is Alastor, the famous fuckin Radio Demon. Al, this is my gal Cherri, the fiercest bitch in hell.”

Alastor took the introduction as his invitation to speak, gliding up to the pair with his wide grin in place. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance!” He boomed. “What’s all this about lost limbs, if I may ask?”

Cherri blinked her single eye and threw her head back, letting out a bark of laughter at a memory. “Nice to meet ya, suit,” she said, nudging Angel playfully. “Ange here once got his fuckin leg blown off during a turf war. Never heard him scream so much. Never seen him put so many bullets in a fucker either. Took forever to get that shit healed. Fuckin agony.”

The briefest beat of silence.

“Fascinating!” Alastor said, lips twitching downwards just slightly at the corners while still maintaining their usual smile. “Angel, I will accompany you on any similar outings in the future.”

It wasn’t a question. Cherri arched her brow, glanced at Angel, and then smirked. “Wait, you two fuckin or somethin?” Angel flushed faintly and opened his mouth to answer, but she didn’t miss a beat. “Nice addition to the rotation, Ange. The Radio Demon! Ya have a thing for Danger Daddies, I’m tellin’ ya. Still gonna do Wednesdays combin’ for strange with me or does he have ya dick whipped?”

“Of course I am!” Angel blurted, cheeks pink.

God dammit. Why did he say that? He watched Alastor do the mental math in his head, likely recalling that Wednesday was the night Angel left the hotel in a black miniskirt, a corset top that BARELY encased his tit fluff, and fishnet tights. It was also the night Alastor had caught him up, kissed him, and asked him to stay out of trouble. He HAD stayed out of trouble, but Alastor didn’t know that. He also made a mental note of the way Alastor’s nostrils flared at the word “rotation”, his lips drawing back further, teeth glinting. Rotation. Angel usually kept a… rotation.

In the past, he always made the men he played with aware he wasn’t the relationship type, that his affection was temporary and fleeting. He would never be… in a relationship. It was an impossibility in his line of work, really. He hadn’t told Cherri about his change of heart since leaving Val’s service. Saying you wanted to find a tender, committed, monogamous relationship in Hell was, well, laughable. He would have to explain himself to Alastor soon, but…

Those two burning coals squinted in a dangerous glare. One of Alastor’s gloved hands settled on Angel’s hip, claws sliding under the hem of his pants to dance along soft flesh, tickling in sharp, concentric circles.

The quiet, possessive touch sent shivers down his spine.

Well, maybe he would wait a little while to tell Al the truth… just a little while.

Broad shoulders. Trim waist. Straight Back. Perfect posture. One hand brandished a cane that played a jaunty tune from its mic head. The other ghosted over the small of Angel’s back, light as a butterfly wing. It sometimes settled there, resting a while until Angel’s skin burned with the heat of its presence, but other times it would flutter away in some wild gesture or greeting to a passing demon.

Angel couldn’t help stealing glances at the man beside him. Something felt… off. Alastor chattered as always, plastered on his winning show of teeth, made jokes, and engaged him in idle conversation; but Angel knew something… was very, very wrong. He was sure of it.

However, couldn’t pinpoint why this absolute certainty had crept its way into his mind, nor could be adequately explain it.

He just… knew...

“Ya alright, Smiles?” He asked as the hotel came into sight, blinking when Alastor turned him down a side road instead of taking the straight shot to the hotel. He didn’t know why he followed the man. Stupidity, maybe? Unwitting obedience.

Regardless, he followed.

“Why, I’m just swell,” Alastor said, casually nudging him along until they reached a neat and nondescript motel. Angel opened his mouth to speak, but Alastor strode inside, leaving him to just… follow. Something heavy settled in the pit of his stomach. He felt as though a bird was flapping its wings in his chest.

“Al,” he said, a bit more quietly than he would have liked. “Why are we at a motel?”

“So we are not interrupted,” Alastor clipped back with a curt and uninterested tone, gliding to the front desk. Angel shifted from foot to foot, watching the Radio Demon pay for the room. Soundproof, ideally. That flapping feeling became more intense. His throat felt suddenly very dry.

He should leave. He should just leave.

Alastor’s hand closed around his own, and he found himself following, legs shaky. That heat— that stupid, broken, heat that pooled below the belt— kept him moving forward.

The room was large enough. The sheets, thankfully, appeared clean. All surfaces appeared free of dust. It smelled like lemon. While the furnishings were dated and the walls a pastel sort of green that had seen better days, it could have been worse. When the door closed behind them, he realized he couldn’t even hear the motel staffer’s departing footsteps.

“Angel,” Alastor said, releasing his hand. He folded his palms behind his back. “Undress.”

Angel balked, flushed, and removed his clothes with trembling hands. He craved Alastor’s touch. With every inch of skin revealed, he felt those eyes licking him. His hole throbbed. His cock ached. He tried to make a sexy show of the strip tease, but he couldn’t stop shaking.

He felt almost shy when he finally sat, naked, on the bed. “Al…”

“Assume the position.”

The command, spoken in such a harsh, cold tone of voice, so devoid of any passion or sentiment, felt like a slap. Red eyes bore into his own wide, bicolor gaze, daring him to argue, promising to leave if he spoke.

Just like before…

He knew he should get up. He knew he should yell or try to TALK this out with the glaring Radio Demon, but suddenly he felt very small, and very powerless.

…And very desperate.

He wanted Alastor. He wanted him so bad it burned. The command sent shockwaves through his body, setting him alight with memories of a large cock ramming into him while he whined uselessly into a pillow.

He bit his lower lip and did as he was told, whimpering under the weight of shame as he propped his round ass in the air and spread his cheeks for the Radio Demon with his lower set of hands. Humiliating. It was so fucking humiliating.

That piercing red gaze studied his exposed hole with only vague interest, a gloved hand wordlessly swatted his thigh in a silent instruction for him to spread himself wider, and then, finally, there was the weight of another man in the bed.

He could barely contain a little sob upon feeling Alastor’s large red dick press its mushroom head against his twitching entrance. Pathetic. He was fucking pathetic. The rod slid along the outside of his asshole, almost like a taunt, and just the thrill of that sensation made his toes curl.

He heard a shuffle of fabric, saw Alastor’s gloves flutter to the ground beside the bed, and experienced the sharp prick of claws scraping against his hips.

He breathed in, “Alastor. Please—“

The sensation vanished.

No.

No no no!

He swung his head around, eyes wide. Alastor was moving away from him, looking irritable and remote. “N-no. Wait, A-Al. I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good. I won’t say nothin. P-Please,” his voice cracked on the plea, and he shuddered at the sound of his own begging. “Please.”

He turned his head back around and buried his face into a motel pillow, biting back a whimper of relief when the weight returned on the bed directly behind him.

Claws sank into his hips. The bulbous tip, now suddenly slick with lube— thank fucking Satan— pushed past the spasming rim of his sphincter and rammed itself inside him. Once it was in— once it had made the breach— it felt SO good. So right. So full.

Alastor’s heavy balls slapped against his upturned ass. Every inch of the man’s massive cock had burrowed itself into his aching hole. It moved, slowly at first, but then gradually picked up momentum. Angel gasped, bit his lip to hush his own little whines and moans, and did his very best to stay still as the Radio Demon’s thrusts rocked him.

The pleasure came in toe-curling spasms. His dick twitched, leaking onto the sheets with each powerful jerk of the deer demon’s hips. He wanted to babble his thanks to the other man, but he was fairly certain it would lose him the thorough fucking he craved.

He felt like a bitch in heat.

Pink. He knew he’d turned positively pink. The world seemed suddenly very fuzzy, a haze of lust as Angel chased those tingling spasms of bliss, trying to ride the wave to orgasm.

He got so close so many times, but then the thrusts would slow or stop, the tempo would change, and he would lose it. Tears streamed down his cheeks. His eyes glazed. It became harder to hush the sounds escaping his constantly-parted lips. He’d never been particularly good at staying quiet.

Was he drooling? “Ahhh ahhhnn gn.” The moans grew louder. The pillow provided barely any barrier, but the large rod kept drilling him. Thank Satan Alastor did not stop fucking him. He tore at the sheets, rocked back on the rod, and squeezed his eyes shut.

A clawed hand moved off his hip, grabbed him roughly by the hair, and shoved his face into the pillow; a not so subtle command to keep it down. He did as he was told, sinking his teeth into the fabric. Maybe he would be quieter if it was in his mouth?

He was rewarded for his efforts with MORE and FASTER and HARDER. The hand in his hair slid down to his neck, wrapped around his throat, and squeezed. With each strike to his prostate, he saw stars, until suddenly he was choking on the pillow as it stifled his screams.

Angel’s entire body seized, back arching and hole clenching, as he came ribbons onto the sheets. He heard Alastor’s hiss of pleasure, like white noise, as the Radio Demon filled his ass with hot jizz, pumping his dick into Angel’s wet, gushy hole until every drop was emptied inside him.

The rod slid out of him with a wet squelching sound. Angel tried to roll onto his side but the sharp claws on his hip held him firmly in place. Why? He looked back and flushed, in embarrassment so unlike a professional sex worker, to see Alastor studying him with cold, hard eyes, watching the cum ooze from his abused little hole.

Then those eyes narrowed and met his own. Blazing. Angry.

W-what?

“Now, I think it is time we discussed the specific terms of our arrangement. Don’t you, my dear TWIT?” Alastor said, his smile more a mask than an expression. He ran two fingers over the red, loosened pucker, rubbing it absentmindedly. Angel gasped and wagged his ass in response, panting all over again. “Forgive me, I was under the impression that you understood going steady with myself would involve a certain level of monogamy to which you may be unaccustomed, and that your running about ‘on the make’ would be more than just unacceptable. It would be intolerable.”

“A-Al—“

A heavy hand swatted one of the bubbly globes, making his ass jiggle and his body jolt. Angel yelped, caught off guard by the sharp strike.

“So, let’s make a deal, Angel,” Alastor purred, leaning down and kissing the flaming cheek he had just spanked. “I am the only one who brings you sexual release or pleasure. Nothing or no one else. In return, I will continue to be you ‘beau’ and will endeavor, as I see fit, to pamper you. Do we have a deal?”

Angel might have said ‘fuck no’ just to be obstinate, but then Alastor rolled him onto his back, leaned down to kiss him, and he felt himself melt in the fog of lust. He shouldn’t have shook the Radio Demon’s hand.

You never shake the Radio Demon’s hand.

Wanna know what fucking sucks? Cleaning jizz out of an aching, just-fucked asshole in a shitty motel bathroom, that’s what! Wanna know what sucks worse? Thinking about the fact that ya put a fucking motel pillow in your fucking mouth. Angel was positive he would get an infection. In all his years of porn, he’d done some vile fucking shit…

But he never put a random ass motel pillow in his fucking mouth.

He wanted to scream in frustration, wanted to throw something… but most of all he wanted to gargle with mouthwash and cry.

He shook Alastor’s hand. Why the fuck did he shake the Radio Demon’s hand?

He knew better. Everyone knew better. This was some basic ass hell survival bullshit. Vaggie gave him the rundown the first day he ever saw the fucker a year ago, and it had been reiterated a thousand times since. Don’t make any deals with the Radio Demon.

“Fucking dammit!” He shrieked, punching the shitty tile wall and then howling in pain. “Motha’ fucker!” He heard the door open. “Alastor, what the fuck did I fuckin say! I don’t wanna look at yer smug fuckin face right now!”

“Angel, my dear, just calm—“

“I swear t’ all that’s fuckin hellish if ya tell me t’ calm down one more fuckin time, I’m gonna shoot ya in the dick!” Angel roared, peaking his head around the shower curtain and throwing a wet washcloth at Alastor when he laid eyes on the man’s smirking features. Arrogant smiling prick. Piece of shit Radio Demon. Manipulative bastard.

Alastor dodged the sopping wash cloth and sidled up to the shower. “Applesauce, my sweetie! There’s no need to go off the deep end! Your behavior is absolutely over the edge, as they say. Come now! Our deal has simply made everything on the level!”

Angel poked his head out from around the curtain again, glaring at the Radio Demon. “Come any closer and I’ll pop ya in the mouth, I swear,” he said through gritted teeth. “This is what I fuckin get fa followin’ my dick and not my instincts. A fuckin motel. I can’t believe I followed ya inta a fuckin motel. What was I fuckin thinkin? I wasn’t thinkin. Fuckin dammit. I can’t even touch my own dick unless I’m cleanin it all clinical like. This is fuckin ridiculous!”

He couldn’t rub one out. He couldn’t finger his asshole. He couldn’t pleasure himself in any way, shape, or form.

When he tried, it felt like he was being electrocuted, and not in a good way.

Alastor studied his nails, feigning disinterest in the screaming rant, but Angel saw the corners of his smirking lips twitch and the way his eyes filled with amusement. He thought this shit was so fucking funny. Angel let out a scream of frustration and ducked back into the shower, turning up the heat of the spray and letting the sauna of steam and warmth encase him.

Okay, so he’d fucked up. Perhaps he’d teased Alastor a little too much and maybe he should have known better than to shake that tempting hand just because the bastard gave him a couple sweet kisses after being a little rough with him. He fucked up.

Now how was he gonna fix this huge fuckin power imbalance?

Alastor had all the fucking leverage now, and that fact made him sick to his stomach. The bird in his chest had returned full force.

He couldn’t even clean the jizz out of his fucking ass because he was too stupidly sensitive not to get turned on by his own touch and then fucking electrocuted for his efforts. “Dammit, fine, Smiles,” he growled, grinding his teeth as he heard the shuffling of clothing and a body slipping behind him.

Lips on his shoulder-blade. He shivered at the feather-light kiss. Alastor ran a hand down his spine, pushed a finger into the clenching, raw hole. “Angel,” he said, voice gentler. “Je prendrai soin de toi.”

Oh shit. Angels knees became jelly in that moment. “Don’t speak French t’ me, ya asshole,” he groaned. “Just let me be pissed at ya.”

The Radio Demon laughed and nibbled along his neck. Angel whimpered and braced himself against that boring tiled wall, rocking his ass back on the man’s skillful fingers and moaning pathetically into one of his hands. Angel knew, in that moment, he’d truly lost this fucking battle.

He would not lose the war.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Alastor had him by the balls.

…Figuratively, of course.

Well, actually, sometimes… literally.

He wanted to touch himself— to run his hands over his own body, to stroke his own cock, and to ram something thick and vibrating into his own ass. He craved his fingers, his toys, and the euphoric bliss he could always drive himself towards. How did Alastor expect him to endure this… this lack of touch? His own touch. Any real touch. He needed it.

But he refused to fucking beg for it. Not again.

Not after four days ago when his attempts to seduce the Radio Demon exploded in his face and obliterated his self confidence. Suffice it to say, subtlety was never Angel’s strong suit. He flirted, flounced, and teased, but Alastor remained positively immovable. Uninterested.

Worse, his efforts were met with such a look of veiled disdain and irritation that he nearly folded in on himself in mortification. Did this fucker think he WANTED to pester his prudish ass for this shit? Of course not! He hated this… this dependency!

To be fair, Angel craved sex multiple times a day, whereas Alastor seemed to crave it once in a blue moon, so whenever Angel tried to persuade the other man, he usually found him uninterested. So much for being fucking pampered.

What was worse, the more pressure he applied, the more disinterested Alastor appeared. True, the bastard’s tentacle-like shadows did most of the work, and that was all well and good for a while, but Angel found that the more he had to ask, the more awkward it became, and the more self conscious he felt about his own sexual appetites. He could feel Alastor judging him and it made him want to retreat. When those irritated, apathetic eyes studied his writhing body, suddenly the tentacles felt all wrong— invasive and slimy.

Sometimes he wondered if maybe he was imagining things, if his anger towards Alastor for orchestrating this whole ordeal made him hypersensitive to every perceived slight, every off glance, but he didn’t fucking care. He was fucking pissed.

So fucking pissed.

Four days. He hadn’t been touched sexually in four days. Today marked a month since he found himself ensnared in that stupid deal with the Radio Demon. A whole month of half-hearted affection. A whole month of complete lack of autonomy over his own body and pleasure, but only in the last four days had he begun avidly avoiding the Radio Demon; ache between his thighs be damned. He was certain that Alastor, for his part, enjoyed the distance, a ‘break’— as he must see it— from Angel’s unwanted attentions.

The alcohol helped a little. He offered Husk a faint smile as he sipped his drink. He hadn’t bothered to dress up, clad in an oversized pink sweater that slunk off one shoulder and a pair of black yoga pants. He didn’t FEEL sexy. He felt…

He took another sip of the candy-flavored drink, clearly crafted with care. Well, anyway, at least this helped, if only marginally. “Thanks, Husk,” he said, reaching out and squeezing the cat demon’s hand. “I really fuckin’ needed this.”

Husk blinked, flushing just slightly. “Sure thing,” he grumbled. “Angel, it’s not any of my business, but are you ok—“

“Greetings, gentlemen!” Alastor’s booming voice, all chipper with that transatlantic twang, sounded throughout the large room as if amplified on a loudspeaker. It was followed by a chorus of canned cheers and laughter from that grating cane of his. “I do hope I’m not interrupting. Husker, be a man and fetch me just a hair of the dog.”

A gloved hand settled on Angel’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off. He didn’t glance at Alastor as he slid from the barstool, still holding his drink, but those molten red eyes— so sharp and quick— pierced between the shoulder blades of his departing back. Heat. Burning. He wouldn’t linger to gauge the Radio Demon’s reaction to his minor slight, if you could even call it that.

Instead, he settled on the couch, nursed his vibrant drink, and chatted with Nifty, who snatched up his empty glass the second he hit ice.

“Have you SEEN the outfit Verosika Mayday wore on the cover of Splooge,” she said, practically bouncing on her heels as she cleaned. She vibrated with energy. “It was everything. EVERYTHING. Oh! You could definitely totally pull it off Angel!” A sudden gasp. Her single eye widened. “You have to buy it! You have the long legs!”

“I got the figure, but I dunno if the color would suit,” he said, sighing as he recalled the caution tape dress the pop star had worn for hell’s version of Cosmo. “Yellow don’t look great on me, ya know? Also, that bitch musta had body tape all over. Ain’t no way a tit didn’t pop out of that shit at least once.”

In his peripheral vision, he saw Alastor settle in a high-backed maroon armchair and noticed the way the other man pointedly pulled out a thick, leather-bound book to read. Condescending prick.

He needed to calm down. Getting angry for no fucking reason wasn’t gonna help him right now. What he needed was a distraction. He needed to release all this pent up, negative energy. Yeah, that’s what he needed. Nifty trotted off after a time, and he stood to leave as well, wondering if perhaps some retail therapy might be in order. The mall. He would go to Inferno Valley Mall and buy… fucking everything. But first he could use one more drink.

The bar was empty.

Where had Husk gone?

“Angel,” Alastor said, voice low. “Come here.”

A command.

Angel gritted his teeth. “Start again,” he said. “I don’t think ya meant t’ talk t’ me like that, now did ya?”

A brief pause.

Red eyes slid up from the page, and the look Alastor gave him… no. No. He had to stand his ground. He would not be bossed around. He glared back at the Radio Demon, unflinching.

