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Inside the Magic Kat, Alastor sat alone, swirling his glass of scotch in one hand. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and desperation. Sinners of every shape crowded the floor, chasing their next high as slot machines and roulette tables clinked in endless, greedy rhythm.
The Radio Demon had no interest in the games of chance that ensnared the damned around him. Instead, he’d settled at the far end of the polished bar.
“Scotch on the rocks, if you please.”
The bartender—a rabbit demon whose body was split in half at the waist—wiped a glass and poured with practiced flair. “Rough night? Or just getting started?”
“Oh, I’m hardly here for the tables, my good man. I’m simply waiting for the real show to begin.” Alastor tilted his head toward the main stage. “My sweetheart is performing tonight.”
The bartender paused, one brow arching. “Angel Dust? The Angel Dust? Yours?” He let out a low, disbelieving chuckle. “Right. Half the sinners in Hell claim they’ve got a piece of him.”
Alastor narrowed his eyes in amusement.
Now, as close as he could get to the stage, Alastor folded his hands neatly atop the table. Angel had insisted he come tonight, that it’d be unlike anything Alastor had ever experienced before. Not one for casinos, Alastor had agreed anyway, curiosity piqued.
Around him, the other guests gave his table a wide berth, whispers trailing in his wake as fear did its familiar work. Glances darted away the moment his smile turned in their direction. He took pleasure in it, pride at the reminder of exactly who and what he was. He could almost hear their thoughts, wondering what business the Radio Demon could possibly have in a place like this. If only they knew.
His gaze returned to the empty stage. For once, the answer was simple—he was here to see his brilliant boyfriend shine.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and the crowd hushed, buzzing with anticipation. After a moment of silence, the spotlight hit the stage, and there he was.
Alastor’s glass stilled midair. He forgot how to breathe.
A glittering gown of black and ruby sequins hugged the spider’s lithe figure, the fabric slit high on one side to reveal endless legs. The plunged neckline accentuated his chest fluff, while long satin gloves sheathed all four of his arms. His boots clicked against the stage as he moved, adding inches to his already towering height. His makeup was flawless. Bold red lips, pink eyes lined in black with lashes for days, cheeks rosy. His white hair was hidden beneath an elegant blonde wig. He looked seductive, untouchable, utterly divine.
The pianist began to play, and Angel's voice filled the room.
"It's been so very long since Lady Luck kissed you… Still, you listen for her song and pray that she missed you..."
He strolled the stage like he owned it, hips swaying hypnotically. His eyes scanned the crowd, locking onto patrons with flirty winks that left them breathless and reaching. A demon at the front table got a finger trailed along his jaw as Angel leaned down.
"Dead inside 'cause you know it's all pretend..."
He moved down the catwalk, his extra arms gesturing gracefully. He teased the crowd with casual expertise. A wink here, a blown kiss there. Temptation poured from him effortlessly.
“Close your eyes 'cause you're goin' off the deep end again…”
He descended the steps into the crowd, batting his lashes at a group of sinners who looked about ready to faint. Every move and every note made the song’s melancholy lyrics irresistibly intoxicating.
“You're livin' for the rush, for that royal flush, but you take what you can get… You play your final ace for a pretty face… Tastes like Scotch and cigarettes...”
Alastor watched, transfixed, his scotch forgotten. Angel was always beautiful, all long legs and sass and that infuriating charm that had wormed its way into the Radio Demon's cold heart. But this... this was something else. Gorgeous didn't begin to cover it.
“And you can't help fallin', goin' all in though your odds are bleak… 'Til you break your losin' streak…”
The blush Alastor had been fighting since Angel first appeared now burned hot across his face. He told himself it was absurd; he’d seen Angel in far less clothing, had traced those same curves with his own hands. Yet something about him now… He was power incarnate, desire made flesh. The way the lights caught the sequins on his dress, turning him into a constellation of stars; the grace in his movements; his genuine smile; the vulnerability in his voice.
"Ooh… Oh, no..."
As the song built to its climax, Angel's eyes finally found him.
