Archive of Our Own ^beta

Never in all his long life had Alastor anticipated calling himself a cuddler.

He was fully aware that much of his touch aversion could be blamed on an outright pathological need for control. Control of those around him, certainly, but control of himself and his own circumstances above all. He did not like the way others' electromagnetic fields fuzzed into his own when invading hands closed the circuit of skin, leaving the texture of themselves behind like a residue even after he had broken it off.

Unsolicited touch was, to his knowledge, the only means that remained of infringing on his agency. He had sworn to make himself so powerful that he could never be held beneath another's boot again, and made good on that promise. But goodness gracious, remaining always in control could be exhausting - and like the man himself, Angel's bioelectricity was soft and warm.

The spider also had a tendency to sleep shirtless - or at least he had done so since Alastor had begun regularly spending the night. Angel was well-aware how much he liked having free access to his boyfriend's bosom, the fluffy euphoria of which he was currently mushing his face into, rubbing back and forth occasionally with his cheek.

Though asleep, Angel was still holding him there by the back of his head, wrapping his emaciated body up in a pleasant cage of strong, slender limbs. He could hear Angel's blue-blooded heart beneath his ear, regular as a metronome, and smell the cozy hormones saturating a scent too often plagued by the tartness of cortisol.

It was the texture of him that Alastor adored above all, though. The way Angel shivered and sighed when Alastor trailed his fingertips through pale, freckled fur, or smoothed it back down with the palm of his blackened hand. The sensory stimulation tickled an itch in his brain he would otherwise be unable to reach except with an orbitoclast, and it made him want to keep on touching, anytime he had this man in arm's reach. And Angel liked being petted to sleep, glutting himself on the affection he had been starved of for so long.

No one who knew of him would ever believe Alastor could be still long enough to spend an entire night watching over a sleeping man, but they didn't know just how engaging the watching could be. Alastor hadn't realized he needed this time set aside for rest. This quiet space to decompress on a regular basis, which made the overstimulation inbetween more bearable by far.

What surprised him was that it was valuable to the both of them. He hadn't believed Angel at first, when he said he slept better when he could hear the low babble of radio interference that accompanied Alastor's perpetual tuning, but indeed, it never seemed to take him long to doze off once he set his mind to it. It didn't necessarily mean he could stay asleep, when night terrors born of lifelong trauma prowled in all the dark corners of his fascinating mind - but Alastor was learning how to handle those, too.

He was coming to think of himself as a guard dog of sorts, whose wakefulness had a purpose. Alastor was a sleepless abomination curled around Angel to ward off dangers in the night, eyes unwinking as all-seeing Argus so that Angel could afford to shut his own. He could wake his darling when the nightmares overtook him, and Angel could not harm him if he lashed out, nor frighten him by breaking down. At long last, he did not have to be embarrassed or ashamed to fall apart.

And Alastor was proud of it. Of this newfound ability to be neither predator nor parasite, but a symbiote nurturing the gracious host from whom he stood to gain so very much.

Loathe as he was to admit that this hotel had effected any improvement in his behavior - for that would be admitting improvement had been needed - he would be a bald-faced liar to claim that he didn't feel...a tad more stable than he had, say, a year ago. Fewer episodes of rage, fewer manic, morbid urges to self-mutilate. When he was violent, and he WAS, it was a conscious and joyous choice almost every time.

It got a tad easier, when one thought of self-improvement as a font for ego. Of all the narcissists and psychopaths inhabiting this writhing cesspool of wretched souls, how many had the endurance, the cleverness, the grit and power to submit themselves to the trials necessary to become a "better" person?

Better. That was the word. Not as in "good," but superior, for he was proving himself a cut above all others of his type, whose fatal flaws led them to ignominy and ruin while he rose from the ashes of himself. A greater threat than ever before, simply because he was becoming self-aware.

Really, the effort had been worthwhile just to finally see Carmilla's eyes widen when he gaily conceded that he pouted over her disinterest because he was a snotty little showboat who craved attention. Not a single Overlord seemed to know what to do with him freely cackling over his own foibles, and ripping the rug out from under them was making for great fun at meetings. He did so hate to be predictable.

Angel's chest inflated slowly beneath his cheek, flickering pink chromatophores pulsing in time with his dreams, then the spider heaved a deep sigh and slipped a hand up the back of Alastor's nightshirt to touch the warm spot at the base of his knobby spine. Alastor eased his head back just far enough to peer up at Angel through his lashes, the glow of his eyes lighting the soft curves of the spider's face in lurid orange tones.

Stunning. Like the fey and lovely youths of Caravaggio as interpreted by Hieronymous Bosch, monstrous and breathtaking at once. Botticellian lips and eyelashes like frosted glass. One little tooth poking out, razor-tipped and gleaming gold.

Angel murmured something in his sleep, then gave a loose-limbed wriggle as he scooted back to roll away from the infernal heat radiating from Alastor's chest. Alastor reached out to delicately peel the sheet down to the spider's waist, freeing him to the cool, open air, and again Angel sighed.

Alastor loved that sound. He loved this view, too. The poof of Angel's mantle around his freckled shoulders, and the way the lighting cut out in sharp relief the iron muscle bunched between them. Long, supple back; little waist and trim hips; all of those arms, and the complex anatomy of ligaments and bone from which he would peel back the skin to see if only it would not cause his beloved unbearable pain.

He had seen enough spider demons flayed that he did not need to satisfy his curiosity: he simply wanted to worship Angel in all his nakedness. To drink his blood like consecrated wine - not to lees, but only as much as his little god found him worthy of, gifted gladly to his most besotted acolyte.

And he wanted Angel to take tribute in return. Lay him upon the altar and cut him open like a sacred hind, then eat of him to satisfy needs both brutal and divine. The idea that this gangly cadaver of a body could nourish so brilliant a star - could be chosen above all others to do so - was an excitement so pure and uncut that he wanted to start ripping out patches of his own scalp just to do something with the feeling. He would do so much worse to himself if it meant he could share the company of this radiant creature for just one more day.

It was at this point that Alastor lifted the blanket and looked down at himself to the befuddling realization that he was pitching a tent.

The moment he began paying attention he became aware of his penis, feeling heavy and engorged where it rose between his legs. The floaty feeling in his chest that he knew to come from love turned below the waist into a delicious tingle, pulsing out from his groin to his belly and inner thighs. But where the pulses originated, he was starting to feel a heady throb, continuously reminding him that it could feel even better. All he needed to do was touch.

The feeling was so bizarre and unfamiliar that he froze, completely unsure of what to do. Alastor wasn't accustomed to seeing himself fully erect - he tended to close his eyes when he tried to masturbate - and in an absurd turn of events he actually found himself daunted by his own size, straining against the fabric of his briefs.

Despite his sudden ambivalence, he had to stifle a loud ha! when he realized he now understood the joke Angel had made about his more monstrous form. A grower, not a shower.

Angel, who was still fast asleep beside him, dreaming untroubled dreams. Angel who was still breath-taking, hair fanned across the pillow and face lax so that his lips lay parted, pink freckles and pale eyelashes dusting his cheeks. He lay on his back with one primary arm thrown over his head, the other hand curled demurely at the base of his throat, while the second set rested on his long abdomen. The sheet obscured all but the shape of him from the waist down, teasing Alastor with only the suggestion of those marvelous thighs, to be filled in by a fevered imagination.

But Angel's position was pushing his bosom out so proudly he need use no imagination at all, plush and shapely as it rose and fell with Angel's breathing. His markings were perfect, swooping to emphasize the sultry impression of soft, full breasts. The femininity, and then the anticipation of the flat plane of lean, sharply-defined muscle he would find when he plunged his fingers through that fluff to fondle a masculine chest. The sensual curves of his buttocks and thighs, then that long, vibrant cock and the dizzying musk, an aesthetic feast at which he was permitted to taste of every dish at once-

Alastor gasped, squeezing his thighs together as his pelvic floor involuntarily clenched, birthing a sweet pressure on some small spot inside of him that radiated to his aching cock. When the pressure let go Alastor sucked in another sharp breath, then covered his mouth with one hand, eyes darting over to see if he had woken Angel.

He hadn't, but Alastor's heart was racing at the idea that he could have. He breathed in through his nose, then lifted the blanket again and realized with a hot wash of embarrassment that a wet spot had appeared on the front of his boxers. It was so titillating when it had happened to Angel, but for him to...

When Alastor masturbated, he had always begun either semi-aroused or completely flaccid and worked himself to hardness, or failed to, from that point. He had never gotten himself this far without rigorous effort and focus. Now all he had done was think, and he had put himself in such a state that he almost felt he needn't touch himself at all to-

...But he wanted to. It was the feeling he had tentatively classified as physical lust: that urgency, the sense that he actually needed relief. He wanted to touch himself. It was just as daunting a realization as it had been the first time.

He glanced at Angel again, furtively, like he thought he was doing something wrong. That was ridiculous, of course. Even if Angel were to wake, his darling would never mock him for something like this. He would likely approve, might tease him in that gentle, affectionate way, and praise him for being brave and good.