Clawed fingers carefully closed the volume, setting it aside. A single digit beckoned him forward with no more than a small gesture. No words spoken. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to obey, or how he ended up standing in front of Alastor, squirming nervously in place.

“Level with me, my dear fellow,” Alastor said, taking his hand and pulling the spider into his lap. Angel shifted to get comfortable without sitting on the other man’s dick. “What’s eating you? Not begging for whoopee, as of late. Quite distant all around. I’m not complaining about the former, of course. Your persistent needs were becoming…” Angel could hedge a guess: Irritating, off putting, disgusting, annoying, ridiculous. “—Anyway, I do not appreciate the cold shoulder.”

“I guess I just don’t want ya anymore,” Angel said, shrugging. Maybe it wasn’t true, and maybe it was a little mean, but this had to end. He was ending it.

Alastor went rigid. “Pardon?”

“Ya heard right,” he said, trying to slide out of Alastor’s arms, but finding the hold on his waist unflinching. Oh, well now any inkling of guilt tugging at the back of his mind was definitely fucking gone. Fuck this asshole. Fine, two could play at this game. He leaned in close and stroked Alastor’s cheek, hearing that hiss of Radio static. “I’d rather be alone and sufferin’ than let ya touch me. I don’t want ya. I don’t need ya. I’d electrocute my ass on anotha’ man’s dick before I let ya fuck me again. Capiche?”

“Baloney! Now now, Angel, don’t take any wooden nickels. No need to say something you might regret,” Alastor purred, but his smile—that wide toothy smile— faltered at the edges.

“Oh? Ya don’t get it, do ya? I ain’t doin’ this anymore. I’m done with ya,” Angel said plainly. “What? Did ya think ya could control me with an ironclad hold on my cock? Did ya think I’d listen t’ ya then? Fuck you.”

Red eyes narrowed, beginning to shift. He could feel the rage building behind that burning stare, but at least he was getting somewhere. “Angel, please calm down. You’re behavior at this moment is completely unacceptable.” Alastor’s lips found his neck, trying to coax him with tingling little kisses. He knew Alastor was restraining himself from biting, but fuck those kisses sent shivers down his spine, made his heart hammer in his chest

“No.” The word hung in the air. Hard. Firm. “Stop. Don’t touch me. Don’t kiss me. I. Don’t. Want. You.”

Alastor stopped. Did he look… hurt? Confused? The hold on Angel’s waist disappeared. He slid from the Radio Demon’s lap, all four arms wrapping around himself. “Very well, my effeminate fellow. When your mood is more keen, you may come apologize to myself properly and we shall see how we might move past this little tantrum of yours.”

“Ya sound like Valentino,” Angel snapped. “I’m just yer fuckin whore, Al. Well, I ain’t doin this shit again.”

“Take that back, Angel.”

“No.”

They were at a standstill, glaring at each other.

The words, all hard edges, left Angel’s lips in a rush of music:

“Ya say you’re gonna pamper me,
“as you see fit”.
This deal is shit.

Ya wanna try t’ make me believe,
This is somethin’ more,
but I’m just your whore.

And I know these terms.
I know these conditions.
Try to wrap me around your finger,
but I won’t listen.

No no no.

Ya see, Val thought he could own me.
You wanna CONTROL me;
But, bitch, you’re just a simp;
A Strawberry Pimp.

Big bad man,
always in control,
Stepped on,
Stomped out,
by his fluffy fruity ho.

I’m gonna break ya;
Gonna make ya see,
Ya really oughta not,
Underestimate me!

Here’s the name of the game,
That we’re gonna play:
Ya got three days t’ make me say,
I’m yours, i’m fine, and this is okay;
By the way,
You win? Ya get my soul.
I win? I keep the whole.

No tricks, no traps, no turns of phrase.
Make me need ya in those three days.
Can ya put my mind back in that haze,
Where all I crave is yer cock and praise?

Ya want a bitch, obedient and weak?
Here’s yer chance t’ make me meek.
So there.
Sound fair?”

Alastor beamed, eyes suddenly alight with mirth. His teeth seemed sharper, his smile broader, as if Angel had unknowingly offered him something positively delectable. “Very well, Angel,” he said, extending a gloved hand. Green lights swirled around them. “You have yourself a deal.” You never shake hands with the Radio Demon, and here Angel was about to do it for the second time. Well, whatever. Time to double down. When they shook hands the air in the room sparked and sizzled.

Angel smiled then, almost sweetly, and leaned in close enough to ghost his breath over Alastor’s lips. “The truth is, handsome, yer just a wannabe Pimp with no fuckin power over me,” he said, tone sugary sweet. “Ya can’t make me stay. Ya can’t make me ride ya dick. Ya can’t make me like ya or listen t’ ya. Ya can’t make me do anythin’. Fuck, it would hurt like hell, but I could start takin clients again, just t’ spite ya. This really is yer best fuckin option—“

It was like being struck by a wave, then tumbling and rolling under the surface of the water. Breathless. Terrifying. Strangely exhilarating. The kiss, hungry and possessive, knocked the wind out of him. He might have bent, might have buckled under the force of the burning need Alastor’s lips awakened in him.

But no.

Not this time.

Alastor was going to fucking learn here and now just who the fuck he was dealing with.

He grabbed the Radio Demon by the neck and shoved him, unceremoniously, back into his chair. His fingers remained wrapped around that slender throat in a gentle threat, while he nibbled Alastor’s lower lip, let their tongues dance, and hummed contently. It was all so easy. He trailed his lips along the Radio Demon’s jaw, sank his teeth into that unsuspecting nape, and then returned to their sloppy make-out session; green venom dripping from his fangs.

Angel’s smile widened as Alastor’s face flushed, plush red ears flattening against his head. Mr. High-And-Fucking-Mighty was putty in his hands. Perfect. He casually unzipped Al’s dark pants with his lower sets of hands and jerked them, underwear and all, completely from the other man’s trim form. They would see just how much the Radio Demon enjoyed being the vulnerable and exposed one for once.

Angel remained standing. This way, he towered over Alastor, enjoying the rush of full control as his hand languidly massaged the red-tipped cock from base to tip. Alastor visibly shuddered, clearly struggling to regain his faculties, but bending to pleasure; or perhaps he was just desperate for tenderness after being told he wasn’t wanted. Angel wouldn’t linger on the thought. Those red eyes flicked briefly to the discarded pants on the ground in concern, but Angel squeezed the base of the weeping rod and quickened his pace, which proved an adequate enough distraction.

Then, Angel changed the game.

He grabbed the undersides of Alastor’s thighs and lifted them, very slowly, all the while deepening their heated kiss. He rubbed a thumb over the sensitive slit, teasing the mushroom head. Ah the advantage of four arms. Six, if he felt so inclined. He would really need to investigate that fluffy red tail at some point too. Interesting.

The poor Radio Demon hardly expected a finger to breach his tight little self-important asshole. The sharp gasp against Angel’s lips was enough proof he’d caught Alastor off guard.

Panic. Those red eyes widened. Angel waited a beat, listened for the plea to stop, and when it did not come he smirked, slammed his finger in deeper, and massaged the spot he new would make Alastor keen like a bitch. He wasn’t disappointed. “Ahhh ahhhgnnn.” Hands flew to Angel’s shoulders. “W-what are—“

Angel added a second finger and began, with little hesitation or preamble, to thrust them into that clenching, spasming heat. Alastor’s back arched, eyes shut. Angel heard the softest whimper as claws cut into his shoulders. Unperturbed, he stroked the man’s cock in time with the rhythm of his fingers.

“Ya like that, Daddy?” he purred, sinking his teeth into Alastor’s neck again. A shaky sigh. “Eva’ had yer ass played with? Maybe if ya ‘assume the position’, I might even be inclined t’ fuck ya.”

Perhaps it was cruel, but he laughed when Alastor whimpered and came into his palm. So soon. He couldn’t resist tugging that dick and milking out each pathetic fucking drop.

Alastor’s eyes snapped open then; his smile gone. His chest began rising and falling rapidly. Panic. Shame. Shock. He was shaking. “N-No… I d-don’t want—“

Ah… fucking dammit. That fucking face did him in. Angel softened, looking down at the frazzled overlord through his lashes. So hurt. So terrified. So much cum. “It’s alright, Al. I won’t do nothin’ ya don’t want. Shhh shh,” he peppered kisses along the Radio Demon’s cheeks, his top set of arms wrapping around the trembling man while the lower pair redressed him. He never expected to get the infamous Radio Demon shaking THIS much. “I got ya. It’s okay, Smiles. Ya did so good. I’m right here, handsome.”

Some petting, kisses, and gentle words eventually soothed the Radio Demon enough to level out his breathing. In a flash, that mask of a permanent smile morphed back onto his features. But “weakness” had been shown, and Angel knew the Alastor would never forgive him for having seen it.

He ran his fingers through Alastor’s hair, marveling at the way those crimson eyes gradually began to clear and burn with a potent mixture of rage, hunger, and… something else he couldn’t pinpoint. “Ya really oughta not underestimate me, Smiles,” he whispered in Alastor’s ear, smirking as it twitched. Just a little reminder.

Alastor vanished and reappeared several feet away, clothing pristine and looking suddenly perfectly unruffled. “Very well, my dear fellow,” he said, his smile giving nothing away. “Why, since you are so confident in your prowess and self control I will stop holding myself back. What a spirited wager this has become!”

Well, fuck.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 Venom and Blood

Day 1:

So he was bluffing, right?

He had to be bluffing.

As the hours ticked by following their confrontation and Angel remained unharmed and untouched, he became steadily more assured of this fact. If he just kept his head down, dodged Alastor at every turn for the next three days, and maintained his composure, he would win this stupid fucking wager and regain control of his own fucking dick and ass.

And really, he didn’t NEED to worry, right? It wasn’t like the bastard could really convince him to say “I’m yours, I’m fine, and this is okay”. At the end of the day, for Alastor to win the wager Angel needed to agree… to give up his own soul willingly; duress and horniness notwithstanding. Sure, he agreed to a lot of stupid shit in the heat of the moment, but he wouldn’t sell his soul for a fuck, that was for damn sure. The more he thought about it, the less concern he felt.

Why should he hide away like some scared little bitch?

No. He wouldn’t hide. He wouldn’t cower. He wouldn’t let Alastor intimidate him with veiled threats or witty wordplay. He was gonna act like everything was just fuckin peachy, and they would just see how Alastor liked THAT.

He forgot to take into consideration that even if he planned to antagonize the Radio Demon by making himself visible, he would only be punishing himself if he agreed to attend some of the stupider shit Charlie placed on the hotel roster. Happy Hotel Movie Night was one such event.

Sitting stock-still on the couch, staring hazy-eyed at the moving images on a projection screen Charlie had rolled in, Angel thought to himself that he had never been more bored in his entire life or afterlife. What’s worse, everyone else seemed to be enjoying the show and he had been asked more than once to put his hell phone away.

He squirmed. Baxter shushed him.

He pulled out his phone to check Voxtagram. Vaggie tossed him a glare from across the room that glowed brighter than his offensive phone screen.

Sure, he could leave, but that would mean admitting defeat in this one-sided battle of wills. After all, Alastor sat ram-rod straight beside him, looking as amused and chipper as ever. His feral smile appeared utterly at ease, stretched wide from ear to ear. His sharp eyes flicked to Angel every time he wiggled or readjusted in his seat.

It infuriated him to no end, seeing the bastard looking so… calm.

A draft swept the room about 20 minutes into the picture show. A cold, icy chill. It made his fur stand on end; set his teeth chattering no matter how hard he tried to clamp them shut. He wished he had sleeves, pants… something other than breezy shorts and a crop top!

When those sharp red eyes flicked to him, he couldn’t help but draw his knees to his chest in discomfort. There were a million pornographic ways Alastor could use this situation to his advantage. Manifesting blankets so he could molest Angel beneath them was just one such possibility that briefly flashed across his naturally dirty mind. His heart hammered in his chest. He needed to leave quick.

Instead, he watched with wide eyes as the other man wordlessly removed his red cloak and draped it over Angel’s shoulders, wrapping him in the warm, soft material so quietly and casually that he found himself gaping open-mouthed at the unexpected gesture.

For some odd reason, the speed at which his heart beat in that moment was tenfold what it had been just seconds before. The scent of Alastor’s cloak— oaky, masculine, and oddly comforting— set his chest aching, and the touch of crimson fabric against his skin felt like an embrace. It was pathetic, really, how easily he could be placated. “Thanks,” he whispered, offering the other Demon a sheepish smile before quickly averting his gaze to hide the faint flush he knew was forming on his cheeks and chest. Thank fucking goodness for dim lighting.

Someone shushed him.

Annnnd now he was fucking pissed again. He opened his mouth to snap at the offending ‘shusher’, to let them know this was a real shitty way to watch a fuckin’ movie. What was the point of watching a movie with a group of pals if you weren’t laughing and yelling at the characters on the screen. What was the fucking point?!

But the sudden introduction of a gloved hand squeezing his own provided an instant distraction. The words dried up in his throat. Alastor didn’t so much as glance at him, facing forward while his eyes studied the flashing images on the screen, but his thumb stroked circles into Angel’s palm.

Angel glanced around the room. No one was looking their way, but if anyone chances a glance at them now… how would he explain this? He couldn’t blame champagne this time. He worried his lower lip between his teeth. Should he pull his hand away?

No. He didn’t want to do that.

Instead, he returned the squeeze and leaned back against the plush maroon cushions of the couch, finally feeling himself relax.

Relax.

Alastor’s thumb provided such a pleasant tingling sensation. He was hypersensitive to where they were conjoined, every little squeeze and circular sweep as soft as a kiss. His eyelids became heavy, so very heavy. Maybe… he would close them.

Only for a second, of course…

As the fog of contentment caused his mind to drift somewhere between states of consciousness and unconsciousness, he thought briefly that he might be falling, but something solid cushioned his head and the warmth intensified. Why did he feel so comfortable? He didn’t know. He nuzzled into the warmth, felt himself drawn closer to it.

Relax. Relax.

And then nothing. Sleep wrapped around him like an old friend.

He was only torn away from the grips of pleasant sleep when a stark, blinding light replaced the darkness he’d been enjoying, and a high pitched squealing sound assaulted his ears. An alarm? A person? He groaned, squeezed his eyes tighter shut, and buried his face into something soft and pliant, like skin, feeling the faintest tickle of choppy hair brushing his face and shrouding his vision.

Wait…

“Awww! I knew you two would become friends eventually,” he heard Charlie saying. Wait, what? He winced, blinking the sleep from eyes, and almost groaned aloud when he realized just whose neck he was nuzzling. Of course he’d used Alastor’s shoulder as a fucking pillow. Of fucking course.

He sat up stiffly. “Sorry, Smiles,” he said shrinking under the many eyes directed at him. Fuck. First hangin all over Al at the party, and now this. Everyone was gonna…

Oh. Oh wait a minute.

Everyone was gonna think he was just some starry-eyed bitch smitten with the fuckin Radio Demon. Well well, now wouldn’t that make any complaints or concerns he expressed later down the road far less believable? Wouldn’t that make people doubt him if he started throwing accusations around? He tilted his head, studied Alastor as the man stoically accepted his apology and told him “he really must learn to keep his hands to himself” and that Alastor “would make an exception this time because he believed Angel was so very handsy unconsciously.” No one else had felt that draft. He realized this as Alastor took back his cloak and commented on how odd it was that Angel should be so cold with all his fur.

He watched Vaggie and a Charlie share a look, Vaggie shaking her head and appearing concerned while Charlie’s eyes widened in realization.

Ah, a smear campaign.

Angel saw then a classic manipulator tactic brewing under the surface, and Alastor wasn’t even sullying his hands by saying anything about Angel to the others directly.

It was interesting, really, seeing Alastor constructing the scaffolding of this narrative so subtly.

Well, time to knock it down.

He folded his hands in his lap and offered his sweetest, most apologetic smile. “Ya know what? I don’t think it’s alright at all,” he said— loud enough for the others to hear. “I know ya don’t like bein’ touched, and lately I’ve been real bad about invadin’ your personal space. I promise I’ll be better about it. I really am sorry, Al. Seriously, if I slip up again, let me know. Shove me off ya! Tell me t’ fuck off. I’m a fuckin idiot, but I don’t wanna make ya uncomfortable and it’s not acceptable fa me t’ be so touchy feely. I’m gonna be better about keepin t’ that five foot rule from now on.”

He slid off the couch, providing the man with those so often requested 5 feet of distance. Alastor’s red ears flicked back briefly, the edge of the smile twitching with irritation.

Charlie beamed, looking relieved and quite proud. Such an empathetic and thoughtful gesture!

He almost felt guilty it was all a performance.

But maybe it didn’t have to be. Not necessarily. He’d give Alastor plenty of fucking space, alright.

Husk grumbled and stretched as he stood, arching a brow at the two men. “Just sit by me next time, legs,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t mind if ya have a little cat nap against my shoulder.” The flash of a playful, flirtatious smirk.

Angel flushed and grinned, opening his mouth to respond with some banter of his own.

However, the discord of radio static, with its hiss of white noise, garble of broken chatter, and shrill whine dipping in and out of frequency, assaulted his ears; loud as a gun shot too close to the head. The sound set his brain ringing. It hit him like a bus, causing him to stumble and crumble to his knees, clutching his hands over his ears.

“What the fuck, Al!” He could barely hear himself shout over the cacophony of sound. “Ya fuckin’ psycho! What the hell is the matter with you? Ya nearly blew out my fuckin eardrums!”

Eyes. So many watching eyes, Alastor tilted his head. Too far. His teeth seemed… sharper than usual. Was anyone else SEEING this shit? Then that expression shifted, miraculously mobile with the smile still attached, to one of baffled concern. “Angel, my effeminate fellow, I would apologize but I don’t rightly know what’s gone and upset you this time,” he said, tilting his head and tossing a glance at Charlie. “Have you perhaps taken anything that might—“

“I’m fuckin clean, ya twisted son of a bitch! Don’t ya try t’ fuckin’ undermine me!” He needed to stop playing Alastor’s game. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and took a deep breath, waiting for the noise to subside. His ears burned. The ringing… The ringing wouldn’t stop.

Husk looked… uncertain, but one glance at Alastor and he regretfully backed away.

Charlie hurried to Angel’s side, full of worry. “Angel, are you… okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” he said, blinking when Alastor extended a gloved hand to him, a ‘chivalric’ offer to help him back onto his feet. He saw shadows extending around him like phantom limbs, saw something taunting and feral in those flashing eyes. Angel drew back perhaps a little too quickly. He realized he was suddenly very cold again. Shaking. “No!”

He saw the world twisting around him, images growing distorted, limbs elongating, smiles widening, and teeth sharpening. Faces seemed to shift, objects melted, and shadows blended into tentacles that slithered over his skin like snakes. It stung. It burned. He squeezed his eyes shut and screamed.

A bad trip. It felt like a bad trip.

He clawed at Alastor when the man scooped him up and when that didn’t work, he tried to bite him, fangs dripping with green venom. The sight of that venom caused a few of the other housemates to gasp in horror. Angel had venom?

He heard someone say the word “defanged”.

