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The moment Al saw him, he was certain it was a dream. He was more than used by now to seeing Alastor in his room, and if this was real he might have done a double take, taking slow seconds to realize there was only one Alastor and his feet were on the ground. There wouldn’t have been this immediate understanding that he was here in the flesh. Absolute certainty like that belonged only in the realm of sleep.
Then as quickly as the realization had come, Al brushed it off as irrelevant. It didn’t matter why Alastor was here or how, only that he was. He was here and Al couldn’t stop himself from taking slow steps forward. He couldn’t stop himself from noticing all the little details that weren’t there before.
Alastor’s eyes were brighter than ever, here where they didn’t have to compete with the red of hell, only his own reflections in this room of mirrors. He was towering in a way that never came through in afterlight, a full head taller than Al. More importantly he was standing there silent, expectant, waiting for Al to close the distance.
He blinked slowly as Al took another step. Smirked a bit at how wide Al’s eyes were, how quick his breathing, how unguarded his expression. Al didn’t bother hiding his absolute wonder as he stopped within arm’s reach and raised his hands.
It was only here that he hesitated. Touch was complicated. Touch was an imposition that Al only ever allowed reluctantly. It was a show of dominance that Alastor would hate, but right now he needed more than anything to make sure, and somehow he knew it would be alright. Alastor was him, and Al knew that this touch, soft and halting and full of reverence, wasn’t a loss of control for either of them. His hands curled delicately around Alastor’s jaw as if it was fine porcelain, and there they stayed.
It was so much to take in. Alastor was here, truly here—warm under Al’s fingertips as his hair brushed softly against the backs of Al’s hands. It was more than he’d ever expected, impossible in ways he didn’t want to think about, and all this glowing warmth in his chest was leaving no room for air. Al’s breath came sharp and shallow through parted lips, and he didn’t know how to stop it. He couldn’t bring himself to stop it, to hide from Alastor. Not now.
And Alastor understood. His own index finger traced Al’s jaw then settled on his lips in the universal sign for quiet. It wasn’t the gesture that calmed Al’s breathing though. It was his voice.
“Don’t worry, I won’t be leaving anytime soon.”
The words sent Al’s thoughts spinning down far too many paths to manage. This couldn’t be a dream. Al had never heard that voice before, but it came through so very clearly now. It was perfect. Almost his own but richer, distorted with attenuated frequencies and radio snow. This was all too sharp—too sensory to be a dream—but what else could it be?
And then there was that promise. So many layers of it sat in that simple phrase that Al knew he’d never reach the bottom. “Do whatever it is you want,” those words said. “Dream whatever dreams you need. I’ll be right here.”
So Al stepped forward. He was well within Alastor’s space now, and this time the move was out of desire and not reverence. Alastor raised a brow and stepped back, and Al repeated the motion. Alastor’s shoulders pressed against the glass of a mirror, and there was nowhere left to go. One more step and only inches were left between them. Al’s hands slid down Alastor’s neck and to his shoulders. He leaned in, and then he was pulled off balance, caught in a whirl of motion that ended with his own back to the mirrored wall.
But this was fine. More than fine. Al’s instincts screamed at the demon hovering over him, at the hands at his sides and the knee between his legs pressing him against the cold glass. But those hands were warm, and the part of him that needed that warmth screamed back at his instincts to be silent. That part of him moved his hands up, wrapping them under Alastor’s shoulders and around his back.
He was there. He was so undeniably present and real. Al’s nails found purchase on the thick fabric of his coat, and he pulled himself closer, flush against Alastor’s chest. His head found a home in the crook of Alastor’s neck.
Al’s breathing had steadied by now to something slow and deep. In it he caught the scent of clean, pressed cloth, and underneath the dark smell of the bayou. Slow-flowing water at midnight, with blood in its current and bones in the riverbed.
So Al tilted his head, craned his neck to reach the thin line of skin between Alastor’s jaw and collar. Black hair caught and settled against his forehead as Al took a deep breath and pressed his lips to Alastor’s pulse point. His tongue darted out, running a line under Alastor’s jaw, chasing a taste to match that smell.
He found it, but there was no time to properly savor the sense, not with Alastor going still and tense in his arms. This time it was Alastor’s breathing turning sharp and fast, and Al repeated the motion just to see what it would do.
Get him pressed against the wall was what. Alastor’s hand tangled in his hair, pulling hard enough that Al worried for the glass as his head knocked against it. It didn’t crack though, and Al soon had plenty more to think about.
Alastor’s fingers—claws, he had claws —were running along his scalp like the finest blades. Another set wrapped around his neck, and Al couldn’t move. Alastor’s thumb traced his jugular like a promise and a threat, keeping him from following as Alastor pulled away. Al only had a second to miss him before he was back, his mouth on Al’s neck, the promise not of sharp claws but pointed teeth keeping Al still. His tongue ran along his jaw once, twice, and finally Al saw the pattern.
“Tit for tat, huh?” His voice was quiet and breathy as he spoke as motionlessly as possible, trying not to shudder, grateful that for once he didn’t have to sign his words.
“Anything you can do, I can do better,” Alastor corrected in singsong. “But you don’t know that one yet.”
Al was sure he had no idea what that meant but also sure he didn’t care. Alastor could say anything in that voice of his, and Al’s eyes would still slide shut at the chance to finally hear him speak, to feel hot breath at his throat, to be closer than mirrors and afterlight. Sight wasn’t important anyway. He’d get his fill of that another time. Right now he had 'all his other senses to work with and—the realization struck him like lightning—full reign over what happened next.
So of course he had to test the limits.
Eyes still shut, his hand wandered up Alastor’s back and through his hair, up to those odd hair tufts he’d never understood but long since come to accept. He didn’t expect to find skin and cartilage and a sudden understanding. “These are ears,” he breathed as his fingers rubbed along their shells.
“Learn a rule and the first thing you do is look for a loophole,” Alastor chuckled. “You’ve learned well, so I’ll give you one warning. Anything I can’t copy is fair game for me to do whatever I want.”
Now that was interesting. Al slid his hand down the side of Alastor’s head, ran fingers through his hair to find nothing but smooth skin, then let it wander back up to the tips of Alastor’s ears. He felt Alastor’s breath hitch against his throat before the hand in Al’s hair moved to his ear.
“What’s the ruling on this?” he asked before Alastor could start rubbing, before his own breath could skip. “I have ears too, even if they’re different.”
“Case by case, and up to me,” Alastor answered. “And don’t think I’ll be lenient.”
“Never,” Al sighed, then decided to push his luck anyway.
There was so much he didn’t know about Alastor, so many idle questions he’d never asked, and there was one he could answer now. Antlers or horns? They were branched like the former, but he’d never seen them shed. One of them was only a few inches from his hand now, and Al could answer two questions with one move.
Horn, Al decided as he ran his fingers along its curve. It was smooth and hard like nail, not the softness of velvet, and the tip was pointed enough to draw blood. He felt his way down to its base, to the line where it met skin, hidden under Alastor’s hair, and it earned him a chuckle.
“No, you never were one for rules. Tell me, is it more fun breaking them when they’re mine?”
The question might as well have been hypothetical, but Alastor was expecting an answer. Al knew because a fingertip rested on his bottom lip, the clawed point pressing into his upper just shy of drawing blood. So that was his game.
“Of course,” Al said, hissing the ‘s’ as the sting of the cut caught up to him. “I know you’ll give me the best rewards.”
It was tempting to flick his tongue out and catch the blood, but Alastor’s finger was still there. It was tempting anyway, but he was patient, waiting long seconds for a drop to well out and catch on Alastor’s claw. Red on red. It finally moved away then, as Alastor pulled back and stuck it in his own mouth to enjoy the taste.
And still Al kept his mouth closed, letting blood pool between his lips as he finally noticed the real trick. It was a perfect golden rule. He could do anything he wanted, whether Alastor enjoyed it or not, so long as he was prepared to receive the same in turn. He could have anything he wanted, if he could just convince Alastor to play along.
Would he do it? Would it work? Al watched Alastor lick the blood from his fingertip and knew what he wanted, but it lay in dangerous, unknown territory. All Al could do was make his intentions crystal clear and sweeten his end of the deal.
When he finally opened his mouth, it was only to bite down on his cut, to widen it where the blood was already starting to stop. Alastor must have heard him or else known it was coming, since he opened his eyes just as Al leaned in. His head tilted as Al pressed their lips together, and at least one of them knew what he was doing, Al thought with relief.
