[ Alastor should be, and on some level, he was. Alastor was aware of the predicament that he's in. He stood teetering on a ledge, and a single push would be enough to send him crashing down. But he knew how to hide it well, and it was second nature to do so while pushing all those other emotions to the front.
They kissed, and Alastor raised one hand to cup Vox's cheek. He pulled back by just a few inches. Alastor brushed his thumb against the man's screen. ]
Too bad it's still just you.
[ It wasn't anything as dramatic as care. They'd known each other for too long, half of Alastor's life, and both of them had remained the same. Vox hadn't changed at all, not in any way that really matters.
He didn't wait for the other to respond, he didn't want him to, because it would only ruin atmosphere, and so he brought their lips back together - slow, soft, savoring. Maybe this time they could do better than sharp cuts and bitter sentiments.
[For a second, Vox opened his mouth, always with a word to say, always with something to add or spin or twist.
But he didn’t. Words didn’t come, something quiet and warm sitting in his chest instead. He blinked once, twice, both red eyes staring at him in a nakedness he didn’t show anyone, while his face flushed. There was a truth to it, sure, but it meant that all of this was still the same. Not for nothing – he had Hell and Heaven now – but it was Vox. Not God. Just Vox.
Maybe even just Vincent for these rare moments, alone, right now.
He closed his eyes as he kissed him back, fighting the urge to take it faster, sharper like he did with Val. Hell, he didn’t even try to take charge, letting Alastor carry the reins for now, letting him set the pace. Maybe if he did, Vox wouldn’t fuck it up this time.
Maybe.
One of his hands settled on Alastor’s waist for a moment before trailing his claws up his coat, then back down again to settle on his hip. Would they even make it to the throne? Fuck if he knew or exactly cared in the moment. All of these theatrics and the road to Heaven had been for himself, sure. He wanted to prove himself. He wanted to fulfill that feeling he got when he was in charge of the cult, all those eyes on him, looking at him, seeing him.
But none of those eyes ever felt half as good as Alastor’s.]
[ Alastor moved at his own unhurried pace, because he was still uncertain about it all. He was hardly a blushing virgin, but he hadn't been with anyone since he was still alive. In Hell, there was no need to maintain image by abiding by putting on a performance and adhering to strict social standards and unspoken rules; the only thing that mattered was power, and he had enough to live freely.
It all felt new again. It felt different, somehow more intimate. It wasn't that he had no affection for the women he was with, but there was always a different sort of distance. The gap between Alastor, who lived a double life, and other humans was vast. Here, in Hell, with video that should have complimented video, that gap seemed to narrow.
That sensation was there even now, but it was different. It felt as though his chest was constricting, like his chest cavity would collapse in on itself, choking the breath out of him and tearing through his heart. It was a warmth that drew him closer, and it was a pain that led him to shove Vox away, and perhaps it could be said that they'd found some comfortable distance in their constant fights and with those protective layers of strife and mockery. They could never be close, but they would never be alone either. It was an ugly, vile relationship, but a safe one, and one that they could keep alive and well for all eternity.
But there was a time when he'd thought they understood each other, and those complicated feelings had remained. It was something that he hadn't experienced before meeting him, and he hasn't since.
He was in no hurry to move, because it didn't really matter; angels didn't know how to make comfortable seats anyhow. It was all gaudy gold and other archaic materials. Rather, he eased myself closer and shifted his knees to face him better. He let his hand slide along the edge of Vox's screen, down his neck before coming to rest on his shoulder. The opposite hand moved up next, fingertips brushing against his waistband before his fingers slid up his torso before gripping his other shoulder. He massaged Vox's shoulders briefly before slipping his thumbs under the edges of his blazer and sliding his hands along in an effort to ease it down and off of him.
He was picking up where they left off. Surely they could get further this time. ]
[That depended on how long it took Vox to open his mouth.
Vox could understand the double life, the need to hide certain aspects of one’s self from a hungry public. His power came from his image, the same power he could project from the clothes he wore to his presence of self; it had always been that way, living and dead. One didn’t gain a vast following with cracks.
The few supposedly “illicit” affairs he had were never spoken of, kept in far away motels, fake names, paid in cash and out of town. When it became impossible to do so as his name got bigger, brighter in those shimmering lights, he buried it all as much as he could. And when he woke here, when he finally tried and wasn’t arrested but instead laughed at-
No more letting anyone, anyone see anything other than what he wanted them to see. He controlled it. He controlled all of it.
Except that someone wouldn’t let it be that easy, would they? Poking him, prodding him, making him unravel every. Single. Time. Every wall didn’t matter, every bloody electronic strike didn’t matter, every shadowy throw at a wall didn’t fucking mean a thing. They were two moons trapped in the same orbit, forever moving but never getting closer, never able to leave.
His breath caught in his chest as felt how slow Alastor was moving, the way he seemed – the way that Vox could believe in that moment that it really, really wasn’t a trick. He was used to the quick and dirty of other people (not naming names), but this was the opposite, a painstaking journey that he didn’t mind taking the scenic route on. After all, he said he had a couple of hours before anyone (hopefully) would come looking for him. He shrugged his shoulders to help rid himself of the jacket, reluctantly pulling his arms free from Alastor so it could be gone completely. One of his cables reached over to snag it and put it back on the throne so it wouldn’t get wrinkled.
