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Dinner Date

Chapter Text

Angel Dust let out a huffy sigh, fingers on his two left arms tapping on the table as he pondered over his most recent little problem.

It was several months into this menagerie that Charlie Magne called 'redemption', and while few new patrons had arrived to take a stab at it, the 'original crew' -as Charlie put it- still remained and began to learn more about one another than they actually really cared to.

Not for lack of trying on Angel's part.  He was more than happy to poke his nose into everyone's business, if even to get a rise out of someone for his own amusement.  Sometimes they gave him what he was asking for just to shut him up.

His ultimate secret move -Annoying Perseverance. 

So far, he'd gotten Charlie to cut his therapy time from an hour to thirty minutes just with sweet talk, and Vaggie to forego searches on his person whenever he came back in from an outing (one Full Monty in the lobby was more than enough for her to just let him pass).

A pretty glass spray bottle of furniture polish for Niffty had her turn the other cheek when she searched his belongings while she was cleaning, and all it took for Husk to ignore the three-drink limit at the bar was talking nonstop for ten minutes.

The one and only person he hadn't managed to crack at all was the Radio Demon himself.

Alastor, it seemed, was unflappable.

He wasn't swayed by Angel stripping during an outing search ("Unnecessary, but I thank you for your honesty!" the Radio Demon chirped, vanishing a bag of PCP Angel had tucked into his panties into nothing.).  He couldn't be bought off.  He couldn't be sweet-talked.

The closest Angel got to getting under the other demon's skin was through flirting, but even then it was narrowed down to physical touch, whenever possible.

Though, if Angel had to hear the words "Five-foot rule" one more time, he was going to shove all five feet of his leg up someone's ass.

It was always the same; he gets touchy, Alastor puts him at arm-and-microphone length with a firm nudge away, and recants "Five-foot rule!" before continuing on whatever vein of conversation at hand there was at the moment.

To Angel, it was completely unfair; Alastor got to be as handsy-touchy-feely as he damn well wanted, but the moment Angel decided to reciprocate in kind, "Five-foot rule!"  Like a broken record.

For everyone else in the Hotel, it only had to be recanted to them once; twice, in Vaggie's case, when she decided to go aggro.  She retaliated with her own spear the second time around, and apparently an agreement was made to keep the peace.

Angel had no such respect for such a stupid one-sided 'rule', and figured as long as Alastor got to disregard personal bubbles and use his funky voodoo bullshit on him, then he'd do as he damn well pleased right back.  He'd find what made Alastor tick, and claw his way right in tit-fluff first.  It was just a matter of finding out what and how.

Five-foot rule was abided, for the time being.  Angel used that time to really study what Alastor was all about.

It was a given that the overlord liked pomp and flair, enjoyed music and joviality, and had a fast way of talking that made people want to listen and agree with whatever it was he fed them.

Well la-de-dah, so did Angel Dust.  The spider wasn't the top porn star and highest-paid escort in Hell for nothing, if not for his gifts of persuasion and seduction. 

So it would appear, Angel mused to himself, that he and Alastor were at an impasse.  While Alastor seemed immune to Angel's charms, Angel in turn found himself unaffected by Alastor's charisma.  He'd been in the game far too long to not be able to smell bullshit a mile away buried under snazzy clothes and an ever-present smile. 

Still, the more Angel watched for a chink in the armor that was Alastor's unbreakable persona, the more enthralled he became.

Logically, he knew he was setting Alastor up as his white whale; pursuing the demon would probably drive him mad enough to actually be another sucker in the long con.  But Angel found himself craving for what was beyond the five-foot rule, wanting to know what it was that could make Alastor's smile turn to one of mutual indulgence rather than amusement.  What sort of touch he could give Alastor that would be welcomed.

How he could BE with Alastor.


"C'mooooon, Husky baby~" Angel simpered, half-draping himself over the winged cat's bar.  "I haven't been nothin' but good to ya, you can throw me a bone, can't ya?"

Husk rolled his eyes, snapping his cleaning rag out at the spider's hands on his nice clean bar.  "You want bones, you ask a dog," he replied.  "I don't see why I should tell you shit when you're annoyin' the fuck outta me."

Angel propped his head up with two hands, batting his eyelashes.  "Because I asked nicely?" he pressed, lips twitching at the foul look Husk returned.  He huffed when Husk gave him a middle finger.  "Classy.  But seriously, Husky, can't you just tell me a LITTLE about Al's deal?"

Husk let out a 'tsk', cracking open a bottle of bourbon.  "What 'deal'?" he muttered.  "That deer-faced sonofabitch don't got a 'deal'."

"Puh-lease," Angel drawled.  "EVERYONE has a 'deal'."

"Not him," Husk insisted.  "No 'deal', no interest, nothin'.  He's got about as much need to get fucked as I do to get sober.  So you're shit outta luck, you pink pest.  Now fuck off before I get the insecticide."

"Aww, didn't know you were into THAT sorta thing," Angel giggled, then yelped when Husk threw the dirty cleaning rag into his face.  "Hey, watch it!  This mascara ain't waterproof!"

"Cry me a river an' drown in it," Husk replied.  "You wanna keep pesterin' Alastor about his nonexistent 'deal', you go right on ahead, but leave me outta it.  He ain't turnin' me into his next pot of gumbo, nosiree."  He turned his back to Angel Dust, splaying his wings to enjoy his alcohol in peace.

Angel stuck his tongue out, and in an added childish display of retribution, stuffed a 50-dollar bill into the full glass of vodka and used a coaster to leave it upside-down before leaving the bar, hands on his hips and crossed over his chest as he stalked back up to his room.  Useless winged cat, he thought, wondering if he could tempt Niffty into talking before scratching that option off his list.  Niffty could be talked into silence, but not into doing or saying anything against her top boss.  

