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The hotel was quiet. Settling into its newness with silent creaks and groans of expanding and contracting wood. Trying to find equilibrium in the hot air of Hell. It was odd to think wood conjured from the mind of a fallen Angel needed to settle. It seemed like everything should just magically be alright, but it wasn’t. Alastor dabbed at the stitches of the wound that refused to heal. It even felt like it had reopened, straining at the seams like a menacing smile hungry for blood. It wouldn’t surprise Alastor, wounds reopening emotionally seemed to come along with the pain in his chest. Vox had shown up at the hotel and Alastor had made himself scarce. The level of anger he felt wouldn’t help his lack of recovery, and spiraling thoughts of what the TV demon was planning wouldn’t help his mental state. Still he found himself on a train of memories stretching all the way back to his human life. Each caboose filled with disappointment and resentment. Alastor had been on that train for centuries, allowing just a moment of hope for humanity only to have his stupidity painful rubbed in his face. Sometimes he wondered when Charlie would let him down too.
At some point she would realize her dreams were asinine. That even with redemption possible, human nature didn’t allow for it. The default of anyone was to take and satisfy their desires, even violently. No one was the exception. No race, no gender, no religion made anyone turn against their nature. Perhaps a few. A small few who battled against their darker natures, that refused to fall despite it all. A few like his mother… but not him. In the face of physical and sexual assault Alastor had succumb to that fighter instinct. Giving up on fawning to take his revenge and kill not only those who wronged him but those who just deserved to die. His punishment? To be surrounded for all eternity by those he had killed. To forever live in paranoia, looking over his shoulder, and reliving the assaults of his human life as sinners gave into deprived forms of lust. He’d stopping fawning. Stopped cooing at his female rapists to comfort them after he was violated by them. Stopped making himself small in the face of his male rapists. He’d stopped fawning and started taking his power back with every slice of his knife. And now he was a deer…a constant reminder of his misguided youthful attempts to appease people that just wanted to use his body. Forever helpless. Forever proving himself as someone who shouldn’t be messed with.
It was a bitter irony that in some compassionate way hell had blessed him. Yes he was a deer but he was also a buck. Like he had always believed himself to be. Even the cut upon his chest that festered and stretched like an open maw had aided him. Severed him of the two reminders of his mismatched mind and body that had sat on his chest. Blessings for him had always come with a painful trade off. Alastor was used to it. The redhead hissed as he cleaned his wounds and the sound bit through the air along with a knock at his door.
With an annoyed hum Alastor stood buttoning his shirt as he approached. Making sure he was appropriately covered, though he no longer had a pair of breasts to hide. He still feared lingering eyes on expanses of skin. Especially if those eyes belonged to Angel who was so preoccupied with sex and so lacking in his respect for boundaries. People in hell gave so easily into lust, and Alastor was but a deer darting between the headlights of predatory gazes attempting not to be caught.
“Yes, dear?” It was Charlie at his door. Eyes large and uncertain. Alastor wanted to trust her, to truly believe she was naive and idealistic. But he had given women that benefit of the doubt before and it ended with fingers shoved places he didn't want them to go and yelling that he was being hysterical. That he should like what they were giving him. That his tan skin and othered body was just an object to be fetishized and used. Alastor was always on guard, and so he stood guard at his door. Protecting his small sanctuary and not letting anyone into it. The soft cricket noises and splashes of the bayou were just for him. Filled with creatures others feared but that had always accepted Alastor without judgement.
“I just wanted to check in on you.” The blonde demon said sweetly. “You seemed rattled when Vox showed up and then I couldn’t find you for a while. I figured you were up in your tower but… I just wanted to make sure you’re ok.”
“Oh I’m perfectly fine darling! Don’t you worry your little head about me.” Alastor patted Charlie on her scarlet cheek.