Image.
His own claws reached up, plucking at the red fabric of his coat, before tapping the buttons through the holes. They had done this before, hadn’t gotten much farther than that when it went to shit, but maybe this time, he wondered as he trailed his hands under it, running up his sides towards his chest, it would be better. Maybe they could not want to kill each other for a little longer.]
Shit.
[It was a quiet, murmured thing against his mouth before he pulled away just a hair. Don’t mind him as he puts his phone on Do Not Disturb.]
[ As with before, Alastor easily acquiesced to him, shrugging his jacket off with ease and letting it slide down his arms. It was such a small thing, but it was rare for him to be seen without it. He felt too vulnerable when he took it off, too exposed when any part of his body was seen, but Vox was quite familiar with this much. He'd taken off his jacket before, he'd played piano for him, he'd let him into his home and treated him as a familiar person.
He shakes his jacket off, tugging his hands free of it even as the other started to pull away. They hadn't gotten much further than this, and when he reached his hands up to toy with the other's bowtie, it was a half-hearted gesture. If people were calling him now, then it would only be so long before they were banging on the door - a couple hours before meetings or not.
Alastor could be a little kinder about it this time, at least. ]
... If you're busy, we can try again later, when it's really just the two of us.
[ It was still a little irritating, but he'd be far more irritated if someone came banging on the door. He's willing to accept that option, but Alastor couldn't exactly escape here, and he was that sort of private person who really would throw throw a tantrum and find it to be unforgivable if they were interrupted at a vulnerable moment. And so his ears pinned back again, demanding reassurance one way or another.
Vox could at least reserve his own bedrooom at night, or so one would hope. ]
I don't mind waiting.
[ Well, maybe a little, but... Well, if they had all night, then he could excuse it. Because Vox would make sure that they'd have all night. He'd better make sure they'd have all night, in fact, because Alastor would be demanding that if this went any further. ]
All of this was so fragile that waiting seemed to be asking for trouble, like it would break whatever delicate balance they had. It was far more than enough time for Alastor to rethink it, shut it down, and get over the entire thing. Or, worse: find a way to use it against him.
But if he was coming back to do it again after the disaster that was the last time, then maybe there was hope.
Besides, the security of his own room, locked doors, being left alone all night? That was hard to argue with. Especially when he had a feeling that being interrupted would result in someone losing limbs and a whole lot of blood that he didn’t want to clean up.]
Reminder: ruler of two realms. When am I not busy?
[It was being a CEO times a million, but everyone knew to let him sleep, at least. It didn’t do well (for other people) when he didn’t. His hand slid up, the sharp point of his thumb running over one of Alastor’s cheeks, the end sparking ever-so-slightly. If it wouldn’t have made it suspicious, he would’ve forwarded his calls to Velvette.]
Fine. [He looked at throne with a sigh; there would be another time to defile it properly, he supposed.] My room, tonight at eleven. The door locks from the inside and no one has a key but me. Cameras off.
[There was a pause for a moment before he reached down to help put Alastor’s coat back on him, a noticeable contrast from last time.]
If you try to kill me in my sleep, though, I will smite you.
[ His ears went flat back at the question of when Vox wasn't busy, because Alastor was quite needy. That didn't matter in the least bit, because he expected to be more important than every realm. Vox could either make time, or he could not, but the Radio Demon wouldn't accept being on call and only on call until something more important came up. That was far more humiliating than being a prisoner.
His displeased expression lasted past that hand on his cheek, the small shudder that the spark sent through him - a pleasant spark that made him want to nuzzle against the hand that held his face. He placed a hand over the one on his cheek and did just that, rubbing his cheek against the others palm before removing it so he could allow the other to help him put his coat back on.
HBe was still displeased as he buttoned it back up, but at length that sunny smile got a chuckle and his eyes grew a little wider and his grin widened into something more pleasant. ]
... Fine. But if you take your eyes off me for even a second, I'll kill you.
[ Alastor wouldn't. He couldn't. But he could still have a fit if displeased, and what good was that when they wanted the same thing? Because Alastor really...
For Vox alone, he there was...
xxxx... ]
But if you're a good boy, we can sleep together tonight. ♪
[ And that was indeed a promise of it being all night... The aftercare (if Vox was willing to trade experiments with a couple bites with sharp teeth for electric shocks) and cuddling up after and all. That was a fair deal, wasn't it? ]
[Balancing Whatever This Was and being a god was going to take work, a lot of mistakes, and time, but he would figure it out eventually. Hopefully? But that was jumping all the guns considering he didn’t even think This was a This at all. He didn’t know what it was.
But he did know that Alastor’s face felt so good against his palm that he started to want it to be a This. ]
Oh, so you do want the cameras on.