Letting out a dramatic groan at having to actually put MORE effort into this, he kicked his door shut and fed down some cherries he stole from Husk's garnish stash to Nuggets before grabbing his hellphone and bringing up the search engine.

While not interested in Hell's politics, finding about it was easy enough when he wanted to know.  There was even an app available that could give him on-the-minute updates about overlords and their territories, bios, etc.  He installed it just because, and opened it to scroll down to Alastor's bit.

He knew about the Radio Tower already, it was already here when he died.  While didn't have a lot of time to listen to the broadcasts because of work, he did catch a few bits and pieces of an oldschool music and broadcast screams, but figured that was general Hell business and didn't think more about it.  Vaggie letting him know that Alastor was the one and only king of the radio and had been since his arrival let Angel know that it had been all his programming that he'd been enjoying.

Now, the app had a stream of Alastor's eternal radio show that had different stations of music both old and new, a weekly talk show, and on rarer occasions, a broadcast of carnage.

Angel Dust never heard a full broadcast, but the app had archived 'Fan Favorites' for him to listen to, to which he picked one at random and listened in.

He wasn't aware that he was THAT deep into listening until it was over and he realized he was hugging his pillow so tightly the seam on the side burst.  What he'd heard was what he ACTUALLY thought Hell would have been like coming down here; chaos, screaming, torture, and a neverending stream of begging and pleading for it to all stop.  What was most unnerving about it was the sound of a knife cutting through flesh and soft, polite chewing between Alastor giving calm and collected blow-by-blow of the session for those listening.

When Angel collected himself, he thumbed back through the app to Alastor's bio, finding out more about him that either everyone else knew, or that he didn't think to ask about.

Died and spawned in Hell in 1933 after a life of a radio host and serial killer, whose modus operandi seemed to include dismemberment, disembowelment, and then cannibalism, which translated well into his demonic workings after death.

Well.  That made Husk's comment about not wanting to be in Alastor's gumbo make a lot more sense.  It also made Angel wonder what flavoring that jambalaya really was.

Angel Dust knew that hearing that broadcast should have put a weight of wariness in his gut, made him rethink the whole 'figuring out Al's 'deal'' thing, but instead, Angel felt his four arms hug his pillow tighter, a tickling wriggle run down his spine as he recalled the broadcast's little details concerning Alastor's presence.  Hearing the other demon's conversational tone, smooth effortlessness in his voice as he butchered another demon to soft jazz playing in the background...

Oh, the ideas...

Angel locked his door and put his expensive surround-sound headphones into his phone, finding another broadcast to listen to whilst he got some much as he could get with two of his four hands between his legs, anyway.


Finding Alastor the next day wasn't very hard; the Radio Demon was there for his weekly stat report with Charlie, followed by a drink and friendly banter in the bar with Husk.  Angel Dust was patient as he waited for a moment alone, keeping mostly to himself as he watched Alastor's rounds and took another eyeful of the demon in the new light he had for the man.

It wasn't hard at all to imagine Alastor at work; he'd only seen a small bit of what Alastor was capable of when Sir Edgelord was taken down with summoned eldritch monstrosity and almost no effort.  Even before, when he was playfully manipulating reality for them, showing what he could do without having to touch anything.  But Angel Dust heard a practiced ease with Alastor getting his hands dirty, a familiarity with knives and anatomy, and couldn't help but imagine the sort of carnage he could do with a roomful of demons and a butcher knife in each hand.

Truly, a smorgasbord that would take Niffty weeks to get out of the carpet.

The irony of Alastor being a cannibal with attributes of an herbivore prey animal wasn't lost on Angel, which only made his ideas only the more interesting to see where they could go.  He had another idea entirely of how Alastor could comply with the phrase 'what that mouth do', and he really had only one shot to get Alastor's attention before making his move.  He had to make it count without an audience to better his chances.

Alastor gave a final farewell to Husk before leaving the bar area, and Angel Dust made sure the coast was clear before following, his long legs easily catching up to stride next to Alastor.  "Hey~" he drawled, seeing the corner of Alastor's smile twitch.

"Hello, Angel Dust," Alastor replied, keeping his eyes forward.  "Staying out of trouble, I hope?"

"Keep hopin' and dreamin' away," Angel replied, tucking his hands behind his back in a gesture of good faith; no use dwindling his chances by being handsy.  "I actually wanted to talk to you."

He saw Alastor side-eye him.  "About what?" Alastor asked.

Angel made a thoughtful hum, schooling his features casual despite the thrill that was vibrating throughout his body and almost making his fluff stand on end.  "Nothin' much," he replied.  "Just stuff I've been thinkin' about for awhile now."  He slowed his pace, keeping by Alastor's side.  "Liiiike, what it is I can do to get into YOUR good graces.  So to speak."

"Five-foot rule," Alastor said, using his cane as a measuring meter between them, a glint of annoyance in his eye.  "I believe we've already had this song and dance, old boy."

"Same song, different dance," Angel replied, using his finger to push the microphone from his shoulder.  "I've got a couple of new moves I'd like to try, and figured you'd be the perfect partner for it."

"Not interested," Alastor said cheerfully.  "I only perform solo acts, dear."

Angel Dust internally huffed, but kept his tone casual.  "Oh, you know that's not true, Al," he replied.  "You've got plenty of guest stars to work with."

"I believe our lines of work differ entirely as to what constitutes as a 'guest star'," Alastor said, and Angel could HEAR the effort it took to keep a polite spin on it.  He could appreciate that, though he wouldn't be offended if Alastor outright said 'there's a huge difference between a whore and a radio host'.  True, if not irrelevant to this particular thing.

"Not as different as y'think," Angel Dust pressed, taking a quicker step to gain the front ground.  "Especially with what I got in mind."

