Archive of Our Own ^beta

Flipping the pillow didn’t work. Warm milk didn’t work. Reading didn’t work. Charlie rolled onto her stomach, hands punching and pulling her pillow into a dozen different shapes, trying to find the one that would grant her sleep. “Come on! Please!”

No matter how much she coaxed and wheedled, the pillow remained coldly indifferent. Resigned, she finally she turned away, rolling onto her left side, only for her shoulder to spasm in protest. Rolling to her right reignited the shin bruise she’d gotten earlier while helping Niffty clean that armoire, and Charlie kicked the comforter away from her legs, twisting around onto her back again with an exasperated groan as she yanked the pillow down over her face. My mind’s buzzing away like a beehive and I can’t make it stop.

“Wouldn’t be so bad if I’d just…had some decent sleep the last few days,” she muttered against the silk and feathers. “I mean it’s not like I mind, I know stress just comes along with this kind of job, nothing can be sugar and roses all the time, but…” I’m tired.

“Yep, totally and completely tired, and yet no sleep for me; kinda funny, huh? Haha, no sleep means can’t sleep, who would have thought?” Her laughter sputtered off into a exhausted hiss as a band of tightness started to curl behind her eyes, carrying with it the threat of tears. No! That won’t help either.

“Well, Charlie, sitting here moping isn’t going to get you sleep,” she said in her brightest, most determined tone, but her voice croaked out instead like an elderly parrot’s, and she bit her lip in frustration. “So if reading and milk and changing positions aren’t working, then…well. One last thing to try.”

An activity that she generally kept to a minimum—not because there was anything wrong with it, of course not—but fantasizing about people that she wasn’t actually in a relationship just seemed wrong, even if they were porn stars, and she was never was very long on imagination when it came to romance. Any fantasy lovers she tried to cook up never evolved beyond pale, sketchy shadows, and usually sputtered and died well before she reached orgasm. Frankly, a lot of the time it was just easier not to.

Except…now—

I simply want to give you what you need, my dear. Nothing more, nothing less. And she’d crushed the lapels of his jacket in her fists (and he’d let her), stretched to bursting with his shadows as she’d moaned and thrashed, sprawled over his thighs like some frantic kind of beast, half out of her mind, as Alastor smiled down at her, his grin growing wider and wider…

“No, no, no! Bad Charlie! We talked about this!” she whispered. Her lips made a damp spot on the silk. “Even if it felt really, really good, I need to deal with my problems on my own without resorting to unholy kind-of-sex toys. Aside from everything else, I can’t keep asking Alastor to take on extra work for my own selfish needs.” And…I want to fully trust him, I really do, he’s my partner, but—he’s still so secretive, and all this quid-pro-quo, sneaking around, seems so…mercenary, and is it really fair to him, and… A sigh slipped free as she moved the pillow back behind her head. It might be too late as it is, but it’s really for the best that I not get too into…things. Him. All the him-things that involve him that don’t involve running the hotel.

“It’s better if I handle this alone,” she said aloud, with a firmness of mind that she didn’t actually feel, and hiked up her nightgown, spreading her thighs slightly so she could place her fingers against her clit.

Small, gentle circles to start with; deep, even breathing. No thoughts about shadows, or tentacles, or the Radio Demon’s long hands in her hair. This was her hand; the tiny flickers of pleasure from her fingers, and her fingers alone. She let her head drop back into the pillow and closed her eyes.

Too many long days, she admitted as she rubbed. Too many long days and the Vees running riot over Pentagram City trying to wrest control of the hotel from her; the massive fight that had broken out the other day due to the prospective guests that they’d turned down, not helped by Cherri Bomb’s enthusiastically disproportionate retaliation; the surge of people in general dropping by due to her father’s well meaning (but sometimes downright absurd, she admitted to herself with a stab of guilt) efforts to bring in more publicity for the hotel, her father and Alastor’s constant, unending bickering, and Alastor—

The Radio Demon’s smile lit the darkness of her mind, and Charlie smashed her free hand over her mouth to muffle her scream. ”Nope! Absolutely nope! Not going there, even if this is the exact situation he’d tell me to call him for. Nope, not happening, Charlie; redirect, redirect! Think unsexy but not too unsexy thoughts! Oh gosh, there’s gotta be something I can use.”

Outside, the snap, rumble and hum of the omnipresent traffic grew louder, nearly drowning out her thoughts. Desperate, Charlie screwed her eyes shut, scouring her mind for anything even slightly useable. Images flashed through her mind, too quick to grasp, and mostly not subject appropriate; her friends, her father, the perpetually broken toilet on the third floor that Angel Dust insisted was possessed, the old lizard geezer who’d shown up the other week demanding a free breakfast that didn’t exist and refusing to leave until he was given one.

Vox—now there was an unsexy man, her mind declaimed, and she immediately felt both vindicated and terrible—taunting them from the ten thousand screens of the wasp demon drones he’d sent to attack the hotel; Alastor, shuddering and buckling with laughter as his tentacles pulverized them into glittering microscopic bits like a rainfall of stars; Vox’s screeching threnody as ten thousand screens went out all at once—huh.

Her fingers slowed. In her memory, tentacles thrashed against the sky. Drops of sweat began to trickle down her back. The same tentacles he’d had…inside…her? Were they the same? She’d always assumed that they disintegrated after use, a fresh summoning each time, but now that she was thinking about it…what if they weren’t? The trickle became a flood. “Oh gosh, what if they’re like the Egg Bois, like individual people? His shadow imps are, so maybe they are the same tentacles each time, oh man, oh man, oh man. Do they have names? Because if they do, I’ve been really, unspeakably rude all this time, and—“

Static filled her ears. A prick of pain bloomed on her cheek; a claw very gently dug into her skin. A head protruded from the headboard, dangling above hers, with eyes like banked coals, and a great sickle moon of a smile. ”Good evening, sweetheart!”

Charlie screamed; shot backwards, and to the side, off the mattress and into air, smacking straight into the floor in a heap of tangled silk.

