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Angel’s door doesn’t lock. None of the doors in the hotel do. Generally, people knock. They don’t just barge in. Charlie did once and got an eyeful. She’s learned.
So, Angel is caught a bit off guard when his door swings open and he’s got a huge dildo knot-deep in his pussy. It’s practice for a shoot next week. Hellhound with a reputation for causing tears even with lube.
Alastor walks in and shuts the door behind him. He doesn’t even blink. He just says, “Charlie found my cocaine and flushed it because she thought it was yours. You owe me a replacement.”
Angel doesn’t really know what to say to that. He lets the dildo slide out of him and flop wet on the bed. Fuck. Where’s his robe? Alastor doesn’t seem to be bothered by Angel’s current state of undress. Y’know, nothing but knee high stockings. But it’s the principle.
“Uh, hello to you too, I guess.” Angel stands on shaky legs and walks over to his closet. He pulls out a loose black sundress and slides it on. He’s so fucking wet. Sticky, stretched open. The cold air crowds in around him while his pussy throbs.
“Cocaine. Where is it? I know you have some squirreled away.”
“Even if I did, why should I give it to you?” Angel turns towards Alastor and puts a set of hands on his hips. “It’s not my fault you didn’t hide yours well enough.”
“It’s your fault Charlie is looking in strange places for drugs. She just ruined an entire ounce. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how inconvenient that is.”
“Yikes,” Angel says before he can stop himself.
Alastor stares him down, smiling with too many sharp teeth. Angel knows a threat when he sees one. He doesn’t think Alastor would hurt him. He doesn’t know Alastor wouldn’t hurt him.
“Perhaps, I could do you a favor in return,” Alastor's expression smooths into something less scary. The smile tilts.
“Oh, fuck no. I’m not making a deal with you over something as stupid as drugs.”
“Nothing like that.” Alastor takes a few steps towards him, closing the distance. “What if I helped you with your previous engagement?”
Angel blinks. Gears turning far too slow. It takes Alastor glancing at the bright red dildo for everything to slot into space.
“What, you wanna fuck?”
“Want is a strong word. I would be agreeable. Goods in exchange for services.”
“That’s… no. I’m not doing that.” Angel scoffs. “I’m the whore here, not you.”
Angel walks over and grabs his purse off the windowsill. He roots around in it for a moment, heart pounding with the residual adrenaline of being so fucking close and getting interupted. He feels the small plastic bag he’s looking for. He fishes it out and tosses it onto his vanity.
“There you go. Pay me back later or something.”
And really, that should be the end of it.
But it’s not. Alastor is still standing there, not going for the drugs. His eyes narrow a fraction. He tilts his head just so.
“You don’t want sex.” Alastor asks with what really seems like a false sense of calm. “Why?”
“What do you mean why ? I just don’t.”
Never mind that it would be beneath Angel. People pay to fuck him. Not the other way around. He’s the prize that has people falling to their knees and literally begging for a taste. Alastor basically offering him a pity fuck is so beyond bizarre. Angel doesn’t really know how to process it. Better to file it away and never think of it again.
“You’ve drunkenly propositioned me on several occasions.” Alastor’s head tilts a little more. “You must be attracted to me.”
“What’s it matter? That’s not really the issue at hand.”
“What is the issue at hand?”
“That bag right there.” Angel gestures at his vanity helplessly. “Why is this complicated? Take the fucking coke and get out of my room, you weirdo.”
Alastor does not get out. He gets closer, so he’s almost in reaching distance. “What if I want us to share?”
“I was kinda in the middle of something.”
“Mmm. And you don’t want me to help you with that.”
“No, I don’t want you to fuck me for drugs. Because I’ve been on the other end of that. And it sucks.”
It’s maybe a little too raw of admission. Angel fights the urge to wince. Showing weakness in front of someone like Alastor is a dangerous move.
“My apologies.” Alastor curls his tongue around the words in a way that really calls their sincerity into question. “I failed to take the nature of your background into account. I fear I’ve offended you.”
