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Vox wasn't sure when it started. Was it after Alastor rejected his proposal? Was it after he formed the Vees? Or was it a random day on a random year?
Regardless of when it started, it always ended the same way.
Vox looked at the clock, a familiar sense of both dread and excitement washing over him as it struck at the specified time. He took a deep breath and merged with the grid, moving through a private line known to only two people. He appeared in a room bathed in red and green. Flames crackled in the fireplace, casting shadows on the walls.
Was he early?
Hands grabbed his lapels and pulled him into a hungry kiss. His back met the mattress as his clothes were pulled off before he could even register what was happening.
“Wait! Ah! Calm down!” Vox gasped, his pants torn off. Couldn't he go through one night together without ripping anything?
Alastor loomed over him, taking his own coat off and pulling at his tie. He pressed his face against Vox’s neck and dug in the tips of his teeth. Vox flinched.
“Remember the rules, Vox. This is your only warning.”
First rule: No words.
Cries, gasps, groans, and moans. All the sounds he could make that had little to no level of coherence were welcome. Alastor even encouraged screaming at times. But never words. Never actual communication.
Vox hated that rule.
Clothes fell to the ground, littering the carpet. Alastor's hands spread his legs apart, making him glitch at the sudden motion. A finger pulled at the butt plug he had in, drenched in lube. He pulled it out and lined himself against him, the tip of his cock pushing against the tight ring of muscle.
Second rule: No foreplay.
Vox cried out as Alastor thrusted inside, popping the head through and shoving the entirety of his length right after, leaving Vox no moment of reprieve. Vox’s back arched, claws grabbing and ripping the sheets. He winced, panting as Alastor fully buried himself inside him. Tears trickled down his cheeks and slipped over the edge of his screen.
Alastor's tongue flicked over his nipples, allowing at least a bit more pleasure with the pain. This was the only sign of comfort before he started pulling his hips back.
Wait.
Alastor thrusted in again, and again, and again, groaning as he increased the pace. Vox writhed, trying to ground himself as Alastor pulled his knees apart wider, his toes curling in the air. Vox’s eyelids fluttered, his lips parting as his moans increased in volume. Alastor's hand grabbed his ass, the other pressing against his chest as the brutal pace started to stutter.
Vox bit his lip, his hand moving to grab himself and stroking in time with Alastor's thrusts. He wanted to call his name, to tell him how good it felt, and how close he was.
Alastor. Please.
Vox cried out, coming as his body trembled with pleasure. A tongue went past his lips, drinking in the whimpers as Alastor slammed his hips harder against him. With a final thrust, Vox groaned as he felt Alastor come inside.
They laid there for a moment, chest to chest, their heavy panting filling the room. When Vox regained his composure, his cleaner hand moved to run his fingers through Alastor's hair. Before he could, Alastor withdrew from him, standing and walking to the bathroom door.
He didn't look back as he went through and closed it behind him.
Third rule: Regardless where, nothing happens past what's agreed on.
Vox took a deep breath, biting his lips as the familiar pain pinched deep inside his chest. He sat up, shaking—wincing—as the aches and pains started to throb; the high faded and left emptiness in its wake. His wires brought his clothes to him, and he dressed as best he could, making sure no traces of him were left. He remembered one night. He’d accidentally left his bowtie and Alastor gave it back, shredded beyond recognition.
Again. No words. They weren't needed to convey what it meant.
Vox merged back into the grid and appeared in his room a few seconds later. He bathed, taking longer than normal. After these rendezvous, Vox always felt an extra layer of self-loathing against his skin. He pulled his knees up as he pressed his back against the ceramic, waiting for the shame to lessen. This night took a particularly long time to wash off.
When he went to bed—cold and alone—like every one of the nights that came before, he again wondered why he let this happen. How many times had he let himself be used without consequence? How many times had Alastor called him and Vox responded eagerly—desperately—panting for the scraps of attention he was willing to give him?
He’d tried to end it before, and Alastor would scoff and roll his eyes, unbothered by a threat Vox never delivered. Vox would always be the one coming back to him, tail between his legs, almost begging to be let back in.
Pathetic. So fucking pathetic.
Vox sat up, knowing it was useless trying to fall asleep with all the thoughts clouding his mind. He took a bottle of whisky and went to his office, placing it next to him with a glass of ice he’d picked up from the kitchen on the way there. He poured himself a drink and took a piece of paper from his drawer. He placed the nib of his pen against the blank sheet.
A few minutes later, the ink had seeped into it, creating a large blob. He crumpled it, threw it away, and got a fresh one.
Dear Al—
Fuck no. That was just asking to be mocked from the get-go.
Alastor,
Okay. Better.
It was cold—detached. Exactly how he wanted to appear.
This relationship we have—
What fucking relationship? They weren't even friends. Alastor made that perfectly clear.
Whatever this is, I don't want to do it anymore.
Him being a glorified blow up doll. Intimate touches turned aggressive, almost performative. An agreement that slowly became one-sided in the long run.
Being strangers would be better.
The lines stuttered, his grip on his pen tightening as he wrote. Vox wasn't sure if the statement was a lie anymore. As much as it hurt to even write, wouldn't it get easier eventually?
Goodbye.
Vox held the paper in his hands, the words not unlike the many he’d written, said, and taken back before. There was something missing. Something that's always been in the numerous attempts to sever this. He downed the drink next to him and grimaced. The ice had completely melted, diluting the alcohol.
His eyes widened and he pressed a finger against a lock on one of his desk drawers. It opened and he rummaged inside. He took out an old, torn photo: one he’d kept for years. Alastor's smile looked back at him, his edges solid with no signs of distortion. Vox’s hand shook as he furrowed his brows and laid it on the desk, face down.
He took his pen and wrote.
“You look chipper today,” Charlie commented as Alastor walked into the lobby, his smile wider than usual.
Why wouldn't he be? Last night gave him much needed relief.
The lobby seemed to have more sinners than usual, people lined up to the reception area and awaited their assigned room. Some were at the bar, calling out orders to Husker who was either mixing drinks or throwing them at rude customers. Nifty could be seen darting and weaving through the crowd, needle in hand, collecting a sizable amount of cockroaches.
If Alastor could frown, this would be the time.
Usually, he reveled in the chaos of sinners looking tortured in close quarters, but this wasn't truly suffering. Annoying would be the best way to describe it. He sighed and turned to Charlie. She already had a stack of papers in front of her. Alastor sighed and waved his hand, a moppet appearing to relieve her of the pile.
“I'm guessing I have more in my office?” Alastor asked, almost dreading the answer.
Charlie gave him a lopsided smile.
Alastor sighed. He didn't think being the host of the hotel would require him to do secretarial work as well. In hindsight, having someone with his infamous reputation wouldn't scream welcome if he greeted guests at the door.
“Sorry, Al. I know it's a lot, and I’d love to help, but dad and I are really close to cracking a step by step routine for specific sinners.”
Alastor's jaw tensed. “Wouldn't I, a sinner, be more suitable—”
“Don't worry, Al. We got this covered. Trust me, your skills are best where they are.”
