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Music blares loudly outside the door, the bass reverberating in her chest. It’s some jaunty pop song, one of Angel Dust’s picks and normally she wouldn’t mind but it’s not helping the situation at all.
It makes it hard to think, her thoughts slippery as eels but that might be the alcohol. On top of the music she can hear the other’s stomp their feet as they dance, the snatches of laughter and conversations. They’re heedless to the problem they’ve caused them. Who is she kidding, they’re so drunk they don’t care. And it has definitely been longer than seven minutes.
“Let loose! Have a little fun!”, they said and look where it’s gotten her. Stuck in a closet with her hotelier.
Well, at least they threw some alcohol in here. The bottle lays right next to him but she hasn’t gotten the courage to reach for it. Moving isn’t easy right now.
She sighs and looks up at her companion. “Think you could do your hoodoo thing-a-ma-jig to get us out of here?”
“No,” Alastor sighs, his smile tense. “It doesn’t work well when inebriated and I’m not going to risk it.”
“Oh,” she says quietly but internally she’s shriveling. They didn’t exactly pick a spacious closet.
Alastor looks as uncomfortable as she feels, maybe even more so and who could blame him? He’s sprawled on his back almost forced to curl in on himself as his legs are pushed up against one wall and his back the other. Whereas Charlie was basically thrown on top of him.
They had silently unanimously decided that the best course of action was to do nothing. To wait out their seven minutes of Heaven and forget the whole thing. But seven minutes have come and gone and it doesn’t sound like they’ll remember them anytime soon. And she can’t stand to be in this position for another second.
Her face is squished against his chest, her legs entangled in his not to mention his elbow has been unhelpfully digging into her boob. Something neither of them had wanted to address. She sighs again, the air blasting back into her face as it bounces off of Alastor’s arm. She’s not going to be able to fix that laying here like some useless thing.
She rallies up her courage, liquid or otherwise and starts to shift, trying to push herself into a sitting position. She can feel Alastor startle beneath her as she accidentally shoves her hand into his stomach.
“What are you doing, Miss Morningstar?” He wheezes.
“I’m sorry Alastor,” she says as she tries and fails to lift herself up while simultaneously untangling her legs. “I know this is uncomfortable but I couldn’t stay like that,” She huffs. She stays down, her upper body flat against his stomach as she focuses on moving her legs.
Surprisingly, he joins in, moving his legs as much as he can and they become untangled. “See? I got this,” she reassures with a thumbs up.
He inclines his head in agreement and that makes her grow bold. Too bold. She moves again, shifting an arm down to find purchase on something more solid than his stomach. She blindly feels behind and beneath her and she thinks she almost reaches something when her hand brushes against an odd lump. She can’t see what she’s doing but she knows she messed up when she hears him gasp.
Instinctually she pats at the area again. Is that-? Her face reddens when she realizes. Her hand stills and she looks towards him. His eyes are squeezed half-way shut as if he’s fighting against something, his ears pinned flat against his head and the most damning evidence of all a deep blush on his cheeks.
“Uh-“ she squeaks the word tumbling from her mouth but he beats her to it.
“You’ve done enough,” he says harshly from teeth bitten lips.
“Sorry,” she mutters and then shuts up, looking away from him, silently bringing her hand back to where it was. The air is heavy with tension broken only by the thumping beat of the music outside. She submits herself to spending eternity like this, laying against her co-worker as the awkwardness eats them alive. Then her world is tilting as Alastor moves beneath her.
His hips shift while arms come up around her, his hands settling on her hips. It startles her, but his touch is as reverent as a church boys. They stay firmly on her hips, they don’t wonder and they don’t squeeze. Shame curdles in her gut at what she accidentally did to him. He scoots her up, getting her bottom awkwardly off of his legs and into his lap while he himself sits up. As much as he can with the limited space.
