Archive of Our Own ^beta

Alastor furrows his brow, biting back a small chuckle from bubbling in his chest. He shakes his head instead, walking over to the waste paper basket in the corner of his bedroom. It seems cruel, but he’s expecting company. Disposing of the handwritten note before anyone comes in and sees it seems like the wisest thing to do.

It has nothing to do with an attempt to forget the words that are stuck on a loop in his head.

But on the way he catches the faintest scent of the perfume Angel favours, causing an alarmingly familiar warmth to spread through his chest.

It makes him pause, forcing him to reconsider his options.

This little back and forth between himself and the salacious spider has been going on for months now. Wait, no. Since purge day is fast approaching, marking the anniversary of his arrival at the hotel, it’s closer to a year. A year of insisting that the little stunt with his eldritch powers upon his arrival was the only way to cement himself as a much-needed asset to the hotel.

Protecting anyone from that foolish serpent was a byproduct of the event, not his intended goal.

However, Angel dust was nothing if not persistent.

Initially, Angel had extended his first proposition again. And again. As well as adding many additional inappropriate acts, some of which Alastor deeply regretted looking up in the hotel library when he was sure no one else was around.

Especially the ones that stuck with him and wouldn’t stop appearing in his head in the dead of night.

Plagued insomnia aside, Angel was more of an enigma than Alastor’s initial impression allowed. Whatever anyone wanted to say about him or his chosen profession, Angel was, in fact, a remarkably perceptive individual. It took him less than a day to cotton on that his advances were genuinely uncomfortable for Alastor, and as soon as he did he stopped altogether.

He even offered an apology for ‘freaking him out’.

It was the start of Alastor having his perspective on Angel changed completely if he was being honest. Despite his reservations, he gradually warmed towards him.

Actually, it was more than that.

They were friends.

Even if Alastor would never admit so out loud.

True to his word, Angel didn’t proposition him for sex again. For the most part, that was. They joked a lot, but they both knew it was never with any sincerity. Alastor wasn’t sure exactly when the flirtatious banter became part of their repertoire of interactions with each other, but he wasn’t complaining. Even if enjoying their back and forth was something he would never admit too out loud.

But Since there were no expectations for anything more than the witty one-upping of each other, Alastor found it thrilling. Especially recently. They’d somehow ended up in a battle of wits that bled from their private interactions to trying to outdo each other in public. Much to the annoyance of the other hotel residents.

Alastor could care less. The way he saw it, it was good clean fun. An enjoyable way to pass the time. As was the ongoing gag of Angel insisting that he still needed to repay him.

Looking at the note again, Alastor’s throat becomes as dry as the seventh circle. Angel has offered him many things in the past. Private shows, dinner invitations, favours involving both the mundane and the violent. They never come to fruition. Either Alastor would refuse outright, or Angel would withdraw his offer whenever he started to take it seriously. Angel would state that it ‘wasn’t good enough’ and go straight back to his metaphorical drawing board.

Which is what makes the note far more intriguing than it should be. Angel’s proposals are usually off the cuff. Said on a whim or after one too many glasses of wine.

He’s never been this bold before.

The note speaks of planning. Of confidence in said plan. Confidence that it might be something that Alastor would actually agree to.

...

Alastor sighs, tucking the note into his breast pocket before walking over to the phone on the wall.

With a few quick calls, he frees up his evening without the slightest bit of bother. There’s some confusion since he’s not the type to cancel so last minute, but being such a powerful overlord does have the perk of no one daring to question his reasons.

It’s only when Alastor places the phone back on the receiver and turns back to his empty room that a wave of pure dread washes over him.

With nothing to do, the next few hours are going to be excruciating.

Alastor isn’t nervous.

He isn’t.

It means nothing that he’s spent the last few hours trying to distract himself in every way possible only to fail at every hurdle. In his defence, a few hours just wasn’t long enough to do anything with. He couldn’t start a new book, look through his accounts, or even work on his material for the radio show.

To think there was any other reason for the fresh tracks he’d worn into his carpet from pacing up and down his room was preposterous.

However, now it was finally time for him to make his way to Angel’s room he found himself hesitating at his bedroom door. From what he could hear there was no one around, but the idea that someone would see him making that short trip to the spider’s room was making his blood run cold.

Which was just as ridiculous as the feeling of his stomach tying itself in knots.

Alastor had been in Angel’s room plenty of times. On official business, of course, but more frequently to whittle away the small hours when neither of them could sleep. No one would bat an eyelid even if they did see him, and he knew that.

If anyone decided to read anything else into it, well, that was on them.

But would that be so terrible?

Burying that thought along with the rest, Alastor makes the snap decision to leave his room and march down the hall before he loses his nerve.

He doesn’t allow himself time to hesitate when he reaches Angel’s door, knowing even the slightest waver now will send him back the way he came.

He knocks once, and waits.

Even though Alastor definitely isn’t nervous, the few seconds between his knock and Angel opening the door feel like they take years.

When the door opens, he forgets everything in an instant, hard-pressed to stop his jaw from dropping straight to the floor.

In the year they’ve known each other, he’s seen Angel in various garments and different states of undress. Yet the semi-sheer robe that’s clinging to every soft curve the spider has really is something else. It’s both revealing and demure with its layers upon layers of soft chiffon that billow down to the floor. It’s covered in a heavy feather trim that looks just so soft to the touch.

Just as Angel is.

To top it all off, it’s the most brilliant shade of deep blood red Alastor’s ever seen.

Merde.

“Hey handsome,” Angel giggles, beckoning him into the room before closing the door behind them, “Not gonna lie, Al. For a second I thought ya were gonna leave me hangin’. Was getting ready t’ drown my sorrows all on my lonesome.”

He winks and Alastor desperately tries not to acknowledge the feeling of his shriveled heart skipping a beat.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear,” he says, quickly, slipping into his charming persona like a second skin, “I’m still unsure if I’m game for whatever you have planned. You’re playing those cards awfully close tonight.”

“Yeah, well,” Angel places one of his hands on his hips as the robe flutters around him, “Can’t be givin’ away all my secrets, can I?”

He doesn’t let Alastor reply. Knowing he has his full attention he turns the natural pop of his hip into a full pose, fluttering his long lashes as he slowly turns on the spot.