Feedback screeched in the background, but Charlie had already turned away, skipping to bother the guests with her boundless and suffocating enthusiasm. He twirled his cane, driving the tip against the carpet. It left a scorch mark before he headed for his office.
As much as he’d like to convince himself his value was appreciated in this hotel, he found it hard to believe that paperwork was what fueled it. His specialties weren't utilized and, despite his broadcasts bringing in a decent amount of listeners through the front doors, they still insisted on using “social media” and other modern quick fixes.
Alastor walked into his office, eyes narrowing at the new piles of paper on his desk. He pinched his nose, preparing himself for another day of routine deskwork.
The hours flew by once he managed to focus on the task at hand. When the light outside dimmed, he stood up, his back cracking as he did. The last of the papers were set aside for the next stack of papers. He stared at the table. A part of him had the urge to engulf the damn thing in fire and watch every crack and splinter of charred wood disintegrate to ashes.
He walked to the window, watching the skyline of the Pentagram. Despite him not eating anything since he entered this office, his body seemed heavier than before. Countless times he’d wondered if staying in this damned place was better than being out there, rampaging like he usually did, but then he remembered that the Morningstars were a source of untapped power he had yet to take advantage of.
With Charlie's influence spreading, and the king backing her in an effort to gain back her respect, it wouldn't be long before the power dynamic shifted again.
And Alastor needed to be on the side that had the advantage.
He took his cane and exited the room. As he walked down the hallway, he watched as the sinners loitering there parted or slipped back to their rooms as he passed. As convenient as teleporting was, savoring the fear he still evoked from sinners was a welcome reminder of his status.
Alastor walked into his room and prepared to wind down. He took off his coat, placed his cane aside, and sat down. The flames ignited at the fireplace and he sighed, flicking his wrist as a glass Sazerac appeared in his hand.
He took a sip and moved to place the glass on the table when he noticed something was already there. He placed the cup beside it, cautiously taking what seemed like paper—no—a picture?
His own face looked back at him next to the torn edge. He recognized it, the other half stored in the deepest corner of his closet drawer. What was it doing here? It definitely wasn't there when he’d left that morning.
He noticed familiar handwriting on its back.
Alastor,
Whatever this is, I don't want to do it anymore.
Being strangers would be better.
Goodbye.
V
Alastor paused for a moment before barking out a laugh, his arms covering his stomach as it grew hysterical. How utterly dramatic! Did Vox actually think this would draw out a reaction other than ridicule? He read it again and continued to laugh before slamming it against the table. He took deep breaths, calming himself as he shook his head, his fingers wiping off tears from his eyes.
“You never cease to amaze me with how pathetic you are, Vox,” Alastor said. He teleported to his bedside table and pulled open a drawer filled with notes and letters containing similar sentiments and dropped the image there like one would put a cherry on top of a cake.
His gaze landed on the bed: its sheets freshly changed with no evidence of what happened the night before. His thoughts wandered to the image of Vox’s face tearing up, eyes rolling up in pleasure. The sounds of his groans and cries rang in Alastor's head as he recalled how his hand pulled Vox’s back into an arch. The tight, warm clenching around his—
His bloodlust and need to dominate were usually quelled by a mix of battles and massacres he’d do on a regular basis. When he met Vox, he realized that he liked the idiot pining for him like a poor lovesick fool. Not only was Vox incredibly obvious about it, the persona he assumed with him compared to the one he used with other people was night and day.
Loathe as he was to admit it, Vox was a cunning, manipulative, charming, and powerful Overlord. Alastor wouldn't have enjoyed seeing him act so jarringly sweet with him if the difference wasn't as stark.
One touch. One dance. One drunken kiss. Anything Alastor would deign to give him got Vox hungry for more. Alastor controlled him so completely that Vox had been ready to jump into bed with him regardless of how much pain Alastor had willingly caused. He rejected his proposal as he mocked and laughed at him to his face, openly labeled him as nothing but noise and chatter poisoning the airwaves, and battled him countless times. He’d forgotten how many injuries he’d dealt.
And even then, Vox would fold and bend to his will, giving up his body—his dignity—to make Alastor happy.
It was a twisted psychological dependency that Alastor couldn't help but let fester. It was so beautifully tragic that he couldn't help but marvel at the woeful display.
How long would Vox last this time? A day? Possibly a week? How much groveling would he be willing to do to get back in his good graces?
Either way, Alastor was more than willing to wait it out. It wouldn't be so bad to let his meal marinate before throwing it in the fire.
It had been a week and Vox could already feel the ache of loss turning into symptoms of withdrawal. His legs shook beneath his desk whenever his thoughts remained idle. His head ran in circles, going through apologies that he had to keep locked away.
He kept staring at the outlet that led to their private line, stopping himself from diving into it and begging Alastor to take him back. What if he got sick of his shit and decided Vox wasn't worth keeping anymore?
Would he find someone else to use? Were there other options?
He started getting dizzy before he realized he was hyperventilating. Vox shook his head, forcing himself to reboot. He stood up and walked out of his office, bee-lining to the porn department and making his way to the studio. Everyone parted to give way to him, some outright running when they saw him approach their general vicinity.
He found Valentino in his office with two bimbos at his sides.
“Get out!” he yelled, electricity zapping through his body. The women scrambled out immediately.
“Hey! I was using—”
Vox sat on Valentino's lap and hugged him, face buried in the fur of his wings. He kept his tears at bay, breathing deeply to keep himself calm. Arms wrapped around him and he sighed in relief.
“What's wrong, amorcito?” Val asked, his voice a purr as fingers caressed his sides in comfort. “Want me to help you release some steam?”
Vox said nothing, only burying his face deeper. “Just. Stay there.”
Valentino's hand paused at his sides, noticing how he trembled. He said nothing else and pulled him into a tighter hug. This was what he loved the most about Val. He loved how, despite them both being monsters, the vulnerability Vox had was comfortably shed in his presence.
He wished he was in love with Val instead, and Val could be in love with him too. Unfortunately, Val wasn't one to settle and Vox was stupid.
“Everything sucks,” Vox muttered, “Can you just hide me in your wings or something?”
“Awww, I’m so sorry mi amor, but you make the dough so…”
“Jerk.”
“I love you too, baby.”
Vox stayed that way as Val continued to scroll on his phone. Vox's eyes fluttered, his initial panic waning, and fell asleep.
“You’ve been such an asshole!” Charlie shouted, pressing a finger against Alastor's chest.
Alastor wasn't sure what was the princess’ breaking point. Was it enraging Vagatha to the point of insanity? Hours on end in the bar so no other sinner can order? Pulling Husk’s chain in the lobby when his mouth got smart? Or eating a few of the residents for breathing too loudly?
He still couldn't guess.
“Okay. Clearly you're going through something but everyone else is suffering and we have no idea how to help you,” Charlie said.
She had dragged him into his office when he went out just to get a cup of coffee. Granted, someone had been using the coffee maker so Alastor opted to put him in the grinder instead.