What- what if he really did? What if Angel did wake, and caught him with his hands under the covers, jerking himself with all the finesse of a teenager? What would he do?

He felt cold and hot at once, embarrassment washing out from his breastbone and the bridge of his nose, immediately followed by a breathless, swooping thrill. Alastor swallowed, dry-mouthed.

Perhaps Angel would tell him to keep going. Heavy-lidded eyes sparkling and don't let me stop you murmured huskily in the dark. He might say I wanna see you, Smiles - wanna see you touchin' yourself fa me. Alastor would be unable to help himself, completely bewitched, and Angel would be aware of his awesome power as Alastor started to tug clumsily on his cock. Maybe-maybe he would tell Alastor what to do, direct Alastor's indulgences for his own pleasure-

That involuntary clench happened again, and this time Alastor's knees jerked up, toes curling in his socks while his body squeezed around that same bright place in the cradle of his pelvis. That would be the prostate, then, he thought in a disconnected way as a full-body shiver made him sigh. He had of course heard all about its supposed sexual virtues - he lived in Hell, for Heaven's sake - but one never knew to what degree these things were exaggerated until...

Alastor squeezed his cock through his underwear, clapping his other hand back over his mouth. He palmed experimentally at the bulge of his erection and felt his eyelashes flutter. Being fully-aroused made that first touch so satisfying, a flush of relief as his body realized it was going to get what it needed. He was not used to having to repress moans or cries while doing this, and one almost escaped him before he knew it was coming.

The loss of control was a little disquieting. It was one thing to be reduced to a helpless, whimpering mess by Angel - there was a narrative to that - but to simply let himself be controlled by his own desire was anxiety-inducing. He wanted to touch himself, he wanted to orgasm, but he did not want to surrender to what it would take to get him there. Not alone.

He wasn't alone, though. Angel was still there in his fantasy, watching him hesitate, reassuring him again that it was okay to let go. Saying I got you, baby and there's my guy. Angel had rolled onto his side, languidly draped along the length of the bed in his mind's eye with chin propped in one hand, its mate resting casually in the dip of his waist while he watched. And he was so beautiful.

Alastor squeezed himself again, then made a decision. He couldn't wait any longer.

Alastor slipped his hand under the waistband of his briefs and wrapped his fingers around the girth of his cock, experiencing the touch of skin like a static jump. He immediately stroked up the length of his penis and squeezed his eyes shut, whining softly behind his hand. The friction was good, good, making him throb eagerly in his own hand, telling him to continue.

It was difficult to stimulate the head of his penis with his boxers in the way. Without further thought, Alastor turned aside the blanket and pulled his undergarments down from waist to thighs. His cock bounced when it sprang out of his waistband, and Alastor's entire face drew into a smiling grimace as he tried, tried so hard not to make a sound.

Nothing bad was going to happen if Angel caught him. Alastor knew that. He was not...afraid, precisely, but rather-

Oh, but it was so exciting, the anticipation of that burst of flustered embarrassment - the emotional vulnerability, the total helplessness of not knowing what to do. And then the rush of Angel rolling on top of him and taking control - taking it, someone finally taking that weight off his crooked back like Heracles shouldering the burden of weary Atlas, and the spiritual lightness that came with the relief of that pressure.

The idea of not knowing when it would happen. Of being restricted to a pace that would not shake the bed, forced to stifle himself so as not to be caught. He still might be, wanted to be, but oh, it was so much more thrilling to let the chips fall where they may. Like a game, a little game, adding stakes to an already intense new experience.

Alastor again took hold of himself by the base and stroked out to the tip of his cock, his dry grip almost strong enough to be painful, and when the crown bumped against that tight ring, resisted, then popped through he felt as though he might truly lose his mind. The effort not to buck his hips was making his legs shake.

What would Angel do to him next? Perhaps make good on a promise to have Alastor rut again his thigh, so grateful even for that - for anything, anything Angel cared to give him. He would feel Angel's breath on the sensitive fluff inside his ears, and his beloved would talk to him, praising and guiding and teasing him, undoing him with words alone.

You like that, baby? Lookit you gettin' yourself all ready for me. You just couldn't wait, couldja, greedy boy?

Greedy, yes, he was so greedy, but he wanted to be a good boy, wanted to be good for Angel, and he would say so. Angel would say you're bein' so good, big buck. Showin' off fa me like this, makin' yerself feel good. I'm real proud'a you-

Oh, that was the ticket, that last part, making him dig his heels into the bed and elevate his hips as much as he dared. It-it made the stroking better, the way the muscles in his pelvis squeezed when he did it, and it made him want to start bucking into his hand to maintain the pressure, to jostle whatever it was that felt so good until it felt even better.

But he couldn't. Not without waking Angel. He already had to touch his cock more slowly than he now wanted to, long pulls and inexpert attempts to circle the head with his thumb, and he was left squirming in place, trying to chase something delicious that was being denied him, but unable to overtake it.

He wanted it faster, harder, but he had already heard the headboard creak once and he simply couldn't risk it. He turned his head to look at Angel again, and for a moment his heart launched itself into his throat, because Angel was now laying on his side as he had been in Alastor's fantasy.

But not awake. One of his arms was curled under the pillow, the other primary hand snuggled up under his chin where his face half-turned into the bedding, and all that was visible of him above the blanket was the long, downy expanse of his snow-white back, stopping just above his secondary shoulders. His bust was pressed into the sheets, pushed up by indrawn arms into a voluptuous spill of softness, and Alastor felt the throb all the way to his core. That one primary eye, softly shut, long eyelashes on a cherubic cheek. Marvelous, marvelous.

The ache just behind and above his balls was growing intolerable, like an itch he couldn't scratch no matter how he squirmed. His body could not apply the kind of pressure he needed to feel what it was promising him, and continuing to stroke himself only made the...the absence more insistent.

He needed something inside of him. The thought hit Alastor hard, another overwhelming wash of irrational embarrassment that somehow managed to resolve into an anxious eagerness he didn't fully understand. He felt empty, suddenly aware of a space that wanted to be filled, the one that tensed up when his fantasies overtook him.

He- needed to know. To find out. It was one thing to want this emotionally, but quite another to have such a strong physical urge. There was a puzzle before him; did he truly intend to just leave it there unsolved?

It was alright, he reasoned as he dared to remove the hand covering his mouth, reaching down to try to massage his perineum as Angel had done in the past. He knew now what that feeling had been, what he was looking for, but he encountered the almost immediate frustration of trying to find the angle that would trigger that feeling. Angel had made it seem so easy.

His claws were in the way, and he could not reposition himself enough to reach around from behind. It took an embarrassingly long time for it to occur to him to shield his fingers with shadow as he had done for Angel, but even once he did that perfect pressure eluded him. He felt the beginnings of it in fits and starts as he pushed his fingertips up into the tension behind his sac, but the moment he let the world go out of focus his aim would shift and he'd lose it again, right when he was starting to enjoy it. It was maddening, and the multitasking required to keep working his cock during all this fumbling was making it impossible to relax.

Alastor was suddenly possessed by the anxiety that his orgasm would slip out of reach as it so often did. He would hit that spot just right, for just a moment, and it would be just enough - and then he would miss it again and it would all be over before he could reposition, just a weak little tingle that left him feeling cheated and unsatisfied.

Alastor grunted. Eyes screwed shut, it did not occur to him to stifle it. The sensations were all getting more abstract as the anxiety rose and started turning the feelings sour, and Alastor whined softly, jerking just a little faster to try to keep the pleasure alive.

He was used to this problem, but somehow it felt so much more dire this time. He was being forced to contend with the frustrating recognition that he did not know his own body. That he had let others shame him out of taking full ownership of it.

One could not be really asexual if one enjoyed masturbating, after all. One had to shrink from the very concept of sexual pleasure like a vampire from a crucifix, for pleasuring oneself was merely the poor man's substitute for sex, wasn't it? And wasn't he really just repressed? Was he quite certain?

Blast it, why shouldn't he enjoy physical pleasure on his own, for its own sake, simply because it felt good and this body was his to do with what he would?

Just another way to try and catch him in a lie, Alastor reflected, brow tense as he tried to stimulate the head of his cock and push his pelvis down onto his fingers at the same time. He ached inside and he could not reach it.

Would he be able to find it if he penetrated himself? Alastor gasped, trying to picture it, his fingers sliding home right where he needed them on the first try, but he was somehow absolutely sure that he would just end up bungling that too. There was so much more to this than he had thought, and he could not do it on his own.

He felt like a failure. It was absurd and irrational but he was too overwhelmed to be rational, and all he could think about was that he was one hundred-and-twenty-two years old and he did not know how to give himself an orgasm.

It was at this point that Alastor finally recalled his surroundings, and he realized that Angel was awake.

Throwing his head to one side to see those eyes, wide open and locked on him, was nearly more than Alastor could bear. The awareness of Angel's gaze hit him with a shock, every inch of skin electrified, and everything was suddenly so much more intense that he could not let go of himself.

