Masochism Tango | Alastor & Lucifer & Vox

chapter 7

Upbeat piano music began to play, and Alastor's grin stretched deviously across his lips as he took your hand, whisking you away further onto the floor and abandoning Charlie and Lucifer, who was sulking silently as he swayed with his daughter.

Alastor snaked his hand around the small of your back, interlacing your fingers with his own. You placed a hand on his warm back, right where his shoulder blade was, feeling the strange texture of his black tailcoat.

Once you verified you were out of listening distance from any prying ears, you smirked and raised your brows as you and Alastor swayed.

"Pretending to not know me, Alastor?" you hummed as Alastor led you to the left, and then to the right, until you made a half-turn. "Why's that?"

"Entertainment," the Overlord said shortly, his voice low and sultry. Hm.

"You don't want Charlotte to suspect I own your soul," you smiled, tilting your head as Alastor suddenly grabbed you tightly, pulling you in close.

Your breath hitched from the forced proximity, his scent overwhelming you — pine trees and dewy forestry, and blood. You could feel the heat radiating from his chest, and were captivated by his radio-filtered words:

"Watch yourself, Your Grace," he whispered, "you may unravel my master plan before it even begins."

You let out a short, dry laugh as Alastor extended his arms, relieving you of the close distance he kept you to his body. "So you admit you have a plan?"

"Do you want the truth?" Alastor smiled, and you were captivated by the glint in his eye. Your cheeks twinged pink, and you were suddenly under his spell.

"Say," you breathed, and Alastor's smile widened, gripping your waist securely as he dipped you, your back arching as your hair cascaded down your scalp, hanging in the air for a moment. He leaned in closer, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath on your cold face.

"I don't have a plan at all," Alastor purred, his eyelids lowering. "I am more of a... flexible... kind of gentleman myself." His grip around your waist tightened, his fingers, interlaced with your dampened gloves, gripping your hand more firmly. "I'd prefer to see what you meant back then about studying me."

You chuckled, your voice humming in your chest like a melodic, devilish symphony. Alastor was pulled in, curious by your allure and conniving demeanor, and, you, entranced by his charming nature. You felt nothing for him romantically at all, and you're certain he did not, either, but you had to admit — you were beyond curious to know what his screams sounded like...

As Alastor hung you in the air, his eyes were locked with yours, his red irises glowing a hardly-noticeable green hue. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. And then, as you held eye contact, you envisioned him chained up by your doing, his body bloody and bruised and beaten, arms pouring torrents of red waterfalls from your claws, tears falling down his cheekbones as he shivered in exquisite pain, whimpering and begging you to stop, to stop hurting him.

Your eyes narrowed, sharp teeth catching your bottom lip so hard you drew your own golden blood. Would he beg you to stop? Or would he beg for more? Did he have a limit, or would he allow you to mutilate his body until the brink of death?

Just how far could you torture Alastor before he gave in?

And that about him is what made you lend him a sliver of your power in the first place, what made you materialize in front of him all of those decades ago. You had never met a person with as many scars as he, someone who derived pleasure from hurting themself as much as Alastor did. He was the ultimate masochist, the most depraved, twisted kind of mind you had ever had to opportunity to get your hands on.