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The Contract	By : Turkaholic Category: -Misc Cartoons > Slash - Male/Male Views: 262 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hazbin Hotel or Helluva Boss. I do not make any money from this story

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
When the hotel had been remodelled after the Angelic attack, Alastor had made sure he’d picked out one of the larger suites. Lucifer had argued, of course, but the Radio Demon had worked his charm on Charlie and finally brought her round to seeing things his way, much to the annoyance of her father. With a direct door adjoining the radio tower, a large balcony overlooking the Pentagram, a lavish sitting room adorned with all the Radio Demon’s favourite décor, and his own personal touch – pulled from what was now becoming a fading memory - a recreation of the swampy woodland outside the city that had once been his home. The suite was as close to perfect for Alastor’s purposes as it could possibly be.
The bathroom door opened silently. Steam curled outwards into the large sitting room, swirling in the fingers of light creeping through the curtained windows as a blood-coloured half moon rose above the skyscrapers of the Pentagram below.
Alastor stepped out, the clack of his hoofed feet muffled by the thick red carpet as he flicked the water from his ears and shook his tail dry, leaving dark splashes across the floor. Water was still clinging to his skin, fur and hair, but he ignored the towel resting on the arm of the high backed chair and walked to the window. The droplets of water on his skin caught the light of the freshly rising moon and shimmered like rubies as he moved.
There was a wide eyed, slightly wild look in his eyes as he placed his wet palm against the windowpane, watching the flickering lights of the city without really seeing them. He was feeling slightly alarmed, wrong-footed, even panicked by this evening’s bizarre turn of events.
Sex had never in his life been on the Radio Demon’s agenda. He’d simply had no interest. He’d always seen that kind of intimacy as weakness. He had seen the things people did as a result of it, or in pursuit of it. He’d taken advantage of that kind of weakness in others. Letting yourself be swept away by lust or love or… whatever it was people felt… it was an inexcusable flaw. It made you vulnerable. The very idea of being vulnerable – especially around Vox - was enough to make Alastor dig his fingers into the windowpane, the screech of nails on glass echoing jarringly around the otherwise silent room. A frustrated snarl spread across his face.
And yet…
Alastor backed away from the window, the taut snarl turning into a manically wide grimace as he stalked back to the chair and picked up the towel.
Even though he was now thankfully clean, he couldn’t escape the lingering tinge of the other demon – that electrified static tang – clinging stubbornly to his skin. He began drying his slick hair as the annoyingly smug voice of the Television Demon came back to him:
‘letting yourself enjoy something – or someone – letting go of that perfect persona, letting yourself get lost in pleasure... even for a moment… it’s good.’
And that was the very thing that filled Alastor to the core with panic, with frustration, and with sheer, bitter annoyance: for one time only, Vox had been right. It had actually felt good to let go of the façade.
His entire life – both of them – had been all about control. Every move, every plan, every word was carefully choreographed, every smile both a shield and weapon. Even those he dared consider friends like Rosie (and once upon a time Vox) had never seen him truly drop that barrier. The closest in recent months to that had been when he’d been wounded by Adam, and then he had thankfully been alone.
But in an absolutely ridiculous turn of events, his encounter with Vox had done something… unexpected. He lowered the towel from his hair and stared at the carpet, his eyes skimming across the moonlit floor.
When Vox hadn’t been staring into him with that smug, pompous excuse for a face, looking for signs of weakness, Alastor had actually felt himself able to let go of the constant, tiring struggle for control. Protected as he was by the terms of the contract, it had actually felt like a release.
Alastor’s eyes widened in shock as he realised what he was thinking.
Enjoying letting go of control? No. That wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. It was weak - It was unthinkable.
He continued to stare into the carpet, the muscles in his face twitching as panic rose up inside his chest once more. The towel slid from between his lengthening fingers as he reached up and grabbed fistfuls of his own hair, the realisation of what he was thinking sending him into a manic spiral. His shadow seemed to lengthen across the floor, the antlers growing slowly atop his head. Midnight black and poisonous green tendrils emerged from his bare back and began to thrash silently in the air around him, enveloping him, blocking out the night.
There was a sharp knock at the door. The tendrils paused their frantic movement as he tried to master himself. He cleared his throat.
“One moment, my good man.” he called eventually, relieved to hear that his voice gave nothing away. One of the tendrils slithered through the air and hit the dial on the wireless, bringing it to life. A soft, slow jazz tune filled the empty air.
A moment passed before the Radio Demon’s ears began to twitch gratefully at the familiar sound, and the insane grimace on his face relaxed very slowly back into a smile. The antlers withdrew, his shadow shrinking. The tendrils protruding from his back slowly receded and he took a long, calming breath. He forced his eyes away from the carpet, two red glowing points of light in the otherwise darkened room.
He retrieved the red dressing gown from the hook on the wall and pulled it over his still damp shoulders, then tied it tightly around his waist. His hands slid over to the cane standing beside it, and he slowly made his way to one of the two high backed chairs, choosing the one facing the door.
He flattened his hair, relaxed his shoulders, and began wringing the remaining water from one of his ears.
“Enter.”
A sliver of yellow light pierced the darkness as the door swung open. Husker peered uncertainly around the doorframe, his pupils wide and round as he tried to survey the scene before he entered. Alastor sat back in the chair and smiled. Husker grunted.
