Chapter Text
Angel was used to people coming and going after sex, but having someone literally vanish like an illusion minutes after an orgasm? That one was new until Alastor. There were at least two or three times when his dick was still inside him, going soft, when he freaked out and go poof, leaving Angel wherever he was. And of course, Angel bitched about it, even if he wasn’t serious (as far as he and Alastor believed), and maybe it got to Alastor. Or maybe Alastor realized that it was stupid to leave Angel alone and pissed off in his room. After a couple of weeks, he started sticking around. After a month, he was comfortable enough to kiss him after. And from then on, it was Angel’s turn to disappear. Maybe he couldn’t turn into a shadow, but he had transformed the so-called walk of shame into an art form.
“That was it, right?” Angel asked to break the silence. Behind him, Alastor sat on the edge of the mattress like he was in the middle of getting up, getting dressed, and moving about his room. Though if he was, he was in no rush to start.
“That is what we agreed to, I believe.”
“No problem. Just makin’ sure.” This time around.
Angel stretched his body just to feel the blood fizzing in his veins, bending his limbs and rolling his shoulders. The endorphins made him loose and overly casual in case there was any doubt that the decision was mutual. He wasn’t even disappointed–a whore like him was incapable of synthesizing that emotion. “Not a lousy way to end, though, right? At least I had some fun.”
“This has not been awful.”
“Aww, stop, you’re makin’ me blush.” Angel crawled across the bed and draped himself over his back like an annoying octopus. He wanted to kiss his face, but he couldn’t find a way without getting stabbed with his antlers. “...But, y’know what they say: we’ll always have Paris.”
“What?”
“Nothin’.” Angel grinned at his own lame joke. “See ya around, Smiles.”
Then, he put his clothes on and left. On the way back to his room, he thought it was almost funny that he’d seen all four corners of Alastor’s bed but never slept there. Not once, and never going to happen. But that is how it went.
***
Things were destined to go downhill when Charlie decided that the lesson of the day was affirmation.
“Change is hard, and sometimes, you need the confidence to keep going,” Charlie explained in her best camp counselor voice. “It really helps to know that other people see you and think you’re doing a good job. One bit of encouragement can make all the difference. That’s why I think we should take turns complimenting each other. We’ll start with the person on our right and then go back around.”
The dearth of enthusiasm from the rest of the group was so palpable that Angel could feel it, even though he was scrolling through his phone and hadn’t looked at anyone else since they sat down. But they were already in a circle on the floor. This was going to happen, whether they liked it or not.
“I’ll go first!” Charlie turned to her right. “Vaggie, I’m so, so lucky to have you. You’re smart and strong and amazing, and you give the best hugs–”
“Maybe we should stick to one compliment per person,” Vaggie said without even trying to hide her smile. Since she was sitting next to Pentious, she reached for something to say. “Um, you’re very…inventive.”
Pentious cupped his hand over his chest. “Thank you for noticing. And you, my good sir,” he said to Husk. “Have excellent taste in hats.”
Husk grunted his response (and briefly adjusted the brim of his hat, looking less cranky than before). “...You’re a sweet kid,” he said to Niffty.
Niffty turned to face Angel, already vibrating with excitement. “You look so soft.” She clenched her fists. “I want to touch your fur.”
Angel scooted an inch in the opposite direction before she could. That left him with Charlie, so he pointed finger guns at her. “Hey, it’s really cool of you to give me a free room.”
It was barely a compliment, but Charlie lit up like a miniature sun. “You’re so much fun to hang out with. I can’t wait for us to become better friends.”
“...Yeah.” Angel brushed that aside in a stubborn attempt to ignore the warm thread wrapping around his heart. “...So, I guess it’s my turn again?” If the order of praise was going in reverse, he had to come up with something for Niffty.
The last time Angel had checked the couch he was leaning against, it’d been vacant. When he turned around, he saw a pair of long, fancy legs attached to a grinning douchebag. Alastor had apparated between Angel and Niffty, reclining on the cushions like he’d always been there. But he was never there for these things. In fact, he was always explicitly absent whenever Charlie decided to wrangle them together. It was like seeing a greenish sky and a rotating cloud of debris.
