Chapter Text
There were three things Angel Dust really enjoyed. Like, really enjoyed. Things that made his body sing with the heedless delight of it all, his head swim with sheer enjoyment. They were simple pleasures really, nothing out of the ordinary, Hell, for a demon they were practically staple: wanton destruction, unrestrained access to drugs, and carnal, gratuitous sex.
He’d only had the pleasure of enjoying two of these things today. And, well, one of them hadn’t even that good; blowing a john in the back of his car and getting a weak-ass handjob in return was shit-tier when it came to sex. He was a world-famous porn star for fuck-sake; he deserved better. He craved better. At least he’d been paid for it. And now that he thought about it, the carnage he’d wreaked with Cherri had left him with blue-balls in other ways. He’d had fun, more fun than he’d hand in a long time of he was honest, but he’d be lying if it hadn’t left him craving… something else. He wanted to carry on riding some sort of high, and it didn’t look like anyone ay the Hazbin Hotel was going to scratch that particular itch for a while.
Speaking of the Hotel, things had calmed down a bit, at least on the surface of it. The Radio Demon was still in full form, his voice carrying from some distant drawing room, prattling on in a way designed to be disarming. Of course, Angel Dust knew his type – he remembered the hustlers and conmen from when he was alive, the ostentatious showmen whose hands were halfway to your wallet even as they shook your hand. Sometimes they worked for his Pops, but more often they were on the receiving end of the Family turning up demanding their cut of the operation.
It annoyed him slightly to see Charlie fall for such an obvious charlatan. He’d always assumed her naivete and peppy demeanour was a front of some kind, but the more he saw of her, the more he realised, no, she really was just some rich dumb bitch with something to prove. Well, she’d get what was coming to her. Hell didn’t give a flying fuck if she was technically royalty. It didn’t matter to him either.
God, just thinking about Alastor made his skin itch. He didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. Those sorts of men didn’t do anything for him – he could see through their scams, and they rarely had anything they could offer him anyway. Speaking of, he really wanted to get high right now. He craved something, just a little hit to finish the day off on a high note. Booze was an option, but…
Fuck it, no one would blame him if he went out for a little bit. They had bigger things to worry about right now than him slipping out to get a little something to tide him over. He’d already broken his clean streak; he might as well make it a hat-trick and start afresh in the morning.
He’d barely got to the end of the street when he heard a car pull up slowly behind him. He grinned to himself. Or, he could make some easy money first and then go and get his fix.
He puffed up his chest, flicked his cigarette into the gutter, and slicked back his hair.
“Oh, Angel…”
Angel Dust paled at the deep, silky-smooth voice. He felt his shoulders tense, his back straighten as the window of the expensive limo opened fully. Valentino was smiling at him, eyes hidden by his sunglasses.
“Boss…”
The car came to a complete stop and Valentino didn’t break eye contact. A valet appeared from the front and held the door open for him, gesturing him inside.
Angel Dust slid into the back seats, wincing when the door clicked closed behind him. Valentino lounged on the upholstery opposite, two bitches sprawled on his lap, lithe bodies rubbing sensually against the velvet and fur of his coat. His clawed hands rested possessively on their hips, holding them close.
“Tell me Angel-cakes,” he purred, teeth flashing in the gloom, “what the fuck are you playing at?”
“What…?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me sugar, it was all over the news.”
“Ah, c’mon Boss. I was just doin’ my bestie a solid. You know, helpin’ her out with a little turf war. She was packing enough heat for the both of us and I-”
“No no no, sweetheart, I’m not talking about that, though I am surprised you had time to go galivanting with a radical anarchist considering you have a performance tonight.” Valentino leaned forwards, light reflecting off of his glasses in a way that Angel Dust could see his pinched reflection staring back at him. “I was referring to Miss Charlie Magne and her little news broadcast. What is all this nonsense about a hotel?”
Angel Dust looked away, fidgeting in his seat. Valentino was so very close to him; the smell of cigarette smoke was overpowering, his teeth looking so very sharp. The two bitches in his lap had surreptitiously shifted away, leaving Angel Dust feeling very alone. He laughed nervously, wringing his hands together, suddenly dizzy.
“Ah haha, that bitch? Nah, she’s a sucker if I ever saw one. I mean, she comes to me, begs me to stay in her hotel rent and board free – who am I to turn down an opportunity like that? It ain’t like-”
Valentino held up a hand to silence him, his smile wider, sharper. Angel Dust shut up immediately, his jaw clicking closed with the abruptness of it. “Was she lying when she said that you’d been clean for two weeks? Staying out of trouble?”
The danger was palpable. He could taste it. Angel Dust shrank back as far as he could go, but the seat pressed into his back.
“No! no no no, boss, you’ve got it all wrong. I mean, you saw what me an’ Cherri pulled off, right? And… and I was with a john this afternoon, being a good little whore!”
“Hear that girls? I’ve got it all wrong.” Valentino grabbed Angel Dusts cheeks with a clawed hand and pulled him close. “Have I though? Have I got it wrong that I haven’t seen you at the studio for a fortnight? Haven’t seen you at the club?”
“Well… no. I was just-” Angel Dust trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
“Just what? Go on, make a pretty little excuse.”
Angel Dust let out a shuddering breath, looking caught. “I can’t, sir.”
“Exactly. You can’t. You’ve been wasting my time as if you don’t understand exactly what you are. What your work entails. And what that means for me.”
“Boss-”
“I think,” Valentino said, “that you need to learn a few lessons. I’ve been terribly patient with you sugar. I’ve turned a blind eye when you’ve gone behind my back, fucking up my drug deals, whoring yourself out on the side. I’ve given you every high you could ever want, indulged you. And for what? For you to throw it back in my face as soon as you think you can do anything on your own.”
