Chapter Text
Alastor found Vox’s headless body dumped, half-naked, in a back alley between Skid Row and Sluts Avenue.
It was missing one shoe, an undershirt, and half a pant leg, but otherwise it seemed mostly unmolested. Not a scratch on it. The headless oaf reached for Alastor when he approached, blue claws outstretched, hands grasping blindly at the open air. Alastor merely side-stepped its attentions and used his shadows to hold the mindless thing just out of reach.
He had promised Charlie he would try to do one good deed a week, and this was the one he’d chosen, half because he wanted to see the infuriated impotent rage on the Vox’s face when he presented him with his body, and half because part of him— only a little part— felt kind of, sort of… bad-ish… about everything that had happened.
Now that it was all over, Alastor could admit the whole ordeal had almost gotten away from him. What with Vox nearly destroying half of Pentagram City in a suicidal rage. All in a desperate attempt to— what was it?— wipe the smile off Alastor’s face? Something stupid like that.
Of course, Alastor had known his inevitable victory would result in a cataclysmic battle, but he’d hardly suspected Vox’s obsession with him ran so deep that the delusional cake-eater would willingly try to kill them both and everyone around them. It was almost flattering. Almost.
The tears had caught him off guard the most. The pain. The longing. It was pathetic. Truly, jaw-droppingly pathetic. He’d supposed for the longest time Vox wanted him for his power, but in that moment, it had almost seemed as if his feelings for Alastor went beyond surface level greed.
Maybe Charlie was making him soft with all her talk of redemption and do-goodery, or maybe his time in V Tower, toiling under Vox’s unwanted attentions, had ignited his nostalgia. Whatever the case, he prepared to bring Vox his body and went over what he would say in his head. Should he make it rhyme? Vox would certainly HATE that.
No one would ever know how diligently Alastor prepared his speeches, his comebacks, his quips. He was not so masterful at improv as everybody suspected, preferring to plan every response for every possible scenario. He could still improv on a dime, if necessary, but he did not always fly by the seat of his pants. If Vox was snippy with him, he might say, “Really now, Sparky. Here I am doing you a favor when the rest of Hell has turned its back on you. Ratings tanking. Friendships adrift. You have nothing and no one left. And the only person who cares enough to bring you your body is the man who despises you most. Devastating, isn’t it?”
No no. That wouldn’t do. It didn’t rhyme! He would need to workshop it.
Infiltrating V Tower proved to be comically easy. He just walked through the front door, and everyone scattered. Where was the big welcome? Where were all the explosions and fireworks? Where was the armed resistance? Ah well. His mere presence had scared them witless. Sometimes the simplest approach made the most impact.
The building was jam-packed with people in snazzy suits or nothing at all, a den of innovation and debauchery. Posters for Vee merchandise littered the walls. He saw an image of Angel Dust lounging in a hot tub full of lube proclaiming his endorsement for a new brand of super-slippery condoms. He saw several advertisements for Velvette’s Love Potion: the one that came in a vial, and the newer one that came in a can. He flounced into the elevator with a pep in his step, dragging Vox’s flailing carcass behind him. One of the hands caught his ear as they entered the tight space and he had to swat at it to stop it from stroking him.
This would be interesting indeed.
He whistled as he pressed the button for the top floor and amused himself by ignoring all the pointed stares and loud whispers. He pretended not to notice them noticing him, pretended he didn’t take pleasure in being the center of attention. He was always and forever a diligent performer, and this was just another performance on another stage.
He didn’t glance at the camera in the corner— at the lens that magnified his features. But he noticed it. He noticed everything. His smile remained pin to his face like a mask.
Showtime.
The room was darker than he’d expected. The curtains drawn. The air… thick.
He stepped off the elevator thinking he would find Vox’s square head propped on a stool in the center of the room, pouting forlornly at a hundred screens. But instead, the man’s screen laid face-down on his desk, glass dim, lights flickering.