Only moments later, he realized it didn’t matter. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a proper kiss. Kisses were about lips, or so he’d gathered, but this? This was tongue and taste and Alastor taking as much from him as his cut would offer. His tongue darted between Al’s lips, chasing more, and Al let it. It flicked against the tip of his tongue, giving him a first taste of his own blood, but when Al followed it for more, Alastor pulled back.
“Not yet, dear. It’s my turn.” His mouth opened, but not to talk. Sharp, pointed teeth flashed and pressed against Alastor’s lip, and Al couldn’t hope to pull his eyes away. It was all he could do not to close the distance. There was a time to break rules and a time to play along, and Alastor put on such spectacular shows. “This is what you wanted?” he asked, blood in his smile, and Al could only nod once, unblinking. He could only stay still as Alastor’s face hovered closer, and it was only as their lips touched that he moved.
His tongue reached out, searching for a taste, and found more than that. It was him. Himself. A dark, bloody taste of everything he would become, sharp as knives, vibrant and bitter like coffee and the darkest chocolate. Only Alastor’s hands at his elbows, pressing him back against the mirror, kept Al from reaching up to pull him closer.
There was understanding there, a perfect sympathy that ran both ways. Al understood the not-kiss now, all taste and only a background awareness of touch. And Alastor knew exactly how intoxicating it was, how irresistible. Maybe that was why he moved forward until Al’s head was also against the glass—until there was no getting away, not that Al would have wanted to.
Instead Al shifted, tipping his head to pull Alastor’s lip into his mouth, chasing the taste of already healing cuts. He bit down, his teeth too blunt to reopen them, only half thinking about the consequences.
But Alastor’s teeth were sharp. Al felt him smirk against his mouth before copying every move. His tongue pushed against Al’s, shoving it out of the way before he bit down on Al’s lip. It might have been surprise or pain or any number of undefined feelings that sent sparks across Al’s skin. He didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. This was all too real to be a dream, too impossible to be real, and too fantastic to give up anyway.
They stayed like that for long minutes, all fumbling tongues and no concern for anyone’s pleasure but their own. Al’s hands tensed at his sides, fingernails curling against the mirror, wishing they could dig in and scratch. Occasionally he remembered to pull back for a moment and bite his own tongue. Alastor always obliged, sometimes with a chuckle, and for a while the taste of demon blood would mingle with Al’s own slow-healing cut. At some point a quiet hum of radio static made itself known, and Al knew once again with that dreamlike certainty that it was coming from Alastor. It was a while before he realized it was also reciprocation, intentional or not, for the sounds Al was making himself. Quiet gasps, soft hums that weren’t quite moans, all of them lost until now amid the sensory noise.
When they pulled apart it was with a deep, shaking breath, a pause for Al to gather himself and decide what came next. It was hard, though, when Al noticed the streaks of red running down Alastor’s chin. Or maybe it was easy. They begged to be licked away, but then it would be Alastor’s turn, and Al knew he would hate it. Holding still against that kind of touch? It was. . . it was a price he was willing to pay.
His breath was uneven as he leaned away from the glass and pushed off with his fingertips. His hands shook with dread and anticipation as they wrapped around Alastor’s shoulders and pulled down. His eyes closed as his tongue found the first line, starting at Alastor’s chin and moving up to the corner of his mouth. It was as he moved to the next line that Alastor spoke.
“I’m sure you know this is pointless. The night’s not nearly over, and we’re only going to make more of a mess.”
But there was tension in his voice and his shoulders, and Al couldn’t help but deepen it, even knowing it would come back to bite him later. He pressed himself closer, one hand moving up to weave into Alastor’s hair, the other down to the small of his back. He licked away another line, then hummed against Alastor’s mouth.
“Oh, I know, but I’m having so much fun. Aren’t you?”
The last line was the longest, smeared up from Alastor’s mouth as if to widen his smile. Al traced it almost to his hairline, then let out a deep sigh. He dropped down from standing on tiptoe, hiding a rising tide of anxiety behind a wall of sheer self-satisfaction.
Or at least he tried. For a second Alastor drew back and bent his knees. An arm wrapped around Al’s back, pulling him close, and when Alastor stood up straight Al was forced back onto his toes. He wobbled, had to cling to Alastor for balance, and in the meanwhile Alastor’s other hand grabbed his hair and pulled. His head tipped back, pointing his chin up and exposing his throat. Al’s breath came in sharp gasps as his eyes closed and his hands balled in Alastor’s clothes and hair. That hand was his only notice when Alastor moved, leaning his head down to run his tongue along Al’s jawline.
“You’re right,” Alastor hummed, the vibration resonating through both their chests. “This is fun.”
But it wasn’t, not anymore. It was a different kind of intensity. Al hated it. Hated being held immobile, hated the feeling of someone hanging over him doing whatever they pleased, licking along his cuts as if to persuade them to start bleeding again. And all the same he wanted it more than anything, wanted just for tonight to be nearer to Alastor than he’d ever thought possible, and damn the consequences. The dissonance was overwhelming, threatening to vibrate him apart if he dared relax, and the tension only made him clutch Alastor closer. His hands shifted, and it was then that one of them brushed against something unexpected, a bump along the base of Alastor’s spine.
Surely Alastor hadn’t flinched. He must have just shifted, but either way this was worth exploring. He let go and wrapped his hand back around Alastor, but under his coat this time. At the base of Alastor’s shirt, he found it, a puff of blissfully soft fur just begging to be stroked. “You have a tail!” he muttered, his voice strained from the angle but filled with delight.
It should have been a warning when Al felt something curl around his ankle and climb up his leg, but it only pushed him on. It twisted around his waist and up his chest, but the looming loss of control only made Al seek more wherever he could. Right now there was no better way than combing his fingers through that fur and taking his cues from the soft gasps it pulled from Alastor. He knew the rules, knew he’d pay for it, but until then it was worth it just to hear those sounds from Alastor’s mouth. To know that he was just as affected by all of this contact as Al was.
The tendrils continued their way up Al’s shoulders and looped twice around his neck, once at the base, once under his jaw to push his mouth closed. The last loop curled slowly around his eyes, and it was just before his vision was taken away that Al knew for sure it was one of Alastor’s shadows, a darkness soft as water on his skin but stronger than steel. It held him still as Alastor pulled away with a chuckle.
“Let me stop you now before you damn yourself any further.”
Between quick, shallow breaths Al managed to let out a huff of amusement. He’d already damned himself plenty. The tendrils cinched tighter around him, curling down to catch his arms and keep him from reaching out as Alastor stepped back in.
“Such a lovely smile,” he said, tracing Al’s lips with a finger, then pushing them apart to run along his canines. “It didn’t have to go this way. I gave you a chance to be in control, but then you went and frittered it away.”
“Ha!” Al laughed, and Alastor moved his hand to let him talk. He still had to force the words out between his teeth, but all things considered, they came out clear enough. “You’re the one who made the rules. Don’t pretend you didn’t want it to end this way.”
“And that’s where you’re wrong,” Alastor said, leaning down to hover over Al’s neck. Hot puffs of air ghosted over his skin with every word, and not even Alastor’s shadows could stop him flinching as he tried to get away or move closer—which, he didn’t know. “This is just the price of your little transgression. It’s not the end. Not even close.”
No, it wasn’t, and that was good. Neither of them could let the end be so one-sided. This was Al’s punishment for stubbornly breaking the rules, a loss of control thorough enough to pierce him to the core. He could pretend he didn’t hate it. It’d be easy. If it were anyone else, he’d be hiding that weakness under layers of nonchalant disdain. I suppose you’ve managed to catch my attention. Anything I can do for you?
But Alastor would see through that act like glass, and he deserved better. There was nothing Al could do, nothing left to say, and no point trying to resist. A perfect surrender. He sagged in his bindings, and Alastor took that as his cue.
Clawtips danced down Al’s neck, a faint, barely present touch that had his hair standing on end. Alastor’s other hand pressed against the small of Al’s back, rubbing small circles as a reminder of exactly what Al had done to deserve this. And whether it was because of that touch or the knowledge that he couldn’t get away from it, Al felt himself struggling to anyway. His muscles tensed, trying to find leverage against the shadows and pull away. Turning his head only managed to move it a few degrees. Small sounds came from his throat, shaky breaths and whimpers that he didn’t bother silencing because they were the point. Alastor’s breaths were slow and dark and gratified against the crook of Al’s neck, and the fact that he’d figured it out—that he’d known just what to do to please Alastor—was a victory. A small one admittedly, but Al took what he could get.
