Rut Outta Hell

by HazelHen

Summary:

I couldn’t think of a good title, so hopefully this should suffice.

A sort-of continuation of the RadioDust Flashfic Compilation pt. 8: ‘Kiss’.

Notes:

• Inspired by RadioDust Flashfics by HazelHen

Chapter 1

For ten months out of the year, Alastor was a smiling, all-powerful and composed deer-demon. He enjoyed his supreme powers with grace; he enjoyed peace of mind.

Not so in October and November. 

Every autumn without fail, the symptoms returned: aggression, heightened awareness, sore antlers and a desperate need to fornicate. His head was filled with fantasies of spearing demons against walls, until their blood ran in rivulets. His nerves were fraught from breathing in a mingled bouquet of pheromones. The sight of a bare shoulder or exposed ankle made him want to weep.

Alastor could not relax.

It was a unique torment, for one as sexually disinclined as he was. He supposed that was the point.

Every year it happened, and every year, he tried to push it below the surface. Time was, Alastor could lock himself safely away: read books, excoriate the wallpaper, and take freezing cold showers. In the hotel, this wasn’t possible: his managerial oversight was in near-constant demand. Even worse, the guests were unavoidable. The corridors they occupied became a hormonal fog of provocative tastes and smells. 

At least Niffty could be counted on. As the first of Alastor’s friends to recognise his problem, she knew the drill well enough.

“Oh, Alastor?” she’d call when he was having difficulties. “Someone on the phone for you! D’you wanna take it in the office?”

Or:

“Al? I heard a crash in the attic. Can you go check, in case it’s that thing trying to make another nest?”

That was Alastor’s cue to escape, somewhere secluded, and run a cool, damp cloth over his forehead. He was eternally grateful for Niffty’s interventions. Thank God she understood it. As for Husk, he seemed totally oblivious, or didn’t care enough to ask, and that was fine with Alastor.

This self-regulation might have continued unabated… if not for Angel Dust.

At first, Angel was a menace: flirting up a storm with Alastor, poking fun, and strutting around in clothes that barely covered the entry-points to his body. Alastor assumed it was ill-meaning. Why shouldn’t he? Angel was the most annoying demon he’d ever known. It had to be a jest or prank of some kind.

But upon their inevitable altercation, Angel softened. He understood the tension between them, the feelings that Alastor kept on a leash. With a long stare, Angel invited him to give it a try. The kiss that followed was a wake-up call. Not enough to sate Alastor, but it certainly teased his darker desires.

“All jokin’ aside,” Angel confessed, “I’ve wanted this since th' day I saw ya.”

The two had been getting on, regularly and discreetly, for about a week. Alastor would go to him at night, knock him to the floor, and they’d fuck vigorously. As a sex-worker of seventy years, Angel was the more skillful of the two, but there was scarcely room for skill. For his part, Alastor would lose himself in the moment. In his demon form, he was forceful, powered by brute lust, but still clumsy from inexperience.

Angel assured him, over and over, that he could take a bit of rough and tumble.

“Plus, I think your technique is improvin’!” Angel said, smoking one of his slim pink cigarettes in the aftermath. “Way betta. Gettin’ the hang, for sure.”

“Good,” said Alastor. He felt better - refreshed, now they’d got it over and done with - but there was still the leftover guilt. His eyes drifted over the scratches that covered Angel’s skin. “You’re sure that doesn’t hurt?”

“Eh. I gotta high tolerance for this stuff,” Angel said. He blew a smoke ring at Alastor’s antlers. “Luckily for you.”

 

*****

 

There was just one problem with finding a proper outlet: missing it when it wasn’t there. Angel asked for one night to recover, which left Alastor at a loose end. He retreated to the office, throwing himself into some paperwork until the clock struck twelve. Then he went downstairs for a stiff drink, leaving his jacket behind. 

Husk was tending bar by himself, taking last orders from a couple of guests. They made room for Alastor, and he perched upon the stool. No need to place his order; Husk knew it well. There was an odd comfort in that.

“Rough day?” said Husk, picking a bottle from the topmost shelf with the tip of his wing. 

“You can say that again!”

“Hm.”

The stragglers took their drinks in the direction of the poker table, well out of Alastor’s way. 

“Char’s bin tryin' to get me an' Edgar to be pals,” Husk mentioned. “He’s a piece’a shit though.”

“Husker, in all our years of friendship, I’ve never heard you speak well of another barman!”

“Pfft. Friendship’s a strong word. An’ yeah, bartenders are the fukken worst, is why.”

“Are they now?”

“Yeah. Uppity li'l sons-a’-bitches.”

Alastor didn’t bother pointing out the irony of that sentiment. Now the first floor was mostly vacant, Alastor heard musical strains from the jukebox. He knew the song, but couldn’t recall how he knew it.

“Open mic night, Salome’s,” Husk said, before Alastor could ask. “Around ‘84.”

“Ahh! That’s right! You and your guitar.”

“Uh-huh.”

One of Husk’s better qualities was circumspection. He had many strings to his bow - being, amongst other things, a blues musician, multi-linguist, skilled combatant, and mixologist with over a hundred drinks committed to heart - but you’d never know from talking to him. Unlike most of Hell's populace, Husker felt no need to crow. It was better, he said, to be ignored. It gave him the upper hand.

Alastor tipped the bourbon down his neck, and flicked the glass at Husk. “I’ll do this again.”

“Uh-huh. So, how’s you an' Angie?”

“Hm?” Alastor said. “Since the argument? We hashed it out. No more fun at my expense! He’s been good!”

Husk rolled his eyes, in the midst of cleaning out another glass. “Uhh, yeah, not what I was gettin’ at.”

“I don’t-”

“How’s the sex?” 

Alastor paused only briefly, then snorted and shook his head. “Sex? Ha! He wishes!”

“Al, I know what’s goin’ on.” Then, in a casual, slightly reprimanding tone: “You can be honest. It’s whatever. I truly don’t give a shit.”

This was… a surprise, to be sure. Alastor was going to maintain his cool exterior, truly he was. In his current state, alas, anxiety got the best of him. He glanced back at the poker table. The two stragglers had abandoned their empty glasses. He and Husk were alone. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Alastor said at last.

“Fair enough. Jus’ wondered how he compares to his films,” Husk said. Then, after another pause, “You haven’t seen his films, have you? Figures.”

“How-?”

“How’d I know? I mean, the ruttin' thing was obvious from day one,” Husk flatly stated. “But you never brought it up, so…” He mimed zipping his lips, then reached again for the bourbon. “It is a bitch, though. Old friend a’mine - another cat-demon - kept going into heat. She was upset, I was upset jus’ bein’ near her, so… we had our own arrangement. That’s what good friends do.”

Alastor tutted cynically. “How noble.”

“Really though, don’t it suck?” Husker professed. “Yer demon body don’t care that you’re sterile. It don’t care how choosy you normally are. You jus’ gotta mate with somethin’. The littlest wisp of a chemical signature, an’ whoosh, yer mind’s been kidnapped, an’ you jus’ hope it lands on someone halfway decent.”

Alastor blinked rapidly. How strange to be so quickly understood. “Well put,” he said, and accepted his second drink.

“An’ I figured you’d gravitate to Angie,” Husk continued. “He’s a professional. He’s safest.” Alastor sensed a little resentment there. Perhaps Husk was jealous: Angel was a highly-coveted figure. 

“More or less,” Alastor said. “Safest!”

As Husk busied himself with polishing glasses, Alastor sat with this revelation for a while. Husk knew. Possibly he'd known for decades. Alastor was confident that Husk wouldn’t go spreading his secrets - his loyalty was assured at this point - but why bring it up?

