A/N: So I fucked up last night and posted the wrong chapter and like an idiot I didn't check it. This is the right one now!

Chapter 3: Taking Your Measurements

"So sewing is…it's really important to you."

They were back in Alastor's room, sitting on the sofa, despite the blowup in front of Rosie's. Angel would have split once they made it to the lobby, just to give them both space to cool off, but the overlord hadn't let go of his arm until the door had latched—and locked, he noticed as his heart dropped well into his stomach—behind them. He knew better than to try to wriggle out of the grasp of someone more powerful than him, even such a light grip. It was never that light once he got caught the second time around.

This time, the coffee table was covered with fabric and crinkley paper. There was no cookie tin, except for the one that held the needles and thread. Alastor offered no wine. He offered no words, either, as he began making marks on the paper. Even the ambient radio chatter that always seemed to follow him around was scattered, audio playing over itself and switching between channels so he couldn't make out a single word. But eventually, as Angel watched without breathing, the manic channel surfing settled on a jazz station, and the Radio Demon began to hum along. That was enough to convince Angel to press his luck. He knew it was probably a terrible idea to say anything to the other demon, but he had to know: was the money that insignificant to him, or was having a sewing buddy that important? He couldn't decide which concept was more alien.

Alastor continued his humming for a moment, giving no indication he heard the spider. "You could say that, yes," he said eventually. He folded the fabric and paper. "It's an important skill."

"Important enough that you'd…" He stopped, unable to find the right words. Pay for my shit just didn't convey the significance of the gesture. Help me would make it way too personal.

"Important enough that I'd put a bit of effort into keeping someone with interest in it around?" he finished, glancing over. "Yes."

Angel let himself relax into the couch a bit. So a bit of both, he guessed. Money means nothing, sewing buddy means a lot. He probably wasn't going to be killed anytime soon, as long as he managed not to fuck up that spectacularly again. That was another addition to his mental rulebook: don't piss off the Radio Demon any more than he already had.

"Do you know your waist measurement offhand?" Alastor asked.

He blinked. "Around eighteen. Inches."

"I see." Al marked it down. "And hips?"

"Uh…" He clicked his tongue, sucked on his lip. "Not offhand, nah."

"I see," he repeated. He drew a measuring tape from the cookie tin. "Stand up, won't you?"

With a grin, Angel rose, stepping close and holding his arms out away from his torso, giving easy access. "Ooh, gonna measure me? Gonna wrap me all up with—"

"Ha! No. I think you're quite capable of doing so yourself. But I will read the tape for you!"

He turned around and wrapped the tape around his hips, making sure it crossed right above his ass.

"And waist, just for good measure, while we have it out."

Facing Alastor again with a seductive look, he obediently measured his waist.

"Hmm." He wrote something down, but continued to look at the tape.

"See somethin' you like?"

"Where does your third pair of arms come from?" he asked.

Instead of answering out loud, he popped them out, just below the tape.

"You'll want the waistband under those, won't you?"

"Aw shit, a' course!" He quickly wrapped the tape below the arms, Alastor crossing the old measurement out.

"Right," he said, still writing figures on the paper. "The elastic will be cut to your waist measurement, unstretched, but the satin waistband must be cut to the hip measurement. Do you follow?"

He nodded.

"Good. Here's where the math comes in. The skirt itself is a donut pattern, and the hole at the center must have the diameter of your hip measurement. We'll need to find the radius in order to draw it out, then add the intended length of the skirt to that radius to draw the outer circle. Now to find the radius…"

Angel watched Alastor work out the pattern, performing calculations like he'd done them millions of times. Hell, maybe he had. He didn't think Alastor made circle skirts that often, but maybe donuts were, like, super common shapes in sewing. Either way, he explained every step of the way, and Angel actually found himself understanding.

With the pattern ready, he began the most tedious task he'd done yet, cutting the skirts. Each layer of tulle and chiffon had to be cut individually, since stacking them ran the risk of the fabric slipping out of alignment mid-cut. He was willing to take that risk, but Alastor insisted he do things the "right way." So Angel found himself observing the incredible sewing deer in his natural habitat once more. Alastor's project that day began as a suede-like fabric, something Angel thought he recognized from the more disturbing racks at Rosie's. While his project showed no sign of nearing completion, he watched in amazement as Alastor's slowly came together into something recognizable.

"You're makin' a doll?" he couldn't help but blurt once the shape became clear.

"So to speak, yes."

"A doll." He looked at it closer, his own project forgotten. "You. A fuckin' doll."

Alastor glanced away from the little demon-shaped lump in his lap to raise a challenging eyebrow, smile turning smug. "Yes, a doll. Is there a problem?"

"No problem!" he was quick to say. "Just…unexpected, 's all. I mean, a guy like you makin' kid's toys…"

"It isn't that kind of doll, Angel." And then his head was back down, hair hanging just long enough not to fully cover a patronizing smirk.