“Why do you care? You insult me daily.”
“It’s different, isn’t it?” Alastor begins to walk in a tight circle around Angel. Like a fucking shark. “All of that slides right off you. This time, I’ve struck a nerve.”
“OK, whatever, apology accepted. I am desperate for this moment to end.”
Alastor stops. Right behind Angel. He breathes humid air onto the nape of Angel’s neck and it’s so hard not to shiver.
Like. Alastor is hot. Suicide mission hot. You know. Hot like when someone invites you into an alley and you’re really not sure if it’s for a blowjob or to mug you. Then you fuck behind a dumpster and it’s a million dollar rush. For some reason, that shit gets Angel going. It’s part of the reason his life is such a mess.
“You want me to want sex,” Alastor murmurs.
“I mean, don’t most well-adjusted people want enthusiastic partners?” Not that Angel is all that well adjusted. Still.
“I’m asexual.”
“Cool? Fine? It doesn’t really matter. The drugs are right there. Take them and go.”
“I can still want it for other reasons.”
“Oh, fuck off--”
“Hush.”
There’s a sudden press of sharp teeth on Angel’s left shoulder. Angel gasps. There’s not enough force to break skin. But holy fuck. Angel might fall over with how fast all the blood rushed to his cunt.
Alastor lingers for a moment, letting Angel really feel his fangs before releasing the bite. “You’ve just become interesting. Don’t ruin it.”
“You… you’re… what the fuck?” Angel groans. Because Alastor’s hands are tracing up Angel’s thighs, under his dress, almost grazing against where he’s still hot and aching.
“Tell me what you want.” Alastor nips at him again. “In detail.”
“I… uh… the biting is nice.”
“Come now. Surely you can do better than that.”
Angel’s not exactly used to people asking him what he wants. When he fucks, there’s a script and it’s about putting on a good show. If he has fun as a byproduct, great. It’s not his main focus. He hasn’t had sex without it being filmed in… since he left Val.
“Unless,” Alastor chuckles. “You want me to take control.”
Oh fuck. Angel feels a dark tug on his guts. That’s exactly what Angel wants and that’s the sort of impulse he absolutely shouldn’t give in to.
“Listen.” Angel gulps. He pulls away, tries to put a little distance between them. Ends up hovering on the other side of his bed while Alastor stands by the window, looking oddly shocked. “This is all happening very fast. And I’m kinda concerned about what you’d be getting out of it if you don’t want the drugs.”
Alastor grins. His whole body tilts forward a little. “How fascinating. It’s bad if I’m doing it for the cocaine, bad if I have other intentions. What the conundrum.”
“What’s your fucking point?” Angel feels his voice creeping higher. “This whole situation is strange and it’s making me nervous.”
“I think.” Alastor lets the word click on the back of his teeth. “You like being nervous. I think you like being afraid."
“You’re really creepy,” Angel huffs.
“So. Let me scare you.”
Angel is going to say no. Probably. But these little black tentacles are sprouting out from behind Alastor. His eyes have somehow gone even redder. His horns seem bigger. It’s making Angel’s heart thud in his throat.
“You must have fantasized about this at least once before,” Alastor says so fucking confidently. “Tell me. What did I do to you?”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve.”
“Answer the question.”
Angel folds two sets of arms and just stares. Alastor doesn’t back down. Those tentacles are getting thicker. They look like they’re made of shadows. But Angel gets the feeling that they act real solid if Alastor wants them to.
The moment stretches too long. The eye contact is intense. Near stomach turning.
“It wasn’t that deep.” Angel breaks the silence because he can’t stand it. “We just. Fucked.”
“Here? In your bed?”
“On the bar top. Why’s it matter?”
“Hmm. Husk is down there right now. Perhaps another time.”
“Another time?” Angel barely asks before there’s a tentacle wrapped around his waist. It’s warm, like something living. The texture is odd. Smooth and a little slimy.
