And oh, did you love it. Everyone who was made to feel like nobody flocked to your theater and the surrounding neighborhood. Men, women, the people who didn’t agree with either. The biblically inclined, those closer to sodom, the sapphic dolls. Everyone was equal in the halls of jazz rooms and theatres where burlesquers were welcome.

Because of the inclusive nature of such places, you often saw familiar faces. It wouldn’t be unusual for someone from Thursday night to be seen Saturday at a different locale.

That presented certain opportunities and challenges. When you found a good mark, it was easy to be wherever he was and play it off as fate and common interests.

And when you gained a new stalker, someone wanting a personal show, it could be hard to tell until it was too late. 

Maybe it was your greed, or just your love of attention, but you found yourself focused almost entirely on a particularly well dressed man one evening. You’d seen him around before. Clean cut, sharp suit, a welcoming smile always on display. He looked like he had money, the most attractive quality of any man you could meet.

So focused on his gleaming stare from the side booths you hadn’t noticed the man at the stage front tables. You barely noticed him the night before, or the night before that, either. Because Smiles, as you took to calling the handsome stranger in the back, had been here three nights now too.

You really put on a show. Shimmying your hips, ostrich feathers following suit with every move. Your brassiere was heavy with shining rhinestones, panties of silk and lace. Your set was almost done, all that was left was to remove your top and slink away behind the curtains to hollers and whistles. Back turned, you unhooked the painful bra and let it fall to the stage with a clunk. Foot in front of foot, you stalked the stage length. With your hand hidden from view you took the feathered fan from the stagehand behind the curtain. As the music crescendoed you turned, fan unfurling just in time to hide yourself.

Groans, mass begging from the audience. Your stage name a chant now, a prayer. “Autumn! Come on!”

As the band slowed, music dying to mark the end of your number, you scanned the crowd. Eyes blinking coyly, you mouthed, “More? Did you want more?”

People were jumping to their feet, not Smiles but that was fine, you were focused now on the adoration of the crowd. The music ended, a second of silence. 

You winked, the drums hitting one last beat as you let the fan close.

Fanfare! Men whistling, women clapping. Someone shouted a marriage proposal. You took a bow, twirled on the balls of your feet and slipped gracefully behind the curtains.

Your hands wound to your spine, rubbing blood flow back into your skin as the staff removed your headdress. Someone slipped your robe over you and you nodded a thanks, aching feet carrying you to the dressing room. It was chaos, as usual. Women buzzing around, tits and ass here and there. You smiled. You happened to enjoy this part of the job. Soft bodies in shiny costumes, lovely smells and sweet voices. If you could get dressed quickly enough, you could still take a tour of the room and slide into Smiles’ booth. 

“Enjoy the show?” You’d ask. He’d lean in, maybe blush, “Always when you’re here.” Or something like that. You’d cozy up to him, flag down a waiter for something strong and pricey, and get him properly drunk. He’d wake up outside, fine and dandy except his missing cash. 

You’ll call him a drunkard if he confronts you, accuse him of getting himself robbed after you refused his advances. You’ll say it too loudly, and he’ll run off. 

You danced a little in your seat, another game of cat and mouse about to commence. But first, a smoke.

Unbeknownst to you, the well dressed man hadn’t come to see you. He preferred your singing shows at the little dive bar two blocks over. No, he had come for the man at the front table. For weeks now, he had watched him harassing the ladies of the few joints in New Orleans that weren’t regularly hounded by police. Your smiley mark even heard stories of unsavory acts, many women leaving the dance scene entirely after.

He didn’t care for it. He didn’t care for him. So he took to his hunt, following the man to come to his own conclusions. The pattern of behavior was obvious, and though he hadn’t seen what ended the last obsession, it was clear one of the performers at this club was being stalked as the next victim. 

He watched your dance with half lidded eyes, just as much as he watched the man give dirty looks to the other men cheering. Heard the, “Marry me!” shouted at you.

Yes, it was obvious to him now. 

So when the target of his interest got up and pushed his way into a staff only door, well, the well dressed man was sure to follow. 

The great thing about confidence and a nicely tailored suit is that no one questions you about why you are where you are. So while the brute he tailed had to shove past people to get wherever he was going, people smiled and made room for the gentleman who was not far behind.

He caught the street access door before it closed, allowing it to stay open just a sliver. Enough for one golden brown eye to watch the events unfold.

“Can I have a light?” The stranger asked you. You looked at him, then to the staff only entrance he just came out of. 

“I don’t think I know you….,” you handed him the lighter but he instead leaned into you, cigarette hanging from his lips. “You… new?”

You sparked the flint with a practiced thumb, taking three tries to get it lit, and put your hand out. The man didn’t budge, eyebrows rising, “You really don’t recognize me?” He asked, motioning with his hand to come closer. Your eyes glanced down the alley, cars slowly moving past the street. When you looked back, the man took your wrist in his hand. He held you so tightly that the muscles in your palm locked and you dropped the lighter. 

“What the fu-,” his hand came across your face, halting your sentence.

“I’m your best customer. Every show. I’m the one who brings flowers.”

Dozens of men bring flowers, especially on the weekend shows. You held your cheek, skin burning. Your hand pulled back, the corner of your lip bleeding from his rings. Scrambling, your mind was searching for the right words.

With a forced smiled, your shaky voice finally piped up, “Oh! Yeah! Oh geez. I am so sorry, doll. I’m just so tired, and the alley is so dark. Here, let’s go inside so I can get a better look at you.” You tried to take your wrist from him but he didn’t loosen up.

“Nah, you ain’t tricking me. You owe me.” He pulled you into him, large hand gripping your face with ease, “You can’t lead on men like this and think you don’t gotta answer for it.” He kissed you, forcing your face into his. “Bitch! Did you fucking bite me?” He threw you into the tin trash cans beside the wall, knocking the wind out of you. 

No purse, no sharp object, not even a heeled shoe to defend yourself with. You cursed, so preoccupied with Smiles you forgot your wits.

You spit out the copper saliva, his blood and yours. “I’ll keep biting, too.” 

Why scream? The sounds of the next act were bouncing off the brick walls. Upbeat jazz and applause echoing around you. No one would hear you. Men can break your body but you never had to give them your dignity. Never give them the satisfaction of a response.

No. No screaming. You instead spent your energy trying to get to your feet. He took hold of your neck now, throttling you. It wasn’t what you had expected, but as he lifted you off the ground and your little dressing room slippers fell off, you thought this was actually better. 

“Well I think that’s quite enough.”

You felt warmth, then registered wetness. Your shin scraped on the asphalt as you were dropped without warning. Trying to open your eyes, you found you couldn’t see. Wiping and blinking away the foreign liquid, you watched your attacker fall to his knees.

Blood was shooting from between his fingers around his own neck, each pulse becoming weaker and weaker, evident through the stream.

When he finally fell over, drained, you were startled to see another man with you. The light reflected off his glasses as he adjusted them, the knife still in his right hand as he did so. 

“My, my. What a mess he’s made.” The man smiled down at you, offering a hand. When you didn’t immediately react, he cocked his head to the left, “Is that anyway to treat your rescuer?”

Is that was this was? A rescue? You took his hand with both of yours, pulling yourself up. 

Smiles? You blinked away the shock, time to shift into your next part. Damsel. You weren’t out the woods yet.

“You saved my life!” As you pressed yourself into his chest, you tucked your head beneath his chin. You tried to make yourself small. “I owe you! Please let’s go inside, drinks on me!” You looked up, batting your lashes.

“I don’t think that’s wise, dear.” His gaze panned down your dress, soaked through. He could see the thinking behind your eyes.

“No, right….,” You gripped his vest, “We gotta get outta here, fast. There’s a hotel just behind the threatre.” You started to pull his suit jacket off, slipping it over yourself. “No cops, the theatre will get raided. Just— take me somewhere safe?”

You watched him look you over, arm finally extending to let you hook yours with his. 

As soon as the hotel door closed behind you, you slipped off his jacket and ran to the dressing table mirror. 

Your face was painted red, navy dress now black and sticky. It was good you stayed from view of the reception staff. “I didn’t get my rescuer’s name,” you licked your thumb and rubbed at the blood around your cheeks. 

“Alastor. It’s a pleasure.”

You laughed, “Is that what you call a pleasure?” Turning, you pulled the mostly still dry handkerchief from your pocket and dabbed the corner on your tongue. You brought it up to the frame of his glasses and wiped the blood from the metal. “I’d hate to see what you call a bad time.”

Your hand slowed, noticing the way he was looking at you. Typically men’s pupils were blown when they fell on you, but his were constricted. They flitted around your face. His hand took hold of yours, fingers separating the thumb from the handkerchief. He pulled the little square of yellow fabric free with his other hand, allowing him to hold your thumb now by itself.

His lips opened, tongue licking the blood stained finger before placing it directly into his mouth.

Your stared, horrified, as he sucked the digit clean. 

His eyes fluttered close, finger popping out of his mouth with a debauched sound. You made no attempt to take back your hand. The realization you may have hopped out of the frying pan and into the fire set in.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” You tried to sound as in control as possible. Calm. Unwavered. Offered a timid smile. 

He chuckled, “You could say that. May I?” His fingers lifted your chin. You didn’t know what he was asking. His soft smile looked downright loving. He smelled so good, notes of something earthy rising above the copper.

You nodded, because part of you wanted to see where it would go. And part of you thought you didn’t have a choice.

As his face came to yours, you instinctually closed your eyes expecting a kiss. But no, instead you felt his tongue wipe across the cut at the corner of your mouth. His breath blanketed your cheek. Then his hand left your chin, the warmth of his body gone entirely. 

You opened your eyes to see him at the door, slipping back into his jacket, “I’ll pay for the night.” He tipped his head to you and exited the room back first, eyes locked with yours until the door closed.

You just stood there in the silence left behind. But as if on cue, the adrenaline waned and your knees buckled under you. You were moments from death, now somehow spared. But what had he— Alastor, been doing there? Did he follow you, too? The cat and mouse had been flipped, or perhaps now this was a fox and hound?

Gripping the dressing table, you pulled yourself up and into the view of the mirror again. Face streaked in dried blood save for the one clean spot where your lips met cheek. 

You felt like a ghost the next day. It would be nice to tell someone about what happened but, “Hey a man tried to kill me and then another man killed him! Then he licked blood off my face and I let him. It was the most disturbingly erotic thing to happen to me in months!” would get you tossed into a wagon. 

“Are you rude or just stupid?” The theatre manager pulled you aside by the arm when you came into rehearsal. “You can’t just disappear like that, people were waiting.”

Your eyes narrowed, “Was… my absence really the most exciting part of the evening? Not the John in the gutter?”

He huffed, “So that’s it? Got a beau?”

“Wait— nothing else happened last night? After I left?” 

“This show doesn’t revolve around you. Plenty happened.”

“Excuse me,” you hurried into the back, “And sorry!”

You opened the street access door and looked into the alley. Trash cans neat and tidy, no dead man, nothing strange or telltale.

You ducked back inside. Had Smiles done this? Obviously, actually. No stranger just cleaned up the dead body. If the flatfeet had found him, the club would have been under scrutiny.

Good, you thought, and went about your work.

Rehearsal dragged on. Little details summoning you back to the night before. 

“You okay?” Another performer asked, grabbing your hand and inspecting the blood around your cuticles.

“Oh it’s not mine!” You laughed, she laughed, you walked off before she could clarify.

When applying your makeup, you remembered his hands on your face. They were so soft. Definitely a man of means. A brief intrusive thought, the other hands on your face last night.

You pranced on stage, going through the motions of your routine. Even in the empty hall, your eyes wandered to the booth he’d been in. And as you took the stage in earnest later that night you searched the crowd for the glint of his glasses and found nothing shiny nor promising.

Back in the dressing room you took a moment to wonder what the actual fuck you we’re doing. He murdered a man in front of you, why were you hoping to see him again? He had half a mind to kill you next.

But would that really be so bad?  Your life was routine, boring even. The only thing keeping your lungs expanding was the applause. Maybe the headlines of your death would cause such an uproar, dancer struck down in her prime, that you could bask in the loving glow all the way from hell.

One way to remain famous, you considered. A dramatic death.

Not that you were famous. You weren’t part of the national circuits. Just your local theatres, a common face and body to the sinners of Louisiana’s most infamous city. But, well, fame is relative. For the scene you were in, you were your own little star. 

A shining light. Shimmering. The faint light reflecting off— Blood. For a second you could only remember looking through bloodied, heavy lashes. 

“You’ve been so out of it. Trouble in paradise?” Ruth, the curviest of your coworkers and arguably the favorite of the crew, rested her chin on your head. Looking at each other in the mirror, you offered a soft smile.

“I’ll letcha know when I get there.”

She pinched your cheek, “Tommy said you had a new guy. I just figured-,”

“That isn’t,” you clenched your eyes shut, “no, no guy. I just got locked out last night in the alley. The sticky-,” sticky and viscous blood, “back door wouldn’t open up. I didn’t want to come in the front in my slippers so I just hoofed it home.” 

She patted your head, “if you say so! Be careful out there though. Dangerous these days.” 

An understatement.

You enjoyed the spotlight, but more than that you craved the attention doted on you after. You’d walk through the hall to the bar to adoring looks and free drinks. It bothered you that Tommy was telling the girls you had a man. You didn’t want to appear too closed off, or for word to spread to the customers. 

Last thing you needed was men passing you by for more available options. Not that the pay wasn’t fine. Ends were being met, but grifting added an element of thrill. You really did love the chase. Finding someone and deciding he would be yours, he would fall under your spell and be at your feminine mercy. It made you feel powerful, almost mythical. And the money was nice. Sometimes you didn’t even need to steal, the men would just lavish you in gifts and you’d let it fizzle out naturally. Normally their wives would snatch them back or they’d just get tired of waiting for you to leave the stage and dance into their domestic dreams. A housewife? An adopted mother to a grown man during the day, a hungry nymph at night? For what, an allowance and a home you didn’t own? Pass. Where’s that handsome man with his knife? That was a much better steel to fall onto than what these men offered from their laps.

From your view at the bar you knew he wasn’t there. But with a nod you decided the chase was still on. You were going to get your victory. If anything, this would be easier. You had dirt on him. Blackmail would be simple enough. Bloody clothes and the perfect alibi; being a woman. No cop would think you took down that hulking man. 

Ah, right. There was no body.

That would be an issue. He had to have taken it somewhere. Just find him and follow. Worst case scenario, you play the usual game and steal whatever cash was in his wallet.

Well, worst case you die. 

You slept sitting up to keep your hair set, during the day your makeup barely was there but a red lip always the star. You had three nice dresses (well, you had had four) so you figured three nights to find him before moving on.

You slinked through the crowds of the hot and sweaty dance club Moxie. Swinging music kept bodies moving, and though you kept your eyes open you didn’t catch sight of this Alastor fellow. Which was fine! You enjoyed a few dances, swing always making you feel energized. Not a waste of a Friday night.

Saturday was easy, the lounge on fifth. Smooth jazz, plush chairs, rich men. Definitely a place you could imagine Smiles to frequent. The whisky was all top shelf, and many gentlemen offered you a lap to sit. Sure, no Alastor, but you didn’t go home empty handed.

You weren’t a particularly great singer, but if the room was small enough and the piano loud enough, you could please a crowd. Your friend had you on a semi-set schedule most Sundays at her little dive too many blocks from Main Street. Her darling played piano, you sat and sang to the couple dozen patrons stuffed into the one room bar. When you finished your set, you took your bows and looked for your friend. You needed to tell her you wouldn’t be staying. 

Your polite nods and gracious thank yous were abruptly ended by a tap on your shoulder, “You dropped this, miss.” You did a mental check of your purse before turning around.

“Oh, a sight for sore eyes. Mr. Alastor.” Your face lit up, you could see it in his glasses.

“You’re too kind. Here, I apologize for the delay. I wanted to return them clean.” In his hand was your yellow handkerchief, folded neatly. You took it and found it uncharacteristically heavy. 

When you unfurled it, your brass lighter fell into your waiting palm. Your thumb caressed the engraving. 

Alastor watched your face as the lighter tumbled out. “I figured it was important, given the condition and detailing.”

You tested the weight in your hand, “Did you fill it?” You looked to him incredulously.  He nodded.

It was a surprisingly kind act, and you needed a second to regain your composure. “I don’t know how to thank you.” Your quick wit failed for a moment, but rebounded fast. “Except with a drink. My treat. To my rescuer.”

He mulled the idea, your reaction to him was interesting. Alastor had thought if he approached you first you’d show a little more fear, or shock. But you looked downright chipper to see him there. 

“Unfortunately I don’t have much time tonight. I had just wanted to return your items.”

Your smile dropped. How did he know you were here? Had he been carrying— no, he said he had them cleaned. Had he seen you here before, before the incident? A chuckle, smile brought back, “My luck is terrible. You always flee me. I hope you don’t see my company as deadweight.”

Alastor’s smile twitched, eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses, “Not at all! I think you’d find I’m quite comfortable with-.”

“Lugging people around?” You said. That constricted pupil again, eyes wild. A chill ran down your spine. Alarms were going off. Wrong answer. You straightened your back, popping the items into your purse, “Next time.”

Alastor nodded, “Yes. Next time, then.”

You fucked it up. You knew you had, but suddenly his words felt like a thinly veiled threat. 

You turned to leave and hadn’t seen his smile sour.

It hadn’t been a threat. He hadn’t anticipated you to notice the implication. Most people would have been so blinded by his charm they would fail to notice the glaring red flags. He was mildly impressed. You would be more trouble than he had expected.

Alastor knew he needed to do something about the clearly clever woman who was seemingly expecting him. He had followed you for several days, surprised to find you not spreading word about the murder. You hadn’t spoken to anyone, really. Even the man you left the lounge with, you just smiled and nodded nearly all evening while the man dominated the conversation. So, your sharp wit took him off guard. Who were you pretending to be? And why?

All of your cleverness fell apart when you tried to follow him. It was almost comical. He felt bad. This was going to be embarrassing for you.

He took several right turns and stepped into the park just outside of the bar. You thought perhaps he had gotten lost and considered turning around after you realized you’d lost sight of him. As you passed a large weeping willow, you were pulled under the curtains of hanging moss by your waist.

Back against the large tree, you could only pout.

“What are you after, stalking a man in the dead of night?” Alastor had you pinned, both hands on either side of your head. His body boxed you in, not that there was much more to see than moss and darkness.

You blinked several times. What a question. You answered honestly, “You.” He cocked a brow. Then you lied, “Your affection. Your time.”

Something akin to a giggle bubbled from his chest. “I don’t have much affection, but I have even less time.” Your eyes darted around, looking for your next move. “I-,” you grabbed him by the face and kissed him. When you broke the kiss he was staring wide eyed, glasses askew. He opened his mouth to speak and you kissed him again, longer, harder.

He seemed frozen under your mouth, lips taut. Your hands roamed his face, messing up his hair and glasses. Mind reeling. Play the nymph. Be the whore the men always said they hated. Be too strong, too forward, too much and he’ll run off like men do. You could try again another day.

Your hand reached for his lap, his hips instinctively jerking away. Perfect. Men these days can’t get it up for a woman who takes the lead. 

Alastor was entirely unsure what the fuck was happening. You were wildly unpredictable. When you grabbed at his dick, he thought his eyes would cross from the shock. Is this what ‘affection’ meant to you? He couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t understand you. Were you really just lustful? Even after what you’d seen him—

You bit at his bottom lip, pulling slightly. Big eyes looking back at him. Your breath was already running away from you, adrenaline seemingly synonymous with Alastor. Staring up at him, you waited. His move.

It was his turn to blink. He looked off to his left, eyes swinging back to you. With a shrug, he leaned his body back towards yours. His hand slid down the front of your dress; red silk. A deer in the headlights, you tensed. The rare third option; fight, flight, freeze. Soon his fingers were tracing the lace of your stockings, climbing up the garter straps. 

His eyes were studying your face. You didn’t want to give the wrong answer again, but at this point you weren’t sure any answer was right. This was taking a sudden turn and your foot was off the brake. You closed your eyes, opting out of the scrutiny of his stare. His hand met your stomach and began to slip down again. He rested it between your thighs, longer fingers and palm cupping the entirety of your sex.

Alastor struggled to decipher your expression. It was almost like a pout, but more subtle. You hadn’t said stop or pushed him away yet. Was he right? You were just… horny? As his hand slid back up and pried their way into your panties, you trembled.

It had been so long since someone else’s hand was on you. Someone whose hands you genuinely enjoyed, who you wanted to be on you.

Is that right? You wanted him to touch you? 

Maybe it was the stare, or the smile. Probably just the adrenaline.

His hand found its place again, middle finger bending to part your folds and feel your wetness. You whimpered, hand coming to cover your own mouth. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He said it low, a husky tone he didn’t have before.

No. Maybe. You nodded yes.

“Will you be satisfied now? No more tailing me?”

No. Probably not. Another nod.

His finger pushed in, and with a kind of greed you didn't recognize your hips ground down into his palm. He slipped in and out of you with ease. You had no idea when or why you got so wet.

“I always end up dripping around you, Alastor,” you whispered through your fingers. His ring finger joined. Why couldn’t you shut up? Why did you have to bring up, well, the murder?

“A common problem for those I take an interest in.” 

Oh no. You moaned softly into your hand. Sharp mind made dull by his fingers so you didn’t, couldn’t, process his double meaning. 

Oh no. The sounds of footsteps, a pair of lovers sneaking into the park for privacy. You heard their giggles, the sounds of kisses interrupting their walking.

“Shhh”, he breathed into your ear as he worked a third finger into your heat. One knuckle, two knuckles. A whimper. His hand came to press down over your own on your mouth, a second barrier for your mewling. You groaned, the sound coming from your throat.  

Whispers. The silhouette of the two interlopers was visible through the willow’s curtains. You watched from over his shoulder, pussy clenching around him. Three knuckles deep, bottoming out.

Fuck it. You moaned freely into your hand, wiggling down onto his hand. Hips rolling, you let your little sounds of praise flow.

The couple laughed, “That’s the spirit!” A man said, a woman hushing him and pulling him away.

Alastor grinned into your neck, immensely amused. He would have better luck predicting a dice roll than your next move. 

You hadn’t realized how hollow you’d been until now, feeling so full. When alone, you focused on just cumming, fingers on your clit and mind on memories. You never bothered much with anything else.

Your hunger intensified. You wanted more. Both hands reached for his crotch again, finding nothing there for you. You could have cried. How were you a wet mess pressed against a tree and he was soft as a newspaper in a rainstorm?

Your pride stung. Men usually stood at attention around you. A half sob into the air earned you a chuckle from Alastor. “It’s no reflection of you, darling.” His nose nudged your ear lobe, “I need a little different stimulation than most.”

“Do you play for the other team?” You considered how you could momentarily switch. 

A louder laugh, “I don’t have a team.” He leaned back now to look at you. His freehand came to press on your lower stomach, gently pushing your womb down. Your brows knit, why did that feel so good? Hands going to the tree behind you for stability.

“Sure feels like you know how to play. This is-,” his hand switched from thrusting slowly in and out to moving front and back. It sent vibrations up into you. Your eyes rolled close. Shut up. Stop talking. Focus. Close.

He kissed around your open mouth, “Well, it’d be unamerican to not dabble. When necessary, or when the conditions are right.”

Double speak over, “Just tell me what to do to get you to fuck me.”

Alastor’s head fell back as he laughed earnestly, most likely alerting anyone in the immediate area. “Ha! No, this is more fun.”

“Oh fuck you,” you brought a hand around to your throbbing clit to quicken your release.

“Maybe next time, dear.” He took a second, fingers in you sliding around your walls in search of something before finding his place and continuing. Your breath noticeably changed, instead of panting you were practically holding it in. You needed the pressure, you needed something to squeeze that spring of pleasure down so it could snap back. As your face went flush, he kissed at your temple, “You look so pretty in red.”

“Oh god-,” Your head fell onto his chest, your joint effort bringing you to orgasm. 

“A little late on Sunday for prayers, don't you think?”

A tiny scream into his suit pocket, his hand not stopping until your thighs finished twitching around him. Even after his hand stopped moving you gripped him by the wrist and rolled onto his fingers a few more times. The pleasure ebbing but still spiking every time he moved against you. 

Ah, greed. That was it. He understood a little better. This wasn’t lust, not alone.  You were definitely a mix of the two. With a sigh, you released your hold and let him slide out of you. Already you felt lonelier. Already you wished to start over.

With his dry hand he smoothed out your dress. You weren’t ashamed but you suddenly felt too embarrassed to look him the eye. But you did, hearing him hum as he sucked his fingers clean. 

Why were you only ever in his mouth in the strangest ways?

“You always taste so sweet, dear. Now!” You wanted to say something clever and salacious like, ‘there’s more where that came from’ but he didn’t afford you the opportunity. He offered you his hooked arm, “It’s dangerous in the park at night. Let’s get you to a cab and on your way home.”

“Is this a hobby of yours?” Your legs were wobbly but otherwise fine. “Illegal activities in public?”

“Funny, I was just wondering the same of you. Stalking is a crime, dear.”

You bit your lip. “Touché.”

He flagged down a taxi, “Tell him where to go.” You slid into the back seat and half-whispered to the driver. Alastor leaned into the passenger side front window and after paying the man, went to close your door, “You’ve been an entertaining sparring partner. Goodbye, sweetheart.”

With a thud of the door and a growl of the engine, you were driving away from him. You could see him in the rear window. He didn’t dare to move, he didn’t need you following another step of his.

Which was unfortunate for him, as you were already scheming how to find him again.

You walked into the theatre for rehearsals with a pep in your step, body still humming. It was like the usual adrenaline rush Alastor brought couldn't fade this time.

But it did, when Tommy grabbed you by the hair out of your makeup chair and threw you into the wall. 

You couldn’t react, head ringing after it left a small indent in the drywall. Unlike before, you didn’t try to stand. Make him work for his second hit. And he did. Leaning down he yanked you off the ground by your arm and dragged you to your feet. 

“Do you think you’re funny?” He shook you, you were sure you could feel your brain jostle. It was rhetorical, but you replied anyway.

“No, Tommy.”

“No. Exactly.” He backed you up onto the make up table, head pressed into the mirror. “Mr. Wilson was not happy. He pulled his contribution. I know you don’t have that kind of money. Do you know what you’re gonna do?”

His fingers dug into your cheeks, “No.” You genuinely didn’t. He was talking to you like you had been in the loop on whatever it was he had been doing on the side. All of this was as shocking to you as your actions were, apparently, to him. 

“You’re gonna take whatever meetings I make until that money is back.” He let go of you and turned to leave but changed his mind. Coming back, he swung his fist and clocked you on the left side of your face.

You didn’t see it, but you heard the other girls running and pulling Tommy off of you, yelling and pleading for him to calm down.

“I worked really hard for you!” He shouted, jerking his shoulders out from under the hands of the other performers. What was he talking about? You hadn’t discussed any of this, asked for any thing from him. “I waited for a high roller for you. Real classy guy. Just wanted a private show! That was it!” He spit, “No, every Tom, Dick, and Harry is welcome now to ask for your time.”

You just held your face, unsure if you had the right makeup to hide the bruise before stage call. 

“Well?! Say you’re sorry.”

You considered not saying anything. No response. When you looked at him, you could see the half a dozen other girls staring back at you, just say it. We have to rehearse.

“I’m sorry.” Eyes cast to the floor.

“For what?”

It hurt when you rolled your eyes, “For being ungrateful?” 

He shoulder checked a few girls on the way out. A couple came to you.

“He’s got some gambling debt, he’s just using us to get ahead.”

“I have some stuff to cover that up for tonight.”

“He usually cuts us in.”

Tears stung your eyes, you were angry and humiliated. You could work elsewhere, with a little luck. Take a job at a diner out of the area where no regulars would stir up trouble. Maybe leave until Tommy got his debts paid off or whatever was motivating this recent streak of cruelty. But you didn’t want to run away. No one applauded waitresses. Maybe if you made yourself as unattractive as possible, no one would request you. Dirty your teeth, talk about other men, speak crudely. 

“What exactly was he talking about?” you asked no one in particular. The girls were quiet for a beat.

“Well ya know, private shows for clients who can afford it.” High pitched and nasal, Florence spoke as she searched her make up station.

“That’s it?” Incredulous.

“Sometimes. You know how it is… woman left alone in a room with a man who has too much money or ego or drink. Doesn’t always stop at a dance.” Minnie had much more experience than you, “It isn’t our jobs. It isn’t normal. But, well, ya heard about New York right? They’re trying to make burlesque outright illegal…”

“Gotta enjoy the art while it’s just misunderstood.” Florence wiped down your mirror before setting her supplies down for you. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

By the time patrons began to stream in, you had blood staining the white of your left eye. Nothing you could do, but maybe at a distance it wouldn’t be noticeable. The bruise under your eye from his fist was easy enough to cover. The contusion from where your right cheek hit the wall was a little harder. 

Luckily, the stage offered a buffer of space and the rest of the room was dark. 

During your show, you tried to keep your eyes moving so the red sclera never stayed in one place too long. For the first time, the cheers did nothing for you. You felt your chin quiver, fighting back tears. You wanted to scream, to tell them to hate you and leave. Stop fucking clapping.

Ruth was naturally the first to come to you after your performance, “Want me to do the tour with you? Arm in arm around the hall.”

You took her up on the offer. It lightened the load, her taking charge of the conversation when people approached or bought you drinks. Luckily the bartender always poured the performers weak cocktails and watered down liquor to keep their heads on straight. 

Ruth’s companionship afforded you precious time to plan, to consider how quickly you could find new work or at least a way out of this.

“What a treat. Two for one. Can I buy you both a drink?” 

Ruth turned first to greet the customer, “Ooh yes sir! Gin and tonic, please and thank you. Autumn?” Your stage name drew your attention back to the world, turning finally.

“Alastor.” It fell from your mouth like a lead balloon.

He smiled down at you, his hand offering a little wave, “Hello. Surprise.” 

Your face fell, a frown pulling down your chin. It took you too long to recover, batting your eyelashes and turning the corners of your lips up unnaturally. 

“So you do have a beau!” Ruth slapped your arm, “I’m Skye, Skye Scraper. Pleasure to meet you, Alastor.” She extended her hand, Alastor planting a kiss on the back of it, concealing his smile at the name.

You tried to keep your eyes on the floor, head turned slightly away from him to obscure the neon sign of an eye shouting, ‘Weak!’

Unfortunately for you, Alastor wasn’t an oblivious man. Unless he was dancing or drunk. “May I have a moment alone with her?” Alastor asked Ruth. Ruth looked to you for your okay, and you just nodded. She gave a little nod of her own to Alastor and slinked away. 

“Are you unhappy to see me, dear? Did I overstep by coming by unannounced?” You hadn’t heard him worried before, it pained you. 

“No, no! I am… so happy to see you. I just had a long day.” You scanned the room for the darkest area to bring him. A booth would be best, you could keep him on one side of you. You gestured with a nod of your head.

“Ah, I kept you out too late.” Alastor didn’t move.

“Not at all, come on let’s sit down.” You reached back for his hand without looking at him, but when you pulled he still didn’t move. He remembered the way you pulled at the hand of that man in the alley the first night you met. Desperate to escape somewhere. 

“Is there a reason you won’t look at me?”

Lie. 

“Uh, no, I’m just embarrassed about this heavy stage makeup.” 

Alastor paused, hand slipping from yours to adjust his sleeves. It was a nervous action, an attempt to self soothe, but you didn’t know that. “I should have asked before coming.”

“Alastor, it’s not…,” you kept your eyes down at your hands.

“Then look at me.”

Would he think you were incapable of protecting yourself? His pity would kill you. Perhaps he would decide a second rate burlesquer wasn’t worth making time for anymore.

You could intentionally wound him, say you don’t want to see him so he leaves. But that sword was double edged and you weren’t sure you’d survive that either. You weren’t making it out of this.

You finally looked at him. He leaned in, “What happened to your eye?” A slender finger gently tilting your chin upward.

Lie. 

You thought too long for an answer. Why were you getting worse at lying? It used to be one of your best shields and swords but now you were so slow on the draw you were left defenseless. Vulnerable. His hand took yours, gently pulling you into the lobby and through the glass doors of the theatre.

Under the bright lights of the marquee and the street lamps, Alastor inspected your face. He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, wetting it in his mouth before wiping the makeup off of your under eye.

“Alastor, people are staring.” 

His eyes fell down, soft hands lifting your arm where a bruise was already formed. You hadn’t noticed that one.

“What happened?” He wasn't looking at you when he said it, instead cautiously wiping the makeup off your cheeks in search of more marks.

“The truth or wh-“

“Always. Never give me anything else.”

You sighed, and explained, “Tommy, the manager, he’s been shifting tactics for bringing in money because he owes some big bads a lot of debt. Private shows with performers that sometimes get hands on…,” his hands stopped moving but his eyes didn’t meet yours, “I never asked to be included in it. I wouldn’t do it. I was rude to a man Tommy introduced me to and I ran off Saturday. Yada Yada. He got me as soon as I got to work.”

Alastor didn’t reply, just turned on his heels and marched back into the theater. You chased after him, “I don’t need you to fight my battles!” You tried to get in front of him but he walked right past you.

“Not about what you need, dear, it's about what he deserves.” 

Alastor asked the bartender for Tommy, who pointed to the short but stocky man talking to a group of guests. Alastor approached so quickly Tommy didn’t have time to greet him, instead just backing up until he fell ass first into a booth. Alastor boxed him in, one hand on the wall and one on the table, towering over Tommy as he sat.

“I hear you sell dancers by the night.”

You paced the lobby nervously. Would you be fired? What would Alastor say? Would Tommy hit him, too?

He re-emerged, “Come to my car, please.” He didn't stop walking as he said it. 

You followed a few blocks down to his car, parked on the street. He opened the passenger door for you and closed it behind you. You wanted to ask if you were going somewhere, but thought better of it. A tight u-turn, he pulled the car into the side street where you’d first met each other.

Wordlessly he got out of the car, you opening your door before he could. Popping the trunk, he set the folded canvas inside a paper bag. Checking first, he placed it inside one of the tin trash cans. 

You stood, waiting for an explanation.

Finally he stopped and made eye contact with you. “You have a date tomorrow, with me. Bring this to the apartment above the theater before Tommy and I arrive.” Opening your mouth to speak, he didn’t stop to let you add anything. “Preferably near the bed.” He closed the trunk, “Wear red, please.”

