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The glary, red-tinted dawn, signaling the start of a chaotic new day in the infernal region, brought no relief to Vaggie. Her eyes ached, as if sleep had eluded them for years. Her dreams had been fractured by memories of the previous day, which had submitted completely to Murphy’s law.
Her morning had gotten off to a bad start when no sooner than she’d stepped out of her and Charlie’s shared quarters to preside over breakfast arrangements, she’d tripped over one of Angel’s scattered sex toys that he’d carelessly dropped during his rush to work. Her stomach still churned at the memory, hoping they’d had been sterilized. But she doubted it. After a short, sharp sojourn down the stairs, Vaggie landed in a graceless heap on the floor of the open hotel lobby. While nursing the goose egg- sized bump that protruded from her throbbing elbow, Niffty had scuttled up her skull to jab at the fresh wound with a disturbing glee. That was until Vaggie had pitched her halfway across the room. The picture frame-shaking impact against the wall hadn’t even phased the diminutive, unhinged maid who’d then scurried off to God knows where, giggling all the way. Her day was made more dismal when Husk had passed out behind the bar before it was even noon, adding to Vaggie’s already cumbersome workload. And to say nothing of Alastor, with his shudder-inducing radio crackle and constant Cheshire cat smile…
After such a long and grueling day, Vaggie was rendered comatose the second her weariful head hit the pillow. But even in sleep, she’d found no rest. Her face still buried in the multitude of pillows piled up by the ornate headboard; she wrenched around an arm to acquire the time off the bedside table. Instead of her phone, she collided with something unexpectedly cumulous, an anomaly in her hard-edged life.
“…gie.”
Vaggie’s eyebrows burrowed up, wondering if she was still dreaming. There was a solidity buried deep within the gossamer softness of the unknown obstacle. As it weighed down her palm, all the trepidation drained from Vaggie’s body.
“…aggie.”
Entranced by the blissful sensation, she tightened her hold around it, the softness pouring out of the spaces between her fingers.
“𝘝𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘦!"
Vaggie was hurled from her hypnagogic state harder than Lute had shattered her halo. She jolted upright from bed, as if electrodes had been jammed into her body. Charlie was sprawled out next to her. Her long blonde hair was unbrushed, bristling out like the spines of a sea anemone. The raddled duckling plushie that she’d cuddled every night since Lucifer had sewn it for her as baby was scattered at her side, lost to the cresting ocean of bedsheets. Vaggie’s flinty heart cracked like a stick of peppermint. She was so grateful that she was the only one who got to see Charlie like this, her messy, authentic self.
The Princess of Hell’s still glassy red eyes were fissured by vague confusion as her brain rebooted, still trying to rub the excess sand from the crevices of her corneas. Vaggie tracked Charlie’s line of vision, only for her mouth to dry up. Her hand was wrapped around her girlfriend’s breast, as if the errant limb had wrestled its way out of Vaggie’s control.
Charlie’s preference for business suits, though formal and tasteful, did her figure no justice. Charlie had been endowed with a lot more than an infectious zest for life, a talent for impromptu song numbers and an endless reservoir of empathy. It was accentuated moreso by her considerable height. She wore two sports bras to avoid any unwanted attention, struggling enough as it was to be taken seriously. The first time Vaggie saw Charlie without them, her bare lily-white skin aglow under the crimson moon, she’d forgotten how to breathe.
Of course, it came with its own host of problems. There was the endless quest for clothes that fit, the rejections piling up into a small heap outside the dressing room. The stiff underwired bras that were more akin to medieval torture devices than anything wearable. The dark patches of sweat that pooled at the bottom of the cups, to Charlie’s eternal embarrassment. Of course, being Hell, where decency was deficient, some weren’t content to just look. Several demons had lost fingers, among other body parts, when they’d dared to try to cop a feel off Charlie. Vaggie’s bloody tally already extended into the three-digit range, and she was only too happy to add more.
The worst part was that Charlie had no-one to turn to about it. Her father had scattered from the subject, being far beyond his area of expertise or comfort. Neither could she ask her mother. She, Vaggie, nor anyone else in Hell had seen neither sight nor sound of Queen Lilith for seven years. Despite being only a modest B-cup herself, Vaggie was determined to ease the burden from Charlie’s bra strap-slashed shoulders. She never dared to cross the clear boundaries that they had set at the start of their relationship. Charlie wept when she’d torn open the package containing the custom-made bra that Vaggie ordered for her from a specialist store she’d found online. It had been the first to fit her in years.