Alastor lifts Angel into the air like it’s nothing and sets him down on the mattress. Sprawled on his back. Two more of the tentacles grab onto Angel’s skirt and slide it up, exposing him. Angel half moves to cover himself. More tentacles curl around his wrists. Every single one of them. And just like that, he’s pinned to the bed. The strength isn’t overwhelming. It’s tentative. Waiting for Angel to struggle.
Angel doesn’t.
Instead he fucking moans like the whore he is. Alastor chuckles darkly. The grip tightens. Alastor steps closer to the bed and stares down at Angel with fire in his eyes.
“You like this.” Statement, not a question.
Angel still nods.
“You want me to fuck you.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
More tentacles slither forward. They probe at Angel’s body, caressing between his thighs, flicking against his clit. And then, Angel is suddenly, incredibly full. He cries out as the tentacle inside him starts to move. It’s an odd sensation. Like the tentacle is bulging rhythmically more than it’s sliding in and out of him. Angel doesn’t know how to process it. He’s overwhelmed. Already sweating. Thighs shaking.
“Is it too much?” Alastor coos.
He’s just standing there, hands clasped behind his back, watching with mild interest. It shouldn’t be arousing. It’s a fucking gut punch.
Angel doesn’t usually come just from being fucked. His clit needs a little action. He’s also never been stretched this wide. He’s sure of it. And then. Fuck. And then there’s a tentacle sliding into his ass.
It’s too much. The tension snaps. Angel gushes all over the sheets, trembling, and sobbing. Alastor doesn’t stop. Neither does the orgasm. It just keeps rolling as the tentacle in Angel’s ass thickens up.
“Oh fuck,” Angel gasps, thighs shuddering, abdomen tensing. His whole body jerks with each rhythmic pulse.
“You’re quite responsive.” Alastor steps closer to the bed. Gaze fixed on Angel’s cunt. “Have you always had a vagina?”
“What?” The word is so slurred, it’s surprising Angel gets it out at all.
“I know some people wake up in hell with different arrangements than they had on earth.”
Angel wants to ask why the fuck it matters. But words are very difficult and he knows Alastor’s just going to be evasive. There are never any easy answers from him. So, just acquiescing to the question is the path of least resistance.
“Used to have a dick.”
“Hmm. Which do you prefer?”
Well it was divine punishment, wasn’t it? Waking up in hell with a pussy because he got up to some queer shit when he was alive. But Angel’s not sure anymore. He’s gotten used to it. There are definitely upsides, like the multiple orgasms.
“Either one gets the job done… do you have a dick?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck me with it.”
The tentacles don’t stop moving. Angel’s bleary eyes barely catch the flit of uncertainty in Alastor’s face.
“It doesn’t get hard.” The quaver of false bravado is barely perceptible. Alastor wants to not care. Wants it so bad he’s almost convincing.
“Ever?”
“Not in sexual situations.”
“So, when you’re alone?”
“Not necessarily.”
“So… what gets you hard?”
The tentacle in Angel’s ass gets even thicker. Angel whimpers. He rocks his hips, grinding back against it all slutty. He’s already close again. He’s almost distracted enough to forget the question. Almost.
“C’mon. Tell me.”
“Sometimes it happens after a particularly pleasant murder.” Alastor grins sharply.
Huh.
“Is it the violence or the death that gets you going? Because like… I don’t want you to kill me. But whatever else it takes to get you there, go nuts.”
“Really?” Alastor steps closer. The tentacles suddenly, horribly, withdraw. “Whatever it takes?”
Angel feels empty and disoriented. His clit aches with how bad he wants to come again. Alastor kneels on the edge of the bed, tentacles gone, antlers back to their normal size. His eyes are still glowing a little, though.
“I mean. What are you gonna do?” Angel asks, telling himself he’s only breathless because he just got his brains fucked out.
“It will be intimate.” Alastor holds up a hand with a flourish, waving the sharp points of his claws delicately. Then with his other hand he pulls a fucking switchblade out of his pocket and clicks the button. The blade slides out with a neat shick.
