A Doe in Fall (Part 18)
⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall
A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.
Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smut💦 Part 15 - Silence smut💦 Part 16 - Mine Part 17 - Touch Part 18 - Shining smut 💦
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Where we left off; Alastor was nervous about a strange woman stalking him. He told you of the invite for a work party and you eagerly accepted it.
Part 18 - Shining
You meet many boring people, one interesting person, and ride Alastor home.
「Warnings/Promises: Human!Alastor x Fem!Reader, I NAMED HIM VINCENT OVER SIX MONTHS AGO BEFORE SEASON TWO DROPPED I STG HE ISNT VOX AAAAAH, please believe me I wrote this shit moooonths ago, Alastor learns what a condom tastes like in a roundabout way, boring parties, car sex, discussions of matrimony, reflections on race acceptance, pending doom」
minors DNI or I will make you clean up after the party 🎈
“They cannibalize relationships. You know what they say. You are what you eat.” He sneered seconds before nodding a bright hello to a couple walking past, “They’d befriend the devil if it got them a shiny name plate.”
You both stood beside his car watching the party from down the dirt road leading to the large house, all lit up like a new day. Everyone was dressed so nicely, you could only tug at the tassels of your shiny silver dress. You looked nice, but it was Dance Hall nice, not Fancy Mansion party nice.
“You wouldn’t befriend the devil?” You laughed knowing he absolutely would.
“Well duh, but for a much better reason than appearances.”
Your eyes rolled. That was doubtful.
He handed the cigarette to you but you shook your head. You had butterflies in your stomach and wanted to get on with it.
“Let’s go play pretend with the paper people of New Orleans!” Alastor put out the cigarette with a leather pouch and pocketed it. His arm came out for you to hook with your own and you took it with a self regulating sigh. The house was outside of the city, the land big and dark except for the small mansion itself. The driveway was just a dirt road that led so far from the main way you could barely see the house lights through the tall trees and their heavy moss curtains.
Your bare shoulders felt the chill of the glances as you finally made it up the steps and past the columned porch. Looking up, you saw the pretty blue of the porch’s ceiling as you crossed the threshold.
It was nice. Not like Alastor’s house, which was nice in how spacious and clean it was. This was nice in its unnecessities. The large crown molding, the full size piano, the heavy and shiny lights.
“What’s this? Have I seen a haint in my own home?” The voice seemed to stick in the air around you.
“Mrs. Josephine! A sight for sore eyes and a song for weary ears.” Your head spun as Alastor’s own voice matched the energy and southern drawl of the other. You almost didn’t recognize him as his accent thickened. A thin slip of a woman in a sapphire blue tube dress appeared from the mingling crowd, hands up and out to welcome an embrace. You thought you had skill in blending in but Alastor was a professional at mirroring. He even somehow looked more posh New Orleanian as he leaned down to kiss the air beside her cheek.
“Finally, I can get you over here!” Her hands patted his arms warmly before her head turned to you with a preplanned precision, “And who is this? The reason for the invitation if I’ve ever seen one!”
Your body locked up. With the turn of her bright green eyes you forgot how polite society functioned. Your tongue dryly licked at your bottom lip as the alarms went off to say something but the well came up empty. Everything they said sounded so practiced, like you’d not been given your lines yet.
“My darling Autumn. We’ve been trying to be quiet about it but it seems word has gotten out.” His smile from behind her was sharp, a little pleasure in remembering why word had gotten out. A small jolt of energy in his gut remembering the fear on that detective’s stupid face. “You two say hello, I’ll find refreshments.”
Your eyes screamed for help as he gleefully ran away.
“So Miss Autumn, what does your father do?” The woman was skilled in small talk, which shouldn’t have caught you off guard but you hadn’t expected to need to be charming immediately upon entry.
A quick search for an impressive sounding profession, “He was a doctor.” He could have a been a doctor, no one really knew.
Her smile dropped a little, “Oh. Past tense. Your mother…?”
“Also past tense.” You nodded at the fact, “and your father?” You didn’t care but that seemed to be the normal thing to ask. Odd, in your circles people never asked about parents or jobs.
“Our family has been in the farming business for generations!” Her smile returned, hands gesturing around, “Been in the family for just as long.”
Ah.
Oh.
You thought of the best way to reply and coincidentally found the funniest.
“You’re farmers?” You asked with a fake naïveté. Her immediate upset felt a little good.