[The laugh was low as he leaned in close to kiss him, a quick thing, something with a brief swipe of his tongue. What the fuck was he doing? How could Vox forgive him after everything? He needed to get his head back on straight, think all this through. This was ridiculous, and-
Suddenly, the screen turned for snow for a second, bright and white, before his extremely shocked face appeared back on it. Was it patterned with the absolute brightest blush possible? Yes. Did the offer of “being a good boy” and “sleeping together tonight” make his fingers stumble as they tried to fit buttons through the holes? Absolutely. He wasn’t a dog, and he certainly wasn’t a good boy, but the way it was said from him did something to him.
He looked at his wrist to see what time it was. Not late enough.
Dammit.]
“Good boys” don’t take over Heaven. [He smoothed his hands down the front of the other demon’s coat, straightening it.] What are you going to do while I’m working? You’re still a prisoner and we do have an image to uphold.
[ The mention of cameras on earned a snarl, but it was only a token reaction before he returned the kiss. Vox knew the answer already, and Alastor knew that he would respect it. They were both old fashioned in that way, where private affairs were private.
Vox wasn't a dog, and in truth the expression wasn't meant to treat him as on so much as it was a gesture of teasing affection, but the reaction made him brighten. There was a glow to that toothy grin, something amused and delighted that hadn't been there in so many years, because he really hadn't expected it. ]
Well, well... [ His breath caught as the other smoothed his jacket out, sucking in a breath and causing his chest to jut out before he exhaled. He used his index finger to tilt Vox's screen up, ] God can have mercy, hmm...? As long as I don't leave here...?
[ He could be a benevolent God who let his prisoner wander within the confines of his wall, surely? Even if they were a little less unpleasant, Alastor would always feel those constraints, that crushing tightness. Nothing would fix his need for freedom.
But this wasn't the same as Hell. And Alastor does fix him with a look that asks if he really means to hide this forever. ]
And I should hope that a god should at least be able to say who he's courting, prisoner or otherwise...
[ Because Vox isn't embarrassed by that, right...? He doesn't see it as harming his image anymore, not when Alastor is willing to accept it despite being the famed solitary Radio Demon, right...? ]
It’s optics, Al. [His mouth was a tight line, conflicted in the moment. He knew the answer Alastor wanted, of course, but he also knew how it would look to the angels he just took over, how it looked to the other Sinners out there. Strength was important during a takeover, in the fresh weeks after a rebellion.] If I seem easy on you, then other people will think I’m weak. That’s when you get assassination attempts, fights, blowback. Everything is delicate right now.
[This probably wasn’t going to go well, and he could feel the weight of it in the air. His hand reached up to cup the side of Alastor’s neck, his sharp thumb running over his jawline like it was a razorblade. The next words came through his speakers, the barest of fuzz tickling at syllables.]
You understand, don’t you?
[Please don’t cut off his hand.]
I’m not saying tie you to a chair again – unless you want me to? - but maybe just wait in here today.
[He wasn’t a secret! He just- this was- there was the image! And appearances! And staying strong in these new, unprecedented times! Alastor would understand. Right?
Right?
Although the one who wasn’t exactly understanding was Vox because courting? Courting was actually a Thing. It was effort and the start of something serious and romantic and he wasn’t- that was- Shit, what was he going to tell Val? Did Alastor understand the level of rage this was going to start? And was it-were they-
Were they actually dating and he didn’t know it? They hadn’t even managed to get beyond kissing without almost murdering one another.
Now that he thought on it, that seemed to be like most of his relationships.]
I – We should probably wait until after tomorrow morning to figure out all that. Courting is a big deal and we might be dead by then.
[ It was all optics, but Alastor wasn't any other person. He was the Radio Demon. He should have been the greatest person to win over. He was the Overlord who had kept a vice grip on Hell for over a century. He was someone who had been hated by his fellow Overlords. He was so nefarious that they though that only Lucifer could overtake him. He had spent so much of his life preparing for the afterlife, and so much of the afterlife just trying to not be looked down on, and so there was no greater insult than to be treated as a liability..
Still, what could he do? His ears pinned back, but what could he do? He just shook his head, because what else was there? He felt Vox's thumb running over his jawline, and what could he do? His shoulders slumped, defeated, because he couldn't cut the other's hand off or do anything else. Alastor was a prisoner and nothing else. He crossed his legs, rested his palms on his knee. ]
... Fine. We'll figure it out tomorrow. I'll go wherever is convenient for you.
[ Alastor didn't move, but his eyes moved somewhere off to the side. He wasn't backing out of their agreement, but Alastor wasn't stupid either. He had given a terms of agreement, and it was clear that those weren't going to be adhered to. Vox whined and cried about him calling it just sex, and he acted like this, and...
Whatever. It didn't matter. It didn't matter, because Alastor did get it. He really did. He might have accepted it, even, except it didn't feel serious at all. It felt like having his own status wiped away, it felt like he meant nothing, it felt like he wasn't meant to ever be taken seriously.
It just didn't feel like it was just optics. It felt like having his stomach cut open and his guts pulled out in a way that that little humiliation tour hadn't.