The air around Alastor crackled with the sharp static of changing stations, a tic that Angel came to recognize was Alastor's patience thinning, even if the smile never waned.  The Radio Demon stopped and stared at Angel Dust just long enough for the spider to see static in the other's red eyes.  "Angel Dust, as I have said before, and will say few times before all patience is lost," he said, his voice a static-filled hum, "you have nothing to pique my interests in the least."  

He smiled wider, showing more teeth than was necessary in a friendly smile, and turned on heel to stroll off, shoes clicking on the floor like a bad omen.  Angel Dust stared after him, hands behind his back clenching as he steeled his nerves and his conviction before speaking.

"I want you to cut me open an' eat me."

The sound of a record scratching paired with Alastor going stock-still mid-step away let Angel know his catch noticed the bait.  'C'mon, bite, you fucking deer creep.'  Angel stood patiently, watching Alastor's back stiffen slightly before the Radio Demon regained composure and gave a glance over his shoulder, enough for Angel to see one red eye gleaming behind that damn monocle.

"I believe my frequency might have been a tad off," Alastor said, an overlay of shifting stations coating his voice.  "That, or it's one of these newfangled innuendos I'm not sure I understand."

'Reel 'er in gently...'  "No innuendo, Al," Angel said, putting a set of hands on his hips.  "Entirely literal, I assure ya.  I..."  He used another hand to point to himself.  "...want you..."  He pointed to Alastor.  "To eat me."

Between-station static filled the room for another long moment before Alastor turned around fully, his smile frozen but eyes flickering with visible static and most definitely certainly absolutely hungry.  "...I must say, Angel Dust," he said, tucking his hands behind his back.  "I would have never pegged you down as suicidal."

Oh, the pegging jokes Angel could make, but this was SO much better.  "Then you'd be right," he replied.  "I ain't suicidal.  I'm just...curious."  He mirrored Alastor's posture, hands behind his back, and then took a striding step forward.  "There's a 'deal' for everyone, Al, and my 'deal' is ALL deals, even the ones I ain't tried yet."  He gave Alastor a grin of his own.  "You might be a full deck of Aces, but I know there are some things that don't require me to touch you at all while we both get our own brand of satisfaction."

Alastor's smile twitched.  "And you think you can get satisfaction out of me...eating you."

"What, and YOU won't get satisfaction out of fresh meat harvested the way YOU want?" Angel retorted, arching a brow.  "Bonus deal for this one,'ll take days for me to regrow and heal, and I'm outta everyone's hair while that happens."

A beat of silent consideration.  "...and that is a part of your...'satisfaction'?" Alastor asked.  "Hard to imagine."

"Imagine harder then," Angel said, taking another stride forward, still within the five-foot rule.  "It's easier to list the shit I'm NOT into than to list what I am into, and even easier than THAT to list what I ain't done yet.  Usually, that list gets put in the first one in the end, an' I'm game to do it again."  His grin widened, rivaling Alastor's own.  "I'm a masochist, Al, an' what better indulgence and SATISFACTION would I get, than t' get sliced open an' eaten alive by someone a hellova lot stronger than I am?"

Alastor gave him a silent once-over, the static having died down to a soft hum that even five feet away Angel could feel prickling at his fur.  " are a strange one, aren't you, Angel Dust?" he asked, the tinny radio effect of his voice absent for a moment.  "Didn't think you were a glutton as well as a lustful deviant."

"I ain't in Hell for nothin', and neither are you."  Angel Dust slipped his second set of arms from behind his back to cross them in front of him.  "So whaddya say, Alastor~?"  He looked the other demon in the eye, intent on getting through to him, overlord or no.  "Hungry?"

One corner of Alastor's smile lifted in a facsimile of a smirk.  "I am.  Always."  He lifted a hand, summoning his microphone into it and using the speaker end to prod Angel Dust's fluffy chest.  "But I'm a man of standards, Angel, and I don't eat garbage.  If you want to do this, then you're going to suffer for my standards.  No drugs, no alcohol, noONE, in your body for one week."  He lowered the microphone, beaming at the look on Angel Dust's face.  "Then we'll see if you're worthy of my consumption." 

He walked past Angel, pausing to press a hand to the spider's abdomen fingertips first just enough for it to not hurt.  "...and eat a bit more," he said as an afterthought.  "I like some meat on the bones."  He withdrew his hand, walking away with a drawling hum that lingered well after he was gone.

Angel Dust almost felt like his stomach was burning from where Alastor's fingers had dug in, taking a few moments before realizing that he'd all but reeled in his catch with only a small caveat for getting it completely.  Alastor had agreed!  YES.

He felt his shoulders slump as he thought about that caveat; no drugs or alcohol or even sex for a week.  Detoxing himself for Alastor's....consumption.

A shudder down his spine was almost as thrilling as the reality that was just within his grasp.  One week. 

Just one week.


Chapter Text

A week felt like months in a day when the siren call of addiction kept penetrating his brain.  Nothing quite like the horrible itch under his skin, intense migraine and nausea, and burning ache of neglect in his loins to put him in the mother of all bad moods.

It was so much easier to attempt going clean when he had his stash of cocaine on standby, he thought, washing his face for the third time that day from simply feeling so terribly ugly with his detox.  More than once he almost went to Charlie to beg for a supervised hit from some weed just to take the edge off, but every time he did he swore he saw a flicker in a shadow nearby, always in the corner of his eye and gone by the time he looked.

No sneaking around for a fix and cheating through this week, nosiree.  Angel Dust wasn't all that surprised that Alastor would be keeping an eye on him, at best to see if he would behave, and at worst to watch him suffer the week of withdraw from his worst vices.

Fuck, this was worse than Lent back when he was alive; why Ma and Pops insisted on keeping up observance whilst being criminals was beyond him, and fat lot of good it did them NOW.  But still, this one week was more hell on him than forty days, demonic body or no.

Day five was when he was in the middle of stuffing his face with cake he bribed Niffty to pick up for him in hopes that the sugar rush would compensate for his lack of proper drugs that he realized just how BADLY he wanted this...THING to happen with Alastor.