Alastor beamed at her from his perch on the bed, body curved into a lazy sprawl, chin propped on his hand. “My word, I believe you flew just about five feet there! A new personal record!” His laughter crackled like breaking ice against her ears. “Truly, you should see yourself! Your hair’s puffed straight out from your head like an enormous dandelion clock. Quite the fright!”

“Alastor!” Her voice snapped out like a whip, much more harshly than she’d intended, and she froze, a strange mixture of confusion and irritation swirling inside her. Calm down, Charlie. He does this every time. Why get so angry now? “How long have you been here?” she asked in a more normal tone, and the Radio Demon twisted his head to the side, his grin shifting into a more knowing smile. And what’s a dandelion clock?

He made an airy gesture with his free hand. “Oh, long enough, my dear, quite long enough. You were developing such a scowl between those usually merry eyes that I thought it time to intervene. Can’t sleep?” His smile stretched wider, microphone pressed to his lips like a kiss. “Bad dreams?”

She dropped her gaze; began to slowly unpick the sheets and comforter from around her legs.“N-not…really,” she said. “No bad dreams, anyway.” Because you have to be asleep in order to dream. Her legs freed, she looked back up at him. “Why are you here? Uh, not that you’re not allowed here, of course not, but you haven’t, uh, visited my bedroom since the…you know, the first time.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” His teeth gleamed in the dark. “My dear, you’ve been moping around the last few days, so unlike your excruciatingly bubbly self at all, that I simply had to check in on you. And lo and behold, what do I find? A bedraggled and weary princess once again trying to heap everything onto her own slender shoulders without a word or plea to her—“ He paused. “—partner, that she was in need of aid.” A tongue click like a stiff radio dial. “I thought we had discussed this? Come to a mutually beneficial understanding?” Alastor rose to a sitting position, legs tucked neatly to the side, and regarded her with the slightly raised brows and soothing smile of someone humoring a wayward child. “After all, for you, darling, I am always ready to lend a…hand.”

Charlie felt a wave of heat rocket straight down her body, settling deep in her lower belly. Her thigh muscles clenched. Why? Why? I was trying so hard to get by without him. “So…so, okay, let me get this straight: you were concerned about me, so you decided the best way to show that was to sneak up on me at 1:30 in the morning and scare me out of a few centuries of life?”

He hummed softly. “No, no, of course not; my little joke was merely to distract you out of your gloom! Gracious, you are on edge, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I kinda am. Not sleeping will do that to you.” The weird irritation still prickled under her skin; raised the blood in her cheeks. She stood up so she was eye to eye with him; leaned in. “Look, Alastor, no offense, but your sneaking up jokes are getting a little out of hand, so if you do it again, then next time—“ Her gaze flicked to the soft crimson and black tufts of fur guarding his ears. “I’ll wrestle you to the ground and pull your ears until you apologize!”

Alastor’s head snapped to the side with a sound like a gunshot; hung like a broken hinge. ”Paaaaaaardon?” he said, the word so choked by static she almost couldn’t make it out. “Excuse me? You? Wrestle me down? My, my.” His antlers stretched like grasping hands, nearly touching her throat before she stumbled back a step. “I would so very dearly love to see you try.”

Darkness oozed from him, shot through with greenish lights like will-o-wisps; slipped onward, groping. Brushed her hand and slowly began to wrap around her arm, taking it in a light, firm grasp that might have registered as benign if it wasn’t corpse-cold to the touch. Charlie bit her lip. The shadow curled against her skin, filaments creeping upward, pins-and-needles following behind. Unease was making her heart beat like a frantic bird, but her legs stayed planted, unyielding. He’s not actually trying to hurt me, I know he isn’t, she chanted to herself, and out loud said: “Okay, okay! Put the antlers away, I take it back, I take it back.”

A pause. Alastor, visible only by the glow from his eyes, cocked his head to the side, and then the darkness shivered and melted away from her. Icy drops spattered her feet; left obsidian streaks across the front of her nightgown. The bloody sunset glow of his eyes dimmed to reveal Alastor calmly swinging his legs off the side of her bed, his antlers no larger than the palm of her hand. “Splendid! No harm, no foul, then.”

Charlie breathed out, feeling just a little light-headed, almost shaky. “G-good.”

“Though, my dear—“ Without warning something shoved firmly at her shoulders, nudging her a step forward, and she squawked in surprise, turning just in time to see Alastor’s shadow smirk at her as it retreated to the wall behind her bed. “A word of advice, if I may?“

What now? “Um, sure?”

“Don’t ever say you’ll make me submit again, even in jest.” His eyes burned into hers, the sullen deep red of smoldering hellfire. “I kneel to no one.”

Uh. Okay. That sure is a way beyond overreaction-kind-of-reaction that I absolutely do not understand and am absolutely not able to deal with right now. File it away for later, Charlie, and for the moment, make amends. “I’m so sorry! It was just a joke. I had no idea it would bother you so much.”

“Bother? Who said anything about bother?” His laughter was slightly tinny. “Oh no, darling, not a bother, simply a very strongly held preference! But I digress! We’re wasting time!” Now it was his staff urging her forward, pressing gently into her back until the front of her gown nearly touched his knees. “The night grows old, and yet here you are, still deprived of rest.”

The weird irritation leapt up at her again. “Well, I was taking care of things before you showed up. Attempting to, anyway.” Alastor gave her a sharp, almost wounded look, and she felt her shoulders start to slump from exhaustion. “I didn’t want to bother you. It’s late. You have a life of your own.”

“It’s far more of a bother to me to know that you’re refusing to ask for assistance I would so very gladly give,” he murmured. “We talked.”

“Yes, but—“

“New nightdress?” he said, an abrupt and baffling subject change. His hand closed over her wrist and slid easily inside the loose cuff of her sleeve, the warm pads of his fingers lightly caressing the underside of her arm. “A different color for you.”

It was suddenly very hard to breathe. “Y-Yeah, I wanted to step outside of my comfort zone for a change, so.” Pale blue was a color that she had left behind in childhood, but the nightgown’s color, long sleeves and lace reminded her of a picture from one of the storybooks her mother had read to her when she was little; the gown of a princess who lived on the moon that she had never actually seen. Alastor’s claws prickled gently against her arm, as if he was drawing small patterns upon her skin, while his hand moved slowly up to her elbow, closing around it. He pulled her forward slightly until her face was inches from his amused and still faintly glowing eyes; so close! her mind screamed. He never gets this close! Why now? She swallowed, her mouth gone very dry.