“Why do you just have a knife? Actually. Don’t answer that. Is it Angelic Steel?”
“No.” Alastor drops down onto his hands and crawls forward, hovering over Angel so their bodies aren’t quite touching. He holds the knife against Angel’s neck, dips down to whisper in Angel’s ear. “But I want to make you bleed. I want to choke you. I want to hurt you quite badly.”
Angel gasps. He feels the heat in his cheeks, between his legs, rising up his chest. His heart beats loud and fast in his ears.
“Do you want me to hurt you?” Alastor asks like he already knows the answer.
“Yeah.”
Somehow, Angel is still not expecting the immediate shock of pain as Alastor stabs him in the fucking thigh. On the outer part of his right leg. Angel yelps. Grabs at Alastor’s shoulders. He wants to look down, but he’s afraid to see how deep the blade actually went. It feels fucking deep. The initial shock of it pisses him off for a second. But it’s exhilarating.
Angel can feel the adrenaline rush through him. Fight or flight reflexes telling him to run, run, run . Making his heart trill. He’s dizzy. He laughs. Because he has no control of it.
“Holy shit,” he barely squeaks out.
Angel drags Alastor down, rolls his hips, grinding against him as much as possible without moving the injured leg. Alastor seems a bit caught off balance. But he goes with it. He twists the knife as their lips meet in a crash of a kiss. Angel moans into it. Mostly fangs and tounges. Sloppy and desperate. Just the way Angel likes it.
Alastor pulls the knife out and tosses it aside. Angel can feel the gush of warm blood that follows it. The entry wound stings, but the pain goes down into the muscle. Alastor props himself up on a elbow, breaking the kiss. Then his hand is around Angel’s throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off all air supply.
Angle’s face thrums with discomfort. His eyes start to tear up. Alastor smiles down at him.
“You know, I didn’t understand the appeal.” He says so casually. “Didn’t see why you were so famous just for spreading your legs. But there is something enticing about you. Something different. ”
It’s a backhanded compliment. Those are really the only kind Alastor gives unless he’s trying to manipulate someone. Maybe he’s still being manipulative. Angel doesn’t really care. He’s getting tunnel vision, everything going splotchy at the corners. He’s so fucking wet it must be dripping down onto the sheets.
Alastor lets go. Angel gulps air. Alastor sits back. He grabs Angel’s thighs and forcibly spreads them. He pushes them up, bends them until Angel’s nearly folded in half. It hurts so bad. Angel’s leg is on fire.
“You’re really enjoying this.” Alastor pointedly drags a finger between Angel’s pussy lips, gathering the slick. He stops on Angel’s clit. Rubs a few soft circles around it. Angel whimpers.
Then Alastor’s other hand is right on the leg wound, pressing two fingers into it like a cunt. Angel comes with a damp sob. Alastor lets out a low chuckle.
“Remarkable.” He begins to move his fingers slowly in and out of the wound.
It’s the most exquisite pain Angel has ever felt. He hates it. He wants more of it. He’s vibrating with a strange potential energy. He’s so whacked out he can’t even move. He might be crying, it’s hard to tell.
Alastor slides two fingers into Angel’s pussy, rubbing Angel’s clit with his thumb. He keeps the same rhythm with both hands. Angel’s brain gives up trying to sort out the conflicting signals. There’s a dull alarm going off. Too much. Too much everything. More, more, more.
Angel comes because it’s the last order his body understood about the overload of sensation. His cunt snaps tight around Alastor’s fingers as he squirts. Alastor makes a vague, interested noise at the back of his throat.
Alastor withdraws his fingers abruptly. Angel whines. In relief or disappointment is anyone’s guess. Alastor picks up the knife again. He twirls it in his hand before bringing the blade up to his mouth and licking off the blood. Fuck. Why is that so hot.
The next thing Angel knows, the knife is sliding through his top left palm, pinning it to the bed like a dead butterfly. Angel can barely cry out before Alastor’s hand is around his neck again, throttling him.