Damn, how long had it been since he worked so hard for something, he wondered, licking the icing off of his fork.  Here in Hell it was easier to find drugs, booze, or a lay than it was to find clean water outside of the Hotel.  He was pretty sure he could stick his head out the window and scream out his address and a request and have it thrown in tied to a brick if he wanted to.

But he wasn't so lacking in pride that he would say he preferred everything the smooth and easy way.  He could remember being alive, feeling the thrill of working tirelessly on his makeup skills to pass well enough into a gent's good graces, of playing political mazes to find queer spaces, all while dodging a lynching or beating.  It was hard work.

Dangerous, THRILLING hard work.

Angel polished off the rest of the cake, putting the box down for Nuggets to clean off and flopping back on his bed to stare up at his ceiling.  He'd done a LOT of shit down here that pushed some boundaries.  Most of it was even caught on film and he got payed his weight in cash and blow for it.  

THIS, however, was entirely new territory.  

Even in Hell, cannibalism was more of an entertained idea than a regular practice.  Most of the demons known for cannibalism were either beastlike creatures hardly reminiscent of the humans they once were, or just average joes with an occasional preference.  He'd met Jeffery Dahmer once; nice guy, if not a bit antisocial.  His cooking segment in Hell did wonders for making friends, he'd heard, but even those shows worked primarily with people already dead, or too far down the Hellish rabbit hole to be fully considered humanly sentient anymore.

No, what Angel was preparing for was something MUCH deeper than simply sating a hunger or a kink, or a curiosity between the two.  The closer the week came to a close, the more Angel began realizing just how intimately he was going to know Alastor, and vice-versa.  He was WORKING toward making this happen, and the fact that Alastor gave him caveats and permission let him know that Angel had perhaps stumbled into territory no one else had come across Hell, at least.

Angel let out a heavy sigh, drumming his fingertips on his abdomen and feeling a warmth crawl over his cheeks at the memory of Alastor pressing his fingertips in as though to gauge the quality of the feast to come.  Requested that Angel eat more.

He glanced over at his fork; that's right, Al didn't like sweets that much, did he?  Angel scoffed, leaning over his bed to fetch the cleaned box and give his pig a pat before trashing the box and fork before heading downstairs.  Whole cake or not, he already had a metabolism almost as high as his sex drive, and he was already hungry again.

"Hey, we got any pasta or some shit down here?" he asked, rummaging through the pantry, three of his four usual hands grabbing at some jars.

Charlie blinked, glancing at Vaggie.  "...I think there's some on the bottom shelf," she said.  "Why?"

Angel rolled his eyes.  "To EAT, what else?" he demanded, grabbing a box of it.  "...ugh, Ma would be spittin' from Heaven at the thought of it from a box, but I ain't got time to make it from scratch."  He ignored the staring girls as he some water to boil and rummaged the fridge for cheese.

"...didn't Niffty JUST get you a cake?" Vaggie asked.

"What's your point, tiny-tits?" Angel snapped back.  "I'm withdrawn and fuckin' hungry.  It's this or I break into Husk's liquor cabinet, and I don't think you wanna have to deal with THAT."  He blocked them out as he busied his hands with making a large pot of pasta, complete with chunky vegetable sauce and a generous helping of cheese.  

Charlie dared a look around him, arching a brow at the sheer amount of pasta filling the pot.  "  You making it for the whole Hotel?"

"No, fuck you all, this is mine!" Angel hissed, covering over the pot covetously, glowering at Charlie holding her hands up in surrender before leaving the empty pasta box and sauce jar on the counter and taking his prize back up to his room.

Hopefully he'd be too full to care about his withdraw symptoms for the rest of the day.


A knock in the morning at the end of the week had him literally rolling out of bed and fumbling for his robe since apparently opening the door to his own damn room naked was 'frowned upon', tugging it on and hardly bothering to tie it closed before opening his door.  "Fuck you want, Princess?" he demanded, still half-asleep.

"Just checking up on you!"

The tinny radio voice of Alastor's almost snapped Angel Dust completely awake, staring down at the red demon at his door.  "....oh," he said stupidly, still too early out of sleep to come up with a better reply.  "Right."  He frowned.  "What time is it?"

"Eight AM, but that's not important-"

"Eight in the FUCKING MORNING -!?"

"Exactly, not important!"  Alastor gave him a brief once-over in a way that made Angel feel naked in the...well, not BAD way, per se, but still.  "You've been behaved for a week."  It wasn't a question, and Angel knew it.

"Yeah," he said, managing a smile that held no small amount of pride at himself.  "I have."  At Alastor's widening grin, he felt his fur bristle slightly.  "...oh my god, if you were just fucking with me to see suffer all week -!"

Alastor laughed, waving his hand.  "Oh no, that's not it at all!" he chirped.  "I'm actually somewhat impressed, Angel Dust.  And glad that you took my terms seriously."  His smile went almost hungry.  "And it HAS been a week, I hope you're aware."

Right, it WAS the end of his week.  Angel felt a tremor run down his spine and hoped Alastor hadn't seen it.  "I'm aware," he said, keeping his voice steady with decades of practice.  ""

"Ah, right."  Alastor beamed, the hungry look brightening to one more businesslike.  "Just a few more things is all.  My door, nine tonight.  Come right in at the proper time, and turn the doorknob to the LEFT when you enter, that's an important distinction."

"Why's tha-"

"And wear something appropriate," Alastor said, adjusting his cuffs.  "As I've said before, I'm a man of standards, and any good meal should have tasteful presentation."  He stepped back, smile going all tooth and hunger again.  "I'll see you then, Angel Dust."  

His piece said, he turned on heel and walked down the hall, humming in an echoing static the way to the stairs before vanishing around the corner.

Angel stared after him, swallowing hard as he closed his door and leaned against the wall.  