Alastor's grin twitched as the spider approached his table. He was still seated exactly as before, posture perfect, cane propped beside him, but radio static emitted from him in faint, nervous bursts, like a station losing its signal.
“You're livin' for the rush, for that royal flush, but the next best thing will do...”
Angel slowed, circling Alastor’s table like a cat, singing the next lines directly to him. One hand slid over the back of Alastor’s chair, the other lifting his chin up with a single finger.
The scent of Angel’s warm, sugary perfume flooded Alastor’s senses. Words, for once, failed the Radio Demon. He stared at Angel, eyes wide with awe, heart pounding in his chest. He was ethereal, his—utterly, completely his. And in that moment, he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love.
“You want to spend your chips on these rosy lips,”
Angel’s hand cupped Alastor’s jaw, his thumb brushing once across his lower lip. The other hand slid down to rest over Alastor’s chest. Angel's face was inches away, eyes sparkling beneath long lashes.
"Tryna get me next to you…”
Alastor’s ears, usually held high and proud, flattened slightly against his head in a rare display of shyness. Angel noticed, of course. He offered his lover an affectionate smile.
Before he left, he gave Alastor’s bowtie a playful tug. Alastor leaned forward ever so slightly, their lips dangerously close.
Angel straightened, flashing the crowd a dazzling grin before giving Alastor a quick wink and sauntering back toward the stage. The Radio Demon was frozen in place.
“'Cause you can't help needin' to believe in, findin' what you seek… 'Til you break your losin'... Good luck out there, boys.” Angel blew one last kiss to the room before disappearing behind the curtains.
When the lights raised again, Alastor finally exhaled.
He’d seen Angel perform before.
He had never seen this.
He finally sat back and lifted his scotch, taking a slow sip to steady himself. He was absolutely speechless, smitten, the eternal showman reduced to a blushing admirer.
The backstage corridor smelled of hairspray and tobacco, lined with doors plastered in faded posters. Alastor stopped outside the door marked with a glittering pink star, smoothing his lapels, as if the gesture could steady the uncharacteristic flutter in his chest.
He raised a hand, hesitated, then knocked twice.
“Come in, handsome,” Angel’s voice purred from inside, like he already knew it was the Radio Demon.
Alastor stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. His smile was fixed, but it trembled at the edges. Angel was already halfway out of the dress, the black sequins pooled around his waist revealing the soft white fluff of his back and the delicate curve of his spine.
“Well, well... Look who couldn’t stay away.” Angel glanced over his shoulder, one brow arched, lips curling into a slow, wicked smile.
Alastor cleared his throat. “My dear, that was… quite the performance. You were—” He searched for a word grand enough. “—magnificent.”
Angel turned fully now, letting the dress drop the rest of the way. He stepped out of it in nothing but the wig, thigh-high boots, garters, and a lacy thong that barely qualified as clothing. Alastor’s eyes widened, and the blush spread across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears.
Angel strolled closer. “Magnificent, huh?” He stopped inches away, tilting his head. “Never thought I’d see the day the big bad Radio Demon got all tongue-tied over little ol’ me in a dress.”
“It wasn’t just the dress.” Alastor tugged at his collar. “It was… you.”
Angel’s expression softened for half a second before the teasing returned full force. “Well, I’m flattered.” He leaned down, breath warm against Alastor’s ear. “So tell me, baby… ya like me in drag that much?”
Alastor swallowed, eyes dragging helplessly over him. “I… yes. Very much.”
“You’re red as a tomato, Al. Makes me wonder what’s goin’ on in that twisted little head of yours.” Angel chuckled, straightening the shorter man’s bow tie. “Always knew ya had a secret Mommy kink buried under all that vintage charm.”
The word ‘Mommy’ dropped between them, and the room went silent.
Alastor’s pupils blew wide. He had never realised this kind of desire lived inside him. In life, his mother had been his entire world—gentle Creole lullabies when nightmares came, proud smiles when he brought home perfect marks, reassuring hugs when the other children bullied him. She had been safety, affection, the only person who ever believed in him. When she died, he’d been left with a hollow place no amount of power or blood could fill. He’d buried it under grins and broadcasts and control.
Until he met Angel.
