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“There you have it Ladies and Gentlemen. I do have to admit that was an exceptionally riveting tale. I myself was on the edge of my seat listening to every word. For those of you with little ones, I sure hope they have been tucked into bed, or are given an extra kiss to ensure they sleep well. As for the rest of you, my exquisite listeners, allow me to wish you the most woeless of restful nights, and perhaps dreams of all the pleasures our lovely city has to offer.
Our time together has a mere few minutes before its conclusion, so I will not dawdle any longer because I do wish for you to hear this piece I am about to play for you in its entirety. Things must really be enjoyed in their entirety shouldn’t they? What is an incomplete song if one can not hear the finale note?
I would like to take a moment to thank our sponsors who make this program possible, and WWL-AM’s devout listeners who make all we do possible. Remember to tune in nightly for my broadcast. Now I will play for you Celestine’s Original Tuxedo Orchestra performing ‘Just for You Dear I’m Crying’. My dear listeners, may the music permeate your sweet thoughts after hours. Adieu.”
The record was lowered so precisely onto the track it might as well have floated down. There was not a single scratch of a needle–Why would there be? Who would work on his program if they did not understand the precious commodity that was music and all her virtues? Alastor’s eyes drifted to the sound mixer who nodded to indicate they had taken his microphone off the air. He stepped back from it slowly. He chose to lean against the back wall of the recording booth, listening to the jazz orchestra the was being broadcast across the airwaves. Figures danced behind his eyes, hopefully an image that was elicited to many listeners. He considered maybe taking the long route home tonight. He could stop by Bourbon Street and see which dive called to him. He could also dip into a speakeasy, and perhaps be lucky enough to find a wonderful musician performing, and pleasant company to humor him to a dance. Though finding acceptable dance partners always prove to be a tedious feat. When the music came to a close Alastor opened his eyes to see the ‘ON AIR’ light go out in the studio. What a shame. He always lamented the end to a broadcast. It was time like these he felt like he could run his broadcast for hours on end. It truly was something that he adored.
Alastor opened the door to the recording booth and slipped out of it. As the bustle ensued around him of the crew working to get things put away and to leave for their respective homes, Alastor collected his own things. Admittedly his clean up was much simpler, and a few scripts, notes, and miscellaneous sheets organized and slipped behind his desk was all he needed to do. He utilized the desk in the room pushed up against the far wall. The space was just out of the way to not be used, especially since Alastor had claimed it as his desk and base of operations. Most in the station respected him enough to leave the space alone. Alastor leaned over the desk to open another drawer and withdraw the drafted scripts for next week that he planned to look over this weekend. He could feel that his current mood would keep him awake for a while. It was not bad, just wakeful, and he felt this way often. He would prefer to do something useful and to keep himself busy. He selected a script with so many markups he most likely would have to postpone that reading. It belonged to a junior writer who showed promise, but would need a bit more guidance before Alastor allowed his work on his night show. He righted himself, holding the script delicately in his hands. He turned slightly and something caught in the corner of his eyes. Amongst the tech crew shuffling back and forth completing their tasks, there stood a man at the far end of the room. Why had Alastor not noticed him before? Did he just arrive? And if so how did he arrive without anyone commenting.
How could no one comment on the imposing man? He stood tall, broad shoulders and a lean figure that he clearly had tried to fill out with the bulk of muscle. His suit was straight cut and fit to him. A black that was darker than the ink on the newspaper clippings that decorated the wall behind him. It was darker than the soot that collected on the interior of the furnace in the winter. His hair was carefully styled, gel glistening amongst the dark brown and silver streaks. He looked his usual self, uncanny mismatched staring like an oddity, because they were bright enough to feel unnatural. Alastor considered them as beautiful as they were unsettling. He could get lost in them, in the way someone could get lost in the waters of the bayou, pulled under by sharp jaws and chocking on fauna and sludge. The man’s gaze was fixated on one thing and one thing alone. He was not subtle, and Alastor was now aware of every one of his movements being watched with such precision.
He turned away from him, facing his desk. What did Vincent want now? Why could he not stop breaking in? At this point the others assumed Alastor had given him a key with how often he let himself in and up to the recording studio. Alastor had in fact never given him a key, and told him repeatedly that he was not interested in Vincent’s pestilence at work. Alastor would not have put it past him to have made a mold of the lock by now to make breaking in without leaving damage to the windows or door easier. Checking over his shoulder, it was clear Vincent was not leaving. In fact, he was chatting with one of the sound engineers, someone who was an avid listener to the entertainment program the other occasionally featured on. Vincent now held a pocket watch in his hand, seeming to check the time as he spoke before replacing the watch in his pocket. Alastor scoffed, finding something on top of his desk to pretend to arrange. Checking again, Vincent’s eyes had returned to him. Alastor returned the look with a glare. I do not wish to talk to you, leave.