She blinks once it’s over, taken aback by not only the sudden change but how comfortable this new position is. She looks at him now, the awkwardness and the self aimed death wishes simmering down to a manageable level. “Thanks for that and I really am sorry for the- the thing. That was really unprofessional and I’m just so so sorry-“
“Enough apologizing, there’s much better things to do with those pretty lips of yours,” he says, cutting her off.
What?
Charlie looks at him a little closer now after long stifling minutes of refusing to do just that. He’s not even aware of what he’s said, too focused on grabbing the bottle of alcohol without hitting his elbow on the wall or the door. He said it like it was easy. She narrows her eyes, untrusting and she swears she sees a blush dusting his cheeks.
What?
But suddenly he’s thrusting the bottle into her hands and his words make sense. Of course. He was referring to the bottle of alcohol, duh!
She takes a small swig, it’s bitter and brash. An amber colored burn that slides down her throat and into her belly, warming her from the inside out. She shivers at the taste and passes the bottle back to him.
He takes a much larger swig than she did.
————————————-
Music thumps through the floor, the party raging on outside. Maybe, she doesn’t think she hears movement anymore, just the music. No other signs of life. It’s slightly unsettling having the music blaring outside the door and not hearing anybody. She means to ponder this further, but thoughts don’t like to stay in her head at the moment.
She can feel herself swaying a little like she’s on a boat, it’s a good thing she’s lying down. She’s tipsy and Alastor is too, past that actually. He’s more drunk than she is. His entire demeanor changed. He’s soft, pliant, his smile loose and he babbles.
“-and then I split open his throat and he choked on his own blood!” He shouts, loud laughter bouncing on the walls all around him.
She feels herself giggling along, the sound light and bubbly. She lifts the bottle to her lips but nothing hits her tongue. She shrugs and lazily puts it on the floor. It’s hot in here the air is stifling, trapped between the two of them with nowhere to go. Sweat clings to her skin, especially where she’s touching Alastor. There’s nowhere to go to get away from the heat. It’s everywhere in here just like he is with his body stretched out like that.
An idea strikes her like a bolt of lightning. A goofy smile makes its way onto her face as she sits up. She can feel Alastor looking at her, curious as to why she’s suddenly wanting to be upright. She teeters a little once she is, swaying like a branch until gravity works again.
Without an explanation she starts to remove her clothes. She shirks off her jacket wrestling with the sleeves until she’s free. She yanks off her bow tie heedless to how rough she’s being. If she thought Alastor’s eyes were on her before they definitely are now. He’s bold faced staring at her, his mouth slack-jawed in shock while still managing to smile.
She makes it to her blouse where the tiny buttons fight her. She fiddles with the cloth, vision obscured as it’s right up against her neck. “Dammit!” She curses when she fails to maneuver the button through.
“I can help with that,” Alastor says and he reaches for her shirt, hands unfairly succeeding where she failed.
“No! I’m the princess, so I’m in charge!” She shouts and bats away his hands.
He doesn’t get mad at her, or giggle; he just stares at her. His usual smile curling around the edges turning as gooey as her insides feel. There’s a constant blush on his cheeks, the work of the alcohol but for some silly idea she thinks it’s because of her.
He’s cute like this, she thinks before shaking her head clearing the wayward thought. She huffs at him and goes back to her task. Shouting in joy when she manages one. She can feel him studying her, his eyes roaming a meandering path from her crumpled discarded jacket and to her blouse.
“Then princess can I undress too?” He asks, his words small, barely audible over the music.
She looks at him then, the buttons abandoned in favor of how weird he’s being. Sweat beads above his lip making his hair stick to his forehead as his cheeks are colored pink. The heat’s getting to him too. She nods her head.
“Yes yes,” she says in her most posh voice she can muster, playing up her royal role. It has them both fighting to keep their laughter contained. All shaking shoulders and clamped shut lips. “And as the princess I have to help you,” and she swears Alastor lights up. “After, I get my shirt off.”
