It wasn't really a secret to their 'relationship', per se, but it wasn't something anyone else would just out and ASK about, regardless of the obvious hints tossed out like candy here and there.
Alastor becoming that much more tolerant of Angel Dust's presence.
Angel Dust tempering his handsy nature and sex talk when interacting with Alastor.
An abundance of subtle pet names between the two.
"Dear, darling, sha, ange araignée," from Alastor.
"Al, cervo, dolcezza, Smiles," from Angel Dust.
One of the other Hotel staff walking into the room and the two breaking off into French or Italian as though sharing an inside joke.
Hardly a day went by when Husk would wordlessly gesticulate at the two as though trying to scream 'ARE YOU SEEING THIS!?' to Charlie, who -bless her soul- was just happy the two were 'finally getting along'.
At least Vaggie finally got the hint after she walked into the cafe/bar area for breakfast and saw that Alastor was allowing a break from his Five-Foot Rule for Angel, who was half-dozing on the Radio Demon's shoulder while the other read through some paperwork. Vaggie looked to Husk, who gave her a fiery look of 'SEE!??!?'
It was still something no one came out and MENTIONED. Everyone liked their kneecaps where they were, thank you very much.
And still, because no one mentioned it, it gave the two all the freedom in the world to continue their arranged tryst.
Like any good 'arrangement', they set aside an evening for ground rules over dinner at Alastor's, the talk going on for quite some time into the night.
Any date concerning viscera was to be met with a week's advance in detox for Angel. Things like flesh filleted from Angel's body were to be done only after a thorough cleaning. Simple things like that.
Angel put in his own pieces; he'd give a trade-off of hard drugs in exchange for an exception to the Five-Foot Rule, and that he would try his utmost to work around Alastor's planning for dates without causing drama with Valentino.
"And a little more...stuff would be good too," he said, treading carefully as he sipped his wine, watching Alastor arch a questioning brow.
"Oh?" Alastor asked, folding his hands and resting his chin on them. "What kind of...stuff?" His smile widened. "Gotta be specific, darlin'."
Angel huffed into his glass. "Well, more of yer real voice for starters," he replied. "I do like that." He weighed his words for a few minutes. "...Al, I know yer not into sex an' I won't press the issue on it, but could I ask for...somethin'?" He fought hard to keep the whine out of his voice; he wasn't going to come off as desperate. "It can even...y'know...tie into what we've already been doin', if ya want."
He chanced a look up at Alastor, who was contemplatively smiling into his own wine glass in thoughtful silence. After a few long moments, Alastor nodded to himself, smiling up at Angel Dust.
"'course we can, sha," he said. "I'm disinterested in sex, but not ignorant to it. I'll think o' somethin' don't you worry, a'ight?"
Angel let out a relieved sigh. "Thanks, Al," he said, returning the smile. "And don't rush or nothin', I just wanted to put that out there."
That had been a couple weeks ago, and while Angel Dust appreciated his exception to the Five-Foot Rule and a little extra hand-holding here and there, he was still feeling a little touch starved.
Ugh, this had to be a new form of torture for him, he thought, propping his head up on one of his hands as he cashed in some good behavior points at the bar for a glass of whiskey. Alastor was gone for the day, he had no texts from Val about work, it was raining outside, and he was SO close to going out for a hustle just to get this pent-up energy out.
"You look pathetic enough I'm debating giving you a top-off," Husk remarked eyeing the glass that Angel hadn't even halfway-finished in the past twenty minutes. Angel gave him a halfhearted grunt, lifting the glass to sip it. "Trouble in paradise?"
Angel gave him a sour look, flipping him off. "None ya business, asshole," he replied. "Unless you wanna lend a hand or dick, shut up."
Husk lifted his hands in surrender. "Not for all the payed debts in Hell," he said, the image he got of what would be done to him if Alastor found out he'd touched Angel Dust without permission one he could do without. He pushed Angel's punch card back over to him, putting the whiskey bottle away. "Your own damn fault for pickin' his type."
That earned him another look that was more acid than sour, but Angel didn't have a retort for that. Instead, the spider knocked back the rest of his whiskey and slid the empty glass over to Husk before snatching up his punch card and stalking off toward his room.