You searched his face for some kind of discernible emotion but found none. Those constricted pupils again, an animal staring back at you from behind a pair of glasses. There was no reason to ask him, it was obvious what was going to happen. Did you want to stop it? 

Did you want to see it? Alastor at work?

“Okay. On all the points.” You looked back at the trashcan, “Canvas hidden near the bed. Wear red.”

“The extra clothes can go anywhere out of sight.” He leaned down, kissing your forehead, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your voice cracked a little, “Wait, you’re leaving already?”

He nodded, “I can’t stay here.” Before getting into his car he turned and added, “Don’t cover the bruises tomorrow. He should see them.”

You nodded in return, “Are you doing this for me?” So quiet you almost hoped he didn’t hear it.

He paused, one leg already in the car and his back to you, “No. I’m doing it for everyone.”

You watched his car light up and leave the alley.

It’s not that you felt abandoned, you felt…. Stranded. You had to go back in there, alone, and put on the normal act but under abnormal conditions. 

So it was happening. You hadn’t seen the first time. Just felt it. You didn’t see the second. You were going to actually see a man die. Not just a man, someone you knew. Someone you used to consider a friend of sorts. Before he got into whatever trouble was driving him to act like a flesh peddler. Could you do it? Could you watch a man be killed? Was that even what Alastor had planned?

Tommy found you the second you were back in the room, hand pressing too hard on the bruises he left on your arm. “You have a meeting tomorrow after your show. If you don’t show up,” he yanked you close, putrid breath of dead teeth you’d never been bothered by before this moment and bad booze assaulting your senses, “I will fucking kill you.”

You almost started laughing, bringing your hand to your mouth to hide your smile. “Okay Tommy.” 

Fuck it. He was going to die anyway, might as well make it a date. 

Ruth saddled up beside you as soon as Tommy was out of earshot, “Look at that smile. Quickie in the alley?”

Disgust, “Jesus, Skye, I was gone like, 5 minutes.” She shrugged. “Why does everyone think — is everyone fucking their daddies* in the side street?” She nodded. “Well, I’m not.”

“Prude.” She joshed before linking your arm in hers again, “We’ve got at least another hour of schmoozing. Tits up!”

Your smile came effortlessly that night, a thrum of excitement keeping you light on your feet. Not excitement for death, but for the very concept of being closer to Alastor. Would you see it happen, in front of you? Or would he have you leave? Either way, you were an active participant with a task list.

He trusted you, even if in a small way. Trust was so rarely given from the people who mattered. Men trusted you often; to be sweet when they tell you they were embarrassed about something, to lie when they ask if you orgasmed, to not steal their cash when they blacked out with their pants still on. Pulling it from strangers was one of your greatest pleasures. But it was easy. You were skilled. 

Yet again, like so often now, Alastor was the exception. He didn’t toss himself at your feet. He stood tall in front of you and on his own terms offered you the things you wanted. You didn’t have to pretend to be demure, you didn’t have sit on his lap in silence and nod and laugh. Just yourself, as much as you could allow yourself to exist in the world. No tricks. If his trust was presented wrapped in a bloodied bow, well, you would thank him dearly and wear the ribbon round your neck like a trophy.

Many men spoke to you, but luckily your participation in conversation wasn’t something they really cared about. As they spoke, your eyes were looking past them and into the future. 

However there was a sense of dread when you lied in bed that night. The excitement of getting closer to Alastor had melted into the fear there was no going back from this. 

Something in your chest stung, a thorn growing from somewhere unknown. Three encounters (that he knew of) and already it seemed your thoughts were more Alastor than yourself. No person had ever made such an impression before. You didn’t like it, but it made you happy. Which is why you didn’t like it. Tying your happiness to another person was a reckless thing to do. You’d seen your mother and half sister both use a man’s attention as a replacement for being happy with themselves and it made them brittle and hollow.

Thinking of what would happen the following night, oddly, you were reminded of losing your virginity. You were a “late bloomer” and were terrified you’d never be you again after. Like something would be taken from you. You fell asleep to that thought, of what you’d lose.

Then you woke, uncharacteristically early, feeling none the bit rested. No dreams. No nightmares. A few seconds of darkness and suddenly it was morning. With the extra time you had you wandered into a department store before going to the theater.

When a sales woman approached you, asking what you were looking for, you were too tired lie.

“A red dress.” You didn’t have the makeup at home to cover your marks, and gave up being worried about it. 

Unfortunately, it seemed it wasn’t so odd of a sight; a woman with a black eye.

“What’s the occasion? Apology dinner?” The woman fidgeted with the hangers while looking at you.

You grimaced, “No, a murder.”

She howled, “You are a hoot! Don’t we wish, huh? Let me pull you some options.”

You put the dress on the top of the paper bag, having hidden it under your make up table the previous night. Your fingers were trembling, applying your makeup needing deep breaths and concentration.

“Ruth, can you do my lips?” You turned and handed her the brush. 

“The eye looks better.” She took your chin in her hand and painted your mouth a pretty shade of red.

“Thank you.” You offered her a smile but she didn't let go, “What?”

“You ever seen a cornered raccoon? Like one got in the house and your mom boxed it into a corner with a broom?”

A nod, yes, actually, you had.

“Who’s got the broom?” She asked. You knitted your brow, not understanding. “Who’s got you in a corner? Is it Tommy?”

You took your chin back, deep breaths. “No brooms. No corners. Just rattled still from last night.” Not a lie, surprisingly. “You thought of a raccoon? Really? Is it because of the eye?”

When you took your bow for the evening and turned to escape the stage lights for the darkness of backstage, you found Tommy leaning just outside the dressing room.

“Get changed, doors unlocked upstairs. Room 504.” 

Grabbing the paper bag you ran through your mental checklist. Wear red, take off your make up, hide the canvas by the bed. An odd to-do list for murder.

The theater had two floors of modest apartments above it, the owners keeping two of the open for the theater’s use. One was for the owners should they ever visit New Orleans, and the other was multi use. Storage and a crash pad for performers or Tommy when he worked late.

The bag crinkled as you hugged it, looking over the small apartment. Boxes, decorations, a modest kitchen and a bed. The bathroom was quite large, a tub and shower head. Was this where the other performers went?  

Why hadn’t anyone said anything sooner? Why didn’t anyone leave yet?

Taking a second, you got to work. You opened the canvas and slid it under the bed, the smallest bit of edge sticking out for easy retrieval. Dizzy with the quickly settling reality of what you were doing, you sat on the floor for a moment. Trying to calm your breathing, you closed your eyes.

The fear of the unknown was suffocating you. There was a possibility Alastor failed and ended up hurt. Or, that he changed his mind and Tommy left you two to just hold hands on the bed for a sex-appropriate amount of time.

You patted your thighs and stood up. No time now for a panic attack. Alastor had a change of clothes in the bag, neatly folded and tied in twine. They were set onto the shelf above the closet.

And finally, yourself. Your dress was on and you stopped to wipe the make up off your face in the bathroom mirror. Still bruised, still nasty. The dress was nice though, carrying some of the weight for your battered mug. Red cotton, sailor neck and little gold buttons down the front. Flashy, brighter than the dark number you usually wore.

Would he like it? Most men looked for how a dress accentuated your curves (or hid them) but you had a feeling Alastor didn’t care so much about that.

You took your seat at the edge of the bed, thin mattress sagging from your weight.

The clock ticked, until finally the door opened and you saw something you hadn’t seen before and knew you’d never see again. Tommy and Alastor.

“Here she is. Autumn, this is Mr. Cerf. He's asked I stay in the apartment, apparently word of your attitude already spread among the upperclass.” Tommy wagged his finger at you in a playful way that was entirely out of place.

“Look at her. Pouting. Not very excited, is she?” Alastor smiled at you, softly. You felt for a second that maybe you entirely misunderstood. He looked calm, normal. Even peaceful.

“It’s always nice when they fight a little. But she won’t cause you any trouble.” Tommy patted Alastor’s back, who immediately shirked away.

“Do you like it when women try to fight you off, Tommy?”

A dry laugh, “Ya know how it is. They gotta act like they don’t like it so people still respect ‘em.”

A hum. Alastor’s smile falling entirely. A shadow settled over his face. “I see. That does make things easier.” He slipped on his short black gloves. “I always tell her she looks lovely in red. She rarely listens to me, but I’m happy to see she did tonight. It’s a special occasion.” 

Once, you thought. You didn’t listen once. 

Tommy nervously chuckled, looking from Alastor then to you, “What?” Alastor grabbed him by the back of the neck, pushing him to the ground and onto his knees. Hand fisted in his hair, knife pressing across his throat. 

Alastor dug his knee into the small of Tommy’s back, “Tommy, I think you owe the lady an apology.” You let your feet find the edge of the canvas and slid it out with a kick. It glided across the wood and stopped where his knees met the floor. 

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I’m sorry.” Tommy was staring at the waxed fabric in front of him. 

You felt your eyes sting with tears, a smile breaking out against your will. “For what?”

“I—,” his eyes searched the room for an answer, your words bringing a pulse of Deja Vu, “It’s about yesterday?” He seemed to relax a little, “Come on. I said sorry. ” Looking back to Alastor. “I didn’t know she had a guy.”

Alastor yanked his head back to look him squarely in his eyes, “Wrong answer.” He pushed him down onto his stomach, “Come on Tommy. I like when my victims fight a little, too.” Sensing the taller man towering over him with the knife, Tommy scrambled onto his back to look at Alastor. Tommy started shouting, “Hey!! Someone!” But there was no one to hear him. That was the beauty of the space he always brought his dates to; it was too loud to hear anyone scream. 

Funny how that works both ways.

Alastor shrugged, “Well that didn’t last long.” As Tommy backed up, trying to get traction on the slippery canvas and failing, Alastor straddled him. Tommy’s hands came up, one pushing against Alastor’s face, the other against the arm holding the knife. Alastor put both hands onto the knife’s handle, staring down into Tommy’s eyes as he inched closer to the man’s neck. “You look scared, Tommy. Are you scared?” 

The other man shouted, eyes trembling as he watched the knife come down.

Alastor pushed through, metal sinking into Tommy’s throat. No pause, he withdrew and sank it again and again. Tommy’s hands fell from Alastor’s face, flailing slightly at his neck before slumping down. He was frenzied, stabbing at his chest and upward with wide eyes. You recognized those constricted pupils. They made sense in this setting. Alastor was panting, taking a second to split the skin from ear to ear in the middle of his melee. 

You brought your knees to your chest, watching the crime unfold. Was this anger for you or truly for everyone? No one ever got so angry for you before, if you could be so conceited as to say this was for you. Your mouth opened and you spoke without thinking, no filter. “You look like an angry God. A jazz demon of wrath.” You smiled, the morbidity not lost on you.

Alastor stopped, frozen as he stared at you. For a second, he had forgotten you were there. He was always alone during these hobbies of his. Until recently. You looked like an angel in red and gold. Had he dyed your heavenly robes crimson? Or had you been made that way?

He dropped the knife, peeling his gloves off and stepping over Tommy’s decimated torso before kicking off his shoes.

You scooted back onto the bed and opened your arms, welcoming a strange after-kill cuddle. Your reward.

Alastor took off his bowtie, then his shirt. It took you a second, not realizing what was happening until he began to unbuckle his belt. “Now?!” 

He nodded, “Yeah.”

“What the fuc— okay,” your hands flew to unclasp your stockings and roll down your panties. You mumbled to yourself, “Jesus Christ.”

As he crawled over you, warm gloveless hands tracing along your legs, hips, waist, you looked at up him with your now dilated pupils, “It’s murder? You need murder?”

He laughed, embarrassing you a little, “No it isn’t that.” His face nuzzled into your neck, “You’d go to hell? For me?” 

You froze, you hadn’t really seen it like that.

“You’d damn your eternal soul,” his hips pressed into you, an unfamiliar hardness there that made you gulp, “just to spend time with me?”

How were you so heated over an erection? A dime a dozen, men practically threw them at women who offered them the slightest smile. Yet feeling him so hard against you, something you had been practically praying for, made you weak. A trembling virgin all over again. 

Don’t lie, he always told you to be honest so you decided to try it out even if it made you feel at risk of harm. Your hands slid up and into his hair, gripping gently, enough to elicit a groan from him, “Well I was worried heaven wouldn’t have jazz, so… yeah.” You had to always say something a little in jest, to hide from the vulnerability of honesty, “This seemed like a better option.” The truth was, if you had to state it plainly, you would dive head first into hell in exchange for his smile. To hear his laugh. To feel his breath over your mouth. You were quite sure hell was more your scene, anyway.

“I’ll be sure to fill your afterlife with jazz every day, dear.” 

How could he make hell sound so sweet?

“It’s a deal.” Fingers playing with his hair, basking in the warmth of skin on skin. 

He leaned up, eyes scanning your face as he always seemed to do in these intimate moments. The feeling spreading down his chest was one wholly foreign to him, one he was struggling to put into his own words. You hadn’t run away. You opened your arms for him even still, welcoming your own damnation in exchange for… affection? Attention? Him? The reason didn’t matter, not to Alastor, and not now to his growing need. You didn’t even push him for more than he wanted to give, not yet needled him for details, secrets, sex. Could you really just be there for Alastor? Take him for what he was and what he wasn’t?

His mouth was salivating at the thought you’d give him anything. Reality was, you already had. His finger caressed the purple welt on your cheek. You were given pain and he returned it ten fold to its owner. A demon of wrath. He felt his cock twitching, underwear tented around him. 

You smiled up at him, wiping a little streak of blood from his jawline, “You look quite pretty in red yourself.”

His head came to rest on your collarbone with a shaky sigh.

Had you said something wrong? 

“Please, you’re already pushing me to my limit.”

Making a show of it, you zipped your mouth and pretended to toss the key. You wanted to reach down and pull off his remaining bit of clothing, to rub yourself against his manhood. But, you weren’t sure if that was something he would appreciate. You didn’t want to ruin his experience, to make him regret offering you something he so clearly didn’t need to give.

He removed his underwear, watching you unbutton your dress and pulling your arms free. Your bra, garter, and stockings were still on. Somehow he found it more scandalous than if you were completely naked.

Your breath was shaking, uneven as the excitement took control of you. There was a not totally unfounded fear you'd black out from hyperventilating.

Alastor lined himself up with your heat and pressed in, making a hard to decipher face as his brow knit up and he bit his lip. You were already so wet, not a hand or mouth needed from him. He wondered if you shared more than an acceptance of justified homicide; your body so relaxed and welcoming to him. 

With a few shallow thrusts, he was fully sunk into you. You may have let out a cry. An emptiness you hadn’t clocked was suddenly gone. Was this what Zeus meant when he said the two souled humans were too powerful and tore them apart to weaken them? 

Was this sex, or love? The word made you nervous. But—- if he offered it to you in both palms, you’d suffocate yourself in his hands.

He began to move in earnest, thrusting in and out slowly. You had expected the frantic moves of a horny virgin. Instead he was moving with control, hips rolling into you like waves gentle and steady where the lake met land, not slamming like many men before him. 

Had it been any other dick, you’d whine and begin moving yourself against it for that needed speed. This was Alastor. Dripping pleasure into your open mouth like a drought-breaking summer shower.

You didn’t recognize your own sounds, already panting and moaning as a warmth spread from the place where his cock was sliding around inside you.

Alastor tried to keep calm. Even when his body was sensitive, he wasn’t used to the mental work needed to fight off his orgasm. Usually he had the opposite issue, struggling to stay focused enough to finish. Mind wandering to more productive chores. 

But you were so wet, so accepting in body and mind. He watched your eyes close, one hand gently clawing at the blankets, the other reaching down to touch his lower stomach every time he thrust back in. For the first time in a very long time you really truly wanted to remember who was at the other end of the dick you were enjoying.

Languid moves. Swollen cockhead hitting the bottom of your walls, the top, the end, pushing still a little further.

“I’m sorry,” Alastor leaned down over you, kissing at your jawline, “For making you wait so long for so little.”

His rhythm picked up then, burying himself deeper into your sopping cunt and dragging out enough to pull back that quiver of his release.

You shook your head, lips tingling. “Nothing little here.”

He attempted a laugh, losing his breath. He wanted to last longer, to make the experience worth your while but he could feel you dripping down his balls and it weakened him with alarming efficiency. Finally the frenzied speed you witnessed earlier was turned to you, you brought your legs up, holding at his sides. “Darling I need to-,” he moaned into your ear.

“Please stay.” You clung to his neck, nails grazing at his shoulders.

Alastor’s voice was soft and sweet, a small moan and a gentle grunt. His legs spread more, trying to get every centimeter of himself into you. Hips now grinding in a small circle, but not losing any of the comfort of your warmth. You felt him still pumping that welcomed heat into you, and you tightened around him, drawing out your own moan. He hissed, “Sensitive.” Your legs were shaking like leaves in a storm, no orgasm but the pleasure nonetheless intoxicating.

The front of your brain felt like static, perhaps from the lack of oxygen as you had uncharacteristically lost your breath under Alastor. 

Like losing your virginity, after the fear faded and you were able to find a moment for introspection, you found yourself larger than before. The edges of your canvas expanded out, new parts of yourself unfurling for you to explore. Nothing had been lost, only gained.

Alastor kissed at the dark circle under your eye, at the bruise of your cheek, he lifted your arm and kissed gently at the purple and blue spots there too. He had lied, and he wasn’t sure why, but maybe he’d find the will to admit it to you someday.

He had left yesterday to keep from strangling Tommy in the center of the theater, finding himself in a rage. He rarely felt anger. His killings always about retribution, about karma, about righting the scales. He needed to leave to keep from losing his composure.

He lied to you in the alley, unable to look you in the eye when he did it for fear you’d see it. You always seemed to see him with a clarity others didn’t despite such a short time together. He struggled to hide from you and it was as exciting as it was frightening. A testament to your similarities.

He hadn’t done it for everyone. No. His personal moral code fell to pieces when he saw your bloodied eye and bruised skin. He would have killed Tommy even if he had been a good man, even if you’d been the instigator. None of his murderous rules mattered. And it scared him. 

*daddy is slang for boyfriend, often a rich one. 

You let Alastor start the shower, remembering people often complaining you turned it too hot. Stepping into the tub and drawing the curtain around, you told him to face the water so you could clean his back. It wasn’t dirty, you just wanted an excuse to touch and stare.

A moment of silence, you were a little scared to speak but had a question burning a hole in your pocket, “Do you like sex?” You ran the bar of soap down his back, no wash cloth in sight.

“It’s … pleasurable.”

Your mouth twisted, “I thought maybe…it didn’t work.”

He laughed, “You wouldn’t be the first. Works fine. I just don’t care to use it much. I don’t-“ a pause, he considered how to say it as he had never said it out loud before, “I don’t see the appeal, typically. There’s better ways to enjoy my time and chase pleasures than sweating over a stranger,” The word stranger floated in the air around you. Alastor felt the need to push it away, dispel it as quickly as he could, “Dancing is basically the same thing, which seems to be the issue with current society.”

“I can respect that. Well, I’m relieved you aren’t dependent on murder for an erection because I don’t think I can hide that many bodies.” A chuckle from him, but you grimaced. Not now, don’t joke now. Stop hiding from the uncomfortable vulnerability of blunt honesty. You were glad he couldn’t see your face, resting your head between his shoulder blades as you lazily washed his lower back and down, “Don’t push yourself. I know I’ve been-,”

“Affectionate?”

“Aggressive.” You winced, “your word is better. Just, I wont… I can't enjoy something you don’t want.” Your traced circles onto his skin, “I can't get my rocks off to someone’s bad time.” A smile you couldn’t see, small and warm. “I hope it’s obvious I won’t go anywhere.”

He laughed louder, offending you a little.

“Sorry, it’s just— yes that’s been made clear. I quite literally told you to stop following me and somehow here we are.” He looked over his shoulder at you and gestured for the soap. You shook your head no.

“Turn around.”

He paused.

“Not— not like that. Unless you want me to?” You would drop to your knees so fast you would damage the tub if he said yes.

“I’m good dear, thank you.”

The tub was safe.

You took your time, covering his chest in suds, his arms, his sides. You did get on your knees after all to wash his feet, his calves, his thighs. You stopped short of going any higher.

He looked down right bashful. It was so cute you wanted to shove your face into his crotch and scream. 

Alastor wasn’t used to people handling him. Not outside of uncomfortable situations. The order of events typically went as follows:

Date makes a move. Alastor politely redirects. Date gets annoyed because it’s not the first time he’s done this. Alastor offers other ways to please them, be it his hands or his mouth. They either get sad (‘You think I’m repulsive, don’t you?!’) or angry (‘What kind of man are you?’). 

If he didn’t find them worth the effort, he would simply end the date then and there. But if he liked them enough, enjoyed their company enough, needed them for some purpose enough, he would acquiesce. They would touch him, and he would react like the touch-me-not plant he used to harass as a child, moving without thought from the stimulation. And he’d think about more engaging things until he got them to  finish or he could say he did. 

And it would buy a little more time with good enough affection and good enough company and good enough reasons. 

Good enough. ‘Enough’ was right there in the phrase. 

And then it would repeat until someone gave up.

When he didn’t move or reply as your hands sat where his thighs met his hips, lost in some train of thought, you left it be and stood. Lathering your hands, “One spot left!”

He suddenly looked so tired, eyebrows rising as if to ask you ‘what’s that?’ yet the dullness of his eyes indicated he wasn’t actually asking. 

But like a fall from a mildly scary height into the sea, thrilling but safe, he tensed as your hands moved. When you began to wash his face, he hit the water feet first.  His shoulders noticeably relaxed, and you thought you saw his chin shake a little, but you let it go to rub circles on his cheeks. You got behind his ears and under his chin. You tried to make a mustache but the soap didn’t lather well enough for that.

“You’re not missing out. I don't look good in facial hair.” He said, and you believed it. 

You handed him the soap and let him finish cleaning himself, trying to steal looks without being too obvious. Making a mental note to yourself for every piece of him to compliment later when he was more comfortable.

It tickled when he washed you, those soft fingers making bubbles across your skin. The steam was dampening his hair. Ah, you just noticed he wasn’t wearing glasses.

“Can you see? Without the glasses?” He was down now, cleaning your already clean legs.

“Ah, well, no.”

You held up 7 fingers.

He squinted then made his eyes wide, “Hmm…. Two hands.” You pushed him down with your foot to his chest, him catching himself with his arm. “At least I didn’t say three, dear.” 

You play kicked, “Unfunny!”

When he laughed now he looked boyish. His laughter bright as a bell. It was so jarring that it made your subconscious remind you of the dead man lying in the other room. The juxtaposition impossible to ignore.

Alastor noticed the shift in the air, getting up and setting the soap down on the lip of the tub. His hands rubbed your cheeks, your chin, your nose.

“You can leave after you’re all cleaned and dressed.” He was looking at your nose as he spoke.

“I can do anything I damn well want.” Your eyes skirted around his face before making him meet your gaze, “Atleast to the car. Okay?” Suddenly insecure about how aggressive you were, “Please.” 

Alastor nodded, could he see your smile? You could see his.

It was unspoken, and somehow equally shocking as the night you grabbed a dead man by the legs, that you dressed each other. Domestic was the only word for it and it was downright frightening for you.

But your body didn’t stop, some magnets in your fingertips drawn to the buttons of his shirt, to the collar you adjusted, to his glasses that you rested on the bridge of his nose.

Alastor hadn’t any idea what he was doing, perhaps his mother had told him to do this and he had long forgotten it. Maybe he saw it in a movie. Or read it in a book. But gingerly, as you sat on a side of the bed away from Tommy, he knelt and rolled up your stockings, watching as you clipped them to the garter belt. He slipped on your shoes and took your hand to help you stand. As you put on your dress his hands took the buttons at the bottom and yours took the top, meeting in the center. His newly clean fingers straightened out the wrinkles.

He avoided looking you in the eyes, something heavy in the space between you two telling him the air might catch fire if he did. He didn’t know what that meant, and he had done enough new things for one evening. 

“Can I ask you something?” He took the twine that tied the clothes together and began looping it through eyelets in the canvas.

“Of course.” He could ask you anything, if you answered was still up in the air.

“Why did you work for a man like that?” Continuing to avoid your face, he busied himself with drawing the sides and corners of the canvas up like a giant sachet.

A good question. One you would think he’d have asked before the murder. “He wasn’t like that before. This whole… thing was a recent shift. I know it was gambling but I think he was getting into some hard drugs too. His behavior had just gotten erratic.”

He tied the twine tightly, “It seemed impulse control was an issue for him, given his brief conversation with me. This-,” he pointed at you, suddenly full of passion again, “This is what I meant. I don’t talk to men for long. What a terrible conversation that was.” You fought back a smile. “Was he bragging? You wouldn’t believe the number of men— well I suppose yes you would.” He pushed up his sleeves and held them in place with arm bands, “If that is the typical sexual tendencies of men then I’m glad to see I evolved past it.” Alastor was spewing a stream of consciousness that even you could tell was out of character. 

Or perhaps, “I have a feeling you’d be saying all this if I were here or not.” You stared down at the canvas bundle.

That smile again, “Normally it’s under my breath but— they don’t seem to mind!” He gave the bundle a tug, checking for the sturdiness of the twine.“So, usually I do this closer to the car…” 

It was unladylike and you loved it, legs open wide as you lifted your half of the bloody package. You lumbered down the tight stairwell as he went backwards, insisting it was the gentlemanly thing to do. There was a moment you were alone at the bottom of the stairs as Alastor brought the car around. You gave the body a little kick, “Why’d you have to go and be such an ass?” Mumbled under your breath like a professional.

As you both stood there, trunk full of Tommy between you, you were unaware of what little wildfires you’d set off in the other.

Alastor felt his stomach flipping, an impulse to grab your face with both hands and kiss you making his fingers tap the roof of the car. He was worried if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop. An issue he had never had before, but it still felt like an issue nonetheless. It was, wasn’t it? An issue?

Something in you felt like the good wife in the doorway, waving your darling off to work in the morning. Wanting to plant a kiss on his cheek and straighten his bow tie. If you’d seen a neighbor do it you’d roll your eyes and fake a gag, but you wanted to give it to him. You wanted to give him consistent adoration he could rely on and that was the only example you could think of. A nervous hand considered clawing the feeling out of your chest entirely.

You both decided to play it cool,  Alastor dialling back the urge and planting a single kiss to your nose. You hummed, “If anyone asks…”

“You saw Tommy take the cash and leave.” Alastor said quickly, so confident you could believe maybe you had.

You nodded. Biting your bottom lip you stopped the urge to offer more help. Trust needed to exist that he’d ask for it if he wanted to. 

Maybe your face was losing its skill, mask dissolving under the events of the night, because a grin spread across his face, “Baby steps.”

Always scared of letting him slip through your fingers, you tried to hide how badly you needed another date to look forward to. Pursing your lips, “Speaking of, we’ve checked off public acts of indecency, a dance hall romp, and now some gentle sex near a formerly living man. Would you like to get coffee this week?”

“In the daytime?” False incredulity

“Fully clothed.” You added.

If he hadn’t stifled his laughter, it could have been dangerous, “Scandalous.” A small panic, he hadn’t actually agreed yet. An unfamiliar feeling of insecurity came down on you like a mistimed curtain fall. 

“I’ll need a few days…Saturday, at ten, the little cafe at the west entrance of our favorite park?”

Our. Your knees buckled a little. 

“Sounds positively deviant. I’ll be there with bells on.” Why was your heart pounding now. Why now?

“It’s a date then.” A kiss to your cheek, he tensed, holding back. “Can I drive you home?,” it was spoken into your skin. His lips not leaving your face. 

“I have to go back in. Tell everyone how much of an ass Tommy is for leaving me all alone with that wealthy bore.” Your cheek leaned into his kiss. His lips dragged across your skin to find your mouth, still open.

He exhaled, shakey and slow. Your eyes saw something new; dilated pupils staring down at you. A heat was pooling in your lap again, never so receptive to a pair of eyes before.

“Should I come back?” He knew he shouldn’t.

Luckily so did you. “You know I’m not far from here. Just get home, or wherever you're going, safely.” He finally let his mouth capture yours, his hands roaming the soft fabric of your dress. Red, smooth, warm. You broke away, pulling from some well of strength you didn’t know you had, “If the girls see— there’s no motive quite like a jealous man.”

That grin erupted, beaming a toothy smile that warmed you to your core, “Endlessly fascinating.” His fingers lingered on you until they were pulled away by the limits of his reach, him backing up to the car door, “Be safe. Good night.”

Your legs crossed one in front of the other, had a man ever considered your safety enough to say it out loud? Without adding some patronizing addition like “little lady” or “pretty thing” to it that felt more like an admission of intent? “Good night.”

Alastor rode home in silence, sometimes so lost in thought he would snap back to reality and realize he had no idea how long he had been driving. It would take a second but he would confirm he was still on the right path. 

It was too soon to bring you to his home. He knew that was a logical statement. However, every other part of him wanted to carry you over his shoulder into his house and show you around, excited to hear your responses to the details of his safe harbor. He could cook for you. You two could push the sofa back and dance in the sitting room. The back porch was lovely for early morning reading.

An incorporeal pain tore through his stomach. 

Hands gripping the steering wheel, bright eyes popping up from the tall grass as he rumbled past. 

He was getting ahead of himself again. All of the idioms he was taught were going up in flames. 

‘Don’t put the cart before the horse.’

Unfortunately he had guilded the cart as well, so weighted with the gold of his hopes he was worried the axis would snap.

‘Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.’ 

He had saddled you with an entire coop of his joy. Unfair and unwise.

‘Pearls before swine’

He was, like many men, reduced to a greedy mouthed animal at your feet, incapable of appreciating your attention as it should be. But he didn’t want you to stop. Perhaps a pig could learn?

So much for evolved. 

As he pulled into the dirt driveway of what was his father’s home, then his mother’s home, now his own, he wondered what your first thoughts would be. Would you like it? Were you expecting something grander? Something shiny and new? 

When he was backed up to the greenhouse he rested his head against the steering wheel. 

The smell of the soap was heating up with his thoughts, remembering your hands. You smelled the same now tonight, the same soap. What an intimate thing to share. Could he ever hope to share such things with someone, or was it foolish to spend time thinking about it? 

Alastor would give nearly anything to share a set of plates with someone gentle, to have a set of hand towels in the bathroom for himself and someone patient, to warm two mugs in the morning with coffee for himself and someone understanding.

A secret little dream he threw away shortly after entering adulthood. Which was fine for him. If having those niceties meant having to fake that a part of himself mattered more than it did, he didn’t want them. Not that much. He was already putting on a show outside, he couldn’t bring the audience into his home. His mother’s home. 

As he grappled with Tommy’s impromptu shroud, he considered his outward image. 

He was proud of it. He chose to have it, it was a tool that got him far in life and elevated his status. No qualms. Just, when you expect to do something all of your life alone, it’s foundation shaking to learn perhaps you didn’t have to.

He had convinced himself he preferred to be alone. But now it seemed maybe he had been lying to himself. At some point he confused accepting a situation with preferring it. 

He stared down at Tommy’s pale face, clothes dirty and body stiffening on the metal work station of the greenhouse. He probably would never have learned about Tommy if not for you. No rumors or whispers or warnings about a theater manager abusing the artists in his employ were floating around.

Again, he felt his chest tightening. It didn’t matter if he had had the man already in his sights or not. He would have killed him. Alastor ran his hands through his hair. Would you have stopped him, would he have let you, if you swore Tommy didn’t deserve to die?

No. A silly rhetorical. Had you begged on your knees with tear stained eyes he’d have kissed your cheeks and said whatever you asked to hear. And then he would wait for Tommy to be alone in a dark place like he did the others. And he would avoid looking you in the eye for as long as he had to, until you forgot about the former employer.

With a single and soft clap of his hands he shut his mind off and went about his work. Now wasn't the time for questions and what-ifs. He needed to make Tommy disappear as soon as possible. He didn’t usually kill so close together in time. A brief thought slipped through the cracks of his walls, This would be easier with help. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

No one noticed Tommy was missing until the following night. But given he’d gotten a considerable payday Monday the staff just assumed he was off snorting his profits. 

It wasn’t until Wednesday morning did police come by, Tommy’s mother having called in a missing person’s report.

You heard the girls speaking to the detective outside the dressing room before rehearsals. 

“This is typical Tommy.”

“He’s been dabbling into some heavy stuff.”

“You didn’t hear it from me, but! I heard he got,” you couldn’t see what she was doing, “ya know?”

When the detective looked into the dressing room and asked who he hadn’t spoken with, your eyes met in the mirror, recognition painting his face. 

“Detective Brady! The assistant manager can talk now.” Someone called from down the hall. You continued covering your bruises, hoping he hadn’t noticed them. With a pat to the door frame, metal ring clinking, he left.

He didn’t have time to speak with all of you before it was doors open and left before the show began. As soon as you got home you fished around in your key bowl for the crinkled card.

You dropped it back in, hands coming to your face. Of course. Why would it be any other man?

Deep breathes. It isn’t strange he ran into you before, you worked and lived in the area. He probably handed that card to every woman he passed at night. 

Slow breathes. The girls did the legwork, just follow suit. You were a single woman. No one would suspect you of anything unless they found a smoking gun under your pillow. Even then, if you could bat your eyelashes enough and find a  dainty enough cross necklace you could beat any rap. 

All you wanted now was to see Alastor and tell him. Three more days.

Surprisingly, the theater ran perfectly smoothly without Tommy. James, the assistant, stepped up and everything carried on as usual. The detective didn’t come back, either. Rumor in the dressing room was that Tommy had been an open-and-close case of bad decisions leading to bad outcomes.

There was a sadness at the theater regardless, no one having heard any news. He had wandered off before but he always returned in time for the big weekend shows. But Friday night came and went and Tommy never showed. Which for you was expected, but the other staff seemed worried. The girls, not so much. 

You weren’t as scared as you had thought you’d be. For yourself, atleast. You would rather die than let Alastor be found out because of you. Maybe he would have advice to ease you. Even if he didn’t, you’d be comforted getting him up to speed.

Knowing you’d see Alastor soon was like knowing when the next big rain was coming. You spent all week planning your time around it. 

Except for the small detail that you hadn’t actually known where the west entrance was to the park, or even that the gates had names. But you found it easily enough. As you approached you could see him waiting, a blue suit without the jacket, was there a color he wouldn’t look charming in? 

No. Silly questions seemed to be in the air lately.

