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“Well, this is certainly an interesting turn of events,” Alastor narrates, claws hooking around the odd metallic door before shutting it completely. “This doesn't have a lock? Why, anyone could just waltz inside! And you know my thoughts on your little security devices, you skimped too much on the angelic steel.” He pulls his lips aside with a claw, revealing white metal caught between his teeth.
“Al. Hhhhxxxxx—” Vox moans. “Alastor?” He asks, his eyes unfocused and screen fogged up. Currently, he’s in the middle of what appear to be TV-18 rated activities. But all his clothes are still on, so Alastor feels rather safe. “Whhh— hhh. Ffuckk. What’re you doin’ here?”
“You were quite literally calling my name.” Alastor points out, removing a soiled towel from the bed by poking it with the edge of his staff. “Shouldn’t I have come? Were you hoping for someone else?”
Vox lays back against the bed. He's panting slightly, despite his mouth being mostly cosmetic as far as Alastor can tell. It deserves further study, certainly. Has he always had hearts for pupils? Is that a new design choice?
“Get out of my house!” Vox’s eyes go from cloudy to clear in an instant, and he sits up to look warily at the predator that has slunk into his home. Vox at least he still has enough propriety to grab a pillow and shove it over his lap. “I’m not gonna warn you twice!”
“What a state you’re in!” Alastor says, fully knowing the flirtatious wink he gives does not a femme fatale make, yet leaning into it anyways. “Is this how you usually spend your free time?”
“Have you come here to make fun of me?” Vox asks, miserable. “‘Cause you picked a really shitty time.”
“I can see that,” Alastor acknowledges, squaring his shoulders, and admiring the interior of Vox’s bedroom. Monochromatic, soulless corporate. “How fortunate for you that I came here for much more amicable purposes than a fight.”
Machinery halted his train of thought with a record scratch. Alastor pins his ears down. Vox looks up at him. "Fxxzh…Ignore me.”
That was always the plan. Alastor resolutely does not acknowledge at the place Vox’s crotch is straining against the fabric of his pants, and Vox groans into his fist, mutes himself for a brief second to scream into the void, then rasps out: “What do you want?”
There we go. Now things are getting interesting. Alastor feels something inside himself thrash at the vulnerable question. Hook, line, and sinker. Vox has already swum himself in the maw of a bigger fish, and Alastor does so revel in the seconds before the swallow. He shivers. Not frightened, just… anticipating.
“Nothing much, I’ll help you with this.” Alastor gestures, cocking his head to the side and admiring the way Vox’s face brightens at the attention. He is just too easy. Alastor speaks slowly, then. The thrill of the hunt simmering in his belly like hot stones dropped in water. “In exchange— I was thinking you could help with a hunger of mine.”
Vox bites his lip, considering. For a moment Alastor thinks he might genuinely say no and wouldn’t that be humiliating? Alastor would have to go into Hell witness protection, or something! Is that what Rosie is already doing to him? Nevermind. The point is, Vox is as predictable as ever. He rolls his lip through his teeth before blurting: “What kind of hunger?”
“The cannibalistic kind,” Alastor replies.
Vox hesitates. “And you’ll really fuck me?”
“Oh! Nononono. No,” Alastor cackles, waving the question away. “That’s hilarious, but no. However I will help you, if that’s what you’re angling for. But I’ll be keeping my clothes on and you of course won’t be allowed to touch me—”
Dryly, “Of course.”
“Because as we both know— I would never agree to fuck you!”
Vox sighs. “Yeah, okay.”
“Never ever!”
“Right, I get it.”
“And if you ever thought I would—you’d be so wildly far from the truth that your guess may as well have crossed the threshold of ‘far off’ and been sent straight into outer space. Eventually getting enough inertia to come crashing back down to Earth, where the blackened corpse would burn up during re-entry and land somewhere in Utah or something.”
Vox stares at him blithely. “Are you done?”
“Your assumption would need to have a closed-casket funeral, Vox. It’s family wouldn’t even be able to give a proper goodbye. Is that what you want? To traumatize a family?”
“Yeah. As impressive as it is that you’ve managed to make up an entire narrative around that. I am way too horny for your digs to actually land. But your long-winded yapping has somehow managed to make me soften up a little. In the middle of one of the most sexually charged moments in my entire afterlife—and trust me, that is impressive—so there’s that. Points for creativity and a participation ribbon.”
“I have a divergent thinking pattern,” Alastor agrees, pleased with himself.
“Fffuck, is that Freud? Nevermind. Don’t tell me. I’m at my limit, Al. If you can’t fuck me, can you touch me? I’m so…
“Oh, honey.” Alastor hums, eyes clicking into their dials. “Right now…I could do anything to you.”
The implication— which should be horrifying— only serves to make Vox groan. His hips cant up against the pillow. It's pathetic.
Alasor lets his tentacles coil around his waist, twisting around his wrists and trapping him there, accentuating the fluid line of his back and the hard-on in his pants. He wants to see Vox—debased and ruined. He wants to see him brought to a heel, begging for mercy with a mouth full of metal. And wouldn’t that be a reminder of old times? Of how willing Vox used to be, before he became ambitious. Ruthless, and cunning? Before all these overlord games mattered above h—above everything?
“Are you having fun?” He asks. Choking Vox out until his lungs rattle like castanets. “Do you enjoy bringing death to your doorstep, little one?”
Alastor removes the pillow and raises his foot to nudge Vox’s cock through his tented pants, stepping on his thigh, meanly. Leaning forward until they’re practically sharing breath, then going lower.