Yeah, yeah, it was his own damn fault, but it wasn't like the stupid cat knew that he was more happy with his 'fault' than miserable about it. Sure, Alastor didn't have a care in the world for sex and was very picky with touch as it was, but he had something new and -dare he say it- special with Alastor.
He could honestly say he wouldn't want to share his relationship with Alastor with anyone else in Hell. No one else would really do it right, wouldn't bind him right, wouldn't cut him right, wouldn't be as careful and mindful as Alastor.
His hand trailed to his chest, feeling a shiver crawl under his skin as he thought about it. Just under his fingertips and fur was a barely-noticeable hardness of a stitch that wasn't really needed; he had no scarring from any of the times Alastor cut him open or cut a piece off, but it was a special 'end' to the dates, when Alastor would untie him or unhook him from his bindings, lay him out on a blanket, and bring out a needle and thick red thread to stitch him closed.
Angel would leave the stitches there until the next time, when Alastor would trim them off before cutting in again, only to repeat the process.
It was as good as any for Angel as something indicating a steady relationship of sorts, like jewelry from a sweetheart. Angel got plenty of gifts from fans, but this was better than a gift. More permanent. It made him feel like he was in high school wearing a varsity jacket from the school valedictorian.
Ugh, stupid crushy bullshit feelings...it had to be the ultimate in Hellish irony for Hell's top porn start to be flustered by something like aftercare stitches.
He made it up to his floor, intending to spend the rest of the evening with a box of chocolates and a vibrator when he looked up and saw Alastor leaning against the wall next to his door like he'd been waiting for a minute or two.
Why couldn't the deer creep use the door all the time like everyone else, he wondered with a touch of amusement, walking up. "Hey, Al," he said. "I was just downstairs, if ya wanted to talk."
"I know," Alastor replied, his radio voice dropped as it normally was when it was just the two of them. "I just wanted a minute alone."
Angel smiled. "Just a minute?" he asked. "Poor me." He crossed a pair of arms and put the other two on his hips. "What didja need?"
Alastor pushed off from the wall, giving Angel an appraising look before Angel was suddenly pushed back against the wall with barely a hair's breadth of space between himself and Alastor. Alastor leaned closer in, sniffing for a moment. "Have you been drinkin'?" he asked, his grin going sharper than normal.
Angel swallowed, feeling the swell of fearful arousal he always got when Alastor had that look around him. "...just a glass o' whiskey. Just the one," he said truthfully.
"Which shelf was it on?" Alastor pressed.
Angel wracked his brain for a moment. "Second from th' top," he finally said. "Why?" He felt another shiver run down his spine when Alastor almost salivated through his teeth, filling his senses with the smell of blood even though there was none to be seen.
Alastor brought a hand up to Angel's face, his fingers almost hot as he pressed his thumb to Angel's chin to lower his jaw somewhat. "I've got a particular cravin' tonight, ange araignée," he purred. "Indulge me, would ya?"
Angel went weak at the knees, nodding as much as Alastor's hand would allow him. "Sure thing, Al," he breathed, his face hot. "What'd ya have in mind?"
"A compromise. Bear with me." Alastor leaned in, pressing his lips to Angel's hard, a guttural growl vibrating against Angel's chest. Angel felt like he his soul left his body, and was sure he would have dropped to the floor if Alastor hadn't been pinning him against the wall.
Whatever it was Alastor wanted, Angel didn't care, he'd give it up in a heartbeat if it meant he could be pinned back and kissed like this. He used what little sense he had left in his cloudy head to keep his secondary pair of hand where they were, pressed flat against the wall to avoid touching where he hadn't been permissed to. Alastor's thumb pulling his jaw lower insistently had him open his mouth wider, unable to hold back a groan when he felt Alastor's tongue press against his own.
Alastor's mouth tasted like blood, was the first thing Angel noticed; he wasn't all that surprised, considering Alastor's primary diet, and wondered if Alastor had eaten before coming back to the Hotel. The idea put a flash of jealousy through him, pushing him to press his luck and kiss Alastor back harder.
If Alastor minded, he didn't give any indication and instead seemed to be coaxing Angel to reciprocate in kind. Angel went for broke and slid his tongue past Alastor's sharp teeth, unable to contain a squeak when he felt Alastor nip at his tongue sharply.