“I can make it up to you! I can make up the time, pull double shifts at the studio, and-”
“Oh sweetheart. As if that would ever be enough. Do you have any idea how much your little hiatus has cost me? How much time and money I lost without your revenue stream?!”
“No, sir?”
Valentino leaned forward and whispered a number into Angel Dust’s ear. He paled beneath the white of his fur, eyes going wide.
“No...”
“Oh yes. With interest of course. And you’re going to pay back every single penny.”
“How-”
“You’re performing at the Viper Pit tonight. Headline show. One night only.” Valentino smiled at him again, and Angel Dust felt his stomach drop with suspicion. “Select clientele. Is that understood?”
Angel Dust let out the breath he was holding. Valentino was watching him closely. “Is. That. Understood!?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good boy. Don’t be late. And don’t ever think of pulling a stunt like this again. You can’t even begin to imagine how much you’ll regret it.”
The car pulled to a stop and the door opened. The bitches quickly shifted back to Valentino’s side, all but snuggling to his coat, pressing close. Dismissed, Angel Dust stepped out into the street.
So much for getting his buzz.
The Viper Pit was a nightclub; a little more high-end than he usually performed, but nothing out of the ordinary. It even had bouncers on the door preventing the worst of Hell’s denizens. It was packed tonight; peeking through the curtains every single table was at capacity, eyes on the stage waiting. Waiting for him.
He’d been thankful to find enough blow backstage to kill a fucking bear, and he was already starting to feel the familiar high-energy rush that came before a show. He needed all the help he could get - there was a knot of anxiety worming its way in his stomach that weas stubbornly refusing to shift. He’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop all afternoon, trying not to overthink what sort of Hell Valentino had in store for him. So far, so fucking normal. All he had to do was put on a show; a bit of stripping, a few lap dances, let the crowd grope him a bit. It all seemed so tame. He’d at least had expected to go to the studio afterwards for an afterparty, have the cameras rolling as he serviced the especially big tippers, but no one had said anything to him yet. Not that he’d mind if they did; he was the finest, most famous porn star in Hell. He’d got that reputation for a reason.
Still, spikes of apprehension were flaring. Valentino was in the audience, his silhouette visible in the low light, and he was smiling.
No time to worry about that now. The lights went down, the music began to pound, and the stoplight was on him. He stepped out onto the stage and the crowd went fucking wild.
He could do this. This came naturally to him. His routine was tried and tested, his body shifted and undulated to the beat, all long limbs and sinuous curves. The crowd was eating it up – they always did, drawing closer as they all wanted to touch, to taste, to devour him. He smiled, arching his back, spreading his legs, writhing on the stage. Give them a glimpse, rile them up, make them fucking hungry.
His eyes locked with Valentino’s and he risked a small, sultry grin. Valentino took a deep drag on a cigarette and blew the smoke out towards him. Even from here Angel Dust could smell it. It wasn’t tobacco; acrid and sweet, spicy and chemical, he knew exactly what it was. He breathed in deep, feeling a tingling sensation fill his lungs, settle all around him. His eyes rolled back in his head and he let himself fall to the floor, wrapping his arms around his body, rubbing his skin, chasing the intense pleasure that threatened to consume him.
Oh god how could he have wanted to give up all this? This is what he needed. Pure euphoria. Ecstasy didn’t touch it; the earlier coke-high paled in comparison. More addictive than heroin. Stronger than speed. Valentino knew what he needed. Only Valentino could provide it.
Valentino hooked his finger, beckoning him, enticing him forward. Angel Dust complied; who was he to deny his Boss anything? He crawled forward, sensuous, enticing. Give the audience one hell of a show, he thought, let them watch him submit, present himself for their pleasure. The music pounded, made his nerves thrum and his pulse raise to the beat.
He reached Valentino’s lap – he made a display of touching his legs, hands drifting higher, higher – until a long claw hooked under his chin, encouraging him to meet Valentino’s eyes.
Valentino blew curling red smoke directly into Angel Dust’s face.
It was simultaneously the most erotic and thrilling thing he’d ever experienced. The hit was instantaneous, stronger than before, unparalleled in its intensity. He felt like he was on fire and loving every moment of it. His head spun at how bright colours in the room had become, how the entire room looked like it was moving, breathing. He collapsed off the stage, falling away from Valentino’s lap and into the waiting crowd.
Everything felt sexual, arousing. He was hard, and everything he touched – and touched him – just compounded the feeling. He felt like he could come just from the friction of his underwear rubbing against his aching cock.
Hands were all over him, touching everywhere at once. He closed his eyes and melted into the touches, the gropes that covered every inch of his chest, stomach, ass. Deft fingers had worked their way through his fur and found his nipples, tweaking them and making him moan. Another hand was leisurely stroking his cock through his underwear, increasing the friction to an unbearable degree.
He felt boneless as he was positioned how the crowd wanted him. One of the guys pushed his throbbing dick past Angel Dust’s lips and he sucked on it hungrily, moaning. The pleasure rose. His underwear was removed – he whimpered at the loss of sensation that had him so close to release – and a hot thick cock was pushed into him, thrusting hard, driving him even closer.
He came after the third thrust, crying out as his orgasm crashed around him. This was bliss. This was heaven.
In his post-orgasm afterglow, the pleasure was inexplicably rising. Higher and higher. He tried to close his eyes against the intensity of it, but if anything, it made him more aware of everything that was being done to him. The guy finished in his mouth; another hot splash of semen splattered on his face. He was repositioned, passed around to sit on someone’s lap, felt weightless as they thrust up into him. He felt so hot, so tight. A tongue slipped past his parted lips, pulling him into a forceful kiss. He was encouraged to stroke two guys standing over him, his other hands guided to play with his own oversensitive cock.
