Why yes, I'll take your soul

Charlie was in Alastor’s room once again, in the middle of another healing session. Unlike before, he was making genuine progress. It was hard to say how much longer it would take, too much of the angelic energy lay buried below the skin, and while she could thread her magic through it and pull at it, she couldn’t see what she was doing. She had to feel it out, inch by inch. 

Still, the results were undeniable. 

Where once the golden rot had branched like lightning up his collarbone, it now clung stubbornly to a much smaller radius, no more than an inch past the wound. The worst of it had retreated.

Charlie tried not to get complacent. She remembered how quickly he’d deteriorated before. It could turn again, she knew. If she let herself relax, if she eased up before it was truly gone, it could surge back with a vengeance.

She noticed Alastor had been different today.

Yesterday, after he’d won the Overlords game, he had abruptly left the lounge, and today, he’d been nowhere to be found. He’d left in the morning “for a stroll,” and he hadn’t returned until evening, heading straight to his radio tower to broadcast without so much as a hello.

It reminded her too much of his behavior when he was hiding his wound from her. 

Back then, he’d vanished for hours at a time, often seeming irritated.

She wanted to ask him what he was doing now. Where he’d gone. Why he’d stayed away all day. But she knew he wouldn’t tell her. At best, he’d brush her off, at worst, he’d spin a lie so convincing that she believed him.

Charlie was not as stupid or naive as people liked to think. She could tell he hated this. He hated needing her. His whole body always went tense when she touched him, muscles coiled under her palms. He avoided eye contact resolutely, staring past her shoulder or at some fixed point on the wall. The closest she’d ever seen him come to a frown was that thin, tight smile paired with the sharp glare that seemed permanently attached to these sessions.

Today, though, he was different in a way that made her skin prickle.

His glare was almost absent, his ears stayed pricked, swiveling at every sound in the hotel, the creak of wood, distant footsteps, a muffled laugh from somewhere downstairs. And his eyes… his eyes stayed on her. Not the usual careful avoidance, not the distant stare past her shoulder. He

Every time she risked a glance up to check his expression, she found him already looking at her. His pupils were thin and red and focused, unblinking.

It made Charlie nervous. She felt like a gazelle being stalked by a lion.

It was late morning, and Charlie was taking some rare time for herself. The lounge was quiet, sunlight coming in through the tall windows and pooling over the carpet. The only people there were her and Alastor.

Ever since the battle, Vaggie had gotten a little antsy from time to time and thrown herself into training. Normally, Charlie liked to hover around the edge of the room while she worked out. She’d get a little exercise in herself, fetch water, shout encouragement, and soak in the sight of Vaggie moving through her drills. That skintight fleece outfit clinging to her, the way it ended up dark with sweat, the way her muscles stood out as she jumped around…

But not today. 

Today, Charlie was curled up on the lounge couch with a throw blanket draped over her feet and tucked under her calves. She had her back pressed into the armrest, knees drawn up, heels digging into the cushion. Propped against her thighs was a self-help book she’d been reading, and her hand gripped a highlighter to mark the rare passage she actually liked.

Most of it struck her as hollow. Empty little slogans about loving yourself and not letting others define you. Every now and then, though, a line actually felt like it had some substance, and she would give it a pink highlight to denote its value. There were not many marks in the book.

Alastor was also reading. He sat in his usual armchair, holding a mint julep he mixed at the bar himself. In his other hand was a thin book with a nondescript matte black cover. Charlie didn’t know what it was, but Alastor didn’t seem to enjoy reading it much. Not if his constant scoffing, eye rolling, and impatient sighs were any indication. 

Charlie highlighted a line about “valuing your own boundaries,” then glanced over the edge of her book at him again. He turned another page with a flick, stared at it for a few seconds, then snorted and took a slow sip of his drink.