Angel's musk infiltrated his mouth like a cheeky guest unannounced, and at once he was all but drowning in it. The awareness of Angel's arousal, the jolt of noticing the way Angel was rolling his hips under the comforter, subtly grinding his crotch into the mattress as he watched.

Alastor heard himself keen a plaintive, oh, yes, when he felt the pervasive grip of anxiety come up short, then start to loosen its hold. Angel was here. It didn't matter if he could do this alone, because he did not have to.

"Please..." Alastor whimpered, still fruitlessly rocking his hips into the beggar's portion of pleasure his fingers could give him. "Please, I, I need...I don't know how and I..."

Angel's chest was rising and falling rapidly, visibly breathless, and he had fisted two hands in the sheets with knuckle-popping force. There was a moment just before the spider spoke when his expression opened up on an excitement that was manic, wild, nearly unhinged. The ease with which Angel fit all that energy into a skin of soothing dominance went straight to Alastor's cock. It felt as if he had just caught a glimpse of Angel more naked than he had ever been.

"Aw, honey," Angel murmured in that gentle, nurturing way that Alastor was starting to recognize as part of a character - one that Angel was slipping into eagerly like a favorite set of lingerie. "You don't know how t'fuck yourself? Is that it, baby?"

Alastor could finally, finally moan without reserve, and he had been holding it in so long that it came out louder than he expected. "Ohhhh goodness, when I think about it there is this- this feeling, and I ca-aan't-"

"Kinda achy and empty, right?" Angel purred, laying a hand in the center of his heaving chest and starting to trace scintillating patterns into the skin with the tips of his claws. "Feelin' that place where somethin' oughta be and startin' t'think about what it'd be like, all stretched out an' full. Gettin' all needy and frustrated 'cause your body just feels so ready for it..."

Angel's secondary hand slipped in to flatten over the knots of scar tissue on his lower belly and press, into the soft spot just above his groin. What his fingers were pushing on from below Angel's palm was pressing back down, and Alastor's head dropped back as his legs jittered against the sheets, because it was true, it was all true. Angel always knew, always had the words to tell him what he was feeling, that they weren't in unfamiliar territory at all.

"Poor guy." Angel scooted in to kiss his sweaty temple, and he did start murmuring sweet devastation in Alastor's ear, just as he'd imagined. "You really worked yourself up, didn't'cha? Bet you had to take it real soft 'n slow so I wouldn't catch wise. How long you been at this without me, sweetheart?"

"I don't- oh, I don't know, Angel, please," he cried. "I can't find it, whatever you did, I just- can't- Ridiculous!"

Angel was now, for all intents and purposes, giving him the belly-rub he had been cracking wise about for some time. His hand was under Alastor's nightshirt, palm reassuringly pressed into the most hideous parts of his maiming, and- and it was okay. Self-consciousness was a phantom floating voicelessly in the margins of his addled mind, unable to touch.

"Shhh. S'okay, big buck," Angel was murmuring, cupping his cheek with one hand. "I know what you need - and I can be real generous. You need me t'fill you up, sugar?"

"Fuck me," Alastor gasped, at his wit's end. This was all very hot, but he had spent so much time in this heightened state of arousal that it was growing uncomfortable. "Please, fuck me, fuck me, I want-"

Angel's secondary hand slipped between his legs and brushed his shaking hands aside. The gratitude when Angel took control of his pleasure was unbelievable.

"How you wanna be, baby?" Angel asked, starting to stroke and massage the muscles trembling in his inner thighs. "We could do this on yer back, yer belly - maybe let me fuck ya from behind so you can hide yer face in the pillow if you're shy..."

Angel was deliberately ignoring his cock, and the brief crush of tension that came with imagining any of that made him yip, feeling like a man who found himself approaching the summit of a roller coaster that had looked significantly smaller from the ground.

"Ba-back, on my back," Alastor replied as soon as he had two brain cells to rub together. "I need to see your face."

"Missionary's my favorite when I want things real intimate," Angel said, flowing across his straining lap to insinuate himself between Alastor's legs. Alastor raised them eagerly when Angel took hold of his thighs, letting the man strip his boxers and move him around like a ball-jointed doll with an unbearable erection. "You'll love it, can't beat the classics."

Missionary. The image of a man bowed in worship. Another enclosed for confession, purified through self-surrender. He was far too pretentious to be allowed to wax poetic on anything this easy to hyperbolize. Another ten minutes and he'd have blasphemed every religion he knew, from Scientology to the Esoteric Order of Dagon.

"C'mere, scoot down so you ain't on the pillow," Angel urged him with two hands on his skeletal waist, and Alastor did, pulse thudding in his throat like a rabbit cornered by the fox - and happy to see it. "Yeah, now lift those hips for me, will ya? I'm gonna prop you up a bit so we got a better angle for you."

Angel had picked up the pillow Alastor was no longer using, and he now wedged it under Alastor's lower back, elevating his pelvis. The angle prompted his legs to bow wider apart, and Angel was kneeling between them like he owned the place, taking a moment to stretch out his supple back and fluff up his hair like an egret in the mating bower. Somehow the most devastating part of the whole display was that, despite Angel's best efforts, he was still suffering an advanced case of bedhead.

"Usually I'd be tellin' a first-timer t'do this on their belly, 'cause it's easier t'relax right so it don't hurt," Angel said, raking his bangs back from his face to look down at Alastor with dark, sultry eyes, his cadence smooth and informative despite the bulge Alastor could now see filling out his pajama shorts. "But you ain't exactly gonna mind a little pain, are ya?"

Angel's natural lubricant had already darkened the fabric of his shorts. It occurred to Alastor that that cock was preparing itself to enter him, and the lights flickered on and off in time with his fluttering eyelashes.

"Yes, -I mean, no, no, not at all, I want-" Alastor started babbling, and frankly he was lucky he could do even that. "I want it to hurt. I want to bleed, I want to feel every inch of where you have been the entire day as I heal. I understand you- that you are more than capable of not- but-but you needn't be careful, I w-ant it, I want it so badly-"

"Yeah, there ya go," Angel cooed, stroking his twitching flanks as though he were soothing a skittish horse - and he was certainly planning to mount something. "Slow it down, sweetheart. You don't gotta be embarrassed. You're sexy when yer figurin' out what you like, and I wanna hear it all."

"You are so very good at hurting me," Alastor blurted out to that end, hooking his ankles around Angel to keep him from flitting away like the siren the man must surely be, to bewitch him so. "And-and caring for me, I love it when you talk to me this way, this-...Teaching me, not mocking me for what I don't already know."

"God, you don't even know how hot this is fa me," Angel moaned, letting his own eager devastation crack the face of the soft, doting domme. It came out quickly when he said, "'Fact that I got somethin' I can teach you, and it really matters. And you're trusting me t'do it. Like, I gotta think all the way back, really take this shit from the top. Kinda makes it new again, y'know?"

The warmth that exploded in Alastor's chest and the heat that flared in his belly met in an estuary of desire for this man, and he whined, "Oh, Angel, please-"

"Okay, okay," Angel conceded, giggling with something approaching glee. "Just gimme a sec, lemme get some stuff we're gonna need. Stay just like this, yeah?" Alastor's legs had closed to frame Angel's waist, but Angel pushed them back apart now so that Alastor's desperation was on full display. Alastor saw Angel's pupils dilate, watching in a daze as the spider licked his teeth. "All spread out an' ready fa me. Fuck, you're hard as a rock, look at that monster..."

Alastor whined again, covering his brightly-glowing face with both hands when he found himself starting to hump the air in short, disjointed thrusts. "Hurry, please hurry..."

"So fucking hot, oh my god," Angel croaked to himself as he crawled far enough across the bed to open the top drawer of the nightstand. Alastor turned his head and watched as a series of objects hit the bedspread: hand towel, a tube of what was presumably lubricant, packets that he supposed might be moist towlettes, and a string of packets that were most definitely condoms. The mental image of Angel rolling one on for him made Alastor's toes curl.

"May-may I please touch myself while I wait?" Alastor asked in a rush, for his cock was aching abominably, and perhaps he might be able to bear the worse ache inside for a little longer if he could only-

Angel was staring at him, his eyes again possessed by that nearly-feral excitement, and this time there was an air of calculation, too. Sliding into a vicious grin, the spider told him, "No." When Alastor whimpered he leaned in on one arm and, bosom gloriously presented, he added: "You just lay there an' think about what you're feelin'. How goddamn hard that dick is, how heavy yer balls are. How it feels when ya clench down on yer sweet spot - hard as you can, but it ain't ever hard enough, right?"

As Angel said all this he began sliding the fingertips of his topmost right hand into pink silicone sheaths that covered them to the second knuckle, rounding off and cushioning the ends of his claws. By the time he stopped talking Alastor had one hand locked in a crop of his own hair, the other gray-knuckled in the sheets, because holding on to something was the only way to keep his hands from wandering. He was so aware of himself, so much energy pent up inside with nowhere to go.

"I'm prob'ly not gonna make you bleed this time, babe," Angel said as he crawled back between Alastor's quivering legs, running his hands up both from shin to flank while he settled on his haunches. "Not by fuckin' you, anyhow. I wanna do this first one slow, give you the real VIP experience. We can get funky once you know how gettin' fucked right oughta feel."