He grouses mumbling something to himself about how they’ll be here all night but she gives him the stink eye and he quiets. For a little while. “May I please help you now princess? This lowly peasant is boiling,” he whines.
She looks down at her non-progress and then looks back at him and how his sweating has only gotten worse. “Fine. You may help,” and she drops the button she was fiddling with and holds her arms out at either side.
Alastor’s hands return to her blouse and he yanks it out from where it’s tucked into her pants. It’s no less rough than how she herself did it but now everything feels strangely intimate. He’s close so close she can feel every puff of his exhales. He quietly undoes her buttons, starting from the bottom his hand brushing against her stomach as each inch of her pale skin is exposed.
His hands barely touch her skin, the light brush of a pinky, the poke of a nail but that’s as far as it goes. And yet every brush leaves sparks in its wake. She feels like he’s the sole force keeping her upright. His hands firmly gripping each half of her blouse, a hold she feels with every inch he travels.
He draws closer to her chest and breathing becomes difficult. Charlie is acutely aware of every movement her chest does. If Alastor notices he doesn’t comment on it but she sees his hands shaking. They tremble like leaves as he attempts to pull the cloth away from her chest. It’s sweet that he’s trying to touch her as little as possible, especially now but his sweetness is getting him nowhere.
Alastor’s shaking worsens to the point that he can’t get the button through. She watches him try and fail to undo the button that sits just below her breasts. She has to shove down the urge to laugh but she can’t stop her shoulders from shaking. It makes everything worse. His cheeks redden to the deepest she’s seen them as her chest bounces with her shoulders, right in front of his face.
It takes everything in her not to laugh in his face as she opens her mouth to speak. “It’s okay,” she says, her voice cracking from the unsung laughter.
His eyes dart up to her, his hesitance clear as daylight while his head cocks to one side. He reminds her of a puppy, sweet and harmless. Alastor is anything but, although for her he just might be. She mentally shoves the unhelpful thoughts away, dismissing how her heart flutters in her chest. “If you have to touch them it’s fine.”
His eyes widen even further, and have they always been so pretty? “The princess allows her subject to touch the unmentionables just this once,” She reiterates, slipping into their earlier banter.
He blinks, an ear or two twitching as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. She raises a brow and he looks back down at her chest. Alastor’s hands still shake but he gets the button through, unveiling her plain black bra beneath. He undoes the next one and his hands still, pausing at the sight before him. The tops of her breasts peek out from behind the curtain of her shirt, pale and flushed pink from the heat in the room. Sweat glistens on her skin, a drop slipping down in between them.
The front of her bra is dappled with dark spots, where the sweat gathered as they pushed up against the cups. It’s all along the edges of the band too. Embarrassment crawls into Charlie’s throat the longer he stares at her disheveled state. Just as it’s beginning to become unbearable he shakes his head and moves on. He unbuttons the last two buttons and then his hands fall.
He didn’t touch her chest once but just the thought of accidentally doing so had him spiraling. Any lingering embarrassment vanishes at the surge of affection that races through her. She almost wants him to look, to openly stare at her as she takes her shirt off. But he’s steadfastly looking down at the floor, more specifically the empty bottle. He looks a little sad about it.
She made a promise however, not actually but she counts it as one. She leans forwards placing her hands on his chest as she pushes him back. But she egregiously miscalculated how aware he is of her as he’s taken completely off guard. There’s not an ounce of resistance from him and he’s sent crashing with a thump into the wall behind him.
“Sorry,” She says, her hands flying up to his head as she tries to check how hard he hit it. Alastor shakes his head slightly, groaning as he blinks numerous times. “Sorry,” she whispers for good measure.
She’s carding through his hair when he grabs her hands. Stopping them in their efforts. “What did I say about apologizing?” He stumbles on the last word, it’s too complicated for his drink-addled tongue but his point is clear.
She looks down at him in surprise, her body stilling, her world tilting and were it not for his hold on her hands she would have thought she had fallen to the side. “What?” She laughs in disbelief. “No that was, that was about the bottle.”