The room was getting hotter, the actions from the crowd more forceful, the effects of the drug more concentrated. The sensations that had been so pleasurable a moment ago was starting to border into painful. A tingling fire lashed up and down his nerves and he began to squirm.
The room span and he was pushed face down, ass in the air. The carpet burned like a brand where it rubbed against his cheek. A hard slap caught him by surprise, but rather than the initial sting passing quickly, it lingered, grew. He groaned, choking, trying to get away, but he was held firmly in place. The stretch of yet another hard cock pushing into his asshole felt unbearable. He was burning up. He couldn’t breathe. His heart was beating too fast.
“Oh no, Angel cakes, you’re going to stay right there. Give them one hell of a show, baby.”
Angel Dust was flipped on his back. His legs were lifted up to his chest and the onslaught continued. Valentino was standing over him. He smiled, all jagged teeth and malevolence. He took another drag on that infernal cigarette and blew out more of the smoke. Angel Dust couldn’t help but breathe it in, could help how it filled his lungs and stole his breath away. He was dizzy, everything hurt, and his stomach gave a harsh twist.
Time was meaningless. He couldn’t think straight anyway, couldn’t coordinate his limbs any more. He’d lost count of the number of men, the pain around his genitals and asshole one continuous spike of agony.
Nausea wracked through him as he was lifted, positioned, used. He choked for breath between guests fucking his mouth, chest heaving with the labour of it. He tried to concentrate on keeping still, to try and control the feelings of dizziness and disorientation. He could do nothing about how every touch sent lances of agony through him. There were hands everywhere. He couldn’t escape.
He felt like he was dying.
While he was alive, Angel Dust had overdosed twice.
The first time had been a terrifying experience. He’d been overconfident, overestimated his capacity for cocaine, mixed it with copious amounts of alcohol in an effort to improve his image. He’d ended up fighting for breath while his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest, head swimming, in more pain that he had ever experienced in his life. His sister had left him curled up around a pillow while she went to get help, and he’d flitted in and out of consciousness, catatonic, his body heaving through waves of nausea. He couldn’t even cough to clear his throat of the sticky, rancid vomit that coated it.
He’d been treated in the servant’s quarters, his father barring him from being brought into the house. “If he dies, he dies. At least he’ll be easy to clean up.” He hadn’t, but his father had nearly killed him once he’d recovered, thrashing him within an inch of his life when he’d discovered where the coke and booze had come from.
The second time had killed him.
Things were different in Hell. It was very difficult to actually kill a demon. It was possible of course – it had to be, otherwise the annual extermination would be meaningless – but there was an inherent resilience that came with living through eternal damnation. On the plus side, it meant you could get one hell of a high if you had enough money to fund it. On the other, it meant that the hangovers were a living nightmare.
Valentino’s substance wasn’t like anything that existed on Earth. Euphoric, addictive and completely life-shattering. It’s how he managed to build his entourage, stake his claim to a sizable portion of Hell’s drug supply line. No-one could produce what he could, and he made a point of only breaking it out for special occasions. Sure, anyone could supply amphetamines, opiates, and hallucinogenics – but none of them came with a promise of maybe, if the deal was sweet enough, it might come with a little extra. It didn’t officially have a name; Valentino said that it would cheapen it. Behind his back though, it was known as ruin.
It fucking felt like it now.
Angel Dust woke up slowly. Everything hurt. Fuck, he felt like he’d been hit by a truck. His head throbbed like it was in a vice and his stomach and throat felt like he’d swallowed a beaker of acid. He didn’t want to open his eyes even when he was conscious enough, trying to take stock of his injuries. He was cold. The concrete beneath him – spattered with blood, grime and gutter-swill - bit into his skin like icy knives. He shivered, and choked on a whimper at how much that made everything worse.
He was outside, tossed behind the club’s dumpsters like a used condom. Perhaps they’d hope he’d die in the night. It absolutely reeked; torn garbage bags were piled up everywhere, hellrats gorging themselves on the rot and decay inside.
He slowly managed to draw his long legs to his chest, hugging them close to his body. He felt bruised all over, and it hurt to breathe. He’d thrown up at some point; he could taste it, acrid on his tongue. It was almost enough to make him hurl again. Fuck, he was a mess. He needed to get home. His wallet was gone, his normal clothes too, leaving him in the jizz covered outfit he’d performed in. He didn’t wonder where his underwear had got to, but he probably didn’t want it back anyway.
After a few tries he got to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall for support. The rear door to the club opened and one of the bouncers peered at him from the entrance.
“You Angel Dust?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Don’t get fucking cute with me you two-bit whore. Got a message from your boss. He says: get ready for round two. Tonight, at the studio. Don’t you dare be late.”
Before Angel Dust could question him further – or ask for his wallet back – the door slammed closed and he was left alone. He felt broken.
It took him hours to make it back to the hotel. He had to be so fucking careful, choosing his route to avoid anyone who might see him as an easy target. It didn’t help that he had to stop to throw up if he moved too fast, or grab a nearby lamppost when his head spun. He just wanted to sleep.
He had no fucking clue what time it was when he pushed open the doors to the Hazbin Hotel lobby. Husk was at the bar, but thankfully no one else was in sight. They probably didn’t even realise he’d been gone all night.
“Woah, you look like shit,” Husk said, eyes widening. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“Don’t want to talk about it. Look, I don’t got any money, but I’d really appreciate it if you could fix me a stiff drink.”
“Screw the drink, you look like you need a hospital.”