“Ya like it?”

Angel’s attitude is playful, flirtatious.

Everything Alastor has come to expect from their exchanges.

What stops him from just brushing Angel off is his face. There’s a vulnerability the spider isn’t quite hiding, like he’s anticipating an almost inevitable rejection.

Alastor doesn’t try to deny the way his chest surges at that.

“Yet another reason a complete no-show would be like shooting myself in the foot,” he replies.

Before he can think better of it, he takes Angel’s hand in his own and places a kiss on the back of his knuckles.

“Red suits you, Darling.”

When he straightens up Angel’s all wide eyes and flushed features, his usual bravado momentarily knocked off its axis.

But just like Alastor, he’s able to slip on a mask far too well.

“Ya damn right it does! Can’t have ma number one guy goin’ off me for not makin’ the effort, can I?”

Alastor ignores the way his lip twitches at the stray thought of breaking their masks once and for all.

“Perish the thought.” He replies, taking his chance, “Though now I’m here, I do expect you to spill the details of your note-”

“-I wanna give ya a massage.”

Alastor blinks rapidly several times, “Come again?”

“A massage. And before ya say no, Al, this ain’t me being a creep. I swear on ma Nonna’s grave I’m actually tryin’ t’ repay ya.”

Again, he doesn’t let Alastor speak. He flips the position of their hands, leading him over to the opposite side of the room behind an opaque screen.

Alastor’s surprised with the transformation and how professional everything looks. The lighting is dimmed for the many candles and pleasantly scented sticks dotted around the sideboards. There’s a small sideboard with other scented bottles, some of which Alastor recognises as things Angel uses on himself. To top it off there’s a real massage table in the center of the space, and from the slight chemical smell the candles aren’t quite masking, it’s recently cleaned and ready for use.

“So, I’m trained. Like, properly. Val’s a piece of work but he let me train at one of Lilith’s spas for like a year. It’s mostly so I can entertain the big spenders who hire me out for a full night, ya know? I can show ya ma certificates if ya wanna check-” Angel walks over to the massage table, giving Alastor space, “Didn’t think of it beforehand since ya so funny about touch. But then I figured out that ya pretty chill when ya know someone is gonna touch ya, right?”

“Correct.” Alastor starts, clearing his unreasonably dry throat again, “But-”

“No, no buts.” Angel shakes his finger in front of his face, “Hear me out first then ya can say no, ok?.”

Alastor wants to run. Or rather, his instincts are telling him to. Surprisingly, his curiosity wins over primal fear for once.

“Alright,” He says after a shaky exhale.

Trying not to shiver at Angel’s widening smile.

“I’m offering because it’s something I’m good at. Like, really good. And If ya don’t mind me saying, ya so wound up all the time. I know we’re in Hell and ya got a lot of shit on ya plat but wouldn’t it be nice to just-” Angel gestures in the air, searching for the words, “Like, forget all that for an hour or two? I think it’s something I think ya will enjoy if ya give it a chance.”

“-I’m afraid that-”

“-Just take a minute to think about it-” He adds, “Just a minute. Please?”

The feeling that he needs to leave is growing by the second, but Alastor recognises what Angel is trying to do.

Despite keeping everyone at arm’s length Angel’s just as perceptive as he is.

The understanding he offers cements it further, so Alastor keeps his mouth shut before it runs of its own accord.

And actually considers the proposition.

A massage… doesn’t sound as terrible as he initially thought, actually.

When he was alive he’d actually indulged in the pastime on several occasions. He didn’t see the appeal at first, finding the idea of a stranger touching him rather untoward. But they became quite popular at the turn of the decade. By the time he died they were all the rage for those who could afford such luxury, becoming an almost expected part of high society that trickled down to the masses.

Due to his nefarious dealings outside the radio station, Alastor had to put himself in unpleasant situations just to get close to certain people. What surprised him was that despite his distaste at physical contact, he found massages quite pleasant. There were rules, patterns he could learn.

No expectations for anything more.

The masseuses he saw more than once actually enjoyed having him as a client because he didn’t try to push any boundaries.

Unlike the men he’d eventually kill.

They didn’t understand the meaning of the word no despite screaming it at him when he drove his blade into their tender flesh.

Alastor remembered their screams as if they were there in front of him, the memories never fading. Had it really been so long since he-

“Uh, ya ok there, Al?” Angel asks, his soft voice cutting through the fog in Alastor’s head, “Sorry, ya zoned out for a sec and got this really weird look on ya face.”

“I’m fine,” Alastor shivers when he notices Angel’s hand on his arm, “Another moment, if you would be so kind?”

With a nod, Angel backs off again.

It’s remarkable really. Just when Alastor thinks he has him pinned down he proves he’s even more empathetic than anyone gives him credit for. Alastor takes another breath, forcing himself to focus while Angel respectfully looks anywhere else.

While reliving his glory days probably wasn’t the wisest idea given the circumstances, it did offer him some perspective.

He couldn’t say he missed the relaxed feeling the massages gave him, but it was close enough. It would be different with Angel of course, but that didn’t have to be a bad thing. Angel was more than acquainted with his quirks and showed his willingness to accommodate that so many times in the past.

There was no point fooling himself into thinking it wasn’t without risk, though. He could hate it, it could put him in a vulnerable position, far too open to attack.

But the positives greatly outweighed those concerns the more Alastor thought about it. Even if things did go wrong in other ways, ways that could threaten their amicable relationship, they’d gotten past more awkward interactions reasonably swiftly. There was no reason to think that misunderstandings were going to be an issue again, not after all this time.
Alastor can even bring himself to admit all his strange internal reactions really are down to nerves now. Especially since they’re warranted. Even if he’s warming to the idea, it’s a lot to process.

But the lack of agenda. The opportunity to let go. Really let go. In as safe an environment as he was ever going to experience again...

“I accept.”

Angel’s eyes snap back to him, “What?”

“Your proposal,” Alastor tries to keep his voice steady over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, “It does sound like a perfect repayment. I accept.”

There’s another beat, one where Angel does a literal double-take.

“Wait, really? Ya not shitting me?” His eyes go wide when Alastor nods, excitement palatable in his wide eyes, “Sorry-I -Uh- gimme a minute.”

