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You barely had time to gasp before the shadows swallowed the hallway light. One moment you were storming away from him, again, after snapping “Don’t play with your food, Alastor,” and the next, cold, smoky tendrils coiled around your ankles like hands that had been waiting for the excuse.
They dragged you backward with a theatrical smoothness you could already hear him grinning at.
The door to his suite slammed shut behind you, shadows dissolving as they dropped you neatly onto your feet. The room looked the same as always. An old radio was humming static in the corner, warm lamplight painted everything sepia, but the air felt thick and crowded with something restless and unpleasantly alive.
Alastor stood across the room, spine military-straight, smile too sharp to be polite. His cane tapped once against the floor, a punctuation mark to his brewing irritation.
“My dear,” he said, and it was almost a purr, almost a warning, “I must admit, I’m growing… concerned about your little quip.”
Your heartbeat jumped. His shadows drifted across the walls like eavesdroppers.
“I’m sorry?” you managed. “You could not swallow people alive for annoying you.”
He tilted his head, radio-static laughter buzzing faintly at the edges of the room. “You insist on treating my hobbies as if they’re some childish misbehavior. ‘Don’t play with your food,’ you say.” He stepped closer, smile softening but not in a comforting way, more like a knife glinting differently under new light. “Do you truly think so little of my interests?… or of my intentions toward you?”
You blinked at him, the question landing heavier than he meant it to. Alastor scoffed softly, almost to himself.
“Of course you do,” he muttered. “Of course you’d miss it.” He clasped his hands behind his back, shoulders tight, smile flattening into something strained. “I’ve been obvious, or so I thought. I flirt, you ignore. I offer my attention, you redirect. I pull you close, and you assume it’s merely convenience.”
His eyes flared with crimson light, shadows rippling to attention.
“So let us dispense with subtlety, shall we?”
He closed the distance, stopping inches from you. His smile was still polite, still charming, but it no longer masked the tension vibrating through him.
“I brought you here,” he said softly, “because I’d rather not shout this down the hallway. Consider it… a clarification of intentions.” His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingered, then snapped back up with the precision of a man forcing himself not to touch. “I do not ‘play’ with you. I pursue.”
You opened your mouth, not sure what was going to come out.
He cut you off with a sharp, raised hand. “It’s perfectly alright. You don’t have to return the sentiment. I expect you won’t. I simply prefer the rejection delivered plainly, so I can stop making a fool of myself.”
You stared.
Alastor waited, smile brittle, posture rigid, bracing himself for impact.
For someone so feared, he looked terrifyingly close to wounded.
And when you finally did move, stepping into him, close enough that his breath stuttered, the tension in the room snapped so hard the shadows recoiled.
You reached up, fingers brushing the lapel of his coat, and watched the shock ripple through him like you’d broken a rule he never let himself dream you’d touch.
His breath hitched, almost imperceptible. It was not something the Radio Demon should be capable of letting slip. His smile faltered for a single vulnerable second before snapping back into place with too much precision.
“My dear… this is hardly necessary,” he murmured, voice tight. “You needn’t soften the blow with theatrics.”
You slid your fingers higher along his lapel.
“It’s not theatrics,” you said.
That stopped him entirely.
Alastor went statue-still. Not frozen in fear. He’d never offer you something so mortal. But arrested. Like a song interrupted mid-note.
“…Pardon?”
You stepped closer, bodies nearly touching except for the single inch he seemed desperate to keep between you. “I wasn’t brushing you off,” you said quietly. “I thought you were teasing. You tease everyone.”
He blinked. The lights flickered. The shadows twitched like irritated dogs.
“Teasing?” His laugh tripped, glitched, then reformed into something sharp. “My dear, I do not tease like this.”
He leaned in, lips grazing your ear but not quite touching. Once again, he was holding himself back with almost painful restraint.
“When I tease,” he whispered, “it is to amuse myself. But when I court…”
He trailed off, inhaled slowly, as if he hated how much he meant what came next.
“…when I court, it is purposeful.”
You swallowed hard. “And this is you courting me?”
He drew back only enough to look you in the eyes. Something raw flickered under the red glow, hopeful and furious at itself for being hopeful.
“Of course it is.” His voice cracked like a vinyl record warped by heat. “Why else would I-”
He stopped, snapped his jaw shut, and shook his head sharply as if resetting himself.
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” He stepped back a fraction, smile stiffening. “Say the word, and I will release you. We can pretend this never happened. I will pretend I never-”
You grabbed his tie and yanked him forward.
His eyes flashed, color deepening to a dangerous, dizzying crimson. Shadows flooded the walls in a slow, hungry bloom.
“Oh,” he breathed, the sound punched out of him. “Oh.”
The shock melted into a feral grin, delighted and disbelieving.
“My word,” he murmured, lifting a hand as if to cup your cheek, hesitating a fraction of an inch before committing to it. His palm was warm. Warmer than you expected. “You’re truly not running.”
“Why would I run?” you asked, tugging him even closer by the tie.
His smile trembled with something like wonder breaking through all that arrogance.
“Because I am not gentle,” he said softly. “And I have never wanted to be… quite so ungentle with someone before.”
You felt the heat of him, the tension, the coiled hunger he was trying and failing to keep in check. His fingers skimmed your jaw, following the shape of it like he’d imagined this far too many times.
“And you’d still stay?”
Instead of answering, you guided his hand down, placing it exactly where you wanted it on your body, pressing your breast into his palm. Under his fingers, your heart beat steadily.
Alastor shuddered.
“My dear,” he rasped, voice dropping into something dark and unsteady, “I believe that answers my question.”