His smile hooked into a smirk. “Quite the gown; I had a maiden aunt with one very nearly like it. Still, I’m not here to chat about clothing, am I?”

With a snap of his fingers her fallen bedding whisked upward, neatly rearranging itself back on the bed. A bevy of shadows fluffed her pillows until a wave of his staff banished them, as Alastor flicked a satisfied look over his handiwork. The same staff slipped under her chin; gently lifted it. “Coming, dearest?” His voice was soft, but his eyes glittered like fresh blood as the staff traced a slow path down her throat, then over her breast, and a coil of heat gathered between her legs and twisted.

“I.” She licked her lips. “I…”

“Allow me,” he said, tender and terrible, and with a single hard pull on her arm Charlie tumbled down onto the bed besides him.

Her nightgown bunched, twisted and wet, behind her neck; her hair, snagged between her back and the mattress, yanked at her scalp from the weight on it, but she and Alastor were so close Charlie didn’t dare move for fear she might touch him.

Merciless Heaven, what is going on with him tonight? He’s never right up against me like this!

During their previous…rendezvous…Alastor had lounged next to her, one arm fully extended and looped around her shoulder, prop and restraint in one. His fingers would gently stroke over her face, tangle languidly in her hair, as she writhed besides him, but that was the extent of their physical contact, and he always, and deliberately, turned off the tactile feedback from his tentacles. Now he lay propped on his side, smiling down at her as she lay flat on her back, their bodies in perfect alignment from shoulder to calf, barely a hand’s length apart.

They’d never been in her bed for this. The last time Alastor had been in her bed had been the aftermath of their first time and they’d done that on the settee in her room, not in the bed. So…between that and this whole suddenly coming close thing…does this mean that he’s trying to be more…intimate with me? she thought, and a strange agitation twinged low in her belly.

“Shall we get on then, dear? Let’s see: I believe you were about here when I interrupted your grim-lipped self-pleasuring, were you not?” He snapped his fingers, and tentacles rustled up to loom about her like a sea of swaying trees, all bowed heads and curled tips. Heat jerked between her legs, immediate and painful.

“Ah…Alastor…” Her voice stuttered out as the thickest one dropped to flirt with the edge of her nightgown, fluttering the hem coyly about her ankles as the Radio Demon made a soft crooning noise above her. In the distance, jazz played. He smelt of blood and fur and hot wires; all his typical scents, nothing strange or different, but with each breath she took something inside her twisted hotter and tighter.

The playful tentacle left her nightgown to slowly stroke the bottom of her foot, drawing a moan from her; coiled about and tugged at the cleft in her hoof that formed her toes. Then, darting like a snake, it seized her hem in its tip, yanking it up her legs until she was bared to almost the tops of her thighs.

“H-hey, wait!” She grabbed at the sneaky thing as it began to caress the inside of her thigh, her fingers folding down into what always felt to her like soft, wet, dense air. “Just wait a second!”

“Princess.” Alastor’s voice was silken, but static rattled underneath. “Is there a problem?”

A flush of guilt peppered her cheeks as she looked up at him, the tentacle pulsing sullenly against her skin. He’s just trying to help. I think. “Sort of. But, it’s not really a me problem,” she said slowly, feeling out the best avenue of approach. “Um, Alastor. Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you feeling all right?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?” he asked, and she thought she saw the ear not against her pillow twitch. “Do you find something about me amiss?”

The tentacle in her hand squirmed avidly, clearly irritated by her grip upon it. “Well, no. But yes!” Shadow began to ooze between her fingers; a velvet caress that languidly dripped down her skin. “You’re, ah, not usually this aggressive, for one, or, ah, close.” Her hand was now entirely coated in black, as if she’d dipped it in ink. Small smoky tendrils danced around her wrist, encircling it; began to fan up her arm. “I mean, we were talking about me being on edge, but you seem like you might be on edge a bit yourself? Just a little?” Hot and cold sparks jittered across her upper arm to die away over her shoulder and breast, leaving her skin feeling tender and slightly raw. Without thinking, she twisted her shoulders against the ache, and felt him move back slightly. “In fact—and I really hope this doesn’t creep you out, because I really didn’t mean it that way, but I’ll understand if it makes you upset—I’ve been keeping an eye on you this last week, because ever since you came back from that—“ she used her free hand to quote, “—‘personal business trip’, you’ve seemed kind of…well, tense.”

Alastor’s eyes were glowing slits. “Have I now.”

Charlie held his gaze. He can radio-dial all he likes; I’m not going to back away. If he wants to stay in bed with me he’s going to have to behave. “Yeah. You have. If I’m not overstepping, do you want to talk about it?”

He let out a short, hard, breath of a laugh and the glare from his eyes flickered and died. “So, you’ve been studying me, have you? I suppose I’m flattered,” he murmured.

“You didn’t seem right,” she said simply. “You’re my partner in—well, in a lot of ways now, I guess, if you consider this another form of partnership (it’s fine if you don’t!) but I don’t really…I hardly know you at all. Not that it’s not okay to have boundaries or keep secrets!” she added quickly. A tentacle brushed over her nipple, feather-light, and she sucked down a gasp. “I just want—“ She hesitated. “To help you, like you help me.”

There was a click. The jazz died, his ever-present static hum faded, the tentacles stilled, and the Radio Demon went completely quiet, his irises twin voids within the dried-blood pools of his sclera.

Stillness and silence pressed down on her. It was never completely quiet when Alastor was around; this was unnatural, unnerving, and Charlie felt alarm begin to ripple beneath her skin. “Alastor?” she whispered; started to rise.

His eyes closed suddenly, grin stretching wider, as static poured out of him in a fervent, cacophonous buzz. She yelped, tumbling back as the tentacle escaped her hand to coil lovingly about her shoulders and neck.