Alastor finished his second drink, and then his third. Now he was beginning to loosen. It wasn’t so bad that Husker knew. Hell, it might be advantageous. Alastor wouldn’t have to depend on Niffty alone to excuse him from tense interactions. And he still had his forays with Angel Dust… tonight notwithstanding.

“Anyone you wouldn’t do it with?” Husk asked with a raised eyebrow. “I mean like, totally ruled out… even in yer, ah, condition.”

“Niffty,” Alastor said at once.

Husk nodded. “Height diff’rence.” 

“Well, that too, I suppose. But I’m practically her uncle! It wouldn’t be right.”

“The girls?”

“Ha! Vagatha would rather drink poison, I’m sure! And Charlie is so committed to her.”

“Yeah. Sweet, really.”

The song changed to something else, new to Alastor. For the first time, he noticed the pattern on Husker’s bow tie. Barleycorn.

“How ‘bout me?” Husk said, in the same offhand way. Alastor wondered if his tonal consistency was deliberate: to make out like he didn’t care. It was hard to tell. Alastor suddenly cared a great deal, and he hastened to give an answer.

“Ah,” he smirked, “so that’s what this is about! You're after some kind of boost to the ego!"

“That’s a no, I take it.”

Alastor deflected. “Well, I’m curious now. Would you lie with me?”

“Hardly matters,” Husk deflected right back. “The Alastor I know wouldn’t be interested. He thinks it levels the playin’ field, God for-fukken-bid.”

“If you think that is the sole deterrent,” Alastor quipped, “you’re flattering yourself!”

“OK, so rule me out.”

A faintly-musical lull hung over the bar-room. Alastor should rule Husk out. He should take a cold shower and go to bed… but this conversation was giving his deer-brain ideas. It made Husk’s familiar scent more of a presence. Though the whole bartop smelled of alcohol, it clung especially to Husk. It had lived and died in his mouth. It stuck to his fur, and now his fur was a presence - Alastor practically felt it at the back of his throat.

He leaned forward. “Husker, I don’t want any ambiguity,” he said. “Is this… an offer?”

Husk mirrored his posture, his secretive tone. “Well,” he said, “it’s gettin’ less hypothetical by the second, ain’t it.” Then he straightened, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Fukken stupid hangover.”

Wasn’t he always hungover?

Then Husk seemed to recuperate - for the moment, anyway - fixing his eyes on Alastor again. They shared a queer, yet undeniable complicity, and Alastor made up his mind.

“I think we should talk privately,” he said.

“Yeah. Lemme go hit the head. Two minutes,” Husk said, slipping away.

He was gone for seven, and came back smelling of soap.

 

*****

 

Of all places, Husker brought him to the cellar door. (In order to pass through, Husk had to tuck in his wings.) Alastor followed, doing his best to be mindful and notice their surroundings. Down here, the air was cold and stony. Wine bottles were neatly racked against the far wall, and kitchen supplies lived in the maze of rickety metal stands.

They walked to the nearest patch of bare wall, but stood apart from it. For now. The two faced each other instead.

“Didn’t think I’d get this far,” Husk said with a laugh. 

Lucky you, Alastor thought.

For a few seconds, the gap between them seemed insurmountable. But Alastor forced himself to bridge it, clasping Husk by the shoulders and kissing him full on the mouth. Husk seemed taken aback by this. 

“Oh,” he said. “You’re one a’those? OK.”

One of those? It didn’t seem so strange to Alastor. This was a taste test. It was an indicator of possible success, and it might ease the transition to Alastor’s demon form. He moved back in, still clutching Husk’s shoulders, and coaxed his surly mouth open. Now the whiskey overwhelmed his palate. Husk’s tongue was frozen in place, but gradually it met with Alastor’s. Darting to and fro. Pressing together. Circulating. They broke apart long enough for Alastor to bite Husk on the lip, and went at it again with renewed interest. 

“Hmm.”

Alastor pulled him closer. There was that warm body he craved. Smaller than Angel’s, and his fur more interesting to delve into. Where Angel was universally fluffy, Husk’s fur was mostly short. The only places Alastor could really grasp were the shoulders and chest, where long, thin guard hairs concealed a dense undercoat.

He hoped and prayed his practice with Angel had sufficiently prepared him for this. He considered Husk a friend; it would not be wise to screw this up. 

Meanwhile, Husk’s uncertain hands began to roam. Starting at Alastor’s back, they came around, pulling and digging at his hips, and then worked their way upward, into Alastor’s hair.

“O-K,” Husk said, when they had a moment. “Feels like you’re ready to go.” He wedged a hand between them, with difficulty, to give Alastor’s hardened cock an appreciative squeeze. “Really ready to go.”

“Yes,” Alastor managed.

“Alright, cowboy. Who’s fuckin’ who?”

Wasn’t it obvious? Taking the rare opportunity to curse, Alastor said, directly into Husk’s ear: “I’m fucking you, if you don’t mind.”

“Ha. Sure... I take it any way I find it.” Husk wriggled out of his reach and scurried to the nearest metal stand. “But we do need a li’l somethin’ first. Uhhh… yeah. Take yer pants down.”

The little something was a glass bottle of olive oil, which Husk took some pleasure in drizzling over Alastor’s cock. The amount he used was over-generous, and Husk’s manual efforts to evenly coat him were unnecessary, but much appreciated. Alastor’s senses were flooded: the sublime, gliding friction; the strange, chalkboard smell of the oil; and best of all, the visual of Husk bracing against the brickwork. His back was arched, and his tail swayed in a figure of eight before moving to the side. 

Alastor felt a jolt go straight through him. The rational part of his brain - the part that was afraid of tearing Husk to pieces - lost the battle with his animal libido. 

There was no time to lose. 

Alastor fell against Husk and nipped at his neck. Together they guided the head of his cock into place, right under the tail. This too was different. Angel was always quick to relax, and allow Alastor’s entry; Husk was another matter, almost impossibly resistant. 

“I’m outta practice is all,” Husk said. “Jus’ gotta…” He inhaled sharply and exhaled through pursed lips, pushing back against Alastor. His wings seemed to bunch up in fearful anticipation. Surely this was a bad idea, Alastor thought. Surely Husk would be painfully torn, or his own dick would bend and snap under the pressure. But his deer-brain commanded him to keep going, to fuck, to carry on the species…

Then, mercifully, they felt a comfortable snick. The danger was over. Husk gasped. Ohh, that was a good gasp. Alastor rewarded him with a series of quick bites along the ear.

“Now,” Husk said, “y’know what to do from here, right?”

Yes, he did. 

Alastor didn’t think he’d get all the way in with one thrust. It actually took two, thanks to the oil, and it felt so wonderfully snug in all directions. Both men were breathless from it, and Husk’s legs were shaking. 

Alastor pulled slowly back. Then quickly forward. Then back. Then forward. Every time he moved forward, Husk gave another gasp and sank against the wall. Quite unlike Angel’s practiced moans (Alastor suspected), his tried-and-tested dirty talk. The sound Husk made was so intoxicating, Alastor had to speed up. Faster and faster, gripping a handful of those guard hairs for purchase. Husk went on gasping, then let out a confused yelp, and then he was panting hard, in time to Alastor’s movements. 

That’s it. Fuck him. Fuck him.

“Haa- haa- aaah—- wait wait wait, woah! Hey! Woody Woodpecker! Stop!”

