Shackles

Branding

Trigger Warning: Alastor does insult Angel quite a few times in a manner that may be very triggering for some readers. His irritation with Angel's past sex work is no reflection on Angel himself but comes from Alastor's own insecurities about pleasing a very sexual individual when such things do not generally come as easily or often to himself. Still, while we may understand a character's motivations for certain words and actions, and find it easy to eventually forgive the character these flaws, we must remember that in reality Alastor's behavior would not be acceptable regardless of the circumstances. I can create a situation wherein the character learns and grows, or where ultimately there is a happy ending. Real life is not so simple, nor so contrived. There is also an element of unrestrained dominance and possessive behavior that is problematic. If that is upsetting or triggering for you, please steer clear.

For those who wish to continue, I thank you for joining. For those who cannot, may other kinks abound for you and may you come across something delectable.

Enjoy, my darlings.

~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

"Are you okay, Angel?"

Angel turned his head dazedly and stared, dumbstruck, at the princess of hell for a few minutes too long. Okay? Was he okay?

He didn't know.

Over the past week, he had learned a whole fucking lot about Alastor and his "conditions". Alastor didn't want him fucking other fellas. That much was clear. He seemed real fixed on that bit. Fuck, he'd even made it a point to take another go at eating out Angel's asshole when the spider tried to argue. Needless to say, the Radio Demon had won that battle, if only because he started using teeth.

The problem with Alastor was... he had a lot of fuckin unwritten, unspoken rules.

Don't touch.

Don't tease.

Don't flirt.

Don't beg.

Don't ignore.

Not to mention, the bastard was NEVER fucking horny. Sure, Angel had dreaded sleeping with his last sugar daddy, but he had been looking forward to having sex with the Radio Demon again. He should have known it would be a rarity. Other than that one... punishing rim job... Alastor hadn't bothered playing his body like a fiddle in a full week.

Three short bouts of nipple play, 15 kisses, five hugs and one smack on the ass in passing.

Angel's body was on fucking fire.

It got real old, real fast. Never mind that Val hadn't bothered him in days. Never mind that he could go galavanting through hell with his gal pal Cherri at any given moment and Alastor never seemed to mind. Never mind that the red powder Al gave him when he NEEDED drugs made a neon green smoke that caused Angel's whole body to buzz with some strange, warm, delicious high he couldn't explain. It felt like a Louisiana bayou, all green and hot and wet.

The fact remained that Angel Dust was horny and his box of "work shit" had gone missing, disappeared right from his room in a flash.

He wondered if maybe the weird waifu-obsessed fanboy or the clingy feet-focused anti fan had finally managed to steal his once-beloved box of work shit. He might have been afraid some crazy stalker had found his living quarters, but worse things had happened in the past. Anyway, more than likely there was no nefarious stalker. Perhaps Nifty or Charlie had come across the box of unmentionables and chucked them, Nifty out of gleeful disgust at their probable filthiness or Charlie in some misguided attempt to help him find redemption.