He turns away from Alastor without another word, shielding his face with one of his billowing sleeves. The moment doesn’t last long but Alastor’s heart pounds harder with each passing second.

It’s still just nerves, of course.

Nerves over what’s to come. And what could go wrong.

Nothing to do with the slivers of barely contained glee he can see all over Angel’s face.

Even when they don’t fully disappear when Angel turns back around.

“Ok, so. You’ll need to strip down. Unavoidable I know, but that’s why I got the screen.” He says, moving behind it so Alastor’s left alone in the makeshift parlor, “I’ll wait outside. Ya can use one of the towels here. Everything is like we do at the spa, so ya know I’m not trying t’ trick ya and-”

“Angel.” Alastor interrupts, hands moving to undo his tie in a show of mock confidence, “I understand the procedure. Would you mind locking your door while you wait?”

Angel gives him the biggest smile yet, “‘Course.”

With that, he disappears and Alastor is left alone to consider his choices.

It’s not too late to back out. It wouldn’t be too late even if he was laid on the table waiting for Angel to start, and he knows that. But Alastor has the sense to start stripping off before he can completely change his mind.

He takes his tie off first, then his jacket. He hesitates at the gloves, wondering if he should leave them on.

He decides he’d look even more…inappropriate stark naked with nothing but his gloves on, so he slips them off.

Removing his shirt is more of a mental battle so Alastor skips that for now, taking off his shoes and socks before removing his pants and folding them neatly on a nearby chair. His briefs are less of an obstacle when he figures out he can wrap the towel around himself before removing them. It’s an odd sensation to be next to nude in Angel dust’s room, but he does his best not to dwell on it any longer than he has to.

The problem is, now Alastor is left with just his shirt to go.

The worst of his scars litter his chest. Angel knows he has them. After seeing a few on his forearms he’d enquired, politely, how he got them considering their demonic healing. But seeing them is a different experience altogether. It’s not that Alastor is ashamed of them. They tell the tale of his misdeeds in life, perfect copies of the incisions he made on his victims.

Far better a legacy than any drearily written police report could paint.

No, Alastor dislikes his scars because of the unwarranted sympathy they garner from others. Additionally, each one comes with interesting sensations, making his demon far more sensitive than he’d ever been in life.

It’s one of the reasons he doesn’t allow anyone to touch him, and why he’s internally screaming at himself for even considering a massage.

But with a few more buttons slipping through his shaking fingers, he’s undressed. Fully nude except for the hastily tied towel around his waist.

Alastor secures it properly and takes a shaky breath in.

“Ready.”

He’s not.

As soon as the words leave his lips, his heart pounds hard enough to feel like it’s going to burst out of his chest. Angel pushes part of the screen open on his return and every worry Alastor has about the spider’s reaction vanishes when there isn’t even the slightest hint of repulsion on his face.

It’s not that he hasn't noticed. Angel seems momentarily stumped by the sight of him, but not in a bad way. Not slack jaw and wide eyes are anything to go by.

Alastor tries to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks, trying not to read anything too far into.

Even if it’s a huge ego boost.

Angel averts his eyes eventually, gesturing to the massage table before pulling at the tie around his waist, “If you just take a seat I’ll-”

“Wait!”

Angel pauses, hands stilling at his partially open robe.

“I understand why I need to be undressed,” Alastor starts, trying to explain his hesitation in the most delicate way possible, “But I don’t understand why that would be the case for your role?”

“Shit! Sorry, it’s not what it looks like,” He opens his robe a little more to reveal a matching bodysuit in the same shade, covering everything despite its racy design, “I’m keeping this part on.”

Alastor’s eyes become even wider, briefly flickering into dials.

There’s nothing wrong with what Angel’s proposing. Or rather, there shouldn’t be. But the sight of him in that red lace, showing everything and nothing at all… is appealing to him.

He doesn’t usually care for such things, but there’s something about the combination of it being Angel wearing that making it impossible for Alastor to tear his eyes away.

It’s alluring.

Titillating, even.

While he’s wondering if Angel has somehow managed to crank up the heat in his room, the spider takes his hesitation as a reason to elaborate further.

“This thing is pretty, but it’ll just get in the way.”

Angel waves one of the long sleeves in Alastor’s direction to prove his point, almost making himself laugh.
“‘Sides, I’m all about sensations. The fluff ain’t just for show, ya know?” He takes the robe off fully, running both pairs of his hands over his body to accentuate it in a way that has Alastor coughing to cover his feedback, “Trust me when I say this is my speciality, ya getting the full works.”

Again, Alastor freezes.

It’s not that he doesn’t want that. Angel’s painting far too tempting a picture, especially since he knows from accidental brushes just how soft the spider’s fur really is.

It’s more the fact that he wants it, without question, that’s causing these internal malfunctions.

One part of him sees no harm in indulging in something mutually beneficial, not used to denying himself anything at all. The rest is screaming at him to leave. For lack of a better phrase, he must look like a deer in the headlights. So much so that Angel looks just as conflicted when he approaches, tentatively taking Alastor’s hand into two of his own.

“Anything I do ya don’t like, just tell me and I’ll stop-” He says softly, lacking any hint of ill intent, “-but ya gonna give me a chance first, right?”

Mind made up, Alastor swallows the lump in his throat, “I suppose so.”

“Great,” Angel smiles, letting his hand go so he can hop onto the table, “I think you’ll like it more if ya lie face down. Will feel less awkward. Tell me when you’re ready, ok?”

With a nod, Alastor does just that.

It certainly doesn’t feel less awkward. At least, not at first. He spends a good few moments adjusting himself into a comfortable position with mediocre results. The table is comfortable enough, and there’s a small window for his face where he’s able to see Angel setting everything up, reassuring him that he's not completely blind to what’s going on.

However, making sure his towel is still sitting firmly above his tail is a little easier said than done. Especially while fighting the urge to swish it protectively from side to side. Alastor is halfway through trying to tell himself that Angel’s a professional, one who will surely be able to right anything discreetly if needed when an awfully wet sound filters into his overly sensitive ears.

“What in the nine circles was that?!”

“Massage oil.” Angel answers, moving closer.

Alastor takes a deep breath, “I see.”

A moment passes. Then two. He can one of Angel’s stockinged legs lightly tapping against the floor through the little window but not much else. He’s in the right position. Everything’s set up and yet he’s not doing anything. He’s just standing there...waiting.