“Ha, no,” she let out a nervous laugh as she tried to regain her own persona, “but my father helps support the local sharecroppers. As Christians we —,”
Your eyes began to wander to the shiny lights again. The fun was gone and you noticed movement up above. The candle’s flames of the chandelier waved slightly as a dying autumn breeze came through the open door. November arrived and already December was staring you down.
You’d get a good luck New Year's kiss this year from someone other than Ruth or the bartender on duty. Your smile was noticed by Josephine. A fleeting memory of a wet kiss from Tommy on your squeezed cheek made you sneer involuntarily.
“You see your fella?” She asked as she tried to follow your eye line.
“No, just admiring your beautiful home.”
“Aren’t you a sweetheart.” She cooed, happy to accept the compliment, “Ya know this piano was actually shipped over from-,” your eyes glazed over we she boasted about how far the piano had travelled to live in a home where no one played piano.
Alastor appeared with drinks and you snapped back to it. You’d have to apologize later, this was already proving to be as boring as he had fretted.
“Fast friends already?” He asked you with a sly smirk and your lips flatlined.
“Bosom buddies of the highest order!” You took the crystal and wasted no time with a large gulp.
Apple cider. Not a lick of spirits.
He saw your eyes and watched your grimace. He whispered, “Told ya.”
If this was how the upper class lived at home you preferred your two story across the river with booze and jazz records.
Josephine’s eyes lit up, “Alastor! You’re always scurrying around, did you hear?” She leaned in, Alastor following suit excitedly. He was always eager for gossip. You choked on your cider as she whispered, “A dance hall manager was murdered some months ago. Did you know him?” It felt like you’d summoned Tommy from the dead with your memory.
“A manager, dead? Killed?” His hand came to his chest as if to clutch pearls, “Boo.”
“Thats terrible,” you added, both hands clutching your glass as if it’d save you.
“Tragic!” Alastor nodded, straightening his spine and leisurely sipping. “Haven’t heard a lick about it, couldn’t have been that prominent in the scene.”
“Be careful, Alastor. You’re a jazz figure yourself in a way. If someone's going after the music men you could be in a sticky situation.” Josephine seemed genuinely worried, her big emerald eyes wide and lips downturned. But she snapped out of it quickly, face transforming into a bright beam of light on par with the home itself as she recognized someone who’d just entered. “Marybeth! What has the cat dragged in!” She turned back to you, “Y’all enjoy yourselves!” and she was gone. Being a hostess was work in a way you hadn’t considered. How quickly she changed up her tone and demeanor to reset for the newest members of her party.
You found a lamp on a tall wooden table to stand by, Alastor being frequently grabbed and occupied as the group on the first floor grew. Everyone seemed shocked to see him but happy nonetheless. He introduced you to each new face with the same energy like it was the first time. After the fifth or so introduction you needed a break and let him be swept away by an older man asking to pick his brain about radio and “culture” (a word he had said with an odd upturn of his brows). It was just a bit exhausting to smile and nod so much without any real feeling behind it. You’d really lost your practice at it. Luckily you had your lamp to lean gently against when Alastor wasn’t immediately beside you.
Everyone seemed fine enough. No one was outwardly mean or cold, and though people gave you a scrutinizing eye it seemed more to do with you being an outsider to the station than anything else.
A few people swayed slightly to the band’s music but it wasn’t dancing music. Anothing things you found odd. They worked at a radio station, you’d expect them to be a little more loose. Alastor had warned some parties were more about show and less about entertainment and honestly this was more akin to a prolonged house tour than a celebration. You lost yourself in thought as you imagined dancing body to body with Alastor through the crowded and mortified hallways.
“What dolt left you all alone?” A man’s voice low and even with confidence snapped your head back up. A stranger had found a place in front of you, the lamp between you both. Dark eyes and dark hair peaked past the shade as he moved around the curve to come into view, he smiled like a thief at the sight of you. “Now who here could it be… everyone's married, that's kind of the unspoken rule, so it’s gotta be the only newcomer to these shindigs. Alastor.” He looked out at Alastor from across the room and his eyes glanced back to you from the side, “You could do worse I guess.”
His energy was something you knew well. You recognized it. A rhythm to how he spoke that was smooth and melodic. You leaned further to the left to conceal more of yourself behind the shade, “I’d argue there’s no better.”