So it shouldn’t have been any surprise when Alastor did the same, tracing claws along Al’s jawline until one of them broke skin. The pain was at once expected and not, and it sent tremors down Al’s spine and goosebumps across his skin. Alastor stepped closer, wrapping Al in a tight embrace as if to soothe the pain and the tension, but both of them knew better. His arm curled around Al’s shoulders, and his lips brushed against the cut as if to kiss the pain away, but it wasn’t comfort. It was a claim. His other hand was still running along the base of Al’s spine, and in the midst of the absurdity all Al could do was laugh.
A claim, huh? Anyone else would need to do better than this. Immobilization would’ve freed Al’s mind to wander, but only at the hands of anyone else. This was Alastor, and Al didn’t want to wander. All he wanted was to savor every touch and pull them deep into his memory, a ridiculous overcompensation for years spent together but apart. Every touch—no matter how much he hated them—because they were Alastor’s. Claim? Every ounce of it went both ways and looped back around, drawing them ever closer.
And Al couldn’t stop laughing. What a wonder. What a joke. He couldn’t breathe. His neck strained from the angle, and just as his laughter was starting to pitch toward hysterical, everything vanished.
His knees hit the ground before he could catch himself, but the pain didn’t matter. His eyes flew open, and the sight of Alastor’s shoes shouldn’t have been nearly the relief it was. It meant he was on the ground before Alastor with his head bowed, and the thought of it drew out a few residual chuckles. This too was inevitable, as much as anything else in his life and more. It wasn’t just a matter of stable loops. There was no way a meeting between him and Alastor could have gone any differently.
But this wasn’t his place, only a transient reminder of the price he’d pay for recklessness. It was his turn to act, and this time he knew just how to come out ahead. Alastor had more advantages than Al could name. That he was kneeling on the ground was proof, but Alastor also had weaknesses Al didn’t.
Al leaned forward and rested one hand on Alastor’s knee. The other he braced against his own as he levered himself up. His hand slid up Alastor’s leg as he went, stopping at his hip. Al didn’t look up, didn’t meet Alastor’s gaze as he started undoing coat buttons. It was just as well. His hands were nimble but it was an unfamiliar angle, unbuttoning someone else’s clothes.
“Dear me,” he said. “A guest in my house, and I haven’t offered to take their coat. Where have my manners gone?”
Alastor chuckled, and Al could feel the motion through the cloth. “This is your idea of offering?”
Al’s hands stopped, moving to rest at Alastor’s waist. “Oh? Are you leaving so soon?”
“Of course not,” Alastor said, and Al went back to the buttons.
“Then you have no reason to decline. It’s not as though you’re hiding anything, are you?” Al freed the last button at the center of Alastor’s chest and finally looked up at him with a smile only he could give. It was bright and innocent, all twinkling brown eyes and white teeth and not a hint of ill intent, and Alastor chuckled again.
“From you? Nothing.”
Al’s smile sharpened. “Liar,” he said and splayed his palms across Alastor’s chest, under his coat. His hands slid up to Alastor’s shoulders, forcing him to shrug the cloth off. Al let go then, but as he took a step to the side he almost flinched. He hadn’t noticed, not until now. His plans hadn’t accounted for his own body betraying him, but it was too late to back down.
Al paced a half circle around Alastor—half gentleman moving to take a coat, half lion stalking his prey. Their eyes stayed trained on each other’s until the angle became unreasonable and Alastor let his slide closed.
“Fair enough,” he said, “but it’s only for the time being, and only ever for your sake. We’d both be bored if I simply told you everything, but I swear, someday you’ll know each and every one of my secrets.”
His timing was perfect, as only that of someone who’d seen the future could be. His last words came just as Al lifted his coat away to reveal a soft red and black tail, but he wasn’t done yet.
“Just as I know each and every one of yours.”
So he knew. Of course he did, and the shiver Al couldn’t quite suppress wasn’t helping matters. He’d hoped to have a moment to savor his win—a moment to watch Alastor’s tail flick and his shoulders tense under the cloth of his button-up—but little had he known he’d lost before he’d even started.
But he could lose gracefully, and his turn was up anyway. When Alastor turned to face him, Al gave him a small smile—thin and apologetic—before turning his head to the side. Alastor’s hands moved to the top button of his waistcoat, and Al wished he’d managed to hold back his start when they made contact. He wished he didn’t have to carefully keep his breathing even as they trailed down his stomach.
“What’s the matter? I thought you were having fun.” Alastor put just enough emphasis on the last couple words for his meaning to come through clearly.
“Mockery?” Al said. “Really? You know all my secrets, don’t you? If you want to degrade me, you can do better than that.”
“Oh please. Why would I do that to myself?” That scoff sounded genuine, and for the life of him Al couldn’t think of a single good reason. Not for Alastor to mock him about the tightness in his pants, nor for him to cause it in the first place. He had to know what touching Al the way he had would do, even if Al hadn’t. Was he playing by a script even though he said he’d never have to? Were they both unwilling pawns, Al of biology, and Alastor of causality? Or was this truly just a senseless dream?
Alastor undid the last button, and Al’s breath came easier as his hands moved to his shoulders instead. They were calm, careful, but the way they lingered as they slipped off his waistcoat threw a new variable into Al’s calculations, one he didn’t know how to account for. The moment his hands were free from the cloth, he darted away and walked over to sit on his bed.
After a moment Alastor followed, and Al was almost annoyed before he remembered the rules. Alastor would copy anything he did, whenever possible, no matter what. Of course he would. Anything to make a nuisance of himself. Anything at all, apparently.
But Al too could turn rules to his benefit. He could, sit, wait, and calm himself, and as long as he did nothing, Alastor couldn’t touch him.
Alastor could still talk though. He could still cross his legs, tip his head to the side, and raise an unimpressed brow. “What? Done already?”
No, he wasn’t, and that was the problem. More than anything Al wanted to wipe the smirk off that face. To pounce on Alastor, pin him to the covers, and see him writhe in that same love and hate of physical contact that he’d inflicted on Al. He wanted Alastor to flip them over and inflict it on him again, a vicious cycle that neither of them could bear to break.
He wanted it, but his ungainly human nature was getting in the way, and the warmth under his skin was refusing to fade. He might have apologized if it hadn’t been Alastor’s fault in the first place.
“No,” he said eventually. A simple answer. Alastor could figure out the rest. Or, more likely, he already had.
“We’ll be here a while still, but we don’t have forever. Make your move. I know you want to.”
It was tempting, achingly tempting. That was more than permission. It was a request, an order even, and this had to be a dream. It was some ridiculous farce his subconscious dredged up to test the limits of his claim. Would he do anything Alastor told him? “Yes,” he’d said, but this was different.
“No. You wouldn’t want this.”
“Ha!” Alastor laughed, and Al had to turn away before the need to wipe the smug look off his face grew overwhelming. It didn’t help. He could still see it as clearly as if Alastor had grabbed his chin and turned it to face him. “But that’s the point. You don’t need to care about what I want, only what you do.”
No direction needed, Al whirled around to aim a glare at him. “Then I don’t want this. It’s unbecoming.”
“It is, isn’t it? And no, you don’t.” Alastor’s eyes narrowed, but not to a glare. “You never have, but you are curious. Always have been. If it feels good, then why don’t you want it? Why don’t I? Will you change your mind if you try it, and if not then what’s wrong with everyone else that they do?”
Now that just wasn’t fair. There was no winning an argument with Alastor, not when he knew all of Al’s motives and his own were still a mystery. His words were practically an invitation, but it made no sense.
“So you try sex—” Al almost flinched as the word left his tongue, a second of hesitation that left him annoyed at the word and at himself for bringing it up. He forced himself to push past it. “And either you like it and don’t bother with it again until now, or you don’t and you start this anyway? The causality doesn’t add up. Assuming this isn’t all a dream, that is.”
“Is a dream still a dream if it’s shared?” Alastor asked, and Al wasn’t sure whether he was trying to imply a yes or a no. The other implication, though. . .