“And here I thought you’d have the wherewithal to at least TRY to keep busy.” Alastor scoffed, plucking Vox’s disembodied flat screen face up off the desk. He nearly dropped it when he caught sight of the other man’s blank, frozen expression. Morose. Visibly dejected. Disgusting. “On the level, Old Boy, you look a little worse for wear. I came here expecting an overthrown overlord, not a whimpering wet blanket.”
“What do you want, Al?” Vox spoke slowly, his usually frenetic voice lacking any hint of vigor or liveliness. Those icy blue pupils narrowed, unusually lifeless against the crimson canvas of his sclera. Even the light of his screen seemed dimmer somehow. “If you just came to gloat, don’t bother. I’m not in the fucking mood.”
Well. This certainly wasn’t any fun. No fun at all! Alastor rolled his eyes and carried the screen to the dangling body, having his shadows hold it still as he affixed the head back to the neck.
Undoubtedly Vox would return to his old self once he had all his faculties back in order. Then, they could resume their former rivalry. Now that he was free from Rosie’s clutches, Alastor had all the time in the world to entertain himself, and Charlie’s endeavors, while interesting initially in their futility, didn’t keep him fully occupied. He preferred having a rival around to keep him spry, even if Vox irritated him to no end.
The mechanisms clicked back into place. A bunch of bleeps and boops that made little sense to Alastor. However, he felt a subtle change in the frequency around them as Vox clenched and unclenched his fist. But Vox said nothing. He did… nothing.
Why wasn’t he saying or doing anything? Why wasn’t he giving Alastor anything to work with— anything to REACT to.
After twenty agonizingly dull seconds, Alastor decided HE would get the confrontation rolling. “Anything you want to say? Perhaps a ‘thank you’ is in order. Ah, but you never did have the best manners. Did you, Old Pal?” He circled Vox, cocking his head to one side. His red ears twitched as he watched Vox’s hands fastidiously roll up his sleeves, wondering at the other man’s next move, waiting for those hands to punch, choke, or scratch.
Nothing happened.
Vox brushed past him and walked, silently, to his control center, messing with the buttons and settings, adjusting one camera, and then another, paying Alastor no mind. The lack of acknowledgement made Alastor’s fur stand on end. He bristled but had no plans to stay where he wasn’t getting what he wanted.
He schooled his smile into one of nonchalance and glided towards the exit. He could disappear in a puff of shadow, but better for Vox to see him leave the good old-fashioned way.
“Before you go,” Vox’s voice followed him, deep and strangely mellow. “I need to know; did it ever mean anything to you. Did I… ever mean anything to you? We spent nearly every day together for years. It wasn’t just one-sided. You used to seek me out, and the way you smiled at me…”
He trailed off, turning to face Alastor with more conviction, back straighter, gaze sharper.
Alastor paused, and considered his question, brows furrowing as though deep in thought, but he’d already chosen his answer.
“Mmmm. No!” He laughed, delighting in the stricken, angry look that warped Vox’s glitching face into a scowl. “Your delusion is admirable. I liked you about as much as a hobbyist likes a singular ant in one of those confounded little ant farms. You know the ones. You were interesting to observe for a time. The fact that you ever considered yourself worthy of more notice is laughable. You’re an ANT to me, Vox. Why would I care about an ant?”
Silence.
Vox sat in his chair, crossing his legs and leveling Alastor with a cool, withering stare, one the Radio Demon was not accustomed to seeing. With a lazy hand, the Media Demon snapped his fingers and a Robo Fizz skittered into the room carrying a pink can of what Alastor assumed was soda.
The anticipation built. He was used to Vox flying into a rage, shouting, and posturing. He could handle that. He had a thousand witty comebacks for any insult the silver-screened, silver-tongued half-wit might throw at him.
Vox fiddled with the can’s tab. “I guess I expected as much,” he said, drumming his fingers over the aluminum surface. “But if you really didn’t care, why would you come here? Why would you do this? I think you’re holding out on me.”
“And I think you’re clinically desperate.”
