Work Text:
Is your mate waiting for you on another plane of existence?
Anthony felt the corner of his mouth pulling back with skepticism as he looked at the back of the book’s dust cover, all dark colors and “spooky” text with overdone and flowery romantic phrasing that made promises of happiness shit like this was never capable of keeping. And it wasn’t like Anthony expected it to; he might have been a dummy, but he could be realistic, and he knew that there was no quick and simple way to find a good Alpha.
500 summoning rituals for conjuring up your perfect Alpha.
He scoffed quietly to himself as he flipped open the book and started thumbing through the pages. The illustrations were pretty enough, not overly graphic but definitely suggestive, and most of the rituals looked more like basic affirmations you yelled at a candle in your room than anything that would actually manifest a mate. And that was just putting aside the fact that summoning things from other planes of existence (demons, angels, any of the like) was surprisingly difficult. It was a thing people did, of course; you could walk down basically any street during a busy time of day and see at least one person with their infernal or divine contract fluttering around them, and he’d made a little game out of determining whether it was the human or their contract who was really in charge of that relationship.
He flipped back to the book’s intro, skipped a few paragraphs, and read: In matters of the dynamics between the Alpha and the Omega, little changes whether between two humans, two demons, two angels, or any combination. The concept of the Divine Mate embraces the idea that each of us has a perfect other half waiting out there for us, and who’s to say that your other half isn’t in Heaven or Hell?
Anthony rolled his eyes, snapping the book closed. This thing just felt like it was written by a grifter eager to take advantage of desperate Omegas who didn’t want to be alone anymore, a tiny but nonetheless real demographic that had somehow managed to remain unmated for so long that they were seen as undesirable by most of society. Anthony wasn’t desperate.
…well. He wasn’t exactly desperate. He had no shortage of men vying for his attention and company, approaching him in coffee shops or after class, sending him unsolicited messages on social media asking him if he was wet or in heat or just opening with a picture of their knot. And that was the problem, in a nutshell. The Alphas that approached Anthony… he didn’t want them. They weren’t all gross, predatory perverts, of course, but by and large it was only the gross, predatory perverts sending messages without warning online and trying to corner Omegas in the park “just to talk”. While there were still definitely some really great guys out there, Anthony was pretty sure he just wasn’t their type. They saw him with his cropped shirts and little shorts, his long socks and heeled boots and “yeah I slept in my club makeup” face, and they rightly identified him as the trash fire he was and steered clear of him. It wasn’t like he felt entitled to their attention either, of course, but he couldn’t help feeling annoyed that they just assumed he was a vapid shell of a person simply because he looked hot. (They usually said something about him looking like a slut, but he was well aware that was code for “you’re sexy and it pisses me off”.)
He moved to put the book back, telling himself that he just needed to get out more and he would meet more Alphas that weren’t complete judgmental assholes. And he was still young, only twenty-two; it wasn’t like he needed to get mated right now or he would never have kids or something.
Anthony left the store ten minutes later with the book in his hand and the receipt shoved between the pages as a future bookmark, grumbling under his breath at himself. He was inclined to blame Cherri for this, because she was the one who’d said something about a documentary she’d seen about a whole cult of people who summoned demons and mated with them. He was pretty sure she was lying about the part where they had a lot of half-demon spawn running around, but it had been hard to put the rest of it out of his mind.
His apartment was quiet as he shut the door behind him, locked it, and tossed his keys onto the table. A rapidly approaching series of squeals and snorts heralded Fat Nuggets bounding into the room and straight at Anthony with an enthusiasm that said “I haven’t seen you in seventy years,” and Anthony smiled, dropping to a crouch and opening his arms to the piglet. “Hi, baby~” he trilled, catching the little pig and cradling him as he stood again. “Aww, look at you, so hungry! It’s like you ain’t never had food in your whole life!” he said sympathetically, and Fat Nuggets wiggled and snorted in agreement at his obvious mistreatment.
Shaking his head with a laugh, Anthony carried him into the kitchen and then set him down, preparing his dinner. Once the food bowl was on the floor and Fat Nuggets was dutifully both eating and scooting it all over the place along the kitchen tile, Anthony started making his own dinner, pulling out the book to look through it more thoroughly as he worked. Just as he had thought, it was mostly affirmations, and he encountered at least fifteen instances of the same “I am beautiful, I am valid, I am worthy of love” spiel said over different objects with different numbers of candles and different kinds of herbs. He supposed it was difficult to stretch it out into 500 rituals, but still, this felt a little excessive.
