Work Text:
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). He hadn’t expected to be so soundly betrayed, so seen down to his very core.
Alastor had sent him a transmission earlier telling him to come by the playroom when he was done with work, which obviously meant he was done with work immediately, at the door within two minutes and pissed that it took that long. The room is a respectably large space, though it’s hard to tell between all the dark walls and low lighting. It’s apparently about the size of a nice studio apartment, because that’s fucking exactly what Vox walks into this evening, squinting at the unexpectedly bright light of the room.
“What the fuck,” he announces, digesting what he’s looking at. A bright and tidy fully furnished little flat, drenched in 1950s stereotype from wall to wall. It takes Vox a long moment to accept that there’s an entire fucking kitchen in his sex room, but once his brain catches up with what his eyes are seeing, he has to admit it’s actually pretty stylish. A little too Leave it to Beaver maybe, and obviously ridiculously outdated, but charming as hell. Full layout of functional kitchen and dining room, a little sitting space by the modular patterned room divider, one corner of a bed just visible behind it. Fucking hell, at least there was a bed involved in whatever the fuck this is.
Vox realizes he hasn’t even made it through the door yet, stepping inside to close it behind himself. “Uh,” he says, chuckling, “Anyone… home? What the hell is all this?”
In a stumble of crinolines, Alastor bustles out from behind the room divider. “Welcome home, dear!” he enthuses, tone overtly over the top. Vox stutters to another halt of processing. Alastor is in a bright red swing dress puffed with a full maroon pettiskirt, lapelled collar certainly open further down the neckline than the actual era would have permitted. He’s got to have some kind of supportive undergarment on to get his chest fur to fill in the open decolletage of the dress that well. The black frilled apron matches his stockings and black glossy pumps, though Alastor’s struggling just slightly with the height of them. His hair is curled into broad, loose waves, and he’s painted with sharp eyeliner, dark lashes and deep red lipstick.
He looks like a killer combination of bombshell and housewife, like Jayne Mansfield was here to vacuum carpets. Vox feels quite a few of his higher function systems boot and restart repeatedly, a long moment of very wide-eyed staring that Alastor is happy to preen under, sashaying slowly toward Vox as he attempts to regain a handle on reality.
“Wow,” Vox finally manages to say. He hadn’t even noticed Alastor picking anything up on the way over but he pushes a drink into his hand as he approaches, something dark and on the rocks. Alastor continues pressing into his space, reaching up to hold the bottom corners of Vox’s flatscreen and pull him in for a kiss.
Vox is still staring at Alastor in shell shock when he pulls back, lipstick smudge prominent on his screen. Alastor lapses into a giggle, unable to refrain. He tweaks the corner of Vox’s screen as he turns back towards the kitchen. “Dinner is almost ready,” he intones, too chipper, “How was work?” The dress is cut to allow space for Alastor’s tail, fluffed just below the tidy bow of where the apron is knotted. It’s wagging lightly, in concert with the mischievous flicker in Alastor’s eyes when he glances back.
Seeming to return to awareness all at once, Vox follows after Alastor as if pulled, setting his drinks glass on the dining table before pushing Alastor back against the table as well. No preamble as Vox clutches at the back of his head to dive deep into a kiss, picking him up one handed to sit on the edge of the table. Alastor makes a vague noise of protest against Vox’s mouth as he’s arched backwards, tongues tangling as one of Vox’s hands battles with the petticoat, finally finding Alastor’s knee and grazing upward along the fine meshed nylon until crinoline thwarts him again.
Alastor squeaks loudly when one of Vox’s wandering hands tugs softly at his tail, taking retaliation by reaching up and grabbing both of Vox’s antennae, yanking him away without gentleness. Vox squawks a staticky sound, both hands releasing and flailing as Alastor pulls him away.
Alastor’s staring at Vox, amused and exasperated all at once at the overenthusiasm. “My, my!” he tuts, flicking one of Vox’s antennae as he releases them. Vox’s hands grip at Alastor’s waist once more as soon as he’s released, but he manages to keep himself under control beyond that. “How impatiently scandalous. What if the neighbors saw!” Alastor gestures vaguely at a wall that definitely doesn’t have any windows in it, as it’s deep in the interior of Vee Tower. “Anyway, I need to get back to dinner, it’s nearly done.”