Alastor noticed the cables looping themselves around his ankles, felt them slither between his legs like hissing snakes. He pretended he did not see them. FINALLY, Vox was done moping. FINALLY, things could get interesting.
Three seconds was all it took. In the first second, his back hit the floor, the cables entangling themselves around his ankles and hog-tying him like a pig at the county fair. No problem. He could tear them apart easily enough. In the second second he lashed out at Vox, his tentacles swiping at the Media Demon from the shadows, but not hitting him, because Alastor did not want the fight to end too soon. In the third second, Vox had closed the space between them and those blue claws gripped Alastor by the ears while his other hand poured the contents of the can down Alastor’s throat.
It was bubbly and sweet, tasting faintly of strawberries. He choked at the unexpected sensation of carbonation on his tongue and glanced at the can, reading the name: Velvette’s Love Potion.
Alastor blinked twice. He didn’t feel any different. Why would he? Velvette’s manufactured slop could hardly be expected to work on an overlord of his caliber. He’d tried it before, testing whether love potions would have any effect on him. They never had and still didn’t.
But Vox didn’t need to know that.
And really, wouldn’t it be interesting to see what Vox did when he thought he had the upper hand? Wouldn’t it be fascinating to watch the idiot preen and primp himself, just to break his spirit in a week or so? Technically, Alastor’s compliance could be considered an act of charity. He would be giving Vox his confidence back. Perhaps it would help the other overlord grow a thicker skin.
“Maybe THIS will make you less of an impossible fucking cunt!” Vox roared, his screen sputtering as he pinned Alastor down and made sure every last drop of the can found its way down his throat. “How does that taste, you brat? Doesn’t feel so good to have the shoe on the other foot, does it?”
His grip on Alastor’s ears softened, the rage losing some of its grit. “Let’s try this again, baby.” Vox grinned wide and leaned in close, so close Alastor could feel the charge coming off him. “Are you SURE I didn’t matter to you?”
Alastor considered his options and chose to smile dreamily, putting on a dazed affectation. Why not? What better way to play the part?
“I… I don’t know,” he stumbled on his words, blinking his eyes slowly as though disoriented. “I... I… have you always been so… handsome?”
He nearly choked on a laugh, but swallowed it before it found its way out of his throat. Would Vox believe this, or would he see through the ludicrous act? How much could his unearned pride blind him to reality?
Vox’s screen brightness suddenly dialed up several notches, and those electric blue teeth stretched in a wide, toothy smirk right before Alastor’s eyes. Those creepy glowing claws began stroking his ears, base to tip.
“That’s better, baby. Was that so hard? Compliments will get you everywhere.” Vox crooned, his wires tugging Alastor to his feet as he made to stand. He wrapped an arm around Alastor’s waist experimentally, pressing their bodies flush together with the caution of a man waiting for everything to go wrong.
When it didn’t, he sighed with relief and continued yapping. “Now, here’s what I’m thinking,” he said. “Why don’t we start over? No deals. No promises. No livestreams. Just you and me having a nice, long chat.”
Alastor dusted himself off. It took every fiber of his being not to roll his eyes at the Media Demon. The arm around his waist was not as terrible as he’d thought it would be. The room was a bit drafty, and Vox was warm by comparison. It was easy to PRETEND he liked the touch and lean in.
“A chat?” He echoed. “What would you like to chat about, Vincent?”
Vox’s grin seemed impossibly wide. He placed his hand on Alastor’s lower back and guided him towards the couch.
“Oh… I can think of a few things.”
At any time, Alastor could have stopped it, but there was something so fascinating about Vox’s audacity. Vox wanted to know where he liked to be touched. Alastor said “nowhere”. Vox wanted to know if he ever touched himself. Alastor feigned ignorance over the meaning behind the question and said it would be difficult not to touch himself. How would he ever get anything done? Dressing? Brushing? Bathing? Not touching himself would be completely impractical. Vox asked if he could touch Alastor, which Alastor allowed for the sake of the con, becoming stiff as a board when Vox pulled him into his lap.
