You laughed so hard you couldn't breath. "Hah! Hahah.. Holy fuck, Alastor!"
Another stolen car was your transport form out of the suburbs onto the highway, and, soon, onto the interstate towards Massachusetts. You say the words so literally it hurts, but, you ran for your fucking life — I mean, you and Alastor cut yourselves up in brairs and bushes and Alastor got his ankle bit by a dog. It was fucking chaos.
Alastor, with one hand on the steering wheel, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, very fun, my darling, until that God-forsaken mutt bit the ever-living hell out of my leg."
You burst out in laughter, the action making your stomach sore. You threw your hands over your abdomen, relishing in the pain of true laughter. You and Alastor were still soaked in blood from head to toe, and it was beginning to get dark out, so you'd probably have to stop at a hotel within the next few minutes to get washed up.
You came down from your laughter and looked at him — he was hot covered in blood like that, and some sadistic, psychotic part of your mind was turned on by it.
"Until I killed it," you added to the conversation with a simper. "Of course."
Alastor grinned. "Stupid mutt got what it deserved."
"Ohhhhh my goodness," you said perking up, feeling the tickling sensation of hysteria in your lower stomach again as you recalled another event from your run in the suburbs from the police. "And-! And when that old fat guy came out with the shotgun! I have never-" you made an 'X' with your arms and threw them out for emphasis, "-gotten off a lawn so fast before in my life."
Alastor made a humming sound, but did not reply. He left a small remnant of a grin on his face, however, and you found yourself sinking back into your seat. A sharp, stabbing pain went through your heart. Damn.
You tried again, smiling brightly and kindly at him. "It was fun, though, wasn't it?"
"Dear?" Alastor said respectfully. He seemed to withdraw within himself like a turtle into its shell so fast. What was it? Why was he being this way?
"Yep?" you replied in acknowledgement.
"You told me you hated me," Alastor said, a smirk crawling upon his lips. "In a moment of extreme passion, where everything was laid out on the table for us to relish in. And you chose to tell me how much you hated me-" he licked his lips, "-I told you the feeling was mutual. Let's keep it that way."
"Oh," you said, furrowing your brows in anger. "Fine."
The ride was silent the rest of the way until Alastor came upon an old-fashioned country inn that suited his taste. He once again had the radio turned up played jazz and swing, and was humming along to the tune. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to you at the moment — you wanted nothing more than to be a million miles away from him.
The fuck was his deal? Yes, you told him you hated him, and he told you the same thing, but, fuck, could two people not have a moment? It seriously made you pissed off. But maybe he was right.
Maybe it was best to keep things the way they were. I mean, how many times had you made it evident that you despised every inch of his being? You've insulted him, teased him, taunted him, mocked him, and outright told him you dislike him and see him as your enemy. Alastor is a gentleman by nature, but aside from that, he's shared those exact same feelings with you.
So why does your heart ache at the thought of him actually hating you?
You scoffed lowly, knowing Alastor wouldn't be able to hear it over his own incessant humming and jamming. Stupid... fuck! Gosh, maybe you really did truly hate him. Maybe you were just confused over nothing. Yes, there was a part of you that was sexually attracted to him, but that was it. Nada. Nothing else. And it seems like he feels the same way so...
So what is the fucking problem? Why are you so angry that he reminded you of your "enemy status" in the middle of having a decent, normal, civil conversation for fucking once? You were so mad, you were ready to barrel out of this stolen ass car with its tinted ass windows so that others couldn't see your bloody ass clothing next to this stupid ass motherfucker next to you.
It was then when you noticed the car coming to a halt in the parking lot of the inn. Alastor shut off the ignition, and the sounds of cars passing by on the highway was faint. There was a distant sound of Spanish music playing somehwere in the area, likely from a restaurant, and you could hear your own exhales.
The orange car lights faded until they weren't visible anymore, and the only way you could see was from the pale moonlight filtering in through the windshield. It smelled like gasoline, fried food, and cigarette smoke.
"Uh," you said, after a minute of just sitting there in silence, Alastor breathing slowly and methodically to himself. "Are we.. gonna go inside orrrr?"
"Covered in blood?" he said, not bothering to look at you. "Don't be ridiculous."
You scrunched your nose up. "Then what the fuck else are we supposed to do?"
"Take our clothes off."
Your mouth dropped. You stammered, unable to even form words. "Wha- What?! What the hell are we supposed to wear inside then?"
Alastor's gaze was fixated on something outside your window. You stitched your brows together; he was focused as to what he was looking at. Gradually, your gaze fell on the car beside you. Inside was a man reclined in the driver's seat, fast asleep. Probably couldn't afford a room in the inn.
"Oh," you said, chuckling dryly. You waved your hands around frantically. "Ohhhhh, no, no, no. Look, Alastor, I've already went off the rails once for you. I'm fucking bloodthirsty, and if I kill that man just for us to have some clothes to wear—"
"What?" Alastor interrupted with a smirk. The air was still and it was dead quiet out here. He placed a slender hand on the space between the drivers and passenger seats in the car, leaning slightly forward. "You'll... eat him?" He licked his lips.