He let out another sigh and subtly leaned forward, drawing his knees up closer to his chest. ]
It's fine. I'm just tired of being tied to a chair.
[Of course. Of course. To Hell, the Radio Demon was nefarious, he was what lurked in Overlord’s nightmares, he a demon with the promise of death and dismemberment for the audiences of all. His name was spoken with all the fear and reverence one could have for something far more deadly and stronger than them.
But to Vox, he was Alastor.
And in its own way, that was powerful. People were assets, pawns to move around the board, an adoring and dedicated crowd who were ultimately faceless, nameless, expendable. They were shares on a graph, eyes on a television: disposable and easy to manipulate. Why did he need anything from them other than devotion and allegiance? Why did he need their names, their company?
But he wanted both from Alastor, name and company. He acknowledged him, he was distinct in a shadow of shapes, full formed. His eyes mattered. He mattered most. And that made Al far more dangerous and important to him than all of Hell combined.
Not that he would – or maybe even could – explain it to him. Feelings were complex and convoluted things that made him vulnerable and weak, that opened him up far too much. Better to have the bravado of a man in charge (which he was! He was in charge, dammit!) than letting the quiet reality of Alastor being the key to everything settle at the forefront. His eyes flickered up to those ears, then back down to his face.
He had fucked up somehow. He didn’t know how exactly, and it wasn’t as egregious as talking about fucking Val in various chairs (don’t bring up the bed, don’t bring up the bed, do not bring up the bed), but it was something. Vox pulled his hand away, moving it to rest on one of Alastor’s knees.]
No more chair. Unless you want to…?
[His eyebrows bopped up and down with a hinted intention, before he started to stand up. Once he was on his feet, he held out a hand to Alastor as a silent offer for help if he so chose.]
You can stay here; I can do Walk and Talks. [Phone in meetings, getting bombarded while he walked through the halls, the usual.]
[ Alastor responded to the first suggestion with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. But there was only a moment of hesitation before he took Vox's hand and pulled himself up and off the floor. He let his hand linger for just a moment before he took it back to begin the process of fixing his own appearance.
He wasn't entirely satisfied with the outcome, but Vox was right. This wasn't courting, and Alastor wouldn't want it to be. They didn't have the sort of affection that was required for that. This was one more of their games, and Alastor wasn't offering anything other than to spend the night with him. Even that could be said to be for Alastor's own benefit, spurred on by some cocktail of curiosity and convenience.
Right. That was all it was.
Alastor shook his head. His staff appeared in his hand. He held it in one hand and cupped the microphone with the other. ]
You don't need to worry about that. People only see me when I want them to.
[ That was true enough. There was no escaping this prison that he was kept in, and he was trapped on one spot so long as Vox said that he was, but that was all. In the end, the Radio Demon was as impossible to catch as the shadows themselves. Still, he wasn't in a position where he could say no. He just wanted to keep some shred of dignity in all of this. He shrugged. ]
I can stay here, and you can go do what you need to.
[ It was probably the best response that Vox could ask for. ]
[That would be enough, right? Alastor would come back tonight, he’d uphold what he said? Vox didn’t need to worry about anything else other than possibly being murdered in his sleep, which…felt pretty normal as far as all things went.
And yet, here he was feeling reluctant to leave, like if time got in the way it might make Alastor rethink this. Might make himself rethink this stupid, stupid thing. There were a million reasons why it shouldn’t happen, a million reasons he should tie him back to the chair or do his execution, and a million questions like was he just doing this to stop Vox from that killing Charlie order? just bouncing around in his rectangular head.
But he reached out with both his hands and settled them on the Radio Demon’s shoulders like the fool Vox was, leaned forward, and kissed him again with a little spark. This path to Hell was well-worn, familiar, and he kept walking it over and over again, each time with different shoes.]
That works. [They could work out the secrecy later, work out whatever this was later (was it a even a thing to work out?). Future Vox problems could be analyzed with returns reviewed, could decide what the best strategy was; looking at it that way made him feel safely disconnected instead of these raw moments right now.
He wasn’t sure which he preferred. He just knew which one was smarter.
Vox pulled away and turned to walk across the room to head towards the door. Already he was taking the Do Not Disturb off his phone, his screen flickering as the calls started. He stopped for a second, looking back at him.
I’m looking forward to tonight.
But he couldn’t actually say that, so instead he just smiled.]
[ There was no point in overthinking it. For the moment they had an agreement, and with that a momentary peace. They kissed once more, and that seemed to seal the deal between the two of them.
It really was for the best. Vox was already getting called upon again. If they'd continued here, then they would have been interrupted, and with that any chance they had of continuing would have been lost for good. There was a chance that one of them would choose to back out of this now, but at least something could still be salvaged from that.
And in the interim, this was still a victory. Alastor could do as he pleased. He had the freedom to act. There was plenty that he could do with that, albeit not immediately. It made the entire situation seem less hopeless, because nothing had fundamentally changed. And maybe they could get somewhere, with this torrid affair of theirs - something more than having things come to a halt at the starting line. A win-win scenario.