He was halfway through eating dinner and ignoring one of his favorite movies when he got to the back of the book and saw that someone had written something on one of the flyleaves. It looked like another ritual, or at the very least it was styled the same, but this one was… odd. It had some pretty complicated steps, some very specific materials it demanded, and it even needed to be completed precisely at a certain time of day to work. That sounded legit, if nothing else, compared to most everything else he’d seen in the book. Curiously, he looked at the top of the page, reading the title of the ritual.
TO SUMMON THE OMEGA-EATER
Anthony’s eyebrow went up at that, and though he searched the rest of the book, he didn’t see anything else that gave any kind of clue what the fuck that might have meant. It was definitely, one hundred percent, not something he wanted to screw around with. On the other hand: kinky. So he was understandably torn.
After he cleaned up from dinner and put Fat Nuggets on his leash for a walk, he headed out with the book in hand. This wasn’t a good idea, but he knew himself well enough that he was going to keep thinking about it until he talked himself into it, so why waste time? There was an occult shop in the neighborhood, a place that never minded when he brought his baby in and always had the best dried herbs and essential oils that he used mostly for his own baths. After about fifteen minutes, he walked out again with a bag of everything the ritual said he was going to need, including a pack of tarot cards, a set of runestones, a collection of different rocks and crystals, a ritual knife, some herbs, some candles, and a box of nag champa incense. “Look, Nuggs, I’m becomin’ a regular magic-caster.” His pig just stared at him with a boundless depth of inability to understand what he was talking about.
That night, he made sure to put Fat Nuggets to bed before he shut him in his bedroom and went to his office. There, Anthony hesitated, looking around; was it tasteless to try and summon a demon on his cam show set? It wasn’t like he’d be filming or streaming anything, and surely a demon had seen more sex stuff than Anthony could even dream of, right? Right. He spent the next hour pushing everything to the walls, making as much space in the center of the room as he could and putting away his more valuable electronics so that nothing terrible would happen to them should this go horribly wrong. He sent Cherri a casual text to ask her to come over the following evening, figuring that if this went fine he could tell her all about it and if it went terribly she would be able to take Fat Nuggets home with her and call someone to pick up his body or some shit, then put his phone away and started making the arrangements for the ritual.
It was all very precise from the objects he needed to the placement of each one to even the order that he put them down, and he made sure to read all of the instructions thoroughly as he waited for the proper time to start. Put down the right tarot cards here, the right runestones there, make sure the circle of crystals around the outside is in the right order and the right size, make sure the candles weren’t going to go out after they were lit…
It’s now or never. Better start.
As Anthony read aloud from the book, lighting the candles and the incense, flipping over the cards at the right time and lighting the herbs on fire with the proper colored candle, he thought it seemed to be getting steadily darker in the room. As he continued, he had to move the book closer and closer to one of the larger candles because he was not imagining it and it was getting darker, but now it would be far too dangerous for him to stop.
So he didn’t.
Anthony finished the last sentence of the ritual at the same moment that his phone let out a soft beep, indicating that it had just turned over to midnight. For one long, breathless moment, nothing happened and Anthony wondered if he’d fucked up or if the ritual was just something someone had made up to troll anyone who bought the book. As he was preparing to start packing everything up, he heard a distinctly mechanical click coming from somewhere, followed by the staticky sounds of an old radio coming to life.
“...but don’t you worry, my little chickadees, the Radio Demon will always be here to soothe your poor, tortured afterlife with the greatest jazz hits of yesterday, today, and tomorrow!” a voice announced over some big band music and, distantly, the sounds of people screaming and wailing in horror and pain. “So pour yourself a finger of rye, kick back, and indulge, because as we always say here at the station: you can’t outrun the shadows, so you might as well not even try!”
“...what the fuck…?” Anthony whispered, looking around. The next moment, the candles flickered, and he saw that the shadows were flickering along with them. They then started to coalesce, swirling together on the floor before they melted into a single form that began growing up the wall. As Anthony watched in fascinated horror, the shadow took on the shape of something that was somewhat like a man, but crooked and spindly with sharp angles in all the wrong places. The shadow bore bright, glowing red eyes and a twisted and wicked sort of grin, and as it grew up Anthony’s wall, he saw that it had two deer-like antlers that began to grow and twist together like thorny brambles.
“Well, well, well!” that same radio voice said, but it seemed louder somehow, and Anthony still couldn’t tell where it was coming from. “It looks like we have a new caller on the line, and what a call it is, all the way from the world of the humans! Don’t they know that they shouldn’t be playing around with things they don’t understand?” The voice laughed, and so did a canned studio audience.