Oh, that was fine, it was, he just wanted to be closer, so close he could scarcely tell their bodies apart-

"But tell you what, baby boy," Angel growled, trailing his fingers down the crater of Alastor's stomach to stop just shy of his penis where it strained against his lower belly. "I'm gonna give you a good hard bite once I'm in you. I ain't gonna tell you when, gonna get you so crazy you don't see it comin' - but you're gonna know it will."

"Ohhhhh," Alastor keened, the anticipation he had already been feeling abruptly escalating, as though the entirety of his skin had jumped at once. "So brilliant, you are so blasted clever, heavens to Betsy-"

Angel bent low and blew a soft stream of air on the head of Alastor's straining member. His hips jolted up, wanting moremoremoremore, and Angel shoved him back down with laughing eyes.

"Sorry, sugar," Angel snickered, softly petting his thighs. "I'm done teasin'. You're just so friggin' cute when yer desperate."

Alastor was about to break back into helpless pleading when Angel finally hooked his secondary thumbs under the waistband of his cotton shorts and slowly pulled them down. Alastor's mouth immediately flooded with saliva, and he realized with a delicious shudder that he could now associate the sight of that emerging cock with a memory of Angel fucking his throat through a protective membrane of shadow. This time there would be nothing separating him from Angel's heat.

"Goddamn, I love the way you look at my dick," Angel said, sliding a hand down his belly to stroke himself - slowly coaxing his cock out of its sheath and making Alastor watch while his own erection remained hopelessly neglected. Alastor was fully prepared to complain that Angel had promised not to tease him any longer, but then another hand gently cupped his heavy testicles and rolled them against one another like dice, and Alastor felt them immediately draw up as his entire pelvis flexed.

"I'm gonna put my fingers in you first, 'kay? Just take some time t'figure out your buttons, get ya used to what it feels like."

Alastor nodded rapidly, still fighting the urge to hide his face. He had asked for this position specifically, but that didn't mean it wasn't totally overwhelming now that he was in it.

"You just relax, sugar," Angel purred, planting one primary hand in the center of Alastor's chest. "You know the score. Get comfy 'n let me do my thing. You don't gotta be in charge of nothin' right now."

Angel's lower hand softly squeezed his balls again, then its mate slid up behind his sac, and the lubricant on the fingers that slipped between the cleft of his buttocks was already warmed by Angel's skin, the sensory change too subtle to be shocking. Alastor gasped when Angel's middle finger circled the ring of his anus, expecting immediate penetration. What came instead was a gentle, massaging touch and a tertiary hand tenderly smoothing down his bristling tail.

Alastor had just realized that the soft silicone pads of Angel's claw caps were textured.

"All good?" Angel asked, and when Alastor made the most enthusiastic noise he could put together the spider's long body bowed over him until he could cup Alastor's cheek and kiss his panting mouth. "It's just gonna feel like pressure at first. If ya start feelin' some resistance you just bear down on me a little. Pretty sure it ain't gonna be a problem, though - I'm long, but I ain't real thick."

Angel was continuing to tease at his entrance, applying pressure but never quite pushing inside, and the degree to which Alastor was canting his hips into it was in no way natural.

"Jesus, yer so damn twisty 'n flexible, I could prob'ly bottom out." Angel bit his lip, looking down at Alastor's body while he slowly stroked his own cock with a tertiary hand. Shuddering, he said, "Been-been a helluva long time since a guy could take all'a me."

Alastor heard himself fire off a hysterical giggle. "Yes, yes, I want to, I can do it, I- Mm!"

Angel's index finger slid inside of him, and Alastor was suddenly reminded that, without a lower digestive tract, he had literally had no cause to think about this part of himself in over a hundred years. It was utterly bizarre. Unfamiliar, very new, certainly odd, but by no means uncomfortable.

"There ya go," Angel murmured huskily. "Just like that, honey. Let me in."

There were little silicone nubs on the pad of that claw-cap, and Alastor could feel them sliding against his inner walls, stimulating his entrance in slow, experimental strokes. He had been anticipating, needing the touch for what felt like so long that the reality of it was immediately overstimulating, and Alastor tossed his head to one side, crushing his face into his palm.

"Likin' it so far?" Angel asked, sounding heart-meltingly fond.

"Mm-hm!" Alastor muffled into his hand, digging his heels into the sheets on either side of Angel's folded legs.

"Oh no you don't." Angel snickered, then secured a grip on Alastor's forelock to firmly pull his face back into view. The man looked like something out of a dream, pale and perfect, startlingly vivid within a scene that had otherwise gone out of focus. "I wanna hear everything. Wanna watch you lose your damn mind fa me." Angel's eyes narrowed. His blue tongue darted over his gleaming teeth, and then he purred, "Maybe when I do this."

Angel pushed into Alastor to the second knuckle, then curled his finger upward in a come-hither motion that stroked that textured pad over a bundle of something several inches inside. Alastor gasped, pupils suddenly the size of pinheads.

"There!"

Angel smirked, gold fang embedded in his lip, then said, "What, here?"

This time he did not touch that spot in passing but pressed up into it, and Alastor felt a hot jolt of sensation shoot straight to his cock, which had begun to weep preejaculate onto his stomach.

"Yes!" Oh, he was so relieved, needed this so badly. He had half-feared that whatever sensation his body had promised him would turn out to be lackluster in reality, but this was good, this was exactly it, it was- "Man alive, you make it seem so easy!"

"You'll get the hang of it, cutie, don't you even worry 'bout it," Angel reassured him, nearly withdrawing his finger, then smoothly sliding it back in with that slight upward curve that made Alastor want to tremble out of his skin. "You'll be a regular expert by the time I'm done with ya. Gotta train you up if I wanna get fingerbanged 'til I cry when I have a shitty day."

Alastor laughed, another hysterical, pitchy giggle, and said, "I don't find myself crying yet. Perhaps you shall have to put your back into it."

"Oh, honey, we ain't even got started yet," Angel growled, then inserted a second finger.

Now Alastor could see what Angel had meant. He could feel the stretch, the heat of friction - not quite pain yet, but then Angel scissored his fingers, and there, he could feel the burning, such a mild and airy pain that his depraved tolerance registered it like a dash of spice on comfort food.

"Hurts a bit?" Angel asked, now curving both fingers up into his prostate. Alastor had been about to answer, but then Angel started kneading at him with those fingers, and coherence was momentarily blasted out the back of his skull. The first sound to come out of him was guh!

"It's good, more, please, more," he managed, his hand darting flightily toward, then away from his penis. He wanted, but he hadn't asked permission.

"Go ahead, sugar," Angel urged him, scissoring his fingers again and rotating his wrist to further stretch him. "See what it feels like when I'm doin' this t'you. You'll love it."

He did.

Alastor let his hand hover level with his modest thatch of red pubic hair, again confronted by that absurd sense of being intimidated by his own erection. But there was no reason to fear his possible ineptitude when he had a seasoned professional on hand, was there? He had a sherpa up Fuck Mountain, as Angel had promised him once, and all would be well, whether he was positively perfect or a floundering idiot.

So Alastor gingerly wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock and gave it an experimental squeeze.

"Ah!" He remarked eloquently.

"Feels kinda different, huh?" Angel asked, fingers gentling to a slow, circular rub that never quite touched the spot that most overwhelmed him. "S'not just yer dick an' balls you're thinkin' with. Now there's somethin' in there deep, too. And you can fuckin' feel how it's all connected. All you."

Oh heavens, the pleasure of Angel teaching him something about his body that he didn't know, of the spider nourishing that which stigma had stunted while he lived. Kicking away every line of salt society had laid down to bar him from this or that door and inviting him to take a peek inside.

"Yes, it's- it's more. I feel it everywhere."

Angel continued to massage his sac while fucking him open with his fingers, and Alastor actually dared to stroke himself to the tip. His hand jerked briefly away, then fluttered back and took hold again, his skinny thighs shuddering under Angel's tertiary palms.

"You go as slow as you wanna go, sweetheart," Angel encouraged him, keeping his own pace restrained as Alastor tried to adjust to the awareness of parts of his body with which he was totally unacquainted. He pulled on his cock gently, eyes fogging over with interference as he focused on the interplay between Angel's touch and his own. How it became even better when he timed his movement with Angel's, so that each part was stimulated least when the other was most. Back and forth, ebb and flow, building momentum toward some greater swell of sensation that they were seeking out together.

"Tell me about it," Angel urged him softly, reaching out to stroke back his sweaty hair and pet his brow. "What're you feelin', Smiles?"

"The-the feeling...radiates," Alastor managed after a moment, jolting when he dared to rub his thumb over his frenulum. "The whole blasted system when I- I knew it was there, but-but I couldn't reach it from the outside, by Jove, this is it!"

"Yeah? This what you needed, big buck?" Angel purred, bright-eyed and biting his lip as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing, afraid to miss a moment. "Need a little TLC from yer doe t'help ya calm down? Poor baby got himself so worked up..."

