Work Text:
Alastor is hoping this will be over soon.
He supposes it’s not too bad, as ideas go. After her help in the battle, Charlie had extended an olive branch towards Carmilla Carmine and agreed to this … détente of a sort. Overlords and the new hotel residents were now mingling free at Carmilla’s estate. It had taken some wrangling to agree on a location. He rather thinks Charlie should have put her foot down and insisted on the hotel, but alas, she hasn’t learned all her lessons about being a leader just yet. Still, it might be for the best … that many people together in less-than-neutral territory was bound to make sinners nervous and tempt overlords to lure residents away from potential (improbable) redemption with promises of safety and security though soul contracts.
Not that Carmilla’s compound is exactly neutral ground, but given that she’s previously been the only one able to gather all the overlords in one place, it makes sense for it to be here. She certainly has enough space.
In any case, this event isn’t meant to be a formal gathering like the one that was abruptly ended with a confrontation between the organizer and Vox’s … charming companion.
This was meant to be a casual affair, a chance for sinners and overlords and even the odd hellborn to comingle without fear of reprisal or backstabbing.
Lucifer declined to attend, letting Charlie know he would continue to support her, but had confidence in her leadership skills. Even though he stays at the hotel more often than not these days, he remains mostly in the background, sequestered in the large wing of the newly renovated hotel he has taken up for himself. For this, Alastor is grateful. It’s enough to needle him every now and then; his constant presence would become tedious quickly.
Still, Alastor is not exactly enthused to be at this gathering. His ever-present smile is strained, his limbs ache, and his eye is twitching. He is hopeful no one notices these little tells and realizes he is not quite up to his full strength, that now might be an ideal time to challenge him, despite the “truce” theme of the evening.
He trusts no one is looking too closely. He is capable of standing out, certainly, but he is equally capable of fading into the background when the situation calls for it.
He supposes he should be grateful he is still alive, all things considered. Being struck with the business end of an angelic weapon is serious – usually deadly serious. His memories are still hazy as to exactly how he recovered. All he really knows is that underneath his bandages, he has a large scar down his chest that still throbs with pain if he moves a certain way. The bleeding has stopped, but he still feels … drained. Tired. Weak. He would have stayed home, but aside from disappointing Charlie, it would have started the rumor mill going and left him more vulnerable to attack.
No, much better to “Fake it till you make it,” as the saying goes. It would take time, but he would recover all his strength soon enough.
He spots Rosie in the crowd and moves toward her gratefully. She enfolds him in a gentle embrace, holding him delicately. She gives him a knowing, concerned look, and he offers a tight smile in return, shrugging as if to say, “It can’t be helped.” Having known him for so long, she can quickly tell that he’s not as recovered as he would like others to believe, but mercifully, she sees no need to speak the words aloud. She takes him arm, as she has done many times before. People are used to seeing them this way; no one will think he is leaning on her for support. They talk in low voices about inconsequential things: the party, the food, the décor, all of which is, admittedly, of high quality. Carmilla is a gracious hostess and worked hard to cater to everyone’s various tastes, including providing some sinner meat for himself, Rosie, and her cannibals. Said cannibals are receiving a very warm welcome, given their part in defending hell. Being that the normal reaction to cannibals is fear, disgust or both, they are reacting with pleased surprise.
Good for them, Alastor thinks. And good for Rosie.
And then, his ears flick up, his senses alert.
Vox is here.
He simply can’t *not* notice Vox’s static. Once upon a time, it was deeply in tune with and entwined with his own, their frequencies dancing together in a sort of harmony, sometimes a bliss, something that Alastor has not experienced before or since. Now it is jagged, jarring, pushing up against his own frequencies with defiance and bitterness.
Their eyes meet across the room. Vox is with his companions. Valentino is on his arm, and Alastor feels a hot streak of anger and … something else (nothing important) go through him, but he smiles gamely all the same. On his other side is Velvette, smirking, as if at her own private joke. She takes a few pictures with her phone and then taps rapidly on the screen, probably posting said pictures to that ridiculous “social media” or whatever it’s called.
Vox and Alastor lock eyes for a tense moment. Alastor is not sure if the room quiets, or he is simply tuning out other noises in favor of focusing on Vox. His smile stretches tighter, painfully so, and Vox gives him a deep scowl, as expected. Vox looks away first, and Alastor relaxes his muscles, feeling a slight thrill of triumph.
Best to ignore each other now.