The answer to what’s going on hits Alastor like a ton of bricks.

“Oh!” He starts, thankful Angel can’t see how heated his face is, “You can start.”

“Kay-” Angel exhales just as heavily, setting Alastor’s nerves back on edge, “Remember, Al. Anything ya don’t like, ya just tell me.”

Asking to stop completely is on the tip of Alastor’s tongue when one pair of Angel’s hands skim over his shoulders.

The touch is feather-light, almost to the point of making him question if it’s really there. They both know it is though. The atmosphere is far too charged to think otherwise.

Angel’s intent to test the waters slowly is obvious, and Alastor gradually relaxes. Angel’s exploration of his body is slow, and he stays in the same area on his upper back. There’s a moment where he brushes past a deep scar and Alastor does his best to suppress the shiver.

Immediately, Angel takes note of that, neither avoiding nor focusing on the area. Just gently running his fingers over it until the initial heightened sensation passes.

They’ve barely started and Alastor already knows agreeing to this wasn’t a mistake.

He manages breathing stays level when Angel increases the pressure, running his thumbs across the ridge of Alastor’s shoulder blades. He repeats the action several times, each touch a little firmer than the last.

On the third pass, Alastor relaxes enough for Angel’s thumbs to press into his taut muscles properly, searching for the knots. He finds a large one in the annex between the bottom of his shoulder and his spine and starts kneading it, working on warming the area up. It’s almost painful with how highly strung Alastor is, to the point where he thinks about making excuses for Angel to move on when he does the impossible.

Through a series of swift movements that Alastor can’t quite comprehend, he starts to feel the tension in that area unravel. Angel brings another hand into the mix, increasing the pressure until something shifts and the muscle completely unravels. Alastor can’t help gasping out of shock as part of his constant stiffness just melts away.

“Oh Angel that’s-” Alastor starts, eyes rolling when Angel rubs where the knot was, sending tingles of pure bliss all over his body, “-Oh.”

Angel spreads his fingers, convincing Alastor the tips of his claws are made of magic as they gently scratch his skin, “Good right?”

There’s a smirk in his voice, but Alastor doesn’t mind.

If he keeps pressing his fingers into his vertebrae like he’s got a detailed map of every ache in Alastor’s body etched into his brain, then he’s more than earnt the right.

“Quite fra-ah-nkly, my dear-” Alastor bites his lip, his ever-present smile dropping as a particularly deep ache is expertly smoothed out of his upper back, “Your skills are exceptional.”

Angel laughs under his breath, “Ya ain’t seen nothing yet.”

There’s not a moment to process before Alastor feels a second set of hands settle on his back.

Then a third.

It’s so rare for Angel to manifest his final pair of arms that Alastor almost forgot it was a possibility until this very moment. He gasps when they all start moving, unable to keep up with having the pleasant sensations multiplied several times over.

To his credit Angel doesn’t immediately overwhelm him. He keeps his hands moving at a similar speed, searching out any aching muscles and working them with practiced precision.

Where one pair of hands was enough to have Alastor sighing happily, he can barely contain his noises as his whole back is worked on. No spot is left untouched, anything sensitive or sore is given all extra care he could dream of. While he had briefly considered that Angel was exaggerating his skills as a means of persuasion, now he knows the spider was underselling himself.

Alastor’s body is expertly played like a finely tuned instrument until he’s practically melting into the table.

To say he’s enjoying every moment of it would be an understatement. There’s a problem however, one Alastor needs to solve if he wants to make it through this with any shred of his dignity intact.

Angel is almost too good.

The spider withdraws his top hands momentarily, the sound of the oil bottle sounding distant and faint. Alastor shivers when the warm hands return to rub down his arms, pressing into the nooks of his bones until Alastor arches into the touch. His lip is bleeding with how many sounds he’s trying to hold back, but when Angel’s middle hands skim over the scars littering his sides he’s forced to muffle his noises with the table instead.
One thing is for sure. Alastor’s never had a massage like this before.

It’s a little frightening how easily Angel can coax more reactions out of him. Before he got on the table the idea that he’d be squirming into the many hands on his body was incomprehensible. Not only that but he can’t control his reactions. His hair is standing on end with every pleasant tingle, not to mention the tail he will to stay perfectly still.

Either Angel hasn’t noticed or he’s choosing not to comment, but Alastor is pretty sure his towel has completely undone with the force of the damned wagging giving away just how receptive he is to every touch.

Even his noises have become impossible to hide. Alastor can muffle them but the frequency of shaky exhales and soft whimpers of bliss falling from his lips feel like they’re growing louder with each passing second.

Instead of withdrawing or questioning what he’s doing, the noises only seem to spur Angel on more.

Angel’s many hands spread out more, the two extremities working Alastor’s arms and thighs while his middle hands focus on steadily kneading his back. Every time he makes Alastor whimper or struggle not to arch into his touch, he repeats the action until he can’t keep anything hidden from him at all.

It’s almost like Angel’s seeking them out, doing everything he can to get those reactions.

Alastor’s first instinct is to panic, or at least ask him why he’s doing this. It’s on the tip of his tongue when the answer stares him in the face. His reactions are Angel’s way of knowing he’s doing a good job, so of course, he’s using them as a guide on where he’s ok to be touched.

It’s quite endearing, actually.

With that in mind, Alastor stops fighting so much. He still wants to keep everything reasonably controlled, but he doesn’t try to stifle every sound. When Angel kneads another knot around his ribs, he sighs heavily. When he rubs his shoulders in deep circular motions, he even lets himself groan as more tension melts away.

It’s nerve-wracking at first, and hard to hear anything over the pounding of his heart. But Angel seems pleased. He tries to do more, leaning over Alastor to reach every sensitive point he’s discovered. Every muscle Angel touches turns loose and supple, like there’s magic in the tips of his claws. If Alastor is being honest with himself, he’d almost grown used to the feeling of contrast stiffness. Like he’d convinced himself there was no other way to exist without that baseline of pain.

He can already tell that he’s going to feel like a new man by the end of their session and Angel seems nowhere near ready to stop.

