Awakening

Title Awakening

Pairing Alice Cooper/Dennis Dunaway

*

There was no doubt that he wasn’t at fault in the situation, but calm eyes took in his surroundings, including the man lying motionless on the bed. If it had been anyone else, man or woman, he or she would have been panicking, reacting in some way or another. He remained impassive, waiting patiently. It could have been a joke, but the punch line was gruesome, in no shape or form amusing.

Rigor mortis had set in the time he waited for him to wake, not realising his fate until too late. Fear was frozen on his face, no matter how he tried to stretch skin into something resembling peaceful; it crawled back, skin stiff under his fingers, or so he imagined. It was hard to tell under his bloodied hands.



"Alice! We've got to be there in twenty minutes!”



The intrusion didn’t change his expression, even though it twisted towards the door. A knock sounded, persistent just as the voice. Whoever it was, he was waiting for the singer. Without saying a word, even his sigh silent as he looked back to the dead man, he took several gulps of lukewarm beer before returning it to the bedside table. Slightly damp fingers reached down to the horror-struck man, razor sharp nails slicing through flesh with a doctor’s precision. There was no sense of humanitarianism, not even the urgent need to resuscitate; it was all brutality, a morbid sense of curiosity that led him to cut through the whole body, skin peeled away, piece by piece. Blood pooled onto the blankets, dripping from his fingers all the way down to his wrists, well after his handiwork was done. The finishing touch was taking his parts, hair and the skin all the way down to fingers and toes, and donning them much like Edward Gein. Unlike him, he didn’t clothe himself with women but one man.

“For fuck’s sake!” As quiet as the inside of the room had been, the man from the hallway had pitched his tirade for almost a whole ten minutes, hammering on the door and shouting. His voice was nearly hoarse from all that effort, but only now was he forced to acknowledge them. Lifting himself from the bed, and taking a little less care in putting on the man’s actual clothing, he made his way to the door. “The limo will be in the parking lot now, waiting for us!”

He rolled his eyes, the icy blue solid unlike his face. A few little tucks, and shifting lips and teeth to fit properly in his mouth, had his mask fitted like the face was meant to. The hair was naturally unruly and make up was dark and smudged in trademark form.

“It’s about time!” He didn’t get a chance to say anything, getting yanked into the hall by a firm grip. The shorter man – Mike, as the body seemed to cry out from the hotel room – shoved the door shut, leading them towards the elevator. “At least they can’t yell at you for being late. You’re the star, the reason why we’re even here.”

“Lucky for us,” he remarked, smirking not only for Mike’s grumble but also for how his voice sounded perfect, an exact replica of who he was supposed to be. For all intents and purposes, he was the rock star that everyone clamoured to see. As soon as the real musician fell into the nightmare he created, screaming and fighting for his life, he had implanted the voice into his psyche, adapted for his own use.

There was no more Alice, only Steven.

*

The ride to the venue went smoothly. The conversations were the same, no one singling him out with accusations. The gloves he wore were not out of the ordinary, thanks to the freezing temperatures that hung over the city. Once he found himself a washroom he would properly scrub his hands, watching the blood trickle down the drain while making sure Alice’s skin stayed in place, fitting over fingers that were yet to be long enough. He’d deal with that little nuisance later, when he had enough time for his means.

The real struggle was remembering names.

Luckily his victim had been a yappy one; the names were remembered easily, but he hadn’t been so fortunate to know the faces to match up with them. The drive had been long enough to match the people who he rode with to their proper names. The lanky blond was Neal and the currently surly blond was Glen. Shep sat across from him, explaining to him that the stage required a slightly different setup to fit their set and gear. Neal had been upset that the riser for his kit was vetoed but he understood why. Glen was just upset that he hadn’t gotten to finish his beer before being called down for the limo.

 “There will be more beers backstage,” Mike reminded.

Glen smirked a little, fingers restless against his thigh. “That’s good – so long as no one gets in my way between the doors and the table.”

“We’ll clear a route for you,” Dennis reassured Glen, gaze sliding away from him to Glen.

The caravan of fools arrived at its destination, their vehicle bringing up the back end. Various crew members emptied out from the first two vehicles, the same unimportant but fun type of chatter that made up their ride sounding across the parking lot. The voices faded off slowly, doors opening and closing to admit all of them, but before their particular group could enter, a different type of sound reached their ears. He wasn’t too concerned about it, and neither was Shep or the others. Only Dennis grabbed his arm, preventing him from entering the concert hall.