Rosie looks at him knowingly and sights. She’d had a front row seat for their getting together, such as it was, and had always not-so-secretly held out hope that they’d patch things up. She’d stopped trying to figure out exactly what had happened to cause their falling out. Mercifully, she had also stopped trying to play referee/matchmaker a long time ago. And tonight, with the pain of his injuries from the battle still so fresh – well, if Alastor wanted to ignore Vox, she could do that right along with him.
The only problem was, Alastor wasn’t exactly ignoring Vox.
To be fair, he couldn’t very well shut off his sensitivity to Vox’s static, not any more than he could banish his own pain. The conversation between him and Rosie petered out and they settled into silence. Alastor observed his old pal from the corner of his eye: speaking in low tones as he asked (or ordered) his two friends to not make trouble; plastering a big, fake smile on his face as he addressed fellow overlords and the like with cheerfully false greetings; ‘bumping into’ Charlie and attempting to do a charm offensive … he paid particular attention to this interaction. He could tell Vox was getting on Charlie’s nerves (of course, he got on everyone’s nerves), but she remembered the lesson and met him with a big, fake smile of her own, murmuring something polite and excusing herself quickly before Vox could provoke her.
Good girl.
Vox huffed after she left – he had clearly been hoping to prompt an outburst to the make the princess (and by extension the hotel) look bad, but Charlie had been well-trained. And he had only himself to blame if the princess of Hell didn’t want to be around him. He’d practically been doing 24/7 negative media coverage of the hotel. Surely, he didn’t think a few smiles and soft words would make her tolerate him any better?
For the second time that evening, Vox met his gaze. He wasn’t scowling now. He simply raised his eyebrows, and the meaning was clear.
‘She kept smiling. Did she learn that little trick from you?’
Alastor raised his eyebrows back. ‘Indeed. She’s a good student.’
Vox looked away, and so did Alastor. They were both remembering a time when it was Vox who had been the Radio Demon’s star pupil, his eager protégé, and Alastor his doting mentor.
Alastor sighed. He felt weary in more ways than one. Weary in body, weary in mind, weary in soul. It was such a bone-deep weariness that he feared he might never find enough rest and recovery to cure it.
At least he wasn’t watching Vox anymore, though his static still buzzed somewhere in the background.
He wondered how long he needed to stay before he could retire back to his room at the hotel, both for politeness’ sake and so as not to arouse suspicion about his condition.
Rosie asked if she could leave a moment, and as he was sitting, he said it would be fine, and watched her go mingle with the others. He closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He wasn’t overly fond of the air in this room; it was cloying, perfumed with a million different scents. Some fresh air would do him good.
Slowly, carefully, he walked away from the crowd, and towards a quiet area, near the balcony. While the air in Hell certainly couldn’t be said to be clean, the further he got, the more the cloying scents drifted away, much to his relief. By the time he was on the balcony, the air was crisp and pleasant. A slight breeze ruffled through his fur, and he allowed his posture to relax…
Until he saw that Vox was there.
Vox’s back was to him, but he knew he was there. Vox’s posture stiffened, and he turned around. He had a cigarette in his hands, and he looked irritated.
They stared at each other for a long minute.
“Do you have another one?”
Wordlessly, Vox reached into his breast pocket and took out another cigarette. He lit it off his own and handed it to Alastor. His fingers grazed Alastor’s slightly, and they both shivered at the contact, at the familiar tingle of electricity between them.
“Thank you,” Alastor managed. He took a long drag and blew the smoke out into the night.
They stood like this for several moments, not speaking.
“So, you’re alive,” Vox said flatly.
“Mm. Let’s just say reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Including by you,” he added.
“Guess I’ll have to issue a retraction.”
“You won’t.”
“I won’t. Velvette’s already posted online that you’re alive anyway. That’s how news breaks these days. I didn’t really think you died anyway.” He gave a harsh laugh. “I’m not that lucky.”
“You would have been dreadfully bored without me.”
“I managed not be bored these last seven years,” Vox retorted. “Don’t suppose you’d be interested in giving me the scoop or where you disappeared to, by the way? It would certainly make for a riveting segment on Vox Tonite.”
Alastor let out a low chuckle. “I think not.”
“Well, I had to ask.” Vox stubbed out his cigarette, and Alastor did the same.
“You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”
Alastor drew his ears back. “Oh?”
“I know you’re not recovered. Not fully, at least. Your static, it’s all … jumbled. Ragged, rough around the edges. Though I suppose … it’s not immediately noticeable, not unless someone knows your tells. So, I guess you are fooling some people … maybe even the majority. But” he added with a vicious grin, “I know.”
Alastor looked at him. “Going to finish me off, then?”
“I should have. I should have done when I found you –” Vox said, then abruptly cut himself off.
“When you found – what?”
