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Angel watched him, chin resting in his palm, lips wrapped around the straw in his drink. He watched the way Alastor moved, back straight, bending at the waist, smiling all the while he did his rounds of the hotel lobby. The way he glided through the crowds was oddly intoxicating; the way others instinctively, sometimes even unconsciously, moved out of the Radio Demon’s way was so strangely exhilarating. Angel hadn’t been aware of the older demon’s power before Vaggie informed him when Alastor first walked through the front door of the Happy Hazbin Hotel. Even after that, he couldn't really feel the other's aura of control. Instead, he had to wait until he saw Alastor crush that pipsqueak Sir Pentious into a million different pieces. And since then, it was all Angel Dust could think about--that power, that control. Needless to say, Angel was impressed.
Though, honestly, Angel had been impressed before then, too.
The moment the Radio Demon had walked through those double doors, Angel's interest was peaked. In his line of work, Angel saw plenty of men, and he saw them a lot more and a lot more intimately than most. Even more so than in the world of the living, the inhabitants of Hell were so unique in their ways, their looks, their forms. Angel knew most of them, knew the way the male demon body could contort, could move. He eyed each one that passed like a piece of candy, getting his fill of the sweets he was denied in life. But even in life Angel had had a type. As he stared longingly after the young hunks walking past the diner window or sitting at the bar, he found his eyes following the same kind of man, the same flavor. He'd always had a thing for tall drinks of water, thin and towering, and Alastor was that, but with a decent fashion sense and a suffocating air of confidence. Yum.
"And what are you up to, my fluffy friend?"
The familiar voice jolted Angel out of his daydreaming, his back going straight as he pulled his lips from the straw they'd been tugging on. He noticed the bend in the plastic strip where his teeth must have crushed it. Damn dirty thoughts were making him lose his mind. He was able to compose himself, however, before spinning in the stool to face Alastor. Cocky grin in place to match Alastor's questioning one, Angel leaned back against Husk's bar, garnering a dirty look from the cat demon.
"Oh, just wettin’ my whistle. Care to join me?" he questioned, brow cocking at the red-clad lad before him.
Alastor's gaze moved from Angel to his drink before he leaned over and took a whiff of the liquid. He immediately reeled back, grin still in place but his brows furrowing in distaste.
"Angel, that's the worst thing I've ever smelled. What in the blazes is that?"
Husk barked out a laugh, back against the countertop as he counted his tips. Angel shot the demon a dirty look before turning his multicolored gaze back to Alastor, brow arched.
"This is a Big Top Long Island," he stated, ushering to the pink-and-baby-blue cocktail like he was on a game show. "It's got seven kinds of liquor, four flavor splashes, and is usually served with a flaming rim." He glared poignantly at Husk before turning back to Alastor and continuing, "Want a sip? It'll change your life, baby."
Alastor bent down slightly, stared at the drink like it was an opponent challenging him to a duel, eyes slitted, brows furrowed in contemplation. Damn, it was a hot look--like a sexy professor trying to read a particularly confusing piece of student writing, if that professor was a deadly, deer-themed ex-serial killer. Delicious.
“Mmmmm… nope! I’m alright!” the Radio Demon responded, snapping back into place like a ruler. “And I am certainly not an infant, so please refrain from calling me baby!”
"Would you rather I call you daddy?"
"Not in the slightest."
Angel huffed dejectedly at the older demon's remark, two of his four arms coming up to support his cheeks as he slumped over the bar, his other two grabbing his drink and holding it up to his lips. He took a sip much too long and much too loud, pouring his disappointment into the action. He side-glanced to Alastor, standing their so perfectly, so temptingly, and wished that he could be sucking on something else in that moment. Alastor, in turn, eyed Angel's little display with a bemused expression, leaning against his microphone stand in the most relaxed position he could probably muster in that moment.
