To celebrate Grace's homecoming, I'm sharing some spicy art I commissioned last year. The featured image is one of those pieces--the full drawing will be with the other pieces down at the bottom of the post.

Enjoy!

Waiting dutifully on the pillow in Grace’s old hotel bedroom was not Wubby, but rather, the little teddybear in the conductor’s uniform. Grace’s lower lip quivered as she approached it, picked it up, and cradled it in her arms just the way she used to cradle Hunter when he was an infant. Tears slid hot down her cheeks and she let them; it was such a relief to weep like this.

She then sat on the bed, resting the teddybear beside her before adjusting the right dress strap again, this time with an annoyed yank. I should still have my wardrobe here, right? But before she sought out clothing that fit her properly, her gaze fell upon the bedside table where Alastor’s antique radio used to sit.

It wasn’t there. She sniffled, wiping her tears away with the side of her index finger.

Where—

And then she remembered. Grace slid off the mattress, kneeling on the floor to reach under the bed to retrieve the radio. She placed it back in its proper spot and plugged it in. With a deep breath, she turned it on.

The station it was tuned to when she last listened to it played some quiet, soothing, instrumental jazz. Grace didn’t know how to feel about that, whether or not she should consider it a window into Alastor’s thoughts and feelings at the moment.

This seemed neutral, like the equivalent of opening the door to a room only to find it unfurnished and vacant.

There were several light taps on her bedroom door. Tap, tap-tap. Tap-tap.

She didn’t acknowledge it. Eating at the table with everyone—even if nobody had really talked to her—had been taxing enough.

God forbid it was Husker. She knew she needed to apologize to him but wasn’t prepared for that yet.

When she didn’t respond after a few moments to the knocking, ethereal glowing green fingers sneaked under the door and up to unlock it before twisting the knob. The dexterity of the non-corporeal components of the Radio Demon was unsettling. 

Alastor peered into her room but remained out in the hall. “You know, it’s considered highly offensive to not give your compliments to the chef.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not actually a thing,” snapped Grace. “And you’re one to talk; it’s rude to enter someone’s room without their permission. I’m sure you’d have learned that by now!”

“Yes, but you see, I haven’t actually entered your room.” His crooked, tentative smile turned suspiciously hopeful.

Grace hefted herself from the bed, yanked a strap back onto her shoulder, and stalked to the door, opening it a little more but blocking his way in. Against her better judgment, she met his gaze, her heart crumbling in a single beat. “Technicalities,” she whispered on a trembling voice before flinging the door open and throwing her arms around him.

He wasted no time in returning her embrace. “There’s my Little Fawn.”

“Fuck you!” Where she wanted to shove him away, she instead buried her face into his chest and sobbed, “I’m not your little anything!”

“Oh, but my dear, you are.” He said it with such conviction, as if it were fact. Inarguable. “And you always will be.”

It wasn’t fact; he was delusional. If Grace knew anything, it was that there was no arguing delusion. But the silence was awful and she had to say something. Thoroughly flustered, Grace spat, “I’m still so mad at you!”

“I don’t care.”

Grace pulled back—as much as his fierce grip afforded her—and looked at him with a gasp. “Excuse me?”

“Be mad at me! Be happy, be sad. Hell, abhor me! You wouldn’t be the first and you won’t be the last. Call me every vulgarity in the book and then make up new, worse ones. Do anything and be any way you want to be as long as you’re here with me!” He squeezed hard. “I’ve been unable to sleep and when I do, I’m plagued with wretched dreams that you’re gone. Then I wake only to discover those nightmares are my inescapable reality.”

Oh. My. God. Dammit, Al! Before she thought better of it, before she had any hope of stopping herself, Grace fisted his lapels and yanked him into a kiss.

When she leaned back again to catch her breath and hope to slow her racing heart, his smile was dazed. He pressed his fingertips to his lips as his cheeks rapidly flushed. 

“What?” she whispered. “What’s that look for? It’s not exactly like we haven’t kissed before.” Sure, it’d been a while. And sure, he’d never been especially keen on that form of affection. But that wouldn’t have been enough to make him blush so furiously.

“That … was … the first time you’ve kissed me.” 