He thrashed, fought, kicked, and hissed; frustration and panic building with each passing second. He heard someone say that he must be high and he wanted to fucking sob. He wanted to scream louder. Alastor… had made him look… unhinged.

What could he say? ‘This isn’t my fault. He’s MAKING me LOOK crazy. It’s not me, it’s him!’ Would they believe him?

Baxter said he would do a drug test. There shouldn’t be any drugs in Angel’s system, but in that moment fear curled in his gut. What if… somehow there were? He looked into Alastor’s eyes, glowing high-definition in an otherwise blurry world, and felt the burning taunt smoldering under all that faux concern. He struggled to pull himself together, tears streaming down his cheeks.

When he went still against Alastor’s chest, when he stopped thrashing and rested his head— whimpering— against one of those broad shoulders, that’s when the waking nightmare ended. No more monsters. No more radio static. No more melting world.

Relief rolled over him in waves. He exhaled, a shuddering sigh mixed with a sob. Charlie tried to move him from Alastor’s lap, apologizing awkwardly to the Radio Demon. Angel clung tighter to the man with both sets of arms, a spike of terror striking him as the world began to shift the second he drew back even slightly from Alastor.

He must seem fucking nuts, he realized. A regular fucking crackpot. He laughed as that thought struck him. A broken little laugh mixed with a sob. He couldn’t stop fucking laughing. Maybe he WAS the crazy one.

No.

No. He would not let that thought stick in his head. He looked up into those piercing red eyes, studied his own trembling reflection in them: scared, vulnerable, pathetic.

No. He would not question his own sanity. He knew he was being played. “Smiles,” he said, voice a cracked whisper.

And then he was wrenched from the safety of those arms and the world shattered all over again.

Had he been screaming for hours or minutes? He didn’t know. Time ran together. The tentacles slid over his throat, wrapped around it, threatened to choke him. At different moments people’s faces would morph into those of long lost family or friends, only to shift back the moment the sight and sound brought him too much comfort, and then his wails could not be soothed or comforted by anything. He was… so tired.

Laughing shadows. Tilting walls. Teeth and eyes everywhere.

He wrapped his arms around his knees, rocked himself, and shuttered.

“This is torture,” he said aloud, watching Charlie speak to Alastor in a hushed voice across the room, her hands clutched nervously in front of her, glancing towards Angel every few seconds.

“What did you do to piss him off, kid,” Husk whispered, wandering over with some water. “He’s got it out for you.”

Thank Satan. He definitely wasn’t fucking crazy.

Husk froze as those red eyes snapped towards them. They narrowed. Alastor swiveled on his heel and bounced jauntily up to the pair. “I hate to interrupt this riveting conversation,” he said with a tight-lipped smiled. He leaned down, opening his arms for Angel, and the spider nearly leapt into the sanctuary, tangling his legs around the man’s waist and his arms around his neck. Sweet fucking relief. The world finally righted itself. He buried his face into Alastor’s neck. “I’ll be taking our poor, overwrought patient to bed while he overcomes this nasty little drug trip of his.”

“Ya know, I could watch him,” Husk said easily. “Since you don’t exactly think highly of him and he might feel more comfortable with someone he trusts.”

Charlie perked up, opening her mouth to speak.

“No.” The word sounded a lot like a snarl coming from Alastor’s lips. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Husk asked with a shrug, crossing his arms. “Just hand him over. Unless, of course, you’re enjoyin’ all that crying and clinging?”

“I suggest you drop this conversation, Husk,” Alastor hissed. The words were a low growl. “In fact, I command it.” Silence. Husk’s ears flattened. He stepped back. A bottle of cheap booze manifested itself on the bar. “Ha! Now, I believe you have other things to do, don’t you, my dear fellow? Mind your own potatoes, Husker, and try not to get too splifficated!”

And just like that, another possible obstacle to the Radio Demon’s fickle whims was neutralized.

Alastor’s brocade comforter was soft against his back. Tears streamed down his cheeks as Angel stared up at the ceiling. “I hate you,” he said, testing the words on his tongue and deciding that in that moment they were true. “I really… liked ya… and now… I hate you. Fuckin’ overlords. You’re all… evil.”

“Assume the position,” Alastor said simply, removing his coat and setting it aside.

A silence.

Angel stared at that rigid back. “No,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut tight against the nightmares all around him. “I told ya. I’d rather electrocute myself on anotha’ man’s cock than give my ass up t’ you. I’m holdin’ out fa a fella, and if ya recall I ended things with ya the otha’ day. We ain’t t’getha’ anymore, Al. When this deal ends and I get my body back to myself, I’ll be free of ya. I’ll leave the hotel if I hafta. I’ll find someone who… treats me nice and you’ll just hafta find a new hole t’ use when the mood strikes. I was happy… when ya held my hand t’day. So fuckin’ stupid.”

His chest ached. Everything hurt. His heart hurt. “Ha! No,” Alastor said, shaking his head and gliding over to Angel. He smiled down at him, mirth dancing in that dangerous, flashing gaze. He took Angel’s chin in hand and tilted it up, studying his features. “Such an earful you’ve given me! And here I thought ‘I really oughta not underestimate’ you. You’re the one who instigated this, my effeminate fellow. Don’t start casting a kitten just because the game has suddenly become more than you can handle.”

“You’re tryin t’ BREAK me!” Angel half screamed, half sobbed.

“I’ll put you back together again when it’s all over, more obedient than before ideally,” Alastor said, kissing him gently. The kiss proved to be his one mistake.

Angel tangled his fingers in Alastor’s crimson hair, deepening the kiss. Heat sizzled between them as he pulled the man on top of him, tongue dancing. He kissed him until he was breathless and flushed. He kissed him until he panted for air, fluffy ears lying flat. “You’re fuckin pathetic,” Angel said softly, hissing the words in Alastor’s ear. He slid a clawed finger down the man’s spine, felt him shiver. “Ya think I don’t notice what a weak little fuck you are? Hm? Go ahead. Use your stupid fuckin powers. Break my fuckin mind. Make everyone think I’m fuckin crazy. Just remember WHY you’re doin it.” He cupped Alastor’s balls through his slacks, squeezing them. A groan and gasp of pain. “You’re fuckin obsessed with me just like every otha’ man in hell, baby. Ya ain’t nothin’ special.”

He watched those red eyes widen in horror, the realization seeming to suddenly strike Alastor alongside the full weight of his actions. That, and perhaps he finally saw the extent of the hatred burning in Angel’s gaze, the honest malice in his smile.

“How can… I fix this?” He said, panic causing his chest to rise and fall rapidly. “How can I make you stop hating me? Make you stay… even if you… win?”

Well now they were getting somewhere. Angel sat up and leaned against the headboard. He stroked Alastor’s cheek, rubbed a thumb over his lips. That twitching, tight-lipped smile, barely maintained. “Yer gonna go out there and tell Charlie I’m not crazy. That I wasn’t seeing shit fa no reason. Tell her ya lost control of your powers… maybe even say the truth, it happened because you’re a jealous little bitch.” He saw Alastor cringe, watched those eyes narrow. “Spruce it up as ya see fit, handsome. Blame your cane or your shadows. Tell her ya didn’t realize it until now when we talked about it and I gave ya more details. Give her some bullshit excuse fa why this happened without ya knowin. I don’t give a fuck. Just make it clear I ain’t fuckin crazy and this is YOUR FAULT.” He tangled his fingers in Alastor’s hair and yanked his head back. The whine sounded delicious. “Now, tell me the truth. How do ya feel about me, ya stupid bastard?”

“Angel… I don’t… I—“ Wild eyes struggling for escape. Words stumbling over themselves to find an answer that would maintain his pride but also get him exactly what he wanted.

“Don’t think. Just say it.” Angel commanded. “Now.”

“I’m in l-Love with you.” The words cracked with shame. That transatlantic accent never sounded more pleasing than when it was stuttering.

“How long have ya known?”

“6 m-months.”

Angel sighed, released Alastor, and rubbed his own temples. “Alright. Go talk t’ Charlie. Ya have ten minutes.” He slid off the bed, waiting for Alastor’s brain to catch up with the command. “If ya do good, maybe I could be convinced t’ give you something nice t’night. Maybe I could even be convinced not t’ immediately bounce if I win the bet.”

Alastor vanished and reappeared less ruffled than before, clearing his throat and straightening his bow tie in front of the mirror. It seemed he was having a harder time than usual containing that flush. “A-ah yes. Ab-so-lute-ly,” he said, voice strained. “I will speak with her right away. Ha…”

Angel saw the stiffness in those shoulders. The shame and self disgust in the way Alastor looked at his own reflection. He draped his arms around the Radio Demon, meeting the gaze of the man’s mirror image as he kissed his cheek. “Thank ya, Daddy,” he purred, nuzzling Alastor’s cheek while one of his hands stroked a soft red tufted ear. “Ya know, I was neva’ unfaithful, by the way. Mr. Reliable is a literal fuckin vibrator and I didn’t sleep with anyone else.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I thought ya were enough, and then ya fucked everythin up with your jealous bullshit. Ya hurt me.”

Crimson eyes widened. Regret. Shock. Horror. “Angel—“

“We can keep playin the game, but let’s make one thing clear. Win or lose, what am I, Al? Your whore or your queen?”

A spark. A blaze of amusement.

There now. Someone was feeling better.

“My Queen.”

No hesitation.

Much better.

They looked good together in that mirror. An interesting tableau. Alastor’s sinister smile expanded across his handsome features while Angel, fierce and striking, draped around him, studying the man with hooded eyes under long lashes.

“Vox and Val can eat their hearts out,” Angel teased. “Ya know, I think we make a prettier picture, you and I.” Alastor turned his head and kissed him, a long slow kiss. Angel nipped his lip and returned the kiss with equal passion.

Venom and blood.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

He’d basically won.

Getting Alastor to admit fault to Charlie was definitely a win, right? As far as Angel was concerned, he was fucking golden. Now he just needed to wait for the other man to return from his mission and they could have a some easy breezy fun. No harm done… well, minus some acute psychological trauma that he would decidedly ignore until it became a severe, crippling problem, but that was for future Angel to worry about, and right now present Angel just wanted some dick and some attention.

He was lounging atop Alastor’s brocade sheets, totally NOT burying his face into Radio Demon’s pillow, because smelling his pillow would be pathetic and sad, when the door burst open. He nearly rocketed off the bed in shock, jumping about three feet in the air and clutching the red square to his chest like it was some sort of cushion shield.

What the fuck!?

Charlie surged into the room followed by a cautiously following Vaggie and a silent Alastor. Oh no. No no no. He should have known this would happen. Why hadn’t he accounted for the fact that Charlie might want to fuckin check up on him? Talk about a mood killer. So much for easy, breezy fun.

“Angel, Al just told us what happened! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?!” she said, grabbing both his hands and squeezing in an overly sentimental grip. He couldn’t help but blanch, eyes straying to Alastor who appeared, at first glance, his usual grinning self, but Angel could see the way his left eye twitched behind the monocle. The girls were in his room— in his space. He didn’t like it.

As far as Angel knew, the Radio Demon didn’t go around inviting people into his room. Angel was… one of the lucky few, and that in itself was a huge step.

“Yeah, toots, I’m fine,” he said, offering a sheepish smile. “I mean, I’m glad we got it sorted, and I’m good now.”

“I think it’s important we discuss what happened, how it happened, and what measures we can take to avoid this happening again in the future!” Charlie said, shaking her head with wide, sweet eyes. “You were screaming, Angel, and crying. We thought you were having hallucinations from some horrible drug trip or that… I don’t know. The fact that Alastor was accidentally causing it without him even knowing… we didn’t know it was possible for him to lose control like that. We need to get to the bottom of what caused this slip!” She sat on the bed.

Alastor’s teeth clamped tighter. They resembled two yellowed rows of daggers grinding together, clanking and hissing as they brushed past one another.

Angel slid off the bed, pulling Charlie with him. “Yeah, um… sure, but why don’t we discuss it… somewhere else,” he said, leading her to the door. He didn’t realize his legs were still shaky until he started walking on them. Damn, that mind fuck really did a number on him. He tried not to wobble as he moved, teetering on a balance beam that wasn’t really there.

Alastor caught him around the waist and steadied him. “Why, we can dissect the particulars tomorrow, my dear,” he said, guiding Angel back to the bed. “For now I think it is best I observe the ‘patient’ closely for the next, oh, few hours at the very least.”

“Oh no! Angel isn’t staying in here. Not when we haven’t gotten to the bottom of this!” Charlie said, her marionette features, so expressive and open, pinching in concern. “But maybe he does need observation. Maybe Husk—“

“Ha! No no no!” Alastor’s voice, too loud, too clipped, and too sharp, cut her off. His eyes flashed. “Nooo no.”

“What the fuck, Radio Demon?” Vaggie snapped, gripping her spear. “What are you fucking plotting?”

Charlie stared, utterly baffled. “But…”

Yikes. Damage control time before Alastor’s self control finally snapped.

“Al, you’re such a fuckin gentleman,” Angel said, laughing openly and tossing Charlie a wide, easy smile. “Charlie, Vaggie, he just don’t want me roomin’ with a fella I’ve had, ya know, flirtations and shit with when I’m like this, especially someone who ain’t always in the right state of mind eitha’ on account of his drinkin’. If somethin were t’ happen… maybe I’d regret it, ya know? Not t’ say Husk would ever try anythin’, but I was actin… weirdly clingy, and I can be real convincin’. And really, I’d like t’ stay here a while. Al is the only one who knows how his own weird fuckin powers work. He already got the hallucinations stoppin.”

Vaggie blinked. “Shit. Good thinking,” she said, relaxing her stance. “Sorry.”

Charlie’s whole face brightened up, a picture of unbridled joy at this perceived closeness and friendship between her two hotel patrons. “Oh! I didn’t even… that never crossed my mind! Oh, Al, you really do think of everything! We really should discuss the details of why—“

Angel groaned, rubbing his temples. Alastor hovered around him, leaning down to cup his cheek in a clawed hand. “Tomorrow perhaps?” he said, arching his brows. “I believe some rest is in order.”

Charlie blinked. Nodded. She softened and left the room as the lights dimmed and Angel sighed blissfully in a show of faux relief.

The second the door clicked shut behind the two women, a charged silence fell over them. He watched Alastor’s ears twitch, his eyes narrow, listening for their departing steps.

Angel couldn’t help but smirk. He laid back on the bed and stretched his limbs, arching in big, sensuous movements as he made himself VERY comfortable. “Thank ya, Daddy. I know that was hard fa ya,” he said, tone playful and teasing. Perhaps too playful given the atmosphere in the room. “I think ya earned a little treat. If ya still want it, that is.”

Silence… followed by the buzz of radio static, so subtle in the background that he almost didn’t hear it.

Angel inhaled sharply, noticing then that Alastor had barely looked at him since the girls left, offering only the briefest flick of a crimson glance from his peripheral. Maybe he’d been too cocky? Maybe Alastor had lost interest after having his privacy and space invaded so intimately.

Angel almost sat up, but then one of those gloved hands moved and he found himself frozen in place, staring. A clawed finger skated delicately along his exposed stomach, feather light in its touch with just the faintest sting. It hooked under his crop top and lifted the scant material up over his fluffy chest.

Sure, plenty of fellas had enjoyed playing with Angel’s ‘tits’ in the past; the dense fluff made for great tit jobs and doubled as the best pillow in Hell; but Alastor’s fingers were different. They felt different. As they clawed through the fur on his chest, he found himself flushing a shade of fluorescent fucking pink, whimpering when a thumb and forefinger pinched a delicate, hidden nipple. They rolled the pink nub with deft ease, gave it a little tug that made him gasp sharply, and then moved on to the other nibble when the first had become a hardened bud.

He couldn’t help but squirm.

He knew getting so turned on by some light nipple play didn’t particularly bode well for his reputation, but he couldn’t help the tent that rose in his shorts when Alastor flicked and teased him.

‘Look at me. Look at me. At least fuckin look at me,’ he wanted to say. He wanted to scream it, but he bit his tongue and stifled the plea.

Control. Control of the situation was everything.

The gloved hand drifted up to his cheek, thumb stroking over his lips. He kissed it lightly and felt the Radio Demon sigh beside him before the man slowly turned his head.

That sigh…

Why did it sound so… off?

Alastor’s eyes fell on him, sharp and calculating. They dragged down his lithe form with agonizing slowness, studying each dip and rise. Appreciation, yes, but also a mix of some many other conflicting emotions hidden behind that unfaltering smile.

“Al,” Angel said, covering Alastor’s hand with his own. He pressed his lips against the man’s palm. “Ya know, I can’t read minds, handsome, but I get it if ya ain’t up t’ it anymore. You’re real particular about your space, and it was… kinda invaded t’day. Not t’ mention havin’ t’ let Charlie and them think ya ‘lost control’. I know ya hate the idea of showin any kinda weakness. I bet that’s why you’re always smilin’… So we don’t gotta do nothin’. No pressure.”

A kiss was his answer— long and slow. He melted into that kiss. Not a hot, steamy kiss or a cool chaste kiss; this resembled something different— something temperate. He could only describe the way those lips cradled his own as “comfortable”. The pace remained steady, unhurried, and he could breath easily throughout. He could keep kissing Alastor forever. So close. So content.

They pressed their foreheads together after a time, both panting softly. He heard Alastor unzip his pants through a haze of lust and something warm that made his chest feel all fluttery. So fluttery and giddy.

With a flourish of magic, Alastor fingers, ungloved, claws sheathed, and coated with lube, slipped between his thighs and prodded his entrance.

He almost told Alastor not to worry about prep and shit. He’d be fine. He didn’t need it. He was always ready for Daddy’s fat red cock.

But he couldn’t manage to drop those lines.

Instead, he shyly grabbed and lifted the undersides of his thighs with his lower set of hands and spread himself wide for the other man.

“Ahhh ahhh,” he moaned, gripping Alastor’s shoulders with his top set of hands. Two long fingers wedged themselves inside him, prodding around a bit before carefully massaging his prostate. He gasped, arched, and groaned, rocking his hips down onto the digits. Alastor sure as hell wasn’t in any hurry. He took his time scissoring those fingers and thrusting them into the trembling hole.

Why was he being so gentle?

Another kiss. Alastor’s tongue licked his lower lip, asking permission for entry, and Angel eagerly acquiesced by parting them, whining at the taste of that welcome intrusion. A wet, warm dance of tongues.

The fingers left him, the loss causing him to groan into the kiss, but Alastor didn’t leave him empty for long.

Wait…

He didn’t fully realize what was happening until it was too late; until the heat of that familiar manhood pushed inside him, so very gradually; until Alastor stopped kissing him and glared down at him with a serious, heated stare and not a hint of a smile. Those eyes. He was captivated by those crimson eyes.

Wait. No.

No.

He couldn’t speak. His heart was hammering in his chest too loudly for him to hear himself think. The steady, rhythmic rocking of Alastor’s hips, the deep plunge of that large member into his clenching tightness, had him dizzy, hovering on the edge of his comfort zone in a haze of panic and longing he couldn’t quite explain.

Kisses on his lips and cheeks. Eyes boring into his own. No more masks.

Too raw. Too gentle.