“I have no idea what you mean, Princess,” he said, feigning innocence. “I don't think I’ve been acting too out of sorts, have I?”
“You’re not allowed to use violence on the residents and you can't speak to any of them either. I’ll give you a week to think about your actions,” Charlie said. “Until then, I’m putting Dad in charge of your work.”
Static screeched in the background. “Can he even read?” Alastor asked.
Charlie ignored him. “Maybe use this time to reflect, Al.”
Lucifer slammed the door open, the wind from his entrance scattering the papers around. “Hi Bambi! Guess I’ve got to jump in and fix your mess—again!” He sighed, giving him an exaggerated look of disappointment. “When will you learn?”
Alastor walked out the door. If he stayed a second longer, he might burn everything to the ground. He ignored Charlie's attempts to stop him, her voice turning into an incoherent drone in the background until it quieted.
Alastor opened the door to his room and walked in. He made his way to the vanity and took a cigarette from the box he’d left, ignoring the full ash tray beside it. He lit it and inhaled the smoke, pressing it against his lips seconds later.
A month.
Vox had managed to keep away from him for a month.
When the second week ended, Alastor planned for ways to make Vox pay as soon as he appeared before him. He had cycled through bondage, chains, and maybe even some light torture. The list had continued until the end of the third week. When he reached the end of the paper, the light torture turned to much more violent methods Vox would definitely not survive.
“This is ridiculous,” he growled, stubbing the cigarette burned to its end before slipping into his shadow.
The entertainment district had so many lights that it was hard to slip through shadows cast by them with how obnoxious every storefront was. Music screamed from every corner, as if its volume could mask how abhorrent the quality was. Sinners of the worst kind roamed its streets, what they wore basically equated to shreds of fabric pierced into different areas of the body.
Alastor turned to the large building set in the middle, watching numerous people walking to and fro. He slipped in the shadow of a particularly large crocodile and entered the establishment. He could almost feel the amount of Vox’s concentrated static in the air. It was easy enough to match his frequency before he moved from one shadow to another, climbing to the peak of the ridiculously tall building.
“—Mr. Vox in his office. Not sure who it was, but it must’ve been important.” The passing sinner shushed his companion before leaning closer. “They say it's the CEO’s new fling. I wish someone could tape it.”
The two snickered before they flinched, hands to the sides of their heads, as a high-pitched screech cracked through the air.
The room with the double doors creaked open and beside it: golden lettering spelled to form the name ‘Vox’.
Alastor turned corporeal, pulling at his lapels as he walked inside.
Vox was pinned to the edge of the desk by a man that looked similar to a fox. His tail swished as he took Vox by the waist, pulling him closer. Vox's expression looked shy, eyes half-lidded, laughter in his eyes.
“I think that's quite enough,” Alastor said. His hand swiped at the sinner, stabbing him with his claws. He turned large, immediately sweeping the corpse into his open jaw, crushing and swallowing in one go. He went back to his normal size, licking his fingers in satisfaction.
Vox didn't flinch. He only sighed, shook his head, and glared at him.
“What do you want?”
“Vox, I’m tired of this game you're playing by yourself.” Alastor approached Vox, taking up the space the fox had been in. He leaned close, hands on either side of Vox’s hips. He could smell the clean scent of musk and could almost taste that skin on his tongue. His gaze moved to Vox’s neck, so open and exposed for him to bite into. “I need you. Tonight.”
“No, Alastor,” Vox said, firmly pushing him back. Alastor took him by the waist, pulling him close to litter kisses down his neck.
Vox bit his lip, hands on Alastor's shoulders, gripping them.
“Be thankful I’m not taking you now,” Alastor said, kisses turning to small nips, his tongue dragging against the grey-blue skin. He supressed a shudder of want as the salty taste of his skin filled his senses. “Stop making me wait, sweetheart.”
Vox scoffed, pulling away from him and circling the desk to put it between them. “I told you. It's better if we're strangers. I'm done with you using me and throwing me away.”
“Don't put it so crudely,” Alastor said, eyes trailing down to his chest and waist. Vox turned, arms crossed. Alastor's eyes gazed down to his backside—and stayed there.
“No, Al. I'm putting it frankly,” Vox said. “I know you don't care for me. It wasn't easy to accept, but I get it now. Just leave me alone. Maybe—Maybe look for someone else to do it with you or something. I'm sure there's a line up to the border if you so much as wink at someone.”
There it is: the barely concealed attraction to him Vox assumed everyone had. Alastor could say he was attractive, but Vox placed him on such a high pedestal that, in his eyes, no one could compare. It was that admiration Vox had of him—the one that bordered reverence—that no one else harbored.
Vox, and only Vox, could be allowed beneath him, looking at him with worship and love.
Alastor took a deep breath, taking a seat on one of the chairs in front of the desk. He contemplated as Vox turned to him with a raised brow, confused by his silence. Alastor knew how to adapt, and adjusting to this newfound independence Vox learned to follow through wasn't any different. Maybe he’d preferred the stick to the carrot for too long.
“I'm sorry, Vox,” he said.
Vox’s face glitched, and his eyes narrowed. “What is this?”
“An apology,” Alastor replied, standing up and approaching him. He didn't crowd or close the gap. Instead, he slowly reached his hand and held Vox’s, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “I…I realized that I don't want to lose you longer than I already have.”
He lowered his ears, putting on the saddest expression he had while keeping a smile that was barely there. “I was foolish. I shouldn't have—” He paused, darting his eyes to the side to convey what he hoped was regret. “I should've been more open with my feelings. You’ve stayed with me—endured my ways—for so long that the least you deserved was trust.”
Vox’s glare softened, but Alastor kept his gaze lowered.
Patience.
“I don't want to feel like an afterthought,” Vox said. “If you don't have those feelings then I’ll respect that, but you can't expect me to not want…that.”
“Do you want me to love you?” Alastor asked.
Vox shook his head, moving away. “No? Maybe? I don't know, okay?”
Alastor let the silence sit and moved to look at the skyline outside. The pause would allow Vox to collect his thoughts. Alastor wondered how long he’d need to keep this up before Vox could be pliable again. It was likely Alastor needed to keep him emotionally satiated so he, in turn, could keep him physically satisfied. He schooled his features, not wanting his annoyance to show.
Vox sat on the edge of the desk, gaze downcast. After a while he said, “I know you don't want anyone else knowing about what we are—whatever that is. That's fine. I'd rather not have anyone else involved, not until we can at least name it. But when we’re physically together, I want something more.”
“More?”
“The rules,” Vox said, glaring at him. “I hate them.”
Alastor nodded. It was obvious Vox did from the start, but they were there for a reason. Vox fulfilled a purpose and left Alastor to his own devices. If Vox didn't depend on him so much for validation and romantic reciprocity, he’d understand how efficient that arrangement was.
No matter, it's all temporary. If he played his cards right, he could even push Vox to an honest to goodness deal so his little wants can be formally pushed aside.
“Then we’ll get rid of them,” Alastor said, nodding. “I do agree that they were stifling.”