Holy shit, this was happening, he thought, feeling his fur stand on end with excitement that he hadn't felt in YEARS.  This was HAPPENING.

And he only had eleven hours to get ready.


The day was passing WAY too slowly for him, and he couldn't tell anyone WHY.

Well...he technically COULD; Alastor hadn't said anything about keeping what they were going to be doing between themselves, but for once, Angel didn't want to share his exploit with anyone.  

This was something that he felt shouldn't be announced to the entire godforsaken city, but not for privacy's sake, for himself or for Alastor.  This was a sort of thing he wanted to be a complete part of with no distractions of who knew, what anyone thought, or what he was expected to do or not do.  Hell, there was even a good chance he wouldn't come out of this...well not 'alive' per se, but still.

And yet here he was.  A week clean, dry, and celibate, and looking through his closet for something to wear.

He kept in mind of what was to come, and Alastor's requests.  It was with that in mind that he had a savory brunch, cut back on the sugar of his coffee, and showered without his strong-smelling shampoo.  As for clothes...

His usual fare would not do for tonight.  While he knew Alastor probably had no problem with his cross-dressing, few of his outfits were considered 'dinner appropriate' by Alastor standards.  And this was a first date, which made impressions all the more important.  

Angel trailed his fingers through his clothes, sensitive clawlike fingertips gauging the different materials and styles before his eyes settled on The One. 

He grinned, pulling it off of the hanger and looking it over appraisingly before nodding and fetching out accessories to go with it.  


And he still had an hour to go.


His hellphone rang just before he headed out of his room, looking at the ID and seeing Charlie's moniker of 'Princess' as he answered it.  "Yeah, what is it?" he asked, using a free pair of hands to tidy out his sleeves.

"I'm just calling to tell you that I ran into someone while I was out that's considering becoming a patron," Charlie said, sounding both excited and wary.  "So PLEASE don't do anything to scare them away, okay?  I'll add ten points to your punch card if you just stay out of trouble tonight, okay?"

Angel grinned, barely holding back his laughter.  "Aww, that's sweet, Princess," he said.  "But not necessary for tonight.  I've got a date."

"Wait, wha-"

"Toodles!"  He hung up before she could ask further, then put his phone down on his bedside table and knelt down to pet at Fat Nuggets.  "Daddy's going out, okay?" he cooed.  "And if anything happens, I know Auntie Charlie will feed ya right.  You be a good boy!"  He stood up and took a deep breath before heading out toward Alastor's door.

The Radio Demon didn't even have a set 'room' to speak of; the door seemed to change floors every so often depending on who was coming and going, but it was always recognizable by it being blood red in color with a monogrammed A plate framed with deer antlers; easy to find if you were looking for it.  Angel Dust had never been inside, and wasn't sure if ANYONE had besides Niffty, but curiosity always niggled at him since he'd heard about it.

He found the door on the seventh floor at the end of the hall, the color almost glowing like a neon sign beckoning him forward.  His fur stood on end, limbs buzzing with anticipation as he walked down the hall with footfalls that seemed too loud for his nerves.  He reached the door and grabbed hold of the handle, carefully turning it to the left and opening it.

It was dark inside as he stepped in, and even his pretty handy ability to see in darkness didn't appear to have much effect as he walked in and shut the door behind him.  "...Alastor?" he called out quietly, his voice sounding like he was calling out into the wild instead of inside a room.  

Another few steps in had him noticing that he wasn't stepping on carpet or wood flooring, but rather something softer like grass.  That idea was punctuated with a very heavy outdoorsy smell, full of dampness and humidity that he'd only remembered once, when he went to a cabin near Copake, New York on vacation with his family.  Very different than the dry heat he'd always been used to.

The further he stepped in, the more he could feel and hear; frogs, crickets, a still murmur of water, and then he began seeing outlines of trees and tall grass lining the pathway he was apparently walking, illuminated by a moon that wasn't there.  Little flashes of fireflies lit themselves in and out of view as he walked, and he almost paused when he heard a soft crackling radio in the distance.  

Jazz in a bayou, Angel thought with some expression of humor; could Alastor give any further indication that he was from Louisiana?  He walked further down the path, seeing a clearing up ahead lined with fairy lights and lit lanterns hanging from trees, and Alastor himself busybodying around a couple of tables, his jacket draped over a chair and sleeves pulled up over his forearms. 

The Radio Demon looked upright like an alert deer as Angel came closer, and turned around, smiling.  "Ah, Angel Dust!" he greeted.  "You're right on time!"

"I hope so," Angel replied, ducking under some moss overhead before looking around with some hint of wonder.  ""

"Oh, you learn to make a home, if you can't take it with you!" Alastor said, hands on his hips as he looked around the bayou clearing proudly.  "It's not that hard once you know what you're doing!"

Angel nodded absently, taking in the marshy ground and sounds of reptiles and amphibians and insects in the background, seeing a juxtaposition of the swampy wild and the dapper neatness that was Alastor himself.  " feel like home here?" he asked.

"Sure do," Alastor replied.  "You can take the boy out of the bayou, but you can't take the bayou out of the boy.  Learned that growing up, and embraced it wholeheartedly."  He turned back to Angel Dust, looking him over with a critical eye before smiling wider.  "And don't you clean up nice?"

Angel huffed, hoping the dimness of the bayou hid his warm face.  "It's just a suit, Al, nothin' fancy," he muttered.  A suit, yes, albeit a fine black one tailored to perfection with a crisp white shirt underneath and complimented with a hot pink tie.  He kept his heels, though, no compromise on that.  It was a nice suit, but not one he would miss entirely if it got messy.  

Besides, wear black to a kill, and no one's the wiser.

"Oh, perhaps not," Alastor said, "but it's the thought that counts."  He turned fully to Angel Dust, fingers tented in front of him.  "Now are we going to do this....I'll be the first to admit that I haven't done this with someone still alive, let alone conscious, but I don't suppose it'll be all THAT different hm?"