[There was an impossible amount of overthinking happening between now and then, and more than once he saw Velvette and Val give each other questioning looks when Vox didn’t answer their questions right away. Or the meeting with Carmilla that resulted in incomplete PowerPoint presentations. Or Zestial asking about blahblaholdpeoplestuff. Not that he needed to answer to any of them; he was in charge now, he was a god. But he did explain that this new role took a lot of work, more than originally planned, so presentations and questions needed to fuck off for the moment.
Really, his mind was just wrapped up in Whatever The Satan Just Happened. Alastor just roaming (mostly) free, a threat of death that they both knew probably wasn’t going to happen now, an order ignore, a date for tonight. A date. Was it a date? Shit, should he bring something?
He was overthinking it. He knew he was overthinking it, and when the hour came (and he cited a headache and piles of work to Val, not tonight, babe), he had a bottle of unopened whiskey on the table a box of cigarettes on the nightstand. Two whiskey tumblers star next to it, waiting for them.
The infamous last meal.
Vox played with the idea of leaving his coat off, maybe sitting with his shirt open or the tie off, or-or-or- But he ultimately decided that the full experience led to a good story, and that included the slowburn of everything. Jacket, tie, it all stayed on. Certainly it had nothing to do with how good it felt when Alastor took it off him.
He did pour himself a drink, though.
And then had another one.
And a third just because.
He wasn’t worried. He wasn’t. He was in control of this situation. This was fine. This was fine, as he sat on the edge of his bed, swirling amber in the bottom of his tumbler.
Alastor would come.
It wouldn’t fall apart again. Maybe they would only fight half of the time. That would be considered a vast improvement.]
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no subject
They kissed, and Alastor raised one hand to cup Vox's cheek. He pulled back by just a few inches. Alastor brushed his thumb against the man's screen. ]
Too bad it's still just you.
[ It wasn't anything as dramatic as care. They'd known each other for too long, half of Alastor's life, and both of them had remained the same. Vox hadn't changed at all, not in any way that really matters.
He didn't wait for the other to respond, he didn't want him to, because it would only ruin atmosphere, and so he brought their lips back together - slow, soft, savoring. Maybe this time they could do better than sharp cuts and bitter sentiments.
They could try. ]
no subject
But he didn’t. Words didn’t come, something quiet and warm sitting in his chest instead. He blinked once, twice, both red eyes staring at him in a nakedness he didn’t show anyone, while his face flushed. There was a truth to it, sure, but it meant that all of this was still the same. Not for nothing – he had Hell and Heaven now – but it was Vox. Not God. Just Vox.
Maybe even just Vincent for these rare moments, alone, right now.
He closed his eyes as he kissed him back, fighting the urge to take it faster, sharper like he did with Val. Hell, he didn’t even try to take charge, letting Alastor carry the reins for now, letting him set the pace. Maybe if he did, Vox wouldn’t fuck it up this time.
Maybe.
One of his hands settled on Alastor’s waist for a moment before trailing his claws up his coat, then back down again to settle on his hip. Would they even make it to the throne? Fuck if he knew or exactly cared in the moment. All of these theatrics and the road to Heaven had been for himself, sure. He wanted to prove himself. He wanted to fulfill that feeling he got when he was in charge of the cult, all those eyes on him, looking at him, seeing him.
But none of those eyes ever felt half as good as Alastor’s.]
no subject
It all felt new again. It felt different, somehow more intimate. It wasn't that he had no affection for the women he was with, but there was always a different sort of distance. The gap between Alastor, who lived a double life, and other humans was vast. Here, in Hell, with video that should have complimented video, that gap seemed to narrow.
That sensation was there even now, but it was different. It felt as though his chest was constricting, like his chest cavity would collapse in on itself, choking the breath out of him and tearing through his heart. It was a warmth that drew him closer, and it was a pain that led him to shove Vox away, and perhaps it could be said that they'd found some comfortable distance in their constant fights and with those protective layers of strife and mockery. They could never be close, but they would never be alone either. It was an ugly, vile relationship, but a safe one, and one that they could keep alive and well for all eternity.
But there was a time when he'd thought they understood each other, and those complicated feelings had remained. It was something that he hadn't experienced before meeting him, and he hasn't since.
He was in no hurry to move, because it didn't really matter; angels didn't know how to make comfortable seats anyhow. It was all gaudy gold and other archaic materials. Rather, he eased myself closer and shifted his knees to face him better. He let his hand slide along the edge of Vox's screen, down his neck before coming to rest on his shoulder. The opposite hand moved up next, fingertips brushing against his waistband before his fingers slid up his torso before gripping his other shoulder. He massaged Vox's shoulders briefly before slipping his thumbs under the edges of his blazer and sliding his hands along in an effort to ease it down and off of him.
He was picking up where they left off. Surely they could get further this time. ]
no subject
That depended on how long it took Vox to open his mouth.Vox could understand the double life, the need to hide certain aspects of one’s self from a hungry public. His power came from his image, the same power he could project from the clothes he wore to his presence of self; it had always been that way, living and dead. One didn’t gain a vast following with cracks.