You slowed as you approached, him hearing the click of your shoes and turning before you could gather your thoughts. This was the first time to see him in the daylight. 

His mouth was moving but you didn’t hear anything, brain short circuiting. His hair looked so much brighter in the sunlight, sun passing through brown locks. You could see his eyes looking at you, brows rising as he questioned something, but your thoughts were arrested by the color of the gaze you’d spent weeks trying to get into the focus of; a bright honey brown that seemed to shimmer. A little pop of light bounced off a button of his vest, his smile gleamed as he leaned towards you.

Run. You had no business here. A possibly soon-to-be criminalized dancer and him. You should have worn a better dress. Should have gotten your hair done. Should have better.

Alastor couldn’t figure out what your face was saying. He was proficient in reading the expressions of others, in discerning the changes in the air of any given room, but this… he couldn’t place. Your eyes were wide, smile taut and flat as you took a step backward. His hand reached out to stabilize you, your heel catching on the uneven pavement of the lesser cared for wards of the city.

“What’s wrong?” His smile softened. 

You spoke without thinking, something you never did, “You’re too beautiful. I should go.” Your attempt to turn away only half in jest. His bright laugh rang out, melting the muscles of your legs. 

“That’s a new one.” His fingers lingered on your arm, “You can pick a seat, I’ll grab coffee. No staff on the patio.”

Considering fleeing still, you thought about how sad he would be standing there with two coffees in his hands. The weather was quickly cooling, but in the early sun the outdoor seating was perfect for a coffee date. 

Shaking off the nerves, you tried to get a fucking grip. You adored your physical form, you had no issues thinking you deserved whatever you wanted to have. But, well, it was like he was glowing from the inside out. Even his skin seemed to catch the light. There was that quick heart beat again. You looked through the glass front, Alastor in line. If you had gone through with the plan to rob him, and had he returned in the daylight to argue with you… you’d have just handed back his wallet and maybe even your own. 

The least attractive thing about him was his money, strange considering it was normally the most important thing a man had in his pocket for you. 

Did he know? That you had been-

“Autumn, was it?”

You heard something in your neck pop as your head spun toward the voice. The color left your face, you stood so quickly you almost knocked the chair over.

“Detective! What a blessing!” Your hands were trembling as you reached out for one of his with both of yours, “You’ve been on my mind lately.”

The detective, tall and lean, eyes a striking cool blue and hair the color of wheat, removed his hat. “Oh?”

“Yes. I never got a chance to thank you for saving me last week. That man was just not taking no for an answer.” You took several steps to the left, making his back turn towards the cafe doors. 

“I thought maybe you’d been cross with me. You ran off like-.”

“I was just nervous. I didn’t know if you were for real or just another trickster trying to get a lady alone.” You stared at his eyes, trying to keep him focused on you. 

“Ah, well, you had good reason to be. Lucky coincidence seeing you here.” He set his hat under his arm, “I was just headed to your manager’s mother’s home.”

Your eyes flitted to the counter, back to Brady. “Oh? Is…is it bad news, sir?” 

“Not a trace of the man. But, that isn’t uncommon down here I suppose.” The detective sat down at the table you’d been at….you stayed standing. He motioned for you to take a seat, “That being said, I don’t think Tommy just wandered off with some cash.”

Were you wearing your perspiration pads under your dress? You think you were. If not, maybe you could just spill water on yourself and say it was a stain. Stiff, you took a seat. 

“I was hoping to interview the rest of you ladies. I was going to stop by tomorrow but, if you have a moment, what can you tell me about him?” His eyes looked like ice, their effect similar as a chill ran down your spine. 

“Well, oh geez… I don’t want to speak ill of anyone, ever.” Your hard learned skills were coming back to you. Your hands came together to shyly fidget with each other. 

“Consider it a help to the police, no worries ma’am.”

“Miss.” You corrected, that practiced smile small and chaste, “I’m not married, sir. As you can imagine, in my profession, it is very hard to come by good, honest men.”

A chuckle, he put his hat down on the table. Fuck. Fuck! 

“But, uh, yes. I can tell you quite a bit. Tommy was a fine man. For awhile. He was very respectful to us. A clean and tight ship.” You saw the door open behind him, Alastor using his back as his hands were full. “But, the last three months or so, he started getting mean.” You leaned forward, putting your left hand on Brady’s that rested on his hat. Your right hand slipped to the side and under the table, waving frantically to Alastor to turn back around.

Without question he swiveled on his heels, sitting down at another empty table near the cafe doors with his back to you.

You gripped his hand and the hat with one motion, and set it back on his head, “If he saw me talking to a flat foot…it could be a lot of trouble. Maybe we should speak privately.”

Why were you incapable of finding a balance between honey and venom? Your words came out too sweet, voice dipping into the tone you reserved for marks.

“Ah, well…Miss Autumn-,” Brady shifted in his seat.

You stood up, slapping his shoulder, “I meant the theater! Sir!”

He flustered, shaking his head and standing too, “I didn’t say anything!” His nervous laughter eased you, walking further from the table so he would follow. “Well, I’ll be by tomorrow. Maybe we can finish this conversation.“

A nod, not at all intending to tell him you didn’t work Sundays, “That sounds good. Anything I can do to help. But really, I expect Tommy will show up as soon as the cash runs dry.”

With a tip of the hat, he walked off to bring bad news somewhere else. 

You waited a moment before moving to the seat across Alastor. You thought your bones had turned to jelly, “Thanks for the rerouting. Was I obviously rattled?” You were mortified.

“No, not at all!” Alastor set the cup in front of you. “A former beau?”

You shook your head, “Worse. Detective Brady back there came by the theater this week, but didn’t have time to speak to me. Just so happened to see me now on his way to Tommy’s mom. Actually, that was something I wanted to tell you. I’ve met him before.”

His brows rose, blowing slightly on the coffee, “Oh? A patron of your theater?”

“No. That night with Legs. He stopped me a quite a few blocks before I found you. Gave me his card and a warning about missing people and something about little ladies being out at night.”

Alastor nodded, unphazed.

“Should I be worried? Because I’m worried.” You couldn’t even touch your drink, stomach in knots. He smiled, breaking the spell Brady had cast over you.

“Without a body there is no proof anyone is dead. That’s all that matters.” Alastor was cocky, leaning back in his chair with a far too relaxed demeanor.

You hadn’t realized your shoulders were so tight, “Sorry for shooing you away. I just got so scared! If he knows I,” You caught yourself, face going red as you corrected, “thought I had a guy, it could put you under a spotlight.”

His hand came over and gently rubbed your open palm with his thumb, “You’re right. That was smart, thank you.” Alastor smiled brighter, “Now! Let’s put that behind us. I don’t have a terribly long time. There’s a couple things to discuss. Most importantly,” he leaned over the table, face serious, “You think I’m beautiful?”

You kicked at his shin under the table, “My heart nearly stopped! I thought it was something important! Unfunny!”

A snicker, “Cruel?”

You nodded, “Very!”

It was by most people standards a normal date. It only strayed from mundane when Alastor walked you home and asked if you had any nightmares about Tommy. 

When you told him you hadn’t slept that well in weeks, and thanked him softly for his affection as you felt that had something to do with it, he hummed happily. He offered you his home phone number, you gesturing to the phone box at the corner in return. 

The nights were busy, so you often spoke in the mornings before his work. You’d made somewhat of a schedule, waiting in the booth around when you knew he was up and settling with coffee. He’d call, you’d ramble about your evening and what wild thing happened. Luckily the detective never returned after his Sunday visit so your stories were just fun and lighthearted. His laughter sounded so good over the staticy phone line. He would tell you about his work, about the bands he had the pleasure of hearing. New Orleans was the undisputed mother of jazz, and it showed in the fervor of his audience. It wasn’t uncommon he was busy keeping up with demand for more big and new sounds. 

While you enjoyed every opportunity to see him, be it coffee at a different cafe than the first or a walk around forested areas you knew were of use to him, the calls were nice. It allowed you to enjoy him without worrying about putting any undue pressure on him. You could twirl your phone cord and bite your lip without concern.

But finally, the moment you’d been waiting for. You called Alastor and he sounded tense, like he hadn’t slept. With a simple “What’s wrong?”, he asked if you’d want to help him with work.

The first one was almost too easy. Alastor had you wait at a bar where a man he clued you in on frequented. A staff member of his station had missed work for several days, supposedly sick. Alastor got the real story from eavesdropping on the ladies at lunch. The man, Mr. A. Wellington, was next. After watching and waiting, Alastor knew the man’s patterns well enough. Including you was a risk, but he had been fighting the urge to ask you for so long now. This one seemed it would be cut and dry. 

All it took was a smirk, a well placed hand, a laugh. The man practically pushed you down the back stairs of the bar and out through the doors that led to the service street. So engrossed in ignoring your suggestion of slowing down, he didn’t hear or see Alastor standing feet beside you both. 

The look of betrayal on the man’s face as his eyes flew from Alastor back to you increased Alastor’s high was three fold. He asked the man, already too gone to reply, if he remembered his staffer. “You should. She’ll always remember you.” 

You leaned against the door that led back to the hotel bar. Your eyes and ears were open for any unwanted company, any possible danger. Other than your own little madman. Alastor took this one personally, you could tell by how much messier he was than the first two.

While he didn’t explicitly state his code of ethics for selecting “victims”, you had picked up on the pattern. A man who assaulted a young woman, a wife beater, a violent segregationist. 

Was he really doing bad things? You found it hard to pity any of them.

Once the messy part was done you’d help get the man, as it always had been so far, into the trunk. You’d share a few kisses and clean the scene before being driven home, where you’d share a few more. Your favorite part, by far.  And after you waved, he’d drive off to wherever he went with the dead men. 

But one night was atypical. One night was downright horrible.

You lured a man into a large park beside the water. A part of you almost felt bad, as he sweetly held your hand. He had been a perfect gentleman, you seducing him at a dance hall. Alastor had warned you he was dangerous, but you wondered for a second if he was Dangerous or dangerous. Like Alastor-dangerous.

You found your answer when the man smiled down at you, telling you how beautiful you looked in the starlight, how you’d stay so beautiful forever, and wrapped his hands around your neck. Capital “D” Dangerous. 

The man was knocked off balance by Alastor tackling him from the side. You all three fell into the dirt and grass. The wind was forced out of you from the impact, your hands failing to get traction as you tried to sit up. The ground was slick with mud from recent rains flooding the rivers. Hurricane season was already in full swing.

The man wasn’t huge, but he was larger than Alastor. You watched the men struggle, slippery ground complicating Alastor’s attempts to stay upright as he straddled the man, and he couldn’t get leverage enough to bring down the knife. Horrified, you sat on your legs feeling helpless as the man lifted himself and Alastor off the ground entirely and tossed him onto his back. A small cry, Alastor rolled away revealing a rock where his back had landed.

The man only needed one of his large hands to wrap around Alastor’s throat but he used two for the fun of it. Your shoes slipped off as you struggled to get to your feet like a baby deer newly introduced to the world. Everything was wet and spinning, your lungs were burning. 

Alastor didn’t feel scared as his vision went black, just annoyed he had fucked up.

Even that feeling washed away as a grayness flooded into his consciousness. Everything lost color, flavor, texture. All urgency inked out. 

Before everything slipped away, before he slipped under, he thought he heard his mother calling his name.

He thought he heard you scream. 

You reached for the chain of the ceiling fan light, Alastor removing his clothes except his boxers as it was still too warm for pajamas. He pulled your clean slip from the drawer before making sure the window was locked but the curtains open. The bed softly illuminated with moonlight. 

Oh no. It felt strange. You would think this was a scene you’d seen before, perhaps in a photo beside the definition of home.

“Dear?” Alastor pulled back the blanket and sheet, “Everything alright?” You arm was still extended and holding the chain.

No. I’m too comfortable here already. I don’t feel like a guest.

“Come to bed.” He patted your side of the bed. You got changed, feeling him watching you.

“It’s nice to get undressed with an audience in a…boring way.” You huffed, the ache in your feet still with you. 

As you lifted your dress to unhook your garter, Alastor asked you sheepishly, “Would your stockings and garter be uncomfortable to sleep in?” You opened your mouth to answer before you realized what he was actually asking you. Fingers stopping, you let them be. 

“Not terribly, no.” 

When you slid into the bed in your slip and garters you caught how he grinned at you and suddenly you felt so shy. He always made you feel like it was your first time alone with a man when he looked at you with that smile, with those sharp eyes. You felt naked, deeper than just clothes.

Alastor scooted closer to you, arms wrapping around your waist and dragging you to meet him in the middle. Kisses to the side of your face until you turned, lips captured. As his hand came to your neck, large palm resting on your upper chest, you willed your heart to calm down. 

His mouth was hungry, tongue reaching for yours. You tried to breathe through your nose but couldn’t find the timing. When he pulled away, your mouth still open, he let his nose rub at yours. “I want to spoil you.” His hand slid down your front, fingers making a line through the center of your torso before coming to rest below your belly button. It was more intimate than you thought he realized. His hand sat heavy. “We can do as little or as much as you’d like.”

“Are you sure? I’m happy to cuddle in your fancy—,” you stretched your arms, “two person bed. Don’t worry about me.”

He kissed where your jaw ended, breathing into your ear a husky,  “I don’t want to cuddle. I want to make a new memory in my home.” In truth, he was desperate to feel you still wanted him. Despite what had happened.

That was all you needed. Throwing your leg over him you straddled his lap. You reached down to make sure his soft member had room to grow. His hands came to your hips but you brought them to your face and leaned down to continue greedy kisses. Hips rolling forward against him, your little moans into his mouth earned you sighs in return. 

You knew exactly what you wanted to do. You felt him growing under you as you rubbed against him. Catching his bottom lip in your teeth you gently tugged.

Leaning back, you took his hand and sucked one finger into your mouth. Pulling it out you added another, your teeth coming to rest well past his knuckles. A raspy groan coming from deep in his chest. Your hips kept rocking, tongue twirling as you slowly pulled him out of your mouth again. He fought the urge to say thank you. 

“Fellatio, Alastor.” You maintained eye contact, hips grinding as his golden brown eyes became wide, “Can I?”

His cock was twitching against you, but you needed a verbal yes before giving it your full attention.

“I’m not a huge fan of feeling my release on my skin.” He was frowning.  An honest to god frown like a bummed out child. You couldn’t help but find it cute. He was usually smirking so the frown felt like seeing the Easter bunny smoking. Just, so out of place.

“Well hun I wasn’t planning on giving it back to you.”

A gasp, he opened his mouth to say something about your unsurpassed ability to surprise him for the nth time, but his mouth had gone dry. He was sure you could feel him growing harder against the silk of your slip. He squeaked out an “Okay, yeah. Let’s try.”

You kissed his cheeks, feeling his blush heating your lips. Finally, you could be the one making a mess of the other. Moving down, you settled your own warm cheek in the crook where his thigh met his hip and let your hand lazily stroke him. 

Dicks were remarkably ugly things, possibly done so animals would bury them every chance possible to avoid having to look at them. But Alastor’s cock was pretty. Tan and pink, long and slender with a slight curve up that seemed biologically strategic. It was a shame he didn’t show it off more, but that was none of your business. 

“I missed you.” You cooed.

Alastor lifted his head from his pillow, he had been trying to not look at you because he already knew it would be too much. Sure enough, your barely lit face was looking at up from his lap. Eyes aglow with the dying summer moonlight and hand so tenderly touching him. What was he doing again?

Oh that’s right. You’d said something.

“Hmm?”

You kissed his tip, “I wasn’t talking to you.”

His head fell back down, making a noise that almost sounded like a word. Another peck of a kiss. Then a longer one. Your lips parted and his hands lightly gripped the sheets. Hot and wet, but a different version of wet heat you’d already allowed him to lose himself in. A firm palate and soft tongue running past his head and down his length.

For the life of him he couldn’t understand why you wanted to do this. The truth was you were already soaking through your panties, his little hip ruts and sharp inhales going straight to your core. You’d never wanted to please another person so much in your fucking life. Pornography made sense now, you’d pay to see photos of him spread out with a lusty face. But luckily your cost was minor, an express ticket to hell. 

You took him down to the base before lifting your head again.

“I want you to make the pace.” You brought his hand to the back of your head. His normally sharp features now soft and squiggly. “Fast or slow, little bit or all of it, you can stop me entirely whenever you want.”

His hand was riding your head as you bobbed on his cock. Tongue running along the underside, pressing up as you moved. A muscle twitched in his thigh which you found impossibly arousing. Every time you took him all the way into your mouth you couldn’t breathe and it only made you think of how deep he’d reached inside you before. 

Doting on his swollen head you licked his leaking precum from the slit. The look in your eyes promised to devour him as you sucked in your cheeks and made shallow moves, letting your hands slide down his shaft and balls. The weight of them in your hands had you twitching around nothing. 

Alastor’s breath was rough and strained, but his moans soft. You released him with a pop.

“Alastor.”

His eyes were focused on the ceiling, fingers stroking mindlessly at your hair. “Yes?”

“Are you not comfortable with moving my head? You’re just petting me. We can stop or—?”

Alastor let his hand come down to your chin, thumb running over your bottom lip, “No, no I don’t want to stop,” the look in eyes made you believe that. “I don’t know how to set the pace. You just want me to move your head? I’m not used to this and my brain is completely empty. Tell me plainly what you want and I’ll do it.” It sounded like a plea, almost begging for you to give him instruction. Because he was. He was pleading for you to tell him how to make you happy in new ways. “I want to do it.”

Plainly? Okay. This was one area of life you could manage to be completely straight. “I want you,” you kissed the tip of his cock again, “to guide my head on and off your cock,” a kiss down his shaft followed by another, “until you come in my throat.” You kissed the dark hair around his base, taking a moment to enjoy the scent of his manhood. “I wanna do it at your speed.”

A whimper, his dick bouncing up with a twitch and hitting your cheek, “Fuck.” He nodded, “I won’t last long when your mouth is so skilled verbally and physically, my dear.”

You hummed as his hands guided you back down, was this still letting him take the lead? The lines were blurred of who was leading who. But that was fine, maybe two people could move forward in tandem.

It made your pussy clench with a need to be filled when he finally pressed your head all the way down. With some difficulty you kept your teeth from scratching him while hollowing your cheeks again.

Hands busy cupping and caressing his balls, you let him quicken his pace.

A pleasant surprise as his hips began to buck up with his increasingly strident groans. You moaned around his cock, taking quick breaths through your nose whenever you were pulled off before his thrusts and pushes choked you again. Your eyes were watering, glossy as you tried to focus on his face. Looking down and across his tightened stomach his eyes met yours. The way his mouth was open was one thing but the moan of your name as his eyes lolled back made you feel feral. 

You shifted your hand to pumping his unsheathed length faster as he focused on his head hitting and sliding up the back of your tongue. You were confident he was almost at his peak. Seeing his eyes roll made you hungry to bring him to orgasm. The characteristic lost rhythm of his hips was a dead giveaway as much as the slowing of his hand bobbing your head that you were on the right track.

When you rolled your tongue Alastor loudly moaned in earnest, he seemed caught off guard by the sensation and his own response. The sound made you whimper around him. You wanted to make him make more sounds. More glimpses of him enjoying himself without restraint.

“My love… please,” he sounded like he was holding his breath, “Can I?” He felt insecure, he’d only entertained fellatio twice in his life and both times he found the sensations bordering disgusting and the aftermath humiliating. One partner dribbling his cum back onto his stomach, the other spitting it into his handkerchief. No one seemed happy with any part of it. But your mouth didn’t feel wrong. No part of you made him feel like a chore. Nothing about you ever made him feel put up with, instead in that moment he felt like you enjoyed him. He felt delicious in your mouth.

One hand on the back of your head pushing your head down onto him quicker as he was just at the cusp, the other where your jaw and ear met lifting you off him slightly slower to languish in the drag of your tongue over his cock.

You hummed an affirmative and braced yourself, a thick and salty shot of his release hitting the back of your throat with force. You took him down to the base again, swallowing around his head as much as his size allowed. He hissed, hips rising off the bed. You didn’t stop swallowing despite his whines and spasms, shoulders jerking up and off the pillows as he folded in over your head. The silence of the night interrupted by his overstimulated gasps spilling out around you.

Only when he stilled, body no longer twitching as he lied back down, did you let up.

He was almost scared to look at you. Flashes of a long forgotten face of disgust behind his eyes. 

“Alastor?” Your voice was so sweet, more so than usual. He dared to look.

A smile that reached your eyes. No mask, no grimace, no disappointment.

“You okay, doll?” You took his left hand and kissed his palm before setting your cheek against it. “Was it too much? Uncomfortable?”

What a silly question. He was the one who pulled you into murder, who left you vulnerable to dangerous men, who hadn’t ever considered how loving someone like him could put you at risk of terrible heartbreak. You had never been too much, he was the one spilling out of his canvas and staining you.

“We don’t have to do that ever again, okay?” You kissed his hand again, misreading his face entirely. Odd, you were usually so keen to the finer details of his mood. But when it came to sex, to his preferences, you knew you were better left always giving him room to ask for more, not less. Never make him need to ask you to stop. Never push past an absolute certainty of comfort, or put him in a position where he felt obligated to continue.

You’d decided some time ago you’d close your legs for good if it meant sharing a blanket with him. Your list of needs were rearranged the moment he pushed you into that bathroom, not that had known at the time or that you’d admit it was so early in your meeting.

Alastor smiled, finally, “No, it wasn’t.” While it wasn’t his favorite way to spend his time, he didn’t hate it. He wanted to ask if he was okay, if he was obviously inexperienced or embarrassingly quick. His eyes did that thing again, flitting around your face like he was reading a difficult but intriguing book.

You moved your body up to rest flush against his chest with your own. Silk slip cool on his heated skin. “I am very grateful you let me indulge myself, but,” a kiss to his chest before smiling back at him, your feet kicking up and knocking the blanket off, “Don’t push yourself, baby.” Your finger traced little circles on his chest.

He sat up. Slightly caught off guard, you did too. From the shadows of his bed you couldn’t see it before, but as he kissed you in an almost frantic succession of lips crashing into yours you pulled away to look him in the eyes. Blown out pupils shining back at you again. He stole another kiss, you not noticing his hand coming to his lap.

“I want to go at your pace now.” When he attempted another kiss, a pleasure soaked sigh stopped him. Your eyes traveled to the busy hand between you both.

“You can ride me, I’ve been selfish these last few times.” his hand was stroking himself, trying to get as hard as he could without getting too close to cumming a second time.

Even in the dim light he could see your face clearly, partly why he didn’t remove his glasses yet. You looked genuinely concerned. His free hand’s index finger and thumb came out almost like an upside down finger gun, a promise, “I want to feel you come undone around me.” You hooked your index with his, thumbs touching. It almost made a heart. “You can use me as you need, I just want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

You’d accepted him but he wanted more. He wanted you to need him. He’d be happy with just a night of neediness, really. Just confirmation he could keep you happy.

A blush spread up from your chest. There wasn’t anything to say. He left no room for doubt with his purposeful request. Leaning back again he slid a hand between your thighs and into your underwear. “Oh, you really did enjoy yourself didn’t you?” He brought his shining fingertip to his mouth and let those love affected eyes take you in as he licked his digits clean.

Unkindly beautiful. He was upsettingly ethereal beneath you, skin a glow in a way that rivaled the sun’s own bloom. His soft hair uncharacteristically messy, glasses fallen just a bit down his nose. The usually confident and sure Alastor was demure and needy between your legs. You’d never seen him look like that, even the first time was a different sight.

How lucky you were to get to devour him twice in one evening. You lifted yourself up and kept your eyes glued to his face as you pulled aside your panties and filled yourself with him. 

A moment of pause when you bottomed out, letting you both adjust. A confession of his own, “I’ve never let anyone on top before.”

You tightened around him, “You skipped straight to eating women out in bathrooms?”

A quick correction by him, “Not women. A Woman.” 

You tightened again, knees riding up over his stomach. “Well, I hope you’ll trust me with every first.”

Fighting the urge to bruise your ass on his hips, you took a gentle pace at first, knowing he’d just orgasmed minutes before. He was still sensitive, evident from his hisses and jerky movements with every bounce. His mouth was hanging open again with already heavy and loud breaths, eyes glued to watching himself disappear into your cunt.

Leaning down, you switched to rolling your hips front and back and kissing at his clavicle. You worked up his neck, pausing to whisper an ask, “Does it hurt?” into the bruised skin of this throat.  He said it was fine so you continued kisses up and then along his jaw. When his mouth reached for yours you dodged and kissed his nose. Another whiny whimper, hands rubbing down your hips and running over the place your skin met your stockings. His fingers ran up the straps of garters and back down again.

You kissed his cheeks, then the corner of his mouth. He looked at you like you were hurting him, like it pained him to not have your mouth on his. A moan pulled his expression from torture to ecstasy.

Alastor felt good, his ego unfurling in his chest with the sight of your pleasure. It was as if he were being worshiped and in worship of you at the same time. Your kisses were an offering, his moans a prayer.

No one had ever doted so sweetly on him during sex, perhaps he never let them. The very notion briefly floated by of past lovers kissing at his neck and it just as briefly made his skin crawl. Though he deeply enjoyed kisses when everyone was dressed. 

Much like small beds, affection was made comfortable by your presence. He wanted to be possessed by you. He felt he would be stronger somehow if he was wholly yours. 

Resting your forehead on his in the most loving act you’d ever offered a man during sex, you used his shoulders as a sturdy support to resume riding him in earnest. A workout you actually enjoyed, lifting your weight off of him and making a controlled descent to impale yourself again and again on his heated member. His swollen tip was sliding past your g-spot but it wasn’t hitting it as hard as you needed. But before you could move, you felt Alastor bring his arms up.

He used his hands like you’d taught him and grabbed the back of your head to bring you into a kiss. Lips on lips, his tongue teasing its way into your mouth.

You broke the kiss to sit back up, giving your thighs a burn as you tried to create enough friction to build up your orgasm. 

Often times you closed your eyes during sex, not because it just felt so good, but because you didn’t know where to look that wasn’t terribly uncomfortable. But not now, your eyes were locked on Alastor’s, every time he bit his bottom lip and every furrowed brow sent tingles that rolled down your shoulders , slipped along your ribs and settled in your stomach. 

You didn’t want to blink and risk missing a single reaction. The soft slap of your ass on his lap became more obscene as you got wetter. Slippery was the best word for it, Alastor trying to compare your mouth to the feeling of your twitching cunt. As you moaned his name and clenched around him, he knew he liked this more. Your mouth was free to make pretty noises for him. Sounds that made him twitch in you. 

How you could be so soft and yet gripping him so tightly he couldn’t understand. He began to realize how little he understood about any of it. Normally not actually paying attention this much during sex, but he let deeper thoughts go and just focused on the way you looked riding him.

A moment shared between you both as your eyes caught again; static shock without the contact.

“Could you cross your legs? At the ankle.” You reached around and made sure his still heavy balls were safely above his legs. Alastor did it without asking questions.

You needed a new angle, but there was no way in hell you’d turn around. Leaning back with both hands on his thighs, you could angle his cock head to graze that bundle of nerves his hands worked so well in the past. Heavy breaths morphed into deep moans as you worked him into that spot repeatedly. 

When you let a hand come forward and flick at your clit you had to sink down onto him, unable to keep your body up the same way. Shorter movements but a quicker pace to match your finger. Alastor tore his eyes from yours to watch your hand work, studying the way you moved so he could master pulling orgasms from you with his own.

Quiet, so softly you gasped and mewled as you quickly raised the tension in your lower belly. No more lifting, no energy or focus to offer, just grinding against him until you felt that snap of pressure and your muscles rolled around his cock. Alastor was quick to watch your face as he recognized the spasms making his thighs twitch again.

As your orgasm waned, the pleasure dying, you felt a clarity you couldn’t before. You looked down over Alastor, and found yourself worried. A small sense of dissatisfaction. You couldn’t put your finger on it so you let it go. Learning about Alastor carnally would take time, and you needed to allow that to happen naturally.

He was the one who suggested it, but it didn’t feel as satisfying as before.  Even with his orgasm, you felt like you’d gotten more from the interaction. And you weren’t sure what that something was or what that meant. The feeling in the air the first time wasn’t there now, and you weren’t sure why. You planted a kiss on his lips, trying to feel if anything was missing. His lips moved against yours and his hands rubbed at your thighs. He felt just like Alastor.

“Feel good, my dear?” He didn’t open his eyes, instead kissing you before you could reply. You hummed into his mouth.

“I feel good anytime I’m near you.” 

The right answer.

His smile widened, “That’s all I want.”

With a deep sigh, you unseated yourself and lied back in your spot. Your slip was sticking to your skin in various places from sweat, it was uncomfortable but you were too tired to even ask him about showering. He took off his glasses and rolled to face you so you rolled too.

Lying there and looking at each other, Alastor’s eyes adjusted to the shadows to see your face. “I feel like…women often over-act during sex. You don’t though. Or you’re a great actress.”

You nodded, “Yeah I can see that. I definitely have. Also I’m a performer, professionally.”

A nervous smile spread on his face.

“I actually really hate touching you.” You laughed. Alastor placed his hand on your shoulder and you faked a gag, “Disgusting. So strong and yet soft. The worst.” 

“Unfunny.” Alastor quoted you.

“No, I don’t do that with you.” Your hand touched at his, “Lots of other people though. I guess we feel like we have to make the guy feel like he’s doing well.” You hadn’t thought before speaking and suddenly worried you’d said something unattractive. There was a relaxation to the way you were talking with him that reminded you of being backstage at the theater.

“I have definitely been on the receiving end of that.” Alastor grimaced, “Feels like making someone a meal you don’t even like, just for them to pretend to eat it and hum loudly with every fake bite. Why push for sex and then just pretend.” Alastor mimed bringing a utensil to your mouth, “Here’s that fried catfish you love darling.”

“Lostsa reasons. And I hate catfish.”

He dropped the fake fork, “Thank God for that, catfish is disgusting.” 

Chewing on your bottom lip you just jumped into the fear, “Did it bother you, when I said ‘lots of people’ just now?”

“Why would it?”

You reached out and touched his cheek, “Just checking. Tell me about your day. If I fall asleep it’s a compliment to your voice and not an insult.”

It had been a boring day, save for his worry about you seeing his home. He rambled about work as boringly as he could until he heard the soft and deep breathing of a sleeper. And then he told you about how he cleaned, and changed the bedding, about how he swept the porch and stared into his fridge.

When he ran out of details, he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. The sound of your breathing was a new noise for his room. It was nice. His hand slid under the sheet until it found one of yours. It didn’t take long for his mind to settle and for him to fall asleep.

And then his eyes opened and it was bright in the room. He was on his side now, facing away from you. Alastor wondered if he was asleep still, but your breath behind him was evidence enough this wasn’t a nightmare. He was awake. He’d slept through the night without a terror or stressor plaguing him for the first time in, well, he couldn’t remember.

But the torment waited for him to awaken, a tinge of embarrassment washing over him from head to toe like a chill. Had he asked you to ride him? To use him? What the fuck was wrong with him? He was mortified, pulling the pillow over his face. He hadn’t even been drunk. He sounded like some horny teenager desperate to be touched. Not at all what he had been hoping to convey.

He managed to hide it well enough, through breakfast and to the patio where he could finally put his attention fully on something else.

“This is where I bring the bodies.” Alastor walked you to greenhouse doors. “There’s no one in there now. But,” he cleared his throat, “You don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to. I’ll never have you help with this part.”

You looked at each other, his eyes taking in the places where you’d been bruised before. Bruises he could still see in his head. Your eyes staring at the blooming purples of his neck. You hadn’t seen them before, his normal collar hiding them well enough. But he wasn’t headed to work yet, so you got see him in a clean white t-shirt tucked into his usual pants. Only he could make that look like a state of undress.

You jiggled the handles, looking past the hardwater stained glass to barely visible green beyond, “If you don’t unlock this door right now I will break in.”

Alastor laughed, pulling the key he’d grabbed earlier from his pocket.

You considered making a joke about your skills with rocks but thought better of it.

When the doors opened, you were surprised to see plants.

Not because they were in there, but that it was all you saw. Alastor walked past you and to the left, “Most people naturally turn right when they enter a room. Buys me a little time just in case someone comes in.” You followed him past long and tall shelves of various potted plants and flowers.

“And most people would consider a shed more suspicious than an all glass greenhouse. Nothing nefarious about glass. The plants help obscure the sights and the hard water takes care of the view from ground level.” He pointed up and over to the house, “You can see it perfectly well from the second floor.”

“Aren’t you worried about neighbors?” He turned right to step through some plants then stopped in front of a large metal table.

“Nearest neighbors are at least several acres away on all sides, we don’t interact.” His finger slid across the clean and shining surface, “Dismember, drain, back in the car to then disappear them far away from here.”

Your short heel sank down into the dirt, a memory of Tommy at better times taking your attention away from where you placed your weight. 

“The ground soaks up the water and blood. Bugs take what I miss. And it stays pretty warm even in winter, so the ground stays soft.”

Morbid. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t morbid as your eyes sank to the soil beneath your feet. Turning around you looked for anything out of place. You saw gardening supplies like shears, axes, hand saws, tarps. Plants everywhere, pretty flowers and small trees. It was a very full but very normal greenhouse. Approaching the table you lowered yourself  to look underneath. Empty clay pots, bags of dirt, seeds. Clean and dry. 

“It looks like a functional greenhouse.”

“Exactly.”

“No I mean— it, not a single trace of,” you searched for a good word, “impropriety.” You’d heard that shouted at you before. “Even the plants are cared for. How much time do you spend keeping this room perfect? When do you sleep?”

His head tilted, “I don’t sleep much. So, I have time. The long nights are just the ones when I have someone in here.”

“I promise my praise is coming but first — Alastor.” You stood, “Ya know you could have just slept last night. Like, a full night's sleep. We didn’t have to stay up. That’s two nights already you barely slept. On top of…years? Of this?”

A suddenly nervous energy, Alastor’s hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he looked away. Oh no, that was a first you hadn’t considered. 

Had you been too harsh? Sounded too much like nagging wife? You felt like one. 

“Sorry. It’s not my place to speak on.” You sighed and set your hands on the waist height table. His back must hurt, he was so much taller than the table, he must be bent over quite a bit when he worked. You couldn’t stop imagining him, tired and hunched.

Alastor came to stand beside you, hands mirroring yours, “No, that’s exactly it. It’s become your place, hasn’t it? But I’m still acting like I’m alone.” You bit your tongue. “Yes we should have slept. I was tired. But, you did a lot recently. For me. Selflessly.”