The light-headedness sets in faster this time. Angel’s vision goes fuzzy. Alastor slaps him across the face, more than hard enough to sting.
“You’re quite enchanting like this. All dazed and vulnerable. You really would let me do anything.”
In the moment, it’s true. Angel’s just barely holding onto consciousness. But he’s calm. Whole body relaxed. Ready to give in to whatever happens to him.
Alastor lets go. The rush of air isn’t quite enough to get Angel’s head right. If anything, it fucks him up even more.
“Hmm.” Alastor palms himself through his pants. “We’re getting somewhere.”
Angel had kind of forgotten that was the point. Like. He wants to get fucked. He’s still soaking wet. It’s just a bit of an afterthought when he’s bleeding and oxygen deprived.
Alastor grabs the knife and pulls. Angel’s hand should hurt more than it does. The pain is there, still. But it’s duller. He doesn’t even scream when Alastor stabs through a different hand. Or when Alastor slices into his gut. The knife is discarded again. Alastor bends down to lick the fresh wound in Angel’s abdomen.
Angel doesn’t know enough about his own internal organs to guess if Alastor got him anywhere important. It hurts. The sting intensifies with the brush of Alastor’s tongue.
Alastor lets out a low moan as he slurps. Like Angel’s blood is fine wine. Isn’t the guy a cannibal? That seems important. But, really, what is Angel gonna do with that information? It’s a little late to tell him to stop.
Nevermind that Angel doesn’t want him to.
Alastor sits up, mouth ringed in glistening red. Angel would lick it up if he could move. The command center is entirely offline.
“Such a delightful flavor profile.” Alastor’s hands drop to his waist. He quickly unbuckles his belt. Unzips his pants. Pushes down the waistband of some fancy black silk briefs.
He’s hung. Of course he is. Not the biggest Angel’s ever taken, but definitely top twenty. And he’s hard. Not like, cut diamonds hard. But more than enough to get it in. He grabs Angel’s thighs again and pushes him back into position.
Then he lines up and sinks in. They both groan. Angel’s hot and cold all over. The blood smeared over his leg is starting to coagulate and get sticky. The pool gathering on his stomach overflowed when Alastor moved him, trickling down his sides onto the bed.
Alastor starts to thrust, slow and deep. It still takes a minute for it to register that they’re actually fucking. Alastor starts fussing at the leg wound again. Angel gets a hand on his clit and it’s over. He comes so hard he whites out a little bit. Alastor lets out a surprised gasp at the sensation of Angel clenching around him.
He speeds up. The jostling is making Angel bleed more. He doesn’t stop rubbing his clit. Alastor feels so good. After being stretched out by the tentacles, what would normally be a challengingly big dick is just a pleasant fullness.
Angel’s concept of time is shot. There’s nothing but Alastor moving inside him. Making him come over and over. Angel’s so worked up it doesn’t take much to get him there. He’s probably ruining the mattress with how much he’s squirting.
It almost never happens on camera. He’s so turned on right now, he’s barely cognizant of it.
He expected Alastor to be the sort of guy to dirty-talk. Be a little mean and condescending. He’s quiet but for the occasional gasp or low groan. Angel usually won’t shut up when he’s getting fucked. He couldn’t put a sentence together if his life depended on it.
Soon, Alastor is fucking Angel so hard the bed frame is shaking. The slap of skin echoes through the room. Angel is slowly moving up the mattress. He has to put a set of uninjured hands on the headboard to keep from banging against it.
“Shall I finish inside you?” Alastor asks half-breathless.
Fuck yes. Angel wants to say. What comes out is, “nghh.”
Alastor seems to take it as an affirmative, because he doesn’t stop. He fucks into Angel fast, and rough, and so deep. Angel’s not even touching himself anymore. It doesn’t matter. Alastor’s claws rip into the flesh of Angel’s thighs, and Angel comes screaming.