"Never a dull moment with you, Mr. Dust," Alastor finally noted, breaking the silence. He stood straight once more and began to walk past the spider demon, patting him on his should as he went. When he pulled his grip away, an upbeat little jazzy tune began to radiate out of him and he went back to his work. Angel didn't get the satisfaction of watching him go, his gaze lost in the swirl of his vibrant drink as he took the time to appreciate the warmth of his shoulder where Alastor had touched him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Winters in hell were horrible, the whole of the place freezing over like the fucking ice age. The worst of them didn't last long--a month or two at most--but they were meant to exemplify Hell's specialized sort of torture. Angel, in particular, hated the cold. He wanted to be warm, wanted to be cozy, wanted to be able to show some skin without it freezing off. Winter was not his cup of gin.
And yet here he was, forced to go to the roof, outside, in the cold, all because Charlie needed someone to check for fucking squatters. Who gave a flying fuck if someone wanted to bum it out on the roof? Angel sure as hell didn't. But Vaggie had seemed extra temperamental and Angel would've rather faced the chill of hellish winter than listen to her screech for another second. Lo and behold, Angel had a weakness other than drugs, sex, and booze.
"Ah, Angel, come for a breath of fresh air this fine afternoon?"
Scratch that--Angel had another weakness.
Alastor stood dressed in a long red coat, black double-row of buttons, with the collar turned up against the wind. His ears were perked, hair sprinkled with a light dusting of snow, cheeks somehow flushed despite the--probable--lack of blood flowing through his veins. For a deer demon, he sure as hell looked like a fox. Damn.
"Just... Just checking for squatters," Angel finally got out after taking what was probably too long of a pause. He shuffled from foot to foot, tugging his large fur coat tightly around him. "Haven't seen any, have ya?"
"Squatters? Not a one!" Alastor chirped back, surveying the roof as if to double check.
Angel didn't respond, just nodded and turned back towards the door to the stairs. He was interrupted in his retreat, however, by the Radio Demon's call.
"Was just thinking about making a fire--care to join me?"
Angel froze--perhaps a bit literally--and stared ahead as he tried to wrap his head around what had just been said. Alastor, Radio Demon, powerful psychopath, definite murderer, heartthrob of the forsaken lands, wanted Angel to sit with him, in the cold, on a roof, next to a fire, alone. Angel told himself to say yes, to go for it, to give himself a chance, to spend some time with Alastor that wasn't just not-so-subtle innuendos and stomach-wrenching pining. Oh, hell, Angel knew there'd be stomach-wrenching pining no matter what he said.
"Sure," he finally breathed out, turning back to the other demon and plastering on a smile he hoped covered his discomfort. "Sounds great, babycakes!"
Alastor grimaced at the nickname, but didn't say anything in response. Instead, he snapped his fingers, a fire pit appearing near the edge of the roof, blazing beautiful, warmth-creating flames. Angel darted to its side, bracing himself for the better-be-worth-it literal-bone-chilling torture he had just signed himself up for, all in the pursuit of someone he knew he was never going to have. Alastor made his way to the fire slower, conjuring up a wooden bench for them to sit on as they enjoyed the weather. Angel sat down quickly, eyes on the fire, and Alastor joined him shortly thereafter.
The conversation didn't come easily, but it eventually took off. It started with Angel asking why Alastor was hanging out on the roof in the first place, tumbling through some awkward first lines and eventually landing on a discussion of the state of hell, of the purpose of the hotel, of punishment and retribution and salvation and what all of those things meant for occupants of this frozen wasteland.
"Huh, I never thought I'd see the day," Alastor mused after a short pause in the conversation.
"What's that?" Angel asked, scooting his end of the bench a bit closer to the flames.
"It's been ten minutes since you've said anything of a sexual nature."
Alastor let out a bark of laughter; Angel huffed and puffed and wished he could blow the damn hotel down, his embarrassment feeling palpable in the air around them.
"Sex isn't the only thing I think about, you know," he huffed dejectedly, refusing to look at the other demon. "I have a brain and I know how to use it. I just enjoy the things I enjoy and I'm not afraid to be who I am or say what I want to say anymore."
"So then why haven't you tried flirting with me this entire time? I thought you liked doing that," Alastor posed, a perplexed expression crossing his ever-smiling features.
Angel scoffed, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes before turning them to Alastor with a challenging look. "Maybe I found a better way to flirt with you than sexual innuendos," he retorted before he could stop himself, quickly forcing his gaze away from Alastor's face and back to the dancing flames.
