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Vincent Whittman has blood on his hands when he sees a demon.
There’s no reason for him to pay any attention to that demon, not when he just leans on the head anchor’s table with a glowing smile. So, Vincent does what anyone would do after slitting a throat—Wipe their hands.
Just for fun, Vincent glances over his shoulder with a presenter’s smile. “Who are you?”
“The future.” The demon laughs with a cadence that almost makes Vincent believe him, and there’s that distinct brightening of his screen when his eyes narrow.
There’s drying blood underneath his nails, and one of these days, Vincent will really need to stop being so impulsive with his kills. It shouldn’t be such an important detail, but he knows that something as simple as dirty nails can cause eyes to turn away from him.
Vincent folds the handkerchief back into his pocket. “Is that actually your name?”
“No.”
“Are you ever going to tell me your name?” he says, and it’s automatic to show the demon that easy smile. “Or do I just keep referring to you as ‘my demon’.”
The demon walks towards him with that laugh, and Vincent quite likes the deepness, the ease. “You’re closer than you think,” he says, bending to meet Vincent’s eyes. There’s a slight swirl in one, and Vincent almost loses himself before the demon says, “Vox.”
Vox.
It’s not like any name he’s heard before.
Vincent pushes him away, and just for fun, nudges the head on his competitor with the very tip of his shoe, forcing those dead eyes to look away. “What are you doing here?”
“You tell me.” Vox leans his screen closer, and the heat from the screen tingles his skin. “It was you who invited me here.”
Vox takes his hands, careful not to pierce his skin with those sharp claws. Vincent’s hands are slender but long, yet cradled in the hand of this demon . . . it looks fragile.
There’s a moment where Vox stares into his eyes, and brings his hands closer to the entrance of the mouth. It’s a tongue that slithers out, connecting with Vincent’s fingers. There’s a small impulse to pull away, to retract from the warmth of Vox’s tongue, yet it disappears just as fast as it came.
Vox trails that tongue over those specks of dried blood.
“You took your time,” he says, watching the way Vox laps between his fingers. “If you’re not going to help me then go away.”
Vox laughs around his fingers, and he can feel the vibrations of it on his skin. It disappoints him more than he would like when Vox releases his hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Vox places a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the body. “Tell me—Why him? I want to know.”
Those hands trail down his body until it lands on the small of his waist, guiding him just a little closer to the body. Vincent left a mess of blood, but it certainly finished the job. “The network told me they didn’t have an opening for their weatherman,” he says. “I simply created one.”
Vox’s smile sharpens like a knife, and somehow, Vincent knows he did good. “Since I’m already here, I suppose I should be asking you what you want, for a price or some shit. Isn’t that how a summoning usually works?”
There’s a thought that flashes through his mind, refusing to be ignored. Vincent decides to keep his lips sealed instead.
Vox tugs on his face, the tips of his claws lightly piercing his cheek. “Don’t be hasty or shy,” he says, caressing Vincent’s bottom lip with the smooth part of his thumb. “I already know what you want—Don’t back down on me now.”
“If you already know, why not just give it to me?”
Vox laughs into his face, and it’s different from the usual one. It’s a bit looser, a little more uncomposed.
“I’m bored of trying to teach you the same lesson over and over again.” Vox leans close enough for Vincent to feel the static on his screen. “Take what you desire, Vincent, whatever or whoever it takes with no remorse.”
Vincent leans a little closer. “Why should I listen to you?”
“Trust me.” Vox hovers inches away from his lips, but never fully connects. “Trust us.”
Vincent likes those words. Trust me.
It’s a little too easy to wrap his fingers around the screen, tracing the side with his thumb. Vox stares at him, and it’s a little too smug for his liking. So, Vincent pushes his lips towards him like he’s done so many times before.
Kissing Vox always seems to surprise him. There’s that expectation for it to be wet or awkward, and so different for typical kisses.
It irritates him to no end that Vox keeps the sharpness of his teeth hidden, like Vincent is some kind of damsel in need of care. One of these days, Vincent will make him use them on him. It irritates him even more when his fingers begin to warm from the screen, and so does his lips.
How annoying to know that Vox defies all his expectations, especially when tangible lips kiss him back.
