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.