“Well, I’m fresh outta luck on that one, ain’t I?” he staggered over to the bar and leaned heavily on the wooden surface. “Look, would ya open a tab for me? I promise I’ll have more cash tonight and-”
“Well, well well! Look what the cat finally dragged in! If it isn’t my favourite gonsil, Angel Dust!” Angel Dust winced as Alastor’s staticky voice filtered through the lobby. He hadn’t heard him come in. Husk silently poured him a whiskey and slid it down the bar with uncharacteristic sympathy.
Alastor didn’t waste any time. In a moment he was by Angel Dust’s side, turning him this way and that to get a better look at him. Angel Dust batted his hand away, for the little good it did. “My dear effeminate fellow you look half-seas over; I don’t suppose you over-indulged yourself last night and got yourself into a tiny little predicament, did you? I do hope, for your sake, that you weren’t engaging in behaviour that would bring the reputation of his fine establishment into disrepute, now, were you?”
“Leave me alone, I ain’t in the mood,” Angel Dust muttered, cradling the drink. He hated whiskey, but at least it would chase away the bad taste he had in his mouth. He could still see Alastor’s grin from the corner of his eye. It was concerningly wide.
“Haha, a first, I’m sure! But don’t take my words in jest – I am exceptionally invested in Miss Charlie’s ambitious, naïve and unbearably unattainable dream, and I would hate for her first and only patron to have fallen off the wagon so soon! So, why don’t you tell your old pal Alastor just what happened and we’ll get to the bottom of this little quandary, shall we?”
He was close, unbearably close. Angel Dust could smell his cologne, the fresh laundry scent of his clothes. He looked so clean and well put together it made Angel Dust’s grime-coated skin feel even worse. He pushed him away, trying to create space.
“I said, fuck off!” Angel Dust snapped, regretting the words the moment they left his lips. Alastor was like Valentino, in a way; he was right on the money when he compared him to a pimp. They held themselves in similar ways, and had expectations in how to be spoken to. There was a brief flicker as the perpetual radio static that surrounded Alastor grew louder, the room grew a little darker, and that jagged smile widened.
Then the moment passed and Alastor laughed again. He laughed easily, too much, almost as punctuation.
“So you did, so you did! Haha, I seem to have touched a nerve in asking about your whereabouts and activities. Though it doesn’t take a genius to hazard a guess, just by the smell of you!”
Angel Dust downed the drink in one go. “I’m going back to my room.”
“But of course! Don’t let me detain you! After all, I am sure I shall see you later and then we can continue our little chat – I’m confident that once you have come to your senses you will be much more amenable, and then, my dear, we may actually be able to make some progress!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Don’t count on it, he added silently.
Angel Dust walked away from him, feeling Alastor’s eyes boring into his back as he retreated up the staircase. Fuck, when did stairs get so hard?
The hangover from Valentino’s drug slammed into him like a fucking sledgehammer to the face, yet he wanted nothing more than another hit. It was designed like that, to be so instantly addictive that no matter how hard the comedown you always crawled back for more. You needed more. It was impossible to forget, to replicate or replace.
Valentino wasn’t particularly subtle in how he kept such a long list of loyal customers.
Angel Dust was running out of recovery time. He was due at the studio in a few hours and he still felt like death warmed over. He wanted to have a long bath, medicate for the worst of the pain, and sleep… but he didn’t have time. He had a headache. Everything itched – it took all his willpower not to claw at his fur and tear it out in chunks.
The whiskey he drank earlier came back up as easily as it went down, burning and hot. Tears sprang to his eyes as he tried to control the heaving. Eventually all he had to offer was bile. He forced himself to clean up after, trying hard not to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He knew he looked like shit, knew he would have to fix that for tonight, but for now, he just wanted to at least pretend he was over the worst of it.
He wasn’t sure if he could do this anymore. He was… pretty sure that he couldn’t actually die from an overdose again, but it felt like Valentino had been testing that line, pushing him to some sort of limit. Forcing him to take his ruinous drug was only the beginning, though Angel Dust couldn’t wrap his head around what else he could possibly have planned. But it wasn’t as though he had a choice. The amount he owed was burned into his mind – even with the special privileges the guests undoubtedly paid through the nose for, last night wouldn’t even scratch the surface of his debt. He needed to go back, for his own sake. Valentino would be out for his blood.
He left it as late as possible to leave his room. Makeup had done a good job of hiding the worst of the bags under his eyes and the sallowness of his skin and fur, but he still felt like shit. He wished he had some uppers to help him through, but it was wishful thinking - there wasn’t a chance in Hell that anything like that even existed in the Hotel.
Even from the top of the stairs he could hear a familiar static sound emanating from the lobby. Sure enough, Alastor was sat at the bar, sipping a glass of wine, reading a book, and listening to an old wireless set that Angel Dust was pretty sure belonged in the 1930s. He didn’t look up when Angel Dust crept down the stairs, didn’t move at all save to occasionally lick his thumb to turn the page, smiling softly to himself.
Angel Dust tried to act casual as he made a beeline for the door. So far, he hadn’t been noticed-
“Ah Angel Dust, there you are!” Angel Dust winced, stopping in his tracks. Alastor put down his book. “I’m glad you’ve emerged at long last! You do have a moment to talk to your good friend, don’t you? Hahaha, of course you do!”
“Hey Smiles!” Angel Dust said, trying to be as upbeat as he could, “I’d love to chat, but I’m running late, and the boss’ll have my head – you know how it is - so I’ll see you later! Buh-bye.” He blew a kiss and opened the front door. Alastor was immediately at his side.
