Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Are you Serious?!"

Vox's inner office echoed with the incredulous sound of his voice, the low overhead lights flickered as he slammed his curled fists down on the desk, static fizzing angrily from his fingertips.

Across the room, Carmilla Carmine stood beside the doorway, a look of cold calm on her face. She crossed her arms, staring into his eyes threateningly. Beside her, Rosie gave a wan smile.

"We are deadly serious." She said darkly. Vox felt the anger forming a ball in his chest. "The feud between you two is out of control. I've heard grievances from seven different Overlords just this month. It ends today."

Vox's eyes darted to the plush leather armchair on the other side of the desk. His fists curled tighter as he stared at the grinning face, the glowing eyes, the stupid ears. Alastor was leaning back in his office, tapping his fingers slowly against the armrest, staring at the wall of blank screens behind Vox's head. Vox gritted his teeth and let out a bitter, angry laugh

"So your solution is to bring the son of a bitch here? Straight into my fucking office?"

Alastor sighed, the sound hissing with radio-like static. He removed his long, sharp fingers from the armrest and held up his cane, apparently examining it in boredom.

"My dear Vox, believe me when I say I'm as happy to be in this…" He trailed off for a second, his eyes flickering up to meet Vox's with a fleeting moment of sinister joy, "...dilapidated hole as you are to have me here, but the ladies really were most insistent."

"Dilapidated?" Vox's voice distorted with frustration. The lights gave another flicker, "Oh fuck you – like you and your shitty hotel are any-"

"Suficiente!" Snapped Carmilla, her eyes burning hot red in warning. She took a few steps towards the desk, her heels clicking loudly on the black tiled floor. "Gentlemen, you both hold the rank of Overlord, your actions should carry a sense of decorum. Brawling in the street, bickering over broadcasts… these things bring all of us into disrepute."

Alastor raised his eyes from the cane in his hand and sat forward a little. Vox was still standing, fists still balled against the desk.

"My dear Carmilla, this really isn't necessary." soothed Alastor, flashing a charming smile. "I'm simply having a little light-hearted fun!"

Carmilla turned towards him with a withering look. Apparently unaffected, he continued to smile. Her eye twitched.

"Fun for you, Alastor, not for others." She sighed. "Rosie, tell him."

The smile on Alastor's face fell a little. He turned towards the other Overlord loitering next to the door and tilted his head inquisitively.

"Et tu, Rosie?" He asked softly.

Rosie had been standing with her hand on the door, apparently reluctant to be here or to get involved. She seemed to be trying to blend in to the background, though her paper-white skin against the black walls and fluorescent lighting made her glow like a ghoulish beacon. Her coal black eyes softened into a guilty and apologetic smile and she stepped slowly towards the Radio Demon sitting in the centre of the room.

"Alastor, honey." She said, crouching down next to his chair so that they were face to face. She reached out a parchment-coloured hand and patted his own. "You know how much I adore you, but this can't go on. Remember that fight you two had in the Doomsday District last week?"

Vox began to grind his teeth as he watched the pompous ass raise his eyes to the ceiling, as though trying to remember.

"Hmmm… I'm afraid I don't really recall…"

Rosie stared at him deadpan. "Sweetie, you took out half a city block."

Alastor's eyes lit up and he let out a chuckle. "Oh yes! I do remember something like that."

"Oh you ancient, unbelievable PRICK." unleashed Vox, snarling. "You took out at least half a dozen Voxtek employees!"

Alastor flashed him a smile and shrugged. "Really? Only half a dozen? I guess I must have been sloppy that day!"

"...In any case." Interjected Rosie loudly, placing herself carefully between the two men, breaking eye contact. "You caught a shipment of mine in the crossfire, honey. Two hundred of the finest sautéed frontal lobes, up in smoke. Not to mention a coupla' promisin' delivery boys. You know how hard it is to find good delivery boys in Cannibal Town?"

Alastor's face softened as he looked at the distraught face of his friend. He reached out and placed his other hand on top of hers consolingly. She smiled halfheartedly, squeezed his fingers and stood up.

"The Cannibal Queen isn't the only one." Continued Carmilla as Rosie retreated back to the door. She began pacing in the space between the desk and the chair, the click of her heels loud and sharp in their ears. Both Vox and Alastor's eyes followed her as she paced, but while Vox's eyes burned with fury and indignation, the Radio Demon simply seemed vaguely entertained. "Other Overlords have had similar losses in the past month… including myself -" Her voice lowered to a threatening whisper, "- and Zestial."

Vox froze. The rage that had been burning in him smothered in a layer of ice, and he slowly sat back down in his chair. Alastor's face remained unmoved, apparently unaffected by this information. The only indicator that anything had changed was that his ears had snapped backwards, lying suddenly flat against his head.

"The Pentagram is still recovering from the last Extermination." Carmilla continued, her voice once again matter-of-fact and business-like. "We simply cannot afford the losses that this petty fighting entails. Therefore, the Overlords unanimously decree that the feud between the Radio Demon and the Vees must be concluded. Today."

There was a moment's silence.

"Look -" Vox put a hand to the side of his head, rubbing the edges of his screen as though warding off a headache. He tried to recover himself from rage, putting on the best 'down to business' he could muster. The smile he summoned looked slightly unhinged. He could feel Alastor's gaze on him again, but did his best to ignore it. "my dear Carmilla, even if I wanted to strike a deal with… that freak over there… I can't possibly do that without the agreement of Velvette and Val."

"Your fellow Vees are fully aware of what's happening here." Said Carmilla dismissively, "They're being taken care of upstairs, but from what I can gather, they're just as bored of this squabbling as the rest of us are."

Vox raised his eyes to the ceiling with a glare, wishing the look could penetrate the many floors of the tower above and burn holes in their fucking faces.

"Look fellas, nobody wants to get involved with another Overlord's business," Came Rosie's voice from the back of the room. "it ain't the done thing, but this whole situation is gettin' outta hand."

"Exactly." Agreed Carmilla. "You will both stay in here until you can come to an agreement. Zestial is waiting just outside the door, should you think of starting another fight." She took another long, slow glance at each of them in turn, her eyes burning with sincerity. Alastor merely smiled back, his ears still tight against his head, an eye twitching slightly. Vox blinked.

"Aha…" he let out a humourless attempt at a laugh. "Zestial… in the building, huh?"

"I wouldn't take too long either. Zestial's a busy demon. And he certainly won't be happy if either of you leaves before this is over. Come, Rosie."

The Cannibal Queen allowed Carmilla to exit into the dark, screen-lit room beyond, the sharp sound of her footsteps echoing into nothingness. Rosie stood in the doorway for a moment longer, hollow eyes flicking from the look of barely contained anger on the glowing screen, to the slightly fixed smile of Alastor.

"Good luck, boys." She said in a small, slightly worried voice, then turned and bustled out to join the other Overlords.

The door closed behind her with a definitive click, leaving only the hum of electricity hanging in the air.

Chapter Text

The silence that followed seemed to extend outwards into an eternity. Vox continued to stare at the now closed doorway for a few seconds longer, hoping for some sort of reprieve – perhaps Val or Velvette would take exception to being told what to do by a bitch like Carmilla Carmine, but he had the nagging feeling that she hadn't been lying about their annoyance at his actions.

Eventually, reluctantly, he came to the conclusion that no escape from the situation was coming, and locked eyes with the demon sitting primly in the leather-backed chair on the other side of his desk.

Alastor was smiling – as always. As fucking always. His pointed teeth on display as he stared into Vox's soul, unblinking, ears now perched far forward with the vaguest hint of threat. Vox refused to look away, he merely glared, the silence beyond uncomfortable and deafeningly loud.

He wasn't sure how long they'd been sitting like that – minutes or hours, possibly – but suddenly, Alastor sat back and looked casually down at the red tips of his fingers.

"I want my territory on the edge of Cannibal Town back." he said, conversationally.

The inside of Vox's head nearly short circuited.

"You want – Cannibal town – but that's…" He spluttered vehemently. "You're fucking joking."

"Not at all, my good man." replied Alastor, sweetly. "The only reason you and your bottom feeders got your grubby little hands on it in the first place is because I wasn't here to stop you." He looked briefly back up into Vox's eyes. "I am now."

"There is no way – no fucking way I'm giving you that. We just finished building a Voxtek warehouse down there."

"Unfortunately for you, I don't care!" replied the redhead brightly. "That territory includes my favourite restaurant. Their canapés are to die for – and they make the most glorious finger food."

Vox raised his hands back to his head, resting his elbows on the desk and massaging his forehead furiously with his fingertips. "How…" he growled from between gritted teeth "...the hell do they expect me to make a deal when you're so fucking unreasonable?"

"Now now, I hardly think it's unreasonable to ask you to return what's rightfully mine." Alastor walked his fingers idly up the side of his cane. "It's not my fault you and your petty little circus up there assumed I was gone for good."

Vox peered out at the Radio Demon from behind his hands. Alastor was sitting, seemingly relaxed in his chair, smiling serenely with his head tilted just slightly, taking in the sight of Vox's frustration as though drinking it in, like a delicious cocktail. He could see the enjoyment in those stupid, smug red eyes. Vox could feel the irritation beginning to grow inside him again like an electrical charge, humming through his torso, making his spine prickle. The asshole was enjoying this. If it weren't for Zestial outside the door…

"You are not getting that territory back." He muttered, angry static adding percussion to his words.

"Then I'm afraid we're going to be here quite a while." Sighed the Radio Demon in mock-sadness.

There was a long pause, silence stretching out into infinity once more. Alastor closed his eyes and began to hum to himself contentedly.

"You don't want it back." Vox said quietly.

"Oh ho! I'm afraid I do."

"No Al," it had been a long time since he'd used the other demon's shortened name. It felt strange, almost painful as it spilled from his mouth, but it did have the effect he'd been hoping for. Alastor's long closed eyes shot open in response, staring straight into his own. Vox's eyes opened wide, his voice became low and distorted, one pupil spiralling hypnotically, "You don't."

For a moment - one joyful moment - he thought he'd finally, finally won. The redhead's smile drooped into something strangely vacant, uncharacteristicly soft; Vox could see his own screen of a face reflected in the dilated pupils. He felt a thrill of sudden, unexpected excitement swelling in his chest as Alastor's fingers slackened their grip on the cane. It fell to the floor with a resonant clatter.

A disbelieving smile tugged itself across Vox's stunned face. No more than a few heartbeats passed, however, before the Radio Demon squeezed his eyes tightly shut, his teeth reverting to a snarl and shaking himself free.

"Nice try." Alastor's voice was no longer light and relaxed. It was tight, irritated, dangerous, and momentarily unmasked by static. He leaned down and swept his cane back from the floor and came back up with his eyes narrowed malevolently. "Did you really think you could manipulate me the same way you do your fatuous viewers? Surprisingly, I thought you were smarter than that."

Vox felt the bubble of triumph deflate in his chest – but not entirely. He noted, somewhere beyond the frustration and the rapidly growing stress headache that Alastor had succumbed, if only briefly, to hypnosis. He had actually hypnotised the fucking Radio Demon. He had never been even remotely successful before. Perhaps Alastor was out of practice after so long? He filed it away, he could reflect on that at a later time.

Right now, however, Alastor's whole demeanour had changed alarmingly. Whereas a few moments ago, he had been happily sitting back in the chair, humming sedately, clearly enjoying the frustration he was instilling in the other demon, now the very air around him seemed to crackle with energy. His ears were tilted back dangerously far, the grin was now a snarl, and the shadowy antlers that normally lay hidden had started to creep menacingly into view. Vox couldn't help but push his back up against the chair a little, subconsciously putting a little more room between them. Even with Zestial standing guard outside, Vox knew enough about the deer-wannabe prick to know that a truly angry Alastor was not likely to care. Irritated, frustrated, completely bewildered by the situation he'd been forced into, he nonetheless decided to try a different approach.

"Hah…" he tried to give a convincing laugh. He took a deep breath and spread his hands out placatingly, trying to smooth out his voice into it's normal news-anchor like charm. "Can't blame a guy for trying. But Alastor… Alastor… come on," he crooned, full of fake friendliness. "be reasonable – you're stuck in here with me, I'm stuck in here with you. That bitch Carmine won't let us go 'til we settle this. How about we make a deal and we can both get the hell out of here?"

Alastor took a moment to look over the other demon's face. The antlers receded; the snarl gone. He let out a deep sigh and slowly leaned forward, the leather of the chair creaking in the stillness. Vox stared dubiously, uncertainly, every nerve on edge.

Alastor said just two words.

"...Cannibal Town."

"OH YOU FUCKING PIECE OF –" Vox bit his tongue just a little too late. The lights above their heads flickered momentarily, the screens on the rear wall crackled, and for a fraction of a second the only illumination in the room came from Vox's face and Alastor's burning red eyes. When they finally stabilised, Vox was standing once more, sparks once again gathering at his agitated fingertips. He stared down at the paperwork-littered surface below him until the rage subsided. "How is that even a deal? You just want me to hand over a chunk of land like that?"

"A small price to pay for peace, dear Vox." Alastor shrugged, relaxing back into his chair, at ease again now that the other demon had lost composure. "After all, I'm not the one who started this."

The words had a peculiar effect on the still standing Vox. He continued to stare down at the desk, teeth gritted, eyes wide, frozen. He silently dug his fingertips into the wood, splintering the surface.

Alastor was silent for a moment. He was looking at Vox with a strange, knowing glint in his eyes. "I'm not the one who can't take…" Alastor's voice lowered an octave, the radio static in his voice reaching a peak, "...rejection."

Vox's fingertips dug harder into the desk, half an inch of wood splintering under his sharp, claw-like hands.

A moment passed. Alastor continued to watch Vox with vague amusement. Finally, Vox seemed to gather himself. He released his grip on the desk and sank back into the chair behind him. There was a slightly forced smirk on his face. He propped his legs up on the desk and relaxed, as though nothing peculiar had happened.

"Heh come on… I just offered to show you a good time." He said breezily.

"And I said no, and you took it rather... poorly."

"Fuck. You."

Alastor's eye twitched. "Some of us," he added waspishly, "don't need to resort to such tawdry misadventures to find 'a good time'."

Vox raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise. "So you still haven't…?"

"That's absolutely none of your business, my dear Vox." Said Alastor, a finality in his tone. He looked down and began smoothing out his suit as though he found the whole turn in the conversation a little boring.

Vox scoffed. "Oh you have no fucking idea what you're missing out on!"

"Clearly, you're going to tell me." Alastor sighed. "Since I'm stuck here with you. I'm sure it will be riveting."

"Look, I know what it's like-" He spread his palms out in a gesture of confidence and understanding, "– having to put on a public face, making sure people know not to fuck with you, making sure every word, every step, every blink you take in public is absolutely perfect."

"Hmm…" sighed the Radio Demon again, "There are those of us who don't need to 'make sure', we simply 'are'."

"You are not fucking perfect, you egocentric prick!"

Alastor smiled wider, another malevolent flicker of joy dancing in his eyes at Vox's frustration. Vox bit his lip, regained his composure and continued in the same, smooth tone.

"Anyway... letting yourself enjoy something – or someone – letting go of that perfect persona, letting yourself get lost in pleasure... even for a moment… its good. There's a reason Val makes so much money, you know. People down here... they need people like him to help them blow off steam. Everybody does. Even you."

Alastor's fingers curled almost imperceptibly around his cane at the mention of Valentino. Vox continued to smile, ignorant of the change.

"I have far more interesting ways of blowing off steam, Vox. For example - " Alastor stood from the chair again, his face darkening, the smile now ghoulish and unnervingly wide. "Taking ownership of your soul..." He extended his fingers as though grabbing hold of an invisible chain in the air, "tearing it slowly apart, piece by measly piece and broadcasting the screams to every sinner in Hell, letting them all hear the price of betrayal..." Alastor's shadow grew. It seemed to creep up the wall behind him, malevolent and forboding. Vox gritted his teeth, but otherwise tried to hold his nerve. Suddenly the Radio Demon snapped a finger and the shadow disappeared. His face brightened back into a smile. "Now that's my idea of entertainment."

Vox snorted and leaned forward across the desk glaring up at the other demon. "Not going to happen."

Alastor slowly leaned in closer. "But thinking about that is so much more appealing than anything you have ever had to offer."

Vox's face dropped, his mouth thinning to an annoyed, pixellated line. Alastor turned, heading to the door with uncharacteristic speed.

"Wha-? Where d'you think you're going?"

"Why, my fine fellow, I'm leaving. I can't sit around here and listen to your purile drivel. Good day, ta ta!"

Alastor threw open the office door with a swift, regal wave and stepped out into the dark cavernous space that served as Vox's outer office – a circular wall of hanging screens, currently blue and devoid of any picture save the Voxtek logo, enclosed a single swivelling chair. Cables dangled haphazardly from the ceiling, swaying snake-like in the cold, lightly shifting air. Alastor took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and began moving around the outer walkway, towards where he remembered the lift stood.

"Alastor."

The Radio Demon's ears flicked back against his head once more, his eyes widening slightly. In his hurry to escape the conversation, he'd completely forgotten about the situation he was in; about Zestial.

He spun on the spot, a wide smile on his face. The ancient demon was sitting on a small couch, apparently supplied for those waiting for a meeting with Vox. His massive, slender figure hunched like an overlarge spider. He looked almost comically too large for the seat. Almost.

"Zestial!" He said brightly, smiling wider as he made his way breezily back towards the door. "How are you?"

The other Demon's eyes flickered bright and yellow in the half light. He raised a teacup to his lips from where it sat in a saucer on his lap, and looked Alastor over before he answered. "Alas, old friend. The troubles betwixt thee and thy nemesis in turn trouble us all."

Alastor waved a dismissive hand "Ah, I know, I know… sometimes I get a little -" He let out a slightly deranged laugh, "-carried away."

"Indeed. Thy passion for thy craft is a wonder to behold. But mayhaps thy emergence from this place brings with it glad tidings?"

Zestial's eyes glinted. Alastor was sure he already knew the answer.

"I'm afraid not – not yet, at least. We're simply working out the finer details, I'm sure we won't need to keep you much longer. I just stepped out - you know - for a moment of fresh air."

"This is glad news indeed." Replied the ancient demon with a courteous nod, his voice rasping and filling the wide room with whispers. Alastor nodded back. "It would grieve me greatly were thou to… fall out of favour so soon after thy return."

Alastor's smile remained fixed and charming. Only the very corners of his eyes narrowed at the veiled threat.

"Oh, I'm sure it won't come to that." He said mildly. He began heading nonchalantly back towards the office door, as though that had been his intention all along. "Why, I'm sure before long I and the Vees will be the greatest of friends."

Zestial did not speak again, but Alastor could feel all four of the glimmering eyes follow his every move until he stepped back in to the sterile light of the office and closed the door behind him.

Vox was still sitting in the same position, his highly polished shoes perched on the splintered desk, the same, thin-lipped scowl on his screen. Alastor adjusted his suit, smoothed his lapel and sat primly back in the chair, the smile now vaguely annoyed.

"You idiot." sniped Vox, waspishly.

They fell into another bout of silence. Alastor seemed to be becoming less and less amused at the scenario as the minutes ticked away. He was starting to tap the leather arm rest under his fingers so ferociously that the upholstery was flaking away. Vox's eye twitched. He was going to have to buy a new chair.

In Alastor's brief absence, though, he'd had a moment to regain his composure a little. He'd been thrown by the sudden invasion of a party of Overlords into his control centre, and the presence of this... fucker. But now, a plan was forming in his mind.

Alastor was stuck here, they couldn't fight. They were having the closest thing to a conversation they'd had in nearly a decade. Maybe... there was a chance he could finally...

"… So," He began smoothly, as though beginning an idle conversation. "You're... still not interested?"

Alastor didn't need to ask what Vox was talking about. One of his ears twitched in annoyance. Without skipping a beat he answered.

"Not in the slightest."

Vox hesitated, registering Alastor for a moment, deciding on his response. Finally, he raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Not even remotely curious what you're missing out on?" Vox pressed, his voice lowering half an octave.

Alastor began inspecting his fingernails, smirking. "Oh, even if I were, I doubt it would ever be with you."

Another pause. Vox slowly lowered his feet from the desk, trying to keep his breath steady and stay collected. He stood up again from the desk, taking a long, slow, cautious walk around to the front. Alastor continued to inspect his fingers, but Vox could tell that he was paying full attention.

He rested himself against the front of his desk in a would-be casual pose, placing the palms of his hands against the veneer. He knew that the next words out of his mouth would have to be perfect; would have to pique Alastor's curiosity. It was the longest of long shots - he wasn't even sure Alastor wouldn't simply try to eat him. Still, he thought wryly, you can only die twice.

"Not even if we… made a deal?"

Chapter Text

Vox knew immediately that he had hit on the magic words.

The swathe of red that was the Radio Demon became motionless. Still staring at his fingertips as though once again hypnotised, green tendrils of smoke began to creep from under his suit, his cuffs. The smile widened, luminous green stitches tugging at the corners of Alastor's mouth. His head turned slowly, unnervingly back towards Vox.

"...A deal?" The voice was distorted, curious. The other demon allowed himself a smirk of deepest pleasure. Alastor had always been good at pressing Vox's buttons, but the prick hadn't changed in the past decade – the lure of a deal was the one weakness he knew; the one button he knew how to press back.

Vox raised an eyebrow and leaned forward until their faces were barely a few inches apart. He lowered his voice enticingly.

"Yes Al. A deal. Not some kiss-and-make-up bullshit Carmine wants us to pull. A real one. Legally binding, no hidden small print. Just me, you, and one hell of a contract."

Vox looked into the red hot eyes, and for the first time since this dumpster fire of a day had started, felt he had some control over the situation. The smoke around Alastor was twisting slowly, the face grinning, but the voice now silent. He was watching Vox, waiting for the other demon to present his terms.

"You let me show you exactly what you're missing out on, and in return you get everything except the warehouse back."

The green tendrils receded almost instantly. The neon coloured stitches at the corners of Alastor's mouth flashed into nothingness and the impossibly wide grin withdrew into a half-smile of intense irritation.

"You really think a miserable packet of land is enough for me to make that kind of a deal? Honestly Vox, I'm disappointed in y-"

"I haven't finished." Interjected the other man. He suddenly swooped back up and strode around the desk, walking to one of the black painted walls and a row of filing cabinets. He opened one of the bottommost drawers and began tearing through old, yellowed papers, scanning each one as if looking for something. Alastor merely sat, a hand clutching the top of his cane and glowering darkly at the back of Vox's head.

Vox finally found what he was looking for with a triumphant grin. He took a brief glance over a long, yellowed and creased sheet of paper and stood up. The wording was still fine, it just needed… updating.

Without looking at Alastor, he brought the paper back to his desk, took out a pen and began scribbling furiously at the top of it, writing so intently that he nearly tore holes through the paper.

Alastor began to tap his hoofed foot on the floor impatiently.

For a moment the only sounds were the hum of electricity, the sound of impatient tapping, and the scribble of pen on paper. Alastor's antlers began to creep slowly upwards again, his face darkening as the seconds ticked away.

Finally Vox sat up, looked across the desk and slid the sheet slowly with a single finger towards the other demon. "Read that fucker and tell me you still don't wanna sign."

Alastor gave him a weary look and peered down at the crumpled, ancient-looking parchment.

He reached out a graceful, long-fingered hand and picked it up, holding it up to the light. "Curious, this contract looks as if it's been written for quite a while." He said with mock-innocence. Vox's smile of triumph twitched downwards slightly and he looked away, trying to hide the slight pinkness bleeding through his screen.

"Oh… yeah, you know…" He said nervously "using up an old piece of parchment."

Alastor adjusted the ruby red monocle. "Why… one would almost imagine this was written nearly a decade ago."

There was a pause.

"Just read it."

Alastor stood up from his seat and began pacing, unconsciously retracing the steps Carmilla Carmine had walked in this office barely half an hour ago. His eyes travelled across the paper as he walked, taking the contents in carefully, weighing up the wording of each clause as the wheels turned in his head.

"Alastor shall reclaim dominion over their previously entitled territory adjacent to Cannibal Town, with the sole exception of the Voxtek warehouse within said territory. Furthermore, all Voxtek employees shall be granted a guarantee of safe passage to and from the warehouse."

A fairly straightforward clause, thought Alastor. It would be frustrating, of course, having Vox's cronies trample through his territory without being able to tear them apart, but he was sure he could control himself.

"Both Alastor and Vox shall solemnly agree never to divulge the contents of this contract to any third parties. Any breach of this confidentiality shall be considered a grave violation of the contract."

Alastor tilted his head to the side, a little more intrigued now. No talking about this agreement? He couldn't imagine Vox keeping his mouth shut about anything – least of all something like this. That was… interesting.

"Within the confines of Vox's office, neither Party shall inflict serious harm upon the other. Furthermore, any words or actions exchanged in this location shall remain strictly within its walls and cannot be used to gain power, cause physical or reputational harm, or secure an advantage in business. Violating this provision constitutes a breach of contract."

Alastor's head was nearly at a 45 degree angle now, his eyes narrowed and a slight smirk forming on his face. Vox had written this? Why? Secrecy? Surrendering territory? Those were hardly his strong suits. In all the years he'd known him, Vox had been loud, hot headed and bullish. This was curiously unexpected. His eyes flickered down to the next clause, and his smirk faded. He stopped pacing and looked down witheringly at the other demon sitting in front of him.

"Really Vox?"

Vox put on his best winning smile and shrugged. "Like I said - let me show you what you've been missing out on. Just read the last section and then decide."

With a sniff of annoyance, Alastor peeled his eyes away and back to the yellowed paper. He read the final paragraph.

"A breach of contract in any of the above clauses will result in all territories and souls belonging to the guilty party being surrendered to the wounded party."

Alastor read over this final statement several times, processing the information carefully. Vox subconsciously leaned forward in his chair, holding his breath.

'All territories and souls belonging to the guilty party…'. Alastor raised an eyebrow. Vox had been right, for once. This was a tempting proposition. Everything that belonged to Vox… every soul including his own… placed as a wager on Vox's dubious ability to keep secrets. Alastor had no doubt, of course, that he himself could keep a secret – his life both before and after death had been full of them.

