Chapter Text
You love your sister. You love your sister more than life itself. You are not going to wrap your ice-cold, gloved hands around her hotelier’s skinny neck and strangle him.
But sometimes you would very much like to.
“Diluting a perfectly delicious cup of coffee with milk like a heathen, I see!”
“Not everyone likes their coffee as black as their soul,” you answer irritably as you put the carton of milk back in the fridge.
“Fair enough.” Alastor lifts his crimson “Oh, Deer!” mug to his mouth, and you take the opportunity to slurp your first sip of coffee as loudly as possible out of sheer spite.
A sharp blat of radio feedback screeches abruptly through the otherwise-quiet kitchen, and Alastor’s eyes narrow irritably at you over the lip of his mug, though his complacent smile remains annoyingly in place.
“Will you stop?” Charlie sighs long-sufferingly from the breakfast nook where she’s curled up with an equally sleepy Vaggie. “I know you’re only doing that to make him mad.”
“He started it,” you grouse.
“And I’m finishing it.” Charlie raises an eyebrow pointedly.
“Yeah, okay, Mom,” you deadpan, mock-saluting her with your mug when she makes a face back at you. “I’m taking this up to my room - I’ve got an early call with the Sins.”
“Oh, tell Uncle Ozzie I said ‘hi!’” she calls cheerfully after you, and you wave in acknowledgment as you round the doorway of the kitchen.
“Is it not your father’s job to coordinate with the other Sins?” Alastor materializes in the hallway, blocking your path, and you sidestep him with practiced ease and without breaking your stride while your coffee sloshes dangerously in your mug, but thankfully doesn’t spill; hey, it’s the little things you can find joy in.
“He asked me to take over today.”
“Ah, I see.” Alastor’s constant smile is grating on the best of days, and today is not one of those days as he slips into the shadows and back out to stop you in your tracks again. “So it’s not enough that you are single-handedly attempting to bring the rest of Hell under your thumb as your mother did, but now you are taking over the Sin of Pride’s work as well. Is there any job position you won’t mastermind a coup for, Princess? Should I keep a closer eye on the souls I own lest you swipe them out from underneath me?”
“Get out of my way or this gets thrown at you.” You hold your mug up in a warning, but Alastor doesn’t even flinch at the threat.
“Where will you get your desperately needed caffeine fix if you waste it all on me?”
“I have energy drinks in my mini-fridge,” you dismiss.
“You have what drinks?” That gives Alastor pause and you quickly slip past him again while he’s distracted by his confusion, swallowing a gulp of scalding coffee as you go; with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion you had woken with this morning, you suspect you will need more than one of your energy drinks to get through your busy schedule today even with a cup of coffee in your system.
You somehow get through the call with the other Sins mostly in one piece - Asmodeus and Beelzebub have soft spots for you thanks to their closer friendships with your father, but the others not so much - and are in the middle of your daily schedule run-through with your imp secretary Liv when you see a distinctly red figure materializing in the shadowy corner of your room and opening your mini-fridge to squint suspiciously at its contents.
“Sorry, Liv, hold that thought - Alastor, what the hell are you doing in my room?” you demand. “I could be on a conference call.”
“But you’re not,” Alastor replies cheerfully. “Your regular check-in with your secretary is usually scheduled for right now - speaking of which, hello, Olivia!”
“Hi?” Liv frowns, bemused. “Sorry, Princess, who was that? I don’t see anybody else on camera with you.”
“You remember Charlie’s new hotel?” you sigh, and she nods.
“Yeah, you cleared out half your schedule for the next year to move into it and help her out.”
You deliberately ignore Alastor’s curious look over his shoulder as you answer, “Well, her facility manager is a colossal asshole who doesn’t have a clue what boundaries are and just lets himself into my room whenever he feels like looking at my caffeine fridge.”
“Oh, I know what boundaries are, dear,” Alastor says brightly as he plucks a vivid red energy drink can out of the fridge to inspect it. “I’ve simply decided that yours don’t particularly matter. Also, what did you call this infernal collection?”
“Her caffeine fridge - it’s a whole thing,” Liv says dryly even as you give her an exasperated look and a wry smile as if to say, “See what I’m dealing with?” “You want me to keep going, Princess, or do you have to handle your unexpected guest?”
“No, he’ll entertain himself. You go ahead.” You amuse yourself by watching Alastor attempt to pry open the can’s tab without puncturing the metal with his claws - for all his deer-like physical traits, he currently looks more like a cat struggling with a new toy - as Liv continues down the list of meetings you have planned.
