Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Summer Heat

Alastor knew something was wrong. Very wrong. For one, he felt like hell. For another, his body dragged with exhaustion. And worst of all, heat clung to him in a way that made even reaching for his coat unbearable.
He stumbled down the stairs, ruby eyes shadowed with fatigue, and made straight for the kitchen. The pot was already full, the acrid scent of Husker and Angel’s cheap brew hanging in the air. He didn’t hesitate.
He lifted the pot itself, flipped the hatch, and drank straight from the spout.
“Uhh…” He glanced over. Of course. Vaggie stood there, staring at him like he’d grown a second head.
“You… okay?” she asked slowly. “I thought you hated that coffee.”
He set the pot down hard on the counter, grimacing. “I do. But I need coffee.” Or something.
Vaggie leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “Alastor, you look like shit. Where’s your coat? And—wait. Is your shirt untucked??”
Alastor sighed. “Your eye still works, yes?” When she nodded, he added dryly: “Then you needn’t ask.”
Vaggie studied him for a moment longer, taking in the tired look on his face, his untucked white shirt and black pants, a far departure from his usual red outfit, and the slight concave to his usually squared shoulders.

“You’re not usually this… you look like shit,” she says again, emphasizing the words.

Alastor bared his teeth. “I know, Vaggie.” The testy tone of his voice was another oddity. He drank more of the horrible coffee. He wished he had made his own, but that took time, and he needed to stop feeling so… achy and hot. “Just leave me alone,” he sighed, running a hand through his red hair.

Vaggie gave him a long look—was that concern?—before she walked to the entrance of the kitchen. “Charliiie,” she called, “the Radio Demon looks sick or something.” Alastor gave her a dirty look before slipping past her to the dining room.
He needed food. Thank goodness for Niffty buzzing around the table and Razzle and Dazzle already laying out breakfast. How they managed it, he didn’t know—but he was grateful all the same.

He sat down and bit into toast. Cardboard came to mind, but no—this was worse. Concrete dust and ash.Niffty gave him a look. “You okay, Alastor?”

He almost didn’t answer but chose not to ignore her and patted her head. “I’m fine, my dear. I’m just going to eat and go back to my room, I think.”

She frowned, but looked like she might leave it there at least for now, when Angel Dust arrived.

“Back to your room, Radio Daddy?”
Alastor stiffened. Angel Dust appeared out of nowhere, leaning down until his grin was eye level. “That’d be a shame, huh?” Angel leaned in closer, two arms draped over the back of the chair, the other two braced on his hips. His face hovered dangerously close to Alastor’s shoulder. That grin was sinful, chest fluff brushing against him like a tease.

Alastor’s smile tightened. “I am not your father. Or your… ‘Daddy.’” Angel’s smile widened, and Alastor kept on to cut him off. “And I’m not leaving you, I’m leaving the room.” Alastor tried to pull away, but Angel plopped full-on into his lap. Alastor froze, heat flooding his body and rolling into his lower back—before it pushed forward.
Angel shifted right into his lap, grinning wickedly. “Oh? Morning wood, doll?”
Alastor flushed, hissing between clenched teeth. “Shut. Up.” This? Was not that. He shoved Angel off of his lap by force, though the spider only grinned and settled in the chair next to his, all legs and lounging.
Footsteps came quick down the hall—then slowed, careful. Charlie slipped into the kitchen, eyes darting between Vaggie (arms crossed, jaw tight) and Alastor, hunched at the table. His shirt was wrinkled, hair mussed, and his smile carved a little too sharp into a tired face. “Vaggie said you’re not feeling well?” Charlie asked softly.
The gentleness in her tone made Alastor bristle.He snapped his head toward her with a brittle grin. “I am perfectly fine.”
Charlie took a few steps closer, like she was approaching a frightened deer. Her nose twitched once, then again. Her expression softened. “Oh.”
Alastor’s ears flattened, every line of him stiffening. “What?”
Charlie’s voice was cautious. “Alastor… you’re going into heat.”
The radio demon stared at her, unblinking, before he let out a low, incredulous laugh. “What a ridiculous thing to say!”
“It’s not ridiculous,” Charlie said gently. She pulled out the chair across from him but didn’t sit yet. “I go into heat every month. I know what it feels like.”

Alastor went rigid and bared his teeth. “This—” He gestured vaguely at himself, his loose collar, the sweat beading at his brow. “—is a fever. An affliction. A sickness is all it is—it will pass.”
Charlie shook her head. “It’s not a fever. I promise, I know the difference.” She hesitated, then finally sat down across from him, folding her hands on the table. “I go into heat every month. I know what it feels like.” Alastor stiffened.
His grin stayed plastered on, but his eyes narrowed. “You suggest I’m… afflicted the same way as you?”
Charlie nodded. “It’s not an affliction. It’s natural. Your body’s adjusting. Adapting.”Charlie nodded once. “It’s not an affliction, Alastor. It’s natural. It means your body’s adjusting. Adapting.”
“I’ve been in Hell nearly a century,” he snapped. “Why now?”
Charlie leaned forward, chin in hand, thoughtful. “Honestly? I think it’s because you’re eating better now.”
Alastor blinked, taken aback. “Eating—better?”
“You barely ate before you came to the hotel,” Charlie said softly. “I’ve made sure you eat, remember? Niffty and I—”
“I hardly need a nanny,” he snapped—though his voice came thinner than intended.
Charlie didn’t flinch. She only smiled faintly. “Maybe not. But you weren’t taking care of yourself. And… your body can’t do everything it’s supposed to if you’re starving it. You’ve always been thin, Alastor, but—” She tilted her head, studying him. “You’re still thin as a rail, and yet, here you are. Finally cycling.” She offered him a small smile like it was an achievement.
He hissed through his teeth, pushing back from the table. “Nonsense. I’ve no need for such—” His words broke off, cut short by a sharp ache that pulsed low in his stomach. He gripped the back of his chair until wood splintered under his claws.
Charlie watched with open sympathy. “It’s scary when it happens the first time. I remember being so confused. I was lucky to have Dad there.” Alastor nearly recoiled. Lucifer? Being there for his child? Must have been centuries ago
“I am not some naïve child,” Alastor snapped. His grin was trembling at the edges, his voice rising. “I know what happens to me. And this is not—it cannot be—”
“Al.” Charlie’s voice was soft but steady. “It is. And it’s not a bad thing. It’s a sign your body’s strong. That you’re healthy enough to have it now.”
His chest rose and fell too fast, heat burning at the back of his neck. He turned his face away sharply. “This is absurd.”
A smooth voice drifted from the doorway, amused and low. “No, it isn’t.”
Alastor stiffened. Lucifer leaned against the frame, arms folded, eyes faintly glowing gold. Alastor loathed him, that was no secret—but for once the short king of Hell didn’t look ready to spar. His smile was sharp, but not cruel. “Charlie is right. That smell is unmistakable.”
Alastor’s head whipped around, red hair a halo around his head, ears flat, his smile carved like glass. “You.”
Lucifer tipped his head in mock politeness. “Me.” He strolled into the room as though it belonged to him, plucking the coffee pot off the counter and pouring himself a cup. He inhaled, winced faintly, then sipped anyway. “Terrible brew.”
“Why are you here?” Alastor growled.
Lucifer’s smile widened. “Because I live here. And because I know more about this than you do. You’re flailing, and someone has to tell you so.”
Alastor’s claws dug into the back of his chair. “I am not flailing.”
Charlie frowned at her father. “Dad, don’t tease him.”
“I’m not teasing,” Lucifer said mildly, though his eyes glittered. “I’m stating fact. He’s cycling. And it’s long overdue.”
Alastor hissed. “If this were true, it would have happened decades ago. Not now. Not suddenly.”
Lucifer raised a brow. “You’ve been half-starved for most of your afterlife, haven’t you? Of course it didn’t come sooner.” He waved a dismissive hand. “But your body’s caught up. And now—” He gestured vaguely at Alastor. “This.”
Alastor snarled. “Even if this were true, it cannot possibly be a marker of health. What an asinine notion.”
“On the contrary.” Lucifer leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee like he had all the time in the world. “It is exactly that. A body too weak to cycle is a body too weak to sustain itself. The fact that yours has finally kicked in is proof that you’re sturdier than you look.”
Alastor’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. “That is ridiculous.”
Lucifer chuckled softly. “Ridiculous? I’ve been in Hell longer than you’ve been alive, Alastor. I know what I’m talking about.”
Alastor snapped back, sharp as static: “And I know what I feel!”
“Yes.” Lucifer’s smile turned sly, his voice low. “You feel hot. Achy. Restless. Your body wants, and you don’t know what to do with it. That, Alastor, is heat. Denial doesn’t change fact.”
Charlie winced faintly at the bluntness but nodded. “Dad’s right. You can’t just wish it away. It’s part of you now.”
Alastor shook his head violently, clutching his coatless shirt tighter around himself. “I refuse to accept this.”
“Refusal,” Lucifer said calmly, “won’t stop it from coming every month. You can ignore it, suffer through it, or handle it properly. Those are your options.”
Charlie’s eyes softened. “He’s not wrong. I know it’s overwhelming, Al. But… it doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you. It means something’s right.”
Alastor’s breathing came ragged now, his shoulders shaking faintly. The heat in his chest pressed lower, tighter, and his claws tore deep grooves into the table.
Lucifer’s golden gaze swept over him, cool and unruffled. “You may be the Radio Demon, but your body is still a body. And right now it’s screaming: you’re not as untouchable as you pretend.”
The words landed like a hammer blow. Alastor froze, trembling with fury—and something darker, softer, gnawing beneath it. His grin stretched too wide, teeth too sharp. “I despise you.”
Lucifer sipped his coffee again. “Most do.”
Charlie sighed, laying her hand over Alastor’s on the table. Her touch was warm, grounding. “You’re not broken, Al. You’re not weak. This doesn’t make you less—it just makes you… you.”
Alastor’s eyes darted between her face, kind and steady, and Lucifer’s, bright with ruthless certainty. Heat rolled through him in another sharp wave, dragging a hiss from his throat. He jerked his hand away from Charlie’s before she could feel the tremor in it.
“I won’t—” His voice cracked and he forced it louder. “I won’t accept this.”
Lucifer’s smirk returned, slow and satisfied. “Then the week ahead is going to be very long for you.”
Charlie’s hand lingered on the table, her expression soft. “You don’t have to find someone. You could always just… get yourself through it.”
Alastor stared, smile frozen as though she’d spoken another language. “Get. Myself. Through it?”
Charlie flushed faintly but pressed on. “Yeah. You know. Just… take care of it on your own.”
For several seconds, silence reigned. Alastor’s grin didn’t move, but his pupils pinpricked, his whole frame going stiff. “I don’t—” He cut himself off, voice going sharp. “Whatever vulgarity you’re referencing is not an option.”
Charlie glanced at Vaggie, who gave her a wide-eyed look. Lucifer coughed into his hand, his badly-disguised laughter a veneer of politeness.
Angel, leaning against the counter, barked laughter so loud he bent double. “Oh, my God,” he wheezed, clutching his stomach. “You really don’t know. Doll, you don’t even—”
He broke off into another fit, wiping tears from his eyes. “You ain’t ever heard of jerking of?!”
Alastor’s ears pinned back, his smile trembling with fury. “Laugh all you want, arachnid. I’ve no need of your crude insinuations.”
“This is rich,” Angel drawled, grin spreading ear to ear. He flicked his wrist and sauntered closer, dripping amusement. “You mean you’ve never even touched yourself? Not once? No wonder you’re wound so tight, Bambi.”
Alastor’s voice shot out like a whip. “Of course not!” His cheeks flamed the moment the words escaped, his claws digging into the grooves of the table.
Angel collapsed into another round of laughter, pounding the counter with one hand. “Oh, God, this is gold. Radio Daddy doesn’t even know how to jack off!”
Charlie sighed, pressing her palm over her face. “Angel…”
But Angel was already circling the table, grin wide and wicked, his hips swaying lazily. “You poor thing. No wonder you’re burning up. You don’t even know what relief feels like.” His voice dipped low, velvet with filth. “I could fix that.”
Alastor went rigid as Angel prowled closer, every line of him tense. “Stay back.”
Angel ignored him, sliding up behind his chair, arms draping over Alastor’s shoulders. The spider’s chest pressed flush against his back, fluff brushing his neck. “C’mon, doll. You’re burning up, and it’s only gonna get worse. Let me help.”
Heat rolled down Alastor’s spine, sharp and dizzying. He gritted his teeth, trying to summon anger, but his body betrayed him: his breath hitched, his claws trembled against the table.
Angel purred into his ear, hot breath tickling. “You don’t gotta do anything. Just sit there and let me take the edge off.”
Alastor’s chest heaved, a low sound slipping from him before he clamped his jaw shut. His ears burned red, his ruby eyes wide. “I will not—” His voice cracked, thin and trembling. “—indulge such depravity.”
Angel chuckled, low and sinful. “Baby, that’s all heat is. Depravity. Your body’s already indulging. I can smell it.” His hand slid slowly down Alastor’s chest, not quite touching, just close enough to make the air buzz. “Tell me you don’t want it.”
Alastor’s claws raked deep lines into the table. His body betrayed him with a sharp pulse of heat, dragging down his back and curling into his hips. His breath hitched, sharp and desperate. “Enough,” he rasped, but the word sounded weak even to his own ears.
Angel smirked against his neck, lips brushing his skin. “That’s not a no.”
Charlie shifted uncomfortably, biting her lip. Vaggie groaned and muttered something sharp in Spanish under her breath. Lucifer, of course, only watched with faint amusement, sipping his coffee like this was better than a stage show.
Alastor squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head hard. “You are insufferable.”
Angel laughed softly, low and husky. “Maybe. But I know what I’m doing.” He slid one hand down Alastor’s arm, fingers brushing over the tense muscle, and leaned closer still. “God, you’re shaking. You must be so worked up, huh?”
Alastor’s breath came ragged, his throat tight. Heat flared sharper now, pressing low in his belly, traitorous. His trousers grew uncomfortably tight, and the shame of it only stoked the flush rising across his face.
Angel noticed. Of course he noticed. His grin turned feral. “Ohhh, look at that. You’re already hard, doll. First time for everything, huh?”
Alastor let out a strangled sound, half growl, half whimper. His claws slipped against the table, scraping hard grooves. “You—filthy—”
“Filthy’s my specialty.” Angel’s voice dipped lower, all teasing silk. He nuzzled against Alastor’s jaw, his fingers brushing feather-light along his side. “Don’t fight it, baby. You’re in heat. Your body wants it, even if your head doesn’t.”
Alastor shuddered violently, his back arching against his will. Heat throbbed hard through his hips, his cock straining painfully in his trousers. His breath came shallow, fast. “I—” His voice cracked, desperate and weak.
Angel purred, his grin widening. “That’s it. Let it happen.”
Charlie winced, clearly torn between mortification and pity. “Angel, maybe don’t—”
But Alastor’s voice cut through, trembling and furious. “Silence!” His claws slammed into the table, splintering wood. His grin was wide and jagged, but his ruby eyes were blown wide, desperate, heat-dark. “I will not be undone by you.”
