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There was scarcely an alley in the city littered with shadows and brimstone that he’d not thoroughly wandered each cold, aimless inch of, securing for himself a specific niche for blending and vanishing into the backdrop. This particular one was an old favorite, as it ran the length between two towering brick structures with a tall, iron fence lining the back, a single door tucked near the rear of the building permitting entrance to the dimly lit, smoke-filled venue. With hooded eyes perched atop a face bearing an eternally mocking smirk, the Radio Demon stepped out of the curling tendrils of darkness that bled from his unsettling form, startling a bystander near a dumpster and sending them skittering back inside.
He barely took note of their existence, let alone the departure, as his thoughts turned inward to the figure he was expecting to see within the establishment. It’d been nearly two months since their last outing, and despite his initial misgivings about spoiling the man with too much of his attention, he’d found he rather missed Vincent’s incessant chattering about sharks, and televisions, and ‘the future’. To the point, in fact, that he’d unthinkingly accepted the invitation to meet for drinks and do a bit of catching up when it came across the airwaves the pair of media demons sometimes shared in the early part of the afternoon.
Exhaling a breath, despite the absence of necessity for breathing, the redhead wiped down the front of his coat to clear it of nonexistent wrinkles and stepped into the lounge. The interior was dated, representing an era from decades past rather than the pastel, mid-century sensibilities that the majority of Pride seemed intent on adopting. He liked the feel of the space, as if he were reentering a time period where he was on the top of his game without the pressing weight of a chain around his throat. It took him barely a minute to spy the ridiculous glowing face of his companion from across the room, and he hummed softly to himself at the way the man was hanging all over some interloper.
Or more accurately, they were clinging onto him and he didn’t look as if he had the wherewithal to ask them for space. It soured his stomach, for reasons he couldn’t be bothered to look further into, and he averted his gaze in a mask of indifference before approaching the bar to order a drink. As his whiskey was poured into a lowball, the acrid scent of ozone and electricity stung his nostrils, drawing his focus to the arrival flopping onto the stool beside him. Not until he was sipping on the amber liquid to soothe his agitation did he bother with turning his head toward Vincent in acknowledgement.
”No hello? No ‘hey, old pal, how ya been’? Just going to ignore me? I thought we talked about this, about communication.” To add to the pressure, he adorned his most sincere, forlorn expression, antennas drooping forward an inch as he pouted.
”Oh, don’t make that face at me. It’ll freeze that way,” he mocked at seeing the ludicrously large orbs floating in the center of the thick glass. ”And I’m not ignoring you, I was merely entertaining myself until you finished with your, well, whatever that thing was.” His tone was sharp and pissy, to his dismay, but he’d had a difficult time getting the fool out of his thoughts and couldn’t refrain from lashing out now that he had him alone. Mostly.
Vince coughed to hide the snort trying to crawl up the back of his throat, knowing he was treading a fine line and he owed the deer an apology, immediately. Throwing up his hands with as much deference as could be summoned, he replied, ”I am sorry I wasn’t waiting by the window for you. You said you’d likely be a bit late, so I got distracted.” The watch on his wrist said it was barely half past eight, which meant Alastor was, in fact, early.
Tsking softly, he motioned for a refill of his drink, then twisted around properly on the stool to sit face to face with the shark-toothed picture box. ”Well, that wasn’t much of a plea for forgiveness, now was it? I expect, in recompense, dancing from you tonight. I do hope you wore the right shoes for it!!” the cannibal brightly retorted, lips curling upward in a devilish smirk as he tapped his microphone and a band of poppets manifested on the empty stage.
Laughing at the abrupt shift in mood, he shook his head, and reached out a hand. ”Think I can’t keep up with you, Al? Let’s do this.” To his charmed amusement, the cervine demon slid a slender, gloved palm into his and the pair abandoned their drinks to take to the center of the lounge where a small, circular dance floor awaited.
