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When Vox gave Alastor a key to his playroom and told him he could order whatever he’d like, he’d expected a bunch of things that would make him squirm (he had been correct), and some staggeringly expensive frivolities (yeah, that too).
— — — — — —
A few years earlier, Vee tower
“What do you mean, whatever I’d like,” Alastor intones, spinning the little silver key’s ring around his finger.
“How is that not clear,” Vox asks with mild concern, “It’s like a four word sentence. Order…” he pauses, “whatever you’d like. I mean, of things that are orderable, I guess. Don’t try to turn it into a fucking swamp, I’ll make sure someone tells me.”
“Order how,” Alastor says, clearly still unclear on the conversation.
“Oh, yeah, that’d be Ethan. He handles all that shit,” Vox waves dismissively. Alastor still looks baffled, so he adds, “My assistant. …Eel kid, with the glasses?” Vox sighs. “Whatever, I’ll bring him in later. Don’t– Alastor.”
Vox goes suddenly serious. “Alastor, you cannot eat him. I am being so f–, Alastor.”
Unfortunately, the dramatics only make Alastor cackle, ratcheting up in delight. Vox sparks anger across his frame, and Alastor relents easily with a long, loudly pleased sigh. He had started the conversation seated across from Vox in his office, but he’d perched on the edge of Vox’s desk at some point, naturally. He leans back to flick one of Vox’s antennae, grinning broadly at him. “I understand,” he says silkily, “I respect that he’s yours to eat.”
Vox’s flustered blush sends Alastor cackling, withdrawing as quickly as he invaded and sitting back across the desk again. The whole point of having this conversation in his office was so Vox could maintain control of it, but he should know by now for that to be a useless endeavor. Alastor raises his hand like a student in class, but he doesn’t wait to be called on. “Why do I need to tell your twinkish manservant? Can’t I just tell you what I want, and you make it happen?”
Vox really shouldn’t be charmed by that, but he sure as hell is. “Yeah,” he can’t help but reply. “I mean, sure, if you’d like. But sometimes, uh.” Vox can tell he’s blushing because of the way Alastor leans in with interest. “Well, if there’s stuff you wanna do that you want to be in charge of, y’know? Though I can help with that too if you’d like, just...” Alastor shrugs at him, and Vox glances away. “Like if you didn’t want me to know what was gonna happen, y’know. If it all goes through me I know everything you’re planning to do, right? And if there was–, I mean, if you were gonna do anything, like…” Vox finally gives out, glancing back at Alastor.
But it seems the dots have connected, Alastor’s eyes wide and grin cheshire. “Interesting,” he says broadly, crossing his arms. He seems to immediately get lost in thought, and Vox desperately wishes he could know what all those thoughts are.
“Yeah, okay, makes sense right?” Vox makes a vain attempt at getting the conversation back onto its rails. “So you just tell Ethan what you want, and he makes it happen. I’ll make sure people know you have access to him, so he should be easy to find whenever you need him.” Vox thinks. “And obviously anything in the room itself is on the table.”
Alastor makes a face. “There are some things of interest in there but a vast majority of your collection truly repulses me.” He wrinkles his nose. “Influence of your insectoid beau, I assume.”
Vox grins, staring into the middle distance. “Yeah,” he agrees dreamily, “Most of it, probably.” He glances back to Alastor, and grins even broader. “And who knows, maybe someday you’ll get curious about shit, ya fuckin’ prude.”
Alastor gives him the kind of sour look that Vox knows means he’s hit too close to the mark. “I don’t remember your eel,” he very unsubtly changes the subject, “You’ll need to remind me which of your useless flunkies that one is.”
Vox rolls his eyes and taps a button on his desk, ignoring Alastor’s arched brow. “Ethan,” he says crisply, “Come here.”
Ethan comes skidding through the door fifteen seconds later, a clipboard almost flipping from his grasp that he manages to clutch. He pants for a moment, gaze flicking between the two demons in front of him, visible concern growing. “Y-yes, sir,” Ethan says, hesitantly walking forward.
“Here,” Vox snaps, annoyed at repeating himself, pointing at the side of his desk between himself and Alastor. Ethan picks up pace immediately but still looks like a man approaching the gallows. Vox gestures with an open palm. “This one. Ethan.”