The shadows surged, circling your legs, not restraining but eager, reacting to him the way flames react to oxygen.
He leaned in, forehead brushing yours, breath warm and uneven. “Then allow me,” he whispered, “to finally stop holding back.”
His hand slid down, the shadows tightened, your back hit the nearest wall with a soft thud and everything after that was heat, teeth, sound, and him.
Shadows and hands gripped you, pulling at your clothes and leaving them ripped, tattered, and discarded where the wood floor gave way to grass as you stumbled through his room.
The wall was replaced by the damp grass as he laid you down, naked with lips kiss swollen and damp. Your mind raced, spinning in dizzying circles as you watched fireflies dance just above Alastor’s head and behind his bare shoulders.
Something wet trickled down from a sore spot on your neck, but you couldn’t remember exactly why it hurt. Nothing he did hurt in the moment. His lips on you felt so good, so why did it ache?
None of that mattered. Your attention was quickly recaptured by Alastor. The pointed red head of his cock ran through your soaked folds as he hovered above you.
“Are you sure?” he asked, “There won’t be another chance to run away. If you let me taste you, I will devour you and there will be nothing left if you try to leave me.”
“I’m sure. I want this.”
Static crackled through the air, carried by speakers you couldn’t see as his weeping head nudged into your opening. He pierced you slowly, parting your walls slowly. His smooth shaft filled you, sinking inside until his hips nestled against your body.
You whimpered, rocking your hips to seek any friction while he remained steady above you.
He waited, listening to your pathetic sounds of need before finally he started moving.
The pace he set was brutal, with very little warm up. Each thrust had the head f his cock punching into you, knocking the air out of your lungs.
Reaching under you, he wrapped his arms around your torso and lifted you. Your legs curled around his waist, heels digging into the ground. Your back arched as your arms looped around his shoulders.
He gripped your hip with one hand and lifted you up off his shaft only to guide you back down. Each thrust had your clit grinding against his pubic bone. Reaching up, his hand tangled in your hair and pulled your head back.
Nipping kisses littered your neck as he drove into you. The sounds of bodies meeting echoed through the bayou as he continued fucking into you, not paying any mention to the way your body was fluttering and tightening around him.
“You’re close,” Alastor rumbled and it was that rumbling voice, the static moving through the air as his voice caressed your nerves.
It didn’t take more than a handful of thrusts to send you over the edge. No longer did Alastor’s hand have to urge your head back. Strong contractions rocked through your core, muscles tensed and worked around his shaft as your head fell back.
Your hair ticked your back as he thrust into you. Your head lulled as you your moans filled the room.
Alastor came quickly after you, before your body had a chance to even settle into the aftershocks of your orgasm. His teeth sank into your throat, pain causing your body to clench around you while his seed shot into your body in hot ropes.
Exhaustion and the aftershocks of your orgasm had you shivering in Alastor’s arms while his softening cock slipped from your body. Liquid trickled from your used opening, dripping onto the grass as he lifted you.
Your legs felt numb and tingly as your feet settled in the grass.
The cicadas droned softly around you, sounding like static. The humid bayou air settled heavy and languid over your bare skin. Alastor stood a few steps away, hair mussed in a way he would normally never allow. Shadows that once obeyed him with rigid discipline now lingered in loose, uncoordinated curls, as if even they were catching their breath.
He didn’t look at you at first.
He looked past you, over your shoulder, toward the door. The exit. His smile was back to it’s sharp edges. It was a stage smile, you had realized earlier in the night. A practiced flourish to mask the tremor beneath.
“Well,” he said, voice overly light, “I suppose this is the point where you inform me it was… lovely, and you’ll be making your departure now.”
You frowned. “What?”
Alastor waved a hand vaguely, as if brushing away swamp mist. “No need to stall on my account. I’m quite used to being… ” He hesitated, the smile wobbling. “a diversion.”
He still wouldn’t meet your eyes. He straightened his collar without buttoning a single thing, fussing more than fixing once the shirt was back over his shoulders. “I imagine you’ll want your clothes. They’re somewhere… scattered, it seems.”
You stepped toward him.
He stepped back.
Not far, just enough to keep the usual inch of distance, as though touching you now might make him unravel again in a way he wasn’t prepared to witness.
“Alastor.”
His name made him flinch. Not visibly. Nothing so obvious. But the radio hummed behind him, tone warping for half a second like someone dragging a finger across a record.
“I’m not leaving,” you said.
That got his attention. His gaze snapped to yours, bright red and disbelieving.
“…Pardon?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He stared at you as if you’d spoken in a dead language. As if the bayou had shifted under him.
“…for the moment,” he said finally, recovering the smile like armor. “You’re catching your breath. Perfectly understandable. But you’ll—”
“I meant,” you interrupted gently, stepping closer again, “I’m not leaving after tonight.”
Everything stilled.
The bayou. The shadows. Even the cicadas seemed to hitch.
Alastor blinked once, slowly before his eyes widened, pupils sharpening like he was trying to focus on something too bright.
“My dear,” he said carefully, “you are not obligated to say such things simply because you are… flushed with endorphins.”
“I’m not.” You reached out, fingertips brushing the back of his hand. He didn’t move away this time. “I told you I wanted you. I didn’t mean for a night.”
His breath caught, almost human.
The smile he wore in response was tiny. Uneven. Real in a way that made your chest ache.
“…I don’t think,” he murmured, voice dropping into something frightened and hopeful all at once, “you understand what you’re offering.”
“I do.”
He swallowed, an old, instinctive gesture he hardly ever bothered with, and for the first time all evening, the tension holding him upright seemed to falter.
“You’ll forgive me,” he whispered, “if I require… some convincing.”