Hours later, the duo climbed into a booth, gasping for breath even as they each pulled out a cigarette to puff at. ”When you say cut a rug, you really fucking deliver,” Vince panted softly, lifting his thumb to ignite a tiny spark at the end of a claw. After lighting both sticks, they relaxed into the cool leather surface, separated by a couple of feet after spending far too long in each other’s arms.
Around them, things were beginning to wind down, a sign that it was time for them to skedaddle as well. It was Alastor who suggested they vacate and head to his place, which was an excellent idea as it was much closer than Vincent’s uptown apartment several blocks away. As they were leaving, the same stranger who’d been flirting with him earlier sprinted to catch up to the departing duo, waving a piece of paper with something written on it.
”W-wait! I forgot to give you my number. Uh, call me, okay?” the canine sinner stated with a flirty wink, and Vince frowned at the sudden interruption as he didn’t even remember the guy’s name.
Taking the offering, he shrugged and said, ”Sure.” The radio demon's astute gaze watched this exchange with strained patience, until finally he dragged his companion away by the elbow as he seemed to malfunction at any instance of someone making googly eyes at him.
Something in the way he was being handled so roughly by the usually austerely mannered radio host had Vincent's pulse speeding a bit faster. It was almost animalistic, the growl of frustration that rumbled from that chest, stripped of its transatlantic filter.
”What’s wrong?” he asked as they meandered out of the alley and onto the street that led to Al’s place. Trying to tug his arm back, he planted his feet and refused to move further without an explanation for the sudden aggression.
The problem with that was Alastor had no idea why he was behaving that way, aside from the easy excuse of being sidelined for a lesser person. He’d never excelled at playing second fiddle to anyone in life, let alone death. Issuing a sigh, he twirled his staff between his palms and took a step closer, in search of an answer, and to his shock, he found it. There was a faintly sweet smell clinging to Vincent, as if he’d spent the day rolling around in sugar. It wasn’t a disgusting aroma, though, far from it, and his pupils dilated as the realization struck him.
”Is this why you’ve refused to see me? You’re in a heat cycle?” In their half a decade of being acquaintances, dance partners, and drinking buddies, he’d never thought to consider the man might be an omega. ”Vincent. Why didn’t you tell me?” he grumbled in a strained tone, struggling to sort out his feelings from his instincts.
Uncrossing his arms to gesture at Alastor, he rolled his eyes and replied, ”Because it’s not important. It happens every year, and usually for exactly five weeks, but this one is nearing six now. I thought it was done.” Quite obviously not, as his interface burned with a blush at the way the stag was staring at him.
”Is it painful?” was asked, those fluffy, furry ears tilting to the side a moment before standing upright as he caught a sound of footsteps approaching. Not wishing to be interrupted from his nosy interrogation, Al hurriedly closed the distance separating them and dragged them through the shadows to his home.
Despite the shortness of the trip, it turned his stomach, and Vince doubled over to re-calibrate his equilibrium as he tried not to vomit all over Alastor’s rug. Barely managing to keep everything down, he straightened his spine, wiped the back of his hand across the lower portion of his glass, and turned to glare at the menace, frowning sharply at the look on the other’s face. They’d had plenty to drink, but neither was a lightweight, and yet the redhead wore an expression of profound intoxication.
”Al?”
”I asked if it’s painful. You haven’t answered.” He crept nearer, locking on the steadily beating pulse visible just above the collar of his companion’s shirt.
”Is what painful?” His screen glitched as his crotch was pointedly glanced at. ”Does it matter?” he followed up with a sigh.
Biting the inside of his lip, Alastor was silent, pondering the itch that was worsening inside him to pounce the man and lay claim to him. To properly dissuade the notion he had the freedom to let filthy, smelly dogs put their paws anywhere close to him, let alone on his physical being. Though being an alpha hardly mattered to him, as he rarely indulged in those baser instincts, it was admittedly a different situation altogether to know the person he’d taken on as a mentee in Hell’s bustling entertainment industry was an unclaimed omega. The man practically worshiped his opinion and he knew it, exploited it to his advantage, even, but clearly he’d missed something major if the television thought he didn’t belong wholly to his greedy, possessive radio.