“Alice, they’re calling for you,” Dennis reminded, gesturing with his chin and a smile to a group of teenagers who were running up to them. All were attired in jeans and shirts. Four of them were wearing shirts either with the five of them or tour art printed on them. The fifth, a boy who oddly wore a white shirt, had his face done up with black eyes on an otherwise white face, an exact replica of his own. It almost warmed his heart to see a kindred spirit, someone who wore the face of another.

“Alice, you’re the best!” The girl who shouted had a remarkably strong hand, her nails also quite sharp. He eased his arm out carefully, loosening her hold enough to ensure that she wouldn’t reveal anything she shouldn’t. “We’ve got front row for tonight!”

“You’re here awfully early,” he remarked, grinning to her eager face, all of their eager faces really. “Are you sure you’re not skipping school to be here?” he taunted, pretty sure he knew their answer.

“School’s Out!”

The retort, remarkably in harmony and shouted perfectly in time, had him laughing. “I should have known.”

“We’re so excited, but now. . . it’s so much better now that you’re here!” another squealed.

“I’ve got your magazine, could you sign it for me?”

Two magazines, an album, a piece of paper, and a tee shirt later, all signed by both of them, during which conversation never stopped, and the teenagers were stumbling away in shock and adoration, the concert briefly forgotten over their sheer luck. He watched them go away, waving to them as they waved back. Dennis waved after them too, but his gaze kept drifting back to him. He sighed, meaning for a chuckle though there was still a hint of exasperation directed at Dennis. “Alright, you were right, everyone wants me – everyone loves me.”

“Your fans don’t love you for your modesty,” Dennis commented, smirking back to him. “Now that the way is clear, we can go inside now.”

“Do you think Glen’s drank all the beer?” he asked, grateful for the warmth coming down from the vents, much preferred over the cold wind.

“There are two cases in the dressing room. As highly impossible as that is, if it did happened, we’d be shipping him out to the hospital.”

“We better start drinking too, to save our friend from a medical emergency.”  

There were three hours to show time, but there wasn’t time to rest. Stagehands were already setting up, props assembled and arranged as needed. Costumes were put on then taken off, alterations or cleanings done in the time before the show started. Instruments were put into place, a sound check then a run through of the set played. Inebriation had begun, but being the professionals they were, they were still fully functional.

“Now we get to rest.” Back in the dressing room, costumes hung on the wardrobe on the far wall, they flung themselves into various seats, or at least the ones that weren’t taken. The crew was already eating, and even though that would be their concern too, Glen was more interested in claiming another beer for himself. He squeezed himself onto one of the remaining free cushions, pressed up to the arm of the couch. “Tonight is going to be great.”

“It always is.” Mike entered the lounge area with his own plate, carried not as securely as it could have been. A deft hand managed to steal a chicken wing, and before Mike could grab it back Glen was already eating it. Mike didn’t even bat an eye, but he did choose a seat out of grabbing distance. “Think you can do a clean solo tonight?”

“I always do!” Glen retorted, though he smirked, knowing that Mike was only baiting him.

“Don’t listen to the big old bully.” Neal wasn’t able to find a seat immediately near them, which meant he had to pull up a metal chair that had been over by the buffet table. “He just wants to have a solo of his own.”

“Jealousy doesn’t become you,” he added, setting himself on another borrowed chair. He didn’t mind that at all, not when he considered where he positioned it, in reach of a low table. Making his feet comfortable, he balanced his plate on his lap. Hands cleaned and teeth at the ready, he started eating, though quickly swallowed, eyes darting across to Mike. “Actually, if I heard correctly last night, you couldn’t get that girl to--”

Glen and Neal’s laughter cut him off from finishing, though judging by their expressions, and Mike’s, jaw tight and cheeks slightly pink, they all knew what he was about to say. “What you heard is not true,” Mike argued, emphasising his words for him.

“Do you always flush when you protest?” Dennis asked as he casted a doubtful look to Mike’s brightening face.

“Shut up!” Mike bit into his food, realising that for all his attempts to defend himself everyone didn’t believe him, preferring to laugh more. His silence eventually led to theirs, though it didn’t last for long. There was always someone else who spoke up, or a conversation that begged to have their input. The chatter continued, and food and drink consumed until the last stage of preparation was needed.

Costumes back on, finishing touches done to each of them, they were almost ready to go on. The mindless vibrations through the hall, voices speaking in normal tones, was a steady hum, turning into a unified cheer as the lights faded to black over the audience. It rose higher as they made their way out onto the stage, Alice bringing up the rear, the spotlight on him, much to the adoration of the fans that shot to their feet.

