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Alastor entered his hotel room with an exhausted sigh and leaned against the locked door as he took a moment to collect himself. Sure, there wasn’t a dull day yet at this circus of a rehabilitation center, but not even the amusement of watching the poor and downtrodden jauntily march their merry way to new lows was enough to counter the time and energy necessary to facilitate this decline.
It was a bit improper, but Alastor felt it was warranted as he undid his bowtie and unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt. Hidden away in his suite, as he was, did mitigate the overall effect, but the impropriety of his state of dress still managed to send a pleasant thrill of degeneracy down his back.
Once his thrumming pulse was a touch more settled, Alastor strode further into his abode. He paused at his armoire to shrug off his coat and hang it up. Free of its confines, Alastor stretched his shoulders with a few shrugs and stretches. It was during one reach towards the ceiling that he felt something around his scapula pop, and he relaxed back into a languid posture.
He took a moment to examine his quarters. He was unsure whether he wanted to be productive or not, and he thought that the state of his rooms might help tip the scales in this decision.
Sure enough, his old CRT television in the corner looked a bit worse for the wear. Perhaps from general disuse. He strode over to that ancient appliance and saw it coated with a fine layer of dust.
Alastor clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
“My, my, how absolutely filthy you are,” he admonished the television set and set off to find his feather duster.
He found it tucked away in some cabinet and rolled up his sleeves before getting to work. He studiously brushed away the dirt and dust with quick, yet gentle, strokes. After the wooden cabinet was clean, Alastor noticed the cobwebs decorating the metal antennae that sprouted from the top of his television.
This time an eyeroll was all his little appliance got as he fetched a dust rag and used it to clean off the rabbit ears. He privately delighted in the buzz of static electricity that alighted across his hands on contact and crawled up his forearms to make his short fur stand on end with a sharp prickle.
Alastor was methodical in his cleaning and went on to polish the knobs on the end of the antennae to ensure the signal would be received clearly and moved on to wipe down the control switches and glass screen with slow, precise strokes. When he pulled the rag away, he noticed the screen was suddenly aglow with a snow static.
“Confounded picture box,” Alastor mused before delivering a sharp smack to the side of the cabinet.
The static cleared away to a plain, black screen, as before, and Alastor huffed in amusement to himself. “Well, you get what you pay for with these shoddy appliances.”
Alastor strolled over towards his wet bar to make an evening cocktail for himself. After a sip to confirm the flavor, delicious, he headed back towards his easy chair with slow, sedate steps. He settled into the plush cushions and, with a snap, played a jaunty Fitzgerald tune on his radio.
He unlaced his boots and released his hoofs with an appreciative sigh. He flexed his front “toes” to work out the kinks and stretched out his calf muscles, relishing in every pop and snap of his joints. Finished with that nightly ritual, Alastor propped his hooves up onto his ottoman and relaxed into his seat with a bone-deep sigh.
It hardly got better than this.
Oh.
Well.
There was possibly one way…
Alastor set his drink aside on an end table and stood back up. He ambled over towards his armoire yet again, this time with the intention of taking something out.
He extricated his lovely red robe, made of a luxuriously soft cotton, and hung it up on the lip of the door to wait while he disrobed. Being alone in his room, there really was no need to retreat to the washroom, so he stayed where he was and removed his clothing.
One by one, piece by piece, he undressed.
First his bowtie, folded neatly and set aside on a nearby counter.
Then his suspenders, shrugged off his shoulders to hang at his hips.
And his shirt, unbuttoned down to the hem and cast aside to the floor in a rumpled heap (how hedonistic, it felt, to simply toss things aside so carelessly~).
Then his trousers were unbuttoned and stepped out of one lean leg at a time.
And even his silk socks were removed, first unclipped from the garters and then peeled off.
Finally came his underthings. A thin cotton undershirt and undershorts were cast aside and, for a brief moment, Alastor stood in his room completely bare. It was a bit thrilling, almost, to be so exposed. Even if it was just him.
He slipped into his robe and wrapped the folds around his trim body before tying it closed with a secure knot at the waist. The plush cotton was decadent to the touch, and Alastor took a moment to run his palms appreciatively over the material before strolling back over towards his armchair.
Where the television was once against fuzzy with static.
“Broken again, you horrible little device?” Alastor chastised the machine as he approached. He gave the cabinet another quick smack on its side, but this time the static remained.
“Hmm, perhaps you simply wish to be turned on tonight,” Alastor mused before reaching for the channel knob and fusing with its setting.
Once he reached a station, Alastor settled back into his armchair and sipped his drink. The program was in color, a rather newfangled addition to the television set, and he watched as a purple Sinner shrieked at her cheating husband that he was stabbing her in the back. From the intensity of her screams, you’d think it were happening literally.