It wasn't wholly a lie--Angel was beginning to understand what Alastor liked and didn't like. He may flirt with him relentlessly, even when constantly rejected, but that didn't mean he wasn't paying attention. Ultimately, he knew he'd have been able to talk to Alastor a lot more if he kept the sexy stuff to a minimum--but it wasn't until he was forced to speak in the frigid wilds of Mt. Everest (or what felt like it) that he was too distracted (perhaps disoriented is a better word) to find places to slip in those forward flirtations.
"If you'd like to file a complaint with HR, I'd gladly revert back to the tried-and-true classic Angel stylings," the spider demon continued, trying to pull his jacket closer around him as his fingers began to go numb.
"No," Alastor said, tone softer than Angel had heard it before, "I definitely prefer this method."
Angel glanced over in time to see Alastor standing and taking off his coat, just before it was placed around the spider's shoulders. The younger demon tensed, eyes wide as he felt the coat tucked around him. The move was so affectionate, and Angel was terrified that if he moved a muscle it would all fade away into what had to be a dream.
"I've got some errands to run, so I'll have to cut our conversation short," Alastor continued, leaving tracks in the snow as he headed for the door. He lifted a hand, waving behind him at Angel who in turn was sitting on the bench feeling like he was lost in a storm. "We'll have to do this again sometime--give you some more practice with that new Angel styling."
And then he was gone, the door to the stairs slamming behind him. Angel gaped after the demon, unsure of what he should do. He reached up, running a hand along the lining of Alastor's jacket, admiring how surprisingly soft it was, admiring how surprisingly soft Alastor had just been.
"Never a dull moment..." Angel murmured to himself before following Alastor's example and heading for the warmth of the indoors, not bothering to douse any fire that was currently blazing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alastor was a musical guy, always finding excuses to play a ditty from ages long ago and regularly winding his way through the hotel, the sounds of his voice following him like a cloud of cigar smoke, his charming tones clinging to the air like smog. Angel had never been a big performance guy, at least not in life, but he'd always thought he'd have liked theater if Pops hadn't been so strict on him. Hell, he'd probably have liked a lot of things if Pops hadn't been so strict on him. He might have liked things enough not to have shot up that fatal injection two days before his Pops' birthday.
"I've posed for pictures with Iv'ry Soap
I've petted stray dogs, and shied clear of dope
My smile is brilliant, my glance is tender
But I'm noted most for my unspoiled gender"
The feminine voice was an unfamiliar one to Angel, making him stop as he headed to his room. There was a piano playing with her little soliloquy, some sort of backing with a smooth beat that pricked at Angel's ears. He stood there in the hallway, waiting for more.
"I've been made Miss Reingold, though I never touch beer
And I'm the person to whom they say, 'You're sweet, my dear,'
The only etchings I've seen have been behind glass
And the closest I've been to a bar was at ballet class"
Angel's brows furrowed at the words, all four of his hands finding their way to his hips as he tried to pinpoint where the sound was coming from.
"Prim and proper, the girl who's never been kissed
I'm tired of being pure and not chased"
The explosive sound of a trumpet drew Alastor's attention to a stairwell hidden in the back corner of the hallway, a squat spiral thing with a metal railing designed to look like vines. The music was definitely coming from up those stairs. Angel darted to them, curiosity driving his every move, as the woman continued to sing, now accompanied by a full jazz band.
"Like something that seeks its level
I want to go to the devil
I want to be evil, I want to spit tacks"
Angel skipped steps, moving two at a time.
"I want to be evil, and cheat at jacks"
This hotel couldn't handle another songstress--not with Charlie and Alastor already breaking into song every few minutes.
"I want to be wicked, I want to tell lies"
Was that a male voice seeping in?
"I want to be mean and throw mud pies"
Yes, that was definitely a male voice, and a familiar one at that. Angel's steps slowed as he reached the top of the stairs.
"I want to wake up in the morning
With that dark brown taste"
Angel's brows knitted as Alastor's voice took over the song, drowning out the woman's until it was nothing but a faint echo. He slowly pressed a hand against the wrought-iron door at the top of the stairs, pushing it open just enough to spot the Radio Demon moving around the room in time to the beat of the big band's jazzy tune.