“Then you’re real?”
“Will a yes convince you?”
Al shook his head. It wouldn’t, but it didn’t need to. If this wasn’t Alastor, it was far too close a copy for even him to tell the difference, and either way Al would know in thirty years. He’d know all of Alastor’s secrets, not least of which being why he was acting so insistent.
Al let out a sigh as he slid off the bed and dropped to one knee. He held out a hand as he turned to face the bed, and Alastor knew exactly what he wanted. “No shoes in bed,” he said as Alastor rested a heel in his hand. ”I don’t know what you’re planning or why, but you’d better not blame me for what happens next.” He undid the laces, pulled the shoe off, and did the same for the other before sitting back on the bed.
His turn was up, but Alastor didn’t move. He only waited, smiling, until Al startled. Darkness wrapped around his ankles and held him still while it tugged at his laces and took off his shoes.
“Did you think I’d kneel to you?” Alastor asked. “You don’t—” His words cut off as Al tackled him and pressed an arm to his throat. He laughed when Al reduced the pressure, and Al smiled at the coughs mixed into the sound.
“You just proved very clearly that I have no idea what you’ll do,” Al said. “Bowing to you on the off chance you’d bow to me? I’d gladly do it again.” But not yet. For the moment he had Alastor exactly where he wanted him, and Al shifted to straddle Alastor’s hips while planning his next move.
Broadly speaking, he had two options. He could track Alastor’s reactions and try to make him feel as good as he could manage, or he could make it terrible and watch him squirm. It was no contest really. He could already feel his breath speeding up at the second thought, even knowing the payback would be harsh and inevitable.
He sat up, watched Alastor swallow as his throat was released, and laid his hands on Alastor’s stomach—palms flat, fingers splayed just above his hips. He dragged them up slowly, leisurely, savoring the tension as even through a layer of cloth Alastor instinctively tried to draw away. It was unbelievably satisfying to watch Alastor’s eyes narrow and drift up to the ceiling as if to find an escape. A glorious rush of dread and sadistic glee bubbled up from Al’s stomach, and he went on until his hands ran down Alastor’s arms and pinned his wrists by his head. Al hovered over him, giving him no alternative but to look him in the eye, and their quickened breaths mingled in the space between them.
Then everything shifted, and it was Al’s hands pinned and Alastor hovering above him.
“I wasn’t done!” he gasped, and for a moment Alastor leaned back.
“No, but before you get too far, you should know exactly what you’re doing.”
Alastor’s hands started exactly where Al’s had—splayed across his stomach. As they moved, it was all Al could do to keep from pulling away. Within seconds his breath was faster than Alastor’s had been, and it hitched and stuttered as Alastor’s hands brushed against his nipples. They dragged across slowly, and Al clenched his fists but didn’t move. It wasn’t just a matter of pride. He’d gotten himself into this, and he’d see it through to the end because if he didn’t—if he denied Alastor his payback—an even worse fate would await him. A regret he didn't want to imagine. That was yet another rule for dealing with demons and one Alastor had taught him well.
Finally Alastor’s hands stopped at his wrists, and Al opened his eyes to see Alastor grinning down at him. “You poor thing. Never been touched this way, have you? Never even imagined it. No regrets?”
“None,” Al said and paused to catch his breath. “If nothing is going to surprise you tonight, then I’ll need another way to make things interesting, won’t I?” And it worked. Alastor’s eyes were gleaming, and even if Al knew it was at his expense, his heart felt full to bursting.
The pressure lifted from Al’s hands as Alastor rolled over. “Now then, you said you weren’t done?” His words were slow and nonchalant, and he laid back with his hands behind his head, but Al almost laughed at the uncustomary tension in his movements. That more than anything was what convinced him to move, to follow Alastor’s roll and sit on his thighs. To start from the lowest button of Alastor’s shirt, make his way up, and finish the job with a slow pull on the end of his bow tie.
It was only as the ends of Alastor’s shirt came apart that Al paused and tilted his head. Scars lined Alastor’s torso—the memories of deep jagged wounds that Al knew should have been fatal. And just as surely as Al knew it, he also knew Alastor would never tell him where they came from. It was another mystery from his first eleven years in Hell, another secret Al would one day know, but not today.
No, for today he’d only memorize the marks. Al started high, tracing the pale lines along Alastor’s neck and earning slight shivers in the process. His fingertips trailed along Alastor’s collarbones, across his shoulder, and down his chest, wondering how best to copy the wounds to his next victim. Knife cuts would be too clean. Maybe a broken one, or serrated. . .
He was halfway down Alastor’s stomach before he noticed the misstep. “Ah. No direct payback for this, is there? I’ll look forward to seeing what you come up with.” Al finished the job anyway, tracing the scars down to where they disappeared under Alastor’s waistband. And it was there that he paused again as he noticed the bulge in Alastor’s pants.
“Why so surprised?” Alastor said, and Al jumped like he’d been caught. “You enjoyed this too, didn’t you?” Alastor’s smirk was far too wide, and Al didn’t know if that was Alastor’s intent or just his insufferable nature shining through. Whichever it was, it swept away all of Al’s hesitation as he slid a hand across his pants. Alastor’s eyes flared and his breath caught, then again as Al repeated the motion.
Maybe there was something to this whole sex thing after all, if it could get Alastor to flinch so beautifully. Al moved to the top button of Alastor’s pants and popped it open before a pair of observations gave him pause.
The first was that teasing would be pointless if Alastor knew the future. He’d meant to undo a couple of buttons then move away, but Alastor was tensing as if he expected far more.
The second was a practical matter. “A zipper?” Al muttered before running a finger along its length. Alastor’s thighs flexed below him, but that hadn’t been Al’s intent. Pants with zippers? How curious. Al dragged a fingernail down it, chuckling at the way it caught in the teeth. He pulled at the tab, opened it an inch, closed it, and opened it again before laughing. “Dear me. You can’t copy this either, can you? Surely this one is your fault for not dressing for the occasion?”
Alastor’s voice was a touch thinner than usual, breathier and higher pitched. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Too bad. You’re the one who decided to play around.”
“Then I’ll stop playing,” Al said. “Just for you.”
The only question was what to do. It was easy to take a first few cues from what he himself would hate. Al’s dread had reached its limit long ago. The consequences didn’t matter. Not for sliding his hands up Alastor’s sides and across his chest or for circling his nipples, giving them as flick, and rubbing them until a new thought occurred. Why limit himself to touch?
Al leaned in, and there was that smell again. Cold green water and blood soaked so deep into Alastor’s skin that it’d never wash off. He leaned closer, brushing his hair across Alastor’s collar and trailing hot puffs of air across his skin until his lips found what they were looking for. Al closed his eyes, hesitated a moment, then stuck his tongue out to circle around a nipple.
At first it was almost disappointing. It tasted like skin, oddly textured but ordinary skin, but then Al noticed the sound in the room. The soft background static he’d grown used to had shifted, pitching up almost into a hum. And then there was the rustle of cloth as Alastor shifted against the sheets, and the sound of his breathing, shaky and irregular.
“Did you want me to stop?” he muttered against Alastor’s chest, punctuating it with another lick. Al didn’t expect an answer, but the one he did get managed to raise his dread up a few notches anyway.
“I won’t stop you this time. But since I know you’re judging by my reactions, remember this. I’ve been here before, and this will all be much worse for you. I promise.”
But Al couldn’t stop there. It’d be weakness, as good as an admission of defeat.
Instead he lowered his head and shifted forward, flinching only for a moment as their erections rubbed together. It was horribly distracting, but Al pushed the thought aside and kept watch for anything that might be a cue to stop. He closed his mouth around one nipple, altering between licking and sucking and softly biting as his hand played with the other, and finally he heard it. A quiet, “ah,” that was nevertheless the first real sound he’d heard from Alastor. Not just breathing or radio static, but a sign that Al had forced him to open his mouth and raise his voice.
“Done,” Al said, then rolled off of Alastor and onto his back. Somehow, despite knowing what was to come and despite the increasing discomfort of his pants, for just a moment it was easy to relax. Al took a deep breath as he watched Alastor sit up and finish taking off his shirt. Al traced the scars that continued down his arms and watched his tail give a few sharp flicks before Alastor turned his attention to him and the spell was broken. That smile promised nothing good. Only the most exquisite of tortures.