“Okay, so we left off at eleven, which is your annual check-in with the Ars Goetia, followed by the in-person lunch meeting down in Cannibal Town with the resident Overlord there-”
“You’re meeting with Rosie?” Alastor looks up again, distracted from the can he’s trying to open, and you hold a hand out impatiently. Too startled to protest, he automatically places the can in your outstretched hand and you pop it open with ease before handing it back to him.
“Yeah, I go around meeting each of the Overlords once every couple of months, but you’re an exception because I can’t seem to get away from you,” you deadpan. “Speaking of which, Liv, cancel all check-ins with Alastor for the foreseeable future - I’ve had enough of him for at least a century or two.”
“Done,” Liv chuckles on the other end of the call even as Alastor wrinkles his nose at you and then takes a curious sip of the energy drink he’s pilfered from your mini-fridge.
“Oh, that is disgusting.” His smile fixes into a grimace as he shudders at the awful taste. “What is wrong with you for enjoying this?”
“A great many things,” you answer dryly. “If you’re not gonna drink that, then hand it over - I need all the caffeine I can get. Go ahead with the schedule, Liv.”
“You have a house call at one-thirty down in the Doomsday District, but after that, the rest of your day should be free,” Liv says as Alastor obediently abandons the energy drink can on your office desk. “I assume you want to block that off for Charlie.”
“Yeah, as long as nothing last-minute pops up.” You swallow a gulp of your energy drink and immediately realize why Alastor had disliked it - the fruit punch artificial flavoring is almost medicinally strong. “Anything we need to throw in while I have some availability?”
“The Vees are requesting an audience,” Liv notes after checking her phone briefly.
“Which one’s asking?” you press.
“You know which one,” Liv sighs long-sufferingly and you roll your eyes.
“Vox can get in line like everyone else, he’s not special. In fact, you have blanket permission to move his slot out by an extra month each time he asks, but don’t tell him. If we’re lucky, he won’t catch on for another year - maybe two if he’s extra stupid about it.”
Alastor doesn’t bother hiding a snort of derisive laughter punctuated by static from where he’s returned to inspecting the contents of your caffeine fridge, and when he meets your eyes over his shoulder, the two of you share a rare moment of solidarity before you turn back to your computer.
“Okay, let’s review the agenda for the Goetia call next…”
“You look awful,” Charlie frets as you slump into your seat at the breakfast nook a week later.
“Yeah, I had to pull an all-nighter to get my notes done through sheer willpower because someone got rid of my caffeine fridge while I was out the other day.” You narrow your eyes sleepily at the innocently whistling Radio Demon pouring out coffee at the kitchen counter.
“It was an abomination and needed to be disposed of,” he answers without even a hint of repentance. “Did you know your madwoman of a sister was ingesting nuclear runoff and calling it an energy drink, Charlie?”
“Oh, yeah, she’s been hooked on those ever since she started shadowing our mom for work,” Charlie confirms with an eye-roll. “Thank you, Alastor, you’ve done what I’ve been trying to do for decades.”
“I aim to please, my dear!” Alastor flashes her a winning smile.
“For the record, I wasn’t hooked,” you grouse around a yawn and surrender your dignity long enough to lean your shoulder heavily against your younger sister’s. “I could’ve stopped anytime I wanted.”
“Sure, sis.” She pats the top of your head carefully and you briefly shut your aching eyes; you don’t think you’ll ever admit it aloud, but sometimes her touch feels a little like Lilith’s, and the familiarity is soothing.
A clink of ceramic meeting the wooden table makes you open your eyes again, though, to find a steaming mug of coffee - diluted with milk exactly the way you like - in front of you.
“What?” When you lift an incredulous stare to Alastor’s face, he shrugs as he retreats to pick up his own abandoned mug of coffee. “I can respect that people have different tastes, even if they are those of a heathen.”
“Well - thanks. For the coffee, not the insult,” you say grudgingly as you take your coffee and swallow a sip; if it’s poisoned, you at least have enough constitution from your father’s genetics to survive it. “I’m fully booked through until three,” you add to Charlie. “But after that, I’m all yours.”
She hesitates. “Actually, about that - I called Liv this morning before I came down.”
Your heart sinks. “Oh, Charlie, you didn’t.”