Speaking of which, the wording of the final phrase – souls belonging to the guilty party. Alastor had a sudden, manic urge to laugh. How bitterly ironic. If the Radio Demon ever were to slip up on his end of the contract, he would like to see the dismay on Vox's face when he realised just how badly he'd phrased that. It would at least be interesting, seeing the argument between the Vox and his current… puppeteer. He snarled internally at the word and gripped the contract a little tighter.

"So…" interjected Vox finally, softly, "Still not interested?"

The Radio Demon stood in thought for a moment longer, his brow furrowed behind the grin. Was this something he was willing to do?

Alastor lowered the unsigned contract to his side and walked up to the desk. He placed a hand on the surface and leaned towards Vox's face, ears pricked forward. "...And what if I sign this, then decide I don't enjoy what you have to offer?"

Vox raised an eyebrow. "Oh you will," he purred confidently. The fact that Alastor hadn't flatly refused had bolstered his confidence, though he was trying hard to hide how badly he wanted the other demon to sign his name, "but I'm not Val. Read that section again."

Alastor sighed and scanned the page again for the second to last paragraph.

"Any further interaction of this kind between Alastor and Vox will take place only if and when both parties are agreeable and available."

"So you're willing to risk your soul, your empire, your entire place in Hell for one encounter with me?" Alastor growled back, raising a single finger in front of the other Overlord's face. He grinned darkly and quirked an eyebrow upwards. "I should be flattered, Vox."

Vox scowled once more.

"Oh fuck you, are you interested or not?"

Alastor's grin deepened.

It hadn't been his plan, of course. When Carmilla and Rosie had insisted he come here, he'd merely tagged along because it seemed less of a hassle than refusing and taking on every Overlord in the Pride ring, because he didn't want to upset Rosie, and he could not afford to bring the fighting back to the Hotel. It had been an annoyance, a minor inconvenience in his day. The idea of being… intimate with anyone wasn't something he'd generally entertained – that kind of intimacy made one vulnerable, and Alastor flatly refused to be vulnerable. Never again.

But the contract Vox had penned negated all of that – he couldn't be hurt, manipulated, nor blackmailed by Vox at all if he signed this contract, and the contract stipulated explicitly that he couldn't be forced. It was almost perfect. Not to mention the sheet of paper in his hand could change the entire landscape of the Pentagram.

He wondered if Vox actually understood just what a bad deal it was for him, and what a good deal for Alastor. He didn't know, but he was sure it would be entertaining to find out.

"You know, of course," Said Alastor lowly, pleasantly, "if I sign this your soul is as good as mine?"

Vox snorted. "Well why don't you sign it and we'll find out?" he growled back, sneering, "Or is the perfect, deer-freak Radio Demon scared?"

Alastor's eyes narrowed.

Still grinning into Vox's face, he reached a hand delicately out and pulled the pen still sitting in the other demon's hand. He felt the fingers twitch at the touch.

Vox's eyes widened in disbelief.

The blank gap at the bottom of the page began to glow in an ominous green as the Radio Demon slowly traced his signature into the paper, uplighting his face, reflecting off Vox's bewildered screen. Vox couldn't actually believe what he was seeing.

When the redheaded demon stood again, the green glow had gone, but a single, large and neatly cursive word still remained written in fresh ink:

ALASTOR

Chapter Text

Vox continued staring at the creased and yellowed contract long after Alastor had stood back up. He hadn't in his wildest fantasies ever really expected the other demon to sign. He blinked, nonplussed as a red-tipped finger slid the paper back across the desk towards him, lending him a clear view of the still fresh name. He inspected it carefully, frowning, looking for some trick, though deep down he knew that the signature was legitimate – he'd seen Alastor sign contracts before, he knew that green glow well; knew that it signified the sealing of a pact.

"Perhaps you're out of practice, Vox, but I do believe a contract is only binding if both parties sign?"

Vox blinked, mouth hanging open in shock, and raised his eyes to the redhead still standing over him across the desk. He inspected Alastor's face, looking for some reasoning, some sign of trickery. As always, and immeasurably frustratingly, the red eyes held no clue to the inner workings of the other demon's mind.

"If you've lost your nerve, we could always…" Alastor put forth a hand once again towards the contract. Vox finally broke through the white noise in his head and snatched the paper back.

"You think I'm gonna back down from a contract I wrote?" he said with a forced laugh, "One that will finally - finally - let me own your soul, and get you out of my face?"

For some reason, the smile on Alastor's face widened just a fraction, but he said nothing. Vox's expression darkened. He extended a hand.

"Pen."

With a flourish, Alastor presented the pen and pressed it neatly into Vox's open palm.

Still sitting at his desk, Vox hesitated for just a moment more, doubt creeping in to his mind. He'd been waiting years for this chance, imagining seeing that bastard's signature on this contract, but something about how quickly Alastor had been willing to sign it was slightly worrying. He wondered if the other demon had found a loophole somewhere: he knew how fucking slippery Alastor could be. He couldn't think what it would be, though – he'd spent more time than he wanted to admit drawing this contract up, and Vox had become very good over the years at making his contracts foolproof.

A very soft sigh of annoyance brought him back to the present. Alastor was here, wasn't he? He'd signed. If the Radio Demon changed his mind before Vox signed, there would never be another chance.

He pushed the worries to the back of his mind, and feeling a thrill of recklessness, lowered pen to paper.

The lights hissed and flickered as pen and paper made contact. Two of the bulbs above the two demons' heads smashed with a loud shatter. several of the screens on the rear wall cracked from corner to corner, and a blue wave of static electricity passed down Vox's slowly moving arm.

When the lights stabilised Vox was looking down at his own signature, his handwriting – spiky and plain – a stark contrast to the decorative flourish of the other demon's hand.

It was done.

Vox's eyes flashed up into Alastor's. They stared at each other silently for a minute. Vox stood up. His face suddenly furrowed into a devious smirk

"Take your pants off."

Alastor's eyes twitched, coming as close to a glare as he ever did.

"Really now, any need to be so crass?" He turned and walked lengthways across the office, his hand trailing slowly along the edge of the desk, "No romantic dinner? No soft jazz playing quietly in the background? Not even a few fingers of rye?"

Vox blinked, then snarled jeeringly and pointed to the door, "Oh yeah, excuse me while I just ask Zestial to head out and get us some fucking champagne!"

Alastor paused for a moment and tilted his head. He made a thoughtful hum in his throat. "I suppose that would be a little hard to explain."

"So? Pants."

"I think you'll find that the contract didn't specify taking orders." replied Alastor lightly, almost sing-song. Vox bristled slightly. The other demon was speaking so dispassionately, as though the agreement they'd signed was no more than a minor event; just a curious addendum to his day. Vox pushed what felt curiously like hurt back down inside and clenched his fists. "Quite an unfortunate oversight on your part."

"Oh for fuck's -"

Vox kicked the desk chair behind him furiously as he stormed back around to face the other demon. The chair rolled loudly across the office and slammed into the wall of screens with a crash.

Alastor's smile was maddeningly pleasant as the two demon's came face to face. Vox's eye twitched in deepest annoyance.

Underneath the blinding frustration however, the Television Demon's breath was catching slightly. This was the closest he'd been to Alastor in years – unless you counted the times they had tried to kill each other. He was so close he could feel the other man's breath on his face; could feel the warmth radiating off him. Vox bit his lip, but otherwise continued to glare.

"You're really enjoying making me work for this, huh?"

Alastor didn't answer. He simply continued to stand, an eyebrow slightly raised, his face inches away from Vox's screen.

Still glaring back into the dangerously red eyes, Vox's hand twitched; and then almost hesitantly, as if not sure whether he dared proceed, he carefully reached out for the other demon's waistband.

There was a moment as they glared at each other, Alastor grinning as always, that Vox was almost sure the Radio Demon had tensed up. Something odd flickered behind the smile, some small tell that he hadn't quite managed to cover. It had gone almost as soon as it had arrived though, and Vox was left merely wondering what that small crack in the armour had been; what it had signified.

Had it been fear? As much as Vox was loathe to admit it out loud, Alastor was no coward, and he'd proved repeatedly – and frustratingly – that he was not afraid of Vox. So what then?

Vox pushed it out of his mind as his fingers came into contact with the other demon's skin. It was almost surprisingly warm as he tucked a finger behind the waistband and began, slowly, to pull them floorwards. There was a button of course, but the other demon was so stupidly skinny that Vox found he had no use for it: there was only the slightest resistance as the material slid past Alastor's hips, and then the soft thump as they slithered unassisted to the floor.

Vox's heart was hammering in his chest. He wanted so badly to look down; to see what he'd done, but Alastor was still staring into his soul, and every fibre in his body told him it was dangerous to break eye contact. He dared a fast flick of his eyes southwards and then smirked up at Alastor, leaning in just a little closer.

"I guess the redhead thing really isn't bullshit." He purred, the snarl turning into a smug smirk.

Alastor's ears flattened out on either side of his head in annoyance.

"This contract said nothing about having to put up with your pointless rambling." he hissed.

Vox began working at his own pants, strangely reassured at the jibe. The smirk turned smutty.

"You're telling me someone like you isn't into dirty talk?" he said, kicking his pants aside. They skidded across the tiled floor. "Oh yeah, but I guess you wouldn't know, would ya, Al? I can't believe you've seriously never done this."

Alastor bared his teeth.

"The only reason this is happening is because I know you, Vox." he replied, a dangerous edge to his voice. It was barely above a whisper. Vox had now very gingerly placed his hands on Alastor's exposed hips, pushing him back towards the desk with their eyes still locked, as though leading the other in a dance, "You've never been able to keep that pixellated mouth of yours shut; and when you let slip – the moment you break this contract…"

There was a dull thud as Alastor made contact with the desk behind him. The sudden stop made the microphone-topped cane slip from the Radio Demon's grip. For the second time today, it fell with a clatter to the floor. Sneering into each other's faces, Vox pushed Alastor's knees apart and slid in between them.

"...I'm going to tear your soul apart."

Chapter Text

Alastor turned his head away from the sneer and looked behind him, examining the position he'd found himself in – pressed into the desk, Vox's fingers clinging deeply to his tanned, scarred hips as though determined to stop the Radio Demon from slipping away. He felt as Vox nudged himself closer, pinning him with his body weight, bare flesh pressed against bare flesh.

Snarling even more deeply, he snapped his eyes back towards the Television Demon and leaned in ever closer until he could feel the sting of static against his lips. Vox's snarl faltered momentarily. His eyes travelled across Alastor's features, almost confused.

"I think you'll find this scenario should be the other way around." hissed the redheaded demon, his voice unfiltered now that he no longer clutched his cane. He snatched his long fingered hands out from behind him and grabbed at Vox's wrists, still clinging hard to his hips. Vox's expression shifted again, returning to the hateful sneer.

"You?" He snorted derisively, resisting the tug at his wrists surprisingly easily. Alastor was at least as strong as him, and if he'd sincerely wanted Vox to let go he was sure he would have made him. Vox pressed himself harder against the other demon, trying desperately not to reveal how much he wanted this. His eyes threatened to lid as he felt his already half erect member brush up against Alastor's. "You wouldn't even know what you're doing."

"It can't be that complicated if you can manage it."

Vox growled and pulled at Alastor's hips, grinding himself against the other demon in half lust, half frustration. With a sudden jolt of pleasure he watched as Alastor's eye twitched. The snarl faltered very slightly, and he felt the fingers encircling his wrists dig sharply into the skin.

A shudder ran down Vox's back, partly because of the intense sensation of skin on skin, but partly because of the response he'd managed to elicit from the other demon. Alastor had always been a smug, arrogant prick, and almost completely unflappable by anything the Television Demon ever did. Now – finally – Vox had drawn out something more than a sneer, even if only for a second.

He bit his lip, trying to stop himself from smirking and tugged the Radio Demon towards him again, grinding himself slowly; purposefully. It was taking all his mental strength not to close his eyes and give in to the sensation he'd waited so long to feel – the intense warmth of Alastor's hips pressed up against him; the rising excitement in the pit of his stomach that he was finally going to have the thing that had eluded him. He forced his eyes to stay open, his face barely a hair's width away from the other demon, taking in the half-snarl and feeling the fingers piercing painfully into his flesh. He wanted to see that mask fall again; that chink in the frustratingly thick armour that meant he was having an effect – any effect – on this normally cold, psychotic bastard.

Alastor was trying to keep the snarl glued to his features, fully aware of the close proximity of Vox's face; the careful, calculating way he was moving them together. He could feel… something; some strange and almost irresistible urge to push back; to respond to the rhythm of Vox's grinding movement, but he refused to give him the satisfaction. It was becoming harder to focus on self control with every second: He could feel the sneer beginning to falter, his muscles tensing under the other demon's ministrations. His chest was starting to rise and fall a little more visibly than he liked. His eye was twitching with the desperate strain to resist...

He let go of Vox's wrists. Before he could stop himself Alastor's fingers had suddenly slid knife-like up the other demon's arms, the sleeves of the suit slipping upwards before them. He found himself clutching to the back of Vox's elbows, fingertips piercing flesh.

Vox halted suddenly at the unexpected movement. Unable to resist, he glanced down at the new position of the Radio Demon's hands, then back up with a mocking eyebrow raised.

"Well, would you look at that…" He muttered, with a giddy sense of self-satisfaction. "I told you you'd like it." he purred.

Alastor's ears flattened out once more, face darkening dangerously."One more word and I'll rip that prattling tongue from your face and eat it."

"Oh believe me…" laughed the Television Demon softly. He was unconsciously massaging the other demon's hips, even as his lip curled, "there are way better uses for this tongue, Al. Maybe if you decide to come back, I'll show you."

Alastor's eyes narrowed at the use of his shortened name. He dug his fingers vindictively into the back of Vox's arms. A trickle of cyan blood ran freely down the dark skin, pooling at his elbows. Vox winced. Alastor allowed himself a cruel smirk.

"I assure you, Vox: the next time I enter this office is the day it belongs to me." he spat back, tone sharp and spiteful. He dug his fingers even harder into the exposed skin. Vox let out a painful hiss and – unable to think of a reply – simply glared into the other demon's face, anger brimming up beyond the lust. With a newfound fury, he moved one of his hands from Alastor's hip, clutching instead to the edge of the desk. He pushed himself forcefully up against the other demon and began grinding intently.

The intensity, the suddenness of what Vox was doing caught Alastor off guard. He found himself closing his eyes, just momentarily out of control. Vox was pushing him backwards slightly with the weight of his body, his back arched over the desk where just a few moments before they had both signed their signatures. With a sudden jolt of shock, he realised his hips were starting to move in response, reacting to the sensation of Vox's body warmth; the feel of the erection pressing against his own slowly growing member. He gritted his teeth, eyes flashing open in panic as he realised what he was doing. Vox was still staring at him, lust and anger mingled in his eyes, and a clearly smug smirk fixed across his screen of a face. Alastor had no doubt that Vox had noticed the change in response, and was enjoying it far too much.

Frustrated, he dragged his sharp fingers down Vox's arms, leaving deep, bleeding scratches in their wake. Vox shuddered in pain and came to another sudden stop.

"Ow! What. The. FUCK?"

Regaining his composure, a smirk stretched up the side of Alastor's face at the pain in Vox's voice. He raised one of his hands to his mouth and stuck his tongue out, licking away the fresh blood from one of his fingers slowly. Vox's eyes followed the tongue, looking peculiarly torn between outrage and lust.

"Didn't you read the contract you prick?" he snapped, leaning forward and forcing Alastor's back into a further arch. Alastor's smirk spread into an impossibly wide and sinister grin. "We can't hurt each other in here!"

"I think you'll find…" retorted the Radio Demon in his sing-song voice, as though they were merely having another petty argument. His head snaked upwards from the desk, goading, "the exact wording only stipulated serious physical harm. Are you really that fragile, old pal?"

Vox blinked stupidly, then snorted in anger.

"You slippery fuck."

"Don't blame me if you still can't write a competent contract, Vox." Jeered the Radio Demon. He pushed Vox back with his bloody hand, bringing himself back up to the other demon's height. The grin had reverted back to a snarl. "I did try to teach you."

The hand still holding Alastor's hip squeezed tighter subconsciously.

"Are you done?" he growled. "Are you fucking done?"

Alastor simply continued to snarl. Vox's eyes narrowed.

"Sit on the desk."

"I don't think so."

"Sit on the desk."

He'd done it by accident. Incensed, unbearably frustrated as he was by this asshole's smug face, and still feeling the bitter sting of the bloody scratches down his arms, he'd opened his eyes wide, one pupil spiralling in place.

The effect was instant.

Alastor's deer-like ears – until now flattened angrily to either side of his head – relaxed upwards. His hand, which had still been digging maliciously into Vox's bloody arm, relaxed. The snarl faded into a vacant, slightly twitching smile, and still focused entirely on the other demon's hypnotic stare, he slid backwards quietly, obediently onto the desk.

For the second time today, Vox's face dropped into a look of bewilderment as the stared at the now hypnotised redhead. He'd barely believed it the first time, but now? Surely this wasn't just another lucky shot?

"...Al?"

No response. Vox smirked evilly as he examined the silent, vacant face. Tentatively, he reached out, hand hovering over Alastor's chest, thinking.

Alastor had nearly gone on a demonic rampage when he'd tried this earlier, and that had only been when they were sitting, talking, arguing. The inner workings of this asshole's mind were still a partial mystery, but he had a feeling that if he did anything too intrusive in this position, no contract would stop the Radio Demon from eviscerating him as soon as he snapped out of it.

Apart from that, part of Vox was desperately hoping that this wouldn't be the one and only time he'd get to do this. If he pushed his luck, there was even less of a chance that Alastor would come back of his own accord.

Still… he couldn't help himself from having a little fun. Seeing him like this after all this time was… delicious.

He took a moment to remove his own jacket and pull away his tie, dropping both haphazardly to the black tiled floor, then moved closer in between Alastor's legs once more, admiring the effect of the hypnotism carefully. "You're not gonna need this, you pretentious bastard." He purred. Carefully, as though handling a volatile substance, he raised a hand to the other demon's face and tugged away the monocle perched stupidly against his eye. Alastor didn't flinch. Vox grinned and leaned closer, screen practically flickering in self-satisfied pleasure.

"That's it… Good boy." he breathed.

Alastor's eyes suddenly flashed angrily, the toothy snarl contorting his entire face with fury. Vox's head jolted back out of instinct at the sudden change. Like lightning, a red-fingered hand swept outward and grabbed Vox's wrist. The monocle dropped and clattered across the desk.

"Try that again, and you will regret it." whispered Alastor, every syllable dripping with acid. His eyes were like fire, boiling and furious. Vox gritted his teeth against the renewed pain in his wrist and threw his hand away.

"Maybe if you let me in, you'd enjoy it;" he retorted, "then we could finally remove that stick from your ass."

There was a moment of silence in which both of them stared into each other hatefully. Shadows were beginning to gather around the other demon again. Vox sensed the danger. Thinking quickly, he reached forward and wrapped his fingers around the other demon's penis.

Alastor's eye twitched once more at the unexpected contact. Refusing to look away, he bit his lip, trying to stave off the return of that strange instinct urging him to react. Vox began stroking him, firmly but slowly. The fury in his eyes dimmed; the shadows receding into nothingness once more.

Vox was torn between trepidation and burning lust. His plan had worked, which meant that Alastor had to be enjoying this. He'd noticed the snarl withdraw into a concentrated, slightly forced smile; noticed the minute furrow of his brow, the shadow where the other demon's sharp teeth were surreptitiously digging into his own lip. He could feel Alastor's member twitching under his fingertips – the one part of his body that he couldn't so easily control. He also registered the hitched breathing, and the way his hands had curled into fists slowly, as though trying not to draw attention. The Radio Demon seemed to be fighting to keep his eyes from closing. Vox wished that just once, he would give in.

Without thinking, Vox suddenly realised he'd placed his forehead in contact with Alastor's, watching the resistance and the hate dwindle a little more with every stroke. Alastor was actually panting now, trying to conceal it. Vox closed his eyes, listening to the sound as though he'd never heard anything more perfect. His own member twitched painfully against the desk.

"Lie down." Vox mumbled softly, almost lovingly. He felt Alastor tense up.

"I'm afraid you've forgotten the terms of our agreement again." replied the Radio Demon in a would-be mocking tone, but his voice was unsteady, his breath slightly ragged. Vox peered an eye open. He was met with a slightly haze-filled glare. "...I don't take orders from anyone. Especially not you."

Vox groaned.

"Oh for fuck's sake I'm not giving you an order, you need to lie down!"

The Radio Demon simply continued to glare, panting, into Vox's one open eye. Opening both now, he pressed his lips together in annoyance.

Still stroking Alastor as a distraction; a buffer between himself and the redhead's inevitable backlash, Vox trailed his free hand up the other demon's stomach and on to his chest. He could feel the lungs heaving beneath the shirt. If Alastor was being less of an asshole, he would have ripped that shirt off of him by now, but he knew how infuriatingly precious the other demon could be when it came to his attire. Instead, he placed a palm over the other demon's heart and pushed him backwards.

The red lined jacket splayed across the desk as he fell with a thump, piles of paperwork giving way and fluttering as they fell erratically across the room. Vox clawed his way up onto the desk, following Alastor as the Radio Demon hitched himself angrily up onto his elbows, looking slightly dishevelled with the jacket now hanging from a single shoulder.

"Trust me, it's easier this way."

"Why, of course." Alastor retorted, every syllable filled with hateful sarcasm, "What possible reason could I have not to trust you?"

Vox paused.

Alastor was glaring again, an eyebrow raised mockingly, knowingly. The momentarily lapse in self control had apparently fuelled a new wave of spite. The Television demon frowned, his hands on Alastor's inner thighs as the words hit home.

"Al…" Vox swallowed. He'd been calling Alastor by that name all afternoon by accident, as though he'd never stopped. The other demon's snarl became more intense. "Alastor… It's not – I mean… I didn't – just –" His eye twitched, "Fuck you! just fucking work with me here you prick!"

Alastor hissed and hitched himself up further, but this time didn't retort. Vox let out a frustrated breath and pushed himself across the desk until he was positioned over the other demon, one hand resting on his hip, the blood from the scratches on his arm dripping between his fingers. The other hand he raised to his lips, tongue snaking out to wrap around two fingers and bring them into his mouth, maintaining eye contact.

Alastor was laying beneath him, his knees parted subconsciously to make way for Vox's body warmth, even though – Vox was pretty sure - he hadn't realised he was doing it. He was eyeing what Vox was doing with mingled annoyance and curiosity. Vox laughed inwardly. That was proof enough: the asshole really hadn't done this before.

He opened his mouth, now smirking again smuttily, eyes heavily lidded as thick saliva coated his fingers. The tongue curled back inwards and he licked his lips. The hand on the Radio Demon's hip slid round beneath him, curling into smooth flesh and raising him away from the table.

Alastor tilted his head suspiciously. "What-?"

"Just relax." Vox said, soothingly, and slid his slick fingers into Alastor.

Alastor did not relax. A hand shot out and grabbed roughly at Vox's shoulder, claws digging in painfully tight through his shirt. Alastor was wincing, one eye squeezed shut, the other glaring furiously at Vox. His breathing hitched into a painful pant and his back arched away from the cold wooden desk. The Television Demon could feel the muscles around his fingers squeezing and shuddering tightly. Vox let out a pant of equal parts annoyance and anticipation and lowered himself completely, pressing his chest heavily against the redhead. He took a moment to appreciate the expression on the other demon's face, then leaned in to his ear.

"Just relax, you moron." He purred lowly, patiently. "Breathe."

"I… don't need you... to tell me how to breathe." Hissed the other demon obstinately, both ears twitching in discomfort. Without Vox's eyes on him, he'd allowed himself to close both eyes tightly, arching his back against the strange sensation of fingers inside him. He bit his lip harder, the sharp teeth finally piercing flesh and a trickle of dark red blood began to flow down his chin. Vox stayed stationary, waiting.

It took a painfully long few minutes. Vox had waited this long for his chance; he wasn't going to mess it up now. His groin was aching in anticipation; he could feel his cock twitching with every spasm of Alastor's muscles, but he waited, eyes closed and smirking lustfully into the other demon's ear, breathing him in. Eventually the Radio Demon's ragged breathing stabilised; the muscles relaxed. Vox backed away.

His eyes caught the slowly dripping trail of crimson at the other demon's mouth and the smirk faltered just a fraction.

"You're bleeding."

"That makes two of us." Alastor snapped back petulantly. He lowered his eyes to the still free flowing wounds on Vox's arms. Vox glared and slowly began to move his fingers.

Alastor's eyes narrowed. He was trying not to wince again, Vox could tell; but the twitching of his muscles around Vox's fingers gave him away. He slid a leg wider across the desk subconsciously. Vox gratefully moved himself in to fill the empty space.

He began parting his fingers as they moved, stretching the Radio Demon's walls slowly, ignoring the urgency welling up inside him.

He was normally a deeply impatient man. He wanted results, wanted pleasure, wanted everything now, but he knew acting that way here would be counterproductive. He wanted that bastard to enjoy this – enjoy it as much as he himself would; enjoy it so much he would be drawn back to this office. He knew that it was unlikely – the other demon was infuriatingly self-controlled, but he could always hope.

Eventually, Vox could feel Alastor begin to relax again. His muscles began to give way as the Television Demon scissored them slowly inside. Pulse pounding, unsure how much longer he could wait, he slid his fingers back out.

He had toyed briefly with the idea of stroking Alastor's prostate. The thought of seeing the other demon spasm in pleasure across his desk would have been blissfully satisfying, but doing so would have meant waiting even longer; perhaps even another argument. Vox couldn't wait that long. He was using every ounce of restraint already. He'd fantasised about this for more years than he cared to admit.

Staring hotly into the red, narrowed eyes, Vox trailed his newly free hand up Alastor's leg, relishing the feeling of warm flesh. He grabbed the narrow, scarred hips and raised them off the desk, shifting his body weight and lining himself up. Alastor's fingers were still clutching painfully to his shoulder, the Radio Demon's face set into a tight, smiling glare. Vox slowly, carefully, pressed himself forwards.

