In Want of Absolution (#12)
Pairing: Alastor/Alastor’s Shadow/Fem Reader
TW: smut
Series Masterlist
His, Again
Alastor hated the fact that he felt good for once. You knew all of his secrets now, every ugly corner of him had been laid bare. And he just could not deny how much he loved the way you leaned into him now that there was nothing left hidden between the two of you.
You had been tormenting him all day after leaving him utterly blue balled the evening before, after your visit with Rosie.
“Goodnight, Alastor,” you had said sweetly after he had practically undressed you down to your slip and underthings. His hands had been everywhere and nowhere unfortunately. You wouldn’t let him under your clothes and he wanted to sob.
The moment you pulled away, all soft smiles and teasing eyes, he had wanted to tear something apart.
You little tease. So he had gone out into the bayou and ripped apart a few unfortunate trees in full demon form before retreating to bed to nurse a bottle of bourbon and sulk dramatically into his pillows.
The next morning you woke him far too early with a soft knock at his door, and he immediately regretted drinking the entire bottle. His head pounded viciously as he cracked the door open only to find you standing there in nothing but a darling little satin nightgown.
It was far shorter than anything you would have worn back on earth, crimson silk trimmed in delicate lace. His favorite color.
“Did I wake you, my love?” you asked sweetly, and he nearly melted on the spot.
Alastor forced himself to shake off the haze of his headache and focus before he embarrassed himself entirely.
Then your gaze drifted toward the now very empty bourbon bottle abandoned on his bedside table. You rolled your eyes fondly before ushering him back toward the bed with promises of coffee and something greasy to eat.
You truly were perfect. Worse still, you knew him better than he knew himself. God, how he had missed you.
The two of you spent the morning tangled in bed, reading side by side until the coffee finally began to dull the edge of his headache. And once it did, Alastor found himself becoming considerably more affectionate.
He was painfully aware of the way your satin nightgown had ridden up your thighs, of the warm brush of your bare leg against his beneath the blankets. Every small shift you made seemed to torment him further.
Closing the book he had barely been paying attention to, he set it aside and turned toward you instead. You, meanwhile, were utterly engrossed in some scandalous little Hell romance novel that appeared to have stolen every ounce of your attention.
“Is it truly such a good read, amour?” he asked after you continued to ignore the longing stare he had been directing at you for the better part of ten minutes.
“Shhh, Alastor,” you murmured without even looking up from the page. “I’m at the best part.”
He gave an offended little huff before rolling onto his back to glare up at the ceiling. Yet the ache low in his body quickly reminded him that he very much preferred having your full attention.
Slipping beneath the covers, he crawled over you and parted your legs in one smooth motion, earning a startled gasp as the book tumbled from your hands onto the mattress beside you.
“Alastor!” you scolded, eyes wide with surprise. “What in the world are you doing?”
“I am growing rather tired of your relentless teasing,” he replied smoothly, settling himself between your thighs with entirely too much confidence for a man who had been sulking only moments before.
His grin sharpened as he leaned down close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.
“You have spent the better part of this morning ignoring me for that ridiculous little novel when I am right here.”
“Oh, so now you’re jealous of a book?” you teased, breath catching slightly as his hands slid along your legs beneath the blankets.
“Jealous?” he echoed with mock offense before dipping his head to brush a kiss just beneath your jaw. “No, no, darling. Merely correcting a lapse in your priorities.”
You gasp when he grinds his hips into yours and you feel his erection hard through the thin material of his pajama pants and your underwear.
Wrapping your arms around his neck the two of you rut into each other like wild animals. Moaning and grinding, grabbing and nipping until you are not quite sure where your limbs end and his begin.
“I need you cher.” He moaned into your ear. “Please let me taste you.”
You had every intention of turning him away again, if only to punish him a little simply because you could. But at the sound of his proposal, you found yourself softening despite your better judgment.
After a moment’s hesitation, you gave a small nod. The victorious grin that spread across his face was immediate.
“Oh, there’s my sweet girl,” he murmured, clearly far too pleased with himself as he leaned down to steal another kiss from you. “I knew you could be reasonable.”
