Chapter Text
Vox paces back and forth in front of Velvette’s dressing room, hands behind his back, periodically checking the camera’s Velvette had spray-painted over an hour ago and acting like he wasn’t losing his mind.
“Go be a creep somewhere else, it’s girl time,” Velvette had shooed him off when he’d tried to peek inside, and all Vox got was a smug smile from Alastor where he sat in one of Velvette’s styling chairs, hair in the midst of whatever funky hairdo she was sculpting, before the door slammed in his face.
Stupid Velvette. He isn’t peeping to be a creep, he’s peeping to be a good fucking business partner. He’s peeping for her own good. She doesn’t know Alastor like he does. Human or not, he’s as much of a stone-cold bitch as before and this is the first time she’s really met him. If anything Vox is being a good fucking angel in Hell for looking out for her well-being, the least she can do is be grateful. Any nicer and Princess Morningstar is going to be sitting at his feet taking notes.
He hears Valentino’s heels before he sees him, and doesn’t turn to greet him. The last thing he needs is the judgy look that’ll no doubt be on his face.
“Ugh, you’re still here?” Valentino says regardless of Vox’s obvious silent-cues to not get on his nerves. “This is starting to get sad.”
“Shut up, Val. I’m just waiting.”
Valentino stops behind him with a snort. “For what?”
“For Alastor to do what he always does and be an insufferable bitch that shits on people with his stupid fucking opinions. Like anyone actually cares about what he thinks. Fucking asshole.”
This time Valentino barks a laugh. “Oh, baby, you’re worried? About our Velvette?” He leans to the side, in Vox’s line of sight, for the sole purpose of pinching the side of his head as if pinching his cheek. “You are so cute sometimes.”
Vox swat his hand away. “I’m being serious,” he growls and steps back, readjusting his jacket. “Look, I know Alastor better than both of you, so trust me when I say he knows how to get under peoples skin, and then he just,” he makes an odd, ripping motion with his hands, “fucking, tears apart everything and everyone, like a stupid, fucking,” the sentence tapers off into nonsensical grunts and growls and Valentino rolls his eyes.
“Uh-huh. Okay. I’ve seen her cyberbully entire comment sections into cutting each other’s wrists, babe, and those followers of hers?” He chuckles darkly, eyes pinching in delight as his shoulders rise, puffing his white ruff around his face. “They slobber over every word she says. I’d be more worried about your pet getting a dressing down in front of them.”
Vox’s head snaps to him. “Really, Val? For fucksake, not everything has to be about getting naked! You can branch out a little.”
“Hm, I wasn’t talking about getting naked but I see where your minds at,” Valentino purrs, running a finger along the top of Vox’s head and tweaking one of his antennas. Vox recoils, both hands going to his hat as if to shield them. Valentino snickers and carries on. “But sure, maybe that too. Chiquita knows how to have fun, especially around cunts, however old and wrinkly.”
Vox scowls and looks back at the door. Crosses his arms. Uncrosses his arms and puts them behind his back. Scowls deeper and begins pacing again. No, Valentino’s wrong. Velvette’s a lez, she said so herself. A literal “girls’ girl.’ Her words, not his. She’s never shown interest in guys. Ever. He’s literally seen her do her weird, magic-girl witchy bullshit to blow up any idiot that gave her so much as a flirty smile.
She wouldn’t be into Alastor like that.
Alastor’s pretty feminine though, a traitorous little thought whispers. In his own way. Certain gestures and comments. That little sway in his hips when he walks. Mascaraed eyelashes thick enough to make any bitch jealous. Always wearing that eye shadow that makes his condescending red eyes pop. His manicured nails. He’s just always had those vibes. When Vox first met him he’d labeled him as one of those ‘fairy’ guys he and his co-workers joked about over drinks and hadn’t really taken him seriously.
Not until he met him and after that he...well, he hadn’t known how to feel about it.