Alastor let out a silent hiss as his insides spasmed against the sudden intrusion. Vox bit his own lip hard, shuddering with pleasure, but refusing to look away. He wanted to capture it all. The deer-like ears were flattened back, the face full of apparent loathing as they looked back at the eyes on the screen above him, chest heaving. Vox tugged him closer, his fingertips twitching, burying himself as deeply inside Alastor as he possibly could.

He felt strangely dizzy.

This morning, he'd been dealing with one of Val's frequent volatile mood swings. He'd taken an annoyingly long press conference for Angelic Security. He'd drank more than his own bodyweight in strong coffee, and listened to a rambling diatribe from Velvette about the lack of good models. Now? He was kneeling over a sprawled Alastor, feeling the cold fuck's impossibly hot warmth completely engulfing him. He could hear the laboured breathing, smell his cologne, taste his salt in the air. He closed his eyes tightly, holding himself back… just a little longer.

"If… this is meant… to be enjoyable," growled Alastor between pants, the mocking tone bringing Vox back to the present, "you're clearly not doing it… very well."

"You're meant to be relaxing, you idiot."

Alastor sneered, wrapping both arms around his shoulders so he could leer up closer to Vox's face. His jacket slid further down his arms. "You try it."

Vox made a noise of intense frustration behind his teeth. He took a hand off Alastor's hips and slid it up between them, massaging the other demon's shaft once more.

Alastor's sharp fingers tore into Vox's shirt. He was grinding his teeth, still staring obstinately into the Television Demon's face. He seemed torn between discomfort and pleasure, trying not to show either, and at last, Vox began to see the mask starting to slip in earnest.

Alastor's walls were almost unbearably tight around him. He was shivering in every muscle he had, tense and frustrated, waiting for the redhead to adjust to his presence. He nudged himself a little deeper, experimentally. The other demon tensed against him, but this time didn't hiss or object.

Finally, almost painfully slowly, Vox started to move. He removed his hand from the Radio Demon's member and replaced it on his hip, pulling him needfully down against him. Alastor seemed to resist momentarily, his body tensing warily one more time, and then to Vox's immense satisfaction, he felt a response. Alastor's hips were rocking, unaided into the slow rhythm Vox was setting. His face was still a sneering look of enmity, but the ears that had been flicked back angrily were beginning to slowly ease forward. Alastor's breathing was becoming heavier and ragged, but Vox registered somewhere beyond the intense lust and concentration, that not once so far had the other demon allowed himself to make a single noise. It was... strange. Val was almost annoyingly loud – possibly one of the side effects of working around porn all day, and he'd grown used to that level of noise. This silence, this careful restraint was entirely new, a little confusing… and surprisingly an incredible turn on.

Alastor was struggling. He had wanted to dislike this; wanted to simply see it as a means to an end, or just as a curious experiment, but something unexpected had happened: he could feel Vox's presence inside him, pushing at his insides slowly, and bizarre instincts were prodding at his subconscious, completely alien and impossible to ignore. He could feel himself moving in time with the other demon's body. Despite his best efforts the snarl on his face was slipping, his eyes lidding, his vision blurring. His heart was pumping furiously hard, and yet he could feel Vox's eyes on him, that smug and lustful glare plastered to his ridiculous excuse for a face. Alastor felt one of his eyes close irresistibly and saw the look of smug enjoyment spread further across Vox's screen. He forced the snarl back upwards and clawed at Vox's back, tearing the shirt with an audible rip. Vox hissed and suddenly glared.

"Bastard." he growled thickly. Alastor's face flickered momentarily back up into a sadistic grin.

He thrust into Alastor a little more forcefully in revenge, tugging at his hips harder. They were glaring into each other again, face to face and breathing hard. Vox felt a jolt in his chest, taken off guard as Alastor's legs snapped suddenly upwards, wrapping themselves tightly around the Television Demon's waist. He thought he saw a brief flicker of panic behind the still sneering eyes, but he couldn't be sure.

Alastor was indeed inwardly panicking. He seemed to have made a miscalculation. He'd expected to be in complete control the entire time, showing no vulnerabilities; no weakness. With someone like Angel Dust in close proximity on a daily basis Alastor had assumed that most of what others did in these situations was a performance; faked. Now that he'd finally experienced it himself, he was realising just how strongly instinct played a part. Even with the contract he had signed as a safety net, the idea of anybody – especially Vox – seeing him lose his normally immaculate facade was almost intolerable. But here he was, losing himself a little more with every thrust of Vox's hips: He could feel the heat and pressure of Vox's member inside him, dragging against nerves he never knew he had, urging him to react. He tore at Vox's back more viciously as he leaned up further, still flatly refusing to look away; to close his eyes. Alastor saw the flicker of pain in Vox's face and felt the shiver run down his back, relieved that he could pay him back in some small way, but this time the other demon did not stop to object.

Vox let one hand go of his hip and slid it greedily up Alastor's chest, then reached up beyond his head and curled his fingertips around the rear lip of the desk. Using it as leverage, he suddenly slammed himself as deep and hard as he could muster, moaning.

Vox watched through heavily lidded, lust-dimmed eyes, his entire body filled with pure disbelieving intoxication as he realised what exactly he'd done. A deep, intense shudder seemed to vibrate through Alastor, his legs shaking as they clutched themselves around Vox's back. His head seemed to jerk backward against the desk, and the eyes glazed over before they rolled back into his head. He panted, biting his bloody lip again and causing a fresh trickle to roll down the side of his mouth. After a moment he managed to focus, half dazed as he glared up into Vox's screen, two streaks of blood still describing thin, red lines across his face.

"Heh… there we go." Vox couldn't resist.

The redhead managed to narrow his eyes one last time. He licked the blood from the corner of his mouth.

"Fuck you." he hissed, breathing hard.

The Television Demon bit his own lip at the finally undisguised lust and anger on the redhead's face, even with the shadows of that eternal smile still clinging to it. He felt himself twitch. Hard. He slammed upwards again.

The eyes actually screwed shut this time, the back arching almost entirely from the desk and at last, as Vox's eyes burned into him searchingly, Alastor uttered a thin, quiet, barely suppressed moan.

Vox's eyes suddenly widened in shock. More than anything he had seen so far, more than anything he'd felt, the sight and sound of this pompous, stoic prick finally losing all self control was the most perfect, most intoxicating thing he had ever seen in either of his lives. He let out a low, appreciative groan as he felt muscles contract hard around his cock. He closed his eyes at last.

The image of the other demon in that pose removed any further thoughts inside Vox's head. He frowned intently, subconsciously set his forehead against Alastor's, and began to slam into him hard.

Alastor's voice never rose. Vox registered vaguely, beyond the overwhelming sensation of the demon moving beneath him, that even in this much pleasure, Alastor was still holding on to a thin thread of self control. Everything else from the way the Radio Demon's legs tightened around him with each thrust, to the twitching of his member against Vox's stomach, to the angry stinging claws in Vox's own back, indicated that Alastor was lost in what they were doing. And yet, he still refused to vocalise it. When Vox thought back on it later, he couldn't help but give the bastard some grudging respect. Right now he was panting raggedly, teeth still digging furiously into his lower lip as Vox slammed up against his prostate. Without thinking, Vox's tongue slid from between his lips and darted to the long streak of red at his chin, tasting metal. Alastor managed a weak snarl.

The desk itself was creaking slightly as Vox continued to clutch to it, using it to pull himself harder, faster, more desperately into the movement. He was groaning quietly at the intensity of the sensations around him, and the dizzying idea of who exactly it was sprawled on this desk with him. He was normally louder, but he was still vaguely aware of Zestial outside the door. The last thing either of them needed was a curious Overlord walking in on them.

Vox's muscles were shaking, a deep burning ache rising in the pit of his stomach as he threw himself into a desperate rhythm one final time. Alastor's only response was a deep, visceral shudder. One of the hands clawing at Vox's back released and snapped up to the now sweat streaked red hair. A blue-fingered hand slid away from Alastor's hip and squeezed in-between them. He grabbed the twitching length of flesh, and began to stroke it hard.

A moment later the redhead's hissing breaths halted sharply in his chest. His every muscle tensed painfully, the eyes squeezing shut even tighter until the Radio Demon could see flashing lights like pools of fire behind his eyes. He tilted his head back away from Vox, mouth opening wide and showing his teeth in a completely silent moan. His legs locked harder around Vox's still thrusting waist, instinct telling him to pull him deeper, and with one final, impossible arch of his back, he came. Vox felt his fingers covered in flowing, sticky warmth.

The sudden intensity made Vox groan into the other demon's now bared neck – a little more loudly than he'd liked. He pressed his face hard into Alastor's collarbone, still stroking the leaking member as he let go of the edge of the desk. Thoughtlessly his arm slid under the other demon's still arching back and wrapped itself there, holding him up desperately against his chest as he pounded shuddering against Alastor's tensed walls. He felt the burning pleasure in his stomach spread into an all out fire and barely a few seconds of movement after the other demon, Vox gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to shout as he released his load deep inside the still twitching redhead.

They held that position for more than a few seconds as the orgasm washed over them: The Radio Demon - normally elegant, smiling, coldly psychopathic and sinister – arching backwards with his eyes screwed tightly shut, sweat sticking his hair messily to his forehead, one hand curled tightly in the tresses and one curled against Vox's back. The Television Demon – loud, sneering, hotheaded and bitter – pulling the other upwards almost needily into his chest, face buried in his neck. Both were panting. Alastor's legs were shaking.

Vox finally let out a deep, satisfied sigh. Alastor's back collapsed. Vox took his weight, guiding him slowly, almost tenderly back down onto the desk. He followed him down, unable to maintain this position with his now weak legs.

He buried his screen in the other Demon's shoulder and breathed deep, a vacant half-smile sliding up one side of his face.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Alastor’s head was blissfully empty. For the first time in nearly a century, it was devoid of thoughts. No plots or plans, no machinations; All he could feel was a strange warmth in his chest, the feel of Vox’s still panting body weighing down on him, the taste of his own blood in his mouth, and the sound of his and Vox’s gradually slowing breathing. It was peculiar, wildly unfamiliar. He felt… strangely sated. Comfortable.

...Comfortable?

Vox suddenly shifted on top of him, bringing his brain wheeling back into the present. He snapped his eyes open, suddenly full of panic as he heard Vox begin to laugh quietly into his shoulder, feeling the vibrations through his chest.

“Oh, that was…” Vox pulled his head back from the Radio Demon’s shoulder, still laughing. Alastor adjusted his face to a nonchalant sneer and lowered the hand from his own hair. “...that was so good!” Vox leaned into his face with a smutty smirk. “Now tell me you didn’t enjoy that.” He purred.

Alastor narrowed his eyes and shoved him backwards roughly, giving himself enough room to sit up. Vox winced as the clawing hand on his back was torn away. His shirt was ruined, ripped, and stained with still trickling cyan blood.

Alastor ached. Everywhere. Even after all the fights they’d had, ironically this was the most Vox had actually ever affected him: His legs felt unsteady, his stomach still twitching. He was sore as though he’d been fighting for days. The office felt cold as the sweat beaded on his brow. He forced himself into a sitting position, trying not to let his muscles shake under the suddenly bewildered stare of the Television Demon.

“...I believe I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain.” He said dispassionately, leaning across the desk to retrieve the red monocle. He perched it back in front of his eye as Vox spluttered, now kneeling in front of him.

“...that’s it? That’s all you have to fucking say?” snapped Vox. The laughter had gone from his voice. He curled his fingers into furious fists on his knees. Alastor stared at him, smiling.

“My dear Vox, what else were you expecting?” He tilted his head curiously. “We signed a contract. I fulfilled-”

“No! No fucking way!” interrupted the other demon savagely. He was snarling again. He slid himself backwards off the desk and stormed across the room, snatching up his pants from the floor and forcing his legs into them. His eyes never left Alastor’s face, face full of venom. “You enjoyed it, I fucking saw you, you lying prick!”

Alastor slid himself slowly to the edge of the desk. Gingerly he placed one hoofed foot on the floor, surreptitiously testing whether he could hold his own weight yet. “It was… a passible form of entertainment, I suppose.” he said in a forced tone of thoughtfulness. He began scanning the floor, looking for his own pants. He was a deplorable mess, he knew: he could feel the remnants of what they'd done still clinging to his skin, but a strange sense of panic at the idea of remaining here was beginning to rise. He would have to bear it; clean up back at the hotel. Preferably as fast as possible.

Vox was watching him in angry disbelief. He’d seen the moment lust had filtered into the Radio Demon’s eyes – made him moan – and yet the bastard was trying to play it off as though they’d done nothing more intense than watch a movie together. He gritted his teeth and watched as Alastor stood up, holding to the desk with one hand as he made his way back to the open area in front of the leather armchair and picked up the pants lying discarded on the floor. He grimaced slightly as he bent down.

Vox could feel electricity beginning to build in his fingertips again. If it weren’t for the stinging in his back and arms, and the sweaty mess of the Radio Demon’s hair, he would have thought he’d fantasised the whole thing.

“No.”

Alastor had retrieved his cane from the black tiles. The building static in Vox’s body was growing louder.

“Excuse me?” the voice was masked once more, the tone sharp.

“You were into it!” He shouted, sparks pouring outwards. Alastor stepped back from the vicinity, ears once again pinned back in annoyance. “You think I don’t fucking know when someone likes what I do to them?” He let out a thoroughly humourless laugh. “How stupid do you think I am, Alastor?”

Alastor tapped his fingers on the microphone, then smiled pleasantly.

“Is that a serious question?”

“FUCK!” Roared Vox. He kicked the chair in frustration. It skidded loudly across the ground and smashed into the wall. Alastor looked down and began smoothing the creases out of the long red coat, as though bored by the sudden outburst.

“So then, if this… tawdry little fiasco is concluded, I believe I have some new territory to survey?” he said calmly. He turned his back on the still raging Vox and made his way – stepping more gingerly than he wanted to – towards the door. He reached out to turn the handle, then stopped and looked back. “Oh… and feel free to tell your fellow Vees exactly what happened here. I am so looking forward to having you as a new guest on my radio show.”

With a brief, wide and sinister smile, he swung open the door. Alastor slipped through into the darkness, leaving a crackling, furious, and still bleeding Vox to stare angrily at the empty space.

Chapter Text

Alastor’s wicked grin dropped away as soon as he heard the door snap shut behind him, his lip twitching slightly as he forced himself to maintain a smile. He stuck his pointed tongue between his teeth and licked away the trickles of blood on his chin, distracted. The air was colder out here, but it still smelled strongly of that sharp tinge of ozone that had always reminded him of Vox. He needed to get back to the hotel.

There was the soft chink of a teacup settling into a saucer.

With an inward grimace of impatience, the Radio Demon inclined his head, seeking out the glimmering yellow eyes in the darkness.

“Why, Zestial, I’d almost forgotten you were there.” He said pleasantly, smile still twitching. “Vox and I were having such a charming conversation.”

There was another muffled crash of breaking furniture beyond the closed office door.

Zestial was eyeing him quietly; a patient, investigative look as he surveyed the Radio Demon’s face. Alastor noted the momentary flick of eyes northwards towards his hair. He’d forgotten to fix it. His fingers twitched, but he kept his hands on the cane, not wanting to draw any more attention.

“Indeed?” Came the reply at last. Zestial’s hissing, echo of a voice almost sounded amused. There was an uncomfortably knowing glint in his eye. “This is glad news. Thou hast ended thy long enmity at last?”

Alastor paused before he spoke. “Of course.” he said tartly. Zestial’s face cracked into a glowing smile “I do hope this… trivial little disagreement didn’t take up too much of your precious time.”

“I shall tell Carmilla.” The older demon stood up from the sofa, looming over Alastor as he rose to his full, imposing height. “These tidings will ease her burden greatly. We need not hinder thy passage any further.”

“Delightful.” replied the Radio demon, shortly, the smile still twitching with the strain of holding it in place. “Well then, I look forward to our next meeting, my friend.”

Zestial inclined his head regally in response. Accepting this as leave to go, the Radio Demon placed both hands on his cane and cloaked himself in shadow. He had originally intended to walk back, but he was aching, tired, messy and wanted to reach the refuge of his own rooms as quickly as possible.

Zestial’s eyes followed intently as Alastor’s presence melted away into tendrils of smoke in the darkness, and then dissipated into nothingness. He stood alone in the half lit chamber a little longer, eyeing the spot where Alastor had disappeared, as if musing it over.

After a moment, the silence was shattered by another muffled, static-warped shout of ‘FUCK!’ from behind the closed office door. Zestial closed his eyes, laughed gently to himself, then swept across the walkway towards the exit.

__________________________

“Ya think he’s dead?”

Angel Dust slid his finger around the rim of the shotglass idly, staring down at the cards fanned out in his hand. Husker snorted incredulously.

“That fuckin’ lunatic?” He looked up from the deck of cards spread across the bar. “Come on, if Carmine had tried to kill him, he’d have taken half the damn city with him. Even she ain’t that stupid.”

Angel sucked on his lower lip thoughtfully and sat back, looking into Husk’s face. He crossed his legs.

“I dunno… never seen that many big names in one place before. They looked pretty serious.”

“That’s just Overlord types for ya. Comes with the territory, Ange.”

Angel glanced up again. Husk was reshuffling his hand slowly, keeping it carefully tilted away from the other demon’s view. The spider demon’s face split into a smirk, showing his single golden tooth. He leaned bodily across the bar, resting his chin delicately on the back of his hand and tilting his hips upwards into a seductive pose.

“Oh, don’t tell me you used to be even more of a sourpuss than ya are now.” He murmured playfully. Husker’s pupils contracted. He snapped the hand of cards against his knee as Angel leant in closer.

“Hey, hey! Keep to your own side of the god damn bar, I ain’t having you sneaking a look at my cards. You tried that shit last time.”

Angel continued to smirk playfully into him and raised an eyebrow provocatively.

“Maybe that ain’t what I’m tryin’ to sneak a look at, pussycat.”

Husk’s whiskers twitched. He let out a frustrated sigh.

“Look, you wanna play poker or not? I don’t need no babysitter, so if you ain’t interested in the game, go the fuck to bed.”

Angel sat back on the stool with a thud, now looking vaguely annoyed. Outside the windows, the night sky was a deep, bloody red occasionally pierced by glittering stars.

The hotel was silent, most of the inhabitants already sound asleep. Charlie had insisted on staying up to see if Alastor came back, but she’d eventually fallen asleep on one of the sofas, snoring softly. Vaggie had carried her up to bed. Even Niffty seemed to have finally given up the endless hunt for roaches and gone to sleep. The only sound was the creak of Angel’s stool, and the soft shuffling as Husk rearranged his hand of cards quietly.

“Fine, hit me with another.” sighed Angel, disappointed. Husk reached out for the deck of cards. Angel grabbed his hand and laughed. “A drink, ya mook. If I’m gonna sit here all night I’m gonna need a healthy flow of vodka in these veins.”

Giving the spider demon a suspicious look, Husk stood up from his stool. He placed his hand of cards pointedly on the shelf beneath the bar and grabbed the empty shot glass from Angel’s hand. As soon as he turned his back, Angel stretched silently across the bar, tilting his stool for a little extra reach. With a devious smirk he peered upside down at the hidden hand of cards while Husker filled the glass from the optic hanging on the wall.

“So how come you have to stay up just because Mr. Creepy’s gone for a nighttime stroll?” Asked Angel as he leaned over. Husk glowered into the slowly filling glass, staring at the obviously cheating pink and white reflection.

“’Cause if I don’t, the son of a bitch’ll wake me when he comes in anyway.” He growled. He turned on the spot to find Angel sitting back innocently, his chin on his fist and a slightly guilty smile on his face. Still glowering, he slid the now full shotglass across the bar. “If it’s gone bad, he’ll want a drink; if it’s gone good, he’ll want a drink. No fuckin’ sense trying to sleep until he’s back.”

As he finished the sentence, the creak of the front door shattered the silence. Both demons turned their heads to watch as the tendrils of smoke dissipated from around the red-clad figure who stepped through the door. Angel’s jaw dropped.

Alastor looked a mess. Dried blood was smeared across his cheek, his coat looked even more tattered than it normally did, and there were dark blue stains splattered across the red shirt. His normally carefully quaffed hair was a tangled mess, and he seemed to be moving a little tenderly.

“Holy... You look like shit.” Angel blurted.

The Radio Demon stopped in his tracks. He turned to see the two unexpected figures propping up either side of the bar, both looking him over with shock in their faces. Immediately straightening his posture, his eyes darted to Husk.

“A little late for poker night isn’t it, my good man?”

 Husker scowled. He thrust a paw outward, pointing towards the door. “Are you kidding? You got marched outta here by half the Overlords in Hell, what did you expect us to do?”

Alastor smiled. “Your concern is… touching, Husker, but really quite unnecessary.”

Husk bristled, fur standing slightly on end. “I never said I was concerned." He retorted gruffly. "I just want to know what the hell happened.”

There was the briefest pause as Alastor’s fingers gripped more tightly around his cane.

“Oh, nothing you need bother your furry little head with.” He said with a light laugh, wafting a hand in mid-air dismissively. “They simply wanted my help to conclude some business.”

“...uh-huh.” Husker was examining him now. Beyond the obvious dishevelled state of him, something was a little… off. He’d known Alastor long enough, seen him through the eyes of both a friend and then a servant, to see that something was on his mind. Not that he expected the son of a bitch to come clean. Even when they’d been equals, he’d always played his cards close to the chest. “Well… as long as we ain’t about to get invaded by a bunch of butthurt Overlords, I guess we can stand down.”

Angel looked from Alastor to Husk with a confused expression. He stood up from the stool and placed a hand on his hip impatiently. “You kiddin’? He looks beat to shit! What are you talkin’ ab-” the sentence trailed off as Husk leaned across the bar and grabbed one of his arms warningly. He gave the spider demon a quick shake of his head.

“So… I guess you’ll want a nightcap?”

“Naturally.” Alastor said imperiously. He turned away and began ascending the stairs, the light tap of his cane echoing around the foyer.

Husk sighed wearily and pulled another shotglass from under the bar. “Fine. One finger or two?”

Angel suppressed a snort.

“Give me ten minutes, then bring the bottle.” He called back down.

Husk’s paws slipped on the glass. “The- the whole bottle?”

“Ten minutes.” He repeated shortly. A few moments later, both Alastor’s footsteps and the click of his cane diminished into nothingness. Eventually, they heard the slam of a door from far in the distance.

Angel and Husk waited until silence had settled on the hotel once more, then looked at each other, wide eyed.

“...the fuck was that?” exclaimed Angel. Husker simply sighed, frowned, and dove beneath the bar to find one of the Radio Demon’s private bottles of rye.

Chapter Text

When the hotel had been remodelled after the Angelic attack, Alastor had made sure he’d picked out one of the larger suites. Lucifer had argued, of course, but the Radio Demon had worked his charm on Charlie and finally brought her round to seeing things his way, much to the annoyance of her father. With a direct door adjoining the radio tower, a large balcony overlooking the Pentagram, a lavish sitting room adorned with all the Radio Demon’s favourite décor, and his own personal touch – pulled from what was now becoming a fading memory - a recreation of the swampy woodland outside the city that had once been his home. The suite was as close to perfect for Alastor’s purposes as it could possibly be.

The bathroom door opened silently. Steam curled outwards into the large sitting room, swirling in the fingers of light creeping through the curtained windows as a blood-coloured half moon rose above the skyscrapers of the Pentagram below.

Alastor stepped out, the clack of his hoofed feet muffled by the thick red carpet as he flicked the water from his ears and shook his tail dry, leaving dark splashes across the floor. Water was still clinging to his skin, fur and hair, but he ignored the towel resting on the arm of the high backed chair and walked to the window. The droplets of water on his skin caught the light of the pentagram in the sky and shimmered like rubies as he moved.

There was a wide eyed, slightly wild look in his eyes as he placed his wet palm against the windowpane, watching the flickering lights of the city without really seeing them. He was feeling slightly alarmed, wrong-footed, even panicked by this evening’s bizarre turn of events.

Sex had never in his life been on the Radio Demon’s agenda. He’d simply had no interest. He’d always seen that kind of intimacy as weakness. He had seen the things people did as a result of it, or in pursuit of it. He’d taken advantage of that kind of weakness in others. Letting yourself be swept away by lust or love or… whatever it was people felt… it was an inexcusable flaw. It made you vulnerable. The very idea of being vulnerable – especially around Vox - was enough to make Alastor dig his fingers into the windowpane, the screech of nails on glass echoing jarringly around the otherwise silent room. A frustrated snarl spread across his face.

And yet…

Alastor backed away from the window, the taut snarl turning into a manically wide grimace as he stalked back to the chair and picked up the towel.

Even though he was now thankfully clean, he couldn’t escape the lingering tinge of the other demon – that electrified static tang – clinging stubbornly to his skin. He began drying his slick hair as the annoyingly smug voice of the Television Demon came back to him:

‘letting yourself enjoy something – or someone – letting go of that perfect persona, letting yourself get lost in pleasure... even for a moment… it’s good.’

And that was the very thing that filled Alastor to the core with panic, with frustration, and with sheer, bitter annoyance: for one time only, Vox had been right. It had actually felt good to let go of the façade.

His entire life – both of them – had been all about control. Every move, every plan, every word was carefully choreographed, every smile both a shield and weapon. Even those he dared consider friends like Rosie (and once upon a time Vox) had never seen him truly drop that barrier. The closest in recent months to that had been when he’d been wounded by Adam, and then he had thankfully been alone.

But in an absolutely ridiculous turn of events, his encounter with Vox had done something… unexpected. He lowered the towel from his hair and stared at the carpet, his eyes skimming across the moonlit floor.

When Vox hadn’t been staring into him with that smug, pompous excuse for a face, Alastor had actually felt himself able to let go of the constant, tiring struggle for control. He had enjoyed being lost in it. Protected as he was by the terms of the contract, it had actually felt like a release.

Alastor’s eyes widened in shock as he realised what he was thinking.

Enjoying letting go of control? No. That wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. It was weak - It was unthinkable.