It took him a moment to relax, and a moment loner to lean his back against the other man’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of every breath Vox took. The swell of Vox’s crotch pressed against his bottom, wedging itself between his cheeks, growing larger by the second. Vox muttered something near his ear, his lips stamping themselves against the back of Alastor’s neck. It sounded like a question, but Alastor didn’t quite hear it, so he said: “Yes?”
Wrong answer. Vox’s cables climbed up his body, hooking under his clothes. In the blink of an eye, they had dragged his pants to his ankles and his shirt over his head. Before he knew it, he sat naked in the Media Demon’s lap, watching a stray cable slither away with his underwear like a prize.
“Wait!” He gasped. The air hit his skin like an icy tongue. He tried to cover himself with his hands, but he didn’t know what to cover first— his limp cock, nestled in a tuft of red fur, or his nipples that were turning into stiff pebbles as the cool air wafted over him. It was all at once humiliating and strangely exciting, a feeling he did NOT want to examine.
“What’s wrong? Oh! Does it feel uneven because you’re naked and I’m fully dressed?” Vox waggled his brows, hooking an arm under Alastor’s knees and pulling them up until they touched his chest, so that the icy air now hit his bare bottom, newly exposed in this position. His deer tail dangled limply, evidence of the one lie Vox ever told for him. “How about I level the playing field?”
“How generous of you.” Alastor drawled sarcastically, but then remembered he was supposed to be in love with the cube-headed freak. “Go ahead, darling. Dazzle me. I’m sure it will be so impressive and not at all underwhelming.”
He heard the Media Demon’s pants unzip, and when he looked down, he saw a massive blue cock throbbing between his cheeks, the thick head glowing like the lure on an angler fish. It was unnecessarily large, garishly so, with gill-like ridges. For what purpose Alastor had no unearthly idea. Did his penis need to breathe under water?
“Like what you see?” Vox rubbed the length of his odd-looking willy against Alastor’s hole and testicles.
Alastor hummed, biting his lip when a strange thrill jolted through him at the unexpected contact.
“I’ve certainly never seen anything like it,” he said.
Vox practically puffed himself up upon hearing the “compliment”. His chest swelled and his giant cock twitched in a wholly unnecessary way. “You know what,” he said, kissing Alastor’s shoulder for emphasis. “I think the rest of the city needs to see this. What do you think?”
Vox carried him to the window. The shades lifted. The light burned Alastor’s eyes, which had just adjusted to the darkness. He looked out at Pentagram City as his vision corrected itself, mortified. Surely, they were too high up to be seen, but the risk of exposure sent chills down Alastor’s spine. Vox pressed his bare bottom against the glass while his tongue slid along the shell of Alastor’s ear.
“Touch yourself.” He commanded, as though he had any right to give Alastor commands.
Alastor obliged, telling himself it was just for… “the plot” … as the youths would say. He reached for the growing hardness between his legs.
“No no.” Vox laughed with his chest. His cables pried apart Alastor’s cheeks, so he could see his rosy hole twitching in the faint reflection on the glass. “You’re my bottomest bitch, remember? Finger your tight little deer bussy. You need to loosen it up for me. Otherwise, it might hurt.”
“Ha! No!” Alastor bristled. “Absolutely not.”
Vox paused, his playful mood suddenly shaken off for the time being.
“Seriously? You’re gonna be stubborn about THIS?” He pressed their foreheads together, studying Alastor’s expression for… something. His voice softened, a husky growl. “You want me to do it, Bambi? Scared to touch yourself there?”
Alastor’s ears flattened against his head. He was not scared. Of course he was not scared. It was just that he did not like the way Vox had requested it. It was… beneath him. Yes. That was it.
“Bushwa!” He said, clicking his tongue. “I merely refuse to do any of the work. You care about this more than I do. I can take a little pain. Why should I be bothered with all the extra nonsense.”
“Hah.” Vox snorted but didn’t seem upset. “Fine. Fine. You’re lucky I don’t mind foreplay. Besides, I have tools for this.”