The few supposedly “illicit” affairs he had were never spoken of, kept in far away motels, fake names, paid in cash and out of town. When it became impossible to do so as his name got bigger, brighter in those shimmering lights, he buried it all as much as he could. And when he woke here, when he finally tried and wasn’t arrested but instead laughed at-
No more letting anyone, anyone see anything other than what he wanted them to see. He controlled it. He controlled all of it.
Except that someone wouldn’t let it be that easy, would they? Poking him, prodding him, making him unravel every. Single. Time. Every wall didn’t matter, every bloody electronic strike didn’t matter, every shadowy throw at a wall didn’t fucking mean a thing. They were two moons trapped in the same orbit, forever moving but never getting closer, never able to leave.
His breath caught in his chest as felt how slow Alastor was moving, the way he seemed – the way that Vox could believe in that moment that it really, really wasn’t a trick. He was used to the quick and dirty of other people (not naming names), but this was the opposite, a painstaking journey that he didn’t mind taking the scenic route on. After all, he said he had a couple of hours before anyone (hopefully) would come looking for him. He shrugged his shoulders to help rid himself of the jacket, reluctantly pulling his arms free from Alastor so it could be gone completely. One of his cables reached over to snag it and put it back on the throne so it wouldn’t get wrinkled.
Image.
His own claws reached up, plucking at the red fabric of his coat, before tapping the buttons through the holes. They had done this before, hadn’t gotten much farther than that when it went to shit, but maybe this time, he wondered as he trailed his hands under it, running up his sides towards his chest, it would be better. Maybe they could not want to kill each other for a little longer.]
Shit.
[It was a quiet, murmured thing against his mouth before he pulled away just a hair. Don’t mind him as he puts his phone on Do Not Disturb.]
no subject
He shakes his jacket off, tugging his hands free of it even as the other started to pull away. They hadn't gotten much further than this, and when he reached his hands up to toy with the other's bowtie, it was a half-hearted gesture. If people were calling him now, then it would only be so long before they were banging on the door - a couple hours before meetings or not.
Alastor could be a little kinder about it this time, at least. ]
... If you're busy, we can try again later, when it's really just the two of us.
[ It was still a little irritating, but he'd be far more irritated if someone came banging on the door. He's willing to accept that option, but Alastor couldn't exactly escape here, and he was that sort of private person who really would throw throw a tantrum and find it to be unforgivable if they were interrupted at a vulnerable moment. And so his ears pinned back again, demanding reassurance one way or another.
Vox could at least reserve his own bedrooom at night, or so one would hope. ]
I don't mind waiting.
[ Well, maybe a little, but... Well, if they had all night, then he could excuse it. Because Vox would make sure that they'd have all night. He'd better make sure they'd have all night, in fact, because Alastor would be demanding that if this went any further. ]
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All of this was so fragile that waiting seemed to be asking for trouble, like it would break whatever delicate balance they had. It was far more than enough time for Alastor to rethink it, shut it down, and get over the entire thing. Or, worse: find a way to use it against him.
But if he was coming back to do it again after the disaster that was the last time, then maybe there was hope.
Besides, the security of his own room, locked doors, being left alone all night? That was hard to argue with. Especially when he had a feeling that being interrupted would result in someone losing limbs and a whole lot of blood that he didn’t want to clean up.]
Reminder: ruler of two realms. When am I not busy?
[It was being a CEO times a million, but everyone knew to let him sleep, at least. It didn’t do well (for other people) when he didn’t. His hand slid up, the sharp point of his thumb running over one of Alastor’s cheeks, the end sparking ever-so-slightly. If it wouldn’t have made it suspicious, he would’ve forwarded his calls to Velvette.]
Fine. [He looked at throne with a sigh; there would be another time to defile it properly, he supposed.] My room, tonight at eleven. The door locks from the inside and no one has a key but me. Cameras off.
[There was a pause for a moment before he reached down to help put Alastor’s coat back on him, a noticeable contrast from last time.]
If you try to kill me in my sleep, though, I will smite you.
[His smile was exceptionally bright and sunny.]
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His displeased expression lasted past that hand on his cheek, the small shudder that the spark sent through him - a pleasant spark that made him want to nuzzle against the hand that held his face. He placed a hand over the one on his cheek and did just that, rubbing his cheek against the others palm before removing it so he could allow the other to help him put his coat back on.
HBe was still displeased as he buttoned it back up, but at length that sunny smile got a chuckle and his eyes grew a little wider and his grin widened into something more pleasant. ]
... Fine. But if you take your eyes off me for even a second, I'll kill you.
[ Alastor wouldn't. He couldn't. But he could still have a fit if displeased, and what good was that when they wanted the same thing? Because Alastor really...
For Vox alone, he there was...
xxxx... ]
But if you're a good boy, we can sleep together tonight. ♪
[ And that was indeed a promise of it being all night... The aftercare (if Vox was willing to trade experiments with a couple bites with sharp teeth for electric shocks) and cuddling up after and all. That was a fair deal, wasn't it? ]
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But he did know that Alastor’s face felt so good against his palm that he started to want it to be a This. ]
Oh, so you do want the cameras on.