Angel leaned down, lips brushing his ear, and whispered, “Too late, doll.”
Alastor’s whole body shuddered. He wanted to throw Angel off, to snarl, to retreat back into the safety of denial—but his body was already betraying him, the heat pulsing thick and merciless down his spine, pooling heavy in his hips. His trousers were tight and unbearable, his cock throbbing with each ragged breath.
Angel’s hand slid down his arm, brushing lightly over his wrist, and Alastor didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. His claws dug deep grooves into the wood, his body trembling.
For the first time in decades, the Radio Demon looked utterly undone.
Alastor’s claws scraped across the tabletop again, the grin frozen, too wide, cracking at the edges. He pushed his chair back hard, wooden legs squealing on tile. “Enough,” he rasped, standing stiffly, shoulders drawn high, his whole body vibrating with the effort of control. “I will be retiring.”
The statement might have carried more weight if his legs didn’t wobble the moment he tried to move. A violent pulse ripped down his spine, molten heat blooming in his belly, and he doubled over with a sharp, helpless groan. His claws caught the edge of the table, gripping it like a lifeline.
“Ahhh,” Angel purred, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “There it is. Round two, baby.”
“Shut—up.” The words cracked, brittle and hoarse, Alastor’s teeth clenched against the sound that wanted to claw its way out of his throat. His chest heaved, the tremors rippling down his body, sharper this time, leaving his trousers tight and unbearable.
Angel leaned in close, his grin wicked and triumphant. “Heat wave, huh? I’ve seen it before. You’re not goin’ anywhere like this, doll.” His hands—four of them—moved with a practiced confidence, sliding over Alastor’s tense shoulders, down his arms, one teasing along his chest while the other trailed dangerously low.
Alastor jerked when Angel’s fingertips brushed the waistband of his trousers. His ruby eyes flared wide, his smile cracking jagged. “Do not—” His voice broke into a stuttered growl. “—test me.”
Angel’s grin only widened. He slipped his hand bolder now, tugging lightly at the hem. “Sweetheart, I’m not testin’ you. I’m helpin’ you. You’ll thank me in about five minutes.”
Alastor’s hand snapped up, gripping Angel’s wrist with iron force, stopping him. The pressure in his grip was unmistakable, a warning growl curled under the words. “Not. Here.”
“Ohhh?” Angel cocked his head, lashes fluttering in mock innocence, though his smirk ruined the act. “You got somewhere else in mind, sugar?”
Alastor’s chest heaved, ruby eyes darkening under the weight of another sharp wave of heat tearing through him. His knees buckled slightly, his body shuddering with the ache of it. A ragged groan tore from his throat, humiliatingly needy. His other hand slammed to the table, claws digging grooves deep into the wood.
When the wave finally ebbed, leaving him panting, his voice came low and tight. “Tell—no one—to go to the fourth floor.”
For a moment, silence fell. Vaggie blinked. Charlie’s eyes widened, then softened, pity edging into her face. Lucifer chuckled low into his coffee.
Angel? Angel outright laughed, wicked and delighted. “Ohhh, doll. You think we’re goin’ to your place? Cute. But nah—” He leaned in, smirking wide enough to flash fangs. “We’re goin’ to mine.”
Alastor twitched, scandal and disbelief flaring through his heated haze. “Yours—? Why—”
Angel leaned down, lips brushing Alastor’s ear. “Because you don’t even own lube, baby.” His tone dripped smug amusement. “And you’re sure as hell not prepared for anything fun.”
Alastor flushed violently, his teeth clacking together in a furious snarl—only to choke as another wave of heat slammed into him. His knees gave slightly, his free hand clapping hard over his mouth to stifle the groan that ripped out anyway.
Angel didn’t miss a beat. His hands—two on Alastor’s chest, one still tugging at his waistband, the fourth sneaking down to squeeze his thigh—worked him up with deliberate skill. “See? You need me. C’mon, doll. Just give in.”
Alastor’s claws dug deeper into Angel’s wrist, but the strength of his grip was faltering under the firestorm tearing through him. “Fine,” he spat finally, breathless, ragged. “Fine. Just—” His eyes darted to the others, desperate. “Give me the dignity of keeping them away from the floor I’m on.”
Charlie, who had been watching with a stricken face, gave a small nod. “Don’t worry, Al. We won’t bother you.”
Vaggie muttered something sharp and unrepeatable in Spanish, throwing Angel a glare sharp enough to cut. Lucifer smirked into his cup, clearly entertained.
Angel, smug as ever, gave Charlie a wink and tugged Alastor firmly by the arm. “Atta boy. Let’s go, sugar.”
Alastor’s body trembled under the tug, but he followed, heat pulsing hard with every step. Angel kept his hands busy as they moved, one sliding under Alastor’s shirt, teasing slow circles into his side, another brushing against his chest, the third tugging gently at the waistband of his trousers, the fourth squeezing at his hip.
By the time they reached the stairwell, Alastor’s breathing was shallow, his head tipped back slightly, every step sending another shiver of heat rolling through him. His dignity was in tatters, clinging to the single thread of keeping his floor untouched.
Angel leaned close as they climbed, his grin feral. “Floor three, baby. I’ll take real good care of you.”
Alastor twitched, jaw clenched, ears burning. “This is indecent.”
Angel’s chuckle rolled low in his throat. “Yeah, doll. That’s the point.”
They disappeared up the stairs, Alastor’s claws trembling against the railing, Angel’s hands coaxing him every step of the way.
Alastor had meant to hold himself together until they at least crossed a threshold, until there was a door at his back instead of painted plaster. But the heat surged again—like fire rising from the base of his spine, fanning down his thighs, curling low and insistent in his hips—and his legs faltered beneath him. The groan slipped out unbidden, sharp and ragged, and he stumbled into Angel’s chest.
The spider caught him like he’d been expecting it. “Whoa there, hot stuff. You’re burnin’ up faster than I thought.”
“I…” Alastor tried for composure, but his voice was thin and cracking, not a thread of his usual polish left. “I just need—”
Angel chuckled, low and knowing, and in the next breath Alastor’s back hit the wall. Not roughly, but firm enough that his knees bent under the weight. Four hands spread wide—two pinning at his shoulders, the other pair low at his waist. His breath caught.
“Shhh,” Angel crooned, leaning in, lips brushing his ear. “Not here, doll. But I’ll give ya somethin’ to chew on.”
Alastor didn’t have the energy to protest. He wanted—God, he wanted something, anything, everything. His body was shaking with heat and need. And then Angel’s mouth was on his, smirking, pressing, coaxing him into something wet and desperate.
He should have resisted. He should have shoved him away, bared his teeth, thrown up walls of shadows until Angel was a speck across the room. Instead, his hands grabbed lapels like lifelines, bunching the fabric so hard it wrinkled. He let himself be kissed, and then—oh, God—kissed back. Messy, sharp, clumsy with want.
Angel nipped his lower lip and chuckled. “Careful, sugar. Those teeth of yours are lethal.”
Alastor’s eyes burned scarlet. “Then stop making me—” He cut himself off with a gasp when one of Angel’s lower hands slid lower, teasing the line of his waistband.
“Making you what? Moan? Squirm?” Angel purred, a grin in his voice. “C’mon, you like it.”
Alastor couldn’t answer. His breath hitched too hard when Angel tilted his head, kissing down the column of his throat. The first touch there wrung a sound from him—soft, almost broken. He bristled, but his hands clutched tighter.
Angel popped open one button of his shirt. Then another. Then a third, until pale skin met cooler air. He nosed in, lips skating over clavicle, tongue teasing over the sharp cut of bone. Alastor was trembling, fighting the instinct to arch up into it, because he wanted more, and that was humiliating.
Heat pulsed through him in waves, every nerve screaming for friction. His hips jerked forward on instinct, seeking Angel’s thigh. Angel caught the motion instantly, and instead of letting him, planted a palm flat to hold him back against the wall.
“Ah, ah,” Angel tsked, smirking up at him. “Not so fast, Bambi. Can’t have you makin’ a mess of yourself before we even hit the bed.”
Alastor bared his teeth, but the snarl crumbled into a breathless whine as Angel’s mouth dragged higher, teeth grazing his neck. He tried again, pushing forward, and again Angel blocked him. Every nerve was alive with want, every muscle tight with need, but Angel was dictating the rhythm and he couldn’t claw it back.
“Patience,” Angel sang between kisses. “We’ll get there. But for now…” One of his free hands slipped lower, over Alastor’s stomach, just above the line of his trousers. Fingers traced circles, maddeningly close. “…I’m keepin’ ya simmerin’.”
“You—” Alastor broke off on a gasp when the hand splayed wider, teasing but never quite giving pressure where he ached. His vision blurred at the edges. His nails dug into Angel’s lapels so hard the threads strained.
Angel chuckled against his skin. “God, you’re cute when you’re desperate. Look at you. Radio Demon, all worked up like a kitten in heat.”
“Stop,” Alastor hissed. But the word lacked teeth; it came out more plea than command.
Angel only grinned wider. He kissed Alastor again, harder, rougher, letting him taste the smoke and sweetness of his mouth. Alastor whined into it, body shuddering with restraint. His hips twitched helplessly against the wall, every instinct demanding movement, contact, anything.
Angel broke the kiss with a slick little smack and leaned back just far enough to catch the sight of him—flushed, trembling, tie half-loose, shirt falling open, lips red from kisses. “Oh, doll. You’re gonna be the death’a me. But not here, yeah? Don’t wanna give the whole hotel a show.”
Alastor’s head hit the wall with a dull thud. His breath came ragged, almost panting. “Then—stop toying with me—”
“Nah,” Angel said cheerfully, thumb brushing over a nipple through the thin cotton of his undershirt. Alastor jolted. “Toyin’ with you is half the fun.”
Another wave of heat rolled through him, and Alastor groaned, the sound breaking out of him before he could bite it back. His knees threatened to give. Angel held him firm, grinning like the cat who’d cornered the canary.
“You hear that?” Angel teased. “That’s your body beggin’ me to keep goin’. So I’m gonna. Just enough to keep ya nice and needy ‘til we’re upstairs.”
Alastor’s head fell forward, pressing to Angel’s shoulder. His breath was hot and quick, puffing against fabric. His whole body screamed for touch, but Angel’s touch was maddeningly controlled—kisses down his throat, a hand ghosting his waistband, another braced to keep him from thrusting. He was on fire, desperate, pathetic, and the worst part was he knew Angel knew.
Angel pressed one more slow kiss to his jaw and pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “You gonna be good for me, sugar? Let me walk ya upstairs without makin’ a scene?”
Alastor’s mouth opened, but all that came out was a shuddering sound somewhere between a growl and a whine.
Angel chuckled, kissed him quick and hard, then pulled back just far enough to murmur, “That’s what I thought.”
And with that, he tightened his grip and started dragging him toward the door. Alastor followed, shaky, frustrated, but helpless against the mix of heat in his veins and Angel’s steady, teasing control.
Alastor all but stumbled when Angel nudged him inside, the door shutting behind them with a quiet click. He had meant to keep some measure of composure, meant to salvage at least a shred of dignity, but the heat crashed over him like a tide and stripped him raw. His hands clawed at Angel’s chest, clutching at fabric, nails digging in as his voice came out low and fraying.
“Please,” he hissed, eyes burning crimson, “just—make it stop.”
Angel’s grin softened at the edges. “Aw, sweetheart.” He leaned down, brushing a quick kiss to Alastor’s nose before peeling himself out of his jacket. “Don’t worry. I’ll get ya there.” His tone was smooth, playful, but his eyes—those sharp pink eyes—had a glint of something warmer.
Alastor’s jaw clenched, words tangled between pride and the fire tearing through him. His body screamed for relief, every muscle wired tight, yet he still bristled at the idea of needing help. Angel seemed to read it all; he always did.
“Tell me somethin’, doll.” Angel tossed the jacket aside and tilted his head, voice low. “You ever had sex when you were alive?”
The question froze Alastor for a beat. “…No.”
“After death, then?”
“…No.”
Angel whistled, slow and delighted. “Well, well, well. Radio’s a virgin.” His grin stretched wider, teeth glinting. “And I get to be the first to dirty you up.”
Alastor’s face flushed deep, the heat in his body doubling. “That—”
“Relax,” Angel cut him off with a laugh, patting his cheek. “Ain’t a bad thing. Just means I get to show ya the ropes.” He leaned closer, lips ghosting Alastor’s ear. “So tell me—what does your body want, huh?” Alastor faltered. His mouth opened, closed. Words stumbled and fell before they reached his tongue. He had no vocabulary for this, not really—just the aching, burning insistence of his body crying for something it had never been given.
“Thought so.” Angel leaned back, unhurried, and tugged his own shirt up over his head. His lean chest and stomach flexed under the movement, fur soft and fluff catching the dim light. He stretched a little, hands behind his head, grinning down at the wide-eyed stag. “Alright, options, big guy. I could give ya a blowjob, handjob, fuck you up the ass, somethin’ kinkier if you’re feelin’ wild…” Alastor blinked at him like he’d just listed a string of nonsense words. Angel smirked. “What, none’a that ringin’ a bell?”
Alastor’s throat worked, and his hands twisted in his untucked shirt. “…My body just… wants sex.” The words came out stiff, awkward, but true.
Angel sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “God, you’re boring.” Then he grinned, sharp and wicked. “Good thing you’re gonna be in heat all week. Means I’ll have plenty’a time to test out what makes you purr.”
Alastor stared—at the sharp grin, the bare chest, the casual stretch of arms—but then his gaze flickered lower, lingering. Heat twisted through him again, almost painful, and his hands twitched up toward his own shirt.
“No, no, no, doll.” Angel caught his wrists before he could fumble with the buttons. “Let me do it.”
“I can—”
Angel clicked his tongue and used two hands to keep Alastor’s wrists pinned, while his other two began slowly unfastening the buttons of the crisp white shirt. “Uh-uh. First time’s special. I’m undressin’ you.”
Alastor hissed, fighting the instinct to bristle, but the heat left him pliant. His hands flexed uselessly in Angel’s grip as button by button slid free, the shirt falling open inch by inch. When the last slipped loose, Angel pulled the fabric back and let out a low whistle. “Well, well. Lookit you.”
Alastor flinched. The air kissed fur that was short, soft, pale against his skin. But what stood out sharper were the scars—thin lines, deep ridges, the map of old violence carved into him. Across ribs, shoulders, hips. Marks of a hundred deaths, maybe more.
Angel’s grin faltered just slightly. His hand reached, brushed a faint trail over one scar at the side of Alastor’s ribs. “Poor baby.”
Alastor shuddered, breath stuttering, not entirely from the heat. The words cut strange and deep—familiar in a way he hadn’t felt since his mother’s voice, softer times that had long since burned away. His eyes shut tight, jaw rigid, body quaking under touch that wasn’t cruel.
Angel kept his tone light, sympathetic but playful. “They really did a number on ya, huh? All these little love bites Hell left behind.” His palm spread flat over Alastor’s chest, fingers rubbing slow circles into the soft fur. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll make ya forget all about ‘em for tonight.”