It was easy to see why Alice loved this. Alice was a born showman, and yet he realised that he could do it too. Soaking up the adulations, listening to tuneless singing before him, he smirked and sneered his way through the numbers, playing with dolls or a garbage can, and even chasing after a tooth. He could do this, the music strengthening him, running through him like blood ought to. Every breath fuelled him, sending him prowling across the stage, singing and entertaining, telling morbid stories and humorous accounts in every move and tone.

It was nothing short of perfection, and yet it was nearly ruined as he saw one of the stagehands motioning him from the stage, ready with the next prop. He held something in his hands, draped over his arms. Was it time for the noose already? He sauntered over quickly, ashamed to admit that his eyes widened as beady eyes peered up at him from the crook of the stagehand’s elbow.

“She’s ready!” The python hardly looked ready, mouth hinging open to flick her tongue out warningly to him. Both of them recoiled, but that wasn’t allowed, the man foisting her heavy body up around his shoulders. It was a surprisingly warm, heavy weight, though he didn’t get a chance to relax. The snake had found herself a new centre of gravity, one that wasn’t at all like the man who she was coiled around, or at least as he should have been.

His steps were smaller as he made his way back to centre stage, though that didn’t stop the fans from flinching or leaning in closer, all riveted whether in revulsion or awe. He had to admit, he was the former, and would have liked to shudder with them, but she had a different plan entirely, hissing in his ear while he ground out the lyrics.

Sick things. . . my things. . . my pets!

She wasn’t his pet, and she had every intention to show him otherwise. The music played on behind him, sinuous and menacing, the soundtrack to every curl of her strong body, shifting along his arms, edging higher. He tried to get a grip of her, readjust her weight, but it was as though she knew his hands weren’t his own. Taking advantage of that, she slid free of inexpert fingers every time, creeping higher. Her scales drew shivers out of him as they dragged over his skin, making way into true tremors of fear as he realised she was tightening steadily around his chest, and even up to his neck.

His voice cracked, a convincing delivery for the fans who were fascinated by the deadly snake, seemingly acting out the voice for the song, but not everyone was convinced. Much to his relief, he felt someone step down behind him, though he didn’t dare look to see who it was. If he could hear above the roar of vengeance in his head, victims old and new cheering the python on, he would have noticed that the rhythm of the song was slightly unbalanced. He nearly fell over himself as the pressure over his throat was lessened, hands easing the python off of him.

He gave Dennis a grateful look before he and the snake went over to the confused stagehand, but not without dark eyes narrowing towards him.

*

There were a couple of parties being discussed after the show, under consideration of where the entourage should make their way to, but in what was universally decided as uncharacteristic behaviour, he announced he was going back to the hotel. Fingers rattled over the beer can, popped open but yet to be drank from. He was thirsty, but it wasn’t for beer. His fingers needed something to do, and he knew exactly what he was going to do, but he couldn’t do it until he was back in the hotel room. No one was ready to let him go yet, not without making incredulous remarks.

“Why aren’t you coming out? You always love a party!”

“You saw what happened with the snake! He’s probably all on edge,” Glen explained, though he had to bite his lip in confusion for the fact.

“I – I don’t know what happened,” he fibbed, shaking his head. He could still feel the presence of her thick body around his chest, trying to suffocate him. From her crate, he swore the flicking motion of her tongue was a taunt, knowing that he was lying. “I was just off tonight, I’ll be fine tomorrow, I’ll just have to call it an early night.”

“If you insist,” Mike commented, already leading one group to the doors. A decision hadn’t been made for one club over the other, but they weren’t going to let that stop them from going out. The group going to the other place had to drive past the hotel, so it made sense that he’d go with them. They let him out at the hotel, where he at last escaped the smell of whiskey and vodka. What he was craving came in a larger, more expensive bottle.

Though he hadn’t eaten much before the show, he didn’t order a meal when he phoned for room service. The Chianti had been delivered to his door, a knock signalling that it had arrived and had been placed on the floor like he had asked. He didn’t particularly need the wine for himself, though it worked quite well at sedating his companion as he drank his own red of choice.

“You realise you’re only making this more difficult for yourself, right?” He licked his finger clean, before dipping it back inside.

How difficult can it be? I’m fucking dead!

“Temper, temper. . . Oooph, vodka and beer really don’t go well together.” He chewed a little more slowly, closing his eyes as the noxious taste, uncultured alcohol, hit his tongue. “And why Bud? There are far better beers out there.”

Do you want me to make the comment that you are drinking me? That’s – God – there are no words to describe the sheer disgusting factor of what you are doing!

