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One would think that certain bodily functions wouldn’t be necessary for sinners to have in Hell of all places. However, things like hygiene, sleeping enough, getting hungry or feeling full, and even needing to use the bathroom still carried into the afterlife. Perhaps that’s just another way of punishing sinners, making them have to obey their body’s commands even in death. After all, who’d enjoy being ruled by their autonomy? Alastor himself didn’t mind most of it honestly. The closest he really cared is when faint traces of arousal would wisp through his veins when he’d prefer it didn’t. Sex isn’t something he cares about or looks for and it can be quite annoying when his body tries to go against his mind in such a way. That’s not to say he’s never fulfilled his body’s desires before, though. In fact, his current captor is the only one he’s ever experimented with although that had been decades ago at this point.
Now he’s newly finding that there’s another bodily function that can be quite irritating, at least in these circumstances. Being paraded around like a toy and made to watch that stupid television engage in coitus had already caused a tension along his temples, but now he’s faced with another issue that just adds to his exasperation. In short, his bladder is feeling quite uncomfortable. The cables are still encircling his body as he sits in the tacky chair and he’s not sure when Vox will be back to let him relieve himself. After Val’s suggestive comment about them—if only that moth knew of their history—Vox had hastily shoved the bug and himself outside the room, a blush covering his face as he yelled at the other how “it’s not like that!”
Even though it totally used to be.
It’s been an hour or so since then and the quiet of the room and his own looming thoughts only make his issue harder to ignore. Earlier he hacked into Vox’s speakers to play an old jazz tune to keep himself preoccupied but that only helped for an allotted amount of time. Now he’s back to just listening to the way his own static bustles around him as he subtly shifts his body a bit to relieve the ache down below. Luckily within the next half hour the door opens once again, light from the halls shining through as well as the natural blue glow from Vox’s screen. He looks tired, as though he had just finished some arduous task, although his demeanor changes as soon as his eyes land on Alastor’s tied-up form. It’s like a switch was flipped, his squinted eyes enlarging on his screen, sharp teeth on display as he grins.
“Sorry to have left you by yourself for so long, Al,” he says in a way that’s obvious he’s not actually apologetic. “Hope you didn’t miss me too much!”
Alastor just rolls his eyes, the absurdity of the words making him hum noncommittedly. “Well, now that you’re done frolicking around, perhaps you can untie me so I can get ready for bed. Today’s been quite tiring, after all.“
The TV demon makes his way over to his prisoner—just the word makes his blood run hot—and stands in front of him with his arms crossed as he listens to the other’s response. He makes a show of pretending to think it over, shifting his weight from side to side. His face almost looks innocent as he faux-ponders before it’s replaced once again with that devious smirk that he’s known for. “Yeah, nope!” he replies haughtily, the cables around the redhead suddenly tightening. Bending at the waist, he leans his flat head in close to leer at Alastor. “So eager to stop the fun! You really are an old man, huh? What, is it past your bedtime or something?”
Red eyes narrow at the words. Normally Alastor would brush his rival off quite easily but with everything that’s happened today and his current bladder problem his patience is quite thin at the moment. However he’d rather not outright tell the other his issue since that’d most likely make Vox even more likely to deny his access to the bathroom. There needs to be tact. “Perhaps I just know when to close the curtain, chum. You on the other hand still overindulge in everything you do. You’re still like a pathetic kid in that way.”
Digital eyebrows furrow in indignation and that’s all the warning Alastor has before a cyan-clawed hand lunges out and grabs him by the hair on the crown of his head, a jolt of electricity lighting up all of his nerves at once. The voltage isn’t as high as it was earlier in the night but he still finds the breath taken from him for a brief moment, as much as he hates to admit it. His own glare deepens as he keeps himself from panting and it’s only then that he realizes how much more uncomfortable his lower regions feel now.
“Careful what you say, Alastor, or I’ll make sure you regret it,” Vox threatens, his left eye spiraling hypnotically as anger has overtaken his features.
Understanding that pissing the man off isn’t going to work in his favor this time, Alastor changes his approach, not wanting to be shocked again and lose control of his bladder. “Fine,” he grits out, eyes flashing to show he’s also unhappy. “I still want to get ready for bed, though. Then I’ll entertain whatever nonsensical whims you still have left to explore with me.” He once again shifts in his seat to where he’s not slumped as much, not wanting to put too much pressure onto his bladder.