“She agrees you’ve been running yourself ragged!” Charlie protests hurriedly. “She couldn’t move the Overlord meeting you’re shadowing at two, but she said she could push everything else for today and tomorrow out by a few months.”
“A few months?” You gape at her incredulously, keenly aware of how Alastor is not even trying to pretend he isn’t listening in as he nonchalantly wanders around the kitchen in your peripheral vision, his deer-like ears obviously swiveled in your direction. “Those meetings took years to schedule! I can’t just move them around!”
“You need time to sleep.” Charlie crosses her arms stubbornly. “Maybe Mom could handle the kind of schedule you’ve been running on lately-”
“-but I’m not her, so I can’t?” you finish wryly for her, abandoning your mug and getting to your feet again. “Thanks, that’s just what I needed to hear.”
“That’s not it!” Her eyes widen in horror at how badly she’s hurt your feelings. “I didn’t mean-!”
“It’s fine, it’s nothing I don’t already know.” You wave her off as you head for the door. “I’m gonna go crash for a couple of hours since I apparently have the morning off.”
You don’t get further than the parlor before Alastor chooses to stop you in your tracks - evidently his favorite pastime - by materializing out of the shadows in front of you.
“She meant well.”
“Sure.” You shoulder past him, not bothering to stop your shoulder from impacting his, but to your dismay, he doesn’t even react.
“You are exhausted,” he adds deliberately just to rub salt into the wound, the smug bastard.
“And why do you care?” you snipe back over your shoulder.
“Oh, I don’t. You could keel over from self-inflicted burnout right now for all I mind.” Alastor shrugs one shoulder casually, conceding your point. “But seeing as the damage to your precious schedule is already done, I wouldn’t take it out on your well-intentioned younger sister if I were you.”
You sigh heavily in surrender as you wheel around to face him properly.
“Will you tell her I’m sorry?”
“Oh, I think you can handle your own abject groveling, Princess.” Alastor has the gall to smile back at you sweetly. “Now go upstairs, get some long-overdue rest, and I will see your bright, shiny face at the Overlord meeting this afternoon!”
“I can’t even escape you there?” you complain wearily.
“I’m afraid not.” Alastor’s smile only widens despite his mock-sorrowful tone. “As you already know, I have been absent from Overlord gatherings for seven years now. I would be remiss to avoid any more of them, lest my peers forget my existence.”
“Whatever, just don’t interact with me while we’re there.” You head for the staircase, and to your relief, Alastor doesn’t try to trip you up again.
When you get to your room, you barely have enough energy to change back into your pajamas before you crash onto your bed. You tap your phone to set an alarm for three hours and are out like a light in seconds once you set the phone on your nightstand.
When you wake, your room is pitch-dark.
“Oh, fuck.” You instinctively reach for your phone and find it no longer on your nightstand. “Oh, fuck!”
You scramble out of bed - despite the likely late hour, you pray someone is awake and will let you borrow their phone to try and ring your missing one - but the moment you yank open the door, you are promptly greeted with your phone shoved into your face.
“Please take your infernal brick back,” Alastor says mildly through gritted teeth. “It has been beeping unpleasantly all evening.”
“What the hell were you doing with my phone?” you demand as you snatch it back and check the time first - ten PM, you’ve wasted the entire day in bed, you were so stupid to take Charlie’s suggestion and rest - before swiping your screen to acknowledge all of your unread alerts for a later time. “And why didn’t you wake me in time for the Overlord meeting?”
“Well, Olivia couldn’t officially remove the meeting from your schedule.” Alastor unapologetically barges straight past you into your room without waiting for an invitation like the rude bastard that he is. “So I took it upon myself to unofficially remove it by removing your alarm from your periphery altogether.”
“You had no right!” you fume as you shut your door behind you, wheeling around to face him. “Now everyone’s going to think I’m either dead or something’s wrong with me! I haven’t missed one of those meetings in half a century!”
“Well, there’s always a first for everything, my lovely shrew of a princess,” Alastor says cheerfully.
“I am ignoring that,” you say thinly, “because I am concentrating on not wringing your neck instead.”
“Oh, you are more than welcome to try.” Alastor’s grin borders on dangerously wide now, the static thickening in his voice at the registered threat. “But I think we both know how heartbroken poor Charlie would be if she heard that her two favorite people in the world weren’t getting along.”
“Pretty sure you don’t even make her top five,” you point out dryly even as your anger ebbs slightly; Alastor’s overinflated sense of self-importance aside, he’s right that seeing you both fight would upset Charlie terribly.
