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Another wince whittled out of Vox as Alastor clunked their heads together for what must have been the fourth time that very, very eventful night.
Vox only wrapped his arms tighter around Alastor who was bordering the precarious edge of completely slipping from Vox's hold with every lousy stumble. A drunk, discoordinated Alastor was hardly Vox's fault right? Especially considering Alastor’s gutsy claims that he could handle any amount of liquor twice as much as Vox.
Famous last words.
In hindsight, they hadn't even drank that much. At least, Vox hadn't. Alastor on the other hand? Considering the demon's high tolerance for holding his liquor, Vox was surprised they hadn't drained the entire bar. The dragging of his feet against the wooden floorboards, his inability to actually stand up or even raise his arms, as well as the completely wasted look on his face spoke enough about his current state.
"Mma ceen..." Alastor mumbled, his head lolling forward.
"It's right here." Vox lifted his other hand to show off Alastor’s cane as he continued to lead them to Alastor’s room in the house. This is the third time Alastor has asked about the mystical whereabouts of it. "God, you're tanked."
It was a miracle Vox had managed to get both of them here without Alastor losing a limb, or several, and the puerile complaining from a Radio Demon being tossed in the back of a taxi hadn't facilitated the process. Vox's arms burned from the strain of carrying Alastor, but luckily Alastor was skinnier than most. Vox considered just swinging him over his shoulder but he quite liked his back not covered by scratch marks from an indignant, rabid demon.
Alastor's ear twitched - they did that a lot when he was drunk apparently and it took every ounce of control for Vox's monitor not to flush a bright pink at the sight - and he tipped his head back, his lips curling into a pout. "Tsss mine..."
"Yes. It's yours." Vox reassured him as Alastor lamely batted at his hand to get his cane despite being unable to get a proper grip. "Come on, we're nearly there."
Alastor merely continued to gawk at him as Vox slowly crossed the hall, one careful step at a time. He felt Alastor's fixated attention digging holes into him.
Alastor’s eyes squinted. "Mine," he slurred, petulant.
Vox quickly glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and for a moment he could have sworn Alastor’s gaze pierced with the intensity of a fearsome demon nothing less than sober. But, then Alastor's shoe snagged on a loose board, causing him to slip from Vox's grasp and Vox scrambled to catch him.
Huffing and panting (and definitely not getting red-faced; Vox wasn't that out of shape, absolutely not), Vox pulled Alastor’s weight closer. He tugged Alastor’s arm higher over his shoulders and gripped him tighter. Their bodies pressed flush and with every fiber of his self-control Vox ignored how the thumping of his heart quickened.
Alastor was so warm. On the surface, he looked sharp and mean and scary, all pointy edges and lethal teeth, but as Vox's hand flexed over Alastor’s waist all he could feel was soft, tender flesh.
It sent a delightful rush across Vox's whole body, fluttering in coils in his stomach and setting all of his nerves ablaze.
"Want of a piano." Alastor spouted more nonsense.
"We'll go get you a piano tomorrow, okay?" Vox promised mostly to keep Alastor from trying to bolt.
"My turn I said daisies over cats."
"Mm, fascinating."
Alastor was so close... He never let anyone so much as touch him let alone manhandle him like this and the amount of trust he was putting in Vox to get him somewhere safe sent Vox's mind in a tizzy. It was good to feel important, needed, essential, but it was entirely different to feel trusted by Alastor.
Shaking his head, Vox rid his naïve mind of those loamy thoughts and trudged forward, useless ragdoll Alastor in hand who for some reason was grinning with a dopey smile at the unimpressive, dim lights on the walls. Naturally, Alastor always smiled, but when one has been him for as long as Vox has it was easy to distinguish the menacing, invigorating smiles from the genuine, heartfelt ones. He looked so absurdly happy and Vox couldn't help the chuckle that snuck from him.