Alastor stopped what he was doing, and his hand rested upon Husker’s mid-back, damp from sweat. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m OK, just… Ah, Jesus Christ.” Though Husk took a second to catch his breath, he spoke with difficulty, lips tangled and desert-dry. “There’s no fukken way… you can keep it up… at that pace.”

“Can’t I?”

As Husk processed the response, Alastor brought his hand to Husk’s own cock. He found it to be equally hard and also, to his surprise, leaking quite a bit. Husk was enjoying the hell out of this. 

Fuck him.

Quickly, Alastor dragged his friend’s pelvis back into place, and resumed thrusting at a respectable speed. 

“Ohh,” Husk said, his hand splaying against the wall. “Oh fuck.” Now the poor cat was swept up in helpless throes, angling his ass as best he could. He seemed to want hitting in a very particular spot, deep inside, close to the base of his tail. When Alastor hit that spot, Husk flapped his wings, and his legs turned to custard. 

Alastor hadn’t been counting on all this. The only thing he’d wanted going in was a quick release for his inner deer-demon. He had to fool his brain into thinking he’d made a doe pregnant; then maybe it’d settle down!

Husker, though… Old, sour, Billy-Goat-Gruff Husker, one of the least sexual beings he thought he knew… he was positively electric. So responsive, so willing to be taken. Thank God they’d taken such a gamble!

“Hnnghgh— haa— how— the fuck— are— you— doing that?”

Alastor had barely noticed his demon form coming out. About time; he was close to exhausting regular energy reserves. Now he could go faster, and faster. The two suffered a momentary blip as Husk, now yowling, stretched his wings and hit Alastor in the face. Without thinking, Alastor rammed his head against the wall. Pain rocketed from his antlers. 

“Owww.”

“You OK?”

Alastor nodded, shook it off, and got back to business. Neither of them were going to last. Alastor felt those familiar streaks of pleasure through his cock, thrills taking over his body, increasing with their urgent rhythm. Just a little longer: after all this effort, he wanted to feel Husk go, before the death of the world blinded him to it.

He was lucky. Husk reached back, frantically tapping Alastor’s leg mere seconds before it happened, and he bucked back and forth, wringing everything he could from that moment of madness.

Alastor’s sexual aggression reached its peak; he sank his teeth into Husk’s shoulder, and dug several claws into his ass. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Whiskey, fur, whiskey! If Husk protested, he didn’t get to hear it. The deer-demon was finally sated, shooting his seed with a long, rattling moan. 

Funny. The two were pressed so tightly together, they might as well be one demon. Alastor let himself relax, completely spent. He’d more or less shoved Husker flat against the wall, and could feel him purring. 

“Jeeeesus,” Husk said quietly. “I haven’t bin fucked like that in twenty years.”

Alastor laughed awkwardly. Right on schedule, the afterglow brought with it feelings of shame and discomfort; he caught himself, Alastor, still deep in the battered body of a friend. What was the matter with him?

Husker appeared to wince as Alastor pulled out; then he quick-stepped to a sink Alastor hadn’t noticed on the way in, and sat in the basin. Letting gravity take care of the oil and other fluids.

“There’s paper towels over there,” Husk said, pointing. 

Alastor pulled his trousers up and went to clean himself off. He felt naked. 

“Wazzamatta?” Husk said. “Yer head OK?”

“Sorry?”

“It made a pretty, ah, impressive noise when you attacked the bricks.”

“Oh. No, I’m fine, just-”

“Feelin’ like a regular human again?” Husk correctly guessed, swinging his legs. “Yeah. I hear ya.”

Making himself decent, Alastor approached the sink. “Maybe… maybe we shouldn’t do this again.”

“Aww,” Husk said in mock-disappointment, and they shared another chuckle. “I tell you what,” he went on, staring Alastor up and down, “when that spirit moves you, you are… a goddamn machine. Holy shit.”

Couldn’t argue with him there, Alastor thought. Teeth and nails aside, it had been a thoroughly effective session. Alastor’s senses were dulling down, way down, just the way he preferred them. The air was clean. No more sinful thoughts. He could breathe easy. 

But Husk was hurt. He had blood beading around his neck, for Christ’s sake. Didn’t he care?

“I mean, my ass is sore,” Husk admitted, “but so what? You ever see cat-in-heat sex? Way more brutal… ‘specially for the poor lady.” 

“Don’t downplay it for my sake,” Alastor scolded. “You are still my associate, and if I owe you a favor… I need to know now.” 

“Associate? Gee, thanks!”

“Husk, look at me! I’m out of my mind! You must realize that. I’m not going to want you or Angel once the rut is over,” Alastor said with the ghost of a smile. 

It was enough to silence Husk. Both of them, actually. Then Husk beckoned him closer. 

“Noted,” he said, wagging his tail. “C’mere.”

“Why?”

“Jus’ c’mere. You owe me a favor.”

More than a little suspicious, Alastor stepped forward. He braced himself to be bitten as Husk pulled him in by the collar. No. Only another taste test. This one was less fraught with uncertainty. In fact, Alastor found he relished the last trace of whiskey, and the easy reacquaintance of their tongues. 

So very easy.

Chapter 2

Sometimes Alastor thought he ought to be mad at Husk. 

He couldn’t be mad at Angel. Angel got to know him only recently, and sex was his job. When he’d propositioned Alastor, it was with the understanding that Alastor was miserable and required relief. He was, as Husk said, a professional. Husker though… he was Alastor’s compadre of at least thirty years. He’d known about the rutting all along, and asking Alastor to rule him out in the middle of the thing wasn’t exactly fair.

“I gave you a chance to say no,” Husk had counter-argued, “like the others. Don’t feel bad about it. You’re not my uncle.”

“This can only be a seasonal arrangement,” Alastor said sternly. “Don’t let this balloon your ego.”

“Sure.”

“All I need is an outlet.”

“Hmm. See, what I’m hearin’ is… you’re easy to get right now,” Husk said with a crafty smile. “I’m not lucky to have you; you’re lucky to have me .”

“What? No! That’s not-!”

“I could exit outta this thing. Say the word, I’m gone.”

And that was the catch. Alastor didn’t want to. Not now. He’d got used to having them both. This was the first year in ages he’d felt so collected, such a non-threat to society. Besides, if he never took a freezing shower again, it would be too soon. 

His two partners had markedly different qualities. 

Angel Dust treated sex like it was the most natural thing in the world, rut or no rut - which, to Alastor, it certainly wasn’t. And Angel knew they had different understandings of it. And Angel treated Alastor in an almost matronizing fashion because of it. Poor Ally. I know what you need. Come here and let Angel kiss you better.

He was more than serviceable, of course: encouraging, and skillful when there was room for it. Keen to be knocked around. Very verbal about the ecstatic nature of their dealings. But Alastor felt they were going through the motions. It was all muscle memory with Angel. All the most natural thing in the world, and nothing fazed him. 

Alastor hadn’t noticed it until Husk.

Husk did not make Alastor feel natural. It was hard to explain: he knew the nature of rutting, and clearly wanted to help, the same way he’d helped an old lady-friend in heat. Yet it was still a taboo to him, not to be discussed with demons of a more human persuasion. Husk would have kept their sex a secret, even if the bounds of their working friendship were not in place. 

It wasn’t normal. What they were doing wasn’t normal.

There was something else going on, too. In spite of all the violence that occurred in the heat of the moment, Husk really enjoyed their numerous rendezvous. He acted involuntarily to whatever Alastor did. He held on for dear life, and afterwards he thrummed with contentment, the way cats did.

How was it possible for Alastor - a man who, by all accounts, had made it in Hell - to feel more powerful still?