When the hotel was closed and the residents had retired to their individual rooms, she spent long nights untangling the taut knots from Charlie’s aching back. Vaggie worshipped every inch of her, inscribing wordless odes on Charlie’s skin with her lips. The experience had been so beneficial for both that they’d ended up falling asleep on top of each other, with Vaggie’s head pillowed on Charlie’s solar plexus. Charlie was her soul and strength. She was the blinding ray of hope that broke through the storm clouds that had darkened her uncertain path after Heaven outcasted her, her paradise in perdition. All Vaggie wanted was for the woman she treasured to love her body the same way that she loved her.
While Vaggie’s mouth was still hanging open, Charlie tucked a hanging golden strand back into her hairline. She gave an unfailingly sweet smile, one that always swelled Vaggie’s heart close to bursting point.
“Uh, love?” she remarked, far too casual for the occasion, “I don’t think that’s the alarm clock…”
“𝑭𝒖𝒄𝒌!”
Vaggie’s hands recoiled backwards as if she had just dipped them into a pot of scaling oil. She almost rolled out of bed in her shock, managing to swing back by grabbing onto the fairy-light dazzled drapes of the mauve-striped four-poster bed. The chuckle that cluttered Charlie’s drowsy tone somehow made things even worse. Vaggie clenched her perfidious fingers into her palm with a disgusted snarl. She’d betrayed Charlie’s trust again.
“ Char, I’m so sorry. It was a dream, I didn’t know what I was doing, I swear-“
“Oh, hon. You don’t have to apologize. I know you’d never.”
Charlie’s gentle voice plugged up the blithering torrent that tumbled forth from her lips. Vaggie’s eye clouded with tears. Charlie’s greatest strength was her biggest weakness. She saw good in everyone, even when it wasn’t there. She’d said that once before, when Vaggie had been too afraid to confide the truth in her, only for her world to be shattered on a public stage. The contorted mask of terror that Charlie’s face had taken on at the sight of her sweetheart exposed as someone who’d slaughtered her people en masse was something that would haunt Vaggie until the end of time.
The bountiful mounds strained the material of her modest cherry-colored pajamas, creasing a valley of pale flesh that stranded Vaggie’s gaze downwards. She averted her remaining eye, but Charlie tilted her cheek back. After a lifetime of hard knocks, Charlie’s featherlight affection always stopped her in her tracks.
“Why so shy? You’ve seen me in a lot less.” She cooed.
Vaggie huffed.
“Not. 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 .”
Charlie’s half-closed eyes and tousled hair had the unintentional effect of seductiveness, careening Vaggie’s heart into a frantic tempo. 𝘔𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘢, this woman would be the end of her.
“In fact,” Charlie’s voice dropped to a low purr, “I wouldn’t be opposed to having your hands on me again.”
Vaggie shuddered out a breath. Charlie’s awareness hadn’t been the only thing aroused by the unexpected wake-up call. Her girlfriend pulled herself over to her, on the offense this time with a half-parted lips and a smoldering gaze that rivalled Angel Dust at his most oversexed. Her ebony-nailed index finger unpeeled the strap of her white lacy nightgown down the slope of Vaggie’s goosebump-prickled shoulder. Vaggie couldn’t recall the last time they’d had a moment to themselves in this bedlam. The last thing she was going to do was waste it.
Vaggie’s hand pried open the elasticated waistband of her girlfriend’s pajama bottoms, making her moan. Charlie hooked a hooved leg around Vaggie’s waist, forcing her deeper. Her fingertips were encased in the princess’ molten heat, that pulled her in faster than quicksand. She sundered her folds, Charlie’s downy pubic hairs grazing her roughened knuckles.
Vaggie choked as Charlie’s hand tumbled down between her legs. After recovering from the initial shock, the lovers shared a diabolic grin. It was one of their favorite games to play, one from which Charlie emerged as the unlikely victor. Charlie's passion extended beyond the Happy Hotel, into more carnal areas. Once, when she was eating Vaggie out, she’d hooked her fingers in as well, tickling a particular cluster of nerves to such an extent that Vaggie had gone blind for half an hour. She lived for Charlie’s hot breath gusting below her navel. Charlie played Vaggie’s body like a trained virtuoso, raking over her quivering nerves like a bow against violin strings. She'd even gotten her whole fist inside Vaggie. The devil’s hands were far from idle playthings and the same extended to his offspring. But she was an exceptionally considerate lover, always propping a pillow underneath Vaggie whenever they scissored for easier access and massaging her ravaged body afterwards as they watched terrible reality shows together. The irony was enough to make her chuckle, that after all the slog of people who had come and gone into her life, it was a demon who made her feel human.