Angel glared down at his phone until his eye twitched, giving Alastor a shoulder so cold he would’ve gotten frostbite if he dared to touch him.
Meanwhile, Charlie, hopeful and oblivious to the warning signs of Alastor showing up for a group activity, encouraged him. “Alastor! Are you joining in?”
“Why, of course, dear.” He recrossed his legs in a way that Angel swore was purposefully done to get his attention. “It should be no secret that I enjoy handing out compliments–almost as much as I enjoy receiving them.”
Angel Dust and his big mouth.
He made a pleased sound. “Fuck yeah, I just love a man that ain’t afraid to switch.” Angel went rigid as soon as he realized what he’d said–it practically echoed in the uncomfortable silence. The rest of the circle stared at him with expressions that ranged from disgust (Vaggie), confused horror (Charlie and Pentious), and a palm to the face (Husk). He was reluctant to look at Alastor. The static building behind him spoke for itself.
For months, Angel hadn’t made a single pass at Alastor in public, and this was why. Not because he got what he wanted but because Angel knew something would slip out, no matter how careful he was. No dick joke was worth the risk.
He finally turned and found Alastor staring down at him with dark consideration. “Surely you mean something carnal. In which case, you only wish that were true.”
“Please,” Angel snapped back. “You’d have to pay me double to make that happen.”
Alastor leered in silence, building up suspense to some nasty comeback. Angel could’ve kissed Charlie (tongue and everything) for stepping in to diffuse the situation.
“Um, Alastor…”
“Mm? Ah, yes, you wanted me to sing my praises. Then let’s start with you two.” He waved his hand at Charlie and Vaggie. “Your delusional perseverance in trying to save all the hopeless causes in Hell is absolutely astounding to watch. Husk–” Husk ruffled at the sound of his name, glaring through his fingers. “–My dear old friend. Always a pleasure to see your charming face. Niffty, I admire your raw brutality. And…” Alastor squinted at Pentious. “...You. You are certainly here, existing in this room. Good job.”
“Thaaanks.” Charlie drew the word out with a patient smile. “But actually, it was Angel’s turn to compliment you.”
“Are you serious?” Angel demanded. “This lunatic is already fuckin’ full of himself. Now, you want me to feed him dessert?”
“It just has to be one thing. It shouldn’t be too hard…”
Too hard. Even Charlie didn’t sound convinced.
Fuming, Angel turned back to Alastor, who was watching him like this was the funniest thing in the world to him. Why couldn’t he just ignore him like he did before?
If he flipped the script and insulted Alastor, Charlie would force him to go again until he came up with a genuine compliment. He could also tap out with something insincere and half-assed, but even that made him go blank. His brain ran in circles like a projector without film.
He stared at Alastor as though he’d never seen him before. Fancy dresser. Sometimes funny. Decent taste in booze and music. Powerful magic, but still capable of using his hands–
–Talented hands. Surprisingly good kisser. Dextrous, unpredictable, hard, and so fucking–
Angel sank moodily onto the floor. “Forget it. Someone else can take my turn.”
“Me! Pick me!”
“Maybe we should try something different,” Charlie cut Niffty off. “How about this: we put our names on pieces of paper and then pass them around the circle. Then everyone can write down the nice things they want to say.” The suggestion sounded improvised, and Charlie even proved it by hyping herself up when she added, “So, you can always go back and reread it whenever you’re having a bad day, and it’ll help you feel better.”
“How inspiring!” Alastor said with blatant condescension, and Angel looked for the nearest wall to bash his head against.
Within minutes, Vaggie handed out pieces of blank paper to everyone except Alastor, who happily refused. And nobody was willing to peer-pressure him, so they left him alone to watch.
Six compliment sheets rotated around the circle. Angel drew ejaculating penises on all of them except for his own. When it came time to collect, Angel had barely touched his before the paper glowed green and yanked from his hands on an invisible fishing line. No question at all about who was responsible for that.