 

*****

 

One night in mid-November, Alastor knocked on Angel’s door, and he answered in two towels: one covering his body, the other in a turban on his head. At this point in the day, Alastor’s senses were on the way up. The fresh soap was the first to hit him, then something on Angel’s breath, maybe strawberry.

“Hey,” Angel said. “Come ta take your medicine?”

“No. Yes. I’d like to talk first.”

“Uh-oh.”

Alastor let himself in. Angel's room was a mess of white, pink and red, like an exploded birthday cake. As Angel walked to the center of the bed on his knees, Alastor approached the armchair by the window.

“This arrangement has been satisfactory,” Alastor began, sitting. “More than, even, but…” He wondered how to put it. “Well, here’s a story for you. My mother’s friend kept and reared several animals. She’d just got started on ducks when I was a child. Anyway, I saw her go into the garden with a cage, which contained two female ducks! Sisters, perhaps. And I saw the male, Eddie, waddle up to the cage and greet each one in turn.”

“Riiiiight?”

“He wagged his tail,” Alastor recalled, “and made strange rasping sounds that made me fear for the new ducks. I distinctly remember what Louisa said next: ‘Every man deserves a choice… and every girl deserves a break’.”

He nodded solemnly. Angel stared back in bewilderment. 

“‘Zat the end a’the story?”

“It is.”

As Angel took it apart, Alastor retrieved his pipe and tobacco, without asking, filled the bowl, and stamped it down with his claw.

“Ohhh,” Angel said at last. “A’right. Sooo, ya got another duck, or jus’ lookin’?”

“I have one.”

As usual, Angel reacted nonchalantly. “Good for you, Ally-pally,” he said, leaning forward to untangle his turban, “but, uh, why ya tellin’ me?”

Alastor took a test draw on his pipe. “Because I have to tell someone.”

And so Alastor explained it. He spoke of Husk’s unsubtle proposal, and his knowing how it felt to be a slave to strictly animal urges, in the way Angel couldn’t. Alastor described their first trip to the cellar: Husk’s unexpected enthusiasm for the task, the gasping and yowling, and the knee-jerk responses. The truly believable way he said things, things that made Alastor feel ten feet tall.

“Ya don’t believe me when I say things?” Angel interrupted good-naturedly; he was scrubbing his long coif of hair dry with the turban. “I’ve said things. Wait, what’s a thing Husk said?”

Alastor frowned. Now he thought about it, Husk was rather sparing with the actual words. Just a phrase every now and then, usually right after they finished. “Once," Alastor said, "he told me I… behave as though I have a two minute life expectancy.”

Angel gave a mouth shrug. “Not bad, I guess.” He brushed back his damp hair, and affected Husk’s gravelly voice and grimace. “Uuuuuugh, get in my ass ‘fore the meteor hits.”

This was a poor impression. Perhaps Alastor had insufficiently laid the scene as he remembered it: the two drenched in sweat and oil, and Husk semi-collapsed over a wooden crate. The way he said it: “Goddamn… You fuck like— haa—- like you got two minutes to live. ” The same demon who called Alastor a ghoulish, Joker-looking son-of-a-bitch!

Alastor realized he’d stopped puffing a while ago; much of his favorite vanilla had burnt up without him. It had to be hormones, he reasoned, or the shock of doing anything at all about his urges.

Angel noticed. “I see ya there, Al, it’s a’right. We’ll get goin’ in a few.”

“Hm?”

“Sensory overload, right? What’s the last thing I ate?”

Alastor gave it a try. “Not strawberry,” he realized. “Strawberry-flavored something.”

“Yeah, you’re on the up.” There he was again, Alastor thought, acting like a nurse, or some other model of caring intuition. Did Angel thrive on ‘taking care’, or was this a spiel he picked up from Charlie? “Maybe the three of us should try somethin’,” Angel mused.

“I’m sorry?”

“He’s a switch, sounds like, so… put him in th’ middle? Make some kinda cat sandwich.”

Truly, Alastor didn't understand most of the ‘terms’ Angel liked to use - and he used them constantly, as though everyone should know them. The sandwich part was all Alastor could comprehend. “In the middle,” he repeated.

“Yeah. You mate with him, he mates with me.”

Alastor scoffed. “You’re presuming Husk likes you!” he said.

“Honey… everyone likes me.”

“Then why not sleep with him on your own? Why put him between us?”

Angel leaned forward, his fingers steepled. “I think he’d enjoy it,” he said. “You any idea how it feels ta fuck someone, while you’re bein’ fucked?”

“No.”

“Think about it.”

Alastor shook his head. “A glutton in all things, I see!”

“This’d be a nice way ta pay him back!” Angel insisted.

“For what?”

“Everythin’ he puts up with. Are ya as rough with him as y’are with me?”

Alastor remembered his resurgent deer-demon, and the crescents of blood around Husker’s neck and shoulders. “Husk has never complained!” he shot back.

“Right! So he’s been a good sport. Maybe ya should reimburse him.”

Then, his hair sufficiently blotted, Angel lay back and beckoned Alastor with his eyes... and there was no saying no to that.  

Later, when he had half a mind to reflect, Alastor found himself downright confused at the prospect. Perhaps he could live with fulfilling his own needs, if it involved just one other person at a time. But this thing Angel proposed? It was too crowded, too… too much. Surely he couldn’t. Surely, surely not.

 

*****

 

The next day was challenging.

In previous ruts, Alastor had occasionally contended with days like this: days when the animal tendencies were harsher than normal. He’d thought with the new regime, it wouldn’t happen this year. Only as he came downstairs that morning did the wall of pheromones hit. His skull ached, right into the tips of his antler tines. All those sinners. All silently screaming to him, begging to be torn into, longing to be desecrated. 

Alastor covered his nose. Coffee. Coffee was what he needed; the bitter taste would drown out everything else. He’d eat the beans raw if he had to. 

Then Vaggie turned a corner, clearly about to admonish someone, and got in Alastor’s way. The two awkwardly danced left and right. No. No, not this one. She was his nemesis. Literally covered in crosses, from her bad eye to her breasts. No, no, no.

“For God’s sake, just teleport!” she snapped, splaying her arms.

And Alastor went almost cross-eyed with alarm. He tasted her deodorant. Felt his ghostly claws beneath her skin. The starch of her bones. Slippery innards. Before he could pounce, Alastor rammed his vulgar head clean into the wall beside him. Once again the pain sparked in his eyes and rattled around his skull.

“Owww.”

“Mierda…” Vaggie said, stepping back. She’d all but drawn her spear. “What’s the matter with you?”

Alastor felt quite ridiculous with his antlers stuck in the plaster. Finally dislodged, he muttered something about mad deer disease and fled to the topmost floor of the hotel. Not exactly an attic, as Niffty liked to call it… but as a low-ceilinged storage space for hotel paraphernalia normally kept in the cellar, it served the same purpose. Nobody would look for Alastor here, and when he ventured to the terrace, there was one thing to distract him: a view of the city in all its twinkling, garbage-smelling vainglory.

Around midday, his pager beeped, giving him the number for the front desk. Alastor found the nearest wall phone. "Ahoy," he said.

“Uhhh, girls wanted me t’check in,” said Husk. He sounded gruffer than usual. “Mad deer disease, is what we’re goin’ with?”

“Yes,” Alastor said. “Can you speak freely?” 

“Edgar’s holdin’ the fort…” he sighed a misanthropic sigh, “…an’ nobody sees or hears me if they don’t wanna. So yeah, I can speak.” A brief pause. “Why, wanna move the appointment?”