[The laugh was low as he leaned in close to kiss him, a quick thing, something with a brief swipe of his tongue. What the fuck was he doing? How could Vox forgive him after everything? He needed to get his head back on straight, think all this through. This was ridiculous, and-
Suddenly, the screen turned for snow for a second, bright and white, before his extremely shocked face appeared back on it. Was it patterned with the absolute brightest blush possible? Yes. Did the offer of “being a good boy” and “sleeping together tonight” make his fingers stumble as they tried to fit buttons through the holes? Absolutely. He wasn’t a dog, and he certainly wasn’t a good boy, but the way it was said from him did something to him.
He looked at his wrist to see what time it was. Not late enough.
Dammit.]
“Good boys” don’t take over Heaven. [He smoothed his hands down the front of the other demon’s coat, straightening it.] What are you going to do while I’m working? You’re still a prisoner and we do have an image to uphold.
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Vox wasn't a dog, and in truth the expression wasn't meant to treat him as on so much as it was a gesture of teasing affection, but the reaction made him brighten. There was a glow to that toothy grin, something amused and delighted that hadn't been there in so many years, because he really hadn't expected it. ]
Well, well... [ His breath caught as the other smoothed his jacket out, sucking in a breath and causing his chest to jut out before he exhaled. He used his index finger to tilt Vox's screen up, ] God can have mercy, hmm...? As long as I don't leave here...?
[ He could be a benevolent God who let his prisoner wander within the confines of his wall, surely? Even if they were a little less unpleasant, Alastor would always feel those constraints, that crushing tightness. Nothing would fix his need for freedom.
But this wasn't the same as Hell. And Alastor does fix him with a look that asks if he really means to hide this forever. ]
And I should hope that a god should at least be able to say who he's courting, prisoner or otherwise...
[ Because Vox isn't embarrassed by that, right...? He doesn't see it as harming his image anymore, not when Alastor is willing to accept it despite being the famed solitary Radio Demon, right...? ]
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It’s optics, Al. [His mouth was a tight line, conflicted in the moment. He knew the answer Alastor wanted, of course, but he also knew how it would look to the angels he just took over, how it looked to the other Sinners out there. Strength was important during a takeover, in the fresh weeks after a rebellion.] If I seem easy on you, then other people will think I’m weak. That’s when you get assassination attempts, fights, blowback. Everything is delicate right now.
[This probably wasn’t going to go well, and he could feel the weight of it in the air. His hand reached up to cup the side of Alastor’s neck, his sharp thumb running over his jawline like it was a razorblade. The next words came through his speakers, the barest of fuzz tickling at syllables.]
You understand, don’t you?
[Please don’t cut off his hand.]
I’m not saying tie you to a chair again – unless you want me to? - but maybe just wait in here today.
[He wasn’t a secret! He just- this was- there was the image! And appearances! And staying strong in these new, unprecedented times! Alastor would understand. Right?
Right?
Although the one who wasn’t exactly understanding was Vox because courting? Courting was actually a Thing. It was effort and the start of something serious and romantic and he wasn’t- that was- Shit, what was he going to tell Val? Did Alastor understand the level of rage this was going to start? And was it-were they-
Were they actually dating and he didn’t know it? They hadn’t even managed to get beyond kissing without almost murdering one another.
Now that he thought on it, that seemed to be like most of his relationships.]
I – We should probably wait until after tomorrow morning to figure out all that. Courting is a big deal and we might be dead by then.
[Terrible save.]
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Still, what could he do? His ears pinned back, but what could he do? He just shook his head, because what else was there? He felt Vox's thumb running over his jawline, and what could he do? His shoulders slumped, defeated, because he couldn't cut the other's hand off or do anything else. Alastor was a prisoner and nothing else. He crossed his legs, rested his palms on his knee. ]
... Fine. We'll figure it out tomorrow. I'll go wherever is convenient for you.
[ Alastor didn't move, but his eyes moved somewhere off to the side. He wasn't backing out of their agreement, but Alastor wasn't stupid either. He had given a terms of agreement, and it was clear that those weren't going to be adhered to. Vox whined and cried about him calling it just sex, and he acted like this, and...
Whatever. It didn't matter. It didn't matter, because Alastor did get it. He really did. He might have accepted it, even, except it didn't feel serious at all. It felt like having his own status wiped away, it felt like he meant nothing, it felt like he wasn't meant to ever be taken seriously.
It just didn't feel like it was just optics. It felt like having his stomach cut open and his guts pulled out in a way that that little humiliation tour hadn't.
He let out another sigh and subtly leaned forward, drawing his knees up closer to his chest. ]
It's fine. I'm just tired of being tied to a chair.
[ It was fine. ]
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But to Vox, he was Alastor.
And in its own way, that was powerful. People were assets, pawns to move around the board, an adoring and dedicated crowd who were ultimately faceless, nameless, expendable. They were shares on a graph, eyes on a television: disposable and easy to manipulate. Why did he need anything from them other than devotion and allegiance? Why did he need their names, their company?