Grinning salaciously, Vox looms over Alastor’s perch on the table. “Pretty sure I’ve got dinner and dessert in front of me,” he rumbles, shifting his hands to instead grope at the soft spill of chest fur beneath the deep cut of Alastor’s neckline. Alastor snorts, dexterously pulling a leg up between the two of them to plant his shoe firmly on Vox’s lower stomach and push him away, pointed heel of his pump dangerously close to vulnerable spots as it presses gently on Vox’s fly.
Vox’s eyes are very wide as he lets himself be pushed, watching as Alastor hops off the dining table and adjusts his skirts. “As I was saying,” Alastor rolls his eyes, affectionately pinching a corner of Vox’s screen before sauntering back into the kitchenette, “I’ve made dinner and it should be ready soon. Why don’t you have a drink while I finish up?”
Vox takes a deep breath, calming himself down as he finds his glass of whiskey before wandering toward the kitchen to watch. Alastor is indeed properly cooking, a large stock pot on the stove top simmering away and smelling pretty damn incredible. He knows, of course, that Alastor is a very good cook. It’s probably been since 1957 that Alastor has cooked for him with any regularity, but these days he does from time to time. Vox sets his drinks tumbler on the kitchen island - there’s a fucking kitchen island - before taking a good look around the flat that has been built into his goddamn playroom.
“This is fucking insane,” Vox mutters, taking in the little home. “I can’t believe you put a whole goddamn house in here. What the fuck is all this for, anyway?”
Alastor grins from his spot by the stove, tail flagged and flicking happily. He throws a soft look over his shoulder to Vox, looking very pleased with himself. “Well, don’t you like it?”
Vox peels off his bow tie and suit jacket, throwing them on one of the dining chairs as he kicks off his shoes. Cute little house, cute little Alastor playing a cute little wife? …Yeah, actually. He does. He likes it a lot. If he were to be honest with himself, it’s exactly what he used to fantasize about, decades and decades ago. And maybe since then as well, but that’s more self-honesty than he’s willing to give.
Apparently Alastor is satisfied with Vox’s lack of an answer as he’s returned to his cooking, but Vox circles back to the kitchen to step up behind where Alastor is standing at the stove. He wraps his arms around Alastor’s waist, leaving him free to cook but pulling him close, burying his screen into the back of his head. “I do,” he mumbles, exhaling slowly. “I like it a whole lot.”
Alastor hums a pleased little noise, leaning back into Vox’s chest. He stirs the thick, aromatic contents of the stockpot, banging the wooden spoon loudly against the side before setting it down and double-checking the rice. “Well,” he says chipperly as he turns to peck Vox on the cheek, leaving another lip-stamp of red lipstick on the screen. “I cleaned the house, I cooked the meal, and I had my daily dose of quaaludes and barbiturates!"
Vox wheezes, torn evenly between high offense and deep amusement. It’s not like he’s wrong. Before he can figure out a response Alastor hums a laugh at him, giving him a proper kiss before sending him off to set the table.
And sure enough, they have a very lovely dinner. Alastor has made an incredible étouffée - he’s always been well aware of Vox’s (poor) spice tolerance level and has always taken care to then surpass it by a notch whenever he’s cooking. But it’s so damn good Vox doesn’t care that he’s sweating a bit, perfectly happy to listen to Alastor rattling on animatedly about the overlord he fought last night.
By the time dinner is over, Vox is unaware just how far into the fantasy he’s let himself slip. He’s not even thinking about fucking anymore, lost in a pleasant haze of domestic bliss and the afterglow of a very good meal. He genuinely caught himself considering that next he wants to snuggle up with Alastor on the sofa and watch a show (not actually possible, as the only television in the flat is him), before suddenly remembering that this isn’t actually his life. It pangs at something in his chest, a thing that runs very deep and old.
He was likely either broadcasting his mood shift on his face or his wavelengths, pulled back to the present as the toe of Alastor’s shoe bumps at his ankle, pushing up beneath the bottom hem of his slacks. Vox blinks, surprised to find Alastor with his chin in his hand, leaning on the table and quietly watching Vox with a soft smile.
Vox smiles in return, a little too honest and a bit too close to the heart. “Thank you,” he says, widely encompassing. Then he catches himself, tilting his grin over into charm as he adds, “Dinner was amazing.”
Alastor beams, stretching his leg to brush the tip of his pump toward Vox’s knee. “I could think of another way that you can thank me,” Alastor lets his tone drop deeply, dark-lashed eyelids dipping low.
Hardly needing to be told twice, all Vox’s eager enthusiasm comes slamming back into gear. He stands and sweeps Alastor up into his arms, one arm tucking beneath his shoulders and the other catching under his knees, crinolines spilling as he scoops him up. Alastor makes a sound of protest in response, though he immediately loops his arms around Vox’s neck, nuzzling at his screen.