He’s barely aware of Alastor grunting and going still. Doesn’t notice Alastor pulling out so much as he feels empty. Alastor flops down beside him and lies there, panting.
“How was the award-winning pussy?” Angel asks once he can speak again. His voice is weak, wavering.
“I can understand the acclaim.” Alastor tucks himself away and zips up his pants. “We should get you patched up.”
Angel wants to argue, but he looks like a crime scene. His dress is soaked in blood. He feels more than a little woozy.
“I’ll fetch my sewing kit. Just a moment.”
Alastor gets up and disappears into the hallway. Angel is left lying there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck just happened to him. It was so intense, all at once. He feels cold. Exposed. Too tender all over.
Why did he let someone like Alastor fuck him up this bad? Does he have an actual death wish? Like, the guy is a serial killer, and an overlord. And oh god. Angel is gonna be in so much trouble if Val finds out. Val hates Alastor.
The spiral is interrupted when Alastor struts back into the room, carrying a small wicker box. Angel’s wounds are already tingling, flesh trying to knit itself back together. Strictly speaking, he’d be fine without stitches. Eventually. He could tell Alastor to screw off and never talk to him again.
But then Alastor is sitting on the bed next to him, flipping the box open.
“Would you like anesthetic for this part?” Alastor cocks an eyebrow.
“What kind?”
“Heroin.”
“Yes please.”
Alastor smiles. He pulls a whole bunch of gear out of his supposed sewing kit. Spoon, lighter, syringe, some glass bottle full of liquid and a small bag of white powder. The works. He hums to himself as he cooks up and draws a nearly full syringe. He takes off his belt and cinches around one of Angel’s left arms, the only one without an injury. He feels for a vein just a moment before the needle goes in
It hits like a fucking train. Angel is Gone. Elvis has left the building. He barely notices the pinch of the needle as Alastor starts to sew him up. The pressure of the thread tugging him back together is uncomfortable. But he can kind of ignore it.
Alastor is still humming as he works. Like a happy housewife darning socks. It’s funny, so Angel starts laughing.
“What?” Alastor’s face is out of focus. Angel can tell he’s smiling, though. Not that typical, toothy, jungle cat grin. Something much smaller. Barely there.
“Why do you have a sewing kit?”
“For situations such as these.”
“You got a lot of lovers to stitch up?”
“It’s for myself. I don’t have other lovers.” Alastor, says, like it’s not a loaded cannon ball.
“Oh…”
“Sex isn’t something I pursue unless it’s a means to an end. I wouldn’t consider a mark a lover.”
“So that’s it? I’m a mark?” It comes out dripping poison, even more bitter than Angel meant it.
Alastor pauses in the middle of stitching up Angel’s stomach. He leans down so their noses are nearly touching. “I’ve never had an orgasm with someone else before. I think I may have written the activity off prematurely.”
Angel has no idea what to do with that. Alastor sits up and resumes his work. Angel just lies there. High as shit. Trying to piece together what this all means. He fails miserably.
The fact remains. Alastor is personally tending to the wounds that he inflicted, when Angel would still be fine if he didn’t. It doesn’t compute. Angel figured this was the sadist’s version of a slam-bam-thankya-ma’am. That Alastor would just leave after.
It’s even weirder when Alastor finishes stitching him up and still doesn’t leave. No. He picks Angel up and carries him to the bathroom. It’s a good fucking thing nobody sees them. Angel’s in no state to protest when Alastor sets him down in the bathtub and turns on the hot water. Alastor rolls up his sleeves. He helps Angel out of the ruined dress and stockings. Then starts to wash him. Gently getting all the dried blood out of Angel’s fur as the water runs pink.
“This is weird.” Angel can’t stop himself.
“What is?”
“You’re giving me a bath.”
“Yes, dear boy.” Alastor laces his fingers into Angel’s chest fluff and pulls lightly. “I take excellent care of my toys.”