Vox swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, then pushes inside just a little deeper. For some reason, Vincent opens his mouth, and that tongue pushes inside. It’s then and there that Vincent realizes the reason why he always opens his mouth to Vox, especially when it warms him even further.
He tried once to return what Vox always so eagerly gave him, but Vincent never gets too far. There isn’t enough space to move his own tongue, not when Vox fills his mouth.
There’s a moment where Vox presses the pad of his thumb on his chin, tilting Vincent’s head to adjust the angler of their mouths. It’s unfair how demons own this much control over their tongues, and Vox makes use of that ability by wrapping it around his own.
The kiss lasts for as long as it can, and then just a little longer after that, until every drop of desire can be taken with no remorse, with no hesitation.
Every, single, light heats Vincent’s skin because every, single, camera points their lens at him. All is as it should be.
“That’s it for today,” Vincent says, mimicking a smile that reminds him of a warm screen and swirling eyes. “And remember, trust us with your weather.”
The lights shut without warning, and every, single, eyes turn towards the host. That’s not a problem. After all, Rome wasn’t built in a day. The next time Vincent has blood in his hands, he doesn’t see a demon.
It looks like a double suicide.
Two bodies are strung together by the microphone’s chord. There’s no blood in his hand this time, yet that familiar prick of static ignites his skin. Those pesky eyes of his flutter to a close, chasing the caress hidden beneath the static. It takes everything to force them open.
Vincent searches the dim set, eyes scanning the room until it lands on Vox. He’s seated on one of those interview couches, that same easy smile flashed on his screen.
There’s this moment . . . well, it’s a little bit more than a moment, actually.
Vincent stares at the swirl in Vox’s eyes, pulling him so deep into his mind that Vincent almost drowns. It disappears before he could fully lose himself, and there’s a part of him that wants to drown in the depths of those swirls.
Vox hasn’t changed, still wearing the same ridiculous bowtie and hat, but Vincent has done quite a bit of changing from the nobody he once was.
In the end, it’s Vincent who loses the silent game. Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as he thought. “Where have you been?””
“Around.” Vox traces the lining of the couch. “You haven’t been inviting me.”
“I have.”
Vox tilts his head all the way to the side. “The phone bill is getting expensive, babydoll,” he says, glancing around the set then to the hanging bodies. “You’ve done well for yourself. I’m impressed.”
There’s a spark that ignites inside him, yet underneath all that, a pang of disgust and denial flares then disappears. Still, Vincent answers a little bit too eagerly. “Really?”
“Close enough.” Vox stands from the chair, walking over just to search Vincent’s eyes. It makes him feel a little small, enough for that inkling of irritation to grip him. “So, what have you been up to?”
“Nothing much,” he says, a little clipped. “This would be easier if you did something about the bodies.”
“And take all the publicity away?” Vox laughs close enough for the static to kiss his skin. “Dead bodies bring more news than missing ones. I thought you already knew that?”
Vincent studies the face on the screen. There are mismatched outlines that color his eyes. It reminds Vincent of his own, and through this face, they share a common feature. Perhaps that’s why Vincent presses a hand on the edge of his screen, and it’s still as warm as he remembers it to be.
Vincent traces the bottom of Vox’s lips, still so surprised there are actual lips to touch. “I do, but a little mystery always helps,” he says. “One of these days, you will help me.”
“I look forward to seeing you try.” Vox curls his tongue around Vincent’s finger, even if there’s no blood to lap away.
“Then keep watching me.”
There’s a small laugh that escapes Vox this time. It sounds more amused than his usual deep laughter. There’s this flash in his eyes when Vox grabs him by the shoulder, dragging his across the floor. Vox places a hand on his chest, and they’re wide enough to cover the expanse of it. It takes almost no effort to push him back onto the couch.
Vox hovers above him, that same buzz of static kissing his skin. “Is there anything else you like to do besides murder and sabotage? Surely, you have a hobby.”
“I’m done answering your questions.” Vincent parts his legs when Vox steps between them. It’s an automatic response, one he isn’t sure he particularly likes, but Vox only closes the space between them. Vincent can make an exception. “I know nothing about you.”
“There’s no rush, you’ll learn everything eventually,” he says. “I could answer all your questions, but I’d rather suck your cock.”