“You’ve wanted me to do that?” Grace asked, utterly awestruck.

“Of course, my little fawn! Why wouldn’t I?”

“Then why did you—” No, she couldn’t bring herself to asking why he’d betrayed her trust. She tried a different remark: “I—” Even if it took the rest of her afterlife, she would never find a way to articulate her thoughts in that moment so she just let the vowel dangle.

He pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, “Kiss me again.”

“Ask nicely, Radio Demon,” she said in a poor attempt at mimicking his dour commands.

He gave her a single chuckle and said, simply, “No.”

Her face promptly burst into livid flames. And yet, even her own thoughts betrayed her fury: Oh holy shit I couldn’t possibly love you more. She moved in for a kiss, murmuring against his lips, “I hate you so fucking much.”

With absolutely no conviction whatsoever, he replied, “I hate you, more, darling.”

His jacket still in her grip, she pulled him inside her bedroom and kicked the door closed before pushing him toward her bed. She was so desperate for his affection that she was perfectly willing to take the chance on the pain from him rejecting her now. Let it ache, let it burn, let it sear, let it scar her for eternity, let her bleed out from the wound in her heart; nothing would feel as bad as being apart from him had.

Except Alastor did nothing to protest or fight what had to be obvious even for him. In fact, once they reached her bed, he flopped onto his back on it, pulling her down atop himself. And when she kissed him again, he deepened the kiss, angling his head and crushing her face to his with his hands on her cheeks, burying his darling pointed little nose into her cheek.

“Still not close enough,” he murmured against her mouth.

Grace ran her hands down his chest, assuming he was too preoccupied with kissing her to notice how she was touching him. She waited for him to realize it and smack her hands off himself, worst case scenario. Or remove his clothes magically, best case scenario.

But then she noticed him arching his back off the bed slightly to press against her palms.

She leaned back, breathless. “You’re not … snapping your clothes away?”

Alastor sat up as much as he could beneath her. Propped on his elbows, he answered, “Haven’t you wanted to help me out of everything? I thought—”

Grace gasped, “Yes!” Without further conversation, she went for his jacket, fingers trembling with excitement as they undid buttons, lowered a zipper. Slipped hands up beneath his shirt to feel his stomach and chest, fingertips grazing the ghost of a scar where the infected Angelic Steel slash had been. “I love the feel of your skin.”

His breathing quickened as he closed his eyes and nodded slightly. “I love how you touch my skin.”

She repositioned herself so that she kneeled beside him on the mattress, that series of words repeating itself in her head while sliding a hand into his unbuttoned trousers, threading her fingers through his fur and grazing the soft skin beneath it with her nails. In response, he raised his hips as if to put his cock in a better position for her. Now her heart was pounding.

Grace licked her palm and caressed his still soft cock with it; it took paying only a little heed to his head to bring him to full attention. She exhaled quietly. “I can’t believe I make you feel this way.”

“I can,” he whispered, haltingly.

Okay, gotta ignore that.

She wrapped her hand around his cock, gliding her fist up and down. Slow and loose, her touch light as a feather, teasing him with what was to come.

Alastor placed his hand on her ankle, his unexpected touch proving momentarily distracting. She changed her rhythm, a little faster and her grip a little tighter. His hand creeped up from resting on her ankle to rubbing her ass. He then lifted his hand away.

And suddenly that cheek stung deliciously following a closed-hand smack!

His hand returned to her ass cheek and Grace braced herself for another slap, barely able to concentrate enough to continue stroking his cock. Instead, he slipped his hand between her thighs, sliding the length of a finger along her pussy. 

Her head tipped back with a moan. She hadn’t realized she was soaked until he touched her. 

“Do you want her?” asked Grace.

There was a lengthy silence. He circled her clit gently with the tip of his finger. Then finally he answered a breathy, “Please.”

“You get me so fucking wet, Radio Demon,” Grace moaned, her legs quivering with his touch. “How badly do you want her?”

“So very badly, Little Fawn. I hated how much I thought of her while you were gone. When I couldn’t just snap my fingers and bring her to me.” Alastor rolled her clit gently between two fingers slick with her excitement.

She was panting now. “Beg me for her.”