Alastor’s breath rattled, caught somewhere between a growl and a sob. His body leaned into the touch despite himself, heat surging stronger with every second. He’d never felt so exposed, so desperate, and so strangely… cared for.
Angel grinned, gentler this time, and pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat. “That’s it, doll. Just let me take care’a you.”
Alastor’s hands finally went slack in Angel’s grip, trembling but yielding. The fire inside him roared louder, begging for more, and Angel—patient, teasing, wicked—was all too ready to feed it.
The shirt hung open around him, slipping from his shoulders where Angel’s hands had pushed it back. Alastor was burning, but not only from the heat—the air against his skin, the hands that traced across him, it was like every nerve was raw and waiting. Angel was careful, deliberate. He didn’t rush to the obvious; he savored what was already bare.
A thumb dragged slow over the sharp line of Alastor’s collarbone, then down the curve of his throat where pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. Angel leaned in to press a kiss there, light and teasing, before grinning against the hot skin. “Sensitive, huh?”
Alastor’s hands twitched at his sides. He hated how his breath caught, how easily his body betrayed him. “I—don’t know.”
Angel chuckled. “Oh, you’ll know soon enough.”
He dipped lower, lips brushing the edge of Alastor’s chest, then catching on a nipple. The sound Alastor made was sharp, startled—half growl, half gasp—and Angel laughed against him. “Well, look at that. Chest is real sensitive. Good to know.” He closed his lips around it, tugged with the faintest scrape of teeth, and Alastor shuddered hard, gripping the upper arms of Angel as though the world might fall away if he let go.
Angel pulled back just enough to watch him, pink eyes narrowing playfully. “What do you like, huh, Bambi?”
Alastor’s flush deepened, his voice ragged. “I—I don’t—You know I don’t know!”
Angel paused for a beat. He slid a hand along Alastor’s ribs, fingers pressing into fur and bone. The grin softened to something close to a frown. “Damn.” He kneaded gently, and the way he could count ribs under his palm had his chest tightening. “No wonder this is your first heat hittin’ ya now. Even with Charlie feedin’ you like a mama bird, you’re still thin as a rail.”
Alastor stiffened, humiliated, but Angel didn’t linger in the pity. He leaned up, kissed him slow and deliberate, like he could coax away the shame with his mouth.
When he pulled back, his grin returned—easy, wicked. “Hmm. Maybe food’ll be part of the aftercare when we’re done. I’ll feed ya somethin’ proper, yeah? Keep you from passin’ out on me.” His teeth nipped Alastor’s lower lip. “What d’you say, Bambi?”
The nickname drew another shudder out of him, something deeper than embarrassment. His breath hitched, his body desperate. “Angel—just… fuck me. Please. Make it stop.”
Angel laughed low, wicked. He kissed him again, hard, swallowing the desperate plea. His hands roamed, tugging lightly at fur, skimming down over Alastor’s stomach until he writhed under the touch. Angel broke the kiss, breath brushing Alastor’s lips. “Oh, sweetheart. That won’t make the heat go away. Not for good. Just for tonight.”
Alastor’s crimson eyes burned, pained. “I don’t care.”
“I do.” Angel’s voice dropped, playful but firm. “You’re a virgin, Bambi. You really think I’m gonna let your first time be a frantic mess in the middle of a heat wave? No finesse, no care? Uh-uh. Once you’re outta this, you’ll have to look back on it. And I ain’t lettin’ that memory be some sloppy, desperate fumblin’.”
Alastor’s lips parted, but the words died on his tongue. Another wave of heat tore through him, and he almost doubled forward into Angel’s chest, panting. Angel caught him, held him steady, pressed soft kisses to his temple like he’d done this a thousand times before.
“Patience,” Angel murmured against his hair. “We’ll get you there. But we’re gonna do it right.”
Alastor trembled in his arms, torn between humiliation and need, every nerve screaming for release. He clung tighter, pressing his face into Angel’s chest like a man drowning. And Angel, grinning but gentle, kept his hands moving—exploring every inch of bare skin, finding every spot that made Alastor gasp, savoring every crack in the Radio Demon’s composure.
The heat wasn’t going anywhere. But Angel would make sure that when it finally broke, Alastor remembered it as something more than just misery.
Angel shifted his weight, rolling his shoulders back, and kicked his last bit of clothing to the floor with a flourish like he was taking center stage. He was grinning, fangs glinting, while Alastor froze in place like someone had pulled the plug on his radio.
Alastor’s eyes flicked down once—sharp, startled—then snapped away immediately, his ears flat against his head. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. The blush blooming across his face was so hot it almost looked feverish. Then, as if his body betrayed him, his gaze crept back, lingering this time, before darting away again.
“…Y-you’re—” his voice cracked, and he swallowed. “…thick.”
The corners of Angel’s mouth curled into the slowest, dirtiest grin. He cocked a hip, making no effort at modesty, and purred, “Why thank you, doll. Glad you noticed.”
Alastor made a small, strangled sound in his throat and immediately looked away again, pressing a hand to his face like he might physically shield himself from the sight. Angel laughed, warm and lewd, the kind of laugh that said oh, he’s mine now.
Angel prowled forward, a cat with four hands and endless confidence. “C’mon, don’t hide from me now. You already looked. Nothin’ wrong with a little peek.” His lower arms caught Alastor’s wrists and tugged them gently away from his face, and his upper pair framed either side of Al’s head as he leaned in. “Besides, sweetheart—first real dick you’ve seen up close that wasn’t your own, huh?”
Alastor’s ears shot upright, crimson eyes going wide, and he stammered, “I—well—I—”
Angel kissed him, muffling the babble, deep and messy and smug. Alastor whined into his mouth, claws catching at Angel’s shoulders, gripping like he was drowning and Angel was the only thing keeping him above water.
While Alastor was distracted, Angel’s lower hands slid down, tugging at his waistband, popping buttons loose. Alastor startled, breaking the kiss with a gasp and looking down in horror.
“Angel—!”
“Shh, baby,” Angel murmured against his cheek, already working the pants down with smooth efficiency. “Lemme do this part. You’ll thank me.” He kissed him again, swallowing another helpless little whimper as he peeled fabric away inch by inch.
When he finally got Alastor’s pants and underwear off, Angel leaned back for a moment to admire the view, and his grin widened with genuine delight. “Well, well, look at you.” His hands slid lower, brushing along bare thighs, and then froze when his fingers brushed something softer.
Angel stilled, then deliberately brushed again, more slowly. His grin turned wicked. “Well, well. What do we have here?”
Alastor twitched, ears flat, tail fluffing out in alarm. “Don’t—”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Angel crooned, cupping the little puff of fur at its base. “Don’t you dare tell me not to, ‘cause this—” his fingers slid deliberately across the underside, and Alastor gasped sharp enough to choke— “this is gonna be fun.”
The reaction was instant and explosive. Alastor jerked, a strangled sound escaping him, claws digging into Angel’s arms. His back arched, breath catching in little frantic bursts, and Angel laughed softly, dark and pleased.
“Well, well. Sensitive, huh? Guess this is uncharted territory for you too.” He brushed across the tail again, slower this time, then pinched lightly near the base. Alastor yelped, biting down hard on his lip, his whole body shuddering.
Angel’s eyes gleamed. “Ohhh, I like this. Tail play. Bet you didn’t even know you were wired this way, did ya?”
Alastor couldn’t speak—he just shook his head frantically, ears trembling, his breath a broken pant. His cock twitched, betraying him, and Angel noticed immediately.
“Look at that,” Angel murmured, wicked satisfaction dripping from every word. “One little touch here, and you’re leaking like a faucet down there.” His fingertip traced slow, teasing circles along the underside fluff, finding that exact spot again, and pressed just enough—Alastor cried out, clawing at Angel’s shoulders now, eyes wide, pupils blown. Angel bent down, lips brushing Alastor’s ear, and whispered, “You like that, Bambi?”
A strangled sound tore from Alastor’s throat, somewhere between a whimper and a moan. He couldn’t even form words, just clutched harder at Angel, hips jerking helplessly.
Angel grinned against his ear, nipping lightly at the edge. “Mmm, I’ll take that as a yes.”
He kept it up, relentless but playful, alternating strokes across the top of the tail—just enough to make Al squirm—with precise pressure underneath, each one dragging a fresh, wrecked sound from Alastor’s throat. His cock was flushed and hard, straining, dripping steadily now.
Angel finally let one of his upper hands drift lower, curling around that hardness, just teasing at the tip with his fingertip, smearing slickness across. “Double whammy, baby,” he teased. “Tail and cock. Bet you’ve never felt this before.”
Alastor’s head fell back against the bed, hair mussed, breath coming fast and desperate. He looked ruined already, and Angel hadn’t even gotten him fully into bed yet.
Angel laughed low, delighted. “God, you’re adorable. First time seeing a dick, first time with someone touching yours, and a tail that makes you squirm like this? You’re spoilin’ me, Bambi.”
He stroked the tail again, watched Alastor writhe, and added with a wicked grin, “You’re not just gonna beg me to stop the heat, are ya? You’re gonna beg me to never stop.”
Alastor shuddered, face crimson, too wrecked to deny it.
Angel leaned down, kissed him again, slow and deep, while his hands worked Alastor’s body with expert precision—tail, cock, chest, all in play. And when he finally pulled back, breathless himself, he whispered with a smirk, “Now, let’s get you on that bed where you belong.”
Alastor opened his mouth, his voice tight, like he wanted to demand—just get to it, damn you—but another hot wave rolled through his body, curling low and hungry, and whatever words he meant to say dissolved into a strangled groan. His claws scrabbled for purchase against the mattress as his spine arched, every inch of him taut, trembling, undone.
Angel only smirked, watching the proud Radio Demon fold into something desperate, needy, human in all his raw want. “That’s it, Bambi,” he crooned, brushing a fingertip under Alastor’s chin to tilt his flushed face back toward him. “Don’t fight it. Just let me take care of ya.”
Alastor’s lips parted, breath ragged, crimson eyes glassy with the heat burning through him. His body jerked forward as Angel’s lower hands resumed their patient torment—one stroking across the base of his tail, the other teasing along his cock with infuriating lightness, a fingertip circling, flicking, retreating.
“This is—” Alastor gasped, voice pitched high. “This is—filthy. Disgusting—”
Angel laughed low, breath brushing against his cheek as he leaned close, too close. “Mhm. And you love it.” He dragged his palm deliberately across Alastor’s chest, thumb finding a peaked nipple and rolling it, tugging gently. Alastor yelped, his back arching again, cock jerking in Angel’s grip.
“I—ah—” Alastor’s denial cracked and dissolved, his voice breaking into a pathetic whimper. “I can’t—”
“Sure, you can,” Angel purred. His lower right hand stroked the tail again, slower, more deliberate, and Alastor bucked, panting, his sharp teeth clacking together. “See? Your body’s beggin’ me. Screamin’ for me. You think I don’t know what that means, baby?” Angel’s grin widened, wolfish and fond all at once. “That’s it. Don’t think. Just feel.”
He leaned down, catching Alastor’s mouth again in a kiss that was all tongue and heat, swallowing every broken sound. His upper hand pinned Alastor’s wrists above his head, firm but not cruel, while his others kept working—stroking cock, teasing tail, rolling nipple. Each touch carefully calculated, never giving too much at once, never letting Alastor tumble over the edge just yet.
Alastor writhed, torn apart between two selves—the fastidious, controlled man who hated every implication of this, and the raw, aching creature who wanted more, needed more, who would have begged if his pride hadn’t already been shredded by every helpless moan.
“F–foul—” he hissed when Angel’s mouth broke from his, only to gasp as teeth scraped along his throat. “Ungodly—ahh!”
Angel chuckled against his skin, his voice wickedly amused. “Ungodly? Sweetheart, you’re in Hell. That ship sailed long ago.” His tongue laved a stripe up the side of Alastor’s throat, ending with a nip just below his ear. Alastor keened, head snapping to the side, exposing his neck further, even as his voice cracked with something like shame.
“This—this isn’t proper—!”
Angel rolled his thumb hard over Alastor’s slit, collecting the slickness there, and pressed in a way that made Alastor choke on his own words, hips jerking up, claws shredding the sheets beneath him.
“Doesn’t sound like you care about proper,” Angel teased, smug and fond all at once. “Listen to you. Whinin’, pantin’, clutchin’ at me like I’m the only thing that matters. You want this.”
Alastor’s mouth opened, but the only sound that came out was a broken moan. He thrashed weakly, tail twitching against Angel’s hand, cock leaking against his fingers.
Angel hummed, kissing him again, slower this time, a teasing drag of lips. “Never been touched like this before, huh? Every inch of ya’s sensitive. You’re wound up so tight it’s almost criminal.”
“I—I don’t—” Alastor stuttered, but his voice caught again as Angel pinched his nipple just right, rolling the bud until he yelped. His body bucked helplessly, caught between shame and need.
Angel pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes glittering with delight. “Don’t what, baby? Don’t like it? ‘Cause from where I’m sittin’, you’re lovin’ every second.”
Alastor shuddered, panting, crimson face buried against the sheets now, unable to meet his gaze.
Angel’s grin softened a fraction. He kissed the top of Alastor’s head, brushing fingers gently along his jaw even as his lower hands never stopped moving. “Relax, doll. There’s no wrong way to want. Your body knows what it wants. You just gotta stop fightin’ it.”
A strangled sound ripped from Alastor’s throat, muffled against the mattress. His hips lifted, chasing Angel’s touch, betraying him with every jerky thrust. Angel’s hands moved with more intent now—stroking firmer along his cock, circling the head with slick fingers, squeezing gently at the base of his tail until Alastor was trembling, panting like he might break apart.
“Ohhh, that’s it,” Angel crooned. “Look at you. So desperate already. My poor little virgin deer.”
The words made Alastor flush impossibly darker, ears trembling, but instead of recoiling he keened, hips bucking harder, chasing friction. His pride was cracking, his control fracturing, and Angel could see every piece crumble.
Angel kissed him again, deep and claiming, murmuring against his lips, “Beg for me, Bambi. Just once. I’ll give you whatever you need.”
Alastor whimpered, shaking his head—but then another hard wave of heat surged through him, ripping a moan from deep in his chest. His claws dug furrows into the sheets, his voice cracking as he gasped, “P–please—!”
Angel’s grin was pure triumph. “There it is.” He rewarded him with a firmer stroke, his other hand squeezing the base of his tail, and Alastor screamed, his body arching, every line of him begging.
Angel laughed low, delighted. “Good boy.”
Alastor sobbed into the mattress, every shred of his composure gone. His body was a trembling mess, all heat and need, pulled apart and put back together under Angel’s hands. His pride, his shame, his disgust—all drowned under the relentless wave of pleasure that left him helpless, pathetic, and wanting nothing but more.
Alastor was already wrecked—panting, flushed so deep his skin glowed crimson under his pale fur, ears trembling against the pillow as Angel’s hands never let up. He’d thought he understood shame, thought he could keep it close like a leash on himself, but every drag of Angel’s fingers had unraveled it thread by thread.
And then Angel’s hands shifted lower.