But they were Alastor’s, and Al didn’t bother bracing himself. He only lay down as Alastor had—hands under his head, fingers intertwined—as Alastor moved to sit across his thighs.
“Ready?”
“You tell me,” Al laughed. “I don’t know half of what you have planned.”
“Then no,” Alastor said and set his hands on Al’s waist. “You’re not ready. This is going to be fun.”
And he was right. Al was ready for Alastor slowly unbuttoning his shirt, and it wasn’t much of a surprise when Alastor tugged at his sleeves to slip the thing off entirely. It made them more even, and it would’ve been a nuisance to leave it tangled around his shoulders. But Al didn’t expect the touch of claws against the side of his neck. He didn’t expect them to press down and slide across his skin. They barely broke the surface. The claws went no deeper than papercuts, but the sting was all the sharper for being trivial.
The worst of it was that he couldn’t move. He couldn’t flinch lest he disturb Alastor’s precise control and draw his own blood. He couldn’t get closer and couldn’t pull away without consequences, and it left him trapped—prey frozen in the grip of a predator.
After the first cut Alastor pulled back and tilted his head. His hair brushed his neck, and Al’s eyes went wide. He could take a hint. He could see a pattern, and he’d just spent minutes memorizing the exact locations of Alastor’s scars. Dozens of scars all across his torso, and Al would feel the echoes of every one of them. He was already anticipating it, mapping the lines along his skin, and Alastor knew it.
“Oh don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll enjoy it by the end.”
“And until then?”
Alastor’s hand wandered to his side and traced another thin red line just under Al’s rib. “Until then I’ll enjoy it, and you. . .” Alastor moved his hands to Al’s shoulders and hovered over him, drinking in the sight of wide eyes and lips parted to take deep, stabilizing breaths. “You stay focused. Don’t drift off.”
Al knew exactly what that meant. With enough pain, people had a tendency to lose themselves. Their minds left their bodies behind and went numb, speechless. It was always such a waste. They could barely think in that state, let alone sign a contract, and Al had long since learned to recognize the signs.
“If I do it’s as much your fault as mine. If not more.”
Alastor smirked. “But you won’t, not after my warning. You’ll keep smiling to the end. After all, you’re close enough to Hell to enjoy what I do, even when I do it to you.”
His hand wandered down Al’s chest, and for a moment there was confusion. There were no scars along its path, but just before it stopped Al realized it wasn’t a claw but a fingertip. It hovered just over his nipple, then started drawing circles around it like a warning. “But that’s not all you’ve earned,” Alastor said, and when it made contact and started rubbing, it was almost as bad as the cuts. Just as intense, but instead of pain it called up a breathless tension that sat deeper than his muscles. Like a coil being wound too tight.
And just as it was starting to become bearable, a sharp flash of pain ran across Al’s chest. Another scar. Another cut not even deep enough to bleed. Then came another just as the hand at his nipple gave it a pinch, and Al couldn’t keep himself from flinching away.
“Don’t move,” Alastor said, and Al would have glared at him if his eyes weren’t screwed shut. He knew. He was trying, but it was impossible. Both kinds of tension—the normal, nervous sort and the deep, hungry one taking his breath away—had blended into an unintelligible mess. They weren’t going away, not in the slightest, and Alastor’s unpredictable movements were only making it worse.
That was the real problem. The anticipation. It stung worse than any of the cuts and forced him to gasp any time Alastor made contact. It would have been easier if Alastor would keep to a pattern—start at the neck and work his way down as Al had—but no. He was feeling whimsical, perhaps. His hands glided up and down across Al’s skin, stopping in places where Al knew there was a scar before cutting or moving on at random. And as if all the contact wasn’t torturous enough, as scratches accumulated Alastor seemed to deliberately add them to his route. His hands pressed down as they dragged across them, making sure the pain could never quite fade.
And in the midst of all of this Alastor finally took a break from playing with his nipples and ran a hand across the bulge in his pants. The sound that left Al wasn’t a gasp or a whimper but a low moan, and it surprised Al almost as much as his hips instinctively pressing into that touch. It didn’t work. He couldn’t move anywhere with Alastor sitting across his legs, and he tensed but managed not to push into it when Alastor repeated the motion.
“Oh good job!” Alastor hummed. “That’s right. Stay still, my dear pet. My wonderful, beautiful little pet.”
That should have been infuriating, but Al couldn’t bring himself to care. It was too much, far too much—like electricity sparking across his skin and lower, pain and pleasure and love and hate all blurring into a glow that built until he thought it might burn straight through him. He couldn’t move though. He couldn’t stop Alastor, and it was impossible, but then Alastor stopped anyway.
It took several breaths and several seconds to notice, but the glow was settling. No more touch, no sparks adding to the fire, and Al cracked an eye open to see Alastor staring down at him.
“Let go,” he said, and for a moment Al didn’t understand. It took time to make sense of the words, look down at his hand, and realize it wasn’t clenched in the sheets but around Alastor’s wrist. It took even longer to remember how to loosen his grip, lower it to his side, and grab a handful of cloth instead. “There you go,” Alastor said, and that soothing tone didn’t match at all with the line of pain he drew down Al’s chest, deeper than before as Al couldn’t quite stop his trembling. Nor did it match the twisting anticipation as Alastor leaned forward. The sight of Alastor licking his lips was Al’s last before he shut his eyes and forced the words out between his teeth.
“Please. Alastor, please.”
He’d thought it was a loss of control before, when the shadows had immobilized him and bound his hands. Now all he wanted were those tendrils back around his wrists so he didn’t have to hold him still himself. He thought he’d hated it then, but this—allowing the touch instead of just accepting it—was worse. So much worse.
“Absolutely not,” Alastor said, and just his breath across Al’s chest was enough to draw out a whimper. “When you give yourself to me, I want it to be your choice.”
Of course he did. Alastor didn’t compromise with sinners whose souls he owned, and there was no question of that here. Al’s soul was his in more ways than one, and both of them knew it.
It didn’t make the pain any more bearable or the loss any less bitter, but the reminder was enough. It wasn’t calm that let Al relax long enough to gather a few words. It was assurance—a trust that Alastor had never earned, only won by default and only from Al.
“Then here,” he said. “A gift. For you.”
For a moment everything was still. Alastor didn’t move, and for the first time in a while Al managed to take a deep breath. He exhaled through his nose, gathered two handfuls of sheets, and put on a smile that would have been beatific if not for the crease between his brows. Or so Alastor told him later.
Then a sharp line ran down his side, Alastor’s tongue swirled around a nipple while he pulled at the other, and Al had to bite his lip to keep down a flood of words. Wait. Don’t. Stop. I can’t— I want— More. The word he was looking for was more, and it was insanity. The pain was gone, transformed into electricity and light. His skin felt alive, and every brush of Alastor’s hands was a reminder of who it belonged to. Alastor leaned forward, their hips rubbed together, and Al didn’t push himself into the contact, no matter how much he needed it. It was what Alastor wanted, and that much at least Al could manage, even if he couldn’t stop himself from writhing under Alastor’s claws, even if he knew it only pushed the cuts deeper. The pain felt too much like pleasure for that to matter, and it would only bring him closer to Alastor.
That’s what this was, after all. A chance to feel an echo of Alastor’s pain and to mirror his reflection’s scars. All for him. Everything for him. Him, himself, Alastor. The lines were blurred, and that was the point.
This wasn’t surrender anymore. Surrender implied opposing forces. A winner and a loser, sieger and besieged. This was different. Lines drawn in sand being slowly erased. Shadows disappearing in the night. Darkness and darkness with only time between them, destined to become one. For just one night Al could pretend he was already there.
It was only as he felt points and warm breath against his chest that he remembered the game. He’d bitten Alastor and earned a bite in return, but Alastor’s teeth were sharp. “Please,” he breathed, not knowing what he was begging for, and Alastor chuckled and pulled away with a last cut across Al’s stomach.
“Done!” he said, bright and singsong, and Al’s eyes blinked open. Alastor met his gaze for a moment then went back to tracing the lines across Al’s skin. “Oh, you should see yourself now,” he whispered, and Al let out a breath. It wasn’t quite a laugh. The moment felt too surreal to laugh, but it was as close as Al could manage.
“I will,” he said, and Alastor grinned wide.