Alastor slipped a finger into her welcoming pussy. “She doesn’t feel like any begging is necessary.”

How in fuck’s name did their composure flip flop like that? He was cool and calm and level-headed and she was rapidly spiraling out of control, losing herself with each come-hither motion he made with that finger buried deep inside her. He knew nothing of G-spots, Grace was certain, and yet seemed well-acquainted with hers.

“Jesus, Alastor!” Her whole body awash with ecstasy, she cried out through her climax, “Yes!”

The Radio Demon slipped his finger from her to suckle it dry. “You are scrumptious.” He guided her to straddle him again, positioning her over his crotch until he could tease her entrance with his cock. “A delicacy I can never get my fill of.”

Grace’s whole body clenched and she moaned, “Impale me!”

He snatched her face in his hand; she could smell herself on his fingertip. “Ask nicely!”

Tears welled in her eyes and she sobbed, “Please!”

But rather than his typical forceful thrust, Alastor eased himself up into her, inch by agonizingly succulent inch.

After a few gentle thrusts, he asked, “Why are you still dressed?”

“Am I? I am—” Grace genuinely hadn’t even realized until he brought it to her attention.

The expert of multi-tasking, he continued his thrusts while toying with the straps of the sundress, sliding them slowly down her shoulders. The whole top of the dress rolled down alongside the straps, her jugs popping out of the fabric in a luscious, bouncy reveal aided by her own rocking and grinding against him.

Now that they were exposed, Grace drooled into her cleavage, ran her hands over her breasts, squeezing them, lifting them, squishing them together. “Someday I’ll fuck you with these.” As she rode him harder, she demonstrated her suggestion, jiggling her tits with her hands. “I’ll give you a fucking so good and thorough that you’ll forget your own name. I’ll make you lose what little is left of your mind and you’ll get addicted.”

“Too late—”

Grace’s hands drifted down her stomach, down her thighs, then sliding inward over the fabric of her dress and between them, her thumb sinking against her swollen, slick clit. Circling it in tandem with her grinding. She moaned, long and low.

Panting, Alastor covered her hand with his, his thumb pressing against hers and following the circles she made with it. 

“You’re gonna make me come—again—” she warned.

And then he brushed her hand away and took over.

“See—” Grace sang, her voice an orgasmic glissando, her body clenching, her soul seeing a light above. She rode him through wave after wave, and with a single well-timed rock of her hips, she at long last accomplished an Alastor Hat Trick: he came in record time—for him, anyway—moaned quite loudly, and dropped his smile for a single heartbeat. Or, perhaps more appropriately, a single throb of his cock.

She let him have that throb.

And then she went right on back to riding him, seeking a third orgasm of her own.

Alastor arched against her with the telltale hiss of an oversensitive cock, sinking his claws into her waist. Sparks of pain rippled through her body like euphoric aftershocks, hot blood trickling down her ass. 

“Please, Little Fawn!” he gasped, his head tilting back. “Stop—stay still! I—I can’t take it—”

Grace had to. She had to. If she didn’t, she’d regret missing the opportunity; it wasn’t every day she had full control over such a remarkable demon. Now, that is, that she had the orgasmic high ground. With a devious smirk, she rocked forward. Once.

He made an agonized little noise, his eyes rolling back and then squeezing shut.

She took mercy on him and stilled, marveling at each throb of his cock buried balls-deep in her pussy.

In the aftermath of that last delicious throb, Alastor’s now half-lidded gaze fell on her with a sweet smile. “I missed you,” he breathed. “My afterlife is absolute hell when you’re not in it. You consumed me like a forest fire, Little Fawn, and then left me in ashes.”

“Alastor—” she whispered in equal parts awe and guilt, dismounting and sitting on the mattress beside him. “I—”

In her inability to reply, Alastor rolled onto his side to face her, his gaze dipping down. “Take it off.”

“Excuse me?”

“The dress.” He gestured to the fabric bunched up at her waist. “Remove it.”

And suddenly, Grace was wildly self-conscious. “I’d really prefer not.”

“Grace.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m not asking you.”

With a shaky breath, she gathered the dress and lifted it up over her head, dropping it onto the floor beside the bed.

He brushed his fingertips across her ribcage. “You look … gaunt.”