Ah. His fingers on his left hand intertwined with your right, eyes searching for something in the scratched grey blue of the workspace.

“I want to provide for all your needs.”

A tinge of fear again ran through him. He needed you to need him. So you wouldn’t leave. He wanted you to see how he could give you everything.

You could have screamed in the best way, somehow feeling a spark in your lap, provide for you? Why did it sound like an act of service when he said it and not a threat to your autonomy? 

“You’re already giving me so many things I need. Phone calls in the morning and kisses after work. Respect for my job and myself as a human, not just a woman. Your voice when I’m falling asleep,” you cleared your throat now, too saccharine of a speech already, “Someone to lick the blood off my face. An alibi. That kinda stuff. Ya know?”

“I’m not joking.”

The muscles in your back locked. You gripped his hand, you could feel him staring at the side of your face but didn’t want to see what expression he had. Unfortunately he knew you too well already.

“Look at me.”

Your natural reaction to being given an order was to do the opposite. But you couldn’t muster the petulance. You finally turned to look back at him.

He’d never looked so serious. Eyes brighter in the sun than you’d remembered them being bore into yours. Locked, you were frozen in his stare.

A deer in the headlights.

He wasn’t studying your face this time, he was staring into. Not through you, no, you could feel his gaze being soaked into the back of your skull.

“I’m learning. Be patient with me? And you can tell me when I’m fucking up. I want it be our places in each other’s lives.”

“Al-,” it came out a squeak, you tried again, “I’m not either. Joking, that is.” His intense look was blinked away. “I need all the little things most. I can’t get them from anyone else. I don’t want them from anyone else. The tender kisses, the hand holding, cuddling. I’m terribly happy.” A tentative kiss to his nose, “But I need you tiptop. Sleeping, eating, human things like that. Let me help you balance things. I want to provide, too.”

Arms snaked around your waist, forehead to forehead, his smile grew, small but still a welcomed sight as always, “Can I have that praise you mentioned earlier now?”

You nodded, listing all the brilliant ways he protected himself from detection. A long form good boy. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Across the parish and downtown, a nervous woman fidgeted in a worn wooden chair. She has been woken up by a loud knock at her door when she was still sleeping off her late night.

“I thought this was all done with. Did you really need to drag me down here? Not a big fan of flat foots. You understand.”

He sighed, placing his hat on the empty chair beside him. His partner would be there if his partner was aware he was even doing this. But they had already written him off as obsessed with nothing, “Of course. Just finishing up some paperwork is all, miss. So, not a single enemy? I hear he had debts.”

“Well I mean,” her high pitched voice somehow creeped up into even higher an octave with her nerves, “We all had guesses but, no, never seen him fight with anyone except a dancer here and there. Mean right hook, that guy. I’m glad he’s gone. I hope he’s dead.”

He perked up, “He hit on ya’ll?”

“Once in a blue moon. But he really let Autumn have it before he up and left. Never seen him that mad before. She was bruised up for like a week after.” She ashed her cigarette in the bowl on the table between them, “He wasn’t normally like that. Just when girls refused dates. And Autumn really wasn’t playing along, if ya know what I mean.”

Detective Brady leaned over the interrogation table, “What dates?”

🎶 last time on A Doe In Fall 🎶 : you came home from your first week staying officially at Alastor’s to find your estranged sister waiting on your stoop.

It’s not that you hated your sister, it’s that you resented her. You could love someone and not like them an ounce… but unfortunately when she left so did your familial love. Which meant all that held you together now was distrust and an obligation to a dead woman. 

“So things didn’t pan out up north?” You waved her into your apartment, agitation apparent in even the gesture of your arm. 

“It’s peachy! Just need to lay low a bit.” She said it with a chipper voice while looking around your apartment like she paid for it. “Wow you weren’t lying about the no money, huh? Talk about a shoebox.”

Charming. 

“Well, Ephi, you’re welcome to leave.” While you didn’t understand the name it wasn’t your business to question what someone asked to be called. Especially considering your own dual identity. You may have disliked the woman but human decency still hung to the bones of the relationship you called your sisterhood.

An obnoxious chuckle, “Nah it’ll do! Just the one single bed?”

“Why would I have more than one bed?”

A deep sigh from her, “Still last to be picked by the fellas, sis?” Her hand passed over your dresses hanging in the open closet, “The ugly duckling was always your favorite story.”

The fine hairs rose on the back of your neck, a cat’s hackles moving as the anger bristled through your body. You opened your mouth to shout all the ways you were not the ugly one in the room, hand already in the air to direct her attention to the dried, hanging flowers covering the far wall. How many people threw flowers at her feet? How many proposals were shouted to her? Wedding rings slipped off fingers and into pockets for her? 

The air in your lungs went flat as a small fire of embarrassment rose in your gut.

How could she so quickly reduce you to a little girl again? Taking the bait for a fight you couldn’t win, because she wasn’t listening to anything but her own voice. Biting the inside of your cheek, your hand fell back to your side.

“You can take it. I’ll just be by for clothes now and then. Been staying with a friend closer to work.” Flipping through your mind you tried to catalog your valuables. What did you absolutely need to not turn up missing?

Ephi sat on the bed and crossed her legs in her best imitation of a lady. “Staying with Mister Fancy Pants?” A smile that reminded you of your childhood. A smile that said, “I won’t tell mom!” Right before turning and running to your mother’s ear.

“No.” 

A giggle two octaves above her usual tone, “Sure, okay! No skin off my back.”

You took your time to gather the items you had forgotten first, then the items you didn’t want her to have. Unsure how exactly to tell Alastor why a week into sharing his home officially you were already redecorating, you left that for your future self to figure out. The first item was obvious.

An angel statue your mother kept on her nightstand. You wrapped it in some newspaper, trying not to look in her direction. 

Your sister chased dick like most people chased liberty. Something she shared with your mother. Which was her right, but it rubbed you the wrong way how she would always forget everyone else in her life when she had a man to call her own. A fair weather friend, at that. 

“How’s Howard?” The dick that took her away so many years ago.

She abandoned the lady act and rummaged through your cabinets, “Who’s that?”

Right.

A gold coin on a necklace. You slipped it inside a sock. 

“So, then, who is the man of the hour?”

Ephi began opening the dresser drawers, poking here and there. “Whaddya mean! I am an independent woman.”

You weren’t sure that had ever been true. While your mother had drilled it into your skull to never place yourself in the need of a man, she always seemed to throw her heart (and house keys and purse strings…) at the feet of any man willing to love her. 

“Love” her. 

There was no love in any of that. A common problem of confusing love with any and all intense emotions affected your mother and many others.

Slashed furniture is not adoration. Breaking windows is not a love language. Bruises are not affection.

Your hands ran down the bag’s shapeless sides. Without thinking, you smiled. Adoration. Love languages. Affection. You had them and the knowledge of their secrets all to yourself. 

Secrets you didn’t need slipping out. Secrets your sister couldn’t hold to save her life, or yours for that matter. You hurried around the room grabbing knick-knacks and photos and jewelry. Alastor would be at work soon, you wondered if you should call to warn him. This time not about a hot headed flatfoot but a nosey sibling.

You’d tell him later. No reason to talk to Brenda again. Quickly your leather bag got full and heavy. What was supposed to be a casual foray into sharing a home already turning into a full on move. 

Everything you needed and a few things no one ever would, because damn would Ephi pawn them the very second she needed something, were safely zipped away. Any plans to relax at home before work were abandoned and you just marched to the door. 

A random memory flashed behind your eyes,  washing Alastor’s hair in the tub until the water ran clear. Why now? The only memory shared in your apartment. And it was an awful one. But, it had Alastor. That gave it value. 

“Hey, if any men come by looking for me you just don’t answer, okay?” You forced your face to relax, to show the sincerity you worked so hard to keep to yourself, “Please, Ephi.”

Her smile widened past unnaturally white teeth, no money for a room but clearly cash for peroxide tooth gel, “Ooh, why? Little sister make some enemies?”

Why couldn’t she just fucking agree?

“My job sometimes attracts crazies. I don’t tell them where I live but occasionally they figure it out. They’ve gotten violent before so…just don’t answer the buzzer. They’ll say they’re damn near anyone to get you to let them up.” You stopped the nervous twisting of your bag’s handle, “Boyfriend, boss, detective. They've tried it all.”

“Aww, sis. Look at you.” She leaned her full figure against the open door frame, arm raised up like a pin up. Ephi was always effortlessly enchanting when her mouth was closed. “Stalkers? Mama would be so proud. Finally learning how to catch a man’s attention.”

The tears that stung your eyes were inspired partly by anger and partly by pain. They came so suddenly you could only laugh in response. 

“Lovely to see your new name hasn’t changed you, Ephi. I’ll be back occasionally. Don’t steal anything, no strangers over. Spare key is in the bowl by the door.” 

“Oh hey!” 

You turned back.

“I do need some cash. Until I find work.”

The numbness blanketed you with a chill. 

“I’ve got like, three bucks. Is that fine?”

Why did you ask that? You knew she could very well say it wasn’t fine and you’d be obligated to offer to get more. Atleast, that’s what you’d have done when you were younger. How easily you both slipped into old roles. Or perhaps she never grew out of hers. 

She mulled it over, “Yeah that’ll be fine.” Her hand came out and waited for the bills.

An open palm waiting for your money.

You pulled the folded bills from your wallet and set them in her hand without touching her skin. 

“Thanks sis!” She turned and closed the door before you could reply.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The other dancers shot you a look when your bag jingled and clanked as it hit the floor, you wincing as you remembered the ceramic figurine.

“You…. going somewhere, hun? The detective got you on something?”

A quick shake of your head. You hadn’t considered the optics. Luckily it was early enough the room wasn’t very busy. A few select missing women would have pried for more information. Your hands fidgeted, unsure what to do. On the way in you saw some newer talent getting their feet on stage, maybe watch them? Too early for make up. 

A loving voice from Ruth, always a savior, “Cigarette?”

You melted at the offer. Alastor wasn’t a fan of the smell so you were slyly cutting back. 

She popped a sun bleached folding chair open and set it in between you both as a footrest. So many broken and ruined chairs littered the sides of the dingy roof, you were shocked she found a good one on her first try.

“Alright, tell me what happened with that detective. Do I need to go rough up a city employee?” Ruth leaned back and settled into her chair with a creak and a whine of the wood.

You needed a second, eyes flitting around as she handed her cigarette for you to take a drag. What could you say? What did she already know? You’d not spoken about it since she helped shoo him away but the appearance of half your belongings haphazardly stuffed into a bag clearly had her alarms going off. 

“So remember the guy who came by for me? Tall handsome one.”

She nodded enthusiastically, “Yes! Of course. Don’t forget a name like his. Or face.” She whistled like a crude man trying to get a woman’s attention in the most annoying way.

“The detective thinks he did something to Tommy. That he was jealous. Which is ridiculous-,” you felt a nervous energy slip down your arms. 

An abrupt laugh, “That string bean couldn’t open a heavy window. He didn’t do shit to Tommy. What a stupid thing to say.”

Did she notice how much you’d been holding your breath? A deep sigh as you let it go. “Exactly! He doesn’t even know about what happened that night with that guy and Tommy’s arrangement; it’s too mortifying. Anyway, the detective has been hounding me about it. I don’t wanna cause trouble.” You ashed the cigarette and held it out for her, “Stuff is still new with him and me, so I didn’t tell the detective his details or work anything. Why would I? So he can harass him too?” The words all tumbled out so quickly. A faucet turned too far to the left.

“Fair.” A few passes back and forth in what you hoped was a comfortable silence and not an indication she was piecing together things you needed to remain unlinked. Finally, “Didn’t realize you two were still seeing each other. Longest one you’ve kept for awhile now.”

Looking up, you marveled at the view of the open sky. Not a cloud in sight. A smile crept across your face, the heat of the sun warming you from the inside out. The slightest chill to the air warning you of Fall. “Yeah.”

She asked what made him so special and you didn’t know where to start. “The obvious,” you began. “He’s so-,”

“Clever.” “Handsome.”

You’d spoken at the same time, her attempt at soothsaying failing miserably.

“Clever, Ruth. He’s very clever. Handsome men are a dime a dozen. But he’s sharp as a tack.” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand around for you to go on. You let your mind toss out the shiniest examples. “He’s so skilled. He knows how to hunt and take apart animals. He can fish. Cooks like a dream. He knows how to clean clothes well and how to use a washing board.” 

“Useful.” She mused. That isn’t what you meant. You weren’t trying to list off his features like a new appliance. It was just— impressive. He was well rounded.

“And he’s terribly kind. He’s always,” how to say it delicately, “going out of his way to help others solve their problems.” That seemed accurate and vague enough. You chuckled to yourself, remembering him at the kitchen table, “His face lights up so bright when he’s talking about his hobbies. Like, I can see his soul glittering behind his eyes and suddenly I’m just as interested in whatever he’s talking about as he is.” You let your eyes close around the mental image of his surprised face every time you complimented him. But they shot open when she began giggling, “What?”

“You’re in looooove,” her foot kicked yours, “I know that look. Head over heels already. Talking about him like he made the fucking stars.”

Wide eyed and stunned, was it written on your face so plainly? “Oh don’t say that. It makes me so uncomfortable. We’re just enjoying each other's company.” When she moved to give you the cigarette again you didn’t take it. “All I was saying was—,” fuck, what were you saying? That he was special? “He’s a very nice person to spend my limited time with. It’s a finite resource and all.”

With a shrug she took another puff, “What’s to be uncomfortable about? Falling in love is a wonderful thing, hun.”

Was it? Honestly, had she ever considered how much damage came with loving someone? It was putting your heart outside your body. Letting someone else carry it around and just praying they didn’t hurt you, or get hurt, or go off and die and take your heart with them. Why would anyone willingly do such a silly thing?

“Cheesy. And kind of creepy. Falling? How do I get back up if things go south?”

You’d successfully avoided emotional attachment to nearly every lover you’d taken. The way women seemed to get struck down dumb by any old John or Jane just wasn’t appealing. Love was for fools. The weak. The dependent.

Or, so you had whispered to yourself as you pretended to not be home when suitors came knocking, as you avoided ringing phones, as you apologized and slid out of restaurant seats after awkward dinners. 

“If you fall hard enough, you don’t get back up.” She said it like it was a good thing. “You’ll love them forever, even if you hate em.”

That was the problem, too. How could she not hear that as she said it? All loss of control of your own heart and emotions was simply bad. People do irrational things for love.

You shivered, “That sounds absolutely horrid, Ruth.”

“Aah,” she dismissed you with a raspberry blown between her lips, “For the right man, you’ll find yourself enjoying the trip down!” 

“Nah, I’m not fan of heights. No dick is worth that.”

“Is that all men are to you? Sex?” She guffawed, taken aback by your comment. Which was odd, given it was Ruth. 

But, Yes.

Well. No . But — he wasn't a man. He was something different. The exception to the rule. Alastor was different.

Or, fine. 

Yes, he was a man. 

No, you didn’t see them as just sex. It was easier to say people were just pleasure and not stop to think about life any other way. Things got complicated when you added another person. Life became sloppy and uncontainable. If you stopped and considered the lives behind the people you used to lead on and let go before things got too difficult, you’d just wound yourself. It was easier to stop at sex.

When you could. Which you could, before. When sex was a token you traded back and forth with someone. But Alastor didn’t accept that currency. You couldn’t hand him your body and get brief but lovely companionship back. Your value had to lie elsewhere, the things you set before him and the wonders he had to offer were much richer in their worth than what you’d ever had before. 

Sometimes it felt like you slid him a penny and he handed you a quarter. You found yourself scrounging up the petty coins of your worth and trying to save them up for him. Practicing your makeup, learning how he liked his coffee, remembering all of the things he said he hated and loved. Attempting to stop smoking. Every act was another shiny offering for him. 

A crow scrounging the park grounds for glittering trash. Not very swan-like, you thought.

“You really don’t think you’re falling for him?” Ruth put out the cigarette in the coffee can beside her. As you turned to argue with her you saw her face full of amusement and incredulousness. It was rhetorical.

The argument withered and you could only pout, everyone that day seeming to catch your tongue, “I don’t wanna think about it. I’ll get scared and run away. He’ll figure out how little I have to give eventually. If anything more is gonna happen, it’ll happen. I’ll just… let it. Why ruin it with… saying childish things.”

“You’re naive but that’s okay. Enjoy the honeymoon stage while you can.”

Your eyes rolled, “What if he doesn’t feel the same? Why embarrass myself.” When you sighed the weight of just how heavy and true that sentiment was resonated in your stomach. Telling him you were falling in love? Alastor was a killer. His passion was singular. What good was a dame to him? No, worse than worthless. A liability. A witness. A weak point in the walls he so carefully crafted. If he knew you were in love with him he’d just end things sooner than they would have naturally.

“Dontcha wanna know if he’s a waste of that precious time, then?”

You cackled, choking on your spit. Alastor? He was the most worthwhile thing you’d ever encountered. Time with him suddenly had …. Value. That fucking word again. But time with him, it was slow enough to be deep and rich, but so fleeting you already felt a mourning mood for how much closer you were to the end.

You could only shake your head, “Wait, Ruth, didn’t you get divorced?”

“Shhh that doesn’t count!” She rose and stretched her long arms up to the sun and then out to the horizon, “Plus that’s how I know what I’m talking about! After the honeymoon phase? You’ll be arguing about laundry and wishing you were strangers again. Fighting about children and lawncare.”

As your finger nervously came to your mouth, teeth cutting into the nail, you considered how if Alastor complained about laundry and you could argue back with the comfort of knowing neither would simply leave, that’d be….nice. The safety of being honest without the fear of the other person giving up on you. Was that love? 

And did that matter at all? 

You’d thought earlier you knew the answers but now, when someone else said it, you got scared of those words. 

Ruth must have put a spell on you. As you and a bevy of others danced in line on stage, arms over shoulders and legs kicking high enough to show cheek and jiggle the soft skin of your thighs and stomach, you felt butterflies in your gut. Alastor would be picking you up in a matter of hours. 

A few men sent you drinks, which you repaid with a wink and a kiss blown across the bar before downing the liquor. It was the usual routine. You hadn’t felt nerves to see Alastor quite like that since sheepishly picking out “comfortable” shoes.

Alastor’s eyes widened when he took the bag from you, not noticing your attempts to avoid making eye contact. He let out a chuckle, his best attempt at stifling the joking question, “Already moving in?”

He realized quickly enough that wasn’t a good joke. Not when he finally looked up and saw your stare was distant. 

“Everything okay, dear?” He walked to open your door for you, and you nodded a thank you and an affirmative.

Should you rip off the band aid? Should you just say it and see what happens? 

When you turned to look at him and blurt out a confession, you were stopped by the profile of his face. What a gentle face. A lovely jaw. Even his bones were better than other people’s. What were you doing in this man’s car? What little pieces of glittering trash were you about to toss at him on a random Friday night?

No, in the books you read, confessions were always grande affairs. Fireworks and dinner parties and passionate kisses in rain storms.

You’d have to put a little effort into this. His brows rose as he clocked your staring. Eyes on the road, smirk pulled to the right, his hand came to rest on your thigh.

He deserved something much better than whatever you had to offer. Something unlike yourself entirely. 

The drive home, and yes you let yourself linger on the word instead of shoo it away, you watched a deer jump across the dirt road just past the bridge. 

“The bucks chase the does. It’s part of their mating ritual. I guess it’s not unlike the ‘playing hard to get’ some women like. The longer the chase, the prouder the buck to snag his prize.”

You laughed, “Women don’t like it, I don’t think. Well, some do I am sure but… If we don’t do that then people think we’re easy. We need plausible deniability. If people learn we put out we can claim we didn’t really want to and save some face.”

Alastor grimaced, “Gross.”

Unseen, you nodded and turned to watch the buck leap after its doe. 

“Kind of funny, you chased me down, didn’t you?” Alastor’s comment pulled you back to him.

“Oh yes. That makes you my doe.” Your arm came to rest against the car door, the trees slowly rolling by in the darkness. “Reminds me of the small freckles across your shoulders.”

“My mighty buck!” He fawned, in jest, pretending to collapse into your lap. You shoved him back up and behind the wheel proper. “Well given the chance, I’d chase you for miles.” His hand flexed on your leg.

“To Texas?” You asked. Your usual end point.

“Further.”

“How far?”

“There is no limit. I’d … run right off a cliff, head first, if you were waiting at the bottom.” He took his hand back, needing both to hold the wheel. What he said hit him harder than he had intended. Was it too much? A tad too dramatic? A nervous clearing of his throat, followed by an awkward laugh to put more space between him and the confession. 

The idea of you making Alastor chase you was ridiculous. You enjoyed the games you played with others, but you were never meant to be caught. If you wanted that, you’d just…give yourself. As you had done with him. Only him. The first and last person you ever wanted to give yourself over to in any sense. “And if I just… lied down and let you catch me? Would that make me a poorly earned prize?”

“Nope! That’d make me a lucky duck. And make you quite smart, if I do say so myself.” A wink. “Why run from such a catch like me?”

You landed a smack on his arm, light and playful. 

A truly comfortable silence settled in, just the sound of the car trembling over the rough road. The newest model Ford was still as loud as the last, but luckily you were far from others. 

The words had lingered like smoke, and you felt the need to address them.  

“Don’t actually do that though. If I run off a cliff or something stupid, don’t you dare follow me.”

Alastor just laughed, wasn’t that what you were doing for him already? Diving into hell for some inexplicable reason after Alastor. He wasn’t expressing some lack of self preservation, he was merely letting you know he’d reciprocate the fall. You hadn’t made him run after you, but instead seemed to just….rest your neck between his canines. And trust. 

If you were to go to heaven, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. It was too late to redeem his soul now. How far was heaven from hell, anyways? If the devil survived the plummet perhaps he could scale the walls of his enclosure and breach the gates.

Though, as he thought about the idea of heaven, he considered how happy his mother would be to meet you. To take you from her would be as cruel as heaven taking you from him. 

Maybe he could make a plea. To just be able to see you from below. 

But if the knowledge you were happy and safe was all he had, he’d be a richer man in hell than he’d ever been on earth. It’d be enough. 

He’d just need to broadcast his radio waves a little further for your listening pleasure.

“I’ve got to speak with the valet, go on ahead and find a table you like.” 

You didn’t want to do that at all, but knew Alastor wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want it. Well, he didn’t really ask, did he? He was certainly in his element, the shining and towering hotel every bit as pristine as his own public image.

It was as if every head in the room spun around to look at you. Everyone’s hair freshly styled, jewelry shiny and heavy, clothes immaculate. Your dress was lovely, no doubt, but no one looks at the elephant in her tutu at the circus and proclaims, “A ballerina!” This was, rather obviously, not your scene.

Alastor had presented the dress to you so sweetly, though. You woke up to find it hanging on the closet door hook, the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. He had either waited for you to fall asleep to hang it or woken up before you for just the reason. It was red, his favorite color for you. The latest fashion, loose and straight. No corset. The neckline showcased a large, flat bow. 

“Partly a gift for me,” he had said as his hands slid down your sides when you had gotten dressed, “Such softness shouldn’t be hidden behind rigid boning.”

You settled into a large seashell shaped booth, the back coming up and over like you were the speck of sand yet to form into a pearl. The table was small, a glittering pattern under its shiny veneer. Everything was…glistening. Even the darkness past the windows seemed to be sparkling back at you. A few people turned to look you up and down, smiling and beginning to speak to their group before even turning back to them. 

You could wither, or bloom. So you learned back as if you were bored, legs crossed and feet gently shaking with anxiety or boredom, you hoped no one could sus out which. 

It was so odd. In your usual haunts, newcomers were greeted with curious smiles and maybe the tiniest suspicions. You were being picked apart to the bone by sharp stares and even sharper tongues, no matter how silent their jabs were to you. 

“They’re probably jealous.” Your head snapped up, when had Alastor made it in? “They look at you and know, ‘oh, that’s the kind of woman my husband would rather have a conversation with.’” You laughed, you absolutely could have stolen the attention and more from at least one of these women’s husbands.

“Perhaps they recognize these earrings, gone missing from their jewelry box earlier this year.”  You weren’t above accepting a woman’s stolen jewelry. It was her husband's fault anyway, might as well enjoy it. 

Alastor’s finger came to your chin, lifting your face further into the light, “Give em a good look, darling. I want them to eat their hearts out.” The blush that swept across your features was so fierce, the difference in temperature between your cheeks and your arms caused a chill to run down to your shins. He took a seat beside you, scooting up close and flashing that smile. A smile that had you chasing him into dark alleys and grabbing dead men by the ankles. 

A waiter came by, placing a drink in front of Alastor and asking what you’d like. You were so used to being in such spaces with the kind of men who answered for you that you didn’t reply immediately. When Alastor brought his drink to his lips, you realized it was you who was expected to speak. 

“Oh! A corpse reviver please.”

The man smiled and left with a nod. Alastor choked, hitting his chest with the fleshy part of his palm, “That was intentional, wasn’t it?”

You danced in your seat, “I’ve never been somewhere that has the stock for it that I was…allowed to order what I want.”

Alastor set his drink down and leaned back, shoulder pressing into yours teasingly, “I can’t imagine anyone disallowing you a thing.” With a sigh, you reminded him of the things you did to get your marks drunk and off their guard. You were surprised when he nodded like he remembered. “I saw that! You would sit so quietly on their laps. I remember thinking you were much more boring than you had initially made me believe.” You recoiled, and he shot you a look, “Who stalked who first, hm?” 

With a huff, you let it go. You weren’t actually sure the answer to that anyway. Focus let free from Alastor, you began to notice the looks were back. But no longer cutting into you, but wide and devouring. A few smiled at Alastor, some tipped their heads to him and offered a look of recognition. “Aren’t you popular.”

“I haven’t been out in awhile. They’re probably curious.” He took another sip, “Should be, atleast.”

A prideful smile slid up your face. You uselessly tried to mask it by licking your teeth. 

Something that happened when in public with Alastor that was unlike you was the tendency to become small. Not shrinking to provide him space; it was a turning in of your shoulders and touching of your knees in a subconscious effort to curl into a little ball of joy. Actively fighting the tug, you leaned back and opened your chest. An exercise in mental focus. 

“It’s weird. How you can be friends with my kind of people and….well, whatever is happening here.” Your hand waved at the room before you both. 

“My friendship with these people compared to our friends at the dives is…. A light bulb compared to a fire. One was manufactured to fit a need, one exists somewhat naturally.”

Tall and slim, body flat from collar bones to knees, a slip of a woman entered the room and you felt a shift in the atmosphere. Her hair was short and pitch black, fashionable to say the least. A few heads turned, a few upturned lips shifted into sneers. Side glances, hushed words, intentionally heard huffs. You turned to Alastor to find his face was as confused as your own. 

“Who is that?” You said it low, not knowing if she was friend or foe. 

“That would be Mrs. Aubrey Debreaux. Popular socialite and frequent hostess.” A sip of his drink, speaking about her like a character in a novel. “This icy reception is news to me though. She’s usually the life of the party.”

“She’s a real wet blanket now…Your circles seem really fickle. Always a bit of gossip.” You realized as soon as you said it that, well, that was the point. Alastor needed the gossip, and, well, he clearly enjoyed it.

“That’s what the wealthy do. Gossip and pretend the drama is as stressful as someone looking for their next meal.” Swirling his drink absentmindedly, his eyes followed Aubrey through the hotel bar. When you asked if he knew everyone there, he said it was his job to know people.

“Your job is in radio. You host a show, Alastor.” You laughed through your nose.

“Well, my other job.”

“I’d call that a passionate hobby.” Your hand came to rest half on his and half on the booth bench low and hidden, not wanting to monopolize, but he quickly took it and held it on the table. Another struggle to keep your shoulders from drawing inward.

The room moved on, forgetting you both were there and eventually about Aubrey too. Or so you had thought. When you drink was starting to mellow you, you turned to Alastor to admire the view. You’d come to enjoy that silence, the kind that only existed between people comfortable enough to know they didn’t need to entertain each other to enjoy each other’s company.

He was scanning the bar still, elbow on the table as he rested his chin there. From a distance of space or familiarity it could be seen as boredom. But up close and personal, you could see the wheels spinning behind his eyes.

“Golly, when in Rome!” Alastor hooted and grabbed you by the hand with one of his and carried his drink in the other, “Let’s go gossip. Bring your drink.”

He pulled you into a group of four people in a circle talking. They opened and let you both in, smiles warm. A clamor of excited ‘how long has it been’s, ‘how are you’s, and ‘you look well’s.

You’d expected him to ask for gossip like he’d said, but realized that’d be pretty conspicuous. Instead he waited, and when Aubrey passed by one of them rolled their eyes and he had his opportunity.

“What’s that look for?” He asked. 

Everyone got quiet and passed a glance between them. Finally a woman in a beaded dress and finger wave bob piped up.

“She reported a young boy touched her on the street.” Alastor watched Aubrey cycle through the groups as the friend spoke. “Grazed her hip with his hands, made a comment about white women as he did it.”

Alastor’s head whipped back around. “He got taken away that night.”

You gasped, hand coming to your mouth in sincere horror, “Just for touching her? Is he still in jail?” 

The woman’s lips pursed together, no one looking at you.

“Bless your heart. He didn’t touch her and he didn’t make it to the jailhouse, sugar.”

Suddenly the way everyone was looking everywhere but at each other sunk in. 

Panicked, you looked to Alastor. His expression was still, like the calm waters of a deep and foreboding bay. What horrors lie underneath? His tongue wiped across his teeth, and you reached out to take his drink from his hand. The action snapped him out of his daze for a second, expression softening a tad as he nodded a thank you.

If he shattered that glass now, people would remember. And when Aubrey went missing they may recall Alastor’s dramatic reaction. You knew his smiles intimately, the ones that were true and the ones that were illusions. The expressions of joy and the mask for his rage. The smile painted on his face now was nothing short of shallow.

You spent so many days in a bubble with Alastor, shielded by his grace or by the accepting and illegal circles you ran in that you sometimes forgot the reality of life. A dark privilege you hadn’t seen until you were the one looking naive for once. 

That’s right. The world was a bad place, of cruelty and injustice. Not just for you, or for parts of you, or for sides of you. Not just for women with smart mouths or a love of dance. No matter how safe the comfort of your friends and the dark halls you all commiserate in, no matter the like minds and mixed complexions of your peers, you were all just one cruel voice from being dragged into the night. Just a single accusation from being a whispered story in a glittering hotel bar. A headline no one would write. 

And some of you would be mourned more than others. 

You took a second, blinking rapidly to dry your eyes. 

“Apparently, she did it to get Hubert to leave his mistress’s apartment and come home.” A short man whose name you never got took a drag of his cigarette, “Worked. He’s been yapping all week about the state of New Orleans society and the importance of protecting the fairer among us.”

Alastor was quiet still, lips tight. You’d seen the photos in his home. You’d never discussed it, no need. Things can’t become normal if you’re always pointing them out. Plus, that was his piece to share. 

“Glad to see most of us here aren’t too keen to welcome her. I’d hate to have to find another bar.” Someone said, glancing around the room. “George just started making my martinis right.”

“Care to dance?” Alastor abruptly turned his entire body to you with a slick swivel on his heels.

You nodded, offering small polite goodbyes and setting your drinks back on the table before turning to him.

His open palm was outstretched and offering you a dance. You spread your hand over his and felt him hold you firmly before pulling you into him. 

He held you so close, much closer than anyone else on the dance floor. A scandalous lack of distance between you two. Quiet, Alastor’s eyes were distant. You were in front of him but he wasn’t seeing you. You let the song carry on a little longer for appearances before sighing into a smile.

“Why are we dancing when you have work to do? You have your tools.” Looking up at a man was rarely a view you enjoyed but the way his eyes slid down his nose and landed so sharply on you made it worth it. A look that said he’d devour you if he didn’t adore you so much. Your hand snaked behind his back to touch the hidden outline of this trusty little knife. He briefly wondered if this could be considered foreplay, the way he felt your hand on his lower back and running over his weapon. Much more intimate than he’d ever let anyone else be.

As your bodies swayed, the lights slid across the curve of his eyes and lit that bright honey brown color like a diamond twirling in the sun. The facets of his irises mesmerizing you. 

How terribly did you love him? 

How far would you fall for him?

“This would be a long one. You’d be waiting… could be a couple of hours. I need to be out of sight before she leaves.” A chill. Oh, you’d forgotten for a second, Alastor was a killer. He didn’t do it for ‘justice’ alone, he enjoyed what he did. Immensely. His voice had a note of giddiness and anger that didn’t mix well, but was oddly arousing. 

“Correction, I’d be dancing for hours. Drinking. Letting handsome men waste their money on me.” 

“Oh? Can they buy me a drink, too?”

You brought up your pointer finger, “You remind her of her humanity, and I’ll get a man to buy you a drink.” 

He linked his finger with yours. “I’ll need to give her special attention. She’s earned it.”

You loosely understood this wasn’t attention like you’d be given. This was attention that ran opposite affection. 

“I’m not here to be in your way, Alastor.” A quick kiss to your hand, one you hoped no one else saw. While no one here would be bothered by Brady, you still wanted to keep some semblance of confusion on what you two were to onlookers. 

His laugh was louder than you expected, a few heads turning, “Impossible. I’m always going wherever you are, dear.”

Would you never get up again?

“I’ll stay at the bar. If they close, I’ll just go to Beth’s.” Your fingers lingered in his, “Be careful. The best good deeds are done in the dark.”

A kiss to your nose. So gentle despite the topic. You could imagine it, the violent death of a woman. You could hear the sounds. Hers, his, the knife’s. A pang of guilt set in before you could remind yourself why this woman was going to die. A tiny smile settled on your face, he offered you a gentle command in return, “Understood, honey. Be safe.” 

You let him kiss your hand again and bow out of  the dance. You were doing it, it dawned on you as you watched him walk away. Truly kissing him goodbye at the door as he went off to work. The closest you’d ever gotten, atleast. 

He stopped by a group and said some quick goodbyes, apologies for leaving early, and left the hotel bar. 

You knew he had killed women before, Alastor was all for equality, but a part of you worried. Women tend to scream louder, and be heard more often, than men. A man screams and people just…keep walking. What would he do? Where would he do it?

With a sniffle, you let the jealousy of just what he would need to do to get her alone flutter away. Taking a seat back at your table, you sipped your drink and watched the others dance and chat. How odd, they could sway in such large places with big windows and bright lights with no fear of cops. Your scenes were dark, dusty, never seeing the sky. 