Oh, this visceral intrigue for primal play had been an unexpected discovery, and he whined high in his musical throat at the very thought. Perfectly predictable in hindsight - did he not enjoy inhabiting the role of the beast in every other aspect of his life? - but the extent to which this talk riled Alastor up was truly startling.

The blood frenzy of the stag gentled by the tender tongue of his doe. The spider descending to devour a blood red firefly ensnared in his bewitching web. The Radio Demon finally on his knees, compelled to submit and pay reverence to a hunter craftier than he after a hundred years with no limits or restrictions, nothing to give his life stakes or gravitas.

He needed this. Exciting and performative and more than a little silly. Fun! A kind of play indeed, and Alastor loved learning new games. His favorite part was when the master teaching him realized just how fast he could learn mere moments before he beat them at their own game.

"My mate," Alastor moaned to that end, "my match, my only, my beautiful monster, no one could ever- not like you can- Oh!"

He'd thought himself right into a manic spike again, and Alastor abruptly stopped stroking himself when he felt a sweet pang that drew in his balls, shooting up onto his elbows with ears violently erect.

"Oh, oh, Angel I'm, I'm already and I can't, Angel!"

Alastor's ears slammed back against his scalp and he squeezed his large eyes shut as he careened right over the point of no return and began to cum in rapidfire spurts.

"Ooh, lookit you go," Angel murmured huskily, and with yet another hand he took hold of Alastor's erection and wrung him out to the very last quiver. He would surely have to scalp himself to keep from shredding the sheets. "That's it, baby. Let it aaaall out fa me. So excited you couldn't even hold it fer five minutes, yer so damn cute."

Angel drooped over him like a benevolent sunflower and kissed his nose like the very touch of summer. Then his lips, then his cheek, nuzzled into his hair, and just as the physical convulsions ebbed Alastor's emotions welled up, threatening to spill over into euphoric tears.

Orgasm was all well and good, if he could bypass the frustration of struggling to reach it, but this, this part that came after, he-

"How you doin', baby boy? Gimme traffic lights."

It was devastating. To be made so totally vulnerable, flayed open before Angel's eyes - and then be praised and soothed and treated like he deserved to be sewn back up by gentle hands.

"In-in my de-fe-hence I- I was at it for a little while before you woke," Alastor wheezed, then cleared his throat with a crackle of radio static. "Green, still so very green."

"Mmm," Angel hummed, sliding back down Alastor's body to unbutton and shed him of his soiled nightshirt. Not a hint of disgust did he show at all that scar tissue, not a wink of discontent with his starved physique. The intimacy of it was excruciating. "That's so fuckin' hot. Fact that you were doin' that right next ta me..." Angel's mantle poofed as he quivered to the very tips of his fluffy toes. "I couldn't even believe it 'til you started makin' those noises. Talk about OOF."

Angel had withdrawn his fingers, settling into this banter with an ease that suggested he was prepared to change plans to accommodate Alastor's prematurity - not a moment's disappointment despite the way the spider's own penis continued to leak natural lubricant that had now run down the insides of his thighs.

It was a wonder, how safe this made him feel. How loved. How giving. He wanted to give, to gladly provide what this man would never demand.

"Please," Alastor panted, reaching out to lay his hand on Angel's thigh and squeeze its plushness. "Do-don't stop on my account, I- I want you to fuck me just like this. Gracious, refractory period be damned, I want you to d r o w n me-"

"Oh shit, shit-" Angel keened, his dominant persona suddenly cracked clean through. "O-okay, fuck, lemme get the- Jesus, the fucking condom wrapper off-"

Angel was struggling with the chain of rose-red foil packets, lip rucked back over his golden tooth, and his sudden eagerness made Alastor's withered stomach feel like it was floating. How clearly his man had been chomping at the bit while playing at patience and restraint.

Angel's cock had fully everted from the sheath, slender and smooth and flushed lavender with blood, an aesthetic feast for the eyes against snow-white fur and markings in powder pink. A sensory treat, the spicy tang of musk as it spilled that slick for him, and it made him feel...

Proud. Proud to be so desirable to a man for whom his admiration knew no bounds. To be admired in return by such a radiant soul was an ecstasy beyond description - and here, when they were like this, they could show one another. Could symbolize their devotion on the altar of flesh, make it a thing that one could taste and touch and see.

Making love. He wanted to make love, and knew that each time they were together this way he came to understand the difference just a little bit more.

"Quickly, quickly, while- while I'm still-," Alastor babbled, desperately trying to hold on to the provocative talk that would get that beautiful cock inside of him faster. "Angel, I need to love it until I HATE it."

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck," Angel was whining as he rolled the condom down the length of his aquiline shaft, and Alastor watched with quivering ears, trying to etch the memory in stone. The color contrast, the symbolism, the- "Satan's ballsack, I do this for a living and my damn hands are shaking. You don't have a clue what you do t'me-"

Angel was ready. He was pouring an extra drop of lubricant onto his penis to slick the condom, then scooting up close between Alastor's thighs and gripping his cock by the base to guide it inside.

Angel looked down at him with the largest, loveliest eyes Alastor had ever seen, so hopeful and earnest and true, and his voice cracked when he asked, "You ready?"

The spear-shaped tip of Angel's erection bumped against the relaxed rim of his anus, and Alastor gasped, already picturing what was coming in cinematic detail and needing, needing to fill in all the gaps his imagination could not.

"Yes, my heart, yes, I- you can't leave it unfinished, you can't, I feel so empty! It's worse now, you mustn't-"

Angel swallowed hard, then seized him by the back of his neck and pushed his tongue into Alastor's mouth. Skillful now at working around the angles of Alastor's massive, discolored teeth, at running with the grain of his hooked tongue - or not doing these things, from time to time, and pulling back to smear blue blood around his mouth like lipstick with a wounded tongue. Black Dahlia smile full of wicked, insectile teeth, eight riveting eyes and all of them on him-

"You want me t'fill you up, sweetheart?" Angel growled into the hollow of his throat, right where the flesh dropped off to reveal the exposed tubes of his trachea and esophagus. "Wanna let me stretch you out on this dick an' make that lonely lil ache go away?"

"YES, ma-make it go away, make- even deeper than your fingers, I need-" Oh, he couldn't complete a sentence for the life of him! "Put it in, please, I'm so ready for you."

"I love you so fucking much," Angel rasped, then slowly inserted the first inch of his cock into his waiting entrance. Alastor yelped in excitement, and the darling fellow gave him another inch at once, very slowly drawing in and out of the hole that could now welcome him quite readily.

And Alastor felt...at ease. The moment he knew relief was at hand he found himself unwinding - the swimmy, bubbly afterglow of his orgasm easing tension both physical and mental. Angel's entry was smooth and stunningly comfortable, some blend of all they had done to prepare for this moment coming together just right.

And so far, at least, it did not feel...invasive. Shameful. He had not lost anything - his "virginity", his "gold-star asexual" status, his dignity - for there had never been anything to lose. It was not that kind of game.

Oh, and so much to gain. How else was he to witness Angel like this? Feeling the way his primary shoulders shuddered when Alastor wrapped his arms around them - the gasp, how his entire pelt jumped as Alastor hooked his gangly legs around the back of Angel's knees.

The beast with two backs, he thought as Angel curled over him tighter, held him with every arm he had to spare. Each of them the confessor and the missionary, enclosing one another in a space where all their sins could be laid bare and let go - at least until the next time mass was held.

Alastor doubted very much that any of Angel's partners had been allowed to see him this visibly daunted. Alastor had expressed his interest in giving anal sex a whirl quite some time ago, and the simple fact that Angel had waited so long said that the man saw a responsibility in this - for there was the attendant anxiety now, in the set of that pretty mouth. Perhaps he felt compelled to be perfect. Not to fuck it up, as he so feared to do in any situation.

He was hesitating, whining and tense just a few inches inside, just continuing that shallow rocking that already felt so natural, so increasingly pleasant. Alastor felt a warm wash of confidence and affection, all his nerves flushed into the badlands by Angel's uncertainty. It was his turn, now.

"Don't be afraid, my dear," Alastor murmured, and crossed his ankles behind Angel's slender hips to draw him near. Teasing, smiling, loving, he said, "Come along, just a little closer now. As close as close can be - there you are, all the way, oh darling, you...you!"

A long, slow, burning slide, and Angel bottomed out with a gutted moan, straining his head back in a grimace that made the muscles in his back bunch together. Alastor could visualize the glorious anatomy of every single one, so much more complex than a single set of arms could supply.

"Hurts?" Angel grunted, hard abdomen loosening as he vented a heavy breath between his teeth. Alastor could feel the sheer power in those hip flexors when he squeezed them between his skinny thighs, driven half to frenzy by the knowledge that a kick from a jumping spider this size would cave his chest in faster than he could blink.

"-An aperitif, I suppose," Alastor huffed, shutting his eyes to appreciate the splitting burn that last inch or so had cost him. He could sense the microtears, and when he experimentally lifted his hips the mild pain paired intriguingly with the way the thickest part of Angel's cock rubbed up against his prostate.