If only Vincent could take a hint and not blatantly grab it and stomp on it with his high-end polished shoe. Alastor considered the best ways to convince him to leave, or perhaps he could walk him to the stairs and shove him. Vincent’s body crashing down three flights of stairs sounded like a sight worth recording for one of those picture box displays.
Slowly the room cleared of people. Alastor called to each one who called to him and wished them a good night. He had chosen to wait. He preferred to confront Vincent without an audience where Alastor had to uphold a certain golden radio host persona. Only when the last crew member had left and his footsteps receded down the stairs did Alastor approach Vincent.
“Sometimes I wonder if you conveniently forget things or if there is really something wrong with your cognitive functions, Vincent. Need I tell you any more times not to come to my workplace? What is it you want?” Alastor’s voice was languid, singsong, and completely disinterested.
“You can tell me at least another time Al,” Vincent assured him. He stepped closer. Alastor stayed where he was. He lifted a hand and waved it in the other’s face.
“I do not want you here. I said no to your business proposals, and I have said no to your– other proposals. Honestly I would rather claw my own eyes and ears out than be subjected to your greatly unfortunate company any longer. Leave.”
Neither of them moved. Vincent leveled his gaze at him. “You should reconsider. And I will be requesting you do every day.”
“Every day until what? I concede?” Alastor snapped. “That is hardly an ask Mon Cher, and I do not care for your petulant games.”
“It is only an ask Alastor, there is no game.”
Alastor held a forefinger up to Vincent’s mouth. “Do not start with me. I have no desire for your fabricated stories. You are a scoundrel and a liar and I do not want such a pathetic creature near me.” He watched the frustration and anger swirl in Vincent’s eyes at the insult. Good. It should affect him.
“If you give me a chance I can give you everything you ever wanted.” Vincent argued. He reached for Alastor’s arm. Alastor pulled his arm away as if he had been burnt.
He responded, “I can obtain everything I have ever wanted without you, we have been through this.”
“No you can not, you can not possibly achieve what I can give you.” Vincent’s voice was quickly growing more impatient and angry. It was unfortunate Alastor was more haughty.
His smooth and seductive tone tainted with venom. “Bold of you to diminish all of my accomplishments and assume I need someone like you to save me from my own limitations. Is this how you think you can win me over? Is this how you woo a woman? Or is it the color of my skin?”
“Do not be difficult now Al, you know what you are and who allows you your position.”
“Excuse me?” Alastor raised a hand to slap him and Vincent caught it in his own. He had learned to have reflexes to counter it. That did not stop Alastor’s seething however. “Say that again Yankee, and I will see to it your family line ends with you.”
“Calm down Al, you are getting yourself worked up.” Vincent responded, his grip tightening its hold, sliding to Alastor’s wrist and holding it in a vicegrip.
Alastor’s face scrunched in fury as his eyes darkened. “Mo sé linmin– Release me before you truly anger me Cher.”
“Why should I feel so inclined Cher?” Vincent leaned an inch in to make them that much closer.
Alastor did not appreciate the mockery and he intended to tell him that by spitting the words in his face but the anger was slowly ebbing from him. The sensation was incredibly odd, and unprecedented. His lips moved but the words died on his tongue. What words did he intend to say again? Vincent had taken out his pocket watch again. He had said it was a family heirloom, passed down from his father. Most watches were. The chain was silver, polished so a shine reflected blindingly from it.
“Remember this?” Vincent’s voice was calm, but direct. It carried a consistent cadence. The hand on Alastor’s wrist loosened and started rubbing it gently. “Where are you supposed to look when you see this? Do you remember?”
Alastor’s eyes followed the pocket watch as it slid from Vincent’s hand. The timepiece was caught by its chain and dangled from Vincent’s hand. It swung like a pendulum, and Alastor’s eyes followed it delicately.
“Good.” Vincent’s voice again. “You watch it. That is where you look. Your eyes follow its movements. You watch it.”
Vincent’s hand removed itself from its hold on Alastor’s wrist. Instead it settled on Alastor’s waist. Something subtle pinched at the back of Alastor’s brain, like he was supposed to feel a certain way about that, but he felt a little numb, and very calm. Vincent walked him backwards until he was pressed back up against his desk. Alastor’s hand lowered it to give himself some stability. His eyes continued to observe the swinging timepiece. The silver aspects of it gleamed in the golden lighting of the studio.