Alastor’s whole body jolted when Angel cupped his balls, gentle at first, almost clinical, and then squeezed with a deliberate roll of his palm. His legs locked tight, his spine arched, and his breath left him in a startled, high gasp that didn’t even sound like his own voice.
“Well, would ya look at that,” Angel purred, tilting his head down to watch the reaction as though he’d discovered buried treasure. His lower hands stroked carefully, curiously, rolling Alastor’s balls one at a time before weighing both in his palm. “Damn, Bambi. These are impressive. You been hidin’ these from me on purpose?”
Alastor’s eyes went wide, his claws clawing into the bedding as if the earth itself had just tilted. “I—I—” He tried to form a denial, some sharp, clever retort, but it broke on a moan as Angel rolled them again, softer this time, tracing his thumbs over the shape of them.
“Holy shit,” Angel laughed, delighted. “They’re fuzzy.” He rubbed his thumb across one slowly, savoring the soft, velveteen coat of fur there, the texture so different from the smooth stretch of Alastor’s cock. “Aw, sweetheart. You got fur on your balls. That’s just—adorable.”
Alastor made a noise so strangled it could have been protest or plea, his body jerking against the blankets. His face burrowed down as if hiding could erase the crimson shame and raw want twisting inside him.
Angel only grinned wider. He pinched gently, rolled again, teased with slow, circling strokes until Alastor was writhing, incoherent, his hips twitching forward uselessly. “Sensitive, huh? You like that.” He said it as fact, not a question, and Alastor proved him right with another broken cry.
Angel hummed low in his throat, pleased as a cat toying with something caught. “Mm, I think I just found your button, doll. Forget nipples, forget tail—you’re a ball boy, huh?”
Alastor’s answer was a helpless whimper, muffled against his arm, body trembling with every deliberate squeeze and roll.
Angel leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of Alastor’s ear as his hands never stopped moving. “You should see yourself right now. All flushed, tail twitchin’, cock leakin’ all over my sheets… and all I’m doin’ is playin’ with your fuzzy little balls.”
Alastor’s claws scraped hard enough against the mattress that threads tore, but he didn’t tell him to stop. He couldn’t. His breath came in short, desperate gasps, his hips rutting helplessly into air every time Angel teased him with another deliberate squeeze.
Angel smirked, his voice turning low and thoughtful as though he were considering a menu. “Now, the real question is… what should I do to make you finish, huh? You’re already this close, baby. But it’d be a waste to let it end too soon.”
Alastor stiffened, gasping as another shudder ran through him, and Angel took that as invitation to keep talking.
“I’ve got toys, y’know. Loads of ‘em.” He rolled Alastor’s balls again, humming at the way his whole body arched like a bow pulled taut. “Could strap somethin’ shiny ‘round these beauties, keep ya swollen and achin’ for hours. Or hang a little weight, let gravity do its thing while I pound ya into the mattress. Bet you’d look so pretty like that.”
Alastor’s eyes flew open, wild and glassy, clearly not understanding half the words but far too overwhelmed to argue. He shook his head violently, stuttering, “I—I don’t—I don’t know what any of that—” His protest broke into another ragged moan as Angel’s thumb pressed slow circles at the base of his sac.
“Don’t matter if you know,” Angel said smoothly, lips brushing his temple. “You don’t gotta. I’ll teach ya. Virgin like you? You’re a blank canvas, doll. Means I get to decide how to paint you up.”
Alastor’s moan was nearly a sob, torn between horror and want, his body betraying him completely as his cock leaked against his belly. He couldn’t make himself push Angel away. He couldn’t even move except to jerk helplessly into every touch.
Angel grinned, pulling back just enough to admire the view: the Radio Demon himself, undone and wrecked, legs spread, tail twitching weakly, cock flushed and wet, and those soft, furred balls in his palm. “God, you’re perfect.”
He leaned down and kissed Alastor’s jaw, gentle but firm, letting his words sink in. “Don’t worry, Bambi. I won’t go too wild—not your first time. But these?” He gave a slow squeeze, grinning at the strangled gasp it pulled from Alastor’s throat. “These I am gonna play with. Because you’re mine tonight. And I’m not stoppin’ until you’re beggin’ me for whatever I want to give you.”
Alastor’s only answer was a desperate, broken cry, his pride shattered, his body trembling under the weight of heat and need.
Angel chuckled darkly, rolling his balls one more time, slow and thorough, savoring every twitch and gasp. “That’s my boy. Now let’s see just how much fun I can have with you.”
Angel hummed, soft and smug, while Alastor lay sprawled on his bed in an absolute wreck of heat. The Radio Demon’s chest rose and fell too fast, ears twitching, claws dug into Angel’s bed as though they might anchor him against the tide of sensation drowning his body.
Angel slid away for a moment—not far, just enough to lean over and pull open the drawer of his nightstand. The squeak of it made Alastor’s wide, glazed eyes dart up in a rare flash of suspicion, but he was too far gone to move. His tail curled around his thigh, betraying every ounce of tension that his pride tried to deny.
From the drawer came a clink, then another—Angel’s practiced hands picking through a collection of gleaming little trinkets and polished toys. He whistled low. “Now, don’t look at me like that, doll. I said I’d take care of ya. And I will.”
Alastor swallowed hard, trying to lift himself on his elbows. His voice cracked even in the attempt: “W-what are you—”
“Shhh.” Angel set a finger over Alastor’s lips, grinning down at the way his sharp teeth parted around it helplessly. “Two things, baby: one, I’m takin’ dom. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it playful, I ain’t tryna get myself chewed up. And two? You’re in heat. Which means we’re gonna do this the smart way—lube, a ring, and somethin’ for these gorgeous balls of yours. Otherwise, you’ll wind up cryin’ halfway through when your cock gives out on ya.”
Alastor’s eyes flashed indignation at that—he was the Radio Demon, not some fragile creature to be coddled—but the retort withered in his throat.
Angel winked. “See? I know what I’m talkin’ about.”
The first thing he plucked out was a little black silicone ring, smooth and stretchy. He twirled it between two fingers, deliberately letting Alastor see it before leaning back down. “This one’s just insurance, sweetheart. Keeps the blood where it needs to be so you don’t go soft before I finish wringin’ you out. Ever hear of a cock ring?”
Alastor’s expression made it obvious he hadn’t, but before he could stammer another refusal, Angel had slicked the ring with a dab of lube and slid his hand down. Alastor’s cock was already flushed deep red, dripping pre down his belly, and Angel guided the sac and shaft through with practiced ease.
The moment it snapped snug at the base, Alastor shrieked.
His whole body jolted up, back arched, eyes wide and horrified. “W-what—what did you—?”
Angel burst out laughing, steadying him with two hands on his chest. “Relax, Bambi! Not pain, right? Just… feels real different, huh?”
Alastor’s breath came fast, ragged, but he shook his head hard. “N-no pain, just—” He broke off in a gasp, his thighs clamping together, cock jerking against his belly with a fresh bead of slick at the tip. “Oh, god—”
Angel licked his lips, grinning down at the sight. “Yeah, that’s the good stuff. See how dark the tip’s gettin’? Foreskin pulled back, nice and swollen… you’re leakin’ like a faucet, baby. You’re beautiful.”
Alastor’s face twisted in a mixture of mortification and desperate need. He buried it in his arm, muffling the sound he couldn’t stop making.
Angel kissed his temple and let his hands wander lower again. “Now, part two. These beauties.” He cupped Alastor’s balls with both lower hands, rolling them gently in his palms while his upper set stroked soothing lines up his chest. “We can’t just let these go to waste. They deserve somethin’ special.”
He reached back to the nightstand, pulling out a small leather strap and a pair of gleaming silver weights that clinked softly in his hands. He dangled them for Alastor to see. “Don’t panic—nothin’ scary. Just a little treat to keep ‘em heavy, keep ‘em nice and sensitive while I play. You’ll thank me later.”
Alastor peeked through his fingers, wide-eyed, trembling like a cornered animal. “W-weights?” His voice cracked, horrified. “On what?”
Angel chuckled, soothing, even as he slid the leather strap around the base of Alastor’s sac and tightened it gently. “Shhh, relax. Nothin’ crazy. Just enough to make ‘em swing, make ya feel every single touch a little deeper. Think of it like… jewelry for your balls.” He kissed Alastor’s jaw again, soft. “And you, doll? You wear it like a crown.”
When he clipped the first small weight on, Alastor yelped, hips jerking up violently, his cock slapping wetly against his stomach.
Angel laughed low in his throat. “Goddamn. Sensitive little prince, aren’t ya?”
Alastor’s hands scrambled at the sheets, claws catching fabric, as though he might tear himself free of the building pleasure. His breath came ragged, uneven, but not once did he say stop.
Angel added the second weight with the same care, then leaned back to admire his work: Alastor’s cock swollen, ring snug and forcing it to throb with every heartbeat, balls bound and heavy, swinging slightly as his thighs trembled.
“Perfect,” Angel purred. “You’re perfect, Bambi.” He let his hands slide over the furred sac, lifting the weights, rolling them carefully so Alastor could feel every tug. “How’s it feel?”
Alastor’s head thrashed, ears pinned flat, voice breaking on a cry. “S—strange—too much—no, don’t—don’t stop—”
Angel smirked, leaning down to lick the sweat off his collarbone. “That’s what I like to hear.”
And then he got to work.
Angel had worked plenty of clients through heat before, but this? This was art. Alastor, the mighty Radio Demon, sprawled across his mattress with his ears pinned and his claws dug into the mattress like he was about to fall straight through it. His chest rose and fell too fast, his cock hard and flushed, balls weighted and trembling, and every line of his thin body shuddered between shame and desperate need.
Angel leaned back, surveying the picture he’d created, then hummed to himself. “Mmm, nah. This angle doesn’t do it.” He grinned down at Al, who cracked open one wild red eye in time to see Angel’s upper arms slip beneath his shoulders. “We want ya feelin’ those pretty ornaments, don’t we, Bambi?”
Before Alastor could muster more than a startled sound, Angel lifted him easily and rolled him further up the bed, shifting his legs apart and tucking a pillow beneath his hips. The motion forced his sac to hang heavy, weights pulling just enough to make him gasp and arch.
Angel chuckled low. “Oh yeah. That’s better. Now you’ll really feel every tug.”
Alastor’s voice shook. “A-Angel—”
“Shhh, I gotcha,” Angel soothed, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw before sliding down, settling between his knees. “Now, here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m givin’ you the best damn blowjob of your immortal life. And you’re gonna take it.”
The demon’s ears twitched violently at the word, his eyes flying wide again. “Blow—?”
But the question cut off in a strangled moan as Angel’s lower hands slid up his thighs, parting them wide, while his uppers wrapped around the base of Al’s cock, stroking just enough to coax more slick out of the swollen tip.
“Goddamn, doll,” Angel murmured, his grin widening as he tilted his head to examine what was in front of him. “Look at you. Not huge, nah—you’re lean, like the rest of ya. But hard as stone, standin’ pretty just for me.” His thumb brushed the bead of pre from the slit, then smeared it across the head. Alastor hissed, thighs quivering.
Angel’s gaze dropped lower, to the furred sac pulled tight by the leather strap, weights swaying with each jerk of Al’s hips. He whistled low. “And these. Velveteen fuzz, swingin’ so damn sweet. You’re killin’ me, Bambi.”
Alastor tried to bury his face in the pillow, heat burning down his spine. His voice came muffled: “J-just—stop talking and—”
Angel cut him off with a laugh. “Oh, no no no. You don’t get to order me around. I’m the one with your cock in my hands, sweetheart.” He winked, then bent forward, tongue flicking out to lap once across the head.
Alastor shouted. His whole body jolted, claws gouging deeper into the sheets, cock jerking up as though to chase the fleeting touch.
“Sensitive, huh?” Angel teased, licking again, slower, tracing the swollen ridge of the foreskin where it bunched behind the head. “Perfect.”
He pressed a soft kiss right at the tip, then drew back with a grin. “Y’know, this little dip right here—” his tongue swirled into the slit, lapping up the slick that welled there—“is one of my favorite spots. Bet it’s yours too, huh?”
Alastor’s reply dissolved into a helpless whimper, his hips canting up despite himself. His cock twitched against Angel’s lips, leaking freely now, foreskin twitching at every touch.
Angel chuckled against him, warm breath teasing the tip before he slid his lips down over just the head, sucking lightly. His upper hands held Alastor’s hips steady, while his lowers continued to play with his sac, lifting the weights so they tugged and swayed in rhythm with each pull of his mouth.
Alastor writhed, caught between the instinct to thrash away from so much sensation and the overwhelming need to chase it. “N-no, I—ah—f-fuck—”
“Language,” Angel teased around the head in his mouth, then sank lower, letting the foreskin roll back against his tongue as he bobbed shallowly. “Mmm. There we go. Take it, Bambi.”
The sound Alastor made then was nothing short of broken. His claws had shredded the pillow beneath him, his long legs trembling violently with the effort to keep still while Angel worked him. The heat in his body surged higher, unbearable, and he gasped for air between choked cries.
Angel drew back just enough to grin up at him, lips glistening. “You’re a wreck, doll. Never had your cock sucked before, huh?”
Alastor, scarlet and sweating, shook his head weakly, ears flattened against the pillow.
“Good,” Angel purred. “Means I get to be your first in everything.”
And with that, he swallowed him down further, tongue flattening against the underside of his shaft, pressing into every vein and ridge until his nose brushed the soft fur at the base.
Alastor screamed.
His back arched clean off the bed, cock twitching wildly inside Angel’s mouth, balls drawn tight against the strap as the weights swung and tugged. He had no control left, body clenching with the force of it, but Angel only hummed around him, smug and satisfied, drawing every shiver out of him like he was orchestrating a symphony.
“Breathe, Bambi,” Angel teased, pulling back just long enough to stroke him with slick hands. “Don’t pass out on me yet. I’ve barely gotten started.”
Angel had been with plenty of clients, and more than a few who begged and cried in the throes of heat, but nothing compared to this. Alastor was so raw, so utterly unpracticed, that every twitch of his cock and every sound spilling from his lips felt like striking gold.
Angel smirked, dragging his tongue slowly across the swollen tip, tasting salt and heat and desperation. He gave the slit a careful flick, then pulled back far enough to admire the way Alastor’s cock jerked with the smallest attention. The foreskin twitched back, crown gleaming with slick, and the poor deer-demon’s chest heaved with ragged gasps.
“Sensitive little Bambi,” Angel cooed, rubbing lazy circles over Al’s trembling thighs with his lower hands. “If you’re this jumpy from a lick, how you gonna survive me really gettin’ to work on ya?”
Alastor tried to answer, but another wave of heat rolled through him, ripping a groan from deep in his chest. His claws shredded at the sheets, tearing fabric like paper. “J-just—please—don’t stop—”
Angel’s grin turned wolfish. “Oh, sweetheart. Stopping’s the last thing I plan to do.”
And then he opened wide, took the head in again, and slid down—inch by slow inch, savoring every shiver of Al’s cock against his tongue. He swallowed deeper, lips sealing tight as he worked lower, lower, until his nose pressed into the soft fur at Alastor’s base. The cock ring dug lightly against his lips, gleaming slick with saliva.
The reaction was instant.