“Do not push your luck,” you warned, though the threat lost much of its bite when your hands drifted up to curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer instead of away.
Slipping from your grasp, he pushed the skirt of your nightgown higher along your thighs.
Then he paused.
Only for a moment, but long enough for the shift in him to be unmistakable. His eyes drifted over the angry slash carved across your lower abdomen, and suddenly you felt ill all over again beneath the weight of his gaze.
You had spent so long avoiding mirrors, avoiding your own reflection, pretending the scar did not exist unless you absolutely had to acknowledge it. Seeing him witness it for the first time made something akin to shame curl hot and ugly in your stomach.
Before you could pull the fabric back down or laugh it off or tell him not to look, he did the last thing you expected.
Slowly, reverently, Alastor bent down and pressed a kiss against the scar. Then another. And another. Soft kisses traced every inch of the jagged mark, his hands gentle where they rested against your hips.
The only physical reminder left of the life the two of you had once made together. Your breath caught painfully in your throat.
“Alastor…” you whispered weakly, unsure if you meant to stop him or thank him.
His crimson eyes flickered up toward yours, grief and devotion tangled so tightly within them it nearly shattered you.
“Oh, cher,” he whispered against your skin, “I’ll spend the rest of eternity worshipping every inch of you, if you’ll let me.”
The small nod you give him, as he peers up at you from between your legs with those beautiful crimson eyes that has your heart stuttering, is all the permission he needs. Slipping a claw beneath your underwear he makes quick work of ripping them apart so as to bare your soaking core to him.
Leaning down he licks up your entire slit, stopping only at your clit to swirl the tip of that demonic tongue around your little bundle of nerves.
The moan you let out is guttural. The tongue was new… he’d always been good with his mouth in life…this was on another level.
It was longer and he was much more precise in his movements. When he dipped down to let it slide into your soaking cunt he moved his claw to rub over your clit and keep you squirming under his devotions, it felt like nothing you had ever encountered. Your back arched and he brought a shadowy tendril up to hold you down so he could finish his meal. He was ravenous. Working you over, your pleasure was the only thing on his mind.
“Alastor, I’m , I’m-” you try to manage as another tendril comes up and angles your knee so he can lap even deeper. That did it. You came so violently on his tongue he pulled away in surprise at the sudden onslaught of damp.
“Cher..did you…did you just?…”
Still rolling off cloud nine you are barely aware enough to realize just how wet the bed beneath you is. Oh my god. He’d made you squirt. The grin on his face was so boyish while heat rose to your cheeks and you covered your face.
“I think she missed me.” He said confidently, planting a kiss on your cunt before picking you up and moving you to his side of the bed, out of the puddle of your own pleasure.
“Please, for the love of Satan, shut up,” you groaned, though the words lost all conviction the moment he leaned down to kiss you again.
The kiss turned deep and slow, his tongue slipping between your lips just enough to let you taste yourself on him.
“You taste so sweet, my love,” he murmured against your mouth, voice rough with satisfaction. “Surely you agree?”
You could only nod weakly into the kiss, your hands drifting down the length of his chest as you made quick work of the buttons. The soft downy fur beneath your fingertips made warmth curl low in your stomach, and when your fingers brushed over the jagged scar carved across his chest, he stilled just enough to let you trace its sharp edges. Your touch lingered there for a moment before wandering lower across the firm planes of his abdomen.
His body truly was unfair. Hell had twisted him into something even more beautiful. And you hated how breathless he could still make you after all this time.
The pleased sound he made at your wandering hands vibrated against your lips as he caught your wrist gently, pulling away to press a lingering kiss into your palm before grinning down at you with unmistakable smugness.
“Do you like what you see?”
Ignoring him, your hands slip under the elastic waistband of his pajama pants, you take a breath as your hands explore over his slim hips, over the curve of his ass, squeezing his tail (that earns you a soft bleat). And when you let your hands wander between his legs and you take his stiff demon cock into your hand he hisses at the contact.
How he had longed for you to touch him there.
“Jesus Christ, Alastor.” You said breathlessly. “How are we going to make this fit?” You whisper, mostly to yourself, working his length in your hands in a painfully slow manner.