“You’re right, but it won’t take thirty years.” His hand grabbed Al’s shoulder and pulled, then slid across his back to draw him close as they rolled across the bed. Al barely managed to find his footing as they pivoted off, and before he could gather himself Alastor had spun him by the shoulders and pushed him forward. Al’s hands pressed against glass, and he was left face to face with his own reflection.
It was a look he’d never seen it wear before. Hair mussed, pupils blown wide and lids heavy, but sharp-eyed from adrenaline. Lips slightly parted as his breathing sped up at the sight of red. There wasn’t as much blood as he’d expected, all things considered. A few drops trailed lazily down his stomach, the cuts reopened from recent movement. Smeared lines traced the paths Alastor’s hands had followed, like a bizarre game of connect the dots if the dots were angry red lines.
Those hands were back as Alastor walked up behind him and a couple steps further. His chest pressed against Al’s back and pushed him against the glass, and the cold was at once harsh and soothing against his heated skin. It clashed against the warmth at his back and the hands running along his waist, teasing at the edges of his cuts, and that was yet another reminder. They were closer than afterlight, closer than anyone else ever could be. Al didn’t have to know Alastor’s secrets to know him, and there wasn’t a thing about Al that Alastor didn’t understand.
“So this is why you waited thirty years.”
Alastor nodded. “With anyone else I’d need a reason. With you, it’s an indulgence.”
Hah. Glorified self-harm and masturbation. Al let out a chuckle, not at the thought or its irreverence, but at how quickly he’d rebelled against it. Whatever this was, it meant more than an idle distraction. It was more than a simple high. At least for him.
“So what is it like on your end, this ‘indulgence?’”
Alastor leaned his head against Al’s, and Al felt more than heard him hum. “I’m sure you can figure it out for yourself. You know me.”
It took almost a minute to find the words. A long, distracted minute caught between now-warm glass and a touch that by now felt almost as natural as his own. Al’s erection still strained against his pants, and he could feel Alastor’s pressing against the base of his spine. How would it feel, he wondered, to have it inside him? It seemed impossible, and sex had always looked oddly painful, but that wasn’t a deterrent. His hands reached back around to rest on Alastor’s hips as he answered.
“And you know me. I’m just as proud as you are and just as stubborn, but here I am, for you and only you. Everything I give, I give because you’re worthy of it, and that’s worth more than any of your souls.”
Al hooked his thumbs under Alastor’s waistband and slid them to the front. His fingers found the zipper and pulled it down with an odd pang of gratitude for future tailors. Buttons would have been much harder to undo from this angle.
But it was easier for Alastor, and he reached forward and undid Al’s buttons as easily as if they’d been his own. Which they had, Al noted with a smile, and that bit of humor was enough for him to gather his courage, move his hands back to Alastor’s waist, and slide his pants down, underwear and all. Alastor followed, and for a moment Al froze. Yes, that was a cock pressing between his cheeks, and yes, that was his against the glass of the mirror.
“Time to make a decision,” his voice whispered in Al’s ear. “How real do you want this to be? Don’t say it, only let it happen.”
Of course. Even if this wasn’t a true dream, it still had aspects of one. If Al wanted and Alastor agreed, they could take away the pain and all the impracticalities, but if they did he’d still be curious in the end. No, that wasn’t what he wanted, but he could stand not having to deal with the mess.
“Good choice,” Alastor said, then stepped away. For a moment Al was confused, then he rolled his eyes at his ridiculousness. Why should his first time be pressed against a mirror with his pants half off when there was a perfectly serviceable bed barely two feet away? With a sigh he pushed away from the glass and copied Alastor in stepping out of his pants.
It was incredibly odd being naked, even in his own home. Most of the time he stayed fully dressed, ready at a moment’s notice to flip on the afterlight and have a chat. It was almost disturbing to see his reflection covered only by small scratches and very clearly aroused.
And behind him Alastor was the same, and that was even stranger. Rarely had Al seen him in anything short of full suit and tie. There were so many minor details that Al hadn’t expected or considered. There was the tail, of course, as Al watched it swish back and forth a few times. There were the scars that continued down his arms and legs. There was the gradient where his pale skin transitioned to the black of his hands. It was all so very curious, and it was only when Alastor looked back that Al realized he’d been staring too long at their reflections.
But even with that realization, Al still didn’t know what to do. His first thought was to simply sit at the edge of his bed and say, “Now what?” but that wasn’t an option. It was his turn, his move to make, but nothing came to mind. He’d seen enough positions to know his options, and he could guess at the logistics, but in the moment it all felt desperately distasteful.
“Still curious?” Alastor asked, just insincere enough for Al to know he was being mocked, and in a flash Al had his answer. He knew exactly what to do to lift the decision from his hands without letting his turn go to waste.
Al turned around with a wide grin. “Very.” He walked forward, wrapped his arms around Alastor, and pulled until they were back on the bed, face to face, legs tangled together, and lying on their sides. “There’s so much I want to know. Like why you were so quick to stop me before.”
Alastor had to be expecting it, and Al barely brushed his fingers down his tail, but Alastor still flinched from it. He did more as Al continued raking his fingers through the fur, hugging Al close and pressing their foreheads together. It pulled at Al’s cuts, but it was more than worth it when Alastor started talking, his breath soft across Al’s lips.
“You want to know why? When you arrive in Hell, everything new is incredibly sensitive. Maybe it’s the novelty, maybe it’s a punishment. Ha! If it is, God could’ve done better. Some say it wears off after a while, but I haven’t had a chance to find out.” He paused, then added as if in afterthought, “I hear wings are a nightmare. You feel every feather, every breeze. Wouldn’t that be something?”
Oh? That almost sounded like envy, but if Alastor wanted more, Al could grant it. “Is this also. . . ?” He brushed a hand through Alastor’s hair then along the crest of one ear and was rewarded with Alastor wrapping himself tighter around him.
“Yes,” he breathed.
Al wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, but Al would happily have waited longer. It was his turn and a good use of it. Alastor’s chest rose and fell against his, and Al didn’t just hear but feel every catch in Alastor’s breathing. Every light hum as Alastor tried and failed to relax, and every shiver as Al’s fingers brushed against just the right spots. It was intoxicating to have Alastor like this, but it couldn’t last forever. After a wile Alastor’s eyes fluttered open, a ruby-red, blood-red light that filled Al’s view and took his breath away. His hands stilled, and he didn’t protest when Alastor rolled him onto his back.
“Clever plan,” he said. “You get what you want and push what you don’t onto me. But I’ll forgive you. Now keep your eyes open and don’t forget to breathe.”
Al would’ve scoffed at the reminder if something soft hadn’t suddenly curled around his ankles. A shadow, he realized, as more of them came into view behind Alastor. So that was why he’d been told to keep his eyes open. It was advance notice, both of the touch and of what would come next. One of the tendrils reached out to his nightstand and brought back a jar that Al had certainly never owned or left there. Still a dream. Of course.
And the reminder did help. Al kept his breathing even as shadows wound up his legs, not to bind but to warn him before they slid up to his hips. But he didn’t expect them to curl around his shaft and leave it coated in something cold and slick. He didn’t expect it, and his eyes flew wide as he realized what it meant. “Breathe,” Alastor said, and it was only then that Al realized he’d stopped. He forced himself to take a deep gasp, just enough to manage a handful of words.
“What are you doing?”
“Finishing your turn for you. Unless you’d rather I stop.” Alastor pressed his hands to Al’s chest and pushed away, and it wasn’t because of the pain that Al grabbed his wrists.
“No. If it’s still my turn, then stay. Do it.”
Alastor just leaned back down and chuckled. “Eager, aren’t we? Just one more minute.”
A minute? A minute was nothing, and if it was still his turn, then he’d have plenty to distract himself. But even before he could reach for Alastor’s tail, Alastor shivered and let out a sigh.
“A minute? A minute for what?”
Alastor didn’t answer, but Al could hazard a guess. Al’s fingers trailed down his back, past his tail, and around the curve of his ass, but he couldn’t reach far enough to know for sure. At least not until a shadow slipped between his fingers, covered in oddly warm gel. Then it pulled away and after a few seconds Alastor shivered in his arms again.
It was as good as a confirmation. Somewhere in the back of his mind Al knew preparation was a part of sex, but actually seeing it—or the effects anyway—was a different matter entirely. This was Alastor— Alastor —in a rare moment of slipping self-control from the tentacle in his own ass, spreading it open to prepare him for Al’s cock.