“He left ya?” One of the earlier women came by, someone you vaguely remember him nodding a ‘hello’ to at some point in the evening. 

Thankfully you were still quick on your feet. “Well, we came separately, of course we’d leave separately.”

A laughed, “Of course.” She leaned down, touching at your hair for a second, curiously, “Don’t hold your breath. But, it is nice he got you in here, huh? Must be a treat for you.” 

Your own laugh was just as abrupt as Alastor’s earlier, your hand coming to hide your smile. All you could muster was a nod. Yes, you stood out. Yes, you didn’t fit in with these people for many reasons. But, it wasn’t your first time in nice spaces. First time not pressed into a man who’d been made to believe he was more important the whole time, but still. 

It took two more drinks for Aubrey to leave. But there was a problem. As she was trying to bow out of the room, a man kept hooking his fingers under the loose belt of her boxy drop waist dress.

With practiced skill, you took note of where her eyes lingered on him, how her hand came to his arm but didn’t actually press him away. Not earnestly.

The pushy man saw it too, every little soft ‘no’ was a half ‘yes’. And Aubrey seemed to like that. It was almost ironic, given what she had done, how she egged on the younger man before her now by pretending she didn’t want him. His hand landed on her hip forcefully, her hand on his chest gingerly. He leaned in close, she pulled away barely.

The next act was the most classic to women of your era. The false exit.

Aubrey whispered something, he nodded eagerly and his many hands returned to himself.

She smiled at the back of everyone’s heads, as nearly no one would look her way, and she slipped out the doors.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shimmying as you slid from your booth. Barely a step away, you leaned back and grabbed the last sip in your glass. You swished it around your mouth like listerine, and swallowed it. Before you got too close, you pinched your cheeks until your eyes began to water.

You’d just found a way to make yourself useful.

“Whoopsie Daisy!” You giggled, shoulder colliding with the man’s chest as you stumbled past.

“Watch - ooh, hey,” the free hand that had come to keep you from getting closer quickly softened, curling around your waist. The same hand that’d just been on the socialite. You were sure to look up and sigh into him, your breath soaked in alcohol. “You okay, doll? Had a bit too much?”

With glassy eyes you nodded, closing them and letting your head nod lazily, “I lost my thing!” You laughed, hitting his chest.

“Your what? I happen to be a thing.” 

How quickly he forgot his target when easier to pick fruit appeared.

“No, silly!” A practiced hiccup, “my little…”

“Your little…?”

Your fingers wiggled in the direction of your hip.

“Purse!” A beaming grin. He asked if you needed help finding it. “Well, how else am I gonna get another drink!” The hand on your waist fell to your hip and slunk lower. 

“Oh well, I could help ya with that.” He leaned in, looking around first as if he had a secret, “I have a room upstairs.”

You tutted, “No no, I am a married woman!” He lifted your left hand, turning it over in a dramatic search for a ring. “Well, engaged…” you diverted your gaze. He lifted his hand to his brow then and scanned the room like a sailor to the horizon. “He’s working late.” You whined.

Why did his kind of man always want the taken woman? Did they think the chase was more meaningful then? Did they feel like they’d won some tug-of-war with an invisible, unaware opponent?

Maybe they were hardwired to hoard resources.

You let him seat you at the bar, and when he ordered you a drink you asked to know your savior’s name. William.

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Alastor was none the wiser, smoking a cigarette under the streetlamp just off to the side of the hotel awning. He didn’t smoke often before you, but he found the lure of sitting on the porch passing a pill between you both too hard to fight. And soon enough the habit grew from a drinking pastime to just… something to do with his hands.

As Aubrey appeared, waiting for her driver to retrieve the car, Alastor tossed the butt to the street and walked up on her.

“I’m quite cross with you, Aubrey.” His tone was smiling as his hand slid behind her neck and tugged her away from the safety and lights of the awning.

“Oh! Alastor, I’m actually waiting for my car.” She struggled to keep up with his pace in her heels, weakly pointing back to where the valet had stood earlier. She resisted a little, the palm on the nape of her neck silently shutting her down.

“Nonsense. We have business together.” Alastor let his hand fall to her upper arm as he yanked her into the closest side street. “I hear you’ve been a very bad girl.”

Aubrey huffed, pulling back against him once, then twice, but ultimately acquiesced when she could see his car down the street.

“Fine, you can drive me home then.” A misplaced giggle, her survival skills dulled by ego.

He tossed her roughly against the car, hand gripping her face tightly. She tried to say his name, but his hold was so firm her jaw was locked.

“You’re going to get into my car now.” Alastor’s eyes had lost their pupil, an expanse of a seemingly endless dark brown in the heavy shadows left by the lamp’s light. When he let her face go, she rolled her eyes and pulled open the back seat door.

That wasn’t what he had meant, not there, but he closed the door behind her and got into the driver’s seat. He hadn’t brought the tarp tonight, not expecting to need it, so maybe the backseat was his best option regardless.

When he pulled away, she reminded him he didn’t know her address.

“I’m not taking you home. I told you. I have a bone to pick with you.” Alastor found himself incapable of putting on a ruse for her. His patience was entirely lost in his unraveling anger.

“Oooh? A bone, you say. Well, well.” Aubrey leaned forward onto the front seat, hands snaking down his shoulders and chest so she could nip at his ear, “Finally letting me have a ride.”

He had to set his right hand in the darkness of his lap to hide the tremble, a disgusted rage manifesting in uncommon ways. 

As her fingers found the buttons of his waist coat, Alastor struggled to see the road in front of him. His vision was going white, and then red. His blood pressure was so high he was nearly blind. 

And when two hot fingers broached the small space between buttons of his dress shirt and touched the bare skin of his chest, the car came to an abrupt halt. The force threw her into the backseat. 

Alastor slammed the front seat door shut before opening the back and caging her in. “I can’t stand another second of your existence.” She crawled backward, making room for him. “I’m going to fucking kill you.” 

Aubrey settled her back against the opposite door, “Oh, the petit mort.”

His head hung low in frustration, a growled  “No, the big one.” as he raked his fingers through his hair to keep from punching his own car seat.

“So I’ve heard.” She pulled up the hem of her dress slowly.

“For fucks sake Aubrey! I’m not using double entendre!” His hands wrapped around her neck. “Must I really remind you of what wrongs you’ve committed?!”

A brief panic finally came, “Wrongs?? Excuse you.”

He could have sworn the snap in his brain had been audible to her as he lost his last bit of patience.

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“Excuse me.” You settled back into the seat, having taken a bathroom break to down some water in secret. You weren’t trying to actually end up blacked out.

“Anyway,  that's how we secured the riverside house.” William leaned into you. You tried to sip your drink and found it empty, having managed to finish it absentmindedly while he rambled on about himself earlier. As you stared at him you let your eyes lose focus and drift into plans for the morning. You’d like biscuits. Alastor had some sausage he’d picked up the other day, maybe a little gravy and some eggs. It’d be like a Sunday meal nice families ate after church. You assumed. Out of the peripheral of your daydream you saw him tap the bar twice and hold up two fingers. “Charge to 1033.” He said. With the clarity of someone who wasn’t pretending to be drunk you quickly held up three.

William shot you a confused look.

“One for my darling.” He made a show of looking around, the bartender pausing. You gave him a confirmation nod, “Three, please.”

“And is he in the room with us now, Helen? I’m beginning to think he’s imaginary.”

It seemed a fine enough name to give him.

“No! But I made a promise. Or…,” you returned the lean, head resting on his shoulder, “are three drinks a little steep for you?“ With a huff, he pulled out a pair of C notes and set them on the bar. The bartender nodded, reaching for the top shelf. You whistled at the sight. Too much money for the total seven drinks he’d ordered, if you weren’t somewhere Alastor frequented you’d have slipped them under the lip of your stockings when the man wasn’t looking. He was charging the room anyway, the large bills were just for show…

“One reviver for the miss, one brandy for the sir, and a rye whiskey neat for the beau.” The bartender set the drinks down on red napkins. The whiskey sat between you both, and after a beat you realized you hadn’t actually told him what to make for Alastor. And come to think of it, your last drink hadn’t been a reviver at all but a brandy ordered by William.

“Ya know I stood up another woman to help you,” he said it into your cheek, stealing your attention by breaking your line of thought. His arm around your shoulder curled to hold you closer, “Don’t I get a reward for that?”

His breath reeked of sickeningly sweet brandy, the taste sticking to the back of your throat. Your head tilted back so you could look at him down your nose, right hand coming to rest on his thigh.

The heat of his body was radiating through the fabric of his pants and made your stomach turn. How many hot and sweaty bodies had you had the pleasure and displeasure of touching?

A smirk painted your face, remembering seeing sweat sticking to Alastor’s forehead the last time he fucked you. What had you done for that reward? Ah right, the somehow shocking act of not withholding praise for how well planned out his greenhouse was. How impressive he was to you in so many ways. You could have lingered on that recollection, on how Alastor set down his coffee and kissed you. And how he didn’t stop until you were both left undone and flustered. But movement stirred away the pleasant memory to bring you back to an unpleasant reality.

His hand roamed down your arm, uncomfortably warm palm on your exposed skin. 

“Oh, I know you did.” You said.

William chuckled, absolutely no idea what you were talking about and not particularly giving a shit. “Did I mention I have a room here?”

“Ten thirty three.” You repeated. 

He looked genuinely shocked, “How’d you know that?” The man was absolutely mystified.

“I— you just…,” your mask slipped in the face of such abject stupidity, “Lucky guess.” William drank his brandy slowly, mentioning you should bet on the ponies together. You nodded. 

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Alastor didn’t care for strangulation. It took so much time and wasn’t particularly satisfying. No pleading, no screaming, no blood and gore. Just…. someone flailing beneath you and turning purple. Boring. 

He brought up the accusations before he began to squeeze, and her panic transformed to relief. “Oh that?” She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down, “Are you really miffed at me about that?”

“Yes, Aubrey! You condemned an innocent child to a horrid death!” His hands loosened, all of his neurons firing off to feel pain in his own heart. 

She rolled her eyes, “I wouldn’t call them children. You seem so upset, hun. Did you have a mam-?”

The rest of the word was barely squeaked out of her, he couldn’t let her finish it. He wasn’t sure what face he made. But whatever it was, it scared her. The carefree way she’d been handling the interaction finally died, and he could register actual fear in her eyes then. 

But the rage just … withered. How many children had his mother loved and doted on before her last, much kinder position? How many Aubreys had she raised. It was nothing short of an overwhelmingly violent sadness that laced his finger together around her neck and tightened, the full weight of his body coming down to crush her airways. He wanted such sentiments to be smothered out of the world like the air in her lungs. If he killed enough, could he make a dent in their influence? He could try. For her. For his mother. 

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“Ya know, I could take real good care of you. If that’s what’s stopping you from coming upstairs.” 

With a deep breath, you gulped the drink halfway down. “Your fella doesn’t need to know. I could even get you your own place, you could wait for me there when he’s late with work. Have dinner ready. Slip off my shoes like a good girl.”

“Trust me; you’ve got a better chance of her smacking you with your shoes than slipping them off like a maid.” Alastor was resting his elbow on the bar behind you, head leaning on his hand. “Hey doll. That one mine?” He pointed at the glass.

“Oh? Alastor is the fiancé?,” William gave off a snide laugh as he was interrupted, Alastor standing up and walking to come between you two, “This guy?! Everyone knows he’s a frigid bitch. You must be a dive alley-cat if you’re—,” Alastor’s fist connected with the man’s jaw, eliciting a sickening crack. He needed both hands to keep himself from falling down with William as he was knocked back out of his bar stool. Alastor’s feet slipped on the spilt brandy, causing him to seize the stool for momentary support.

Alastor took the glass of whiskey with his non-dominant hand and downed it. He cooed, “Top shelf, Georgie?” The bartender nodded. “Good choice. Picked a worthy sucker, sweetheart. Ready to peel?”

You watched William try to stand, glass stuck to his palm. He did manage to get on his knees, shouting at the staff who stood motionless and unphased behind the counter. They didn’t say anything at all, oddly, until Alastor extended his swelling hand to you.

“Have a good evening, sir.”

Alastor flashed his signature smile and guided you out of the hotel bar. You only got a few steps before quickly running back and snatching one of the 100$ bills from the counter. William would’ve taken it back from the bar anyway. What a waste!

When a waiter offered Alastor a warm and familiar look you had to wonder, did people really not know what he did in the darkness of the New Orlean’s alleys? Did a part of them not feel some kind of debt to him? Or was he just painfully friendly when socializing?

“Just to be clear,” Alastor let the doorman open the lobby door, “It’s not the accusation of sex work that compelled me to sock him. It’s the implication you’d be cheap.” He waved the valet from the car and opened the door for you, “If you chose to sell your companionship at true worth, his daddy’s money couldn’t even buy him a kiss.”

“Aww,” you smiled at him through the thin windowpane, “Would you really be so cavalier about such a job if I did?”

“Would I? Gosh that’d make retirement much quicker for me.” He slid into the driver's seat and the door shut with a sharp ting. As he took hold of the wheel he reclined to let his hand settle behind you on the backrest, and then you three were off. 

“Oh by the way, Aubrey’s in the backseat.”

You turned slowly, first coming into view were her tiny, shining silver shoes. Your eyes kept traveling; stocking covered calves and then the bottom of her dress just past her knees.

Alastor’s coat draped over her torso and shoulders caused you to flit to him, confirming his jacket was gone, and back to her. 

Her face looked like that of a sleeping passenger. 

No blood.

When the car was a few blocks from the hotel, you leaned back and lifted the jacket. Her abdomen was clean, the white of her dress pristine. At first her neck seemed clear of cuts or abrasions until you rode past a streetlamp and a beam of light revealed the slowly forming collar of bruises.

Special attention.

For a hair of a moment you began to gently cover her again, before remembering her crimes and dropping it on her unceremoniously.

“Trunk not good enough for her?”

“Got interrupted. Booked it back to you.” He shook his head and patted the seat in tandem.

What luck that just as he felt sure she was too far gone for revival, he let go over her neck and sat up in time for someone to notice him. Fishing in his jacket draped over the seat, he found his cigarette case just as—

“What exactly are you two doing?” An officer was flashing his light through the passenger side back window.

Alastor froze, Aubrey motionless between his legs and a cigarette dangling unlit between his lips. “You startled me, officer! We were just canoodling. But she’s gone and fallen asleep before the main event.”

The officer’s brass light shone down but couldn’t reach the dead woman’s face past the shadow cast by the car door and glass. “She alright?”

Alastor’s eyes drifted down to the deceased socialite, “Truth be told sir, she’s had a bit too much of the giggle water.” Fishing your lighter from his waistcoat pocket, he lit this cigarette before setting the jacket over Aubrey like a gentleman.

“Alright y'all better get lost. Tell your moll this ain’t ladylike.” The officer tapped the window with his knuckle and when she didn’t stir just left with a huff.

Alastor was quick to leave the backseat and drive off, circling around at the next block to head back to the hotel.

“Is… everything alright?” You asked, very obviously concerned.

“Peachy! I just said we were necking before she passed out drunk.“ he leaned over and kissed your cheek, “Anything exciting on your end?”

Patting his leg you beamed up at him, “Always so quick on your feet! I don’t know why I worry so much.” His face lit up and you wanted nothing more than to launch into a praise filled rant that fueled his smile. But, you moved on to the question at hand. After a moment to think, you remembered ‘the best good deeds are done in the dark’. “Nope! Just got tipsy on William’s dime. An odd woman did touch my hair…,” you recounted every second, leaving out why you chose William, to Alastor. You hadn’t meant to, and he hadn’t actually asked, the evening’s events just seemed to flow out of you. The way he always added little comments and nodded made it feel like a conversation and not just you rambling. 

When the car was pulling into the driveway, you asked Alastor if you could drive it behind the house. Puzzled, he put it in park and let you sit between his legs. You started slowly, but quickly began to accelerate. As you approached the house you turned sharply to the left, right side tires ever so slightly leaving the ground. A sharp correction to the right to straighten out. One of his hands clutched you at the waist, the other gripping the seat.

He tried to form some kind of words but they came out a jumbled and panicked mash of sounds as you barreled toward the greenhouse. 

You slammed your foot on the brakes and Aubrey flew off the back seat and hit the floor with a loud thud.

“Ha!” You slapped the wheel, “I’ve been wanting to hear that sound the whole drive!” 

He used both arms now to squeeze you appreciatively, “You’re just the bee’s knees.” Alastor nuzzled into the back of your neck, truly feeling his heart flutter. You made him skip a beat. So many days and nights not even imagining such a pairing.

The best scenario he could think up was a partner who wouldn’t ask questions, who didn’t care to know, who was maybe a little too naive but otherwise capable. Even in his wildest dreams he hadn’t dared to think someone would exist who could support him.

And not just in the killing, which was a hurdle of course, but the other parts of him. The little sacrifices you made for him without complaint. 

What did he do for you, he worried. Your body was his on the occasions he wanted but never did you ask for him. You shared the housework equally. Yes he drove you around but your skills with the car were still new. Insignificant things, like making your coffee when he awoke first and waiting for you after work. With the detective still looking for connections, he couldn’t even properly introduce you or flaunt you around to his circles.

Like a flash of lightning taking down a tree, insecurity shook him. What on earth was keeping you there? Of all the people in New Orleans, how was he any more worth your time than the next?

If anything, he was nothing short of troublesome. His hold on you twisted from thankful to desperate.

Even the lovely evening out he had promised you, he’d left you alone in a strange place. A stranger had bought you more drinks than he had. 

“Would you like to go to the woods with me tonight? To dispose of Aubrey?” His lips swiped across the fabric of your dress as he said it.

The sudden advancement into his hobby took you by surprise. You hugged his arms against you, “Really? Are you sure?”

“If you don’t want to…”

“Is that what I said?”

“Well, no….”

“Don’t put words in my mouth! I absolutely want to go!” Your arms squeezed his.

He chuckled into your shoulder and gave your hip a pat, “Let me get her packaged up. You go rest your feet and I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go.”

You watched from the kitchen, the light he hung from the greenhouse ceiling setting the entire space aglow. When he finally emerged, his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and his hair was falling into his face, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose before he could push it back into place. He waved from the porch, and when you made it out to him he was already pulling out small bundles.

“We’ll bury the pieces in separate places.” He dragged out a small trash tin with the lid already clapped down. “And this goes into the water.”

The packages were like Tommy’s, but smaller. They fit easily into the trunk, and beside them he snuggly fit the metal bucket.

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The Ford was parked down a dirt road far from sight, taking a parcel at a time and a shovel, you followed him into the woods. 

You had to ask, why not just his land? Wasn’t that safer? Easier?

“Well, a skull found out here is easier to act shocked about than on my property.”

The ground was still soft, but you could imagine it was rock solid in winter. “Isn’t this dangerous? Aren’t you slowed down in the colder months?” You kept your eyes open wide, adjusting to the pitch black of the forest. The trees were too close and too full still to see the stars. But soon they’d brown and die, revealing the sky’s light. Revealing Alastor.

“Eh it’s mostly busy during mating season because the hunters come out in numbers. But in general I avoid being here in the very early morning hours.” He paused and you reached out for the shovel for your turn, “It’s not too bad overall.”

“They mate in fall. It’s almost fall now.” You widened your stance for balance and began to dig. 

“Yeeees but I’m not alone!” He chirped.

“Fine… just, don’t come out when I’m not able to join you. Just wait or, I don’t know, burn them or something.” You tried to dig fast, wanting to spare his injured hand another turn.

“Very ineffective, brings too much attention and the body never burns all the way. It’s still identifiable in many cases.” Alastor said it quickly, as he’d had nearly a lifetime to think of these things and test them. 

You huffed, “Well, fuck. Okay. Still.” You leaned over and offered your index finger, not looking at him as you did. He laughed before wiping his hand clean on his pants and hooking his with yours. 

A small scream erupted from you, startling him. Your short heel sunk into the dirt when you leaned to lock fingers. The sudden loss of balance startled you. “Sorry… flat shoes. I need flat shoes…these are gonna be the death of me.”

Alastor’s hand came to his heart, pounding in his chest, “Of us. My heart nearly stopped.”

You dug many holes, all of them quite small in radius, just wide enough to slip in what you needed to. After each was deep enough by some standard you didn’t know, he would untie the twine around the package and let the contents spill out and down into the little cylinderical pocket of dirt. 

The first package had her hands. Then next was her feet. Her arms in pieces and then later her legs. The hips, the chest and shoulders, and finally, her head. You were grateful for the darkness, not wanting to see her face now that it was no longer attached to her body. 

The brush was so thick and the woods so dense that you found it hard to distinguish the burial spots once they’d been filled in and covered up. He explained most people came out there with a purpose, not really noticing some disturbed dirt here and there. It’s not like they’re people sized.

“You’re just something else, ya know that?” You said it into the shadows and didn’t see him wince. But you somehow, accidentally, knew to clarify, “I’m always so impressed by your way of doing things. You’ve really thought it out well huh? I know I should worry less but it’s hard.”

Because of the shade you didn’t see the way his shoulders relaxed. You never made him regret your inclusion.

Alastor carried the bucket as you slowly made your way through the darkness. You could hear the sounds of bugs, though you couldn’t see any.  The water surprised you, his arm coming to stop you from walking into the bayou.

“In winter they’ll get really still, so I slow down then too. But we still have time, it’s not too cold yet for them.” He took off the lid, the smell of copper blossoming from the tin.

With practiced moves, he tossed the viscera as far as he could into the small inlet marsh of the river. 

Within seconds the water frothed and rolled with the snapping of powerful jaws.

“Gosh they’re so neat.” You said, reaching out into the darkness for his hand. You couldn’t see him looking at you as you watched the prehistoric animals dispose of his crimes.

He wanted to kiss you. To confess every little happiness you filled his formerly hollow chest with. But he held back. He knew better. He’d tried before, once. When he thought settling was better than nothing. It ended terribly. It was better to just exist beside you for as long as you’d entertain his company. If you knew, he thought, of all the futures he imagined with you, you’d just feel tied down by his hopes. You weren’t a small bird he could hold in his home. 

You promised to not get in his way. The least he could do was not cage you with his love. He wouldn’t hold you back.

“Alastor.”

“Yeah?” He said dreamily.

“I think… ” You fought the urge to scream at the sensation between your toes, “Aubrey dripped into my shoes.”

Alastor yanked the bucket away from you, the angle he haphazardly held at it with a single finger to hold your hand having caused the liquid remains to leak out.

“Ankle boots. Ankle boots, no heel.” You muttered, the shoe rinsed off in the water with a paranoid speed now squishing under your sole. The action was enough to draw attention to your shore, long and round snouts moving toward you in the night as you got rid of Aubrey. It was time to go. 

The drive home was dark and silent. The bucket and tarps rinsed with the gas can full of water he always kept in the oversized, custom built trunk. It had taken longer than you had realized, which just brought up renewed worry for his sleep schedule.

When you finally made it home and into the bedroom, he mumbled it was too late to shower. A coordinated grumble between you that you’d both just wash the sheets in the morning. Alastor sat on the end of the bed and bent down, your hand coming to his shoulder to stop him. 

Exhausted, aching, and quite confident you smelled of sweat coated dirt with the tiniest hint of dead Aubrey mixed with alive William (blood and brandy, respectively), you lowered yourself to your knees. You untied the waxed laces of the right shoe, made of a shiny brown leather, and slipped it off. 

Alastor felt his throat tighten as he had to blink to keep tears away. You always seemed to listen when he spoke. Really listened, even when he was just being playful. Another tiny sweetness piled onto the mountain you were currently burying him under. Another ounce of inadequacy tipped on his self measured scales.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Hush, I don’t have to do anything.” You said it and he laughed breathlessly knowing he’d heard it before and praying he’d hear it forever. “I want to.”

You set the left shoe beside the right. When you didn’t stand but instead stared at him patiently, Alastor undid his pants and lifted his hips to push them down. You folded them neatly beside his shoes. Feeling up his legs as if you couldn’t see them there in front of you, you found his sock garters. 

“Keep the socks, please. It’s getting chilly.” He undid his shirt and folded it on his lap. 

When he was in just his underwear and socks, you looked up at him and wondered if he knew. That this was the closest to expressing “I love you” you had ever been. The act itself perhaps far louder than any words could be.

Sitting back, he patted between his legs like he had in the car. As you sat, he undid the buttons down the back of your dress. Why were so many women’s clothing items made in a way that required two people?

In the mirror above the dresser you took in the sight. When the dress fell to your waist he kissed your shoulder and met you in the reflection.

“Quite a pretty couple, if I do say so myself.” He rested his chin where he had just kissed and smiled at you. “What did I do to deserve your attention?”

“Affection,” you corrected. “Aubrey got attention.” He nodded slightly. “I think it’s karma.” You watched his brow arch. “You’ve earned me. Whatever that means, or looks like. We were put together for a reason.”

It was the sappiest thing you’d ever said and a year ago you’d have laughed in someone’s face for saying it. If a character in a novel spewed it out in a confession you’d have closed the book. But you meant it. Every single word was part of the fact this was supposed to happen. The idea that any timeline existed where your paths never crossed gave you the shivers.

Alastor closed his eyes, exhaustion catching up quickly as comfort opened the door for it. That didn’t make any sense to him at all. Why would anyone, god or the devil, give him something good just for the sake of being a good thing. He was very plainly bad. There must be a catch. That fear he felt before, the fear of wanting something too much, reappeared. Turning its ugly head to him as if called by name. 

Why? He could feel something, someone, setting their sights on him. 

When he opened his eyes, you were there still, looking at him. A smile too sweet. He felt the compulsion to tell you to run. That if this was his karma, it would end the way he deserved. And he didn’t deserve happiness. He didn’t deserve you.

But instead he leaned down, lifted your dress, and unclamped your garters. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted to cling to what good he had now. Even knowing he couldn’t possibly get to keep it. His fingertips delighted in rolling down the delicate nylon. He watched the red stained end loosen around your toes, a mental note to burn them before he continued his undressing.

“Lift your hips, my love. I’ll get you all ready for bed.” As he pressed forward and bent into you so he could slip off the stockings he turned to look at the you in front of him, “And I’ll keep you warm.”

Peaceful. Your head on his chest. Even breathes, strong heart. Corporeal. Real. There with you. A ritual to whoever brought you into his embrace, every morning you lied against him and you stared out the window. Past the greenhouse, where the woods were allowed to run wild and you knew the animals therein were safe to exist as they were meant to. Everything and everyone in their element.

His fingers would make little circles and pattern eights along your shoulder blade. Your gaze out and forward, his intently focused on the ceiling fan; then and there.

Occasionally he’d spell a word across your skin  to see if you were paying attention. Today: B R E A K F A S T ?

He didn’t want to interrupt the sounds of the radio on the dresser with the half hearted question.

He carried your plate out onto the front porch, the swinging bench as much a perfectly suitable place to eat as anywhere else. You both tended to enjoy the back porch, but he felt an urge for novelty.

As you nibbled, he stared at the car. He didn’t really want to leave, but he wanted to go somewhere with you.

“Can I take you to the water? We could fish. I’m in no rush today.” You were unsure, tilting your head a little when he asked. He had offered before but you admitted you didn’t know how. “You’ll have time to shower before work.” His index finger came over and waited for yours to hook into his.

Alastor was beyond smitten watching you and your trousers bound down his steps. Hand in hand, in the early morning breeze of the impending fall, he led you through his property to the water’s edge.

A small cup of earthworms he scrounged up while you changed, two poles from the shed, and a bucket he hoped would have fish soon enough.

As a child he often ran through the woods of his home and played pretend, and as he got older and his imagination shifted he would fish for his mother. When his friends began to date and pair off, he’d hunt animals in a parallel kind of chase. 

They took home gals, he dragged in rabbits.

And when his mother died, and the food he brought home was more than he needed, he stopped venturing past the clearing. That trek home to a bright house, his mother waiting on the back porch surrounded by the chirps of crickets was something he cherished.

But then her silhouette was gone. And the cricket’s song became one of loneliness. The walk to the house now a chore, a thing he had to do to get from Point A to Point B.

Pulling you by the hand past the field and its tall grass, into the shade of the trees where the air was so cool it bordered on wet, he wasn’t so worried about the return trip. No tedium in the navigation now.  

Alastor wasn’t loquacious as it were, but when he did feel like talking he talked. He could, and did, name every species of fish that lived in the river. The ones he liked to eat, the ones he liked to look at, and the fish he didn’t care for much at all. His mother’s favorite was bluegill, and he said it was the scariest fish when he was young.

“The fucker has spikes!” He said it like he was introducing a villain, “I grabbed one once and it flexed these spines and I dropped it. I broke a pole trying to beat one to death once because I was too scared to pick it up again.”

You’d never fished. Not because you didn’t care for it, it just wasn’t what you did. Your mother didn’t take you to rivers or the sea. You stayed in buildings and parks near people. You could see the water, just never really interacted with it. Luckily, Alastor was ecstatic to teach you. 

He saddled up behind you and explained how to cast out. It took a few tries to get it right, the release of the line a little tricky to get down at first. You could see the shine of the reels and could tell they were expensive and unused. Easily they were worth more than three dollars a piece. He bought two of them… when? The thought brought a silly, crooked smile you couldn’t contain. 

“A friend accidentally hooked his own back once.” You watched the way his gaze seemed to soften as he was looking into the distant past.

“I hope he’s gotten better at it.”

Alastor shrugged. 

Oh, right… Alastor had friends in a sense, but never had he really introduced you to someone that was remotely important. No one he lit up for, no one he invited over, no one he completely relaxed his put-on smile for. You had to wonder where they'd all gone.

“Do you ever see him?”

He shook his head, “He has a life now.”

Your chuckle wasn’t meant to be cruel, but it came off a little too incredulous, “Do you not have a life?”

He didn't look at you, which was the loudest indicator he wasn’t fond of the question. He cast out his own line, waiting to reply until he could settle, “Sweetheart, do you really think I’ve been living a life compatible with his? Or any of them?” He pulled back on the line a little to feel the tension, “Wives get uncomfortable inviting over single 40 somethings like myself. And I can only stomach so many surprise female dinner guests at such things.”

You felt like an ass. 

Being a single man at his age, with a good job, a car, and land, made people uncomfortable. A lifelong chosen bachelor is fine, a rake is expected, but someone who seemed to be disinterested in dating and in fooling around? You could imagine the looks on their wive’s faces, asking questions that were thinly veiled insults.

What do you do for fun?

Is it difficult to find respectable dates when you work in jazz?

So, you’ve never been married, is that right? Not even close?

A mood change. You waited a moment to let silence kill the topic and asked, “What is the catch you’re most proud of?”

He thought for a second before a lopsided grin spread and you felt your heartbeat relax. “A gull.”

“A gull?!”

Alastor cackled, doubling over at the memory. “I threw out my line and as it flew through the air, a gull passing by grabbed the worm. It fought me for a minute before managing to get loose.” He ended up squating, blue jeans rolled up at the ankles and covered in spurs you just now noticed. “It looked as confused as I was.”

The morning was spent reveling in new and useless information about each other. Your fear of dogs, his fear of armadillos (someone told them they had the plague). The time you accidentally walked into a stranger’s home, the time he startled an old woman because he was standing too still in a store and she thought he was a mannequin.

Moments of intimacy intermittently interrupted by a tugging of the fishing line and excited easing in of the prize.

The fuckers did have spikes. You reached out for your first successful catch and the barbs pricked you. With a hurried step back, your short heel sank into the dirt and you lost your balance. Your ass hit the ground hard, and you needed a breath before you could reply to Alastor’s worried questions.

“I’m fine”, just embarrassed, you assured him before picking up your shoe and throwing it, “I have to go home and change out these shoes.” Leftie smacked against the tree with a soft pop.

“Bring over a few pairs, if you have them. I’m sure a pair of mom’s could fit you, you can wear them home. We could toss these into the river. Shoot ‘em. Run em over.” He retrieved the thrown shoe before kneeling to remove the other one. He touched your ankle, eyes shooting up to monitor your face for any pained expressions. “Burn ‘em.”

“First my stockings last week and now my shoes? You’ve gone fire-happy.” You wiggled your toes for his peace of mind, “It’s okay, I don’t have many shoes. We’ll reconcile someday.”

Alastor sat down properly on the grass and dirt of the river’s edge and took off his shoes and socks. You thought maybe he was trying to commiserate somehow, until he shoved the socks into the toe box and slipped one onto your foot. 

You warned he didn’t have to do that and he flashed you a look, his smirk alone called you a hypocrite and made you go silent. “You can’t perform with tattered feet or a rolled ankle.” He laced them tightly, “I know where the stickers and ant hills are, I’ll be fine.”

Your eyes wandered over the bucket of water and fish, the worms in their cup, and his bare feet on the grass.

“Who taught you to be such a well rounded gentleman?” A rhetorical question, mostly. 

“My mother, of course.”

“Your father didn’t worry you’d be too soft?”

“Ah, apparently not. He left before I was born,” Alaster fidgeted with the straps of your shoes. “He hadn’t considered,” every word was measured, “the realities of,” you could see him searching for the words in real time; this was a conversation he had never had before, “of being with my mother before knocking her up.”

The ‘family planning’ conversation on the kitchen table fluttered back to you.

“Oh, can I have permission to hate him?” Always the easiest emotion.

He clicked his tongue, hands busy looping your shoes together by their straps and then attaching them to his belt loop.

“He left her the house and the land before going. Kept his promise to help take care of me, in that sense. So, no. I think indifference is fair enough.” He grabbed your fish by the tail and placed it into the bucket. “Kinda funny though, had he stuck around he’d have seen how the only thing I got from him was his biggest worry: my complexion!” A joyless laugh, “But I’m just like her in all the ways that matter.”

It came out before you could think it through, “He didn’t love your mother?”

He winced. “Cowards can love just fine, I think. Maybe they love the hardest actually.” You nodded, knowing this wasn’t a philosophical debate where your opinion was needed. “I mean, what kind of man just gives away his only assets?” Alastor leaned over to fix the collar of your blouse, “A scared idiot in love, of course.”

You wondered about ‘family planning’. In their age it was nothing short of guessing and lamb innards. It was impossible to pretend you knew what his father would have lived through had he stayed. But you knew very well what Alastor lived through because he left. New Orleans was different than many other parts of the country when it came to mixed children, but the attitude was less acceptance and more a baseline tolerance for their existence.