“Haha, but of course! I would hate to interfere with your time keeping. Tell you what, how about I take a little stroll with you, and we can chat along the way!” Angel Dust groaned in frustration but nodded. He didn’t have a choice. It was a common theme in his life.
It was already going dark outside. Alastor was smiling, and to Angel Dust’s surprise rested his hand at the small of Angel Dust’s back as they walked. It was such an innocuous, gentlemanly action, but it felt like a lead weight. Angel Dust tried to ignore it.
“So, uh, what d’you wanna talk about?”
“Why you, my boy! I am fascinated by where you have been sneaking off to, and what activities are occurring to lend you to returning in quite frankly an appalling state.”
“You’re asking me what happens when I get fucked at the club?” Angel Dust brought a hand to his face as he laughed. “Hah, what do you want, for me to draw you a picture?”
“Hah, no. I am more interested in your motives, what drives you to return to that business after two weeks of being free from its influence. Miss Charlie informed me earlier that you had given up this rather objectionable career – and all of its associations and connotations- as part of the terms and conditions of her Hotel?”
It wasn’t really a question. The trap was laid and Angel Dust couldn’t help but to walk straight into it.
“Yeah, well, turns out my boss disagrees, and is pretty keen for me to get back to work, ya get me?”
“Hmm, I see I see! So you are working against your own redemption! Miss Charlie will be terribly disappointed…”
Alastor paused for a moment, thinking, and his face split into a smile. He was always smiling, but now there was something terribly predatory in it. “And you… are you happy to continue in that line of work? You don’t wish to be free of this terrible influence that tarnishes your immortal soul? If you continue down this path, who knows that sort of terrible fate will befall you.”
Angel Dust shrugged, purposely ignoring the threat lingering beneath the surface. “What do you care? Look, I know you make deals and shit, but I’m not interested, capisce? What the fuck could you offer me? I’m a world-famous porn star, I love blowing shit up, and I love getting’ high. These are my vices, and I can’t just stop just because some dumb bitch wishes on a star. So just back off, yeah?”
Alastor sighed theatrically, and let go of his loose hold on Angel Dust’s waist. He found himself instantly missing the warmth of it. It had been kinda nice.
“If you are sure, then I shall not interfere. It’s a shame, but I completely understand. Afterall, demons are inherently irredeemable, and you are the living proof! The next time I see Miss Charlie I shall inform her that we’d better look for a new test subject.”
Angel Dust wrapped his arms around himself in a defensive gesture. He didn’t actually expect Alastor to back down so quickly. “Look, I only promised her I’d try. And I tried for two weeks. It’s probably the best she’d get with anyone. It’s not my fault.”
“You don’t have to convince me, my dear fellow; however, I see that we have stopped walking, so I assume we are at your destination. I shall take my leave, and bid you adieu.” He gave a little bow, and sharply turned on his heels, walking away humming the tune from earlier.
Angel Dust ran his hands through his hair as he watched Alastor leave. He wanted to feel annoyed at the conversation, angry at Alastor’s condescending attitude, but all he felt was guilt instead.
Fuck it, it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. He’d tried, and all he’d got to show for it was a black mark against his reputation and a fuckton of money problems. The Radio Demon didn’t understand, probably never had an addiction in his life, never had to sidle up to the strongest person in the room to get what he wanted.
Bastard.
With an annoyed snarl he went into the studio.
Angel Dust wandered through the porn studio, passing the various rooms that were audibly in use, nodding a greeting to the Doormen standing guard along the corridors. Angel Dust was on first name terms with a lot of the staff, but the security guards were a dime a dozen.
Valentino wasn’t there but that was expected – while he’d happily make an appearance at the various strip clubs, being present for filming was beneath him. As such, the studio was run by the lesser demons in his employment; they did the menial tasks like stocking and cleaning the rooms and dungeons, making sure the porn stars were in the right places, filming the right thing. It was a neat little operation.
It was a part of his job that he didn’t mind so much. He much preferred it to standing on some street corner somewhere turning tricks for chump change. Posing for the cameras, getting fucked within an inch of his life, it was practically work.
A twitchy, heavily made-up demon appeared at his side with a clipboard. She fluttered her long eyelashes at him.
“Angel Dust! Long time no see, honey! We were worried we’d never see you again. Where’ve you been?”
“Hey Mama, how’s it hanging?” he greeted, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “What room am I in today?”
She flipped through her chipboard until she found his name. “Let’s see, let’s see: oh you poor boy. Valentino wants you in the Punishment Room – apparently, you’re filming some hardcore BDSM all afternoon! I’ve got you down for, let’s see… four back-to-back sessions. He must have found a particular market for this little lot.”
Angel Dust groaned, rolling his eyes. He was still feeling delicate, his head aching with a hangover. This was a low fucking blow. “Yeah, yeah, I bet that’s the reason. Who’s my partner?”
“Just says “various” on here.”
“A gangbang too? Wow, aren’t I so fucking lucky today!”
Mama cast him a side-eyed look at his distinct lack of enthusiasm. “You okay sugar? You look a little… tired.”
“Oh yeah, I’m just peachy. Just not looking forward to letting some guys beat the shit out of me to get their rocks off.”
She laughed at that and gently punched his arm.
“Oh nonsense, most of it’s just for show. And you’re complaining now, but once you get into it you love it. Off you go, you might want to get started. And, just because it’s you, there’s a little something for you in your locker. Don’t say I don’t treat you!”
That got a smile out of him. “Thanks, Mama.”
The afternoon was fucking dragging.