His eyes opened again. “Dear, sweet, overly-considerate Charlie.” Gently, Alastor moved a strand of hair away from her cheek, the edge of his claws just brushing her skin, and Charlie’s breath left her lips in a shuddering sigh. “Always so rabid about placing the well-being of others over your own self. A most noble tendency. But, if you’re not careful, one day…”

His fingers dipped through the tentacle draped around her, and Charlie felt his claws touch her throat softly, followed by a very slight twinge of pain; she shivered. Felt the sudden and urgent need to slip her hand between her legs again. “You could find yourself in a very sticky situation, my dear.” He tapped her neck lightly. “Which is why you have me here: to guide and help you. How very lucky you are.” Alastor’s neck tilted like a broken stem, his eyes gleaming, and the hand on her throat moved back to her face, his thumb making hot circles over her cheek as she stared up at him, lips parched and parted.

“And you want to help me, just as I want to help you. Darling Charlie.” His thumb whisked under her lower lip as his voice dropped another register, something sweet and lulling playing softly in the air. Her eyes began to close. “Yes, that’s right. You’ll relax now, won’t you? Let me help you, set that overly-busy mind of yours at ease?” Tentacles nudged her thighs wider, brushed coaxingly against her sex, coiled about hip and breast and squeezed ever so gently. “Good girl.”

She was beginning to fall into the warm, drifting space he always led her into, the air thick and smooth as honey. Pleasure licked at her—or was that Alastor? He wasn’t a kisser, had never touched her with his mouth aside from the time he’d kissed her palm. Something tapped, soft and wet, against her clit, and she moaned, the sound mingling and harmonizing with the music all around her. Mmm. Ugh. Okay, time to stop, she realized, and slowly, with great reluctance, dragged her eyes open. “Um. Sorry. I really should have mentioned this earlier, but—no tentacles this time, please.”

The melody snapped. “What. Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” she said again. “I really should have spoken up before, but I guess I got a little caught up in things. Here is fine.” She cupped her hands over her breasts. “And the rest of my body, as long as they keep it gentle. Just not between my legs.”

Static droned against her eardrums. “Do you regret allowing me to penetrate you the last time? Is that why you refrained from calling upon me tonight?” Alastor finally said, his voice nearly smothered by hisses and pops. “It was what you had asked for, after all. You had seemed…pleased. I thought you happy.”

Charlie smiled up at him, wide and reassuring. “No, no, I was, I totally was! I don’t regret a thing. It’s just…it was really intense, last time.” A shiver passed through her, and—not for the first time—she wished she was allowed to reach out and touch him. “Really enjoyable, but really intense, and tonight I felt like I needed something a bit more low-key. Calmer.” His eyes were locked onto hers, tiny sparks of brighter red flickering within, like distant fires. “That’s why I didn’t want to bother you. I’d feel bad, asking you for something that I know takes energy and effort on your part and that I get so much more out of than you do, when I totally could have handled it myself.”

He tossed his head against the pillow, a restless movement. Was it her imagination, or were his antlers just a bit larger now? “Watching your lovely face and hearing your lovely voice are more than compensation enough for me; I’ve told you so before. And you were not “handling it”, you were floundering, Princess.” His voice turned silken again, snatches of soft classical punctuating his words. “As I have said, it is far more distressing to me to see you struggle alone when I am ready and able to provide assistance for you. Don’t fall down into easy assumptions. Don’t shut me out. If you wish to help me, you will allow me to help you.” His lips parted into a wider grin, teeth a wall of gleaming daggers scant inches from her face, and Charlie shivered again for a different reason. “Whatever you wish, I shall provide. You’ll use your own hand, I suppose?”

“Yeah.” Her nightgown was still rucked up around the tops of her thighs, just barely covering her sex, and she started to rearrange the fabric in a way that would give her both access and coverage. A tentacle snaked up and began to stroke her hands; she thought of shooing it away, but refrained, and it only briefly played with her fingers before sliding away to wrap around her calf and squeeze. Pulse jumping, Charlie shifted her leg with a murmured apology to Alastor, fully expecting him to edge away. To her heartfelt shock he stayed in place, even though her left leg was now perilously close to touching his, and if she started getting…well, active, she’d roll right into him. Okay, things are really going beyond weird tonight. But at this point it’s probably just best to let things play out and deal with it later, when we’re both calmer.

Still, she hesitated, feeling suddenly and ridiculously shy. Every time they’d previously been together Alastor had done all of the work while she’d been the pleased and passive recipient, and to masturbate while he watched seemed far more…erotic, somehow, in a way that she couldn’t explain, or put her finger on.

“Your prettily transparent face is broadcasting your thoughts again, dear,” Alastor murmured. One long finger traced a burning line across her shoulder. “Feeling awkward?”

“A little.”

Gently, he lifted her hand by the wrist; pressed it down between her legs, careful to avoid touching anywhere near her sex, the movement taking no more than a second, but Charlie’s pulse skyrocketed all the same. “Shall I start you off then, darling?”

The tentacles that had been hovering about her breasts earlier thinned, spreading over her skin like a stain, a blotch of darkness within and without the fabric of her nightgown, pulsing warmly against her nipples. Charlie moaned, twisting up as the darkness squirmed, mouthing tenderly at her skin. Eager fronds pulled at her nipples; closed about them, sucked.

Shadow pooled between her breasts; dripped to coat her belly. Alarmed, she clamped her hand over her sex, but the darkness obediently parted, dividing around her to drape her thighs, caressing every inch of her skin with a million tiny hands. Heat seeped into her flesh. The same tingling warmth spread upwards from her breasts; slicked her throat, shoulders, arms, the only parts of her not painted by Alastor’s darkness her face, her sex, the palms of her hands. Charlie’s fingers jerked on her clit.

Alastor’s fingers caught hold of her chin, gently tipping her face away from him. “Close your eyes, darling. Relax. It’s you and me together, same as old times. Nothing to be shy about, nothing to fear.” The shadows cupped her breasts; sucked with a tender insistence at her nipples as they fluttered ticklishly over her belly and thighs. Pleasure ripped the breath from her. Panting, she worked her fingers over her aching clit, her soaking wet folds;can’t put my fingers inside, will probably move too much if I do, bother Alastor—hmm?