“You are looking at the watch when you see it.” Vincent’s voice continued. His hand moved from Alastor’s hip to the front of his abdomen. Again, there was something about that that made him feel a certain way, he just could not place it. Still the watch swung. It was an elegant little thing, a tad clunky, but it cut through the air so smoothly as it swayed in his vision. Vincent’s hand moved lower, reaching beneath his vest and tugging at the shirt tucked into his pants. Alastor’s gaze unfocused slightly then it sharpened. It was imperative that he continued to watch the watch.
Vincent’s hand reached beneath his shirt and spread across his abdomen. Alastor intook a sharp breath, he wanted to tear his eyes away from the pocket watch. As if sensing this, Vincent started to speak again. “Stay still, keep watching my watch.” The hand slid further up his shirt, starting to play with his chest.
Alastor opened his mouth to protest. “Vin–”
Vincent wasted no time in cutting him off. “Cher,” Vincent said. “Remember what you do when you hear that word? Do you understand?”
Alastor forgot what he was going to complain about. His eyes were still on the swinging watch. Vincent’s hand kneaded his chest and continued to fondle it. Alastor felt warmth filling his face from the teasing. He was vaguely aware of Vincent snickering softly. “That is right. This is what you do. Do you understand? You are complacent when you hear the word Cher. As soon as I say Cher, you are complacent to everything that happens to you. For a while you will listen to everything I say. You will do everything I ask. You will have no averse feelings, only pleasure. Do you understand? You will listen to everything I say. You are starting to feel aroused. You like being touched. You want to be touched more. Being touched makes you more worked up than a bitch in heat.”
Alastor felt himself gasp. A small whimper was pulled from his throat. He had started to become aroused. His face was flushed a rich crimson and hot. His nipples were perked and stiff. Arousal pooled in his gut and made him fidget. The hand against his chest had moved lower to rub along his waistband.
“Now,” Vincent continued. “When I say, you will take your eyes off of the watch and you will be complacent. You will be calm and relaxed. You will be pliable. You will be aroused and needy. You will like it. When I say. Now, take your eyes off of the watch.”
The watch stopped swinging as Alastor adverted his gaze from it. He was aware that Vincent slipped it back into his own pocket but Alastor could hardly be bothered to care. He was a lot more preoccupied with the craving in his body to be touched and pleasured. He stood still as Vincent’s hands went to Alastor’s waistband and undid his belt. The other man stripped his lower half quickly, shoving Alastor’s garments in a crumpled pile on the ground. His vest and shirt were unbuttoned next, though those were left on him, hanging off of his bare shoulders and exposing his chest. Vincent’s mismatched eyes were eerie and bright, his smile possessive and delighted. Pale hands went to Alastor’s thighs and pressed them apart. Alastor gasped, wanting more than just that touch.
“Whore,” Vincent chuckled with the word. Alastor stood in complacency, forgetting if he should feel delighted or disgusted at the word. “You like being a whore,” Vincent told him. “You like being called a whore. It makes you moan and beg for more. Whore.”
The word filled Alastor’s head and triggered his pleasure receptors. He moaned. It was embarrassing that just one word already had him moaning. “More, s'il vous plaît,” he requested. Vincent’s grin was wide in his face. His hands gripped around Alastor’s waist and lifted him onto the desk. Alastor’s legs closed on instinct and Vincent pushed them back apart again.
“Where is the lubricant?” Vincent asked.
“The second drawer on the left side in the back,” Alastor responded. Had he put it there? He could not remember. He must have. Vincent left his immediate proximity and Alastor imagined it was to retrieve the lubricant. He suddenly became aware of his clothes hanging off of his shoulders and his lack of pants. That was unlike him, especially in the presence of someone else. He was liking this though, was he not? He liked being…
“Stay where you are Al,” Vincent’s voice reinforced. Alastor realized he had started to slip off the desk with the intention of standing and redressing himself. It must have been a natural reflex ingrained in him, but why? Vincent was in front of him again now.
“Look at me Al. See me. Look at me.” Alastor obliged. Vincent’s eyes were pretty, captivating even. His glasses slightly askew to such a miniscule point it might have been imperceptible. His features were intense, focused, and something else. Lustful? He felt something cool press against his entrance, he shivered, something telling him he might have been adverse to it… at one point… certainly not now.
“You will listen to everything I say,” Vincent said. “You will do everything I ask. You will have no averse feelings, only pleasure. You will be calm and relaxed. You will be pliable. You will like it. This feels good doesn’t it Al?”
Alastor scrunched up his nose as two fingers penetrated him.