Vincent laughs at him, and it’s so different from the deep and commanding laughter that comes from Vox. There’s an urge to close his thighs together, but Vox only pushes them apart. Honestly, Vincent doesn’t even know what to say.
“Well, isn’t this how it usually works?” Vox trails a finger down the length of his pants, scratching on the inseams. A low tingle crawls up his spine. “You call a demon, and get a reward.”
“Those usually come with strings attached.”
Vox kisses him first this time, and Vincent hates how he pulls away before he could fully grasp those lips. “Then I could leave.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Vincent grabs onto his wrist, digging his nails into the skin with an easy smile that comes from practice.
“If you want it, just take it,” Vox says, tilting his head with the tip of his claw. “Without mercy, without remorse. Whatever you need to do.”
“Then what—I suck your cock after?”
It’s then and there that Vincent wonders if demons even have cocks. Vox answers his question with a simple push of his hips and . . . oh!
“Not tonight. I prefer receiving, but I’m not above a little head if it gets me what I want.” Vox forces his mouth open with the tips of his claws, parting it as wide as it can stretch. Vincent trails his tongue around the fingers he could reach. “But you can’t handle that yet. It won't fit here."
That same spark ignites in his spine, and Vox sees it too.
Greed.
Vox leans forward to nuzzle and mouth at the growing bulge underneath his pants, compelling it to harden further. There’s a moment that Vox takes. He keeps his screen between Vincent’s legs, even as the heat from him settles on his skin. There really isn’t much to say when a demon unbuttons his pants with a teasing slowness, and pulls it down all the way to his knees.
A warm flush of embarrassment tingles his cheeks. Surely, demon cock is much more impressive than human ones. Yet Vox traces him with the back of his hands and it’s such a gentle caress that he doesn’t know what to do. “I’ve missed you.”
“Me?”
Vox glances at him, then wraps his hands around his cock, and Vincent digs his head into the back of the couch with a gasp. “Sure.”
Vox traces his tip with the pad of his thumb. There’s something surreal about the hand that holds his cock. It's bigger than Vincent’s own hand, but it fits around Vox almost a little too perfectly, like they were made for this moment.
It’s made obvious why Vox is here when he trails that tongue around him like a snake, and only sheer willpower keeps Vincent from coming right then and there. It’s still as warm as everything about Vox. There’s that distinct buzz of static on his tongue, and Vincent thinks he might actually come just from that.
“Fuck!” he says, because there really isn’t much to say, not when Vox tightens his tongue around him. “Do you do this often?”
Vox laughs and each puff of his breath blows on his skin. “As often as you do.”
Well . . . Vincent doesn’t really know what to say to that, not without telling Vox just how little cock he’s sucked.
So, he grabs Vox’s screen, and thrusts himself inside that mouth. It’s a little unfair how Vox doesn’t even pretend to choke, but laughs with such a dizzying deepness that makes Vincent want to strip out those vocal cords. “That’s right, baby,” he says. “You’re so good for me.”
Vox pulls away from him with a judgmental squint of his eyes. That’s fair. “Your bedroom talk could use a little work,” he says, yet he drags his tongue across the expanse. “I’m losing interest.”
Vincent considers this for a moment, because this is the longest Vox has ever stayed with him. Letting his leave now would be a mistake. “What do you like?”
“All the things you do.” Vox takes him into his mouth again, but doesn’t move.
The answer sounds so simple, even when it isn’t. “My eyes are on you, baby,” he says, and Vox only tightens his lips around his cock. Vincent has to take a moment to muffle the moan. “You’re all I see.”
The edges of Vox’s lips curl, and it seems he’s pleased with the response. Vox’s tongue wraps around his dick, tightening around it with that same dizzying pleasure. Vincent leans his head back into the couch, and that warmth from Vox’s mouth disappears immediately.
Vox raises an eyebrow at him. “That wasn’t our deal.”
Fuck.
Vincent turns back just to look; eyes focused on the way Vox takes him again. It takes every bit of his control to keep his eyes open, even as Vox uses the floor of his mouth to rub against his head.
Every inch of that wet mouth sinks deeper into him, calming him like he’s never been claimed before. It’s getting harder to think, harder to keep watching, but Vincent keeps his eyes on the way Vox tightens his lips even further.