"Hurts just right?" Angel asked this time, peeking at him sidelong with sparkling eyes.

"Oh, you know me," Alastor sighed, continuing those small, exploratory motions about which Angel was being so sporting. Always letting him take his time. "Just right would include your hands in my open chest cavity by way of a rib spreader. But-but we mustn't spoil me too much all at once, hm? Why, I'd be insufferable!"

"I love how you can still be a chatty Kathy with my cock in your ass," Angel replied, pushing softly into Alastor's nudging hips. "You're takin' it so good, hot stuff. No stress, nice 'n easy. You catch on so damn quick."

"I'm something of a genius, didn't you know?" Alastor preened. Then, because he had finally teased the sensations apart enough to identify the bulb at the very base of Angel's penis, he clenched his pelvic muscles around it just as firmly as he could, to see what would happen.

Angel made a noise in the general vicinity of buh! He was gripping Alastor's gruesome iliac crests like handholds on a granite cliff, and with that leverage he buried himself as deep as he could go.

"Ohhhhhh yeah, just like that, baby," Angel praised him, rolling his hips in firm figure-eights in lieu of pulling out to thrust. "So damn tight."

"Iiiiii have been accused of being a tightass, yes!" Alastor giggled, perhaps a tad hysterically. There was so much new sensation to process, his mind a soup of half-formed metaphors and literary references out of which he might eventually pull an intelligent opinion.

The pressure was lovely, the shape of Angel in him when his pelvic floor clamped down. He was being touched in all the places that sense of emptiness had been, and his heart was among them, pulsing bright between the skeletal rack of his ribs.

Angel laughed, hips jerking in one hard thrust, then slowed again and blinked down at Alastor with his lip between his teeth. "-Sorry, you- you good for me to start movin'?"

Alastor stopped gawping like a stunned fish and said, "Yes, please."

"He's funny, he's polite-" Angel grinned like a loon as he withdrew his cock by several inches, then thumped decisively back in. "He's cute as a fuckin' button-" And again.

"Oh, come now," Alastor wheezed, petting compulsively at Angel's back to feel the ripple along his lovely spine.

"What, still don't believe me?" Angel's gold tooth flashed in the glow of Alastor's eyes, and then he kissed the corner of one, just as tender as could be. "How you got big pretty eyes an' that sweet lil pointy nose?"

Alastor squirmed under the weight of Angel's body, whining at the dastardly way that bulb at the base of Angel's cock popped in and out of him when they moved.

"Big ol' buck-toothed grin and fluffy ears? C'mon, babe. You're fuckin' precious," Angel pressed him, and then pressed him. "Lookit you, blushin' like a glowstick. Makin' yer crackly radio noises. I just wanna-"

Angel bowed his back to recapture Alastor's mouth, hot and sloppy before the spider dipped to kiss his chin, the corrugated tube of his trachea, the dip of his clavicles. Alastor's chest was glowing like a paper lantern, pulsing in time with his racing heart, and there was too much pleasure in him to care just now that he was all ashen skin stretched over stark black bones, gawky and strange against the specimen of perfection that was fucking him.

"My pretty boy," Angel murmured, as though he understood none of this. "Sweet, skinny lil thing with that teeny-tiny waist. I could just take a bite right out of ya."

And then he DID. Angel kissed the hard ridge of his breastbone, then sunk his teeth into the flesh around Alastor's left nipple, punching straight through the skin to embed himself where Alastor couldn't escape him when he sucked.

"Angel!" Alastor yipped, thumping his head back into the sheets, then arched his back until the cartilage cracked. Angel sucked at him again, then chewed, working his jaw to further abuse the captured muscle, and the way Alastor's cock tingled when the spider thrust into him again was exquisite, positively baffling.

He was almost entirely flaccid, and would likely remain so for the rest of the night, but he felt as sensitive as if he were hard, rubbing deliciously against Angel's lower belly when his darling drove into him. That thickness in the middle of Angel's shaft slid back and forth against his prostate, and each pass was making Alastor's balls feel heavy and full, a sweet ache cresting above the starburst of agony.

Angel's lips came away smeared with black blood, slicking his chin to stain the fragrant swell of his bosom where it pressed so tantalizingly against Alastor's body. He could feel the bioelectricity simmering in every pink chromatophore, interacting with his own electromagnetic field like tender claws scritching the skin of his very soul.

He could taste himself in Angel's mouth when they kissed, and when Angel pushed into the ragged arcs his teeth had made to finger the wound the excitement was so unbearable that he could scarcely breathe. He could feel his pulse between his legs, and then a tingling, liquid heat that brimmed and spilled over, running in a lazy trickle from his soft cock.

The sensation was as delicious as it was bizarre. It lacked the intensity of ejaculation, but also its brevity, those quivering ripples of pleasure just continuing to flow each time the upward curve of Angel's penis rubbed against his prostate.

"What-" Alastor grunted, heels thudding into the back of Angel's thighs. Then, at a whimper: "A-Angel I, I don't know-"

"S'okay, baby. That's supposed to happen," Angel cooed, driving in slow to rub Alastor's dick between their bodies, so sensitive and still leaking. "Feels like somethin' building up when I'm workin' your sweet spot, yeah? Feel those balls gettin' heavy?"

"Wh-why am I cumming, why am I still-"

"You like gettin' yer prostate milked, huh?" Angel sounded downright giddy, resorting again to those grinding figure-eights that kept the head of his erection bumping and nudging against that deeper spot that teetered just on the edge of pain. "Pre-pretty sure it ain't cum, just the- fuck, you know. Ohhh shit, you wanna see how long I can keep you goin'?"

"Yes, yes, yes," Alastor panted, feeling mortifyingly lewd when he realized his inner thighs were wet with Angel's slick, giving his thrusts a vulgar slapping sound. Then he realized the bulb at the base of Angel's cock had grown, and he shouted, "YES!"

Oh, he had fantasized about this! From the moment he realized Angel had a knot he had been enchanted by the symbolism of being locked together in intimacy, and now, thinking about what it would feel like when-

"What?" Angel huffed, then ground his hips into the cradle of Alastor's pelvis again, not quite hard enough to push that apricot-sized bulb inside.

"Your knot!" Alastor cried, angling himself eagerly into that new pressure. "Please, may I-? Would you-?"

"Fffuuuck, on your first try?" Angel's lower hands gripped the backs of Alastor's thighs to keep him elevated, and the angle bowed them wider, gave Angel leverage to go further. "It's-it's a lot, baby, you know how big it gets."

"Oh, that's precisely the point!" Alastor was giggling wildly, hysterical with anticipation. "Please, cher, you know you won't hurt me in a way I won't enjoy, I want to be- I want all of you, I can take it!"

"God-" Angel choked out, and he sounded almost on the verge of tears. "Fuck yeah, baby, I know you can. Every part'a me, yer always-"

His beau made a wet little hiccupping noise, and suddenly Alastor felt a bit teary, too. How emotional this man could get when offered a gesture of trust, when they were doing something particularly intimate that Alastor could feel he had never had before. Had wanted, but was denied, or thought himself unworthy of.

"Always," Alastor assured him, and reached up to frame Angel's face with his hands, stroking both rows of secondary eyes with reverent thumbs. "You deserve this, mon ange. To be trusted and welcomed and loved. You earn me a thousand times over every day, I- oh, I could never entrust this to anyone but you..."

Angel made a mournful sound in the back of his throat, then Alastor felt a pop! as the ring of his anus accepted Angel's knot, lodging it an inch or so inside, and he honked before he could think to be embarrassed of it.

It was difficult to be so, when Angel busted into weepy laughter. That fond incredulity that surfaced when he had just done something particularly-

"Cute," Angel wheezed, and nuzzled him, and wrapped him up tight until there was so little space between them that they would have to unstitch their skin to get any closer. "God, I love you. Love my big buck. Fuck, you feel good. You run so hot..."

Alastor was nearly sure that he had some clever flirtation in mind, but then he realized the knot was expanding inside of him, and the mere concept made his heart swoop up to splatter against his tightly-locked teeth. He had seen it as big as a fist before, and he could swear to that now.

Heavens, they really wouldn't be able to separate until Angel came. It would cause his beau too much discomfort to pull himself free. Alastor felt his entire body quiver when he stumbled upon the romantic notion that Angel needed him now.

"Perfect, simply perfect," Alastor crooned, "my talented darling, so patient with me."

"I'm not gonna last long like this, babe," Angel moaned, his markings beginning to glow like living neon in the dark. "I'm so, fucking, close-"

"Oh, as soon as you like, my dear," Alastor laughed back, "I daresay you've earned it!"

Angel made an enthusiastic noise and braced his primary hands on the headboard, the other sets holding Alastor by waist and thigh. He looked so predatory up there, lips drawn back over his fangs and all eight eyes aglow. The breadth of the spider's lats was breath-taking, a sleek and lovely carnivore carved by decades of gymnastic excellence. Power. He looked powerful, and he wore it very well.