Alastor wailed, the sound high and breaking, nothing like the smooth tones he usually controlled so carefully. His hips bucked helplessly, caught between instinct and inexperience, but Angel’s hands kept him firmly down. His back arched, his ears twitched violently, and his cries fractured into stuttered words.
“F-fuck—n-no—too much—oh—oh please—ahhh—”
The next noise that tore out of him wasn’t a word at all, but a startled, breathless bleat, sharp and helpless. Angel nearly laughed around his cock but managed to smother it in a hum instead, throat vibrating around the shaft. Goddamn, the Radio Demon makes deer sounds when he’s fucked senseless. Adorable.
Alastor, utterly undone, slapped a hand over his mouth like he could somehow stop the noise from escaping. His wide crimson eyes were wet at the corners, his whole body trembling from the force of sensation.
Angel simply pressed deeper, lips closing tight, throat constricting in just the right rhythm to milk the length trapped inside him. He didn’t move—didn’t bob, didn’t retreat—he just sucked, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing, letting his throat massage every twitch and pulse until Alastor was keening like a creature in rut.
The cock ring kept him iron-hard, tip dark and leaking. Slick streamed into Angel’s throat and he swallowed it down like it was nectar, the corners of his lips curved in smug delight.
Alastor’s voice cracked into broken syllables. “A-Angel, I—I c-can’t—I don’t—ahhhnn—w-what—f-fuckkk—”
Another deerlike bleat split through, pathetic and raw, and Angel finally let out a laugh, muffled around the cock in his mouth. He pulled back only far enough for the swollen crown to slip free with a wet pop, strings of spit clinging, and smirked up at Al.
“Baby, you sound so goddamn cute when you lose it,” Angel teased, stroking him slowly, letting his thumb smear the slick over the flushed head. “All that power, all that spooky radio-voice shit—and here you are, bleating for me like a rutting deer.”
Alastor’s face burned crimson, but another wave of heat surged down his spine and any protest caught in his throat. He moaned instead, shoving his face back into the pillow, trembling from head to toe.
Angel chuckled and went back down, swallowing him whole again in one smooth motion until his nose was buried in fur. He sucked harder this time, throat fluttering deliberately, and Alastor’s scream rang off the walls, strangled by the pillow but still sharp, still desperate.
Angel didn’t move. He wanted to milk every last second of this, to let Alastor know what it meant to be truly unraveled. He let his tongue press hard along the underside, tracing the vein, pressing into the slit, while his throat worked with ruthless precision.
And Alastor broke—completely.
His legs thrashed, his hips twitched in tiny, helpless jerks, and his sounds grew so wild they weren’t even words anymore—just pleading gasps, sobbed curses, and the occasional helpless bleat that made Angel’s cock twitch with amusement.
He pulled back at last, lips slick, spit shining on Al’s shaft, and smirked up at the trembling deer. “You’re not lastin’ long like this, doll. You’re practically screamin’ just from me sittin’ still on your cock.”
Alastor cracked his face out of the pillow just enough to look at him, eyes glazed, mouth open and panting. “I—I can’t—please—Angel—”
Angel licked his lips slowly, eyes gleaming. “Mm. Guess I should let you come then, huh? Or maybe…” His lower hands cupped the weighted sac, rolling the fuzzy orbs carefully, tugging the strap so the weights swung just a little. Alastor yowled.
Angel’s grin widened. “Or maybe I keep you right here on the edge ‘til you’re cryin’ for it.”
The poor Radio Demon only shuddered and begged again, incoherent, as another helpless bleat tore free.
Angel laughed and took him back into his throat, sealing his lips down to the ring, and let his throat massage him mercilessly until Alastor’s voice gave out entirely.
Angel had edged him long enough. The poor deer was shaking apart, his voice cracked and raw, his hips twitching uselessly. Angel smirked, tightened his grip on those trembling thighs, and finally began to move.
Not fast, not yet—just a slow pull of lips up Alastor’s length, tongue dragging along the underside, then sliding back down again. The slick pop when he pulled off halfway made Alastor jolt like he’d been struck, a whine torn from his throat before Angel swallowed him back down with obscene ease.
“F—fuck,” Alastor gasped, claws sinking into the mattress. “Angel—I—ohh—”
Angel hummed, deliberately letting the vibrations run up the shaft, then pulled off just long enough to murmur: “You can move, Bambi. Don’t gotta just lay there. Show me how much you want it.”
Alastor blinked down at him, eyes wide and desperate, then shuddered as another wave of heat flared through his body. His hips gave an experimental little thrust forward, shallow and jerky, pushing into Angel’s mouth. The spider grinned around the length and bobbed in time with the thrust, encouraging it with firm hands that guided his rhythm.
It was clumsy—of course it was. Virgin clumsy, heat-addled clumsy, with pauses every time the ball weights shifted and pulled at his sac. Each swing made him groan or stutter, eyes screwing shut as he whimpered. But it was movement, participation, a desperate little rutting that told Angel the deer was losing himself to bliss.
And fuck if that wasn’t hot.
Angel swallowed him down again, nose pressed deep into fur, throat flexing tight. Precum spilled thick against his tongue, salty-sweet, and he moaned low as he tasted it. Hell. Who knew deer tasted this good? He pulled back with a filthy slurp and smirked up at Alastor.
“You’re makin’ a mess in my mouth already, sweetheart. Didn’t know deer cream tasted like this. Gonna get addicted.”
Alastor’s breath hitched hard, his whole face flushed a deep, humiliating crimson. He tried to look away, ears twitching violently, but Angel didn’t give him the chance—he bobbed faster, wetter, his hands squeezing Al’s hips every time they jerked forward.
The room filled with obscene sounds: the wet glide of cock through mouth, the squeak of the mattress under Alastor’s claws, the broken noises spilling out of him.
Another bleat cracked free, helpless and high, and Angel nearly laughed around his cock. He kept bobbing, deep and steady, sucking hard enough that Alastor’s hips lost any rhythm and just stuttered into his throat.
Angel’s lower hands stayed busy—one rolling the fuzzy sac, making the weights tug in ways that had Alastor squealing, the other dragging down his thigh to keep him grounded. Every reaction, every sound, was a prize.
And Alastor was losing it.
His words broke apart into gasps and moans, his body arching off the bed, sweat gleaming down his temple. He thrust shallowly, stuttering, each movement cut off by the weight-pull at his balls that sent him keening. He didn’t know if he wanted to sob or scream; all he knew was he needed, he needed.
Angel pulled back with a slick pop, lips shining, and stroked the shaft with a lazy hand, smirking up at the trembling wreck of a deer.
“You’re close, huh? I can taste it. Feel it twitchin’ in my throat. You wanna finish?”
Alastor, panting hard, nodded helplessly, words failing him.
Angel leaned in, licking a slow stripe from base to tip, savoring every twitch. “Then work for it, Bambi. Fuck my mouth like you mean it.”
The command sent a shiver down Alastor’s spine. Another wave of heat surged, and with a broken groan, he obeyed.
This time he thrust with purpose—not graceful, not smooth, but desperate. His cock slid deep into Angel’s throat again and again, his claws tearing new holes in the sheets as he sobbed with the overwhelming pleasure. Every time his sac swung with the weights, he yelped, then moaned louder, teetering between agony and bliss.
Angel swallowed every thrust, letting himself be used, lips stretched wide, throat tight and hungry. Precum spilled freely, coating his tongue, and he moaned around the length like it was the sweetest drug he’d ever had.
Alastor was beyond shame now. His voice was ragged, his sounds feral, his hips moving in frantic little bursts. “I—ahhh—c-can’t—Angel—fuck—I can’t—”
Angel pulled off just long enough to growl, “Yes you can. You’re gonna come for me, sweetheart. Gimme all that deer cream you’re holdin’ back.”
Alastor wailed, shoved forward again, and Angel swallowed him down to the ring one last time, throat milking him mercilessly. The deer’s whole body arched, his claws shredded fabric and wood alike, and a strangled bleat ripped from his throat as he finally, finally broke.
Alastor broke apart like a storm.
One moment he was thrusting shallow and frantic, chasing a high he didn’t even understand, and the next it hit him with the force of an earthquake. His body stiffened, then arched violently, his head thrown back as a strangled, deer-like bleat tore free.
It wasn’t just release—it was heat release, his very first, raw and brutal. The climax didn’t crash down all at once, it ripped through him in waves that left him gasping, choking, clutching at the mattress like it was the only thing tethering him to the world.
And Angel? Angel swallowed him down to the ring and stayed there.
His lips sealed tight around the flushed shaft, his throat working as the first heavy, shocking gush of cum hit. Hot, thick, sweet—Angel nearly moaned around it, letting it slide straight down. Fuck, Bambi tastes like honey and salt and sin.
Alastor’s eyes flew wide, staring at nothing, his mouth working around garbled sounds. “N-no, no, what—ahhh, oh, oh God—nnnHHHHH—”
He had no words, only sensations. His cock twitched violently inside Angel’s mouth, spilling again, then again, every pulse making his body jolt.
Angel pulled back just slightly, enough to let some of it spill across his tongue, letting the mess coat his mouth before swallowing deliberately, throat rippling tight around Alastor’s cock.
Angel didn’t let him go. His hands clamped down hard, keeping Alastor’s shaking hips steady while his lips and tongue worked mercilessly, milking every drop. He suckled, teasing the head with obscene little swirls that sent fresh shocks through Al’s already ruined nerves.
“Ah, oh f-fuck—” Alastor choked, voice breaking into another helpless bleat as another pulse of cum spilled, thick and hot, down Angel’s throat. His whole body quaked with it, legs trembling so violently Angel had to brace him harder just to keep him from collapsing off the bed.
But Angel wasn’t about to stop. Not when the poor virgin was in heat, and not when his first orgasm was this delicious.
He drew back enough to trap just the tip in his lips, tongue flicking the slit mercilessly as the ring kept Alastor swollen and spilling. Every fresh spurt was swallowed with a groan, Angel humming like he was savoring a fine wine.
Finally—finally—the pulses slowed. His cock still twitched weakly in Angel’s mouth, but the gushes came lighter, smaller, dripping into Angel’s waiting throat.
Angel let him down easy, pulling back with obscene slowness, lips dragging up every inch until the tip slipped free with a wet pop. His tongue flicked across the slit one last time, catching the final bead before it could drip, and he swallowed it with a satisfied hum.
Alastor collapsed back onto the bed, chest heaving, eyes glassy and dazed. He looked utterly ruined—shirt clinging with sweat, fur matted, cheeks stained with tears and color. His cock, still swollen hard from the ring, twitched pathetically, leaking even after all that.
Angel licked his lips, smirking wide. “Mmm. Sweetest cream I’ve had in years. And you’re still hard, Bambi. Heat really doesn’t cut you a break, huh?”
Alastor could only whimper in response, his throat too raw, his body still trembling. He tried to form words, stammered nonsense, then let his head flop back with a broken groan.
Angel climbed up onto the bed, straddling his hips, and leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth, soft and mocking all at once. “Don’t worry, dollface. That was just your first. We’ve got all night to ruin you proper.”
Alastor shuddered violently, half in terror, half in desperate need. His body still burned, still craved, still ached for more even after the endless climax.
And Angel? Angel grinned like the devil himself, ready to take the deer apart, piece by trembling piece.

Chapter Text

Alastor lay sprawled across the ruined sheets, chest heaving, sweat slicking his pale skin and fur in a way that made him look even more undone. His ruby eyes stared glassy and wide at the ceiling, still unfocused, still trembling from the force of what had just ripped through him. His cock throbbed stubbornly against his stomach, the ring keeping it flushed and ready despite the fact that his whole body shook with overstimulated exhaustion.
Angel didn’t rush him. He knew better. Heat was a cruel mistress—she could keep a poor demon’s body running long after their mind had tapped out, but he wasn’t gonna let Bambi’s first time be nothing but pain and confusion. Not when he looked so deliciously wrecked.
Instead, Angel shifted, climbing up over him, straddling Alastor’s narrow hips. His own cock pressed hot and heavy against Al’s, the simple weight of it enough to keep the deer twitching beneath him. He lowered himself down slowly, letting his chest brush Alastor’s, the closeness deliberate. His hands smoothed across Al’s sides, long fingers tracing ribs, pressing into the sharpness of bone, stroking along trembling thighs. Each touch was grounding, coaxing the deer back from the edge.
Alastor let out a thin whimper, his throat dry, voice frayed. “W-what… what in God’s name was that?” He sounded horrified, but mostly bewildered, his tone cracked down the middle. His ears twitched, his sharp teeth bared faintly like he didn’t know whether to snarl or sob. “It just—kept going—I—I couldn’t—”
Angel chuckled low, leaning down to nip at his collarbone before soothing it with a kiss. “That, sweetheart,” he purred, lips dragging up Alastor’s throat, “was an orgasm.”
Alastor’s brow furrowed. His whole body jolted when Angel’s cock nudged against his own, and he clutched at Angel’s shoulders like they were an anchor. “Oh for fuck’s sake. So, people get all wound up over sex for thirty seconds of that?!”
Angel grinned, teeth flashing. He trailed kisses up the long line of Al’s neck, lingering just below his jaw before brushing his lips against the deer’s ear. “Yeah, baby. Y’know, climax? Coming? Shooting your load? Blowing your top?” He licked deliberately along the shell of his ear, smirking when Alastor shivered like he’d been struck by lightning. “And before you judge the rest of hell, didn’t you enjoy yourself?”
Alastor blinked at him, and bared his teeth. “I—shut the fuck up!” Angel smirked. So, climax made Al talk dirty.
Angel cut off whatever else he was going to say with a slow kiss to his sternum, then trailed up again, lips dragging over sensitive skin until he reached a nipple. He sucked gently, teeth grazing. Alastor bucked at the touch, a startled sound bursting from his throat. Angel chuckled around him, pulling back just enough to grin. “Never came before? I could tell. Virgin balls don’t lie.”
Alastor’s face went crimson, ears flattening tight. He opened his mouth to argue but only managed a strangled noise, half-growl, half-whimper, as Angel rolled the nipple between thumb and forefinger.
“Mhm. That little ‘what the fuck was that?’ look? That’s a dead giveaway.” Angel kissed his chest again, softer this time, and ran his fingers over the fine fur at his ribs. “Don’t worry, Bambi. Nothing wrong with you. You just had your first orgasm. Lucky me, I got to be the one to wring it outta ya.”
Alastor trembled beneath him, torn apart by shame and lingering sparks of pleasure. He tried to look away, his ruby eyes darting toward the wall, but Angel caught his chin, guiding his gaze back.
“Hey. Look at me.” Angel’s tone softened just enough to cut through Al’s muddle. “You didn’t do anything wrong. That was supposed to happen. It felt good, didn’t it?”
Alastor’s throat bobbed. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “It—it felt—” His voice cracked into another high, desperate bleat, the heat making honesty spill out before he could stop it. “It felt—d-disgusting. And—and good. Too good. I didn’t—” His hands fisted helplessly in the sheets. “I didn’t know it could—”
Angel bent down and kissed him full on the mouth. Not hard, not claiming—just slow, warm, steady, swallowing the panic before it could spiral. His tongue slipped in teasingly, coaxing Alastor to respond, until the deer clutched at him and kissed back with trembling need.