Anthony looked around again, but he quickly looked back at the shadow, not eager to take his eyes off of it for too long. “What’s the matter, big guy, you ain’t got a request line or nothin’?”
“Requests?” the voice asked, and Anthony didn’t know if it sounded curious, offended, or amused. Maybe all three. “How intriguing! A little human, and an Omega at that, calling the Radio Demon with a request! Why, my dear listeners, I don’t think this human understands what the Omega Eater is or what he does. How foolish!”
Any fear Anthony was still feeling was quite suddenly eclipsed by irritation and he shoved himself to his feet. “Oi, buddy, I know what the words mean together, I ain’t an idiot. Now, you gonna actually talk to me since I’m the one that called you, or you gonna keep bein’ rude as fuck?”
A record scratched at a volume so loud that Anthony actually had to cover his ears with his hands for a second as it seemed to reverberate in his back teeth. “Rude?” the voice asked. “Oh, do forgive me. I would absolutely hate to be discourteous to my host.”
Anthony wasn’t sure he appreciated the sarcasm, but at least the guy was speaking directly to him now. “Yeah you would,” he said. “Now, d’you got a real body there, pal? Or am I just gonna be talkin’ to your cute lil’ shadow guy on the wall here?”
“Why, my dear, of course I have a body! But somehow I don’t think– wait. What did you say?”
Anthony blinked. “...what did I say when?”
“Did you just… did you just call my shadow cute??”
“Oh. Yeah?” Anthony folded his arms, frowning. “I mean, it is cute, look at that lil’ smile he’s got.”
Oddly, the shadow actually seemed to grow bashful at that, ducking its head and raising its hand to flatten a pair of animal-like ears against its head. “My shadow is not. Cute,” the voice snapped. “It is an eldritch creature of the Void whose purpose is– will you stop that, please?” The moment the voice addressed the shadow, it stopped holding its ears, but it didn’t fully straighten up again. “Thank you. Now look what you did, human, you’ve made my shadow begin to behave uncharacteristically.”
Anthony snorted, his lips quirking despite himself. “Your shadow has a mind of his own?”
“It. Its own,” the voice corrected.
“Uh-huh, sure.” Anthony crossed to the wall near the shadow, watching him recoil somewhat. “Hey, no, it’s cool, buddy,” he said, reaching up his hand to tap his nails against the wall near it. “I just wanted to say hi to you, since the Big Scary Radio Voice is being just so mean.”
The shadow’s grin returned and he reached out to touch his own tenebrous fingers to Anthony’s. It was very cold, and he squeaked, giggling the next second. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the voice said, layered with heavy irritation. The next moment, the shadow seemed to be sucked away to the center of the room, and Anthony watched as a form manifested in the middle of the ritual circle he had made. He was surprisingly human (or human-adjacent, anyway) and very red, from his hair to his coat to his ears and monocle. He was also extremely tall, his antlers threatening to scrape the ceiling of his office. Easily, his smile was the most disconcerting part of his appearance, far too wide and full of yellow teeth that looked like they were probably as sharp as razors. He tapped a cane that looked like it was topped with an old-timey microphone on the floor in front of him, folding black hands with long and sharp red claws on top of it.
“Whoa,” Anthony breathed, staring at him. “You’re the… uh… Omega Eater, huh?”
“So I have been called by many!” the demon said cheerfully, and Anthony realized that whatever that radio filter sound was, it was just part of his voice.
“Huh. Kinky.”
The demon squinted at him and tilted his head, radio static pitching up almost like the static itself was confused. “...but I suppose, given the circumstances, you may call me Alastor. Now, what is it that you want, human?”
“First of all, it’s Anthony,” he said, holding his finger out and pointing at Alastor. “You keep callin’ me ‘human’ and I ain’t callin’ you nothin’ but ‘demon’, you got me?”
Alastor snapped his teeth and Anthony yanked his hand back, even though the distance between them really was too great for Alastor to do any damage. The demon snickered anyway. “Aren’t we brave, threatening a demon so? Very well. Anthony. What do you want?”
For a moment, Anthony wasn’t exactly sure how to respond. After all, there were two answers, and neither of them were exactly good; first, he’d wanted to see if he could, and second, he’d figured that if he was going to summon an Alpha from Hell, one called the “Omega Eater” was definitely intriguing enough to catch his attention. Finally, he said, “Look, if you’re the Omega Eater, that means you got Alphas and all that shit in Hell, right?” Alastor squinted at him, nodding once. “Well, I’m an Omega who’s found myself with, uh, shall we say a lotta unwanted attention here lately, and since regular threats ain’t doin’ nothin’ to dissuade ‘em, I thought maybe if I had a demon around to rip a couple’a throats out they’d get the picture.”