Vox tosses Alastor onto the bed and he squeaks in a pile of crinolines. Standing at the bed's foot, Vox appreciates the view of Alastor putting himself back to rights as he works on unclipping the french cuffs of his shirt and pulling his vest off. Alastor reclines back on his elbows, still dressed all the way down to his black pumps, which pleases Vox immensely.
Alastor’s turn to watch appreciatively as Vox pulls off his belt and sets to work on his shirt buttons. “So,” Alastor starts quippily, grin glinting, “This is the bit where I lie back for vanilla missionary and don’t have an orgasm, right?”
Vox scoffs loudly, grunting as he pulls off his shirt with a sharp tug. “Tell me a single time,” Vox says as he crawls up the bed between Alastor’s legs, “Where I haven’t given you exactly as many orgasms as you wanted.” He rumbles the last few words bracketed over Alastor, smirking down at him but being met in equal measure of smirk in return.
They surge together in the same moment, a clunk as an antler strikes the top edge of Vox’s screen in the enthusiasm of the kiss. Vox’s hands are desperately itching to peel off Alastor's layers, but there’s no need to be impatient. He settles in comfortably, letting his weight press down on Alastor. In response Alastor wraps an arm around the back of Vox’s screen to grip at the top frame, keeping him just where he wants him as he hums contentedly into his mouth. Their tongues tangle with the intimacy of casual familiarity, each knowing just how to pull pleasure from the other, comfortable and easy rhythms.
Alastor finally breaks away for a deep breath, Vox taking immediate advantage of the tilt of his head to lick his way down the stretch of Alastor’s throat and soak in his shivers, biting at his open collar. Vox sits back, leaving Alastor flushed and gasping, painting a ridiculously beautiful figure beneath him. There’s a spill of petticoats between them and spread around Vox’s knees, dress and whatever may lie beneath pulling very pretty curves in Alastor’s figure.
Vox impatiently tugs the apron off before settling back in, bracing his weight with one arm and shamelessly groping with the other, cupping at the way Alastor’s fluff fills in the bust of the dress. Alastor scoffs loudly with a very dramatic roll of his eyes, but it’s misaligned with the flush across his cheeks and the pleased curve of his smile. Vox brushes his fingers up to Alastor’s throat, gently raking his claws down across his collarbones and into the thick fleece of his chest. He scratches his claws in deeply, drinking in the little pleased sounds Alastor can’t help but make.
Alastor’s dress has a line of small, fabric-covered buttons from neckline to bottom hem, and Vox can’t resist slicing the first few buttons open easily with a claw, pleased at the way Alastor’s chest spills from the deepened collar. Vox impatiently zips through the buttons down to the waistline, but is immediately distracted by the things being revealed underneath. A black lace bustier is bound tight beneath Alastor’s chest, pushing all his pelage up. He can see the straps of more lingerie below, suddenly making very quick work of the remainder of the dress and slicing through its poofy, layered petticoat. It feels a bit like opening a gift in pretty wrappings. He grabs at the excess of fabric and pulls it away sharply, knelt down between Alastor’s knees and swiftly overheating as he takes in the sight.
Watching him coyly, Alastor is chewing on one of his claws, hair a spill of curls around his ears on the bedspread. The sheer black bustier is embroidered with a delicate stitch work of antlers and lace. There’s a garter belt to match, silky garters clasped to the lace lining the top of his stockings. He’s wearing high-cut briefs made of the same lace, cock visible through the fabric, thickened a bit and interested in the proceedings.
Vox stutters back from his hard restart, bracing himself on the mattress to keep from tumbling over as he reorients. Alastor is mid-giggle fit, sounding ridiculously pleased with himself. “Holy shit,” Vox groans as he takes a seat between Alastor’s shins, taking hold of one of his legs so he can kiss at the stockinged inside of his thigh by his knee. “Where the fuck did you even get this stuff? You look so hot it’s stupid.”
“Velvette's creation,” Alastor grins in response. Vox is busy slipping Alastor’s heels off and kissing at the hooves beneath, but he spares a few processors to send Velvette a very, very generous tip.
Vox shuffles out of his slacks and boxers in a mad scramble, unwilling to bother with the fuss of his sock garters before surging back up between Alastor’s legs to take him in another kiss. He’s all eager force and enthusiastic groping, and Alastor giggles between their lips. Vox rolls his hips in a slow grind, frotting through the sheer lace as he tilts Alastor’s head just so, licking in around his fangs.