Not trusting himself to avoid saying something he'd regret, he chose not to speak at all. Don't piss off the Radio Demon. Instead, he returned to the monotonous fabric donut cutting and kept his insults in his mind and in Italian, just for extra precaution. Amidst his internally monologued "vaffanculo!"s and "testa di cazzo!"s, Angel managed to snip out his final layer.

"Finished cuttin' shit," he announced, dropping the fabric scissors unceremoniously back into the tin.

"Excellent! For the next step, you'll be pinning the—"

He interrupted before he could start rattling off any more instructions. "Actually Smiles, I think I'm done for the day," he said, stretching out and rolling his shoulders. "That was a lot a fuckin' cuttin'. Hands are crampin' up." For effect, he rolled and cracked his wrists with a realistic but hopefully not overly-dramatic wince.

He furrowed his brows. His smile looked puzzled. "Aren't you quite used to, shall we say…working with your hands?"

He cackled. "You know it!" He sobered quickly, catching the other demon's pointed look. "But uh. Not like this shit. Just squeezin' and squeezin'…"

Alastor considered the spider, eyelids lowered to what would be a squint if they didn't seem so relaxed. His head tilted to the side. Angel was ready to bolt if not for the locked door, certain he'd been caught in his lie, but Al's eyes snapped open wide and his grin broke out even wider. "But of course! This simply isn't the sort of thing you're used to, far be it from me to judge you for tiring out so quickly! Quite the effort you put in good fellow, quite the effort!" He stood and began cleaning up, throwing sewing supplies into their places at a speed Niffty would be jealous of. "I do believe I'll call this an early night on the sewing myself Angel, our little outing today forced me to neglect a few of my other managerial duties. Running this hotel isn't all shopping trips and sewing club you know!" Already done tidying, he snuck around behind Angel somehow, putting the now fully-shaped doll on display in one clawed hand. The other rested on the shoulder of his lower set of arms. "Besides, this little figure can certainly be put on hold until tomorrow! And you will be joining me again tomorrow, won't you Angel?"

It took Angel a minute to register that Alastor had asked him a question. The bastard was a fast talker, darting between topics and around the room like a chihuahua on crack. "Sure thing, Al," he assured once his brain caught up, "same time, same place!"

"Yes indeed! Well, enjoy the rest of your evening! Ta!"

And Angel was in the hall, Al's door slamming shut behind him.

"Fuckin' smug-ass strawberry pimp lookin' motherfucker," he ground out, stomping down the hall. "Bitch knows he scared the shit outta me, thinks it's fuckin' hilarious watchin' me try not to—he's just baitin' me! Wants to push me just far enough to make me go apeshit on 'im again so he has an excuse to eat my goddamn ass—!" He kicked a pillar. "Fuck!"

The rest of the walk to his room was spent half hopping, half limping, and all cursing. Thankfully, he wasn't far, and he flopped onto his bed soon enough. Fat Nuggets nudged his legs to say hello.

"Why do I do this to myself, Nuggets?" Angel asked, lifting his pig up. "Why do I keep gettin' chummy with asshole overlords, forget they could snap me in half, and piss 'em off? Why don't I fuckin' listen?" Sigh. "Well, I know why I didn't listen to Vaggie, she's paranoid as all hell. But still."

By the time he managed to blow off a little steam, though, Angel realized he wasn't all that pissed at the Radio Demon. He had kinda lost his shit and he still wasn't dead. His sewing buddy had every opportunity to whip out the freaky tentacle shit and banish him to the shadow dimension or whatever the fuck (a concept he tucked away to consider later in a very different context), and hell, every right to! He disrespected an overlord in public! He should've been an example, but he got off with a warning. Then it only took a bit before they were back to sewing like before. Either it was harder than he thought to find someone who wanted to learn how to use a needle for something other than shooting up or something else had his hands tied.

Angel's charming personality?

Doubtful, considering that's what nearly got him double-dead in the first place.

A long-haul ploy for some free sex?

That'd be the first guess for most demons, but considering the reaction to his first offer…

Feelings of mercy and compassion?

Ha! Hell no. That shit didn't happen for demons, especially not demons like Alastor.

The Hotel's reputation?

…bingo.

"Angel! You're up early," Charlie said over a glass of orange juice. "Did your trip with Alastor yesterday convince you to be more of an early bird?"

He shrugged, stepping into the kitchen and sitting a few seats down from her. "Nobody told me I was missin' breakfast. I like my beauty sleep, but I like breakfast more. 'Sides, it's only like nine thirty." He tapped the table to get Niffty's attention. "Hey Nift, I was promised a parfait!"

Fueled by coffee, yogurt, and fruit, Angel headed back upstairs to find the Radio Demon, skipping his usual stop at the bar. Hopefully, since they'd had time to cool off, their sip and stitch would involve a lot more sipping. It took him longer than he'd like to admit to find Alastor's room—he could've sworn they were on the same floor!—but he found the door and knocked on it eventually.