“I naturally tie for first along with everyone else she has ever met in her life,” Alastor dismisses - damn it, he’s not wrong there, either - before promptly perking up as if he’s suddenly remembered something. “Silly me, I’d completely forgotten!” He reaches into an inner pocket of his crimson coat and pulls out a folded piece of paper, handing it to you. “Here.”
You open the paper, your heart suddenly sticking in your throat when you realize what he’s given you; it’s covered in childish doodles and drawings that you do not want to believe came from the sinner in front of you, but beneath that is an unmistakably detailed account of the meeting you had missed. He had even written down exactly who had all been in attendance and who had spoken when.
You lift your gaze from the paragraph describing the verbal battle Carmilla Carmine and Velvette had gotten into in the middle of the meeting, stunned.
“You took notes for me?”
“I, er-” Alastor looks suddenly discomfited by how shaken you are, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I’m not used to taking such detailed minutes, but since Charlie and I upended your plans so drastically today, I thought I would make it up to-”
“Thank you!” You fling your arms around him impulsively, and he freezes abruptly.
“Ah.” His tone curls with disdain. “The unnecessary urge to embrace people runs in the family, I see. You are freezing, by the way, did you know?”
That’s right; you had removed your gloves earlier, so now they aren’t there to dull the permanent chill of your hands. Horrified at yourself, you quickly release Alastor and stumble backward several steps while trying desperately not to think about how blissfully warm he had been against you.
“Sorry,” you croak feebly. “I don’t usually, that’s just a Charlie thing. And yeah, I’m always cold - that’s why I wear my gloves. Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Well-” Alastor straightens his coat out, not quite looking at you and instead at your hands. Self-consciously, you wish you had pockets to tuck your blackened fingertips into, but your pajama pants are unfortunately pocket-free; damn the women’s clothing industry. “No harm done, I suppose.”
With that, he unceremoniously vanishes, melting into the shadows that line your walls, and you reluctantly pick up the sheet of notes you had accidentally dropped in your rush to hug him - God, what were you thinking in hugging a man who’s never shown anything but contempt for you until tonight? - as you draw your phone back out from your pocket; you have a million fires to put out from your inadvertent absence at the Overlord meeting.
The downside of having frittered the entire day away in bed means you are awake at an ungodly hour - then again, most hours in Hell are ungodly, that’s the whole point, after all - with nothing to do until your next workday starts, so you find yourself in the kitchen before anyone else for the first time at five in the morning, your gloves abandoned on one side of the counter as you mix pastry dough with a wooden spoon.
“What are you doing?” Alastor says from the doorway, bewildered.
“Do you ever sleep?” you demand in return over your shoulder, and he shrugs.
“When the inclination strikes me.” He wanders closer to peer over your shoulder. “What are you making?”
“Kolaches,” you supply.
“Gesundheit,” Alastor answers dryly.
You point your wooden spoon at him in warning and he subsides with his hands raised in surrender.
“Yes, alright, I admit I don’t know what those are.”
“Kolaches are brioche pastries with sweetened cream cheese inside,” you clarify. “Kind of like a Danish, but not laminated.”
“I didn’t know you could cook.” Alastor gives you a strange look like he’s trying to see something in your face you’re not aware of, and you shrug as you turn back to the dough you’re mixing.
“I normally don’t have the time these days, but I was usually the one cooking when it was just me and my dad.”
“Hmm.” Alastor is still eyeing you skeptically when you cast a sideways glance at him.
“What?”
“I assumed as royalty, you would have had servants at your disposal,” he points out.
“We did.” You turn the dough out onto the counter to begin kneading it into a shaggy mass. “But I think my dad liked my cooking better than that of the imps we employed. He’s not much of a cook, but he likes baking, so he taught me this recipe and a few others after Mom left and took Charlie with her.”
“I always thought you were closer to your mother,” Alastor muses as he watches you work, leaning back casually against the nearest countertop with his spindly arms crossed over his chest. “You seemed as though you were during the few meetings I attended with both of you present.”
“Not really.” You flip the dough to a drier spot to continue kneading it until it’s pliable beneath your hands. “She always said I took more after my dad than her, especially when it comes to lack of interest in politics. At least Charlie got that from her, even if she’s more focused on the long-term future and not the day-to-day stuff.”