”You’re being unnecessarily difficult, dear. I’m merely asking if your situation is uncomfortable. I imagine it must be, if you opted for isolation rather than approach a trusted confidant with your troubles.” Within that softer tone was a distracted, distantly wounded note, some primal urging to know why he wasn’t an option to alleviate Vincent’s tensions with.
While, admittedly, the act of sex itself was fairly repulsive, he did wonder if that unfamiliar warmth in his blood and buzzing about in his skull might find the other man more appealing than his previous handful of partners. He was a strange thing to look at, all modern and electrical, but he was also delightfully unique, from the tops of his quivering antennas to the points of his sensible brown loafers. There was something that called to him, an undeniable draw to his acolyte that stirred his withered desire and invoked a hunger deep within him.
Vince scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, those big cyan orbs swinging to the couch as he mumbled an apology for not keeping the radio host in the loop on every single detail of his private life. It made Alastor’s ears perk upright in irritation and he tossed his staff to a nearby armchair before taking several short strides forward to stand in front of the stubborn figure.
”Do you know how delicious you smell right now?” There it was again, that hitch in the other’s breath as he nervously peered back at the deer, his shoulders partially tucked forward as he hugged himself and tried to stop the spread of a blush over his screen.
Without a specific objective in mind aside from touching, he finished closing the distance that separated them to tuck a gloved finger beneath the heavy casing of that bulky chassis, forcing it to tilt upward and meet his gaze directly. Slowly, he lifted his other hand to his mouth, sharp teeth stripping off the leather, exposing bare skin he rarely permitted anyone but his shadow to see, and ran a crimson claw along the edge of his friend’s face.
”Al?” the adorably, easily flustered sinner squeaked, his speakers crackling as he blinked in confusion and, finally, an answering interest.
There was a slight difference in their heights, often negligible for how little it affected their average evening together, but he noticed it as he had to lean up a couple of inches to press their foreheads together. Fuzzy static clung to him and surrounded him as he peered into glowing wells swimming with an endless array of unnamed emotions, until Vincent gasped at the movement and abrupt proximity and whatever restraint he was holding onto slipped away.
Soft, dry lips pushed against the surprisingly plush mouth of his picture box, the pressure gentle and experimental as he didn’t have a great deal of experience upon which to draw from. That hardly mattered as he felt the near immediate response when the shark relaxed with a quiet groan and accepted the kiss without interrupting to ask a dozen useless questions.
As the brush of their mouths intensified past the tender greeting stage, Alastor’s other glove was stripped off and the coat he’d worn at various points throughout the night was shed in a messy puddle beneath him. He started guiding Vincent toward the bedroom, wanting to lay with him, to run his fingernails along those muscles hidden under his shirt and vest and have his fill. That sweet aroma blanketed the pair, so strong that it nearly blinded him to everything that existed beyond the apartment’s walls, and he found his control slipping further as his unused organ swelled within its confinement at the reaction his tongue dipping past the barrier of sharp, dangerous teeth garnered from the television.
”A-Al, wait, don’t..don’t do this unless you’re sure. I..I’ve never..not since I died and ended up down here.” The words were a confession and a warning, neither of which was needed as Alastor heard only that he truly was unclaimed and realized he was going to have to correct that state of affairs. Nobody would ever be good enough for Vincent, his diamond in the rough plucked cleanly from the legions of worthless souls.
A slender finger and thumb manipulated the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one at a time as he crowded the man onto the bed, wedging himself between those parted legs as if he belonged there. Oh, but didn’t he, though? Perhaps he wasn’t as keen on carnal acts as the average layman, but he couldn’t deny how enticing the thought of having Vince in that manner made warmth rush down the length of him.
After relieving them both of the layers of clothing covering the upper portions of their bodies, Alastor sat up on his haunches to gaze down at the sinner, following the lines of his pectorals with the tip of a curious claw, trailing south to snag on the belt keeping him from being fully bear. A soft layer of fur sat on the deer’s chest, but his charming picture box was smooth and hairless, aside from a thin path of dark blue hair leading south toward the hardness pitching a tent in the wool fabric that covered his pelvic region.