He narrows his eyes at her like she’s stupid. Like she’s the one so drunk she’s stumbling over her words. “That was about you,” he says and she feels the hold on her hands shift, a thumb thoughtfully brushing against a knuckle before he brings her hands closer. He brings them to his chest, placing them directly over his erratically beating heart. Now she’s certain that she had fallen at some point and bumped her head. That this is some fucked up subconscious fever dream.
But the way he’s looking at her, eyes soft, cheeks dusted pink with that same gooey smile she’s seen so much of tonight. She knows this is all real no matter how much the world spins around her. “You were serious?” She mumbles, her lips numb.
Alastor giggles, more so the alcohol then nerves. “As a heart attack,” he shifts his grip on her hands pressing them further against his chest. The steady thump of his dead heart. She can feel its beat thrum through her as much as the swell of the music. “Can’t you feel it beating for you?”
Charlie can’t utter a single word. Too many things are happening all at once. The feeling of him, holding her hand, all around her in this cramped space. His confession and how the world seems pulled from a dream. Unreal, slippery in its presentation. She feels hotter than ever even without her shirt. Between her thighs, her face as it burns a blotchy pink mess.
She’s all too aware where she sits, what she’s touching. Flashes of earlier flit through her mind, the shape, the weight of it once she registered what it was.
She’s brought back to the present, to him, by her hands moving. Alastor’s doing as he guides them to his coat buttons. To what she claimed she had to help him with. “You’re still in charge princess,” he says. And that’s permission if she’s ever heard it. “Unless you’re getting cold hooves?” He tacks on at the end, losing the heat to his words as he becomes unsure.
The world stops spinning as it all comes into glaring clarity. Her world is tinged red. “Never,” she promises and she starts to undo his buttons.
The coat is easy, its buttons big as they’re more for decoration than anything else. It’s getting it off of him that’s the problem. She tries to shimmy it off his arms where he sits but that doesn’t work. The fabric gets trapped, bunches beneath his back or caught on his long spindly arms. She resorts to leaning on him, their bodies shifting, sensitive areas rubbing together. She doesn’t try to deny those shifts now, the heat that radiates between them.
There’s a distinct lack of awkwardness now, long stilted silences peppered with a refusal to look at or otherwise engage with one another. Instead their eyes are locked onto the other. Her staring at every inch of bare skin she manages to uncover, and him at the way her breasts push up against him. It makes her throb in time to the music knowing that as harried and sweaty as she is he’s completely enamored with her.
Charlie could probably draw a mustache on him and he wouldn’t even notice. She laughs at the thought and he joins her without knowing the context. It’s startling how easy this is with him, how they can laugh like this and nothing changes. Nothing except lingering gazes and sizzling touches.
With much effort, and a little cursing from the both of them as elbows and hands get knocked against walls, they manage to get everything on his top half off. Well, except for his bow tie, he insists on keeping that on. Something about princely behavior. She shrugs and moves on to his pants. Charlie purposefully drags herself down his front as she does. Feeling his muscles tense against her soft flesh.
She settles on his thighs, just below his crotch. If she thought his top half was difficult his bottom half is even worse. He tries to help but every attempt fails, their drunken states not lending them any favors.
“No no you have to move this way,” she emphasizes, raising her hand up to show him.
“Like this?” He mutters as he does as she asks. He lifts his hips off the floor, trying to hold them aloft so that she can slip the pants down but he can’t hold it up long enough. The angle that he’s at with his legs cramped against the wall is all wrong and he collapses just as she’s making progress.
“Ugh this is impossible!” She whines her hands flying to her hair and that is when she feels something. She pats at the side of her head, traveling to her hairline where she finds them. Her horns. She almost feels like laughing. She got so frustrated that she accidentally switched.
She glances at Alastor, at least he doesn’t seem to mind. His smile has turned radiant, seeming to glow in the sparse light as he takes her in with wide eyes.