Immediately, he pursed his lips and snatched Alastor’s keys from the inside pocket of his jacket. The man for some paranoid reason needed a key to all of his rooms. Vox pointedly avoided looking at the maddeningly fuzzy tuft of fur poking out of his unbuttoned, stained shirt and steeled his attention forward with impressive resolve.
Gladly, Vox did manage to drag Alastor inside without banging anyone's head against the doorframe this time. He's been telling himself to swap his boxy TV head for a slimmer model, but his newest prototypes kept malfunctioning for the most obscure reasons.
Sounds and laughter wafted from Alastor’s radios as Vox limped along, the staticky frequencies had been following them from room to room like some expensive haunted house. It would have been immeasurably creepy, but for Vox it was only a sign of Alastor’s content. He had learned the vacillating frequencies indicative of Alastor’s mood in the years since they had met; how could he not when they were so viciously carved into the stony planes of his heart.
Finally, the bed was in reach and Vox plopped Alastor atop it. He grimaced guiltily when Alastor slammed face first but after seeing no movement for the next few seconds Vox reached over to roll him on his back. Like a damn baby. Worse. A baby would at least be aware of what was happening around it.
Vox put his arms on his hips, staring at him. Alastor’s lidded eyes blinked sloppily upwards, his fingers doing weird movements like he wanted to grab something but didn't know what, how or where.
Vox's smile twitched upwards. "You look ridiculous." he pointed out.
Slowly, red pupils landed on him. "Pfficture box."
Vox nodded like talking to a stupid person. "Yeeep."
Alastor’s grin turned even more shit-faced. "In my room."
Vox's brows crinkled in confusion for a moment then they slacked when he caught up. "Seriously? You can't even pronounce your own name and you're worried about modern technology in your bedroom?"
"Yes."
"Rude."
Alastor raised his hand, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "First time," he droned.
"...this is the first time you've had a TV in your room?" Vox tried, decrypting Alastor’s succinct whines.
Alastor nodded and shut his eyes in a histrionically despondent expression, the picture of absolute misery.
Vox shook his head. "You have your priorities, I'll give you that much," he sighed, running a tired hand down his face. For a moment, he just stood there, looking aimlessly around the silent, dark room as he realized this really was his first time here.
Alastor had invited him to his humble, skeleton - ridden house plenty of times for a riveting conversation and a good drink, but this was the first time Vox had entered his bedroom. His body frosted over as he grew self-conscious and jittery as the feeling that he was witnessing something forbidden doused him. Alastor’s bedroom looked just as old-fashioned as the rest of the house, replete with vintage, archaic furniture, antique ornaments, mounted deer skulls, stacked bookcases, frilly red curtains and drab tablecloths decorating the entirety.
It was... homely, as welcoming as the demon it belonged to once one got to know him.
A shuffling sound drew Vox's attention back to the bed and he saw Alastor attempting to shrug his coat off. Vox put down the cane on a nightstand and went to help him.
"Ssstuck..." Alastor groaned, forehead beading with droplets of sweat.
"Yes, you are."
Vox tossed the coat over the bed as Alastor flopped onto his back, stretching his arms and heaving. It was amusing watching him, this big bad scary overlord acting as competent as a newborn kitten, but it only stirred Vox's nervousness.
He continued to stand above Alastor like a fool, unsure of what to do. "You, uh..." he scratched the back of his head. "You good, Al?" he finished lamely. "You'll be fine now, right?"
Alastor glowered, puffing out a metaphorical air of control. What a difference some liquor makes, Vox thought. "M'always fine."
Vox rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say." He smoothed down his wrinkled vest and fastened his red tie and ascertained the area once more to make sure Alastor had everything he needed. When he deemed it sufficient, he hesitantly said "Alright, I'll... I'll just go then."
He turned around and started to walk toward the door when Alastor loudly mumbled "Nuh, wait."