“I could go Titus Andronicus on you,” he countered, smirking as he dug deeper into the cavity, getting sparser by the minute.

There was a long pause of silence, not influenced by the inebriation of the spirit – and body – he was consuming. What?

“I could save a few tasty morsels for your road family.” Bloody lips smacked and smirked, already relishing the idea, though it would be a bit of a challenge to borrow the hotel’s kitchen for a couple of hours.

Though Alice no longer had a face, at least a tangible one, he could sense the full facial but silent gag. And people call me hideous.

He quite enjoyed the conversation, even though Alice was getting decidedly more quiet with every sip of wine he took. It had no effect on him personally, his own beverage of choice only further tightening the threads of their connection. His fingers were starting to look more like Alice’s, no doubt a result of indulging in a little finger food. Clearly Alice had no appreciation for the pun, groaning when he laughed. Alice didn’t appreciate any of it, but soon he would have no ground to argue anything that he did. While he couldn’t clean the blood-soaked blanket, everything else that had remained of his crime was long gone.

I don’t feel so good. . .

“That’s to be expected. You drank a full bottle of wine, but you’ll feel just fine in the morning,” he reassured him, pitching his voice in a soothing manner. It had little to no help for the restless, groaning spirit inside him. Their positions had turned; the body now the phantom, the devil on the shoulder now the familiar face the world loved to hate.

He sprawled out over the bed, the thick bedspread dumped inside the tub of the washroom. The sheets smelled wonderful, the pungent smell of blood having changed to a faint perfume, lingering from pillow down to the foot of the bed. He snuggled in deeper, bringing sheets around his body, starting sharply at the knock of the door. He half-dreaded to hear Mike shouting at him, but there was no voice to accompany it.

He stretched his limbs, getting up on wayward feet. By some luck he managed to make it to the door, opening it to find Dennis. He glanced up and down the hallway before meeting his eyes, gesturing into the room, or at least as much as his fingers could do with the door being held open only two inches. “Can I come in?”

“Oh sure.” Opening the door wider, locking it behind him, he started to offer Dennis a seat, but the hotel rooms were unfairly under-furnished. There was only a dresser and the bed, not even a desk and chair to make the hotel look worthy enough for businessmen who might try business in its walls. Only then did he realise that Dennis was staring at the bed, the bedspread nowhere in sight. “I spilled wine on it.”

“Wine?” Dennis asked, his voice disbelieving even though his features stayed neutral.

“Chianti.” He gestured to the bottle on the dresser, completely empty. “If I knew you were coming I would have saved you a glass,” he offered, grinning.

Dennis sighed, shaking his head slowly as he sat down on the foot of the bed. “I should be the last one commenting on this but. . .”

“But what?” he asked, stepping closer to the bed.

“There is something. . . well, it doesn’t seem like you’re yourself today.”

He could have smacked himself, but that would have been a suspicious move and he didn’t want to give Dennis anymore material to work with. Inhabiting Alice’s existence for as long as he had, he knew that Dennis and Alice had known each other for a long time, but he didn’t expect Dennis to know him more minutely than the others. “This tour. . . it’s no longer, no more hard work than all the tours before, but I guess today turned out to be different. I’m just off my game, and I needed to come back to the hotel to call it an early night.”

“Alice, it’s one o’clock,” Dennis reminded him kindly despite the trace of a smirk.

“And the others aren’t back yet. They are out for one of their typical late nights, so this is early in contrast,” he argued, unable to keep from smiling also.

“And wine is going to help you sleep? If anything, you’ll just be even more tired in the morning,” Dennis pointed out.

“It was wine for a friend.” Alice shifted his shoulders, a jostle that made him move outwardly, getting a surprised look out of Dennis. “I ran into some fans in the hotel lobby, they had the wine, so I invited them up. They drank, then they left.”

“And they took the blankets with them?”

“Some people steal hotel towels, some people steal hotel blankets.”

“But you just told me you spilled wine on the blankets.”

Damn it. “They were taking them down to housekeeping for cleaning.”

“I don’t get it.” Standing up, Dennis twisted towards him. Dennis didn’t need to move any closer, he felt the pressing gaze, trying to see through him as if knowing that he wore a facade. “I don’t get you. You were lost in your own little world in the limo, you barely reacted to the fans at first, and then you were scared of the snake! She’s almost your best friend.”

“I was scared of her for a good reason. She turned on me! You saw what she did to me on stage,” he argued, clenching his fingers in an attempt to not poke Dennis’ chest.

“There is a reason why we have her and not any other snake. She likes you, she trusts you, so if she was acting that way, you must have done something to her,” Dennis reasoned, watching and waiting on him expectantly.

