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A jazz tune droned from the Radio Demon, and not the usual upbeat melody but an irate piqued thrum of crackling static. 
Occasionally, preceded by the incessant buzz of adjusting radio stations, spiking at each twitch of that smile, sharp teeth clenched.
Settled in an ornate armchair, one leg crossed over the other, seething in the warm glow of the fireplace. His claws thumped rhythmically against the armrest in tandem with his irritated humming.
Angel’s practically coquettish—also torturously mellifluous and maddeningly sweet—laugh filtered through Alastor’s ears, urging them to swivel in their direction. He watched through the corner of his eye as the lovely sinner conversed with the avian feline manning the front desk.
It utterly baffled him. Evaluated every effort to disclose any incentive for him to feel this way. Though, he partially resolved a grasp of the fondness that developed throughout their budding friendship.
So much so, he barely noticed the hidden, ramparted fragments of his psyche had leisurely crumbled under the weight of the supposed feelings he harbored for the spider. Completely inexperienced in this field of affection. And, it seems he wasn't the only one trapped inside the spider's web.
And it left him with the sentiment of a petulant child having to share his toy.
Even so, Alastor witnessed plenty of forlorn fellows audaciously trying to solicit the former adult film star. It never bothered him, nor never did he need to step in. That’s actually how he came to know Angel as quite the hidden gem. Adept at purging the premises of the more handsy, daft dwellers of hell, and with admirable marksmanship. Seeing such displays spurred plenty of besotted melodies within the deer’s musical repertoire.
Conveniently, it even saved the travails of procuring the right cuts of meat. In return, with Nifty’s kind and keen assistance, he rids away any evidence to spare his preferred patron from the verbal reprimands of the hotel's proprietor.
In the many months that followed their first disastrous meeting, he reluctantly got to know the spider. Angel’s illustrious, salacious personage tended to perceive him as nothing more than a mere mincing strumpet—a frontage that even he regrettably fell for in the beginning.
Yet, beyond the spider’s obscene jokes and vulgar implication of suggestive innuendos laid a pleasantly perceptive, delightful character. 
Animated and scintillating, permeated with a naturally charming flair that drew the attention of anyone and everyone, otherwise implying he eventually really enjoyed Angel's company.
Most of the time.
Angel and Alastor’s earlier encounters usually involved denigrated remarks and stifled bickering—mainly from the latter but brought on by the other’s teasing—now devolved into jesting banter. Plus, Angel respected Alastor’s five-foot rule from the start, out of that, respect, not fear and it was refreshing.
In the moment, it was becoming evidently apparent that a laden part of himself wanted Angel, dubbing the ‘more than friends’ the accurate modern term.
It was evident as he watched Husker. The gall of his insolent associate placing a friendly hand on Angel’s triggered a swift shrill of feedback. Alastor’s grin tightened and stretched maliciously, his seething, glowing red eyes narrowing. Igniting a sweltering rage; insides singed with a searing bitterness. He felt an urge to rip the man’s hand off and slice it up into literal finger food.
The two startled at the sharp ring in their ears and Angel looked at him concerned, bright magenta eyes. Husk ears laid against his skull, looking mildly aggravated.
Curse it all, he felt enervated and weak by those enthralling eyes. (Angel’s, not Husker.)
“Smiles, hey, you okay over there?” Angel called to him.
“Yes, darling! Apologies, just invigorated by my story.” He manifested a random book in his lap with a subtle flick of his wrist. “Don’t mind me!”
He felt those eyes linger on him and felt the heat rising in his neck. He tugged at his bowtie, deploring the decision of sitting by the fireplace.
He waited reluctantly for them to return to their conversation before he leered viciously at the bartender. It is a surprise he couldn’t feel Alastor practically burning a hole into his thick skull, or if he did, he did not indicate it.
To be honest, it wasn’t the two flirting that irked the grinning demon. Not the slightest. Well, maybe partly. The issue laid with the authentic affinity of their awfully riveting conversation and the genuine diverting smile that graced beautiful sinner’s soft-looking lips. So exasperatingly captivated by the other demon’s every word.
It was only the stubborn common sense of self-preservation that diverted any means of retaliation for the man’s arrogance, mainly because that would warrant listening to Charlie’s tedious onslaught on sullying the hotel’s image with tattling rumors. Not a soul would want to check into or seek redemption at an establishment where guests could potentially be eviscerated and eaten by a ravenous demon. Plus, that would hinder the last source of amusement in this dwelling hellscape.
Husk continued to wipe down the bar and glasses with the faintest hint of a smirk, that said a lot about the enjoyment of their exchange.
Alastor sulked, turning to the book in his hands and opening it with a sigh, and focusing intently on the words of the first page. He recognized it immediately, a favorite of his, but vainly attempted to read it as a meager distraction.
The thoughts of what if—? Scenarios plagued his mind. Words blurring into a reverie of idyllic tenderness to amorous fantasies. It was outlandish, laughable, frivolous—frivolous to think it didn’t appeal to him, his yearning affections marked with an intricate stamp and returned to him. That is frivolous thinking for sure.
“Good book?”
Wrenched from his paradisal stupor, Alastor’s ears perked at attention and looked up to see Angel bent over the side of the chair, intimately as close as his daydreams. 
For once he looked, briefly, at Angel’s bountiful bust on display, then dead in those magenta irises. Futility fighting off the dark flush crawling up his neck.
His shoes clapped against the floor as he stood up and quickly stepped away from his chair. “Five feet, Angel, please.” Then glanced down at the book.
It took only a moment to compose himself and do what he did best, put on a show. A strived endeavor to not insinuate that he was flustered by his friend’s presence.
“Why, yes actually. Always a pleasant read.”
“You’ve read it before?” Angel crossed his arms, and Alastor’s composer already began to deteriorate.