“Here’s your damn drink.”
“For me? Oh how wonderfully thoughtful of you, Husk.”
Husk took a moment to glare bitterly into the two pinpricks of red, but didn’t rise to the bait. He took a tentative step into the darkened room, holding the tray in one open palm and peered around as though looking for something out of place. Alastor tilted his head.
“...The table’s over here, dear.” He tapped his cane softly on the side table. “Unless there was something else?” Alastor’s eyes narrowed threateningly. The question Husk had been contemplating asking died on his lips.
“No, I… forget it.” He said gruffly.
“Good. Well, while you’re here, would you be an absolute treasure and pass me the towel?”
Husk gritted his teeth and growled. Dragging his feet, he snatched up the damp towel from the floor and walked across the plush carpet, resisting the urge to throw the towel at the Radio Demon’s face. He slid the tray onto the table at Alastor’s side. The ice in the empty glass rattled as he placed it down. Alastor reached forward and took the towel, using it to idly dry inside his ears. Husk stood watching him for a second, wondering whether to bring up the subject on his mind after all. He’d seen the look on Alastor’s face in the foyer, before the Radio Demon had realised he and Angel were there, and just now as he’d approached he’d seen the telltale glow of neon green radiating from the crack under the door. Something wasn’t right.
“So… you cleaned up pretty fast.” he said, trying to make it sound like a passing comment.
Alastor paused, tensing. “I don’t know what you mean.” The tone was slightly sharp, but curiosity urged Husker on.
“Oh come on, you might be able to fool the rest of this cast of fuckin’ clowns but I’ve known you longer than any of ‘em.” He hesitated, then pressed on recklessly. “… somethin’ went down, didn’t it? Somethin’ big.”
“It was simply a business meeting! I’m sure I don’t know where you get these ridiculous flights of fancy-”
“I call bullshit.” Alastor’s smile faltered a little. Husk was pushing his luck, but he simply couldn’t help himself. He lowered his voice and looked away. “Look boss, whatever shit you’ve gotten yourself into… it’s not like I can go runnin’ my mouth off without you yanking my damn leash anyway. Maybe... tellin’ your troubles to a barkeep -”
Alastor’s eye twitched. There was a flash of black and green and Husk suddenly felt something wrap tightly around his wrist. He grimaced and glared back up into the other demon’s face. Alastor tightened the grip of the tendril dangerously.
“Listen here my fuzzy little pet, because I’ll say this only once.” He leaned forwards into Husk’s face, baring his teeth in warning. “Nothing happened. It was purely business. And if you ever mention it again, I’ll forget my manners. Understand?”
“Fine! I get it!” The tendril receded slowly. Husk snapped his hand away, grabbing his wrist and flexing his fingers against the pain. “Sit in here and stew then.” He growled. “Like I fuckin’ care.”
“Good.” replied Alastor, a dangerous hiss in his voice. “Now get out.”
Husk backed away to the door, eyes fixed with suppressed anger on the Radio Demon as he continued to rub his wrist.
Muttering to himself darkly, Husker closed the door. Alastor listened until his footsteps had receded into the distance before he moved again. The piece of jazz on the radio faded. A new song began to play. He reached out and poured himself a glass of whiskey from the bottle on the table.
It was true that Husker knew more than most about him, but even if the contract hadn’t been sealing his lips, this was one situation he definitively wanted to keep to himself. He couldn’t imagine actually admitting to the things he was thinking. He didn’t want to admit them to himself.
It had been an experiment. It had simply been an experiment; just a deal. Nothing had changed, and now he only need sit back and wait for Vox to inevitably open that fat mouth of his. And then… he’d finally take everything that Vox owned. Even his worthless soul.
He stood up again, drawn subconsciously back to the window, eyes surveying the skyline. He could see the very top of the Vees tower peeking out above the other buildings in the distance, the three neon letters clearly visible even from this distance. His face darkened, eyes narrowed. He took a sip of rye and felt the warmth flow down his throat, calming his senses, numbing his still sore muscles.
If Vox was expecting him to ever go back he was clearly delusional. Even if it had felt worryingly good to drop the mask, he certainly wasn’t going to feed that already over-inflated ego of his by letting him know that.
...But then there had been that moment at the end – that one, blissful moment of absolute peace. When was the last time he had actually been at peace – completely devoid of thought, comfortable? Not for a very long time indeed. Not since he’d been alive. It was horrendously ironic that the only person ever able to give him that had been Vox.
He forced himself to turn his back finally on the large blue V in the distance, drifting back to the table and the nearly full bottle that stood there. He sat back down and poured himself another, keeping his back obstinately to the window, though his fingers clutched subconsciously tight around the shot glass.
A few moments of peace wasn’t worth the confusion, the display of weakness, or the complications. His situation was complicated enough as it was, he didn’t need to compound his problems by adding an idiot to the mix. Tomorrow he’d take a stroll over to his new territory, make his presence known, perhaps take afternoon tea with Rosie, and pretend that nothing at all had happened.
The bloody moon had risen to its zenith before the Radio Demon finally rose from his seat again, leaving the now half-empty bottle of rye on its tray. He left the wireless playing softly to itself as he swept through the darkness, retiring at last to bed.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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The Contract