As he contorts more, Alastor gets a taste of what Angel meant about certain things not being for show. With his body as sensitive as it is, he has to stifle an outright moan at the glide of sinfully soft fur across his upper back. With their position it doesn’t take long for him to realise he’s feeling Angel’s chest pressing into him, the fluff he boasts about sending waves of pleasure south as it brushes his skin.

Alastor tries to keep calm. Angel’s a professional, and he did say using his body was part of the package. It’s not like he can’t see the appeal, either. The contrast between the firm strokes of Angel’s hands and the light brushes of his fur is a feast of sensations he’s not sure he’ll ever have his fill of. When Angel’s breath tickles at his neck as he works the area, it’s another layer of bliss.

It sends shivers down his spine, settling at the base like a low simmering heat that grows with every unsteady breath. Alastor shows his appreciation with a heavy sigh that turns into a small gasp when Angel’s fluff tickles his shoulders.

The unexpected noise is far louder than he intended it to be, threatening to break the spell Angel has him under.

It’s then that Angel surprises him again.

After the pause, there’s a shift in atmosphere. Angel’s all around him at once, confusing Alastor in the hazy state he’s in until he feels a weight settle around his legs.

Angel has somehow climbed onto the table with him.

“This ok?” he asks, hovering above him as much as he can.

Not wanting to cross any lines without permission.

“Far better than ok, Angel,” Alastor laughs properly this time, shivering when Angel’s plush thighs settle around his own, “Please, continue.”

“Sure thing, Al-” Angel takes in a breath, running all sets of fingers down his sides before coming to rest on the edge of the towel, “Ya lower back is still really tight, so I’d like to move the towel down so I can-”

“-Whatever you need.” He interrupts, the rapid movement of his tail doing most of the work for them, “I trust you.”

Angel mutters something he doesn’t quite catch but it’s quickly eclipsed by him shifting down his legs and bringing the towel down with him. Alastor’s tail is fully exposed, as is the top of his behind. But, surprisingly, he doesn’t feel the rush of shame he expects. In fact, he’s struggling not to ask Angel to hurry along when a pair of warm hands settle on the small of his back.

“Kay, this might hurt, but-” He leans over Alastor until he’s practically whispering in his ear, “-I’ve got moves that’ll distract ya from the worst of it, ok?”

The soft noise Alastor makes is thankfully taken as an answer in the affirmative as Angel’s lower hands settle on the small of his back without hesitation. Those nimble fingers move in circular motions, finding the tension and working through it with ease. At the same time, he uses his other hands to stroke the rest of Alastor’s back, coaxing sensations he didn’t know were possible from such a light touch alone.

Angel’s warning about it being painful wasn’t unwarranted, however. Alastor had no idea he held so much tension in such a small area, but it feels like every inch of his lower spine is a minefield of compressed muscles and aching joints. Despite Angel knowing what he’s doing, there’s no avoiding the white-hot pain as his long digits try to work through the worst of it.

It hurts. It really does. But it’s anything but unpleasant.

While Alastor is enjoying the pleasurable sensations, the pain is something else. It scratches the itch he tries so hard to pretend he doesn’t have something fierce. He almost wants to ask Angel to stop handling him with so much care so he can feel the spikes of pain more, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Which is a mistake.

Angel presses his back with just the right pressure, making Alastor’s eyes water from the pain, until something inside him shifts. What blooms under Angel’s fingers as he eases him through it isn’t sharp, but it’s no less intense. It’s like a tidal wave of sensation crashing over every cell in Alastor’s body, crossing wires that have no business being entwined.

It hurts. It feels incredible. And he wants more.

Everything blurs at the edges as Angel continues working the area and Alastor loses part of his fragile sanity. The sensations are so intense, it’s disorientating. Sometimes it feels like Angel’s fully on top of him, that lithe body settling over his own. Other’s it’s like there’s only the ghost of him left.

At some point Alastor registers his noises climbing in volume, skating perilously close to outright moans. Of pain or pleasure, he can’t tell, but he doesn’t care. He’s fast becoming addicted to the dual sensations, so much so that his body is moving on its own accord.

Alastor is reduced to a writhing mess long before he realises he’s rhythmically rocking into the table. Even then, in such an altered state, it takes him far too long to realise why.

When Angel shifts up his body, incidentally pressing Alastor’s pelvis into the plush material, he freezes, choking on another moan.

He’s hard.

Unbelievably so.

Logically, it’s not unexpected. While Alastor is nowhere near virginal, every sexual experience he’s had in life and death could better be described as a means to an end. A way for him to get what he wants out of the other party or to quickly release tension through a mutual exchange. Even when it wasn’t unpleasant, Alastor often found himself rushing towards the end.

This is different. So very different. Alastor is experiencing a slow build of pleasure he can’t even come close to comprehending. He can’t think of anything worse than the end to this bliss.

But it has to end.

Angel’s meant to be giving him a massage, not pleasuring him beyond his wildest dreams. It’s not a sexual encounter either of them have consented to, and Alastor needs to get him to stop.

He swallows another moan when Angel’s thumbs slide down the curve of his spine, the sparks of desire now entwining with trickles of dread. It doesn’t stop his cock throbbing where it’s trapped between him and the table, nor the sticky feeling of slick dribbling from the head.

Angel sighs in that contented way that makes Alastor’s heart skip a beat, and he’s lost

It’s so wrong.

Angel’s hands slide up his sides, gently caressing him the way one would with a lover before the embrace turns passionate.

He needs to tell Angel the truth.

Angel’s warm, soft body is so close to his own, making Alastor whine with much he needs to feel every inch of Angel against his skin.

He can’t do this to him.

Angel sighs again, as his fingers dance around the base of his tail, igniting a fire deep in Alastor’s gut.

It would be so easy to flip their positions, to have Angel be the one writhing underneath him.

To see that beautiful face contorted in the pleasure Alastor could bring him.

No, what he needs to bring him. Angel’s ignited a lust inside him so strong it won’t be sated until he’s able to do the same in return. To have Angel begging for his touch, arching that perfect body against his until they’re both screaming in ecstasy and-

Angel’s lower hands reach his hips, wrapping around the protruding bones while pressing his thumbs into the small of his back.

It’s like being shocked with a live wire, the firms sending jolts of pure pleasure straight to his cock.

Unprepared for the onslaught, Alastor moans.