Alastor rubbed a tired hand over his brow. Visions of Husk’s splendid wings danced in his head. “It’s bad today,” he admitted curtly. “And if I’m going to gore anyone to death in the heat of it, I trust Angel to cope better than you.”

“You still in the buildin’?”

“Husk-”

“Well, whatever, so long as you ain’t takin’ it out on the fukken clientele,” Husk said. “I’ll stay outta yer way. Jus’… try to think rational? Nobody wants to fight you. Stay put.”

And he hung up. Alastor carefully replaced the phone receiver. Good to know Husker was taking this seriously. 

 

*****

 

By sunset, Alastor was no better. He’d spent several hours attacking the cleaning apparatus, scoring lines around his enclosure, and nearly vomiting at the thought of pouncing on Vagatha. God, why did this happen to him? 

You know perfectly well why.

The dismal thought occurred that no amount of waiting would lessen the pain for whomever he mated with next. 

Bleep! Another page: a different number this time.

“Callin’ from somewhere else,” Husk explained when he picked up.

“Somewhere priv-?”

“Yeah, somewhere private! Wouldja lemme get the words out? Geez,” Husk said. Alastor heard the sound of glass hitting hardwood, which suggested a table or bedside cabinet. “Better or worse than before?”

“The same.”

“Hm,” Husk said, and his voice abruptly changed, from bad-tempered to slightly waggish. “Kinda interestin’ to hear you like this.”

“What, uncomfortable?”

“I guess so. Nothin’ to do with me, I know, jus’… maybe delayed gratification is good fer you. Maybe you should try not gettin’ what you want all the time.”

Alastor’s grip tightened around the receiver, but he backed against the wall and slid down it. “Duly noted,” he said. 

“Well, hang on, don’t go. I wanna try somethin’, see if it helps. Tap into yer animal brain. But you gotta, y’know, actually listen. Take it easy fer a fukken minute.”

Alastor nodded and braced for tedium. 

“You miss nature, right?” Husk said.

“Of course.”

“A’right, so imaginate this. You’re in the woods,” he began, a little hurriedly. “Trees all ‘round, swayin’ in the breeze. There’s grass under yer feet, all four a’them… an’ it’s jus’ rained, so that dampens down other smells an’ leaves its own somethin’ in the air.” 

For some reason, Alastor nodded. “So I’ve been rained on?”

“Uhh, yeah. An’ yer antlers are heavy, achin’ a bit, but you’re proud of ‘em anyway.”

That matched up with how Alastor currently felt, so he accepted it. 

“You’re about four years old,” Husk said, slowing down a little. “Don’t know much about the world of humans; bin pretty undisturbed. Once you found an old lady’s house, though. She had a windchime goin’ on the rear porch. It was the most eerie noise you ever heard… like metal bones knockin’ together.”

Alastor nodded again, and pictured the back end of Louisa’s farm through a stranger’s eyes. To be a wild thing, removed from humans… if only! 

“OK, then,” Husk said, lowering his voice, “you notice somethin’ sweet on the air. Sorta unfamiliar, but comfortin’ too.” 

Uh-oh.

“There’s no rush to get there. You haven’t seen another buck in hours. Still, you canter through the trees, followin’ yer nose… an’ there’s a doe in the clearin’.”

Alastor suppressed a jerk of his head. 

“Take it easy, Al. Look at her. She’s young like you. Dark nose, white patch on the neck, speckles on her back. Reeeal pretty. An’ you know you’ll be together awhile: one day, maybe two. And you’re lookin’ from her legs, to her hindquarters and maybe her tail. Cute tail.”

Was it strange that Alastor was intrigued by this narrative? Of course he’d seen bucks and does when he was alive, hunting the former, but they never meant much outside of providing meat. There was no hitherto anthropomorphic drama. 

“Her perfume’s stronger,” Husk informed him, “an’ you feel it dashin’ around every squiggle of yer brain. You’re a fukken… deer in love at this point.”

Fine, Alastor thought, smirking, rolling his eyes. 

“Then her head turns, an’ her black eyes meet yours. She seems to like how athletic you are, an’ that impressive coat-rack on yer head. Man couldn’t breed a finer buck than you. You hear birds twitterin’ nearby,” Husk added, reaffirming the woodsy environs. “Still the smell of rain.”

Alastor closed his eyes. It was like radio. Radio was so wonderful, how it made you sit and dream, and fill in what you couldn’t see. Alastor felt calmer, knowing he and this doe had all the time in the world, but…

“She makes you chase her first. Then she looks back through her eyelashes, as if to say… ‘Alright’.” Husker paused, his voice lower still, oozing from the phone receiver. “An’ now you’re about to do the oldest dance in the world.”

Since when could he spin a yarn like this? It was too convincing, and starting to remind Alastor of his own wants. He shifted back against the wall, trying to breathe normally. His legs were tingling.

“You don’t know how to kiss,” Husk said, “and yer hooves don’t know how to caress. But… you wanna thank her for bein’ so pretty. How d’ya do that?”

“How?”

“You give her healthy offspring. That’s what she wants, Al.”

“It is?”

“Uh-huh.” He paused, taking a shot from his glass, and putting it down empty. “An’ she’s happy, calm. Stands perfectly still. Nobody around for a mile. Blood’s coursin’ through you, makin’ you rise like a tree fallin’ in reverse.”

Alastor huffed.

“She lets you get behind her. Then on top of her. Yer forelegs land clumsily on either flank, an’ yer tail goes-”

“Alright, Husk. Alright.”

He shut up. Perhaps waiting for Alastor to speak again. Instead, Alastor let the phone swing off the hook, rose to his feet (with difficulty) and teleported to Husk’s sad little corner room, seven floors down. Alastor found him sitting on the bed, huddled close to the old bakelite phone with a glass sitting empty. Cognac this time. Husker was surprised to see him; he put the phone down pretty damn toot-sweet.

“What the hell was that?” Alastor asked softly.

Husk gave a nervous laugh. “Did I piss you off?”

“I think I’m past that.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “Took me most a'the afternoon to write it.”

Alastor scanned the room’s surfaces for writing materials. “I don’t-”

“Y’know what I mean.”

Alastor didn’t understand this thing with Husk. Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he should embrace the transgression. Taking a deep breath, he looked at Husker - legs, hindquarters, tail - then crossed the room and seized his head for a kiss. “What happens next?” Alastor asked, conscious of the fact he was sweating. “With the doe.”

Husk laughed. “You’re here now, stupid. Waddaya think?”

That sounded dangerously like an invitation to treat Husker like a doe, and Alastor took a moment to steel himself. He remembered the rain, the grass underhoof. The sense of not rushing. No competition, no battle for mating rights. Only the great, impartial outdoors. Maybe this inner mantra would save him from going into a frenzy. He waved his hand, knocking out the nearest lamp. Then the other, plunging the room into obscure shapes and shadows.

This time, Husk elected to stay facing him. He said the change in angle might get Alastor off quicker. Possibly it served a separate purpose, to give Husk the chance to throw up arms to defend himself. They were slow at first, careful… but then Husk was paring off Alastor's shirt, teasing warm breath over his neck. So ungodly intimate - it was enough to make Alastor shake, it really was.

For a few minutes they were occupied, scrambling up the mattress, blindly rooting in the bedside table for what they needed. Then came Husk’s low, reverent cursing, as Alastor’s hastily prepared cock slid inside him.

What the hell was this? What were they doing?