She was upset that he had killed her real Alice, not that that was an answer he was about to tell Dennis. “I – I really don’t know.”

“Just. . . think about it. There must be something, and you’ve got to figure it out before tomorrow night. I don’t want to see you get hurt on stage. . . aside from your hangings and decapitatings.” The corner of Dennis’ mouth turned up a little, helping to break the serious tone between them.

“Have you forgotten me that easily? I’m indestructible,” he boasted, which drew out a bit more of a smile. “Even cannons can’t kill me.”

“Yeah, we’ll forever be stuck with you,” Dennis sighed, a feigned sign of long term suffering. Shoulders rising and falling could have been another dig at his expense, but rather it was a reroute back to the real purpose of their talk. “And we’ll figure out something for tomorrow.”

“Yeah, we will,” he murmured, watching Dennis turn in the direction to the door, but not for long, his gaze tilting in consideration. Somehow there was something off about their words, or at least in the implication in which Dennis spoke them before he did. Dennis could have been referring to the band working on the problem of what had happened today, but they hadn’t come along to his room, only Dennis knocked on the door. Dennis was offering his help, knowing that there was more to the story.

He hurried across the room, placing his hand on the door, shutting it as Dennis tried to open it. “I need to ask you something first.”

Dennis eased around, leaning back on the door to look at him curiously. “Sure.”

“You said I was off in my own little world in the limo. You were watching me, so maybe you know. . .” He shrugged a shoulder, searching himself on how to phrase his question. “How was I different?”

“You just didn’t seem like yourself,” Dennis explained, offering what should have been an obvious answer. “You were listening to everyone else rather than talking, only talking when people spoke to you. You’re more active in conversation than that, you laugh with everyone.”

“And you know all this from knowing me all this time?” Dennis rolled his eyes, started to open his mouth to reply, but he lifted his hand, fingers out stretched, though all but one curled down to his palm. “So perhaps you spend too much time watching me to know when I’m acting differently. Why do you watch me so much?”

“I. . . I pay attention to everything.” Dennis stumbled over his words but managed to keep his voice otherwise steady. “I listen and talk with everyone, or at least I try to, I’m not as outgoing as you are but I make an effort-”

“Oh Dennis,” he breathed, trying for an admonishing tone though his eyes were friendly, heat waiting for the chance to burn hotter. “You need to be more active in other parts of life.” He leaned in closer, hand flat on the door as his lips brushed over Dennis’.

The hopeful fretting on the inside of him froze up at the first kiss, but the next one, Dennis kissing him back, drew a sigh that he heard and felt in the back of his head. Trying hard not to laugh, he curled his hand away from the door, fingers sinking through hair to pull Dennis into a harder kiss. Someone moaned, but it wasn’t him, either Alice or Dennis. He wasn’t all too concerned, not when Dennis’ hands came up to his shoulders, grabbing him more firmly than he expected in order to push him back in the direction of the bed.

He fell to the bed first, Dennis following, kisses becoming hungrier, demanding as much as hands stroked skin once clothing was pulled out of the way. Sleeves pushed up, hands pressing into backs or stomachs, they tried to shift themselves into some kind of a position where stopping was unnecessary. For the time being it was good, fantastic really. He didn’t know brown eyes could be that bright, could imply the right degree of innuendo without words before Dennis followed through. Nevertheless he was groaning at hard sucks and nips left along his neck, though perhaps Dennis somehow knew it was a favourite spot for Alice. Regardless of who Dennis knew, the hand that squeezed his cock through his jeans was doing everything right.

“Ye-ahh, that’s good,” he groaned, rocking into the touch, grinning when Dennis’ hand stopped to undo button and zipper, pulling jeans and underwear down in one go. Any other words he might have said came out garbled, an incoherent mess that he meant to be a separate praise and curse. Coherency wouldn’t happen anytime soon, not with Dennis’ stroking him, fingers steady and firm, twisting to reach all the spots that had him arching and aching more. He could only take so much when Dennis was doing all that while lavishing his neck, so with fingers still tangled in his hair he pulled him back up to kiss him. It silenced him for the most part, no more stupid sounds escaping his mouth, though both he and Alice were moaning, riding through the intensity that was racking his body.

Blood burning and muscles tightening, his body was already pushing for release. Trying to hold back was futile, but he twisted, trying to shift any way he could from Dennis’ hand, no matter how close he was. He didn’t realise what his hands were doing to aid with the cause, pushing or pulling Dennis in any way they could, but when they settled on his hips, pushing him away but also squeezing, he felt Dennis shudder and move back into the touch, a soundless request for more. He didn’t push away again, but he squeezed slowly, fingers stretching further up. He broke away from the kiss, grinning up to Dennis, a shaky exhale escaping his lips. “You like that,” he gloated, kneading a little more purposely to Dennis’ ass.