“Really? You didn't really show how ‘stifling’ they were,” Vox muttered. “If anything, you were so strict about them that I felt like you'd rather duct tape my mouth shut whenever we meet.”
And miss those delicious sounds? Definitely not.
“Of course not,” Alastor said, glaring at Vox. He moved closer. “I was only worried words would eventually turn into arguments. I knew the situation wasn't ideal, but it was a version I was comfortable with.”
Vox sighed and shook his head. He balled his fist before it relaxed. He turned to him. “Fine. I’ll meet you tonight. No rules, and I’m not promising sex. Spend time with me and we’ll figure out what to do after.”
As long as Vox walks into his room, Alastor didn't doubt he’d have him on his bed by the end of the night.
“Of course, my dear,” Alastor said, bowing and taking his hand. He placed a soft kiss on his knuckles. “Thank you.”
The interest of romance had always eluded Alastor. Even in life, he’d abhorred the notion of it, opting for friendship and companionship instead. When those innocent ventures started becoming a prelude to accidentally gaining unwanted attention, he started nipping most of them in the bud. Alastor, however, wasn't a prude. He wasn't ignorant to what he could do to make people fall for him. He had always considered seduction to be a valid tool to get what he wanted, only this time he was actually using it for its commonly intended purpose.
The table was set and the food prepared. He usually didn’t go this far for someone beneath him, but why not add a bit of whimsy to the routine. Cooking meticulously after so long had been a stress relief from a month of having none. He’d even gone out himself to get the best ingredients he could find. For the main dish, knowing Vox preferred seafood, he prepared crawfish étouffée with butter rice plated at its center. Alastor smiled at the dish fondly, proud of how it turned out.
Camellias—not roses—were placed in the middle of the seating, plucked on that same day and placed in a beautiful, black ceramic vase. Having a romantic dinner with Vox wouldn’t be right without his favorite flowers.
Alastor casually looked through his records, humming the tune of the song he picked out before placing it on the gramophone.
“Funny that when you’re near me,” Alastor sang, “I’m in the mood for love.”
He spun on his heel, mood rising as he surveyed the room. Maybe despite his own reservations with romance, he would fall in love with someone as charming as he was. Narcissistic this thought might be, he didn’t think many could deny his magnetic personality.
Sparks appeared from the walls, a familiar energy moving through the electricity beneath. Alastor checked the watch on the mantel. Just on time. He pulled at the lapels of his signature suit. As much as he’d like this to go smoothly, wearing something more extravagant would be pushing it. After all, they haven’t really established a dress code, and he’d already prepared everything else. Vox would likely be wearing the same—
Vox materialized near the socket. Alastor’s lips parted.
Vox wore a floor length dark blue satin dress. The material draped over his slim figure, emphasizing his trim waist and flowing down to his hips. He stepped toward him and Alastor’s breath hitched, seeing the long slit that went up to his thighs. A sheer fabric draped over his shoulders and sleeves, weaved with tiny diamonds that sparkled as he moved. His hat was gone, replaced by a thin silver chain connecting his antennas, a sapphire in between.
“Oh,” Vox said, eyes trailing to Alastor’s suit. “I guess I…overdressed?”
A bright blue blush appeared on his screen and he looked away.
No. None of that.
Alastor moved forward and caught Vox’s chin in a light grip and moved his face toward him. “No, dear. I’m the one that’s terribly underdressed. I should have anticipated I’d be dining with a deity.”
Vox’s face brightened further and he chuckled, hands moving up to lightly pull on Alastor’s bowtie. “Sorry about that,” Vox said, smirking. “I would’ve sent a text or called if someone had a phone. I would've even sent a picture when I put on the outfit. Maybe before.”
Alastor swallowed, blinking as heat rose up his neck. Never before had he been tempted to buy one of those tiny screens. He’d always been the type of man to appreciate how fleeting moments were. When one shared it and kept it locked in an online data storage, it wouldn’t mean as much. But now, with the vision of a man in front of him, fleeting wouldn’t be the word he’d use to describe this memory, and having a physical copy seemed a priority.
Vox was already stepping away when Alastor snapped out of his daze, he moved to pull the chair back and let Vox sit. A hand pressed against his cheek in gratitude and a peculiar high-pitched sound came out of Alastor’s lips. Vox raised a brow, chuckling as Alastor cleared his throat, shaking his head in an effort to gain control.
“The food looks great, Al. I don’t remember the last time I’ve had anything home-cooked,” Vox said, smiling.
Alastor felt pleased and sat down across from Vox. He reached for the bottle of rye and poured them both a glass. Vox leaned forward, elbow on the table as he placed his chin on his palm. Alastor stiffened, letting out a nervous—no—small chuckle as his gaze continued to lock on his. Alastor breathed in, straightening his posture as he donned back his charming facade. He was only taken aback by Vox’s appearance. After all, such attire gave him easier access to the parts he needed.
Vox took a spoonful of the dish and placed it in his mouth, moaning as he chewed. Alastor squirmed in his seat.
“Wow. Forgot how amazing you were at cooking. I’d ask you to teach me, but I can’t be trusted with a toaster.” Vox laughed, taking another bite. “What was the thing you kept saying when something’s good? C’est tres bien!”
Alastor blinked, squirming again. The French wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t bad. Either way, he should not be having this kind of reaction. He decided to eat a few spoonfuls to get his head focused, but his gaze wandered to Vox’s wrist, his arm, and continued toward the curve of his shoulder. When his eyes reached his neck, they darted to his mouth. His brain paused.
“—thought you’d be more talkative, but I guess this isn’t the usual way we do things.”
Alastor thought he could function so he guessed both expectations weren’t met.
A drop of sauce dripped past Vox’s lips and his tongue flicked the patch of skin clean. Alastor wished he was the sauce.
“Dear,” Alastor said, gripping his knee beneath the table to ground himself. “Can I ask why you wore something different when meeting me? I’m not complaining of course. Only curious.”
“Oh.” Vox blushed. “I don’t think we’ve been on a date before, so I thought, since this was our first, I’d spruce up a bit.”
Alastor nodded. That sobered him somewhat. To Vox, this was a romantic endeavor. It was expected, but this was an assumption he might not be able to do long-term.
“As much as I appreciate the enthusiasm you have, Vox. I do need to remind you that I am not open to moving at a pace I’m not comfortable with. We are…trying new things and I’d like to be clear that it will not be easy for me to branch out, as they say.”
“I know that.” Vox’s smile wavered. “I just…okay. Whatever.”
Vox’s eyes lost their shine as he kept his gaze down. Alastor felt a tight pinch in his chest and his hand reached for his glass, taking a sip to relieve some of the sudden tightness of his throat. This was ridiculous. The plan had been straightforward. Woo Vox into a false sense of understanding that something beyond physical would happen between them, and take what Alastor wanted. The dress wasn’t part of the plan, nor was Vox’s behavior.
Alastor wasn’t supposed to feel compelled to comfort him—to feel like he’d gone past some kind of line!
He was in control, and that didn’t change.