She wondered why he was reading it at all if he clearly held so little regard for it. Was it research? Some kind of magic theory he needed? A rival’s work he wanted to pick apart? Part of her wanted to push the blanket off, wander over, and ask him outright what he was reading. For a moment, she actually considered it. They were alone, and he seemed… if not relaxed, then at least not on edge. It would have been a simple thing to break the silence.

But if there was one thing she had learned from this whole debacle, it was that Alastor was an intensely private person. He might tell her, perhaps draw it out and make her squirm with some cutting remark in the process. Or, just as likely, he would take grave offense to the question. For now, it seemed she would just have to languish in ignorance.

Charlie refocused back on her book. Much like Alastor, she didn’t think much of the book she was reading, but it did have a scant few useful insights, and she was trying to slowly fill out a collection of marked self help books for the residents. Even if a lot of it was trite, trite could still be comforting. Besides, sometimes she got decent ideas for new activities out of them. Prompts for discussions, themes for movie nights, silly exercises she could twist into something more practical. Just because something was shallow did not mean it was worthless.

Charlie was pulled from her reading as the couch shifted beneath her. She blinked and glanced up, expecting to see Vaggie dropping onto the cushion or Angel draping himself over the back. Instead she watched as Alastor’s arms stretched out, resting atop the back cushions. Alastor just sat down next to her. He just… plopped down next to her. Her feet dipped under his thigh as he settled, the edge of his leg pressing lightly against her through the blanket.

‘What the fuck is happening?’

She instinctively began to curl up farther, retreating to her section of the couch, but after a moment, she stopped. She didn’t want Alastor to think she was recoiling away from him, and upon further introspection, she didn’t actually mind him being so close, it was just odd.

She relaxed back into her spot, shifting slightly to get comfortable and mask her attempted retreat.

“Is that book for you or our residents, princess?” Alastor asked, leaning over to pear at the pages.

“Oh! Uh—both,” Charlie said quickly. The words tumbled out in a rush. “I mean, I like reading them, even if a lot of it is useless slop. But when I find something good I highlight it and then I figured I could keep them around for the guests, you know? If someone wants to flip through or if we need ideas for group stuff or themes or—”

She heard herself rambling and clamped her mouth shut with an awkward little smile.

Alastor let out a low, rich laugh and plucked the book straight out of her hands. His fingers brushed hers for a second, then the pages were gone, and he had it tilted toward himself.

He scanned the open spread, eyes flicking left to right, then cleared his throat and read aloud in a sing-song voice, “‘Your ‘yes’ matters because your ‘no’ exists.’”

His smile sharpened.

“Is this supposed to be some profound revelation?” he drawled.

He handed the book back to her, rolling his eyes as he did.

Charlie let out a soft laugh. “Yes, I think it was,” she admitted, glancing down at the highlighted line. “But enough about my book. What were you reading? How was it?” she asked, emboldened by the fact that he had taken an interest in hers at all.

“That drivel?” he sneered, lip curling. ‘That hackneyed tripe was hardly worth the time. I just grabbed something from the library. By the time I realized how deficient the author was, I was too lazy to grab something else.”

“What was it about?” She asked.

“Just your bog-standard wish fulfilment romance novel,” he said. His voice shifted into a mocking storyteller tone, smooth and theatrical. “The poor, defenseless maiden is indebted to some ruffians—But wait! Here comes a dashing young fella with a heart of gold and nerves of steel to rescue her.”

Charlie snorted, then giggled outright. The image of Alastor, of all people, reading trashy romance made something in her chest bubble.

“Well, I promise you this isn’t much better,” she said, lifting her self-help book a little and giving it a small shake, the corners of her mouth quirking up. “So I guess we’re both wasting our time.”

Later, Charlie found Vaggie in their room.

Vaggie was changing their bedding, halfway through yanking the fitted sheet off the mattress. There was a small pile of pillows stacked haphazardly on the chair, their cases turned inside out and tossed aside. 

“Need help?” Charlie asked.

Vaggie glanced over her shoulder, then shrugged. “Sure. Grab the clean sheet?”