Angel Dust arched a brow.  "Gonna string me up like a deer then?" he asked cheekily, at least getting a brownie point for how Alastor's smile quirked slightly.  

"...I suppose that could work!" the Radio Demon said, eyes brightening.  "Not upside-down though, not going for a draining."  He made a show of stretching out his arms before walking over to the larger of the two tables set up and with a dramatic swish of flair, whipped the white cloth covering it off.

On the table were several knives of varying size, a few meat hooks, a coil of rope, and a few other bits and pieces that gave Angel Dust a nostalgic remembrance of the one time he poked his head into his father's 'info extraction' room.  Good times, nightmares for days.  At least these were clean and polished, and the ropes he could definitely handle.  

"How would you like to be strung up?" Alastor asked, tracing his fingertip between the rope and the meat hooks, a playful glint in his eyes.  "I've never had to ask for someone else's preference before...never had the luxury."

Angel felt a soft thrill of softness at the privilege, and at knowing that some of this was a first for Alastor too.  He barely had time to acknowledge just how fucked up that fact actually was, and pointed to the ropes.  "I'm a little more familiar with those," he said.  "And I know more than a few good knots, if you don't have a preference of your own."

"How handy."  Alastor picked up the rope, loosening the coils.  "Though I have a tried-and-true method of my own.  Top hands, please."

Angel flexed his hands on his top pair and held them out, chewing his lip as he watched Alastor carefully wind and coil his wrists individually before pulling both ends, locking the two coils together.  "Ooh, cotton rope.  Fancy."

"Standards," Alastor reminded, before taking another coil of rope up.  "Second and third pair behind your back, please."

Angel summoned his third pair without fuss, feeling a shiver run down his back when Alastor stepped out of view and began tying his other two pairs of hands together, joining the two cuffs into one and tugging the line to make sure it was secure before picking up the long end of the rope that tied Angel's top set of hands together and taking a short aim and tossing the end over a thick branch hanging overhead and pulling.

"It won't be too high up, considering how tall you already are," Alastor said conversationally.  "But as long as I don't have to actively reach up to get what I need, it's fine."  He hoisted Angel Dust off of the ground effortlessly for only a few inches before securing his end of the rope tightly to another tree, stepping back to look at his work.  "...I must say, Angel," he said quietly, static prickling his voice, "this isn't a half-bad view..."  His thumb reached up to nudge at the corner of his mouth, where a small bead of saliva had been about to slip out.  "...never had this sight with the other person alive to speak."

Angel gave Alastor a grin, crossing his legs at the ankles coquettishly.  "Glad you approve, Smiles," he said, giving his three pairs of arms an experimental tug and finding the ropes completely unyeilding, just how he liked it.  


"Absolutely not."

"Wonderful."  Alastor walked over to the equipment table, absently lifting his finger toward an old radio on the other and and rotating his fingertip, the stations changing at his command for a few moments before settling on some soft jazz mood music as he took up a small butcher knife, rotating it in his hands.  "...Angel Dust, dear..."

"Yeah?"  Angel went still, looking at the soft glint of light the knife reflected off and seeing Alastor's expression soften to some semblance of seriousness.  

"This goes without saying that while I would not mind a conversation at dinner...I would prefer it that you keep in mind that this is not your usual fare."  Alastor stepped over to Angel, barely an arm's length away.  "And I am not your of the evening.  I am very used to my meals not speaking whilst I eat, and as I have not eaten properly in a week to prepare for this, I would rather not have my meal ruined with dirty talk.  Fair enough?"

Angel stared at Alastor in mild disbelief; Alastor had barely eaten anything in a week?  For THIS?  

That was...oddly sweet, that Angel wasn't the only one who had been put under a pre-date diet for this night.

He gave Alastor a nod.  "Fair enough, Al," he said, taking a deep breath and letting it out.  "...I won't account for any involuntary sounds, though.  Just sayin'."

"I figured," Alastor replied, taking another step forward with a smile.  "Let's see what the fruits of our labors taste like, hm?"  

Angel remained silent as Alastor's fingers nimbly unbuttoned his jacket and tugged it open, doing the same to the button-up shirt.  It wasn't hurried, or was it painfully slow, but it still put a shiver into Angel's back every time he felt a pressure of fingers against his fur.  Alastor hummed along to the music as he worked, sliding Angel's tie off and pausing to run his thumb over it.  


"Only the best," Angel Dust replied with a grin.  "Keep it if ya want."

Alastor smiled back and set it aside on the table before looking over Angel's fluffy abdomen, rotating the knife in his hand with his finger on the tip of the blade.  "Let's see..." he murmured, the radio tin gone from his voice, making it drop an octave.  "Not too different than a deer, I s'pose."  He pressed the flat of the knife against Angel's chest fluff.  "You attached to this very much?"

Angel swallowed; something about hearing Alastor's natural tone and accent was just doing it for him.  "'ll grow back," he finally replied after realizing Alastor was waiting for an answer.  Alastor smiled and raised his free hand to hold a handful of fluff and used the knife to cut it away like slicing through butter, letting it drop on the ground between them.  

"Gotta make sure no hair in th' meat," Alastor said cheerfully, trimming back some of the fuzzier parts of Angel's abdomen before using his fingers to prod over the skin.  "...feels like ya organs still human enough."

'Oh dear Satan, stop talking,' Angel Dust thought, knowing for certain his blush could be visible through his fur.  He let out a shaky breath, looking down and feeling another thrill run up his spine when he saw Alastor's eyes glancing upward, watching his face as his hand continued to prod into Angel's abdomen.  'Oh this smooth motherfucker-'

"I think I feel like liver tonight," Alastor said, lifting his knife and tapping just over Angel's last rib on his right side.  "Delicious, nutritious, an' so flavorful."  He smiled, pressing the tip of the knife into Angel's skin, just enough to draw blood.  "...even wit' a week o' sobriety, I'd imagine it's still properly marinated, hm?"