He cleared his throat to get Vox’s attention. “How about we try to change gears, dear?”
Vox leaned back, mildly interested. He lifted his own cup and took a sip, lips still downturned from Alastor’s last statement.
“Go ahead,” he said, head tilting in a half-lidded bored expression.
Alastor suddenly felt his palms moisten, his eyes having trouble keeping a steady gaze.
“W-Well, I have been curious about your modern broadcasts. Despite my usual avoidance of your medium, I have seen some of them.”
Maybe targeting some of his weaknesses would remedy this shift. Alastor didn’t know what it was that caused him to become so unsteady. It’s been less than an hour since the meal started. What had he done before that was so different? When was the last time they had actually spent time exchanging words? He couldn’t remember.
“And?” Vox asked, eating a few more spoonfuls of his meal. His eyes lit up with every bite, and Alastor realized he was being upstaged by his own cooking. He didn’t know whether to despair or be proud.
“To be quite honest, I expected a bit more than such…mediocre additions to the airwaves. I have to know, have you had a hand in actually greenlighting such subpar shows?” Alastor said. He kept his voice smooth—calm—as if nothing about the last few minutes had shaken him.
Vox narrowed his eyes. Alastor expected him to shout, maybe even tear up a bit. That would be the time he’d give some comfort, maybe initiate some physical contact. He could go from there, and—
Vox scoffed, smirking as he put a napkin to his lips and wiped them clean. “You’re really predictable, you know that?”
Alastor quirked a brow, offended regardless of not fully understanding what he meant.
“First of all, Hell isn’t populated with sinners with good taste. One of the reasons a lot of them are here is because of how tasteless they are in a variety of ways. Now, I’ve had this theory before, but it’s pretty much confirmed at this point since, regardless of your absence and lack of broadcasts for a certain time, you haven’t had any problems keeping the power you have. I’m guessing, your power is innate, free of external influence.”
Alastor’s lips parted, a retort ready to fire. Vox put his hand up. “You can neither confirm or deny, I get it. But, like other Overlords, I rely on my reputation. I never hid that, and you made sure to emphasize the fact since you found out. So, with that in mind, do you think I have the luxury to depend on the off-chance that a large number of sinners care about the quality of my work?”
Alastor pressed his lips together, annoyed at the tone of condescension. “Go on with it then. Stop with the rhetorical questions.”
Vox chuckled, finger pressing against the rim of his now empty glass. “I use the data I have to churn out what shows are most likely going to be popular. I’ve made a system—an algorithm—to keep my empire running like a well-oiled machine ready to take advantage of the millions of idle minds in Pride. Why do you think I partnered up with the Overlords of Social Media and Adult Films? On a whim? It works. I dominate various forms of modern communication and I earned the title of Media Overlord because of it.”
“Regardless,” Alastor said, still trying to reign in control. “The point of having a medium is to send out a worthwhile message, is it not? The whole reason I was interested in you initially was because you’ve given me reason to believe you had one.”
Vox closed his eyes. “And what makes you think I don’t? I own so many channels that you can’t tell me you’ve watched all of them, especially since you already avoid anything modern like the plague.”
“I’m merely stating that you could do better,” Alastor said, taking a not-so-gentle bite from his food. His lips curled in displeasure. It had gone cold. “I had expectations and I thought you’d fulfill them. Then again, it’s not surprising. You do have the tendency to—"
A foot started moving up Alastor's leg and his eyes widened. Vox looked completely unbothered across from him as he shot him a small glare. "Are you going to keep going with this, Al? Because if you are, I'm inclined to think you have nothing to offer me but your body."
The foot continued to move up and down, slyly moving close and retracting as it snaked up his thighs. Alastor bit back a groan.
"And if it's really just your body you're offering tonight, I think it's best I remind you who needs who more right now."
Vox withdrew his leg, and Alastor almost whined at the loss of friction. The front of his pants pulled tight against his skin and he took deep breaths to calm himself. Vox looked away, thrumming his claws against the table. A screen hovered in front of his face, text and images moving upward, his eyes following and grinning at whatever was there.
Alastor leaned forward, hands settling on his intertwined fingers. "Vox, look at me."
Vox pouted, but looked forward. His hand gave a wave and the screen disappeared. "Are you done being an asshole or should I just call it a night? I have better things to do than sit in on a mediocre date. Matter of fact, I have better people ready to do me."
"Let's not be hasty," Alastor said, trying his best to keep his temper in check. He reached his hand forward and held Vox's, making sure to keep his hold loose and gentle. "I'm sorry. How about I—"
"Is it that hard for you to not make this a game?"
Alastor froze as Vox withdrew his hand, glaring at him. Well, this was definitely not what he wanted. "What do you mean?"
Vox stood up, face neutral, and grabbed Alastor's elbow. He brought him up to his feet and pulled him toward the bed. Vox laid down, pulling Alastor on top of him. His screen dimmed, eyes looking away.
"Go," Vox said, voice heavy with disappointment. "Take what you want."
Alastor looked down. Vox’s dress pooled around his legs and chest, casting a beautiful silhouette over his willing body. This was his goal, wasn't it? Vox had given his permission despite his…annoyance toward him. Why not take it?
Alastor leaned down, pressing his hips downward. Vox stiffened.
Alastor withdrew, pulling himself off the bed.
“No,” he said. “This isn't right.”
Vox didn't move. “I think we have different interpretations of what right is.”
Alastor grit his teeth. “You can accuse me of being cold, Vox, but I never slept with you against your will. You could've pushed me away at any time and I would do the same thing I’m doing right now. We had an agreement. It's not my fault you couldn't accept the terms.”
This was a disaster. Whatever mood he planned to achieve turned sour, far beyond the point of no return. He couldn't keep his frustration reigned in and conflicting feelings about this whole situation warred within him, unable to give him a tangible emotion to hold on to.
Vox sat up, glaring at him.
“How would you know when you kept me from speaking?”
Alastor's lips parted, but no words came out.
“And don’t act so innocent. You took advantage of my feelings when you proposed this stupid agreement. The only reason you were able to was because I let you,” Vox continued, approaching him with the same heated glare, pinning Alastor in place. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? That I believed you had an inkling of affection—respect—for me? You're sick in the head. I knew that. I used that. It was the only way you’d actually—” Vox paused, looking away. He took deep breaths to calm himself. Electricity flickered around him, sparks dancing on his skin.
“I'm over this. I’m over you.”
“Vox. Don't—”
Vox disappeared into the nearby socket.
Two months had passed since the disastrous date.
Alastor settled on confusion as his foundation for the stupor he was in as days passed. He didn't lash out, nor did he even speak much. For some reason, this was still a problem for the other residents.
“Um, Al?” Charlie said, knocking on the door while walking in. Since when did knocking become permission to automatically come in? “Are you busy?”
“Doesn't seem to matter now that you're here, does it?”
“Wait. You…smoke?” Charlie asked.