Alastor stared at him. “…you want… Are you telling me you want a bodyguard?”
“Sure, if you gotta put a name on it,” Anthony said. It was out in the open, he might as well commit. “Just long enough to get the point across that I ain’t some easy pull.”
Alastor started laughing. That wasn’t a good sign. “Oh, my dear, dear boy, what in the world gave you the impression that I would have any interest at all in guarding your well-being?”
His laughter cut off abruptly when Anthony held the book up in his face. “You called yourself the Radio Demon. You’re a big deal in Hell, then?”
Alastor impatiently brushed Anthony’s hand, and the book, out of his way. “Everyone knows the Radio Demon.”
Anthony shoved the book back, much to Alastor’s apparent chagrin. “Only reason I’ve ever heard’a you is somebody wrote your summonin’ ritual in this book. Don’t think most other people have ever heard’a you either. Looks like this is what your legacy boils down to up here.”
With a growl, Alastor snatched the book from him and looked over the front and the back, his expression growing more irritated and indignant with every word he read. “Well, I would hardly expect the living to be aware of my reputation.” Despite his words, Anthony could see how much it was bothering him, the demon’s offense plastered all over his face.
Anthony shrugged. “I just thought you might want the chance to reinforce your image and give everybody a chance to know what they’re lookin’ forward to when they get down there.”
Alastor’s eyes cut to Anthony and he offered the book back, handing it as though it were a particularly disgusting rag dangled between two claws. “The thing is, I know you’re playing me,” he said as Anthony took the book back. “And you’re right. So! What are you planning on trading for this?”
Oh. Shit. I forgot about that. “I ain’t handin’ over my soul to you for the rest of eternity.”
Alastor waved him off. “Oh, pish, you make it sound so serious. Soul contracts don’t have to be permanent. How about this: you will make a deal to give your soul to me for… say… seven years upon your death. In return, I will play the dutiful bodyguard for you for a week.”
“A month,” Anthony said. “I ain’t givin’ you shit for less than that, it’s gotta make a lastin’ impression if I want it to stick. And,” he added as Alastor made to interrupt, “part of the deal’s gotta be you aren’t gonna somehow arrange or influence my death to come early. You’ll get my soul as soon as I die the way I was gonna die before we made this pact.”
Alastor laughed again. “Well, now, sha. You sound like an old hand at this. Have you made deals with demons before?”
“Nah, my pops is just a crime boss. So whaddya say, Smiles? A month of protection for seven years of my soul?”
Alastor’s smile widened and he held out his left hand. Anthony hesitated, then took it; instantly, it was as though their hands were glued together as a strange red magic began to wind around their hands. Alastor’s eyes looked like radio dials, and when he spoke, his teeth flashed and his mouth didn’t open.
“We have a deal.”
Anthony really should have thought this out better.
It was very difficult, getting used to having Alastor around. In the first place, he was a demon, and having a demon in the house was just weird. He was just as easy to entertain as he was quick to grow bored, using his shadows to fuck with things and frequently teleporting away before Anthony got the opportunity to even see what he’d done and yell at him for it. He had a fondness for raw meat, which made ensuring he was fed both easy and disgusting to watch. He was loud, he was rude—downright cruel in his observations and comments, not infrequently—and his only hobby seemed to be pissing people off. He had a comment about everything, and Anthony wasn’t sure if it was worse when he actually just stated his opinion unsolicited, or when he made that little “hmm” noise and then said nothing else without prompting.
In the very least, he was nice to Fat Nuggets. The little pig had initially been terrified of him, but it had only taken a couple of days before Anthony found Alastor with Nuggie in his lap, a smug grin on his face as he informed Anthony that he was the new favorite.
And even without all the demon shit, Anthony was having trouble adjusting to just… having an Alpha in his space. Alastor seemed completely unaffected by hormones in general (at least, Alastor seemed content to ignore him even when he knew his scent was stronger than usual), but Anthony didn’t have that luxury and more than once Alastor’s sudden presence had caught him off-guard enough to make him physically dizzy.
He also wasn’t getting enough sleep, to put it as delicately as possible.