The man pursed his lips, “Ooh, quick witted. I see why he likes you.”
Yes, this was a game you knew very well. A playful verbal fight, one you welcomed in the monotony of social polities of the party, “Your wife. Is she sharp?”
“As a spoon.” He took a long drink, eyes glazing over slightly.
A scoff, “Why is she your wife then? Sounds like you don’t care for her much.”
“Aah she’s fine. The thing to do.” He shrugged lazily, “Had our dates. Got my kisses. It was just time to…tie the knot or move on. Not all of us can make it to our forties before we need someone to come home to.” A dig at Alastor that made an annoyed huff leave your chest before you could stop yourself. He was willing to put down his wife so easily, a common trait of men who step out.
“What a shit excuse. Why would you tie yourself to someone you’re not… wildly compatible with?” You made a point of looking at Alastor, forcing the man to watch you admire your beau, “someone you feel stimulated by? Excited by?” You were talking a little too candidly, but something about the man felt almost like an old friend. An energy to him that put you at ease, no worry about where the boundaries were. You both knew words were just that; sounds that came and went and left nothing substantial behind. Not in this context, with someone you didn’t care about.
“Aren't you a romantic. Those things can always be found later on.” He set his drink down on the tall table beside you both, your arm touching his arm now on the small surface not taken by the wide pink lamp’s base. You shot him a look and with a roll of his eyes he slipped his arm away, “Find someone stable and make a home. That’s the goal. It’s alright to play a little as long as I end up back home at the end of the night….well, before sunrise.” He paused again, thinking, “Before she wakes up.” He finally clarified.
A common comment you'd heard. “She’s okay with that?” Had he been a man you were finessing you’d giggle and ask when she woke up coyly.
“Spoons don’t notice much.” A sly grin. Men with smiles like that tended to annoy you the most, because you knew he was doing the same you did before. But instead of separating men from wallets he was separating women from their panties.
“Oh you’re an ass.” You smiled.
“No, no? Til death do us part! I’m just a man.”
Death. Looking at Alastor still you could only think about when you thought he had died. Would you ever find someone like him again? If Alastor died… you cut off the dark thought before it grew roots. “Gonna be pretty soon if you keep it up.”
“You are clever. I’m Vincent.”
“I know….” That you were clever, that is, “Autumn.”
He extended a hand to shake yours, which was odd but you welcomed it. He settled into the side table again and crossed his ankles, with a nod of his head in Alastor’s direction he mused, “Unique names you two have.” He sighed but his eyes didn’t leave Alastor, “Not too wise to leave a good woman alone.”
“Not too wise to chat up another man’s lady.”
“Never said I was wise.” The little glances to you from the side, long lashes keeping his stare hooded. You could see how easily he kept himself busy outside of his marital bed.
“You got me there.” You laughed, it had been ages since you could have a little tit for tat with someone new.
He leaned his weight a little more onto that table and let his head loll to you casually, “Can I get you anywhere else?”
You nearly spit out your drink. “Ah. Okay. I absolutely know your kind. You’re playing with fire, Vincent.”
“I would like a little warmth in winter.” Vincent smirked, bright white teeth on display.
You looked to Alastor, the fake smile perfectly placed on his cheeks. “Alastor’s the fire, not me.”
“… not the company I like to keep.” Vincent straightened his posture.
“He’s literally your coworker.” You snorted and the blunt advance he made on you was already forgotten.
“Not intentionally.”
The two of you could be seen smiling and laughing together in your small spot near the corner. A comfortable silence fell between you. Watching Alastor entertain and be in his element in a new setting was a little thrilling. But you did play with the idea he wasn’t actually skilled. What if he was a terrible liar and everyone here knew he was a killer? And you would find out now as you watched his poor performance?
Unlikely but possible.
He was circling the room and mingling expertly when a woman stopped him mid-shift. A hand across his chest that lingered. Your focus was entirely on their interaction from that moment onwards.
Alastor turned as if to slip past but the woman leaned in closer and angled her body to cut him off. The conversation couldn’t be heard but the body language was screaming. Was that her? Your back straightened, readying to rush to him. Was this his stalker?
She said something flirty judging by her fluttering lashes and hooded gaze, he politely dodged it. She pressed a little closer, he leaned back and used his left arm to come between him and her to point at you from across the house. She turned, a fake smile. Short and fast and didn’t even come close to touching her eyes. She waved you over and you considered ignoring her entirely. Not his stalker, less pressing of an issue afterall.