It’s times like these that Vox truly shows how smart he can be. As childish and gaudy as he appears at times, underneath it all is someone whose perception and attention to detail rivals Alastor’s own levels. He didn’t become as powerful as he is now by chance and there’s no doubt his cleverness and manipulation tactics from being a cult leader in life continued into the afterlife. He’s aware of himself, of his surroundings, and the cogs in his brain do work well despite how silly and quick to anger he can get. It’s those things that culminates in Vox’s eyes widening in realization after a few moments of silence. Perhaps if Alastor hadn’t moved the way he did it would’ve been harder for Vox to put the pieces together but there’s no turning back now.
“Holy shit, Al,” he begins, shock fading back into a sneer, “do you need to piss? Is that what this is about?” When he receives no reply from the other, he lets go of Alastor’s hair to slap his hand on his leg as he barks out a laugh. Alastor’s ears pin back at both the volume and his displeasure at being found out. It’s not that he’s embarrassed, per se, but he believes toilet matters aren’t supposed to be discussed with others. It’s simply distasteful and he already knew Vox would mock him about it.
“Well go ahead, buddy! I’m not stopping you,” Vox continues, hand traversing in front of them and off to the side in one fluid movement as though telling a performer the stage is theirs.
Realizing what Vox is asking him to do, Alastor’s hackles raise, bursts of static angrily popping around him as his sclera shifts from red to black. “A b s o l u t e l y n o t.” The words are so heavily filtered that it's almost hard to make out what was even said.
Unperturbed by the deer’s showy behavior, the TV demon just plays a laugh track in the air as he saunters over to his desk to grab the bottle of whiskey he had poured from earlier. “No need to be like that, Al. I’m being kind, aren’t I? You need to go, so go.”
He takes a large chug straight from the bottle as he walks back over to Alastor, purposely letting rivulets of alcohol escape his mouth to drip down his screen and neck, the fabric of his collar darkening from wetness. He can feel Alastor’s eyes transfixed on him and just knows by the way the other’s breathing picks up that his teasing is working. Kicking it up a notch, he mindlessly lets some spill onto the floor as he circles around the chair Alastor’s sitting in, his free hand resting on the man’s shoulder, claws pinpricking through the red coat.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just let go. Stop being so tense.” With that, his arm reaches past Alastor’s head to allow some of the whiskey to stream into Alastor’s lap, the sudden heavy splash making him jerk in his seat, the sound of an angry elk piercing the air. When he notices those antlers begin to grow, static running amok around them, he quickly sends a high voltage into Alastor’s body with the hand still on his shoulder. A bleat of agony can be heard and those antlers shrink back down to their normal size, Alastor’s form shaking through the dredges of painful electricity.
“There you are,” Vox coos mockingly as he goes back to standing in front of the deer, his claws moving to pet through ears that are pinned back once again. Looking down, he can see Alastor’s legs twitching. It’s obviously in part because of the voltage but the half-hard cock showing through wet fabric prove that isn’t the only thing at play here.
“Relax, Alastor…” The words come out soft this time, as though he’s trying to soothe the other. “Trust me and relax…”
The radio demon starts to shake his head, smile tight and brittle as his eyes look almost glazed over. Vox grabs one of those flattened ears and emits yet another bolt of electricity, relishing in the way Alastor spasms in place, hips bucking up uncontrollably a couple times before the wet patch spreads wider, the smell of urine suddenly permeating both of their senses. Vox smiles fondly at him, setting the bottle down before his claws tip Alastor’s head up so that they can look each other in the eyes again. Alastor still seems slightly dazed, pupils dilated and heavily panting. It’s been a long time since he’s seen such a beautiful sight like this.
“Good boy…” he growls out in a deep voice, his expression soft as he takes in the scene before him with adoring eyes. One can even say he looks almost proud.
The praise makes Alastor shiver, his attempts to glare falling short. The look on Vox’s face makes him both disgusted and flattered and it frustrates him that the wretched mogul can make him have such confusing reactions. He feels humiliated, of course, but there’s also a sense of relief and an old warmth that settles within that’s trickling in from the nostalgia of their past trysts. It seems his mind and body can’t haven’t forgotten the way he used to behave around Vox when they had been on more amicable terms. Old habits die hard and all that, even if he wishes he could rid himself of such pathetic responses. He didn’t need Vox knowing how much control he still had over him, although at this point it’s possible the TV demon has already figured it out. The fogginess in his head clearing up, he sees the bulge straining in the front of Vox's pants and his lip curls as much as it can with his permeant smile. Of course he had derived some sort of pleasure from this situation.
“Stay here,” Vox commands as though Alastor really had the option to do otherwise, “and I’ll be back to… clean you up.” With that, the man chuckles to himself before zipping into a nearby socket, streaks of light left behind in his place, leaving Alastor alone to pick the pieces of himself back up as he sits in his own filth.