Anthony was starting to wonder if he had made what might be the biggest mistake of his life when, on the third day, Alastor proved he was going to make good on their deal. It was a weekday, and Anthony had made a habit of spending most weekday evenings at his favorite coffee shop, reading the assigned chapters from his textbooks and drinking way more macchiatos than his heart probably needed in one sitting. The only real downside was that, inevitably, some Alpha frat boy douchebag decided that their superior Alpha presence was far more interesting and important than whatever Anthony was doing and proceeded to make his attempts to do his homework absolute hell for a minimum of half an hour. Sometimes, the only way Anthony was able to make it stop was to just get up and leave, because while he didn’t have a personal problem resorting to violence, he didn’t want to start shit that would get him banned from the shop entirely, which left him with the options of either just trying to ignore it or bailing entirely.
He was halfway through one of his reading assignments (Fashion: The Ultimate History of Costume, chapter four, Fashion in the 16th Century) when he heard the all-too-familiar sound of a guy settling audibly into the couch near him, sighing animatedly in that way that communicated “I am planning to stay here for a long time.” Anthony rolled his eyes privately, taking a sip of his coffee and turning a page of his book.
“Good book?” the guy said. Anthony ignored him, focusing quite firmly on his book. The guy cleared his throat and repeated, louder, “Good book?”
Resisting the urge to sigh, Anthony gave the guy a perfunctory glance. “Mm.” He then went back to it.
He could see the guy lean over in an attempt to see the cover at the angle Anthony was holding it in his lap. “Fashion?” he asked with an obvious scoff in his voice. “You some kinda clothing major or something?”
Anthony couldn’t help a faint snort at the words “clothing major”, but he didn’t look up again. “Nope,” he said. “Theatre.”
“Ohh, so it’s like a costume thing,” the guy said with a nod. “I’m a business major.”
Anthony pressed his lips together and gave the guy a look. “Y’don’t say.”
“Yeah,” the guy said proudly, the sarcasm sailing over his head like a weather balloon. “I’m going to be taking over my dad’s business one day. Basically guaranteed a VP position as soon as I graduate,” he continued with a very, very poor attempt at sounding casual.
“Good for you,” Anthony said, looking back at his book and silently willing this guy to just go away.
But, of course, the guy did not just go away. He started in on his father’s business, bragging about the fact that he didn’t have to take out loans because his parents were paying for everything, and had just started in on talking about his financial portfolio when Anthony felt the familiar sensation that he had come to associate with Alastor manifesting out of the shadows. Anthony looked up and saw the demon standing directly behind the (still oblivious, for now) guy, his eyes narrow and his smile threateningly wide.
When Alastor reached out and placed his hand on the guy’s shoulder, a sudden and blessed silence fell for just a second. “The fuck…?” he muttered before he started turning. “Can I help you, buddy–...!”
It was admittedly pretty funny, watching all the color leave the guy’s face as Alastor’s hand slowly tightened on his shoulder and his head tilted so dramatically to the side it looked like his neck had broken. “I believe the young man is attempting to read an assignment,” he said pleasantly, even as his claws started piercing holes into the guy’s jacket. “You may either leave him be of your own volition and walk away with all of your limbs, or you may leave him be and walk away without this arm. Your choice!”
“Oh fuck,” the guy said weakly before he haphazardly gathered his books and papers, hurrying away without putting any of it away.
Anthony laughed to himself as Alastor plopped down onto the couch beside him, far enough away that they weren’t in danger of touching. “Thanks,” he said.
“I was unaware that Alphas addled by their hormones could be so oblivious,” Alastor said, gesturing to his own chest with a loose hand. “And here I thought that I lacked social awareness. Even I could tell you had no interest in speaking with him.”
“Yeah, either they don’t pick up on it or they don’t care,” Anthony said. “Thanks.”
“No need to thank me, sha. This is my job, after all!”
“Still,” Anthony said with a shrug. “...if I go get somethin’ and come back, will you still be here? I mean, y’won’t go meltin’ into the shadows again?”
Alastor studied him for a long moment. “...I suppose.”
Anthony nodded and got to his feet, hurrying over to the counter and ordering a cinnamon undertow. When he returned, Alastor was in fact still sitting in the same place, idly turning the pages of Anthony’s textbook with one extended claw and a raised eyebrow. He looked up when Anthony stopped in front of him and offered the little cup out. “Here.”
“What’s this?” Alastor asked, not taking it.
“It’s coffee.”
Alastor snickered, the same way he did every single time Anthony said the word “coffee” (because apparently his Brooklyn accent was just hilarious whenever he did). “You brought me… coffee.”
“Yeah,” Anthony said with a shrug. “Think of it as a thank you or whatever. I already paid for it, y’might as well take it.”
