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“Vincent, I…”
Alastor’s words faltered, though the smile remained stitched neatly in place. To anyone else, he would have looked perfectly composed. Vox, however, saw it. The faint flicker of uncertainty behind those gleaming red eyes, wide and almost doe-like. So unlike the murderous Radio Demon Hell knew and feared. The sharpness was still there. But there was something softer threaded through it.
Something dangerously...human.
A lazy wind from the bayou drifted in, brushing against Alastor’s coat and stirring a sigh out of him. He leaned back against the furniture, shoulders sagging just slightly, head tilting so one ear drooped while the other stayed perked in stubborn defiance.
Beautiful. Infuriatingly so. Vox’s screen glitched.
The smile on Alastor’s face shifted, just a fraction more inviting, as his head tipped back against the wall. Vox wondered how the deer demon managed to be both impeccably upright and impossibly uptight almost all of the time, when he saw him like this.
The TV Demon closed the distance between them, static humming faintly in the air like anticipation given sound. His hand lifted, claws brushing through the strands of Alastor’s red bob.
He remembered, distantly, almost a decade ago, when he was newer and fancied the Radio Demon.
“Oh hell does drastically change one physically, Vincent. You have a TV box for a head, and I have this unfortunate haircut." Alastor had said that night, gesturing vaguely at himself. Slightly drunk.
“I think it looks just fine." Vox had said, not all that drunk.
Alastor had laughed. Loud. Maniacal. Entirely unconvinced.
Now, as Vox’s fingers slid higher, grazing the base of one ear, a soft ripple of radio static escaped the deer demon.
He froze.
His claws brushed fur.
Soft.
He stroked behind the ear gently.
Bodies were close now. Close enough that Vox could feel the faint hum in the air, could see the way Alastor’s crimson hair swished at his temples.
He traced the back of the ear again.
And then—
Bleat.
Vox blinked.
Alastor did not move.
Slowly, his eyes shifted, pupils thinning into radio dials as realization dawned across Vox’s widening grin. 'Shit, this is hilariously adorable', Vox thought. Shark-like teeth flashed across the screen.
“Did you just bleat?”
The radio dials flared vibrantly. Alastor’s mouth did not move when he replied, his voice vibrating directly through the air, each syllable rolled out as his teeth glinted golden like a radio.
“I do not make such sounds, Vincent.”
“Oh, Al,” Vox chuckled, leaning closer. “You don’t need to be embarrassed.”
He brushed his fingers along Alastor’s cheek. The deer demon softened at the touch despite himself, claws twitching faintly against Vox’s coat.
“You’re just a stupid picture box,” Alastor buzzed, though there was no real venom in it.
“And you’re even cuter when you’re embarrassed.” Vox laughed.
Alastor’s claws tightened suddenly, digging into blue fabric as he pulled Vox closer. Close enough that static crackled sharply between them. Close enough that Vox’s grin widened.
He was going to kiss him.
Oh yes, he was.
“Hey Alastor! Husk and I—”
Charlie froze in the doorway.
Husk froze behind her, bottle halfway to his mouth.
The silence was catastrophic.
“Oh,” Charlie breathed. “I—uh. Didn’t—”
Husk, significantly more aware of the rapidly intensifying static in the room, grabbed her by the arm.
“Kid,” he muttered, already turning around, “I definitely need another drink.”
Charlie nodded far too quickly. “YES. You, uh, do. Let's go!.”
They retreated with impressive speed.
“Hey, princess,” Vox called after her, grinning wide. “You interrupted something.”
Alastor screeched in pure radio feedback.
The door slammed.
Silence returned, thick and heavy.
Vox giggled.
Alastor’s antlers grew a few inches taller in sheer aggravated humiliation. Embarrassment and frustration tangled together in the crackling air.
Ugh. Way to ruin the moment.
Vox glanced at the door, then back at the deer demon still gripping his coat.
Worth it.