“No – I mean – I didn’t mean –”
But it was too late. Alastor was starting to remember. Hazy images, swimming to the surface … a burst of pain as Vox used his electricity to cauterize his wound … Vox’s concerned face blurring in his vision … Vox muttering soothing words, holding him as he vomited, as he shivered, curled up tight against him … Vox bandaging and re-bandaging his wounds, Vox starting to leave and Alastor asking him to stay … and Vox staying, petting and massaging him until he fell asleep….
“It was you,” Alastor gasped. He should have known. How else would he have survived? Did he really think he had managed to heal himself, seal the bleeding gash on his chest, dressed and redressed the wound so many times?
He thought he might have dreamed of Vox, several times. But those were no dreams.
Vox had really been there.
Vox still cared.
“I –no – shit! You weren’t supposed to remember that!”
“Did you try to hypnotize me to forget!?”
“Of course I did! And I thought it worked. I mean, it should have worked!”
“Why…?”
“Why what? Why would I heal you, or why would I make you forget about it?”
“Both.”
“I … if you die, it should be my hand.”
Alastor didn’t believe him for a minute. What’s more, he felt a warm, familiar sensation growing in the pit of his belly. “You could have killed me when you found me there.”
“The state you were in … it wouldn’t have been a fair fight.”
“Since when do you care about fair?”
Alastor moved towards him, and Vox backed away.
“And even if you did,” Alastor continued, “why make me forget it was you who healed me? Why not let me suffer with the knowledge that it was you, that I owe you my life? Why do that, Vox?”
“I … it’s not what you think …”
Alastor was close enough to touch Vox, and he did, rubbing a hand on the side of his screen. Vox’s eyes turned to hearts before he jerked away. “Don’t – don’t do that!” He hissed unconvincingly.
“Vox…” Alastor said his name softly, like he used to. Full of the warmth and affection that made Vox melt for him. Like old times.
“Vox … dance with me,” he whispers.
Vox falls into line.
Well, almost. He attempts briefly to lead, but Alastor gathers him close. “I’ll lead,” he says firmly in Vox’s ear.
Vox shivers and becomes completely compliant. “Ok.”
They dance, a sort of waltz, a sort of tango, a sort of something all their own. There’s gentle music for their ears only, inscrutable to anyone else. Perhaps it is an old long-forgotten ballad, perhaps a secret song of Lilith, perhaps a popular, modern tune in Hell – or more likely, it is something all their own design, the sound of their frequencies harmonizing once again, not warring with each other, but dancing with each other in every sense of the word, connected, intertwined, reunited.
When Alastor kisses him, Vox opens his mouth and lets him in.
Now it is their tongues that dance together, exploring, reclaiming familiar territory. They hold each other, Vox’s hands on the small of his back, Alastor’s hands as Vox’s waist.
Years of resentment and bitterness fall away under the warmth of each other’s embrace.
“I hate you,” Vox says, when they come up for air. Alastor laughs and kisses him again.
“I cheered Adam on. I cheered when he struck you, I … I was vulgar about it. You would have been grossed out.”
“I’m sure.” Alastor smiles indulgently as he nuzzles Vox neck, and Vox shivers in pleasure.
“You hate me,” Vox says feebly as he nuzzles him back.
“I could never hate you, mon cher.”
“Damn it, don’t say shit like that, I can’t ...”
“But you are. Mon cher, my darling, my lovely little picture box…”
“Oh Alastor,” Vox gasps, and they kiss again.
Their bodies press closer together, and their kisses grow frantic. They break apart briefly, panting.
“Is there a place where we can have more privacy?” Alastor asks in a low, husky voice.
Vox considers. “I know a place.” He takes a firm grip of Alastor’s arm. “Let’s go.”
Before he can protest, Vox uses his electricity to transport them elsewhere. It’s not Alastor’s preferred method of transportation – he will always want to use his own shadows – but it got them alone together, so he won’t make a fuss. He takes a moment to look around, his eyes widening as he takes in the familiar setting.
“Vox, is this …?”
“Our old apartment? Yeah.” Vox shrugs. “It was vacant, so I just figured … it’s not a big deal or anything. Don’t read into it.”
Alastor laughs delightedly. Always so sentimental, his Vox. So nostalgic. “You sweet, silly thing.”
Vox rankles, “Don’t –”
Alastor cuts him off with a soft kiss. “I’m so glad you kept it. We made some good memories here.”
Vox gives a small smile. “Guess we did.”
They continue to kiss and caress, soft and slow.
“I was so glad you were there,” Alastor whispered. “I was … scared Vox. So scared and alone, and you healed me, you stayed with me, you held me and told me everything was going to be alright.”