Each session seemed to be worse than the last – Valentino had done it on purpose of course, deliberately found the biggest, most sadistic fucks he could to put Angel Dust through his paces. He took it as best he could, but everything just seemed harder than it usually was. The buttplug screwed into his ass for the first scene seemed a little too big, the spanking a little too hard; the whipping he endured in the second scene brought genuine tears to his eyes, and he was pretty sure he was going to get an honest to goodness black eye from a wayward punch during the gang-rape scene.
He was thankful for the blow Mama had left for him. Didn’t make the scenes hurt any less, but it put him in a better mood for it. Almost made him forget that he was still on the comedown from his ruin high.
“Would you cool it, you fucks? Makeup only does so much,” he complained after the third shoot. He swore his fur wasn’t hiding the bruising any more, making it lose its white lustre and look ashen and grey. “Like, I love being smacked around as much as the next guy, but this is getting ridiculous.”
“Just following the Boss’s orders,” one of the guys said with a smirk, entirely unrepentant. The other sniggered.
“Whatever. Let’s just get this last shoot over with. I’m tired and sore and don’t want to be here any longer than I have to be. What’s the last scene about?”
“It’s called “Making an Example of a Disloyal Twink,” read one of the demons, looking over the script. Angel Dust snatched the notepad from his hands, blood running cold for a brief second. He sighed in relief when he saw that was, in fact, the title of the video. He read the scene notes.
“So, I’m trussed up in the middle of the room and you, what, hit me while jacking off? That’s it? Nothing in it for me?” Angel Dust sneered in disgust. At least in the other scenes there had been an overt sexual element for him, something to force an erection over.
“Looks that way. Says here you’ve been caught cheating on your master and need to be punished.”
Angel Dust rubbed his temples, trying to ward off his headache. “Great. Well, it least it won’t matter if I already have some bruises. Let’s get going then.”
This part was always mechanical. Lights were adjusted, cameras moved and put in their correct places, checked for their focus. Angel Dust changed into his scene clothes – a pre-torn shirt, and small pair of underpants that did nothing to hide the shape of his cock. Ropes had to be tested, knots checked and double checked to ensure they didn’t cause undue injury. Angel Dust was patient as all four of his arms were tried above his head, pulling him up onto his tiptoes. He tested the grip, made sure everything could bear his full weight.
Satisfied, he nodded to the cameraman. The greenlight lit, the scene was rolling. Angel Dust let out a practiced wail – not too loud to be distracting, but panicked enough to sound convincing.
“Please - please let me go, I didn’t mean t’ cheat, it just happened,” he cried, throwing his head back to expose the long line of his neck.
“You know what we do to cheats around here,” said one of the men, his acting ability severely lacking. He grabbed a fistful of Angel Dust’s hair and yanked his head to one side. “Don’t you.”
“Please! I’ll do anything! Please, use me, do what you want, just don’t hurt me!” To punctuate his point he shifted his weight, pulling the focus onto his long legs, spreading them. He earned a slap for his trouble; it was a little harder than a stage slap, but he rolled with it anyway, crying out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
“Not yet you ain’t, you gotta pay first. Then you’ll be truly sorry.” Angel Dust got into position, leaning forward on the ropes, pushing his ass out, presenting. He was entirely unprepared for the punch thrown his way. It landed squarely in his sternum and knocked the breath from his lungs. He doubled over in genuine pain.
“What the fuck?!” he hissed under his breath. “Watch what you’re-!”
He didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence when another blow hit him in the kidneys, head, stomach. He yelled out, reeling. The other men from earlier scenes circled him, punching and kicking where they could. Heavy boots scraped down his exposed legs, iron-like fists landed into the soft parts of his abdomen.
“Stop! Stop! What the fuck are you doing?!” He screamed between the blows. Another hit, this one to the face. His head snapped to the side, lip split with the impact, cutting on the jagged edges of his teeth.
“We’re punishing you. Disloyal sluts get what’s coming to them.”
Angel Dust yelled to the camera man: “Stop them! This isn’t part of the script!”
“Looks okay from where I’m standing.”
“What?! NO!”
He tried to pull free from the ropes but he couldn’t slip his hands from the knots. He struggled in the bindings, trying to avoid the worst of the blows, but he had nowhere to go. His shoulders felt like they were on fire, burning with the strain of holding him upright when all he wanted to do was to curl up into a little ball.
A particularly hard strike landed on the back of his head and he genuinely saw stars, vision going dark for a second. He bit back a cry, tears falling onto the floor.
The filming light went red. The men stopped their onslaught, backing off, leaving him sobbing in the middle of the room. The door opened.
Valentino swept into the room followed by some twink Angel Dust didn’t recognise; he was tall and fair-haired, and if he squinted, Angel Dust could almost see a similarity to Charlie, if she was male and around 20 years old.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my little Angel-Cakes. How are you doing, baby? Have you learned your lesson yet?”
“Mister Valentino! Please, make them stop! I’m sorry!”
Valentino laughed. “Oh no baby, I couldn’t do that. You know why this is happening, don’t you? You have to learn. And what better way for you to pay off your debt by making the most expensive sex tape it is possible to make?”
“… what… wh-” Angel Dust’s mouth filled with blood. He spat onto the floor. “What d’you mean?”
Valentino gestured to the young man by his side. “This is your replacement. Oh, don’t look so surprised sugar, no one wants to watch a 30-something has-been getting railed anymore – you’re past it, sunshine – but every Demon in Hell wants to watch a perfect, sheltered angel of a boy getting fucked in every manner possible. And because of that, I have no need for you anymore. So, I thought what better way to make you pay off your extensive debt than have you partake in your very own snuff film!”
Valentino laughed, cruel and deliberate. “Oh, you have no idea how happy it makes me to see that look on your face.”