The conversation, and shoe change, brought a natural end to the morning. Alastor helped you up, taking the opportunity to brush off your backside. 

He led you until the clearing, he knew the land was flat there, and slowed down to let you walk a little bit ahead. The view of the house was much more inviting with you in it.

As promised, a shower. Originally alone, Alastor sitting on the toilet seat talking to you about dinner. Then he got quiet. He startled you a little when he peeked behind the curtain but everything settled when he got inside and his hands wrapped around your waist. Kisses for kiss’s sake. Skin on skin just to feel closer than you were before. A hum buzzing his chest as you hugged him tightly and wasted some water. Well, ‘wasted’ is subjective. The warmth radiating off his stomach rivaled the shower’s spray. You knew there wasn’t time for a nap, but the comfort was so deeply rooted you worried you’d fall asleep in his arms then and there. 

His mothers shoes did fit, a pair of her black double straps with a nice wide heel replaced your T-straps and their damned thin one. The offer and action of presenting them to you was bigger than could be acknowledged. It was clear in how he wiped them clean with drilled in focus and set them in front of the bed for you like the main course of a fancy meal. The way they’d been kept packaged and neat in the guest closet. 

“Throwing them away seemed a waste. Glad they could be of use.” He said it so casually but it was more than that. When she died he packed away her items and forgot about them. He couldn’t throw them away. It still felt like her house, after all. Who was he to change anything?

It was a little surprise to himself when he offered them to you. It seemed natural at the moment but as he said it his calm heart backtracked. Was that okay to do? Was it disrespectful to his mother? Was it rude to offer you a dead woman’s things? Would you be uncomfortable?

The little strings of worry all cut loose though when you did the straps and said, “I’ll return them in perfect condition.”

He had thought you’d take them forever. But no, that was better. “I’ll buy you your own just like them.”

You quickly buried the sincere sweetness of the moment with a joke, “Finally this long con is paying off!” What else could you do, threading the strap of your beau’s dead, dearly loved mother’s heels? It was like being on cloud nine with lead shoes. Confusingly wonderful and supremely daunting. You were literally walking in her shoes. The irony made you squeeze your arms to your sides to make sure your sweat pads were in their place.

Alastor thought if all you were getting out of this was a pair of shoes, you were definitely coming up in the red. 

Negative. 

Losing out. 

He knew it was a joke,  but had it been true he’d build a home on his land and fill it with shoes and dresses and whatever else you asked for. A stage all your own if you wanted. He’d clap and throw flowers at your feet nightly. If you’d let him. 

Maybe he could do that anyway. Every night, praise you with his mouth in all the ways he could imagine you’d enjoy. 

The analogy carried through as he drove you to work. What was the price of admission and had he managed to afford it yet? Again, he fretted over what he was giving you in all of… whatever exactly this was.

He knew exactly what he wanted it to be and knew very well what you didn’t want. So, letting sleeping dogs lie, he instead considered what you were actually getting out of the arrangement as it stood now. 

He’d met women who just wanted a home to pretty up. You had your own space you seemed keen on so he doubted that was it. Sometimes women pursued him for his obvious disposable income. Images of you swiping the hundred off the hotel bar played across his thoughts. No, you seemed capable enough to earn more than your job paid. If anything you seemed to enjoy chasing down marks.

You’d made it clear your thoughts on marriage (“I won’t be bought by jewelry and promises of a pretty cage.”)  though he did consider what could ever make you want that legal lock. He’d had friends who would have liked the safety a husband lended their image. Women who didn’t have any need or want for men in general. But things like banking and ownership were easier with a husband. And if he was aware of their preferences, they could still enjoy their love lives as they always had tried to before marriage. Alastor had considered such an offer before. Seriously considered it. It seemed to solve all of the problems he and his lady friend had. 

His hands twisted around the steering wheel. He knew, deep in the marrow of his bones, he was always going to be alone. But the tiniest speck of desire to have someone love him and share his life remained buried in the viscera of his reality. So he turned down the sham marriage. What if he met someone inconceivable? Suddenly he would be an adulterer. Which was just hilarious to him. Such a thing could lead to a loss of employment and social shunning. 

Plus, his mother would shake her head if he opened her very deserved home to someone purely existing to make a pleasant lie for the world. Disappointment could leak straight from her grave and into the floorboards.

Everyone wants something, though. He wanted to be seen in his entirety and accepted as he was.

You?

Well. All the things you seemed to want you had. Autonomy. Adoration. Attention. 

His mind conjured images of you sitting pretty in your trousers in Beth’s. Moments like those, before he knew you, you had all of the things you wanted and seemingly needed. It made you upsettingly attractive to him. 

Alastor didn’t want to be needed by someone, he wanted to be wanted by someone who already had everything.

As the car rolled over the bridge and you both made your way into the city proper, his thoughts wandered back to the notion of rings. His mother never had one, so he had nothing to hand down. Would you wear gold, like the necklace you hung on the mirror in the guest room? Or silver?

He suppressed an embarrassed chuckle, he was getting ahead of himself again. Daydreaming while he drove like he always did. But this time you were in the car with him. 

You caught him blushing, asking if he got too much sun by the water earlier. Alastor’s eyes went wide and he laughed a forced ‘ha ha ha!’, punctuated by a flat and low “No!”

All you could do was laugh in return when he didn’t elaborate. The way he was gripping the steering wheel made his knuckles go pale through the thin skin of his hands.  But the wonky smile he had told you he wasn’t angry. 

He gave you a peck outside the theater’s side door, promised to swing by yours after work so you could grab some shoes, and drove off. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Excuse you, you’re not welcome here.”

You heard it but didn’t really register what that implied. Sometimes people tried to sneak in who’d been banned, but it was…not common. The list of people was quite short. You didn’t stop to think of them all, regardless.

You made a habit of calling Ruth by her stage name as early in the work day as you could remember, to avoid any slip ups. So when you called out to her as you worked the room after your performance, she knew to answer.

“Skye, could you bring me some water?” Leaning on the bar you watched her make her own drink, flashing you a wink. She always got tipsy and ended up behind the bar when she was in a good mood. Which was most nights. The staff didn’t mind, the real money to be made was in liquor and whatever could be passed off as beer. So the extra pair of hands was appreciated.

“You’ve been especially happy lately. Good sex?” The glass was slid to you. All you could do was nod. You’d hadn’t actually had sex in awhile, but that wasn’t anyone’s business.

Your smile barely had a chance to slip off your face, your senses too quick for your body to keep up. The awareness that something was wrong hit you fast and hard, but only milliseconds before you felt someone grab you.

Brady’s hand gripped your shoulder and pulled you backwards, something slipping around your wrists as a uniformed cop came around the corner of the atrium. You struggled to get away from him, shouting general protests to being suddenly manhandled. Your voice erupted, the first cannon shot of the war as women and men began to swarm and berate the detective.

Barely a shocked laugh could be choked out from your tightening throat. 

“You’re under arrest!” He yelled it, looking at you for just a moment before announcing it to the audience. An actor to his crowd.

“For what?!” Johnny pushed Brady with two fingers to the chest. 

“Prostitution.”

A beat of silence as the room collectively gasped. Ruth was the first one to truly lay her hands on him, snatching his hat off and smacking him across the head. The other dancers moved like a school of fish, tucking Ruth into the safety of their numbers with a simultaneous jostling of the detective.

The cop leading you away stopped, “Just her? I thought-,”

Detective Brady dusted his hat off with the back of his hand and shooed the man away. “Just her.”

Before you had reached the glass doors of the theater, you tensed and pulled back. “What the fuck are you doing, Mr. Brady?”

But Brady wasn’t looking at you. He was scanning the room. Staring into the small but fierce roiling mass of regulars, dancers, and staff filling up the doorway in front him and flooding the atrium. 

Johnny sized up Brady, getting nose to nose with him, “Show your face here again and we’ll need an ambulance, not a wagon!”

Brady leaned into the confrontation, “Now sir I’d be careful. That almost sounds like a threat.”

“Sure as shit is!” Someone hissed. 

“Hey! Brady!” You tried again in vain to get his attention.

“Hush. You confessed to it already, no point crying now.” The cop’s voice was harsh, his disgust barely hidden. His palms were calloused and scratched at the exposed skin of your arms.

“Someone! Someone call-,” Ruth snapped her fingers as the syllables teetered on the tip of her tongue.

Goosebumps rose across your shoulders like little tombstones. Your autonomic nervous system came to a crawl. The grip on your arm tightened as you had to be wretched forward and out of the front doors.

Her eyes lit up, “Alastor! Does anyone have Alastor’s work number?!” Ruth was met with confused faces and shrugs from the others.

You didn’t feel yourself begin to cry, it was a reaction to the fact you hadn’t blinked since you became aware Brady didn’t seem too interested in your reaction to this.

This wasn’t an arrest. It was a trap.

Edward Freeman met Kenneth Brady when the younger man was partnered with him. He was bright eyed, and had a sense of justice Freeman appreciated. He was already tired of the rigamarole of police work, so the fresh energy reinvigorated his early days and long nights. It was rather pointless though, police work, given the people in charge weren’t fans of cracking down on the illegal booze business. It was making too much money under the tables and in handshakes.

The nation was still reeling from the crash of the market nearly two years prior. Any way to get ahead, to stay with your chin above the rising waters, well… what harm is there really in feeding your family? The end justifies the means, right? And Brady didn’t seem to disagree too much with that sentiment. 

So when the typically stringent, but otherwise soft spoken and relaxed, Brady began to…devolve into someone a little too myopic, Freeman wasn’t quite sure how to handle him. They’d been rather laissez-faire about the morality of things for so long. They tried to keep violence at a minimum so their fellow citizens could enjoy their city. That was the extent of it. But, Brady was becoming obsessed. 

It started normally enough. Brady bringing up a missing husband. Later on, a missing bartender. Soon he was snooping on to other’s cases, convinced something was connecting them. 

But, given the times and the character of such people, well, Freeman couldn’t quite understand Brady’s fervor. Sure. Some of them probably ended up under backyards and in the water. Hell, quite a few of them he’d have helped do away once he got the real dirt on them. A conspiracy? Or a mass killer? That seemed implausible at best. There was simply no indication of a grande scheme. 

Brady kept pushing. Walking the streets at night with ears open and eyes peeled, for any inkling of what was going on. 

He just couldn’t accept that sometimes people leave town or jobs. Very few of them were actually reported by loved ones, even the ones that had them.

Then came along the widow Dupre, watery eyed and shaking about her missing adult son. Who, from what they’d uncovered, was a real piece of work.

Freeman let Brady start his investigation, but as it became clear he was adding it to his pile of random disappearances, Freeman had to step away. He could see the obsession ruining his friend. 

At a rare dinner with the families, the stress on Brady’s wife’s face was visible for all to see. She cornered Freeman in the kitchen when he went for more coffee, asking if Brady was stepping out on her or if he truly had been working so hard on something big. 

He hardly knew what to say. Neither were true. He’d been working late, but on a wild goose chase. 

When he dragged a clean cut and confused woman into the station, Freeman knew he’d really lost the fucking plot. 

“She’s his accomplice. I know it. Her fella is the man. I’ve got him fingered.” Brady pointed at you through the closed door. You weren’t listening to their voices in the hall, the name still ringing in your head. The name you'd both sacrificed to keep secret. 

Alastor.

Freeman hissed, “You can’t arrest people for knowing a guy! A boogie man at that, Kenny. Come on.” 

“I have her confession for prostitution. It’s all clean and by the book. And, I have a witness.” Brady tapped Freeman’s arm with the back of his hand and led him down the hall to another room, “He saw her and her guy throw a body in the river.”

Well, shit.

“You found a body? The Dupre son?” Freeman considered what he’d said. The river? Why the river? Bodies didn’t always make it to the sea. It’d be a sloppy misstep for this supposed murderous mastermind.

Brady sighed, his parade a little rained on. “...No, but I have a witness right there. And, I got the name of her fella. I just need to find which station he’s at and I’m off to the races. I bet you my house this guy’s good for it.”

Ah, so. He had next to nothing. Freeman just nodded and took a calming breath. “Alright, are we starting with the woman or this guy?”

“Oh, for sure her.” Bready turned to open the door, but Freeman shot his hand out to stop him. 

“And this is the one who gave you the runaround?” Freeman had heard so much about you already, he wanted to prepare himself for whatever tricky shrew was waiting for him. He followed his partner through the door and took you in fully. Your stare was distant and glassy. You’d been crying and you seemed to be shaking slightly from the cold of the room as fall’s night air slipped in through the window. 

You could, reasonably, be his daughter. A similar age for sure, similar build, same hair color. Same penchant for the wrong kinda guy, apparently.

He recalled all of the ways Brady had spoken about you. The image in his head was a bird faced woman with sharp eagle eyes and tight lips. Someone decidedly ugly with a permanent scowl and mischief behind quick glances.

And here was a woman, vulnerable and quite nice to look at it. Hair obviously groomed well when not manhandled by cops, and a rather handsome dress which indicated a good personality by the current standards. The shoulders had flat bows that let their ribbons fall onto your bare shoulders. Feminine. Suitable. Not much skin showing. otherwise. A burlesquer seemed to the kind who didn’t wear clothes often, but he supposed everyone has a work uniform after all. Even the nude dancers. Who was he to judge you for your professional clothing requirements? You were here and modest and that’s what mattered.

He took a seat, sliding the folder Brady had set down into the space in front of him. “I hear you’re not too fond of disclosing your personal information.”

It had been several hours since you’d arrived, and now they chose to grace you with their presence? You’d been tossed into a room and left alone for so long, it seemed more like punishment than bureaucracy.

Brady’s bright blue eyes only get clearer and darker with every ounce of anger you inspired in him. An angry sea churning up violently behind his mean mug. He was practically sneering at you. 

“Can you blame me? The men in this city are certifiable. Case in point, this hound you call a cop.” You had the forethought to keep your shoulders pulled inward, gesturing with your chin.

“Detective.” Brady corrected. 

“Same thing, jackass.” Eyes rolling, you pushed back against the chair causing the front legs to lift for a second. Returning your glare to him, you honed in on the messy details. You remembered his hair well from that first meeting in front of the cafe. It clearly had become oily and weighed down from less frequent washing. The skin under his eyes was looking dark and thin. “You look like shit, by the way. Should sleep instead of bothering honest performers.”

“Ha, there you are. True colors shining through finally.”

“How was my mom? Not much of a talker.”

“Fu-,” Brady flinched forward, chair squeaking against the linoleum floor. It took a tensing of your arms to keep from openly reacting.

“Ya’ll, enough. Now, don’t be too sour with us. We’re just working off your own words,” Freeman opened the folder to find your confession. It had been typed nice and neat and labeled DOE, JANE. He turned it to you briefly, eyebrows hitching as if to ask if you remembered it. You glanced at it long enough to see the conversation and names and nodded. Yes, you’d had that conversation. Brady must have typed it mostly from memory, you thought, or he had some quick shorthand. He brought it back to face him and as his eyes roamed the sheet, his shoulders stiffened. He wasn’t seeing what he was expecting. “Could you-?,” he motioned for Brady to point out the part of your last conversation that constituted a confession. Brady tapped a line of text. 

Freeman’s head lifted slowly from the paper to look at you over the folder, across the table. Your arms were crossed, makeup smeared and running with long dried tears. Your hair mussed. His head turned with a crawl, weighted down with a steel ball of apprehensive horror, to look at Brady. He was leaning on the table with both elbows, staring at you like you’d busted out his car window and shot his dog. 

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” He pushed back, resting his hand on Brady’s shoulder and walking out. In the small room that looked into the interrogation room where the male witness fidgeted, he set the folder and your words down. 

He motioned for Brady to close the door behind him. As soon as the latch clicked into place, he smacked the table. 

“That isn’t a confession! It’s a fucking victim statement, Kenny.” He looked through the one way glass at the man seated, “And he wrote a witness report?” He gestured with his head, the man Brady called Joseph sat quietly waiting for their return. His clothes were pulling at the seams, his fingernails crusted with dirt. 

Brady nodded, “Yeah. He came in yesterday and after he told me what he saw he wrote it down there and signed.” He was pointing to a piece of paper he’d left on the same table Kenny was now trying to use for stability. Trying was the keyword. His disbelief was dizzying. 

A small laugh, petulant and bordering annoyed, left his lips. He grabbed a pen, wrote something down, and brushed past him. Freeman marched into the witness room, Brady closely following behind.

“Sir, do me a favor and check I’ve spelt your name properly on this paperwork please.” He held it up. The man looked, found where Freeman's finger was pointing, and nodded.

Freeman looked at Brady with dead eyes, the shutdown of his feelings was an automatic attempt by his body to try and keep from grabbing Brady by the shirt in a fit rage, and turned the paper to reveal the name written to Brady. 

Josanna. Written neatly in block letters. 

Without breaking eye contact with Brady, “And just refresh my memory, sir, what was your statement in regards to again?”

Joseph cleared his throat, “I saw it happen. Down by the river.”

“Saw what happen?”

“The crime.”

“What crime?”

“The one with the guy and the girl. It’s all in there.”

Freeman shoved the written statement into Brady’s chest, “You have half a second to get to the captain’s office before I do.” 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“That man can’t even read his own name let alone write. From what I can tell he’s a random homeless you plied with confiscated booze. What is going on with you?” The gray haired man bellowed from his chair, hands resting on a large pot belly. 

“What does that matter! It’s an illegal hooch den! Naked dancers! Race mixing! She admitted she-,” Brady was pacing a small three foot by three foot square in front of the desk. Freeman had his arms crossed while seated.

“A victim told you she was assaulted. And I-,” the captain leaned back in his chair, “You know exactly how we feel about the wet spots in this city. The, uh, race thing is another issue but— Kenny, you’re one more rogue act from losing your beat. Do you not get that?”

“Rogue? I’m doing legitimate police work. I’m investigating crime! What the fuck is happening here?!” He stopped pacing long enough wave an apology to his boss for the language. 

Freeman sighed, long and heavy. A huff of breath that somehow conveyed his disappointment better than words.

“I decide what constitutes police work and this is not that.” His boss shook his chair side to side, thinking about how to get Brady in line. “It comes straight from the commissioner and the mayor above him. We aren’t to hound the bars under our purview.”

‘I’m not!” He started up pacing again, hands up and open in genuine confused frustration. 

“You’re harassing their dancers! Stalking around their establishments at night freaking people out!” He laughed in disbelief, “Her manager is outside now. Had to shut down for the night because of your little show.”

Brady put his hands on his hips and faced away from the captain. His face enough alone to have him dismissed. 

“I know she’s involved. I know her guy did it. And I know someone’s killing people. Lots of people.” He said it confidently into the corner of the office.

“Kenny. Enough.” Freeman shook his head and stood to leave. 

“One complaint about you and you’re being chained to a desk. Cut her loose, apologize, and go home. I don’t wanna see you anymore tonight. Your freaky little eyes are getting under my skin.” His captain removed his small rounded glasses and rubbed his hands down his face, exasperated his life had come to telling men to stop doing their jobs.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

While you were here anyway, and Brady shooed off Joseph, Freeman decided to speak with you again. He offered you a nod and took Brady’s seat.

It was hard to be friendly, you found. Every minute or so you had to sniffle, nose running long after the tears dried up. Your eyelashes stuck together when you blinked.

“I’m afraid I didn’t get your name, sir.” You sniffled again, hands warming your arms.

Freeman leaned over and offered you his hand, “Detective Eddie Freeman.” You shook it, keeping your hand rather limp to give the appearance of weakness.

“I just-,” he laughed as he set his hand on the table, clicking his ring twice out of habit, “I gotta ask. Did your fella kill Tommy? Are you in some kinda trouble?”

With a scoff and a shake of your head, you found yourself, “No,  but I wish he had. What’s the point of being good if people assume the worst of you anyway?” Reaching out for his hand again, you held his large one in both of your smaller ones, “At least if he’d killed him I’d be sure Tommy’s never coming back to keep his promise.”

Your mother always taught you to make yourself small. Remind the people you needed to believe you that you were not a threat. Play the part they always pigeon holed you into. It was easier than fighting the assumptions. There was power in deception. 

“Your pal is really ruining my life. Even more than Tommy.” You squeezed, 30% strength.  

When you looked up at him, he could only find you to be the image of pitiful girl, “Let me check some things and I’ll have Kenny sending you on your way, miss-?”

“Doe.”

“Right.” His ring rapped against the bright wooden door frame, two times, and your brief time knowing Freeman ended. 

The paralysis set in as soon as the door was shut. You could hear Alastor’s name echoing around in your head, the sound so sharp it made fresh tears well. Brady had heard it, of course. It was for nothing. You worked so hard, kept his name off of your tongue despite the way it always felt so good there. 

Conjured images of Alastor barging into the police station haunted you. What would he say in anger? Brady wasn’t crazy, he was smart and lucky. Nothing could be worse. Alastor could say anything while mad, and Brady could make conclusions he had no business jumping to.

And then he was there in the room with you, and you had to return to the moment and try to calibrate yourself. Who were you now? He already knew you weren’t the damsel in distress, he knew you weren’t weak and frail. Right?

Maybe you’d just be yourself, like you’d let slipped earlier. Your mouth opened and his hand flew up, “Don’t. Shut it.”

“Excu-”

“I’ve been told to apologize and send you home.”

“Oh? And are you?”

Brady smiled, and for a moment you forgot how scary that should be. “No. You’re a liar and you’re aiding a criminal. But you work in a place I’m not supposed to bother. Luckily for me, Alastor’s work surely isn’t one.” Your eyes rolled. Hearing him say the name was like hearing a dog sing opera. Unsettling and unnatural. Perhaps a little impressive from a distance. Unfortunately you were front row and center.

Time with you felt so rare, he wanted to keep you a little longer but couldn’t think of what to say or do. Briefly he entertained grabbing you and violently shaking you until you confessed. He managed to find the strength to bury that down, mouth opening instead in preparation for words he didn’t have yet. 

“Can I go home now?” Rubbing your arms to make it clear how uncomfortable you were, you cut him off like he had you. Not that he had anything to say. 

Brady motioned with his thumb down the hall and said, “Your guy isn’t here to pick you up. Funny name by the way. I got a complaint for an Alastor last week. Socked some man for no good reason. Sounds like a violent fella, kinda guy with a temper when someone speaks I’ll of his lady, or fiancée, I’m told…Anyway, dropped the case since the guy wouldn’t give any more information but maybe I should follow up.”

“Are you so sure I have one, a guy that is?” You simply couldn’t admit Alastor was yours. Never. Not for Brady. “No one’s coming for me. No one’s punched anyone for me either. Though, I’m flattered you think I’m worth the charge. Am I free to leave?” The little tug of your lips into a halfhearted grin warmed you. It was thrilling, lying to his face when you both knew the truth.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t let you take this moment from him. He’d made a massive victory in this personal war and your nonchalant attitude was making something in the back of his skull itch. Somewhere beneath his bone. A new sensation.

A brief and violent flash of knocking the smirk off your tear stained face startled him. You noticed him swallow hard, expression shifting from amused to bewildered. From the outside, all you could read was a frightened widening of his eyes.

“Brady…? If you’re waiting for some man to collect me, I’ll be here all night.” Your voice was softer now, while you couldn’t uncover what was happening in his head, you could tell he was in some kind of turmoil.

A man unable to control his face was often a man unable to control his hands.

His legs lifted his body up and dragged him over to the door.  He opened it, slowly, before leaning against the wall beside it to ensure you passed him in close quarters. He knew he couldn’t keep you there forever.

Maybe this Alastor was a real rough fellow. So cruel he wouldn’t even care if his dame was in a bind. The kind of man to abandon his closest allies when cornered. Maybe he really wasn’t coming for you. Which was fine, he told himself. He’d be seeing him soon.

Following you out, he took the walk as an opportunity to warn you again.

“This won’t end like you think it will.” He said it too loudly for how close he was to you, “It never does for the women.” He stopped at the station’s front desk and leaned into the glossy wooden counter, “Oh! I almost forgot! Congrats on the engagement.”

Turning to say a harsh good night, you caught yourself and turned back, exiting through the station doors without another word to him. No need for polite pleasantries anymore. The game was well and truly over for you. 

“Oh thank god,” Johnny was sitting on the steps of the station and jumped to his feet when you came out, a sight you weren’t expecting. You stopped, confused. He smiled seeing your brows knit and eyes wander past him in search of someone else, “I was going to bail you out but they said there wasn’t any need. Alastor is waiting for you.” 

Like a leak in the hull of your iron-sided ship, it seemed the second Ruth so sweetly dripped that name into Brady’s waiting maw the ocean was spilling in. Every time you heard it fall from another person’s mouth the breach in your metal barriers tore wider. If the Titanic could sink in calm weather what luck did Alastor and you have in the tempest of Brady’s fervor?

“Oh…,” you tried to hide the dejection. He sent Johnny? That was smart, but, why did it sting?

Perhaps it was his six sisters, or maybe he was genuinely a good man, but Johnny’s heart ached at the pitiful tone. He leapt up two steps, “He wanted to come! But I told him it was a bad idea. Tempers and all that. Don’t need any more issues for you tonight. Though admittedly he didn’t seem mad, necessarily.”

A slow nod. Johnny told Alastor what to do? Your eyes looked to the left, that was an odd mental image.

“Thanks, Johnny. I need to return to the theater first.” Your hand reached out for his arm and gave it a squeeze, “I appreciate you.”

“Dont mention it. And your bag is with Alastor.” He let his hand come to yours, “He’s kind of a mess, that one.”

You tensed, accidentally pinching his arm in a flit of panic before drawing it back, “Did he drive home like that?”

He shook his head and handed you the card, “He said,” a pause as his eyes rolled up to search for the exact words, “to tell the host you’re there for him. Called it the Golden Dish, but the card doesn’t mention anything like that…. Sorry, I didn’t think to ask more questions. Like I said, he seemed out of sorts.”

You looked down to inspect it, nervous at the sudden introduction of a paper trail. Nodding, you finally took it with both hands. The face was rather plain: an address in the corner with just the number and street, and an interlocked G and D in the center. Turning it over, you found a pink lipstick kiss stained haphazardly across the back and a small squiggle. Your thumb ran over the clipped right bottom corner. 

What was the Golden Dish? And who was kissing Alastor’s business cards?

Forehead pressed against the wall of the bathroom, Alastor’s hand gripped the base of his cock and squeezed.

He’d been trying to masturbate more, hoping to prolong things when with you, but the action was just so pointless. Yes it felt good, but so did scratching his back when he had an itch. But there was no itch here. He couldn’t mentally stay in a romantic mindset when it was just fingers and running water. What intimacy existed there? What was the point? Male orgasms were for procreation and pleasure, were they not? He wasn’t going to knock up the drain or make the shower quiver so this seemed just wasteful. 

Images of your pleasured face ghosted behind his eyes. Nothing pointless about that. A twitch to the otherwise bored flesh in his grip. 

Wasteful.

Your laugh at watching Alastor march through the bedroom sopping wet and butt naked choked you when your eyes lowered to see he was also rock hard.

“Oh.” Was all you managed before his shower was soaking through your cotton top and powder blue skirt. “Oh.” Ravenous mouth at your jawline.

“I didn’t want to waste it.” His hips rutted into your side, the evidence of every place he touched were large and dark wet spots on your clothes. “Do you want to —?”

His fingers were already crawling down your thighs and gathering your skirt up. 

You always forgot his strength when looking at him. Until he was holding you up by the hips, for example, fucking you against the bedroom wall. Wet skin slapping against your thighs, panties swinging around your ankle with every thrust. A lovely way to start a Monday. 

The weekend had been spent with a very attentive and clearly apologetic Alastor. His hands had been more present on your body, always holding your hand or pulling your legs over his lap as you both read. Dinners with his feet tangled with yours. Nights with his head buried in your hair.

The words were moaned through his own mind, scared to let them go again.

I just love you so much.

Every time you sighed his name, he clenched his teeth to keep it back. He wouldn’t weaponize it. He’d struggled to keep the compelled confession buried into your lap before, but he could keep it together until the moment was happy and without the bitter taste of his disappointment still lingering on your tongue.

An enlightened gasp dripped into a breathy moan as you realized this must be the make up sex the ladies always talk about. You’d never understood the concept before then. 

He felt you tighten around him, yes, a much better use of arousal. The good thing about his years of experience before you was he had time to learn. To know when to quicken his pace and when to focus on depth. Quality over quantity, he thought.

His mind stayed there long after you finished and he went into work. Leaving you behind was difficult, a small wiggling worm of fear deep in his skull that’d you’d vanish if his body wasn’t touching yours. 

You’d taken off some time from work, partly out of sheer embarrassment and partly to keep the theater safe from Brady. Which meant when he left for work, you kissed him goodbye at the door. You both laughed into the small space between your lips immediately afterwards. 

“Hush.” You warned him, and he pretended to zip his lips shut and slip the imaginary key into your skirt pocket. 

Alastor was happy to hear Brady had been told he had a handful of nothing but he knew his clock was ticking. You’d recounted your time in the station and how angry and disappointed the other detective had seemed with Brady. Brady would be popping up as soon as possible, you warned. There was no way he was dropping the issue. He’d be knocking on Alastor’s office door in no time. 

Much sooner than Alastor had prepared for, but he was ever the performer. 

Brenda far too loudly announced two detectives were there for him. She was side eyeing them with a sneer he could almost appreciate when she popped her head in to yell it. 

“I’ll be right out.” Alastor set his work down and took a deep breath. Every piece of him wanted to rush from the room and strangle Brady on the office floor. He’d seen him many times before but the pesky detective didn’t know that. A tremble of excitement he shook away. Smile on, he left the office.

His observations came quick and loud as he saw Brady’s face in the daylight for the first time.

Bright eyes. Tired. Light hair. Pale. Clothes wrinkled. Sweat stains even though it was autumn already. 

The man beside him was new to Alastor, and Alastor couldn’t tell yet what to do with him. Taller, older, darker complexion. His expression was relaxed in comparison to Brady’s stressed one.

“Good afternoon, detectives. Alastor. It’s a pleasure.” He extended his hand but only Freeman moved to shake it.

Brady was staring with blatant scrutiny. Alastor was quite tall, and much leaner than he had anticipated. His hair was perfectly in place, with clean skin and neat glasses. Was this the right man?

“Edward Freeman. I am a big fan, sir. Your voice is made for radio.” Freeman shook Alastor’s with both of his own, not noticing his partner’s wide eyed horror. “Such a pleasure. I promise we won’t take too much of your time.”

Alastor could have cackled directly into Brady’s face but managed to keep himself in check, “A face for radio too! Ha ha ha,” his laugh was loud, genuinely amused with himself, “Well it’s always a treat to meet a listener.”

Brady thought he’d black out. He’d began his day humming with anticipation, the high of having a name and occupation making him dizzy all weekend. The shock of Freeman immediately cozying up to his prime (and sole) suspect was throwing him off balance.

He’d brought him along so he could show him he’d gotten the right man. He’d thought —- he’d been so sure Alastor would be some second rate employee with rough hands and thick arms. Not the pretty host working behind some desk. Weren’t there large spools of cable and big contraptions radio station employees lugged around? Where were those men?

A string bean of a human in thin circular glasses was charming the wits off his partner.

“Brady. We’re here to discuss an important matter regarding your girlfriend.” Brady leaned in to separate the other two men and their budding camaraderie.

“Girlfriend?!” Brenda choked on her coffee, her desk just some feet beside them. “You’re confused. I’d know if he had a girl.”

“Thank you, Brenda.” Alastor said through a forced smile, “She is right though. I am unattached. Lifelong bachelor.”

“That’s interesting. Because when we picked her up at the burlesque theater,” he was cut off by a shriek.

“Nude dancing?! Sir! My—-you! Alastor would never! He is a man of means and class! I-,” Brenda’s hands were aimlessly shuffling time cards. “The only theater he frequents is the cinema.”

“Brenda.” Alastor laughed, not taking his eyes off of Brady, “Please. Let the man finish.”

“But you’d never! This is slander!”

“No slander. We picked her up for prostitution and her,” again he was drowned out by the receptionist. 

Brenda was on her feet, a second from foaming at the mouth, “Out! You get out of this office at once!” 

“Sure, why don’t we take this to the station.” 

“You want a local celebrity,” Alastor’s eye twitched as Brenda screeched out the words, “to be marched down there like a common criminal! I’m calling the station, you’re mad.” 

“Thank you, Brenda!” Alastor hissed, words heavy, “Let’s continue this in my office, gentlemen.” His arm swung out to gesture to the open door. 

Brenda was left fiddingly with her pearls in horror. 

Alastor followed the men in and leaned back against his desk casually, offering them the two chairs. 

“So, now that we’re … free from that, what were you saying?” He tried to chuckle away the chaos, one hand gently smoothing his hair back.

“We took in a woman last week for prostitution. Charges dropped but  — her friends said you were her beau.” Freeman leaned back too, crossing his legs at the ankle as they stretched out in front of him, “Radio man named Alastor? Not too many of those so, thought we’d just come by and check.”

Brady stood near the door, refusing to sit. “So. Gonna tell me there’s some more Alastors in New Orleans? Or gonna be straight with us?”

Alastor nodded, sighing through his nose. You’d filled him in already on the story.

“Burlesquer, right? Pretty thing with the long lashes and sharp tongue?” He looked up at Brady over his glasses, looking as boyish as a man his age could. 

“So you are her fella?” Freeman’s back straightened. He hadn’t expected that.

“Wouldn’t go that far… I’m embarrassed to admit it but yes I did take out a singer some time ago. Dancer too, I was told. But, I,” his hands slid in his pockets and he shrugged his shoulders, “I had a lovely time with her.” He gave Freeman a shy smirk, “I just didn’t want anything serious. Paid for her cab last time I saw her but I didn’t give her a dime for anything else.”

Brady stared at every inch of the man before him. His white button up was loose at the arms but wasn’t appearing to hide some powerful physique that said ‘I drag bodies around town.’

“We were told you’d been going to see her for quite some time.” Brady had been prepared for every reply.

Alastor furrowed his brow and pretended to think, hand coming from his pocket to adjust his glasses, “Talking about the nice little joint near the park?”

“Yeah.” Brady smiled. “So you admit it.”

“I loved going there. I first noticed her over a few weekends. Asked her out there, too. But after a few nights out she seemed a little… not worth the trouble, I’ll say.” He grimaced, “I really sound like a rake, huh?” He looked to Freeman, asking for the man’s acceptance with his eyes.