Charlie crossed the room and picked up the folded sheet from the dresser, shaking it out. 

“So,” Vaggie said, reaching for a pillowcase. “How’s your day been?”

Charlie grabbed another case and started turning it right-side out. “Good, lazy day so far.”

She rambled for a little while about meaningless things. How quiet the lounge had been, the book she was slogging through, Niffty’s latest cleaning frenzy, until she remembered something quite interesting that had happened.

“I had a weird moment with Al.” She said,

Vaggie’s eye narrowed in suspicion. “Weird how?”

“He sat next to me,” Charlie said. “On the couch. Just kind of… plopped right down next to me like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

Vaggie’s fingers squeezed the pillow she had been fluffing. “Did he do anything?” 

“What? Oh, no nothing like that.” Charlie said quickly, “He just talked about our books. Well, he ridiculed our books.”

“Sounds like him,” Vaggie said. Her tone made it clear that was not a compliment.

“But that’s not the good part,” Charlie continued, leaning in a little, some of the earlier unease replaced with clear amusement. “Guess what he was reading.” A mischievous smile tugged at her lips.

“‘One hundred and one ways to cook a demon?’” Vaggie guessed, only half joking.

Charlie snorted. “No! It was a trashy romance novel,” she said, already fighting back giggles. “One where the beautiful damsel in distress needs a big strong hero to rescue her.”

For a second, Vaggie just stared at her. Then she let out a short laugh.

“He ranted about how awful it was. And then he complained he was too lazy to go get something better, so he kept reading it anyway.”

That pulled a proper laugh from Vaggie. 

Vaggie set the pillow aside on the bed and reached out, taking Charlie’s hand in her own. Her grip was warm and sure, thumb brushing once across Charlie’s knuckles. She looked straight into Charlie’s eyes, gaze filled with so much warmth.

“I’m glad you had a good day,” Vaggie said quietly.

Staring into Vaggie’s loving gaze, Charlie was hit with a wave of guilt that threatened to consume her.

Vaggie’s hand was wrapped around hers, warm and steady. She was looking at Charlie like she always did when it was just them. Open. Soft. Certain. Like she trusted Charlie completely. 

Charlie’s stomach twisted.

Every night, she slipped away. Every night, she lied.

Vaggie trusted her. Vaggie trusted her so much that all it took was a few words and a smile to set her at ease. She had no idea that Charlie was hiding something this big. 

The guilt crawled higher in Charlie’s chest.

She thought about the contract. About the green chain, the collar at her throat. About the rule that wrapped around her tongue whenever she tried to open up to Vaggie.

She had tried to tell Vaggie yesterday. Tried to force it out. Her throat choked up before she could.

Charlie’s eyes burned.

She thought, wildly, that Vaggie deserved better than this. Better than being left out. Better than being lied to every night. Better than having her girlfriend bound to a demon she hated and not even knowing the half of it.

Her mind spiraled.

She should say something. She should say something now, while it was just them and the room was quiet and Vaggie’s hands were warm around hers and her face was right there.

Her mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

She couldn’t tell Vaggie the truth.

She couldn’t even apologize properly for not telling her. Because an apology would need a reason, and she couldn’t give it.

Her jaw worked uselessly.

Her mouth opened a little wider. Her tongue felt heavy. She tried to force something out anyway.

“I—”

That was as far as she got.

Vaggie leaned in and pressed her lips against Charlie’s. Her whole body went rigid. Her hands hovered uselessly at her sides, fingers twitching once against the rumpled sheet. Her lips stayed still under Vaggie’s. Her eyes stayed open for one startled heartbeat, staring at Vaggie’s lashes from an inch away, then finally fluttered shut.

Guilt surged up through her chest once again. She did not deserve this. She did not deserve Vaggie’s mouth, or her warmth, or the way her hand cupped Charlie’s cheek so carefully. ‘Kiss her back. Pull away. Stop this. Don’t ruin this. Move. Do something.’

She did nothing.