The spoken template for carefree copulation allowed Alastor to relax. He let himself enjoy the more sensuous aspects of the act, and held off on most of the biting and scratching. Not all, sadly. When he did sink his teeth into Husk, Husk copied, boldly chomping on Alastor’s shoulder. He seemed to know they were locked together for a while, and a little biting back wouldn’t stop Alastor. 

It was actually interesting. Good old Husker, never afraid to speak his mind - or act it out, in this case.

The pull of Husk’s legs was a new experience. Usually they crumbled into nothing, but now in this position, they could hook into Alastor, bringing him closer, deeper than ever. Alastor could grasp them for support, or bend them closer to Husk’s head.

”Aaaoh fuck. Jesus.”

In the seductive darkness, their attempts to rein back the mad deer disease petered out. Neither party cared. All Alastor could focus on was making Husk gasp, mewl, hiss, and arch back against him. He actually got quieter the better he felt, and the movement of his trapped wings grew more frantic. Alastor did all this. Alastor caused Husker to spiral up and down. He felt like that buck, glorifying in nature: the oldest dance, the blood, the pleasure arcing through him.

“You're-- a good friend--” he managed to say. The affected tone he was aiming for didn’t quite make it. Husk interrupted anyway, digging in his claws, silently bucking back and forth, and his ass tightened around Alastor’s cock. The noise Alastor made as he came wasn’t human. He clamped his hungry teeth around his own forearm, to spare Husk the pain. 

In seconds, Husker’s naked stomach was a mess of blood and semen. Alastor was cured. The rough day was done. He unclamped.

“What the ever-loving fuck,” Husk said.

Not the most encouraging post-script, but it could have been worse. 

Chapter 3

Alastor waited around a week to clue Angel Dust in. Somehow, it seemed a more delicate matter than the last kiss-and-telling. In any case, Angel was quite captivated by the tale, and didn’t mind that this ‘tempramental breakthrough’ had occurred apropos of their own hookups. He and Alastor agreed: it was an animal thing.

“Good thing ya didn’t go for Vaggie that day,” Angel remarked as they left the privacy of the first-floor seminar room. “I mean, yikes.”

“Perish the thought,” Alastor muttered darkly.

They sauntered down the hall, weaving past other, noisier demons. “Pussy is terrifyin’,” said Angel, and he grabbed a seat by the fireplace. “Dunno what’s in there: jus' a total cavern a’mystery. No thank you!”

Alastor grimaced. “And the male alternative is better?” he countered quietly.

“Least ya can wash that out! An’ don’t sneer at me, pally; you ain’t complained all these weeks.”

With a sigh, Alastor sat opposite. “When the rut is over, I will vomit profusely.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sounds truer the more ya say it!” Angel swiveled his armchair around, so it was near-parallel to the front desk. “Husk seems ta be walkin’ different these days,” he observed. “More of a sway, maybe?”

Alastor followed Angel’s line of sight, and saw Husker, alone, lazily wiping down the bartop. "Looks about the same,” he said, watching his friend walk. He caught himself and turned back to admonish Angel. “Stop that!”

“Stop what?”

“You know what.”

“Hey, I can’t tell ya what to think,” Angel said, biting his lip. God he was annoying, the way he baited Alastor into confusing thoughts and feelings… and then had the gall to sit and play innocent! Now Angel leaned forward, more confidentially. “Ya given any more thought ta the ménage?” he asked, twiddling his index and middle finger.

Alastor snuck another look at Husker - still preoccupied - and gave Angel a nod. “Yes.”

“Aw, frowny-face. What’s got ya worried?”

No way was Alastor going to admit to sexual insecurities, let alone possessive feelings over Husk. “Well…” he said, “I just… well, what do you get out of it?”

Angel smiled and began counting on his fingers. “Let’s see… The li’l private victory of seducin’ the pair’a yas… Hopefully gettin’ a good fuck out of it…”

“M-hm.”

“Makin’ sure Husky gets a really good fuck. With your help, a’course.” Alastor’s expression must have betrayed something, because Angel dropped the cocky tone of voice and leaned further in, touching Alastor’s knee. “It ain’t a competition,” he told Alastor, “it’s teamwork.”

“Husker’s only helping me under specific circumstances,” Alastor protested. “If I ask him this and he refuses-”

“OK, OK. Hang on, Ally.” Angel rubbed the knee soothingly. “How’s this for an idea? A’right… Tomorrow evenin’, ya cancel your appointment with him last-minute. He’ll be pissed, but that’s OK. I bring him ta mine for drinks, maybe a card game. Test the waters a bit… Then you join after a half-hour, an’ we jus’... let things happen.”

Alastor shook his head. “It can’t be that easy.”

“I’ve done this loads’a times. Trust me. Smidgen of alkyhol works wonders.”

In the interim pause, Alastor snuck another look at Husker, now behind the bar and sucking on the taps. If he was to be plied with liquor, they’d need something on the stronger side… but not so strong that Husk would pass out altogether. 

Even as he thought this, Alastor realized he’d jumped past his own misgivings about the group sex… which meant he was considering it, or at least the scenario Angel just laid out. It could be casual. Subtle, even. The arrangement could be implicitly offered on the night, and turned down just as easily, and nobody’s feelings would be hurt.

He turned back to Angel. “Let me give you my pager number.”

 

*****

 

Sure enough, Husker was rather irritated to be snubbed - enough to accept Angel’s invitation to hang loose.

“So far, so good,” said Angel - clean and perfumed, having cornered Alastor outside his office. “Here, take this,” and he pressed a pill into his hand.

“What is this?” Alastor asked.

“Anti-anxiety. Jus’ take it.”

“I’m not swallowing random-”

“What, ya think I’d roofie ya? Waddaya think I am? Asshole. Look, it’ll loosen ya up. Like alcohol, without the-” Angel made a descending slide-whistle noise. “Half an hour.” And with a condescending pat on the shoulder, he was gone. 

Alastor retired, grumbling, to his office, changed his clothes, and took the damn pill.

 

*****

 

Within the thirty minutes, Alastor felt no less anxious, but was determined to bury it the way he always did - with a smile. He knocked on Angel’s door, then let himself in.

It had been a while since he’d met with just the two of them, Husker and Angel. Together, cross-legged on the bed and playing what looked to be seven-card stud, they were an intriguing olfactory mix. Angel still reeked of his cucumber bodywash and citrus parfum, while Husk was redolent with liquor, cigarette smoke, and something distinctly feline. 

Alastor couldn’t help but notice a towel draped at the foot of the bed.

“Hallo!” he said, a little too brightly.

“Smiles! Heyyy!” Angel patted the mattress. “We were jus’ sayin’ nice things about ya, right, kitty-cat?”

Husk tutted. “He was makin’ fun a’the way you look at memes on other people’s phones.”

At least Alastor could pretend-chuckle at that. “What’s wrong with the way I…?”

The two mimed holding a cellular device at arm’s length, squinting cartoonishly. 

“Here,” Angel said, throwing him a bottle of coffee liqueur, “ya got some catchin’-up ta do.”

For a while, the three played poker and shot the breeze. There was an undeniable tension in the air, at least from Alastor’s perspective. It could not have escaped Husker’s attention that Angel was flirting with him; he apparently tried to reconcile that with Alastor’s presence by catching his eye every five seconds. Alastor only smiled, and drank, and gradually dimmed the lights around them - so gradually that no-one could notice. 

This is crazy, he told himself. Leave, before this whole boat capsizes.

Angel was leaning on Husker’s shoulder, and Husker was shrugging him off. “Someone’s had too much,” he grumbled. Had Husk been rejecting Angel’s advances all evening? It obviously didn’t bode well for the three if he had. 