It’s not under his breath or able to be muffled by the table. It’s long, low and unbelievably loud.

When he finishes the tension in the room is stifling. The seconds they spend in suffocating silence stretch on for years. Alastor’s mortified at what he’s done, but it’s hard to take that feeling seriously with Angel’s softness still pressed into him. The spider’s chest is heaving with heavy breaths, and Alastor’s struck with an overwhelming need to know exactly what he’s thinking.

Angel is in shock, that one isn’t hard to decipher, but everything else is up for debate.

Is he disgusted?

Confused?

Afraid?

Just as turned on?

“Uh-” Angel says, tone unreadable, “I’m gonna get off, ok?”

No!

The weight of the situation Alastor has put himself in finally hits him like a punch to the stomach. He wants nothing more than to stop him, to tell Angel what he’s really feeling, damn the consequences.

He can’t.

Most of his thoughts are sludge, melding together behind the thick cloud of lust. All centered around Angel, of course. But despite fighting the animalistic beast inside him for control over his consciousness, Alastor knows he’s in the wrong.

The right thing to do would be to own up to what’s happening, but he feels far too out of his depth.

When Angel’s back on his feet, Alastor does what he always does in situations beyond his control.

He attempts to bluff his way out.

“My sincerest apologies!”

Alastor rolls onto his side, pushing himself upright while plastering the widest grin he can muster on his heated face.

“I must be feeling under the weather! Why, yes, what a strange sound!” He laughs, far too loudly, not looking in Angel’s direction for a single second, “Maybe a visit to the doctor could cure my ailments. Or perhaps I just need to lie down. Yes, I’ll be going now, let me just-”

He jumps to his feet, too quickly. With his mind clouded, Alastor’s reactions are far too slow to catch the towel as it slips from his waist and falls straight to the floor.

Exposing every inch of his naked body, and his blatant arousal, to Angel’s comically wide eyes.

“Holy fuck.” Angel whispers while turning the same shade as the lace bodice he’s wearing.

“It’s not what it looks like!”

It’s said through garbled feedback, made worse by Alastor trying to pick up the towel several times and failing as it slips through his fingers. Knowing he has limited time he gives up that endeavour to shield himself with his hands while clinging to any excuse he can muster.

“Ehehe, You see, Angel, my dear-” Alastor starts, ignoring the distortion in his voice as best he can, “I think… that my illness is far more serious than we initially thought! Yes, My body is currently malfunctioning and-”

“-Al.”

Angel’s voice is as soft as his fur, cutting through the fog with ease. Alastor stares with blurred vision as he comes closer, bending to pick up the towel for him. Having Angel this close is torture, and he’s mortified by the fact the proximity has him throbbing against his cupped hands.

Angel hands him the towel and it takes everything in him not to just throw himself at the other demon, civility be damned.

“Don’t panic. It happens.”

“It most certainly does not!” Alastor averts his eyes again, hastily placed mask cracking, “Not with me. Never with me!”

“Really, it’s fine.”

Angel smiles so genuinely, killing the denial on his tongue while his heart stops.

“-And don’t worry, it don’t change a thing between us.”

Only for it to shatter into a million pieces.

Alastor nods, not knowing what else to do as he tries to bury the brunt of the rejection. He bites back a hiss as he gathers the towel around his crotch, forcing a wider smile on his face.

It’s better this way.

He’s screaming at himself to walk towards the door without another word because deep down he knows it’s for the best.

So why is it so unbelievably painful to leave?

Angel regards him with a perplexed expression before placing a hand over his, his fingertips burning Alastor’s exposed hip.

“Unless…” He bites his plump bottom lip, somehow flushing even brighter, “You want it to?”

It’s like another shock, kickstarting Alastor’s heart back to full speed and then some. With all the whiplash he can’t find the words to say what he wants, but nor can he bring himself to say no. His fingers twitch uncontrollably, almost making him drop the towel. He doesn’t catch it completely, unintentionally exposing the base of his cock as it slips down.

This time, Angel doesn’t look away. His lashes lower as his gaze flicks downward, openly wetting his lips. When Angel looks back at him the initial shock has completely faded, leaving something more akin to what Alastor’s feeling in his face.

In a split second everything clicks into place. Angel stopped what they were on his account. He’s been trying to hold back, because he’s been trying to respect what Alastor asked of him all that time ago.

Alastor feels like the biggest fool in the entirety of Hell, but he can’t form the words around the lump in his throat.

Angel takes the leap for him.

“I’m only gonna ask once. So don’t bite my head off if I’m reading situation wrong here-” He pauses, rubbing slow circles against Alastor’s heated skin, “My first offer still stands if ya wanna-”

“-Yes.”

The lack of hesitation surprises both of them as the words leave his lips, but Alastor refuses to take it back.

Angel still looks conflicted, as if scared he’s going to frighten him away with one wrong move.

In a moment of unexpected boldness driven by the desire reigniting inside him, Alastor lets the towel drop back to the floor. He’s still hard, if not more so than before. With Angel still touching his hip, he hisses, letting that overwhelming lust wash over him.

Their eyes meet and Alastor’s whole body throbs.

A metaphorical switch is flicked the second Angel licks his teeth.

He pushes Alastor back on the table while a smirk spreads across his face, forcing his legs open with his lower hands. His fur tickles at the sensitive skin of Alastor’s inner thighs as he lowers himself down, wetting his lips again as he focuses his attention on Alastor’s leaking cock. He leans in, hot breath sending shivers down Alastor’s spine before he looks up at him through lidded lashes.

Alastor wants this. He wants it more than he ever thought would be possible.

But after what Angel’s just done to him everything feels completely imbalanced.

“Wait!”

It’s with more force than Alastor intends, to the point he cringes when Angel visibly recoils. He lets Alastor’s thighs go to lean back on his haunches, a million emotions swimming in those huge eyes before he settles on a resigned acceptance.

“If ya ain’t feeling it there’s no hard feelings. I know it’s a lot-”

“No, Angel-”

Alastor takes a steady breath as his ever-present smile slips.

“I want this. I want you. But I-” He pauses, taken aback by his voice being almost devoid of static, “You’ve already repaid me so It’s only fair if we make this a mutual exchange.”

He looks down at Angel, trying to answer his next question before he asks it.

“If you’re interested, that is?”