“Valentino – boss, I’m sorry. Please – please let me-”
Valentino shushed him as he would a frightened animal. He ran a clawed hand through Angel Dust’s hair, stroking the swollen parts of his face.
“Shh, sweetheart. It’s too late. Here, as a parting gift from me to you, here’s something to really make you feel it.”
Valentino made a show of lighting a cigarette laced with ruin. He took a long drag and blew a lungful of red smoke into Angel Dust’s face. He tried to hold his breath, but the smoke lingered in the air and he could already feel the initial effect. His skin began to tingle, become over-sensitive. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he felt himself start to get an erection.
“That’s more like it. Enjoy your last few moments in Hell, sugar. I know I’m going to.”
With a menacing laugh Valentino left the dungeon, Celest in tow.
Angel Dust tried not to acknowledge the drug-induced changes in his body. How the room seemed brighter, how everything that touched him was amplified tenfold. The earlier bruises felt like brands; the welts from the whip felt like that were deep wounds. His teeth hurt, his head felt vague and unfocused and there was a cold, throbbing, burn where his hands should be. He groaned loudly, trying to centre himself.
He couldn’t fight it. It was stronger than him.
“Right, that’s our cue,” said one of the men, emerging from the corner of the room. He had a knife in his hand. A short, sharp blade. “Time to get on to the finale of this thing. Roll the cameras.”
Panicking, Angel Dust tried to wriggle out of his restraints once more. It might have been his imagination, but the ropes did seem slightly looser. He thought he could try to dislocate his thumbs, but even just trying created the most intense agony, centred on a part of his body that should, by all standards, be completely numb by now.
One of the men got behind him, held him against his body to hold him still, presenting him for the cameras. A hand stroked down the lithe form of Angel Dust’s torso, over the fur on his chest, lower to where his cock strained against his underwear.
“Look at this – always knew you’d get off on it.” He stroked him a few times, roughly, and Angel Dust moaned at the sensation. It was torturous, a mixture of intense pleasure and unbearable agony, all amplified by the terror that gripped his heart. He started to pant, gasp for breath as he felt himself building towards orgasm, suffocating on the drug. Before he got there his assailant abruptly let go with a laugh. He grabbed Angel Dust’s throat and squeezed. Black spots appeared in his vision, and it was like a jolt straight to his dick. He thrashed in his arms, but it was no good.
“No…!”
The grip was released and Angel Dust gasped, filling his lungs with much needed air. He choked, whimpering. His assailant gripped his chin, pulled his head back, exposing his throat.
“Any last words for the camera?”
The knife was brought to rest on his larynx, pressing inwards.
“Don’t… don’t fucking do this. Please.”
“Those are pretty shit last words, but you do you.”
The sting was instantaneous, the first drips of blood burning hot. It was the kick he needed. Fear, alarm, and self-preservation bubbled in his chest. In a split second he made a decision, something that he’d forgotten about until now; he manifested his usually-hidden third set of arms – complete with his tommy guns- and fired blindly into the room. He wasn’t sure he hit anyone, but it was enough to distract his assailants, allowing him to wrench his hands free, finally, from the ropes that bound him.
Fuelled only by adrenaline he launched himself out of the door, stumbling, falling in his haste.
“Stop him! Don’t let him get away!”
He didn’t stop at the shouts behind him, didn’t look back or try to grab his things. He kept his finger on the triggers, firing behind him until he felt the clips ran dry. Valentino’s drug was coursing through his system, amplifying his surroundings, his head was so hazy he could barely see in front of him. Everything hurt so much. He wrapped his second arms around his middle to try and ground the worst of the pain, using his primary hands as much as his eyes to feel his way forward as he ran. The knife had nicked the soft skin on his throat, but not nearly deep enough to do any serious damage. He held up a hand to staunch the bleeding.
The studio was a maze, and he was making a racket, falling into the walls, his claws scrabbling on every surface. It enough to capture the attention of a couple of the Doormen. They picked up their nightsticks intending to block his path. Angel Dust was running out of fire power. He manifested two more of his limited gun supply and fired down the corridors to clear his path.
He might have hit someone, he might not; he didn’t care. He just had to get outside.
Angel Dust burst out of the studio and into the back alley. The door slammed open behind him almost immediately, the Doormen hot on his trail. With a panicked yell he threw himself into a sprint, knocking over every trashcan and discarded pallet he could, anything to slow them down. Broken glass shredded his bare feet as he stumbled, scrambling to get away. They had all the advantages – they weren’t high as fuck, weren’t beaten and bleeding, weren’t in a blind panic like a cornered wild animal.
Angel Dust rounded the corner and ran smack into someone, colliding with a familiar red coat. He recognised the clean, fresh smell. A spicy, masculine cologne. Hands were at his shoulders immediately, holding him upright and stopping them both from tumbling down to the concrete.
“Oh ho! If it isn’t my good pal Angel Dust! Just the man I wanted to see! I was hoping I’d run into you after you had concluded your business, and you didn’t disappoint. You definitely live up to your widespread reputation!”
“Let me go, let me go!” Angel Dust yelled, frantically looking over his shoulder at the approaching Doormen. “Fuck, Alastor, you have to let me go!”
Alastor was smiling, grinning widely. He gripped onto Angel Dust’s upper arms in a way that held him firmly in position. Angel Dust tried to struggle but Alastor’s grip increased, bruising in its insistence.
“I don’t think I have to do anything, sweetheart. Ah, it seems that those gentlemen have some business with you. Tell you what, why don’t we wait and see what they are after, hmm? I am sure that if they have gone to the trouble of coming outside on this miserable night, they must be on an errand of grave importance.”