You’re completely unaware of what you’d just let slip until you realize Alastor has fallen ominously still, his gaze trained intently on you.
“What?” you ask defensively.
“You aren’t interested in politics?” he says slowly. “You? But you may as well be the queen these days.”
“I’m only stepping in temporarily,” you clarify. “And that’s only because no one knows where my mom is these days.”
“The assumption across all of Hell was that you would take over for Lilith eventually,” Alastor dismisses. “Never mind whether that’s now or in the future. What do you mean, you’re not interested in politics? You might as well say you never chose this career!”
“I didn’t.” You cover the kolache dough with a cloth to let it rest. “But I’m the eldest, so it naturally fell to me.” Ignoring the way Alastor is still intently staring at the side of your head as if you’re a puzzle to solve, you wash the flour off your hands in the kitchen sink and then stretch your arms over your head. “While that’s resting, I can start on my next project.”
“The point of Charlie getting you time off was to give you some much-needed respite,” Alastor points out dryly. “What sort of project requires you to work now?”
“It’s more of a surprise for Charlie than anything, and it’s not much work.” You head out of the kitchen and are unsurprised when Alastor follows behind you, his interest clearly piqued. “She used to love when I did this for her growing up.”
“Did what?” Alastor demands exasperatedly as the two of you make your way to the front of the hotel. “I realize you’re enjoying leaving me in the lurch for once, Princess, but this is beginning to get rather irksome.”
“You know that old saying about Hell freezing over?” you press, and he nods bemusedly. “Well, it had to come from somewhere.”
You summon a rarely used strand of ice magic from your frozen core, balancing the bluish-white ball of light carefully between your blackened fingertips before tossing it into the air and watching it dart up into the maroon atmospheric layer.
“Localized snowfall,” you explain as you watch Alastor’s head tilt up curiously toward the cover of grayish clouds that gather exclusively over the Hazbin Hotel. “Should start flurrying over this spot within the hour and wrap up by afternoon, though I have a feeling the rest of the city might feel a residual cold snap for a while after.”
“You’re making it snow over this singular building?” Alastor clarifies slowly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think his tone was bordering on impressed as you nod to confirm it. “How?”
“I could get into the specifics of concentrating a weather pattern to a small location,” you muse. “But I have a feeling you wouldn’t care if I started rambling about the science behind it. Anyway, ice magic’s been my specialty since I was a kid.”
As the first snowflakes begin drifting down, you catch one in your numb palm and let it linger there, unmelting and perfectly intact in your grasp.
“Told you I’m always cold,” you add when you catch Alastor staring, his smile still frozen - ha, who says you don’t have a sense of humor? Okay, maybe a lot of people say that - on his face as you let the snowflake fall to the ground where it melts on contact.
“Your hands are frost-bitten,” he says faintly at last as if he had only just pieced that together.
“Did you think they were dyed for decoration?” you ask bemusedly as you brush off the last of the frost left behind by the snowflake that had landed in your palm.
Alastor’s hands twitch abruptly at his sides before he visibly forces them still again, and you open your mouth to instinctively press what’s wrong when-
“You made it snow!” Charlie abruptly tackles you from behind, knocking you askew before promptly whirling you around to yank you into a tight embrace. “You haven’t done that in years!”
“I know,” you say weakly, too startled to try and sound casual about it. “I figured since you were only trying to help yesterday, I’d just - I don’t know, make it snow for you.”
“Aww!” She squeezes you affectionately. “That’s so sweet of you!”
“Holy shit, it’s snowing!” Angel Dust gasps from the doorway, sounding more genuinely delighted than you think you’ve ever heard him. “I haven’t seen snow since I was alive!”
“Is that why the fuck it’s so cold out here?” Husk grumbles behind him, his amber eyes squinted at the snowflakes drifting from the sky.
“Now, now, Husker!” Alastor seems to have jolted out of whatever odd reverie the revelation of your hands had caused. “Is that any way to thank the Crown Princess for the lovely gift she’s given us this fine morning?”
“Yeah, yeah, call me when it warms back up.” Husk retreats indoors quickly even as Charlie squeezes your shoulders gently.
“Well, I love it,” she says fervently. “Just as much as I love you, sis.”
“Love you, too, kiddo.” You’re about to make your excuses and squirm away - you’re not wearing your gloves, after all, and if Charlie brushes against your bare skin, she’ll flinch away - but then you catch Alastor’s raised eyebrow behind her.