“You will only have pleasurable feelings. You want to feel this way. You like it. You want more. You will moan. You will be calm. You will want more.”
Alastor realized he had tensed a little but he was steadily relaxing. Even as he felt an unpleasant stretch he melted into the two fingers pushing inside of him. He moaned, the feeling already so nice. “More.”
“So needy,” Vincent commented. “You are so needy. Like a whore. You like being called a whore. It makes you want to beg for more.”
A shiver ran up Alastor’s spine. The arousal was running through him now. He liked being called a whore. He was a whore after all. The fingers inside of him felt so good. He wanted more. “More, Mon Cherie.”
“You will beg for it.” Vincent repeated.
“More, I want more. Please. Give me more. I will do anything.”
“You are so desperate.” Vincent had sunk his two fingers down to the knuckles inside of him. “You so desperately want more, squeeze around my fingers, beg for more. You can not bear having so little in you. You need to be filled with more.”
Alastor gave a soft cry as it was swallowed by a moan. His hole tightened around the two fingers and they felt so delicious yet small at the same time. He needed more. He needed something filling him, stuffing him until he felt like he could not take it anymore. “Please. I need more. I need so much more. Give it to me. Please.” The begging words dripped from his tongue like honey ruined by spoiled wine. “My Darling I can not bear having so little of you in me.”
⫘⫘-⏱-⫘
Alastor’s memory of the ending of his last broadcast session was hazy. The rest of what he did in the last few hours was also blank. Maybe he had fallen asleep? As cognition came back to him he became aware that he was lying in the thick and worn couch pushed up against a wall in the room. His head was on someone’s lap, a hand stroking through his hair. He startled and instantly stiffened. He sat upright quickly, a soreness between his legs making him gasp. His pants had been sloppily pulled up his hips, but Alastor did not need to see his thighs to know they were covered in bruises. Vincent put the cigarette that he was smoking out in a nearby ashtray. He seemed like he had not slept yet. Alastor narrowed his gaze at him and his eyes were seething. “Get out.” Alastor pulled the shirt draped over his shoulders on and started to button it. “Get out now.”
Vincent held up a hand smiling. “I liked it much better when that pretty voice of yours is moaning for me to come.”
Alastor stood, glancing for his glasses but deciding he could look for them in a moment. Dealing with Vincent was more pressing. “I said get out now or I–”
“Or you will what?” Vincent continued to grin as he stood. He tilted his head, dipping his chin to look the few inches difference down into Alastor’s eyes. Alastor continued to glare at him with more hatred than most would have thought humanly possible, but a rebuttal would have only made him look foolish. Vincent nodded. “Exactly. Nothing. Maybe get some more sleep. You have work tomorrow, and I can not wait to see you again tomorrow night.”
Alastor’s words were sharp and infuriated, “M a di w sa Kasayòl te di bèf la.” His hand landed a slap across Vincent’s face.
Vincent retaliated by grabbing Alastor’s throat with his right hand. Alastor did not hesitate to drive his knee up into Vincent’s crotch. He watched with satisfaction as the man gasped. He pried the fingers from his throat and strode away from him, placing himself behind his desk and with the furniture between them both as a barrier. The surface of the desk was in complete disarray, clearly much had happened on it. Alastor tried to ignore the queasiness that thought instilled in him. Vincent came closer and stood in front of the desk.
“Now do not be so diffi–”
“Get out Vincent. I do not want to tolerate your grating presence any longer. If you stand there I might have to take my fountain pen and gouge my own eyes out just so I do not have to look at your unbearable face.” Alastor found his glasses amidst the clutter on the desk and put them on. Vincent took a very long minute to look Alastor over. Or more rather ogle him. Then he took one step towards the door.
“Enjoy being bossy until I see you tonight.”
“I am not bossy Vincent, I am just saying no.”
“You will learn to love it.”
“I will kill you.”
Vincent laughed as he turned and walked to the door. “You are gorgeous.”
“Get out.”
“Do not miss me too much, you are my whore after all.”
Alastor hurtled his desk lamp at him. The other man quickly stepped out of the way and the thing crashed and shattered on the floor. Vincent disappeared down the hall. As soon as he was gone Alastor’s hands came down to the edge of his desk to support himself so he did not collapse. Now that he was alone he lost the control he had over himself and his composure. He remembered now how many times this had happed. Was Vincent confident enough in his hypnotisms that he could let Alastor remember what was happening this time? Usually the man would have stayed and forced him to forget. Alastor could remember that now. He could remember that this had been going on for weeks. He felt sick, a mixture of fear, horror, and disgust filled his chest and choked him, and he shook with a full-blown panic attack until he collapsed to the floor.