Alastor huffed out a sigh. “...well. I suppose it would be rude to waste it,” he said, accepting the small cup on its saucer finally. He then tasted it as Anthony sat, and while he said nothing, Anthony couldn’t help noticing the way that his ears perked up. Instead of pointing it out (which would definitely make Alastor retreat into the shadows again), Anthony just picked up his book once more and went back to his assignment. No one bothered Anthony for the rest of the trip, and in return, Anthony didn’t mention that he knew Alastor was reading over his shoulder.
After what Anthony began mentally referring to as “The Coffee Shop Incident”, Alastor became more sociable when they were out of the house. He began walking with Anthony as he navigated campus from class to class, sitting with him while working on his homework or when he went to grab food somewhere, and just kind of generally made himself a real presence in Anthony’s life rather than just fucking with things before escaping into the shadows, giggling.
As the days passed, Anthony couldn’t help noticing that Alastor was getting closer to him, as well. At first, Alastor had always kept a minimum distance between the two of them, more than willing to use his staff to enforce his personal space bubble whenever he decided Anthony was too close to him. However, eventually Anthony noticed that distance was closing. Alastor had abandoned the pretense of hiding in the shadows whenever they went to the coffee shop, instead just starting every visit sitting beside Anthony on the couch, and Anthony couldn’t help noticing that every evening Alastor was just a little bit closer to him.
For a while, he convinced himself that he was imagining it. That became impossible when he registered that Alastor had his arm across the back of the couch, no longer even pretending that he wasn’t reading along with Anthony’s assignments, and Alastor was so close to him that Anthony could feel the heat radiating off of him. This close, he felt as though he was completely enveloped in Alastor’s scent; it was sharp, like cloves and iron-rich blood, earthy, and it was easy for him to just bask in it until he began to grow light-headed. He was acutely aware of Alastor’s breath, slow but heavy, a hint of a growl lurking somewhere deep beneath each inhale and exhale. If he didn’t know better, he would have said Alastor was just as determinedly taking in his scent as he was Alastor’s.
But that was silly. Alastor had made his feelings on mating very, very clear, and besides, he wasn’t affected by Omegas.
Anthony wasn’t sure if that was worse than Alastor actually being interested might be.
The closer they grew to the end of the arrangement, the more Anthony began to dread it. It wouldn’t have been reasonable to try to keep Alastor around forever, and he knew that, but the thought of not having Alastor nearby—telling him stories, singing along with the radio, cackling at the horror movies they had started watching together—made him feel nauseous. He knew it was a terrible idea, but it was too late, because he also knew he would have done anything Alastor wanted him to do without a single hesitation and that was not a power he wanted to put in the hands of someone like the Radio Demon.
The nights were getting longer as the air steadily grew colder, and Anthony’s walk home from the coffee shop was in near-total darkness as he pulled his coat tighter around himself and sped up. Alastor had retreated into the shadows, probably because a cold snap was coming and it was fucking freezing, and while Anthony didn’t blame him and was well aware he was nearby he still missed him. This is pathetic. Stop it.
“Hey, baby, you’re lookin’ fine!”
Anthony’s footsteps faltered just a little when the stranger’s voice reached his ears, but he ignored it, speeding up.
“Hey, bitch, I’m talking to you!”
“Fuck off!” Anthony snapped, unable to help biting back as he spun towards the voice. “I ain’t got no interest in your pencil dick, okay, pal??”
The man stared at him in undisguised shock, and Anthony wondered if he’d never had an Omega dare to speak to him that way. The shock was gone the next moment, replaced by rage. “You’re gonna regret that.”
“Shit,” Anthony muttered, making to run only to feel the guy grab him by the arm and yank him back. “Ow, fuck! Let go of me, asshole!”
The guy started to say something, but Anthony didn’t hear it as the sounds of static and wailing souls burst all around them. The man released him and they both raised their hands to cover their ears against the assault of noise.
“I believe you were told he has no interest.”
The guy screamed as he noticed the shadow rising up on the wall beside them, its smile growing wide and twisted and its eyes glowing bright and sharp. He scrambled backwards, then made to run, but that only served to make him crash into Alastor’s actual form with a force that sent him to the ground.
Alastor looked, to Anthony’s estimation, pissed off. His sclera had turned black and his smile, wider than usual, looked as though it was being held closed at the corners with bright green stitching. He loomed over the man, joints cracking and limbs bending in too many places, his hand slamming into the man’s chest and pushing him down hard into the concrete. “He’s mine,” Alastor snarled, his voice heavily layered with crackling static and his mouth unmoving as he spoke. Anthony’s eyes went wide and he was unable to stop staring as Alastor tore into the man, sending blood and scraps of flesh flying.
…well. Looks like he ain’t just an Omega Eater.