“Well, that’s because I’m a sentimental idiot, so…”
“My sentimental idiot.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Oh hush. Love makes fools of us all.”
“Love?” Vox trembled. Alastor nuzzled and soothed.
“Help me take my shirt off, cher.”
They removed Alastor’s jacket, vest, and shirt carefully, mindful of his wound. Vox looked at his bandages, pleased to see they appeared clean; Alastor was no longer bleeding through.
“Are you in a lot of pain?”
“A fair amount, but not as much as I was. Do you need help getting your shirt off too, dear?”
Vox chuckled. “Not really, but you’re still welcome to assist.” And he did, eagerly exposing more skin and trailing kisses down Vox’s chest, pausing to tease and suck on each of his nipples in turn, earning a steady stream of moans and curses from the other.
They sighed and leaned against each other, skin to fur. Alastor adored Vox’s smooth skin, and the way his gently hands brushed through his fur. Alastor smirked a little and deliberately brushed again the bulge in Vox’s pants, causing a whimper.
“We don’t have to do anything tonight, you know,” Vox said gently. “Just because I’m turned on, doesn’t mean we have to do anything. I know you’re still recovering.”
Alastor almost pouted. “But I want to do something. Several things, in fact. And I rather think it’s obvious that you do too.”
“Of course I do,” Vox chuckled, “but I don’t want to hurt you. I mean, I don’t want to ruin my handiwork, after all.”
“I believe it can be managed if we go about things carefully.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
They continued kissing and caressing, gently helping each other out of the rest of their clothes. They took a moment to admire each other’s naked forms, reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies. Except for a few additional scars here and there (and of course, Alastor’s obvious bandages) they remained fairly the same.
“Turn around for me, darling?” Alastor asked, and Vox quickly complied.
“Now bend over,” he growled seductively, and Vox did.
Alastor caressed his lovers back, his buttocks. His gentle touch was in sharp contrast to the slaps he later delivered to Vox’s backside.
Vox whimpered, trembling, shaking, and let out a moan. When he regained his voice, all he said was “Harder.”
Alastor laughed. “If you insist.”
After getting more moans out of Vox with a few well-placed slaps, Alastor showed mercy, and put a cold, soothing cream on area, massaging it into the stinging skin. It excited him to think of Vox wearing the mark of his hands the next day.
After this, Alastor retrieved the lubricant, sheathing his claws and coating his fingers liberally. Gently, he breached Vox’s entrance with a single finger, allowing his lover to adjust to the sensation. He was able to add a second finger and move around without much trouble. A third finger helped him hit Vox’s prostate, causing him to whimper and buck his hips, his hard cock leaking, a sure sign that he was ready.
Alastor eased his way into him, moaning at the delicious heat and friction, their bodies fitting together just as perfectly as they used to do. He began with slow, teasing thrusts, which quickly became faster, wilder, uncontrolled. He reached for Vox’s leaking cock and stroked it in time with his own rhythm, spurred on by the eager moans spilling from Vox’s throat and his own. It had been too damn long, and their passion soon overtook them, unable to stop themselves, wanton and free. He felt Vox spilling through his fingers at the same time he felt himself letting go, thrusting wildly into his lover as he found his release, not relinquishing his grip on Vox’s cock until he got every last drop from him.
They collapsed, half-standing. Vox carefully turned, holding Alastor upright, and took a moment to clean them both up. Gingerly, he laid Alastor on the bed and then got in beside him. Alastor immediately cuddled into him, feeling warm and sleepy and happy.
“My darling Vox. My lovely little picture box. I missed you so.”
“I missed you too, Al,” Vox admitted. “Where did you go?”
Alastor sighed. “I wish I could tell you.”
“You can. I won’t spill your secret.”
“It’s not that Vox, it’s just … complicated. And dangerous.”
Vox huffed. “I thought you had died. I almost convinced myself you had. But I couldn’t mourn you, because that would have meant admitting I still cared. Even when we were enemies, at least I still knew you were there.”
“I didn’t want to leave, Vox. I had to.”
“Why?”
“I can’t … please,” Alastor sighed. “No more questions tonight.”
Vox was too happy and sleepy and sated to argue. “Okay. Hey, did you think anyone will notice we’re gone?”
“Mm. Probably.” Alastor’s voice was muffled, being that he was currently occupied with nuzzling Vox’s chest. “But I can’t bring myself to care about that just now. Can you?”
Vox smiled at Alastor in that way of his, the one that never failed to melt Alastor’s black, twisted heart.
“Not a bit,” admitted Vox, giving him a final kiss before they settled in for a peaceful sleep.