Angel clapped his hands abruptly, making the other two jump. “Let’s play a game!” he announced. “Husk… how are ya at Charades?”

“Uuuuugh!”

“Nah, nah, it’ll be fun. OK. Me an' Ally are broachin’ a deal,” Angel said, eyes glinting with drunken mischief. “If you guess what the deal is, ya get ta be a part of it.”

Husk blinked. “Do I even wanna be?”

“We’re gonna find out. One catch: nobody’s allowed ta talk!”

“Or read lips,” Alastor added, catching on. “Husker can do that.”

“Clever boy! OK.”

Husker rolled his fiery eyes, but sat up and endeavored to pay attention. Peering through the ever-increasing gloom. Alastor wondered if he ought to bring the lights back up, for the sake of discerning facial expression. Instead, he shook off the concern and met Angel’s gaze.

You can do this. Casual. Subtle as you like.

Angel waved to Alastor and batted his eyelashes, flaunting their amorous association like a new dress. Alastor followed suit, in his own, more “relaxed” and dominant way. Husker seemed annoyed at this; perhaps he thought they were trying to get under his skin, make him jealous.

Alastor changed tack, and addressed Angel with his eyes. Angel.

He smiled back. I’m listening. 

Alastor gestured to Husk, silently enquiring as to Angel’s opinion of the man. In response, Angel made a play of waving his hand (Hmmmn, so-so ), then grinned wickedly and nodded. But Husker didn’t like this either. It must have looked like mockery to him, for his eyebrows made a confused and angry V.

Drat.

Alastor begged for his patience, and Husk slumped moodily against the pillows.

Once again, Alastor addressed Angel. This time, he pointed to himself, then to Husk; paused briefly; pointed again to Husk, and finally at Angel. His stare moved from Angel to Husk and back again, to establish everyone’s inclusion in the bargain.

Angel asked for confirmation, pointing to them in the same order. When he ‘got it’, his grin grew more wicked. Oh, hell yeah, he said, I’m in.

Desperate at this point to be spoken to, Husk was in the process of standing up when Alastor held out a hand, bidding him to settle down. It was their turn.

OK, Husk said, ya fukken weirdo. 

Alastor pointed in the same order as before, punctuating with meaningful raises of his eyebrows. Alastor, Husker; Husker, Angel. But his friend still struggled with the concept. He mimed accepting a box from Alastor, then delivering it to Angel.

Maybe he was too drunk for this. 

Alastor repeated himself, and Husker’s gaze danced between the other two, with the first glimmers of understanding. There was fear too. He thought he’d figured it out, but if he had, it was quite significant one way or the other. Husk looked to Angel, who waved demurely back.

Another flicker in the fire. 

This time, Husk turned to Alastor, eager to listen. At his behest, Alastor repeated himself, slowly nodding. Almost got it. 

Husker raised his right hand, holding the claws out flat. He gestured to Alastor: This is you. His left hand became Angel, and the feathers of his tail, raised between the hands, naturally represented himself. Even before the hands came together, trapping the tail, it was clear Husk understood. 

Alastor felt a strange kind of rush within him: thrill and fear combined. He silently applauded Husk for guessing correctly, but Husk’s attention was for Angel. Based on the hand movements, he was confusedly asking if there was, in fact, anything between them.

Angel smirked. Course there is, idiot!

“Uhh,” Husk said. “Can I speak now?”

“Yes.”

He exhaled heavily. “What in God’s name…? This is a fukken prank, right?”

“Nuh-uh,” said Angel, twirling a tuft of his hair. “Serious as Pearl Harbor.”

“So us three are gonna…?” He seemed frozen, his hair bristling around the shoulders. It hardly helped Alastor’s own apprehension… but it was his place to be the voice of reassurance. 

“If you want to,” Alastor nodded.

Husk broke into nervous laughter, looking from one to the other. “Uhhh… I never expected this, to be honest.”

“Well, for starters,” Angel invited, “why dontcha come here an’ say hi?”

At this, Husker seemed to smile, but his eyes moved to Alastor. Waiting.

Alastor allowed it, then watched his friend shuffle into Angel’s waiting arms. Angel, of course, had no qualms about doing this sort of thing for an audience, but Husker was adjusting. Perchance he was starstruck. “But you flirt with everybody!” he exclaimed to Angel.

“Aww, bless your heart!”

Husk faltered again as Angel was about to kiss him. Seeking Alastor’s permission.

“You don’t have to keep asking,” Alastor murmured, and immediately wondered if he’d regret saying it. 

It did the trick. The two kissed, Angel leading, and Husk lapsing into stillness and hesitation… almost the same way he had done with Alastor weeks ago. Still, he seemed to enjoy himself, warming to it, like a lit candle melting for the flame.

“I guess not all pussy is terrifyin’,” Angel broke off to say. Then, ignoring Husker’s mild disgust at the pun: “Al, get over here! Do his neck.”

Grateful for something to do, Alastor swept their playing cards away and stumbled over. He felt quite hot around the ears, terrified something would go horribly wrong. The best way to bury those concerns was losing himself in the fur of Husk’s shoulder. Biting softly. Remember the doe. Your doe. No rush, no worries.

“I really didn’t expect this,” Husk was saying. 

“But ya were hopin’, right?”

Husker turned his head, locking lips with Alastor. This part was a relief, as easy as breathing. They shifted closer together, touching, building their familiar steam. 

“Ooh,” said Angel, not caring that he’d been stranded. “This is kinda hot.”

From the sound of it, he was shrugging off his clothes, letting them get on with it. Alastor had no complaints: he knew where he was with Husker. It felt organic, passionate even. His mood was only a little swayed as Angel introduced his stalwart hands, teasing Husk below the belt.

“This fur hides a lot, huh, cutie?”

Husk began purring - already! Alastor tried very hard to believe it was partly his own doing. “You sound terrific,” he said.

“You’re an idiot.” Husk’s mouth pulled him back like the tide, interrupted now and then with gusty out-breaths. “Wait, wait,” he said, “uhh… how’re we doin’ this?”

Angel fielded the question. “I’m gonna get comfy over here,” he said, moving on his knees to the foot of the bed. “Husky, you come an’ stand in front’a me! By the towel.”

With a look of semi-apology, Husk left Alastor and walked around as directed. Then Angel withdrew a small bottle from his fluffy cleavage and uncapped it with a click. Before he could drip lubricant onto Husk’s cock, he shrugged and first plunged his mouth over it. Not to be outdone, Alastor joined them: knowing, unlike Angel, to press his thumb into the hollow of Husker’s right hip (something he liked). 

“Hmm.”

Finally Angel managed to prepare Husker in the right way, and tossed the bottle to Alastor. “Now, you go behind,” he added, “...an’ await my instructions.”

“It’s like a game of fukken Tetris,” Husk said light-heartedly.

“A game of what?”

“Tetris. Y’know, the… Never mind.”

Standing behind Husk, Alastor took down his trousers and applied the lubricant liberally. It was water-based, stickier than the oil he and Husk were used to, and afterwards he scraped the excess from his hands onto his legs, not to mess up Husk’s fur. From his position, it was difficult to see Angel, now seductively bracing himself on all fours; however, his long legs did hang some way off the bed. Alastor could have picked him up like a wheelbarrow.

“You are pretty as hell,” Husk said, stroking his claws along Angel’s back, “way better than yer films.” He seemed to have more to say when a submissive partner was involved.

“Thanks,” said Angel, sweetly. “OK, babe, whenever you’re ready.”