This wasn’t just fucking. It wasn’t like the shit they’d done together before, like the things he’d done on camera, or like the stuff his past clients had bought and paid for. He could do fucking. Fucking came easy.

“Making love” on the other hand…

He wanted to cry. It was fucking ridiculous, but when Alastor looked him in the eyes like this, so strangely intimate and shit, he wanted to fucking break down sobbing. Why? He quivered like some pathetic fucking virgin under the Radio Demon, moaning and clinging to him with shaky hands that seemed a little too desperate to keep a clammy grip on the Radio Demon’s shoulders.

This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fuckin fair!

“I love you,” Alastor purred in his ear and those words, combined with all this tenderness to which he was wholly unaccustomed, sent him over the edge.

He couldn’t stop the tears. The sobs shook him from somewhere deep in his chest and once they surfaced, he couldn’t push them back down. No no no! He wanted to ask Alastor to fuck him harder, to claw him, bite him, choke him, and pull his hair. He wanted to flip them and ride that cock like a fucking pogo stick, but he wasn’t in control anymore. He was just a sobbing, quivering mess who couldn’t handle being pampered and adored.

He knew what this was. Revenge. Revenge towards Angel for making Alastor say how he felt aloud. Revenge for not saying it back and keeping the upper hand.

That mischievous tongue swiped over his cheek, tasting his tears. Oh, oh fuck. He clamped around the rod pushing inside him, earning a guttural groan from the man above him. He tried to move his hips, to change the pace, but another lingering kiss had his mind all muddled.

“Is this okay?” Alastor asked, brushing another tear from his cheek with a thumb. “I love you, mon Ange.”

“Nnn,” Angel couldn’t form words outside a quiet mewl of a moan.

All movement stopped.

And that was even worse than having no control. He almost strangled the bastard. He almost kicked and screamed and threw a full blown fucking tantrum, but when he looked into those eyes, he found himself pinned and breathless. “Angel, use your words, please. Why, you’re positively weeping, my dear. Do you want to stop or is this okay?”

“I’m fine. Th-this is okay,” Angel stammered, breath hitching as the movements resumed and he was rocking once again in that perfect, synchronic rhythm that had him balancing on the edge of orgasm but never truly able to reach the other side.

A gloved hand wrapped around his leaking cock and he bucked into the glorious, unexpected contact. “Ahh ahhhh ghnn. S-smiles, I-I—“. He sank his teeth into his own tongue, forcing down the confession. No. No way was he letting go of this lead. No way was he giving up his upper hand, even if the truth might be in the words he would not say.

Alastor’s thumb brushed over the dripping slit of his rod, swirled in teasing circles around the mushroom tip. It pumped him languidly in time with each rolling thrust.

He soon came between them with a strangled cry, blood from biting his own tongue and fluorescent green venom seeping from his parted lips like drool.

His eyes rolled back. Fucking Bliss. He was in fucking bliss.

Alastor kept going.

He kept fucking going.

He drove Angel to orgasm twice before he came inside him, unbothered by the way the spider clawed at his back, cried, and babbled incoherently.

Angel never felt more pathetic, or more exposed.

He didn’t know how, but he had the feeling he’d lost tonight’s battle. Even as Alastor pressed their foreheads together, smiled again, and said, “You, my effeminate fellow, are my Queen”, he still felt like he’d lost the battle for control.

But really, he didn’t completely mind this time.

He felt… so satisfied.

“Your Queen,” he repeated, flushing as lips trailed along his neck. Each little kiss tingled and tickled delightfully. His throbbing hole felt oddly vacant and empty when Alastor pulled out of him.

Fingers tangled into his hair, jerked his head back, forced him to offer up his neck to the Radio Demon. Alastor ghosted cool breath over the nape of his white neck. His thin lips parted in the promise of a bite.

“And you’re all mine, aren’t you?” Alastor said, grazing his teeth over the skin, practically hovering in wait.

“Yes. I’m yours.” The words spilled so easily from his lips.

Laughter.

Twisted, cunning laughter.

Then the sharp pain of teeth slicing into his skin as a vortex of green lights and symbols surrounded them.

Wait… wait a minute!

I’m yours, I’m fine, and this is okay.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

One day.

He hadn’t even managed to make it past one full day.

Glowing green lights looped and tightened around his wrists like otherworldly shackles. Those strange crimson symbols imbedded themselves into his bleeding neck like a collar made of promises. Black tentacles became ropes that wrapped around his body, pinning his back to the bed.

He gasped, struggled, and opened his mouth to shout, to curse, to cry out—

Alastor place a single gloved finger over his lips and shushed him; a delicate touch paired with a smile so sinister it made his heart drop into his stomach. How? How had he been so easily manipulated?

Love. Love was the same lie Valentino first used to hook him.

How stupid was he that he fell for the same lie twice from an overlord?

When he tried to open his mouth, to set free his voice, he found he could not scream. He could not scream. He settled for sobs instead.

Alastor’s hand cradled his cheek. It might have been a mockery of tenderness, but it felt real. The gentleness felt so real. He didn’t know what was real anymore. “Easy now, my dear fellow. Why, surely you considered failure a possibility?” He said, wiping away one of the tears with his index finger. “No need to look so very upset! Constantly getting in a lather, aren’t you?”

Angel hissed and snapped his teeth at the hand, surprised when he managed to catch it. Alastor did not pull away, letting him bite the tough material of the glove to pierce skin, if only a graze. He sobbed, hissed and mauled the hand in his mouth as best he could, finding himself growing very tired of fighting when he didn’t get so much as a flinch from his victim. Two fingers deftly touched the back of his tongue. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Instinct kicked in and he found himself switching from biting to licking and sucking… an obedient little slut once more. Fuck… no. No.

“Good boy,” Alastor’s voice, soft and silky, sounded so very coaxing as he withdrew his hand, leaving Angel drooling and panting.

He hated Alastor.

He hated himself.

His voice returned to him as the lights and symbols began to fade away, dissolving into his skin like they were a part of his very being. “I said no tricks, no traps, and no turns of phrase, you lyin sack of shit,” he said, his voice something between a strangled sob and a shout.

Alastor tilted his head, ears twitching. He leaned over Angel, kissing him chastely on the lips. From lukewarm and comforting to icy marble. The difference in temperature alone had his heart seizing.

“Now now, my dear! Nobody likes a sore loser! I didn’t need to lie or pull a fast one on you. You were more than eager to say those words that you, yourself, decided upon, though it is very unfortunate that you have not responded to my feelings in kind.” His tone lilted between sickly sing-song sweet and sinister. A pause. A sigh. A forced widening of that strange, demented smile. “Regardless, everything I said was on the level and now that I have your soul I think renegotiations are in order regarding what you are and are not allowed to do with your body, don’t you? I will lift the restrictions on self pleasure, my dear, as it has clearly been cause for great distress, though you still may not sleep with others.”

Angel stared at the Radio Demon, a little dumbstruck. There was something so chilling about the look in Alastor’s eyes. He didn’t fully recognize it— couldn’t understand it. “Ya love me? Ya actually love me? Ya weren’t foolin?” He said warily, sitting up with some effort. “You’re just a manipulative son of a bitch, but ya weren’t lyin’ about lovin me?”

Alastor stood, a spring in his step like the cat who caught the fuckin canary. He leaned down and kissed Angel’s cheek. “Cross my heart,” he said, tone light and playful. “Though I understand if you have a particular distaste for me now. I will most definitely seek to overcome it! Perseverance, my boy. I can be quite convincing!”

That broad smile didn’t reach those crazed eyes.

No… he was pretty sure, in his own twisted way, that Alastor fucking loved him. He’d dealt with Valentino’s covetous contempt and had come across obsessive fans who threw words of love around, but he was pretty sure whatever this fucking was… he’d never dealt with anything like it before.

Alastor loved him, and it was fucking terrifying.

So why wouldn’t his heart stop pounding?

He reached out with a shaking hand and stroked one of those red tufted ears, watching crimson eyes soften and the Radio Demon’s icy demeanor dissolve under his touch. Alastor leaned, just slightly, into his touch. A hint of genuine pleasure flashed across that wild glare.

“Nah, we’re good, Smiles,” he said, considering the negotiated terms. “I only kinda hate ya.”

So he could touch himself? Alright. Good. What did it even really mean for Alastor to have his soul? He wasn’t going to make Angel a whore again, that was for damn sure. It wasn’t like Angel minded sticking to one dick, particularly if that dick was Alastor’s. Fuck, what was wrong with him? He needed to find a way OUT of this bullshit! No. He’d stress over the details later. Alastor was right, when he made the deal, he’d known losing was a… possibility.

He’d just have to find a way out, but for now it was better to play nice and lean in. If he just leaned in and played the game, Alastor might relax around him.

The words ‘more obedient’ flashed across his mind and his skin crawled with rage. Annnnd now he was angry at Alastor all over again. Fuck.

He’d been too fucking cocky. He should have been more careful.

“You only ‘kinda’ hate me?” Alastor repeated, arching a brow. He clearly didn’t know what to make of that.

“Don’t test me, asshole,” he said, crossing all four of his arms. He knew this game all too well: Play it cool, play it cocky, but always let him think he’s still won. “Ya knew what you were doin’. Whether or not ya actually love me, ya used those words and that… love makin… t’ manipulate me. Ya pinned down my weakness and exploited it. Your smart, but also fuckin stupid if ya think I ain’t pissed. C’mere.”

Alastor move closer, startled when Angel grabbed his bowtie, jerked him down to eye level, and kissed him in that same tender way Alastor had used to turn him to putty earlier. Plush red ears flattened against his head. Really, it was his own damn fault for not turning the tables. He didn’t know how this fella always managed to get under his skin. He pulled Alastor back on top of him. Kissing… he really did like kissing this bastard.

“Angel…” Breathless words. Glazed eyes. Lips trailed along his neck and shoulder.

‘That right,’ he thought idly to himself. ‘Worship me, you mother fucker.’

“Ya better take care of me, Smiles,” he said, smirking a little. “Ya won the game. Don’t fuck it up. I’m all yours now.”

Like hell he was.

Angel was sure that he’d entered another circle of Hell. Sitting in a ring with several hotel residents, discussing the “Movie Night Incident” wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time.

It was the morning following the so-called “Incident” and Charlie had caught them on their way out the door. Game or not, Angel had been looking forward to their little outing. They’d been so close to freedom, just a couple more minutes and they would have been strolling down the sidewalk arm in arm. If only Angel hadn’t spent those few extra minutes giving his hair some wavy curls. If only he’d found the perfect sundress sooner while ransacking his closet. If only he hadn’t spent 20 minutes working with Alastor to lure Fat Nuggets out from under the bed and cried off his mascara when his baby pig booped Alastor’s hand with his little snout.

On second thought, he didn’t regret the last one. That had been too fucking adorable.

Now, he was stuck squirming awkwardly on the couch, dolled up for no goddamn reason while Alastor sat not five feet away, continually glancing at a golden pocket watch and silently worrying over the loss of their brunch reservation.

This was so fucking stupid, and the conversation wasn’t going anywhere.

Also, how was it not OBVIOUS to everyone that he and the Radio Demon were leaving on a date? They both looked spiffy as all hell!

“Alastor, we’ve gone over the timeline of events and we noticed the upset occurred after Angel apologized to you for being… too touchy. He said he would give you more space. Can you perhaps tell us how you were feeling at that moment?” Charlie said, offering her sweetest, most compassionate smile.

“I thought his apology was entirely appropriate and very pleasingly put,” Alastor said, drumming his fingers against the arm of the couch. He cocked his head too far to the side, offering that same unreadable grin that everyone else seemed to take at face value.

Angel thought his flashing eyes very clearly said, ‘This is a waste of my time and you should mind your own beeswax, bitch’, but no one else seemed to pick up on that.

“But how did it make you feel?” She asked, leaning forward.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand the question, my dear!” A widening of that charming grin. A vacant red stare. She would get nothing out of him.

Charlie sighed and moved on. “Angel, some of the hotel guests have noticed you being a bit more… um… touchy feely with Alastor as of late. Would you perhaps—“

“Yeah. That’s just ‘cause I got a crush on him. Ain’t no big deal,” Angel cut her off, waving a flippant hand. Half a dozen faces balked at him. In the end, with this line of questioning, there was no way out but through, and this was close enough to the truth to be believable. Besides, Alastor had his soul at this point, so it was only a matter of time before they came to their own conclusions about his feelings for the Radio Demon. “I’m workin on bein’ better about keepin my hands t’ myself.”

He glanced at Alastor. Those red ears were practically vibrating with pleasure. He’d file that reaction away for later. Crazy fuckin dick.

It was kinda cute though…

“O-oh,” Charlie stammered. “I see. Angel you know that Alastor— Well, Al, um… how do you feel about what Angel just said? Were you aware of his… um… that is to say—“

“I had something of a suspicion,” Alastor said, flashing teeth. “Now, I really don’t believe this line of questioning is necessary—“

“Oh, Angel! I thought you had a thing for Husk. Was I wrong?” Nifty said, blinking her big eye. “I commend your taste though. Boss is such a gentleman.”

“Hey!” Husk snarled, half asleep in a sunbeam. “Who said I ain’t a gentleman?”

Alastor’s claws sank into the arm of the couch, puncturing the fabric.

Oh shit. Deer Daddy was losing his cool.

“The incident actually happened after Angel and Husk started flirtin’,” Mimzy cut in. “I saw it. Husk said Angel could use him as a pillow next time and then— BOOM!— Angel’s on the floor and cursing at Alastor like the fella just socked him in the kisser.”

Baxter crossed his arms. “Oh for— you are all useless. Angel, let’s play fuck, marry, kill. Me, Husk and Alastor. Go.”

Angel blinked and perked up at the familiar game. All this chattering was starting to make his brain go fucking numb. “Oh, alright!” He said, bouncing slightly as he considered. “Fuck Husk. Marry Alastor. Kill you. No offense, babes.”

A little part of him knew he should keep his mouth shut and refuse to play, but he just couldn’t help himself. The sting of a shadowy tentacle swatting his seated bottom, unseen by the rest of the hotel residents, caught him off guard, but they heard the yelp of pain and saw his jump of surprise.

“He’s just jealous,” Baxter said, shrugging and standing. “Case closed. Now, I have a project to get back to and this ‘mystery’ is certainly a waste of my intellect.”

A silence fell over the group as Baxter sauntered off. The tension in the room felt like a violin chord, tightened so taught it was about ready to snap at any second.

Flashing red eyes swirling into agitated dials.

Alright, time to play defense. Alastor better fucking think Angel was a good little bitch after this shit.

“Ha! Seriously, Baxter is such a fuckin tool. Of course Smiles ain’t jealous. He just don’t wanna fuckin marry me! Wants nothin t’ do with me. That’s probably the most offensive game he coulda been unwillingly involved in. Sorry, Smiles. I just REALLY wanted t’ kill Baxter and ‘marry’ was the only proper option fa ya.”

“Angel, it’s fine,” Alastor said, leaning back as his pupils sputtered to their normal shape. “Charlie, I was jealous.”

“You were… jealous? Of Husk?” Charlie said, gaping at the irritated Radio Demon.

“Attagirl! Now you're on the trolley! Angel, come. Let’s get a wiggle on. If we leave now we can still make our reservation,” Alastor stood and offered Angel his arm, every muscle in his body looking rather stiff. Angel flushed and took it, casting the group a sheepish little smile before following the Radio Demon out of the hotel.

Well, so much for remaining on the down low, but maybe this was all for the better.

He stroked Alastor’s arm, trying to sooth the tension from those icy features. Not a hint of thawing, but at least Alastor didn’t flinch away. “Just so ya know, I’d fuck, marry, and kill ya, handsome,” he said, flashing his biggest grin and giving Alastor’s arm a squeeze.

Angel caught the shadow of a real smile pass over those mask like features and relaxed when Alastor chuckled. “Ha! Infuriating,” he said, covering’s Angel’s hand with his own. A small gesture, but an affectionate one. “Nosy saps, the lot of them. Does nobody know to mind their own potatoes nowadays? Why— I had half a mind to tell Charlie to dry up and scoot!”

“Ya don’t usually lose your cool like that in front of others, hot stuff,” Angel said, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of daylight on his face. Well, at least they’d gotten out of there before their whole morning was fucking ruined, and it was a nice day as far as days in hell were concerned. “I had t’ do all the lyin and manipulatin t’day. Cat got your silver tongue or somethin?”

“Not a cat, but a spider.” Alastor teased.

O-oh. That was… sweet.

His heart skipped a beat.

Angel whistled, making a show of fanning himself with a free hand. “And here I thought ya didn’t fancy ya’self a flirt. What a line!”

Walking with Alastor was like driving along a busy sidewalk in a fucking tank, what with demons practically leaping into the streets to avoid the Radio Demon. He watched in awe as a lizard threw himself into a trash bin, a fox bolted down a dark alleyway, and a burly ox practically did what he could only describe as a sideways dodge roll to skeeter around them.

He was accustomed to men flocking to him, to grabbing hands and leering eyes. Watching them flee… well, it was actually kinda nice. He could prance through hell practically unmolested on Alastor’s arm.

Too bad the bastard was crazier than all these assholes combined.

Still, he had to admit he liked how he felt holding Alastor’s arm and walking at his side.

It was a pleasant brunch in a sunny little restaurant, but he was fairly certain that Alastor had done something to traumatize their waiter, because the poor demon seemed fucking terrified, dashing to fulfill every request with an anxious sweat on his brow. He trembled like a leaf while pouring Angel’s coffee, audibly gulped while reading back their orders, and eyed them with equal parts horror and respect.

“Stop bein’ creepy,” Angel hissed, giving Alastor a light kick under the table when the Radio Demon flashed their waiter a dagger-toothed grin. “You’re scarin the poor fella half t’ death.”

“Am I? Ha! I didn’t realize!” Alastor said in a breezy ringing tone, dragging his blazing eyes from the waiter and fixing them onto Angel’s face. He took hold of Angel’s hand and pressed light kisses along each knuckle.

Ah… that was definitely nice. Angel… really liked that. He knew he was probably blushing a bright shade of fluorescent fucking pink.

The waiter, no longer pitted under Alastor’s fiery gaze, began casting periodic glances at the pair, eyes lingering over Angel’s flushed chest where the fluff turned positively pink whenever he blushed. Angel caught him staring and mentally begged him to turn the fuck around and keep his eyes to himself. Fucking hell. Did the poor dumb ass have a death wish?

He scooted his chair closer to Alastor, laughing and flirting to keep him distracted in adequate measure, but sometimes you really just can’t help people help themselves. The waiter kept staring.

He wondered briefly if perhaps the white sundress dress with its button front, sweetheart neckline, and airy lace material didn’t suit him. He usually went for ‘sexy’ over pretty. Maybe the fella wasn’t staring at his tits… maybe he just looked… weird.

Wait, nope. He was definitely staring at the bubs. No doubt about it. It became more glaringly obvious as he approached with their food, eyes fixed. Sometimes you just couldn’t help people help themselves. Seriously, he’d done all he could for this fella.

Alastor placed a hand over Angel’s chest, breaking the fluffy titty spell, and smiling a serrated smile at the waiter— a smile that promised misery and mutilation.