“Now, now, Angel.” Alastor vanished and reappeared when Angel tried to snatch the paper back from him, playing fucking keep-away like a toddler: a demonic toddler with dials for eyes and an unhinged smile. “You wouldn’t deny me the opportunity to be nice to you, would you?”
Angel clenched his teeth, writhing in his skin while he waited for Alastor to scribble down his note with a flourish. When he returned the paper to Angel, he crumpled it immediately and chucked it past Alastor’s head.
“Shove it up your ass, Al. That would be nice.”
***
Angel woke up later to the sound of knocking. He listened until it became obvious he couldn’t return to his nap and sighed in resignation. Then he moved Fat Nuggets from his chest to get off his bed and cross the room.
Charlie looked apologetic when he answered the door. “Hey…” Her fidgeting brought his attention to the familiar paper ball between her hands. She picked at the creases like she wasn’t sure if she should return it. “I found this. I think you forgot it?”
“I didn’t lose it. I threw it away.” What he should’ve done was shred it into confetti.
“Don’t you want to read it at least once? You don’t have to keep it…” She glanced at the ball again like it was a script she was reading from. “But I think everyone deserves to hear something nice about themselves.”
Angel felt his shoulders slump. It was like trying to say no to a baby unicorn jumping over a magic rainbow. “Fine. Whatever gets you off my back.”
He smoothed out the crumpled paper, intending to speed-read the compliments.
The first one came from Vaggie in her tiny, utilitarian penmanship: Good with guns.
Pentious wrote below in slithering cursive: Your work is disgusting, but I admire your commitment to your craft.
Husk had a rough, heavy hand when he scratched out: I KNOW you drew a fucking cock on my paper. And then admitted: I don’t hate our conversations.
The rest of the paper was occupied by Niffty, who wrote, FLUFFY, in big enough text that Angel had to turn it over to find Charlie’s message, which was definitely not limited to one compliment and had some hearts drawn around the paragraph for extra flavoring. But he skipped it to find Alastor’s scratchy request hidden in the bottom right corner.
See me tonight.
Angel quickly re-crumpled the paper in his hands. “Wow, you’re right. I feel so much better now.”
“Really?”
Charlie looked happy and confused as Angel began pushing her into the hallway with his hands, before she caught onto anything she shouldn’t.
“Yep. Just need a minute alone to soak in it all. Thanks, babe.”
Then he slammed the door shut.
Goddamn it all.
He was the one that was supposed to be easier to spread than a jar of peanut butter. But he’d been ready to act accordingly when Alastor said he’d had enough, never the type to overstay his welcome. It would’ve been weird for a while, going back to orbiting around the hotel with nothing to do with Alastor, but it’d always been clear this game came with a limited number of turns. Regardless of how many times they’d claimed to be finished, and then drew the game out even longer. Angel thought this one would be the absolute last. It was much easier to say no to things out of reach.
He stared at the door, plotting the death of the paper ball in his fist. Throwing it away would feel good; destroying it would feel even better, but nothing would make him forget he had a written invitation to fuck Alastor again. One more hit. One more taste.
In a final, halfhearted attempt to feel in control, he played back the events of the afternoon until he pissed himself off again. Alastor couldn’t make up his mind, and if Angel kept getting jerked around, he’d start feeling like a toy.
Excitement still thrummed in his core. By sundown, Angel was vibrating like a tuning fork.
Still, he refused to show up like he was at Alastor’s beck and call. Angel waited until what felt like the last minute before he appeared at his door, leaning his elbow on the outside wall when Alastor answered.
“Well, hey there, stranger. I heard you ordered some room service.”
He flipped open the top of his shirt to give Alastor a peek at the pink lace underneath, which got his attention, regardless of what his mouth said, “You’ve used that line before. Three times.”
“Ah, well. Can’t all be original.” Alastor still looked amused. And he still guided him inside by the small of his back, always chivalrous with the suggestion of claws.
“Join me for a nightcap, won’t you?”