His hips buck into your hands, desperate for more. More movement, more friction, more you.
“Let’s me, agh, in and I’ll make sure it does.” He managed, his half lidded gaze drinking in the sight of his member in your hands. God was it dizzying.
“Fuck, cher I need you, please, you’ve teased me enough, I’m begging you. What more do you want from me?” He gasps when you stop mid stroke to collect the little beads of precum at his tip. Much to his dismay, and then awe, instead of using it as lubrication you bring it up to your kiss plumped lips and suck your claws clean.
He could have came right there from the sight alone.
And when you buck your hips in a silent invitation for him to meet you, he all but scrambles to push his pants the rest of the way down, kicking them somewhere into the covers before settling between your legs once more, using one arm to steady himself over you.
He takes his length in his hand drawing it over your soaking cunt, earning a shudder from the both of you.
“Fuck you’re so wet for me, you want me cher?”
“Nooo Alastor I’m here just to discuss the weather. Now please, for the love of Satan, fuck me before I make you wait another century.”
That was all it took. Parting your folds with his weeping cock head he pushes in with enough force to get …most of the way in.
“Fuuuuccck,” you moan, back arching up into him, he’s HUGE. You can’t help the way your walls involuntarily clench at the intrusion. Squeezing his length, begging for more. It didn’t hurt like you had worried it would. Seeing as this was the first time your new bodies had done this. But there was the sense of being…just a little too full.
He stills over you, chest heaving as he pants. Alastor had never been a religious man, obviously, but in that moment he found himself offering up a quiet plea to anything willing to listen, hoping some unseen force might spare him the humiliation of making a complete fool of himself by finishing in mere seconds.
“You alright there?” You mused lifting your head from the pillow to press a soft kiss to the grimace that was planted on his focused face.
That snapped him out of his head. Alastor bucked his hips forward, stealing the breath and whatever quirky remark you had ready as he bottomed out. Your claws grasped at his back, piercing the skin as the sharp pain of being fully full settled. He doesn’t even give you any time to adjust, spurred on by your teasing. He is an animal, dipping into carnal desires that have been dormant for over a century.
He plows into you with such force, if you had been aware enough to pay attention to the world around you would have noticed the racket the headboard made as it was hammered into the wall.
But you weren’t. You were totally focused on the way his hot red tipped cock plunged into your soaking cunt again and again. You were lost in the way its pointed head prodded that sweet spot deep within your core. Your screams were as coherent as your thought.
“Oh, Alastor. Fuck. Yes yes yes!”
The sounds within the room were sinful all on their own. Hot and heavy. The slapping of skin against skin as the two of you let loose a century of want. Of longing. Of belonging. He rutted into you as if he were trying to ruin you, and maybe he was.
Tendrils crept up, hiking a knee to give him a better angle as he plunges into you, drinking your gasps.
“Mine.” He moans into your mouth, pulling out then slamming all the way back into your glistening folds.
“Mine.” He moans as the tendrils lift you up and he slides his hand under your buttocks to pull you even closer to him still, slowing his hips just enough to lean forward and nip at your pulse point.
“Mine.” He growls as he pulls you into a passionate kiss, picking up speed as he feels your walls start to tighten around his aching cock. You’re close. And he wants nothing more than to drag another mind numbing orgasm out of you.
It’s then you feel the cool sensation of the tendril, rolling over your clit as Alastor holds your face tenderly. While his body moves in ways that are anything but. That’s what pushes you over the edge.
“Look at me.” he moans right when that coil deep in your belly snaps for the second time today. He doesn’t let you look away as he fucks you through your orgasm, he doesn’t stop. Even when his own thrusts grow sloppy, even when you feel his cock swell and cum spurting deep within your cunt, he fucks you still, desperate for every moment. Every second. Desperate to fuck his up seed deeper into your fruitless womb.
Prying your eyes open as his hips still, his crimson eyes remain glued to your face. Is that a tear?
Your hands move from their assault on his back, slipping through his hair and over his ears.
“Yours. All yours,” you whisper, pulling him down into another kiss.