"Nothing needs cleaned at the moment, Niffty," Alastor called. "Thank you!"

"It ain't Niffty."

Alastor didn't speak for a moment. Angel grinned wickedly—he'd caught the deer demon off guard, had he? The sound of his shoes clicked towards the door, which opened just a crack. Alastor peeked out. "Angel. You're here earlier than I expected, especially considering your complaints yesterday morning."

"Eh, I got a shoot later today, and I did say same time, same place. Besides…" He leaned in close. "I've been anxious to get back to sewing with you."

"Oh," he said, leaning away, "well, in that case, come in!"

Angel slipped through the door. The table was already set up with the sewing tin, his skirt donuts laid out. He pouted. Must not have caught him that off guard, then.

"Well, since you've finished cutting out the skirt, your next step is the waistband. Much fewer calculations this time, I'm glad to say, we just need to—"

"Oh, before I forget!"

Alastor paused, turning to face the interruption.

Angel whipped out a wine glass. "Here, I kinda stole this the other day."

Taking the glass, he sat out the couch, prompting the spider to do the same. "Why, thank you, Angel. Though I'm not quite in the mood for wine today…" In the blink of an eye, the single wine glass became two whiskey glasses, held pinched at the rims by three clawed fingers. "Perhaps a nice glass of Courvoisier?"

He shrugged. "Liquor's liquor."

"So Angel," he began, pouring the drinks and sliding the other demon's glass down the table, "how do you expect to do your, ah, filming? If I recall, you're still on probation."

"Charlie hasn't started locking my window yet."

"…you're on the sixth floor."

He downed the cognac in one go and slid the empty glass back for a refill. "Spider."

They got to work soon enough. Angel was glad he'd made a pincushion, since the skirt needed a shit load of pins. It took ages getting all the layers to stay together. But once the satin rectangle stuffed with elastic and the layers of chiffon and tulle were all pinned together, he finally saw what he was working towards, and it was so worth it. He just had to sew it up permanently.

Of course, that was easier said than done. Elastic fucking sucked to work with by hand. He was sure they had sewing machines even back when Alastor was around, but no, it was so important to learn the real way before using shortcuts. Keeping the elastic taught and in line with the fabric, keeping the pinned pleats in place, and actually sewing took so much concentration even with all six hands getting in on the action he barely noticed when Al's weirdass doll sprouted hair and gained pants. What he did notice, though, was the growing feeling of satisfaction as he pulled out the final pin and stuck it back into the cushion. Just a few stitches left. Five, then four, three, two, one, and with a final tug—

"Done!" Angel declared far louder than he had any need to, holding the finished skirt in the air for display.

"Wonderful, Angel!" Applause played around Alastor through his radio aura. "Go on then, do try it on!"

"Yeah?"

He nodded, audience still cheering.

"Well, whatever you say—"

"In the bathroom!" Alastor said in a tone that could almost be described as a yelp, if he didn't happen to be one of Hell's most dangerous demons. Either way, he covered his face and turned away from the spider, dying applause cut off with a sound like a record scratch.

Angel took his hands away from his waistband, raising them in the air in surrender. "Whatever you say. But people pay big money to watch me str—"

"Go!"

"Just lettin' you know what you're refusin', 's all!" He closed the door behind him and left it unlocked, just in case Al changed his mind about the show. He didn't, but Angel peeked his head back out a moment later and grinned. Alastor had removed the coffee table and brought out a full-length mirror, perfect for modeling his creation. He put on his best camera face and strutted out, legs first.

The skirt was perfect. Just the right length, just the right volume, just the right flare when he turned on his heel to do a second walk. He felt like a movie star, not a porn star, the way Alastor's fake audience cheered him on. He even caught a couple wolf-whistles. But when he spun in place and all the layers fluttered enough to put a ballerina to shame, he felt like a princess.

"So I take it you like it?" Alastor asked as his performance began to wind down.

"I love it," he breathed.

It was then Angel began to notice the things he'd neglected to while concentrating on his skirt. Like the way Al's eyes crinkled with this smile, and the way his long fingers tapped on his staff. Like the red at the tips of his claws. Like the stone at the center of his bowtie, reminding him of some Victorian broad's broach. Like the perfect arch of his eyebrow, the elegant slope of his jaw to a thin, delicate neck.

"And what project do you plan on doing this time?"

In that moment, looking at Alastor's genuine smile and surprisingly soft features, his pointed nose and long, long hair, his wide eyes with dark lashes and what had to be eyeshadow on the lids, Angel had an idea. Worse, he couldn't stop his mouth from blurting it out right then.

"I wanna make you a dress."

And we arrive to the point: Alastor crossdressing.

Thanks for reading! All comments, critiques, and predictions appreciated.