Vaggie pulled back, lips dragging away from Charlie’s. The absence of contact left Charlie’s mouth cool and exposed. Vaggie’s hand slipped from her cheek.

“Shit—sorry,” Vaggie said a little hoarsely. “You just looked like you needed it.”

A new type of guilt hit Charlie. Not only was she lying to Vaggie every night, now she was making her feel like she had done something wrong for trying to kiss her. Charlie did not want to punish Vaggie for her secrets.

Her hand shot out on instinct. She grabbed the front of Vaggie’s shirt, fingers curling in the fabric near her collarbone. She was not going to let her shame ruin this for Vaggie. She tugged gently, pulling Vaggie back in.

The kiss this time was nothing like the first. Their tongues pressed against each other’s in a sultry dance.

Charlie pressed in hard, almost desperate, lips moving against Vaggie’s with more force than finesse. Charlie poured everything into it. An apology she could not voice, a distraction from the churn in her stomach, a plea for this moment to last forever.

Her fingers slid from Vaggie’s jaw to the back of her neck. She pulled Vaggie closer until there was no space left between their chests. She felt the pressure of Vaggie’s breasts against hers through two thin layers of fabric, the rise and fall of Vaggie’s breathing.

They shifted together on the bed, rolling enough that Charlie ended up on top. Her knees pressed into the mattress on either side of Vaggie’s hips. The sheets were slightly rough against her bare skin where her shirt had ridden up.

The kiss deepened. Lips parted. Tongues brushed, a slick slide that sent a small shiver through Charlie’s spine despite the fog in her head. Their breathing grew heavier, each inhale pulling in the other’s exhale in short, shared bursts.

Hands started to wander.

Vaggie’s fingers slipped under the hem of Charlie’s shirt. She traced up along her spine, slow lines that made the muscles there tighten and then relax, then spread her hand to cover Charlie’s ribs, thumb brushing the underside of her breast through the thin fabric of her bra.

Charlie's hands mirrored her without thinking. She pushed Vaggie’s tank top up, and slid both hands underneath. Vaggie’s skin was hot from earlier exertion, damp in spots where sweat had not completely dried. Charlie’s palms followed the tight lines of her stomach, then up over her ribs to the swell of her chest.

She grabbed a nice handful of Veggie's admittedly small breasts. She focused on the heat of Vaggie’s skin under her hands. The quick rhythm of Vaggie’s breathing, chest rising faster under Charlie’s palms. The small gasps against her mouth when she squeezed a little harder or brushed her thumbs over sensitive skin.

She waited for the familiar spark in her own belly. That easy, thoughtless swell of arousal.

It did not come.

They broke the kiss for air. Their mouths parted, a thin strand of drool joining them. Charlie hovered a few inches above Vaggie, their breaths mingling, her hair falling around their faces.

Vaggie’s hand, which had been cupping her side, shifted. It drifted down, fingers tracing the waistband of Charlie’s shorts. 

Charlie felt her stomach twist. The idea of being touched there, now, with her head this scrambled, made something seize inside her.

Charlie rolled her hips, shifting their balance, and guided Vaggie onto her back fully. The mattress creaked under their movement. Vaggie let out a small breath as her shoulders met the sheets, her hair fanning out over the pillow.

“Let me,” Charlie murmured against her lips.

She straddled Vaggie properly, knees gripping her hips.

She started with Vaggie’s mouth, giving her a long, slow kiss, tasting her fully. Then she trailed down along her jaw, planting small, deliberate kisses over warm skin, following the line to the spot just under Vaggie’s ear that Charlie knew well.

She closed her lips around that spot and sucked gently. Vaggie shivered under her, a soft moan escaping her throat. Charlie felt the vibration against her lips and did it again, a bit more pressure, teeth grazing lightly over the damp skin before she soothed it with her tongue.

Her hands roamed as her mouth moved.