Vox halted, whirling back. The blue glow of his screen blanketed the glum shadows lurking in the corners in a gentle shine. Alastor’s face was scrunched up in surplus vexation as he twisted to get a good look at Vox.
Vox took a few steps forward. "What?"
Alastor lifted his hands incredulously. "You can't leave me," he said, more of a whiny question than an authoritative command.
Vox rocked on his feet, squeamish. Truly, who was Alastor without an audience? Vox wondered if he was even capable of surviving without raining attention for at least ten minutes.
"I need-" Alastor began to weakly yank at the bedsheets below him. "-in."
Confusion slapped Vox again; even with a sober Alastor, Vox had difficulty understanding what came out of his mouth most of the time. When he saw Alastor nearly kick himself off the bed trying to wiggle the bedsheets from under him, Vox understood.
"Okay, okay hold on." He reached over, pulling Alastor's hands away to shift the sheet in a manner that didn't result with Alastor kissing the floor. "There we go," you little worm - he added in his head, and was simply glad Alastor didn't possess the ability to read minds. He flung the sheets to the side too and only when he glanced at Alastor did the jumpy turmoil ram into him with the power of a bull.
Alastor was still clothed. On his bed. With clothes. That needed to come off. So he could get in bed.
Clothes. Off.
Alastor... without... clothes...
Vox's eyes had blown wide open, face heating up.
Nope.
"You sleep with shoes on, right?" he asked hopefully.
Alastor gave him the most disgusted look Vox had ever seen on a human face. "No."
Vox sagged with disappointment as the exhilaration threatened to boil him on the spot. Everything he had ever dreamed of was coming true. Noooo.
"Do you need... help... changing?" his voice squeaked embarrassingly. Thank god, this man was wasted as a kite and wouldn't remember anything tomorrow.
Alastor laughed.
Vox plunged deeper in shame. The least the fucker could do was not laugh in his face. Bastard.
Patience running up, Vox considered calling Niffty for assistance when Alastor blithely snapped his fingers. His clothes poofed into non-existence with sparks of glittery, green magic, replaced with a pair of red, silk pajamas.
Vox let out a relieved breath and pushed down the wave of dejection whispering in his ear about what an idiot he was. It sounded like Alastor’s voice. Whether Vox heard encouraging affirmations, or gloomy taunting, he could hear Alastor’s voice and it always sounded softer than it did in reality.
"Well," he exhaled, tapping his fingers against his stomach to ground himself as Alastor clumsily got under the covers. "That's done. I'm gonna go now," before you make me lose my shit went unsaid.
For his own good, he prevented himself from staring at Alastor’s ears poking out of the plush blanket covering half of his head otherwise Vox would remain petrified forevermore and unable to tear his gaze away.
He made it exactly four steps before he felt a tentacle wrap around his middle and hoist him into the air. "Hey!" he shouted in vain as the appendage promptly deposited him on the bed.
Vox was too dazed to properly process what was happening, but slowly the situation began to claw at his throat.
"Al?!" Vox whispered, lost.
Alastor was next to him on the bed, eyes closed, pillow and blanket snug around him, looking as nonplussed as a child who'd eaten an entire jar of candy. "Mhm?" he asked as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
God, kill me now - Vox prayed internally. "What are you doing?" he meant to sound calm, but instead he sounded like someone held at gun point.
Alastor cracked an eye open. "What?"
"Why am I..?" IN YOUR BED?! "...here?"
Alastor shrugged, gaze still hazy. "You have sleepwear."
"Huh?" Vox's eye twitched and he looked down at himself and saw that his suit had indeed been replaced with a pair of black pajamas with a red emblazoned deer logo above his heart. His eye twitched again.
And again.
"...they're pretty nice." he noted, lifting a hand to feel the smoothness of the fabric. Alastor could wear those tattered, torn up clothes in public everyday with no shame, but his nightwear must be of the most luxurious, expensive quality? He could have the world, yet this small, dinky house was what he had chosen? He could clean his boots off Vox's bedsheets but he can't have a speck of dirt on his own? He can mock Vox as some validation seeker with a stickler attitude who needed everyone to like him and who always cared about what other people think, but he won't acknowledge what an attention seeker he was himself? He was an enigma and Vox couldn't help but get enamored by him.