“Is that so?” Angel wrinkles his nose. “Well I’m not a toy. And in case you missed the memo, somebody else kinda owns me. Matter of fact, he’s gonna be really pissed when I show up to work full of more stitches than a med school cadaver.”
“That’s of no consequence,” Alastor’s eyes glimmer a hotter red. “I’ve been meaning to squash that annoying little insect for some time, anyway.”
“What?” Angel scowls. “You gonna kill him? Just like that?”
“Do you want me to?”
The question hangs heavy in the air. A lack of response is damning in itself. Angel can’t bring himself to say no.
“As I thought,” Alastor smiles. “You’ll be free of your contract by the end of the week.”
“And then what?”
“Hopefully, you’ll be healed enough that we can celebrate.”
“No deal? You’ll do it out of the goodness of your shriveled little heart?”
“I’ll do it because it aligns with my interests at this particular time,” Alastor presses a soft kiss against the side of Angel’s mouth.
It almost passes for romantic.
Angel tries to just relax into the warm water, into the high. He lets Alastor stand him up on wobbly legs and dry him off. He lets Alastor carry him back into the hall. Except they don’t go to Angel’s room.
No, they go to the very end of the hall. A room that Angel’s never been in before. Alastor kicks the door open and shut behind them. There’s a large fireplace with two armchairs beside it. A four-poster bed and wardrobe tucked in the opposite corner. But on the far side of the room, the floor gives way to mossy gras, willow trees, and a small pond with a wrought iron table and chair beside it.
“What the…”
“A little taste of home,” Alastor chuckles.
He carries Angel over to the bed. He peels back the inky black duvet, revealing deep red sheets. He deposits Angel on the mattress. He kicks off his boots and lies down next to Angel, fully clothed.
“What, you’re not even gonna get undressed?” Angel raises an eyebrow.
Alastor seems to consider it for a moment. He sits up and unbuttons his jacket. Then his long-sleeved shirt. He folds them both carefully before setting them aside. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands to take his pants off. He folds those as well and places the whole pile on top of a chair sitting near the end of the bed. He returns, wearing just his briefs. Small deer tail sticking out the back above the waistband.
“Oh my god. You have a tail?”
“I had the grace not to comment on your feet.”
Angel immediately slips his feet under the sheets. Fuck. He hates them. Chunky paws with little claws sticking out in the middle of them. Alastor settles into bed next to him, pulling the sheets up to cover them both. He presses close against Angel. Curls around him. Envelops him.
It’s easy to slip away into the high. Let the racing, anxious thoughts fade to white noise. It’s not worth examining why Alastor is doing this. Angel doesn’t know and he’s not gonna figure it out at the moment.
He’s just going to enjoy the physical contact. He can’t remember the last time he cuddled with someone. Towards the end, Val would always leave right after nutting. Too busy with whatever power scheme of the week to enjoy the afterglow for even a moment. It made Angel feel like a fleshlight. Maybe that was the intention.
Alastor gently cards his claws through Angel’s chest fluff. It’s soothing.
“How are you feeling?” Alastor asks soft and low.
“Great. Check back when the drugs wear off.”
“If you’re in pain then, we’ll just have to get you some more.”
“I thought you like me being in pain.”
“Only if I’m the one causing it. The residual effects are somewhat less stimulating… though not entirely without intrigue.”
Alastor’s hand drops to Angel’s abdomen. He traces across the stitches. It stings a little.
“Ow.”
“Too much?” Alastor pauses.
“I dunno. You trying to fuck me again or something?”
“Perhaps.” Alastor shifts, pressing against Angel’s side. Letting Angel feel his hardening dick.
Huh.
Angel wants to ask questions. Is Alastor just still horned up from all the stabbing? How long is that gonna last? Does he want Angel specifically or is it just any port in a storm? But that would sound needy. Angel prides himself on not being needy.
So he just goes with it. Alastor shifts under the blankets. He crawls down the bed and settles between Angel’s spread legs. Angel isn’t really sure what’s happening. It can’t be what it seems like. And then Alastor licks Angel’s’ entire pussy and all coherent thought ceases.