Alastor's eyes trailed to the cigarette in his hand. When did he start smoking in his office? It wasn't even a habit he wanted known. He then realized he didn't really care. He didn't care much about anything other than his last conversation with Vox. He wasn't even sure if that was it. Was that the end of their relationship? Should he look for someone—
No. There was no one else. No one but Vox.
Then, if he can't access the man, he should forgo the whole method of blowing off steam. He’d survived without sex when he was alive and the majority of his afterlife. Even thinking about it now with someone that wasn't Vox stirred little to no interest in him.
Could he?
“Al?”
Was she still here?
“Yes, Princess?” Alastor asked, his voice a drawl as he stubbed his cigarette against the ashtray nearby. “Yes, I do smoke. I’ll try to keep it within my quarters if that pleases your delicate sensibilities.”
“N-No. I mean…it is your office. If it helps you with—” Charlie cleared her throat. “Alastor, is something wrong?”
“I think I’ve kept to myself these past few weeks,” Alastor said, staring at the remaining paperwork on the table. “I’d say I’ve laid low like you’ve asked and haven't neglected my duties. Don't tell me my mere existence causes the residents distress.”
Alastor couldn't care less. He was a valuable and irreplaceable asset. He knew enough to bury this business under the ground in a week, regardless of its royal backing. There's a limit to how much he can bend for the princess’ preferences.
“No. Nothing like that. You just look like you're…down in the dumps recently.”
Alastor scoffed. “Goodness. Really, Charlie? Need I remind you that I’m not one of the sinners here for your lessons of virtue and sessions of cheer? Besides, my demeanor is neutral at worst.”
“Al,” Charlie said. “You keep stopping randomly in the middle of the hallway, staring at nothing.”
“My thoughts run deep. Sometimes I need a moment to reign them in.”
“You’ve been taking more bottles from the bar.”
“A night cap was needed for a good night's sleep.”
“Alastor.” Charlie pressed her palms together and pressed them against her forehead. “You’ve gone through almost ten killing sprees last month alone.”
“Sinners do regenerate, dear. Even if they find themselves in my belly, you’ll be surprised where they—”
“That's not the point, Al!” Charlie said. “Do you need to talk? Maybe we can work through some stuff together. I promise I won't tell anyone else. I’m more than happy to—”
“Do you often have coitus with Vagatha?”
Charlie froze, her face turning into a lovely and deep shade of red. Alastor found the color pretty. At this point, what was there to lose? She was willing to pry into his affairs, why not do the same so both parties could sacrifice the same amount of their privacy?
“Wh-What?”
“Isn't it only right for me to ask, Charlie?” Alastor said. “I am, after all, a very private person. I wouldn't be open to bearing my heart and soul if we can't find a midway point with equal give and take.”
Charlie's lips parted, whatever protest she had dying in her throat. She hesitated and looked down, likely weighing the pros and cons of this conversation. Alastor knew what she’d choose, so he only waited.
“We're…relatively active.”
“Oh my,” Alastor said, putting his fingers on his lips in a mock gasp. “I didn't think you two would be, given how much virtue both of you exude.”
“It's…healthy,” Charlie said, looking like she was close to exploding in embarrassment. “Why do you ask? Is something…wrong with your…intimate life?”
Alastor laughed. That was one way to put it.
“You could say that,” Alastor said. He didn't miss her eyes widening, her poker face one of the worst ones he’d seen. “You seem surprised, dear. Didn't think I had those types of interests?”
“No I—I never thought—I’m not saying it's—Of course, anyone would—” Charlie broke out in a coughing fit, her nervousness apparently affecting her breathing. “You're—I—”
Smartly, she clamped her mouth shut and covered her face with her hands. The hole she’d dug for herself was deep enough to reach the other rings.
“Charlie, I recommend trying not to be too affected by sex in general. I'm sure a lot of the clients you’ll be seeing will eventually mention how their mental states are heavily affected and influenced by sexual deviances or preferences for that matter. Wouldn't want them getting the wrong idea.”
“No, I get it, but it's because it's you so—”
“Hm,” Alastor said, sighing as he thrummed his claws against his desk. “I’ll try not to take offense.”
Charlie opened her mouth to stammer out another apology before she closed it and took a deep breath. “Are you done?”
Alastor wasn't, but he decided to let it go just this once and nodded.
“Good. Now, I’m not here to judge you so you can talk to me about anything that's bothering you about your…sex life. I doubt it's much about the deed itself?"
Alastor paused, not sure if he should proceed now that the antics had died down. His confusion truly evolved to something akin to desperation if he was resorting to Charlie of all people for some kind of advice.
“I have an acquaintance who I often have trysts with,” Alastor said, ignoring Charlie's red stained cheeks. It was far past the point of no return by now. “He seems to want more than what was agreed on. What we have has always serviced me: met my needs and, until recently, I thought it was enough to satiate his as well.”
After a moment, Charlie cleared her throat. “Oh. Well, um, I won't ask what they are, but I’m guessing what he's asking for isn't something you're willing to give?”
Alastor was ready to give it, within his parameters that was. Apparently, that didn’t seem to be enough. He still depended on what he knew and the Vox in his mind was a desperate and pathetic worshipper of his who was grateful for whatever scraps of attention Alastor was willing to give.
“It seems I have no choice,” Alastor said through gritted teeth. “I can't replace him, nor can I get rid of this need my body has. I'm only worried this might degrade me further.”
Charlie furrowed her brows. “Alastor, if he’s into sexual stuff you're not into, it's best you don't let him take something you’re not willing to give. My Uncle Ozzy says that sex is something that should be between two parties with the same want. You can't compromise on that.”
What is she talking about?
“What would you have me do, then?” Alastor asked, smile clipped, tightening as his annoyance peaked. “If flowers and dinners and—honest to goodness—’cuddles’ are what gets me what I need then so be it.”
Charlie blinked, giving him a confused stare.
“Flowers and—Are you saying this guy wants you to date him instead of keeping this a casual fling?”
Alastor rolled his eyes. “You don't understand. I'm not your usual sinner, nor is V—he. We have reputations to uphold, it comes with the roles we assume.”
“Did he suddenly want these things from you?”
Alastor chuckled. “Definitely not. His feelings for me have always been openly displayed on his face and how he acts around me. I’d even argue that I knew even before he did.”
“Who wanted this casual relationship to start? He couldn't have—”
“I did, dear.” Alastor didn't understand why he had to spoonfeed everything when context was more than enough to fill in the details. “Kindly keep up, will you? I wanted to at least give him something and I realized I enjoyed it as well. It was a gracious offer and he accepted. Now, I have to adjust to his wants again and—
“I think you should find someone else.”
“I told you, Charlie. I can't have someone else. It has to be him. I have no interest in the deed otherwise.”
Alastor lit a cigarette and took a drag. He tapped the stick against the rim of the ashtray, watching the ashes of the tip slough off. He looked up to see Charlie glaring at him and raised a brow. “Penny for your thoughts, dear?”
Charlie seemed to be calming herself, taking a moment before replying. “I know I went into this conversation hoping to be your therapist, but is it okay if I speak to you as a friend from here on out?”