Freeman chuckled at the suggestion, “Not at all! Good looking man such as yourself, nice job, no wife. I’d be sowing my oats so to speak too. We’re just hunting down some people for questioning regarding a missing manager.”

Brady thought his head would snap with how quickly he turned to Freeman. He was saying too much.

“He’s uh, drats what’s her name?” Freeman turned around to Brady. Brady looked up to Alastor expectantly.

“Oh! She gave me some fake name. Winter or… August. I didn’t press the matter.” Alastor walked back to his desk and sat down, trying to get eye level with Freeman who was the easier of the two to play, “Missing manager? I frequent a lot of clubs looking for talent. Maybe I knew the guy. What’s his name?”

“Tommy Dupre.” Brady said it sternly. “And I’m the one leading the investigation.”

A twitch to the corner of Alastor’s smile, “Sorry detective, I assumed this here was your superior. He just has … an aura of experienced professionalism to him. Now where was I… a manager,” he shook his head, “Was he at The Bandstand by any chance?” His fingers were flipping through his rolodex of business cards. Brady noted how clean his nails were. But not suspiciously so, not something that seemed overly tended to. He shook his head again more firmly then. “No, never formally met the man at least.”

“He was your burlesquer’s manager.”

Alastor leaned back and crossed his arms, “I never went to her work and I truly don’t visit burlesque theaters. Can't risk my reputation.” Few people out of the club scene knew his face and name so that was a load of shit, but he hoped they wouldn’t stop and consider that much. “We run a clean show here.”

“Here’s the issue, sir.” Freeman patted the tops of his thighs, “Your Ms. Doe-,” Alastor’s brow furrowed in momentary confusion.

“Oh! Ha, clever. I see what you did there.” He laughed, it was light and made Freeman nod his head in thanks.

“She got roughed up real bad by Mr. Dupre around the time ya’ll were seen together.  He disappeared soon after. So, naturally….we wanted to see if you knew anything about what happened to him.”

“Doesn’t shock me to hear that.” Alastor's voice was high pitched and airy. His nonchalance was grating to the younger of the two detectives.

Brady rolled his eyes. Alastor was definitely the man Beth mentioned; a daisy. The kind of man to fret over a stained tie or wet shoes.

“People in …those kinds of establishments can’t expect civility.” His nails were digging through the cotton of his pants. It made him sick to say it. How many days did he kiss your bruises? How long had they lasted? Longer than Tommy, that was for sure. Outlived him by quite some time. His smile spread. Brady noticed it, clearing his throat. 

“What’s the smile for?”

“Ah,” Alastor hid his mouth with the back of his hand, he couldn’t bite back the glee of remembering Tommy beg, “Sorry. I’m just feeling quite grateful I didn’t stick around to be pulled into some dame’s drama. This is exactly why I remain untethered.”

“Wish I’d had that foresight…I’m only joking. My Donna’s a blessing and a half.” Freeman quickly retracted the comment. 

A moment of quiet as they all looked at each other. A natural dead end.

Freeman turned back in his chair to look at Brady once more, this was his impromptu interview. He’d begged Freeman to take the early lunch. Brady promised him this was the guy and that if it wasn’t, he’d never bring it up again.

So he was staring at his partner waiting for the never again to start. 

Brady chewed the inside of his cheek, mind bouncing through thoughts and theories and observations.

This man in front of him was soft. He was feminine in some aspects, definitely quite lanky and seemingly devoid of real muscle. Brady hadn’t imagined his killer to be concerned about style or fashion, yet this man clearly put a lot into his appearance. He couldn’t imagine him killing anyone… perhaps a gun?

“Got any hobbies?”

“Kenny.” Freeman chided.

“Sir.” Brady added it sarcastically.

Alastor whistled, “Besides jazz and piano? I fish. Uh,” Alastor looked for threads of truth to add to the web, “I garden quite a bit, actually. Love to dance.”

Of course he did.  “Sports?”

“I don’t watch nor listen to much of that.”

“No,” an exasperated sigh, “Do you play any sports?”

“Oh!” Another casual laugh that grated Brady’s senses, “No, no. I wouldn’t pretend I’m an athletic man.” 

“Hunting is a popular pastime around here, you ever go out shooting?”

“No sir, not my scene.” Alastor leaned back and swiveled his chair side to side. 

No hunting, really? Brady’s brows rose in suspicion, “….you from New Orleans?”

Freeman crossed his legs, a simple act that somehow conveyed a rising loss of patience.

“Born and raised, detective. Native son if there ever was one.”

He slipped out his notepad and slapped it against the fleshy part of his hand. Brady’s spirit was withering. 

A mistake?

“Understood.” Pushing off of the wall.

“Sorry to cause all this fuss over … my tryst with a dancer not too long ago.” Another bashful bachelor smile. “But it was just that. Fun. I never met her employer. I never even went to her shows. As for the place by the park-,”

“Beth’s.”

Alastor grinned to hide the flinch, “My doe, as you put it sir, was a real canary. But I haven’t been back there since I stopped seeing her. I’m sure if you asked they’d tell you the same.” The phone rang and Alastor apologized, putting a finger up, “Yes, Brenda?” The incessant woman asked what was taking so long. He smiled and nodded, “Thank you, tell them I’ll just be another minute.”

“We’ll be heading out. It seems I need to— to re-examine some things. Dig a little deeper.” Before Brady could retrieve his card to offer it to the radio host, Alastor was handing him his.

“Call anytime, but word to the wise. Brenda will answer first.” Alastor let out a loud and singular ‘ha!’

He rose to walk them out and Brady extended his hand again for him to shake, his stomach curdling at the touch. When the detective squeezed and shook his hand so hard his arm was moving up to the elbow he just laughed. He kept his own grip loose.

The limp and slender hand in his was disappointing. A final nail in his coffin, soft metal bending as it was struck.

Freeman smiled and hopped up, “Been a pleasure!”

Alastor took back his hand from Brady and wiped it off against his vest as soon as the men were turned around.

“Apologies for the disturbance, ma’am.” Brady kept his gaze down as he passed Brenda. Freeman set his card on her desk as he walked past.

“That’s a bunch of applesauce.” She hissed, refusing to stand.

Alastor’s mother taught him many things. Of this world and the other. Of the spirits always roaming and waiting. Of blue ceilings and birds hitting windows.

She warned him of people with heaviness,  people who gathered bad energy like rain on a flat roof. That weight attracted likewise things. A gravity would form and pull in more and more darkness. 

You’d mentioned a storm, and now Alastor was hearing that drip drip drip of the cracking roof. 

He’d been taught to steer clear of those people with that darkness, because you don’t want to be there when the roof caved in. 

She’d likened it to the sword of Damocles, don’t be so close you get cut when the blade finally drops. Don’t become collateral damage. 

When his skin touched Brady’s, he felt that heaviness. The gravity. We’re you both slipping down the sloping pull of his swirling negativity?

He felt the urge to spit, which was uncouth and unlike him. Brenda was talking loudly to him but she was deep under the ocean and muffled perfectly well. His drunken mind had been wrong about many things, but one line of thinking had been on the money.

Something had to be done. An accident playing out in slow motion before him, threatening to take you both down with it. 

A chill, insidious and violent made him turn on his heels and shut the door with force. There it was again, that fight or flight feeling. Twice in nearly as many days. Never did Alastor feel insecure in situations of life or death, not literal life or death that was. He didn’t care about dying. 

The thought of losing you was that first trigger, but what was causing this one? What was his gut trying to warn him about now?

Distance was needed. He needed to get as far from that detective and his gravitational pull as possible. Perhaps not physically, but in every other sense. There was safety in that, he could feel it just over the disorienting whirl of fear. 

If fear was a lark in his chest it’s little spine cracked and popped as it grew and mutated into a rageful osprey, anger opening his lungs and sinuses as blood rushed with renewed vigor. This was Brady’s fault, entirely. He was ruining everything. Alastor finally had what felt like all of the thj he wanted and deserved (anger dampening his usual insecurity of what was meant for him) and Brady was going to tear it apart. 

There was a struggle to decide how to proceed. He thought perhaps telling you would bring him clarity, but if you asked him to not do anything at all he couldn’t be sure he’d be able to stop from lying to your face about his intentions. 

A flash of confidence knowing he’d never lied to you died quickly, oh, he had lied to you. He’d lied to you in the alley before leaving to prepare to kill Tommy. He’d said it was the greater good of the community. A stain on his otherwise pristine morality when it came to you. 

“How could they?”

Alastor’s head popped up, Brenda had opened his door unannounced and continued her raving. 

“How could who do what?” He asked, smile small.

“Those detectives! Accuse you of debauchery!” 

He imagined telling her how his morning started, fucking the nude dancer against his bedroom wall, arleady shacking up out of wedlock. Maybe it’d kill Brenda? That’d be convenient. 

“I wonder if they are even real cops…I promise, I won’t let that nonsense back into this office, Alastor.” She gave him a thumbs up and left, leaving the door ajar. 

Daylight was already creeping away sooner and sooner as the seasons began to change. The first day Alastor was gone and you were completely alone in his home for an extended period of time was passed in an awkward boredom. There wasn’t much to do…his house was kept tidy, food didn’t take much time, and you had no means to get into town. So you listened through his record collection, carefully turning the vinyls over with delicate fingers. You’d heard oils from your hand could ruin the grooves. No idea if that was true, but you couldn’t risk it. Alastor’s job kept relatively regular hours, so when you knew he had most likely left work you headed out front to wait. It was a foreign thing to do, and a little embarrassing. Dogs waited for their masters to come home. You stuffed the comparison down, knowing you were once again comparing apples to oranges. Worse than that, dogs to yourself. 

“Welcome home!” You waited for the car door to close before greeting him, worrying over the timing. He froze between the car and the wooden steps. You stopped your swinging on the porch swing, noticing how odd it was to see someone completely still like that. You remembered the deer along the road. “What’s wrong?”

Every thought flew out his head and into the early setting sun. An odd deja vu came over him. He hadn’t heard those words in literal years. “No one has said that to me…since my mother died.”

Oh. 

Oh. That was….sad. You grimaced. “Should I not say it then?”

“No!” He came to life, “I mean, yes. No, You should say it. If you want. It’s nice.” Staccato sentences as he took the three steps in just two. He leaned over on a novel instinct for a kiss, and you leaned up to meet him. 

Another moment as you parted and both of you realized how odd the situation was. The killer and his dancer playing house. For a brief second, maybe heaven mistook you for something normal and good. When you smiled, trying to not say the obvious as you always did, he decided to not mention Brady. His first night coming home to you shouldn’t have to compete with that news. Tomorrow, he decided. He’d just….leave out which day Brady had stopped by. Not a lie, just an excluded, superfluous detail.

As you ate your dinner and he recounted his day, you made a decision of your own. 

“Hey, Saturday, can you drop me off downtown for a bit? I need to change my shoes and do a little shopping.”

You needed the gift, to set the mood for your confession. You’d survived your first fight, you didn’t combust into a ball of fire when you kissed him goodbye for work, it made sense to do it now. 

“Oh, did you want company? I don’t mind going out.” His little smile made it hard to deny him.

“Ah well, my friend is still staying over at my place and she may get uneasy with a man around. And my shopping….is at the kind of places men shouldn’t go. Frilly lacy places.” A terrible liar. “You should do something fun for Alastor! I’ll be maybe…four hours or so.”

He chewed slowly, since the misunderstanding he was a little more nervous than usual. You didn’t want him to join you, were you worried Brady would see? He shook his head, confusing you.

“...excuse me?” You laughed, “No?”

His head popped up, he still sometimes forgot you were right there and not on a phone, “Sorry, I was thinking about what to do with myself. No problem, sweetheart. You can just call me when you’re ready and I’ll head back into town. I’ll stick around the house, get some stuff ready for winter.”

“Perfect!” Perfect. 

So it was decided. He would tell you tomorrow that Brady came by his office. And you’d tell him Saturday that you were in love with him. 

That was the short lived plan. He couldn’t manage to wait. When the silence of the night settled and you had turned over to try and fall asleep, he broke. 

“I really hate keeping secrets from you.” His fingers were pulling and pushing at the edge of the blanket. 

You have secrets? You turned around and sat up. 

“Brady and his partner came by today to my office, like you’d expected. I didn’t want to ruin our day, knowing how rarely we will live traditionally. But it’s just bothering the hell out of me.” His hands came to cover his cheeks and crawl into his hair out of stress. An overreaction, the weekend having truly discombobulated the man. 

A beat of confusion, tense for Alastor but void of anything for you, until you burst into a relaxed laughter, “You’re ridiculous. You were really eaten up huh?”

“It isn’t funny!”

“It’s a litlte funny.” you pulled his head down onto your lap, “You coulda told me. It doesn't ruin anything. I told you he was going to look for you. I didn’t think he’d do it the next business day, but still.” He shifted his body to lie on his side and let you take off his glasses and set them on your side table. “Do you think he still suspects you?”

He thought about it. A little.

Maybe.

Brady seemed dejected when he had left, but he could see the wheels turning in his head as he was still searching for a way to make this puzzle pieces fit. 

“Probably. His partner seemed to believe me. A listener, it turns out.” Alastor pouted, still upset at your laughter. 

“That’s hilarious. I bet it pissed him off to no end, right?”

“He looked shocked. It was difficult to not laugh.” He let his legs fall off the side of the bed so he could turn onto his back and look up at you. “I told him you were a fling, that I had my fun and then disappeared because you were trouble. I said nude dancers getting beat up should be expected. I don’t mean that.”

“Of course you don’t. I remember your face when you saw through my makeup. Sure didn't look expected to me.”

His legs drew up, knees pressed together. “Was it still a good day?”

“You told me what was on your mind instead of driving yourself mad about it. It was a perfect day.” The open window let in enough light to see his stress melt away from the corner of his eyes. 

He sat up and kissed your nose, “Thank you. You can sleep now.”

“Oh, I've been asleep the whole time. You’re gonna have to do this all again in the morning.”

“That’s not funny.” 

You kissed his cheek and he smiled away the frown before settling back onto his side of the bed to earnestly sleep.

Flowers, you thought. You should buy flowers on Saturday, too. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Alastor nerves hadn’t settled yet, even if he slept well beside you. Every day he came home and you were still there felt like he’d been holding his breath the entire drive. During lunch he’d call the house so you could talk and eat together, in a sense. The conversation eased him, a confirmation you still liked him. An embarrassing fear he couldn’t let you on to. 

He didn’t understand you spent the week calling record shops in search of something specific. Plotting exactly how you’d do it. You’d mastered the phonograph in the room beside the kitchen and found an old vase in the back of the cupboard. 

The panic didn’t settle for you either though. It just shifted to the confession from Brady. As if through osmosis, Brady was now Alastor’s main concern as soon as their hands shook. You were less scared, as he really did seem to be dismissed by his colleague from what you saw. Dejected and forlorn from what Alastor had described. 

Alastor was honest with you that he left work early to check on Brady midweek. He was practically dancing through the kitchen when he reported Brady went home on time for the first night in what could have been weeks. And he did so looking like shit.

And he felt like shit. When they left the radio station, Freeman gave him the silent treatment the entire ride back to work. He opened his mouth to offer an alternative theory, perhaps you or Alastor had a brother, but Freeman immediately shut him down.

“Stop. Enough.” He snapped from his desk. “It is over, Kenny. Let it go. Maybe some monster is out there doing all this crazy shit you think they are but it’s not this man nor this lady so just fucking drop it.”

He sat quietly the rest of the work day, thinking over everything again. It still felt right, but Alastor didn’t look right. Maybe it was a group, some new gang in town. Perhaps Alastor had some business with them. 

Staring at his neatly folded map of downtown, his fingers slid over the last known locations of the various missing people over the past year. 

Is downtown just inherently dangerous, he wondered. He supposed the map lined up with the jazz scene, and where there is dance and liquor there’s crime.

He went home to his wife and startled her with his promptness. While she was elated, he felt hollow. Purposeless. Freeman had warned him he’d invented this conspiracy to make work more interesting. Maybe that was right. Life was boring. Everything was so steady and stable. Nothing exciting anymore. It’s possible. He could have imagined a connection. 

But his wife accidentally stoked the dying flame of his suspicions. 

When he told her everything, about Alastor and the dancer he chased down and the missing Tommy, she hummed. 

“He could be like that Holmes man in Chicago.” She smiled from across the meat and potatoes she’d slow cooked over the day.

Brady asked what she meant. 

“He killed all these people at his hotel. On the outside he was a very fine looking man! Respected doctor, or something.” She took her time to chew, leaving Brady waiting for the point, “Turns out his hotel had some secret dungeon where he killed people. I’m fuzzy on the details, but, he hung for it. Maybe your guy has a secret room in his house or a cabin in the woods.”

He would have kissed her but he was too tired to move. As she continued on, changing to the topic of novels and then movies, he pushed the potatoes around his plate. 

No way work would listen to him if he suggested it. He’d lost all of his goodwill. But, as a citizen, he could maybe just….look into the public records for the radio man. Any convenient structures he owned. No one needed to know, no embarrassment if he was wrong again.

Just, one more check. To be absolutely sure. For his peace of mind. 

“So he murdered the actress for threatening to reveal he was only half white! It was a real shock. I swear talkies just get more and more intriguing.” She beamed sweetly across the table, happy to have him home, “By Hitchcock. Isn’t that a hoot?”

He nodded absentmindedly, “Sounds fun, dear.”

She let the misplaced comment go, and moved to turn on the radio. Something to fill the silence. She wondered if her favorite program was on, though it was a little late for that. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day finally came, your highly anticipated and scheduled confession. Saturday morning you slipped on your shoes, pushing back thoughts of everything they’d seen, and slid into the car. You had a game plan. Apartment, get your stash and change out your shoes. Head to the phonograph shop on Calliope and grab the record. Flower shop, something bright and fragrant. Stop by the theater for a bottle of whatever they were willing to part with. Call him from there to pick you up behind the building.

Flawless.

Honestly, the easy part.

Alastor dropped you off in front of your building and you kissed him hurriedly. You didn’t need Ephi bounding down the steps and introducing herself. 

You didn’t need Ephi, full stop.

“I’ll call you from the theater so I can wait inside. Lo-,” Your mouth opened to say it, as you’d been practicing it in your head all week, “Lucky me I’m still welcome there.” A quick save.

You waved him off and bounded up the steps. Ephi answered when you knocked, hair disheveled and still wearing the dress she must have worn out the night before.

A familiar dress.

“Who said you could wear my clothes?!” You kicked the door closed behind you.

Ephi fell back onto your bed with a creaking of the metal springs, “You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

Barely a second into the room and you were already reeling with anger. What a skill she had.

Shoes off, you threw them on top of the closet out of her natural reach and searched for something flatter. Not too flat though. Alastor always looked too good for you to look like you didn’t care for what was fashionable.

Deep breaths, you grabbed the dresser with both hands and wretched it from the wall, startling Ephi back awake.

“What the fuck? Are you taking the furniture?! It’s a fucking dress.”

Relief as you saw the handkerchief still taped to the backboard of the shelf. Ripping it off, you shoved it into your bag. No need to count it, had Ephi found the cash the entire thing would be gone already. 

“Are you hiding money around your apartment…,” it wasn’t a question so much as an oddly worded accusation.

Your march to the door paused, briefly entertaining carrying your remaining clothes around with you but abandoning the idea. Let her borrow them for now, you were busy today.

You were gone without a goodbye, anger simmering away and evaporating with every block. 

As the distance between your problem and you became greater, the gap was closing in on Alastor and his.

He was in the kitchen splashing his face with water,  dusty from sweeping the porch, when he heard a car door slam shut. Not a normal sound for him to hear. Even more out of place than a ‘welcome home’. A moment of concern as he quickly dried his hands, maybe you had gotten a ride home already. It was possible he missed your call, but he’d kept the windows open to hear the phone. 

When he came to the front door, no one was there. A car was parked a ways behind his own though. Alastor stepped out and looked around the wrap around porch before turning back and going to the back door. Past the stairs and the kitchen doorway, he could see the shape of a man. He was standing in front of the greenhouse with both hands on his hips, staring at it. Bright hair reflecting the sun.

The screen door whined as Alastor opened it, announcing him much sooner than he had wanted. It was finally happening. The moment that was both inevitable and fiercely guarded against. 

“Census information is quite easy to find with a name like yours.”

Alastor tried to muster a hospitable smile, “Detective Brady. To what do I owe the sudden visit?”

Brady turned around and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, “I need to go get a warrant?”

The air between them tightened. “Not at all, did you want to come inside?” 

Brady nodded, a smug smile and a wink, “Sure do.”

Alastor returned to the kitchen for the key, grabbing a small paring knife and placing it in the back pocket of his slacks. Sharp and quick. 

“Wasn’t expecting guests…,” he admitted as he came back down the clean steps. He was never expecting guests, but he had been expecting this. 

“Good.” Brady clapped his hands together, “Quite the building ya got here.” He followed Alastor in and immediately looked up to the tall ceiling. “An uncommon thing to have. Only seen them at real fancy public places.”

Alastor turned right, following the winding path of busy shelves and potted trees with a practiced ease. Brady watched him slip between two large plants and hesitated.

With a hand on his gun, be pushed through.

“Ya know what my wife and I were just talking about?” He followed close behind. He couldn’t see Alastor but he could hear the leaves rustling. “H. H. Holmes.”

“Another missing manager?” Alastor asked from the other side of some crowded shelves.

“It’s thought he killed 9 people up in Chicago.” Brady emerged from the makeshift jungle to see Alastor standing in the center. 

“Busy man!” Alastor stood with his hands behind his back, sheathed in his pockets. “This is where the magic happens!” He nodded to the stainless steel table. “My gardening space.”

Brady looked at the table, then up to the high ceilings again. He took a step toward the table and crouched down.

His heels sunk in. Standing, he pressed his shoe in the soil around the table. Backing off he then tested the ground some feet away. It was noticeably firmer. “Ground sure is soft over there.”

“Water! Turns out plants love the stuff. Who knew!” Alastor’s fingers curled around the knife’s handle, “I prune, propagate, and repot them here and rinse it off after. Due to the shade of the table, the ground tends to stay wet longer.” He wondered if Brady had told anyone where he was. Maybe Freeman? 

The whole thing could be expedited by letting him bleed out on the greenhouse floor. Just a few swipes and this could all be over. He could maybe even have him gone before you called. 

Another little secret. Just one. Brady’s life was an insignificant detail.

Plausible, the detective thought. Brady examined the floor closer, unaware of Alastor’s eyes locked on his neck. He didn’t see much of a soft spot. It’d be improbable to bury all the bodies in such a small space. He’d have to dig too deep. 

“So you actually do like to garden?” He asked.

Alastor laughed, “No, that was a lie. This is all meticulously maintained for aesthetics.” 

Brady’s own laugh was dry in reply, the joke not funny or appreciated, “Night gardening?” He pointed his chin up to the light hanging above them.

“I prefer early mornings, before work.” Alastor leaned back on his heels, he’d waited for this conversation for years. It was almost fun. Brady didn’t know how predictable his arrival had been on some vague level.

Brady nodded and motioned for Alastor to lead him out. He didn’t want the man behind him.

As they snaked their way out again, Alastor fought the sickening feeling in his stomach to just do it. 

But he’d never acted quite so impulsively. He normally had a few hours to think it out beforehand. 

He’d been thinking this out for months now in a way, though, hadn’t he?

Alastor locked the door after Brady stepped out and Brady looked around the land. He couldn’t see any fences, but saw on his way in just how spread out the other homes were. 

“How far is the property line, if you don’t mind me asking? Seems to be quite a large parcel.” He had a rough idea from the paperwork he’d found. 

“It’s about 15 acres, from what I recall.” It was exactly 14.2 acres according to the paperwork. He knew every step by heart. 

As he watched Brady eye the land with a dismissive glance, he realized he’d never killed anyone at his home. It didn’t seem to be a good idea. Like they’d taint the land. Plus, killing the cop in the backyard was about as opposite of what you’d asked of him as he could get. 

The detective slapped his notebook against his palm and whistled, “Radio pays well, huh?”

“Better than a detective, maybe. But this was all my mother’s land.” He said it with pride, one hand leaving his pocket to gesture at the house and beyond. 

“Your mother. And she… how exactly did someone like her get her hands on a plot like this?” Brady squinted at the tree line, knowing full well how he said it. “Quite a bit of land for someone of her… background.” He quickly turned his full body to Alastor, “You see that movie, ‘Murder!’, by Hitchcock? My wife was saying how interesting it was over dinner the other night. Your receptionist mentioned you like the movies.”

Alastor bristled, he’d seen the film and picked up the tone being taken,  “Did you want to see anything else, Kenneth? Or did you drive all the way here to quiz me on your wife's morbid interests?”

“Detective Brady.” He corrected. 

“Maybe in the Orleans parish.” Alastor took a step toward him. He reveled in the confused expression Brady made. “Oh you didn’t realize when you crossed the lake? This is St. Tammany. You’re out of jurisdiction.” Another step. “So I’ll call you whatever I damn well please.”

Brady finally noticed the dwindling space between them and the shadow of the house creeping over Alastor’s face. “Maybe I should head out and get that warrant.”

Alastor’s arms went out in a shrug, “Ah, well, good luck finding a judge to approve you harassing a law abiding land owner for…what exactly? A drugged out criminal who stopped showing up to work? Forgive me for not holding my breath. Now kindly get the fuck off my mother’s property. “  

Brady shook his head, not able to do much more. He couldn’t process the truth in what Alastor had said. “Have a good day, Alastor.”

“And you have a safe night, Kenneth.”

Brady stopped, hand curling into a fist that Alastor didn’t fail to notice. 

“Is that some kind of threat?” It was the way he dragged out the two words. The gleeful range in which he said them. 

“Not at all. A warning really, there’s been some unhinged man harassing dancers lately. Demanding their private information, accusing them of silly crimes. Has the station not heard?” Alastor’s finger came to his chin inquisitively, “Perhaps I should give them a call. Who was your boss again. Freeman, was it?”

Brady felt his stomach drop, “What did you say.” If Alastor hadn’t been with you since before the assault, how did he know that Brady had been struggling to track you down?

“As a man about town who runs in important circles, word travels fast of bothersome people. Helps us learn where to avoid.”

Brady was still holding onto hope that Alastor was your man but now, his throat ran dry. He got more than that.

A man who ran in various circles of the nightlife scene. 

A man above the fray, a position afforded to him by the respect of his job.

A man people talked to often, therefore a man people saw everywhere. So it was never odd that he was always in the places where people went missing. He was ubiquitous. Where the jazz played, Alastor was there. 

A man with no wife to complain so his nights were free. 

A large piece of land. A chip on his shoulder. 

“You son of a bitch…I didn’t tell you Tommy had been involved in drugs. I was right.” The sentence got quieter and softer as he trailed on until he could only whisper, “You killed him.”

Alastor watched the color drain from Brady’s face as the realization hit, but the ‘son’ comment blanketed his frontal cortex and dampened impulse control, “On second thought; yes.”

It was just an expression, son of a bitch, but it’d been the wrong one to use so carelessly. Alastor’s heart was pounding in his ears and behind his eyes.

The detective kept his gaze locked on Alastor as he fished out his keys. His hand shook violently as he tried to get the car door key in his fingers. “Yes what?” Glancing down for a fraction of a second to check he had the right one. 

“That was a threat.”

Alastor’s hand twitched, he fought the rage bubbling up his throat. His vision was beginning to turn red around the edges. He could hear Aubrey squeaking out the first syllable of that damn word just behind his left ear.

Perhaps he was the blade hanging over Brady’s head. 

With even paces he walked over to the stump where he chopped wood and pulled the axe out, “Ya know! Something about you makes my fucking skin crawl.” He pointed it at Brady, the detective taking note of the arm strength needed to hold the unevenly heavy tool steady and parallel to the ground. “I do hope for your sake this is our final meeting. You should leave now.” His head titled to the left, “And keep your nose clean, Kenneth. It’s a dangerous time for bad men in New Orleans.”

Brady walked backwards to his car as Alastor advanced briskly with the blade still raised. When they reached the front porch Brady turned and booked it, glancing behind to see Alastor standing beside the porch on foot worn grass.

As the car started Alastor dropped the axe until it’s flat top of the blade rested on the ground and he leaned his weight onto it akin to a cane. His free hand’s fingers waved goodbye before dropping down to his side limply. He stood there with eyes fixed and body still as a predator waiting for its opportunity. How many gators had Brady watched from the shore with just that look? He peeled out, sight unseen as he blindly backed onto the unpaved road, and made a beeline to the nearest phone. 

He had to tell someone. He was right. He had been right the whole time. Alastor killed Tommy Dupre. And there was no doubt in Brady’s swirling mind that you knew that fact.

The song they dance to in the porch

“He knows.” Alastor’s eyes were closed and his palms facing towards heaven, hopefully in prayer to spare his life as he felt sure you’d strangle him.

“Excuse me?” There was a ringing in your ears, vision darkening a little at the edges. You knew exactly who he meant and what they knew, but you needed a second longer to live in your life before.

Alastor had hummed the entire way home from your errands, fingers dancing along the steering wheel. You managed to hide the contents of your bag behind your back as he held the front door open for you, sliding it under the kitchen table when Alastor asked you to take a seat because he had news.

“She knows.” Brady hissed it into the receiver of the first pay phone he found upon leaving Alastor’s home.. His car was parked at a hasty angle just across from a small restaurant. “He killed Tommy.”

He heard Freeman exhale before shuffling off somewhere, “Who?”

“Alastor!” He said it louder than he had meant too, but the confused question his partner sighed slowly in reply seemed to be nothing short of wasting time.

“Alastor.” You breathed it out, you felt your fingertips go cold. Blood flowed to your core, protecting vital organs from the danger your brain knew was nearby. 

“Don’t fret, my love. He will never find a body, never a drop of blood in my home or car.” A clap of his hands, a sparkle in his eyes, “Let's go dancing!”

You shot up, the ludicrous suggestion physically pulling you out of the chair. The wooden legs squeaked as they rubbed against the flooring. This was it, your heart was going to beat so fast and so hard it just gave up the effort. A gulp of air before you felt the room spin again.

Every muscle in your body went slack just as quickly as they’d roared with fearful vigor barely a second before, causing you to lean onto the table with both hands for support. “This is no time for dancing, Alastor!” A wave of nausea made your head hang heavy between your shoulders. Heaviness was a good word for your entire existence at the moment.. 

He fought back a self confident chuckle, knowing the look you’d give him would be sharp enough to cut. “This has been my singular focus for years. I’ve made no mistakes. He has two options left to him. Go crazy hunting down something that doesn’t exist ooor,” he sang the word, “he tells his superiors he thinks a popular radio host and public figure is a mass killer, in which case—,” a wicked grin curled up his face.

“They’ll put you on desk duty, if not send you away on medical leave. You sound… unhinged, Kenny.” Across the lake, in a diner too lit for his migraine, Brady stared at the table between him and Freeman.  “You gotta let it go. You went on his property and insulted his mother and think his reaction is proof he’s a murderer? No, no sir. You need to go home and take a shower. Maybe ask for a couple days and go visit the in-laws. Get out of the city for a bit. Come back fresh faced and bushy tailed, yeah?”

Brady growled, hands running down his face in barely contained frustration, “He threatened my life and then said that he killed Tommy, Ed.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“I asked if it was a threat, he denied it, and I said he killed Tommy, and he said on second thought, yes.”

“He was more likely agreeing that it was a threat. Which is his right, you were trespassing, Ken! With a gun on your hip, bud.”

Brady’s stare was absent of any indication he was there.

“Just— go home, buddy.”

“Let’s go out!” Alastor’s hands slipped around your waist and held you assuredly against him. You were a scared sailor tied to the mast in a storm. You’d survive together or go down as one piece as long as his hands were wrapped around you. The bonds of love keeping you safe.

Love, your eyes looked down to the table beside you, the bag of surprises underneath.

“I thought we were playing it quiet.” Your own voice was miles away. Like a death, you needed time to grasp how changed your world was now. A scrap of your mind tried to remember the story of pandora. 

“That was before. Now there’s no reason to hide! I want to twirl you around a room and steal everyone’s attention. I want people flocking to your theater to see Alastor’s girl in her element.”.

A sentiment so sweet it sliced through your panic with a stark efficiency. The deep seated desire to be more than just wanted, but to be flaunted, eclipsed your very real fear of Brady’s next moves.

“You want people to know you’re with a dancer?” 

Brady who? More important things had come up now. 

Alastor’s smile dropped, thumb wiping a lonely tear from your cheek before you could realize it was there. Backing up from his firm hold, your hands shot to your face. Confused, wiping away the tears forming, you let out a self conscious chuckle. Rarely did you cry let alone around others, yet since Alastor’s arrival it seemed you didn't recognize yourself anymore. 

“You’re a marvelous performer. Why would I not want that?” His smile was mega-watt in the darkening kitchen. “Another bragging point for myself, really.”

Your chin quivered, a thawed anger boiling in your chest. How many times had other women told you how worthless you were for your profession? How many men promised to keep you their dirty little secret, well kept and taken care of? Brady knowing meant… freedom. You could say Alastor’s name as much as you wanted, to whomever you wanted. You could make a scene together. 

“Fuck it, let’s go out.”

“But I’m right.” Brady’s eyes finally met Freeman’s. 

Freeman laughed, a little too loudly, and offered to the waitress and other customers apologetic little bows of his head in their directions. “Fine, maybe. But who fucking cares? Did he kill a kid? Is he raping people? Bustin’ up mom and pop shops for money?” He wasn’t at the station, he wasn't on duty; he could be honest. What harm was there in that?

In the depths of his obsession, Brady took the rhetorical question as a genuine one. “Not that we know of! Where there’s smoke there's fire!”

“For fucks sake. Kenny. Enough. The only thing catching fire here is your reputation. There’s no evidence this man’s done a damn thing, even less than none that he’s murdered multiple people. You’re unwell, pal. You need to back up before you—,” his hand came to rest on his partners across the bright white table. “You’re gonna ruin your life like this.”

“What were your wise words again? Right,” Brady set his money down and slid from the booth, “Who fucking cares.”

“Kenny!” Decorum damned, Freeman shot up and followed Brady, “Don’t be like that. Please.” Heads turned as their peaceful afternoon meals were interrupted by the raised voices. 

“Excuse me! Are you going to finish paying?” A line cook hollered, “Or do we need to call the cops?”