“What’re we drinkin’?”
“The finest cognac that Hell has to offer–which is not saying much at all.” Alastor summoned an empty glass to fill alongside his own. “I’d just kill to let you try a taste of Sazerac with some bitters and lemon, but you can’t find it down here. Truly, the worst of the so-called punishments.”
He shrugged his shoulders, one after the other. “Oh well. We all must make do with what we have.”
Angel took the drink offered to him and sipped thoughtfully. The best cognac Hell had to offer wasn’t half-bad: straight rye with an understated spice and dry sweetness that crawled over his tongue.
Alastor went to one of his armchairs, sat down, and waited. Almost seven months of doing this on and off, and they still weren’t tackling each other and ripping clothes off as soon as the door closed. Alastor needed context: a simmering buildup or a long, “friendly chat” like this. Sometimes, it felt like resetting (which was a nicer version of the cynicism lurking in Angel’s brain, wondering if Alastor had always just needed reminders of why he wanted to screw him in the first place).
Tonight, Angel couldn’t bring himself to sit or stand still. He walked along the perimeter, shutting out Alastor’s watchful stare through excessive inspection of his artwork and belongings. His bedroom looked like a refined study with gilded details, rich furniture, and curios, most of which were the collected bones of animals and humans alike.
He stopped in front of the skull above the fireplace, so close to touching it with his finger, like he needed to confirm it was real (like Alastor would be the type to keep dumb-ass Halloween decorations).
“Is this from one of your victims?”
“Are we asking stupid questions tonight?”
Since he asked for it, Angel could be even more stupid. “Do the skeletons have names?”
Alastor lowered his eyelids in an expression so tolerant it looked like it hurt him. “No, Angel. I did not name the skeletons.”
Well, the skull looked like a Giuseppe, Angel decided without consensus before he wandered toward the bookcase.
He made a point of touching all the items on the shelves: poking at the vintage radio and sliding his fingertips over the leather spines of the organized volumes, even pulling one out of the lineup just to leave his mark.
“I’ve never seen you so quiet,” Alastor observed.
“Guess I’m in shock. I thought we were callin’ it quits–unless you just wanna talk all night.”
“No, you’re not mistaken about my intentions.”
The only thing that surprised Angel was how stung he felt in response. Why? He’d known what the plan was. It was the same as always, and it’d never bothered him before. But the cynical inner voice was trying to recolor everything Alastor had ever done with him. Suddenly, Angel forgot what’d led him to believe this was a good idea. He’d regret it more if he didn’t cut to the chase and do what he was there to do.
“Would you like another one?” Alastor asked as Angel knocked back the rest of his drink. He contemplated the empty glass momentarily, setting the scene up in his head.
“How ‘bout a sip of yours?”
Alastor glanced down at his drink, ready to point out it was the same thing and wouldn’t taste different. Then he changed his mind and made the faintest gesture of invitation. Angel strolled across the room to kneel on the floor in the gap between his knees. And if it was still unclear what he was planning, he opened his mouth with a hint of wet tongue, beckoning Alastor in with bedroom eyes. Angel felt him twitch beneath his palms before putting the glass to his lips and letting it tip forward with the movement of his head.
The cognac tasted even better like this, pouring down his throat as he focused on nothing except swallowing what was given. It was so good that he chased it when Alastor pulled away, causing some to spill. Then, they were both hit with the same stroke of genius. Angel licked his bottom lip while Alastor caught the splash with his thumb. Instinctively, Angel tried to catch his finger in his mouth to suck, but Alastor cupped his chin before he could, and he felt drunk–tingling warm–until Alastor spoke again:
“You never cease to amaze me. How easy it is for you to turn off and feel nothing.”
Angel flinched back, stung worse than before. “Forget it. This was a mistake.”
“It was a compliment,” Alastor said, pushing the knife deeper and twisting, and it just made Angel angrier.
“Y’know, it doesn’t exactly get me off when you act like this is torture for you.” He rose to his full height. “If that’s the way you feel, don’t waste my time. And if that ain’t clear enough for you, lemme put it this way: there’re a million other demons that want me. I don’t need you.”