But Alastor’s face was behind her back, lips in a grimace. He beckoned you over with three fingers. Vincent sighed something about Alastor but you were already halfway across the room.
You barely made it within earshot before the woman started, "Glad to see he’s settling down!” You laughed and noticed the few heads that turned at the loud proclamation. “It means we get more parties with this one.” She took another chance to touch his arm.
He pulled away to give you a spin, “All thanks to the woman of the hour!” He proclaimed as the dress shined and moved even after you stopped. Your grin almost ached as you met his prideful stare.
The woman nodded, pursed lips, and carried on. “Plus, we were all getting a little worried about you.” She said to Alastor. “But now that you’re married-,” you took the chance to interrupt her thought.
“Oh? Us?” You grimaced involuntarily at the topic.
Alastors eyes widening without intention as well, “No no, we’re happily living in sin.”
“Oh you! Don’t let him talk like that.” She slapped his cheek gently like a mother scolding a child, “Anywho, now that you’re tied down.”
Alastor turned to you with a perked brow, “Oh we haven’t tried that one yet.”
“Hm?” The woman quirked up.
“Hmm?” Alastor was quick to repeat her.
The woman immediately dropped it, “We have a dinner every first Sunday just for the couples at the broadcasting company. You’re officially eligible since you're no longer eligible.” As if it was rehearsed, You and Alastor immediately began into gentle reasons why you couldn’t make it. The two of you overlapped each other with plausible if not entirely made up reasons to not attend.
“Now don’t argue! Let the little lady have her fun. A break from nightly duties yeah? Plus, while the men talk business and rub elbows, we get to gossip.” She reached over and held onto your hands like you were good friends. They were cold. She then turned her head to Alastor, “good opportunity for you, most people don’t make it up the ladder without getting this kind of access, hun. Especially….” She returned her sharp barely-hidden annoyed stare to you, “Congrats again on the engagement!”
That woman was a bomber, she dropped some conversational artillery, caused a crater to form and then immediately flew away; leaving you both in the debris.
Shell shocked, you spoke first, “You owe me a ring, apparently.”
Alastor’s mouth was hanging open, some level of appall still in the fog he was left in, “I owe you more than that.”
The assumption you both would marry wasn’t really an issue for you. Everyone assumed dating was just the polite way to start a marriage. However you weren’t quite ready for people to assume you were imminently tying the knot and announcing you as such.
Your eyes kept reaching out to Alastor, looking for any inclination he was uncomfortable with what had happened.
He was the picture of a jovial guest. No bead of sweat on his brow or nervous shuffling of his glass from hand to hand. Was it just you feeling a little more naked than before? Or was the idea so silly he wasn’t lingering on it? The kind of thing you should have asked, but the party wasn’t the place for it. The evening moved on slowly, food was served in small bits and bites that left you unsatisfied and the cider just got warmer as time passed. Which would have been nice if the room itself wasn’t heating up quickly with bodies.
The party had been as boring and taxing as he had expected. The woman following him would have been at least a little exciting, you’d consider on hour four of polite conversation. Alastor’s smile had begun to crack, shrinking as time went on. The band had gotten quieter, musicians tired as much as you were.
“Why don’t you play something, Alastor?” A man in the group asked when conversation dulled. “Josephine, can Alastor borrow the piano?”
Alastor tried to deny the request, but you knew it was just for show. He was lapping up the attention as Josephine hushed the people in her immediate area and ushered Alastor to the bench.
“Well, if you insist!” he grinned, straightening his posture and hovering his hands over the keys. Your eyes found Vincent’s, who rolled his at Alastor. You wondered why Alastor had never mentioned he had an adversary at work. You considered maybe he didn’t know. Alastor seemed very good at not noticing the feelings of others when he didn’t want to.
Aint Misbehavin by Fats Waller rolled off the old walls of the home Alastor knew he had no business in and that made it even more delicious of a time. A few tutted at his choice, but some took the opportunity to give a little spin to their wives or pull someone closer that was acceptable.
Alastor chose the song and its composer well.