He continued to stare into the carpet, the muscles in his face twitching as panic rose up inside his chest once more. The towel slid from between his lengthening fingers as he reached up and grabbed fistfuls of his own hair, the realisation of what he was thinking sending him into a manic spiral. His shadow seemed to lengthen across the floor, the antlers growing slowly atop his head. Midnight black and poisonous green tendrils emerged from his bare back and began to thrash silently in the air around him, enveloping him, blocking out the night.

There was a sharp knock at the door. The tendrils paused their frantic movement as he tried to master himself. He couldn't let Husk see him like this.

“One moment, my good man.” he called eventually, relieved to hear that his voice was even. One of the tendrils slithered through the air and hit the dial on the wireless, bringing it to life. A soft, slow jazz tune filled the empty air.

He took a long, calming breath as his ears twitched gratefully at the familiar sound. The insane grimace on his face relaxed very slowly back into a smile. The antlers withdrew, his shadow shrinking. The tendrils protruding from his back slowly receded and he forced his eyes away from the carpet, two red glowing points of light in the otherwise darkened room. A moment later he brought himself back up to his full height, pushing the confusion and panic back down.

He retrieved the red dressing gown from the hook on the wall and pulled it over his still damp shoulders, then tied it tightly around his waist. His hands slid over to the cane standing beside it, and he slowly made his way to one of the two high backed chairs, choosing the one facing the door.

He flattened his hair, relaxed his shoulders, and began wringing the remaining water from one of his ears.

“Enter.”

A sliver of yellow light pierced the darkness as the door swung open. Husker peered uncertainly around the doorframe, his pupils wide and round as he tried to survey the scene before he entered. Alastor sat back in the chair and smiled. Husker grunted.

“Here’s your damn drink.”

“For me? Oh how wonderfully thoughtful of you, Husk.”

Husk took a moment to glare bitterly into the two pinpricks of red, but didn’t rise to the bait. He took a tentative step into the darkened room, holding the tray in one open palm and peered around as though looking for something out of place. Alastor tilted his head.

“...The table’s over here, dear.” He tapped his cane softly on the side table. “Unless there was something else?” Alastor’s eyes narrowed threateningly. The question Husk had been contemplating asking died on his lips.

“No, I… forget it.” He said gruffly.

“Good. Well, while you’re here, would you be an absolute treasure and pass me the towel?”

Husk gritted his teeth and growled. Dragging his feet, he snatched up the damp towel from the floor and walked across the plush carpet, resisting the urge to throw the towel at the Radio Demon’s face. He slid the tray onto the table at Alastor’s side and the ice in the empty glass rattled. Alastor reached forward and took the towel, using it to idly dry inside his ears, giving the other demon no further attention.

Husk stood watching him for a second, wondering whether to bring up the subject on his mind after all. He’d seen the look on Alastor’s face in the foyer, before the Radio Demon had realised he and Angel were there, and just now as he’d approached he’d seen the telltale glow of neon green radiating from the crack under the door. Something wasn’t right.

“So… you cleaned up pretty fast.” he said, trying to make it sound like a passing comment.

Alastor paused, tensing. “I don’t know what you mean.” The tone was slightly sharp, but curiosity urged Husker on.

“Oh come on, you might be able to fool the rest of this cast of fuckin’ clowns but I’ve known you longer than any of ‘em.” He hesitated, then pressed on recklessly. “… somethin’ went down, didn’t it? Somethin’ big.”

“It was simply a business meeting! I’m sure I don’t know where you get these ridiculous flights of fancy-”

“I call bullshit.” Alastor’s smile faltered a little. Husk was pushing his luck, but he simply couldn’t help himself. He lowered his voice and looked away. “Look boss, whatever shit you’ve gotten yourself into… it’s not like I can go runnin’ my mouth off without you yanking my damn leash anyway. Maybe... tellin’ your troubles to a barkeep -”

Alastor’s eye twitched. There was a flash of black and green and Husk suddenly felt something wrap tightly around his wrist. He grimaced and glared back up into the other demon’s face. Alastor tightened the grip of the tendril dangerously.

“Listen here my fuzzy little pet, because I’ll say this only once.” He leaned forwards into Husk’s face, baring his teeth in warning. “Nothing happened. It was purely business. And if you ever mention it again, I’ll forget my manners. Understand?”

“Fine! I get it!” The tendril receded slowly. Husk snapped his hand away, grabbing his wrist and flexing his fingers against the pain. “Sit in here and stew then.” He growled. “Like I fuckin’ care.”

“Good.” replied Alastor, a dangerous hiss in his voice. “Now get out.”

Husk backed away to the door, eyes fixed with suppressed anger on the Radio Demon as he continued to rub his wrist.

Muttering to himself darkly, Husker closed the door. Alastor listened until his footsteps had receded into the distance before he moved again. The piece of jazz on the radio faded. A new song began to play. He reached out and poured himself a glass of whiskey from the bottle on the table.

It was true that Husker knew more than most about him, but even if the contract hadn’t been sealing his lips, this was one situation he definitively wanted to keep to himself. He couldn’t imagine actually admitting to the things he was thinking. He didn’t want to admit them to himself.

It had been an experiment. It had simply been an experiment; just a deal. Nothing had changed, and now he only need sit back and wait for Vox to inevitably open that fat mouth of his. And then… he’d finally take everything that Vox owned. Even his worthless soul.

He stood up again, drawn subconsciously back to the window, eyes surveying the skyline. He could see the very top of the Vees tower peeking out above the other buildings in the distance, the three neon letters clearly visible even from this distance. His face darkened, eyes narrowed. He took a sip of rye and felt the warmth flow down his throat, calming his senses, numbing his still sore muscles.

If Vox was expecting him to ever go back he was clearly delusional. Even if it had felt worryingly good to drop the mask, he certainly wasn’t going to feed that already over-inflated ego of his doing it again.

...But then there had been that moment at the end – that one, blissful moment of absolute peace. When was the last time he had actually been at peace – completely devoid of thought, comfortable? Not for a very long time indeed. Not since he’d been alive.

It was horrendously ironic that the only person ever able to give him that had been Vox.

He forced himself to turn his back on the large blue V in the distance, drifting back to the table and the nearly full bottle that stood there. He sat back down and poured himself another, keeping his back obstinately to the window, though his fingers clutched subconsciously tight around the shot glass.

A few moments of release wasn’t worth the confusion, the display of weakness, or the complications. His situation was complicated enough as it was, he didn’t need to compound his problems by adding an idiot to the mix. Tomorrow he’d take a stroll over to his new territory, make his presence known, perhaps take afternoon tea with Rosie, and pretend that nothing at all had happened.

It was a long time before the Radio Demon finally rose from his seat again, leaving the now half-empty bottle of rye on its tray. He left the wireless playing softly to itself as he swept through the darkness, retiring at last to bed.

Chapter Text

The little boy jolted suddenly awake, the inky darkness of his small, musty bedroom enveloping his senses. He raised a hand to his messy brown hair and sat up, looking to the small window for some idea of the time. There were no stars, no moon, just a low orange glow from the gas lamp that stood a few feet further down the muddy road.

Somewhere outside, he heard the loud squelch of hooves through mud, and the gentle rattle of a carriage passing by. He let out a long breath.

He couldn’t place the reason why he’d woken so late in the night. His heart was racing in his chest, as though something dreadful had happened. Had it been a nightmare? Someone making noise in the street? He rubbed his eyes and reached out to the bedside table, feeling in the darkness for his spectacles. The back of his hand brushed past a tin cup, a candle, and finally hit a thin rod of metal. His glasses. They slipped off the table and clattered to the splintered wooden floor.

With a little groan, the boy slipped his legs from under the blanket and swung them round to dangle off the bed. He reached down blindly and began patting the floor, still feeling the fear that had woken him up.

There was a shatter of breaking china from somewhere further in the house. He stopped feeling for his glasses and held his breath, the fear rising from his chest into his throat. His bottom lip began to tremble.

Forgetting the search he stood up silently. Carefully tiptoeing around where he thought his spectacles must be, he crept towards the door, hands out in front of him, feeling for the wall.

There was another smash. A muffled, raised voice.

The boy slowly turned the handle, trying not to let the rusted hinges creak. Flickering yellow light passed through the small gap in the door as he pressed his brown eye to the opening, listening, watching.

“I’m sorry my love… I’m so sorry.” came a woman’s voice, small and tremulous. There was another smash. The woman let out a gasp.

“Sorry doesn’t fill my plate, does it?” Came a male voice, louder; angry. “A man should have his dinner on the table when he comes home. What use is it to have a wife if she doesn't act like one? What use are you?!”

“...I – I didn’t know if you’d be home, tonight. And I was taking care of the boy – he has so many nightmares, you know. He needs someone to sing him to sleep.”

“Sing him to sleep?!” Came the male voice, sneering and spiteful. The boy winced as he continued to listen. “You coddle the boy. What kind of a man will he become if he needs his mama to sing him to sleep at night?”

There was a brief pause before the female voice responded.“...he’s just a little boy, my love.”

“Then it’s time he learned to act like a man!”

The brown haired boy tried to gently ease the door open a little further. He wanted to stick his head through, peer secretly down the corridor into the sitting room at what was happening. Hand shaking, he pulled the handle.

There was a loud, jarring creak.

Mouth dry, the boy stopped what he was doing and listened. All sounds of shouting or movement had ceased. He was sure he had been heard.

Taking a gulp and a long, steadying breath, the boy spoke.

“...maman?”

A wooden chair screeched loudly across a tiled floor. The boy heard the woman gasp again and heard her hurried footsteps. She seemed to mutter something in a soothing tone to the man, and then he heard her call back, voice shaking.

“It… it’s alright mon Ange. You’re ok… everything’s ok. Go back to sleep.”

“Mon Ange? MON ANGE?” Roared the male voice. The boy recoiled from the door, hands shaking. “You treat him like a pampered pet! I will not have it in my house! Let me show you how to make a strong man. BOY!”

“Stop… he’s just a child, my love, please!”

The boy backed away from the door. He heard the crunch of breaking glass as his spectacles snapped beneath his bare feet.

“Boy, get in here!”

“Please don’t…”

“ALASTOR!”

__________________

The Radio Demon’s eyes snapped open, ears flattened back against the pillow. His hands were curled into the bedsheet tightly. His jaw ached: he’d clearly been grinding his teeth in his sleep.

He lay there for a few moments, listening to the sound of the still playing wireless drifting in gently through the open door. Beyond the window a ruby red dawn was rising across the Pride Ring, signalling the beginning of another day in Hell.

Alastor swallowed forcefully and took in the patterns on the ceiling for a moment His head hurt a little after indulging in whiskey, he was sore, his legs ached, and he could still smell Vox’s presence clinging his skin. If it hadn’t been for those undeniable signs, he might have been able to push that particular memory out of his mind. And then, there had been the dream… he tightened his grip on the sheet in frustration. It had been quite some time since a memory had ambushed him like that. Clearly having too much rye before bed had lowered his defences. He snarled at the ceiling and slid a hand through his hair, clearing his mind.

He tilted his head on the pillow, looking out of the window at the red-orange sky. The neon lights far below in Downtown began to splutter out like snuffed candles as the day began to lighten. The bright blue V in the distance caught his eye. He narrowed his eyes at it, then slipped off the edge of the bed, making his way to the wardrobe with a slightly predatory gait. He threw the doors open and retrieved a fresh suit.

After the mishap with Sir Pentious, he’d taken the precaution of getting a few tailored, and it had finally proved useful – Vox’s blood had been agitatingly impossible to wash out. He slid into the clean clothes, smoothing the lines of the suit to cover his tail, and fixed the bowtie primly in his dawn-touched reflection. The only indication that anything was bothering him was the occasional twitch of an eyebrow and the slightly bared teeth.

Vox was an issue that had no solution except to try to forget what had happened. He couldn’t even fight the idiot now to get it out of his system, not without an all-out Overlord intervention. He stretched out his neck, an ear twitching. There was the tiniest tug at the back of his mind telling him that seeing Vox would be a comfort right now, but he flatly refused to listen. He hadn’t listened to that particular thought in a decade. Besides, he was no longer a child. He didn't need comforting.

That memory, on the other hand… that was an issue that had a potential solution. He hadn’t thought about it since before he’d left, but perhaps this time he’d have better luck.

He picked up the cane from his bedside table, affixed his monocle and stepped out into the sitting room, turning the wireless up a little as he passed. He strode out onto the balcony, feeling the almost cool air before the hellish heat of the day arrived, and sat himself down on the art nouveau style patio chair, crossing his legs and folding his arms tightly, thinking.

A few moments passed before he relaxed and raised a hand into thin air. A glowing green chain shimmered into being between his fingers. Slowly, he wrapped the links of it around his hand like a long, poisonous snake. He halted for a moment, contemplating the chain, as though wondering whether to follow through on his train of thought, and then pulled it.

For the first time since he’d left Vox’s office, an honestly amused smile spread across Alastor’s face. He unfolded his arms and placed an elbow on his knee, resting his chin on his open palm as he stared down at the still sleeping cat demon emerging from the shadows.

Husk was curled up in a ball, his wings wrapped around himself and one paw covering his nose. Alastor could hear soft, purr-like snores emanating from his chest. He sat watching for a moment, and then the smile widened into a wicked grin and he leaned down close to the pointed ear.

“Good morning, my fine fellow!” he said cheerily, and far more loudly than was necessary.

Husk’s eyes snapped open, fur standing on end. “Agh what the fuck?!”

Alastor continued to smile, amused as Husker pushed himself back away from the noise, claws scrabbling and pupils dilated in shock.

“Rise and shine, Husker!” he sang, “It’s the beginning of another glorious day!”

Husk’s eyes darted around the balcony for a moment, trying to work out where he was and why. Alastor merely continued to sit, palm under his chin, watching him. Their eyes connected. Husker’s face turned sour.

“I ever mention how much I fuckin’ hate it when you do this?”

Alastor let out a hum of amusement. “Quite often.”

“Son of a…”

Husk trailed off into a series of dark mutters under his breath and brought himself awkwardly to his feet. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his wings out, then narrowed his eyes over the railings at the sky.

“The hell? You crawl in gone midnight, then drag my sorry ass outta bed at the crack of dawn? You tryin' to drive me nuts?”

“Oh come now, I merely thought you’d appreciate the view!” Said the Radio Demon innocently, spreading a hand wide to indicate the vista below. He placed his legs on the table in front of him and leaned back in his chair. “Isn't it breathtaking at this time in the morning? Why, you can even hear the explosions from the Doomsday District quite clearly.”

“...right.” Husk grunted tiredly, too startled and groggy to retaliate. He stared at Alastor’s grinning face and through the drowsiness tried to judge the expression behind it. He seemed perfectly cheerful, even if there was still something a little off around the eyes, but after the outburst last night Husk had no intention of trying to enquire again. The asshole could keep his secrets to himself. “...and?”

Alastor hesitated. He looked away into the distance and lowered his hand, tapping his fingers on his knee instead. “...and I have a little... favour I’d like you to do for me today.” He said. His voice was still light, but the tone had changed almost imperceptibly, a slight edge to it. Husk sighed resignedly and walked up to the railing, hanging his tired head over it as he waited for the other demon to continue.

“I want you to find me…” The static in his voice peaked. He curled his fingers inwards in a fist. “Corah.”

Husker frowned at the name and turned to look searchingly into Alastor’s face, all tiredness wiped away. “...Corah?” He paused and raised an eyebrow quizzically. “What the hell d'you want a bounty hunter for?”

Alastor chuckled and tapped Husk’s nose with his cane, tilting his head impossibly far in a show of sinister playfulness. Husk recoiled and swiped the cane away. “Oh I think you’re forgetting who owns whom, my furry little feline.”

“Ugh. It’s too early for your fuckin’ bullshit.”

“Might I suggest a good old fashioned cup of coffee before you leave then? You have quite the busy day ahead of you, after all. Chop chop."

Husk growled his displeasure and began to skulk away, leaving the Radio Demon rocking on his chair, humming along to the tune on the wireless. He halted at the balcony door and inclined his head.

“Ya know… even if I find her, it ain’t like I can just bring her back to the damn Hotel. Little Miss Sunshine down there is gonna have a lot of stupid questions.”

Alastor swung his legs down from the table and placed all four feet of the chair back on the floor. “You worry too much, my dear. There's no problem there.” He stood up promptly and followed Husker to the door, tapping his cane with each step. “You can simply tell her to meet me at Dempsey’s.”

“Wait a second – Dempsey’s? The restaurant?!” Husker looked up in confusion and concern. “...ain’t that Vees territory?”

Alastor chuckled darkly and patted him patronisingly on the head. The antlers grew just a fraction as he spoke, static distorting his voice as it deepened. “...Not. Any. More.” 

Husker continued to stare at him in, clearly bewildered. Alastor's smile widened at the look of confusion and he extended a hand invitingly towards the suite door, nudging Husk in the back with his cane. 

"Off you pop then. Ta ta. Cheerio."

The Radio Demon watched Husker leave, feeling back to normal. Annoying Husk was one of his favourite mood-boosters. Yes, he could still smell Vox, and flashes of what had happened kept slipping unbidden into his mind, accompanied with a peculiar jolt in his stomach, but he could easily dismiss that, and the other memory was beginning to fade away. He had other things on his mind now. More important things.

A band of Overlords had swarmed into the hotel yesterday and annoyingly escorted him out in full view of everyone, including Charlie and (his eye twitched as he thought the name) Lucifer. There would be… uncomfortable questions, and the longer he left it, the more questions would arise. He’d have to go down, make an appearance before he left for his new territory.

With a long, static-filled sigh, he twirled the cane lightly between his fingers. He straightened his lapels one last time and exited into the slowly waking hotel.

Chapter Text

“Come out, come out wherever you are…”

Alastor took a deep breath and smiled. “Good morning, Niffty, my deliciously deranged little dear!”

Niffty looked up from the hole she’d poked in the skirting board, Her single eye wide and slightly bloodshot. She was still in her nightdress, a needle-like knife clutched in her hand. Alastor leaned down to her level. “...And what delightful insanity are you employed in this fair morning?”

Niffty looked vacantly into his face, then down at the knife, and blinked, grinning. “Oh… y’know… huntin’ bugs.”

Alastor chuckled and patted her on the head fondly. “Of course you are, how silly of me to ask.”

“There’s one in here, Alastor. I can hear it.” She said, her voice shaking with excitement. She pressed an ear to the splintered hole, listening. Her eye narrowed. “It’s laughing at me.”

“Well if it finds you as charming as I do, I’m sure it won’t resist your wiles for long.”

Niffty continued listening at the hole for a moment longer, Alastor watching her with a look of deepest amusement on his face. With a sudden burst of impossible speed, the knife darted into the skirting board. There was a soft crunch, and Niffty pulled back her hand, a still twitching cockroach impaled on the end of it. She blinked at it, then giggled manically. “Got it!”

“Good Job!” said Alastor, beaming like a proud parent. Niffty grinned and darted up onto his shoulder, still laughing. She peeled the roach away from the knife and waved it in front of his mouth gently.

“Hungry?” She asked sweetly. Alastor pressed his lips together and stood up, Niffty riding on his shoulder and clinging to his ear for balance.

“...Tempting... but I’m afraid I’m in the mood for something a little more substantial this morning.”

Niffty looked at the roach as it gave one last kick of its legs and fell still. She cupped it in her hand and glanced back down at the skirting board. “Oh, I could get more.”

“Perhaps another day, dear.” replied the Radio Demon, starting down the stairs. “Why don’t we go see what’s available in the kitchen?”

“Pancakes!” exclaimed Niffty almost as soon as he’d spoken. Her hand squeezed his ear excitedly and he winced a little, but continued to smile indulgently as he stepped down into the foyer.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“Oh my gosh ALASTOR!”

The indulgent smile slipped into a wide-eyed grimace as a flurry of yellow and red came hurtling towards him from the parlour. He grunted as Charlie’s forehead impacted his chest and she pulled him into a tight, inescapable hug.

“Oh we were soooo worried about you!” Her voice was muffled in his shirt. Alastor tried to wriggle free, but Charlie was holding him bone-crushingly tight. He conceded very reluctantly to the situation and glared at the wall over her head until she’d finished. Niffty continued to giggle breathily in his ear.

“Uh, just for the record? I wasn’t.” Called Vaggie from across the room, raising a hand. She was sitting on one of the parlour sofas, a characteristically unimpressed frown on her face. Charlie either didn’t hear, or pretended not to. She looked up into Alastor’s now thoroughly annoyed face, wide eyed and innocent.

“Did they hurt you? Are you ok? Do you need to talk out your feelings?”

Alastor squeezed an arm out from Charlie’s death grip around his waist, patted her once on the head, then pushed her backwards.

“I’m perfectly fine, dear.” he said, still glaring at the wall. “I just had some business to take care of.”

“What fucking business?” interjected Vaggie gruffly, “Aren’t you meant to be helping us?”

Alastor tilted his head towards her, a condescending glint in his eye.

“Unlike certain people in this hotel, I do have other things that demand my attention. Surely the princesses stalwart protector can last twelve hours without my assistance?”

Vaggie snorted derisively, crossed her arms and looked into the fireplace. Charlie looked between the two of them and the innocent glee died. She tucked her hair behind her ear and laughed nervously.

“Well… I’m glad you’re ok. That bunch looked pretty – y’know – hardcore.” She walked away from him and sat down next to Vaggie again, pulling her coffee cup back towards her. Niffty jumped down from Alastor’s shoulder and followed her, pulling herself onto one of the empty sofas. “Sooo… Alastor. I was... hoping that maybe-” she stopped mid-sentence, eyes wide as Niffty stood up and raised her small fists in the air.

“Pancakes!”

Vaggie blinked. “What the fuck is wrong with her this morning?”

“Just a thought, but I believe she wants someone to make her pancakes.” replied the Radio Demon idly, brushing the now forgotten dead roach off his shoulder and onto the carpet. Niffty began chanting.

“Pancakes… pancakes… PANCAKES.”

“Oh in the name of – isn’t she yours?” Vaggie had to raise her voice over the over-excited Niffty. “Shouldn’t you be making her pancakes?”

“Hmmm... not really my forte, I’m afraid.” He replied boredly and began drifting towards the kitchen door.

There was the slam of a door from somewhere upstairs.

“HEY! What’s with all the noise, I’m nursin’ a hangover up here!”

“PANCAKES!”

There was a pause.

“Ok… who’s been givin’ Niffty crack?”

“She just wants pancakes, Angel!” Charlie shouted soothingly up the stairs.

“I CAN FUCKIN’ HEAR THAT.”

Chuckling to himself, Alastor swung open the door behind the empty bar and slipped through, the sound of Niffty’s chanting muffled as it closed behind him.

“Oh Charlie, you’re just in time – breakfast’s just about rea-”

Lucifer stood up from the oven, a pair of duck-patterned oven gloves over his hands, holding a tray of what appeared to be nearly burnt pastries. Both he and Alastor stiffened at the sight of each other. The Radio Demon’s laughter died on his lips and his ears twitched forward. Lucifer’s bright, happy expression melted into a squint-eyed, cold smile.

“Oh… you.”

Alastor sneered and lowered himself into a sarcastic, over-exaggerated curtsey, holding his coat tails to either side.

“Good morning your travesty.”

Lucifer’s eye twitched. “Uh… it’s majesty.”

“I know what I said.” Alastor intoned smoothly. He pushed the Archangel in the small of his back with his cane and slid by him towards the refrigerator. Lucifer slid the tray onto the counter and glared into his back. The Radio Demon began to hum.

“So… you’re not dead…. That’s greeeat. Really.”

Alastor ignored him, his fingers tiptoeing gently across a row of red and gory bags on one of the lower shelves, eyeing the labels with a hidden sneer. He could feel Lucifer watching him. He had hoped this particular inhabitant wouldn’t be up yet, but he supposed he couldn’t have everything.

“Hope you’re not planning on bringing another bunch of irredeemable Sinners into my daughter’s hotel today.” He heard Lucifer call threateningly over to him after a moment’s silence. Alastor picked out one of the bags, the contents gurgling thickly as he tucked it under his arm and stood up with a reaffirmed smile. Lucifer’s eyes darted to the bloody red bag and he recoiled in disgust.

“Oh, well… you know, these things do sometimes happen.” The Radio Demon said airily, enjoying the reaction on Lucifer’s face. He pulled a plate from the cupboard and poured the contents ostentatiously onto it, making sure that the Archangel couldn’t look away. “Charlie understands these things. She’s quite a special young lady.”

“Uh…” Lucifer’s eyes seemed torn between the bloody, raw contents of the plate, and Alastor’s face. “Yeah - yeah that’s right!” He finally broke the hypnotic spell of Alastor’s breakfast and snorted, closing his eyes in a proud smirk. “Well, I guess she takes after her father.”

Alastor’s smile turned cold. He picked up his plate, pushing past Lucifer, doing his best not to make physical contact. His face darkened as he reached the door, and he muttered very quietly to himself: “...At least she doesn’t take after her mother.”

____

Angel slumped down the stairs, massaging his sore head in all four of his hands. Charlie had finally given in to Niffty’s incessant chanting and taken her into the kitchen to ask her dad for the insisted-upon pancakes. Alastor sat on the edge of one of the sofas, a napkin tucked into his shirt and sawing the raw heart into neat little chunks. Vaggie was watching, a look of disgust on her face, but kept silent.

“Where’s little miss loudmouth?” groaned Angel as he hit the bottom step. He slumped over the banister flatly and stayed there.

Vaggie twitched her head towards the kitchen door. “In there. Finally getting her pancakes.”

“Thank fuck for that.” He sighed. “It is way too early for this shit. I got a day long shoot with Val today.” Alastor stopped cutting his breakfast, feeling a jolt in his stomach. He’d been so thoroughly engrossed in the enjoyable chaos that he’d managed to push anything related to Vox or the Vees to one side temporarily. Unaware, Angel continued “He said somethin’ about watersports, so it’s gonna be messy.”

Vaggie made a quiet noise of disgust and rubbed her temple. “Yeah. Really didn’t wanna think about that first thing in the morning, Angel. Thanks.”

Angel glared. “Come on, like you and Princess Sparkleshit in there ain’t tried-”

“I swear. If you finish that sentence? I will kill you.”

Alastor began cutting his breakfast again as the two of them glared across the room at each other, the screech of knife against plate and the muffled giggling from the kitchen the only things breaking the resentful silence.