But human Alastor looks different! His brown eyes don’t pop like his red ones. They’re dark and amused, glinting like he knows a joke everyone else is too dumb to pick up. He doesn’t have that weird, girly bob either. Although his curls do look plenty soft. His smile isn’t as sharp around the edges, nor does it reach so high up on his face, yet there’s still something about it that cuts skin.
And that waist, the same voice moans in pain. A waist so sinfully thin it alone should’ve damned him to Hell.
He looks at the door again and squints. “What do you think they’re doing in there?”
“What do you think they’re doing in there,” Valentino teases.
“Come on, Val.”
Valentino rolls his eyes but relents with a sigh. “Probably nothing, okay. ¡Por Dios! You don’t need to get your thong in such a twist. If you’re so worried why don’t you just, you know,” he makes a flitting gesture at the door, “zap in there or whatever?”
Vox crosses his arms. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about doing that. Several times. “I wouldn’t need to if Velvette didn’t cover my cameras,” he grumbles bitterly.
“That’s what you get for being a peeping tom,” Valentino coos unsympathetically.
“I’m not peeping on anything! That’s kinda the problem here, Val!”
“Then stop whining and bust in there already. Nothing stopping you but you, babe.”
Vox huffs, but glances to the side in consideration. His eyebrows furrow and he purses his lips. Nods. Then nods again. “You know what? Yeah. Yeah. This is my goddamn tower.”
“Yeah, it is!”
“And I can go wherever I damn well please!”
“Yeah, you can!”
“She can’t tell me what to do!”
“That’s the spirit, baby!”
Chest puffing, Vox spins around, marches to the door and lifts his foot, preparing to kick it down when it suddenly flies open and his foot stops an inch from Velvette’s scowling face. She swats it away.
“Oh, would you two shut it already? For fucksake, any louder and I could hear your yapping from across the Pentagram. Stop being such piss-babies and come in if you want to so bad.” She disappears back into the room, tossing a prim, “I was about to call you anyway,” over her shoulder. “I just finished Al’s hair and I need a few honest first impressions.”
Vox and Valentino share a look and surge after her.
“Al?” Vox’s eyes narrow. “Since when do you call him, Al? And why are you wearing his monocle? What did he—what in the unholy fuck are you wearing?!”
Velvette turns, eyebrow arching as if confused, before looking down at the sleek, black 1920’s suit she’s wearing and does a little spin. The tail coats flap with her, the undersides flashing a satiny pink that matches the trim around the lapels. “I know, I know, not my usual fit but, Vee, I’m a goddamn genius! I’ve got a whole new line brewing. I’m thinking retro chic!” She spreads her hands out in front of her, displaying an invisible headline. “Coterie antique! I’m dragging the past to the present by its knickers and turning it into the new, sexy look.”
“Why the hell do you look like Alastor?”
Velvette looks over her shoulder and scoffs, folding her arms and not looking as offended as she ought to be. “Not my fault he dresses like a 20’s lesbian. Besides,” she flips her artfully curled bob, the small top-hat pinned in place not so much as wobbling, “it looks better on me, anyway.” She levels a firm look at him and jabs a finger in his direction. “What I should be getting at is why you didn’t tell me the Radio Demon is a fucking feminist!”
Vox blinks. “He...is?”
Valentino peers over Vox’s head. “The Radio Demon is fucking feminists?”
“Right? Who would’ve guessed?” Velvette continues incredulously, ignoring Valentino’s comment as she struts across the plush pink carpet. “Much good it did him,” she flaps a hand, “but I guess the fucker can have a point for it.”
“I’ll be sure to keep a tally,” Alastor snorts from farther in the room. Vox looks past her and promptly stumbles over his feet.
Alastor has to stand on his tip-toes to look properly into the mirror, leaning over Velvette’s vanity with a hand propping him up while the other applies a layer of vibrant red lipstick. He rolls his lips together to spread it around, flashes himself a smile, and meets Vox’s eyes through the mirror. “I’m surprised you haven’t run for the hills yet. Our style doesn’t seem to suit your taste.”