He should have been terrified. He should have been horrified. But all he could really feel was fascinated, as well as turned on in a way he didn’t want to examine and didn’t think he ever would. Anthony couldn’t look away as Alastor ripped the man to bloody pieces, his teeth tearing through muscle and crunching through bone, not letting up until there was nothing left to even identify that the mass had once been a human. Anthony was still staring as Alastor slowly straightened, his form shrinking somewhat until he returned to his usual shape, absolutely bathed in blood.
“...whoa,” Anthony said.
Alastor’s smile had a different edge to it than Anthony was used to, but he couldn’t determine what about it was different. “I apologize that you had to see that, sha,” he said, and he actually sounded like he meant it. “But that was what you contracted me for.”
“I know, Smiles,” Anthony said. He then held his hand out. “C’mon, let’s get you home and cleaned up.”
Alastor seemed mildly startled, his ears flicking back and his eyes widening for a moment. Then, almost tentatively, he reached his own hand out and placed one claw in Anthony’s palm, not flinching backwards as Anthony closed his fingers around it and led him back to the house.
Once securely inside, he made Alastor sit down on the edge of the bathtub. “Coat off,” Anthony chided as he rolled his sleeves up, turning on the sink to let the water start getting hot before he grabbed a couple of hand towels.
Alastor squinted at him. “Why?”
“Because you’re covered in blood. It’s gross,” Anthony said. “It’s gonna get all dried and crunchy and gross and it’s gonna smell terrible. You got the concept of washin’ clothes in Hell, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” Alastor grumbled.
“Good. Coat off.”
Still grumbling, this time in a language Anthony didn’t recognize, Alastor unbuttoned his coat and shucked it off his shoulders before carefully laying it on the counter. Anthony nodded in approval to him, watching as (after a bit of thought) Alastor took off his bow tie and placed it on top of the coat. “I can wash them myself.”
“Alright, I ain’t gonna fight you on that,” Anthony said. He filled the sink with hot water and then shut the tap off, dipping one of the towels before stepping up in front of Alastor and beginning to carefully clean the blood from him. Alastor’s smile was very tight, almost like he was feeling anxious, and his claws were tapping against the porcelain of the bathtub like he was fighting the urge to vanish into the shadows. “Stay still,” Anthony reminded him.
“I am staying still.”
“No, you’re fidgetin’ and thinkin’ about doin’ your whole shadow poof thing,” Anthony corrected. “It ain’t that bad.”
Alastor huffed out a breath that was almost a growl. “I am… unaccustomed to people touching me.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you don’t seem too fond of it. Don’t worry, it’s just to clean you up.”
“Mmn.” Alastor seemed to be focusing on controlling his breathing. “...aren’t you going to ask?”
“About what?”
“About what just happened,” Alastor said. “What I– when I killed that man, I–” He snarled under his breath. “...nothing.”
Anthony couldn’t help a sympathetic smile. “Damn, Smiles, you really aren’t good at talkin’ to people about this shit, are you?” When Alastor’s snarl got louder, Anthony laughed, holding his hands up. “Hey, hey, no need to go bitin’ my hand off or nothin’. Do you wanna talk about it?”
Do you want to talk about how you told the guy that I belong to you?
He just let that sentiment remain unsaid for now.
Alastor shook his head, but he said nothing.
“Mmkay.” Anthony dipped the bloodied towel into the water, rinsing it out, before returning to cleaning him up.
Alastor stared at him. “That’s it?”
Anthony shrugged. “If you don’t wanna talk about it, I ain’t gonna make you.”
Silence followed that. Alastor didn’t seem to know what else to say, and Anthony didn’t see the need to drag the other man over the metaphorical coals and make him regret accidentally showing some emotion. Once he was clean, Alastor set about cleaning his coat while Anthony fed Fat Nuggets and made his own dinner. He was pretty sure that was the end of it and it wouldn’t be addressed again, but found he was wrong about that when he decided he probably needed to get some sleep and walked into his bedroom to find Alastor standing in the middle of the room, his coat and tie still missing (probably hanging up to dry somewhere).
“...hey, Smiles,” Anthony said carefully, slowing to a stop. “Y’need something?”
“Are you retiring for the night?” Alastor asked.
Anthony nodded. “I was thinkin’ about it, yeah. I gotta get some sleep before class tomorrow.”
“I see.” Alastor didn’t move. Neither did Anthony. The ensuing silence stretched until it started feeling awkward, and Anthony wondered if he was just going insane and imagining things, or… Alastor cleared his throat. “Well. Yes. I suppose I should get out of your way so that you can rest, shouldn’t–”
“Y’wanna stay?”