“Fuck!” Angel Dust swore loudly, eyes wide. Alastor had no reason to help him, but it still punched him in the gut to realise that he was so willing to work against him. He probably found it amusing to watch him suffer.
To his surprise, Alastor did let him go then, and for a scant moment Angel Dust thought about bolting into the night. Not that he’d get far, half naked and high as fuck, but his options were limited. He wasn’t prepared for Alastor to unbutton his coat with a flourish and drape it over his shoulders, bundling him up. It didn’t fit – Angel Dust was far too tall- but at least Alastor had broad shoulders. The smell – of laundry soap, cologne, Alastor - surrounding him was overpowering. He shuddered.
“Can’t let you stay like that, you’ll catch your death, as my mother used to say! Oh and, if you would be so kind, stand back a little. It is my best coat, and I would hate to see anything happen to it.”
“Oi, Get back inside, you pansy-ass faggot.”
The Doormen kicked a fallen pallet out of the way, making it splinter on impact.
“And what are your names, good sirs?” Alastor interrupted, stepping neatly in front of the approaching Doorman, blocking Angel Dust from view. “Alastor! Pleasure to meet you.”
He presented his hand to shake, leaning on his cane and giving them a winning smile. The two Doormen cast each other side-eyed glances before folding their arms. They were huge, hulking demons, terrifying figured in the gloom.
“And who the fuck are you?”
“Ahaha, what did you say? I’m sorry, didn’t you hear my introduction? I have been having so many issues with this thing lately…” he tapped the microphone in his cane, the static increasing as he did so. He looked up with a smile. It wasn’t returned.
“That slut just shot up a studio and ran out of filming. He’s going to answer to the Boss.”
Angel Dust paled, shivering. He felt like he was going to faint. His head throbbed. He pulled the coat tighter around him.
Alastor laughed heartily.
“I see, I see!” He turned to Angel Dust with smirk. “You didn’t tell me the reason for our impromptu meeting was because you were in trouble. Oh, it sounds simply terrible - ruining a picture show of all things! It sounds like you made quite a mess.”
“Alastor-”
Alastor ignored the interruption, and carried on as if it never happened.
“Why, and you were so insistent in coming here! Betraying everything Miss Charlie had worked for in the process, no less. With that attitude it’s no wonder you failed at your rehabilitation so quickly! Loyalty is one of best traits a man can have, they say.”
One of the Doormen took a step towards Angel Dust, but before he could get close Alastor struck out his cane, barring his path. “Patience, patience,” he said, slowly turning his head at an unnatural angle. His grin never faltered at he turned his attention back to Angel Dust.
“Although… I’m quite confused. You void your redemption specifically to pursue carnal pleasures, and then a few hours later, you completely sabotage your chances of ever working here again. Either that was your plan all along, or something unfortunate has happened that has forced your hand…”
“Valentino – he said – he was going to- Please, Alastor, they’re going to kill me,” Angel Dust said, eyes pleading as he babbled through his explanation. He was finding it difficult to speak, his words jumbling up in his head. “For real. This isn’t about the work - I can’t – I don’t-”
“Ah, so you’re asking me for help, is that it? You’ve come to your old pal Alastor because you’ve decided that you want to be rid of this life once and for all, yes? Start afresh, start anew. Be rid of a life of humiliation, degradation and disgrace, and instead wish to have doors opened to opportunities beyond your wildest imagination?!”
Green lights flashed and shone, a lightshow where Alastor was securely at the centre. His voice sounded unbearably loud, booming in the alley. He extended his right hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Angel Dust hesitated for a split second. It felt like an eternity, with Alastor’s eyes gleaming a dark red as his teeth glittered in the light. Unspoken terms and conditions whipped them as they were locked in the moment.
He took Alastor’s hand, and they shook. Alastor laughed loudly. He turned his back to Angel Dust and faced the impatient Doormen.
“Yes! Very good then! In which case, I regret to tell you gentlemen that there has been a change of plans for tonight’s entertainment. As you just witnessed, as of right now, Angel Dust is no longer under the employment of Valentino, and is, in fact, mine. Run along and tell him, will you?”
“What the – fucking hell no! He’s coming with us!”
“Ahaha, I beg to differ. You know, I didn’t mention it before but, I do really hate those who can’t show a little more respect. It’s rather distasteful.”
Not bestowed with intelligence nor self-preservation, one of the Doormen lunged. Angel Dust had never seen Alastor move so fast. His shadows grew in the patchy light of the alley, his limbs became all angles, sharp and jagged, and his smile…
The earlier warning of standing well back had been a good one; blood and viscera arched through the air, painting the opposite wall a deep, sticky crimson. Screams followed, screams that were quickly swallowed up by the carnage that was playing out in front of him.
It was a blur. A dark, bloody, blur.
The remains of a body fell to the ground with a sickening wet slap. The surviving Doorman leaned heavily against the wall, gripping the bloody stump where his arm once was. He looked at Alastor with wide-eyed terror.
Alastor stood up and procured a handkerchief from somewhere. He dabbed the corner of his mouth, wiping away a little spec of blood that had slipped between his lips.
“Terrible.” He said to no one in particular, smiling. “The quality of meat these days, it’s simply terrible.” He took two menacing steps forward. “Run along then, old chap, I believe you have a message to deliver! It doesn’t do to keep your Boss waiting.”
The remaining Doorman scampered back into the studio, slamming the door closed behind him. The reverberation echoed through the alley. Alastor turned back to Angel Dust.
“Well then! Shall we head back to the Hotel? I have some errands I wish for you to-”
It was too much. All his strength sapped from him, the aftereffects of the drug taking affect leaving him feeling boneless. Angel Dust’s eyes rolled in his head and he collapsed to the floor.