"Only the best for you, dear." Alastor yawned, adjusting the pillow.
The record player suddenly sparked to life from the corner of the room, unleashing an angelic flood of piano keys, trumpets and saxophones strung with instrumental jazz played with passion and love. He recognized the song, it was one he had danced with Alastor on not so few occasions.
Well, one thing was for certain: when tomorrow rolled around, Vox will happily spend it terrorizing his employees more than he usually did. Perhaps, he'll maul some of them or feed them to his sharks. Or perhaps, he'll finally make a move on the ambiguous patch of land near Carmilla's district waiting to be claimed. Whichever he ended up choosing, it will be bloody and so, so cathartic. Blood red mixing in Vox's vision to temporarily muddle the silky river of hair he was staring at, helpless to turn away, which he wouldn't be able to eradicate from his senseless dreams even by his wildest nightmares.
This didn't mean anything. It's not as if Alastor... liked Vox that way. Of course, not. That would be crazy. As far as Vox could gauge out Alastor wasn't interested in anyone romantically and especially not sexually.
Fine. This was nothing more than a spontaneous fluke of a drunken, affectionate demon. Vox could handle that better than he could the alternative: that all he was to Alastor was another toy to entertain himself with.
It wasn't as though the thought hadn't crossed Vox's mind considering Alastor’s unserious, facetious stride up and down Hell's power ladder. That was what made Alastor so dangerous, he had no weakness, everything he did was for the fun and thrill of the chase. He was sophistication and elegance wrapped in a neat hedonistic, sadistic package.
He was divine.
Vox jolted out of his spiraling musings when he felt something brush against his forearm. The breath abandoned his lungs when he looked down and saw Alastor nuzzling his head against him.
"Uh," Vox's voice slightly shook, a foreign sensation that he hasn't felt since he was a junior cameraman. "Alastor?"
"Mhm?" His quiet, impossibly soft tone breezed over the starry silence of restful night like skipping stones.
The strength of diamonds shamed Vox's durability in that moment and their complexion paled in beauty compared to the wonderful sight of Alastor seeking him out. For a few seconds that felt like an endless eternity, Vox simply sat there, staring uselessly at the wall as he processed whether any of this was real.
His stomach dropped several layers below Hell when Alastor wound his arm around Vox's and slid it towards him to hold it close to his chest.
He took a deep breath. Then another one. Then another one. Alastor didn't know what he was doing, it was just his inebriated conscience driving his ridiculous choices. That's all. It wasn't the first time Vox had seen Alastor this drunk; he really did get all mushy and clingy when tipsy, but Vox hadn't even considered cozying up to him so brazenly. It didn't tarnish his ego to elevate Alastor as something untouchable, something that belonged in the sky so high above the meager, unremarkable crowd that represented the majority of humanity. Alastor was so different from everyone else and Vox didn't know how to process the fact that he was choosing to hang out with him, of all people, when he could have anyone.
Unlike Alastor, Vox hadn't had many people he could connect with in life. His risky, immoral endeavors of violence steeped in greed while exhilarating, left him isolated, cursed to wage through a bleak, vapid world alone and never be allowed to confide in anyone. When he had met Alastor... all of it had ebbed away. When he first saw Alastor tearing a sinner into pieces, he didn't pay attention to the river of blood under his footsteps or the screams piercing his ears. All he had thought was: he's like me. After fifty years of hiding from society, he could finally be himself around someone without being persecuted or frowned at, someone who not only understood Vox, but who encouraged him, who shared his curse and rewrote it entirely.
Now that precious marvel fate had sent to him was clutching at his arm like it was a lifeline. Alastor was always liberal and bold with his touches but this was different and if he was sober he would be chewing through Vox's arm before he started chewing through his own.