Angel let out a soft groan, arching his chest to the knife.  "You're doin' that on purpose," he whined, seeing a glint of mirth in Alastor's eyes.

"No idea what ya mean, dear," Alastor replied with a widened grin.  "Keep still now, a'ight?  Don't wanna mess up my cuts."  He tucked his hand around to Angel's back, keeping a steady hold before pressing the knife in, the blade so sharp that he was a couple of inches into his cut before Angel REALLY felt anything.  

Angel let out a hiss, his body trembling at the stinging electricity of intertwined pain and pleasure running over his nerves.  "Ssssshit," he gasped through his teeth, unable to decide between clenching his eyes shut and staring down at Alastor's work. 


The Radio Demon was in his own zone now, making practiced slices over Angel's body that enabled him to peel back furred skin and peer at what was underneath, a feral look in his eyes and saliva dripping through his sharp teeth.  He looked like he was aching to bury his face into the viscera and devour everything he could sink his teeth into, and only his admirable and reputable control was keeping him from doing so.  It was enough of a start though.

Alastor put his butcher knife down and selected a paring knife instead, eyeing over the organs with a critical eye as he took in what was familiar and what was different, demonic body in concern.  The rib cage was smaller and ended higher, with room on each side for Angel to tuck in his extra arms when not in use.  Not much in the way of intestines, a pretty small stomach, but definitely retaining lungs and there was the liver.  There wasn't even a pancreas in the way to get to it, how lovely!  

He glanced up at Angel Dust, seeing the spider's chin red with blood from biting his lip so hard, his rib cage expanding and receding with deep, controlled breaths as he stared down at what Alastor was doing.  There was a definite glimmer of excitement and little regard for the state his insides were about to be.

How interesting.

Alastor gave Angel a smile before reaching into the spider's body to begin slicing off tissue that would disconnect his meal.  Angel's breaths stuttered with hitching gasps, legs twitching with admirable restraint from kicking the assailant to his insides away and taking to locking his ankles together tightly and stiffening his legs.  Alastor tucked his other hand inside, taking hold of the organ and supporting it carefully as he cut around neatly before severing the arteries and ligaments and detaching it completely.

"FUCK-" Angel snapped before clamping his mouth shut, taking deep breaths as tears streamed down his face.  "Figlio di puttana, fuck, shit...!"  He murmured profanity under his breath as Alastor carried the liver with both hands over to the smaller table with a dining set ready and waiting, putting it down on the plate. 

Alastor looked over the set and adjusted everything accordingly before turning back to Angel Dust, looking him over quietly.  Much less like a hung dressed deer or even another person, but definitely...something.  Angel was still twitching and breathing, blood dripping from his open wounds and eyes clenched shut as ragged breaths began evening out slowly.

He let Angel Dust center himself as he turned to a basin nearby and washed his hands and wrists clean.  After drying them and tugging his jacket back on, he walked back over to the large table and grabbed a bottle of wine he had selected earlier that week, humming along to the radio as he uncorked it.

"I haven't had a good glass o' wine in some time," he said conversationally, picking up a glass and filling it halfway.  "I know how fond y' are of those fruity lil' cocktails...some aren't bad, but they just don't pair well wit' good meat."  He sat himself down, facing Angel Dust, and tucked a napkin over his lap.  "Let's see how ya pair wit' my favorite."


Angel didn't know what exactly was going on with his body at the moment, feeling like he was being torn in two between oversensitive consciousness and the numbing smother of subspace, his pain and pleasure reception being tugged the same way.  He'd hardly been aware of anything after Alastor cut his liver loose, feeling like his legs were numb and unresponsive.  

After getting some semblance of sense back into his head, he began testing his arms one pair at a time starting from the lowest, finding them still bound tightly.  Second pair, the same.  Top pair, strained and aching, but his natural flexibility kept them from being entirely harmed.  He took slow, deep breaths, tuning in and out of his body's signals to find a wavelength he could think with, slowly coming-to entirely.

His eyes were trained low, seeing his white button-up shirt stained red, and his abdomen still cut open wide for the world to see.  He could feel the damp air on his organs, the vulnerability making his whole body shiver as he looked up at Alastor.  

The Radio Demon was dressed in his usual again, cutlery poised neatly over the bloody raw liver on his plate, the knife delicately sawing through the organ as one might normally do with a tender steak.  A piece was cut away and inspected on the fork for a moment's consideration before opening his mouth and biting into it, taking no mind to the blood that dripped off onto his chin.  He made a thoughtful sound of approval, chewing and swallowing as he cut into the liver again.

"Oh, that's nice," he said, his smile looking sharper than usual as he cut off a bigger piece, actively salivating red with pupils almost slit in animalistic hunger.  He took his time cutting and biting into the pieces, only pausing to take sips of his wine.  After about six mouthfuls, he dabbed at his chin with his napkin, looking up at Angel Dust.

"Beggin' ya pardon, Angel Dust," he said with a smile as sweet as arsenic-laced sugar.  "I haven't been th' best at conversation, have I?  After all, takes two t' date.  How ya feelin'?"

Angel Dust almost laughed at the staged-yet-natural flow of conversation, giving Alastor a pained but genuine smile.  "Y'know..." he replied, only a faint shake in his voice.  "...hangin' around.  Got any conversation pieces?  I'm open for suggestions."

Alastor arched a brow before putting a hand to his face, letting out soft huffs of laughter, the staticy radio tin coming back to his voice.  "Oh, Angel Dust, you are not at all how I expected you to be!"  He took another sip of wine, eyes aglow with mirth.  "I honestly didn't expect you to actually enjoy this as much as I have."