“Alastor,” Vox complains, his screen shorting out. “You suck so bad—” at a well-timed bite, his sentence cuts off into a shameless electronic warble. Alastor smirks against his shoulder, lapping the blood off. It’s so satisfying, the electric tingle of Vox’s current inside his mouth, he wants to cut him open and devour every inch of the open wound. He wants to feel the tender meat around Vox’s stomach. Premium cuts all laid out for his delectation…
Alastor places his foot firmly on Vox’s crotch, now. Digging the apple of his shoe into his aching erection. Vox keens, babbling pathetic little nothings as all the lights fizzle out with a terrible, electric wail of death. “Please,” Vox begs, rocking his hips forward slightly only for a shadowy tendril to squeeze his neck again. “Damn, Al. Puh— hffff— please. Feels so good— let me—I can…!”
After relishing in his exasperation sufficiently, Alasont relents. “Go ahead,” he says mildly, grinding the heel of his shoe down.
At the permission, Vox pistons his hips up in earnest and gasps as a bolt of liquid pleasure runs down his spine. All bets are off at this point—he’s humping Alastor like a dog. No pretense left, all these pathetic sounds escaping him. Needy whines clawing their way out from his throat. It is then that Alastor notices something about Vox—overblown and hazy. Something about that doesn’t seem quite right. He just can’t put his finger on it…
“Are you in heat?” Alastor wagers a guess.
Vox’s hips stutter and stall, “What?”
“It’s a biological mating cycle—”
“I know what a heat is!” Vox yells, screen flushing so bright you’d think Alastor just uncapped a flashbang with the way his vision whites out. “This isn’t…that’s not a— I’m not a fucking girl!”
“No one said you were,” Alastor mutters, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He’s going to get a migraine at this rate.
“Bwah—” Vox starts, cutting himself off on a low groan when Alastor reminds him of his place with a harsh knee to the stomach followed by a firm stomp to the groin. The motion cuts a live wire to his crotch—Vox lighting up with pretty little sparks, a moan tearing from his throat against his will. Winded, sputtering, “What the fuck is your problem?!”
“If it isn’t a heat then what is it?”
“It’s—” Vox’s hips snap up again, and he tilts his head back to chase the sensation. His big, stupid mouth falling open and his tongue unspooling from it. Alastor's imperious expression gazing down, mouth slanted cruelly, he takes his shoe away just in time for Vox to collapse forward.
“Damnit!” Vox swears, humping uselessly as waves of pleasure all recede. A small wet spot appears on the front of his pants, and for a moment Alastor is worried he didn’t pull away in time, but Vox clears any doubt up when he glares daggers up at him. “Fuck you! Tease!”
“Now, now.” Alastor chides, petting the top of his head, “What was it about your heat?”
“Not a heat,” Vox corrects, shifting. “It was Val. He has this stupid date-rape drug he wanted me to try, okay? An’ he spiked me with it…then fuckin’ forgot or bailed or I don’t know decided it was hot for me to deal with it on my own. Doesn’t matter. I should have known better. I do know better so why do I always…”
Alastor swears under his breath. He always hated that man. An idea is already formulating, he lowers himself to his knees slowly, letting his thighs slide open. An enticing little set piece for Vox’s fantasy, he pitches forward until he’s well and truly able to devour Vox’s neck. In between bites, licking the blood off his canines, muttering asinine little tidbits of advice.
“Of course your partner would do that,” he says. “Always so greedy, that one. He’s surrounded by a new pack of pretty things every day.”
“He’s not so bad,” Vox argues, and Alastor has to bite down hard to curb a genuine flare of annoyance that resurges. Clearing his throat. He pins Vox to his bed by the nape of his neck, and Vox makes what sounds suspiciously close to an emergency broadcast morse code broadcast at the feeling. “Gonna—oh shit, Al! Hugh— can I— please don’t fuckin’ stop again. I’ll die, I actually will die—”
Alastor growls, heat swooping in his stomach at the pathetic display. He clamps down on Vox’s shoulder. “Vincent, stop talking.”
Vox shakes his head, trembling all over, his breathing unsteady. He grinds and thrusts upwards against Alastor madly, chasing his pleasure with reckless abandon. And Alastor is just another addition to that—hot all over, but not overly touchy. He caresses Vox’s crotch directly with his hand one time, and it sends him into a frenzy. Moaning, thrusting wildly, blood pooling out of his mouth as he cries: “Coming, fuck fuck fuuck! Alastor!”
Alastor watches Vox in his blue screen afterglow. By the time he powers on again, he looks refreshed, like a brand new television with full HD quality restored. All his delicate, fiddly settings returned to their annoying factory defaults. Alastor pets the top of his screen affectionately, reluctant to leave, but unwilling to stick around for when Vox is fully lucid.
***
“Darling, can you hand me the scissors?” Rosie asks, holding out a hand.
Alastor stares into the fireplace idly. His hand was still warm.
Rosie raises an eyebrow. “Eventful night?”
Alastor sighs. “You have no idea.”.
“The scissors, please.”
The day he sold his soul was hot and humid and all the things a Louisianian summer should be. Alastor never had agency, topside. And the likelihood he ever would was slim and felt like it was growing slimmer. He wanted it all: fame, passion, flowers thrown upon his stage.
Alastor hands her the scissors.
“Your coat is rumpled,” Rosie comments idly, petting down the column of his ear and pulling away when it delivers a static shock. “Oh?”
She’s messing with him, of course she is. Of course she would figure it out. In fact, she probably already guessed every thought and action he would perform in the next two weeks. But even knowing that, she still thought to let him pretend. Just to get under his skin. Alastor turns to glare daggers at her, she snorts, and begins laughing.
“Ah! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Rosie wipes a tear of mirth from her eye. “You’re just too easy to tease! I’ll stay outta your business, honey. Just remember—” she pokes his forehead, right where his killmark is. “Some people are more trouble than they’re worth, hm?”
Alastor’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes when he says: “I’ll keep that in mind.”