Angel had never seen a man run faster while carrying a serving tray.

“You’re real possessive, ya know that,” Angel said, rolling his eyes but biting his lower lip as the gloved hand lingered on his chest. Could Alastor feel his heart pounding? “Ya know, there are literally thousands of videos of me completely fuckin naked and takin it up the ass every which way. I’m sure he’s seen it all before. Most of hell has... Can’t exactly change that.”

“Ha! No, I suppose I cannot,” Alastor said with a sharp laugh. “But I can tear out the eyes of anyone who looks at you now that you are mine, my dear!”

Anddddd now he was hard. He was pitching a literal fucking tent in his sundress under the fucking table. He really wished he could have a conversation with his dick about what was appropriate and what was inappropriate to get horny over, but he doubted the bitch would listen.

“Just don’t tear out anyone’s eyes without askin me first, alright,” Angel grumbled, crossing his legs as best he could and sipping a Mimosa.

Alastor did not agree to this stipulation.

Needless to say, the waiter was VERY lucky to keep his eyes that day.

He did, however, lose a finger.

So you sold your soul to a demon overlord? Congratulations! You’re a fucking idiot.

How can you get out of your contract, you may be asking? Well, you can pay your way out.

What’s that, you say? You and the overlord didn’t list the price of your freedom when discussing the contract and he has no interest in your money. Oooh. That’s tough shit then. Sucks to be you.

Any other ways? Well, perhaps you could just convince him to release you. Ha! I know. I know. What a fuckin riot. It’s not fucking happening.

You could try appealing to Lucifer, but that’s a fucking long shot.

You could find something more valuable than your soul to trade, but what do you have that’s more valuable than your soul. It’s a riddle, isn’t it?

Basically, you’re fucked.

That was all the information Angel Dust had acquired through his research over the past week, pouring over books from the hotel’s library while Alastor was out and about on errands, browsing the web on his hellphone, and pestering Cherri to see what info she could dig up for him.

It all came down to one simple truth… that he was fucked.

And not just a little fucked either. He’d offered his whole-ass soul to Alastor on a silver fucking platter without any special stipulations or a price tag attached. He hadn’t given himself an out in any way, shape, or form.

Basically, in an effort to win back his bike, he bet his whole fucking house, his identity, and his future.

So yeah, he was a fucking idiot.

There was, of course, one way out. The way out of a shitty situation that brought him to the Happy Hotel in the first place: Redemption.

Redemption…

It seemed like the biggest long shot of them all.

He took a drag of his cigarette, staring at the countdown ticker marking the next purge that was months and months away. He’d spent this last purge in the Happy Hotel, safe and sound. He wondered what happened to those who were not so lucky. Did they become the eyes that followed him in the streets?

Heaven… he really didn’t think he’d be welcomed there. He wasn’t good enough. He’d never be good enough.

He exhaled a crimson cloud of smoke, leaning against the balcony railing.

He was trapped. He’d flown out of one cage only to land in another. He had the whole fuckin sky in front of him and he landed himself right in another cage.

What’s worse, Alastor got in his head and under his skin in a way Valentino could only dream of doing. Sometimes… he even felt like he had half the power if only he would just USE it. He liked being around Alastor… despite his own bitterness, his anger… despite everything.

He was so fucking stupid.

Sometimes he could even forget Alastor owned his soul. It was easy to forget in the quiet moments of peaceful coexistence or the thrilling periods of witty banter, but there were little reminders that felt like a slap on the ass; equal parts humiliating, degrading, and strangely thrilling.

A simple order might leave him compelled to obey: sit, come, stay, wait. A harsh word might start his thighs quaking and his asshole twitching to make it up to Alastor in any way possible. He craved the man’s attention. He wanted his adoration.

How much of this was caused by the new deal and how much of it was just his own sad, twisted desire? He did not know.

He felt Alastor before he saw him, the same way a person might feel eyes watching them when someone else is staring at them from across the room. He stubbed out the cigarette and glanced at the man over his shoulder.

“Hey, Smiles,” he said, offering up his best ‘aren’t I a good little bitch’ smile.

The Radio Demon had that unreadable grin on his features; that twisted, manic smile that didn’t quite match the rage brewing in his flashing red eyes.

“Hello Angel,” Alastor said, pulling a leather bound book from behind his back and tossing it on the ground between them with a heavy thud. Fuck. “Care to explain?” The title read ‘Demon Contracts’. Double fuck. Angel already knew where Alastor, or perhaps one of his shadow minions, had found the volume: in Angel’s bedroom, tucked under his mattress, and dog-eared on the page ‘escaping a contract.’

Well shit. This was what he got for reading a stupid book. Fuck books.

“Do I really need t’ explain anythin’. Seems pretty self explanatory if ya ask me.” Angel said, flicking aside the butt of his cigarette. He could pretend to simper, but he was in too shitty a mood to bother. “Ya seriously thought I wouldn’t at least LOOK fa a way out? Seriously? What the fuck’s the matter with ya? I didn’t get out’a one bullshit contract just t’ land myself in anotha’. I ain’t apologizin’ fa weighin’ my options.”

“Oh? And what did you find?” Alastor practically sang, trotting up to him with his usual chipper, jaunty step. He held the microphone head of his cane a few inches from Angel’s lips as if they were in an interview.

“It’s impossible,” Angel whispered. The words tasted like dry chalk in his mouth.

The cane pressed against his lips, tapping them in a cruel taunt. “What’s that, my dear?” Alastor purred, his transatlantic accent booming with vivacity. “A little louder, if you please, for the good folks at home!”

“It’s fuckin impossible, alright? I get it, ya fuckin asshole!” He dug his nails into his own arms, clutching himself and trembling with rage. He could kill Alastor. “Unless ya just drop it. Just let me out.”

“Ha! No.” A bark of laughter. An immediate refusal. Alastor’s hand splayed across his lower back, guiding him away from the balcony railing and towards the stained glass doors that would lead them inside the hotel. “Come now, my dear, I haven’t used my ownership of your soul to my advantage. I have not forced you to do anything you did not want to do. Really, I’ve been quite the gentleman, all things considered.”

“It’s the principal of the matter,” Angel said, wanting to bat away the hand but craving that comforting heat too much to do so. “I don’t enjoy bein’… owned.”

“Mmm,” A pair of lips brushed his shoulder. “You’ll adapt, I’m sure. Come inside, my dear. We have a couple hours to… discuss… your behavior. Unfortunately, Charlie has some misguided ‘Feelings Circle’ arranged later this evening and despite my best efforts she is mandating our attendance. Quite adamant!”

Angel glanced back at the the book lying face-up on the balcony with a shadow of rising dread and… maybe thrill? “I’ll talk t’ her,” he said reaching back hastily and taking Alastor’s hand in his own. He laced their fingers, feeling all that pomp and rigidity drain from the Radio Demon— the fire in those eyes temporarily doused. “Ya gonna punish me, Daddy?” He pressed a kiss against Alastor’s hand. “Ya mad at me?”

Why did he reignite the flame?

Quick. So quick he barely got a chance to blink. Alastor pinned his back against the stained glass doors, lifted Angel’s long legs around his waist, and kissed him. A dizzying kiss that made him almost forget that any Demon looking out their fucking windows in the nearby buildings would definitely get an eyeful.

“Smiles, no. Not here,” he said, panting between fevered kisses. “Someone… someone is DEFINITELY gonna see.”

“I know,” Alastor hissed, lips trailing along his neck. Angel bit back a whimper as his miniskirt was hiked up over his hips; the string of his thong pulled aside. He was gonna get fucked on this balcony in front of a dozen prying eyes… flashes of punishments incurred from Valentino twisted his stomach. A public dominance fuck… that was familiar territory. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Al, I said no. Rememba’ the talk we had: Queen not whore. I’m really feelin’ like a whore right now…” Angel tried to keep the tremors from his voice, burying his face into Alastor’s neck when prying eyes peeked at them from all around.

A pause.

Alastor pull down his skirt. Those strong slender arms wrapped around him, hugging him… so tightly. “Shhh shh. I understand, Mon Cher. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said, ears flattening. “You ARE my Queen.” A sudden flash of an idea. Alastor’s eyes sparked. His ears perked forward. His grin grew ever-wider. What was he plotting now? “Why— I’ll just have to pull you up! That should do the trick. I’ll pull you up. I think you’ll be far more comfortable with this whole arrangement with some more power… more equal footing. Never fear, my dear, ‘Daddy’ has an idea.”

Angel stared at him. “Uh huh. Ya gonna talk t’ me about this big idea, or are ya just gonna roll with it?”

Alastor considered the question. “Mmm I’ll need to hammer out the particulars. Valentino does have quite the monopoly on establishments dedicated to lust, but—“

Wait. Holy shit.

Holy fuckin shit.

Angel placed a finger over Alastor’s lips, practically vibrating with energy now. He didn’t need Alastor overthinking this or talking himself out of it. Decades in the industry and he knew it like the back of his fucking hand. He could size up a bitch for the pole in 10 seconds flat. He knew the highs and lows, the ins and outs, the profit margins, and every obscure fuckin detail about running a club, mostly because half the time Valentino couldn’t be fuckin bothered. He came from a Mafia family. He’d run a few businesses in his day, and businesses that were fronts for seedier businesses. He knew business. “If you’re gonna buy me a mother fuckin strip club, the answer is yes. I already got a buildin in mind that I’ve been scopin out fa a while and about thirteen binders worth of plannin materials I need ya t’ look over.”

Alastor’s eyes widened in comical surprise, and then he laughed. Really laughed. He kissed Angel’s finger and laughed.

Admiration. Amusement. Affection.

Angel hiked up his skirt and pulled the bastard in for another kiss. Whatever. Maybe he was a confusing flip-flopping slut, but he wanted that dick right now.

A hasty shuffle of clothing, the sting of a large rod breaching his puckered rim with little pomp or ceremony, and Angel found himself bouncing on Alastor’s dick in broad fucking daylight.

The words, a passionate song, left his lips in a breathless tumble:

“Daddy I don’t think ya know what you’re offerin me.
Plenty’a men in the past tried t’ get me fa free,
But this bitch is real expensive,
Body not bought— just rented,
But maybe t’day I’ll make an exception.
Daddy, you can cancel my rejection.

If you just—
Gimme what I want.
Gimme what I want, Daddy!
I’ll make you feel swell.

Gimme what I want.
Gimme what I want, Daddy!
I’ll be your Queen in this Hell!

Daddy, you’re hittin on all sixes.
Daddy, I’d even be your Mrs,
For this chance to rise.
Can you see the hunger in my eyes?

Just gimme what I want.
Gimme what I want, Daddy!
I’m sick of bein weak.

Gimme what I want.
Gimme what I want, Daddy!
Share that power, ya fuckin Freak!

Yeah, fuck me with that dick so hard.
I’ll sing your praises like a bard.
Daddy, soon you’ll see,
there are benefits to pleasin’ me!”

His own fuckin establishment. Now they were getting somewhere.

Now they were fucking getting somewhere!

Who said sellin’ your soul to the Radio Demon didn’t have its benefits?

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Flashback

~ Last Year~

Panting. Breathless.

Blood. Tears. Hot.

So hot.

Angel was fucking melting, it was so hot.

He tried— briefly— to push away, to wriggle out from under the man pinning him to the plush burgundy couch, but the Radio Demon wouldn’t budge and he didn’t have the strength to put up any real resistance. Lips clashed into his own. The black ends of that choppy scarlet hair tickled his cheeks as Alastor leaned over him.

He couldn’t believe this was actually fucking happening. He couldn’t believe he’d actually done it!

A breath of fresh air as Alastor’s lips trailed down to his neck, peppering kisses up and down the length of it so playfully that Angel couldn’t help but giggle.

Fuck, he really needed to put a stop to this. He really, REALLY needed to put a fuckin stop to this. Angel was being an awful degenerate, and he fucking knew it.

This strawberry freak had rejected him time and time again. Hitting on the bastard while he was completely smashed… it wasn’t Angel’s proudest moment. Neither was making out with a guy who could barely stand up straight, much less consent.

Angel had gotten him drunk. Angel had led him to the couch after Husk passed out on the bar. Angel had initiated the kiss.

He’d won the drinking contest, alright. He wondered how angry Nifty would be when she found one of her beloved potted plants drowned in cheap booze. It started as a cheap trick to win a wager, and then Alastor had been so sweet and complimentary— so unlike his usual self where Angel was concerned. He called him ‘Mon Ange’, listened to him rant and rave about Valentino, and even told Angel he looked positively swell whenever he wore red.

Of course Angel couldn’t resist stealing a few kisses!

Fuck. He really was the worst.

“Al, stop. You’re fuckin drunk,” he said, turning his head away which, in retrospect, only gave Alastor more access to his nape and shoulder. The Radio Demon nibbled along the white expanse, biting and sucking with those sharp teeth. Angel winced. “This has been fun, but you’re gonna fuckin skewer me when ya sober up.”

“Nonsenssssse, my eff— my effeminate fellow,” Alastor slurred. “Why— I do like you… well, just today. Yes. Ab-so-lute-ly! Today, I llllike you!”

“Ya didn’t like me before?” Angel said, already knowing the answer. He massaged one of those large fluffy tufts of hair. Red deer ears. It twitched irritably out of his hand. Right. Don’t touch. Alastor’s smile seemed especially sharp. He tilted his head… a little too far to the side. Angel was sure he heard a snap.

“Hahaha! No! But— but TODAY I like you.” Another searing kiss. Angel knew he really ought to put a stop to this, but he was a little pissed and was feeling petty and vindictive. Just a few more kisses couldn’t hurt.

A few more kisses.

Six or seven tops.

No.

No. He had to stop this.

He shouldn’t have done this.

“Smiles, no more,” he said, watching those red ears twitch in recognition. “I don’t want anymore. Ya know how they used t’ say cash or check? Well, I’m sayin’ ‘check’. Kiss me later.”

The lips stopped dancing along his own. Alastor sat up with effort, vision clearly swimming. He laughed, a twisted buzzing version of his usual laugh, his frequency… all off. “Oh! Of course! Of course! Wherever are my—my mannersss!”

“I’d say ya lost those about four drinks in, hot stuff,” Angel said sliding away on the couch from the Radio Demon and pulling a compact mirror from his nearby bag. Well, he’d definitely need wash his face and just… start over again with his makeup. He resembled a fucking serial killer clown, lipstick smeared all over his mouth and the surrounding vicinity. Maybe he’d just skip going out altogether. “Fuck, I look like a nightmare.”

“You, Mon Ange, are so so sooo pretty!” Alastor slurred, looping an arm around Angel’s shoulders. The Radio Demon’s cane manifested itself in his free hand, playing some upbeat tune Angel vaguely recognized from the past about a hotsy totsy gal. “A real sweetie patootie. A doll! A peach!”

God fucking dammit.

Angel grabbed him by the bow tie and pulled him in for another kiss. “Mon Ange!” Alastor laughed, drawing Angel into his lap and burying his face into that pale neck once more. Angel bit his lower lip, looking around with a sudden spark of anxiety. Anyone could walk in, and Alastor’s laughter rang so loud and sharp throughout the room, bouncing off red walls and high ceilings with an otherworldly echo. “You are v-very, ENTIRELY confusing today, Mon Ange! Cash or check?”

Well, just one more. Angel could stop before things got too serious. It was just a kiss. Alastor probably wouldn’t even remember in the morning. “Cash!”

Yeah, Angel was totally in control of this situation, and sure, Alastor was definitely wasted and maybe kissing him wasn’t exactly MORALLY the right thing to do, but it was just kissing. No harm, no foul. He surely wouldn’t remember in the morning.

He… probably… wouldn’t remember in the morning.

A gloved hand slid down the top of Angel’s v-neck and teased through his chest fluff, fingers grazing a hardened nipple.

With all the self control he could possibly muster, Angel placed all four of his hands against the Radio Demon’s chest and pushed so hard he sent himself rocketing off the couch, landing on his ass on the floor. No. He wasn’t a fucking monster.

This had to stop.

“Husk! Husk, wake the fuck up!” He said, struggling to his feet and fixing his hair as he spoke. He wiped his mouth on a bar napkin; popped one of his exposed tits back into his shirt. Alastor watched him with an askew, dangerous smile; cheek flushed. The smile didn’t reach those glaring eyes, eyes that sliced through Angel’s chest like a scalpel. Alastor could cut his heart out with those eyes. Ah, fuck. He couldn’t do this. He hurried over to the bar and shook the cat demon. “Husk! C’mon, ya bastard. Smiles is fuckin wasted. Ya need t’ help me get him t’ his room!”

He couldn’t do it alone. If he was alone with Alastor…

He needed help.

A hand on his waist, claws piercing into his skin. Angel jumped. Alastor had vanished and reappeared behind him, leaning on him heavily. A soft, manic chuckle.

Alastor studied Husk with his head cocked to the side and nudged the snoring cat with his cane. “Why— Angel Dust, my dear, I think Husker might be positively zozzled! Splifficated! Utterly ossified!” He lifted a limp paw and watched it drop back down onto the bar with a heavy thud. “Mmm typical. Ohhh yes, I’m so very sorryyy for getting… handsssy. Will you ffforgive me?”

As Alastor spoke, his fingers skittered down Angel’s hip, massaging circular patterns into his fur. He drew Angel in, pressed their bodies closer.

Angel’s breath hitched. His chest heaved, the fluff flushing a faint pink to match his burning cheeks. He tried to back away, but his back hit the bar. He felt… so cornered.

“Y-yeah. S-sure,” he stammered. “Just… um… we oughta get ya t’ your room, alright. Ya need t’ sleep this off, ya know? Ha! I guess I can help ya get there but… I mean… fuck, maybe I should get Nifty or somethin.”

“Nifty?” Alastor repeated, brows furrowing. “What? Why… oh! Oh! Haha! You wish us to have a fire extinguisher after all that necking and petting! You think me quite the heel, don’t you, my willful little bearcat. Well, of course! We shall keep it all on the level. Never fear!”

Nifty appeared as if summoned in a plume of smoke, thick as red cotton. Her single large eye darted about, flitting from Alastor’s drunken grin to Angel’s concerned expression. “Oh my! Looks like boss had too much to drink! He’s flushed ALL over, especially around his mouth!”

Angel coughed on air, noticing for the first time the discoloration around Alastor’s lips that his own smeared lipstick had caused. He thanked Satan that Nifty was… well, fuckin stupid.

He also thanked Satan her childlike face and feminine demeanor were a total boner killer.

Getting Alastor upstairs proved a bit easier with a second person. If Nifty could lift a couch, she could lift a Radio Demon, and the extra strength proved infinitely helpful when every brush of Alastor’s fingers had him trembling.

They made it halfway down the upstairs hallway when Alastor dug his heels into the carpet and suddenly wouldn’t budge, like a deer in the headlights. Angel knew they were in trouble the second that handsome smiling face turned green.

Oh fuck.

Nifty shrieked. Alastor groaned. Angel grabbed a potted plant and shoved it in front of him.

Well, at least any and all sexual tension was officially, definitively gone.

Yeah, holding back Alastor’s hair while the man wretched and hacked into a potted plant for sure got rid of all that heart fluttering. “Come on, Smiles,” he said, rubbing circles into Alastor’s back. “Ya got this, hot stuff. Yer room is only… well, it ain’t much longer.”