“Wanting you was never the problem.”
Whatever that meant. Angel waved him off as he headed for the door. “Your problem, not mine.”
“Oh? Then I’d love to know why you’re still here.”
Angel was stopped in his tracks by the bitter awareness of what their involvement had all apparently led to. Alastor had a wall of glass between himself and Hell, and he made the mistake of letting him on the other side. Now, Alastor wasn’t some fast-talking, psychopathic caricature to him. He was a flesh-and-blood monster Angel knew well enough to hit back.
“Convenience.” He spat the word at Alastor. Radio Demon, be damned. “Why would I go out for dick when there’s a desperate virgin right here in the hotel? Ready and willin’ to give it away whenever I want?”
Alastor bared his teeth until the black of his gums showed. “You’re lucky I don’t believe that. You’d be in pieces right now.”
“Yeah, Daddy. Threaten me with a good time.”
He was just barely on his way out when one of Alastor’s shadows popped out of the floor next to him, neither restraining him nor blocking his way. It just startled Angel enough to separate his grip from the doorknob.
“Do you remember what you said?” Angel turned in time to see Alastor’s mocking air quotes. “If we just do it, we can free ourselves and never have to deal with it again.”
“You seriously think I’m gonna let you fuck me right now?”
Alastor flexed his fingers against the material of the armrest. “...I want you to spend the night. Show me everything. Do whatever it takes until we’re both sick of each other.”
“Holy shit.” Angel clutched his forehead and started laughing. Hard and hollow. “That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
Additional words bubbled inside his chest, even if he was too pissed to say it all. First, it was adorable that Alastor thought he could show him all his tricks in one night. They’d need at least another month of nonstop, round-the-clock fucking for that. And Angel had other things to do. Then there was the fact that Alastor was talking about sex like it was candy, and it was possible to consume too much and the stomachache would fix the craving. If it were easy, he’d be in his own bedroom, not fighting with Alastor.
“Angel.”
Angel turned cold, realizing he was about to get honest-Alastor, which he hated more than two-faced, sketchy-as-fuck Alastor. “...You aren’t stupid, and that’s always been your problem. You know you’re an impulsive, self-destructive tinderbox. And I’ve let you punish yourself with me for too long, with nothing to gain other than the pleasure of your company. Pain can be productive–inspiring, even–but now I’m giving you a way out. No tricks. No strings attached. Take it or leave it, but if you leave and come back, I promise, it will not be the same. I’m not one of your co-stars, and I will never take your lies with a smile.”
“Shut. Up.”
Angel had forgotten the door. Everything flipped by his blind, urgent need to crawl out of his own skin. With nothing else to lash out against, he hit the wall with his elbows, slid onto the floor, and curled into a tight ball.
“Why does this always get the better of you?”
Alastor sounded closer than before, neither malicious nor comforting. He seemed bewildered, like Angel was bringing up a conversation he thought had been dead for months.
“Stop crying.” He wasn’t. “Stop cowering.” He wasn’t. “It won’t make it go away–”
Angel felt Alastor touch his arm with the tips of his fingers. Wild and snarling, he swung his fist in his direction, and caught Alastor in the teeth. The force only turned his face to the side, and his mouth remained open. Time stopped.
Then his jaw clicked audibly back into place–a short, nauseating snap of bone–so he could pry open his mouth again in a way that threatened to keep going, like a skin-splitting yawn with elongated fangs to match the creeping growth of his antlers.
He made a huge mistake. He fucked up, and all he could do now was sit on the floor and quietly wait to die. Alastor cracked his neck to the side and touched his face where Angel had struck him, seeking out the taste of blood with his tongue. Another sharp crack, and his demonic form receded. But he didn’t look normal either.
The only thing more disturbing than Alastor looking homicidal was Alastor looking intrigued. Enamored, even–like Angel hung the goddamn moon in the sky.
He was out the door before Alastor could say anything else.