As badly as he wished to properly map out every crevice and plane of that lovely torso, he was equally impatient to dig his teeth in and lay claim. Vince assisted with shakily tugging his pants off, discarding the garment to the side as he spread his legs and tugged the buck to him for another kiss. They continued stripping one another until the last layer was peeled away, and saliva pooled heavily in his maw at the sight of not one, but two magnificent cocks straining at the white fabric. As beautiful as they looked, it was the concentrated scent that caught his keen sense of smell more acutely.
A low groan fell from Alastor as he retreated from the press of their mouths to settle again on his knees and take in his prize, his thumbs spreading the navy cheeks to give him a delectable view of the tightly wrinkled entry that was already well-slicked from the man’s unfinished heat cycle and arousal. He doubted he’d last terribly long once in there, but never had the idea of sex appealed so much to him as it did right then, his instincts screaming at him to take what was rightfully his.
Vincent gave him a starry-eyed look as a little heart shaped itself between the ball ends of his antennas, and then he was flipping over, raising his rump in the air. That was as clear an invitation as possible, and before he could second-guess himself, Alastor slid a single digit past the perimeter, breaching the clenching channel as a strangled grunt escaped his omega. There was some resistance, but it didn’t take him long to stretch the hole out, two fingers having to make up the difference as his patience wore thin and he felt the need to line himself up.
The tip of his dripping cock caught on the damp opening, eliciting a hiss from the deer as he adjusted and managed to glide himself inside an inch. Oh what a difference that made, just having a taste of that slick heat enveloping such a sensitive part of his anatomy. At his darling’s urging, he pressed in further, sinking in until his testicles were seated firmly against those silky soft thighs.
He wanted to go slow and savor everything, but that dreadful beast within demanded he rut hard and fast into his mate. Sweat dappled his spine as it arched with the forward pivots of his hips, the thrusts beginning the second he felt a hand squeezing his, their digits interlocked as he rolled his lower half. ”T-tight,” Alastor gasped, lids shuttering to half-mast as he sated their hunger, teeth nipping at a shoulder blade while they moved together.
Vincent’s moans echoed throughout the room, a vocal symphony of relief and gratitude that urged him onward. There was scarcely a moment to process as his mind went blank with the boiling hot pleasure that roared along his nerve endings, his ears drawing themselves backward to press flat against his skull as he licked a patch of damp skin and growled possessively. As he neared the precipice, and the tension building in his testes started to unravel with every passing, powerful thrust, he registered a quiet plea from the writhing man to mark him.
Beyond the point of ability to think, he responded by sinking his yellowed fangs into the supple blue flesh beneath his mouth. The bite was deep, and blood pooled from the corners of his lips as he slammed shut his eyes and began coming hard inside his lover. A rush of silence met his ears as he orgasmed, distantly aware of his free hand clawing its way to Vincent’s cocks in search of one to grab hold of. When the euphoria slowly started to ebb and sense began to return to him, he caught the tail end of his lover gasping for air as tendrils of thick, aqua-tinted spunk shot out of the dick in Al’s grasp, painting the bed linens and the deer’s knuckles with the fluid.
”Mine,” he whispered quietly, panting softly as he carefully removed himself from his new lover and pulled him close for continued contact. Pink irises banked in crimson assessed the state of the television sinner, finding that aside from some color bars partially obscuring his adorable face, he looked relatively intact. It felt as if an eternity had passed since Vincent first landed in Hell, taking up a particular space in Alastor’s life that had never seemed empty before his arrival. He lifted his sullied hand to have a taste of the residual spend coating his fingers, grinning at Vince’s disgusted expression though it faded fast as the exhaustion and shock began to catch up with him.
”Yours,” his silly picture box agreed with a vulnerable, lovestruck smile that made his hellish features look vastly more human than demon.