At a loss on what to do, Vox placed a conciliatory hand on Alastor’s shoulder and lightly shook him. "Hey," he whispered, cautious not to startle him. "Al, I think I should leave, this doesn't-" his breath hitched when Alastor only squeezed tighter.
His brows creased into a displeased frown and whatever cloyed on Vox's tongue that bordered on rational completely dissolved. He felt like an absolute jackass for even insinuating leaving Alastor alone, even if it was for the sake of salvaging the man's pride.
...and Vox's sanity.
"Okay," he drawled dumbly. "Okay."
Deciding it was the least harmful option, Vox slowly scooted to lie down. Alastor’s grip inhibited the movement, but after some adjusting he subconsciously followed Vox's direction. And by followed, Alastor practically melded himself to Vox's side. Gently, he took the blanket and threw it over both of them, taking a few mindful moments to make sure it covered Alastor’s shoulders well.
Vox ran a hand down his screen in a feeble attempt to sober up. He didn't have a say in the matter, not that he would have chosen any differently but the rapid pacing of his heart that threatened to explode his chest would forever remain ingrained in his memory. It was an odd sensation. It was both delightful and terrifying just as the contradicting demon leeching on him was. When Alastor let out a loose, content hum that vibrated through Vox's body where Alastor’s chest pressed flush against him, Vox nearly melted on the spot from the amount of pure, unfiltered joy it instilled in him.
"I hate you," he mumbled and cursed when Alastor wiggled closer as if to mock him.
Vox would have believed that if he wasn't certain Alastor's veins currently ran with alcohol instead of regular blood. He hadn't even noticed how his body had completely frozen up, as though afraid that if he moved then this delightful reality would crumple. The warmth exchanging between their forms was intoxicating; he didn't know where his own ended and Alastor's began.
They stayed like that for a while, neither of them said anything as the looming arrival of sleep crept closer. Alastor had slumped, all the rush and spirit cooling down, still nestled into Vox's side. Vox's arm had slightly gone numb from the uncomfortable angle Alastor had cramped it in, but there was no possible way of slipping it out of Alastor’s herculean hold without rousing him awake. And Vox really didn't have the heart to do that. Not when the soft fluttering of dreaming eyes fell so daintily against his brown skin as the only part of his face visible since his nose was buried snuggly in Vox's shirt. His hair had dropped over his cheeks in swell arches that made it look like floating rivers of ruby dipped in the nocturnal ink of the universe.
Vox's breath hitched. He really was looking at the most beautiful person in the world.
He shifted slightly, getting on his side to better see Alastor, and the movement incited a big yawn from the demon which made Vox instantly regret wishing for more. But, he has always had that rapacious greed when it came to beautiful things.
Vox blinked as the sight that seemed imprinted in the fabric of space came back to life. Alastor dug his face even closer, his cheek brushing so tenderly against Vox it was almost imperceptible if Vox wasn't buzzing with goosebumps, partly astonished at his own fortune and partly mesmerized by the tepid contrast of Alastor’s smooth features and the captivating sharpness of his teeth. The image of those lethal teeth sinking into supple, vulnerable flesh erupted in Vox’s mind, leaving him craving something he couldn't name. Blood - his blood - pooling into the sheets below as Alastor bit down was as tempting as the softness of those plush pink lips that balmed the violation and Vox didn't know which he wanted more against his skin.
He snapped back to the present with a rough yank of reality. Alastor was an anchor in a riveting form that Vox clung to with ravenous fingers, unable to let go lest risk the cold embrace of loneliness. Maybe tonight, just this one night, he could allow himself to indulge.
While one of his arms remained trapped in Alastor’s hold, he carefully looped the other over the demon's back. Vox didn't think it was possible, but the happiness in his wayward heart blossomed into something heavenly he would never forget.