“You liked what I was doing to you too,” Dennis countered, smearing his thumb roughly over the slit, wetting the head with more pre-cum.

“I do. From now on I’m going to let you handle all of my snakes,” he decided, nodding his head definitively, holding back a smirk even though Dennis groaned and pressed his forehead to his shoulder.

“I should have known that was coming.” Dennis’ voice was muffled, mouth pressed into his shirt.

“And now, next to know, is that you need to get rid of your clothes.” He pushed Dennis off, or at least the upper half of his body, creating enough room to curl his fingers into his shirt and pull it off and drop it to the carpet. “All of it.”

Dennis eyed him, shirt and jeans uneven in parts from demanding hands, though essentially he remained clothed. He didn’t let that stop him from complying, jeans and underwear slowly removed. He endured the teasing, taking in the expanse of skin as it was revealed, but before he pulled Dennis back onto the bed he pulled off his own clothing, forgoing skill and seduction for speed.

Designing a pattern to match his neck along Dennis’ shoulder, he worked from front to back as he pressed him onto his stomach. He appreciated the form underneath him, stroking and squeezing to get more shivers out of Dennis, but it was a full out shudder that he felt and saw once he dragged his fingers down to his opening. “You want this?” he asked, knowing what his own answer was, made evident by how he was already prodding at the muscle with the pad of his thumb.

“I think the answer is obvious enough,” Dennis pointed out, hips hitching back with a moan when he pointedly withdrew his thumb.  “Yes, Alice! I want you!”

“That’s more like it.” Smirking into Dennis’ shoulder, he quickly brought his hand up to his mouth, wetting fingers before returning to marking his way in towards neck. Fingers picked up with the work that his thumb began, one sliding inside, twisting and curling to make Dennis writhe, begging brokenly for more. “That didn’t take long,” he murmured.

“You’re. . . you’re good, what can I say?”A second finger sliding in and scissoring slowly pulled a gasp out of Dennis. Moaning and rocking up, he glanced over his shoulder. “How – oh God!” An unexpected push had him crying out. “Soon? Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely.” Leaning in for a messy kiss he pulled Dennis’ body up and closer while continuing to spread and twist his fingers methodically. Dennis tried to buck back but he wouldn’t let him, it was his turn to tease. “Ready?”

“Stop asking rhetorical questions,” Dennis begged, though he nodded hastily, eyes watching him, cast sideways to silent reassure him that his decision was final.

He was sure they were making enough noise to wake the dead, made evident by Alice still being a noisy bystander, getting an eye witness account of how he pushed into Dennis. He took the first three thrusts steadily, flush against him before they were rocking and crying out together. His grip on Dennis’ hips snapped him back, but soon they were both hurtling along at a breakneck speed, the need to tease long gone. Claiming one man wasn’t enough for him; the spirit was all too jealous of what he had accomplished in less than eight hours, when he hadn’t succeeded in anything in nine years. It would only take seconds longer until he could fully brag to him.

It could have been his blurring vision, already feeling the pull deep in his stomach, but he was fairly sure that he wasn’t seeing things. His hands were still locked onto pale hips, indents under fingers already promising bruises, but a translucent shape cut through the air, blurring surroundings as though it was a physical form. It moved slowly, the slender shape drifting up to wrap around arms, pulling and coaxing Dennis up off his hands. It struck him like a smack to the back of his head. The voice was no longer there. Alice was in the forefront, somehow managing to push him into the back.

“So good,” Alice grounded out, followed by the strangled cry of his name, Dennis’ gaze dropping to watch the hand that was wringing his throbbing cock. He was all but indignant, it should be him making Dennis cry out. He loosened one hand, fingers stiff from having held his hip for too long, but they were still strong enough to tangle into the long hair, jerking Dennis’ head back.

He growled as Alice took advantage of his manoeuvre, sucking and nipping along his neck. His surprise wasn’t a pleased one when Dennis made more noises for those kisses rather than the ones he had scattered over his shoulder.

Fucking brats! he spat, thrusting harder and faster, nearly throwing Dennis back to the bed by the force. Alice clung to him, Dennis’ hand coming down to his arm, the other linking over the fingers that jerked him off. What was meant to be his victory crumbled as seed clung to both their hands and Alice came not by his own thrusts but by the squeeze of muscle that he was buried within.