Vox’s brain registers the ‘our’ part of that sentence, but it's overshadowed by his jerking, grinding thoughts as he looks Alastor over. He’s not exactly wearing a dress, but it’s not really a suit either. He drags his eyes up Alastor’s knee-high boots to a black-stocking thigh, to a pair of short, skin-tight leggings. The gold, beaded fringe curled around his cinched hips sways and clinks softly as he turns and props himself against the vanity with white gloved hands.
“I—uh,” Vox blinks, tongue suddenly too thick in his mouth, “what the fuck are you wearing?”
Alastor looks down at the layered fringe on his chest and shrugs, causing the gold cords looped down his shoulders and around his arms to twinkle. They curve behind him in imitation of a shawl that also clinks as he moves. What are they made of? Tiny beads? Light-weight metal? Vox can’t tell.
“I’m not sure,” Alastor says, amused. “Your darling doll calls it ‘flapper à la mode,’ but I call it swanky. It is inspired though.” He sways his shoulders a little and the fringe on his chest moves with him, twinkling in the light. “I suppose I’ve worn worse.”
“You’ve—how did—when did you—”
Alastor arches a brow and not knowing what else to do, Vox whirls around to Velvette. “You let him infect you with his old timey-ness?! Really, Velvette? I thought you were better than that!”
Velvette plants a hand on her hip just shy of insulted. “Oh, come off it, Vox, you do know me better than that. I’m just doing what we always do. Our whole selling point is that we’re ‘forward’ thinking, and how better to do that than taking all that ugly old shit,” she gestures to the side at the invisible aforementioned old shit, “and turning it into something worth wearing.” She gestures to her own outfit. “It’s new, sexy, brilliant, and I’ll have it trending all the way to the Envy Ring before midnight, just you wait.”
She sidles up to Alastor. “And with my model,” she grabs his shoulders and pushes him in front of her as if presenting him to the other two, “they’ll be flying off the rack for weeks.”
Vox’s antennas spark and he cuts the air with his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there, Vel, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, alright? Right. Look,” Vox softens his tone into something more debonair and strides to her, putting on his best salesman smile. “I see your vision. Really, I do. Turning old shit into modern shit? Love it. Bag it. We’ll have every sucker in this city slobbering for one. Buuut,” he plucks her hands off Alastor’s shoulders and nudges him to the side, out of reach. “We’re not showing him to the public yet, remember? We talked about this, haha. Back in the lounge.”
Velvette crosses her arms in disbelief. “Are you serious right now? We have a bloody goldmine over here and you’re just going to sit on it? The Radio-fucking-Demon turned into a fuckable, curly-haired pretty boy and you’re not even going to try and sell it? You?”
“All I’m saying is we don’t need to rush,” Vox counters with casual, airy ease, holding out his arms as if it's the most obvious thing. “Let’s just enjoy. Keep a little something for ourselves for once. We have time.”
“Uh-huh, up until the little princessa and her papito come looking for him,” Valentino comments from the couch he’d spread himself across. “I know you have your whole,” he waves his cigar-holder in Alastor’s direction, “weird, rival sexual tension thing going on, but I’m with Vel on this one, Voxxy. Let’s just make some money off him and move on. We can do a few shows, you can video all the humiliation porn I know you’re dying to get, then we leave him on the curb for his sugar daddy to pick up. Quick and easy.”
Velvette juts a thumb at him. “See? Even Val is making more sense than you.”
Alastor looks at them both with the smile-equivalent of a scowl, though he’s not surprised. Gossip and dress-up aside, he is in enemy territory. How unfortunate. Velvette had quite an array of juicy stories to tell.
“It’s no fun humiliating him if he doesn’t look like Alastor,” Vox argues, thrusting a hand out toward him in emphasis, who gives him a deadpan look. “It’ll just look sad. And pathetic. And we,” he tugs on the bottom of his shirt and puffs his chest, every bit the distinguished businessman, “are above pathetic bullshit.”
“Pfft. You maybe,” Velvette says and crosses her arms. “You’re really not going to let me use him for my designs?”