Vox laughs around him, dragging a particular sound out of Vincent. There’s a part of him that knows Vox hums around his cock just to hear it again. There’s something about the way Vox pushes on Vincent’s knees, mouth so full of his cock. It’s there that Vincent remembers all the things that Vox tries to teach him. So, he forgets all gentleness, and grabs the edges of that screen to take everything he wants.
And he wants more of Vox.
Vincent comes inside him in long and hot stripes, and Vox doesn’t release him until he too has taken everything he wants from him, and Vincent wants him to take it all.
After all, that is what they do.
Vincent shines brighter than ever, yet his demon isn’t there to watch. Just a little more bodies then. Surely, by then, those mismatched eyes will come and look at him.
“Come on!” Vincent says with a laugh that reminds him of sharp teeth and tacky bowties. “Trust me with your network.”
Vincent Whittman has blood in his hands when he sees a demon. It’s just a tiny cut this time, taking no more than a drop of blood. Yet, Vox cradles his hands like they’re fragile, stroking his thumb across the skin. To someone like Vox who owns sharp claws, perhaps his hands are fragile.
It’s those same mismatched eyes that stare at him, and Vincent stares back. There’s so much he wants to say, and so much more he wants to do, because there’s been too much they’ve never been able to say and do simply because Vox wouldn’t show himself.
But Vox is here now, cradling his hands in the abandoned aquarium just before his big speech.
“You’re here,” Vincent says, a little awkwardly. Still, he digs his nails into Vox, refusing to release him. “You’re actually here.”
There’s a soft look flashed across his face, and it accompanies this weird silence. Vincent gives him the time, because Vox is here, and they will have time. It’s funny really, because the cut in his hand can barely be called one, but Vox brings it to his lips, and uses his teeth to draw more.
Vincent gives him the reaction he wants, and maybe a little more because Vox laps on the skin of his hand until he’s had his fill.
Vox releases him, but Vincent keeps his hand firm around Vox. “I’m here.”
“I’ve built an empire,” he says. “I’ve taken everything I’ve ever wanted and more, just like you told me. They trust me, Vox.”
The silence returns. It’s unnatural for him to be this silent, and Vincent hates it.
Still . . . Vox brushes a hand across his greying hair, and it’s a nice enough of a sensation that Vincent forgives him. There’s a small urge to laugh at Vox, because there’s no way this demon is turning sentimental on him. Vincent already knows where he’s going when he dies, and Vox should know it too. Together, they could rule Hell . . . Together.
Vincent quite likes that.
Vox studies his face with an easy smile, then those eyes of his turn away to look around. Vincent doesn’t quite like that. “Are we at the aquarium?”
“The owner owed me a favor. It’s mine now.”
Vox runs a thumb across his cheek, and it’s the softest touch he’s received from him. It’s not at all surprising when he leans down to kiss him.
Only then does Vincent realize how much he’s missed this. The buzzing of static on his skin. The lips on him that shouldn’t feel real but is. That sense of wonder and disgust all combine until it melts because Vox’s lips are on him, taking as much as Vincent takes from him as well.
It's different from all the kisses they’ve shared before, yet it isn’t long enough—not to Vincent anyway.
Vox fixes his bowtie for him with a sharp and proud smile. “Good luck out there, Vincent.”
“I don’t need your luck,” he says, mimicking the same smile that’s been haunting him for years. “All eyes are going to be looking at me . . . At what we’ve done.”
“We?”
“Of course.”
There’s a laugh that escapes Vox, and it’s not the deep one that Vincent has mastered, but a lighter one that sounds like his own true laugh, the same laugh he’s tried to hide for years.
Perhaps, that’s why Vincent grabs his hand once more. “Will I see you again?”
“You will.” Vox brings his hand to his mouth with a smile, letting those lips brush over the skin with a jolt of static. “Just a little more, and you will never have to stop.”
Vincent smiles at that a little. Just for fun, he says, “How do you know that?”
“Trust me,” he says, and Vincent does. “Trust us.”
So, Vincent mimics a smile that reminds him of mismatched eyes and buzzing static. After all, there should be nothing less than perfect when he’s about to baptize his flock into a new era of entertainment.