Eventually Angel extricated himself from the banister. Rubbing at the bags under his eyes, he sloped groggily over to the bar. He kicked one of the barstools out lazily and slouched onto it.

“Where the hell is Husk? I need a drink to get started.”

Vaggie frowned, suddenly concerned. She stood up and looked around. “Yeah good point. Where is Husk?”

Alastor raised a fork to his lips, blood dripping from the raw flesh back onto the plate. “Oh I’m afraid you’ll have to pour your own drinks today. He’s running an insignificant, tiny little task for me.” He wrapped his lips around the chunk of meat, pulled it into his mouth contentedly and closed his eyes in enjoyment.

“Alastor. He’s our bartender. What kind of hotel doesn’t have a bartender?”

“Hmmm… A boring one?” he said innocently, peering a single eye open into Vaggie’s frustrated face.

Vaggie opened her mouth to retort, but at that moment the kitchen door swung wildly open. It hit the rear wall of the bar with a bang, causing the hanging bottles to clatter violently. There was the sound of scurrying footsteps and Niffty reappeared around the side of the bar, holding a plate stacked with steaming pancakes. She pushed it onto the table next to Alastor’s and crawled up beside him.

“Hah. I got pancakes.” She giggled to him redundantly. He smiled warmly and continued with his breakfast.

“What the- does he have to eat that in here?”

Alastor glanced up. Lucifer had entered the parlour now with Charlie in tow. Her arms were held wide with a tray of very overcooked pastries. The smile on her face looked a little manic. Alastor raised the fork to his mouth again, slid his pointed tongue out and enveloped the raw meat before drawing it off the fork and into his mouth, the entire time staring insolently into Lucifer’s disgusted face. Charlie let out a nervous laugh and put the tray down on the table.

“Come on dad. I know that Alastor’s dietary requirements are a little…” she wafted a hand in midair, looking for a word that wouldn’t offend, “...unusual, but this hotel is about making everyone feel at home. And he has proved what a standup guy he can be – look at what he did last Extermination Day.”

Lucifer laughed in a slightly spiteful way. “Oh… you mean when he had his ass kicked by a loser?”

Alastor’s eye twitched. He placed a hand on the table and leaned forward malevolently. “Don’t you have a palace or something to go to?”

Lucifer mirrored his action, a smile tilted high on one side of his face. “That’s right. A big one. Fucking huge.”

“Some might say you’re compensating for something.” Hissed Alastor viciously as he dug his fingernails into the table subconsciously. The Archangel pressed his lips together in a furious glare and leaned across the table angrily.

Charlie had been watching the situation unfold nervously, eyes darting between her father and the Radio Demon with a growing sense of unease. She finally threw her hands up and stepped onto the rug in between the two tables. “OK, time out everyone!” She yelped loudly. Alastor pursed his lips in annoyance and began to finish up the last few bites of his meal, while Lucifer sat back, looking a little guiltily at the back of her head. Charlie took a deep breath and closed her eyes, centering herself. “Alastor… there was actually something I wanted to ask you.”

The Radio Demon sat back, suddenly wrong footed by the change of tone. He took a very brief, surreptitious glance at the still glowing blue V on the horizon outside the window and cocked his head to one side at Charlie, trying to appear idly curious rather than apprehensive.

Charlie started fidgeting with her fingers nervously. “Yesterday…” Alastor’s lip dropped a fraction. He covered it by dabbing at his mouth with the napkin. “...you weren’t here, so I had to put this off, but I was kind of hoping that today we could do some music therapy!” Charlie’s face lit up into a giddy smile. Alastor felt himself release a long, silent breath. His shoulders relaxed. “Now I know how much you love music, so I was wondering if you wanted to… yknow – lend a hand?”

Alastor stared into her excited, puppy-like face. It occurred to him how oddly endearing she could be. She – like the rest of this unhinged and chaotic assortment of misfits - had unfortunately grown on him in recent months. It was immensely frustrating.

It was almost reluctantly that he removed the napkin from his shirt and placed it delicately on the bloody plate. He stood up. “As hilarious as that sounds, my dear, I’m afraid I have a prior engagement today.”

Charlie’s face fell. Vaggie glowered and shifted slightly, moved to anger by the desolate look on her partner’s face.

“You cannot be serious. You’re leaving again? What happens if we need you?”

“No need to fuss, I’ll only be across town. If a crisis does arise, I’m sure it will be loud enough for me to hear.”

He reached out and patted Charlie’s hair as she stared at him, crestfallen. He gave her a polite smile and turned his back, heading out of the hotel and into the Pentagram.

He had to admit that mornings in the hotel were always entertaining. Breakfast had certainly distracted him from his discomfort – his panic-inducing realisation the night before, and the bitter memory that had slipped into his sleeping mind. Now he was out in the broad red daylight however, the thoughts in his head were starting to spiral a little again.

Hopefully Husker wouldn’t take too long finding Corah. He didn’t want to sit on this feeling for long. It felt dangerously close to a vulnerability he hadn’t felt since he was human. One he never intended on feeling again.

...And then, there was Vox. He frowned behind the smile. It had been nothing. The Television Demon was just another enemy now, nothing more. Why would he even consider anything else after all this time?

He stopped suddenly on his descent down the hill, feeling a strange mental tug at the back of his head. A prickling feeling of being watched slid down his spine.

Very slowly, he turned his head. He caught the slightest of movements out of the corner of his eye as a CCTV camera twitched on a nearby fence, trying to focus on him.

He turned bodily toward the camera, eyeing it darkly. It stopped moving.

He stood staring into it for a moment, the whisper at the back of his head growing just slightly louder before he managed to swipe it away.

He forced a wide, toothy grin onto his face, raised a middle finger at the camera, and cloaked himself in shadow, melting into thin air.

Chapter Text

“For Fuck’s sake, Vox!”

Vox narrowed his eyes at the dawn rising out of the tower window as Velvette’s voice snapped through the air like a gunshot. He drew his coffee mug closer to his chest, warming his fingertips as the neon signs below the tower began to blink out one by one.

“Calm yourself, Velvette…” He drawled, his voice tired and lazy. He took a sip of his coffee, fully aware of the venomous glare Velvette was pouring into his back. “...yesterday was just a minor setback. It changes nothing.”

Velvette sat up from the pink chaise-lounge and lowered her feet from the coffee table. Her pink and purple hair was pulled into a long, swooping fringe this morning and she narrowed her glowing eyes through her bangs. “...A minor setback? Are you having a laugh?”

“Come on Vel,” muttered Valentino’s soft, lilting voice. He was draped bodily across one of the chairs, hunched and squinting into the luminous screen of his phone. “so he might have given away some territory, made himself look like a scared little bitch in front of Carmine, and then wrecked his fucking office like a toddler…” Vox dug his fingers into the mug and scowled at his own reflection as Val droned on, “but I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.” Val finally looked up from his phone and tilted his head back, gazing at Vox’s back upside down. “...Right, Papito?”

“Val…” Vox gritted his teeth. “Stop trying to help me.”

The moth demon shrugged and turned his attention back to the phone in his hands, tapping away furiously once more. “Have it your way, baby.”

“He might have less than half a brain inside that fat head, but for once, the piss baby is right.” continued Velvette, placing both of her slender hands on the coffee table and half-standing, hunched forwards in anger. “You made our entire bloody organisation look like a pushover; giving away our foothold near Cannibal Town to that Bambi-wannabe old fuck! And what exactly did we get out of it?”

Vox’s eyes subconsciously lifted away from the neon streets of Downtown below him and floated towards the horizon, picking out the sinister shadow of a crooked tower just on the edge of sight.

“Vox?”

He was so utterly, miserably tired this morning. He hadn’t slept – his brain flipping between overwhelming, mind-blowing sensory memories of Alastor underneath him on the desk, to almost insane fury at the way the Radio Demon had just got up and dismissed the whole scenario; dismissed Vox. Just like he always fucking did. The prick was probably standing at that window right now, laughing at him.

And now, he had to carry on as though nothing had happened. He was left to deal with Velvette and Val, and their predictable pissing and moaning, with no explanation for the loss of territory. As far as they were concerned, he'd simply handed it over to Alastor to get him out of the building. He’d been expecting this kind of reaction, but he had been hoping it would happen later in the day, when he’d had enough caffeine to make up for the lack of sleep. He raised the coffee mug and took a long, steadying gulp, then suddenly caught the wording on the front.

Fuck Alastor.

He felt a dizzying lurch as that single, solitary moan played for the hundredth time inside his mind.

“Vox are you even fucking listening?!”

Vox’s scowl turned into a deep, glitching snarl. He had next to no patience this morning, not after yesterday. He spun on the spot.

“I’m so very sorry you’re unhappy with the outcome, my dear…” He laughed coldly, stalking away from the light of the window and back towards the sofas. “But correct me if I’m wrong: I’m not the one who let Carmilla Carmine and her cronies just waltz in, and then left me in a room with the fucking RADIO DEMON!” he shouted across the table, his voice distorted, screen glitching in anger. Two thick red lines bled through the display at his mouth.“Thank you so much you pair of fucking traitors.”

There was a moment of near silence. Vox and Velvette glared silently across the table at each other. The only sounds in the room were the low murmur of one of the TVs on the wall, and the furious tap of Valentino’s fingers as he typed out another message on his phone.

“Don’t blame me, baby.” Sighed Val, still focused on his phone. “I was in the middle of a shoot. You got any idea how hard it is to get that many bitches to cum at once? We had to do so many takes.” He suddenly snarled, voice turning sharp and spiteful. “I swear I work with such fucking amateurs.”

Vox raised a hand to his forehead, grinding his teeth furiously to hold back his temper.

“Thanks for that valuable input, Val. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Oh yeah,” he replied absently, “Angel will be here in an hour. I gotta go make sure the cameras are waterproofed.”

“So maybe you should get a move on?” growled Vox.

Valentino sighed and inclined his head slowly away from the phone screen, looking up into the still distorted face of the Television Demon. He inspected him over his heart shaped glasses.

“Ooh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the wrong bed this morning.” He said playfully, then slid from the chair and stood up, wrapping his wings around himself like a cloak. He leaned over and dragged a finger down Vox’s chest, then purred lowly: “You should have come up to see me last night, Papito. I could have done so many things to make all that stress just melt out of your pretty little head.”

Vox continued to glare, unmoved as Valentino gave him a final, smutty smile, then turned his back and sashayed away towards the door, purring with laughter.

Velvette sat herself back on the sofa comfortably as the door to the lounge clicked shut, snatching up the glass of water in front of her. She swirled the water idly round the glass, the morning light glinting off the liquid and sending sparks of red across her face.

“This is your own fucking fault anyway.” Velvette continued “If you hadn’t been so gung-ho going after the bloody Radio Demon, that old bitch wouldn’t have had to get involved in the first place.”

Vox snorted and sat gingerly down in the now empty chair across from her. His back was still deeply sore, the scratches burning. The wounds hadn’t stopped bleeding til the early morning. He stared into Velvette’s face, deadpan. “Are you finished, Vel? I mean do I have time to get a refill on my coffee, maybe order in brunch while you carry on bitching?”

Velvette merely smiled at him sweetly.

“No, I think I’ve made my point, babe.”

“Yeah, well I have a ratings review to handle before lunch, so I’m -"

Velvette suddenly laughed, the sound cruel and sharp as she leaned back on the sofa and began twisting her hair around her fingers slowly.

“I don’t think so. Val’s got an all day shoot, and I’ve got a dress rehearsal. We need you on damage control. You made a right royal balls up of the whole situation yesterday, you can deal with the shitshow downstairs.”

One side of Vox’s mouth dropped into a half-frown and he raised an eyebrow.

“The- the what downstairs?”

“The other news channels want to know why exactly we handed over territory to someone you’ve been publicly calling a loser for months.” She hissed, her voice sickly sweet and mocking. “You better put on your game face and come up with a reason, or we’re going to be a laughing stock.”

The Television Demon let out a long, exhaustion-fuelled sigh as the red glitch on his face flickered slowly back to blue. He tried to sink back into the chair, before suddenly jolting forwards again, suppressing the urge to hiss in pain. He saw Velvette register the discomfort, curiosity creeping into her face, and felt a shockwave of anxiety as he realised she was about to ask the question.

“Fine.” he conceded quickly, trying to move the conversation away from anything that might lead back to the Radio Demon. “I guess I’ll go down and deal with the fucking press. I’ll handle everything while you and Val hide upstairs. As usual.”

“Good.” snapped Velvette shortly, turning her attention instead to her phone. “And don’t take too long, babes. Those arseholes down there are circling like sharks.”

Vox forced a cold, dark laugh up his throat and straightened his tie, straining his features almost painfully back into the traditional sinister, charming smile. He spread his arms out confidently.

“My dear Velvette, you forget who you're talking to. The only shark in this town is me.”

____

Vox waited for the doors of the elevator to hiss shut before he let go. His entire posture collapsed, the bags under his eyes visible as he let the smile drop. He leaned back against the rear wall and squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the furious stinging pain in his back and shoulder.

“...Fuck.” He sighed.

A press conference was more than he wanted to deal with this morning. He felt like he was going insane.

Alastor had been here less than 12 hours ago. In this building, legs clutched around Vox, panting in pleasure. Vox had fantasised about that for years – all the time hating the fact that he was fantasising it, and now against all odds it had finally come true.

He’d been expecting to feel… satisfied. Some sense of closure. Even if Alastor never came back, even if that was the single and only time he ever saw the bastard truly give in to something, he’d thought that screwing the Radio Demon at least once would finally get it out of his system.

But it hadn’t. He’d had a taste. If anything, knowing now that it was possible, knowing exactly what Al looked like when he came, how he smelled, how he sounded; knowing how unbelievably, intoxicatingly good it felt… and knowing that Alastor – despite Vox fucking knowing that he’d enjoyed it - might never come back for more - made the Television Demon feel so much worse.

And Alastor had just got up, sneered at him and walked away. Again.

It was true that making the cold prick spasm in pleasure had temporarily fed his ego, but that had faded into blind rage as soon as Alastor had walked out of the door.

Vox opened his eyes and stared bitterly into nothingness. He slammed one of the buttons on the wall with unnecessary force and the elevator droned to life, descending down the tower with a static hum. He stood in silence, anger stirring up from under the confusion.

“Fuck you, you old prick.” He growled as the elevator began to slow. The doors peeled open and he stepped out onto the darkened walkway. Cold air blew through his antennae, the comforting hum of electricity surrounding him as he made his way to the large swivel chair at the centre of the chamber.

Velvette could piss and moan all she wanted, Vox wasn’t going to run around on her timetable. He needed time to clear his head before he dealt with the political fallout of yesterday. He removed his hat, sat forwards and stuck a hand under his screen, clicking miserably through the plethora of channels and CCTV cameras, trying to find something to take his mind off everything in his head.

A flash of glitching red…

Vox sat suddenly bolt upright, eyes widening as he stared into one of the screens to his left. He transferred the picture onto the main screen in the centre of the console with a flick of his wrist.

The Radio Demon had emerged from the hotel. Even if it weren’t for the telltale distortion that followed Alastor around, Vox would have recognised that stupid skinny waist and the ridiculous pompous walk anywhere. His eye twitched in another wave of rage as he zoomed in, registering the completely calm and easy smile on his face as he walked out of shot.

Bastard. Less than a day had passed, and Alastor had already forgotten all about it.

Unable to help himself, he panned the camera a little to watch him walk out of view. Alastor stopped in his tracks.

Vox held his breath as the Radio Demon very slowly turned towards the camera, coming to a halt staring straight down the lens. The Television Demon’s angry glare softened into a look of confusion as the overlarge image seemed to stare down at him. And then something strange happened.

The distortion stopped. Completely. For a brief moment Vox was staring up, confused and breathless at a perfect, crystal clear image. Some tiny, unnameable expression was flickering behind the Radio Demon’s eyes. Vox leaned subconsciously closer to the viewer, his fingers twitching.

The distortion sprang back into life with a vengeance.

The glitching smile suddenly widened horribly. Vox’s brow furrowed and he sat back again as the Radio Demon calmly raised a red-tipped middle finger to the CCTV camera and was gone, melting into shadow.

Vox sat staring at the now empty hill outside the hotel for a few moments of absolute stunned silence, the after image of that vicious smile imprinted on his eyes. The expression on his face seemed torn between fury and despair.

It was obvious now; it had been obvious the whole time, but Vox had simply refused to admit it. How could he have even expected anything else?

Al was never coming back. It had just been a contract.

He gritted his teeth and growled, slammed a sparking fist onto the surface in front of him and sagged bodily in the chair, tilting forward until his tired forehead hit with a resounding thud against the edge of the console.

Chapter Text

Dew clung to the gently swaying reeds that lined the bayou. Mist curled slowly around the twisted roots of trees, like long black fingers rising from the depths of the water. The soft creak of crickets permeated the stillness of the pre-dawn along with the occasional, muffled flutter of birds’ wings among the moss-covered branches.

The muted snap of a branch somewhere on the bank sent a brooding heron into flight, disturbing the mists momentarily as it ascended. Another moment passed, and a cluster of irises began to rustle. A pair of long, twisted antlers rose up cautiously from the undergrowth, followed by a pair of deep black eyes and a long, brown-dappled snout. The deer took a long, thoughtful look around through the mists and began to creep silently through the purple flowers, moving towards the water’s edge.

There was the croak of a waking treefrog. The deer froze, one majestic hoof raised in the air, its breath visible as the rising sun began to peek through the distant trees. Its eyes darted nervously around the motionless bayou, one ear twitching towards the sound, and then it continued forwards, its feet slipping a little on the muddy bank.

It stretched its neck down and began to lap, sending soft ripples across the surface of the boggy water.

BANG

The sudden thump of many beating wings filled the previously silent scene. A spoonbill screeched from somewhere among the reeds. There was a soft, panicked cry, and the deer slumped forwards onto its knees. Its eyes fell still and dull, and it fell forwards into the water with a heavy splash. Silence followed.

The man stood up from his hiding spot, the still steaming barrel of the Winchester held aloft. He looked down into the undergrowth with a smirk.

“We got him, boy.” He said gruffly.

Alastor uncovered his ears and stood up beside his father, eyes trained in shock on the now dead deer lying broken in the water. He pushed his spectacles back up his nose. A thin trickle of red was seeping into the water from the hole in its forehead.

“Pere, did we have to kill it?” he said lowly, voice shaking a little. The man’s face darkened.

“You speak and I hear your useless mother talking.”

Alastor swallowed hard. He wrapped a hand around his still bruised arm and massaged it without thinking.

The man shouldered the rifle and lurched forwards, sloshing through the wet mud until he reached the bleeding carcass. He grabbed it lazily by the hoof and dragged it back onto dry land, leaving a deep groove behind him. He threw it onto the grass and leaned down beside it, laying the gun carefully to one side.

Alastor continued to stand where he was, his eyes still fixed on the dull, surprised expression on the dead deer’s face. His father turned to him. Alastor took a half-step back.

“Come here.” He intoned. When Alastor didn’t respond, his face descended into an ugly snarl. “Vite.”

The boy tucked his hands defensively into the pockets of his woollen waistcoat and tentatively did as he was told, struggling with his short legs to step over the high weeds and gnarled tree roots. He came to his father’s side, still hypnotised by the expression on the deer’s face.

The man snorted and turned back to the carcass.

“It’s time you learned what it is to be a man.” He muttered, feeling at his belt. “Your mother would have you grow up to be soft, weak. Her perfect little ‘ange’...”Alastor shifted uncomfortably as his father brought a vicious looking hunting knife from his belt and wiped it on the grass. “Not in my house, boy. You will learn. You will become the man I expect to see in my son.”

“...Pere please, what-”

He winced as the man reached out and snatched his hand from his pocket, wrenching it roughly towards him. Alastor stumbled a little. The man pressed something cold roughly into his hand.

“Left to your dear maman, you would follow her with a little basket and flowers in your hair to buy groceries,” his father said savagely as Alastor’s brown eyes moved fearfully from the deer’s dead face down to the hunting knife in his hand, “but a real man – a REAL man - only eats what he can kill himself.”

The man let go and Alastor’s small palm drooped suddenly with the unsupported weight of the weapon. He looked wildly between the knife, the deer, and his father. He was met with a stony, threatening glare.

“… I don’t know – I don’t know what to do.” He said eventually in a small, nervous voice.

“Roll your sleeves up.”

Alastor obeyed reluctantly. The now rising sun illuminated the greying bruises on his wrists and forearms. His father patted the wet grass beside him.

“That’s it, good boy. Now. Time to learn how to butcher a fresh kill.”

___

The sun had risen above the moss-laden treetops by the time Alastor finally sat back on his haunches, his arm aching more than any bruise he had ever had, his eyes stinging with sweat and suppressed tears. His woollen suit was sticky with blood, his arms and fingers shining red. Blood had splattered across his spectacles and dappled his dark, wild-eyed face. Before him sat the remains of a deer carcass, the blood pooled thickly around it turning the grass from green to deep, oily black.

Alastor’s father was stuffing the roughly cut chunks of meat into a canvas bag. Alastor could taste metal as he clutched the dripping hunting knife, staring into the exposed remains of the creature that had stood innocently at the water’s edge not so long ago.

“You still have a lot to learn, boy.” his father buttoned up the bag and hitched it onto his shoulder, then grabbed the hunting rifle and stood up, his shadow blocking out the light as Alastor knelt, trying not to shake. “Those cuts could have been cleaner. Next time-”

“Next time?” Alastor couldn’t help himself. He bit his tongue and nervously tilted his head upwards to look into his father’s face.

“...Next. Time.” repeated the man through gritted teeth, “You will do better, Alastor. Understand?”

Alastor nodded quickly. His father’s face moved into a forced smile.

“Good. Now let’s go home.”

Alastor pulled himself shakily to his feet and started moving unsteadily to the water’s edge, to the groove in the mud where the deer had stood, blood still dripping from his fingers. His father laughed sharply and snatched his slippery, aching wrist.

“No, little ‘ange’, you’re going to wear that blood like a badge of honour. I want your mother to see exactly what you’ve done.”

Alastor’s heart sank. His father let go of his wrist and he held out a meaty palm. Alastor looked at the knife, and handed it back to his father. The man wiped it on the dew-laden grass and slid it back into his belt.

“Allez” He barked, and without a backwards glance at the blood-covered boy, began marching away from the waterside. Alastor blinked his stinging eyes and wiped away the forming tears now that he was safe to do so. Thick blood trailed across his face and into his eyes.

Half blinded, the little boy stumbled after the sound of larger, crashing feet, trying desperately to keep up.

Behind him, flies began to settle on the carcass, drawn to the smell of fresh meat.

Chapter Text

Dempsey’s and the area surrounding it hadn’t changed in the past seven years. It had been quite a shock to the system when Alastor had arrived on that morning seven days ago, to see things as perfectly preserved as if nothing had changed; as if he’d never been away at all.

He had expected such a long time under the Vees to have drained the area of all its charm; expected Vox in his infinite stupidity to have ripped it all down and built something tacky, tasteless and unbearably modern in its place, but actually the only signs that time had passed at all were the presence of a few cameras, a few Voxtek billboards, and a walled off warehouse that stood half a block down Main Street from the red curtained, pink-painted walls of Dempsey’s restaurant.

Under other circumstances Alastor would have been more curious about Vox’s lack of development, but for eight days he had made a concentrated effort not to even let the pathetic little picture box enter his mind. It seemed safer that way.

It had been eight days since he’d signed the deal with Vox; an entire week since he’d sent Husker out on his errand. Husk had come back late that evening, tired and irritable as ever, and bearing a message that Corah would meet him here today. The wait had been almost intolerable. He’d spent the week falling into an ever more volatile mood, avoiding the other inhabitants of the hotel and contemplating in his radio tower. He’d even stopped taking his traditional nightcap, and so hadn’t been sleeping as well as he normally did. Whenever he had needed to leave, he found he’d become even more aware and irritated by every camera and drone that passed by.That gnawing desire to seek out some kind of relief; to have everything taken away from him – if even just for a moment – seemed to pull at him harder every time a camera twitched in his direction.

The Radio Demon sat in the private booth on the mezzanine floor above the main restaurant, idly examining one of the now slightly stale sandwiches as he listened to the soft clink of Rosie stirring sugar into her tea. Rosie, he knew, could handle his irritable mood, but actually her presence had at least temporarily brought him out of his brooding. She had a charm that Alastor had always found impossible to ignore.

Below them a jazz quartet were setting up for the evening rush of customers on the same old corner stage; tuning up the same slightly shabby upright piano that Alastor had once enjoyed playing after a few drinks. But that had been nearly a decade ago, before he’d been away; before his existence had become so horrendously complicated.

“You know, I still can’t believe Vox really gave you this place back!” Rosie gently raised the teacup, holding it in between her bony fingers as her face broke into an excited smile. “This side of town just ain’t been the same without a little of your chutzpah to liven things up.”

Alastor raised his eyes from the plate of sandwiches and forced a contented smile onto his face, ignoring the unwelcome name drop.

“Well, I must admit this place does still hold it’s charm.” He agreed with a sigh, taking a look around at the slightly peeling wallpaper. “Much like yourself, my dear Rosie. It’s a welcome bonus to be a stone’s throw away from the most delightful Overlord in Hell again.”

Rosie beamed, her pointed teeth shining in the low light of the restaurant. She put down the teacup quickly and raised her hands to cover the pink spots appearing on her white cheeks.

“Alastor, you always were such a charmer! Oh now, look at me, you got me blushin’”

The smile on the Radio Demon’s face grew more sincere at the look of pleasure on the other Overlord’s face.

“I’m so glad that meetin’ worked out so well for you! Yaknow at first, I was a little worried leavin’ you two boys alone, but…”

Alastor’s ear twitched subconsciously and turned to gaze down over the railings at the Jazz band. Rosie trailed off, the excited light in her eyes dimming.

“...I guess things still haven’t changed in that department, huh?” she said softly as Alastor resolutely continued watching the stage. Her face melted into a sympathetic frown.

“You seem to forget, I wasn’t the one who ruined it.” he said quickly, his tone almost a little too casual. “And I have far better things to occupy my time with.”