"I want to see some dissipation in my face
I wanna be evil, I wanna be mad
But more than that I wanna be bad"
Alastor spotted Angel standing in the doorway, confusion at the sight before him plastered across his face. The room was some new addition, clearly Alastor's doing, a small theater with four rows of eight seats lined in front of a small stage. And standing in center stage was the Radio Demon himself, seemingly putting on a little performance for the empty stands. Alastor, moving with the beat of the music as the band took over with a brief instrumental solo, held his hand out to Angel in welcome.
"Angel, what a pleasant surprise! I'm just now giving our new performance space a bit of a trial run--care to join me?"
Everything in Angel's being wanted to run to Alastor, standing there so gallantly at center stage, arm outstretched to the spider, a jazz quartet echoing through the air with the same ferocious, heated beat that Angel felt pounding in his chest. But something kept him rooted in place, a nervousness, a terror, like he wasn't supposed to have this, wasn't allowed to have a theater and Alastor, alone, all to himself. It wasn't right. But Alastor was never one to take no for an answer and so he used a bit of musical magic (or so he would have called it), tugging Angel to him with just his will. And Angel didn't fight it, though that scared part of him was screaming against the blare of the trumpet.
When Angel was close enough, Alastor grabbed what hands he could, pulling the spider onto stage and leading him in a swing-style dance as he opened his mouth and picked the lyrics back up.
"I wanna be evil, and trump an ace
Just to see my partner's face
I wanna be nasty, I wanna be cruel
I wanna be daring, I wanna shoot pool"
Angel felt the air flying by him, the expert hands leading him, guiding him, touching him, and the heat of the moment engulfed him.
"And in the theatre
I want to change my seat"
His eyes never left Alastor's face, darted from his eyes to his lips...
"Just so I can step on
Everybody's feet"
His hair...
"I wanna be evil, I wanna hurt flies"
His lips...
"I wanna sing songs like the guy who cries"
His nose...
"I wanna be horrid, I wanna drink booze"
His lips...
"And whatever I've got I'm eager to lose"
His cheeks...
"I want to be evil,"
His lips...
"Little evil me"
His lips...
"Just as mean and evil as I can be."
Angel didn't think, couldn't think, the rush of the moment taking away rational thought, and when Alastor ended with the final, crooning note and dipped the spider demon at the same time, Angel couldn't control himself. Arms wrapped around the other's neck, fingers already tangling with his hair, briefly marveling at its softness, Angel pulled up from the dip and pressed his lips against Alastor's. He felt the Radio Demon tense, freeze in a way he'd never seen him do before. Not that Angel was seeing much right now, eyes slammed shut in the hopes that he could drown out the rest of the world and escape into this moment.
Alastor didn't push Angel away, but he didn't kiss him back either. Instead, he just stood there, still gripping the spider demon in the manner of their final dance move, allowing Angel to glide his lips expertly against his, run his fingers through his hair, press his body against the other's. After a moment, Angel pulled back, thoroughly mortified and pleasantly surprised that he wasn't a pile of mangled guts on the stage. He tentatively opened one eye, just enough to spot Alastor's blank expression. Alastor looked, for all intents and purposes, like a lost puppy. His eyes were saucers, his brows so high they were knocking on heaven's door, and his smile was gone, replaced with a small "o" of surprise.
"Hey, you said ya wanted to be evil, right?" Angel tried, opening both eyes and taking a risk to press his body a bit more against the other demon. "What's more evil than kissing a demon center stage in Hell?"
Alastor eyed Angel's hopeful grin with an unbelieving gaze for a moment that felt like an eternity until he suddenly interrupted the silence with a bark of laughter, his lips cracking into a smile. Angel felt the other's grip on his waist tighten and his stomach tightened in solidarity. He watched with bated breath as Alastor laughed away the next few moments.
And when that laughter faded, the music started to come back, slow and steady this time, and Alastor began to sway, leading Angel in a new dance, a more intimate one. Alastor's lips found Angel's ear, his breath hitting just the edge of Angel's neck and ruffling his fur, causing him to flood with heat from head to toe.
"I think I could handle that kind of evil-doing," Alastor murmured, still moving to the music. "Care to join me?"