Alastor rested his hands on Husker’s hips, and felt them insisting carefully forward. Of course Angel, quick as ever to relax, gave a long and high-pitched moan. “Fuck yeah, that’s it,” he said, rocking backward on his knees. “Ahhh… Dammelo tutto.”

Well, Alastor thought, heard that one before. He almost laughed. Husker was purring again, one knee against the towelled footboard.

“OK, Ally, should be good ta go. Husk, honey, lean t’wards me.”

Alastor couldn’t help biting Husk on the shoulder again. With one hand, he moved Husk’s tail; with the other, he guided his own cock into place, pressed his front against Husk’s back, and slowly broke him in. 

“Ohhh, fuck,” Husk said, and went on purring. 

“Everybody happy?” Angel asked.

Husk could barely speak. “God, I feel both of you. It’s…” and his head fell. That stunning remark left Alastor with a throbbing in his antlers, and several rapidly-swirling thoughts he couldn’t possibly verbalize. What a gorgeous cat-creature he was. 

Angel repositioned slightly. “A’right,” he said, “we’re gonna start slow. Get inta the right rhythm.”

Tentative motions all around. Alastor kept in time with Husker, moving forward as Husker drew back, and vice versa. As a result, Alastor’s thrusts, his helpless moans, happened to alternate with Angel’s moans. As for Husk, he was clearly getting the best deal, feeling fine in both directions, gasping twice as much as always. 

“Al!” Angel said a little more breathlessly than the situation demanded , “Are ya— sorry-- ya don’t-- get ta-- fuck me?”

“Not really,” Alastor said, close to Husker’s ear.

This pleased Husker; he twisted ‘round as best he could to make out with Alastor. Yes, Alastor felt happy where he was: his deer brain was lighting up spectacularly! His lover was the most ravishing, and his cock was the center of all the wilderness. 

“Hey! Lovebirds!” Angel called. “Gettin’ lonely over here!”

The three resumed their dirty, sweaty fun, picking up speed and purpose until Husk’s legs lost their muscle. Alastor felt him shiver.

“Fellas,” he gasped, a little urgently, “if— wait— if we carry on like this, I’ll only last ten more seconds.”

Angel tutted. “I think ya can do two minutes.”

Part of Alastor was appalled at Angel’s ability to treat this so fiendishly - like a game! - and the other part was eager to see Husk driven a little more crazy. For his own sake, Husk ceased his thrusting, but Alastor saw his arm wind around Angel, reaching for his neglected nether regions. “How ‘bout I jus’...?”

Whatever he did, it was working. “Ohh yeah, daddy, that’s nice. That’s real nice.” 

Alastor made himself think of the doe, and the calm, rain-damp outdoors… but it was no match for Husker and those sights and sounds, and that goddamn grip of his. Alastor leaned into him, speeding up, which made Husk reach his other hand back and spike Alastor in the leg. 

“You-- ahhh, you-- fukken asshole!”

Alastor didn’t care. The words spilled out of his dry, stupid mouth - “I’m so glad this is happening” - and the others groaned in agreement. 

The two minutes felt like two days. Alastor had to slow down, fast approaching the edge, sweeping up and up, each delicious pang stronger than the last. Poor Husk was in even greater trouble. He could not be reached for comment; his head pressed firmly into Angel’s back, mewling through gritted teeth, his wings at the point of highest tension.

“Has it-- been-- two?”

“Can ya do three?”

“What? No! Fuck!”

Angel drove a hard bargain. Twenty more seconds. Husk made a strangled, frustrated noise, but Alastor was there, clutching his chest fur, stealing his scent and telling him he could make it. Of course, Alastor could bring him to ruin with a few precision poundings of that special spot under his tail… But no. Husk would make it. Just a little longer. 

For the queerest moment, the three of them became a single being, tense and weakened, dripping sweat, all feeling and wanting the same thing.

Angel was the first to go, his forearm a blur somewhere at the front. As he coiled up, loudly crying the word Now, Alastor went full throttle, fucking Husker just as hard as he could. Husk furiously tapped Alastor’s leg before giving in. Rapidly, up and down; he was a jellyfish, compelled to move with propulsive bodily squeezes. His wings hit Alastor in the face, slightly confusing the surge that preceded his own climax… but it was striking nonetheless. He lunged forward, simultaneously clinging onto Husker and pinning him against Angel. It was over, quite suddenly. He tasted blood.

For a while, nobody could speak. The air was filled with dry, rattling gasps. Angel seemed amused by the vibration from Husk, sandwiched between them, and Alastor made himself at home, nuzzling the back of Husk’s damp neck. Alastor’s animal instincts had been realized, so, so nicely. Now he only wanted to thank Husk for his part in it. What would two cats do? Go somewhere cool and lick each other clean, perhaps.

“How was it, cher?” Alastor asked. 

Husker exhaled softly. “Hope you guys don’t have stuff to do,” he said, “‘cause I’m stayin’ riiight here.”

Angel laughed.

“Woah, hey hey hey,” Husker exclaimed. “That feels weird.”

“What, me laughin’?”

“Yeah.” Husk took a deep, ragged breath, and fully relaxed his wings. His hand brushed against Alastor’s. “Geez Louise,” he said, “I am one lucky motherfucker.”

 

***** 

 

Alastor couldn’t believe they’d pulled it off. Doing what he’d done should have been unthinkable, rut or no rut - but it happened, and so beautifully! Nary an instance of trying to toss someone on his antlers. Even the blood he tasted at the end was his own bitten tongue.

Twenty-two hours later, the three were still in good spirits. Very good spirits. The merest shared glance over the bartop could remind them of the indecorous fun they’d all had. Still, Angel sensed what was going on, simmering beneath the surface and nothing to do with him. He was obnoxious at first - knowing glances, schmultzy nicknames, et cetera - but at ten pm, the man finally and gracefully retired.

“I know when I ain’t needed,” Angel winked. “Buona notte, inamoratos.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off in Italian.”

Laughing, Angel swept away, leaving Husk alone with Alastor. “Then there were two,” the latter said. “I know you speak Italian. Why-?”

“What I said was funnier. How’s yer head?”

Alastor slid his glass aside. “Fine today,” he reported. “No real thoughts of propagating the species.” They glanced out the window. “Raining pretty hard!”

“Yup. Be snow before long.”

And all that that implies, Alastor thought.

“I feel kinda… invisible,” Husk suddenly said, “most a’the time. I mean, that’s what ya do as a low-powered sinner, ya try an’ slip under the radar. But this period of, ah, helpin’ ya with the rut-”

“Husker.”

“Yeah. No, I was jus’ gonna say: it didn’t suck. Come get me again next fall.” He paused, then gave a defensive shrug. “What? You weren’t gonna say nothin’.”

“That’s not true!”

“What were you gonna say?”

Shit. He’d called his bluff.

“Well,” Alastor began, “let’s not kid ourselves. We find the attention mutually flattering. You like to feel useful - or desirable, perhaps - and I like having a healthy outlet for those desires.” Especially one that loves partaking in it so much… He fixated on the window pane, with rain crawling across it like greenfly. “But it’s still appreciated,” he said. “Angel doesn’t really deserve you, and you deserve more… year-round appreciation than I can give. And if you ever repeat what I just said, I’ll have your guts for garters.”

It occurred to Alastor that he’d said rather a lot, all without checking for casual interlopers. But then, Husk would have spoken up if there were any. He’d more than proven his trustability by now.

Husk was quiet. Then he broke into an insufferable grin. 

“How ‘bout that,” he said, and fixed Alastor’s hair in a way that made him swallow hard. “You really are outta yer mind.”