Rosie watched the side of his face, contemplating. “...I know... I just wish you two could-”

The Radio Demon suddenly swivelled back towards her. He leaned over, picked up a sandwich and smiled at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Do you remember the last night we were here?”

Rosie blinked, completely nonplussed by the change of topic. She took a second to register his expression, then slowly brought her features back up into a smile and leaned conspiratorially across the table.

“Oh, how could I forget? That band -”

“And that truly appalling trumpeter who completely butchered the Dippermouth Blues?”

“And you and Mimzy went to town on the poor guy after the show?” she chuckled, “That was quite the sight! You know, it took ‘em a week to redecorate this place after that?”

Alastor allowed himself a small throaty laugh and propped his legs casually up on the railing beside him, tilting his head in mock innocence. He took a bite of the sandwich and waved it in the air as he spoke. “Well one simply doesn’t trifle with Jazz, my dear. Mimzy and I have at least always agreed on that.”

“She talkin’ to you yet?”

“No, not at all. For some strange reason she took deep offence when I told her to get out of my hotel!”

Rosie raised an eyebrow. “Gee, I wonder why anyone would take offence at that?”

“I know! Dear Mimzy… so unreasonable.”

“Oh she’ll come around. You know she can’t stay mad at you for long!”

Dusk was beginning to settle on the Pride Ring. The sky outside had slipped from bright bloody red to a sickly maroon, and customers were starting to waft in from the street. Occasionally one or two would take a brief glance up at the two cannibal Overlords looming over them and immediately spin back towards the exit. Rosie sighed wistfully.

“What swell days those were though, huh? You, me, and Mim, cuttin’ a rug -”

“And quite a few other things, too.” purred Alastor, then broke into slightly manic laughter. Some of the demons seated below stopped talking and shot nervous glances up towards the booted feet kicking gleefully over the railings. Rosie watched him fondly and waited for the laughter to run its course.

“Hard to believe it’s been over seven years… but now -” She smiled widely, her voice constricting with excitement. “Yaknow, one of my regulars died in the fight at the hotel? Wonderful man, so sweet, but he had just the most adorable little bachelor pad a block or two into my territory. It’d be perfect for a certain other bachelor lookin’ for a place of his own. You know you’re always welcome in Cannibal Town my darling.”

Alastor stared into the glinting black, smiling eyes of the other Overlord for a moment. “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.” he said eventually, almost reluctantly, “My main interest at the moment lies with the Hotel, and our dear Charlie is so very good at drawing… unwanted attention.”

“Such a sweetie pie though.”

“She has her moments.” he said with a slow incline of his head.

Rosie leaned on the table, her chin in the palm of her hand and a wistful smile on her face. “In any case, you know the offer’s always open.”

Alastor’s smile warmed, tilting upwards at the edges. He rested his cane across his dangling legs and stretched out until he was sitting lengthwise across the booth. “Duly noted, and deeply appreciated Rosie, my dear. One can always rely on you to make a demon feel at home.”

The band began to play in earnest as they sat together in silence. The noise level in the restaurant was rising swiftly, more and more demons pouring through the double doors as the light outside fell. Rosie’s face glimmered bloody red from the dying light seeping through the thick red drapes. Alastor began to tap his fingers across the top of his cane to the syncopated beat of the music, eyes closed, trying to empty his mind of the agitation now beginning to rise in spite of Rosie’s presence. If Corah wasn’t coming after making him wait this long; if she’d lied to him, there would be severe consequences.

It was another three songs from the band below before Alastor’s ears swivelled like satellite dishes towards the entrance. He felt himself tense, his stomach tightening just a fraction. He’d been half listening for a particular sound all afternoon, and now he’d finally heard it.

The rustle of Rosie’s long bustled dress indicated that she’d noticed something, too. She sat up and leaned over the railing.

“Sweetie…”

“I know.” He replied in his sing-song voice, eyes still closed. There was a shift in energy from the floor below. The general chatter had shifted into disapproving mutters, and through all of it Alastor could hear the soft, steady drip of water moving through the restaurant. In spite of his agitation, he couldn’t help but let his lip twitch up in a cold smirk at the effect.

Rosie grimaced, still leaning over the railing and following the source of the disturbance with her coal-like eyes. “Really, ya had to have a meetin’ with her in a place like this?” Alastor let out a low chuckle and slowly rose back up in his seat, finally opening his eyes with a wicked smile.

“Why Rosie, don’t tell me you have something against the poor woman?”

Rosie swatted a hand in front of her defensively. “Oh of course not! it’s just… well…”

“...entertaining?” suggested the Radio Demon.

“Eh... I was gonna go with messy.”

The sound of dripping water was growing closer now. There was the soft thud of footsteps ascending the spiral staircase up to the booth and a steadily growing tang of salt in the air. Rosie bit her lip, taking a slow examination of Alastor’s expression; his physicality.

“Want me to stick around?” she asked tentatively. Alastor’s smile faltered a little but he picked up his cane, twirled it and slid his legs back down from the railing with an air of supreme confidence.

“Oh no dear! I wouldn’t want to intrude upon your ever busy schedule. I and Corah have always had an excellent working relationship. I’ll be perfectly fine!”

“… OK hun.” she conceded as the Radio Demon continued to smile, wide-eyed and determined into her face. She retrieved her hat and umbrella from the seat next to her and stood up. “But you know where I am if ya need me, and-”

“Ahem.”

Both demons turned their heads towards the figure that had paused at the entrance to the booth. Rosie mustered a polite - if slightly strained - smile.

A slowly widening pool of water was seeping into the exposed floorboards of the mezzanine, droplets breaking the surface continuously as they dripped from a mane of rotted seaweed that tumbled around Corah’s blue-grey, barnacle-encrusted face. She rested a wrinkled and webbed hand on the edge of the table and more water began to bleed very slowly from her pores, forming a perfect, shining handprint on the varnished wood.

“Apologies. Looks like I’ve intruded upon quite the heady meeting.” Her voice was soft and low; barely audible above the once again rising talk below. Despite her time in Hell it still held strongly to its Irish lilt. “I could wait below if you have business?”

Rosie lifted her skirt from the floor as the pool of seawater spread about her feet.

“Oh don’t worry about me, darling, I was about to head out anyway.” she said, and fixed the wide brimmed hat back atop her head. Corah inclined her head solemnly as Rosie bustled past, giving the bounty hunter as wide a berth as was polite in order to avoid the constantly dripping water, and rounded the table towards the Radio Demon. Alastor reached up a hand regally and she took it between both of hers. “Now you come see your old pal Rosie soon, huh? Cannibal Town never shines as bright without that dazzlin’ smile of yours.”

Alastor flashed her a brilliant, yellow smile as a farewell, patted his other hand delicately on top of hers, and then she slipped away, once more holding her skirt off the ground as she tiptoed gracefully around the trail of water left behind in Corah’s wake.

Alastor watched her until the very tip of the feathers in her hat disappeared down the stairs. He knew that Corah’s one good eye was trained on him, waiting for an invitation to sit, but the further Rosie’s energy drifted away from him, the more the agitation of the last week was settling back onto him. His face darkened slowly, the fingers curling, eyes narrowing at the empty staircase as below them the band played on.

Corah shifted her weight. Beneath the tattered, tooth-torn flesh of her torso, within the exposed ribcage something spectral white and transparent slithered. A withered, suckered tentacle oozed between two strips of bone and curled agitatedly up her waistcoat.

Eventually Alastor heard her sigh.

“Mind if I-”

“You’re late.” He hissed darkly, exposing his teeth. Corah removed her hand from the table and peeled the creeping tentacle from her chest, shoving it back between her ribs.

“That’s untrue. I said today. I told your fella.”

Alastor picked up the teacup in front of him and slowly swirled the now tepid dregs around the bottom of the cup. Eventually he looked up, red eyes locking with the single dull green. “You should know better than to keep me waiting, Corah. Even my... immense patience has its limits.”

“...I’ve no doubt of that, Alastor. But we’ve been dancing this dance for a long time. I thought I’d save us a few steps in the jig and do the job before we took the meeting.”

Alastor’s eyes flickered across her sombre face as though looking for some silent answer, then tilted his head towards the seat Rosie had vacated moments before. Corah slid into the booth and sat herself carefully on the edge of the seat.

“Can I get the waiters to fetch you anything?” Alastor said in a dangerously soft voice. “Food, drink… a towel?”

The bounty hunter’s eye twitched. “Funny. Glad to know your mysterious time away hasn’t dulled your sense of humour.”

There was a strange squelching sound from inside Corah’s ribcage and another ghastly white tentacle flopped out onto the table, reaching for the plate of sandwiches. Alastor stared at it, distracted, and then used the tip of his cane to slide the sandwiches slowly away from the reaching arm, examining it as it tried to follow.

“Oh, one doesn’t reach the dizzying heights of celebrity that I have without knowing the value of a little comedy.” He said after a moment. “So. I trust you’re here with good news at last?”

“Alastor…” The Radio Demon raised his eyes from the writhing mass on the table at the sudden use of his name, eyes narrowing again. “Every few years you send me out on this job, and every time the answer’s always the same. I’ve spent the last week scouring the whole of Pride for any sign of what you’re after, but there’s just… nothing.”

There was a brief pause in which the only noises in the booth were the slow drip of water and the soft, sticky sound of the slowly writhing tentacle. Alastor felt his insides freeze. He dug his fingernails into the wood.

“...What. Precisely. Do you mean ‘nothing'?” He growled through gritted teeth. He had waited a week for this meeting, all the while feeling the frustration building like a maelstrom. The fire in his eyes gave a small flicker, any semblance of amusement in his smile fading away.

Corah spread her hands out on the table, placating. “I mean nothing. No records, no witnesses, no sign that this lad ever even set foot in Hell.”

Alastor stood up, pushing the booth back with an ear-splitting screech and slamming his hands onto the table. The tentacle recoiled.

“That’s impossible.” He growled. All this time waiting, for this. His ears had descended into a wide, angry V as the light around him started to dim. “He would have been sent here. The alternative is preposterous.”

Corah shrugged, though she, too, was digging her hands into the edge of the table, the eye a little wary at the Radio Demon’s loss of composure. “I can only tell you what I know – or rather don’t know. He might have changed his name – folk do down here.” She sighed and looked up at him beseechingly. “If you even had a photograph-”

“We couldn’t aff- I mean - there aren’t any photographs.” Alastor snapped, the snarl deepening at the slip of his tongue. The jazz band abruptly stopped playing as the lights in the restaurant flickered. “Aren’t you meant to be a bounty hunter? Isn’t tracking people down meant to be your speciality?”

Corah bristled at the professional slight. “An artist can’t work without paints, Alastor. You know I’ve tried – for nigh on fifty years I’ve tried. Calm down.”

“I’m perfectly calm.” The static was building in the Radio Demon’s voice now, the black antlers beginning to grow upwards. His burning eyes had flickered into radio dials. “When I’m upset, I can assure you my dear, you’ll know about it.”

Corah’s one working eye widened as the Radio Demon loomed over her, sensing the danger. She slid back on the chair, pressing herself against the booth.

“Ok, I understand. Look... as long as you’re paying, I’ll – I’ll keep looking.” She said swiftly, voice quaking. “But I can’t promise anything. You have to understand it’s possible this fella never came here, or met the sharp end of an Exterminator’s blade long ago.”

Alastor froze in place for a moment. The antlers slowly eased their ascent and the lights around the restaurant stabilised. His fingers dug harder into the surface of the table, but the shadow growing around him subsided as he stared into Corah’s face. He sat back down with a thud and dug his sharp teeth into his lip. Corah let out a long breath, her grey face relaxing.

“Then I suppose you should get out there and look.” His voice was constricted, forced into a would-be calm tone. “I don’t believe I pay you for dawdling.”

Taking the words as the dismissal they were, the bounty hunter stood up. There was a wet, slow sucking sound as the white tentacle tore away from the table. Alastor continued to snarl deeply at the empty space she left behind, lost in thought.

Corah was a few steps away from the stairs before she finally hesitated. She looked back over her shoulder frowning as though willing herself to speak, then finally thought better of it and merely sighed.

“I thank you for your continued patronage.” she said matter-of-factly. Alastor continued to stare hatefully into the empty booth, hunched forward. The band struck up again, the sounds of customers downstairs rose once more, and Corah’s wet, dripping footsteps descended the spiral staircase, and then were gone.

The Radio Demon sat alone in his private booth, hardly registering any noise except the angry rush of blood thundering through his ears. He raised a hand to his forehead. A week. He’d waited a week for absolutely nothing.

He couldn’t explain to himself why hearing those words out of Corah’s mouth this particular time had brought him so close to losing control. That wasn’t true, of course. In the back of his mind he had an explanation. One very good explanation.

He suddenly stood up, eyes wide and mouth fixed into a very slightly twitching smile. A moment later he was moving, faster than his normal slow and easy gait. He could feel a sudden, painful tightness rising in his chest, his heart still pounding desperately in his head as he descended the spiral staircase. The black tipped ears were slowly flattening back now and he was clutching tight to his cane, trying to hold on to the quickly fraying strands of self-composure, aware of the eyes of the diners following him. He slid through the kitchen door as quickly as he could, ignoring the looks of fear and shock on the faces of the staff and strode towards the back exit.

The alleyway at the back of Dempsey’s was empty. Night had begun to descend in earnest on the Pride Ring, the glowing pentagram hanging in the sky above casting long shadows across the crumbling brickwork, the spatters of old blood, the forgotten trash.

There was a crash as Alastor slammed the rear door of the kitchen behind him. A few unidentifiable creatures skittered away into shadow as the Radio Demon pressed his back into the door, spreading his palms across the cool, smooth metal surface. The sound echoed momentarily, and then silence fell crushingly back onto the abandoned alley.

The redheaded demon stayed there for a moment, almost hidden in the maroon shadow cast by the two storey building at his back. The only indication that he was even there were the two wide red eyes, staring straight ahead at the blank brick wall.

He leaned forward slowly, performed the usual perfunctory check for cameras in the alleyway, then rested his head back, raising both hands to his temples and digging his fingers in hard.

...How?

How could a man who had been dead for over a century still cause him to feel this – to feel anything?

How was it possible that the feared and powerful Radio Demon – a creature that had spent nearly his entire existence striving to maintain a polished veneer of control – could feel this way? Could feel so…

Powerless.

The red fingertips dug into flesh. Thin tendrils of crimson slid down Alastor’s face, melting into the shadows under his angular chin. His thoughts were spiralling into madness again.

He had been one of the most feared Overlords in Hell; souls at his command, the entire Pride Ring a playground for whatever whims took him.

Now he was shackled, chained. Bound to a puppeteer in a deal of his own making that he could see no way out of.

He had signed a deal with Vox, too, not aware of the door it might open in his mind; the maddening temptation it could present.

And now - he was being haunted by the memories of a man he’d tried to repress for a century, with no foreseeable resolution, no answers, just this… feeling.

Dealing with just the first one had been quite enough for Alastor, but the weight of all three…

This entire scenario was absurd.

It was ridiculous.

The dangerously wide smile at Alastor’s lips gave a twitch. A noise rose up unbidden in his throat.

And then another.

And then he began to laugh.

One of the Radio Demon’s hands slid down over his face as the laughter began to shake his chest, his entire body arching forwards as the noise grew louder, and louder, until the echoes in the alleyway formed a wailing, screeching cacophony of madness.

And he continued to laugh, until his throat felt bloody and his ribs burned, until tears began to run down his cheeks from his tightly closed eyes. A door squeaked open from a little further down the alleyway and a pair of red eyes peered curiously out onto the scene. Without even looking, one of Alastor’s tendrils lashed out from his back towards the disturbance. The eyes blinked back into darkness, and the door snapped shut just in time before the sinister black mass reached its target, slamming into the wood.

And still, Alastor laughed. His mouth so wide, teeth so furiously bared that it hurt. It seemed to last an eternity.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The Radio Demon opened his eyes, staring down at the filthy pavement between his fingers, the tears of laughter still rolling down the backs of his hands.

He swallowed hard. His throat burned. From beyond the steel door back into Dempsey’s, he could hear the faintest resonance of the band still playing on. Alastor forced himself to stand upright, wiping the blood from his face.

Almost against his will he found his eyes travelling along the upper walls of the alleyway once more, searching out the telltale electronic twitch. But the walls were bare. No cameras, no drones.

Just Alastor. Alone.

The Radio Demon’s expression folded into a strange, set glare. He brought the cane to attention between his fingertips, and with the tiniest flicker of something behind his eyes – something that resembled doubt or fear – he left the alleyway far behind, melting once more into shadow.

Across the Pentagram, in an office inside a high rising tower, a dark mass suddenly appeared from nothing and began to coalesce into a humanoid shape.

Chapter Text

Vox sat back in the black leather swivel chair and stared into his own tired face displayed on the screens suspended on the ceiling. He let out a heavy, annoyed sigh, pushed his features up into a confident, camera-friendly smile and pressed record.

“Here at Voxtek, we like to think of each and every one of you as a member of our warm, welcoming family, and with that in mind it’s my honour to announce that Voxtek Angelic Security will be rolling out within the next two months.

With Voxtek’s patented protection at your side, you can rest easy knowing that your business, homes and loved ones are almost immune to the growing threat of heavenly incursion.

For a very small monthly subscription, we can almost guarantee that your safet- oh what the fuck?”

Vox’s face crumpled. The smooth, charming, camera-friendly smile dropped into a thin-lipped look of annoyance as a clatter from behind him interrupted the recording. He slammed a hand onto the console and the suspended screens around him flickered one by one back into standby. A blue-fingered fist reached up to his screen and massaged his forehead wearily.

His inner office was still in complete chaos. In the past week he’d had neither the time nor patience to get all the damaged furniture replaced, and as a result things were still occasionally falling apart. He pushed his fist further into his forehead until the screen began to glitch. It was probably after dark now: the constant thrum of electricity that spiralled around the tower had died down a little. Most of the legitimate employees had clearly finished and gone home. And here he sat, tired and frustrated, just trying to get this stupid promo done. This was his skillset, he had done this all day every day for years, so why did it feel like such a fucking chore tonight?

The answer came – unsurprisingly – very easily.

“Hey Alastor, lets make a deal.” he drawled bitterly to himself. “Let me just bet my soul on you actually enjoying something other than being a psychopathic prick – well fuck you!” He snapped. The last two words echoed around the empty room. One of the sharks in the tank below the walkway turned briefly towards the vibration, then swam away out of sight.

Vox took a breath and looked at his furious reflection in one of the blank panels. He took a moment to rub away the knuckle marks imprinted on his face and forced his smile upwards once more.

“Here at Voxtek,” He began again as the screens sprang back to life, “we like to think of each and every one of you as a member of – ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?”

This time, red began to bleed through the Television Demon’s screen as he stared down incensed at the vibrating phone on the console. He snapped it up and held it in front of him, practically crushing it in his enraged fist.

“WHAT??”

There was a brief pause before the smooth crooning voice of Valentino poured from the speaker.

“Baby where are you? I finished shooting hours ago.”

Vox gritted his teeth and finally paused the recording. He spun away from the console and took a long breath, trying to calm his temper. “Val, now really isn’t the time, I’m trying to work.”

“But you’ve been working all week, I miss you.” whined Val. Vox felt his eye twitch.

“Yeah well maybe you’ve forgotten Val, but this is a fucking business. Work is kind of implied.”

There was a long sigh from the other end of the phone. Vox squeezed the phone a little tighter. The screen started to crack.

“You know what you need, Papito?” continued Valentino, apparently unfazed by the irritation in Vox’s voice. The Television Demon raised his eyes to the black ceiling, biting his tongue. “You need a little R&R, some time to unwind. You need to bring that perfect ass of yours up here, and-”

“You’re horny, aren’t you?” interrupted Vox flatly. He heard the low purr of seductive laughter from the other end of the phone.

“You always could see straight through me.” came Val’s voice, low and silky. “Come upstairs. We just got a big delivery in from Ozzie’s.” he said teasingly. There was a rustle on the other end of the line, and then a humming sound. “There are some toys here that I want us to try out before I use them in the studio.”

Vox tried to keep his voice calm through his clenched teeth. “Look – Val – that sounds… really, really great, but I need to finish this promo before Carmine finds another axe to grind and pulls out of the fucking agreement again.”

There was a silence on the other end. In spite of his building temper, Vox held his breath, knowing what was coming next.

“Who is it?” the voice had changed. It was steely and poisonous.

“Who’s who?”

“Who are you fucking down there?!”

Vox snarled into the phone, narrowing his eyes at it. “Oh for Hell’s - I’m not fucking anyone you moron! I’m working!”

“Bitch, you think I don’t know?! You stay right there, I’ll come down there and fucking kill them!”

“Val calm down.” Vox said, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible.

“I’ll shoot their slutty little cock-sucking cock off!”

“VAL!” The voice that erupted from the Television Demon was warped with distortion. The other end of the phone went silent. Vox took a breath.

“Val… put the gun down.”

There was a pause.

“Val, you’re holding a gun, right?”

“...no?”

Vox began massaging his temple roughly with his free hand and screwed his eyes shut in frustration.

“...maybe.”

“Then put. It. Down.”

Vox heard the slow clink of metal against wood and knew that the tantrum had ended. He forced his voice into a gentle, calm murmur and held the phone closer to his mouth. “Listen… why don’t you let me finish up here and I’ll... come see you later tonight. That sound good?”

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, Papi.” replied Valentino, the voice once again lilting and seductive. “These toys aren’t gonna play with themselves.”

“Come on, I thought you liked being teased.”

Val gave a sultry laugh. There was a moment’s silence and then the phone disconnected.

Vox continued to glare at the phone momentarily in wordless frustration. Suddenly he hurled the phone across the chamber with a grunt. It skidded across the smooth surface and fell from the walkway, descending into darkness.

He hadn’t been in the mood for anything with Val this whole week, so he’d been fully aware that a temper tantrum had been on the horizon. As if running this whole company practically solo wasn’t enough, babysitting a ten foot tall moth with an alarming level of mental instability and access to a weapons cabinet was the cherry on the fucking shitty cake.

Vox sighed and spun back towards the console. He’d have to go up and placate Valentino later even if he wasn’t in the mood, or he’d probably start taking his jealousy out on the employees again. He just hoped that the scratches on his back had healed enough not to draw any stupid questions. He reached subconsciously over his shoulder and felt the slightly raised skin where Alastor’s claws had dug in to flesh.

For the third time, The Television Demon brought his features painfully back into his most charming smile, slammed the record button, and sat back.

“Here at Voxtek, we like to think of each and every one of you as a member of our warm, welcoming family, and with that in mind it’s my honour to…”

All the screens around gave a static flicker. Vox blinked and trailed off, looking into his own bewildered face. They’d never done that before.

Great. Of all the times to have technical problems.

“Of course.” he muttered to himself wryly. “Perfect end to a perfect fucking day.”

The screens flickered again.

Vox sat up, his spine suddenly tingling. This wasn’t just normal interference, he recognised this. On the very edge of his hearing, there was the faintest creak of the office door. The picture on the screens in front of him fizzed madly in and out of focus.

Vox’s eyes widened as they drifted over to the corner of the screen. Even through the distortion, he could see something far behind him that shouldn’t be here. That had no way of being here. Something... red.

He looked tentatively over his shoulder, slowly scanning across the room until he finally made contact with a pair of red, shining irises.

The Radio Demon was standing just beyond the threshold of the open door, a narrow-eyed half snarl adorning his face.

Vox glared back “...You.”

The redheaded demon didn’t reply. He merely stared into Vox, swallowed visibly, then withdrew into the office slowly until he was out of sight.

Vox stared at the empty doorway, so torn between a cavalcade of conflicting emotions that he couldn’t even begin to settle on one. For a week he’d been watching, and the bastard hadn’t even looked up since that one time outside the hotel. What the fuck was he doing here now?

Half in anger, half in curiosity, Vox stood up from the chair and walked slowly towards the office door, fists balled nervously as he followed the silent invitation from the Radio Demon.

Behind him on the console, a small red light continued to blink silently in the darkness, the screens still focused on the now empty chair.

Chapter Text

Vox peered around the slightly ajar office door, scanning the chaos inside. Half of the bulbs had smashed in the Television Demon’s fury, glass still strewn across the tiled floor. A broken leather chair was splintered and fractured against the near wall, and several of the screens on the rear wall were shattered. But there was no sign of red; no tall pompous freak standing neatly in the centre of the room. Just a desk, a chair, and a floor full of glittering glass and scattered paper.

Vox frowned, torn between relief and a reluctant, half-acknowledged twinge of disappointment. He stepped into the office and leaned on the desk tiredly.

Had Alastor really been here at all? Or was it just the beginnings of a full-blown breakdown? He had been working late nights this week, and it wouldn’t surprise him in the fucking least if he’d started suffering stress-induced hallucinations. That would really put the perfect polish on this dung heap of a week. Seeing Alastor everywhere he went… perfect.

“Ok Vox... get your shit together. You are fucking losing it.”

There was a shift of warm air behind him; a crunch of broken glass and the door snapped shut. He spun on the spot.

A red-tipped hand was splayed against the door, the Radio Demon standing in the space just between the doorway and the wall.

“On the contrary, Vox.” came the redhead’s radio-masked voice. “I think you’ll find you ‘lost it’ quite some time ago.”

Vox stood, dumbstruck for a moment as he took in that Alastor was, in fact, here. He’d clearly been waiting behind the door, out of view, for Vox to enter. The Television Demon let out a bitter laugh and glared. “Oh, and now he appears.”

Alastor let go of the door and stood in the half-light silently as Vox rounded the desk and threw himself into the thankfully still standing executive chair, keeping his eyes levelled on the Radio Demon. Alastor’s empty hand slid across his own chest and wrapped around his opposite arm, the fingers digging in to the smooth lines of the suit.

“What the fuck do you want, Alastor?” snapped Vox. Alastor’s fingers clenched tighter around his arm and he stepped away from the wall, walking slowly through the intermittent shadows under the broken lights. His boots made soft crunching sounds over the shards of glass, accompanied by the gentle click of the cane against the tiles. He took a theatrical look around the room.