It takes Vox a moment to notice Alastor’s wandering hands, gripping at his hips before shifting back, grabbing at the meat of Vox’s ass to pull him close. He doesn’t stop there, though. Vox is fairly lost to his grinding and groping a handful of chest fleece, but he certainly notices when a warm, shadow-staticked tendril of aether presses up against his asshole, gentle but insistent.
“What!” Vox fusses immediately, pulling back to stare an accusation down at Alastor. It’d be easier if he wasn’t so fucking hot, flushed and disheveled from kissing, chest fur mussed and heaving slowly beneath his corsetry. And smug, watching the way Vox watches him. Alastor is deeply self-satisfied as he pulls Vox’s hips down hard to grind up against him while the probing tendril twists in, and Vox can’t help the warbled whine he emits.
Alastor syncs up the steady push of his shadow with each frot of his hips, and Vox really wants to protest and get his dick into the pretty little thing beneath him, but he readily feels it slipping through his fingers. “Fuck,” he whines, dropping his screen to press it against Alastor’s chest, rolling his hips back onto the tendril inside as Alastor grinds against him beneath.
“Aww,” Alastor gives an over-acted faux pout. “Am I ruining all the era-requisite gender conformity? What a shame.” Vox tilts his screen up just enough to glare, but finds Alastor’s grin full of fondness. Alastor arches a brow at him, and he moves so quickly Vox doesn’t have time to startle. He doesn’t even use tentacles, handily flipping Vox over onto his back and darting to follow after with a low growl. Alastor is so lithe and wiry, it’s easy to forget his eldritch, preternatural strength.
Vox reorients himself, finding Alastor poised between his legs and leaning over him, braced on his chest. Still in full stockings and lingerie, cock hard beneath its stretch of lace, smirk full of promise. Yeah, alright. Vox can concede that this is really, really hot. Alastor reaches down and flicks a deft claw to slice off his briefs, cock bobbing freely, and Vox wants.
“After all,” Alastor coos in an airy tone, letting a hand trail down Vox’s chest. He tilts his head, curls bobbing around his wicked grin. “I’ve done everything else around here, what’s one more task?”
Vox starts to protest, but Alastor bends down to interrupt him with a firm kiss. “And you’ve been hard,” Alastor smirks against Vox's screen, emphasizing the word with a roll of his hips, “at work all day, darling, won’t you let me take care of you?” It’s infinitely safer to assume Alastor is still teasing and sarcastic, but Vox feels something soft thump inside at the words nonetheless.
Alastor kisses him again, withdrawing too quickly but shifting to kiss across the frame of his screen. He carries on down his neck, pausing to bite in just slightly, before licking and nipping his way down Vox’s chest. He’s impatient though, wriggling down to settle between Vox’s legs. Vox props himself up on his elbows to watch, but Alastor is expecting it, eyes glinting as he bites at the dip of Vox’s hip before licking up his length, holding eye contact as he sinks his mouth down over Vox’s cock.
Vox groans loudly, and taking advantage of his distraction, Alastor slips a slick claw into Vox’s entrance. The first finger is an easy stretch, but the second makes Vox squirm, wanting. He shivers as Alastor swallows around his length, pushing back against Alastor’s digits with a whining groan.
“Relax, darling,” Alastor purrs from a sound-system speaker in the corner, rubbing his thumbs up his perineum. Vox heaves a deep breath, laying back down properly and tensing up for just a moment to better release his whole frame as he sighs out, melting into the mattress. “Oh, very good,” Alastor projects softly through the speaker, also humming a pleased sound around Vox’s cock. It’s a lovely, floaty space of praise and sensation as he gently works him open.
But Vox can feel himself getting impatient. He may not have been planning on being fucked this evening, but that doesn’t stop him from being any less overeager now that the prospect is before him. “I’m ready, c’mon,” Vox grunts, arching into a gasp as Alastor circles an insistent press against his prostate. He shifts his foot, finding one of Alastor’s hooves and nudging at it, sock against stocking. “I’m fine c’m– please,” Vox finally begs, betting that it’s what Alastor is waiting for, and finding himself correct as he pulls off Vox's cock with a wet pop. He circles a finger around Vox’s rim, looking a little skeptical. Vox tsks at him, reaching down to gently hold an antler, trying to coax him up.