Until this ridiculous, beautiful spider who teased and cared in equal measure, saw through every layer and stayed anyway.
Alastor emitted a burst of embarrassed static. “Angel…”
Angel laughed, delighted, and closed the distance, pressing red lips to Alastor’s in a slow, hungry kiss. Alastor responded instantly. His hands reached up to cup Angel’s face, and the kiss deepened fast with sharp teeth and tongue.
Alastor made a low, surprised sound as Angel pressed against him, walking him backward until his shoulders hit the wall with a thud. One of Angel’s lower hands slid down, palming the growing hardness straining against Alastor’s trousers.
“Fuck, you’re already so hard for me,” Angel murmured against his mouth. “Someone liked the show a little too much, didn’t they?”
He unzipped Alastor’s fly before finally slipping inside and wrapping his long fingers around the Radio Demon’s cock. Alastor gasped into the kiss, hips jerking forward involuntarily.
Angel pulled him free into the warm air of the dressing room, slow strokes at first, thumb circling the head, spreading the bead of pre-cum that had already gathered.
“Look at you,” Angel whispered, pulling back just enough to watch Alastor’s face. “Blushin’ and leakin’ in my hand ‘cause I sang to ya in a dress. So eager for Mommy, huh? Bet you’ve been thinkin’ about this since I blew ya that kiss.”
Alastor’s head thumped back against the wall, eyes half-lidded, grin shaky. Little gasps and crackles that sounded embarrassingly like moans escaped him as he thrusted into Angel’s hand.
“Poor sweetheart,” the spider cooed. “Been missin’ this kind of care your whole life, haven’t ya? Someone to hold you, tell you you’re perfect just like this.”
“Angel…”
“That ain’t my name, is it, darling?”
“…Mommy… Please… need you.”
“Shhh.” Angel nipped his lower lip, pumping faster. “Look at my big strong deer, all flustered and drippin’ for Mommy. Ya like when I take charge like this, don’tcha? Makin’ ya beg without sayin’ a word…” Angel’s strokes sped up, twisting just right on every upstroke.
Alastor tried to form words—something witty, something to reclaim control—but all that escaped was a quiet groan, his hips rocking into Angel’s fist.
Angel slowed his strokes deliberately, drawing them out. “That’s right, baby. Mommy knows exactly what ya need. Been so good tonight, sittin’ there all shy while I performed for ya. While I flirted with other men. Bet ya wanna bend me over, claim what’s yours.” He leaned in, voice a sultry whisper. “Or do ya want Mommy to ride ya instead? Make ya feel all safe and taken care of?”
Alastor shuddered. The teasing and praising was unraveling him, that damn kink hitting deeper than he’d ever admit. Angel had this way of obliterating his composure in ways nobody else ever could or would even dare. That's what made the spider so unusual—so remarkable.
Angel’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he pulled back slightly, still pumping slowly, agonisingly. He looked back at the vanity mirror, cluttered with makeup, then back to Alastor. “Ya wanna fuck Mommy right over there? Bend me over the vanity, watch us in the mirror while ya pound into me? C’mon, Smiles, nod for Mommy like a good boy.”
Alastor’s crimson eyes locked onto Angel’s. He tried to fight it, but he found himself nodding desperately, his grin twitching.
Angel’s laugh was triumphant and filthy. “Atta boy.” After a final kiss, he released Alastor’s cock, ignoring the whimper that followed. He backed himself toward the vanity, pulling Alastor along by the lapels. “Come on, honeybuck. Show Mommy how much ya love her.”
Angel’s hips swayed with exaggeration as he turned to face the mirror. He braced two hands on the cluttered surface—lipsticks and powder compacts rattling—then arched his back, presenting himself shamelessly. The thong did nothing to hide the pink-freckled curve of the spider’s ass.
He glanced back over one fluffy shoulder, pink eyes hooded, lips curled in a smile.
Alastor hadn’t moved yet. He stood a few steps away, trousers undone, cock hard and red against his stomach. His ears—those tall, expressive deer ears—were pinned flat against his head now, his blush so deep it nearly matched his hair. He told himself to say something clever. To take control. But all he could think was how badly he wanted to give in.
