#((so that i don't feel like i'm shouting several thousand words into the void))

[concubuck]

((Hey y'all have another ficlet from Alastor's early days as a succubus. Why? Just because. Set in between Alastor's first attempt at having sex and the first time he has sex successfully. Warnings for mentions of alcoholism & noncon; and also mild aphobia in the sense of "these two dopes don't know what asexuality is so they're trying to compare it to medical disorders."))

✨ Alastor Visits The Doctor ✨

Alastor had detoxed from alcohol in the 1980s. Before Rosie had helped him cut himself off, he'd been living with a bottle constantly at his side and blacking out on a near-daily basis—never mind how often he was drinking himself to temporary brain death on purpose. That week of withdrawal—the week of non-stop shaking, of sleepless exhaustion, of heaving sickness, of creeping crawling hallucinations—was the worst physical agony he had ever known to that point, worse than his near-fatal bout of Spanish flu, worse even than dying.

By now, after thirty-odd years and apodiabolosis, withdrawal was a far, fuzzy memory, one Alastor recalled more as a series of vague facts than he did as something that felt like it had happened to him. But the misery, that delirious misery—he imagined it must have felt something like this endless, interminable arousal.

But unlike withdrawal, there was no promise of coming out the other end of this arousal. No light at the end of the tunnel. Just the tunnel. Dark, muffled, ever-narrowing, claustrophobic, and weighing ever heavier on his soul.

Alastor was still trying to figure out how he could verbally explain the oppressive weight of this need, when the door opened and the imp doctor walked into the examination room.

Alastor automatically hunched forward, arms crossed over his lap, trying to conceal his boner in spite of the flimsy medical gown that felt as thin as tissue paper.

The imp took one glance at Alastor, rolled his eyes, and muttered, "You couldn't have taken care of that before you got you came in?"

The mutter scattered Alastor's mental attempts to corral his suffering into a narrative. His brittle patience developed another couple of cracks. "No, doctor," he said testily, "I couldn't take care of it before I came in. That's why I'm here." 

"Hm." Clearly not satisfied with Alastor's answer, the imp tossed Alastor's medical file on the small desk in the examination room, but didn't take the chair yet. "You do realize I'm a real doctor, right? I graduated from medical school?"

Alastor blinked at him. "Yes. I do realize that," he said, speaking slowly and pointedly.

With the same slow and pointed tone, the doctor replied, "That means I'm here to offer medical care to real patients. Not to indulge... whatever the hell medical kink you've got."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't know what kind of doctors you've had before—if they're grateful for the break or what—but I'm getting paid to practice medicine, not to do whatever—"

Alastor laughed in disbelief, loudly, harshly, angrily. "You expect me to believe that's really a problem you deal with?! Or do you just—assume that when a succubus walks in?!" His patience snapped sharply in half. "My dear doctor, believe you me, if I could have come here without a stiff, I would have! But if I had chopped it off and left it at home I am quite afraid you'd have elected to treat my blood loss instead of the ailment I came here for! And chopping it off is the only way I could have shown up without a stiff, because it hasn't been flaccid in nearly six months! Which! Is! Why! I'm! Here! Now are you going to keep making—disgusting insinuations, or are you going to..."

Alastor didn't realize he'd gotten to his feet and advanced threateningly on the doctor during his tirade, until he had him backed against a wall and was looming over him. The doctor stared up in terror at Alastor's face... and then, slowly, his gaze rolled down to the thinly-concealed erection inches from poking him between the eyes.

Alastor spun away from the the doctor, face heating—it felt less like a blush and more like a raging fever—realized that the gap in the back of the patient gown (which he'd been unable to fit right over his wings) probably exposed his ass crack—and he ended up awkwardly shuffling sideways away from the doctor to sit on the exam table again. Look at him. What a pathetic, undignified sight he was. Half a year ago, the Radio Demon was the most feared sinner in Hell—what was he now?

"I'm sorry," Alastor muttered, hunching forward again, elbows on his knees and arms crossing in an X to shield his shame. "You understand, I'm—under a significant amount of—distress. I, uh—I don't mean to be a difficult patient." Now he was even groveling.

But what was he going to do if his outburst caused the doctor to refuse to treat him? This was the only affordable hellborn doctor within walking distance of Alastor's rental; he didn't know what he'd do if he was kicked out.

For a moment, the imp was silent; then he said awkwardly, "Yes, in fact. That really is a problem I deal with. I mean, succubi trying to..."