It’s messy. Angel gets soaking wet so fast. Alastor laps at his clit hot, and sloppy, and just right. Angel can’t contain the slutty moans that drip from his lips. He rocks his hips, grinding against Alastor’s face as the tension builds.
Angel’s abs tense when he comes, and it hurts, and that just makes him come harder. Alastor rumbles out a laugh, still sucking on Angel’s clit. The sensation is life ruining.
Alastor actually gives Angel’s clit a kiss before sitting up, sheets sliding down behind him. He pulls his briefs off, exposing his thick, fully hard cock. He lines up and sinks in, buttery smooth. Angel wraps his legs around Alastor’s thin waist, pulling him even deeper.
The motion hurts. Holding his legs up hurts. But then Alastor drops down, supporting himself on his elbows, and they kiss. Just a soft press of lips. Then a few more. Then Alastor’s tongue fucking Angel in time with his thrusts. Angel melts. He wraps all of his arms around Alastor and holds on for the ride.
Alastor breaks the kiss to bite Angel’s neck. He fucks into Angel deeper, steadily gaining speed. His fangs break skin. Angel whimpers as he tenses and shudders apart, gushing around Alastor’s dick. Alastor dislodges his teeth and licks a few times before capturing Angel’s mouth in a kiss that tastes like copper.
“You don’t orgasm this quickly in your videos.” Alastor sounds entirely too pleased with himself.
“So you’ve watched.”
“Simple curiosity.”
“I see.”
It takes all of Angel’s focus and remaining strength to flip them over. It probably wouldn’t work if he hadn’t caught Alastor off guard. Angel pins him down with injured hands. Because he wants it to hurt.
His thigh burns like a motherfucker as Angel flexes it, starting to move, bouncing on Alastor’s dick short and fast. It feels like the stitches might tear. Angel doesn’t give a shit. What matters is the shocked wonder on Alastor’s face. The small smile curling across his mouth.
Angel rides for all he’s worth. One set of hands braced on Alastor’s thighs. One set on his chest. He lets go of Alastor’s wrists after a moment, because he wants to touch himself. Alastor beats him to it. He drapes a hand around Angel’s hip and gets his thumb on Angel’s clit. It’s enough to make Angel come so hard he stops breathing. Stops moving for a second. Alastor grabs him and fucks up into him.
Then they start moving together in a perfect counterpoint. It’s fast, and rough, and desperate. Angel is dizzy and at least three layers removed from reality. Alastor feels so good, pounding into him, stuffing him rough and deep.
Angel feels the pop of the stitches in his thigh. He cries out. Blood immediately starts oozing from the wound. Alastor gets his thumb on Angel’s clit again. It’s too much. Angel can’t handle it. So he comes about it.
That one knocks him sideways. He flops forward on Alastor. Alastor wraps his arms around Angel’s waist and keeps fucking him. Each thrust produces a filthy slick sound. It’s all strangely cathartic. Angel is exhausted like he just cried his eyes out. He just kind of ragdolls and lets Alastor take what he wants. Like, it still feels awesome and all, Angel’s just so overstimulated he can barely parse the sensation.
“Inside you again?” Alastor asks all husky and sexy and shit.
“Yeah,” Angel barely breathes.
Alastor bites Angel as he comes. He grinds in deep as he can, groaning at the tension release. They stay like that, plastered against each other, clinging to each other, as they both come down.
“I’ll have to go get my sewing kit again,” Alastor sighs after a while.
“Yeah. Then a nap.”
“A nap sounds lovely.”
Alastor gets up and puts on a robe. Angel lets his eyes flutter shut. He hears the door open and close. Drifts off a little. Halfway comes back when he feels the bed dip. The pinch of the needle almost wakes him up all the way. He doesn’t open his eyes. He just lies there as Alastor sews him up.
When Alastor finishes, he gets back in bed. Angel’s surrenders to the darkness, wrapped in Alastor’s loose embrace.