Alastor was struck with a sudden vision of Angel gripping him by the hair and pulling back his obedient head. Kissing his throat, murmuring into it, and then RIPPING it O U T. Consuming him, nourishing himself on Alastor's flesh, freely given. Cracking open his ribcage like the wings of a butterfly so Angel could see that his heart did not belong there anymo

Alastor's eyes popped wide open with a loud record scratch, then a frantic drumroll building rapidly toward some sudden, unprecedented climax.

"What the devil-" Alastor groaned, his tail tucking up tight against Angel's bottom. "I-I think I'm actually-! Again! It's, again!"

He sobbed, outright sobbed when he felt the first contraction behind his testicles. What resulted was a mind-bending fusion of experiences, weak shots of ejaculate pulsing between longer trickles of prostatic fluid, and the way the latter drew out the former had him bucking up to meet Angel's thrusts, half-hating the overstimulation but needing the relief.

"Don't stop, please don't stop," Alastor whined, clinging and clawing. "I need it, I need it out, make it st-ooop!"

Angel knew what he liked. Knew the torture of hypersensitivity drove him to madness like the orgasm that preceded it never could, and now he was thrusting hard, pulling against the place they were joined until it burned and then thumping back in. The pace was ruthless, curling Angel's hair with sweat and making his bosom bounce where he braced himself on top of Alastor, bearing him down with his weight.

"Oh no no no, mercy, too MUCH!" Alastor wailed, his body wriggling against his will in a reflexive urge to escape, and good heavens but he was grateful for safewords, because his darling could tell he wanted precisely the opposite of what he said. Wanted the thrill of being pinned down by a dominant predator and made to TAKE IT, helpless to resist and driven to euphoria by the trust that came with handing over that power to someone worthy of it.

Alastor's thighs were quivering violently, his toes curled so tight that the knuckles popped, weeping with relief when his body finally put the kibosh on this hedonism and lay upon him a fuzzy numbness that would not let his loins stir any further. He could already feel the tranquility of subspace settling in, promising him hours, glorious hours of mental peace if treated properly.

But, so soothed, his turn to take control had come around again. Angel had locked his jaw and screwed up his face, and Alastor realized the poor fellow must have been struggling to delay his orgasm until Alastor was finished with his. He was beginning to look quite overwrought, panting and shaking as the spider jerked his knotted dick around inside of him with a rhythm fast unraveling into desperation.

Angel had been in charge for quite some time now, graciously accepting responsibility both for Alastor's pleasure and the direction of the scene. He had been so kind, and Alastor well knew now that a submissive's role was to welcome their domme off the pedestal when a scene was done, to kiss and cuddle and be his warm place to land after giving Alastor's chattering brain this moment to breathe.

"Well done, my dear," he said, sinking his fingers into Angel's fluff to stimulate the sensory fibers it protected. "You've been marvelous. Perfect."

Alastor was not the only one with a praise kink, here. Angel's reaction was intense, his back arching into Alastor's cat-like kneading and clapping two hands over Alastor's own so that they would stay.

"You've been very good, Anthony - so very giving," Alastor encouraged him, voice stripped of every filter he had ever hid behind. "Now take what you need. Everything I have is yours to share in."

"Oh fuck, Smiles, honey, yer so-"

"Mmm, yes, do keep feeding my ego," Alastor purred smugly. "So extraordinary, perhaps?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, god," Angel babbled back. "Love you so much, big guy, you don't even know. Wanna make you feel so good."

"And you do," Alastor replied. "Every smile and frown, every crude joke. Good days and wretched, together or apart. You shine like a star, and it honors me to turn in your orbit."

Angel buried his face between Alastor's ears and started to cum, pushing himself as deep inside as he possibly could, as though he couldn't bear to leave. Alastor felt heat bloom within, felt the pulsing of Angel's cock, and his pupils blew wide with the sheer, absurd significance of it all. Marveling at the ceiling over Angel's shoulder as the spider desperately humped into him, finally letting go of anything but his own well-earned pleasure.

Alastor felt so...so receptive. Not quite like being vulnerable. There was a power in this - in receiving someone graciously and being an attentive host. For the feast was his to give, the resting-place likewise.

The habit was already so deeply-ingrained that Alastor scarcely thought about it when he began grooming the sweat from Angel's fur with his ash-black tongue. Some deeply cervid impulse craved the taste of salt, especially where it gathered along the column of Angel's neck and in the dip of his collarbones.

Angel still laughed when he did it, tickled by the rasp of fish-hooked papillae, but he always leaned into it, now. Positioned himself conveniently in Alastor's direction, at times, to coyly request that his boyfriend set aside whatever he was doing and pay him a little attention of the most primitive kind. It was delightfully meditative, to just let reality slide out of tune and get lost in all those scents and textures.

Soft, soft and warm and sharp-smelling under honey-sweet shampoo, bright and firm and here, letting a cannibal adore his throat and soft underbelly and trusting entirely that Alastor would not sink his teeth in while Angel was unable to escape.

Angel flattened one palm over the darkening bitemark around Alastor's nipple, right above his still-racing heart, and Alastor jolted deliciously, biting down on his lip as he quite literally grinned through the pain.

"That is going to chafe marvelously tomorrow," he giggled, giving Angel's hips an affectionate squeeze with his skinny thighs. He could imagine it already, fighting the urge to wriggle in his skin while chit-chatting with the staff over breakfast, flushing with flustered delight at every coy smirk Angel cast his way.

"Pfffft," Angel eloquently replied, then started to squirm urgently against the shrinking knot still holding him fast, saying, "Baby, your- your fuckin' tail is tickling my nuts!"

The appendage in question was indeed wagging very fast while he fantasized, the downy black hairs on the underside feathering against Angel's testicles, and when Alastor realized it he laughed so hard that he honked again. "-I'm sorry, I can't quite help it!"

He tried very hard to hold still, and felt that Angel was doing the same, both of them giggling like schoolboys as they lay together, with nothing to do but indulge in each other's company until nature allowed them to part.

Alastor, for his part, was more than content to 'kick back' and stare at Angel with bright, unblinking eyes, that beloved face just a little out of focus without his monocle to keep his eyes from crossing to maintain the view. Angel had never made him feel self-conscious about that - or much of anything, really.

Safe, Alastor realized. He felt very safe here, with Angel all around and in him, holding him down like a weighted blanket. He was wearing no masks, speaking through no filters, because Angel liked the awkward, messy thing underneath just fine. Wanted to cuddle and kiss it and tell it how cute and courageous it was, to let itself be cared for so.

"I, uh- I don't actually get a lotta practice with this part," Angel confessed, breaking eye contact with a glowing flush that spread down his neck to bloom across his chest. "The bein' stuck togethah while post-nut clarity hits. Not when I'm knotting, anyway. 'specially not in missionary."

Alastor's smile opened right from ear to ear. "A bit too intimate, perhaps? Too vulnerable?"

"Too real..." Angel croaked, nuzzling into one of Alastor's ears rather than looking him in the eye again. Alastor had no complaints in that regard.

It was a reminder that Angel was undergoing more than a few first times in this relationship, too. First time with a man he loved who truly loved him back. First time experiencing how emotional sex could be, how cerebral and psychological and all manner of magical adjectives Alastor himself was coming to appreciate so well.

He knew that Angel had had a great deal of sex that he regretted. That he had often chased the act itself when it was this part he needed most. And here was another aspect of the duty that kink carried: to talk, and ensure that his beau never regretted an intimacy again.

"How does it feel now?" Alastor asked, sliding one hand up to plunge his fingers into Angel's hair and massage the dear fellow's scalp.

"So real," Angel murmured, then heaved a great, shuddery sigh. "How you let me- you're the goddamn Radio Demon, no shot you'd do any'a this if you weren't for real."

Alastor hummed thoughtfully. "Had I preferred the dominant role, I could have been manipulating and using you like all the rest. But the fact that I thrill when you exercise your agency makes it difficult to doubt how deeply I admire you, for all that you are."

"Fuck..." Angel responded. He had started to self-soothe by stroking Alastor's other ear. "It's...it's scary as shit, 'cause if I'm in charge I can fuck it up, but- But it's so damn good. I don't feel like I hafta walk on eggshells with you, or figure out who you want me to be or-"

Alastor returned the favor by beginning to trail the tips of his claws up and down the bow of Angel's spine. "You see now why I call you powerful. How many in Hell would not shrink like cowards from all this emotional derring-do, hm? How many would have the courage and grit to look themselves so squarely in the eye? I tell you from experience, darling - precious, precious few."

"You Sybil Vane'd me," Angel sighed, his bunched shoulders slowly coming unwound and turning to jelly. "How am I s'posed ta fake the boyfriend experience in my vids now I know what it's really like?"

Alastor considered this, quite flattered by the reference. He would be sure to treat his Sybil a great deal better than Mr. Dorian Gray.

"You could think of me when you record them, if you like. Your audience need not even know," he suggested coyly. "It could be thrilling. To know that while those lackwit fools pay to covet your digital ghost, every sweet word you say is meant for me..."