At that, Angel laughs so hard he makes Alastor jump.

“Are you kidding? I’m rock hard, Al. Have been since I got on the fucking table.”

Angel opens his snow-white thighs to reveal his own erection straining in the confines of his bodysuit.

It sends another pulse of arousal through Alastor as he’s flooded with images of them entangled, each salacious tableaux more enticing than the last. Angel catches him staring and attempts to close his legs, only to think better of it at the last second.

“Don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t gonna do anything, but-” He drops one of his lower hands over his crotch, openly palming his bulge, “Ya make the hottest noises, Al.”

The image of Angel kneeling in front of him does things to Alastor. Things he can no longer fully keep a hold over. Part of him wants to throw caution to the wind and ravish the beautiful creature kneeling between his legs. The other, thankfully louder part, doesn’t want to push his luck.

Angel’s experience dwarfs his own, and he isn’t keen to push himself even further out of his depth. Because if he plays his cards right, this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing.

“Well then,” Alastor mirrors Angel’s position, grunting as he wraps a shaky hand around himself, “If they please you, then I won’t be quiet for the duration of the evening.”

Angel groans, screwing his eyes shut as he bucks into his hand, “Fuck.”

It’s an even more arresting image than the one before. Despite his previous hesitation, it’s one Alastor can’t resist. His own hand moves of its own accord, giving him the relief his body has been seeking since Angel laid his hands on him. True to his word he doesn’t keep his mouth shut, letting all manner of things spill from his lips until Angel’s eyes snap back open.

He takes everything in while Alastor languidly strokes himself off.

“Fuck. After all this time? Saying shit like this and now ya fucking touching yerself for me?” He bucks into his own hand, pulling his bodysuit aside to reveal a pink and white cock, just as pretty as he is, “-I want ya so bad. Just- tell me to stop if I cross a line though, ok? I don’t-”

“-I think it’s quite clear we’re about to cross many lines, my dear.” Alastor interrupts, stopping Angel’s worries in their tracks before dropping down to the most seductive tone he can manage, “Don’t make me beg, Angel.”

It sounds so foreign coming from his lips, but it has the desired effect.

“Fuck, Al.” Angel whines, squeezing the base of his cock before jumping to his feet, “Ok. Bed. Now. Table ain’t sturdy enough for what I got planned.”

Alastor only just manages to dismount the table before Angel takes his hand and guides him over himself. His heart pounds with every step until he’s all but thrown onto Angel’s mattress. He doesn’t have time to panic over the reality of what they’re about to do when Angel catches his eye and winks.

The spider reaches over to his dresser, picking up another bottle of oil before squirting it all over his many hands.

“What are you-”

A wet finger slides over his lips as Angel invades his personal space. He straddles Alastor’s lap, the right way round this time, making them both moan when their cocks brush against each other. Alastor’s hands find Angel’s hips for a second, rolling them against him as they chase the sensation.

When his senses return, Angel is panting heavily. He momentarily looks just as far gone, but he recovers far quicker. Looking at Alastor with lidded eyes he pulls down his bodysuit, raises the oil bottle over his chest, and drips it onto himself.

“Well, I only did half a job, right?”

Angel finishes drizzling the oil onto himself and discards the bottle, pushing more of his bodysuit down until it’s bunched around his stomach. He moves two pairs of his hands towards his chest with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. This close Alastor can see every flicker of his expression as he circles his hands, absolutely hypnotised when his mouth drops open with a soft moan.

He can’t help rocking Angel against him again, wanting to be the one to cause every single moan from those beautiful lips. Angel lets him for a little while, clearly enjoying the glide of his cock against Alastor’s own.

But he has other plans.

“Lie back.”

Angel doesn’t let him get far before following him down, pinning Alastor’s hands to the bed with his upper arms. His other two pairs assault Alastor’s chest, repeating the same movements from earlier.

Only this time, neither of them hold anything back.

Alastor doesn’t stop himself writhing, not when every movement slides his body against the one pinning him down. He’s glad for the anchor of Angel’s hands holding him down as well as the weight across his thighs. And since he can’t move as much he’s far more vocal. Angel’s barely started and he’s already a mess of gasps and whimpers as his slick hands take him apart.

When Angel leans down to press his oiled chest against Alastor’s own, his cock jerks.

Angel takes it all in his stride, groaning himself as he bucks against Alastor’s quivering form. His touches take on an edge, more insistence and less precise but no less pleasurable.

Alastor would even go so far as to say it’s his favourite because he can feel how much Angel wants him. He’s not sure how he’s gone from worrying about Angel touching him at all to needing him to never stop, but he can’t get enough. When Angel drops lower he’s already moaning but his voice pops like an old radio when he unfurls his long tongue and licks across a particularly deep scar.

When the minx winks at him, Alastor almost loses the last shreds of his sanity.

It hangs on by a thread while Angel moves lower until he’s lying between Alastor’s open legs. Dripping the oil on himself should have made what he plans to do fairly obvious, but Alastor is too far gone to put two and two together until his soft chest wraps around his cock. The sound Alastor makes isn’t human but it still doesn’t come close to expressing the ecstasy he’s in.

Angel pushes his mounds of fluff together, enclosing Alastor’s cock as he moves them up and down.

It’s slick, hot, and unbelievably soft.

Alastor is instantly putty in his hands.

His hips leave the bed completely to meet Angel’s movements, eyes rolling as he claws desperately at the sheets. A hand comes to meet one of his own and Alastor clutches onto it, as if it’s the only thing grounding him to this plane of existence.

He’s sure this will be his undoing when Angel takes it one step further by wrapping his mouth around the head of his leaking cock.

“Angel!” Alastor cries, squeezing Angel’s hand as the other one tangles in his hair, “Angel- Angel- Oh- bon sang! Ne t'arrête pas, mon Ange!”

Angel pulls off him with a wet pop and only then does Alastor realise he’s slipped into his mother tongue.

“Didn’t get a word of that, babe, but I’m guessing ya liked it.” He sticks his tongue out, tasting the tip of Alastor’s cock, “Mmm, ya taste so good. Can’t believe ya been holding out on me this long.”

