Alastor slammed you against the wall of the hotel room, his antlers scraping the ceiling as that perpetual grin split wider. "Darling, you've been teasing the airwaves all night," he growled, voice crackling with static.
His clawed hands ripped your shirt open, buttons flying. No slow bullshit. He shoved his knee between your legs and ground hard against your crotch, cock already thick and straining behind his pinstriped pants.
"Fuck, Alastor," you gasped. He yanked your pants down in one motion, leaving you bare from the waist down. His fingers wrapped around your dick without preamble, stroking rough and fast, thumb smearing the bead of precum over the head. "That's it, get hard for the demon," he snarled, radio filter buzzing in your ear.
He spun you around, bent you over the arm of the couch. One hand pinned your neck down while the other spread your ass cheeks. No lube, just spit on his fingers and two shoved straight into your hole. You hissed at the burn but pushed back anyway. "More," you demanded. He laughed, that old-timey chuckle turning filthy. "Greedy little slut. Beg for my cock."
"Please, fuck me with it." He freed his length, long, veined, red-tipped and leaking. He lined up and thrust balls-deep in one shove. Your hole stretched around him, walls clenching. Alastor didn't wait. He pounded into you, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin loud and nasty. Every thrust sent static shocks through your nerves, his antlers rattling above you.
He reached around and jerked your cock in time with his fucking, grip tight and merciless. "Take it all, every inch," he ordered, voice dropping into a growl. Your prostate got hammered on every stroke, pleasure spiking sharp. Sweat slicked your back where his shirt brushed you. He leaned in, teeth grazing your shoulder, not biting yet, just promising.
You came first, shooting ropes across the couch cushion while your ass pulsed around him. Alastor kept going, using your hole until he grunted and flooded you, hot cum pumping deep. He didn't pull out right away. Instead he rocked slowly, stirring his load inside you, making it drip down your thighs.
"Round two in the bayou shadows," he promised, voice thick with static and lust. He hauled you up, still buried inside, and carried you to the bed. This time he laid you on your back, legs over his shoulders, and fucked you open again, slower but no less filthy, watching every expression while he wrecked you. His hand wrapped your throat, squeezing just enough as he bottomed out again and again.
By the third load he had you shaking, hole sloppy and used, cum leaking everywhere. Alastor finally stilled, that smile softening a fraction as he pulled you against his chest. "Broadcast over for now, sweetheart. But the signal's always open." You drifted off wrecked, full, and already craving the next transmission.