“So melodramatic,” Alastor huffed between sips. “Isn’t there anything a bit more believable?”
The picture of the screen wavered like a mirage in the desert before changing to something else. This time the house on screen was more decorated and lived in. Food containers were strewed about and a gaggle of Sinners lounged around on the couches as they ate and drank and laughed.
Their chatter was rather inane. Mostly just empty brags about their sexual exploits. That is until one woman proudly admitted to sexual liaisons with a present gentleman and a fist fight broke out between her and another woman.
Before blood could be shed, the camera cut to the first woman sitting alone and facing the camera directly as she exposited her reasons for playing the homewrecker. This juicy gossip might have been fun if it weren’t so obvious that she was reading prompts just off-screen.
Alastor rolled his eyes. “Such talentless hacks. They’ll let anyone on air these days, won’t they? Not a scrap of taste amongst the producers of this drivel.”
The television screen dimmed, as if apologetic for the trash it was displaying, and changed to something else. This time a cooking show with an older Sinner in a blue apron proudly outlining how to cook a goose.
Alastor sat back and pointed out each inaccuracy spewing from her lips. Wrong temperature. Wrong cooking vessel. Wrong seasonings. Wrong time.
“Is there a single thing they can get right?” Alastor scoffed. He held his hand out and a shadow tendril kindly deposited a fresh drink in his palm. He took a sip as the channel changed yet again.
And Alastor made sure to make his displeasure known each time.
A cartoon that was nothing but bright colors and noisy movement. Entertainment that was tantamount to waving keys in front of a toddler.
A slow, plodding documentary about a serial killer with far too many unnecessary interviews with people who were either completely uneducated about the topic or were barely tangentially involved with the subject in question.
A scripted comedy in which none of the jokes landed thanks to the shoddy delivery and poor timing of the actors. And on the rare instance a quip was humorous, the cascade of studio prompted laughter from the audience sapped away any inclination Alastor may have had to chuckle.
When the television then switched over to Vox 2 Nite, Alastor audibly booed in retaliation.
“Is there nothing even remotely entertaining on television?” Alastor asked aloud as he sipped from his third drink.
“I mean honestly. The way everyone seems to rant and rave about this medium, you’d think there would be a single show that was at least mildly entertaining. But it’s nothing but shameless commercialization and endless frippery that offers nothing to the viewer. All hat and no cattle.”
Alastor tipped his head back, feeling the pull of his neck tendons as he downed the remainder of his drink.
When he looked back at his television, it was playing something else. Something with two men, sans any clothing, as they shimmied atop on another in a bed.
Oh.
Right.
Sinners used television for this sort of thing too.
Alastor perched his head in hand against the arm of his chair and watched. The bigger man seemed to be thrusting into the smaller one beneath him, judging from the movements.
“Well this is all rather inane,” he grumbled. “How is this supposed to be enjoyable? The big one just keeps grunting rather stupidly, like some kind of bariatric bull. And the smaller one isn’t any better, what with all the high-pitched moans and whines. And this script is absolute nonsense as well. Nothing but expletives intermingled with begging from the one on the bottom and grandiose bragging from the other. I mean really. I can’t imagine anyone getting off on this with all this garbage they keep spewing.”
The sound immediately cut off from his television.
Alastor cocked his brow at the coincidence.
“How serendipitous,” he mused. “The audio must have short circuited. What a cheap piece of machinery.”
And yet the pornography continued to play visibly.
Alastor sighed. “I suppose I can’t be that fortunate. Such a lewd creation, the television. Showcasing nothing but the most perverse desires to the most depraved masses.”
Alastor smirked as he stared down at his television.
“But what should I expect from such a gutless medium? So terrified that viewers might turn away, that it must show everything it has all at once. Utterly incapable of holding anything back, of leaving anything to interpretation, lest their audience realize there is nothing at the center.”
The picture quality on his television wavered slightly, going in and out of focus before crystalizing into clarity once more.
“So desperate for attention, they’ll show anything.”
Alastor grinned and sensually slid his hand down his body towards his groin.
“Why. It’s like no one can use their imagination anymore.”
He slowly caressed his privates and watched as the picture on the screen distorted once more into a snowy blur of static.
“I’m probably the only Sinner left in all of Hell who is perfectly happy to be completely alone.”
His cock was still soft, but he squeezed it gently and pretended to moan. The static on his television intensified before breaking into color-testing bars.
Alastor parted his legs ever so slightly, and his robe barely slipped out of place.
“Hmm, yes. So good to be all by myself-”
His television jumped to his feet before diving bodily into Alastor’s open lap.