One hand cupped Vaggie’s breast over her shirt, feeling the weight of it in her palm. Her thumb circled over the nipple, slow, steady strokes. The small bump hardened under the fabric, firming against her thumb.

Her other hand slipped under the tank top again, palm flattening on Vaggie’s stomach. The skin there twitched under her touch. She slid lower, following the dip of muscle, then back up, drawing idle patterns over the soft flesh just above the waistband of Vaggie’s shorts.

Charlie grabbed the hem of Vaggie’s top and pushed up. Vaggie lifted her arms, and Charlie pulled the tank over her head, tossing it blindly to the side.

Charlie lowered herself again, kissing down the center of her chest. She ran her tongue along the valley between her breasts, then turned her head and closed her mouth around one, sucking the nipple slowly through the bra. Vaggie’s back arched, pushing her chest up into the contact. Her fingers slid into Charlie’s hair, nails scratching lightly at her scalp.

Charlie reached behind her and fumbled with the clasp, fingers working the hooks until the bra was loose, then tossed it aside as well.

Charlie took a moment to enjoy the view. The rise and fall of Vaggie’s chest. Her hard, dark nipples. The shine of saliva that had soaked through the fabric of her braw.

Then she leaned in again. She kissed across her bare chest, taking her time with each breast. She wrapped her lips around one nipple, sucked harder, then eased off, letting her tongue flick over the tip. She switched to the other, repeating the pattern.

Charlie used her every reaction as a guide. She alternated pressure and speed in the ways she knew drove Vaggie toward the edge. 

Her free hand moved between Vaggie’s legs, over her shorts. She pressed her palm against the fabric, right between her thighs. Heat met her hand immediately. She stroked up and down, slow, then firmer, feeling the damp patch grow under her touch.

Vaggie’s hips jerked upward, chasing the pressure. Charlie lifted her mouth from her breast just long enough to murmur against her skin.

“That feels good, right?” she whispered.

Vaggie nodded, jaw clenched, breath rough. “Yeah,” she managed.

Charlie pulled at the waistband of Vaggie’s shorts, fingers slipping under it. Vaggie lifted her hips, and Charlie tugged shorts and underwear down together, past her thighs, over her knees, until they were off completely.

Charlie reached out and ran the back of her fingers along the inside of Vaggie’s thigh, forcing a frustrated groan from Vaggie. She pressed one knee between Vaggie’s, nudging them apart until she had room to settle.

She rubbed Vaggie’s clit with her thumb, slow circles at first, testing pressure. Her other hand slipped lower, pointer finger teasing at her entrance. The heat there was intense, the slickness catching on Charlie’s fingertip.

She slid her finger in, carefully at first, then deeper as Vaggie’s body welcomed the intrusion. Her muscles clenched around Charlie’s finger, squeezing. Charlie kept her thumb moving on her clit the entire time, building a steady rhythm.

She lowered her head again, closing her mouth around one nipple, sucking as she worked her hand. The combination drew a sharp noise from Vaggie’s throat, half moan, half hiss. Her hips rolled up into Charlie’s touch, thighs tensing.

Charlie kept her pace. Thumb circling and pressing, finger moving in slow thrusts, curling just enough on the inward stroke to catch that spot that always made Vaggie gasp. Her mouth stayed latched on Vaggie’s breast, tongue flicking and flattening in turns.

Vaggie’s breathing grew ragged. Her fingers clenched in Charlie’s hair, then loosened, then clenched again. Her thighs trembled, heels digging into the mattress.

Charlie felt the tension building under her palm, in the tightness of Vaggie’s stomach, in the way her hips stuttered against her hand.

She brought her to the edge, then stopped. Vaggie started to sit up, mouth already parting to complain, but Charlie cut her off. She pressed her slick fingers gently to Vaggie’s lips, smearing wetness against them.

“Shh,” Charlie whispered. “You’ll like this. T-trust me.”

She regretted the choice of words the second they left her mouth. The word trust caught in her throat, almost making her stumble over it, and for a heartbeat her chest tightened with the urge to snatch the phrase back. But she moved on.