Alastor nodded stiffly. "I see." He wondered whether the imp had truly been solicited by kinky succubi masquerading as patients, or if Alastor was just the first one to get outraged enough to break through the doctor's assumptions. He grudgingly decided to give the imp the benefit of the doubt. He didn't have any other option. "Rest assured that regardless of what my anatomy might think, there is nothing I want less than to have sex."

"But—you can't get rid of your erection."

"Not without physically removing it," Alastor confirmed. "Such as by chopping it off. Or reconfiguring the whole thing into a vagina—but the arousal persists, that's the real problem."

The doctor ventured, "Skilled with magic?"

"Off the charts."

"Still. You shouldn't be castrating yourself without a doctor's supervision."

It was such a mild chastisement. Hellborn doctors were less easily scandalized than human ones. "Believe me when I say—" he kept his voice calm and even, "—I would not have resorted to such extreme measures if the alternative had not become psychologically unendurable."

The doctor paused, then tentatively took a seat, flipped open Alastor's medical file, and made a note. 

Alastor let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"Can you orgasm?"

"Yes. It makes no difference. My arousal remains the same."

"Hm. For six months, you said?"

"Nearly," Alastor said tiredly. "Short a couple of weeks, I believe."

The imp opened his mouth, and Alastor was sure he was about to ask what had taken him so long to seek medical help. But instead, the doctor paused, and then asked: "Did you experience anything medically unusual within the month before your symptoms started? Illnesses, head injuries, unfamiliar narcotics, orgies...?"

"I." Alastor shrugged. "I became a succubus?"

The imp stared at him, then quickly flipped to consult another page of Alastor's medical file. "Oh."

That didn't sound promising. "'Oh'?"

"Sorry," the imp said, "sorry. You're, uh—you're just the first humanborn patient I've—first ex-human humanborn, I mean. Obviously I've seen humanborn sinners, but—but not..." He gestured vaguely.

Alastor's heart sank. "So, you can't—?"

"It's fine," the doctor insisted. "It's covered in medical school! You can be treated like any other succubus. Biological differences are—superficial. Aside from a few cosmetic differences..." His gaze slid up. "Are... Those are ears, then?"

"Yes." Did he think Alastor's hair looked like that on purpose? "Is that relevant to...?"

"No! Just—just wondered." The doctor cleared his throat. "Ah. So."

"So." Alastor could feel his hopes falling by the moment.

"This isn't a change so much as it is, uh... the norm for your tenure as a succubus," the doctor clarified. "Correct?"

Alastor nodded.

"I'm sure you were told that succubi's libidos are much higher than other demons? And you're basically going through a succubus's puberty on fast forward?"

Fast forward. He turned the phrase over in his head. He would have said it some other way—like an LP set to 78 rpm, maybe—but he caught the meaning; and he felt old. He nodded, "I'm aware. I was prepared for that. Which is why I didn't come in five months ago. But the adjustment period is supposed to only last two to three months, and I'm arguably worse off now than I was then. Everyone I've spoken to says this is—abnormal for a humanborn succubus. Abnormal for any succubus." His voice trembled with the effort of keeping it even, calm, collected. Clinical and detached. Like he wasn't scared out of his wits—and horny on top of that. "You have to understand, I haven't had a minute's peace in half a year. I can't sleep, I can't cook, I can't dance—I've been losing weight because I can't focus long enough to stand up and walk to the kitchen or call for delivery. I didn't venture farther than my own porch for months. I've tried everything to satiate my needs. Nothing's worked.

"What have you tried?"

Alastor hesitated, running through the list in his head, trying to figure out how to answer the question without being uncouth.

The doctor muttered, "Right. Human," and set his pen down. "Listen. I understand humans have different taboos, but I treat succubi. Hellborn ones, I mean. You could tell me, I don't know—that you've been getting off by smothering baby puppies in your asshole—and I've probably heard worse. So."

"Right," Alastor murmured. He had trouble shaking the instinct to couch his language in terms appropriate for a hypothetical listening audience, some family sitting around their living room radio receivers and ready to write station management if he said anything too uncouth. His only audience was a doctor.

A doctor who had taken one look at Alastor and assumed he'd gone through all the time, effort, and expense of dragging himself to the only hellborn doctor in this side of the city because he wanted to fuck him. So to hell with what the doctor thought of him. "I started with masturbation, obviously," he said. "Hands, inanimate objects, toys—as many shapes and materials as I could find, both manual and electric, the full spectrum of realism..."

"I'm sure you know that toys aren't usually enough for succubi?"

"Hope springs eternal." One corner of his smile quirked up sardonically. "I know, I know—I saw the 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here' sign on the way into this lousy joint."