“A friend?” Alastor shrugged. “I don't see why that would make a difference, but feel free to approach this in whichever way—”
A hand gripped his lapels and pulled his upper body up and forward over the desk. Charlie's reddened eyes and furious glare made him stiffen. Her tail whipped behind her as the wind picked up around them, pulling her hair upward as horns sprouted from her forehead.
“You used a guy who you knew had feelings for you for sex and were surprised when he gained enough agency to ask for something more meaningful?” Charlie asked, voice laced with a demonic vibrato. “Now you're acting like you're the victim?”
Alastor narrowed his eyes. “We're both adults. He knew I couldn't reciprocate. He knew that was my limit.”
“It was wrong of you to even offer in the first place. If he didn't have feelings for you then be my guest, but you took advantage of the fact that he did.”
“And now what?” Alastor said, scoffing. “What's your verdict, Your Highness? Grace me with your sagely advice.”
Charlie glared at him for a moment more before her features went back to normal. She let him go.
“He deserves better,” Charlie said, walking to the door. “Let him move on so he can find someone else that can give him what he really needs. Have a week off to reflect. My dad’ll take over until then.”
“You know he makes a mess of my work. I’ll come back with more tasks than what I left with.” Alastor straightened his lapels. The talk was more ridiculous as it continued. Not only was his openness set aside for an obvious bias, he was forced on a leave. “I think you're misunderstanding.”
“No, I think you’re the one who doesn't understand the situation you're in. Either that or you're cruel. I wouldn't put it past you either way.” Charlie put her hand on the doorknob and sighed. “He can't force you to reciprocate but you also can't expect him to just be fine with keeping things as they are if it hurts him.”
Alastor sighed and bit back a growl, putting out the nub of ashes left between his claws. “So be it. Thank you, dear, for the…enlightenment.”
Alastor disappeared and appeared in his room. His chest felt tight, head pounding. He’d already gone through a bottle of rye, more would do nothing but worsen the headache. He sat on the armchair in front of the fireplace and left his cane leaning against its side.
His eyes focused on the flames, his mind remembering Vox in that dress. He almost exuded some sort of glow when he arrived, it continued even before he left. Alastor could remember his scent: a mix of petrichor and the ocean breeze. He would never admit it, but he told Nifty to forgo washing the sheets until Vox’s scent completely faded from the fabric.
Vox was so beautiful. It took a while to realize, but just the memory of the man made his heart fill with longing.
How had he been reduced to such a pathetic mess of a man whose thoughts remained plagued by someone he deemed lesser? He could barely function without being utterly consumed by thoughts of that stupid, greedy, soft-hearted, blabber-mouthed fool.
His eyelids grew heavy, and his smile finally lowered, the edges of his lips only slightly upturned. This kind of exhaustion was different. His bones felt like lead, joints barely keeping his limbs moving as the weight of the loss continued to grow. The call to wreak havoc and create chaos remained silent, refusing to urge him until his vigor was renewed.
“I need him,” Alastor said, a silent admission he finally let himself say. “I need him.”
He closed his eyes. His pride broke. Instead of shame, immense relief washed over him, finally settling his mind enough to fall asleep.
“Let me set you up with someone,” Valentino said, lounging and drawing on his couch. Vox knew he had more productive things to do. Heck. Valentino's schedule hovered near his face, no task justifying his presence here. He was supposed to be in the middle of a shoot.
“I don't need it, Val,” Vox said, closing his eyes to rest them for a moment.
It'd been two months and it hadn't been easier being away from Alastor. Vox still wouldn't go back to him—that’s for sure—but he missed his touch, his voice, his… everything. He groaned. Was he that messed up? Alastor didn't give a fuck about him past his body. Vox needed more than that, and he’d rather spend eternity trying to find it than settle for less with a man heartless enough to lead him on this long.
And Vox would rather not continue to let him.
“You know. I don't always employ whores, you know? I have decent people I can direct you to. People that could treat you right.”
“In Hell?” Vox asked, huffing out a laugh. “I highly doubt that.”
“You’d be surprised.” Valentino stood up, placing the drawing pad on the couch. He approached, placing his cellphone face up and sliding it toward him. On it was an image of a handsome sinner with a bright smile and bright red eyes. He looked tall, chest broader than Vox or Alastor. Vox shook his head.
Stop comparing people to him.
“Alastor's not the only deer sinner in Hell. He's not even the most good-looking, I mean, look at this tasty piece of venison.”
Vox didn't reply, thoughts warring against each other, eyes flicking on the image and away. It's not like he'd lose anything with one date. He wasn't even technically “taken” even when the thing with Alastor was happening.
The stranger had kinder eyes.
Besides, even if this just became a fling, Vox would have a warm body next to him to help him forget.
“F-Fine.” Vox cleared his throat and straightened his back. “Fine. Tomorrow night. Eight p.m. at Dante's Inferno.”
“Yay!” Valentino cheered, pressing his cheek against his. “I promise you won't regret it, amor.”
Vox pressed his lips together before letting himself hope, at least for a little while.
Kai was kind of funny—kind of cute. He didn't have charm oozing from his pores, but he did have that nervous schoolboy thing going on. He came with flowers—camellias courtesy of Val, he guessed—and stuttered his way through a brief introduction as he blushed. It was a nice change of pace, being the one someone was nervous for, instead of the other way around.
Usually, when sinners were nervous around him, it was because he could fry them to a crisp in half a second, but with this guy, he seemed genuinely scared Vox wouldn't be interested in another way.
“Actor?” Vox asked, chuckling. “I’ve met one or two when I was alive. It's more of a hit or miss, actually.”
“There hasn't been a truer statement. Actually, I wanted to be… a news anchor before getting into the acting business.”
Vox scoffed and took a sip of his whisky. “Trust me. It's not all that once you're there. What made you want to be a news anchor of all things?”
Kai blushed, biting his lip. Vox waited.
“I was ten and I was watching the World Wide News.”
Vox raised a brow. “What year?”
“1972.”
Vox’s face brightened. “Oh.”
The sinner had this soft look in his eyes he wasn't sure what to do with. There were only three people who knew who he was when he was alive. Kai wasn't one of them, but Valentino likely guided him here knowing who his crush was. Dang it. How do you deal with this? He had hordes of fans in Hell, but he hadn't met anyone who watched him upstairs.
“I really liked Vincent Whittman. He was amazing, a natural in every role he played—like a chameleon!”
Kai beamed and Vox triggered his cooling system, trying to calm his embarrassment. Why was he even embarrassed?
“Oh. I heard of him. Yeah. He's a pretty big deal, I guess.”
Vox absently pushed around the pasta on his plate. He didn't want a fanboy. It's understandable why Valentino thought he’d be into this. Vox wasn't really known to keep his narcissism in check, but this was different.
Vincent Whittman was dead. He wanted someone who wanted him as he was now—as Vox.
A hand reached over and laid on his. Vox flinched and it pulled away.