Angel gave as much as a nonchalant shrug as he could with his primary arms above his head and organs exposed and uncontained.  "I told ya, Al," he replied, "I'm a masochist.  I've had decades to get my limits pushed up to this point, and y'know..."  He grinned, blood stained at his teeth.  "...I think I've found a new limit to cut through, if you get my drift."  He licked his teeth, squirming on the rope and shivering at the slight shift in his organs.  

Alastor smiled back, keeping eye contact as he took another bite of Angel's liver.  "I won't lie," he said after swallowing.  "I could get used to this particular cut.  Pairs perfectly with my wine."  He raised his glass in example before taking another sip.  "...though...I could probably let slide it having some marination in some QUALITY alcohol sometime.  Among anything else I could take a bite out of."

Angel was only barely aware of the jazz definitely taking on a more casual-romantic vibe, and wondered how he still had enough blood to accommodate both a blush and arousal.  "I thought you said no dirty talk, Al," he sassed.  "Because seriously, you're killin' me over here!"

"It really takes so little to please you, doesn't it?" Alastor said almost fondly, swirling his glass of wine.  "Though, I can appreciate someone who is taken by the little things in life.  If all it took for you to be such a good dinner date was to be the dinner, I might have tried this ages ago."

"Pfft, like you'd break Princess's little heart like that," Angel replied.  "You'd make it look like an accident and eat the remains."

"You got me there."

They both laughed, with Angel tapering off with a discomforted shift of his organs.  "Oh boy, gettin' woozy," Angel murmured, seeing his vision blur in the edges.  He took a deep breath and relaxed his body, lapsing into a brief comfortable silence as Alastor finished eating his liver, taking the time to appreciate the contented look on the Radio Demon's face.  

Who knew, maybe sometime he'd get to appreciate it closer up and at the same table.

Alastor finished eating the last bite, even going so far as to scoop up a large smear of bloody tissue on his finger to lick up like sauce, smiling.  "Delectable," he commented as he finished off his glass of wine before refilling it, standing up from his chair and walking over to Angel.  "Still conscious, dear?"

Angel Dust nodded, his head still fuzzy.  "Still in there," he replied.  "Barely."  He heard Alastor make a thoughtful sound before feeling the wine glass's rim pressed to his lips.  "Hm?"

"I think you've earned y'self a lil' somethin', sha," Alastor said, dropping the radio tin again, lifting the glass slightly for Angel to drink up.  Angel took slow sips to avoid some vertigo, sighing at the buzz he was already getting from his blood loss. 

"That's some good stuff," he murmured, not even finishing the glass.  "You take the rest, anymore of it an' I know I'll just heave it back up and waste it."

"Fair 'nuff," Alastor said, tipping the rest back for himself and picking up a fillet knife.  "Hopin' y'don't mind me takin' a little more for later?"

Angel let out a breath of laughter.  "Go right on ahead, Al," he said, closing his eyes.  "Jus'....lemme know when yer done..."

"Dormez bien, sha," was all he heard before everything went black.


" -and you're POSITIVE you didn't see Angel leaving last night?" Alastor heard Charlie inquire to Husk as he walked into the lobby.  Husk looked like he had been asked a dozen times and was sure to snap if he heard it one more.

"YES, fuck," Husk grumbled, nursing his tumbler of bourbon.  "I heard if anyone came in or out.  In any case, who gives a fuck, he's back, in bed, sleepin' off whatever.  I don't need or want details."

Charlie sighed, looking up at Alastor.  "...should I resort to a tracker?  I sometimes think I should."

Alastor laughed, shaking his head in amusement.  "Oh Charlie, you worry yourself too much," he said.  "Wouldn't you consider it progress that he's where he's supposed to be at the end of the night?"  He gave her head a pat as he walked into the bar, sitting himself down.

"Maybe," Charlie murmured, thumbing through her record book with some coffee and mulling over what sort of therapies the new tenant could benefit from for awhile before Angel Dust walked in, looking dead on his feet.  "Angel-"

"Shush.  Coffee.  Sugar."  He gesticulated in the vague direction of the coffee maker.  "Lots of sugar."

Vaggie grumbled as she poured out a cup, if anything just to shut him up.  "I hope you mean the actual sugar," she said, dumping at least an eighth of a cup in anyway.

"YES, bitch, the actual sugar," Angel muttered, taking the coffee and sipping it with shaking hands as he sat down on the other end of the bar from Alastor, walking with a slight limp that everyone noticed.  

"So where WERE you last night?" Charlie ventured after Angel Dust took a few sips of coffee.  

Angel let out a groaning sigh, massaging his temples as Alastor took a deliberate sip of his wine.  "I told ya, I had a date," he said.  

"And what did you DO on the date?"

"Date shit.  Hung out, got dinner, had a drink, went to bed."


"It wasn't even a full drink, get off my dick!"  Angel slumped on the bar, sipping his coffee.  "I need somethin' to eat."

Charlie sighed.  "I'll get some donuts," she said, standing up.

"Oh, let the hungover jackass get 'em himself," Vaggie said, but made no move to stop her girlfriend.  

"I'm not hungover!"

"Uh huh.  Then why do you look like shit?"  Vaggie arched a brow as Angel Dust pursed his lips and said nothing.  "Thought so."

Charlie came back with the donuts and offered one to everyone.  "Want one, Al?"

"Not fond of sweets, dear," Alastor said, reaching into his pocket and taking out a small paper bag, reaching inside and taking out what looked like a strip of jerky.  "I picked up a little something while I was out last night."

Husk's eyes narrowed, glancing at Angel who's hand clenched into his pant leg from the leg he was limping on while Charlie looked interested.  

"You went out last night?" she asked.  "Where to?"

Alastor smiled, finishing his wine.  "Just out," he said, flicking his eyes to Angel Dust.  "For dinner."

The sound of Angel snorting was drowned out by Husk spewing his drink out over the counter.

Chapter Text

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."

"I understand."


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 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?"


"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.