Freeman turned back to see Brady walking off into the rising darkness of the night, a bright ember orange sun setting on his shoulders. A sure sign of fall dying to winter’s early evenings. “No, it’s alright. Sorry.” He closed the door and returned to his booth, wondering what exactly he was witnessing. The fall of a good man? The end of a career? Or something worse? 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It felt like your first date all over again. That same nervous energy hummed between your skin and your bones. The bag had been abandoned beneath the kitchen table for a hasty change of outfits, Alastor practically skipping to the car. 

As you had been buttoning your dress you did have a wild, ‘what the fuck are we doing?’ pass over your head.

It felt like a celebration of …. Being found out?

All the relief of finally admitting a lie without any of the fall out. 

And as the car jostled over the bridge into downtown New Orleans Alastor was grinning brightly. It absolutely was a celebration. He’d finally made a move toward Brady, he’d left his place in the shadows and it was liberating. No more hiding. The scariest part of his hobby had been confronted and nothing would come of it. 

Nothing could come of it. Brady had made too many missteps. It was all over the body language of his partner as he shifted in Alastor’s office chair. You’d been released with a promise of an apology, a clear indicator no one was sympathetic to Brady’s witch-hunt. Alastor was reckless, and impulsive, and sometimes dismissed consequences, but he wasn't stupid. He hadn’t done or said anything conclusively to Brady. The detective had unlocked the door all on his own and Alastor merely held it open as the man stumbled into an unbelievable situation. 

When he explained the interaction to you in more detail (though you were admittedly distracted by him undressing) you felt a small easing of worry roll over you again. He hadn’t found any proof to bring back to the station. It was all conjecture. It was words, and without someone to corroborate, they were as good as a fairy tale. The only person who could back up what had happened was you and you’d take Alastor’s secret to your grave. A little smirk crept up your cheek and you pursed your lips to pull it back. You could imagine his face, Detective Brady’s, asking you to confirm what he knew was true. And how it’d fall when you denied him.

A chill, the wind from the river was cold and unimpeded by the safety of the trees. But soon you were sheltered by buildings and basking in the glow of the lights. 

Your relationship had quickly gone from carefree and curious to a bond held together by a dangerous secret. There was a still a secret to be kept but Alastor’s lungs seemed to take in more air now that the little worm that was the detective was ejected. He hummed freely, fingers again dancing across the broad steering wheel as if across a piano’s keys. The deliciousness of the moment was still stirring in his guts and tingling down his spine. The flash of fear. The panic. His favorite part, arguably. Normally it’s so short lived. 

But even now, he knew Brady had that fear in his heart. And it made Alastor ecstatic. 

Reentering the far-too-fancy restaurant was mortifying, but the host looked at you with a pleasant surprise that let you know you did much better this time around. No smeared makeup, no mussed hair. You got to follow him through the dining room and into the secret door that led down the stairs to Mimzy’s speakeasy. 

Funny, the wealthy had well lit hotel bars with no false front and you all had secret basement floors. 

Which made you pause, ignoring Mimzy’s greeting entirely. A basement in Louisiana? That didn’t make a lick of sense. The river was just a block over, how was this entire place not flooded. You couldn’t linger on it too long though, Alastor pulling you forward by the hand and presenting you to Mimzy.

“Mimzy, the often spoken of but never seen!” His hand gestured to you like a magician to a rabbit. 

“We met already when she came to gather you off the floor.” She didn’t offer her hand, instead keeping one on her hip and one on a drink. Alastor grumbled, he hadn’t wanted to remember that night. 

“Pleased tah meet ya!” 

You noted how her accent only got thicker when she tried to enunciate. 

“Pleasures all mine.” Your own hands fidgeted with your dress. “It’s nice to see Alastor actually has friends.” Alastor protested, you’d met his friends before. But when you asked him to recall anything of depth about them he rolled his eyes. Mimzy laughed too loudly at the comment.

“I’m not sure he’s got many of those. He’s a little hard to love. I think he’d let me drown if his shoes would get ruined.”

“I didn’t invite her here to create a clique of bullies. We came here to drink and dance. In that order, preferably.” Alastor slid onto a stool, “And leather will absolutely get ruined if submerged Mimzy, have some sense.”

Slipping into the seat beside him, you let the two bicker as you focused on the oddness of sitting there with him. Going out was rare, a night in was easier for you both for obvious reasons. The last time you did so you were at his side for less than an hour before he was whisked away to his mistress (murder).

“Three shots sweetheart. We’re celebrating! I took your advice.” Alastor patted the bar when he said it and you tuned back in. What advice?

“And a water.” You added at the risk of sounding like a square.

“Of course you did!” A withering snicker that melted into an embarrassed giggle from Mimzy, “what did I advise, exactly?”

“The ex.” His hand reached over to gripped yours on the bar, “Put the fear of God into him.”

Eyes on your hands, you wondered what exactly he’d said about your ‘ex’ to Mimzy. But you had to trust him. A little nod of your head before you met Mimzy’s smiling eyes. She whirled around and set up the glasses.

As she poured she overflowed the tiny flutes and spilled with every move. Once they were all too full, she let the nondescript bottle come down with a thud. 

Mimzy tapped one shot glass on the bar and raised it, “To God!” She beamed.

“To Fear.” A smirk so wicked you thought you saw his shadow dance across the far wall. He raised it higher than hers.

You quickly raised your glass too, toasting to the real reason for your prolonged freedom, “To Alastor.” His sharp eyes came to wide eye you and softened, smile shortening before pushing his glass forward. A clink and you downed it in time.

“What,” Alastor sputtered, tossing his head back to keep from wretching, “the fuck is that?!”

“How the shit would I know. He rolls it down here and I drink it.” Mimzy shuddered but didn’t seem too affected.

You had both hands gripping your glass of water, gulping it down to wash away the distinct taste of ethanol.  “I don’t think that’s safe for human consumption.”

“This is the stuff that makes people go blind.”  Alastor inspected the shot glass closely. She just shrugged. “Whiskey next. Actual whiskey. As in, it was made to be whiskey and people waited for it to become whiskey.” She rolled her eyes again and leaned down beneath the bar. 

A drop fell on your cheek and reminded you of your question from before, “Hey Mimzy, are we… under the water table? How'd you get a permit for a basement.” Your head turned up to the ceiling, painted black to hide the pipes and beams exposed there. You couldn’t be sure what was above you now, the kitchen? A dining room?

“Permit, ha!” She croaked, “This isn’t on the fucking paperwork. This room doesn’t exist to the city of New Orleans.” She pointed along the far right wall, “We’re built on a hill, this is tech-na-cully the ground floor! Clever, huh?” Mimzy batted her lashes and waited for the praise. Her sweet tone dropped to her natural tenor, “Tell me I’m clever.” She hissed. 

“As ever! Since we’re asking questions, I’ve always wondered why it's called CD?” Alastor’s hand left yours to bring the newly poured whiskey to his nose.  His eyebrows rose in a surprised approval.

Mimzy’s eyes flashed over with anger before she hurriedly looked around for something to fuss the emotion out with. She settled on a dish rag she twisted and wrung tightly, “You nit, it’s a G and a D. It’s called the Golden Dish.” You heard some threads snap. “You’ve been coming here for ages and thought it was a C and D??”

Alastor shrugged, unbothered by the raging bar owner as he took a second large sip.  She whipped the rag at the counter with a snap, “I’m the golden dish!! I’m fancy and beautiful!!” A wet pop of the small towel with every word.

An enlightened, “aah” from Alastor before he turned his head to you, “Ready for that dance?” He told the whiskey he’d be back and spun around to pull you to the center of the small bar.

The music had to stay low to avoid alerting the patrons upstairs with their virgin drinks, but a lively tune had Alastor guiding you through a foxtrot,  Alabama Slide. The piano was all they could allow but it was good enough for the various couples taking to the open space. 

Your right hand in his left, his hand on your back and yours on his shoulder, you moved. Alastor walked forward and you walked back, a turn and you switched your direction. The embrace was arguably everyone’s favorite part of the foxtrot. You had to be close, and you had a good excuse for it. As you turned the edge of your dress slid across your shins just below your knees, free and loose. The bare shoulders were a little cold for the changing weather but it made you feel unrestrained. Your coat was nearby if you felt a draft in the buried first floor Mimzy called a bar. 

Maybe it really would be okay. You’d trusted him so thoroughly so far and Alastor never failed to put you first. If he wasn’t worried, and he truly wasn’t, then maybe you could settle into a comfortable (if still trepidatious) relaxation. When you looked up at Alastor, body pressed into body, you felt small. But again, not in the diminutive sense like some men happily made women. Small in the sense that he could hold you so securely with such ease. 

Your focus shifted to where your hands touched him. Skin on skin in one hand, your fingers just below his collar on his upper back on the other hand. The fabric was cool to the touch. But as your fingers lingered the heat of his body began to bloom through the weave. A blossoming of your own, cheeks tingling pinker. Touch for touch’s sake. No dance to give an illusion of need. You could do more with each other, and that lack of barrier between you two made even a hand in public seem like polite restraint. You knew his appetites now well enough to know what he needed; the excited intimacy of witnessing his worst compulsions and the ease with which touch could replace difficult to articulate words for him. His need to please, to be needed without seeming needy, also spurred him on. But less and less did you see that motivation pushing hungry touches past heavy petting. 

A little jolt of excitement shook up his arm, imperceivable to your hand. 

The difference a bathroom door makes to how much touch felt like scandal was astonishing. The things he felt compelled to do to you in dance halls was thrilling, and yet now, he felt bare under the dim glow of the illicit bar. You felt different than before. He was suddenly embarrassed to remember he dragged you into a bathroom once, but then he remembered how you inspired his hunger and his skin warmed from his neck down. He could taste you in a crowded place with only a piece of wood between you both and a crowd, but dancing so closely with the eyes of arguably his closest friend on him was making him uncharacteristically bashful. 

He opened his mouth to speak but played it off, instead licking his lips and turning you both again as the modest crowd spun around. 

Since he cried so openly into your lap, this was your first time in public with him. Was that why you felt different? He tried to find a word for it but failed. He’d touched you many times, his smirk couldn’t stop itself but he managed to keep it pulled to the left, but now it felt like the first time.

A first date. A first dance. He worried about how heavy his hand was on your back, how sweaty his palm was pressed against yours. There was a worry he could feel at the bottom of his spine, a little itchy thread of wool wrapped around his lower vertebrae. Would you become bored now?

The excitement would be gone with Brady, he feared. Things could be normal, and then you’d see once the blood was washed away and the trunk was empty he was just a man. What good was a man to you? 

He shifted and let you be the one to walk forward while he walked backwards blindly. He needed to step with confidence in your direction to keep the dance graceful and effortless. 

When he looked down at you, you were watching closely behind him. You were focused. And then your eyes flitted back to his and your brow unfurrowed and he watched the shoddy overhead lights sparkle in your stare. The moon could only wish to ever reflect light with such a brilliant clarity. 

He didn’t notice the music had stopped, the piano player flipping pages to find the next tune. You had to tap the shoulder to get his attention back to the room. 

Alastor wondered if songs had always been so short. He gestured to the bar again, where his drink was still waiting. He needed a little more lubrication, just enough to drown the butterflies.

You asked Mimzy if she had rum, and she confirmed she had brown liquor. That wasn’t what you asked, but you just nodded. As you scanned the room, you noticed some people entering from a double door past the dance floor and the piano. A mixed race couple lowered their head as they came down the wide stairs that were maybe half as tall as the ones you came down before. Their hands tightly laced, they joined a group already settled at a table. 

“… it’s nice you let everyone in here, Mimzy.” You said it softly, not necessarily to her just a sentiment you felt the need to express. 

Her eyes shot up and followed the direction you were looking, “Their money's green ain’t it?” She half assed a glass cleaning before pouring the ‘rum’, “Only color I care about.”

You hummed before tilting your head to the double doors, “What's back there?”

“That leads to the backdoor. When I can’t bring people in through the front doors or they’re too drunk,” she paused to glare at Alastor, “to walk through the dining hall.”

Alastor’s posture was perfect as he sipped the drink. He’d only been pushed out through the secret door once before which seemed a reasonable number given Mimzy’s heavy handed pours.

His mind wandered to Brady again, with much annoyance. The way he had smiled when he first appeared on his property. It was a smile that darkened the edges of Alastor’s vision, until all he could see was shining teeth. 

“Have you ever met someone whose smile just feels sinister. Nothing behind it, just teeth.” He mused.

“That’s how most people smile.”

“Mimz, that’s not what I mean—-“, Alastor’s hand came to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Ugh I hate you flowery men with your secret meanings. My beau just says what he means and we’re peachy!”

“Simple.” Alastor exhaled through his nose.

“Exactly!” Mimzy didn't notice the insult. 

It was admittedly what he liked about her. He could unwind and relax without worrying too much, as she never dug deeper than the topsoil. 

“Let me speak more plainly, when a wolf bears its teeth do you call it a smile?” Alastor asked the ether. 

Mimzy was stumped, a little huh escaping her perfectly colored lips. That was less plain to her. Alastor gave her a pat on the hand and offered you another dance. 

A cycle of hooch and dance, until you were happy to sway with the room against Alastor’s chest. The butterflies were still, and he could let his head rest atop of yours. How many more nights could he have like that?

You let your vision wander around the room. The bar was quite nice for a speakeasy. The floor was a pretty vinyl. The tables were few but looked like nice sturdy dark wood. 

The walls had posters of singers and ads for cigarettes very lowly lit by small flower shaped sconces. 

A loud bang above your heads stopped you, nearly everyone looking up at the ceiling. Someone had to hit the piano man on the back to silence him.

Another bang and a series of scuffles before a loud knock came to the hidden door most of you had taken down to the bar. 

“Cheese it or get pinched!” Mimzy crawled over the bar and led the charge for the double doors. You and Alastor had barely turned your bodies before the door above the stairs flew open and the light flooded down to the small room. 

You felt hands on your back pushing you through the doors before Mimzy was grabbing you by the arm and dragging you to the right. Your coat was in your hands as someone passed them around in the dark and you put it on out of instinct. Well, you were somewhat sure it was your coat. 

Looking over your shoulder you saw the doors shut as the men began tying the handles together with their ties. It was dark now with the doors shut, you couldn’t see where your man was in the mix. You were being swept up in the half a dozen or so women rushing to something on the wall. 

“Alastor!” You turned back but Mimzy grabbed your wrist and tugged. “We can’t leave him!” Her hand gripped your shoulder and head and pushed you down to make you crouch. A faint light came in before leaving again. Then again. There was some kind of door a few feet up the wall. 

“Leaving the men behind is our right!” She said.

“The only perk.” A stranger giggled. Their mood was mischievous despite the sounds of cops hitting against the double doors.

“Not the only perk.” Someone laughed before a hand in the dark found your shoulder and pushed you down a little further. “Out the little hole ya go.”

You stumbled, shoe catching up the square cut out lip. Another woman helped you keep upright until you were free. You watched the others all emerge from the same place you had — what looked like the exit of a trash shoot. But it was lower than usual, and cleaner. And also obviously not a trash chute once you’d seen it from the inside. Looking around, you realized you were in an alley that ran along the right side of the restaurant. You could hear the water and the bugs that always lingered there coming from behind you. There was a slope to the ground beneath your feet that rose up to meet the road you met Alastor on before.

“Scatter, you idiot!”

“How do we find the men later?”

“They find us, at home or back here next week.”

You ran toward the back side of the building, where the hill sloped down. The bar is going to flood with the first hurricane, you thought as you felt the slick pavement beneath your shoes. The river was so close.

Finding you wasn’t really going to work unless you met at the car. You just pressed your back flush to the wall of the neighboring building and waited. You couldn’t stand the idea of just hoping he made it out. Sure enough, some men flew past and you managed to snag the arm of yours. It was easy to see which one was Alastor in the rush, his height paired with his complexion made him stand out.

He turned back with his free arm cocked but realized it was you. “I almost decked you!” A kiss instead of a fist, his smile not leaving even through the peck. “Come on, to the river.”

Another tugging of the arm as you were taken to the edge of the hill and began sliding down as you tried to get down it. Your heel was flatter than you would normally wear and slid down the hill easily instead of getting caught in the ground.

“Why?!”

“No ligh-,” the word ended in a small yelp as the slick grass and fallen leaves won out, his shoe losing its grip and him slipping down the hillside on his ass. You were shortly behind. The moisture immediately soaked through and you felt your ass and thighs become cool with the wetness.

With an oof you came to a stop against his back. “Shhh,” he pulled you down by the ankles until you were neatly pressed into his side and your dress lifted a little too high up your thighs. 

Your fingers pulled up the end of his coat, showing him a tear. A rock must have snagged it as he slid down the bank, you whispered. You presented it like you’d found a dead bird on the porch.

His hand’s weight came to settle on yours and pushed both them and the offending rip back down. He didn’t care. Evident in the sincere and calm smile he gave you. A giddiness in his eyes the only tell that his heart was pounding. Alastor let his back rest against the sharp slope of the hill to escape the full reach of the warm street lamp’s glow and you followed. 

In that silence between you was something else you didn’t recognize until it fully materialized; safety. It’d visited you in fleeting moments through life, but in that moment it’d come to settle like a rock. Unlike the one who tore his precious coat, any sharpness was hand chiseled by Alastor, surely.

Alastor flourished in the tension before a kiss. An anticipation mirrored in the moments before the killing blow. The will he or won’t he in the other person's eyes. Daisies had fields and water lillies had still waters and Alastor had prescience. You often robbed him of his arena with your unpredictable nature, but that was, as people said, the zest of life. 

Except right now. Now you let him have his slow lean towards you. 

As he got closer the question moved from will he to where will he? 

Just beside your ear, close enough that his breath made you shiver. Alastor deeply enjoyed the ways he could make people’s bodies respond to him. 

But then a light shone down onto the crowns of your heads and interrupted the fun. Alastor squinting to try and see past it. 

“You again? Geez…you’re becoming a nuisance. Get a room, sir.” The cop shouted down the incline. “And have a little more self respect, miss.”

You moved to sit up and shout back at the man about respect but Alastor’s hand came to set on your arm.

“Thank you officer!” He nodded away the cop’s look of disapproval and waited for him to go back to looking for the box’s patrons. 

“Do you think it’s him who sent the raids?” You asked when the cop was out of sight, “My former fella.”

Alastor shook his head no, “Mimzy’s had three bars raided. This was definitely just a consequence of her loose lips.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When you made it home and did away with your coats, Alastor poured you both a nightcap. You were leaning against the back patio railing when set down the glasses and pulled you into a hug.

“I should apologize for always magically summoning the police.” He beamed, all charm. “How should I show you? A good cuddle?” His nose knocked softly against yours as he teased another kiss. You could tell by his smile you’d be swept away if you let him continue. 

“No, nope. I’m not letting you distract me any longer.” You pushed him away with both hands and made a beeline inside for the kitchen. He leaned back to watch you through the screen door. 

You stretched up and over the counters, pulling out a small vase he forgot he had, and grabbed the paper bag from beneath the table. He could only see your back as you fiddled with it on the table before marching to the sitting room. Taking a few steps forward, he could see you through the window now as you unsleeved a record and inspected both sides before setting it down and lifting the arm to place the needle.

A trumpet played and buzzed through the speaker. As a song he didn’t know began to play he turned back to see you at the screen door with your little vase of flowers. 

Alastor was taken aback. A new sight. A new thing to dream about. You in the glow of the dim kitchen light, it bouncing off the back of your silhouette as you looked at him like a shark was in your tub; unnecessarily scared.

Music drifted through the open window to his right. Extending his arm, he beckoned you to him. 

Lead feet made you nearly trip with your first step. 

Your hands were trembling as they gripped the glass and brought the flowers up. 

“What's all this?” a little nervous laugh as he looked down at the bouquet you fussed over at the shop just some hours before. How many hours exactly was lost to the bootleg hooch.

“Red Tulips. Wild roses. Daisies.” you pointed them out just how the shop attendant had for you, “And cornflower.”

Alaster smiled over them and then back to you. 

“For you.” You lifted them just a tad higher.

“Oh!” He cleared his throat, wiping his hands on his pants before gingerly taking them from you. “That happy I didn’t kill him?” Alastor joked, knowing you had to have gotten them before you learned of the newest developments.

Your throat was closing. Well, it felt like it was. 

Looking up, there he was. As brilliant as in the sun, dim light casting sharp shadows across his face as he brought the bouquet up to his nose. The light passed over his glasses as he did so, and when his eyes flitted back up they looked over the rims and down to you. Your heart skipped a beat as a new rhythm took it by surprise. 

“And the– I heard it. This song. And I thought you'd like it. So.” You fidgeted, tapping the back of one shoe with the toebox of the other, “I got it for you. As a gift. It’s pretty new, by Ozzie Nelson, whoever that is.” He laughed at your flippant description. 

His head turned slightly to the sound before setting the flowers on the porch banister. The speaker popped a little with the tune. 

Stars shining bright above you. 

He put his hands out to ask you to dance, and you eagerly took up the offer. It bought you a little time. While you danced, you could think. 

Nightbreezes seem to whisper I love you.

Fuck. 

Say nighty night and kiss me.

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me.

While I'm alone and as blue as can be.

Alastor wasn’t listening as intently as you were. His palms could feel you beneath your dress, feel the shape of your hips as you lazily swayed together to the song. 

When had he last received a gift, he wondered as you chewed on your bottom lip. He couldn’t remember. His swaying slowed as he reached back into his memories. No, he really couldn’t remember the last time someone had given him a present. Had anyone ever given him flowers?

No. 

He was brought back to the moment when you leaned forward, pressing your cheek against his collar bone. He shook away the thought and resumed the slow move from left to right. Your feet did little steps in the same direction. It was dancing enough for you both. The porch wasn’t exactly conducive to a lively foxtrot and your tipsy body wasn’t up for the turns. 

Stars fading, but I linger on, dear. Still craving your kiss. 

I'm longing to linger til dawn, dear.

What time was it, you wondered. Was it almost time for the sun to rise? No, it couldn’t be. Would it be more romantic to wait for that? That was what people liked in these moments, special light.

You were overthinking it, looking for an excuse to delay it. 

Just saying this

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you. 

“And what's the occasion? I’m the one who owes you flowers.” 

His chest rumbled and you inhaled the scent of him. What if you said it and you never got to get this close again?

What was the better world to live in…The one where he was yours, or the one where he knew he was loved?

Dream a little dream of me. 

It was too much to bear. The feeling was crowding your chest and stealing your air. Obviously the better world was the latter, and now you were holding up its descent. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer or the words themselves would slice through your throat. The song ended and the speakers popped as the record finished its rotation. 

Like a wolf showing its neck you filled the silence with vulnerability, “You know I love you, right?” You couldn’t muster the courage to look at him. The entire world was spinning but the swaying stopped.  “It bears repeating, so, listen up. I’ll always meet you where you are. Don’t go feeling around in the dark for me. I’ll find you, I’ll wait around the nearest corner or in the car or wherever. Because I love you. Terribly. Against my will.” You swallowed hard but your mouth was dry, “Now and forever.”  What a terribly uncomfortable thing to say, what a horridly sensitive wound to inflict on yourself. A fresh expanse of exposed nerves and muscles. 

A practiced author would call it a whirlwind romance, but that didn’t capture the violence that tangled you two together. A maelstrom love.

He didn’t say it back. He didn’t say anything at all. His eyes were heavy as he brought your knuckles to his mouth and kissed each one. That didn’t sting or alarm you. You hadn’t said it to hear it back. This wasn’t a token slid to him for anything in return this time.  You said it to make sure he knew. If anything, you hadn’t really expected the sentiment to be returned. Because it hadn’t ever been about you, love apparently never was. 

Alastor was too scared to speak, too overwhelmed to reply. You’d said it first, atleast, you’d said it thinking you had. A weakness came over his muscles and for a flash he thought he'd go weak in the knees. But what you said stirred a fire in his chest and he didn’t know what to do with it. Too many words crowded in his guts and choked at the stop gap that was his own throat. Words were, as they rarely were for him, useless. So his hands slipped down your body, then back up, and he found your cheeks despite his eyes still hiding in the shadow of his lashes. He leaned down to meet your lips and pressed into them. Chaste, as if neither of you had ever kissed anyone before. He hoped at that moment he’d never have to kiss anyone again. 

No, he decided at that moment he never would. A relief. A heavy load he could set down. You felt the little self assured smile against your mouth. 

He needed to move, fresh electrical impulses twitching down his spine and igniting that little wool string of fear.  So he took a few steps backward, bringing you with him, and let his hands cage you into more desperate kisses as his back pressed into the wall. The passion was mounting with every return, his tongue willing your mouth open so he could retreat into the honesty of your body. Pulling away, you took his face in your hands too. 

“Do you want to keep going?” You asked, feeling his hips move to grind up into you. He nodded, his smile small and tight. His lips were barely visible. “You know you don’t have to, right? You don’t owe me anything. My love isn’t….there are no strings attached.” He nodded again. His eyes were shining, the light of the kitchen giving them a comforting and golden band. Were they wet or just bright? “Do you want to …talk?” 

His smile widened, and he shook his head no. 

“Then we won’t talk.”

The expression on his face was enough for you. His eyes soft and half lidded, pupils blown. You never knew what he saw when he looked at you like that, but you knew you wanted to be whoever it was. The corners of his eyes wrinkled slightly with his smile, which was pure and sweet. He was happy, and that was all you’d wanted. All of it in your hands. No fireworks, barely a moon above you both.  

You’d really not wanted to mingle the words with the actions. But Alastor’s assurance reminded you that you weren’t alone in the situation. Maybe for him they were already entangled together. Maybe he wanted them to be. You stopped acting as a monolith long ago, whether you had felt comfortable admitting that until that moment or not.

He dropped slowly down to his knees, you following with your mouth on his. With a crawl, he leaned forward and you leaned back until you were lying down. 

It wasn’t quite as deep as that for him, instead acting on instinct with the magnets in his fingertips unable to break the pull and separate from your skin any longer. He was going to find out now, for the first time, if he could feel love. Could he translate it from his mouth through your skin, words unspoken still? The gasp you made when he licked up your neck made him confident he was saying something. He didn’t want to get off in that moment, nothing about you was screaming sex, but there was no earthly method he could express the way your confession made him feel. He needed you close. He needed you closer than anyone had ever been, and your words had already pulled him skin deep. Perhaps now, in this moment, if he had sex with you he’d find an unseen depth of comfort in your embrace than he’d felt before. A new level of connection for him to feel held by. 

People had said they loved him before, but it was just words. It was the next thing to say before I do and it's a boy! They had loved well pressed clothes and a shiny smile, quick fingers over keys and a pretty voice. Such love was nothing short of tissue paper wrapped around a gift he didn't want; a promise of a boring and hidden life. 

He wondered why you always told him to not seek you out. He had no plans on leaving, and if he ever lost you in the crowd like he had tonight, he’d still wander around for you. It was a silly request. You might as well ask him to not kiss your forehead before sitting on the sofa beside you or to not smile when you smiled. 

So clever but so naive. 

Please.

His nose nuzzled behind your ear, a voiceless whisper. His hands were scratching down your thighs and over your stockings, surely snagging the delicate weave. 

Closer.

Hastily you rolled them down and did the same with your panties, Alastor seemingly too focused on gathering as much of your body into his arms as he could physically manage. You gasped when two firm hands slipped under you and pulled your ass off the porch to press up into his core. 

Alastor drew his knees forward to kneel, dragging you up into his lap by the hips. Back bending, you looked up wordlessly as he unbuttoned his shirt. 

“It’s cold.” You whispered, no hint of wanting him to stop but genuinely concerned for his comfort.

I’ll make it warm reverbrated across time, a little changed but the promise still intact that Alastor would heat up the cold with embraces, sexual and otherwise.

“Oh!” You squeaked, realizing this was your cue to start undressing too. You ignored the burning in your thighs at the position and reached for your own buttons, a long line down the back meant for women with husbands as it was impossible to do up alone.

As he leaned over you and hot palms slid up your arched back, his face came close to yours. No scared deer in the headlights. He looked much more self assured than something built to flee.

Ah.

Right.

An image of clashing antlers and the ringing crack they produced blocked out your second squeak as you were pulled up to be chest to chest. Arms snaking around his neck you held on tightly as he worked on the buttons for you.

His chin rested on the taut muscle that connected neck and shoulder, breaths even and hot slipping down between the skin of your back and dress as the clothing loosened under his grip. 

A flutter of nerves filled you both. The space between romance and sex was always a no man’s land for you two. You preferred to rush through to the act, and Alastor struggled with transitioning loving touches to wanton ones.

But you didn’t feel that awkward gap now. Alastor seemed very confident in his movements, marching across that space to take you from love to lover. 

He couldn’t see your smile as he undid the dress. This was a good answer, you thought. This didn’t feel like him pushing to give you what he expected, like he had always done with the others. It felt, very honestly, like someone wanting to do the dreaded thing you always avoided; make love. You couldn’t say you had ever thought what made fucking and love making different, you just knew you hadn’t cared for mixing sex with emotion. But this was all emotion now. An act of surrender for you, an act of commitment from him. A deep slow breath to steady yourself. You’d give him whatever he wanted and needed. And if that was more than you’d managed before, you’d find a way to be more than you had been. You could still be yourself. Just…a little extra. For him. When he pleaded so sincerely.

You rose on your knees to lift your center from his lap, allowing him the space to undo his belt and free himself from his pants. His hands moved under the curtain of your dress and you kept your eyes on the wall behind him. Looking him in the eyes would happen, you knew that, but you weren’t ready to get stuck in his stare just yet. 

Clinging on to his shoulders you worked together to lower yourself back down, a slow seating down onto his member. You swallowed a gasp and let your body weight fully settle. An ache radiated from deep within you as he bottomed out and then pressed further with your relaxed form giving way. His hands slipped up your back and held onto your shoulders, face pressed into your neck and tickling you with every breath. 

Your body pressed tightly against his, you found the space to lift up and drop. Reluctantly, Alastor loosened his grip to allow you more freedom of movement. Just enough you could get more height and not an inch more.

The burn in your thighs and the sting of your knees digging into the old wood patio quickly fought for your focus. But then your riding produced rewards, Alastor’s breath coming out ragged and weak. His own little gasps each time you took him back in fully escaped to your pleasure. You were warm and clinging, inside and out, and Alastor found the base of his skull beginning to feel fuzzy. All that lightning was now in his lap and leaving his mind to go slack as if in a tepid bath. He liked this part, where things could go quiet internally except for the most basic of senses: touch. You were all around him, and that was satisfying him so completely he worried he’d run out of things to seek out in life. A small worry that came and went as quickly as your hips began to move. Fast and even.

He could say with confidence you hugged him in a loving embrace and it let his body relax into the moment. The gasps and dryness of his lips went unnoticed by him. But not you, if you closed your eyes all you could hear was his breathing. Instinctively your arms tightened until you were holding his head to you. Sex with Alastor never felt like being fucked. Like being used as some sleeve for a man. You always felt like you were receiving much more from him, never like you were giving. Except now, with how his lips left lazy open mouth kisses on your collar bone, it felt like you were providing him with something.

Alastor pulled away and you slowed before stopping in response. The part you knew would come, because you knew Alastor. Both hands took your face for a proper kiss. His lips stuck a little to yours, but he licked them and tried again. Such a slow kiss for the occasion, passion could be languid when you had the time for it. And you had nothing but time now. That was what you promised him when you confessed, to be there through time now and ever.

He pulled away to rest his forehead against yours. This was intimacy, this was what existed between you both as something was communicated from his eyes to yours. The instinct to look away was clawing at you but you fought it. His eyes were so beautiful, even in the dark. That was how you first saw them, in the dark of an alleyway. 

Without warning he broke the longing look and kissed you again.

Forever, you’d said. And Alastor held those words as tightly as he held you now. Forever was all that he needed. 

His tongue roamed around your mouth hungrily. 

Closer.

Your own hands held tightly to his head as he leaned forward. Gently, his kiss slowing as he focused on setting you down on the porch, you were returned to your back. It took strength to do it so smoothly, that hidden muscle that betrayed his slender frame. 

Letting him take the lead was easy, in that moment every move  dripped with an arousing confidence. The sweet gasps melted into tiny grunts that made you clench around him, the kiss breaking with his thrusts.

His belt was cold, hitting against the top of your ass with every slap of his hips. You used the heel of your shoe to try and push his pants down further but didn’t get far. You whispered a ‘fuck it’ and let your legs hug onto him.

A rain of ‘please’ fell from your mouth, begging him to maintain that strong even pace but also praying he’d finish inside this time. You wanted that liquid heat pooling in your guts. 

Alastor wanted to kiss you more, but he knew better than to interrupt his rhythm. He wanted to feel you spasming around his cock, feel your body tighten and go stock still under him. 

Maybe he imagined it, maybe it was your slight  embarrassed blushing, but you did feel different. He could have sworn you felt warm, softer. He felt he was getting lost in your touch like someone losing their way in the safety of a well maintained park. No danger, but no idea where he was or what he was really doing there. But it was lovely. That midsummer day glow and warmth you could only enjoy in the shade of tall trees.

There he was again, mind wandering with flashes of beautiful places and sensations as his muscles began to tire.

You bit your lip and tensed your core to help along the rising pressure. Fingers raked down his scalp and neck as you crossed the peak and came on his slowing cock.

A second was given to you to come down before he began his own finish. 

It didn’t take long for his hips to go weak and for him to lose his rhythm. Apart from you, the sensation of a wet and writhing organ against his slit was vaguely alien and gross. But your twitching insides was a trophy he was always eager to earn. He had to lean back which meant your chest making contact with the cold air that filled the void. His handkerchief was quickly pulled from his chest pocket and brought to his cock as he managed to hold off cumming until he was safely free of you.  It worked poorly, semen leaking through the threads and sticking to his hand. He hissed but wiped his hand clean the best he could on the handkerchief’s edges.

Alastor leaned over and kissed your cheek, and then your nose, and then because he felt the compulsion, your already kiss swollen lips. When he moved his head to carry on down your collar bone you unclenched your eyes.  You could see the flowers above your head on the banister. 

You remembered reading The Language of Flowers poster to the florist as you chose your bouquet. When she pointed out each one to you, you repeated the meanings in your head. 

“Red tulips,”

 I declare my love. 

“Wild Roses,”

I love you truly. 

“Daisies,” 

Pain and Pleasure. 

“And, lastly,” the shopkeeper sounded sentimental as she gestured to the blue petals, “Cornflower.”

Be gentle with me.