The doctor gave him a quizzical look. "Sorry?"

"Never mind. Maybe that's only funny to sinners." Alastor suppressed a sigh. "And then I tried tentacles—I've got an extraplanar friend—"

"Sapient?"

"Yes—distant relative of the Von Eldritches, I believe."

The doctor looked duly impressed, and it was the first thing about this entire meeting that had felt right to Alastor. He was supposed to impress people. "Those, uh... entities are supposed to be fairly effective at dispensing sexual gratification. But...?"

Alastor shook his head. "Damn thing went through one end and out the other. I had tentacles in holes I didn't even know I had. In the end it gave up in boredom and frustration." That was maybe anthropomorphizing its motives a bit too much; but Alastor couldn't think of any other explanation. It had never before given up on any of Alastor's requests.

The doctor pursed his lips as he made another note. Alastor had the sneaking suspicion that it was this that finally convinced him of the severity of Alastor's issue.

"And after that, I tried people. First prostitutes—humans, then succubi—and then..." Alastor trailed off.

"Anyone other than prostitutes?"

Alastor hesitated. "Yes."

"Old sex partners?"

"N... no. I've..." His throat went dry; he swallowed hard and attempted to sound normal, "Found people and—forced them." He'd rather have admitted to murder. 

The doctor only said, "Most succubi get better satisfaction from established lovers than from hiring prostitutes or rape."

The last word felt like a slap; the nonchalant way the doctor said it made it feel like a gentle caress of a slap, which was even worse. Alastor forced himself to keep his voice even. He didn't want to be the one of the two of them who was more disgusted by his own actions. "I'm aware. I don't have any established lovers I could have called."

"Tried any exes?"

"I have never had lovers," Alastor clarified. "I did not have sex as a human."

The imp gave him a dubious look. "You've been celibate for..." he glanced at Alastor's file, "a hundred and twenty years?"

He huffed out a sigh. "In the eighties, I received a tentative diagnosis of..." He shut his eyes for a second, trying to remember the term. "Hypoactive... sexual desire disorder?" (The imp gave a tiny nod of recognition.) "Tentative because I never bothered to pursue a full diagnosis or treatment, because I had no interest in developing an interest in sex. So, no. Before becoming a succubus, I never had sex before. I never lusted before. Not in any way I couldn't take care of with my hand in two minutes. What?"

The imp was staring at him. He quickly shook his head. "Sorry, you've—never had an interest in sex? Not even any... desires you didn't have the opportunity to fulfill? Fantasies? Paraphilic interests—unusual objects or acts that bring sexual gratification?"

Alastor shook his head impatiently. "Never. Nothing. Not anything." Were they going to get stuck on this? If this doctor got hung up on the idea of treating Alastor's alleged HSDD... Hell, if it might lead to him getting him some relief, he'd consider it. But they weren't going to get anywhere if the doctor thought Alastor was lying about his disinterest. "Are you familiar with Kinsey's studies of human sexuality? I was sorted into Category X in the fifties."

"Uh, pff—I'm not intimately familiar with Kinsey's..."

"'Equally disinterested in sexual contact with both sexes; no attraction, no desire to experience—'"

"Right. Okay, that—checks out." The imp nodded. And then went still, chewing the corner of his mouth, brow furrowed in thought.

Alastor stood the silence as long as he could (which was about ten seconds); and then he asked, "What?"

Slowly, the doctor said, "I've seen patients without naturally occurring lust before—it's pretty common in some rings, but..." He trailed off again, tapping a claw on Alastor's paperwork. "For most persistent arousal conditions in succubi, the treatment is based on figuring out what it is they crave that they're not getting, and finding a way to supply it. I'm—I don't know what the treatment is for a succubus that doesn't crave anything. If the challenge here is to satisfy a craving that doesn't exist..."

If only the sex he desired could satiate a succubus's appetite, and Alastor didn't have any desires—then was this hunger, by definition, insatiable? Alastor's blood ran cold. He had to fight to speak around the knot in his throat. "Then, is—there no treatment—?"

He would have liked if the doctor had hastened to reassure him. Instead, the doctor was silent for a long moment, like he was wondering that himself. Finally, he pulled out a fresh paper and started writing, muttering, "We'll do some blood tests—rule out the possibility that it's a hormonal issue. And I can refer you to a specialist to get a brain scan, in case there's anything up there."

"How far away is the specialist?"

"Not too far; maybe thirty minutes by bus."

Quietly, Alastor said, "I can't ride the bus like this."

The doctor stopped writing. "... I'll see if there's a closer clinic."