Scorned from even enjoying his own fun, he grumbled, loud and clear in hopes that they would hear him, but it was a lost cause. Stretched out on the bed, looking at one another despite lying on their backs, they were talking about something. Judging by their smiles, and drawing closer to one another again, arms draping affectionately over each other, it was likely something funny or sweet. Considering the wretch in his mouth, it was more likely the latter. 

Before a headache could follow, he squeezed his eyes shut, sulking and curling himself away from them as they continued to talk.

It was complete injustice when morning came too fast, and with a hangover at that. Cursing Alice’s inclination for Bud and vodka, he dragged his dry tongue over his lips. Or at least that’s what he intended to do, but Alice was still in control of the body. He really needed to talk to him about his anti-authority streak. He cleared his throat only to get a phlegm-filled cough for his efforts. His second attempt was stopped cold by voices that were trying to be quiet, but were all too clear for him. 

“Dennis, you got to believe me, he’s dangerous. I’m dangerous. I’m not me anymore.”

Oh really? He stayed absolutely silent, not even moving; there weren’t to be any distractions to Alice and Dennis’ conversation.

“You felt like yourself last night. If you want to prove me wrong, we could try it again now.”

“Tempting.” Alice sounded wistful and wanting, but his voice remained tight. “But you’ve got to get out of here. I don’t want to hurt you, and there’s a really good chance of that happening. I don’t know how long I can control him.”

“Control who?” Dennis’ voice was at his ear, making Alice shiver and sigh, happy rather nervous.

“Steven.”

“Who’s Steven?” He wasn’t sure if Dennis was truly concerned. It appeared like his efforts were to calm Alice down, but also to kiss along his ear and neck, which had the opposite effect for both of them. He was smiling while Alice was tracing little bruises along Dennis’ shoulder.

“He’s evil. . . he’s someone I don’t want you to ever meet. He is me. I mean, this is me, Alice, your old crazy friend, but he’s inside of me too. For now he’s sleeping.” He wouldn’t prove Alice wrong yet. It was rather amusing to hear him babbling, so he let him continue. “So you get to talk to me for now, but I don’t know when he’ll be back. When he does come back, you’ve got to run. He was so pissed off last night that he didn’t get his way. I have no idea what he’ll do to me – or you.” 

He waited for Dennis to call Alice out, to agree that he was crazy, but his morning continued to get worse. “Is that why yesterday you – I mean, he was so weird? In the ride to the concert hall – and even when he was almost attacked by your snake?”

“Yes!” Alice sounded absolutely relieved. He leaned in so suddenly to kiss Dennis soundly that he was jerked over, facing Dennis’ worried face. “And I don’t know what to do to get back! I. . . I don’t think I can come back. It’s bad enough that he’s got my body, but-”

Dennis arched an eyebrow at the sudden silence, Alice fretting over how to continue. “But what? I’m sure we can do something. You are still here, physically and in spirit, I’m sure there’s someone we can get in touch with to set everything right again.”

“It’s not that easy.” Crestfallen and hesitating, it took several seconds for Alice to continue. “He killed me.”

Dennis paled at the same time he growled, strong fingers and sharp nails crawling and slicing his way through Alice’s spirit to get back to the fore. “What?” Dennis asked, wanting to laugh but doubting, believing Alice as he believed everything else he had said.

“He killed me and. . .” Alice flinched with pain, his nails sinking into his arm, dragging it backwards as his own arm took its place. “Well, you don’t need to know the rest,” Alice hastened, realising he had little time to explain. “Just get dressed, then check the bathroom. The blankets from the bed are in the tub, and they’re covered in my blood!”

“Your blood?” Dennis started to sit up, pulling himself away from Alice, though he worked to put more distance between them, legs shifting back into place despite all of Alice’s efforts to fight back and stay put. “If it’s your blood, then. . . I’m looking at you right now, you’re not cut up at all. You look flawless. How could your blood be on the sheets?”

“I can’t-” He lurched up and forward, an attempt to chase after Alice, who wouldn’t back down without a fight. He tried to make it out that he was seating himself comfortably opposite of Dennis, but with his twitching arm, Dennis was watching him warily. “I can’t stop him, just go!” Alice insisted, seizing Dennis by the shoulders to push him back. His muscles strained and jumped from all the physical exertion, but it was Alice entirely whose face was lined with extreme pain.

“Alice?” Dennis had yet to stand up, for which he was grinning, loving the whole stupid nature of loyalty to friends, or in this case, probably loved ones. “I know it’s still you in there, you’re hurt – I don’t want to go until I know you’re alright.”