Alastor’s smile sharpens as he climbs back up over Vox. “Certainly eager for someone protesting not so very long ago,” he teases, tucking his knees up under Vox’s thighs, leaning comfortably in over him to rub his cheek and antlers on the corner of Vox's screen.
Pouting through his blush, Vox rolls his eyes. “Babe, you’re not exactly the biggest dick in th–”
The blunt tentacle of aether and shadow that Alastor shoves into him shuts him up immediately, Vox’s legs clutching at Alastor’s hips, yelping. The tendril does something twisting and undulating in all the right spots and Vox howls, wrapping his arms around Alastor, trying to move toward it and away all at once. Fucking cheater. Not that Vox would complain, because then he might stop.
Once his vindication is sated Alastor relents, withdrawing to replace shadow with himself. Vox sighs in relief contentedly, listening to Alastor’s pleased hum as he pushes in. He leans back, holding on to one of Vox’s legs as he pushes in deep, eyes closed serenely. It’s a sight Vox could cherish the rest of his hell-spent years. Braced over him framed in such fine corsetry, lost in his pleasure of Vox’s body.
Turns out it was a good thing he had paused to appreciate the bustier, because next moment Alastor growls a sound of annoyance, shredding the front of it open with an impatient swipe of his claws and throwing it across the room. Alastor heaves a huge breath, scratching at his ribs, running a hand beneath the remaining garter belt. "What an afflictive garment," he grouses, stretching broadly before shifting in close. He adjusts Vox's hips against his own as he settles in comfortably over him, rolling gently. "Certainly not built for any type of physical exertion."
Vox chuckles, reaching up to scratch through the fur across Alastor's ribs and back. Alastor arches into the touch like a cat, humming. "It sure did its job, though," Vox says, already considering how many more to commission from Velvette.
"Was its job to create an idealistic beauty standard, or to sexually arouse you?" Alastor considers, adjusting his stance, trying out a few steady thrusts in a row.
"…Both, right?" Vox grunts, brushing his toes along the silk stockings covering Alastor's shins. He grazes his hands down Alastor's back to hold at his hips encouragingly, unable to resist flicking at a garter to snap it against Alastor's ass.
Alastor smirks, shifting in deep as he curls over him, driving in with force all at once in a way that punches the air out of Vox. He leans in to brace an arm against the mattress beneath his shoulder, propping himself up with a hand leaning against Vox's stomach. Groaning, he shifts into rhythm, setting a firm and steady pace.
For better or for worse, Alastor's fingers had landed close enough to Vox's gills that he seemed unable to resist them. Vox is drifting in a beautiful haze of sensations until a tickling zap of the nervous system zips him back to the moment, gasping loudly into the touch he's experiencing.
Alastor has a few fingertips dipped into his bottommost gill, claw tips tracing gently across the sensitive skin within. Vox squirms, moaning a sound so embarrassing he feels himself blush brightly. Alastor chuckles, but when Vox glares up at him he's busy watching the way his fingertips slide into the soft glow of the gill, how he twitches around his hand with each rolling thrust.
It's a tickling buzz of deep stimulation as Alastor pushes fingers in further, trilling the tip of his claws against the filter filaments lined within. Vox whines, writhing back onto Alastor's cock, exhaling a hot puff of air across the fingers lodged deep within his gill. He slips one finger out to tuck it into the gill above and graze along its edge.
"A-Al," Vox gasps, clutching, pushing back needily against Alastor. "Please," he grabs Alastor's wrist where he's braced at his gills, though he doesn't pull him away. He's not really sure what he's begging for, just that he needs.
At the first sign of Alastor slowing his rhythm Vox begins to grouse, but before he's managed to lodge a complaint a press of shadowed aether joins in alongside Alastor's length. Just enough to provide a little stretch, but more maddeningly, set on rolling steady pressure against Vox's prostate. Vox groans loudly, kicking out to wrap a leg around Alastor's hips as his rhythm increases.
Alastor surges forward, pressing his face against Vox’s screen with an open mouth, moaning softly. Vox’s eyes blink open, cupping a hand at the back of Alastor’s head so he can kiss at his cheek. Alastor thrums a pleased sound, rubbing his face across Vox's screen in response, antlers bumping at his casing.
He shifts back to drive in harder, eyes pinched in a delicate twist of need. Vox cherishes the beauty of it, but is caught surprised when Alastor's eyes blink open to stare back into his own. Vox feels trapped, pinned right where he wants to be between Alastor’s gaze and his cock. Alastor flushes deeply, angling aside but keeping his eyes on Vox’s screen, like he wants to look away but can’t. “Alastor,” Vox rumbles, more static than word, clutching tightly.