Another groan and a coughing heave. Angel continued rubbing circles into Alastor’s back, humming softly. Those red ears flattened. Alastor’s hand clutched one of his own, lacing their fingers. Fuck. So cute. Angel’s room was… so close. He wouldn’t be tempted to kiss Alastor now that the fella had throw-up mouth and sick person face…

But how would Alastor react the next morning?

Angel really didn’t want to be disemboweled.

Still, he couldn’t bear to see the bastard suffering, and he worried about leaving him alone, wasted and vomiting. He’d caused this mess. He needed… to help clean it up.

“Help me get him inta my room, Nifty. It’s closer. He’s gonna be throwin’ up fa a while,” he said. Nifty didn’t question his judgement, but she eyed the potted plant with abject horror.

He knew she was judging him the moment they walked into his bedroom. Yeah, it looked like a glitter bomb had gone off, and yes there were clothes everywhere, but he had a fuckin system! The dirty clothes were littered on the floor in a state of general disarray, congregating in clumps behind doors and in corners. His clean laundry sat piled high in a swaying heap on a large, pink, round chair. He called it Laundry Chair and some day, one day, he would fold and put away the clothing that adorned it, but not today. Maybe tomorrow.

…actually, maybe Tuesday.

Fat Nuggets cowered under a particularly large stack of pink lace in his closet, having created a little fort of shoe boxes, colorful fabric, and braziers. He heard an insulted little squeal of trepidation as he dragged Alastor into the room, but nothing more from the scared pig.

Nifty began to not-so-subtly clean as he brought Alastor into the bathroom and helped him redirect all his vomiting energy into the toilet. She gaped in disgust at the used false eyelashes plastered on every surface. They had each been removed not more than a foot away from any given trash can, which caused her endless frustration and confusion.

Alastor might have joined her in gaping over the mess if he were not so busy emptying the contents of his stomach.

Whatever.

Angel would enjoy this free cleaning service.

“Smiles, how ya feelin, Buddy,” he whispered, stroking the back of Alastor’s neck.

Alastor shook his head and groaned. Angel didn’t know vomiting with a smile was possible. After a time, he was able to wash Alastor’s face, fetch him a new toothbrush from a forgotten two-in-one pack, help the male brush his razor sharp teeth THOROUGHLY, convince him to magic himself into a pair of pajamas, and guide him to the bed.

His room looked fucking immaculate when they stepped out of the bathroom, and he considered tossing Nifty some cash each week to give it a nice deep clean.

She perked up and grinned when she saw him. “You know, I found $1,347 just lying around! There was so much money in your pockets and dropped in different places around your room! You should really start saving. Here!” She said, handing him a pleather purse stuffed with cash. “Who knows, someday ya might have enough to buy yourself something amazing!”

Angel gaped at the money and tucked it in his closet after laying Alastor on the bed.

Yeah… maybe he could start… putting a little away. He hadn’t even realized he had such a large amount on him. Fuck, if he kept saving… maybe he could buy his freedom one day…

Maybe…

“Thanks Babes. Here, have a—“

“Oh no! That was fun!” She said, bouncing in place. “A real challenge!”

And then off she went to clean the bathroom before leaving the two men alone in Angel’s bedroom.

He grabbed himself a pillow and settled on the floor beside the bed. He had taken far too many liberties today. Sleeping on the floor felt like the right thing to do.

“Night smiles. Ya need anythin, I’m right here,” he said.

A grumble of acknowledgement and then all went quiet. Angel noticed a clawed hand reach for him over the side of the bed and he couldn’t help but take it in his own, marveling at how well their palms fit together and how easily their fingers laced.

Alastor’s hands were black as shadows without his gloves and Angel’s white as snow. Funny how they always managed to parallel one another.

He drifted off holding Alastor’s hand.

It was in the dark of the night when those fingers slipped from his own, that he found himself drawn into a state of partial wakefulness. The room felt so cold, the ground so hard. He rolled onto his side, biting his lower lip. He could climb into the bed, but he was so… so tired, and he shouldn’t. His thoughts fogged with sleep, urges not quite transforming into actions.

The heaviness of his eyelids made blinking a chore. He shivered.

And then suddenly he was warm, draped in a blanket. The ground still felt hard but something firm and delightful pressed against his back. Something solid wound around his waist. His neck tickled.

Sleep came blissfully before he could worry too much about it.

Angel woke the next morning to black boots by his head and Alastor’s demented, glowing smile leering down at him. “Why— good morning, my effeminate fellow! I hate to ask, but might you give me a synopsis of last nights events? I woke to find myself quite out of sorts in a room I did not recognize! Imagine my surprise— my horror!”

Angel winced as he sat up, staring at the soft pink comforter draped around him; the second pillow on the floor next to his own. Had Alastor…

“We had a drinkin game and I brought ya up here t’ sleep in the bed while I slept on the floor. Ya can ask Nifty. She helped me drag your ass up here. Ya got real sick,” he said, leaving out the heavy petting and kissing. “Ruined a plant, I think.”

“Nothing else?” Alastor purred, arching his brows, he bent at the waist, offering Angel a hand.

Angel took the hand, froze, and then drew back. “N-no,” he said.

Alastor’s eyes narrowed. “Angel,” he said slowly, lips curling into a tight-lipped line of a grin. “I don’t recall all the details, but I know something untoward happened, so you best tell me before I find out through other means.”

“You kissed me,” Angel blurted. Well, that was half the truth. “Ya were real handsy. A bit of a… groper. Don’t worry, Smiles. I won’t charge ya. Ya were real drunk. Caught me off guard.”

Alastor’s smile twitched downwards at the corners. A flash of recognition. His gaze flicked to Angel’s fluffy chest and then away. His cheeks flushed ever so faintly.

He cleared his throat and straightened his back. “I see… Angel, I’d like to… discuss a little proposition with you. One I think might benefit us both.”

~Present~

Location? Perfect.

Space? Massive.

Building? Falling apart.

Angel knew for certain he’d found the perfect spot. Smack in the center of the new, up-and-coming Red Light District, the space had so much fucking potential, and it wasn’t surrounded by Valentino’s more established strip clubs. This area belonged to upstarts and hustlers— frequented by those more recently come to Hell. And sure, the building seemed ready to crumble at any moment, and yes, a studio light nearly landed on Angel’s head when they went to tour the place, but he knew an opportunity when he saw one. He knew an investment when he saw one.

Not to mention, he had long ago watched Alastor singlehandedly refurbish and remodel the Happy Hotel over the course an afternoon with just a snap of his fingers. Really, they would just be paying for the location.

Or rather ALASTOR would be paying for the location.

Angel hoped he liked it. Walking around the building with the silent, smiling Radio Demon fried his nerves like nothing else. Alastor said nothing, humming and nodding as the realtor prattled on, only pausing to yank Angel into his arms when one of the ceiling lights came crashing down. He didn’t flinch. He barely blinked.

Angel couldn’t get a read on him.

However, he noticed that once he was in Alastor’s arms, his feet did not touch the ground again until they were outside the building. So Alastor found the place unsafe. He hoped the Radio Demon wouldn’t let something so minor and fixable cloud his judgement.

He was not disappointed.

They toasted the purchase over champagne, Alastor smiling coolly and studying Angel’s beaming face through the shimmering glass.

“Mon Ange,” he said, setting down the glass. “Have you decided on a name?”

“Rapture,” Angel said easily, flashing a wicked grin. “I thought it was fittin’.” He paused, considered the Radio Demon a moment, and then whispered, “Ya know, I really… I appreciate this more than ya understand, Daddy. You… You’ve kinda gotten me outta a lot’a shitty situations this year. My best customer! I was able t’ save up and buy my freedom ‘cause of you and now, even if I ain’t thrilled about ya ownin’ my soul, buyin me this joint is...” Another pause. “Well, I’m glad t’ be your Queen.”

Alastor smiled, a slow captivating sort of smile. “Why— you really should thank Nifty, my dear. She inspired you to begin saving, finding all that money throughout your filthy bedroom all those months ago. 1,347 dollars! Ridiculous. I simply supplied the rest of the required funds over time.”

Wait.

Wait a fucking minute.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

How was it that Alastor always managed stay about 50 steps ahead of him? The realization shook Angel to his core. It made him feel equal parts pissed and horny, and while he could rationalize the former emotion, he refused to investigate the latter.

Powerless. He hated being powerless.

Alastor had Angel wrapped around his little finger; had his wrists and feet bound up in strings that he could tease and yank to make the spider dance whenever and however he wanted. The fact that the Radio Demon had been playing with him since the first time they ever fooled around made Angel fucking livid. So Alastor remembered that night down to an exact dollar amount, did he? Why had he pretended to forget and just how deep did this well of deceit go? How long had he been manipulating Angel? What was real… and what was fake?

Angel wanted to scream, but instead he breezed over the sudden revelation with nary a blink. He smiled, flirted, and thanked Alastor oh-so-sweetly, all while inwardly fuming.

No. He would not accept this. He would win this game. He would break Alastor to win this fucking game if he had to.

He managed to slide from his own bar stool into Alastor’s arms— managed to make the uncertain Radio Demon lower his walls enough to survey the area, decide he was fine with this display of affection while no one of “import” was watching, and pull Angel to him, casting a mocking glass at the cat demon working the bar. Husk pretended not to notice, though his eyes had grown large as saucers. Nope. Not his business. He polished a glass very thoroughly and turned his back to them.

As Angel sat in Alastor’s lap, massaging one of those soft red and black ears with skillful fingers, he realized he had three big advantages. Alastor shivered under his touch, his eyes heavy-lidded, his cheeks faintly flushed. Angel could hear the faint shuffle of a wagging tail.

Yes, he had three advantages:

1. Alastor wanted him.

2. Alastor loved him.

3. Alastor belonged to him.

Angel had been wanted before, he had even been loved before, but Angel had never felt like any man truly belonged to him. Sure, Alastor might own his soul, but the Radio Demon was putty in his hands. He didn’t doubt that the man would manipulate, mutilate, and murder to keep Angel as close to him as possible.

Alastor didn’t waste his emotional energy on others, except when it came to Angel.

And he clearly put ALL his emotional energy into Angel, meaning Angel could become a NECESSITY. He could make himself so central to the Radio Demon’s afterlife and happiness that Alastor relied on him for all peace of mind and affection.

Well, Angel could work with that. If Alastor wanted to keep playing these fixed games, Angel would start playing dirty as well.

“Alastor,” he said, voice smooth as butter, offering the other man his warmest smile. He pressed their foreheads together and cradled Alastor’s face in his hands. “I really care about ya, handsome. I was wonderin’… could ya… would ya mind callin’ me Anthony when we’re t’getha’? It’s my… real name. My given name. I don’t usually share it with people, but with you—“ He broke off, exhaling with a shaky smile. The tears came easily enough. All he had to do was pretend this moment was real and they fell so flawlessly down his cheeks. “Well, I’d like t’ hear ya say my name.”

Alastor’s smile, losing some of its sharp rigidity, melted his resolve. He felt his chest ache as the man looked at him with those blazing eyes and smiled that sweet, genuine smile. Fuck.

“Of course, Anthony,” Alastor said, and the name sounded like a purr on his tongue.

Angel’s heart stumbled. His brain tumbled. He kissed the name off the Radio Demon’s lips, as if to taste it.

He knew he’d found Alastor’s weakness— emotional intimacy— when he heard someone clear their throat, turned with a jolt, and found Charlie standing behind them. Alastor’s eyes widened, almost in-perceptively. Any other time, Angel’s ass would have hit the floor minutes before the princess entered the room.

But Alastor hadn’t been aware of his surroundings.

Interesting.

“Why hello Charlie! My apologies for this unsightly behavior!” Alastor chimed, his voice buzzing with fistfuls of radio static. He sounded almost auto-tuned. Angel tried to slide from the other man’s lap, but the hands on his waist became like claws imbedded into his skin, hooking him firmly in place.

Okay. So the bastard was leaning into it then?

Charlie hadn’t asked Angel for clarification after the events of the “Movie Night Incident” meeting. He was fairly certain Alastor had convinced her the obvious date was something less official and more “friendship” oriented, if he told her anything, but then how had he explained his supposed “jealousy” towards Husk? Angel couldn’t puzzle it out, but he knew the Radio Demon did have a knack for answering questions without providing any actual information.

Judging by her open, gaping features and faint flush, she hadn’t expect they were… an item… at least not to this extent.

“N-no! I mean, that’s fine, but um… Didn’t you say you were just… Ah, but I guess things change and um…” she stammered, awkwardly searching for words. Her eyes scanned the champagne glasses, half empty, and blinked several times with interest. “Oh! What are you celebrating?”

Shit. Well, he couldn’t exactly tell her he planned on opening a strip joint, could he? That hardly seemed like redemptive behavior, but he knew he would treat his dancers like gold and who was she to judge the profession if everyone involved was kept safe and consenting?

Fuck, but needed the Happy Hotel. He sure as hell wasn’t putting all his eggs in one fucking basket. Redemption was… well, the hotel was a safe, promising possibility. He really didn’t want to get kicked out.

How the could he spin this?

“Oh, a private little celebration I’m afraid, my dear!” Alastor said with a ringing laugh that carried throughout the room. “We aren’t quite ready to share the details. I hope you understand.”

Alastor rested his chin on Angel’s shoulder as he spoke, his smile expanding in that gradual, sinister way that made Angel’s fur stand on end. His skin crawled. What was he even trying to imply?

Or perhaps his vagueness was on purpose?

Angel’s first instinct was to play along. He knew Alastor expected him to play along. After all, why risk his place at the hotel when the Radio Demon’s lie was so silky smooth, so effortless and so harmless?

It would be so easy to play along.

But maybe Angel needed to stop following his first instinct. Maybe he needed to consider the chess board, to think several moves ahead. Sure, playing along would get him an easy cover for now, but what did it mean in the long run?

“Al, it’s fine. No big secret, Charlie. I’m gonna be startin’ up a strip joint of my own,” he said, feeling Alastor go rigid. Sharp crimson eyes flew to his face, studying him. He slipped from those stiff limbs and offered the startled princess his most charming smile, all ease and control. “Now, I know it ain’t the “noblest” business, but I hope that you’ll support me as a pal even if ya don’t agree with what I’m doin’. I wanna create a better, safer environment fa sex work. If that’s sinful, well, so be it.”

“I—I see,” Charlie said, conflicted but apparently not outraged. She smiled and hugged him. “Well, I’m happy for you!”

Relief felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders.

“Anyways, babes,” he said, laughing as they parted from the embrace. “Was there somethin’ ya needed from one of us fellas?”

“Oh yes!” She cried. Her whole face lit up. THIS was something she could talk about! “Angel, remember how you said you’d teach that cooking class? I was wondering if we could discuss the details and go over your presentation!”

Angel grinned. So perhaps this whole redemption gambit was still possible. At least he didn’t need to leave the hotel. “Oh! Ha! Sure thing, toots! Hey Smiles, I’m gonna—“

“I was not aware you could… cook.” Alastor said. He arched a curved brow, appearing unconvinced. “Charlie, I fear you must be mistaken. I have not once seen Angel enter the kitchen. Not a single time! Why— I doubt he can even boil water properly without setting the hotel ablaze!”

Angel almost snapped back with an insult of his own, but then a smile twitched onto his lips instead. “That so? Come on, Smiles. Let’s see if I can change your mind. I was gonna whip somethin up fa Charlie t’night anyway— a bit teaser fa what I planned t’ teach the class. Ya can talk shit afta’ ya taste my cookin’, but if it’s even half as good as your Jambalaya ya hafta eat yours words. Got it?”

Alastor opened and shut his mouth, brows furrowing just slightly. He settled on an easy, unreadable smile. It seemed the nonsexual compliment and absence of malice from Angel’s words caught him off guard.

Good.

He was sick of being predictable.

He could feel Alastor’s eyes on his back as he sliced, diced and glided around the kitchen. Sure, the Radio Demon’s attention was unsettling, but he maintained his composure under that piercing stare and prattled eagerly to Charlie while throwing together a “quick and easy” version of a homemade Chicken Parmesan, explaining each step as he went. He kept his tone light and his words simple, made sure she got a good look at every step and could follow along with ease.

The air smelled like roasting tomatoes, fresh basil, garlic, and olive oil. The chicken browned and fried nicely in the pan before he baked it under a layer of bright, chunky red sauce and a thick slab of salty mozzarella. When he was finished, he presented his audience with a crunchy, savory, and delicious dish paired with al dente homemade spaghetti.

Alastor took his first bite with visible hesitation.

But it only took one bite.

His ears twitched, his eyes widened, and the look he gave Angel in a raw moment of complete and utter bewilderment was just pure gold.

Ha! It served him right!

“What’s the matta’, Al? Ya didn’t think I had any domestic skills?” he teased, leaning over the kitchen countertop and watching the two demons wolf down his chicken parm from across the island. He wished he could frame this moment. Somehow, seeing Alastor eat his home cooking made his heart feel all fluttery and strange. He didn’t understand why. He wasn’t into that kinky feeder shit or nothing, so what was it about Alastor eating his food that made Angel so… happy?

Alastor stared at him, eyes flashing with something Angel couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was as though the Radio Demon was tallying shit up in his head, picking and choosing his words to match a complicated muddle of emotions. “Angel, my dear fellow, this is by far… the best meal I’ve had in over a century,” he said with a clenched grin that seemed almost irritated. Well, what the fuck? Was he pissed that Angel had showed him to be a judgmental prick or something? “Why— I’m almost disappointed in myself for not finding you decades ago!”

Angel flushed then, looking away quickly to hide the pink blush coloring his cheeks and chest. “Ha! That’s rich,” he said, thinking he’d leave it at that, but then he chose to speak the truth. Maybe this conversation called for a moment of rawness and “vulnerability”… or some shit. Maybe being “open” would benefit his plans. “Honestly, if I had a run-in with you when I first got here instead of some sleazy fuckin’ pimp bastard who promised me the world, I probably woulda spent my days shootin up your rivals and cookin ya three square meals; just pinin’ fa your fuckin affection,” he said, helping Charlie to seconds when the princess cleaned her plate. Alastor’s eyes narrowed just slightly as he spoke, watching his every move as if he were trying to puzzle something out. Angel continued: “The truth is, I woulda fallen fa ya so fast and hard, but I think ya woulda broken my heart. It was more delicate back then, ya know? More fragile… There’s no way I coulda handled a fella like you. Ya woulda walked all ova’ me.”

“Aww, Angel! That’s so sweet!” Charlie said, grinning. “I didn’t know you had a romantic bone in your body!” She collected another plate, bouncing eagerly. “I’m gonna bring some to Vaggie. Oh, I just can’t wait for this class. You’re absolutely AMAZING! You could be a chef! Thanks so much for volunteering!”

He watched her leave, smiling after her.

“Anthony...”

His knees shook.