Tingles in his toes and up his back, playing black music by a black man with his creole hands in a home built to keep him out. To the delight of those around him, faces much lighter than his own. People who knew he wasn’t accepted, but when money came into play suddenly race wasn’t quite as big of a divider. Well, some knew. Others seemed blissfully unaware of his blood and his mother and that was how it had to stay. What’s a tan and curls in the heat of Louisiana. And in the winter months, when the sun was a little more shy and he stayed indoors to hide from the chill, his complexion paled and people seemed to just squint and move on at the sight of him. The benefits of being mixed, the temporary acceptance in spaces.
It made his blood boil to consider all of the times doors only opened for people like him when it was for entertainment. For a good time. And when the fad of his skills and culture was over he’d be out again. But for now, he could stalk and take and enjoy. He could make a dent in the cruelty with his own delight. And that had to be enough. He finished with a smile, glasses reflecting the low lights, and let the applause heal him for the evening.
“I think I’ve made a good enough scene. You ready?” He glided to you and whispered against your hair. With your eager nod, he kissed your hand and swam his way through the house to give a good bye to Josephine. She took his hand and patted it on hers, “Thank you Alastor.” Her eyes were so soft as they fell on him, “You drive safe!” He nodded but she didn’t let go for a second, instead moving away from her group and leaning up to his ear, “I really like her! She seems good for you. Your smile looks like you mean it now.” Alastor didn’t blink, the small confession of Josephine revealing something he hadn’t known about himself. He hadn’t been trying to smile differently, nor sensed anything different about how he was acting. It was slightly alarming to realize he had lost control of himself. But she patted his hand once more and went back to whoever she’d been entertaining.
The drive back was relatively quiet, and he assumed you were dozing off beside him. His mind kept replaying the night. When had he been smiling differently? No moments stood out as different. Had he been acting differently and no one told him?
He supposed that was normal, and if anything was a good thing as he did love you and wasn’t trying to hide it. But not hiding something and not realizing you’re showing something are two different things entirely. You spoke from your place against the window and pulled him out of his thoughts.
“Is Vincent a friend of yours?” You remembered the man suddenly.
“Thought you were asleep, dear.” He hummed as he considered, “No, he’s an annoying rake. Nothing against rakes, he's just an insufferable one. So full of himself.”
“He was pretty funny.”
“He is very charming. His favorite sport appears to be getting caught with his pants down.” His face was screwed up in disgust as if remembering something visual.
“Really?” You laughed.
“Yes! I swear,” his body turned slightly toward you as he kept his eyes on the road, “He’s been caught atleast three times with a woman bent over some furniture. It’s this man’s only skill beyond wagging his tongue.”
“Is he a bad guy?”
Alastor shrugged, “Not enough to matter to me. He’s not enough of anything.”
The familiar drive back through town and over the bridge. You thought on it more as you drove ‘home’, what the woman was saying at the party that got you so flustered. No more roommates. No more renting rooms. You were living with a man you claimed to love, and loved you in return. Were you not like Vincent, in a sense? It’s the next socially acceptable step: marriage.
The car was halfway over the bridge, the water only visible on the tiny peaks of the waves that caught the light of the stars and the moon still tall ahead of you both. “It wouldn’t be so bad. Playing house with you. Sure would make parties easier.” You said it quickly, eyes ahead.
Imperceptable was the reaction Alastor had. Purely internal, he felt his stomach flip like the drop of a jet coaster. Were you saying what he thought you were?
“Wouldn’t have to be so coy about where I’m living.” You were talking to tamper your anxiety. “I’ve never thought about it much. The courthouse would be fine. I-”
“Would you? Say yes?” He didn’t look at you.
“Are you asking?” A sideways glance from behind his glasses to you that said, 'do you know me at all?’ “Yeah, I mean – it’d help socializing. And we're already living dangerously in every sense. We’d blend in well. Nothing to stir up attention, really. People at the station would leave you be. And I hear word of a proposed law up north, could protect wives from talking about their husbands at court.”
“True! And what would you get out of the whole shebang?” His lower stomach was fluttering. This was the most interest and willingness you’d ever shown to the topic of a legal commitment.
You laughed, and when he looked over at you you were already staring at him with a half cocked smile, “You, duh. We’ve been over this. I just want you.” You needed to disperse the tension of it, “The house is a nice bonus though.” Another nervous chuckle. Had you been too serious? Maybe it was the wrong time.