When Angel finally pulled away, both of them panting, he brushed his thumb over Al’s cheekbone. “Yeah, that’s how it’s supposed to feel. Dirty and good and way too much. That’s sex, sweetheart. Welcome to the club.”
Alastor let out a broken laugh that dissolved instantly into another whimper. His hips jerked upward without permission, grinding his still-hard cock against Angel’s. He looked half-mad from the sensation, from the ache that still burned through his body. “I don’t—I don’t know what to—”
Angel hushed him with another kiss, this one pressed to the tip of his nose. Then he leaned down, lips brushing Alastor’s ear, his voice a low purr. “Don’t think. Just feel. I’ve gotcha.”
His hands smoothed down Al’s sides again, stroking along the curve of his hips, then up his thighs, grounding him with every touch. Angel didn’t move too fast; he let the kisses trail slow and steady up Alastor’s throat, across his jaw, back to his lips. His cock shifted deliberately against Al’s, heavy and warm, but he didn’t grind, didn’t push. He just let the weight of it remind the deer that there was more to come, but not yet.
And Alastor—despite everything—relaxed under the ministrations. His breathing evened just a fraction, his trembling eased. The frantic panic in his eyes dulled into glassy, muddled want. He was still hard, still burning, but Angel gave his brain space to catch up, space to realize he wasn’t dying, that what he’d felt wasn’t something terrible or wrong.
Just sex. Just pleasure. Just his body finally giving in.
Angel smirked, kissing across his jaw again. “Cute little virgin deer, still tryin’ to figure out what happened to him.” He let his tongue drag up the side of Al’s throat, savoring the shudder that wracked him. “Don’t worry, dollface. I’m just gettin’ started with you.”
Alastor whimpered, but this time, he didn’t argue.
Alastor didn’t even realize what Angel was doing until he was already being coaxed, guided, rolled gently over onto his belly. His cheek pressed into the pillows, the weight of Angel’s hands at his hips steady but not crushing. For a second, he froze—everything about the shift screamed different, screamed new, and his heart rattled so hard in his chest he thought it might shake loose.
Angel smirked above him, straddling the backs of his thighs, letting his hands roam slow down Al’s sides, over his ribs, across the soft fur of his waist. “Easy, Bambi. Jus’ gettin’ you comfy.”
But Alastor’s body didn’t buy it. Every line of him was taut, sharp as piano wire, shoulders locked tight, hands clenching the sheets. His ears twitched, flat against his hair, and he swallowed hard, his breath coming short and shaky.
Then Angel’s hand slid lower. Fingers spreading over the swell of his ass, thumbs brushing deliberately toward the cleft—
Alastor jolted like he’d been burned. “W-what—what are you—” His voice cracked into a half-panicked bleat, his claws raking the sheets. “What in God’s name do you think you’re—”
Angel paused. Didn’t push. He hummed low, soothing, one hand smoothing slow circles across Al’s narrow back. “Relax, sugar. I ain’t hurtin’ ya. This is prep.”
“Prep?” Alastor’s head whipped around, eyes wide, ears flicked back. His cheeks burned hotter than ever. “For—what—”
Angel leaned down over him, chest pressing lightly to Alastor’s back, his lips brushing the deer’s ear. “For the part where I fuck you.”
Alastor shook. A full-body tremor that made his breath stutter and his claws tear faint lines into the sheets. “Wh—what?”
Angel chuckled, soft but wicked, kissing the hinge of his jaw. “C’mon, doll. You knew we were headed here. Your body wants it. Heat ain’t lettin’ you off easy.” He gave Alastor’s hip a squeeze, grounding. “But you don’t just shove it in raw. Not with a virgin ass like yours. Gotta stretch you open, nice ‘n slow, get you used to it.”
Alastor’s breath caught. The words alone sent another pulse of heat rolling through him, and he hated it. He trembled, his body caught in that war between panic and raw, gnawing want. He buried his face in the pillow. “That’s—unnatural,” he rasped, muffled. “That can’t—”
Angel kissed down his spine, deliberately slow, letting his mouth linger against the curve of Al’s back. “Baby, everything in Hell is unnatural. And lemme tell ya—there ain’t nothin’ wrong with takin’ it up the ass. Half the population’s doin’ it, the other half wishes they were. You’ll love it, if you let yourself.”
His hand traced deliberately down, stroking over the curve of Al’s ass again. This time, he didn’t press further—just let his palm rest there, a steady weight. The other hand rubbed soothing patterns along Alastor’s tense shoulders. “But hey—your call, sweetheart. You’re tight as a drum right now. If you don’t want it, we pivot. Got a thousand other ways to work you through heat.”
Alastor stayed frozen. His body was shaking with adrenaline, with uncertainty, with heat screaming at him from the inside out. He wanted—no, needed—something to make it stop, but the thought of Angel doing that to him made his throat close.
Angel didn’t push. He stayed leaned over him, his lips dragging another line of kisses down Al’s spine. “So? Whaddya say? Wanna let me prep you, or should I stick to other tricks tonight?”
He stroked Al’s side again, up and down, slow, steady, grounding. “Not gonna hurt you, Bambi. If you trust me, I’ll make it good. If not, we back off. No pressure.”
Alastor’s claws clenched tighter into the bedding.
His fingers brushed feather-light along Al’s lower back, just circling and waiting for an answer. Not pressing, not invading—just waiting, patient, to see if Alastor would tense or melt.
The deer trembled beneath him, half panic, half desperate need. And Angel kept stroking, steady and slow, ready to pivot at the first sharp no. It came faster than he’d thought. What had seemed like indecision shifted—Alastor’s refusal came fast, sharp, like a blade snapping shut.
“No.”
Not even a hesitation in his voice this time—breathless, trembling, but absolute. He pressed his face harder into the pillow, ears flat, claws dug deep into the sheets as though he could hold himself there until Angel stopped trying. The whole line of him was braced, rigid, ready to bolt despite the thick waves of heat still crawling through his body.
Angel froze. He had a dozen filthy retorts sitting on his tongue, but he swallowed them down. This wasn’t nerves anymore. This wasn’t just virgin fear. The way Alastor shook, the way he practically cringed from the thought, the way his “no” carried a kind of hard edge—it smelled of something else. Something older, sharper, deeper than embarrassment.
Angel sat back a little, hands slipping away from Al’s hips, then leaning instead into the small of his back, just steadying pressure. “Hey, hey, alright. No ass stuff. Got it.” His tone was surprisingly light, easy. No mocking this time, no coaxing edge. “We’ll skip that chapter.”
Alastor sucked in a shaky breath, but he didn’t move. Didn’t turn. Just lay there, pressed tight into the pillow, as if waiting to see if Angel would change his mind and force the issue.
That made Angel’s chest ache a little. He reached up, stroking between Al’s twitching shoulder blades. “Bambi,” he murmured, “you think I’m the type who’d push you after you said no?”
The deer didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched too tight, his body too strung up.
Angel exhaled slow, then leaned down and brushed a kiss against Al’s shoulder. “Look at me.”
It took a long few seconds, but Alastor finally shifted. Slowly, stiffly, he rolled onto his side—away from the pillow and the crushing weight of chest-down panic. His red eyes, hazy with heat and shame, flicked toward Angel, wary as a cornered animal.
Angel gave him his softest grin and tapped his nose. “There’s my doll. Much better view, don’tcha think?”
Alastor huffed through his nose, but the tension in his shoulders loosened by a fraction.
Angel, still straddling his hips, leaned back enough to give him space. “Alright, so butt stuff’s off the menu. Fine. Lucky for you, sugar, I got a hundred other tricks up my sleeves.” He wiggled his fingers, then placed two on Alastor’s chest, right over his racing heart. “And I’m not lettin’ you leave frustrated. Heat’ll eat you alive if I do.”
That earned him a sidelong glare, thin and wary—but not as panicked. And that was enough.
Angel leaned down, kissing along Al’s jaw, letting the touch stay soft, teasing rather than invasive. His hands slid from chest to ribs to waist, stroking the fur and tracing bone beneath. He lingered, massaging slowly, coaxing Al’s body into some kind of ease. “You don’t gotta be scared. Don’t gotta let me fuck ya to get off. Trust me, babe—there’s plenty of ways to milk a load outta you without ever gettin’ near your ass.”
Alastor’s ears twitched violently at that, his flush deepening, but his body didn’t lock up again. His hips even shifted—tiny, unconscious, betraying his need.
Angel noticed. Of course he noticed. His grin turned sly. “See? You’re still hard. Heat’s got you wound tight. And that orgasm earlier? That was just the warm-up.”
Alastor made a noise—half a whimper, half a growl—but didn’t argue.
Angel kissed him again, deeper this time, and with his lower hands he cupped the deer’s thighs, spreading them slightly. He didn’t push further—just rested there, stroking soft circles with his thumbs. The upper pair of hands roamed his chest, tweaking sensitive spots he’d already mapped out. Every twitch, every gasp, Angel stored away, using them like notes in a song.
“Mm, you like it when I touch you here…” He pinched a nipple, tugging lightly until Alastor arched with a strangled gasp. Angel licked into his mouth, laughing low. “Yeah, you do. Fuck, you’re easy to read.”
Alastor trembled beneath him, torn between snapping at him and melting. His claws caught Angel’s shoulders but didn’t push away—they gripped, pulling him closer in helpless need.
Angel hummed approvingly, trailing kisses down Alastor’s throat, teeth grazing the delicate skin just under his ear. “That’s more like it. You don’t need to panic. You just need to cum again. And lucky you, I know exactly how to get you there.”
One lower hand slid between them, wrapping around Alastor’s cock. Still hard, still leaking, still flushed dark from the cock ring snug at the base. Angel gave it a squeeze, slow and deliberate. “Look at this. Still so eager. Poor thing.”
Alastor’s breath stuttered, his head falling back into the pillow. “I—” His voice cracked, strangled. “I told you… I told you I—”
“Didn’t wanna be fucked. Yeah, yeah, I heard ya.” Angel cut him off with another long, slow stroke, thumb brushing the slick at his tip. “But you still wanna finish, don’tcha?”
A sound tore out of Alastor’s throat that was neither yes nor no, just raw need. His hips twitched helplessly into Angel’s hand.
“That’s what I thought.” Angel kissed his jaw again, chuckling low, filthy. “Relax, Bambi. I’ll give you exactly what you need. We’ll keep it simple. Hands, mouth… maybe some toys if you’re curious. Nothin’ scary. You’ll be screamin’ for me anyway.”
Alastor shuddered hard, but this time not with panic—with something closer to relief. The weight of Angel’s certainty, the lack of pressure, the firm hands still roaming his body—it settled him in ways he didn’t expect.
He didn’t trust the heat. He didn’t trust his own body. But Angel? Angel at least seemed to know what he was doing. And for once, that was… enough.
Angel kissed him again, deep and lingering, while his hands worked a slow rhythm that promised to drag Alastor through pleasure without ever pushing him where he wasn’t ready to go.
Alastor tensed as Angel leaned in again, one elegant hand still bracing against his chest while the other slicked up from the little bottle of lube. The demon radio’s ruby eyes darted down, then away, then back again, every twitch betraying nerves he couldn’t disguise. He looked almost offended at the casual way Angel popped the cap, coated his palm, and went about this like it was a routine—because to Angel, it was.
“You’ve really never done this, huh?” Angel purred, his grin lopsided but not unkind. He flexed his fingers, letting the glossy sheen catch in the light, and Alastor swallowed hard.
“I said as much already,” Alastor muttered, his voice sharp even as his shoulders hunched against the pillows. His ears twitched and flattened, heat flushing up his neck and cheeks. He sounded as if he’d been caught doing something scandalous when, in truth, the scandal was in his sheer lack of experience.
Angel chuckled, leaning closer, his breath teasing Alastor’s cheek. “Christ on a cracker. A big scary Radio Demon, taken out by the idea of a handjob. Doll, you really are somethin’ special.”
Before Alastor could summon a retort, Angel wrapped that slick hand loosely around him. Not tight. Not urgent. Just enough to let Alastor feel the glide.
Alastor gasped, sharp and unrestrained. His hips jerked as though he’d been shocked. The sound—half snarl, half startled moan—made Angel’s grin stretch even wider.
“There it is,” Angel crooned, stroking once, twice, letting his palm drag slow, deliberate. “You feel that? That’s me, sweetheart. That’s what you’ve been missin’ all this time.”
Alastor’s fingers dug into the bedding, his claws catching at the sheets like he meant to shred them. “I… I…” His voice broke into silence, and he shut his eyes hard, jaw working. Heat pulsed through him, down his spine, into his hips, and he couldn’t stop the low, wounded noise that crawled out of his throat.
Angel tilted his head, pink curls spilling forward as he looked down at Al with all four of his hands now in play—one teasing, one bracing, two resting against Al’s ribs and thigh. “You don’t gotta talk, babe. Your body’s doin’ plenty of the chatter for ya. You’re hot all over. Shakin’. Clenching your teeth like you’re bein’ tortured, but your hips…” He stroked again, just a little faster, just a little tighter. “Your hips can’t stay still. That’s your body beggin’ me to keep goin’.”
“Stop—saying—such things—” Alastor panted, each word forced through gritted teeth.
Angel leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, feather-light, smug as sin. “You want me to shut up? Make me.”
Alastor shuddered. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Another slow stroke had his body bowing off the bed, his tail twitching and betraying him even as he tried to keep composed.
Angel’s grin softened at the edges, something more tender sneaking in behind the tease. He adjusted his grip, thumbing gently along the base, then dragging his palm upward in a rhythm that had Alastor’s breath stuttering.
Alastor opened his eyes just long enough to glare, but the look crumbled almost instantly, replaced by wide-eyed vulnerability. “This is—it’s filthy,” he stammered, as though the word itself might break him.
Angel chuckled low in his throat. “Oh, doll. It is filthy. That’s the fun part.” He leaned closer, kissing along Alastor’s jaw, distracting him with warmth and lips while his hand picked up pace, coaxing, teasing, drawing out every sound he could wring from him.
The Radio Demon writhed beneath him, torn between shame and need. Each time Angel shifted his hand, experimenting with angle and pressure, Alastor let out another fractured sound, half-moan, half-plea. His heat made everything sharper, rawer, like his whole body was begging to be undone and didn’t care about dignity anymore.
Angel laughed softly against his ear. “You’re close, huh? I can feel it—your body’s all tense, you’re burnin’ up like a fever. Don’t hold back, sugar. I wanna see how a virgin Radio Demon comes apart.”
Alastor tried to deny it, tried to snarl something cutting, but what left his mouth instead was a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper. His claws gouged deeper into the sheets, his legs trembling. He didn’t know if he wanted to push into Angel’s hand or away from it, but he couldn’t stop shaking.
Angel pressed a kiss to his temple, still stroking, slow enough to make it last but steady enough to push him higher. “C’mon, baby. Let go for me. First time’s always a mess, but I’ll clean it up. You’ll like it. Promise.”