But he wanted both from Alastor, name and company. He acknowledged him, he was distinct in a shadow of shapes, full formed. His eyes mattered. He mattered most. And that made Al far more dangerous and important to him than all of Hell combined.
Not that he would – or maybe even could – explain it to him. Feelings were complex and convoluted things that made him vulnerable and weak, that opened him up far too much. Better to have the bravado of a man in charge (which he was! He was in charge, dammit!) than letting the quiet reality of Alastor being the key to everything settle at the forefront. His eyes flickered up to those ears, then back down to his face.
He had fucked up somehow. He didn’t know how exactly, and it wasn’t as egregious as talking about fucking Val in various chairs (don’t bring up the bed, don’t bring up the bed, do not bring up the bed), but it was something. Vox pulled his hand away, moving it to rest on one of Alastor’s knees.]
No more chair. Unless you want to…?
[His eyebrows bopped up and down with a hinted intention, before he started to stand up. Once he was on his feet, he held out a hand to Alastor as a silent offer for help if he so chose.]
You can stay here; I can do Walk and Talks. [Phone in meetings, getting bombarded while he walked through the halls, the usual.]
What will you tell the others if they see you?
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He wasn't entirely satisfied with the outcome, but Vox was right. This wasn't courting, and Alastor wouldn't want it to be. They didn't have the sort of affection that was required for that. This was one more of their games, and Alastor wasn't offering anything other than to spend the night with him. Even that could be said to be for Alastor's own benefit, spurred on by some cocktail of curiosity and convenience.
Right. That was all it was.
Alastor shook his head. His staff appeared in his hand. He held it in one hand and cupped the microphone with the other. ]
You don't need to worry about that. People only see me when I want them to.
[ That was true enough. There was no escaping this prison that he was kept in, and he was trapped on one spot so long as Vox said that he was, but that was all. In the end, the Radio Demon was as impossible to catch as the shadows themselves. Still, he wasn't in a position where he could say no. He just wanted to keep some shred of dignity in all of this. He shrugged. ]
I can stay here, and you can go do what you need to.
[ It was probably the best response that Vox could ask for. ]
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And yet, here he was feeling reluctant to leave, like if time got in the way it might make Alastor rethink this. Might make himself rethink this stupid, stupid thing. There were a million reasons why it shouldn’t happen, a million reasons he should tie him back to the chair or do his execution, and a million questions like was he just doing this to stop Vox from that killing Charlie order? just bouncing around in his rectangular head.
But he reached out with both his hands and settled them on the Radio Demon’s shoulders like the fool Vox was, leaned forward, and kissed him again with a little spark. This path to Hell was well-worn, familiar, and he kept walking it over and over again, each time with different shoes.]
That works. [They could work out the secrecy later, work out whatever this was later (was it a even a thing to work out?). Future Vox problems could be analyzed with returns reviewed, could decide what the best strategy was; looking at it that way made him feel safely disconnected instead of these raw moments right now.
He wasn’t sure which he preferred. He just knew which one was smarter.
Vox pulled away and turned to walk across the room to head towards the door. Already he was taking the Do Not Disturb off his phone, his screen flickering as the calls started. He stopped for a second, looking back at him.
I’m looking forward to tonight.
But he couldn’t actually say that, so instead he just smiled.]
See you in a few hours.
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It really was for the best. Vox was already getting called upon again. If they'd continued here, then they would have been interrupted, and with that any chance they had of continuing would have been lost for good. There was a chance that one of them would choose to back out of this now, but at least something could still be salvaged from that.
And in the interim, this was still a victory. Alastor could do as he pleased. He had the freedom to act. There was plenty that he could do with that, albeit not immediately. It made the entire situation seem less hopeless, because nothing had fundamentally changed. And maybe they could get somewhere, with this torrid affair of theirs - something more than having things come to a halt at the starting line. A win-win scenario.
He lifted a hand in a little wave. ]
See you soon, Vox.
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Really, his mind was just wrapped up in Whatever The Satan Just Happened. Alastor just roaming (mostly) free, a threat of death that they both knew probably wasn’t going to happen now, an order ignore, a date for tonight. A date. Was it a date? Shit, should he bring something?
He was overthinking it. He knew he was overthinking it, and when the hour came (and he cited a headache and piles of work to Val, not tonight, babe), he had a bottle of unopened whiskey on the table a box of cigarettes on the nightstand. Two whiskey tumblers star next to it, waiting for them.
The infamous last meal.
Vox played with the idea of leaving his coat off, maybe sitting with his shirt open or the tie off, or-or-or- But he ultimately decided that the full experience led to a good story, and that included the slowburn of everything. Jacket, tie, it all stayed on.
Certainly it had nothing to do with how good it felt when Alastor took it off him.He did pour himself a drink, though.
And then had another one.
And a third just because.
He wasn’t worried. He wasn’t. He was in control of this situation. This was fine. This was fine, as he sat on the edge of his bed, swirling amber in the bottom of his tumbler.
Alastor would come.
It wouldn’t fall apart again. Maybe they would only fight half of the time. That would be considered a vast improvement.]