"Hey, some people who dig porn are good folks who just like t'get off to somebody else gettin' off," Angel chided him. "Don't get me wrong, there's gonna be a lotta lackwit fools, but I'm gonna go wild on the sex-positivity stuff with my toy reviews 'n sponsorships and whatevah. There's totally a niche for artsy, feel-good porn." The spider shrugged into their embrace. "Like, not big, but why do I need big? I'm a millionaire now, I could fuck off and start a peanut farm if I really wanted."

Alastor felt a vicious surge of pride, and turned his head to kiss the soft curve of Angel's neck.

His darling hummed happily and said, "So let the haters bitch 'cause I'm not gonna film Satan's Butt Sluts 37. Just means the people who sub to my best shit prob'ly aren't assholes. They just know a good one when they see it gettin' stuffed."

Alastor chuckled, feeling a tad giddy at Angel's growing confidence. "I think I'm beginning to feel a bit less stuffed, myself."

Angel snickered into his forelock, and slid a hand down between them to grip his softening erection by the base, holding the condom in place while he slowly withdrew his shrinking knot, then pulled out entirely. Alastor shut his eyes, laser-focused on that last toe-curling slide of flesh, and then on the unfamiliar sensation of emptiness where Angel had just been. Naturally, his body would need a moment to readjust - but how strange, this flicker of wistful regret.

"Kinda feels wrong fer a sec, huh?" Angel bounced his eyebrows saucily. "Like I oughta get back in there where I belong."

"Mmmm," Alastor purred. "Another day, without a doubt. Perhaps foregoing protection, next time. When, ah- when we're a tad more prepared to cope with the mess."

"Fuckin'-A, that'd be hot, hon," Angel replied with vigor. He was petting both sides of Alastor's face with his upper hands while the lowest set removed and tied off the condom. The phrase next time left him visibly overjoyed, like a boy finding out his science project had won first prize at the fair. "Wanna have me do ya from behind next? I think you'll dig feelin' me curled up on top'a you. Like bein' the little spoon, but with orgasms."

"Oh my," Alastor cooed, just as coy as could be. "I can only imagine the delightful trials I might put you through, to earn the right to mount me so."

And he was imagining it. Would imagine it at length in the coming weeks, until he had a mental oil painting the size of a triptych to luxuriate in, detailed nearly to the point of life.

"Ooh, you want a chase, huh?" Angel teased him. "Want me t'show off first, so you know I'm the best'a the best? Gotta be nothin' less fer a big, strong buck like you."

"Oh yes," Alastor replied with heavy-lidded eyes. "Wow me, mon ange. There is nothing more arousing you could do than let me admire your competence as you excel. And with talents to spare, my goodness!"

"A guy could get an ego if you talk like that," Angel warned him through sparkling teeth, then pushed himself up on two sets of elbows.

Here the towelettes Angel had set aside on the mattress came into play, assisting them in cleaning up sufficiently to wait until daylight to bathe. Another of Alastor's favorite intimacies, and no doubt the reason he was bathing so much more often now that he was spoken for. Even Vagatha had commented on the improvement - though, by all accounts, his breath was as rancid as it had ever been, and likely to remain so.

"You truly do have the potential to be a stunning influence on the adult film industry, Angel," Alastor commented as he removed the pillow from under his bottom and tossed it aside for the slip to be laundered at leisure. "The sort of auteur Valentino never could be."

Angel paused in the process of putting their accoutrement back in the nightstand, leaning off the bed a little where he had just dropped the condom in the trash bin. Alastor couldn't see his face from this angle, but he caught a stunning glance of profile when he scooched back up to prop himself on another of Angel's many pillows.

"You've said you dreamed of being in the picture-shows when you were a boy. I've seen your passion for cinema," Alastor went on. "I truly think you needn't let those childhood dreams be dreams any longer. You are already an extraordinary artist. Now a fresh avenue of expression has opened itself to you, and if you care to take it, know that I thoroughly believe in your ability to pull it off with style."

Angel looked at him again, and it was the closest Alastor had ever come to seeing a man's face melt without the assistance of an acetylene torch.

"Thanks, Al," the spider all but breathed. Then, clearing his throat: "I...I mean, I ain't even gonna be ready t'get started for ages, so I got time to think about it. But I know I wanna direct. I got so many ideas - all these things I nevah got to try, stuff Val an' all the other sleazeballs didn't give a shit about. Stuff nobody's evah seen in this town before. I know it."

"Oh, my dear, you've got me all in a flutter!" Alastor crowed, fanning himself with both hands. "Such ambition! True passion! Is it any wonder I adore you?"

Angel closed the distance between them anew to bear him back down with an enthusiastic kiss, pouring gratitude down his throat like wine. Alastor hummed contentedly around Angel's insistent tongue, again weaving his soot-black hands into Angel's hair to stroke and massage all those places he knew tension liked to gather.

"Are you tired, my heart?" He murmured against Angel's lips when his beau drew back to breathe. "I did interrupt what until that point had been a rather sound sleep, however sweetly."

"Aftah fuckin' my boyfriend into the mattress? Kinda," Angel replied, pushing their foreheads together to give him a rough little nuzzle. "You feelin' good? I ain't gonna complain if ya need some more aftercare b'fore I conk back out."

"I think a spot of spooning would be just the thing, whether you be conscious or no," Alastor replied, inclining his neck to boop Angel with the tip of his nose. Angel kissed it decisively.

"Roll that cute booty over, then," his darling urged him, at last lifting his weight enough that Alastor could wriggle onto his side to favor Angel with his back. The movement made his rectum burn, and Alastor bit down on his lip through a full-body shiver.

"My goodness," he mumbled, stretching all the way from his toes to the tips of his ears with a cartilaginous crackle, just to prolong the sensation. "Oh, that's lovely."

"Feelin' sore?" Angel asked him as he scooted up close behind, sounding delightfully smug. Angel aligned his height so that he could nuzzle into the back of Alastor's head without braving his antlers, and it left Alastor with the tantalizing awareness of Angel's plush bosom pressed against his bare upper back.

"Splendidly so," he replied, hooking one of his ankles around the back of Angel's calf to intertwine their legs. This brought the root of his tail flush with Angel's lower belly, his bony posterior snuggled up in the cradle of his boyfriend's hips. He could feel that Angel's cock had fully retreated inside, and elected not to try for another cheeky tickle while his tail was in range - he really had interrupted beauty sleep Angel got far too little of for Alastor's liking.

"I know, I know, you think pain is the best thing since sliced bread so I don't gotta worry about it, but you lemme know if ya want me to do anything for you tomorrow, alright?" Angel snaked two arms around his emaciated waist and ribcage, giving both an affectionate squeeze that made the bones flex. "I like takin' care'a you, even when ya don't need it. S'part'a the fun."

Angel hadn't quite begun to slur in earnest, but Alastor's keen ear enjoyed the way his beau's dialect grew lazier as his body began to consider a second go at sleep. Consonants dropping, vowels sliding lackadaisically together.

"I suppose I might ask that you leave Nuggets' care to Niffty just a little longer," Alastor conceded after a moment's thought. "Until lunchtime, at least. It would be a tad awkward to waddle through his morning walk with an erection."

Angel sucked in a snort of laughter. "'kay. Kinda hot thinkin' about draggin' you inta the woods t'suck you off 'til yer presentable again, but hey. Kids, y'know? Sometimes Mommy 'n Daddy gotta wait."

He was still very pleased with himself for being promoted to such a lofty title.

Alastor would be hard pressed to choose his favorite part of being spooned by Angel, but well among his options would be this one: that first, deep, synchronized sigh once they had both settled in. The way tension released, the compression of Angel's many arms tapping some wellspring of neurochemical magic he had had nowhere to acquire all these hundred years.

"Wake me up if ya start feelin' droppy," Angel mumbled into his undercut. "Or, y'know, if ya just miss me 'n wanna say hi."

Angel was touching his naked body - soft fingers strumming the gruesome cage of his ribs, the wasted Alps of his hipbones, the grim snarls of keloid tissue where his guts were supposed to be - and Alastor knew the magic for what it was.

He had taught himself how to be powerful, but forgotten how to feel safe.

"I won't hesitate for a moment," Alastor assured him, reaching behind his own head to cup the back of Angel's and give it three short squeezes. I. Love. You. "Go to sleep, Anthony. Let me feel you dreaming. And when you wake, I would listen to every word."

"Report from Dreamland, comin' right up," Angel muttered around a jaw-cracking yawn, and squeezed him back. "Love you, too. Don't get too crazy while I'm gone."

"I'll make a note to cancel the keg and dancing girls."

Angel chuckled, but did not summon the energy for a cheeky reply, and Alastor let his own eyelids droop as he tuned in to Angel's biorhythms, breathing in time while they slowed, stabilized, settled once more into tranquil unconsciousness. Alastor followed him as far down that path as a crossroads demon could go, into that meditative state these oases of rest were teaching him how to achieve.

Tomorrow would be another day, with fresh entertainments to pursue, but Alastor was in no hurry to arrive.

This was Hell. With a little luck and elbow grease, they could have all the time in the world, and he foresaw spending quite a lot of it right where he was.