Alastor’s whole body bowed up again, his chest heaving, lips parted in desperate, uneven breaths. He looked ruined already, red hair sticking to his forehead, eyes glassy and dazed.
Angel’s grin widened as he felt the tremor hit—the shudder that ran from Alastor’s stomach down into his hips, the tight clench that betrayed just how close he was. Angel whispered low, smug and gentle all at once: “There it is. That’s it, sweetheart. Don’t fight it. Just—fall.”
Alastor was trembling, his whole frame quaking like a storm-struck tree. The sheets beneath him were ruined—clawed through in places, damp in others—and his chest rose and fell in frantic, uneven gasps. His ears twitched, his tail thumped erratically against the mattress, and his eyes, usually sharp and commanding, were glazed and unfocused.
Angel, perched at his side, whistled low under his breath. “Well, hot damn, doll. You’re a mess. And a cute mess, at that.”
The words made Alastor bristle faintly, but his strength wasn’t there; it came out more like a shudder than a true act of defiance. He pressed his lips together hard, trying to swallow down the sounds still clawing up his throat.
Angel chuckled, leaning down to kiss his temple, then slid two fingers beneath the snug band of the cock ring. “Yeah, nah. This’s gotta come off before your poor dick explodes.”
Alastor gasped sharply as the pressure released, the band slipping free with a slick sound. His cock twitched hard, aching and raw, but already softening under the sudden freedom. His thighs clenched reflexively, and he let out a noise—half groan, half sob—that made Angel’s grin soften into something more tender.
“Easy, Bambi,” Angel murmured. He tossed the ring onto the nightstand and set his hands against Alastor’s sides, thumbs smoothing slow, grounding circles over trembling ribs. His touch was firm but unhurried, coaxing the deer demon’s body back down from its peak.
Alastor sucked in a shaky breath and let it out through his teeth, his claws still knotted in the sheets. “It—it won’t stop,” he muttered, his voice low and frayed. “The… heat. It—it’s not—” His words broke off, another shudder racking him.
Angel hummed, sliding his hands down from ribs to thighs, stroking the lean, scarred muscle there. “I know, sugar. Heat’s a marathon, not a sprint. You got a whole damn week of this, and I ain’t gonna let you burn yourself out on round one.” His hands squeezed gently at Alastor’s thighs, massaging tension out of the muscles, coaxing his legs to unclench. “So for now, we cool you down. Let your nerves stop screamin’.”
Alastor’s head rolled against the pillow, eyes half-lidded as he stared at the ceiling. He didn’t argue, though his ears twitched with faint, restless energy. His chest was still heaving, his body slick with a sheen of sweat, and though his cock had eased back from the sharp ache of climax, it still twitched faintly with lingering demand.
Angel smirked, leaning over to brush a kiss against the curve of Alastor’s jaw. “Don’t pout, baby. You’ll get more. You’re not done.” His hands slid back to Al’s sides, stroking slow, steady lines from ribs to hips. “But right now, you’re wound so tight you’d snap. Gotta loosen ya up first.”
The Radio Demon made a low, almost petulant sound, his voice muffled as he turned his face into the pillow. “I loathe this.”
Angel laughed softly, his chest vibrating against Alastor’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I bet you do. Hate every second of it. Hate how you’re still hard. Hate how you can’t stop shakin’. Hate how good it feels when I touch you.” He dragged his nails lightly along Alastor’s thighs, earning a twitch and a hiss. “Admit it, doll. You love that I know what I’m doin’.”
Alastor’s tail thumped against the mattress, betraying him. His lips parted like he might argue, but another wave of heat rolled through his body, and he shivered violently, eyes squeezing shut. “Nnn—damn you—”
Angel grinned, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, that’s the spirit. Call me names while I make you melt. It’s hot.”
He kept his hands moving, slow rubs along Alastor’s thighs, then up over his sides again, grounding him, soothing without taking away the edge of heat. Each stroke seemed to steady the deer demon’s ragged breathing, pulling him back from panic toward something softer, calmer.
Alastor let out a shaky sigh, his claws finally easing their death-grip on the sheets. His body was still taut, but the sharp, painful tension had dulled, leaving him pliant beneath Angel’s touch.
Angel smirked, trailing kisses along his collarbone. “There we go. That’s better. Still hard, still needy, but not so strung out you’re gonna snap. Good boy.”
Alastor’s ears flushed scarlet at the phrase, and he turned his head sharply, refusing to meet Angel’s eyes. “Do not… call me that.”
“Mmhm,” Angel hummed, entirely unrepentant, his lips brushing over Alastor’s throat. “You’re adorable when you blush, y’know that?”
The Radio Demon made a noise that was part growl, part whimper. His heat still pulsed through him, coiling low in his belly, tugging at him insistently, but Angel’s slow, steady touches were a balm against the worst of the overstimulation. For the first time since the cycle had hit him, he felt almost… steady.
Almost.
Angel pulled back just enough to look at him, his grin lopsided but his eyes warm. “So. You wanna keep goin’ now, or you want me to keep coolin’ you down? I’m fine either way, doll. You’re the one in the driver’s seat.”
Alastor’s breath caught, his throat working as he tried to find words. The want was still there, sharp and insistent, but his body trembled with exhaustion, with newness, with the sheer overwhelming force of heat. He hated needing. He hated asking. But Angel’s hands on his thighs felt so grounding, so steady, that he finally whispered, voice cracking—
“Don’t stop.”
Angel’s grin sharpened. “Atta boy.”
Angel kept stroking Alastor’s sides, watching the way the Radio Demon’s body trembled, softer now than before. The flush on his face was lingering, but his breathing had steadied. His chest rose and fell in slow, uneven waves, ears twitching whenever Angel’s hands skimmed across especially sensitive spots.
Then Alastor cleared his throat. His eyes darted to the side, crimson cheeks heating darker as though admitting anything would strip him of dignity. Angel tilted his head, curious.
“Oh? That little noise right there says you got somethin’ on your mind, doll,” Angel teased, his grin broadening. “Don’t leave me hangin’. Out with it.”
Alastor’s fingers flexed against the sheets, his voice low and taut. “There is… one thing.”
Angel perked up instantly, all four hands pausing where they rested on Alastor’s thighs and hips. His grin widened like Christmas morning had come early. “Ohhh, so you do know somethin’ about yourself.” He leaned closer, nose brushing against Alastor’s ear, his voice dropping into a silken purr. “Do tell, Bambi. What gets your gears grindin’?”
Alastor swallowed hard, ears flattening. He looked absolutely humiliated, but the heat in his eyes betrayed him. He shifted slightly, avoiding Angel’s gaze. “I only bring this up,” he said stiffly, “because I would like to… finish… but I don’t want your hand on me again.” His voice dipped low, a hiss, like the very admission burned his tongue.
Angel blinked, then gave a slow nod, grin softening into something indulgent. “Fair enough, doll. I ain’t here to fry your circuits. So…” He tilted his head, playful curiosity dripping from his tone. “What is it?”
Alastor hesitated, claws digging lightly into the bedding. His blush deepened until his ears burned crimson. Finally, he whispered—
“…I like having things in my mouth.”
For a heartbeat, Angel just stared. Then his gasp split the room, high and delighted. “No fucking way.” He broke into laughter, one hand smacking the mattress in sheer delight. “You’re tellin’ me the big, scary Radio Demon—Mr. ‘I Eat Souls for Breakfast’—has got a full-blown oral fixation? Oh my god, doll.”
Alastor turned his face sharply toward the pillow, utterly mortified. His ears flicked back as though he could hide, his voice a low growl. “It is not—!” He cut himself off, flustered beyond words.
Angel waggled his brows, gleeful. “Baby, you don’t gotta explain it to me. I’m ecstatic. This is the best damn news I’ve heard all week.” He trailed a finger along Alastor’s jaw, coaxing him to look back. “And you’re lucky. I happen to have plenty of experience keepin’ mouths busy.”
Alastor’s blush only deepened, but he swallowed and gave a tiny nod. “Fine. Just… no teeth.”
Angel smirked wickedly, wagging one finger in front of Al’s lips. “Correction, doll. No teeth from you.” His grin sharpened. “I like mine exactly where they are, thanks. So you gotta promise me right now—you don’t go bitin’ off my fingers in some heat-crazed fit.”
Alastor glared faintly, but his ears twitched and his throat worked as he forced out a reply. “…I promise.”
Angel’s grin turned feline. “Good boy.” He slid two fingers against Alastor’s lips, teasing lightly at the corner of his mouth. “Now… open up.”
Alastor’s breath hitched, his eyes narrowing in hesitation, but the pulse of heat through his body pushed him past pride. Slowly, grudgingly, he parted his lips.
Angel wasted no time. He slid his fingers past Alastor’s lips, letting the tips brush over his tongue. The deer demon’s reaction was immediate—a low, shuddering moan muffled against Angel’s hand. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling, and his body curled faintly as if just that touch unraveled him.
“Ohhh, holy shit,” Angel breathed, staring down at him like he was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. “You weren’t kidding. Look at you—suckin’ my fingers like you were born for it.”
Alastor whimpered, cheeks hollowing as he instinctively drew the digits deeper into his mouth. His tongue pressed against them, tasting the faint slick of lube Angel hadn’t bothered to wipe away. His hands gripped the sheets tight, every inch of him trembling with need, and his cock twitched against his belly, still hard despite everything.
Angel chuckled low, sliding his fingers further, until his knuckles brushed against Alastor’s lips. “That’s it, baby. Take it. You like that? Having somethin’ to suck on, to keep that mouth busy?”
Alastor’s ears burned crimson. He made a sound—half snarl, half desperate moan—and his hips rolled involuntarily, grinding into nothing.
Angel’s grin softened, but his voice dripped filth. “You’re a goddamn dream, you know that? Most virgins I break in, they’re shy, awkward, don’t know what they like. But you? You’ve got this perfect little quirk just waitin’ to be exploited.” He let his free hand roam down Alastor’s chest, stroking absently over scars and fur, grounding and teasing at once. “And I’m happy to oblige.”
Alastor’s eyes cracked open, wild and desperate. His muffled voice tried to form words around Angel’s fingers, but it came out as garbled moans. Angel grinned wider, pressing his thumb against Alastor’s tongue.
“Don’t talk, baby. Just suck.”
Alastor obeyed. His lips sealed around Angel’s fingers, his tongue working with desperate, eager strokes. His throat bobbed, and when Angel pushed just a bit deeper, testing his gag reflex, Alastor whined but didn’t pull back. His hips bucked sharply, his cock dripping pre-come onto his stomach.
Angel let out a pleased hum, eyes half-lidded as he watched. “Goddamn, Bambi. You’re makin’ me harder than hell just watchin’ you. And you’re not even touchin’ me.”
He shifted closer, leaning down to kiss Alastor’s temple as his fingers pumped slowly in and out of the deer’s mouth. “You’re mine tonight, baby. And I’m gonna make sure that mouth of yours learns exactly what it’s good for.”
Alastor moaned around his fingers, his whole body shivering with need, the heat inside him coiling tighter. He was desperate, undone, completely lost in the act of sucking Angel’s fingers like it was salvation. And judging by the glint in Angel’s eyes, this was only the beginning.
Angel had known the second those lips parted that he’d struck gold, but now? Watching Alastor unravel just from having his fingers in his mouth—oh, this was fucking delicious.
Alastor’s whole body was taut, trembling, heat-soaked and raw. The flush painting his face was no longer just embarrassment; it was lust, heavy and consuming. His eyes, half-lidded and glassy, tracked Angel’s every move but couldn’t stay focused for long before they fluttered shut again.
Angel kept his pace unhurried, sliding his slick fingers across Alastor’s tongue, letting him suck and swirl around them like a starving man finally offered a meal. Each moan was muffled, each sound raw, and Angel was eating up every goddamn second of it.
With a slow grin, Angel freed one of his other hands and slid it up, combing through Alastor’s mess of dark hair. And damn if that didn’t surprise him—it was soft, not the brittle coarse texture he’d expected. Softer than velvet, sliding like silk through his fingers.
“Ohhh,” Angel drawled, voice lilting and wicked. “Would ya look at that. Doll, you got princess hair and you never told me? Hah. Gonna keep my hands buried in this all night, I swear.”
Alastor whined around his mouthful, ears flicking back at the words, but his cock throbbed against his belly, betraying him.
Angel tightened his hold on that silky hair and tilted Alastor’s head back just slightly, opening his throat a little more. His other hand pressed gently against Alastor’s jaw, guiding him as he slid his fingers deeper, pushing past his tongue until the tips brushed the back of his throat.
The reaction was instant. Alastor gagged faintly, his throat convulsing, but instead of pulling back he moaned. Loud. His hips jerked, his hands scrabbling against the sheets, and his eyes rolled shut as the noise caught in his throat.
Angel froze for a second, stunned. Then a grin spread slow and wicked across his face. “Well, well, look at you,” he purred, giving Alastor’s hair a firmer tug. “You like that? You like me brushing up against that pretty little gag reflex of yours?”
Alastor’s response was a muffled, desperate groan, his lips sealing tighter around Angel’s fingers like he couldn’t bear to let them go.
Angel let out a low whistle. “Hot damn, you do. Didn’t peg you for the type, Radio, but fuck if this ain’t the best surprise yet.” He eased his fingers back, just enough to let Alastor breathe properly, then slid them forward again, shallow-deep-shallow, testing, teasing, controlling.
Alastor’s whole body rocked with it, shudders wracking his frame. His cock twitched, leaking down his stomach in steady beads, untouched but aching. Each time Angel pressed just a hair too far, Alastor’s throat tightened and his hips bucked, as though the pressure alone was dragging him closer and closer to the edge.
Angel was riveted. His thumb stroked across Alastor’s cheek, gentle, almost tender, while the rest of his hand tangled firm in his hair. “God, you’re gorgeous like this,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Big, bad Radio Demon, coming undone just from my hand in your mouth. Bet you never thought you’d find yourself here, huh?”
Alastor’s eyes cracked open at that, dazed and heavy-lidded. He tried to glare, but another thrust of Angel’s fingers reduced him to a choked moan, his hips stuttering helplessly against the sheets.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Angel smirked, voice thick with satisfaction. “You can’t even talk. Just suck, baby. Just take what I give ya.”
He adjusted his angle, pressing his fingers in until they hit that sweet spot—deep enough to make Alastor gag, but not so far that it was overwhelming. Every time he brushed that line, Alastor shook, whimpering against his hand, his cock throbbing harder.
Angel could feel it, could sense it in the way Alastor’s body moved, in the desperate noises spilling from his throat. The deer was close. So fucking close, just from this.
Angel leaned down, lips brushing against Alastor’s ear as his fingers slid in deep again, curling just slightly against his tongue. “You gonna cum for me, baby? Just from this? From having my fingers down your throat?”
Alastor’s response was a strangled whine, guttural and needy. His thighs tensed, hips jerking, his cock drooling against his stomach as his body screamed for release.
Angel chuckled darkly, pulling his fingers back just enough to let Alastor gasp for air before pushing them back in. “Fuck, you’re unreal. You’re so wound up, so sensitive, you’re about to blow just from bein’ my little cocksleeve. And the best part?” His grin widened, sharp and gleaming. “You love it.”