“Tell me, Smiles,” Angel hummed. “You wanna fuck Mommy’s soft thighs? Slide that pretty cock right between ‘em while I watch ya fall apart in the mirror?”
Alastor stared at the absolute bombshell before him. His breath hitched.
Yes. Yes, I want it. I want to feel him around me, want to watch his face in that mirror while he tells me I’m his good boy. Damn him. Damn this delicious spider for making me surrender so willingly...
He stepped forward at last, hands trembling as they settled on Angel’s hips.
“Yes, Mommy.”
Angel’s smile widened.
“That’s my good boy.” Angel’s eyes locked on Alastor’s reflection. “Now move those hips. Show Mommy how grateful you are.”
Alastor’s grip tightened. The moment he pressed forward, sliding his aching length between those perfect thighs, a loud moan of relief tore from his throat.
His first thrust was hesitant, almost reverent.
Angel never stopped talking him through it.
He moaned encouragingly. “That’s it, baby… just like that. Feels so good, doesn’t it? Mommy’s got you.”
Angel squeezed his thighs together, trapping Alastor’s cock. It was close enough to feel like fucking, but not quite, a constant tease that kept him right on the edge of losing his mind.
Alastor plunged forward with a shuddering exhale, burying himself in the slick, velvet channel Angel made for him, mouth open on silent gasps as he drove forward again and again.
“Look up, baby. Watch Mommy in the mirror while ya use me.”
Alastor’s gaze lifted slowly, reluctantly.
There he was—the feared Radio Demon, face flushed crimson, ears pinned flat, hips rocking helplessly between Angel’s thighs. And Angel bent forward, chest fluff spilling over the edge of the vanity, lipstick slightly smudged from their earlier kisses, smiling as he watched Alastor come apart.
“See how handsome ya are like this?” Angel pushed back to meet every thrust, thighs clenching. “All desperate and needy, squirmin’ and fuckin’ Mommy’s thighs ‘cause ya can’t help yourself. My good little boy, so polite even when you’re fallin’ apart.”
Alastor whimpered. His rhythm stuttered as he tried to chase the friction, but Angel controlled it completely, flexing and relaxing at will, keeping him teetering on the brink.
He tried—truly tried—to summon even a shred of dominance.
This is humiliating, his mind hissed, even as his body betrayed him. I should stop this. I should have him bent over this table, begging for me. I should flip him around right now, take him properly, remind him who—
But the thought dissolved into white noise the moment Angel reached back with one lower hand, spreading himself just a fraction wider, letting Alastor sink deeper.
“That’s it,” Angel praised. “Fuck Mommy just like that. Look at yourself… ya gonna come just from this, aren’tcha? Just from humpin’ my thighs like a sweet, obedient boy.”
Alastor couldn’t look away from the mirror now, mesmerised by the sight of his own submission—hips snapping forward in short, frantic thrusts, pre-cum smearing shiny trails along pale fur. Angel’s thighs clamped tighter, dragging another deep moan from Alastor’s chest.
“Please,” he rasped, the word slipping out before he could stop it. “Mommy… please—” A pathetic whine escaped him, humiliation and arousal twisting so tightly he couldn’t tell them apart.
Angel’s smile turned tender even through the filth. “Go ahead, baby. Cum for Mommy. Make a mess on these pretty legs.”
One final squeeze, and Alastor shattered. A broken, static-filled cry tore from him as he thrusted erratically, spilling hot and hard between Angel’s thighs. His forehead dropped to Angel’s shoulder, arms wrapping around his slender waist. He panted into the crook of Angel’s neck, trembling and spent.
Angel hummed approvingly, reaching back to stroke Alastor’s hair. “Such a good boy… Mommy’s so proud of ya,” he breathed. “So brave. ”
When Angel finally parted his legs, letting Alastor’s softening cock slip free, the spider turned around to face him. He pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, then dragged his tongue slowly across Alastor’s parted lips in a single, teasing lick.
“Don’t worry, baby.” Angel smirked, whispering in the Radio Demon’s twitching ear, “Your secret’s safe with me.”