The sheer vulgarity of it almost gave Al pause, but there was so much he could be doing instead. His hand was still covered in . . . nothing. Al rubbed his fingertips together and found them perfectly dry. No mess. What a dream. He wasted no more time in digging them into the fur of Alastor’s tail, all while wrapping his other arm around Alastor’s shoulders and pinning him close. The immediate tension was gratifying, the shivers that came after even better. What a glorious revenge for earlier.
“You know, the point of this is to relax,” Alastor said, and Al could’ve spent ages listening to that voice—beautiful and shaky and laced with even more static than normal.
“Oh,” Al muttered, then shifted until his lips were pressed against Alastor’s neck. “I know, and I don’t care. You’re mine, just as much as I’m yours, and I want to hear you sing.”
Al angled his mouth before he bit down, making sure the force of it was squarely on his canines. The taste of iron and shadows filled his mouth, and the sound of Alastor’s moan was music to his ears.
“Wonderful. My beautiful, horrifying. . .” Al paused for a moment to lick a drop off Alastor’s neck and think of anything like a decent pet name. None came to mind, and he laughed and finished simply. “Alastor.” What was that if not the highest compliment Al could give?”
It wasn’t long until the bite healed, but by then Alastor was ready. He hovered over Al, fingers pressed against Al’s stomach and teasing the edges of a cut while a shadow wrapped around Al’s cock. It guided him to what had to be Alastor’s entrance, and even with the gel it still felt impossible. There was pressure, then a gradual yielding, then something shifted and he was inside. Alastor lowered himself slowly, his eyes bright and sharp with focus.
And every story Al had ever heard about sex—every overheard tale, every drunken overshare, every background glimpse in Hell—all of it suddenly gained another side. How absurd that every one of them treated it like scientific fact. The one being fucked was weak, barely more than a belonging, for no more reason than that they had a dick inside them. Ridiculous. What kind of mindless self-delusion did it take to think that power was so simple? Even now, even sitting impaled on Al’s dick, Alastor was by no means powerless. Not when he could make Al feel so much. So much warmth, so much need, so much of this aching pressure in his chest, like a weight pressing on his lungs.
And ownership? What a laugh. This wasn’t a contract. No legal language, no absolutes. It was a concession, but whose? Alastor’s for letting Al in? Al’s for letting Alastor take him? Both perhaps, or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered, not now, and Al shoved the thought aside.
Alastor was moving, sliding slowly up and down, but his hands were on Al’s hips to keep him from following. It was all so much more than Al had ever experienced, far better than his hand, rarely as he’d bothered with it. And despite it all, the feeling wasn’t what mattered. It was the person. It was Alastor and another boundary between them torn down, and when Alastor let go of his hips Al couldn’t stop them from bucking up into him. Then again and again as Alastor did nothing more than lean back and match his pace, and Al didn’t know how long it was until something snapped and a vast tide of euphoria flooded through him. It coursed through his nerves and cuts and to the tips of his limbs, and all of it centered in waves around his dick. Slowly it ebbed away, and as it did Al opened his eyes to see Alastor staring at him with an unbearably smug grin.
“What? Done already?”he asked, and if it wasn’t for the sudden calm that washed over him Al might have felt embarrassed. Instead he just shrugged.
“Looks like it. Maybe you shouldn’t have taken so long.”
More importantly, the last who-knew-how-long was busy catching up to him and testing his ability to keep down bursts of hysterical laughter.
What a dream. What an utterly ridiculous mess of a dream. His first time seeing Alastor outside a mirror, and he’d immediately jumped to sex? Some people liked women, others preferred men. Still others had every proclivity under the sun, but apparently the only thing that could satisfy Al was his own damned self. He couldn’t decide if it was laughably egotistical or the most natural thing in the world. Or both.
And just as the adrenaline was starting to fade and the pain was starting to feel like pain again, Alastor made him an offer.
“You don’t have to be done. In reality it would hurt to go again so soon, but in a dream you can cheat the rules. Turn over and you’ll see.”
Al did laugh at that. More sex, just as he was done pondering how absurd it’d been in the first place? He already knew he’d take the offer. Despite the sting of his cuts, or maybe, incredibly, because of them, a soft afterglow was setting in. The sex didn’t matter, just a rush of sensation and a way to force out reactions. No different than pain in that sense. Just a layer on top of it that took too much effort, too much vulnerability, and far too much nudity to bother with for anyone else.
But with Alastor it was worth it. For Alastor, nothing was too great a sacrifice. There was nothing worth denying him and nothing worth holding back.
And more importantly, it’d be unthinkably rude to deny Alastor his last turn in their game.
So despite the lethargy and despite knowing he’d stain the sheets—it didn’t matter in a dream, he realized—Al rolled over onto his stomach. The cotton pulled against his cuts, but more important was the warmth of Alastor’s fingertips trailing down his spine and across his ass. They pulled his cheeks apart, and Al clenched his fists in the covers to hold himself still. It should have been humiliating to be exposed this way. It should have boiled his blood, but here and now and for this person alone, Al could allow it. Every flicker of disgust drowned in a tide of acceptance.
“Now, how do you want to do this?” Alastor asked, and Al shook in a silent laugh.
“It’s your turn, isn’t it? You decide.”
“Then get on your hands and knees.”
Al followed the instructions almost absentmindedly, his eyes drawn to the smears of blood on the sheets below. “Knees apart. Head down. Shoulders too.” Al obeyed just as easily, resting his head on his hands and turning it to the side. A set of mirrors hung along the wall he was facing, Al moved his elbow out of the way to see, and immediately he wished he hadn’t.
The bloodstains weren’t the problem. If they were they’d be gone with the rest of the mess. It was everything else that was so far from fine that Al couldn’t bring himself to look away. He couldn’t stop tracing the curve of his back up to where his ass stuck in the air, then back down to where his legs were spread to expose himself. It was so desperately unlike him and exactly the sort of crassness that was so revolting in others. Even now, even for Alastor, it was too much to bear. But he couldn’t look away.
“Alastor,” he muttered. “Please. I don’t want to see.”
Alastor’s hand rested on his cheek, and the touch was welcome. The touch was something Al had never though he could have, but the sight of it was all he thought he’d never have to suffer. Himself and Alastor, both undressed, about to—no, he refused to visualize it.
“There’s a price for everything,” Alastor said, but it didn’t matter. Alastor would never truly harm him, even if only out of self-interest.
“I’ll pay it,” Al said, and the moment he did a wave of shadows rushed out from under the bed to surround him. If not for the mirror he wouldn’t have known though. None of them touched him or so much as rustled the sheets. They were close, the tendrils threatening to reach out and hold him down, but only two moved closer. They wrapped around the back of his head then forward, a pair of hands covering his eyes. Al’s vision went black, and suddenly he realized the point of Alastor’s little display of magic.
He couldn’t see the shadows. They had no smell and made no sound, and Alastor had just proven that Al wouldn’t feel them creep closer. He wouldn’t know where they were until they wrapped around him, and somehow the thought was enough to bring back that tension from earlier, the one that called up warmth deep inside him and settled just under his dick. And if one of them could grab him there—
But instead he felt something running along the cleft of his ass, up and down until it stopped at his hole. A finger, complete with clawed tip and—Al realized as it started pressing into him—covered in lube. And that was an entirely different kind of tension. “Alastor—“
“You said it yourself. It’s my turn, so I’ll do as I please.” His other hand curled around Al’s ass as he let out a chuckle. Its claws dug in, not enough to draw blood but more than enough to make themselves known. “But don’t worry. I’ve had these for decades. I know how to use them and how not to. But this time I do mean it. Hold still.”
There was nothing to say to that and no response but to do exactly as Alastor asked on threat of pain. The point of this was to relax, Alastor had said, and Al tried as a second finger joined the first. His breathing evened as they didn’t move, then jumped as something else slipped between and around them. It moved too freely to be a finger, and it wiggled deeper until it brushed against something that forced Al to gasp. It widened, pressed further inside, and spread him, but after that first touch it seemed to be determinedly avoiding that spot. It wasn’t long before Al was fed up with it, before he was struggling to keep himself from moving against the shadow to get more than a touch.
“Get on with it,” he muttered into the covers, then sighed in relief as Alastor pulled his hands away. They were clean again as they settled on Al’s hips, as he felt something else pressing against his hole.