“Not yet.” Vox holds out his hands to assuage her. “But soon, alright. I promise. In the meantime,” he zaps behind Alastor and steers him to the door, “I’ll just take him off your hands for a while, mkay? I’m sure you’ve got all those creative juices flowing, no need for pesky distractions. Let me know when you’re finished and we can talk sales, alright? Perfect.”
“Oh, no. Get your ass back here!” Velvette seizes Alastor’s arm, stopping them both. “I’m not done with him yet.”
“Come on, Velvette, be reasonable,” Vox laughs through his teeth. “You’ve had him for the last three hours.”
“And you had him for the last four! I’m owed at least one more.”
Vox pulls Alastor towards himself. “That’s not how this works.”
Velvette pulls him back. “My room, my rules, and I say he’s staying.”
“This is my tower!”
“Our tower,” Valentino slides in.
Vox makes a face at him. “What was all the shit about this being my goddamn tower and going where I please?”
Valentino shrugs. “I wanted to come in too and I don’t want Val mad at me.”
“Oh, okay, two-timing whore.”
“Your fault for being a dick-swinging simp,” Valentino winks back and blows him a kiss.
Huffing, Vox returns his attention to Velvette. “Why do you even care? You don’t even like him!”
“That was before he became my muse. Now stop acting like a fucking child and,” she yanks on Alastor this time, “give him back!”
“Velvette,” Vox warns through his teeth.
“Vox,” Velvette warns back.
“Valentino,” Valentino pipes in to feel included.
“And Alastor,” Alastor growls to remind them that he is, in fact, a sentient being and not a child's plaything, “who would like you to let go.”
Velvette and Vox barely spare him a glance. Frustrated, Alastor pulls on his own arms but their grip on him is rock solid. Too solid. Too tight. He suppresses a wince as their fingers dig into his arms, claws pricking his skin, any more and they’ll draw blood. Already he can feel bruises forming and he jerks again, harder, a tad more desperate as their hands clamp tighter, tug-o-warring him between them like a rag doll.
Only Valentino notices his discomfort, but he merely tilts his head, meets Alastor’s eyes, and leans back on the couch, taking another indulgent drag as he watches the show. Alastor doesn’t know whether to feel annoyed or grateful. On the one hand, he’d rather not be torn apart by two fussing children. On the other, he doesn’t need a third getting their paws on him too.
“Let go!” He finally snaps, loud enough to startle the two out of their argument and they look down. In their surprise their grips loosen just enough for him to jerk himself free, but he doesn’t expect the sudden release and stumbles backward, tripping over his heels and hitting the floor.
Valentino barks a laugh.
“Oh, gooood-fucking job, look what you did!” Vox snaps at Velvette.
“What I did? You were the one pulling on him like a right prick!” She stabs him in the chest with a nail. “I swear to god, Vox, if you ruined his outfit you’ll be wearing nothing but sandpaper britches for the next month!”
Alastor, meanwhile, stares into the carpet with wide, stunned eyes. His entire body locks into place, ground to a halt from the sudden, violent rip throughout his chest. All at once the sharp, taut twinge of his straining stitches is gone.
For a beat, the ghostly flash of pain where they’d torn feels numb and far away. Then the rest of his nerve receptors snap out of their daze and the burst of white-hot pain that slams into his chest punches the breath out of him and he gasps. The argument between the other two fades into the background as a ringing fills his ears, turning the world around him into a watery fuzz. On trembling arms he pulls himself up just enough to press a hand to his chest. For a moment all he feels is the soft strands of the fringe between his fingers, but something hot and wet quickly seeps through it and when he pulls his hand away his white glove comes back soaked and red.
Through the haze enveloping his brain, Valentino’s voice wobbles through the fog. “Oi, not to interrupt the fun, but I think your pet is dying.”
A shadow falls over him and Alastor blearily looks up, meeting the stunned expressions of Vox and Velvette.
“Oh fuck,” they say in unison.
That’s when Alastor’s eyes roll to the back of his head and he slumps to the ground, passing out. The last thought he has is a bitter one.
It better take days to get this stain out of the carpet.