But this doesn’t help with the- wait. She taps a claw against his pant leg and it rips. It tears like butter. She doesn’t ask, doesn’t bother as she uses a single claw to cut cleanly down the center of his pant leg. One after the other. Alastor doesn’t whine one bit shivering while he watches with rapt attention.
“Radiant,” he whispers.
A brush and his pants fall off of him. She takes in the sight of him, white boxers doing nothing to hide what lies beneath. A spot of pre-cum darkening its front while he strains against it. She hums in interest and he twitches.
She sees no reason to switch her form. Power thrums through her blood, mixing with the alcohol already there. An intoxicating cocktail, it makes her feel limitless. Pounding in her blood like a heartbeat, matching the one between her legs. She moves herself back up, not dawdling as she did before. She plants herself squarely on his lap.
He hisses between his smile at the deliberate grind she does. She grabs his hands, and he doesn’t dare to question why. Like he did to her, she brings his hands up to the back of her bra. Unlike him, she keeps her hands wrapped around his, guiding his clumsy fingers to unhook it. Cool air hits her skin as she carelessly casts the garment aside. Alastor stares transfixed, an aborted movement to sit up, his mouth opening as if he’ll lick them.
A hand on his chest stops him, “Your turn.”
He’s confused but one grind of her hips and he’s reminded of the extra layers between them. His hands fly to her waist with a ferver. He gets the button undone and unzips the fly but that’s as far as he can get with their current position.
“Here let me help you with that,” she coos as she leans forwards. Delighting in the way his blush deepens, this fearsome man nearly shrinking against the wall at the sight of her boobs coming closer. Charlie nabs his bow tie, he makes a choking sound but doesn’t protest. She uses it to pull him up, continuing until he’s forced to shift. Tipping her onto her back.
He’s holding her legs, holding them up around his thighs as their groins press together. The sheer heat of him, the way he strains against his underwear has her moaning. He grabs hold of the ends of her pant legs, folding her legs up towards her head as he rips them off of her. He does it with surprising dexterity, fueled by the lust, in his eyes and pressing against her.
He’s kneeling on the floor, leaning over her poised as if he’s ready to pounce. He doesn’t do any more though, hesitating, pausing even as she feels how much he wants her. There’s a charge in the air that’s more than the buzz of alcohol and the thumping beat of the music. It’s thick, cloying and nearly suffocating. An invisible line that she knows once they cross the threshold they can never go back.
“Go on,” she urges, swallowing as she finds the words. She moves her tail, wrapping it against his back in an effort to bring him closer. “Your princess demands it.”
Another tug on his bow tie, a strangled moan spilling from between his parted lips, seeping into the skin of his cheeks as a deep blush. That has him moving. Using her other hand she pulls her underwear to the side, just as he frees himself from his boxers. He lines himself up, pressing the head against her. “At the princesses demand,” he mutters, the words sounding heavy on his tongue.
Her rebuttal dies in her throat as he none too gently slams into her. A moan loud and untethered by the sense to quite tears itself from her throat. Alastor grunts above her, his thrusts sloppy and uncoordinated but they make her clench around him regardless. Pleasure coiling in her belly as she accepts him easily.
She tries to speak but every time she opens her mouth, gathers enough breath another thrust comes and it’s fucked out of her. The angle that she’s at does her no favors, her legs by her head, her stomach nearly pressed against her chest it makes every thrust reach deep into her core. Scraping out every last bit of pleasure that her body is capable of producing.
Her free hand grips his back, claws tearing into him as he goes. “Oh fuck Alastor.”
“Ch- Charlie,” he groans breathless and needy as she keeps her grip on his bow tie. To keep him close, to remind him of her power. She gives it a tug now, watching as his eyes roll in his head, and his hips stutter.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she says.