He made a move to lean back and apologize for the forwardness, but Alastor's grip hadn't relented nor had his kiss; Angel swore he could feel Alastor smiling wider against his lips. So this was how the Radio Demon wanted to play, huh? Fine by him. Angel slid his tongue back into Alastor's mouth, shivering when he felt Alastor nip down again, catching it firmly and refusing to let go and even going so far as to bite down enough to draw blood.
Angel barely had time to register that epiphany before Alastor grabbed his face with both hands and began chewing his tongue right out of his mouth.
This was admittedly a LOT harder to process and contain himself in doing so, feeling blood dribble over his chin and down his throat, his primary hands fumbling for something to cling to just for support and ending up clenching into Alastor's coat, holding on for dear life as bite after bite of his tongue was eaten. It was one thing to have pieces of him cut off or cut out, but THIS...
...this was SO much better.
Alastor leaned back, blood smeared over his mouth and a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he ran his thumbs over Angel's cheeks, smearing blood into the pale fur. "Better than I thought it'd be," he said. "The whiskey really put a flavor on it."
Angel swallowed another gulp of his own blood, ignoring the pain in what was left of his tongue to lean into Alastor's hands with a smile. Totally worth it for his first kiss with Alastor.
Even if he couldn't talk or eat solids for a day or two.
Alastor stepped back and took out a handkerchief, wiping his face clean before tucking the bloody cloth back into his pocket. "That's somethin' I could develop a better taste for," he remarked, reaching out and touching Angel's face again. "Good enough of a compromise, sha?"
Angel nodded, smiling and leaning into the hand before realizing he was bleeding over the floors. Alastor followed his line of sight, smiling in amusement.
"I'll get Niffty right on that," he said, licking his teeth clean of residual blood. "I'll see ya soon, a'ight?"
Angel nodded again, blowing Alastor a kiss before slipping into his room, tugging off his bloodied clothing and dropping them in the hamper en route to his bathroom. He showered off and toweled his fur dry, looking into the mirror to assess the damage.
Ugh, that was not a pretty sight, he thought, closing his mouth. The initial open wound was already somewhat coated over, but it would still take time to grow back entirely. Nothing but milkshakes for a day or two, but he could live with that, and again at some point in the future if Alastor would ever want a 'kiss' again.
He saw a pink tinge under his fur, huffing as he rubbed his cheeks and went into his bedroom to crawl into bed. He made himself comfortable before closing his eyes and feeling out under his pillow for one of his toys. He didn't have the means to eat chocolate, but one out of two of his evening plans wasn't bad.
"It's really suspicious how you keep showing up randomly smelling like blood," Vaggie remarked to Alastor, who just gave her a smile and a shrug.
"I haven't done a lick of killing, my dear!" Alastor said in full earnest. "It's just an inclination of mine to have the scent of my nature by how I eat."
"Comforting," Vaggie intoned, looking up when Angel Dust walked in dressed in a (admittedly) cute outfit of black daisy dukes, his usual boots, and a sugar-pink cowl neck sweater that was pulled up a little high to almost coquettishly tuck his face into. "Hope you're not going anywhere today," she called over. "You've got therapy with Charlie later!"
Angel waved his hand in a 'whatever' gesture, reaching over Husk's bar to fill a glass with ice and pour his coffee into it to make it cold, popping a straw in for good measure. The slight shift to his coffee routine raised a few brows save for Alastor, who looked like he was trying not to laugh through his teeth. Angel sat down at his table, flipping him off.
"Now now, don't be rude, dear," Alastor teased. "You'll be right as rain by this time tomorrow!"
"I don't wanna know I don't wanna know I don't wanna know," Husk muttered under his breath, already making his coffee Irish.
Vaggie frowned. "Why, what's going on?" she asked, pushing Angel's hand away when he made another 'forget about it' gesture. "No, you tell me!"
Angel scowled, turning to her, pulling down his cowl, and opening his mouth.
"OH, EW!" Vaggie yelped, turning away. "What EVEN!?"
Angel snorted, sorting his cowl back into place before carefully sipping through his straw as station-shifting staticy laughter emanated from Alastor's aura. "Oh, what's the matter, Angel darling?" Alastor teased with a smirk. "Deer got your tongue?"
At Angel lifting his hand in a thumb's up with a cute smile, Vaggie stared between them before silently standing up and walking out of the cafe, muttering about needing a vacation while Husk pushed for more Irish than coffee, intent to block out the rest of the day.