That record scratch filled the air and one of Alastor’s ears twitched. “Beg pardon?”
“Do. You. Want. To stay?” Anthony asked slowly. “Like, d’you wanna stay here tonight?”
Slowly, Alastor’s ears lowered themselves to flatten back against his head. “I… don’t really sleep.”
“That’s fine,” Anthony said. “So long as you don’t keep me up, you can do whatever you want.” He moved over to the bed and pulled back the covers to climb in. “C’mon. Shoes off.”
Alastor’s frown deepened, but he came over, sitting on the edge of the bed and removing his shoes. He then laid back on the bed as stiff and awkward as anything, folding his hands on his stomach and staring at the ceiling. Anthony laughed a little and Alastor growled. “What?”
“Nothin’,” Anthony giggled. “You look like you’ve never laid down before.”
“For all you know, sha, I never have.”
“Mmhm.” Anthony turned the light out, then rolled over to face Alastor, pulling the blankets up over himself. Alastor’s eyes were glowing in the darkness, but Anthony found he didn’t really mind it. “Well, if you get bored, you don’t gotta stay. But you’re welcome as long as you like.”
Alastor didn’t respond to that, and Anthony closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of Alastor’s warmth and scent so close to him. When he woke up, he was squished up against Alastor’s side, Alastor was sound asleep, and Anthony figured this was another thing they weren’t going to talk about.
“This is the last evening, isn’t it?”
“Mhm.”
Anthony leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and a cup of homemade coffee in his hand. Alastor was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, his own coffee on the table and his hands clasped around one of his knees. They were both watching Fat Nuggets roll around on the floor with one of his rope toys, the only regular sound that of his happy little oinks while he played.
“Guess you’ll be goin’ back to your spooky radio show, huh?” Anthony asked.
“I suppose so,” Alastor said. “And you’ll be continuing your schooling.”
“Mhm.”
“Do you think your reputation is suitably altered enough that you should have peace once I’m gone?”
Anthony shrugged. “Hope so,” he said. Alastor made a soft, thoughtful noise. Anthony took a sip of his coffee. “...I don’t want you to go,” he said finally.
Alastor looked at him. “...what?”
“I don’t want you to leave.” Anthony looked down into his coffee cup; the idea of actually looking into Alastor’s eyes while the demon laughed at him, right now, was too hard. “I like havin’ you around. I like talkin’ with you. You’re funny, you’re smart, you’re… I dunno. You’re pretty good company and I’m gonna miss you, that’s all.”
Alastor, oddly, didn’t laugh. He didn’t say anything at all for a few moments. Then, “You are so very strange, sha.”
“Am I?” Anthony asked. “How so?”
“People aren’t usually overeager for my company,” Alastor said. “Particularly not in such close proximity for such an extended period of time.”
“Yeah, well, I’m crazy.” Anthony put his cup down and turned to face Alastor. “Do you have to leave?”
Alastor blinked a couple of times. “I… well, it isn’t as though I will be compelled to, no.”
Anthony nodded. “...do you want to leave?”
Alastor’s breath shook as he exhaled. “...I don’t know.”
Fat Nuggets scampered away with his toy, vanishing into the kitchen. Anthony moved a little closer to Alastor, noting that he looked alarmed but didn’t back away. “Does this mean I could summon you again?”
“I… I suppose it does, if you want,” Alastor said.
“Am I gonna have to make a deal every time?”
“No.”
Anthony nodded. He was so close to Alastor that their knees were almost touching, and still, Alastor hadn’t backed away. He reached up and placed a hand on Alastor’s shoulder; the demon tensed for just a moment, then relaxed. He didn’t look like he was going to run, even as Anthony pulled him closer.
The first time they kissed, Alastor was stiff, nervous. Anthony gently stroked Alastor’s cheek with his hand to encourage him to relax, urging him to move his lips with demonstrative movements and whispered encouragement. The moment Alastor seemed to have his breakthrough, he melted into Anthony, pressing him down and into the couch. They kissed until they were breathless, and then Anthony dragged him into the bedroom to make the most of the time they had until midnight.
At the end of their time, Alastor did return to Hell, assuring Anthony that he just had to make sure affairs were in order but promising to answer if Anthony ever called him.
The first time Anthony summoned him again, the shadow swept him up and pressed him into the wall, Alastor manifesting before him and pressing their lips together before Anthony could even say hello.
And when the time finally came and he felt Alastor’s teeth sink into the meat of his shoulder with an intensity and sharp pain that made him howl in pleasure, he thought that maybe that book hadn’t been a bad investment after all.