“You asked for it,” Alastor said, and the world exploded into pain.
Fire lanced down Al’s spine, and his back arched as if to get away from it, but there was nowhere to go. He heard a hiss as he sucked in a breath through his teeth. His body was tense as if to brace against the pain, but it burned along his nerves and straight through all his defenses—the sudden, foreign pain of being stretched, of having Alastor inside him. And as if to make it worse, his hand was stroking Al’s cock, and waves of confused pleasure joined the flood of sensation.
It was a while before the pain dissipated and Al could let out the breath he’d been holding. His muscles relaxed, and his head fell back to the bed. The sheets were cold against his forehead as he panted out a single word. “Demon.”
“Yes. Yours,” Alastor answered and pushed the rest of the way in.
The pain wasn’t as bad the second time. Less sharp. More expected. This time Al waited longer to relax, until every hint of it had faded away. The heat of it still lingered, but by now it was welcome, like the warmth of Alastor’s touch or the splash of fresh blood against his skin. Al waited until he’d finally caught his breath to talk.
“What did I ever do to deserve you?”
Alastor chuckled, and Al could feel it in the press of his hips and the light squeeze of Alastor’s hand along the head of his cock. “I could list everything, but for now it ends with enjoying this."
Of course it did. The sadistic bastard. Al should’ve seen this coming from the start. Perhaps, to some extent, he had. Maybe he’d known all along but also known that it would hurt more if he’d resisted. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to resist.
When Alastor started moving again, it wasn’t like before. It felt strange—not pleasant but not unpleasant, only uncomfortably full—but still Al didn’t want it to stop. All he wanted was more—for Alastor to do anything and everything he pleased, for Alastor’s hand on his dick to speed up, for Alastor’s own dick or a shadow or anything to hit that spot inside him again.
Then Alastor shifted, and it was like lightning. Al couldn’t help but rock into the next thrust, never mind that it threw off the angle. It took a few more tries to match up again, but after that it was all goosebumps and a brilliant, floating euphoria that Al would’ve sworn would lift him off the bed if not for Alastor pushing him into the sheets. It was a marvelous bliss, and Al wasn’t sure how long it went on before Alastor thrust into him and stopped.
It took a moment to clear the fog from his head and realize what happened, and by that time Alastor had pulled out and backed away. His hand left Al’s dick, but as Al moved his own to replace it he felt a shadow wrap around his wrist. Others caught his knees before he could lower his hips for any sort of contact, even just with the sheets. “You can’t just leave me—” The words were out of his mouth before he could think.
“Oh can’t I?” Alastor hummed. His voice was low, breathy but satisfied, and for a moment Al wished his eyes weren’t covered and he could see Alastor’s face. Then the moment passed, and his frustration returned in full force.
“No, you can’t. Go again. What do you want for it?”
There was nothing that wouldn’t be worth it, no price Alastor would name that would be too much, but it didn’t matter. “No,” Alastor said. “This may be a dream, but I’ve already been cheating to last this long, and everything has its limits.”
It wasn’t what Al wanted to hear. Not even close. He knew it wouldn’t do any good but still he pulled against the shadows. They didn’t give an inch. All he accomplished was waving his ass in the air, and finally Al took a deep breath.
“Alastor,” he said, only a trace of desperation beneath the forced calm. “What do you want?”
Alastor’s hand raked through his hair, and Al leaned into the touch before Alastor grabbed it and pulled.
“Everything,” he whispered. “No reservations. No regrets.”
Al could have laughed. “Done.”
It was nothing new. The whole of Al’s existence had been spent following Alastor’s footsteps and hanging off his every word. Whatever Alastor asked for, he’d give. Whatever he wanted, he could take. Maybe Alastor just liked hearing it.
Alastor let go of Al’s hair, and his head fell forward—relaxed, breathing slowly, waiting. He didn’t wait long. The shadows started at his knees, wrapping down to the soles of his feet and up to his hips. They coiled around his cock and pressed into his ass to rub insistently against that spot inside him that felt so unbearably good. Al barely followed where they went next, only noticing as they twined through his hair and between his fingers. A last one brushed against his lips, and Al didn’t hesitate a moment before parting them to let it in. It pressed against his tongue and that was it. He couldn’t say a word, couldn’t twitch a finger, could barely move a muscle. All there was left was to tremble in Alastor’s grip and feel himself coming undone.
It was slower the second time. The first was like a wave, slowly building until it suddenly hit a shore, broke, and ebbed away. This was more, almost more than Al could bear. It was a flood, a constant storm of sensation that left him more and more full with nothing to do with it. He couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything more than cry out as the waves pulled him under. The shadows were unceasing. Merciless. Stripes of black against white and red, they writhed inside him and swirled around his dick and danced across every inch his skin. They pressed against anything that might make him react and forced him to feel more than he’d ever thought he could until he could barely breathe from it. It was impossible to hold and just as he thought he might drown, the pressure surged and broke the dam.
And somehow, as good as the buildup had been, the release was even better. Waves and waves of pleasure flowed through him from head to toe, a vast stream of it that swept away everything in its path until it swept him away too. He didn’t know how much later it was that he finally found himself again, panting on his hands and knees, feeling strangely, blissfully empty.
All at once, the shadows holding him up vanished, and Al dropped onto the bed and curled up on his side. Small aftershocks sent shivers down his spine, but he couldn’t move. It was too much effort to lift his arms or open his eyes. All he could do was listen to the swish of cloth as Alastor moved and appreciate the gesture when a blanket fell across him. Then a pair of arms reached out from behind him, and from somewhere Al found the strength to press himself against Alastor’s chest. It wasn’t necessary. Alastor’s movements had all his usual strength and grace, not like Al’s lethargic ones, but it felt right anyway.
“How come you’re not tired,” Al muttered, annoyed at the exhaustion in his voice but unable to do a thing about it.
Alastor let out a laugh. “Ha! I have more energy in a fingertip than you use in a day. I don’t need to sleep, but you do.” His fingers wandered up to Al’s brows then gently brushed down as if to make sure his eyes were closed.
“Will you be back?” Al asked. Back here, he meant and knew Alastor would understand. Back in the dream.
“That depends on you,” Alastor said, and Al let out a huff. It was as good as a yes, but in too many meaningless words for Al to bother with. “Besides,” Alastor went on, “you haven’t even realized the best part. You have more control over the dream than I do. Just imagine all the possibilities.”
Al couldn’t, but his eyes flew open anyway. Oh, he couldn’t even begin to imagine everything he’d do to Alastor. Some ideas he dismissed right away, knowing they would come back to bite him. Not within minutes, not like tonight’s game, but there was a reason Alastor had started it. It was an example, a warning. Everything would always come back to him in thirty years. They were going to have so much fun, him and Alastor.
But first, there was this tedious exhaustion. Al focused on it, focused on the feeling of being awake—the sharp awareness of coffee, the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of having a victim in his clutches. Nothing happened. His limbs still felt like weights pinned to the bed.
“I told you,” Alastor said. “In a dream you can cheat reality, but there’s a limit. You’ve hit yours for today.”
Al grumbled, but after a moment he relaxed and curled deeper into Alastor’s embrace. There’d be other nights. Other dreams. After a moment he felt a vibration and realized Alastor was humming. It was a familiar tune, backed up by a faint jazz orchestra, but despite that it took almost a minute for Al to recognize the song.
“A lullaby? You’re singing me a lullaby?”
Alastor finished the verse and chuckled. “You did say you wanted to hear me sing, and lullabies have such wonderful lyrics. They’re all about how children should go to sleep lest the horrors outside steal them away.”
The emphasis on the words, ‘go to sleep,’ was none too subtle, and Al scoffed. He wasn’t that far gone yet. He could still pick up an obvious hint and the oh so delicious irony. “Oh, please. You are the horrors outside.” And he’d already stolen Al away. Long, long ago. “Besides,” Al added. “It’s bad advice. Even sleep won’t stop you now.”
Alastor’s fingers brushed across Al’s forehead, sweeping a few stray hairs into place. “No, it won’t. You should get some rest while you can.”
It was sound advice, full of all the reassurance and foreboding Al could want. Al let his eyes droop closed for a last time, Alastor resumed his lullaby, and so it was that Al fell asleep in a dream to the tune of his doom, sung by his own personal hangman.