She thinks she sees him nod but sweat drips into her eyes, tears gathering at the corners with the overwhelming sensations. He presses into her, his head nestling in her chest, her neck as a hot wet trail of sloppy kisses is left in his wake. It adds fuel to fire, to the quivering ball of pleasure building deep inside.
She mutters for him to continue, horse demands as her voice cracks and whines on nearly every one. Coupled with harsh bear desperate tugs on his bow tie, the man moaning after each one. But rest assured Alastor is loyal, he listens to her every command even as he showers her with attention. She desperately claws at his back, biting into his arm as wave after wave of overpowering pleasure crashes through her.
She can feel his hot tongue dipping between her breasts, licking up the ample amount of sweat. His eyes lock onto hers while he does it, pure dirty devotion within them.
“Kiss me,” and she lets go of his bow tie. A test, if his words earlier were true or just the sort of nonsensical things alcohol wrings out of people.
And when has he disappointed her? He presses his lips against hers, a hungry thing that soon devolves into bitten lips and bloody teeth. She tastes him on her tongue, the burn of alcohol even though neither of them have had a drop to drink in a while, the copper taste of his blood. He’s hers, body and mind.
He swallows up her moans as he continues, relentless. A beast let free and she may still hold the leash but he’s wild nonetheless. A pressure builds within her but it’s different then what she’s used to. The pleasure is still there but it’s heavy, far too much. She realizes too late.
“Alastor-“ she gasps but it’s too late to warn him.
She can feel her body spasm, an almost painful pulse of pleasure making her shake. She watches through clenched tearful eyes as a stream of fluid bursts out of her, covering Alastor completely. He pauses taken aback by the sudden wetness that dampens his fur. Charlie feels like crying as embarrassment burns heavy on her face and chest. She takes a shaky breath in to blubber an apology but she stops.
It doesn’t smell like how she thought it should. Relief crashes through her almost as powerfully as her orgasm did when it dawns on her that she squirted. Covering for herself, not wanting to linger on it she surges towards him. Capturing his lips with hers.
Alastor continues as he was, her moans made louder, sharper as her overwrought flesh pulses around him. It greedily sucks him in wetter than before and it’s not long before he’s tipping over the edge. Filling her with hot bursts as she tumbles after him. Another orgasm squeezed out of her.
They lay there a moment, his head against her chest as they pant in unison. She lets her demon form melt away, her tail no longer needed to hold him close. She pats at his head, uncaring of how sweaty he is just like he doesn’t care about her harried demeanor either. Warmth fills her inside and out, a blanket of fuzz that sings in her veins. He nuzzles into her chest further, whispering something against her skin.
“What?” She asks.
His ears perk up at being caught, and he looks at her with wide eyes. She waits, he breaks. “I love you.” He says.
She smiles, the words coming easy. “I love you too.”
They cuddle tangled up in one another until the heat becomes unbearable. Even then, giddy with their newfound happiness they can’t bear to separate from one another. They shift onto their sides, holding each other close as her head rests against his chest.
Her words circle through her mind, he’s hers, body and mind, it rings truer than ever as she takes in his form. Her scratches and bite marks littering his skin, a red line around his throat from her incessant tugging. She gingerly touches one now, the indents of her teeth. Alastor stirs, humming as he cuddles in closer. Plants a kiss on top of her hair.
He is hers, as much as she is his.
She falls asleep to the feeling of his arms lovingly wrapped around her and his seed filling her.
——————————
She‘s roused from sleep by the sound of whispers, a creek and then blinding light floods the small room. She groans, pushing herself up, the warm weight beside her following. Her head pounds and the light hurts her eyes, sharp stabs directly to her retinas. When her vision adjusts she’s greeted to the sight of everybody’s shocked faces.
Shock and fear climbs into her throat as last night hits her all at once. Her frame jostles, arms wrapping tighter around her, almost shielding her from view. She looks up to see Alastor glaring at them. The door closes.
He smiles down at her and she thinks, yeah, she wouldn’t change a thing.