She moved down between Vaggie’s thighs, hands resting on her hips to steady her.

She lowered her head and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other.

Then she leaned in and used her tongue.

She started with slow, even licks, tasting her. The flavor was sharp and salty on her tongue, mixed with a faint bitterness. One hand slid up from Vaggie’s hip to rub her breast, occasionally flicking or pinching the nipple, while her mouth focused on the sensitive bundle of nerves above. She sealed her lips around it and applied gentle suction, then eased off, then sucked again, matching the rhythm of her hand.

Vaggie’s hands flew to Charlie’s head as she tensed, fingers tugging on Charlie’s hair somewhat painfully. Charlie didn’t mind, it just meant she was doing her job. 

Vaggie’s breath turned rough and broken, spilling out in short, keening bursts. She alternated between whispering Charlie’s name in a strained, shaky voice and groaning, “Fuck,” each curse dragged out a little longer as the pleasure built.

Charlie kept going, not changing the rhythm once she had it. This time, she brought Vaggie to the edge and past it. Well past it.

Vaggie’s back arched, heels sliding against the sheets. Her hand clamped down in Charlie’s hair almost violently as her thighs squeezed Charlie’s head. Then the tension drained out of Vaggie’s limbs and she collapsed against the mattress like a puppet with its strings cut.

Slowly, Charlie pulled back, pressing one last soft kiss to the inside of Vaggie’s thigh. She licked her lips, savoring the taste of Vaggie, then crawled up Vaggie’s body, placing small kisses on her stomach, her chest, her collarbone, until she reached her lips.

She kissed her, letting Vaggie taste herself on her tongue. Vaggie was breathing hard, chest heaving, but a grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. Her face was flushed, a sheen of sweat on her forehead, hair sticking out in uneven spikes against the pillow.

“Your turn,” Vaggie said.

She rolled them with practiced ease, using her strength to flip Charlie onto her back. The mattress dipped and bounced under the shift. Vaggie climbed over her, straddling her in a mirror of their earlier positions, hands already tugging at the hem of Charlie’s shirt with clear intent.

Charlie reached up and caught Vaggie’s face with one hand, fingers gentle on her cheek.

Vaggie paused, eyes flicking down to meet hers.

Charlie lifted her other hand and booped Vaggie on the nose. “Today is all about you,” Charlie said, a soft smile on her lips.

Vaggie blinked. “Charlie, you don’t—”

Charlie shook her head once. “I want this,” she said. “I want you. Let me spoil you.”

Before Vaggie could argue, Charlie wriggled downward on the bed, scooting her body under Vaggie until Vaggie was kneeling over her face.

The air between Vaggie’s thighs was hotter, damp against her cheeks. Charlie gripped Vaggie’s hips with both hands, fingers digging in to give her something to hold onto, and pulled her down the last inch.

She opened her mouth and dove back in, tongue finding Vaggie’s clit again with haste. She flattened her tongue and drew slow strokes, then tightened the motion into smaller, faster flicks, watching how Vaggie’s body reacted above her. Vaggie’s hands grabbed at the headboard.

She whined low in her throat, a sound Charlie felt in the vibrations of Vaggie’s thighs against her ears. Her hips rocked, small movements she could not seem to stop.

Charlie focused on that. On giving as much pleasure as she could, again and again. On the way Vaggie’s whimpers pitched higher when she changed pressure. On the way her voice broke when she called Charlie’s name.

The second orgasm came slower, more drawn out. Vaggie trembled above her, thighs quivering. Her grip on the sheets went white-knuckled. The noises she made softened into long, breathy sounds, less sharp, more drawn out as the aftershocks rolled through her.

Through it all, Charlie’s thoughts stayed on a simple truth.

If she could not give Vaggie honesty right now, she could at least give her this. She could give her pleasure, care, attention. Vaggie deserved to feel good, to feel wanted. That much, Charlie could do.