His head dropped between his shoulders and he brought the car to a crawl. His knees knocked together, you were doing that thing again. That way you looked at him and spoke like he was as valuable as he always told himself he was. Like he was good. Gold, even. Why would you do that? How could you materialize all of his lofty ideas of his own self worth? The same way you looked at him from the bed above the theater. Like he was more than a man, more than a paper cut out of a human. He pulled the car over and off the dirt road, stopping in the grass of the shoulder. Killing the engine he got out and you watched with adjusting eyes as he came to your side and opened the door of his Ford.
“Out of the car, miss.”
“Uhh, Alastor? If you're gonna drop to one knee on the side of the road, I'm going to have to request a raincheck.” He shook his head no and helped you out. He opened the back door which swung open in a mirrored fashion to the front doors.
“You”, a pause to extend his hand to you, “are overdressed. Allow me to help you with that.” With a swift motion he had you escored and sat on the back bench seat expectedly.
“Your backseat has a dress code now?” Your smile couldn’t be contained, you loved when he was silly like this.
“It does when you’re in it. And like I said,” he crouched to slip off your shoes, “You’re wearing far too many clothes.” He set the shoes down on the car floor. Both of his warm and broad hands flattened on the tops of your thighs and slid up the fabric of your stockings until he met skin. With a happy pop he removed your garters and nylons. You fought the urge to remind him they weren’t exactly in the way, but didn’t want to interrupt a man at work.
He stood and leaned into the car, one hand on the open door. You stretched up for a kiss, and let him deepen it at his pace as he undid his tie and vest with one hand.
You pulled him by the collar into the car, laughing into each other’s mouths as he kicked off his shoes and tried to close the doors behind himself. Safely in the car, dark and quiet, his hands used your wrists to help him feel his way to your neck before searching for your cheeks with his still hungry lips, “Tell me you love me.”
“Dont tell me what to do.” You bit his bottom lip and he felt your smile on either side of his mouth. You kissed the bite delicately. “Oh,” he purred, “that works equally as well.” A much better tingle down his stomach and to his center than the one at the piano.
“I love you”, you whispered into his cheek as your kisses found the shell of his ear and made their way down his neck. Your hands pushed open his shirt to get at his collarbone. Alastor helped with removing his layers. His jacket was tossed over the front seat, vest dropped off his shoulders behind him, and his shirt was unbuttoned while you chased the slowly exposed skin. Little gasps left him, making your hips feel weak. Making someone like him tremble under your touch was intoxicating. Was there magic in this, too? Some counter to the things he always sideeyed from the house.
And for him, the attention was praise that made him fight back small moans rising too soon. He could let you kiss him for hours and not tire of it, and there were lazy mornings you did just that. A blanket of affection he could cling to and melt against.
Alastor broke away to fish around in his jacket pockets, revealing the small tin he’d been carrying around, “TEXIDE” was written on the top and your eyes fought the darkness to read it.
“Rubbers?” you gasped, “scandalous. Did you have to see a doctor for these?”
He smirked, “Brought down from Canada, no appointment necessary.” He set it down beside your hip, “I don’t have to leave you now.” The way he danced around the direct implication of not pulling out was almost endearing. He was excited at the idea alone, getting to stay in your heat through his own climax was a sensation he’d never known he’d miss.
“I'm proud of you, by the way.” His mouth found yours again for long and drawn out kisses, “Twirling you around pretty rooms and showing you off to animals in lipstick and hair gel.” Long fingers slipped up your back and pulled you against himself. His lips found yours and with no rush he kissed to his heart's delight. Slow and patient. His hands slid from your back to your legs, caressing the tops of your thighs. They’d move up to slide under your dress just a tad before retreating again. “We could just stay like this, ya know. If you want. It’s cold.” You both continued in soft movements, the tension not mounting as you both knew it wasn’t a guarantee. Just a slow pleasure, like nails scraping against your scalp or a massage to your palm.
“But the Canadians…” you giggled. With both hands buried in his hair you found his eyes. In the darkness of the backseat you searched his face for any hesitancy to tell you to temper your expectations. Sometimes you did. Some nights and mornings you looked at him and saw the missing energy buzzing under his expression. And you slowed, and lavished, and adored him in other ways.
But there it was, a light behind his eyes, a mischief to his grin. He nodded and closed his eyes before his lips had found yours yet again, “An excellent argument.” His tongue swiped at your lips and you let him in, teeth briefly hitting teeth as you both smiled. Your hands raked down his neck and shoulders and snaked toward to push open his shirt enough to untuck it. His breath hitched against your open mouth as your palm slid down behind his belt.