“Uh, yes, many times. That’s why I enjoy it.” And glanced past Angel and at the man still seated at the bar. “I never noticed how close you and Husker are, over there.” His ear twitched and subdued the urge to wince at the disdain in his voice. Unable to discern the sudden lack of restraint on his emotions and the threat of possibly compromising his affection.
It would seem that love does make a fool—albeit insensible infatuation and nothing more. Certainly, it would pass in time.
He scowled internally, unconvinced.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what did you find so interesting about him?”
Not for a moment had he sustained a desire to eat his own tongue before, but there was a first time for everything.
“Husky?” Angel pointed a thumb over his shoulder, the cat in question narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Alastor, and laughed, “Shit, grizzled, gruff and tough with definite daddy vibes. What ain't interesting? Poor bastard's seen some shit. He just gets it—” Though Alastor wasn't sure what 'it' is referred to. “—And it's just nice chatting to someone who knows Italian, too. Yeah, we got a good thing going.”
It was discreet, but still self-evident there was more to it than that. The vague response left him a bit disquieted, and for the first time in his life, or afterlife, he experienced envy towards one of his contractees. The emotional turmoil felt nothingless than a burden on his existence.
“Oh, please do elaborate on this 'good thing'.” Voice strained as he spoke through gritted teeth, the words coming out forced.
Angel shrugged and as the deer permitted him to lean in a bit into his space, “Just having fun, hanging out like pals do. Like you and me, we work. You always know how to make me laugh.”
“I—” His eyes flew open, the pupils dilating with surprise, his nerves settling a bit, “—I appreciate that, you do manage to humor me, as well. Despite the lewdness, you always have a good joke or two up your many sleeves, but no less infuriating.”
“Aw, Al. You flatterer.” Angel cooed ostentatiously, “I mean I get that I'm charming and irresistible. But bragging rights of charming the pants off the Radio Demon.”
Alastor raised an eyebrow at the boisterous claim, “Is that so? Oh, absolutely. An insufferable delight. Just the bee's knees with your incessant yammering.”
Angel's eyes were partially closed, and his voice became softer, “Exactly. I’m a doll.”
Alastor released a soft chuckle and began to feel at ease, “You're incorrigible, quite the debauchee.”
“I try my best to be. Can't let my adoring public down.”
“I'm just sure they're all too eager to make your acquaintance, unfortunately.”
A snide smirk breached the spider’s features as he watched Alastor. “Why? Wanted me all to yourself, babe?”
Yes, his thoughts immediately provided.
Then, his mind came to a sudden halt, like a needle skipping abruptly against a record. They were very close and he was able to clearly see the intricate details of Angel’s dainty set of additional eyes. He didn't know how to react or what to say, stumbling to find his words. The last threads of dignity frayed and pulled too tight, his composure unraveling.
Alastor considered whether to act on his feelings and ask Angel if he would be willing to humor him, or to let it go and potentially live with regret. He had never given any thought to romance or courting, but he found that the idea didn't bother him as much if it was with Angel. However, he wasn't sure if Angel felt the same way.
Indeed, their shared passion for trying out new recipes and experimenting with different flavors in the kitchen represented itself delightful. While Alastor wasn't particularly fond of sweet treats, he enjoyed the time spent with Angel and indulged in the occasional batch of cookies or cake that his friend baked. In addition to their culinary capers, conjured countless late-night conversations where they delved into their pasts and shared stories and memories from their childhoods. It had become an integral part of his afterlife, despite feeling reluctant to acknowledge so.
“Ha, not in the slightest, I daresay!” he forced a laugh and nudged Angel back with the head of his microphone, trying to hide his embarrassment and discomfort. He could feel the heat radiating from his cheeks, and even noticed a bit of sweat forming on his forehead in spite of the efforts to remain composed, he couldn't help but feel self-conscious and anxious.
Angel's smile wavered slightly, showing a hint of disappointment, but quickly regained his lighthearted expression. Angel stood up staight to get a better look at him. “You're not looking to hot, still cute as shit. Wire loose suddenly? You okay?” Angel's face adopted a look of concern as he regarded Alastor, even with his sarcastic tone.
“Well, look at the time! I should probably be doing some paperwork before it gets too late.”
He just couldn't bring himself to face his Angel any longer, and the thought of continuing the conversation was too much. So, with a hasty excuse and a quick tap of his cane, he made his retreat in a puff of smoke.
Angel blinked, “Shit, okay.” Crossing his arms and jutting out his hip, Angel looked slightly offended by Alastor's sudden departure. He glared at the spot where Alastor had been standing and mumbled sarcastically, “Well, bye to you, too.” It was clear that he was annoyed and hurt by Alastor's behavior.
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Alastor retreated to a hallway, clutching his microphone against his chest as he tried to calm his nerves. Bare minimum conversation with Angel had never been a problem for him before, but now that he had realized the depth of his feelings for the other demon, he found himself feeling anxious and uncertain.
Ridiculous .
A pair of ghostly hands clamp down on his shoulders, and he glanced back to see his shadow slithering up behind him. 
It’s rasping laugh that sounded playfully mocking, and Alastor couldn't help but feel indignant. “Quiet you, not a word,” he scoffed, trying to shake off the shadow's hands.
But it simply chuckled and softly chittered at him, causing Alastor's ears to fluff up in embarrassment as he blushed. Scowling at the spectral being, he harshly whispered, “I did not think of propositioning Angel!” Though, it was clear that he had indeed delved into thoughts about Angel that he had never entertained before.
The shadow gave him a knowingly smug grin, as if it were aware of the turmoil going on in his mind. “That's enough,” Alastor huffed, fed up with the frustration. He turned and continued on toward his office, hoping to find some solitude and escape the shadow's teasing.