Alastor’s whole body arched at that, his hands clawing at the sheets as his muffled moans grew frantic, frantic, frantic. His hips stuttered one, two, three times before—
He broke.
His orgasm tore through him in a shuddering wave, his voice cracking around Angel’s fingers, muffled cries spilling as his cock pulsed hard against his belly. Hot streams spilled across his furred stomach, messy and unrelenting, his thighs trembling violently as he convulsed. Angel held him firm through it, fingers buried deep in his mouth, hair gripped tight, forcing him to ride every second of it.
Alastor’s eyes rolled back, his throat working around Angel’s digits as his moans dissolved into breathless whimpers. The climax stretched on, long and unsteady, fueled by the fever of his heat, until finally he collapsed back against the sheets, shaking and spent.
Angel eased his fingers free at last, dragging them slowly past Alastor’s swollen lips. Strings of spit clung as he pulled away, glistening in the dim light. He brought them up to his mouth, smirk curling as he licked his own fingers clean.
“Fuck me,” he whispered, staring down at Alastor’s wrecked form. “You’re even prettier when you fall apart.”
Alastor lay panting, chest heaving, eyes glazed. His mouth opened faintly, lips red and swollen, but no words came—only a shaky little sound that was half-moan, half-sigh.
Angel grinned, brushing damp hair from his forehead with surprising gentleness. “Good boy,” he crooned, voice low and warm. “You did so good for me, baby. Bet that mouth’ll keep me entertained all damn week.”
Alastor’s flush deepened, but he was too dazed to argue. He just let out another soft whimper, curling faintly toward Angel’s touch.
Angel chuckled, settling beside him and running lazy strokes down his side. “Mmm. Think I found my new favorite game.”
Creative Writing Coach said:
Angel had the Radio Demon spread out and trembling like a violin string, but the glint in his eye said plain as day: he wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
Alastor, though, thought he was. He let his head loll back against the pillows, throat working as he swallowed down breath after breath. His chest heaved, the soft fur of his stomach damp and sticky, and his cock twitched faintly even though it looked spent. His ruby eyes cracked open, bleary and glassy. “...I’m finished,” he murmured, voice low, rough, unconvincing.
Angel only tilted his head, that grin stretching wide as he perched over him. “Finished, huh?” he hummed, trailing a finger down Alastor’s flushed chest. “You sure about that, baby? ‘Cause your body’s sayin’ otherwise.”
Alastor grimaced, cheeks pink. “It’s…enough.” His voice faltered halfway through, weakening under the weight of Angel’s look. That patience, that predator’s stillness, like he already knew Alastor would give in.
Angel let the silence hang. Then he raised a brow, flexing his fingers deliberately. “All I gotta do is put these back in that sweet mouth of yours, and you’ll be beggin’ again inside of a minute. Don’t lie to me, Bambi. You’re still burnin’ up. Heat don’t just stop because you’re tired.”
Alastor shuddered. His lips parted, closed, parted again—argument crumbling before it even formed. His hips twitched faintly, his cock leaking weakly despite itself, proof undeniable.
He clenched his jaw. “…Fine,” he rasped, glaring as though that would soften the admission. “Another round.”
Angel’s grin sharpened. “That’s what I like to hear.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the tip of Alastor’s nose, the gentleness at odds with the mischief glinting in his pink eyes. “Round three, dollface.”
Alastor groaned, embarrassed, but Angel was already moving. He slid lower, settling at Alastor’s side while threading one hand back into that silky hair he couldn’t get enough of. The other hand traced Alastor’s jaw, tilting his face toward him, thumbs brushing those lips that had already been so beautifully ruined.
“Open up for me, sweetheart.”
Alastor hesitated, trembling. His pride warred with the molten need clawing at his belly. Then, with a quiet, reluctant whimper, his lips parted.
Angel’s smirk softened into something hungrier. “Good boy.”
He slid two fingers past Alastor’s lips, slow, deliberate, letting him feel the weight of the act. Alastor’s mouth closed around them automatically, heat and wetness enveloping him, tongue moving instinctively to curl against the pads.
Angel exhaled a shaky breath. “Goddamn, you really were made for this, huh?” He pressed deeper, feeling Alastor’s throat flex, testing that boundary again.
Alastor whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, his body arching faintly as if his cock had been touched. Angel could practically see the pulse of arousal ripple through him, heat surging back to life with every shallow thrust of fingers against his tongue.
“That’s it,” Angel coaxed, stroking his hair, the rhythm of his hand controlling and tender at once. “Take me in. Work that pretty throat for me.”
Alastor moaned around the intrusion, a muffled, needy sound that sent vibrations tingling up Angel’s hand. His hips shifted restlessly against the sheets, his cock dragging across the fur of his stomach, already swelling again despite the spent ache lingering in his loins.
Angel chuckled low. “Look at you. Thought you were done, but you’re hard as a rock again. Heat’s got you so easy to wind up. You’re like my little instrument, baby, and I’m playin’ you note by note.”
Alastor groaned at the words, fingers curling in the sheets. His eyes rolled back as Angel slid his fingers deeper, grazing his gag reflex again, pulling out another desperate, broken moan.
Angel’s grin widened. “Fuck, that sound. That sound, doll—you’re drivin’ me crazy.” He quickened the pace, shallow thrusts in and out of Alastor’s mouth, his free hand tugging his hair back just enough to keep him open, vulnerable, compliant.
Alastor’s whole body trembled with the effort of keeping up, but he liked it, Angel could see it—his cock twitching, his thighs clenching, the desperate way he sucked around Angel’s fingers like he couldn’t bear for them to leave.
Angel leaned closer, voice dropping to a husky whisper against his ear. “You wanna cum again from this, don’t you? From me usin’ your throat like it was made for me.”
Alastor let out a muffled, pleading sound—no words, just need.
Angel laughed, delighted. “That’s a yes if I’ve ever heard one.”
He curled his fingers slightly inside, stroking the roof of Alastor’s mouth, then pressed deeper again, brushing his gag reflex over and over until Alastor was keening around him, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, hips jerking uncontrollably.
Angel held him firm, guiding him through it, coaxing. “C’mon, baby. Let go for me. Round three—show me how bad you need it.”
Alastor convulsed, a strangled moan vibrating against Angel’s hand as his body gave in. His cock erupted again, spilling across his stomach in hot pulses, messy and unrestrained. His thighs shook, his hands clawing at the sheets, every sound muffled by Angel’s fingers buried in his mouth.
Angel watched with hungry eyes, grinning wide, riding him through it. “Fuck, yes—there it is. That’s it, doll, cum for me. God, you’re so beautiful when you break.”
Alastor sagged against the pillows as the orgasm dragged on, drawn out and punishing, his chest heaving, body slick with sweat and release. Only when the tremors subsided did Angel finally ease his fingers out, dragging them slow past Alastor’s swollen lips.
He licked them clean again, savoring, his grin wicked and tender all at once. “Mmm. Sweetest goddamn thing I ever tasted.”
Alastor lay wrecked and trembling, eyes glassy, lips wet and bruised. He made a faint, pitiful sound, somewhere between a groan and a whimper.
Angel leaned down and kissed his forehead, brushing hair back with unexpected gentleness. “That’s my boy. Round three, done. And you’re still gonna be beggin’ for more before the night’s out.”
Angel tugged on a pair of loose shorts—just for decency’s sake, really. He could’ve strutted down the hall naked and not batted an eyelash, but there was something about leaving Alastor there on the bed, sprawled out and dazed, lips swollen and cock finally softening, that made him want to mark the moment. This wasn’t for the hotel to see. This was theirs.
The door clicked shut behind him, and Angel exhaled, still buzzing from the whole thing. Christ, that deer could bleat.
He padded down the hall, hair mussed, still tasting Alastor on his tongue. The kitchen was quiet, just Charlie flipping through papers at the counter. She looked up, blond brows quirking, and her eyes widened at Angel’s state. “Uh… how’s Al?” she asked cautiously, like she half-expected the answer to involve broken furniture or blood.
Angel’s grin was positively sinful. He leaned against the fridge, tail flicking lazily. “Oral fix, babe. He’s cummed out upstairs and lookin’ like he saw God.”
Charlie blinked, mouth opening and closing once. “…Oh.” A pause, then: “That’s… actually faster than I expected. Usually the first day of a heat cycle drags on. Sometimes hours before… you know.” She flushed faintly, though her tone stayed clinical.
Angel popped the fridge open, rummaging with purpose. “Yeah, well, not everybody’s got my hands and mouth. Expert, sweetheart. Certified. I know how to handle a virgin meltdown.”
Charlie tilted her head, a thoughtful smile tugging at her lips. “So, what are you doing now?”
Angel glanced back at her, pulling out a carton of eggs, some leftover roast, and a bag of rolls. “What’s it look like? Aftercare, doll. The poor bastard’s still all ribs under that fur, and I’m not lettin’ him waste away. Bet you five bucks he’s stubborn enough to think starving himself means he won’t get a cycle next month. I’ve seen demons try it before. Doesn’t work—just makes ‘em weak and miserable.”
Charlie snorted softly, covering her mouth. “That… does sound like him. Good idea, Angel.”
Angel winked, already whisking up a plan with the ease of someone who’d done this plenty of times before. “Honey, food and aftercare? Best combo there is. He’ll be eating outta my hands before the night’s over. Literally.”

Upstairs, the Radio Demon was still laid out like a ragdoll, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling with slow, shaky breaths. His mind was hazy, pride cracked wide open by the relentless heat and Angel’s knowing touch. His cock had finally softened, though the ache lingered in his bones, the warmth coiling low in his belly like a coal that wouldn’t quite go out.
The door creaked open, and Alastor stirred faintly, his gaze sliding sluggishly toward the sound.
Angel strolled in with a tray balanced on one hip, grinning like he owned the place. “Knock knock, Bambi. Room service.”
Alastor made a faint sound, almost like a groan, but not quite a protest. His lips parted, bruised and wet, and his ruby eyes followed Angel with a dazed sort of wariness.
Angel set the tray on the bedside table, then flopped down beside him without ceremony. “You look wrecked. Like it.” He shifted closer, sliding an arm behind Alastor’s shoulders to prop him up against the pillows. “C’mon, sit up a little. Don’t want you choking on me or the food, yeah?”
Alastor let himself be moved, pliant in a way that would’ve horrified him hours ago. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, words catching somewhere between pride and exhaustion.
Angel didn’t wait for them. He picked up a roll, broke it in half, and held a piece to Alastor’s mouth. “Open up, sweetheart.”
For a second, the deer just stared, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, with a faint shudder of surrender, he parted them. Angel slipped the bread past his lips, and Alastor chewed slowly, cautiously, before swallowing.
“Atta boy.” Angel stroked his side absentmindedly, feeding him another bite. “See? Not so bad. You put out all that energy, now you gotta put something back in. I ain’t lettin’ you keel over.”
Alastor’s ears twitched faintly. His eyes darted away, embarrassed, but he opened his mouth again when Angel brought the next bite.
Angel’s grin softened, genuine beneath the sass. “Good deer. That’s right. We’ll fatten you up yet, don’t you worry. Next month, you’ll be fuckin’ glowing.”
Alastor choked faintly on a swallow, flushing darker. He muttered something under his breath that might’ve been a complaint, but it came out garbled, weak.
Angel just laughed, delighted. “What’s that? Can’t hear ya over all that chewing. Must mean I’m doin’ somethin’ right.”
He moved on to the roast, spearing a piece and blowing on it before offering it up. Alastor eyed it, then parted his lips again, obedient despite himself. Angel watched the way his throat worked, the way his jaw flexed, and smirked. “God, you even eat pretty. Who knew?”
Alastor’s blush deepened, but his body stayed pliant, his pride dulled by exhaustion and the heavy, humming satisfaction still vibrating through his limbs. He let Angel feed him piece after piece, his breaths growing steadier, his eyes gradually losing that glassy daze.
Angel kissed his temple between offerings, voice dropping to a softer purr. “That’s it, baby. Food, water, rest. You’ll get through this week easy with me takin’ care of ya. Promise.”
And Alastor—too tired, too wrung out, too full of heat and shame and strange new pleasure—didn’t argue. He only leaned, ever so slightly, into Angel’s side, and opened his mouth for another bite.

Morning light filtered through the hotel’s tall windows, slanting across the kitchen floor and catching red in Alastor’s eyes as he nursed a steaming cup of coffee. His shirt was tucked in again, his hair brushed neatly back, and the sharp collar of black and red fabric framed his throat like armor. He looked better. Still no coat—but compared to the wreck he’d been yesterday, his restored posture and faint smile were a marked improvement.
Charlie perked up from where she was sitting at the counter with a notebook. “You look better today,” she said warmly, relief coloring her voice. Her smile widened when she noticed the mug in his hand. “And drinking coffee again! That’s a good sign.”
Alastor inclined his head with a faint chuckle. “It would be better if this coffee were actually tolerable, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“You’ve only got six more days to go,” Charlie reminded gently.
His smile froze just slightly at that, the line of his jaw tightening. He exhaled through his nose, more sigh than laugh, but he didn’t argue. That in itself was telling.
Then—
“Good mornin’, Bambi!”
Angel swept into the room like a storm in heels, every inch of him dripping cheer and sin. Without missing a beat, he strutted right up to Alastor and smacked him on the ass, the sharp sound echoing off the tile.
Alastor choked on his coffee, ruby eyes flying wide as he whipped around. “Angel!”
“Mm?” Angel leaned in and planted an obscenely wet kiss on his cheek, the kind that lingered with a smack when he pulled back. “Mwah.”
Heat blazed under Alastor’s fur, his ears twitching furiously as his whole body stiffened. He bristled like a cat dunked in water. “I swear to God, if you dare—”
But Angel just grinned, unrepentant, and slid a hand right back to squeeze Alastor’s ass with shameless glee. Then, as if that weren’t enough, he caught Alastor’s chin, tilted it, and kissed him slow.
The radio demon’s protest died in his throat. His body went rigid, his fingers clenched white around the mug—and then he melted. Completely. His lips softened against Angel’s, his eyes fluttered, and a low hum of sound escaped before he could bite it back.
By the time Angel finally pulled away, smug satisfaction all over his face, Alastor’s flush had climbed from his throat to his ears. He turned his face sharply aside, lips pressed tight, and said nothing.
Vaggie, who’d been leaning in the doorway, snorted loud enough to break the silence. “Oh, I’ve seen that look before. Charlie gets like that during her heat cycle too.”
Charlie elbowed her, laughing. “Vaggie!”
“What?” Vaggie smirked, arms crossed. “I’m just sayin’. That’s the exact same face you make when I catch you off guard. Red cheeks, stiff ears, all flustered. It’s cute.”
Charlie’s own blush flared, but she was smiling anyway, a warm softness in her gaze as she looked at Alastor.
He cleared his throat, straightening his shirt collar with fussy precision, but the tips of his ears betrayed him, still burning. Angel draped himself over the back of Alastor’s chair like a smug cat and winked.
“Mm-mm-mm. Radio boy’s learnin’ fast. Gonna be a fun week.”
And though Alastor glared down into his mug as if it might save him, he didn’t shove Angel off.