Alastor can’t answer, too lost in the feeling of rutting against Angel’s chest. He can feel a coiling in the base of his gut, telling him he’s far too close to his climax. It’s unsurprising with how worked up he is but he’s nowhere near ready for this to end. It takes a herculean effort for him to slow down, but the thought of returning the favour for Angel spurs him on.

Angel has a similar idea, only his execution is far more inventive.

“Ready for the next part?”

“Next?” Alastor starts before Angel turns himself around over Alastor’s body, planting his long legs on either side of Alastor’s head, “Oh. Oh, yesss.”

Angel’s not even fully seated before Alastor moves up to meet him kissing at the inner thighs that had driven him to insanity earlier. He’s rewarded with a heavy exhale on his own cock as Angel settles into place with a whine, his stripped cock bobbing heavily over Alastor’s face.

“I’d say watch ya teeth but…” Angel whines when Alastor bares said teeth around his thigh, growling into his flesh, “Fuck, I’m really into that. Just- just copy what I do, ok?”

“I’ll have you know I’m not completely ignorant, I’m-” Alastor chokes on his words as he’s swallowed him down to the root, “Angel!”

He feels rather than hears the deep chuckle with Angel’s voice muffled by his cock. Alastor gasps and bucks into the tight heat, mind unraveling as he struggles to breathe. He momentarily forgets what he’s meant to be doing before Angel shifts and his cock slides over Alastor’s open mouth.

Not wanting to be completely outdone, Alastor takes it into his mouth, whining as Angel’s sweet taste floods his senses.

It’s addicting. Rather than be repulsed by the amount of contact, Alastor can’t get enough. He takes more of Angel into his mouth while he runs his hands over his lower back. He yanks the rest of the bodysuit aside, tearing it, shivering when Angel moans. His hands find the ass he’s always been curious about touching after seeing it so often, kneading it to his heart’s content.

When Angel chokes on a moan around him and begins moving properly on his cock, Alastor’s sure he’s somehow ended up in heaven.

From there they quickly become a mass of writhing limbs and muffled moans. Alastor can’t fit as much of Angel inside his throat as he’d like to, paling in comparison to Angel’s skills. But his limited experience only means he has to get creative. He takes a leaf out of Angel’s book and listens to the slightest changes in the sounds he’s making to figure out what he enjoys the most.

Figuring out Angel’s into having his thighs kissed takes little to no time, having his ass grabbed and slapped only slightly longer. At one point Angel moves a little lower down his body, sucking his cock at a slightly different angle until he’s sure he’s going to lose his mind.

But the change in position also works to Alastor’s advantage.

He’s not quite sure what he’s doing but Angel looks far too pink and slick inside to resist. It’s obvious the spider has prepared himself, and the thought it’s for another demon sends an unexpected flash of jealousy through Alastor. He realises then and there that he wants Angel to be his, to be the one Angel wants to be with over anyone else.

And he has a good idea of how to entice him into coming back time and time again.

Alastor uses both hands to spread his cheeks apart before burying his face in Angel’s ass, pushing his tongue inside with a loud groan.

“Fuck, fuck! Al.” Angel moans loudly, rocking onto his tongue as he uses one of his lower hands to jerk himself off at the same time, “Keep going. Holy shit, that’s so fuckin’ good.”

The praise is just as addicting as making Angel squirm. He does as requested, opening Angel up with his tongue while moaning into his flesh. Angel keens, gripping everything he can reach with any spare hands he has. Remembering what Angel said Alastor momentarily draws back, biting the meat of Angel’s ass until he screams. He gives the spider no time to recover, immediately sticking his tongue back inside until Angel’s a babbling mess.

His upper hand can only last so long though.

Angel keens and curses under his breath before drawing back and taking Alastor down to the root. He hollows out his cheeks as Alastor moans into him, squirming until he’s able to swallow rapidly.

It’s too much too fast and Alastor hurtled to the edge with record speed. He taps Angel frantically, trying to get his attention until he pulls back.

“Fuck, ya gonna come, babe?”

It’s said while Angel continues to work his shaft with one of his soft hands, teasing the tip of his cock until has to pull back to sink his teeth into Angel’s other cheek, instinct completely taking over his already fogged mind.

“I’m close too. Go back to sucking my dick, ok? Take in as far as ya can and just-” Angel moans loudly when Alastor switches, doing what he asked, “Oh shit, that’s it! Fuck, fuck!”

Angel’s cock jerks in his mouth, almost choking him, but he forces himself to keep it inside. He sucks just as Angel’s lips close around his length. While it feels amazing, Alastor is certain it’s the act of doing this to each other at the same time that throws them both over the edge.

Alastor spills first, hitting the back of Angel’s throat with an animalistic whine. Angel whines around him as his hot load paints his vocal cords, not spilling a drop. The release allows more of Angel’s cock to slip into Alastor’s own throat. He moans at the accomplishment, hands digging into the meat of Angel’s ass to encourage him to grind on his face.

When Angel comes it’s with a low groan that sends tingling sensations all over Alastor’s softening cock. He can’t swallow it all but he does his best, moaning himself as Angel’s spend dribbles down the corners of his mouth.

The bliss is a little short-lived when he starts gasping for air, but Angel has enough of his senses to dismount and swing his body next to Alastor’s side.

“Shit! Sorry, Al. Got carried away- That was just so-” He’s cut off when Alastor grabs him, flipping him onto his back, “Woah!”

There’s a second where Alastor’s not quite sure what he plans to do, but the answer becomes obvious when he sees some of his seed glistening on Angel’s lips.

He dips down, crashing their lips together in a bruising kiss that completely steals his breath away.

It’s filthy. Not something he should be doing after those activities. Certainly not an appropriate first kiss. Alastor doesn’t care. While what they’ve just done has eased the immediate tension between them by sating their carnal needs, the kiss ignites something different.

Something deeper.

Alastor can feel the hunger there, one that he recognises from his other cravings. Angel opens up for him, both of them moaning when they taste themselves on their tongues. It’s just as addicting as everything else about him, and Alastor already knows he’s hooked.

When they part, and Angel looks up at him with glittering eyes he can tell the feeling is mutual.

“Fuck.” he pants softly, completely lost, “How the fuck can that feel this good?”

“My sentiments exactly,” Alastor says softly, pulling one of Angel’s hands up to place a kiss against the back of his knuckles, “Remind me to become indebted to you more often, Darling.”