“I’m glad to see you’ve redecorated.” He said airily, as though he hadn’t heard Vox speak. “Tasteless... broken.... Oh yes, this is so much more you.”

Vox slowly rotated the chair as the Radio Demon made a wide circle around the room. He knew that in this room at least, Alastor was now no threat, but turning his back still seemed like a bad idea. On the other hand, if the prick had wanted him dead, he could have simply come into the outer office to do so. What was going on?

“OK, forget why… How? How in Hell did you get past security? I swear if you've disembowelled another of my employees-”

The Radio Demon stopped near the rear wall full of cracked screens and slowly tilted his head to look witheringly over his shoulder.

“My dear Vox, do you really think that I haven’t always been able to get in here whenever I wanted? Still so slow…”

Vox opened his mouth silently, trying to wrestle with several different thoughts at once. Alastor had always been able to get in here? All the years they were fighting, all the death threats… and this sadistic fuck had had free access to the tower the whole time? Why hadn’t he, then? Why in hell was Vox still breathing?

And now, the Television Demon was noticing something else: Alastor was directly under a still working light now, and Vox could finally see his face plainly. He looked… tired. Despite the sneer and the narrowed eyes, the expression looked somehow less polished. And his voice… not the normal, fast and sharp pronunciation, but slower, a little hoarser. His physicality seemed indefinably off, too. Vox had spent long enough watching him over the years to know that pompous swagger inside out.

His expression threatened to soften, but he wrenched it back up into a snarl and leaned forwards, chair creaking.

“Look, I don’t know what mindfuck psycho bullshit you’re trying to play, you red freak,” he growled. Alastor’s eyes narrowed even further. “But just because you can stand in this office without me ripping that stupid fucking smile off your face doesn’t mean I want to see it!” Using all his willpower, he turned his back on the stationary Radio Demon and steepled his fingers on the desk in front of him, glowering over them. “...Get out.”

By the rear wall, Alastor turned away and stared at his reflection in one of the broken screens. The yellow smile glinted back at him, broken into two by the crack running down the centre of the glass. He saw it drop a little, the teeth clenching tighter together for a moment before he fixed his expression, setting it determinedly into a sinister, casual grin. He forced himself to let go of his forearm and turned back to the office at large, and the blue glowing desk under the light of Vox’s face.

Alastor pulled himself up to his full height and strolled back across the wrecked room slowly. He took a deep breath, and forced the words up his throat.

“Well then… I suppose you’re not interested in a repeat performance.” He said lightly.

Every muscle in Vox’s body froze. The sentence rang in his head like a bell. For the briefest of moments, the screen on his face filled with static.

“...What did you say?” he said blankly.

Vox felt the chair moving under him. His eyes widened in disbelief as a slow, irresistible force turned him away from the desk, back towards the rear wall. Vox blinked down and spotted the red microphone pressing into the side of the chair. His eyes finally locked with Alastor’s, barely a few inches away. The Radio Demon was grinning dangerously. He raised the cane to Vox's chin as he bent forwards.

“Let me put it this way, my dear Vox… I was expecting to be happily ripping your soul to shreds by now. Imagine my immense disappointment when I realised you hadn’t broken our agreement yet.”

Vox’s focus was flickering from red eye to red eye, his mouth half open in disbelief as he tried to discern some trap or trick; some twisted joke flickering behind the Radio Demon’s eyes. Despite the unnerving grin though, all Vox could see was that lurking tiredness. His eyebrow was twitching, and there was a faint smear of blood lingering on Alastor’s forehead. Vox leaned in closer with a glare. He pushed the cane away.

“Let me get this straight… now you actually want me to fuck you?” He growled incredulously. Alastor’s grin slipped momentarily into an irritated, slightly uncomfortable grimace.

“Now now, no need to be so vulgar. I’m simply suggesting that perhaps I need to be a little more persuasive.” Replied the Radio Demon, his voice still uncharacteristically hoarse. “I’ve already planned the renovations for this office. It would be a shame to shelve them, especially since you’ve already so sweetly begun the demolition work for me.” He sighed. "I may as well hurry things along."

Vox could feel the warmth from Alastor’s face, so tauntingly close to his own. His head was spinning. For the past week, he’d been trying to get this bastard out of his head; force himself to accept that what had happened had been one time only, hadn’t changed anything, and yet here was Alastor… actually suggesting – as far as he could tell, as sincerely as this creepy fuck ever got – that they do it again. And there was something about the facial expression that didn’t match the words – the ears were a little lopsided, like a distressed animal. Vox was too baffled to examine that expression in great detail. He was trying to concentrate on maintaining a glare.

“OK, first of all – you are never getting your shitty hands on my business.” He barked, “And second –“ Vox leaned in closer and lowered his voice, “what if I’m not interested in your stupid triangular deer-ass, huh? You ever think of that? Oh but of course you didn’t, you egocentric ASSHOLE!”

Alastor felt a sudden shock of panic resurge in his chest again; the same feeling he had been trying to subdue since the alleyway, but this time swallowed it back. Having a moment of weakness in an abandoned alleyway was one thing, but allowing Vox to see it was a truly deplorable thought. Something must have slipped past the mask though, as Vox’s glare had mingled with confusion as they stared into each other. Alastor backed off suddenly, all too aware that the Television Demon was scrutinizing him closely. He straightened his lapel, snapped his cane neatly back up into his hand and turned his eyes towards it with a brief clearing of his throat.

“Perfectly fine by me.” He said coolly. “It's not as though I was interested. I suppose I’ll just have to wait a little longer for the inevitable moment you open your flat mouth. Good evening, my man.”

Vox blinked, the anger ebbing from his face as Alastor actually backed away, taking the warmth with him. He watched as the Radio Demon placed the cane firmly on the floor between his feet. He felt a sudden wave of urgency as he saw the shadows begin to coalesce around the red-tipped boots.

Alastor took a moment, deciding where to go. He couldn’t bring this feeling back to the hotel, or to Rosie, but it had been ridiculous to come here. What had possessed him to give in to that nagging thought? It hadn’t even really been a conscious decision. If he wasn’t so preoccupied, he’d be annoyed.

As the shadows began to close in around him and he concentrated on a street in the Doomsday District, there was the sudden creak of a chair.

“Wait.”

The dark swirls of energy evaporated into air as Vox’s voice cut through the stillness. Alastor looked up from his cane and back towards the Television Demon sitting in the chair, a look of calculated indifference fixed to his face.

Vox’s eye was twitching repeatedly. Clearly some furious debate was taking place inside his head. He’d sat forwards again, eyeing the side of Alastor’s face.

The briefest moment passed in silence. Then, Vox’s face darkened. He snorted in anger.

“Oh fuck you.”

A blue fingered hand snatched through the air and wrapped itself around Alastor’s wrist. The Radio Demon tensed, bearing his teeth at the sudden uninvited contact. Vox leaned back again, using his whole body weight to pull the redhead recklessly back towards him. Taken off guard, Alastor practically skidded across the glass-strewn floor.

Vox rammed a leg between his knees as he slid towards him, pulling him frustratedly onto his lap.

Chapter Text

Alastor blinked down as he thudded into Vox’s lap. It had happened so fast that he hadn’t yet had the chance to hide the look of wide-eyed surprise from being flung across the office. Vox’s knee had slid between his as he moved, and Alastor found himself suddenly sitting with a leg either side of the chair, the heels of his boots grazing the floor as he straddled the Television Demon’s waist. The lopsided ears crept just slightly back towards their usual position atop his head.

He snapped his wrist out of Vox’s grip sharply and reversed it, snatching at the dark blue cuff instead. His sharp fingers dug into the fabric in reprisal, and Alastor watched as the frustration on Vox’s face convulsed into a wince.

“I’m hardly the expert,” He hissed venomously, “but might I suggest that your seduction technique could use some work?”

To Alastor’s surprise, Vox’s wince tilted up into a grim smirk. The Television Demon slid his free hand to the small of the redhead’s back and pulled him forwards, locking their hips together tightly. Alastor’s fingertips dug in sharply and his ear twitched at the unexpected contact.

“Heh… it worked on you didn’t it?” Grunted Vox, the triumphant tone of his voice smothered slightly by the pain. Alastor narrowed his eyes and leaned down towards the glowing screen threateningly. “Why else would you even be here?”

“This is purely business, Vox.” pressed the redhead, his tone slightly higher than usual, though still hoarse. “I wouldn’t expect you to know the difference. You never could separate your brain from your other body parts.” Vox’s hand was moving again, trailing back around to Alastor’s chest, heading slowly, savouringly down to his hip. The Radio Demon tensed as the fingers made their way downwards. Being touched this way was still… unsettling.

“Oh yeah? Just business?” Vox replied in a deeply mocking tone. He wrestled his hand out of Alastor’s grip. The sudden movement sent the chair skidding across the floor until it hit the desk with a thud, the heels of the other demon’s boots dragging lightly along the tiles.

“Exactly.”

Vox leaned up, smirking widely now, teeth on display. “Then why the fuck,” he whispered into the Radio Demon’s face, “is that hand there?”

Alastor blinked and froze, startled at the sentence. Vox looked pointedly down at his chest with a look of intense smugness, and very slowly, very reluctantly, Alastor followed his gaze.

Almost as if viewing it from a distance Alastor recognised his own black and red hand, the fingers wrapped tightly into Vox’s striped tank top, the cane trapped between his extended palm and Vox’s chest. He had no memory of placing it there. What was he doing?

The sound of rending cloth tore through the quiet office. Vox let out a grunt of pain and sideswiped Alastor’s arm away furiously. The cane clattered out of his hand and skidded across the room.

“That’s why.”

“Agh you piece of shit!”

Vox’s tank top was ruined, four deep gashes had torn straight through both layers of clothing and a thin trickle of cyan began bleeding into the red. Vox placed a palm to his chest and glared up into Alastor’s face. There was a wicked grin there, offset strangely by the still lopsided ears.

“How many of my suits are you gonna ruin, you prick?” He snarled, watching in fury as Alastor raised his hand up to the light, examining the wet blue blood on his fingertips.

“Hmm… preferably all of them.” the other demon replied, feeling relief that the distraction had worked. He felt Vox’s grip on his hip tighten in anger and his lip twitched in honest amusement. He continued to stare at his fingers as he spoke, feeling Vox’s glare burning into him. “The contract never mentioned clothing, I believe?”

Vox’s face filled with a mingled look of rage and desire, staring up at the nonchalant expression of the demon in his lap. He could feel the angry sting of the fresh scratches on his chest, and the tantalising warmth of Alastor’s hips pressed hard against his. Beyond it all there was the same sense of dizzying bewilderment he’d experienced once before: Al had come back. After over a week of believing he’d never lay hands on the Radio Demon again, here he was sitting in his actual lap, letting Vox touch him. The idea made him feel like every inch of him was on fire.

Vox opened his mouth to retaliate, but found that lust had driven words and even the pain from his mind. Instead he wrapped both arms around Alastor’s back, pulled him roughly down towards him, buried his screen as close to the other demon’s neck as he could and slid his tongue out, running it needily against soft, salty skin.

The Radio Demon’s eyes widened, the grin turning into a fixed look of panic at the sudden change in dynamic, hands frozen in place. He’d felt some level of self control returning to him arguing with the idiot, as practised at it as he was. This was new, unexpected, and extremely bizarre.

And yet... Vox’s tongue was doing something peculiar. He heard the Television Demon let out a moan of enjoyment, the vibrations of it humming against his neck. Vox’s hips were moving slightly against his, the long fingers curled into his back, pricking the skin through his shirt. Alastor’s eyes lidded slowly, reluctantly. He reached past Vox’s buried head and slowly gripped the leather headrest with an absent half-sneer, ears easing slightly upwards with every move of Vox’s hips.

The Television Demon was almost too lost in what he was doing to register Alastor’s change in demeanour, relishing the long-wanted feel of the Radio Demon’s flesh against his; the taste of his skin, but he did feel a small jolt of victory as Alastor’s hips began to react to his movements, and he felt the head tilt reluctantly to make room for Vox’s screen. He pressed his face greedily in to the welcoming space and smiled against the hot skin, listening carefully for the moment Alastor’s breathing hitched. It happened faster than Vox had expected. There was a soft popping sound as the redhead’s claws pierced the leather headrest.

The Television Demon resisted the overwhelming urge to laugh, or make a snide comment. He’d learned from the first time that this was a sure-fire way to turn the asshole back into an ice cube, and the last thing he wanted now was for Al to get up and leave him like this. He didn’t know if he could stand it. He ran his hands up Alastor’s back, feeling the skin twitching at his touch through the shirt and tugged at the inside of the jacket, forcing it down over the redhead’s shoulders.

Alastor tensed. His hips stopped moving; Vox heard him hold his breath. Thinking quickly, Vox opened his mouth and bit down on the Radio Demon’s neck. Not enough to break the skin, but enough hopefully to distract the other demon from pulling away.

It was a gamble. He braced himself for the response: he had no idea if the ploy would work, or just throw Alastor into a full-blown psychopathic rage.

It was with a jolt of absolute mind-numbing shock that he heard the faintest shadow of the thing that had haunted him for over a week: Alastor let out a small, tightly suppressed groan under his breath. One of the Radio Demon’s hands slid away from the headrest and dug itself into Vox’s shoulder painfully tight. Vox felt his own hips move of their own accord at the noise, his eyes squeezing shut, feeling a bizarre tingling inside his head: Al liked it. The twisted fuck actually liked it. He bit down harder and ripped the jacket downwards quickly so that it bunched around Alastor’s elbows.

Alastor was panicking a little to hold on himself, feeling Vox’s sharp teeth digging into his skin and finding shockingly that it had registered as pleasure in his head. An internal battle was taking place silently between the lifelong struggle for control and the need to lose himself in something other than the spiralling madness; but the half-acknowledged reason he’d been drawn here was for this, as much as he hated it: Protected by terms in a contract, safe to let go, able just for the briefest moment to get lost in something other than that crushing feeling that had been building up since he’d sent Husk out to find Corah.

A week or so ago, he was entirely sure he would have simply swallowed it back; let the madness and the rage out in other ways and moved on, but this ridiculous flat-faced idiot had opened a door now; a door that the Radio Demon had found impossible to close, as hard as he’d tried. He found himself moving with Vox against his better judgement, vaguely aware that hands were now trailing up his chest, fumbling at the buttons on his shirt. He was gritting his teeth, trying not to respond to the burning enjoyment of Vox’s teeth in his skin. He could feel the stupid arrogant smirk, the fizzing static against his neck. He closed his eyes and clenched his clawed fingers into Vox’s shoulder in retaliation.

“Fuck.” Hissed Vox against his neck, but didn’t back off to argue. He was half in pain, half in pleasure as he felt Alastor moving down against him; slightly dizzy at the idea that there were no hands on the redhead’s hips to guide him into it this time; the unexpected reaction was simply in response to Vox’s mouth. He felt his teeth finally break skin, red blood dripping over the blue tongue, turning black in the dim light of the office. Alastor growled.

Vox’s fingers finally managed the last button of the other demon’s shirt, as distracted as he was by the intoxicating taste of salt and iron; by the growl reverberating around his chest. Reluctantly he finally lost contact with Alastor’s neck, sat back in the chair, and looked up into the Radio Demon’s face, a smear of blood smudged across his screen and a lustful, lidded smirk on his face.

Alastor’s eyes snapped back open as he felt Vox move backwards and he stared down at the glowing screen with a tight lipped smiling glare. His eye twitched in annoyance at the smug look on the Television Demon’s face and he curled his fingers deeper into the already bleeding shoulder with a snarl.

Vox hissed and glared back, licking the blood from his lips.

“Oh for the love of - I am not a fucking scratch post, you sadistic bastard!” He panted angrily. Alastor’s eyes narrowed and he leaned down as Vox absently slid the open shirt over his shoulders.

“Beg to differ, my dear Vox.” Alastor replied acidly, twisting his fingers in the wound. “It’s clearly the only thing you’re useful for these days.”

There was a pause, both demons panting, glaring deeply into each other. Very slowly, one of Vox’s hands slid back down from Alastor’s collar, fingers spread greedily as they dragged over finally exposed skin and fur. He wanted so desperately to look, to see the result of what his hands had been doing, but he maintained eye contact and felt his way downwards. The part of his brain that wasn’t focused on matching Alastor’s expression was given over entirely to enjoying the feeling of his body under his fingers, relishing the thing that he had wanted for so unbearably long. He sensed his way down to Alastor’s stomach, then lower to the waistband of his pants. Alastor’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his ears flattening as Vox finally slid a hand lower, tracing his fingertips briefly over the obvious bulge. One of Alastor’s eyes lidded, the face darkening as Vox’s lifted into a painful sneer.

“Better make that two things. Or is this ‘just business’, too?”

“...Shut your stupid, flat face.” The redhead managed, horribly aware how empty the words sounded.

Vox couldn’t help but snort, leaning back as he trailed his hand back up to the waistband and slid inside. “Oh yeah. Great comeback, Al.”

And then he swallowed, the sneer slipping a little.

He’d done it again: called Alastor by a nickname that had been out of use for a decade. He cursed inwardly and wrapped his fingers around the Radio Demon’s member.

As expected, Alastor refused to close his eyes, but both to Vox’s giddy surprise and immense satisfaction, the redhead seemed to be having more trouble than last time maintaining that pompous air of indifference. The yellow, pointed teeth had drawn out over his lower lip, an eyebrow was twitching furiously, and Vox could feel the legs either side of him tightening to the outside of the chair in his ridiculous attempt not to show any satisfaction. Vox couldn’t help but close his eyes, losing himself for a moment in the sound of the slowly increasing rate of Alastor’s breath. When he opened them again a moment later, he blinked in amazement.

Finally – fucking finally – the redhead seemed to have given up the fight. His eyes had fluttered shut. He was frowning into the sensation, barely a trace of the normal, stupid shit-eating grin still lingering around his lips. His ears were twitching incessantly atop his head as Vox’s hand slid up and down, still a little uneven, but much less so than when the Television Demon had first noticed it. He was starting to pant, his head beginning to tilt just slightly to the side as the angry red bite on his neck dappled the exposed fur of his chest with dark blood. Vox drank the scene in: Every inch of him seemed to be covered in thin white scars, with one particularly pinkish slash curving diagonally across his chest and abdomen. Vox held his breath, his cock twitching angrily against the confines of his pants. He wanted to look at this all night; stamp it into his memory. Alastor was…

“...fucking beautiful.” he breathed.

The spell broke immediately. Alastor’s eyes snapped wide open again, slightly alarmed, a little confused, but fiery red in the dark room.

“What was that?” he said sharply. Vox blinked away the look of awe in a panic and glared instead.

“Nothing.” he growled back loudly, “I said you’re a prick.” He could see the blue glow of his own face dim a little as it reflected off the other demon’s skin.

Alastor eyed him suspiciously. Vox wasn’t sure how much of what he’d said had actually been heard. “Well keep your fatuous opinions to yourself.”

Furious with both himself and the other demon, Vox let go of Alastor’s member. The Radio Demon ignored the urge to follow the hand, glaring down again as Vox knocked his hand away from his shoulder at last, the blood flowing freely from the wound.

The Television demon gritted his teeth at the pain, taking another look down at his tattered clothes; at the new scratches and bloodstains. He wasn’t sure what else he expected from a freak like Al, but if this happened again he’d have to remember to take his clothes off first.

“What are you doing?” growled the redhead witheringly as Vox slid the jacket from his own shoulders. Vox’s eye twitched.

“What, you expect me to do this in an outfit you fucked up?”

Alastor leaned back, biting back a strange new sensation of impatience as Vox undid his bow-tie and peeled the damaged tank top away from the slick skin.

“I assure you, I have no interest in looking at your deplorable naked body.”

Vox shook the remains of the tank top onto the debris-filled floor. He glared bitterly up into the red eyes.

“Yeah? Well maybe next time you’ll keep your fucking ratty claws off my clothes.”

Alastor leaned forwards again, placing his hands on the arm rests either side of Vox’s waist. He tried to muster an intimidating smile.

“Bold of you to assume there will be a next time, Vox.”

Vox lowered his voice to a gravelly growl and rolled his eyes as he worked at his own shirt buttons. “Oh please. Why can’t you just admit you’re into it?”

The Radio Demon opened his mouth for a vicious reprisal, but suddenly blinked as a pair of blue tipped fingers came into view, hovering just in front of his mouth. A barely contained smirk spread across Vox’s face as he finally slid the shirt from his shoulder, exposing the dark blue skin to warm, still air.

Alastor stared down at the fingers, nonplussed for a moment, then suddenly realised what Vox was silently hinting at. He smiled vindictively and bared his teeth, ears shooting back.

“You must be joking.”

“Oh come on…” He muttered lowly trying to hide the lust-fuelled smirk, “Give me something.”

“The only way those fingers are going in my mouth is if I’m eating you.” he breathed malevolently, pupils contracting. Vox blinked and snatched his fingers away hurriedly, looking alarmed, annoyed, and deeply disappointed.

“You are such a – why can’t you just… fuuuck!” Vox finally groaned in exasperation and took the fingers into his own mouth, working his tongue furiously. He hadn’t expected Alastor to reciprocate the touch – he’d worked out enough now to know that that wasn’t how the bastard operated, but his cock was pressing painfully hard against his pants, brushing maddeningly against the redhead’s groin, and he could feel the impatient need for real contact urging him desperately onwards. He grabbed again at the waistline of Alastor’s pants and dragged them downwards, past his hips until they were tight against Vox’s stomach.

Vox was spurred on by need, but he was anything but stupid. Despite Alastor’s annoyingly volatile front, he had noticed a pattern. He watched the red glowing eyes as he exposed him to the air, and saw the flash of what he had finally worked out – after over a week of reflecting on it - was panic or fear spasm briefly across the snarling face. It was almost satisfying to know that he was starting to understand what made the bastard tick. He returned his grip to Alastor’s cock and began stroking it slowly as he worked his tongue around the fingers in his mouth. The look faded into another deep, concentrating glare. Vox’s expression involuntarily softened just a little.

A few seconds later, the Television Demon extricated the fingers. They shone opalescent and blue in the glare of his face, slick with saliva. He let go of Alastor’s member and slid it up absently to the small of his back. He felt breathless, but leaned up close to the other demon and muttered thickly:

“Remember, Al: Relax.”

Alastor seemed to bite his tongue. Perhaps there was some retort he was holding back. Vox slid his fingers between the splayed legs, his palm brushing the Radio Demon’s groin as he moved. He positioned the two slick fingers underneath him, feeling the heat of Alastor’s skin against his bare, dark blue arm, locked eyes with the pools of red in the half light, and almost teasingly slowly slid them inside. He saw the muscles in Alastor’s neck quiver and tense.

It was easier this time, but not by much. The redhead’s walls still felt incredibly tight around his fingers, and they spasmed intensely as Vox pushed deeper. He watched hungrily as the teeth dug in to the lower lip again, the glare strained as Alastor tried to keep his eyes from closing. Vox could hear the creak of leather as the red clawed fingers dug surreptitiously into the arm rests; hear the chair itself groan as the Radio Demon’s legs tensed either side of him. For once though, he chose not to open his mouth, instead enjoying the effect that Alastor was now clearly trying so hard to hide.

Both of them were all but silent now. Vox could see the chest moving heavily in the blue light, the eyes twitching as he experimentally nudged his fingertips into the hot, quivering muscles, but not once did Alastor close his eyes, or groan, or rock against him. The Television Demon wondered vaguely just how long he could do this before the stoic bastard snapped.

And then Vox stretched his fingers out.

The Radio Demon arched forwards instinctively, eyes finally squeezing shut at the unexpected change. He let out a pant, coming to within an inch of Vox’s face, shoulders hunched tightly. Before the other demon could stop it he found himself leaning into it, resting his forehead against Alastor’s, lidded eyes darting across the sudden expression as if trying to memorise it before it could change back. Vox kept moving, fingers stretching against twitching muscle, desperate to finish the job; to feel those muscles around his own painfully throbbing member. He saw a dark red drip fall from the Radio Demon’s chin, landing hot and wet on his bare and already bloody chest: the idiot had bit his lip again.

It was a moment before Alastor regained his composure, licking the blood from his lip and narrowing his eyes at Vox as if he’d insulted him. Vox sighed silently; resentfully: he’d hoped it would last a little longer. On the other hand, he was becoming more and more confused as this encounter went on by how much more quickly Alastor was reacting to him. Not that he was complaining in the least, it was simply… unexpected.

It seemed an unbearably long age to Vox as he waited for the muscles to finally stop resisting his presence. He recorded vaguely that yet another chair of his was suffering under Alastor’s fingertips. He could hear the leather tearing either side of him, just glad that Al was taking his tension out on the furniture instead of Vox’s already stinging flesh.

Finally, biting his own lip in expectation, unable to hide the lustful smirk, Vox removed his fingers. He watched the resultant shudder vibrate in Alastor’s exposed, scarred stomach. Without waiting, he unbuttoned his own pants and slid them swiftly down, wincing as the ache in his groin intensified, his member finally free and painfully hard. He grabbed Alastor’s jutting hips and pulled him forward, feeling the unexpectedly soft fur against his stomach, lining himself up.

“Al-”

“If you tell me,” came Alastor’s voice from above him, the tone sharp but breathy, “one more time to relax, I’ll-”

Vox groaned and rolled his eyes. “Oh for once would you just shut your fucking face?”

Alastor’s lips slid back to reveal his teeth in anger, but at the same moment Vox tugged his hips downward. The Television Demon felt the briefest moment of infuriating resistance, then the hips relaxed, Alastor conceded to the insistent tugging, and with a hiss of long awaited pleasure, Vox finally felt the other demon slide onto him.

Alastor felt the rush of blood pound through his head as Vox pulled him down; felt the pain as his muscles resisted the twitching member slowly sliding into him.

This whole time, he had been torn between the need for relief, and the angry insistence not to let Vox know it. It was perverse and ironic that that split second decision in an alleyway halfway across town had led him straight here, but any thoughts he might have had about backing out slipped away from him as he felt Vox push deeper. This new position felt different; those strange sensations he remembered from last time even more intense. Disturbingly even the discomfort felt like pouring water over the fire in his head.