Charlie’s eyes flooded over with red, her incisors enlarging. Horns poked out of the crown of her head. Her narrowed vertical pupils clocked Vaggie’s vulnerable nape. It was something Vaggie found both terrifying and exquisite. During their more intense sessions, Charlie insisted on being gagged in case she sank her fangs into the delicate sinew of Vaggie’s neck. She couldn’t help but wince at the thought of Charlie’s trimmed fingernails turning into talons, especially when she was pumping away inside her. But she managed to restrain herself from doing so, disheveled blonde head heaving with effort. Deep down, Vaggie had already accepted that it was impossible. Charlie was the only person who’d never hurt her.
Charlie’s bed shirt was tossed high into the air, crumpling onto the handle of her locked door. Her exposed breasts bounced out of their confines, displayed without an ounce of shame. Rigid nipples peaked the vast pale domes of her chest. Charlie pawed at with an unusual playfulness, as if they’d materialized overnight, as hypnotized by their languorous ripple as her girlfriend was. Vaggie grew even wetter as she realized that it was all for her. She’d never do this for anyone else. Charlie hefted up one in one hand, giving her a playful wink.
“What’s the hold-up? Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Her cheery question was more erotic than any obscenity strung together from the pouty mouths of succubi. Vaggie pounced on her prize, much to her girlfriend’s squealing delight. Her dusky lips swiped over Charlie’s delicate pink nipples. The sweet tang of her sweat dancing on her tongue.
“Hypocrite,” she panted out between fervid kisses, “I thought we were supposed to be discouraging sin here.”
Charlie gave a soft titter.
“And I thought that-a-ah- angels weren’t supposed to stray from the path of l-light.”
Charlie’s elegant hand climbed Vaggie’s back until they scrubbed the spot between her shoulders, where two jagged scars had been etched into her back, which were starting to fade. Vaggie recalled the thunderbolt of fear that convulsed through her system whenever Charlie had touched there whenever they'd been making out. She’d explained it away as the leftover trauma of being stabbed in the back by a former friend during a turf dispute, which wasn’t too far off from the actual truth. Still, didn’t stop her from fearing that if Charlie ever got one glimpse of her real self, she’d run for the hills.
Now here they were, entangled in each other’s arms, their most insecure parts on full display. Charlie thrust her front against Vaggie, melting into her neck with a rapturous sigh. Her heavy breasts squashed against Vaggie’s firm sternum, cocooning her beating heart beneath. Her silky fingers caressed the firm trapezius of Vaggie’s back, between where the bulky triceps of her wings there, which had suddenly sprouted during the heavy petting. Vaggie hissed, her feathers flouncing. The radiuses of Vaggie’s wingspan were raised to full width like the hoisted sails of a ship. They eclipsed Charlie’s starry eyes, blotting out the faint traces of daylight that escaped through the half-drawn curtains. To Vaggie’s disbelief, she didn’t run. It was all her dreams and nightmares come true.
Charlie’s face was particolored with pink, her affectionate flush making her even more breathtaking to Vaggie. This beautiful, otherworldly woman looked at her, the lowly mortal turned redeemed killer, as if she was the most precious thing left in all of creation. Vaggie teared up again. She berated herself for being such an idiot, in thinking that Charlie would ever abandon her. Their souls were of the same cloth, threaded together by fate’s steely string in a way that no force could ever hope to break. They had nothing to hide from each other. Not anymore.
The covers crinkled over their writhing bodies. Charlie arched up on the creaking bed, her orgasm spraying onto Vaggie’s fingers like a warm trickle of honey. It took one flex of Charlie’s own thumb, still buried deep within her girlfriend, to make Vaggie come undone. Vaggie tossed her head back, long, sweat-soaked hair lashing her back like a cat o’ nine tails. Under the overwhelming pleasure, the pain of the past crumbled away. There was no-one else but Charlie in that single precious moment.
Baking in the afterglow, Vaggie rolled over to her own side of the bed, her wings retracting back inside her body. Charlie followed, hugging her forearm with such force that it went numb from the disrupted circulation. They lay on the mattress with their fingers interlaced together, like two submerged otters bobbing supine on a lazy current. No longer capable of abstaining from any further temptation, Vaggie buried her head into her girlfriend’s chest, her fluey refuge from an infuriating world. Charlie smiled, sinking a kiss into Vaggie’s searing scalp. The former angel unleashed a long sigh.
“Can… can we just stay like this? Forever?”
Charlie coughed.
“As much as I’d like that too, sweetie, we 𝘥𝘰 have a hotel to run...”
Realizing that they would have to leave the comfort of their bedroom and endure another day, Vaggie slumped into Charlie’s pillowy breasts. Her muffled scream of frustration vibrated through the skin. Not knowing what else to do, Charlie leaned over to give her a meek pat.
“That’s it,” she soothed, “get it all out.”