“Al…” Charlie looked down at his chest and the redhead stiffened. He stepped back ready to separate himself from the sexual danger Charlie suddenly posed. His hips shifted as he did so and suddenly the blond demon was Mimzy cruelly laughing at him and calling him a slut because he knew how to move his hips so well. Hips that stuttered in shame as a single consensual encounter turned into ridicule as he was called a tease. Told he was too sensitive about the remark . Yelking following him as he climbed off the flapper's lap, grabbing his trousers and storming towards the door. He rarely ever felt the urge to invite someone else into helping him scratch a sexual itch and Mimzy had been a friend. In the end it all ended the same. Taking, demanding, feeling some sort of pull that Alastor didn’t understand but that others felt they were entitled to satisfy with his body. He had a blue nose, was a Ms. Grundy, a spoil sport, a tease. He was everything except cherished, kissed sweetly and held. Alastor stumbled back, eyes darting away not wanting to get caught in another flashback of memories and pain he reburied every month. “Alastor!”
Charlie caught him by the arm and he instinctively shoved her. “Don’t touch me!”
The pale faced demon somehow looked even paler as she raised her hands in surrender. Listening to Alastor’s demand. It was so rare to be listened to, “Sorry but you’re bleeding. Can I help you to your bed?”
“No! Keep your filthy little paws to yourself.” Alastor cradled his chest and walked to sit down in one of his wingbacked chairs. Even that small trek left him out of breath.
Charlie followed him. Breeching the sanctuary of his room and despite the shot of adrenaline that accompanied his angry panic, Alastor was too exhausted to stop her. The blonde settled herself in the chair opposite, hands hoovering helplessly. Tettering between wanting to provide care and respecting Alastor’s wishes. Alastor smiled cruelly at the mental struggle and chuckling. He enjoyed the small thrill of power. Being listened to being in charge, making people listen just like they had made him lay beneath them.
“Alastor, you really are bleeding badly, let me get you some bandages.”
The tedhewd sighed and tolled his eyes “If you insist, they are in my bedside drawer.” Alastor said absently remembering too late that another item was tucked away inside. A stroker that he could attach to himself now that Hell provided him the chance to take hormones and align his body more to how he had always felt. There was that wave of shame again. The ocean that consumed him whenever he admitted that his body had hormonal inclinations and that he satisfied them. If Charlie saw the stout penis shaped object she didn’t comment on it. Simply pulling out the bandages and hurrying back to Alastor’s side. She took off her jacket and rolled up her sleeve. Exposing the swell of her breasts that strained against the buttons of her white shirt as she took in a deep worrying breath at Alastor’s feet.
He felt nothing when looking at others. The human form was not an object of lust but rather a butcher's map of fleshy parts. Rosie had called him ace. Asexual. Alastor feared holding on to the term even though it explained his lived experience around attraction—-or lack there of—-well. He feared it labeled him as broken. That all his assaulter had won, had raped sexual attraction out of him. Alastor knew this was false that there were people like Angel that despite their trauma still felt a pull, still desired. Alastor desired nothing and it made him feel like nothing. It made him feel like Mimzy was right. That he was too sensitive, flawed in his approach to sex. Segregated from the rest of the world that seemed to love and lust and lose themselves freely in the feeling of their intertwined bodies. Alastor could lose himself in his body. He’d worked hard on finding comfort in it. After new hormones surged through his blood, he felt that itch. It felt good to scratch, to stroke, to moan quietly in the sanctuary of his own room. Among the crickets and the fireflies. A soft lighting or romance and passion found in the shy exploration of his own body as it changed and conformed to his heart. Alone with no one else looking at him. No one to want him. He thought perhaps now with testosterone coursing through his body he would finally be able to see. To understand what drove others into one another’s arms. But his vision hadn’t changed and he still couldn’t understand what was so enticing about the human form that others felt justified in taking their pleasure from him.
Charlie's hands reached towards the blood stained shirt clinging to Alastor’s chest. The radio demon waved her hand away. An uncharacteristic growl of frustration left her lips. “Alastor, let me help you! Your shirt is soaked through with blood!”