Runs in the family, he mouths exaggeratedly and it’s all you can do not to brandish a middle finger at him when you realize what he means.
Instead, you flick a spark of ice magic at the ground near him and he promptly loses his footing on the icy patch that forms beneath his feet, his arms pinwheeling inelegantly to steady himself again as his permanent smile slips briefly in his alarm. You snicker at having successfully caught him off-guard, and Charlie catches sight of what has transpired as she releases her hold on you with a disappointed sigh.
“Can you two get along for five minutes?”
“No,” you answer sweetly.
“It’s quite alright, Charlie, no harm done!” Alastor has unfortunately regained his balance and composure by side-stepping the icy patch altogether, to your disappointment. “It’s all in good fun, after all.”
Still, the way his eyes narrow back at you over his fixed smile tells you that you are far from in the clear.
You don’t think you can remember the last time you had curled up in bed with a book - likely long before you had begun to shadow your mother for the role you would eventually take over - but that’s what you are doing now, settled comfortably under the covers for the first time in many years while savoring the last bit of true freedom you have before the inevitable grind of work picks up again in the morning.
At least, that’s what you were doing until a sharp knock on your door interrupts you.
You get to your feet, setting your book aside on your nightstand and removing your glasses - it’s mortifying that you even need those, you’re not even human, after all - before heading for the door. Your mood abruptly sours even further when you find Alastor waiting on the other side of the door.
“What do you want?”
“What did you do to me?” he demands, and your eyebrows arch high on your forehead.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Alastor pushes past you and into your room as you shut the door slowly behind him, too nonplussed to bar his entry. “You did something to me when you put your hands on me last night.”
“I did?” you say bemusedly.
“Oh, don’t play stupid, my dear, it doesn’t suit you.” His smile is dangerously frozen in a rictus on his face. “I abhor being touched by anyone.”
“Oh, shit.” You feel the blood drain out of your face. “I’m sorry, I had no idea-”
“But,” Alastor interrupts you impatiently, “it didn’t feel like my skin was crawling when you touched me.”
You blink, taken aback.
“So…it wasn’t bad?”
“No, it’s terrible,” Alastor irritably corrects you, which only adds to your growing confusion. “Because not only do I not hate your touch, but now I crave more of it, so I ask again - what did you do to me?”
“Nothing!” you insist.
“Do not-” Alastor steps forward, crowding you against the wall. “-play stupid-” He leans in until your nose barely brushes his, his smile widening to the point where you’re positive it must be hurting his face as his eyes darken, his irises shifting into crimson radio dials within the black sclera. “-with me.”
“Did you ever consider,” you point out tetchily, “that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t do anything and you might’ve just liked it?”
Alastor’s façade finally falters, his smile slipping at the edges as red bleeds back into his eyes quickly, and you realize suddenly that he hadn’t considered that as a possibility.
“Are you serious?” You gape at him incredulously. “You really thought I put some kind of weird curse on you or something?”
“You did try to break my neck earlier,” he grouses half-heartedly, not quite meeting your eyes now as he shuffles back a few steps and crosses his arms stiffly over his chest as if barricading himself from you. “I assumed this was yet another ploy to lure me closer and kill me.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I was just messing around with the ice,” you groan good-naturedly. “I wasn’t actually going to let you get hurt.”
“But-” Alastor is clearly floundering now, entirely thrown off by your lack of ill motive. “But you can’t stand me. You want me dead.”
“In what imaginary world are you living in where I ever said that?” you demand wearily. “Yes, you’re annoying, but I don’t want you dead.” You hesitate. “Do you, um - want another hug?”
“...perhaps.” Alastor deliberately keeps his eyes averted, his shoulders taut with tension.
“It was a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question,” you insist, and he exhales heavily through his nose.
“Is this situation not demeaning enough as is? Must you ask me to beg for it?”
“You’re more than welcome to remain hug-less if you’re not going to be clear on what you want,” you point out irritably.
“Shrew,” Alastor accuses.
“Yes, deer?” you deadpan before you can quite stop yourself, and he closes his eyes long-sufferingly when he registers your feeble attempt at humor. “Sorry,” you add more sincerely. “It just slipped out.”
“No, no, I suppose anyone with a baser sense of comedy might have found that oddly hilarious,” Alastor sighs. “Will you please embrace me again?”
You step in closer readily, sliding your arms gingerly around his middle, and after a beat, the tension bleeds out of his muscles as he sinks into your hold, his sharp chin nestling into your hair.