“Go!” What was meant to be a forceful yell was smothered, his hand clamping down on Alice’s mouth. It was all his doing, and Alice discovered that, eyes widening as he flailed wildly, kicking and clawing back desperately.

You fucking little piece of shit, you don’t know when to stay down! Alice yelped in pain as he clocked him, what appeared to be Alice’s fist, but what was actually his own, coming up to smash into his cheek. It dislodged Alice long enough to allow him to get his mouth lined up behind his lips, but his eyes were void, milky white staring pointedly at Dennis.

“You want to know what happened to your dear Alice?” he asked, voice gravelly and hoarse, hot and putrid like the coals burning through all of hell. “I ate him.”

“Leave me the hell alone!” Dennis jolted back, the change from blue to white and back to blue more than alarming, terrifying actually. But it was Alice’s voice this time, which held him in place despite the obvious fight going on.

The body writhed on the bed, fighting an invisible force, but inside he and Alice fought desperately, high stakes at both ends. Neither willing to give up, they took blow after blow, sheer force meeting the urgent cry to fight dirty. Exhaustion tried to slow both of them down, but they refused to give in.

For such a scrawny guy, Alice was a persistent fighter. He hurled his whole body at him, both fists flying, arms driving them to whatever wasn’t protected. What Alice hadn’t expected was just how resourceful, and deceitful, demons could be. With a spin that impressed even himself he grabbed onto Alice’s arm, driving Alice’s elbow backwards into his gut, twisting his arm around to pin it against his back. Alice tried to slither his way out, no doubt a trick he learned from his pet snakes, but he lunged up, hands going around his neck. Alice’s struggles started to slow down, his body growing heavy under his hold, but a blow to the back of his own head stunned him, sending him rolling. Mindlessly, only searching for his attacker, he grabbed onto long hair, jerking Alice to the ground with him. Landing on top of his back, he slid his arm underneath his throat. Strangled cries, muted and gasping for air, were music to his ears, but when they grew silent, and the body completely limp, he froze and jerked into the present by the agony of Alice’s scream.

Blinking blearily, he rubbed his eyes with his fingers, taking in the bed. The mattress was visible in parts, the fitted sheet torn back from their fight. He rolled onto his back, breathing in deeply, all too grateful for his victory. Alice was quiet, what he assumed to be a sulk for losing, but he was proven wrong when he got a hard punch to his back. It stung but he didn’t flinch. There was no way he was going to lose his hold on Alice’s body again. “Do you mind?” he yawned, rubbing idly at his bare hip.

I could kill you. It wasn’t just agony in Alice’s voice, remarkably crisp and cold in his ear despite having strangled him.

“What are you talking about?” His hand drifted up to his stomach, registering the rumbling sensation in his stomach. That was decidedly odd, he usually didn’t get hungry, the joy of demons not needing food.

You killed him! He rolled his eyes, long accustomed to Alice’s accusations. He hadn’t been a quiet dinner partner last night after all.

“I killed you, get it straight,” he reminded, setting his head on his pillow. With a snarl and a right hook he found himself struck to the face, much like how he hit Alice earlier. He humoured the angry man, rolling with the punch, but he startled at seeing brown hair stringing across the floor. Pulling himself to the edge of the bed for a closer look, he was honestly surprised to see the bruises encircling what parts of Dennis’ neck he could see. “It – it wasn’t you?”

You killed Dennis!

Now the distraught tone made sense. It wouldn’t do well to provoke Alice, but biting his lip did nothing to hold back a chuckle. For that reason, he didn’t reprimand Alice for taking another swing at him. “Calm down, it’s only Dennis. No one would ever miss a bassist.”

He laughed out loud at the punch to his face.

You bring him back right now!

“Can’t. Dead is dead, I can’t do anything to save him now.”

You killed me and brought me back, so you can do the same thing for Dennis, Alice argued, clamping down on his shoulders to spin him around so he could glare at him properly.

“Ahhh, so both of us are feeling hungry now, are we?” He patted Alice’s stomach, now understanding the need to eat. At the first rumble of his stomach, he hadn’t been aware that he had a breakfast waiting for him. Alice didn’t know that either, but recalling last night all too vividly, and thinking of Dennis lying dead on the floor, he put the two together and blanched.

So. . . what is there left to do? Alice whispered, gaze drifting to Dennis, hating to think there was nothing he could do for him.

“You could do a moving tribute to him, to the score of I Love the Dead.”

The punch to his nose should have had blood pouring out, but instead he smirked.

“Well, there is something else we could do. . .”