"Yes!" you exclaimed in exasperation. You jabbed a finger at him, sneering. "Thanks to your fuckass."
"Cannibalism is a delight darling," he cooed.
"I- Ugh," you didn't even know what to say to that. "Whatever. My point is, I can't kill him, because chances are I'll end up tearing him apart and making him my dinner. I'm fucking craving blood now, and it's your fault." You glared at him, and then looked back to the sleeping man. His mouth was open, and you knew, even though you couldn't hear it, that he was snoring loudly. "Then the clothes will be ruined. How will we get a room without getting the cops called on us then?"
"Oh, [Y/N]," Alastor grinned. "I could teach you a thing or two about stealth killing."
You raised a brow. "Really? You could? You say that like I haven't done it before, which I have. I'm just saying, even if I tried to kill him quietly, the feeling of another life in my hands would push me too far. I'd rip him apart."
"Would you rip me apart, little fawn?"
"The fuck are you-"
"Get on my lap."
"What?" you said in disbelief. "How the hell is that supposed-"
"Get on my lap, look me in the eyes, and place your hands around my throat," said Alastor bluntly. "Then, fight it. Fight your urge to tear my throat out.
Impossible, you thought, rolling your eyes.
"I'm not sitting on your lap, Alastor."
"Fine then," he grinned broadly, shrugging. "We'll just sleep out here then."
Fuck! Why did he have to be so difficult? You imagined it, sleeping out here in this uncomfortable ass passenger seat, unable to have a warm bed all to yourself, unable to shower all of this dried blood off of you.
"Why can't you just kill him?" you whined, frustrated.
"Because, if it is truly me you blame for your newfound sense of cannibalism," began Alastor, placing a hand on his chest, "then you must learn to control it. You can't just go around slaughtering college kids while we're working so hard to get that book," he grinned even wider, if possible, "now can you?"
"Fuck you," you growled, as you got out of your seat and begrudgingly crawled onto his lap, straddling his hips. His thighs were warm on your knees and shins, and you could feel his upper thigh region in your rear. Your whole body flushed, but you tried to push it down — you made a promise to yourself. No. More. Kissing. Alastor.
"Okay," he said lowly, the sound a growl in his throat. "Now, place your hands around my throat."
You obeyed, but not happily, and gently placed your hands around his slim neck. You could feel his artery pounding a million miles a minute underneath your palm from the close proximity, and your tongue darted out to wet your lips, fearing just one taste of his blood again... You remember kissing him, tasting him, how sweet and—
Fuck! No. More. Kissing. Your. Enemies, [Y/N].
"Work harder," Alastor growled with a grin. "You're not trying hard enough. I can see the hunger written all over your eyes, my dear."
"I am working hard!" you said through gritted teeth. Unknowingly, you squeezed your hands tighter around his throat. He squeaked from the sudden pressure, but he could still speak.
"You're not doing it right.." he strained.
"Fuck you, yes, I am!" you countered haughtily. "I know how to strangle someone, Alastor." You spat his name with contempt.
"You need to squeeze the sides of my throat where my carotids are," Alastor managed out, "to make me lose consciousness, so I won't fight," he let out a shaky breath, "then, you have to use the space between your thumbs and index to put pressure on my windpipe, so I can't breathe."
You frustratingly did as you were told, but with more malicious intent than Alastor probably desire. He let out a groan, but it came out more as a squeaky groan. His face began to turn a faint purplish red, and his cheeks were blood red — from the lack of blood flow or from something else, you didn't know.
You could feel his thrumming pulse slow down gradually the longer you held pressure. A hunger built in your stomach for him, wanting to devour him in more ways than one, wanting to tear his throat out and drink from him, dive into him, enjoy the pleasure of it all...
Alastor's eyes began to roll to the back of his head, and he let out a stained, strange-sounding moan. You took deep breaths, genuinely trying to resist being tempted by his blood flow like he wanted you to in the first place, so much so that you forget you were strangling him.
You didn't stop until he weakly threw his hands onto your back and shoulders, tapping you multiple times to force you to halt. You snapped out of it and let him go, feeling a little bit bad for holding him there so long.
"Fuck..." he said with half-lidded eyes, gasping for air. "Fuck, that was...- Fuck..."
You could feel a pressure beneath your rear where you straddled Alastor, and not at first realizing what it was, you sat down completely on him, putting your full body weight right where...
"Aghh! Shit," he groaned and cursed pleasurably.
Mortified, you practically leaped off him and fell into the passenger seat and curled into a ball, slapping your hand over your mouth.
You fucking sat on his hard... groin... with full fucking pressure and body weight. Shit. That had to hurt really bad.
"I would say I'm sorry but..." you said, throwing your hands up. You feigned apologetics, and then slowly, your face contorted into one of superiority, a smirk creeping upon your lips. "You seemed to enjoy the pain."
"Enjoy what pain?" Alastor said with a mild glare, struggling to keep his typical smile upon his face. "The choking or the-?"
"Both," you said smugly, crossing your arms.
And what Alastor said next was completely unexpected, but it made your heart leap in joy from the humor you found in his playful anger.
"Oh, fuck off, [Y/N]."