Heat spread over her left side; the warmth of a body rather than the staticky heat of the tentacles. Alastor was leaning over her. Leaning on her. Sweaty clumps of her hair had fallen against her face and he smoothed them away, fingers tracing the vulnerable skin behind the shell of her ear as he did so. A claw rested at the join between her jawline and throat; moved lightly, as if drawing a symbol. Jazz plucked at the air. One arm slid over, around her, holding her to the mattress as his lips touched her hair.

Charlie froze. Little strands of icy heat crawled up and down her spine as he inhaled, nose to her scalp. What…what the… Alastor’s breath fanned over her skin as he pressed his nose behind her ear, nuzzling at her, and Charlie’s voice broke on a gasp. Her fingers fumbled, slipped, slid; she rocked involuntarily, hips lifting: almost there!

She felt, more than heard, Alastor’s breathing change. His nuzzling slowed, then stopped; hot breath poured over her neck. He inhaled once, hard, and through half-shut eyes Charlie saw his claws pierce the mattress, pinning her into place.

Without realizing it, she had stilled, a sudden and terrible clarity sinking into her heart. If she turned so much as a half-millimeter—if she leaned back, ever so slightly—

The heat of Alastor’s breath scorched her neck as he lay right behind her, so terribly quiet and still. She shook silently, her mouth parched, fingers trembling. A few molecules of air separating them…if she turned to look at him, the face she would see before his fangs tore through her throat would be—? I wonder if it will hurt very much.

If he attacked, she would have to defend herself. That meant a fight. Alastor would be hurt, possibly killed, and no matter the outcome, it would be the end of this aspect of their partnership, if not the relationship entirely.

I don’t want that. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to give this up.

I don’t want to give him up.

Little by little she shifted her gaze, until she was able to see the outline of their bodies in the window opposite her bed. Despair bit through her heart. The jagged points of his antlers branched above them like a grove of knives, his reflection a pitch black tumult of thorns smeared with green. Stitches bunched the corners of his mouth, and the X of his death-wound glared between eyes burning like malignant suns.

Charlie closed her eyes again; let herself very softly sigh. Right. I probably don’t have much longer, because if I don’t move soon, he will. Seconds ticked perilously away. Her one hope, dangling from the thinnest of strands, was his unnatural rigidity; even his breathing had stopped. A strange thought slipped into her mind: maybe he’s scared too?

She decided then, and before she could think herself out of it, moved.

With an ease she did not feel, she leaned back until his mouth fully touched her throat; hot, dry skin. The razor edge of his fangs. A thrill of panic shot through her as her fingers moved over her clit again, the gentle, swirling strokes she most enjoyed, and when she spoke, her voice was light, almost teasing. “Do I still smell like—“ Frantically, she hunted her spinning mind. “—Rotting cherry blossoms?”

Silence. Charlie waited, her entire body one burning prayer that he would understand the gesture for what it was: a declaration of trust, and not the rabbit offering up her throat to the wolf.

“Mmm…hmm?” His voice sounded as if it had been dredged from the bottom of a slime-drenched well sunk miles deep. Fragments of classical burst in the air like tiny thunderstorms.

“Cherry blossoms.” The more she talked, the more likely her voice would start to shake. Please. I really, really don’t want to hurt him. “I’m pretty sure you said—“

“Orange blossoms. Decaying orange blossoms. And yes, you do.” Jazz and classical snarled and fought against each other through a voice slightly slurred, but controlled, and Charlie took a deep breath. Under her lashes, she saw his claws retracting; felt his grip slacken and her neck grow cold. “Oh. Orange blossoms, right. And I changed shampoos and everything,” she murmured, blinking sudden tears away.

“Why on earth would you? It’s your intrinsic scent, not derived from your toiletries, and I’ve never denied that I enjoy it.”

She tried a smile. “Doesn’t sound very complimentary.”

“You should be used to my ways by now, my dear.” His breath drifted over her hair and Charlie’s fingers quickened. “The acrid earthiness of decay grounds the overpowering sweetness of the flowers in a way that I find very pleasing. But, when you are aroused…” The hand that had trapped her lifted; cupped her cheek, fingers caressing the arc of her cheekbone, the line of her jaw. “You smell of burning blossoms,” he said, and gently and deliberately kissed the pulse beating wildly in her throat.

Charlie cried out, half in panic, half in pleasure, as he did it again. The tentacles wrapped her tightly as if to calm her, rippled and shivered all at once, a thousand needle-pricks of ecstasy driving straight into her bones. Alastor’s thumb dragged over her lips; pressed down on the lower. Her fingers twisted. Black water rose above her head. It was too much, not nearly enough, and Charlie’s fingers slipped off her clit as she swept out with the tide, music crackling like flames in her ears.

She came back slowly to the hoarse beat of her breathing, Alastor’s hand still stroking her face. The tentacles had withdrawn, leaving her body over-warm and tingling, as if she’d stood inside a bonfire, a dull, sweet energy pulsing through her blood. Charlie licked her lips and yawned, her eyelids heavier than cement. I can’t sleep now though. “So,” she began, her eyes on the crumpled, sweaty folds of her nightgown, the rosy and aching skin of her calves and hooves. “Alastor. I think we need to—”

“A momentary aberration, that’s all it was,” he said quietly. His hand paused, cradling her cheek. “You have nothing to be concerned about, dearest. It won’t happen again.” He laughed, sudden and bitter. “I have been just a touch bizarre tonight, haven’t I? Take it from me, darling, all work and no play makes Jack a very wacky boy.”

Alarmed, Charlie rose on her elbows. “Oh gosh, is there anything I can do? See, this is why I didn’t want to bother you! You’re always around, always helping me in so many other ways, and it’s only been a few months since Adam hurt you. Of course you’re tired.” His eyes grimaced, though his mouth stayed fixed in its perpetual grin. “Oops, sorry, I know you don’t like talking about that. But really. If you’d like to take a vacation or something—“

Gently, Alastor pushed her back down amongst the pillows. “So very kind of you, as usual, darling. But there truly is no rest for the wicked.” This time his eyes also smiled. “And it seems a certain princess is still rather lively. What more does she need?”