Alastor nodded, staring hard at the tile floor. He was afraid that if he looked up, he'd see pity in the doctor's eyes.

###

Alastor got a full physical exam. He came twice. The first time he coped with the humiliation by biting his lip and unflinchingly staring down the word Tuesday on a bland wall calendar and pretending it hadn't happened. The second time he claimed he had to make an emergency restroom run and bolted from the room, and hid there until his hitching breathing was under control and he'd stopped shaking. The imp said nothing either time. At least he'd been convinced this wasn't Alastor's kink.

And he got a full patient interview. He described his magical capabilities and how he'd been using them on his body; he described how often he switched his sexes or outright amputated his genitalia completely—it was important to know, the doctor insisted, since what bits he had affected his hormone levels. The doctor tried to criticize Alastor's drinking habits, his irregular sleep, his poor takeout-based diet, his dearth of exercise and fresh air. Each time, Alastor had to remind the doctor that in his state he couldn't sleep right, couldn't cook, couldn't go outside—and he knew, because he'd attempted all of them as distractions—and the only distraction that did help even a tiny bit was drinking. He was well aware of the consequences, he'd spent a decade at the bottom of a bottle and almost two decades sober, and he'd damn well change his drinking habits when it stopped being preferable to the alternative, thank you.

And he got his blood test. The doctor cautioned that, as much as Alastor manipulated his anatomy, it might be difficult to find anything conclusive in his hormonal results. They scheduled a follow-up blood test in a couple weeks, with strict instructions for Alastor to keep his God-given banana and coconuts exactly where they were until then, and that might give them more useful blood results.

"And you've got your referral for a brain scan," the doctor said, gesturing at the papers sitting on the examination table beside Alastor. "And for a physical therapist." (During the physical exam, he'd noted the poor control Alastor had over the wings caught awkwardly in his medical gown. The wings were the least of Alastor's concerns.) "And in case it's a psychological issue, if I can find any therapists who have treated humanborn succubi, I'll get you their information. Otherwise, I've got a list of succubi therapists you can contact."

Alastor nodded along to each statement, jaw clenched and arms crossed tightly, sitting on the examination table. He felt like he'd been stripped bare in a hailstorm: cold and exposed and raw-nerved.

"And before you come in for your next blood test, I'll look into... less common causes of persistent arousal in succubi. I've never heard of a succubus with hypoactive sexual desire—or without desires altogether—but—well, I'm sure it would present very differently in a succubus than in other demons. If it even naturally occurs in succubi at all."

As opposed to unnaturally occurring, as it had in Alastor. "You think it might be because I'm ex-human."

The imp shrugged helplessly. "Right now, we can't rule it out."

"Then there would be precedent, wouldn't there? In other ex-human succubi? Has—has that been studied anywhere, post-apodiabolosis medical conditions?"

The imp shrugged again. "Maybe. But—frankly, there probably aren't a lot of humans who don't love sex that choose to become succubi."

Alastor wanted to disagree—he'd done it for power, he imagined most other ex-humans did it for the same reason—but less than a dozen sinners a year were chosen for promotion. The infamous Radio Demon might truly have been the only human in history powerful enough for his lack of a libido to not disqualify him.

The thought that Alastor might be the first ever succubus stuck with an insatiable libido should be chilling; but over the course of his appointment and examination he'd gone numb to the mounting dread. He just nodded again.

"It's just—" Staring up at Alastor in bewilderment, the doctor said, "I don't get it. Why the hell did you decide to become a succubus if you didn't want to have sex?"

If Alastor had a nickel for every time he'd been asked that in the past few weeks. He cracked a pained smile. (Had he stopped smiling?) "It's funny, really. I thought the fact that I'd never needed sex as a human would spare as a succubus. I thought it would give me an advantage." His laugh sounded like a broadcast from somewhere far away. In his ears, it sounded like a sob.

If he didn't need the doctor's help, he would have clawed the pity out of his eyes.

The doctor dragged his gaze from Alastor and back down to his notes, like he was searching for something else he could offer. Finally, he said, "Vitamins. I'm going to prescribe you some nutritional drinks. I can't make you cook, but supplement the takeout with the nutritional drinks." He made another note and looked up again. "And... I'll see you in a couple of weeks."

Nutritional drinks. Nutritional drinks and a whole list of other doctors he had to talk to, none of whom would know what to do about his unique, one-of-a-kind insatiable libido. And that was it. Alastor couldn't remember ever needing so badly cry. He wanted to double up and wail until he hyperventilated.

He sat upright. He smiled. He said, "Let me know if you find anything new."