Fuck. Maybe giving the bastard his name hadn’t been a good idea. “Y-yeah, Daddy? What’s up?” he studied Alastor’s conflicted features and grinned wide. Oh yes. Ma always did say the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. “Let me guess, handsome, ya want me t’ start cookin ya dinner a few times a week?” He teased, sashaying up to Alastor and kissing his cheek. Alastor paused and nodded wordlessly, looking almost a bit shy in that moment. Almost. “Well, you’re lucky I wanna take care of my man.”

He again heard the rustle of that wagging tail.

Dammit. He REALLY wanted to investigate that fucking tail.

But all in good time.

“I love you, Anthony.” Alastor’s voice was soft. Genuine.

Angel wondered if it was healthy for his heart to keep skipping so many beats. Were these fucking palpitations?

“Alastor I—“ He almost said it back. Almost. “Thanks, Daddy. I like ya just fine.”

No. No. Love was a trump card he would not waste.

For now, he settled on stealing a few kisses and plotting his next move, unaware that in that moment Alastor would have given anything, even his own soul, to hear Angel say “I love you too”.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

His own establishment. Angel had always dreamed of something like this, and now that it was finally tangible, he would do anything to keep it.

Months passed. Not quite a year, but almost.

The project took shape slowly but surely.

They remodeled the building, turning it from a rundown, vacant pit to a throbbing den of sexuality. It glowed and glittered, all hot pinks and soft velvets, with silken webs draped across the walls like tapestries. The club radiated luxury, sophistication, and sensuality, its vibe a mix of old and new.

Alastor’s style seeped into elements of the décor, it permeated the furnishings, and it melded into the musical undercurrents: a frenzy of low and sultry, high and spirited, and silky smooth. Together, the two men created an atmosphere that felt topsy turvy— a show stopping thrill!

Angel had to admit that in the world of business he and Alastor made a great team.

They complimented each other. At first, he’d worried they might be too over the top in their combined extravagance, but when the elements of their personalities came together, the club took shape into something perfectly… uniquely… them.

They didn’t fight over business. They shared their ideas and concerns about the club so seamlessly.

Angel thought it felt like talking aloud sometimes, except the air around him could answer— could wrap its warmth around him and whisper words that encouraged him and built his confidence.

They would bend their heads over plans and discuss everything; simple things, such as the cost of ordering supplies, to more complicated issues, such as the logistics of establishing a network of protection around the club to keep Valentino at bay. They weighed the pros and cons of forging alliances with other overlords. They often plotted and puzzled over every last detail of the project long into the night.

Sometimes Alastor would carry Angel to bed after the spider fell asleep at his desk. In those moments, Angel worried the Radio Demon might have the upper hand.

His heart throbbed.

His dreams were full of bright lights, sequins, and lingerie made of spider silk.

Angel hired and trained the dancers. He chose each one carefully and built relationships with them, got to know them on a personal level. He ensured they felt safe, that they knew he would always protect them, and that they understood he was there to build them up. They were his spinners, his stars, in this web they called Rapture.

They loved him.

They called him their Queen.

Of course, he never forgot the game he and Alastor were playing. He watched Alastor carefully and took note of his mood swings. He knew that sometimes the man couldn’t stand touch and sometimes he wanted affection just as much as Angel, so he started asking before touching. It was a simple gesture, but it caught the Radio Demon off guard. When those crimson eyes lit up with something like relief and gratitude, Angel knew he’d made the right move.

The right moves became clearer and clearer as the months stretched.

He did little things for Alastor without ever being asked. They seemed like tiny, inconsequential things: he cooked him dinner, he pressed his coat, he brought him a steamed paper with a cup of Java every morning, brewed and served to his particular taste. He found a vintage timepiece from the year 1930 in an antique shop and surprised Alastor with the little gift, much to the Radio Demon’s delight. He remembered Alastor’s favorite songs, ones mentioned only briefly in passing, and he hummed them softly whenever Alastor appeared in a particularly sour mood; he brightened the other man’s smile.

But he never said ‘I love you too.’

He could feel Alastor’s claws, sharp as talons, digging deeper into his hips every time he ‘assumed the position’. He could feel those teeth tearing more desperately into the skin of his neck whenever the crazed demon brutally fucked his hungry asshole. He could feel Alastor spiraling deeper and deeper into love with him.

He could feel Alastor’s grip on him growing tighter, his anxiety more heightened with each passing day that Angel did not love him back.

Fuck him.

Let him squirm.

The bastard deserved to squirm.

His dancers often watched the Radio Demon’s shadow coil itself around Angel’s silhouette, possessive and grinning even when a five foot distance spanned between the two men’s physical forms.

They worried their Queen might be driving the Radio Demon mad, but they didn’t let this fact bother them too much. After all, no matter what happened between those two it would always be better than working under Valentino.

“Ange, I’m beggin ya. She’ll work real hard for ya if ya give her a chance,” One of Valentino’s dancers, a sad-eyed bunny named Trish, pleaded with the sharply-dressed spider. They sat across from each other in Angel’s office, pink neon lights bouncing off his bubblegum pink desk. He leaned back in his chair, considering the bunny and the girl beside her, a trembling Fox, with a hint of uncertainty. “It’s too late for me, but Roxy was my best gal pal before we died and I wanna protect her from Val. He’s got his eyes set on her, and he’ll find a way to get her too if she don’t already got a contract…”

“I don’t require contracts like that from my dancers, Trish. I ain’t Valentino. I ain’t an overlord neitha’,” Angel said, folding his hands on the table. The two women watched as tall, branchlike horns extended from the black shadow behind him.

“It’s an extra layer of protection,” she said. “I know plenty of your own dancers who wanna start signin’ contracts. It’s safer, bein’ owned… especially by someone… powerful.”

“Powerful?” Angel laughed. “Trish, toots, ya knew me when I was lickin’ Val’s boots. It hasn’t even been a full year. Sure, business is good and things are goin’ real well fa such early days, but I ain’t in any position t’ be offerin’ protection like THAT. Plus, freedom is… precious.”

“Ange, your eyes are practically glowin’ pink. A lot has changed,” Trish said, staring past his face at the horned shadow looming behind him. “You’re risin’ up and ya got a real good deal maker as a… business partner. Time, ya know, is of the essence. Val moves fast.”

Angel sighed, bit his lip, and considered the request. This… this was some crazy, overlord shit. How could he…? He couldn’t, could he? “I’ll think about it, babes. I need t’ talk with… well, go enjoy the bar and I’ll call ya back when I’ve made my decision.”

They left, a hopeful spring in their steps. Angel slumped over the desk, his face in his hands. A set of familiar claws danced along the back of his neck. “Protection. They want me t’ fuckin OWN them like chattel so I can guarantee some kinda protection. They wanna be my property… so I can protect them. Fuck, Smiles.”

Alastor hummed, but said nothing, the eager grin twitching on his lips.

“You think I should do it,” Angel said with a sigh that felt limitless. It wasn’t a question.

The grin widened.

“Ab-so-lute-ly! Pos-it-tive-ly! Of course I do, my Queen! It’s high time you took your next step up the ladder of power! Time to climb! And lookie here, you’re a lucky; I can even be of assistance! Deals, contracts, and wagers are my forte! My favorite feature of this fiasco we call hell!” Alastor spoke rapidly, volume high and voice bouncing with enthusiasm. His burning eyes danced with humor. He cupped Angel’s cheeks in his claws, and pinched them with playful fingers. “How exciting! Your first contract, mon Amour.”

“I ain’t strong enough yet fa all this. I don’t got no special powers or abilities. Fuck, is this too much too soon? How can I even—I dunno,” Angel said, leaning into one of the hands touching his face. Alastor’s thumb brushed over his lips; a featherlight touch.

Angel parted his lips, cheeks faintly flushing.

Alastor hesitated at first. His ears flicked back and then forward again, but he pushed his index finger into the damp heat of Angel’s mouth and studied the spider as a tongue licked and swirled around the digit. “Oh! you’ve got many strengths, Anthony. And what you lack in raw power, ‘Daddy’ will provide,” he said, voice lowering an octave.

“Mm hmm,” Angel hummed as he sucked the finger, releasing it with a pop to speak only after Alastor’s eyes began to darken and narrow. “How generous.” A pause. A beat of silence. “No. I couldn’t ‘OWN’ someone like that. It’s a slippery slope t’ becomin’ a monster.”

Another charged silence.

They stared at each other.

An unspoken request hung in the air between them.

Alastor leaned down, smile unwavering, as he brought them eye to eye, noses almost touching. “Anthony, mon Amour, we’ve discussed this at length,” he said, static buzzing at the edges of his lilting words, like white noise playing in the background. “The answer is no.”

Ha! No, Anthony, I will not release you from our contract.

Mon cher, I said no, and don’t ask me again! Why— I simply don’t have the patience for this argument right now!

Anthony, my dear fellow, what have I said about this particular line of questioning?

NO, ANTHONY! The answer is no! Ask me again and just see what happens!

Mon Amour, it’s late. Why are you pestering me with this now? Go to sleep. Shhh shh.

This again? Ha ha! No no no. Ah, thank you for the kisses, my dear, but the answer is still no. I love you.

That’s it! I’ve had it. Come here, you little— Anthony, bend over!

They’d gone through the motions of this same argument so many times, Angel had lost count. He received many responses to his request, ranging from tender kisses to a spanking that left his ass scarlet for days. Bending over Alastor’s knee, ass in the air, turned him into a sobbing and pleading mess, begging for cock instead of freedom... He never got any closer to freedom.

Angel shrugged and turned his face away. “Okay,” he said, letting his silence stretch like distance between them.

He knew he was playing with fire. The volatile emotions of a dangerous overlord were hardly something he should bat about like a cat with a ball of yarn, but he had to unravel this mess if he ever expected to escape from its tangles.

“Anthony, why isn’t all this enough?” Alastor snapped, radio dials flickering in his wild eyes. The station he broadcasted over the air took a darker twist, music like a threat. He gestured around them, smile broad and sharp. “My control over your soul is just a formality, guarantee, an insignificant little promise between us that you—“

“Can’t ever run away?” Angel said, cutting him off. He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands. His tit fluff bent appealingly over the desk, spilling from the top of that red gown Alastor liked so much. An invitation and a tease. “Have a seat, handsome. Let’s talk civil fa a moment.”

Alastor glanced at the chair across the desk from Angel, but did not budge.

Instead, he threaded gloved fingers through soft white waves of Angel’s hair and scratched his claws over his scalp in a way that made the spider’s limbs suddenly boneless and sent tingling chills over his shoulders and down his spine. He melted into the touch, exhaled, and shut his eyes.

This fucking bastard.

Angel tilted his head up as Alastor bent over him to press a chaste kiss on his lips. “Fuck, Daddy,” he said, the air ripped from his lungs by a weight on his chest. “I think I—“

The doors swung open just before he ruined everything he’d been working towards. Thank fucking Satan for unwanted guests.

He was so grateful that he didn’t even leap over the desk and start swinging when he laid eyes on Arackniss.

Sure, he bit back a hiss and sure, it took his brain a beat too long to overcome the rage that burned inside him, bubbling up like magma in a volcano ready to explode.

But he managed to maintain his composure… kinda

“Well well well, if it ain’t my shitstain-smellin’ ferret-faced brotha’ come t’ beg fa a handout now that I’m doin so peachy. Tell padre I said ‘fuck you, ya oversized, slow-brained dried up scab of a man,’” Angel quipped cheerily, his smile spreading as he spat insults like poison darts.

“I ain’t here fa a handout, ya ugly-ass cum-guzzlin fairy fuck!” Arackness snapped back, crossing his black arms to overcome the reflex that urged him to draw his hun.

“Oh, then what ya here for, ‘cause ya ain’t fit t’ be one of my dancers.”

“Fuck you, Tony. I have more dignity than some cheap fuckin whore!”

“Oh, how’s that goin fa ya. Still leechin off padre like some parasite?”

“Oh, fa fuck’s sake, Tony, I ain’t here t’ argue with ya. Listen a minute. Fuck. Pa wants t’ extend a fuckin offer, ya stupid fuckin bastard, t’ rejoin the family. Even if ya happen t’ still be a—“

“Don’t fuckin say it, or I swear t’ Satan I’ll deck ya,” Angel said, clenching and unclenching his fist. “What’s with the change’a heart? After nearly a century he’s suddenly willin’ t’ overlook the big rainbow elephant in the fuckin room?” He could feel Alastor bristling beside him, confused and irritated, but listening intently. “Ah, sorry Al, so rude of me not t’ make proper introductions. This ugly fuck who just entered my office without knockin’ is Arackniss , my dickwad of a brotha’. Arackniss, this here’s my partner— my fella, if ya will— Alastor.”

“A pleasure to meet you I’m sure!” Alastor chimed, vanishing and reappearing before Arackniss to shake his hand in an animated fashion. His lips smiled, but his eyes remained fierce in their intensity. “Angel does not speak often of his family! Ha! Well, I suppose I can call him ‘Anthony’ in front of you! I don’t often get the chance to use his given name in mixed company.”

Arackniss frowned, accepted the handshake, and suddenly seemed a bit more cautious and reserved. “Yeah, I’m familiar with your… reputation,” he said, sidestepping the grinning deer. “Listen, Tony, I’m only here t’ extend the fuckin’ offer. Our padre… he’s decided he approves of your…”

“So Smiles here is powerful enough and useful enough fa pa t’ overlook the whole gay thing, huh? Please. That’s such ass backwards shit and yous know it too!” Angel simmered with spite. He punched down the longing that nipped at the edges of his psyche, that urge to be accepted and belong within his family.

“You’re invited fa Dinner on Sunday,” Arackniss said, crossing his arms. “Molly will be there. She’s makin’ a sauce. Started cryin’ when we said ya were invited.”

Fuck.

He missed his sister. He hadn’t been allowed to contact her since…

He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Can I bring a plus one,” he said, glancing at Alastor who moved to stand behind him. The claws on his shoulder felt like a security blanket.

“Y-yeah. Sure, Tony,” Arackness looked away, shuffling from foot to foot. “See ya both there. It’ll be nice… t’ chat shit again… or whateva’.” He swept out of the office in a sulking huff.

He needed a drink— a strong fuckin drink. Just one. He opened his mouth to ask, but Alastor was already pouring them each a glass of something strong and dark before he even managed to form his thoughts into comprehensible words. He shut his mouth, grabbed his drink, clinked glasses with Alastor, and threw back the fiery liquid. They moved in tandem, in a dance that felt both unpracticed and synchronized.

“Anthony, my dear, I think… I’m going to hate your father,” Alastor said decisively, setting down an empty glass. Angel set his glass beside Alastor’s, watching the Radio Demon refill them both.

One more.

Just one more.

“Yeah, well, no one ever really likes their in-laws, do they, Smiles?” Angel teased, chuckling a bit to himself when those red eyes lit up and Alastor laughed, a warm ringing laugh. They threw back the second drink in unison.

Alastor sat across from him and took his hand.

Well, they could put off the fight just a little while longer.

Just a little while longer…

He made his first contract that day and the girls sobbed and thanked him profusely for it. He worried over the morality of holding someone’s afterlife in the palm of his hand, but the relief in their eyes warmed his heart.

He tried to ignore the power surging through his body, like something so seductive and electric. He tried to ignore the way their shadows danced together in his peripheral.

He had the upper hand.

He was not in love.

He was not… in love, was he?

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

This was the last straw.

This was it. Angel was done. Alastor had gone and fucked up real bad . He was sure the stupid fuck had no idea just how much, but Angel would show him… soon.

He was done.

“Angel, no need to look so put out,” Alastor whispered under his breath as Angel’s family fluttered about the room. “Really, my dear, I’m only censoring you for your own benefit. You have a have a habit of antagonizing others, so—.”

If you have nothing by nice to say, don’t say it at all. That’s an order.

This bastard had no idea what lines he’d crossed. There were so many little slights Angel previously allowed to go unpunished. He rolled with so many punches, but his voice… no one, not even Val, could take his fucking voice.

Sure, he could probably stand, scream, and start throwing shit, but instead he leaned back in his chair and smiled serenely. He chatted with Molly. He spoke real civil to the others.

He fumed inside.

This— THIS was a step too far, and it would be over soon, because Angel was angry. Angel was beyond angry.

This ended today.

Alastor made a fabulous first impression, of course. He was all charm and wit when he wanted to be. He silenced any insults directed towards Angel with that wide, cryptic grin of his and those flashing narrowed eyes. The whole family, Henroin included, addressed Angel in hushed, respectful voices— not a gay joke amongst the bunch.

But regardless of how well the dinner went, Angel did not appreciate the lock placed on his tongue.

He remained silent during the limo ride home, his legs crossed and his body leaning away from Alastor. He swatted the hand that closed around his own, shrugged off the gentle apologies, and ignored when Alastor lifted the order that kept his words pleasant and his tone light.

He said nothing and responded to nothing. He even ignored the tantalizing kisses peppered along his shoulder. No. Not today.

When they reached the hotel he stormed past a curious Charlie and made a beeline to his and Alastor’s shared bedroom. He slipped into the bathroom and began wiping off his makeup.

Alastor sashayed into the bathroom some time after him, pecked him on the cheek, and bristled faintly when Angel remained rigid and unresponsive. “Well, I think that dinner went just swell, all things considered, and no unnecessary violen—“ Angel gave him a withering stare which cut the stag off mid sentence. Alastor frowned and continued, “Angel, is everything Jake or are you all wet? You appear…”

“No,” Angel said, splashing warm water on his face. “I’m not alright. Ya see, ya fucked up today, Al. Ya did somethin real bad and I’m done playin your game. I don’t care if ya own my soul. Things is gonna change. No more fuckin’ my ass ‘til ya set me free. And ya know, if that don’t botha’ ya, that’s just fine, but you’re not gettin’ even a shred of real affection from me until this contract is fuckin gone.”

“Ha! My dear I think we both know those are empty threats,” Alastor said, arching his brows. “Why— you have ab-sol-ute-ly no self control! None whatsoever!”

Angel looked at him, really looked at him. He fixed him with a long, vacant stare.

“I don’t think ya understand, Smiles,” he said, leaning down so he and the Radio Demon were face to face, nose to nose. He watched those soft red ears twitch back, “Just how much I fuckin HATE ya right now.”

The ears flattened fully, pressing against Alastor’s crimson hair. Those red eyes widened. His smile grew strained, wobbly, and tight-lipped. “Angel, enough! You don’t mean that. Perhaps I did overstep, but—“

“Shut it. No more excuses, Smiles.” Angel turned and dried his face on a fresh towel. A clawed hand fell on his waist and he slowly, painstakingly, removed it. “Ya got three options right now. That’s a whole lot, if ya ask me. Option 1: Ya give me back soul.”

“Ha! No! Angel, I have told you time and time again—“

Angel cut him off, facing him once again. “Option 2: Ya give me your soul and we make it even,” he said.

Alastor’s only response to this was a scoff and a laugh.

Angel studied him. “Option 3: Ya continue with your stubborn overbearin’ bullshit, but the only time I’m gonna touch ya is when ya bend over, spread your cheeks, and wag that fluffy tail fa me.”

Stricken silence.

The air around them crackled, a faint uncertain echo of canned laughter flickering off and on in the background. Alastor seemed suddenly quite pale. He blinked several times and sputtered, “You’re… you’re joking. O-oh! That isn’t funny.”