Blood rushed up her face. Does he think that I think that he didn’t do a good job? “Nothing! I’m fine! Great! Completely satisfied!” He pulled her cheek lightly as his grin turned into a smirk. “Thank you so, so much, as always.”

“Your pleasure is mine.” To her surprise, Alastor broke her gaze and looked away, instead watching his hand absently curl a lock of hair over her right shoulder. “However, Charlie, darling—“

Alastor’s other hand brushed the top of her thigh, claws nudging the cotton of her nightgown away. His caress was so light she almost didn’t feel it. “Mmm?”

Slowly, his hand moved down her thigh; grazed over her wet skin. He paused for a long breathless moment, fingers twitching, then moved inward. Laid his hand flat over the inside of her thigh and began to stroke her, circling closer and closer to the soaking wet folds of her sex.

Charlie’s heart hammered against her ribs. “A-Alastor?”

“Sad to say, but I’m afraid that I’m still feeling just a little bit wild tonight,” he sang, eyes glittering like rubies in fresh blood. “But you’ll be a dear, as always, and indulge me.” His grin hooked wider. “Won’t you?”

“Yeah, of course, but…you’re sure about this? Absolutely sure? Please don’t feel like this is something you’re obligated to do for me,” she whispered as his hand glided like a burning coal over her skin.

His lips pinched together, just for an instant. “My dear, if this was not entirely born from my own will, would I be doing it? Really, darling.” The Radio Demon was stroking the curve just below where her thigh and sex met, hand moving more lightly now; the tips of his fingers, the points of his claws. His other arm curled around her shoulder, propping her up, binding her to him.

Slowly, she nodded, and carefully, incrementally spread her legs wider to give him better access. A drop of sweat rolled down her cheek, into the corner of her mouth; she licked it away and his smile broadened. She was so wet his fingers had to be drenched by now, even though they were still only on her thigh; yes, his claws were shining, gleaming like glass in the weak tufts of light from the window. Alastor sang a soft note that might have been curiosity; pinched her thigh gently. She jerked and gasped, and in response his eyes shot wide, then dropped to slits. Placing his claws more firmly, he dragged them up to the apex of her thigh, pressing in just hard enough to leave faint pink trails behind them, and pleasure bit hard enough to make her moan.

“Lovely Charlie. Delightful Charlie.” Alastor’s breath was a hiss. The hand on her shoulder slid under the wide, crooked collar of her gown to rest on the bare skin of her arm. The hand between her legs moved upward, delicately brushing the tangled curls shielding her sex.

A soundless gasp whistled between her lips. Her head filled with a vast bleached roaring as she watched him ease the curls aside—were his fingers shaking or was it her own trembling?—stop to rub a sodden strand thoughtfully between forefinger and thumb. It was only when he made another curious little “hmmm” sound that she realized the music was gone and had been for some time. No songs, no static: just the sound of their breathing, and Alastor’s fingers closing around the aching wet folds of her sex.

She moved: she had to. Her hips bucked once, before she could stop herself, cotton and silk wadded between her hands, her claws digging into her hip, into the mattress. Alastor shot her an amused glance, but his grin seemed lopsided, the right side far more pointed than the left. Sweat clustered at his temples, ran down his throat. He tugged gently at her outer folds and black stars flickered in her eyes.

Her legs were wide open now, any pretense of modesty gone; she could see everything, feel everything, and so could he. Alastor had always insisted that she be covered and now he was staring at the way his fingers tangled in the fine hair between her legs, golden strands shimmering with fiery lights from the deep red of his skin. He let his hand rest for a few moments, flat over her entire sex; then, with a tentative, almost diffident movement, he stroked a finger over her inner folds.

The Radio Demon’s languid pace was maddening: understandable, but maddening. Charlie shifted and moaned quietly; arched into his hand in the hopes that he’d take the hint, and heard a click. For an instant his eyes dialed, glowing sunset red, then reverted; took on a sardonic, quelling look. “Just a little impatient? Are we?” He pinched; pulled her left fold roughly, let it slip back. Touched the other more gently as she shuddered, blood roiling in her temples, her heart. Upward movement, a streak of fire. His thumb brushed over her clitoris, and the world ground to a halt.

“Small,” she heard him say from a very great distance, then: “This little bud?” A soft circle, testing, and Charlie’s back arched straight off the mattress.

Alastor’s head tipped. A melody, rustling and satisfied, slipped out from behind his smile, but an odd, splintery tone, scarcely audible, thrummed beneath. “So it’s here.”

“Did you not know where my clitoris was?” she said between gasps.

“My dear, I didn’t exactly make a study of female anatomy—well, female reproductive anatomy— while I was alive,” he said in a surprisingly prim voice. “There are certain things that a gentleman normally saves for his wedding night, and since I perished unmarried…I assume you understand my drift.” His thumb circled again, feather-soft, and he drank in her moan with tangible delight.

Alastor’s touch was faster now, his strokes more sure, and Charlie writhed, wanting so terribly to grab him, scalded with the knowledge that he would almost definitely stop if she did. Her eyes began to burn; veins jumped in her forehead. Horns want to come out. No! The close, sweet air of her room pressed down on her body like a million hands, remorseless and smothering. She moved a hand to her breast and cupped it, digging her fingers in, palm hard over her nipple, as Alastor’s eyes, blood-bright discs, stalked her every movement. His lips quirked, and with a gentle, almost indifferent air, he flicked the very tip of his claw over her clit.

A strangled cry broke from her lips. Instantly, his hand stilled. “That’s a new note,“ he said, slow relish in his words, as if he was feasting on her cry. Alastor’s mouth, very close to hers, pressed a dry, hot kiss on her sweat-dampened cheek; sighed a whisper into her ear. “Sing it for me again.” Above them, his antlers spread, shadows like unfurling leaves enshrouding their faces.

Harder now: the press of his fingers, the bright sweet sting of pain. The ends of his hair swept her forehead as she panted and writhed, her body a live flame urged to burn higher as he caressed her again and again. “Charlie, look at me. Charlie.” Less than a plea, not exactly a command. Her face turned to meet his; saw his bleeding lip, eyes wide as caverns. She opened her mouth to speak, but his thumb stroked one final time and Charlie went up like smoke, riding out her climax on the palm of his hand.