Alastor’s breath catches hard and he moans loudly, driving in force. He reaches down to find Vox’s cock, sending him moaning as he pulls at him. “I’m ghhnna–,” Vox tries to say halfheartedly, caught between thrusting up into the fist around him and Alastor's driving force behind him. He still can't look away, so taken with the warmth and want of Alastor's gaze that he doesn't notice the orgasm until it's upon him.
Vox arches up against Alastor's solid weight above him, screen bursting into audible static that squelches feedback, sharp bursts of electric discharge sparking through them both. He clings tightly, gasping raggedly as Alastor pushes every wave of pleasure out of him that he can.
Alastor must have been set on making Vox come first, because his climax starts tumbling just as Vox is coming back to awareness. He snarls static, driving in with abandon as he clutches at Vox. Alastor bites a jaw-clenched hold into the edge of Vox's television, teeth scratching at his screen. He shivers through his last few thrusts, pitching into a whining sound of need, one of his fangs piercing through metal casing.
A grunt, and Alastor collapses onto Vox's chest, unmindful or uncaring about pressing his fur into the come between them. Vox sighs a long sound as he slackens into the mattress, broad hands spread across Alastor's back. They are both panting heavily, asynchronous breathing slowly shifting into rhythm together.
Eventually Alastor stretches, groaning as he withdraws soft from Vox, slumping to the side to lay flat on his back. Vox enjoys his lax contentment for a moment before missing the contact, rolling over to tuck beneath Alastor's arm up against his side and rest a hand on his chest.
Alastor's smile ticks up, pulling him close, dragging Vox's hand over to wrap around his waist. It's an invitation Vox is more than glad to accept, snuggling in and splaying over him. He leans comfortably on Alastor's stomach, wrapping his arms around him as he lays his screen flat across the soft plush of his chest. Alastor holds him, pads of his fingers brushing over the vents on the back of Vox's television.
There's a contented kind of quiet, just enjoying each other's warmth, broadcasts syncing cozily together between their receivers. Alastor takes a deep breath, exhaling into a contented, humming sigh. Vox smiles into fur, sighing in echo through his gills.
“Stay,” Vox mumbles, “For a bit. Please?”
Alastor gently grazes his claws across the back of his casing, tracing around a port. “I would be amenable to that.”
Vox tilts to glance up slightly, unable to stop a blip of surprised static. “Yeah?” He shifts back, curling up into Alastor’s side. Gently, he works his claws through the thick fur of Alastor’s chest, scratching lightly and rhythmically at his skin. Alastor hums before falling into a noise that Vox likes to think of as a purr, a thrumming kind of growly trill. “I mean,” Vox hedges, always ready to take another inch after one has been given, “It is a whole damn house. I bet we could just stay here through tomorrow.”
Alastor smiles widely, eyes closed. “I would be amenable to that, as well.”
Vox’s burst of shocked static is louder this time, staring widely. Alastor chuckles, shifting a hoof against one of Vox’s legs, fine stockings catching at Vox's sock garters. He rolls his head to return Vox’s gaze, smiling like he’s pleased with himself. “I took the liberty of having your fishy little footman clear your schedule for the next few days.” He twinges at Vox’s antenna, grin shifting warm, “Would you like to play at keeping house with me?”
Current zaps between Vox’s antennae, three times in a row in quick succession. He breaks into beaming, certain he looks embarrassingly soft. “You bet your furry little ass I would, are you kidding?”
Alastor smiles warmly, running his palm over the top of Vox's casing. With a happy groan Vox presses his face back into Alastor’s chest, curling around him. “Ugh, I love you so fuckin’ much,” he exhales into the fur, slightly muffled.
Alastor is gently petting at the back of Vox’s head again. “I know that you do, darling,” he says, warm and endearing, smile evident in his tone. A standard response the last handful of years, not that Vox will let himself confess it with much frequency.
It’s quiet for a moment, just the sound of the refrigerator across the apartment cycling on. Alastor hums a noise. “I think that I must love you as well,” he adds very quietly, hand warm against the back of Vox’s case.
Vox exhales into the fleece, like the air was pushed from him. It’s almost as if he’s afraid he’ll break something, unwilling to look up, burying his face deep into fur. He wraps limbs around Alastor to pull himself clingingly close, and Alastor curls back in response, tangling legs together as he tucks an arm around Vox’s back. Neither is in any hurry to leave their grasped embrace, frequencies oscillating into alignment with each other.