Chapter Text
Angel stood in the kitchen late at night. Hand on his swollen stomach as he held a third glass of milk to his lips. Each gulp made his stomach feel stretched tighter and tighter.
A long day in the studio. It had just gotten to him. All the abuse he faced from Valentino in the day, the fucking, the beatings, the waterboarding. It was simply too much. He couldn't stop it, couldn't say no, couldn't even ask for a damn break.
The only thing it seemed like he had control of was when he needed to fucking piss.
He licked his lips as he finished the glass.
What a rush it had been wen he'd thought of it. It had been a day of shooting niche kinks. Gloves, balloons, burping, and catheters. It had been when he was strapped to a gyno table with a fake doctor sliding a tube down his dick that he realized he could do this outside of work.
Control. Total control. Not even having to listen to his body's urges. Just pushing himself to the limits and then pushing himself further because he could. Everyone else seemed to be allowed to, so this time, it was his turn.
And since trying to cut out the drugs there wasn't a better way to take that control back. To take his mind off the violation he felt, the hands that still pawed at him. It was a way to break free.
He looked to the milk. Fucking empty. What else was there to drink.
He bent over to look in the fridge. Anything but alcohol.
He wanted to show Charlie he could be clean. Just... a little bit of bladder control. It wasn't even really self harm if he couldn't die from it, right?
Right?
His eyes finally landed on a gallon of something marked with Alastor's name.... he thought about leaving it. He really did. But he was having a particularly bad day and he just needed something to push him over the edge.
"And what do you think you're doing, Anthony?" Radio static crackled behind him making him jolt and hit his head on the top of the fridge. Hissing as the way his body tensed put further pressure on his already full bladder.
"Just, getting a drink." He brushed it off. "Sorry, didn't notice your name on it."
"Oh, I doubt that VERY much. You are a terrible actor." Angel watched as Alastor's radio dial eyes looked him over, pausing at the way his dress was pulled tight over his stomach. His eyebrow raising in question, he turned taking note of the empty milk jug. "I seem to recall that being much fuller when I finished cooking."
"Can't a guy be thirsty?" Angel got defensive.
"Oh, You could. But this really isn't what you are usually thirsty for if you'll pardon the double entendre." He never stopped smiling. Never. Angel wasn't sure if the lack of blinking of the smile bothered him more.
"I just wanted a drink. I'll keep my hands to myself. Swear to god." He made the cross and held his hands up in surrender.
Alastor cocked his head. "Noooo, I don't think that will do, Angel. See. You've rather interested me now." A shadow tendril reached up to poke the bulged under Angel's dress. The force mad him moan before he could slap it away. Alastor grimaced. "You brazen slut, I knew you had such proclivities but I always thought you'd keep them private enough at the very least."
Red in the face Angel drew himself up as he stepped into Alastor's personal space as his patience snapped. "You don't know what you're fuckin talking about! You have no goddamn clue. All day people take and take and take from me and I have control of this ONE thing. This one thing - I was down here in the middle of the night mind you- taking care of. It WAS private-"
"Until you decided to bring my sweet tea into it. You will not speak to me in such a manner." Alastor grew larger and more menacing. The kitchen growing darker.
"I will speak to you in such a manner! I'll speak to you however you want because YOU don't own me! And honestly? Without the drugs I'm not sure that you eating me isn't BETTER than living under Valentino! So either back the FUCK off or just kill me already! If I can't torture myself in peace, I'll fucking kill myself to save you the trouble! So just tell me now!"
"How the hell are you torturing yourself?" Alastor laughed incredulously, this was as ridiculous as Vox implying that they were equals. "You're here drinking milk."
Angel scoffed. "You'd never understand."
Sharp static crackled loud like a record scratch. "Are you implying I'm stupid?" His antler's grew larger slowly.
"I'm SAYING it. Dumbass! You don't know what it's like to be owned! To never have the say over your own body!" Angel was in tears now. "I just have this ONE thing. If I can't drink, I can't shoot up, I can't even cut myself. So you and everyone can kiss my ass and let me hold my piss in peace!"
Alastor kept his mouth silent, Angel didn't need to know what Alastor understood or didn't. Angel's suffering was delicious, but this was another thing. Normally he was repulsed by sexual acts. However Angel's declaration he was just... making himself need to pee? And then holding it? He didn't know what the hell to make of that. However... he didn't find himself disgusted. Rather that he was curious.
Angel panted in the kitchen. Anger leaving him as he finished his emotional outburst.
"Show me." Alastor found himself asking. Why the hells did he do that?
Angel blinked. "Show you.... what?"
"You said you're.... holding your bladder. I know there was nearly half a gallon of milk in that after dinner and you have sat down here drinking it in the middle of the night. You have violated my kitchen. If you are going to violate the sanctity of my kitchen and drink my sweet tea-"
"I didn't even touch it!"
"Then I should get to see." Alastor didn't even know why he wanted to see. Suppose it was a morbid curiosity. Part of his love of causing suffering in others he supposed. "Show me what it is you think is as good a torture as drugs."
Angel was short circuiting. "You want to see. Like. See me drink more?"
"Yes."
Angel swallowed. This wasn't the point of this. The point was the privacy and control.... but. Alastor wasn't trying to take it away. He merely seemed to want to observe.
"Then I can drink your sweet tea?"
"You may." Alastor's shadow pulled a chair up. "In fact. Since you're so keen on it. I think you should finish the whole pitcher. Why don't you make things easy on our Niffty and just drink from the pitcher like the animal you are. Less glassware."
Angel should be mad at that, but the way Alastor spoke. It was like giving voice to the thoughts in his head. Like he finally had someone who knew the right balance of calling him out and disinterest in the action itself. Alastor wanted to watch Angel make himself suffer.... and really. That was another layer of pain he could add.
So Angel took out the pitcher of sweet tea. Two hands to hold it while two lower hands gently rubbed his belly. Feeling how tight he was already. Catheter in place and balloon locked in to keep it from slipping. Plugged tight at the end so he couldn't piss if he wanted to. That was the benefit of these demonic bodies. Angel had learned it long ago. They had limits beyond what most people ever thought to explore.
He lifted the pitcher to his lips. It started with sips. Then larger draws. Gulps as he made level eye contact with the cannibal. Angel had to take a break, he hadn't even drank what would be a full glass. Alastor watched expectantly.
"You must not truly want it to hurt. Come now, Angel, drink like you mean it." Angel felt tingles run over his body. "Tell me how good my tea is. Devil knows you don't eat my cooking." Alastor's voice crackled, but the radio caster seemed so... raw. Watching Angel as if he was a pig fattening himself for slaughter. Sorry Nuggets.
"Kind of hard when your boss makes you weigh in before each shoot." Angel looked into the pitcher. "The tea is good."
"And liquid's don't count?"
"Not if I don't bloat they don't. Besides. You drink enough and your body just dumps it all. It's not always pleasant." Alastor watched as Angel drank again. Pleasant wasn't the point of all this. The point was to drink so much it hurt to walk back up the stairs.
This continued. Alastor watching, degrading Angel when he stopped. Angel doing his best not to heave from the amount of liquid.