Smooth oxblood colored cloth ridged between her fingers. Light hazing her eyes. Charlie took a deep, struggling breath and said: “You’re hurt,” in a voice strange and hoarse from moaning.

Alastor laughed down at her. “Pish, a silly accident! Nothing more.” His long tongue swept the blood away as his fingers patted her cheek gently. “No, don’t you concern yourself with anything other than climaxing again, my dear.” Softly, the hand still petting between her legs glided downwards, the pad of his finger circling her entrance once, twice. “Because I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

Slight pressure, warmth, a finger just starting to press in. Charlie’s eyes snapped wide. “Claws.”

“I’ll be mindful.” Yet he continued to circle and stroke, lips closed and brows drawn tight, gaze moving continually between her face and his hand. After a few minutes more of slow torture he stopped, made a minute adjustment to the position of his hand, and abruptly slipped a finger inside her.

Charlie’s breath hitched as he eased in, fighting the urge to squirm. Thin, dry, hot, moving at a snail’s pace, tiny flicks of occasional pain from when his claw pressed a little too close. She licked her parched lips; darted a glance at his face. Alastor was stiff as a statue, his smile hooked so high that it looked as if his face would split apart. “Al—“

“Not now, dear.” His finger turned; curled, moved back and forth as if testing, and a moment later some of the tension slipped from him. “Hmm.” A note of pleased surprise. “It’s quite like viscera.”

Her spine stiffened. “Uh, run that by me again? Did you just say viscera?”

“It’s a compliment.”

“Well, okay then, if it works for you, but viscera? Viscera,” she muttered, and then a thought struck her. “I guess in a way the vagina is an internal organ…sort of…and they both start with ‘v’…”

He turned, catching her cheek on the very edge of his manic grin. “That’s the spirit, darling! Always a pleasure when we see eye to eye, isn’t it?” His finger continued its careful advance; stroking now, feeling his way around her walls, summoning strands of a slow-boiling pleasure, but it wasn’t enough, he needed to spread her wide, fill her, move faster, harder, more—

A sharp cramping pain shot through her thoughts and she bent double, crushing Alastor’s coat in both hands; his jerked to a stop. Alarms pinged in the air. “What? What is it? What’s the matter?”

“Cervix,” Charlie said through gritted teeth. “You hit my cervix.”

“Your…cervix,” he replied, blinking stiffly. “Ah. Wait. I do seem to recall encountering the term. The neck of the womb, is it not?”

“Yeah.”

Alastor’s exhale was long and slow, burred with static. “And apparently it is painfully sensitive. I didn’t realize such an area was…accessible to the casual hand, so to speak. In any case, my apologies, my dear.” He hesitated, then continued, in a voice briskly nonchalant: “I will, of course, understand if you no longer want to continue our activities—“

“No, it’s all right. It’s a brief pain, even if it’s not a pleasant one.” Feeling strangely daring, she laid her head on the very edge of his shoulder; leaned into him. Looked up, until his scarlet eyes met hers. Something flashed across his face, too quick to read, but the arm around her shoulders reeled her in until her nose just brushed his neck. Charlie shifted her grip around the lapel of his coat until she could feel the thin fabric of his shirt beneath, the wild thump of his heart. “I’ll be considerably more careful then, as that was not a good pain for you.” Distant voices crackled, some singing, some laughing, as he bent and brushed his lips against her hair, and Charlie closed her eyes.

“Alastor, if it’s okay with you, could you…if you don’t mind…add another finger? It’s better that way.” It was easier to speak to him behind the warm darkness of her shut eyes. Movement rippled under her cheek and she hastily added: “Only if you’re okay!”

“Delighted,” he replied, but distortion thinned out his voice, and it took her a moment to understand what he had said. She breathed out; willed herself to completely open for him as she felt his second finger join the first and they curled together, keeping a careful distance from her cervix. A giggle rose to her lips and she quickly smothered it, not wanting him to feel slighted, but she heard a staticky huff of breath all the same.

Heat touched her ear; enfolded it in a kiss. “Is this more to your liking, dearest?” Alastor’s voice was the low rumble of a distant inferno; she shuddered and nodded. Through her lashes his smile gleamed. Little by little he stretched her; explored her, caressed her. Sparks danced after his fingers. She was dripping onto his hand, rocking her body into his palm as he thrust into her, slowly and firmly. His shifting fingers brought a knuckle hard up against the top of her passage and pleasure ripped into her like a hundred spears.

“Oh. Well. What’s this?” Alastor’s voice thickened with delight. “A splendid new song for me; darling, you’re just full of enchantment tonight. Sing, then.” He rubbed again. Moans broke like waves from Charlie’s throat as her hips bucked high but he kept pace with her, his fingers merciless and sweet.

“Alastor.” It was getting very hard to breathe, think, do anything other than toss on the fire raging within her. “Al, please, I can’t, I-I’m not going to last—“

“Yes, you do seem almost undone, don’t you?” he agreed, words cool and pleasant, mouth hot on her cheek. “I do so hate to cut such a glorious performance short, but—there will be other nights.” As his words died on her skin he stroked even harder against that spot, a good, hard shove, and Charlie plunged off her cliff like a falling star. “Alastor!”

Cacophony sliced through the air as darkness enfolded Charlie like a storm of acid rain, a copper-tinged bright burning. Dimly, she could feel her muscles pulsing around Alastor, clutching at him, and she hoped, with sleepy chagrin, that he wouldn’t be upset by it.

“Charlie.” Alastor was calling; he wanted her for something. “Charlie dear, come back to me. Your inertia is a bit alarming.”

“Mmm?” she said through a yawn. His arm was still around her, but his hand had withdrawn, leaving her feeling warm and hollow inside, like a blown egg. Good; she hadn’t trapped him. “What is it?”

Silence; then the pressure of his nose against hers. She opened her eyes; found his black and burning. “Why,” he said slowly, as if he was picking amongst words, “aside from that new and spectacular spot I just discovered, did you climax so much harder tonight than previously before?”

“Uh…huh. Well, that’s a question.” Her brain felt like soft heaps of cotton wool. “I guess it’s because—well, because it’s you. I enjoy your tentacles a lot, but they’re not you. So that’s probably why.”