“Is this okay?” you press.
“Yes.” Alastor’s voice is little more than a static-colored sigh against the top of your head - you don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound quite so contented - and you marginally relax, too. “You really are frigid,” he adds wonderingly after a beat. “Do you not have any body heat of your own?”
“Not really.” You squirm back guiltily until you’re a safe few feet away again. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t say I disliked it.” Alastor begins to lift his hands and then promptly drops them, seemingly rethinking whatever he’d meant to do.
“What?” you demand defensively.
“Your hands,” he says grudgingly. “Give them here.”
Bewildered, you hold out your hands and watch as he clasps them tightly between both of his own. The shock of almost overwhelming heat is startling, but welcome against your frozen palms, and you realize suddenly that no one has touched your bare skin in many, many years. Even Charlie and your father have always been careful about how they embrace you to avoid brushing against your skin, and your mother, well - you don’t think she’s touched you since you were old enough to self-soothe.
“Fascinating,” Alastor muses, drawing you back to the present. “Your touch doesn’t bother me one iota. I experimented, you know - Husker was quite disturbed when I asked him to hold my hand for a moment earlier today. It made me want to flay my own skin off.”
You wrinkle your nose at the mental image.
“I think I’m flattered?”
“Yes, you ought to be.” Alastor squeezes your hands between both of his, and another pulse of warmth settles briefly into your permanently numb fingers. “My running theory so far is that I run warm enough as it is without others’ touch adding to it, so the cold of your hands is less grating and far more pleasant.”
Your track record says that your icy skin lends itself to the other way around, but your throat suddenly feels too tight for you to say so. The longer you remain quiet, your voice painfully caught somewhere between the hollow of your throat and your tongue, Alastor’s eyebrows begin to furrow slightly.
“I’ve upset you.”
“No.” Your voice comes out croaky and weak, and you shake your head quickly to try and pull yourself together, failing miserably as your eyes sting sharply at the corners. “No, I’m okay.”
“I give you one compliment and you dissolve into tears,” Alastor notes, his tone mild and amused despite how his smile remains taut at the corners with alarm. “Whatever am I to do with you, my lovely shrew?”
You hiccup a watery laugh despite yourself before impulsively standing on your toes to kiss him, your hands sliding out of his grasp to cup his face carefully. He falls still against you, frozen with surprise, and you immediately realize the line you’ve crossed as you jolt back like you’ve been electrically shocked by a live wire; what is wrong with you? The first guy to sincerely compliment you in centuries, and you instantly make an idiot out of yourself?
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, I just - I am so sorry-”
“Hush, shrew.” Alastor’s palm plasters over your mouth abruptly and you make an indignant muffled noise against it, half-tempted to lick his palm in childish protest before you catch sight of his contemplative expression. “In all your ramblings, did you hear anything from me that suggested I didn’t care for that?”
You blink bemusedly back at him, startled, and taking your silence as a sign that you won’t accost him further with apologies, he withdraws his hand again, pressing his fingertips thoughtfully against his mouth as his gaze briefly turns inward and distant.
“Interesting,” he murmurs partly to himself before his crimson eyes dart back up to your face as he seems to come to a decision. “Do it again.”
“Huh?” you say weakly, sounding far too disoriented for your liking.
“That.” Alastor gestures impatiently between himself and you. “What you just did. Again, if you please.”
This time, when you step back in to kiss him tentatively, his arms wind around your waist to pull you closer as yours slide around his neck.
If someone had told you even a day earlier that you’d be settled in the Radio Demon’s lap and kissing him senseless as he reclines comfortably against the pillows of your bed, you think you’d have laughed in their face. You’re not quite sure how you’d gotten here yourself - okay, no, that’s a lie, you were the one who’d kissed him first, after all - but it is still a little strange to have him melting into your cold touch and humming against your mouth and - wait, is he humming You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile right into your mouth while he’s kissing you?
“Are you seriously humming a tune in the middle of making out with me?” you demand incredulously as you pull back.
Alastor blinks back at you slowly like Charlie’s pet cat KeeKee often does when she’s confused by something.
“Is that why you’ve stopped? I can be silent if you like.”
“No, it’s fine, I’m pretty sure you’re allergic to being quiet,” you make a show of sighing long-sufferingly.
“Well, then, if we’ve established it isn’t a problem-” Alastor nudges your face back down to his and you can’t help but smile against his upturned lips when they meet again.