“Okay?” You asked as you landed a peck beside his lips. He replied with a low moan as your hand bypassed his underwear and wrapped around his still soft length. It’d been a little while and you’d not realized how much you missed having him in your grasp. It was a struggle while still in his pants but you managed a stroke up and over his glands and were rewarded with a louder gasp. “Lie down.”
Obedient, not his usual nature, but he was eager to get washed away in your affections. With some maneuvering you both worked his pants and underwear down enough to get them off his legs. If the cops came you’d not have a single excuse for what you were doing. When you tried to straddle him your dress poked and prodded and soon found itself on the front seat of the car. Goosebumps flourished up your spine but those heated palms of his chased them away.
Running your nails over his thighs you watched him unroll the condom down his cockhead and along his length. Even in the low light coming in through the side and back windows the bright opaque white color was obvious. One of your knees pressed between his hip and the car seat, the other barely held onto the seat edge with the leverage of your leg extended to the floor. It would work well enough. You weren’t in any situation to complain.
Alastor sighed as your hips dropped down and took him in with small increments. When you had him to the hilt you began a little grind back and forth. The way he pressed up against your walls and his pelvic bone hit against your clit was addicting. You needed more of it, harder, quicker, immediately.
His eyes wandered to the stars outside the back window briefly before being torn back to you, the sounds you were making made him twitch inside the tight warmth of your body. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands yet, not knowing if you wanted help in moving or if he was better off letting you take your pleasure. The sensation of a condom was noticeable to him, but luckily he had other senses to make up for it. You had to lean over him to get enough space to lift your hips and drop back down. The first thrust sent sparks up your womb and throughout your stomach and you chased the feeling with a series of quick and deep hits. Alastor’s hands flew to your hips, not slowing you just needing to hold something. You didn’t censor your moans and gasps, whispering profanities to yourself as the pleasure slowly ebbed away, your body molding to his shape and no longer squeezing so tightly at the intrusion.
The heat from your chest was felt on his own despite the inches of space between you. His mind locked onto the smell of your perfume rising with warmth as your skin heated with every gasp and desperate ride.
His hands rose up your sides and you found the mental clarity to sigh into the tenderness of his pampered palms. Soft and nimble, fingers you watched glide over piano keys and glass lips. That you saw grip knife handles and severed parts. Hands ever so gentle when set upon you. His kinder nature was a limited resource you monopolized happily.
Your lower back burned at the odd angle you had to bend to bounce your hips hard enough. The way he bottomed out when your weight was fully in his kept your vision bright with stars. The taste of apples lingered on his tongue from the cider earlier in the evening.
“I only know peace when I’m touching you. When I’m looking at you.” You sighed it out in one long breath. Forcing out the truth before it got too heavy. “What’s happening to me?” Your mouth ghosted over his as a moan stilled your kiss.
Alastor knew; he’d surrendered months ago. He wasn’t sure he fought it at all. It snuck up on him, taking him out quickly and quietly in the dark alleys of his lonely little life.
The seas in your chest swelled with excitement, optimism at all of the things you had at your side now.
Electricity in your joints, like the frenzy of a startled school of fish disturbing the calm surface of the water: a kinetic energy made your body move with sudden impatience.
There was magic here. Whether he knew it or not didn’t matter. There was something mystic in the surrender of bodies to pleasure, of the slow grind of skin against skin. The condom could dull the feeling of you in just one inconsequential way.
“I love you so much, even if you take me to boring parties every night for the rest of our lives”, you whispered into his neck before taking the skin between your teeth.
Our
He felt you gasp when he grabbed onto you, holding tightly as his body finally met your own with every drop. Your thighs cramped as your muscles strained to keep up his pace. The sound of now wet skin sticking and peeling free where your bodies met had never been so arousing. You could imagine it as your eyes shut to the pleasure. The way he must have looked, hard and curved as he pounded up into you. Your mind erased the condom, seeing his shaft shining with your churned up arousal. Dripping down balls you could feel tightening up just between your cheeks when you slammed back down.
You struggled to kiss every parcel of skin you could reach, brain going dizzy and blank.