“I’m not jokin,” Angel said, arching a brow. “Like I said, shit’s gonna change, Al. I’m not playin submissive little bitch anymore. Ya don’t get t’ be in control. Ya don’t get t’ call all the shots. If ya want me, ya gotta assume the position and beg fa my cock. Maybe I’ll fuck ya, and maybe I won’t, but that’s all your gettin’. Ya ain’t gettin’ no love or tenderness. Ya want my touch? Ya know what t’ do.”

Alastor’s smile adopted a sinister toothiness. He cocked his head to one side. “Angel, I do not appreciate this behavior. You’ve gone quite too far with this little tantrum and I’m afraid I won’t stand for it any longer!”

Alastor lunged at him, but Angel moved swiftly. He had more arms, more rage, and more combat training than Alastor had power in that moment. He pinned Alastor’s arm behind his back, yanked his pants and underwear down around his ankles, and bent him over the bathroom countertop.

Shock. The world seemed to go still, but shock and shame froze the Radio Demon. He was a deer in the headlights, caught with his pants down.

“Angel. U-unhand me!” He said, but his voice sounded more shrill than usual.

Angel massaged the soft tail with one of his hands. “Oh? Tell me, what were ya gonna do just now, Al?” he said.

Alastor trembled under the touch, letting out something like a whine. Silence.

Angel answered himself. He said, “I’ll bet you were gonna try t’ force yourself on me or somethin real close, am I right? Did ya think about my consent at all or did ya just hope t’ rile me up enough until all my ‘no’s became ‘yes’s?” The pause that lingered following this question was an answer in itself. Typical.

“Angel, I’m sorry. Please. I-I—“ Alastor stammered, looking back just as all four hands released him.

Angel crossed his arms and took a step back. “I told ya, Al. I don’t take nothin that ain’t willingly given. I’m not a fuckin monster,” he said. “I hate you and ya don’t deserve me. Ya get it? Ya see now? Fuck, even if I was a shit head like you, I don’t want ya enough t’ take ya.”

“Angel, stop saying that. Stop saying you h-hate me,” he said, eyes frantically searching Angel’s face. He was waffling— desperate. “You know, I would be remiss to take the club away.” Alastor finally said, voice lowering.

Angel laughed then, a great pealing laugh that made the Radio Demon visibly shiver. “Oh, Al, honey, ya don’t got any leverage there. Ya see, ya lose everythin’ we’ve built, everythin’ we have, if ya take that club away from me. Ya want my heart? What better way t’ lose any chance you’ll ever have of gettin’ it. You’ll have nothin but a lousy contract keepin me bound t’ ya if ya fuck with my club. You’ll be in a worse position than when ya started, so that ain’t a sound threat, now is it? Three choices, Al. Choose now.”

Panic.

He saw it then, those desperate eyes doing calculations.

“Please, c-can you. I— I don’t want… you mad at me anymore…” Alastor lifted his tail, reached back, and spread his cheeks, putting that tight little untouched butthole on display.

Dammit if Angel’s heart didn’t skip a beat. His cock swelled. Double dammit.

Alastor had such a pretty rosy asshole, all shy and pinched. It quivered under his gaze, exposed in such a vulnerable and appealing manner. Fuck if he didn’t want to bite it, lick it, finger it, fuck it, and fist it.

With great restraint, Angel settled for rubbing two fingers over the pink, twitching pucker. He felt it spasm under his touch. “You would rather let me fuck your slutty little hole, than give me back my fuckin soul?”

“Ah ahhhh. D-don’t say it like that. I-I love you. I just want… oh! Oh! Horsefeathers! Don’t lick it! W-wait! Y-you can’t just—“

Angel ran his tongue over winking entrance, pushed the wet muscle past the shuddering rim, and enjoyed the pathetic keening sounds Alastor made when Angel tongue-fucked his hole and massaged his balls. The red and white tail wagged frantically.

Fuck. Why hadn’t he done this sooner?

“Ya like that bitch? That’s right, keep makin those pretty sounds fa me.” Angel purred, licking a finger and pushing it into the tight, tempting heat. He felt around inside the shuttering passage and massaged Alastor’s prostate, laughing when the man’s legs kicked and seized. “Who’s my pretty red doe?”

Alastor gasped. He made a sound like a little sob, wagging his round ass and spreading his thighs wider. “I-I am,” he said, rocking back on the finger inside him. Angel saw then the red-tipped dick dangling between Alastor’s legs, stiff as a pole and drooling with precum.

Someone clearly liked having his butthole teased.

So cute. Fuck it was too cute. Angel tried not to let the throbbing in his dick control the words that came out of his mouth.

“Ya know, ya might be enjoyin’ this too much. But really, why didn’t ya tell me before that ya wanted me me t’ play with your tight little deer pussy? I woulda done this sooner. I can’t wait t’ shove my dick in here.” He added another finger, spreading them like scissors inside Alastor. The deer moaned and shuttered, unconsciously spreading his cheeks wider apart.

Angel rammed his fingers in and out then, giving the Radio Demon a thorough fingering as he slammed the digits against his prostate like a piston. He sank his fangs into one of those juicy cheeks and injected the deer with green venom. Alastor’s back arched. His eyes glazed. “P-please,” he said. “Ahhh ahhh nnn.”

“Ya have a real needy pussy, dontcha?” Angel. purred, standing and pulling out his hard, striped dick. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll give it what it wants.” He aligned the thick head of his cock with the man’s sphincter, grabbed a container of lube from the medicine cabinet, and smirked at Alastor’s flushed cheeks and glazed eyes in the mirror. He lathered his rod slowly, letting Alastor see the full length of the cock about to fuck him through the reflection, before wedging himself into that eager bouncy ass.

It had been so long since he’d felt that perfect velvety heat of a nice, tight hole wrapped around his dick. He groaned and had to remind himself not to buck his hips forward and start plowing away like a fucking heathen, but it was hard when Alastor moaned, whimpered, and squirmed, utterly uncertain what to do or how to process the sudden painful intrusion spreading his hole to its limits.

“I-it hurts. I-I— it feels strange. Hot. Too hot,” Alastor said. There were tears in his eyes.

Angel massaged one of the cheeks. “Ya want me t’ stop, handsome?” He asked, tone gentle. “It’s alright. We can stop, baby.”

“No! Don’t stop!”

So fucking cute. He moved his hips in a slow, steady rhythm, but gradually picked up speed as the pleasure became too much to bare and the sight of his cock disappearing into that overstretched, red orifice made his mind go blank. He pounded that ass. He fucked Alastor hard and deep. He smacked one of the bubbly cheeks and groaned when Alastor yelped and seized around his cock.

Alastor’s tail remained up and wagging, a sign of just how much he enjoyed having his ass plowed even while he covered his face to hide his expression. Angel reached a hand under Alastor and began stroking the radio demon’s dick in time with his thrusts.

It was fucking heaven.

There was nothing more blissful than making Alastor sob as he came or watching those red eyes widen in horror when Angel filled his tight asshole with a hefty load of hot jizz, pulled out out his dick with a wet pop, tucked himself away, and turned to leave the room.

No kisses. No cuddling. No love.

No more Mr. Nice Guy.

“Angel, b-but—“

“I told ya the rules, Al. My dick is all your gettin’, got it? What? Ya wanna go again? Ya that desperate fa my touch? We can go again, if that’s what ya really want. I was a porn star, after all. Stamina is my forte. Or are ya upset cause I ain’t coddlin’ ya after takin’ your ass virginity? Maybe I would kiss and coddle ya if I didn’t hate ya so much.”

He broke Alastor. He saw it in that moment. Those eyes went wide, the smile dropped completely, and the Radio Demon, ears lying flat against his hair, broke down sobbing.

He fucking broke the Radio Demon.

Well, it was about goddamn time.

“Give me my soul, Alastor,” he said.

The Radio Demon crumbled to his knees; his over-fucked ass leaking cum and his thighs shaking. He shook his head and covered his mouth with his hand, biting down on it in a desperate attempt to stifle the heaving sobs.

“GIVE ME MY SOUL, ALASTOR!” Angel was shouting now.

He looked over the Radio Demon, grabbed him by the hair and jerked back the man’s head, glaring down into that shattered, tearful expression.

“I can’t,” Alastor said, trembling. “You’ll leave and I love you. I can’t… you’ll leave me.”

Raw. Honest.

Broken.

Dammit. Double Dammit.

Angel released his hair. “Three options, Al. That’s all I’m givin’ ya. Ya know what t’ do now if ya want the little shred of attention I’m willin t’ give ya.”

“Angel. No… please.”

He left the room. He knew if he stayed a second longer… he’d cave.

He couldn’t afford to lose ground.

Not now.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

He’d broken the Radio Demon. He felt progressively more assured of this fact every time Alastor meekly asked for his cock, ears flat and eyes glassy with tears.

At first, the stag abstained from touch, flirting, or sex. However, this restraint did not last particularly long. Clearly, Angel’s complete frigidity shattered him, because after a week of tense silence and terse conversation, Alastor caved and “assumed the position” again.

The Radio Demon wanted Angel’s attention— any attention. He would do anything for even a hint of something other than hatred or apathy, which was quite alright by Angel. He finally had the upper hand and he wouldn’t do a damn thing to jeopardize that.

But his heart ached when he looked into that weary, wounded expression. Alastor didn’t let his smile waver in public, but when they were alone together it cracked more often than ever before. It twitched. It wobbled. It broke. Angel could hardly bear the sight.

Still, he needed to ignore the treacherous instincts that compelled him to kiss, coddle, and embrace the other man. He needed to ignore the urge that overwhelmed him while laying in bed late at night— the urge to call for Alastor, knowing that somehow, someway, the man would hear him and slide into bed beside him.

Nights without Alastor were the hardest. They’d been sleeping in the same bed for a year now, and the sudden absence of the man that he… no, he would not say it, not even to himself… the Radio Demon’s absence felt all wrong.

Angel found himself tossing and turning, always uncomfortable. His mind raced. His head throbbed. He didn’t know how to fix this mess, but he knew he had the upper hand, and shouldn’t he be happy? Shouldn’t he feel swell?

“Angel… can we talk?” Alastor said to him three weeks after their initial “confrontation”. His smile hung like a theatre mask on his lips, strange and artificial as always, but with something like a melancholy edge that gleamed in those narrowed red eyes.

He approached Angel during work hours in their office, taking a seat rigidly across from the spider with his hands folded in a steeple on the desk between them.

Angel studied his serious expression, his stiff demeanor, and the look of uncompromising decisiveness on that handsome face he’d come to know so well. “Sure, Smiles,” he said, languidly leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on the desk, the picture of absolute, almost impertinent, confidence .

He had the upper hand. He was in control. He wouldn’t let Alastor forget it.

Alastor’s teeth glinted in an easy Cheshire Cat grin that sent shivers down Angel’s fine, making his fight or flight instincts go haywire. Wait. He didn’t like that smile.

“Angel, you know very well how I feel about you,” he said matter-of-factly. “I have made myself quite clear on a number of occasions. Why— I have made so many declarations of love to you that I’ve simply lost count. I’m stuck on you— quite the sap carrying too large a torch, I’m afraid. However, it has been brought to my attention that my… attachment borders unhealthy and it would be best if I disengage from this arrangement altogether. So I have decided I must take it on the heel and toe, as it were.” Alastor paused and cleared his throat.

Angel’s blood ran cold. “Al, now just wait a goddamn minute,” he started to say, but Alastor continued.

“Never fear, my darling! You may have the return of your soul, full ownership of Rapture, and any funds you require to ensure the continued prosperity of your business in my absence. I will also, of course, vacate the Happy Hotel and you will be well rid of me from here on out,” he said, meeting Angel’s gaze. “Ha! No need to look so stricken, my dear, though this must come as quite the shock after my recent behavior, I know. It would be best if we do not see each other again!”

“What’s the grift, Smiles?” Angel said, sliding his feet off the desk and leaning forward. “I don’t believe fa a fuckin second that your about t’ break up with me just ‘cause someone told ya this shit’s unhealthy, or that you’re suddenly gonna hand me back my soul after all your bitchin’ and moanin’. What’s your angle, babe? What’s your game?”

Alastor simply smiled. “Angel, no more games… we keep hurting each other,” he said. “Again and again, we keep hurting each other, and I’m tired— so very tired. I worry I will never trust you in this relationship unless I can control you— unless I own you and can ensure you never leave me. And you don’t… love me… It is better, then, that there be no relationship whatsoever. Better for both of us! This was not an easy decision, of course, but—“

“No.” Angel said, swiveling his chair to the side and returning to his paperwork.

Alastor stared at him. “No?” He repeated, stunned. “Mon amour, I’m afraid I do not understand.”

“Ya don’t need t’ understand it, Smiles,” he said, glaring at the Radio Demon whose smile twitched at the edges. “That ain’t what we’re doin.”

Silence.

Alastor stood, reached across the table, and squeezed Angel’s hand. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss against the palm. “Do you love me, Angel?” He asked.

Angel’s shoulders stiffened; his spine went ramrod straight. “No,” he said.

“Well then, that settles it.” Alastor shook his hand firmly and grinned. “Angel, I hereby release your soul back to you and we can consider this the end of our relationship.” The Radio Demon disengaged from Angel, turned on his heel, and strode from the room.

“A-Al— wait a goddamn minute!” Angel cried, sprinting after him. Even with his long legs he struggled to match the pace of those swift, bouncy steps. “I didn’t agree to that. I didn’t— fuck, Smiles. Slow down!”

He gripped Alastor’s arm and dug his shimmery red heels into the carpet, but nearly toppled over his own two feet as Alastor continued moving forward.

Panic.

Angel began to fucking panic.

“STOP! Alastor, I’m your fuckin QUEEN! I said t’ fuckin STOP!” He was shouting now, screaming at the top of his lungs. His dancers and the customers watched with anxious eyes. They’d expected something like this, and they were curious to see how it ended, but they kept their distance, because everyone knew Alastor and Angel made a volatile, destructive duo.

Alastor stopped. “Not anymore, you’re not!” He said, a bit too cheerily. “Now, if you would be so kind, my silly bearcat, do please unhand me before I MAKE you.”

Something inside Angel snapped. He pounced Alastor, winding his thighs around the man’s trim waist “You’re not fuckin leavin’ me!” He shrieked. His eyes glowed bright, neon pink. The world seemed to bend around them, the air smelling strangely sweet even as radio static hissed and sputtered. “You’re NEVER leavin’ me!” The words came in an almost feral growl, his fangs oozing green venom that glimmered in the dim strip club lights. “YOU’RE MINE!”

He sank his teeth into Alastor’s neck with a guttural snarl, injected so much venom that the Radio Demon faltered slightly, falling back into one of the plush rounded velvet chairs with Angel in his lap.

Laughter. Strange, warm, and manic laughter.

It vibrated through Angel’s teeth, and it took him a while to realize the sound was bursting from Alastor’s throat. He released his hold on the man’s neck, sat back, and stared in horror at the grisly, bleeding wound, dripping his venom.

“F-fuck, Al. I’m sorr—“

Alastor’s laughter, that mad dangerous laughter, didn’t lessen. It grew in volume and chaotic energy. Alastor cupped Angel’s cheeks in his hands, his eyes wild and green with venom, and kissed him. “You DO love me, you lying little minx! Ha! You DO!” He said between heated kisses. “Oh, I should have known. Such a cruel trick you played on me! So devious! But you do love me, don’t you? Ha ha ha!”

Angel stared at him, dumbstruck. He responded to all the kisses in kind, lips melding against Alastor’s of their own accord. “I-I—“ he stammered. He had his soul… why keep up the ruse, especially when it was so obvious to both of them now how he felt? Fuck, were they both fucking insane? He started giggling too. He couldn’t help himself. He started chuckling and then cackling. He threw back his head and the laughter filled the room like a hypnotic and bewitching melody. Eyes fell on him, awed. So many eyes. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Ha! Yeah, I fuckin love ya, dumbass.”

Alastor peppered him with kisses. They coated his chest, his collarbone, his neck, his cheeks, and his lips. The man was dizzy with his venom, foggy-eyed with lust. He paused, panting. “I… gave you back your soul,” he said, sounding suddenly confused.

Angel rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and look where I am, ya fuckin idiot,” he said. “Don’t stop kissin’ me, dammit.”

Alastor studied him more closely then, looking deep into his glowing eyes. “Angel, I think you might be…” but one look from Angel and he resumed coating the spider in soft kisses.

“I’m your Queen, right Al? Ya won’t leave me?” Angel said, perhaps a little more anxiously than he meant to.

“You are my Queen. I won’t leave you,” Alastor repeated. “And you won’t leave me?”

“I won’t leave you.”

They both exhaled, relieved.

They were so fucking stupid.

~

Angel painted his lips scarlet in the well-lit, vanity mirror. He primped and hummed as he studied his own reflection, thinking that lately he looked more attractive than usual. He wondered why. He was practically glowing.

Alastor stood just behind him, doing some minor adjustments to his outfit in the same mirror. He leaned down, pecked Angel’s cheek, and whispered something French in the spider’s ear: “Je t’aime, ma reine.”

“We’ll see how much ya love me after tonight. Ya know, if I see Val and he says somethin catty I’m gonna throw my fuckin shoe at him.” Angel grumbled, adding another layer of mascara. “These overlord galas are fuckin dumb. Seems like an excuse fa everyone t’ size up the competition. I ain’t keen on it, Al.” He glanced at the invitation sitting under a container of body glitter. The looping, decorative scrawl tied his stomach in knots.

“My dear, we’ll get a slant and then take a powder. Why— no need to stay long bumping gums, I say! An appearance is necessary, but nothing more, and after—“ Alastor studied the oh-so-pluckable strings and bows that held Angel’s current outfit together, a red dress that looked devilishly easy to untangle. “Why— I must say I look forward into unwrapping my gift.”

“I thought you’d like it, hot stuff,” Angel purred. He resisted the urge to kiss the radio demon, knowing from experience that they’d spend forever trying to remove the lip smudges. “Ya think… they’ll consider me an easy target?”

“No,” Alastor said. He placed a hand on Angel’s cheek and tilted up his chin. “My dear, you’re more powerful than you think! I should know! I’ve been the victim of your venom on more than one occasion! And now I’m addicted to you, My Queen!”

“You’re just easy prey,” Angel said, standing and stretching his long limbs. “Ain’t no challenge in snarin’ a fella already smitten with ya.”

“Mmm,” Alastor arched a brow and watched him with dark, hungry eyes. “Trust me, my dear. No one will take you for a weaker, or lesser overlord. And together we make quite the…”

“Power couple?” Angel purred, running his fingers through the other man’s crimson hair. “Well, I guess you’re right. Let’s get this shit over with.”

As he took the Radio Demon’s elbow and they walked, arm in arm, out of the Happy Hotel, Angel looked back over his shoulder and wondered if it might be time to move out on their own.

He wasn’t seeking some lofty redemption. He was happy. He didn’t need harps or pearly gates. For once in his life, and afterlife, he finally felt content.

But that was a thought for another day.

For now, he focused on the man beside him, knowing that the evening ahead would likely end in some ridiculous fight, passionate fucking, or a combination of the two.

Well, that was fine.

He couldn’t wait to assume the position.

~The End~