“Hey,” Kai said. His ears pulled back, cat—maybe fox-like. He ran his fingers through his scalp, his dark blue fur sticking up in places. “Sorry. I didn't mean to ignore you and go off on a tangent like that. Do you want to talk about anything else? I’m willing to listen.”
Vox's eyes widened. Weird. He was the most tuned in celebrity in Pride, but those words affected him more than he thought it would. Was it the sincerity in his voice or the genuine interest?
When was the last time he felt his words actually mattered?
Vox gave a small smile, his hand moving to take back the one that pulled away.
Don't.
Vox’s face glitched, his antennas sensing a familiar voice from a specific frequency. He's close.
Vox put his hand down on the table, his eyes scanning the room. Red eyes locked on his. Behind Kai’s nervous expression was Alastor, antlers elongated and claws embedded on the wood. His shadow grew frantic and unstable beneath him, moving within an obvious barrier it was contained in.
If you want him to live longer, I suggest—
Vox triggered an incoming notification alert. He feigned a grimace and said, “Sorry, Kai. Let's take a rain check for tonight. I have an urgent meeting and…you know how it is.”
Kai nodded. “Of course! I wouldn't want to—I know you're busy. You can reschedule whenever you're free. Just tell me where. And when. Iron out the details and stuff. Should I give you my number or—You can tell Mr. Valentino and—”
Vox zapped beside Kai and placed a small kiss on his cheek. “We’ll see. Now, I think Val told me he needed you in the studio for something.”
“Of course, I—I’ll just—” Kai walked back, hand on his cheek. Vox was worried he’d pass out with how red he looked—almost feverish. “I look forward t-to seeing you a—”
Kai stumbled over an imp waiter holding a flurry of drinks.
Vox chuckled. He turned, sighing as he watched Alastor's eyes, already black and focused on Kai stumbling out of the room. His figure started to grow, numerous customers standing to their feet around him, ready to flee. Vox rolled his eyes and approached Alastor, grabbing his wrist and letting a bolt of electricity rush through him.
Alastor trembled and looked down, growling at him.
Vox shot him an annoyed look. “Not. Here.”
A moment later, a familiar rush of cold surrounded him. A temporary weightlessness settled before Alastor's room appeared. He opened his mouth to speak and found another pressing against his before he pushed Alastor away.
“Stop!” Vox said, wiping his screen with his sleeve. “I swear, if you do that again, I’ll slit your throat.”
Alastor's grin grew sharp. “You can try.”
“You can't keep doing this. We're done.”
“No, Vox. We are not done,” Alastor said, pushing a finger against his chest, eyes manic. “We will never be done. You can't just drop me and spread your legs for other mediocre versions of me you find. I want you and you want me. It's simple. It works.”
“It doesn't ‘work’, you emotionally-stunted prick!” Vox put his hands on the edges of his screen, laughing in exasperation. If he had hair, he swore he would've pulled it out. “You don't want me, you want my body. I want you to want all of me, or you're getting nothing! Zilch! If you can't do it then leave me alone!”
Alastor paced, hand over his mouth, grin almost splitting his face into two. As he approached the wall, he pulled back his arm before ramming his fist against the wall, bright sigils rippling through the wallpaper.
Vox stiffened, but didn't step back, determined to stand his ground. If Alastor wanted to throw a tantrum, so be it, but he wasn't going to cave. He had standards now, and it took too long to gain them for him to let them go that easily.
“How?” Alastor yelled, hand gripping the sides of his head.
Vox's shoulders sagged. It shouldn't be this complicated, should it? It shouldn't be this aggravating—this painfully hard. He closed his eyes and walked to the Radio Demon, who looked more or less close to a mental breakdown, and lightly gripped his wrist. He waited for it to relax and fall to his side. When it did, he led him to the bed, taking off his coat and pushing off his shoes.
He gave Alastor a pointed look before he did the same, furrowing his brows at him.
Vox pulled him toward the sheets and placed Alastor's head on his lap, his claws lightly threading through his hair, occasionally leaving small scratches behind his ears. Alastor’s eyelids fluttered and a low groan escaped his lips. He slapped his hand on his lips, glaring up at Vox as if it was his fault.
Vox laughed and shook his head, saying nothing. He laid back, and hummed a random tune as he closed his eyes, letting his hands continue the motion. He didn't know how long they stayed that way, but the tension dissipated and when Vox opened his eyes, Alastor stared up at him, eyes half-lidded and his smile strained.
“I’ll try,” Alastor said. “Let me try.”
Vox wasn't sure if this was sincere, but it was different from that conversation in his office. For once, he hesitated, even if this was genuine.
Was it?
He was so tired of all the back and forth. All the uncertainty culminated to a state of self-doubt and insecurity—more so than the amount he already had.
Alastor was dangerous—a fickle-minded narcissist with certain gaps he wasn't interested in bridging.
Until now.
“First rule,” Vox said. “Let me talk. I don't care if you don't want to hear it. You have no choice. I have thoughts—opinions! I'm not some robot you can—”
“Yes, Vox.” Alastor reached up to hold the edge of his screen. “It was wrong of me to silence you when our conversations were one of the best aspects of our relationship.”
Vox could hear the words but he doubted them, like everything else Alastor planned to say. He kept a shield around his heart now, faulty, but standing strong, even if Alastor's voice was enough to make it quiver.
“Second rule,” Vox continued, twirling a lock of red hair around one of his claws. “Foreplay is required. I want to be given the time to say no.”
Alastor looked away, at least looking a bit guilty for what was implied.
“I want you to convince me you want me. If you don't, I don't want to be used, because that's what it feels like whenever you go ahead and—” Vox’s voice hitched and he closed his eyes, trying to control the spike of anger he felt. “I will let you take when you're willing to give.”
Alastor sat up. He crawled to the space behind Vox, placing him between his legs and hugging him from behind. Vox could feel him burying his face against his shoulder.
“Yes,” Alastor murmured. “I’m sorry, Vox.”
Vox wouldn’t accept it. Not right now. He was far from ready.
“Third,” Vox gave a shuddering breath. “Stay.”
Alastor hugged him tighter, his head desperately nodding. “I will if you will.”
“I don't even know why I am, but I just can't stay away from you, can I?” Vox said, bitterness raw in his tone.
“I’ll convince you. I don't know how long it takes, but I’ll atone,” Alastor said, voice muffled, his breath warming his shoulder. “I can't function without you—can’t breathe. These past few months have been so tortuous, I’ve been forced to reflect on my own lack of self-awareness.”
Vox bit his lip. “I don't believe you—any of this—but I’m willing to observe.”
“Having you near within any capacity is a blessing I don't deserve.”
Beautiful words from a beautiful monster.
Vox wondered how much truth was in them. He let himself lean back into Alastor's embrace. He guessed it didn't matter. They were two souls that were interlaced one way or another, regardless. Alastor could be the punishment for the amount of sins he’d done in the past and he wouldn't be surprised.
Alastor wasn't someone he could let go. Vox was unable to.
Their souls remain deeply intertwined. No one could see where one started and the other one ended.
Inexplicably and hopelessly bound.