His already bared teeth locked tight together, he screwed his eyes shut, unable to resist it even though he knew Vox was watching. The soft sound of splintering glass broke the near silence as his heels dug hard into the tiled floor either side of the chair.

Vox had repressed the memory over the past week, so he had forgotten how intensely tight the redhead had been the first time; how impossibly hot. His eyes glazed over as the ache in his groin grew almost unbearable. His face was screwed up in concentration, desperately trying to control the urge to simply slam the Radio Demon down onto him as he saw the anger on Alastor’s face transform. Tilted forwards, shadowed by the hanging red bangs though it was, the eyes closed and frowning, Vox could actually see pleasure slipping through into that normally vindictive face. A self satisfied half-smirk flickered briefly over his screen. Their hips connected.

Vox continued to pull needfully for a moment, desperate to bury himself as deep inside the other demon as he could, to feel as much of Alastor as he could while he had him here. He let out a low growl of pleasure as he felt the Radio Demon’s own member twitch against his stomach.

“You… have to move.” muttered Vox. Alastor peered an eye open, resentment suddenly flaring up in his slightly bleary eye.

“...And feed that... fat ego?” Alastor forced between his teeth quietly. “Never.”

Vox’s eyes lidded. His hips twitched instinctively. Alastor held back a hiss. There was a pounding sensation already growing in the Radio Demon’s stomach; an almost irresistible urge to rock, to slam himself down into Vox’s lap, to completely let himself go, but as far gone as he was he couldn’t bear to give the other demon that level of satisfaction.

“It’s… the position!” managed Vox. “We both have to. Unless you wanna... fuck on broken glass you twisted freak?”

Alastor stayed silent. He appeared to be thinking, even as his muscles continued to shiver around him. Vox glared up at him, brow knotted in frustration as the other demon stayed resolutely stationary. He didn’t know what to do with himself – his groin felt on fire, his legs were quaking against Alastor’s thighs. He growled, eyes rolling back in his head in desperation and he heard his own voice uttering words he never would have dreamt of saying out loud:

“Shit…” he breathed, “Al… Please. Please just move.”

Vox’s face contorted in shock as he realised what had slipped out. He looked up into the half-shadowed face and saw a distinct glimmer of amusement filter past the glazed eye. Vox braced himself for a mocking reply, or some sadistic refusal.

But something else happened instead.

There was a brief painful pause. Alastor’s member twitched faintly against the blue skin. Vox felt the Radio Demon shift his hips slightly, and very slowly, almost grudgingly, he began to rock down into Vox’s lap.

Vox pushed his head back further into the headrest at the sudden, burning friction and groaned lowly, hands moving back to Alastor’s hips, clutching at them as he battled to dictate the rhythm. He pushed up in time, forcing himself into the other demon as deeply as he could bear, and feeling the hot slick muscles quivering around him as the chair rocked backwards with a crunch against the desk.

Alastor was now slipping steadily with every jolt upwards of the other demon’s hips; every electrified nerve Vox ground himself slowly into. He was trying to maintain some sliver of dominance with his own rhythm, choosing the pace in spite of Vox’s arrogant attempt at control. He could still feel the burn of Vox buried inside him, but he couldn’t ignore the urge to move any longer. He’d suffered enough pain through both of his lifetimes to be able shrug it to the back of his mind.

His hands moved from the shredded armrests and hooked themselves tightly in Vox’s shoulders, using them as leverage as he pushed down insistently, still ignoring Vox’s hands. The change of angle exposed new, sensitive nerves to the other demon’s reach. The ears tilted forwards towards Vox and he bowed his head, the smile drawn tight and painful across his lips. He could feel his fingers starting to shake as they dug into Vox’s shoulder blades, but he was beyond the point of trying to conceal it. He loathed the very idea that Vox was able to see him like this, but tonight – mentally exhausted and spiralling – a deep, half acknowledged part of him... needed it.

Vox growled in agitation. Alastor’s pace was unpracticed, unsteady; far slower than his desperate groin would like, and almost punishingly rough.

“Just let me-”

“You… wanted me to move.” came the immediate retort, thin and hoarse, but still faintly malevolent. He raised an eyebrow. “I’m moving.”

Vox chewed his tongue in desperation and groaned. The look on Alastor’s face was both incensing and incredibly erotic. Vox snatched one hand away and reached for Alastor’s member again, wrapping his hand tight around it and pumping him to the rhythm he was trying to set. Vox was sure Alastor knew what he was trying to do: The redhead’s teeth shone out from behind his lips menacingly, the eyes narrowed, and yet a moment later with a final vicious scratch at Vox’s shoulder, the eyebrow lowered, the glare became taut and Alastor finally conceded to Vox’s desperate attempts to lead the rhythm.

Vox’s eyes rolled in relief as they finally picked up pace. He let go of Alastor’s member and felt a flicker of pleasure when the other demon’s hips gave a minute tilt forwards, seeking the lost contact.

The Radio Demon’s fingers were still locked cruelly into midnight blue flesh as Vox rocked up into him, but Vox was almost used to it now. He was far more interested in relishing every microexpression, every reluctant twitch, every raw, panting breath he could hear Alastor making beyond his own. He was practically watching the bastard melt. With each slam upwards into the other demon’s body, Vox could see the smile twitching lower, the back arching forwards, the ears tilting towards him in the blue glow as if seeking him out. Even the narrowed eyes were beginning to take on a hazy, distant expression. Eventually Alastor had arched so far forwards that they were locked bodily together. Vox could feel hot sticky fur rest against his chest, feel Alastor’s leaking, twitching member grinding against his abdomen with each slam of their hips.

It was Vox’s turn to tense. He was frowning up at that painfully perfect expression, waiting for the annoying, predictable switch to flick in Alastor’s head – the one that would make those eyes snap wide, the hips to stop. And it did. The Radio Demon surveyed the new position and faltered, ears beginning to slip back on his head again.

Vox panicked. The loss of friction felt like torture. His cock was twitching painfully, his fingers digging bruisingly into the suddenly stationary hips. Instinctively he wrapped both arms up around Alastor’s back, almost as though to stop him pulling away. He buried his screen in the other demon’s chest with a needy groan and dragged Alastor down onto his aching groin.

The Radio Demon’s eyes lidded reluctantly. When he’d come here looking for relief, he hadn’t expected this level of physical contact. Last time he’d been here, Vox had been close out of necessity, and almost completely wrapped up in his own pleasure. This time he was naked, Vox was running his fingers over bare skin, and seemed infuriatingly interested in watching him. It was unsettling, and yet – as jarring and uncomfortable as the thought was – it wasn’t entirely... unpleasant.

Vox opened his mouth against Alastor’s chest and groaned again. If there had been words in it, Alastor knew it would have been a plea.

The sound sent an unexpected shudder down the Radio Demon’s back. The red eyes slid shut. Vox made another noise, more furious, more desperate, and jerked his hips up. Alastor’s lip gave a vaguely sinister twitch.

If the redheaded demon had been in a less desperate mental state, he imagined he could have enjoyed sitting there for a while, listening to Vox growing ever more needy, teasing the impatient imbecile into madness; but he was too far gone for that now. Vox dug his own fingers in furiously to Alastor’s back as the stillness continued, grinding himself hard up against the Radio Demon’s insides, sending shocks of fire up the other demon’s spine. He dragged his teeth against the skin, the long blue tongue flicking against the reddening flesh in a desperate attempt to make him move again. Alastor felt his back arch in reluctant pleasure at the sudden onslaught of sensations, the static prickling his skin. He suddenly felt feverish as one of Vox’s hands slid down and tugged angrily at his tail. He couldn’t hold off any longer – the idiot had somehow worked out how to manipulate every nerve in his body all at once.

Every thought in Alastor’s head slowly burned away into fire. He screwed his eyes tightly shut and began slamming himself furiously down against Vox. The last shadow of restraint had crumbled to dust.

Vox was taken off guard at the sudden shift. Alastor was moving again at last, but differently now, less annoyingly reserved. He adjusted as swiftly as he could, latching on to the salty skin gratefully with a loud moan. He was beyond any idea of gloating, too relieved to be put out of his misery; too desperate to keep the bastard moving exactly like this to open his mouth and ruin it. He gripped harder to the tuft of fur at the base of Alastor’s spine and yanked it downwards with every thrust.

Alastor’s hips began to roll instinctively in response, seeking more pressure, pushing Vox’s member brutally against his muscles. Vox’s heart jolted as he realised Alastor’s legs were actually curling away from the floor in pleasure, locking strenuously around his own legs on the chair. Vox’s eyes flickered, rolling in ecstasy behind his closed lids as he groaned. Alastor’s back began to arch away from him.

Vox couldn’t help himself. More than anything he wanted to see Alastor’s face now that he’d given up the stupid facade. He backed away from the angry reddened skin on Alastor’s chest and tilted his head upwards, forcing his eyes open.

What he saw made him lose his breath.

His bleary eyes filled with lust and awe: There was no pretence left. Any doubt that Vox had the first time they’d done this shattered in a second. Alastor’s face was almost painfully intense, his eyes screwed shut, mouth hanging open with his teeth bared. He was panting furiously as they moved together, occasionally letting out a very quiet moan. His back was slowly arching away from the chair, his head tilting towards the ceiling so that Vox could see the veins in his neck throbbing. His hands still tore at the pinpricks in Vox’s shoulders and his thighs were shuddering around Vox’s own quaking legs.

He’d thought that the first time with Alastor had been the most insanely perfect experience he’d ever have, but he was wrong. Seeing the cold bastard like this was mind blowing.

The Television Demon lost all self awareness, the vision of Alastor lost in pleasure he was causing seemed to have short circuited his brain. He leaned forwards and buried his face in his chest again, slamming himself even harder up against the Radio Demon’s jerking hips, clawing his back downwards in time, dragging at the twitching tail all at once.

“F-fuck.” He groaned into the fur, frowning; barely aware that he was even speaking. “You have... no idea how... fucking perfect you are, do you?”

Alastor wasn’t even capable of thought any more. He didn’t want to think, that was the point. He had thrown himself into this to escape thinking, and now he was acting on instincts he’d never used before; seeking out sensations he’d never paid even a passing interest in. If he had been thinking, he would have found it all highly confusing and very unsettling, but he was too far gone to even form those kinds of ideas. All he felt was… relief.

The pace was almost impossibly hard now, Vox’s hips were screaming with the effort of arching them up, the chair was hammering into the desk as they moved. Alastor’s short, subdued moans were echoing around the dark room. He was unable and unwilling to concentrate on his usual stoic silence. Vox was grunting with effort, panting against the Radio Demon’s chest, lips latched on hard as he felt the burning begin to grow in his own stomach, partly in response to the sudden noises he’d finally elicited from the other demon. He had just enough of himself left to let go of Alastor’s back. He forced his hand between their twitching stomachs, grabbed Alastor’s slick wet penis, and began stroking it furiously.

The redhead went rigid almost immediately, still forcing himself downwards at a desperate pace, relishing the pain of it as his muscles clenched unbearably tight around Vox. The other demon opened his mouth and groaned furiously into Alastor’s chest as he felt the flesh under his rough moving fingertips begin to quiver.

Vox gritted his teeth one last time and slammed upwards as hard as he could, feeling the burning pleasure in the pit of his stomach spreading urgently. Alastor’s back arched impossibly far, coming dangerously close to pulling both of them backwards. Vox moved his other hand from the tail in a panic and snapped it up to the middle of Alastor’s back, supporting him as he let loose one final, hoarse moan from between suddenly clenched teeth, eyes screwed violently shut. He began to buck wildly against Vox’s lap, and hot sticky warmth splattered hard against the dark blue stomach, continuing to drip thickly down the still pumping fingers.

Vox let out a final gasp and raised his hips physically away from the chair, pushing himself as deep into the other demon as he could as that last, loud moan pushed him over the edge. Without thinking, he pulled Alastor out of the arch and brought him suddenly forwards, crushing them together as he came almost painfully hard against Alastor’s still contracting muscles. His hips bucked upwards frantically for a few seconds more, feeling his own seed dripping down his legs.

He uncurled his fingers slowly from Alastor’s cock as the orgasm subsided at last. The redhead’s entire body was tense, and Vox suddenly grunted as Alastor collapsed entirely on top of him, burying his face in Vox's ruined, bloody shoulder as the vicious claws finally lost their grip and fell loosely to either side of the chair. 

The Television Demon's nerves were still humming, his head light. He let out a silent, deeply satisfied sigh and pulled Alastor absently closer, wrapping both hands around the small of his back. He was trying not to think about what would happen when the Radio Demon recovered. He could deal with that inevitable shit show later.

 He rested his head up against Alastor's shoulder and breathed him in, listening to the slowly subsiding breaths next to his head.

Chapter Text

Bright, warming sunlight shone through the shuttered windows and into the small bedroom as Alastor raised the tin jug and poured the contents into the wash basin. He removed his spattered spectacles, folded them up neatly, and placed them on the bedside table. Outside, he heard signs of the city coming to life – hooves thudding against the dirt road, the chatter of french-speaking voices passing on the sidewalk, and the distant sound of a ship’s horn echoing through the streets from the dock. All of it seemed far away; disconnected. He was chilled to the bone, and so very tired.

Alastor lowered his small hands into water. It was icy cold, stinging his already aching fingers, but he pushed them down to the bottom anyway and pressed them there, watching vacantly as the blood began to spiral slowly outwards from his dark, splattered skin.

The blood was bothering him less these days. He no longer struggled not to vomit on the long walk home. He could block out the sickly, rancid smell. He no longer had to hold back tears; but he still dreaded that moment when the front door opened: the look in maman’s face as he was marched into the kitchen for her inspection. It made him feel dirty, ashamed. He wanted to run to his room and hide it from her, but his father always kept a tight grip on his arm until he decided it was enough.

He heard the front door slam and looked up. The familiar tall shadow passed in front of the window and the heavy footsteps slowly faded until they merged with the general din of the waking city. His shoulders relaxed a little.

Alastor picked up the sliver of soap and began to scrub away the congealed splatters of red. He took the time to wash away every drop, every smear, scrubbing hard until his skin was sore. By the time he had finished, the white bowl was almost black with gore.

He poured a little clean water from the jug over his spectacles and rubbed them clean on his blanket. He changed out of his filthy suit, hid it deep under the bed, and pulled on the fresh clothes his mother had left hanging on the bedpost. Using the inky surface of the water in the bowl as a mirror, his deep brown eyes roved across his face, double checking for any spots he may have missed. He picked up the comb at the side of the basin and neatened his messy hair.

Alastor could hear her humming as he walked along the narrow, wood-lined corridor towards the parlour. It was a piece of ragtime music – her favourite tune. He could feel the warm breeze coming from the open windows; smell the coal and horses from outside in the street. He hesitated at the doorway and checked the buttons on his shirt were done up correctly, straightened his collar, and walked in.

She was standing with her back to him, her hair covered as it always was with a light linen scarf. Her tight brown curls peeked out from the back and caught the sunlight as she stood at the open window, using the natural light to darn a button onto a large, dark overcoat. Alastor took a step towards her.

His mother stopped humming abruptly and turned to look at the door. When her eyes fell on him she smiled warmly and placed the overcoat over the back of the chair.

“Ah, bonjour, mon petit Ange.” She said brightly. One of her eyes was slightly swollen. She swept over towards him and leaned down, running her hand affectionately through his hair. “My, don’t you look handsome today.”

Alastor looked up at her and smiled weakly. She always did this after a hunt – pretended that she was greeting him for the first time; that she hadn’t seen him paraded in front of her covered in sweat and gore. Her brown eyes flickered across his face for a moment, her smile faltered, and she leaned forwards and planted a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m glad you got dressed so smartly, my dear, we have a busy day ahead of us.” she said softly and stood up. “But first… breakfast?”

Alastor nodded and sidled into one of the chairs at the table. “Can we have cornbread?”

His mother placed a finger to her chin and tapped it, pretending to think. “Well… I was going to throw you a royal banquet…”

“...with jesters?” interrupted the boy, sitting up from his slump and smiling a little wider. His mother tilted her head back and laughed.

“Of course with jesters! What kind of royal banquet doesn’t have jesters, Alastor?”

“And ...and a band!”

She blinked, looking amused but puzzled. “A… band?”

Alastor nodded a little too enthusiastically. His smartly combed brown hair fell down across his face. “Yes, maman – like the one we saw in the French Market last week. A band with a… a trumpet and a piano!”

Alastor’s mother gave him an affectionate smile, eyes twinkling as she turned towards the kitchen door.

“OK, mon ange – you can have a royal banquet with jesters and a ragtime band.” She paused with her hand on the door and turned to look at him. “But since you already asked for cornbread… let’s do that tomorrow.”

____

Alastor, despite being so tired, watched her carefully while they ate together. He always worried on these mornings that seeing him covered in blood would change what she thought of him; make her love him less. But no matter how hard he looked, the smile never faded. Even when she winced, or touched her swollen eye, she would look back at him and the joy would spark back into her face.

“You should eat, little one. I’m going to need you strong to help me today. We need ingredients for dinner.”

Alastor looked down at his half-eaten breakfast. A question had been growing as he watched her. He leaned back from the table with a thoughtful frown and shuffled on the chair. His mother’s face fell a little.

“...maman.” He started uncertainly, still staring down at the plate, “...how… I mean… why -”

He didn’t know how to ask without making her sad. She leaned in close and brushed his hair out of his face. He looked up at her and swallowed.

“Why do you smile even when bad things happen?”

There was a pause. Alastor saw his mother’s eyes glimmer a little in the sunlight. She reached out and wrapped her arm around him, pulling him into a tight hug and burying her face in his hair.

“Maybe you make me smile.” he heard her say. Her voice sounded strange.

“But-”

“Shhhh.”

The boy closed his eyes as she hugged him tighter. A moment later she spoke again, slowly.

“...A smile is a shield, mon ange. There are people in this world who would like nothing more than to cause us pain and see us suffer. They try to find the things that hurt us, and use them against us. When we smile, they can’t see the pain they cause. They don’t know what hurts us. It protects us. Understand?”

Alastor blinked slowly as he listened to his mother’s voice intoning comfortingly above his head. He nodded. She backed away, holding him by the shoulders gently.

The boy took in a deep breath, swallowed, and moved his features determinedly up into a smile. It felt strange to force it to stay there, but somehow he felt a little braver. She was right - it felt like a shield. He saw the joy return to his mother’s dark brown eyes in response.

“There. Doesn’t that feel a little better?” She reached out and cupped his cheek. “I wish you would never stop smiling, Alastor. Seeing you smile is the only thing I need in the world.”

They started to talk about other things – about the band they’d seen in the market last week, about the steamers Alastor had seen pulling into the port, and about what they’d need to make the jambalaya for dinner.

The entire time, Alastor ignored the tiredness, the ache in his arms and fingers, and smiled.

Chapter Text

Vox’s mind was drifting as he buried his face vacantly into Alastor’s shoulder. He could hear the Radio Demon’s breaths beside him, and a memory – a memory that a fully conscious Vox had always shoved angrily away – was playing behind his eyes.

An extremely drunk Al – smeared in blood, smiling contentedly, and fast asleep with his head on Vox’s bewildered lap after a messy night on the town. Vox had spent an hour just listening to him breathe.

He was still completely lost in Alastor’s warmth; the smell of him; the feel of damp, shivering skin under his clutching fingers. He could feel Alastor’s entire – if stupidly skinny – frame draped over his stinging chest, and the still slightly ragged breaths against his wounded shoulder. The Radio Demon’s sweat was burning against the bloody scratches, but Vox had no urge to shove him away.

“...You ok?” he heard himself say. He felt Alastor move against his shoulder.

“...shut up, Vox.” came an absent drawl at his ear. Vox’s lip twitched.

The warm glow began to fade. Vox’s smile sagged. He frowned into the slightly downy skin and forced the memory away. He hadn’t willingly thought about that in years.

He was exhausted: he’d spent the last week consumed by work, trying – and failing – to put this asshole out of his mind, never expecting to see him in this office again. Now Al was here, almost completely naked, and laying on top of him.

Seeing Alastor give in to anything he did would have normally been enough to feed his ego for months. But this encounter had been… different. Alastor had completely let go – he’d seen it. He’d felt it. It had been fucking incredible. And he’d just had what he was pretty sure was one of the best orgasms he’d had in either of his lives, and there had been a lot of those. 

It had been intense. Way more intense than he’d ever intended. He'd never wanted to let that much of himself show. 

He vaguely remembered saying something. What was it?

His eyes flew open against Al’s shoulder; a wide-eyed grimace sliding up one side of his face as he stared up at the black tiled ceiling. His stomach dropped painfully. Had he really said that? Fuck.

It had been so fucking easy to force himself to hate Alastor when they were fighting. But now he could hear the bastard breathing next to him, his breaths subsiding into a slow, steady rhythm. Vox gritted his teeth and continued to stare painfully at the ceiling, the glare of his screen catching the edges of one of the broken lightbulbs, illuminating it in a blue, neon glow. He slid his hands up Alastor’s warm back, feeling the scars under his fingers.

He just hoped to Hell that Alastor hadn’t heard him.

The Radio Demon’s leg slid from the chair as he regained his breath, dangling over Vox’s still twitching thigh so that his boot hung barely an inch above the glass strewn floor. Every muscle he had was burning. He could still feel his heart beating thunderously in his chest. He was vaguely aware of Vox’s warm palms pressed into his scar-shredded back, and the hazy static of the screen against his skin, but there was no inner resistance; no discomfort at the touch. Vox was warm, and peculiarly comfortable, and after a week of slowly sinking, Alastor’s head was finally, perfectly empty. His tightly closed eyes relaxed, the almost painful grimace of pleasure fading until the smile was almost gone. He let out a long, silent breath and let the last of his weight fall into the demon underneath him, sinking into the warmth.

It took a few moments for that sense of stillness to fade; until Alastor began to think again. He kept his face buried in Vox’s bloody shoulder, aching, not ready to sit up. The thought that had invaded his head in that alleyway had worked – Vox had, rather ironically, given him exactly what he needed. He was thinking clearly for the first time in days. But now that the tightness and the growing anger had gone, all he felt was a deep, painful sense of exhaustion. And emptiness.

He’d come here expecting a repeat of the first time: An annoyingly egotistical Television Demon, intent on eliciting any reaction he could from Alastor, but it hadn’t turned out quite that way. Vox hadn’t been his smug, arrogant new self. The Radio Demon’s brow knotted, the smile becoming fixed on his face again. The first time hadn't been a fluke, as much as he had wanted it to be. It had been… disturbingly enjoyable to let everything go. It had been a relief. The first real relief he'd probably had since he was a stupid, weak little child.

He hated the fact that the idiot was still so comfortable after all this time.

It would be so treacherously easy to fall asleep here, but that was out of the question. Once, it had been a matter of course to fall asleep next to or even on Vox, but that wasn’t the case any more. It hadn’t been the case for over ten years. Vox had no way of taking advantage of his tiredness in here, but there was an entire tower outside that door that their little contract didn’t cover. He needed to get back to the hotel.

But the feel of Vox's hands on his back was... comforting.

Alastor's eyes shot open as the thought registered in his head. That was ludicrous - with anyone, but especially with Vox. This was just a convenient way to clear his head. Nothing more.

There was no wild panic this time; no desperate need to escape the other demon’s presence (which in itself was deeply troubling), but he was too exhausted to deal with Vox's arrogance, and this entire situation had filled him with an unexpected, slightly alarming sense of confusion.

Vox tensed as Alastor sat up slowly in his lap with a bitten-back groan. He let go of his back, reluctantly releasing the bare skin from under his fingers. Alastor’s visibly tired red eyes locked with his momentarily, a cold smile fixed to his face again. Vox examined the expression warily, looking for a crack; some indication of what was going on behind that stupid smile and whether what he’d said had been heard, but there was nothing. He may as well have been staring at a blank screen.

“I… believe our business is concluded.” The redheaded demon said with a forced tone of dispassion. He slid off Vox’s lap with a suppressed wince and stood, pulling his pants back up as swiftly as he could.

Vox grimaced as he watched the Radio Demon turn away from him, feeling the cold in the air now that Alastor’s warmth had slipped away. He’d been half expecting this after the first time. The prick was so predictable. He could see the movement as Al started to button up his shirt, covering the bloody bite mark and the thin white scars.

“...So that’s it huh?” Vox found himself saying, hearing the bitterness in his own voice. “Business over, you’re just gonna crawl back to that shitty hotel, looking like that?”

Alastor’s ear flicked backwards, as if batting away something. Vox could see him fumbling slightly with his buttons. “Do you really think I’d stay in this eyesore of a tower any longer than necessary?”

The pixelated mouth thinned.

“Fine, you miserable old prick!” he snapped, anger flaring unexpectedly. He leaned forwards on the chair with his fists clenched. “Go back looking like shit! I’m sure your fucking loser of a princess will have plenty of questions!”

Alastor turned away and started walking slightly unsteadily across the debris-scattered floor, paying no more mind to Vox than if he was another piece of broken furniture. He leaned down awkwardly to retrieve his cane, snatching it up with his long fingers. Vox sucked on his teeth and sat back, the angry glare fading into annoyance as he stared at the Radio Demon’s retreating back. He sighed heavily. 

“Fuck. Look Al-"

The Radio Demon's voice cut him off.

“Stop calling me by that ridiculous name.” Came the now static-filled voice. The tone was cold, almost bored. Alastor rose to his full height, now fully dressed, if a little dishevelled, and holding the red-topped cane between his fingertips. Vox could still see sweat clinging to his face, traces of Vox’s cyan blood on his cheek, and a deep look of exhaustion sitting in his tired eyes. “You lost the right to call me that a very long time ago.” Alastor’s eyes glinted in the half-light. “...Or have you forgotten, old pal?”

Vox blinked as the words struck him. His stomach seemed to fill with ice cold water as Alastor stared at him. Maybe he was imagining it – he was exhausted and bewildered after all - but Vox was beginning to read the Radio Demon's micro expressions, and despite the casual, offhanded tone, for the first time ever he realised there was actual hurt hiding behind the cold smile.

And then Alastor was gone, melting suddenly into shadow. The red eyes and the cold smile were the last things to fade. Vox could still see the after burn of them in his retinas long after the real Alastor had vanished.