Alastor threw his head back against the cushions of his chair as roaring cackles poured from his throat.
“I knew it! I knew you couldn’t do it!” Alastor sputtered out between gasps. He could feel tears coalescing in the corners of his eyes but couldn’t lift a hand to wipe them away as Vox started rutting against him like a thoughtless animal.
“You fucking-” Vox broke off his gripe with a throaty groan. “You, hngh, did that on purpose. Fuck. I can’t- hah, fuck, can’t believe you just, ungh, fucking teasing me like that with your bare ass. Your fucking hooves.”
“Hmm, I don’t know what you mean,” Alastor smirked as Vox continued to hump him like some mangy mutt. “I was simply acting as I always do when alone in my room.”
“Yeah right. Like y-you, hngh, you probably stay buttoned up just in case some- ooohhh, fuck yeah, in case someone comes in.”
“Looks like you’re about to come in something yourself.” Alastor chuckled.
Vox keened into Alastor’s chest. “Oh yeah, fuck, keep talking dirty.”
“That close already?” Alastor laughed “This close after just sitting there like some useless piece of furniture?”
“Oh yeah,”
“Taking up space in my home and offering up absolutely nothing of value to make up for it?”
Vox groaned and started thrusting faster.
“How pathetic,” Alastor sneered. “Begging me to play this game with you, and you couldn’t even last 30 minutes! Just how spineless are you?”
“Shut up,” Vox groaned into his chest as he amped up the intensity of his boorish grinding. “You’re a, hngh, dirty fucking cheat is what you are.”
Alastor absently hummed as he fondled the rounded tips of Vox’s cute little rabbit ears, occasionally releasing them from his hold to watch them bounce and sway with every sharp snap of Vox’s hips.
“Hmm, I see. Would you rather I didn’t let you-”
“No!” Vox interrupted, wrapping his arms tightly around Alastor and bodily shoving them even closer together. “Don’t you even fucking dare- I, oh fuck, just please, please let me…”
“Oh go on ahead, my dear. I know how you get.”
Permission granted, Vox’s thrusting immediately got faster. He panted into Alastor’s chest, his breath hot and dewy against Alastor’s fur, and the fans inside his monitor whined audibly as they tried to process the veritable slew of stimuli. Alastor could feel Vox’s body start to tremble as tiny little glitches and jolt wracked through his frame, and, sure enough, it wasn’t long before Vox jerked to a stop before melting into Alastor’s hold with a throaty sigh.
Thankfully, everything was confined to Vox’s trousers and there was no ensuing wet spot to feel.
He rubbed a hand up and down Vox’s back in what he hoped was a soothing touch until his little picture box slowly started to stir in his arms.
“Mhm, that was great,” Vox murmured into Alastor’s chest before nuzzling into his fur. The faint sting of static electricity was pleasant enough, so Alastor allowed him to remain and switched to thumbing small circles against the small of Vox’s back.
After a few moments, Vox started to wriggle in his lap again, this time with a bit more strength behind it. Alastor nearly burst into laughter from how quickly the other man froze once his thigh brushed against Alastor’s groin.
“Oh, Al. You- sorry I didn’t, ahem, you uh, you want some help with that?”
Alastor considered the offer as he rested his cheek against the top of Vox’s television cabinet. It was warm, like a stone under the noon sun, and vibrated with a steady, soothing hum.
“Hmm, if you’d like.”
And Vox only hesitated for a moment, perhaps giving Alastor a second chance to rescind his agreement, before snaking his hand down between their bodies and slipping between the folds of Alastor’s robe.
It felt nice enough, Vox’s warm hand against his cock, and Alastor reclined further into his armchair. He’d slouched down far enough to reach Vox’s neck and took the opportunity to nibble and suck that supple skin until the dark blue had blossomed into a striking violet.
He bit down into Vox’s shoulder when he finally came and lapped up each trickle of blood with kitten licks and apologetic kisses. Vox didn’t seem to mind much anyways, if the tiny little shivers wracking his body were any indication.
They lay there a few moments more. Alastor could feel the pull of Vox’s breath before he spoke.
“So uh, can I change out of this?”
Alastor nuzzled against the warm glass screen of Vox’s old head. “Just a few moments more, my dear. Consider it, hm, recompense for agreeing to your little game.”
Vox’s chuckles vibrated wonderfully between their touching chests. “Alright. Fair enough. Just wake me if I fall asleep, okay?”
“Of course, my little bunny,” Alastor teased as he flicked Vox’s rabbit ears once more.
He put on a Sinatra song, as a token of gratitude, and settled back into his chair as he allowed the dulcet tones and warm buzz to lull him into a relaxing daze.