“Gaunt?!” she replied in dismay.

“Isn’t it just like Vox to ruin perfection.”

“Perfection?” Grace echoed, her cheeks warming.

“Don’t act so surprised. I’ve said that about you before.”

She watched him trace each rib. Hoping to distract him, she asked, “Why did you brush my hand away from my clit? I’m a big girl; I can handle myself. I’ve had enough practice. Trust me on that.”

“You’re not a big girl.” His voice softened. “You’re my little fawn.” Alastor traded attending her ribs for her hair, winding the braids around his hands as he had with the chain that used to bind them. “And while I don’t doubt you can take care of yourself—on the streets and in the sheets—I …” He faltered, the pink in his cheeks darkening and spreading across the bridge of his nose. “I wanted to be the reason you were making those blissful expressions and euphoric sounds.”

And just like that, much to Grace’s surprise—and obviously his, judging by how his eyes popped open, his gaze darting downward—he was already ramping up for round two. As if he didn’t realize he was capable of doing such things; he really had to have been out of his mind during rut, if that was the case.

Twice in one evening was hardly a record for him.

Grace returned an impish smile. “Something just move the activity to the first thing on your mind?”

Alastor blushed hard. “I was just so excited to see you.” He tugged her braids to bring her face to his, kissing her softly over and over.

In a small breather, she admitted, “I’m sorry. You’re right: I didn’t give my compliments to the chef. That gumbo was the second tastiest thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Alastor’s brows crimped together and he responded exactly as she hoped he would: “What was the tastiest?”

She leaned over, walking her fingertips up his thigh and then brushing by his balls. She leaned forward, and with her lips teasing his mouth, she breathed, “Your thick, hard cock.”

In a blink, the world tumbled around Grace and she found herself beneath Alastor, her arms pinned above her head by her wrists and her thighs being spread by the width of his body.

He pressed into her slowly, not as though he wasn’t trying to hurt her, but more like he was  once more savoring every inch along the way until he was fully seated. “Return to our room after we’re done here.” No radio filter. Just Alastor, pure and genuine and vulnerable. And breathing heavily between his words. If he wasn’t careful, he’d hyperventilate in the middle of sex again.

“Your room,” Grace corrected.

“Our room. It’s been ours from the first moment I brought you there. Ours because it felt right to have you there. Ours when it felt empty in your absence. Our room, our bed. My Little Fawn.” He withdrew, keeping the tip of his cock at her entrance tauntingly.

“I still feel like an invader, Alastor. Like I—I don’t belong there. There isn’t a single piece of me there.”

“Stop resisting me.” He pulled his right hand from her wrist and wrapped it around her neck against her jaw, forcing her to look at him. “You’re all over it. Your voice. Your hair. Your scent. Your laugh. The very essence of you is ingrained in every inch of our room. There is nowhere you belong more than with me, in there.”

“I—”

His gaze hardened on her and he thrust forward.

Grace yelped beneath his force, her horns drilling into the headboard behind her. This time, she knew those holes were there for real.

“Tell me you belong there, Grace.” Something in his tone and his gaze suggested to her that she not argue it anymore.

“Okay,” she whispered shakily.

“Say.” Thrust. “It.” Thrust. “Grace!” Thrust, thrust, thrust! “‘I belong there, Alastor.’ Say those words to me!” He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the dip in her collarbone.

She gasped at the soft, warm kiss. “I—belong there—Alastor.”

“We’ll have to work on that sincerity, I think.”

Grace had been sincere, if not tentative and preoccupied. So she offered him a statement, adjacent: “I belong with you, Radio Demon!”

“Yes,” he panted as his thrusts came faster and harder. Surely his climax was imminent. “You do. You’re mine and I’m yours.” Alastor thrust forward a final time, his hands clenching and claws sinking into the mattress, shredding it. “There is no me without you.” There again was that wonderful, telltale throbbing in her pussy of his release. “And I …” He exhaled hard, his head falling forward, his forehead coming to a rest against hers. “I will be the last to reach these depths of you.”

The first five drawings were done by Moon Cakes. The sixth was done by Morgan Baker and the last drawing in the slide show was done by Unified Creations Art.

See you next Wednesday, deer friends!