Alastor’s feet scrambled as his climax was peaking, socks sliding against the slick car door as he tried to find purchase. As his thrusts slowed you didn’t. He gasped, biting his lip against a groan. He tested the strength of the door’s latch as his feet pressed against it and raised his hips up once, twice more. You squealed as you were lifted off the backseat momentarily with the force.
You let worries of smothering him go and went boneless above him. The weight held him down and made the hum of his nerves sing. He went lax too, he naturally disliked being on his back but could imagine worse deaths if you’d turned out to be a killer all along. He smirked, you were naked as a jaybird. No knife up your sleeve; no sleeves. No dress. No pesky panties.
“Quite the engagement party.” He groaned as he tried to straighten out his legs.
Your peace was broken by your own surprised cackle. He whispered a, “only joking,” into your hair. His eyes went back to the window, stars bright and countless above you both. The joke didn’t make your hair raise like a threatened cat anymore, and he noticed how the air didn't get charged this time when he teased you.
Could he joke his way into getting you married? Just laugh as he set the ring and distracted you with giggles as you signed the dotted line. He sighed, content and relaxed.
So many stars. They’d watched him do countless bad things. Did any of this redeem him? Were they watching now? It didn’t matter.
He had better sights to see now, he considered as his large palms gripped your ass and began pushing your body up. The sky disappeared past your thighs as he managed to get your soft and wet pussy against his lonely mouth, your pubic mound knocking his glasses into his hairline and half off his face. Your eyes met his as he looked up before he fluttered his shut. You couldn’t see anything outside the side window as your arms rested against the door’s ledge, glass slowly fogging with heated breaths. It was just the two of you, floating in the darkness. That was good enough.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
You woke up with a start, the light of the sun briefly mistaken for a cop’s headlights. Alastor slipped on his pants and you wore his jacket like a dress as the two of you set off home.
Neither of you said anything, neither of you very awake.
Your body settled, sore and tight, into the top step of the back porch. Gripping the coffee mug helped focus your mind as it was warm and the air was cold. His coat didn’t do anything for your naked legs but you were too lazy to go get trousers.
Alastor’s cup was set beside you before he walked off to the greenhouse. You took a testing sip, black and bitter but it woke you up a little.
He returned with something between his fingers, and you huffed a laugh as he knelt on the stairs and took one of your hands from the warmth of your mug. You sipped again, side eyeing him as he tied it on your finger.
“Feel alright, sweetheart? Not too tight?”
“Little itchy for a wedding band…fits well enough.” You held your hand up as if to admire the band in the sunlight.
“High standards,” he rolled his eyes. Just as quickly as he had tied it he then slipped it off and pocketed it. He settled beside you and took to his own drink. You noticed the wet spot on his knee from the morning dew covering the steps.
“You move fast.” You smiled, trying to say it honestly but not cruelly. It was a real thought. If he agreed and backtracked you were sure you’d break your own heart but you couldn’t change your nature overnight. You had to say it.
“Life’s short. We shouldn’t follow silly unspoken rules. If we want something I think we should take it.”
“I’ve had strangers propose marriage with more pomp, you know.”
He choked on his coffee a little, “My mother raised me better than that. I just needed your ring size. What about a red stone? Lovely reminder of the first night we met. Something dazzling and shiny.”
“Shut up. You’re teasing me.” Your body curled into itself.
“You’re just so easy to fluster,” his hand came to pinch your cheek and you slapped it away. “You seem to hate the idea less, of rings and… whatnot.” He stared ahead at the greenhouse.
He could feel your fidget and shrug beside him, “Feels less…” you thought about life as a homemaker, quickly realizing this wasn’t what Alastor expected of you and instead imagined a shiny band you could wave at the interlopers and busybody’s. None of the old expectations had to apply anymore. You weren’t signing away your life or freedoms, not if it was him beside you. “Less heavy now.”
“It’s just twine, after all.”
Your arm swung out to playfully hit his.
“Oh fuck you,” you laughed away the seriousness of the topic.
“Don’t need legal paperwork for that, dear. But I’m all fucked out for the week I think.” He winced as you hit him again. When you let the topic die and seemed lost in thought and in your coffee, he slipped his hand in his pocket and rolled the twine between his fingers. A sense of urgency seemed to grip him. Whether it was a fear you’d change your mind or a worry he’d ruin it, he couldn’t be sure. But something loomed over his shoulder, telling him to hurry. That he didn’t have much time left to wait.
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