Airy tufts of breath tickled Vox's skin where Alastor’s face was nuzzled and they nearly drove Vox mad with their steady, calm rhythm. Alastor had gone to sleep. He had sought Vox out for comfort and safety and he had trusted him enough to protect him. No matter how drunk Alastor currently was his behavior spoke volumes about his invoiced faith.
Alastor’s hair tickled his monitor and Vox nearly plunged himself into a bottomless sea of lovestruck bliss at the aroma of pine, whiskey and old books Alastor emanated. Vox was truly a depraved man; here he was, on top of the world and he couldn't get enough. He wanted to tighten his hold around Alastor and press them together until they became inseparable. He wanted to satisfy that intemperate urge to card his fingers through his hair and forget the outside existed. He wanted to plant his lips against Alastor’s forehead and kiss him so gently not a sound would be heard.
But, he didn't. He could never be on top of the world when Alastor was his world. And Vox wouldn't do any of that if Alastor wasn't aware. If Alastor didn't want to do those same things with Vox...
A deep sigh of aching, painful longing breezed out of him as he felt the clutches of warm repose and clawing hopelessness battling for victory over his soul. Alastor was always gentle with him. Vox knew he had a habit of tripping into wishful delusion sometimes, but he would be a fool not to notice how Alastor laced every touch they shared with utmost care, how he settled an arm, oh so lightly, on Vox's shoulder to cover him from danger while walking on the street, how he slid his knuckles against Vox's screen - knowing how delicate it was - with equal caution, how he listened to him infodump with rapt attention as though nothing else mattered, how he gazed at him with admiration imbued in his honeyed, brown eyes that Vox wouldn't mind staring at for the rest of time, how he treated him as though he was the most precious and important thing in the world...
...but, Vox wasn't stupid or presumptuous enough to believe Alastor was in love with him. Not... not like Vox was in love with Alastor. Right..? He didn't know what he was feeling. He didn't know what Alastor was feeling. It was all so fucking confusing. He had never felt this way about anyone, especially not a man. And Alastor was quite effeminate and touchy with him, so Vox couldn't be blamed for assuming. If he was smarter, he never would have even entertained the idea of feeding into those invasive thoughts, but despite the stinging throb they haunted his heart with, they were too delightful to resist. Alastor was too delightful for Vox to keep himself away.
He hadn't gotten to offer Alastor his business plan today, but it was alright. He could always try tomorrow because he knew whatever happens there's nothing that could excise Vox's fondness for this incredible man. The risk of asking for more was worth it because there was no rejection that could get Vox to give up this small piece of paradise that had found its way in his starving arms. This was enough. He would be more than happy to have just this, just these small, tender moments with the person he cared about more than anyone that made life worth living.
His screen tingled with an icy warmth and his chest stuttered when he felt the tear that had slid down his cheek. By all right, it shouldn't be possible for Vox to be ensconced in such lovely comfort and be sad. It just shouldn't. And yet, his soul itched for something that was missing, so close yet so out of reach.
Alastor was drooling on his shoulder, he vaguely registered. He couldn't see his face from how closely his head was tucked into the crook of Vox's neck. Vox couldn't help but to knead his thumbs in gentle circles in Alastor’s back, soothing, soporific. He glanced at the clock ticking away on the far wall. He could barely make out the digits and arrows, but thanks to the lurid lighting of his screen (which he dimmed down so as not to wake Alastor and preserve the tranquility they had built) he saw them pointing at around three o'clock.
Vox exhaled, laying back down. He didn't stop his considerate ministrations on Alastor’s back as his body went limp, finally getting the cue that it wouldn't burst into flames. He let his eyes close and his mind to wander the expanse of Alastor’s familiar jazz melodies, knowing they would pave a road of notes and song he could use for guidance. He could always use Alastor for guidance.
"Goodnight," Vox hushed, serene, at peace, and he couldn't wait to spend tomorrow chasing for this sensation again.