“I don’t need your protection.” The redhead said groggily, head lulled to the side as his eyes grew distant with memories of a demon who had offered him assistance once before. A demon with a face square and bright, a friend he’d lost to that silly little feeling of sexual attraction that seemed to plague everyone but Alastor. It had ruined everything. The confession, the desire, the shy wanting the anger the radio demon felt that once again he was reduced to an object of desire. The confusion in digital eyes when tentacles lashed out and physically pushed away the one friendship Alastor had let get too deep. Alastor feared Charlie touching him, lest he lose her too. He hadn’t even realized that he wanted her friendship.
“Stop being so stubborn.” Charlie scolded and went about taking off layers of clothes. Alastor became dazed, detaching from the body he had worked so hard to feel comfortable in. Staring at the ceiling like when he’d gotten drunk at his first speakeasy and he was still dressing like the young lady the world believed him to be. Feeling empowered by cutting his hair short and strapping his breasts down to gain that boyish silhouette flappers had just started sporting. Finding joy in a socially acceptable mixing of gendered aesthetic, not yet brave enough to be the man he truly wanted to be. That power meant nothing when he ended up staring at the ceiling as an older girl pressed against him rocking her hips, pushing his legs apart and taking what she wanted in a dark room away from the jazzy music that had filled the airwith joy and dancing.
When a cold hand touched his chest he fell back even more into memories he wished he could forget. A white man sucking at the breasts Alastor had hated so much hands roaming down trousers. Excited by the strange mismatch of Alastor’s presentation and his body. Queer, strange and deceiving. Well he’d been asking for it, hadn’t he?
“Alastor?”
The radio demon smiled at the sound of his name. Always smiling, always being pleasant. He was too pretty not to smile. Smile for me doll.
“Alastor?”
A slow blink of the eyes brought Alastor back to Hell. And their was irony the relief he felt. Back to the present back into his body which felt only physical pain. He hissed and pushed Charlie away who had the reflex to avoid his hand and step back. When red tipped fingers cupped protectively at breasts that were no longer there Alastor realized Charlie had simply wrapped bandages around him. None the wiser of his trans identity. Seeing only a mangled flat chest.
“What’s going on?” She pressed her hand against Alastor’s forehead and if that gesture hadn’t reminded him of his mother he would have slapped that audacious hand away. Instead he relaxed under Charlie’s care. “You’re not warm… but you’ve been really out of it, Alastor. What’s going on?”
“I told you, dear, it’s nothing. I’m simply tired.” Alastor made to get up but the princess of hell was having none of it. He was pushed back into his chair as Charlie got to her feet. Her eyes held sympathy and her hand patted his shoulder gently as she let go.
“Is it Vox? I know you two have history.”
“Oh, darling!” Alastor laughed loudly to cover up his anger. “I could care less what that fool does. I only warn you not to be pulled in by his charm. Whatever business proposal he had dangled in front of your nose will have plenty of deadly strings attached.”
“Oh I know. I’m not a total idiot, no matter what you think.” Charlie said with a fond smile as she took a seat across from Alastor. The radio demon furrowed at her as she made herself comfortable. “But why not tell me what happened with you two? So I know what to look out for.”
It was an invitation for vulnerability disguised under the guise of tortureship. Alastor smiled sharply knowing the game, but still falling into step. He was too tired to play, and it would be nice to have a confidant inside the walls of the hotel, so he wouldn’t always have to burden Rosie. So he wouldn’t have to listen to her hopelessly romantic nonsense. Sometimes Alastor just wanted to be. To be alone without the looming expectations of courtship and possible romance Rosie always held out for between him and Vox. She had known them when they were friends, but Charlie didn’t, so maybe she would understand.
“He’s rather charming isn’t he? I’m sure you have noticed.” Alastor started and Charlie nodded in agreement. “It’s all a facade. If he’s being charming there is something he wants. First he’ll see if he can convince you that whatever he wants is also what you want. If he can’t do that then he becomes rather a bully.” Alastor paused looking at his little bayou with a fond smile. “Or a simpering fool who won’t leave you be. Showering you with affection you do not want.”
“You two were a thing?” Charlie squealed with excitement, and for a moment Alastor thought he lost her to the same romantic sympathy Rosie held. But when red eyes shot her a glare she straightened up and gestured for him to go on.