A cable attached to something strange and phallic, no larger than a few inches slithered towards them. Before Alastor could say he didn’t want anything attached to a cable in his backside, the object had plunged itself into his unused hole, slick with lube.
It thrusted and stretched his insides, massaging spots he’d never allowed anyone to touch… spots HE had never touched.
“HAHHHH! Hnnnn!” He covered his mouth with a hand to stifle the sounds suddenly escaping him, sounds that were so pitiful he wanted to bite his own tongue and swallow it to silence himself.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Vox muttered into his shoulder, sinking his teeth into his skin, and leaving behind a mark that flared. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. You’re so cute when you whimper. So perfect. I could look at you forever. Don’t you see? I could’ve been doing this to you for over 70 years. But you HAD to be difficult.”
“Ahh ahh ahhhh!” Alastor was not in a headspace to argue, what with his tail wagging and his back arching against Vox’s chest, cloven feet pressed against the glass.
“We can still make up for lost time, baby,” Vox urged, turning Alastor’s head and catching his lips in a long, breathless kiss. “It’s not too late. You came here because you wanted to see me. I know you did. I know you missed me. Please tell me you missed me.”
Alastor said nothing. Con or not, he would never admit to that. Instead, he focused on reaching for his aching erection, pressed flat against his stomach, leaking pre-cum.
“Woah there, Al. Not yet.” Vox smirked as the tiny toy ejected itself from the slick, throbbing entrance, leaving Alastor aching and empty.
“I did not say you could stop.” Alastor snapped with more frustration than he meant to reveal.
“Shhh. Onto bigger and better things, Baby. You should be ready for me now,” Vox groaned, pressing the too-large tip of his oversized cock against Alastor’s aching hole. “I’m gonna fuck you so deep, Al. If you thought that was good, you’re going to LOVE this.”
Alastor yowled as the rod rammed inside him. It… Shocked him. Literally. Not figuratively. The damn thing was zapping him from the inside! He felt it in his testicles. He felt it in his prostate. The electric shock coursed through him in waves, making him tense and untense sporadically. It bulged his belly with every thrust, the light of that plump tip visible under his skin.
“AH AH AHH!” His rectum spasmed desperately around the invading force, head lolling back onto Vox’s shoulder, tongue hanging out one side of his mouth. He needed to regain control of the situation. It had gone too far. Way too far. “Vincent, it’s too much. It’s… shocking me. You never said it would do THAT.”
“You never asked.” Vox shrugged, staring into his face, recording his every expression. Alastor knew that look. He recognized it.
“Don’t you dare fucking record this!” He roared, but Vox started bouncing him faster on his cock and Alastor’s mind began to swim. “I-I-I—”
“I’ll never show a soul. Just like I’ll never tell anybody about your pretty tail.” Vox promised, catching his lips in another kiss. His tongue slipped into Alastor’s mouth, coaxing his own tongue into a dizzying dance. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. You’ll always be mine.”
It was the absolute worst time for Alastor’s body to decide to orgasm. The shaking, the embarrassing sounds, the messiness of ejaculation. Any other moment would have been bearable. THIS was insufferable.
But not more insufferable than the sensation of something thick, hot, and wet filling him as Vox huffed and puffed behind him. Without the daze of euphoric orgasm, Alastor was less than pleased to feel Vox’s seed coating his insides, and he vocalized as much by hissing and thrashing.
“Was it necessary to come inside me?” He snarled, squirming in disdain as Vox carried him to his chair without ever once removing himself.
“Was it necessary to pretend the Love Potion worked just so you could rationalize letting me do this to you?” Vox countered. “You think I don’t know the specs of my own fucking products? But I know you. I knew you needed a reason to PRETEND you didn’t want this.”
Silence.
What?
There were three options in front of Alastor. Option 1: He could stay and acknowledge the fact that both he and Vox had known the love potion did not work from the start. Option 2: He could eviscerate Vox and hope causing a bad enough head injury would erase this unfortunate encounter from his memory.
He chose the third option.
He vanished in a puff of smoke.