[RadioDust] A Firm Hand

Chapter 4: What-Ifs and Could-Bes

Surprisingly, Angel woke in his own bed the following morning.

Unsurprisingly, he was sore as hell.

It took a minute or two, but he managed to squirm himself into an upright position, then winced and turned onto his side instead. All the welts Alastor had given him last night had faded, but as he glanced over his shoulder at his ass and thighs, he could see there were plenty of bruises there instead. Worth it. He settled carefully against his pillow and gazed across the room where the sun was shining through his blinds. Damn, if it was that bright out, it must be...

"Wait, what time is it?" he grumbled, groping at his nightstand for his phone. 12:14. "Shit!" That meant he was already late for—

"Angel?" As if on cue, there was a knock at his door, followed by Vaggie's irritated voice. "Are you still in bed? You told Charlie you'd be there for group session."

Yeah. He did say that. But that was before he decided to let the Radio Demon and his 'partner' abuse him and screw his brains out. He really wasn't in any condition to be rushing around getting ready, or to be seen by all the other patrons. Even aside from the claw marks on his hips and the bruises all over his legs, there was the unignorable bite on his throat, which definitely wouldn't be covered by his...oh. His choker. That was gone too.

"Angel!" Vaggie snapped from outside.

"Just gimme a minute!" he barked back. Even if he scrambled, it would take him at least 20 minutes to make himself even somewhat presentable. That would just delay the meeting even more than he already had. Dropping his head into his hand with a frustrated sigh, he called, "Tell her to go ahead without me."

"You know she doesn't want to do that. She'd rather wait a few minutes longer than not have you there at all," Vaggie answered, and he could picture her standing out there, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. "Just put something on and come downstairs; no one cares how you look."

Sure, no one but Angel himself, and what the fuck did it matter what he thought? "I said I'm not goin'," he answered firmly. "Tell her I said sorry and I'll catch up with her later."

"Fine," the little moth scoffed, storming away from his door and muttering under her breath, "Fucking araña de mierda egoísta..." He couldn't always tell what she was saying in Spanish, but that one translated pretty close in Italian. Right, he was the selfish one for not wanting to make the rest of the group wait on him. Well, she could think whatever the fuck she wanted about him. It didn't make any difference.

Forcing himself to sit up properly, he finally nudged a lump next to him under the blanket, and it snorted back at him, wriggling around and trying to escape the covers. Angel lifted the blankets to free his pet, and Nuggs happily crawled into his lap for ear scratches. "Didja miss me, cutie?" Angel asked. "Sorry, I gotta start gettin' ready or Vaggie's prob'ly gonna tear all my arms off. Or worse, Charlie might bring everybody else up here 'n' have the session right on my fuckin' floor."

Okay, that was an exaggeration, but he still felt bad for skipping out on her when he knew she was already worried. So despite Nuggs giving him the biggest, saddest piggy eyes, he still got out of bed and showered, being extra careful with his sensitive skin, letting his fingertips trace the marks left by Alastor's teeth on his neck. He'd always figured that smile was dangerous, just not quite this literally. For the briefest second, he recalled the moment Alastor had put that mark there—the heat all over, the low growl against his throat, the Radio Demon's tongue gliding across the wound—and he got a little weak in the knees.

Ugh, he did not have time to be getting friendly with his showerhead to the thought of Alastor's mouth on his skin. Before he could get too worked up, he hastily rinsed the conditioner out of his fur and got out of the shower. It took another forty minutes to make sure his hair and tits were blow-dried and fluffed to perfection—but hey, looking this good was an art form as far as he was concerned, and Angel might as well be fucking da Vinci.