“Rrrright,” Alastor purrs, grinning as he swoops from his chair toward Ethan. Both he and Vox startle, but Alastor primly keeps his hands behind his back. Though he still leans in, smile sharp and broad and a little too close. “That one. I can remember him.”
“Alastor,” Vox says, warning, making Alastor’s grin glint immediately. Alastor inhales sharply as he straightens, adjusts his monocle and completes his circle around Ethan with hands clasped behind him. Vox is still glaring, while Ethan’s had his eyes squeezed shut ever since Alastor moved.
“You’re right,” Alastor says, which never fails to stop Vox up short. Ethan’s tail has wrapped protectively around his legs, feather-finned tip tucked near his hip. In a whip-quick movement, Alastor snatches the end of his tail, leaning his sharp smile intrusively close to his chest, “He is very edible.”
Ethan is shivering so hard Vox can see it from his desk, and he really doesn’t mean to laugh but he just can’t help it. Honestly, this is really hot, but Vox is obligated to stand up for Vee's property. “Alastor,” he snaps, “No eating him, and no fucking manhandling!”
Alastor tsks loudly, dropping his hold and primly walking back to his seat. Ethan spends a brief moment looking as though he may pass out, but he soldiers through. Alastor is still staring into him in an unnerving manner, though.
“How do I know he won’t tell anyone about my–. About what I,” Alastor hesitates.
But Vox picks up gracefully. “Who the fuck would he even tell?” he says on a laugh, dismissive.
Alastor glowers at Vox, answer ready, “One of your… compatriots.”
Vox scoffs affectionately. “First of all, there’s literally nothing you could do that they could judge and not be a huge fucking hypocrite. Second,” Vox shifts into a pout, "I’m pretty sure they like you more than they like me. But mostly!”
Vox drags Ethan over by the neck with heavy ropes of cable, screen black but for the red flash of his eyes, circles spiraling hypnotically. “Because you will never tell anyone else anything about your conversations with Alastor pertaining to this, and once he finishes telling you what he wants nothing will be able to be traceable to his involvement whatsoever.” Vox pauses to watch reciprocating spirals dial across Ethan’s eyes. “Right?”
“Yes, sir,” Ethan says swiftly.
Vox lets Ethan drop to the floor, and when he glances back at Alastor he’s very surprised to find him looking so soft and adoring, chin resting in his hand. Vox blushes, adjusting his suit before sitting back into his chair as Ethan picks himself up off the floor. “Anyway,” Vox says like he’s just changed slides in a presentation, “Alastor has access to my personal suite and can order and arrange what he’d like for it.” Vox pauses. “He’s not allowed to build a swamp, though.”
“Yes, sir,” Ethan replies, tapping something into the digital device he’s holding. “Any other stipulations?”
Vox does need to consider that for a moment, eyes narrowing to watch Alastor. The scant few who have been granted this level of access haven’t needed any, nor has anyone yet done anything beyond the admittedly broad stretch of reason. The financial is no object in the conversation. Plus if he sets any parameters, it just means Alastor will test at them. “Nah,” Vox says, already sure it’s a mistake, “But seriously, he’s gonna ask you to turn it into a fucking bayou or something, that’s–,” Vox hesitates slightly, unnerved by the way Alastor’s eyes glint with the pause. “Well. Special approval at least, you have to come talk to me first.”
Alastor is pouting, now sitting upside down in his chair. “Fine,” he concedes, bobbing his feet over the back of his seat. He smiles at Ethan, eldritch and curling, teeth sharp as blades. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you, then.”
“Y-yes sir,” Ethan stutters, glancing back at Vox. Vox rolls his eyes with annoyance and waves Ethan away, who seems very glad to flee the scene.
Once the door closes, Alastor is a flash of movement from his upside-down seat, claws clamping the desk edge Vox is leaning against so Alastor can drag himself across the desktop. He halts nose-to-screen, knees bent so his feet kick up behind himself. Vox startles, but not fast enough to avoid Alastor grabbing his screen and keeping his head exactly where it is, even as the rest of him tries to jolt away.
Vox’s eyes are huge, casting Alastor’s face in a red glow. Alastor grins widely, and rumbles right against his screen, “I’ll be seeing you soon.” Vox shivers and tries to lean in for a kiss, but Alastor dissolves into aether and shadow on the desktop, chuckle thrumming low in Vox’s receivers as it echoes away.