To his credit, he does stop humming, though you find that you strangely miss the soothing vibration rumbling in his chest pressed against your own as his lips glide lazily over yours. Experimentally, you roll your hips slowly as you shift against him, and his hands instantly drop to your waist to still you.
“No?” you breathe against his mouth.
“No.” His sharp teeth graze your lower lip, not quite hard enough to puncture, but enough that you recognize the warning for what it is.
“Okay.” You immediately lean backward, and Alastor’s eyebrows furrow slightly.
“Why did you stop again?”
“You said ‘no,’” you point out bemusedly. “That’s usually a cue to stop.”
“I said ‘no’ to anything else.” He ducks back in to kiss you firmly. “I never said ‘no’ to this. And I’m open to exploring other avenues on another night.” His smile softens a little as he pulls back again. “But consider me pleasantly surprised that you value my consent so highly.”
“There are going to be other nights?” Your whirling brain fixates on that specific part; you can address just how worrying it is that Alastor seems to have thought you wouldn’t take a lack of consent seriously at a later point.
“Do you not want there to be?” Alastor’s eyebrows knit together more tightly, his smile suddenly fixing into a rictus of discomfort. “I shouldn’t have assumed-”
“No, no, I’m not saying I don’t,” you interrupt hurriedly before he can take too deep a dive down that particular rabbit hole. “But you can’t blame me for being a little skeptical when one, you were literally accusing me of trying to kill you less than an hour ago, and two, we haven’t even established ground rules for whatever this is.” You gesture vaguely between the two of you.
“Ah.” Alastor’s expression relaxes marginally. “Yes, I suppose a conversation like that is due right about now.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Do we both decide these ground rules?”
“That’s usually how these things go,” you affirm.
Alastor shrugs nonchalantly, not quite meeting your eyes as he says forcibly casually, “I wouldn’t know. In case you haven’t pieced it together, this is something I am woefully inexperienced with.”
“That’s okay.” You shuffle back in closer to press your lips tentatively to the bridge of his nose and marvel at how it makes his smile ease at the corners naturally. “We can take it as slow as you want. Speaking of which, first ground rule - if I’m ever going too fast for you, let me know.”
“Fair enough.” Alastor nudges your chin up with one knuckle so that he can brush another kiss against your lips. “There may be days where I might not tolerate even your touch. Please respect my wishes if I ask you not to place your hands on me for any reason.”
“I can do that,” you agree before adding, “This stays in this room.”
“I take that to mean no discussing or doing anything in relation beyond these walls?” Alastor clarifies.
“Preferably,” you confirm, and he nods after a beat.
“Understandable. What else?”
“Um-” You have to think for a moment before it comes to you. “No obligations.”
“Meaning?” Alastor’s eyebrows begin to knit together again.
“You’re not obligated to come here every night if you don’t want to,” you point out. “I don’t want to force you into anything you don’t want.”
“I am rarely in the habit of doing things I don’t want to,” Alastor says dryly. “But the sentiment is kind of you.” He brushes a loose lock of hair behind your ear for you. “That goes both ways, so you know - you aren’t obligated to indulge me on any night you don’t care to. If you want me to leave at any point, just say the word.”
“Okay.” You chew your lip thoughtfully. “I can’t think of anything else.”
“Nor can I.” Alastor extends a hand out between both of you as the shadows on the walls begin to lengthen ominously, the dim lamp on your nightstand flickering. “So it’s a deal, then?”
“Why are we making a formal deal over this?” you ask, startled, and the shadows immediately freeze in place; you swear some of them are looking at each other in confusion.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Alastor sounds equally nonplussed.
“I mean, that kind of locks us in and we just talked about no obligations,” you point out bemusedly.
“I suppose that makes sense.” Alastor looks down at his own hand as if he hadn’t considered that point, slowly withdrawing it again and hesitating briefly as if unsure where to place it before settling for carefully curling his fingers around your waist. “Let’s call it an informal agreement, then.”
“Sure,” you say amusedly. “Whatever you want.”
“What I want,” Alastor complains good-naturedly, “is your mouth on mine again if we’re quite finished with all this tedious rule-setting and we’re not bothering with a proper deal.”
“Ask me a little more nicely and I might consider it,” you tease.
Alastor rolls his eyes, but amends readily, “Please kiss me, you ridiculous shrew.”
Grinning, you shuffle closer in his lap and obediently seal your lips over his again.