“No dear, we were never a ‘thing’.” Alastor sighed. ‘We were friends, lovely friends. I felt rather comfortable in our relationship but he wanted something I didn't want to give.”
The distinction of ‘didn’t want to’ was important. Alastor could. Alastor could have loved Vox. He could have tried to see if Vox was different. If he would have been respectful and patient like he reassured. But Alastor didn’t want to find out. Alastor didn’t want to put himself in a situation where he could be taken advantage of again. He didn’t want to be even more disappointed in Vox than he already was. Alastor had no desire to share his space, or his heart. Red eyes glanced over at that wild corner of his room and his smile grew genuine. He would never be tamed. Alastor loved his little life. He’d found happiness in chaos and murder. In friendship, and cannibalism. Alastor had never once found happiness in another person's arms. Only disappointment and regret. He hadn’t wanted to add Vox to that list, but the TV demon had placed himself there. Angry and heartbroken by Alastor’s rejection. Another friend lost to the idiotic whims of sexual desire and romance.
“I am fine like this. Being alone. There is no room in my heart for another. I want to love only myself and Vox wanted me to love him as much as I loved myself. I wasn't having it.”
“Isn’t that lonely? Being all on your own. Not having a special someone? I feel so much happier being with Vaggie.”
Alastor sighrd at the line he had heard s hundred times before. “It isn’t for me, dear. I have always felt more alone among people, than I have in my own company.”
“Ok.” It was simple acceptance, something Alastor hadn’t had on this particular subject. “So you rejected him, then what?”
“He became bitter and we drifted apart. I think he found it fun to play my antagonist, as if to show me what I was missing out on. How strong and powerful he was. How he could have protected me, how we could have built an empire together. But I wanted none of that. I need no one to protect me.” It was hard enough to get people to listen to him. To understand his trauma let alone have them protect him. They always acted like they understood. Like they knew what it was like to have safety stripped from you. To have everyone of every gender be a potential threat. To only feel safe when alone. “I have always watched out for myself. I think to this day he still carries a torch for me. It’s rather sad.”
“So why are you avoiding him?” Alastor paused and looked at the blonde demon. “If you don’t want him, then why avoid him?”
“Well because I don't want to deal with his little tantrums.”
“Alastor, you dealt with..” Charlie paused, letting out a sad sigh. “You dealt with Sir Pentious’ little tantrum when he came to challenge you. So why avoid Vox?”
“You just don’t understand. Go on now, dear, go bother someone else.” Alastor waved a limonetist at Chatlie eho only smiled softly shaking her head.
“Oh no, Alastor, answer the question.”
The redhead hummed with annoyance. “Fine, perhaps a part of me is hopeful. But…people don’t understand how painful hope can be.” Charlie’s teasing smile faded and Alastor nodded. Charlie understood. Sometimes hope leads to loss. To the death of a comrade that believed in your ideals. “I would rather not ever know, than be proven wrong, yet again. I don’t have it in me, my dear. I don’t have the strength to hope for love.”
“That’s ok, you don’t have to Alastor, but you shouldn’t let the past dictate how you live the future either.”
“Perhaps but I am not as idealistic as you, dear. I cannot hope for the redemption of humanity. Not when I have seen how depraved they are. Not when I’ve cut them down like diseased plants in a field only to learn the sickness has spread. It’s better to burn the whole crop down at this point and laugh as it csrches fire.”
“If you burn the field, you might be setting some hidden flowers on fire. I’m not saying let Vox prove you wrong. I’m not too confident that he can, but you don’t want romance anyway. So just be sure you don’t destroy any budding friendships that are trying to bloom.” Charlie smiled at him, giving his arm a squeeze and heading towards the door. Leaving Alastor alone in his safe space.
Red tipped fingers traced over the fresh white bandaged Charlie had wrapped around him. The cloth was warm, already sucking up the spills of his bleeding heart. Red eyes looking into the ghostly green fire that lit up the hearth beside the pair of chairs. It was a pair. Always two, perhaps Alastor did hold some hope. Held space for someone to come visit on occasion and sit with him, just as Charlie had done. Sometimes he even imagined it was someone else coming to visit. To talk to him, and share fond memories over a glass of shared whiskey.