Alastor tilted his head: she heard a crack. “Pardon? Excuse me? The tentacles have always been mine, and associated with me, darling; they are as equally myself as my hand. Why would mere skin makes such a difference? I utilized exactly the same mechanics, the same movement, only reduced, since my tentacles have the advantage in speed, heft and, ah, fullness. Truly, I fail to see why it would matter to an erogenous zone whether I use my hands, my mouth, or my tentacles. Yet tonight you hit a peak of arousal unseen prior to now.” His eyelashes brushed hers. “I know that I have been providing superlative satisfaction for you; your previous paroxysms prove it! So—do explain.”

Charlie groaned a little. Sleep was tugging at her like an insistent child, but it would be rude not to answer, and she needed to make sure that he was satisfied as well before she dropped off. “To put it succinctly as I can right now; if your tentacles disappeared forever in the next five seconds, I would still want to be intimate with you, even if your tentacles have more…advantages.” She nearly said skill but stopped herself just in time. “That’s what makes it better for me. It’s not the tentacles I want. It’s you. You touching me directly is way more arousing than any tentacle could be, even if the technique isn’t as…” She hunted down the word. “Polished.”

A long thick silence stretched. “I suppose,” he finally said, “that this has something to do with attraction, then.” The word “attraction” fell like a stone from his tongue. “I…see.”

“I don’t know if you do,” Charlie said in as gentle a tone as she could, hoping that he wouldn’t rile. “But we can talk about this later, okay? Maybe I can…demonstrate a little better when it’s not the middle of the night.” She blushed. “Thank you, Alastor. You did such a wonderful job I can barely keep my eyes open. So if you don’t ne—want anything and it’s all right with you, I think I’m able to sleep now.”

“Oh no, I’m fine. Quite, quite satisfied, so never fear. A gentleman never keeps a lady awake past her bedtime.” Alastor gave her a closed-lipped smile, teeth shrouded, antlers back to normal. “I’ll take my leave then, darling. Sleep well, and don’t even think about leaving this bed before a good eight hours have passed. You need your rest. I’ll make your excuses to the others.”

Mentally, Charlie shook her head; there was just too much work to let herself sleep in and he knew it as well as she did, but it wouldn’t hurt to humor him. Smiling, she reached up to adjust the pillow, and Alastor caught her hand. Turned it over; kissed her palm. Fresh arousal spiked through her and she bit back a whimper. No! He’s leaving! Sleep time! Now! “Good night, Alastor.”

“À bientôt, dear.”

******

He kept himself normal, neat, composed, until the darkness slipped up and overtook him; only then did he stumble and gasp.

The shadows welcomed Alastor as they always did, his power and shelter entwined, though now he fell into rather than merged with them. His jaw, clenched against the betraying clatter of his teeth, burned with a high, sharp pain as his shaking hands found his face; scrabbled at his crawling skin. Pain should distract him; it did not. Hoarfrost and magma choked his veins; he wanted to tear her into bleeding strips and eat her, he wanted to return and curl around her in the rut-scented dark, he wanted to devour her, but she needed to like—no, enjoy it, every second of it, his beautiful asset, his golden key, his…

What fresh fucking madness is this?

His shadow watched him, and laughed.

The graveyard rattle settled him, though electricity continued to burst beneath his skin. “Quiet. None of your sass.” Alastor thumped his staff against what constituted the floor in the between place with perhaps more force than necessary, and jerked a hand at Charlie. “Stay with the princess. Watch her. Make certain that she doesn’t fidget a foot out of that bed until at least—“

The golden hands of Charlie’s clock stood at five to 3:00. “Eleven of the clock. She needs her rest.” As do I, though Hell alone knows where or when I will find it. “I won’t accept excuses—what was that? I seem distraught? You don’t feel comfortable leaving me? Hardly your business. I’ve been through far worse, as we both very well know—I’ve already slipped once tonight? Don’t I know that. And yet, I not only regained my control, I surpassed it, despite tempting myself with far greater provocation.”

Soft skin that would have yielded like paper to his fangs. The song of Charlie’s blood under his lips, priceless beyond rubies. The line of her throat. A foolishly naive trust willingly offered. And yet he had been nothing but gentle, he had been sure, and he had passed his self-imposed trial with flying colors, as only he could. “No, you need not fear for me. Go on now. Go.” At his final words, his shadow twisted up its face into a mocking simper, mouthed a fairly vile witticism, and vanished.

“The cheek of that scrap,” he muttered, and looked down at his left hand. Her fluids had dried white on his skin, thin crusted lines resembling salt. Sweat rimed his body in a way it hadn’t since his battle with Adam. A very thorough bath was in order, and yet…

The barest touch to his tongue. Yes, salt, but also bitter, with a subtle undertone that he couldn’t quite grasp. He licked his finger down to his palm, searching; stone and earth? Still, dark water? Wood in its last moments before ash? It teased at him as he took more and more in, swallowing her down to the last particle, yet no matter how much he imbibed he could not put his finger on it.

“Well,” he finally said, when the last smear was gone, “it is an acquired taste, but not a foul one, not by any means. Though the idea that a single atom of her body could ever possibly be foul is idiocy of the highest order…No, no, my delectable dear.” His smile was a swift knife between the ribs. “The floodgates may have opened in a way that I did not anticipate, but I’ve always been an excellent swimmer.”

One final look; Charlie, golden and tousled, hands fanned upon her blankets, lips parted softly, as if for a kiss. His own mouth twitched. Deep in dreams, or in the luscious arms of oblivion?

“I alone do this for you,” he muttered. “I alone witness your rapture; for me alone, you burn and sing. I may not have your soul yet, but link by link we’ll forge the chain, darling, and I’ll bind you so tightly to me Heaven and Hell combined won’t be able to force us apart. And then…”

Freedom, power, vengeance. Charlie’s eyes on his, Charlie’s hands in his. Her smile. Another jolt of that odd hunger sped through him, the uncanny appetite that he would think more on later, once the inferno steeping within his bones subsided.

“It truly will be a happy day in Hell.” He smiled. “Won’t it?”