Alastor truly loved Vox, but it just felt safer to love the TV demon in a fantasy. Alastor could control Vox within his mind. He could ensure that Vox’s hands never strayed, that his touches were only gentle and considerate. That they only kissed and held one another close. That Vox would never desire to penetrate him in a way that made Alastor feel like he was dying inside. In a way so many people told him he should enjoy. He would never question the pleasure the Radio demon got from stroking himself and focusing only on the outside of his anatomy. He would never insist that he must enjoy being breached and plundered. That it was in his nature. That wanting anything else, wanting to dominate and penetrate made him a twisted creature. That wanting to try new contraptions and toys that promised the illusive heady feeling of penetrating someone else, didn’t make him a freak. That the fluid movements of his hips while bringing someone else pleasure, didn’t make him a slut. That he could let go of the belief that there had to be an even exchange, that if Vox was to lay beneath him then so too would Alastor on occasion. Even if he derived no pleasure from that position. If Alastor only ever wanted to top then he was a bad man. Just like all the bad men that had taken advantage of him. That wanting to dominate would justify the actions of all the women who had taken from him. He was a bad man who deserved to be humiliated and penetrated and yelled at for not giving into the pleasure his body should find in forceful fingers and lacy dresses. He deserved to be put in his place. Like all the men and women Alastor had put in their place as he cut them down with a bloody blade. He was a bad man, he knew this. He took life, over and over again. But somehow the sin of being a sexual dominant was something he could not stomach and was too afraid to ever act on. The sin of taking an unwilling body was something he could never understand. He couldn’t fathom that anyone enjoyed being taken advantage of. He couldn’t understand why anyone would find pleasure in being penetrated. So he must be a bad man for expecting someone, especially someone like Vox, to enjoy being beneath him. To want that, and especially to want it from someone like Alastor who should be put in his place. His frilly effeminate submissive place. Surely, no one would want to lay beneath the radio demon willing. Not when he had a body that should…that was made to be penetrated. That's what he had always been told. That he was made this way, that he was wrong for wanting anything else. To want to be a man, and feel pleasure in a way similar to them. If he was wrong then God was playing a cruel joke. Because Alastor could only orgasm if he stimulated himself on the outside. If he was wrong, then why had masturbation become so intoxicating the moment testosterone had an effect on his anatomy and he could jerk himself off? Why did it feel so good to go against this supposed nature? And if the only way he actually felt even a monocone of sexual satisfaction with wnother soul was from being on top, being the one to penetrate if there needed to be penetration at all, well didn’t that bring him one step closer to being a monster? A monster like all the men and women who had forced themselves on top of him? That had gotten pleasure from penetrating him.
It’s these shameful sexual day dreams and debates that made him question Rosie’s insistence of his sexuality. If he were asexual he should not have a preference in sex. Right? He should not think of sex at all. He should not play out little fantasies of Vox’s inhuman mechanical body in his mind. Morphing it into whatever configuration he felt most comfortable interacting with at the time he closed his eyes. He should feel nothing, think nothing, prefer nothing, be nothing. Right? In the face of these questions Rosie only ever spoke of a spectrum. Of the disconnect between sexual attraction and sensual attraction. The confusion of the two and the desire for closeness. A want that Alastor had towards Vox. Only knowing how to gain that intimacy in a sexual way, since that is all society had ever shown him. But Alastor wanted to feel nothing and to never desire intimacy of any kind. To never hope to be seen and understood. He wanted to be nothing. He wanted to be inhuman. He wanted only to indulge in the passion of a butcher's knife and the dizzying high of blood lust. Still Vox…Vox was perhaps the closest he’d ever come to desire, and he only ever indulged in that desire in the safety of his own mind. Because he couldn’t stomach one more disappointment. He could not give the benefit of the doubt to one more soul. Not when so many had let him down and died at his hands. Not when so many of his victims roamed hell, still taking, still forcing, still getting swept up in the wave of sexual desire. Taking, taking taking.
Alastor never wanted to take. He would never let himself become the type of monster all his victims had been.