Work Text:
Vox wasn't stupid. Not anymore, at least.
See, in the beginning, he was…slow.
Vincent knew that it was part of the ironic part of his punishment. Everyone knew there was a type of irony to their appearance and powers. It reflected their life on Earth, how they died. An eternal God-given reminder that you fucked up and didn't win the game of life.
Everyone knew his death had to do something with technology just by looking at him. He never explained the exact circumstances to more than a handful, but they knew it HAD to have something to do with a television.
They just didnt know that settings inside his head had come lowered by default.
It was kinda funny, he had to admit. He has a dark sense of humor, so he can understand his punishment and the sheer comedy involved in it, even if he thinks it was utterly bullshit and rude that it happened to him.
After all, he was once a human who always talked about self improvement and becoming bigger and brighter. Who admittedly had to pay a lot of people to keep secrets about those pills he popped and why he took them. A human who had even stopped taking his medicine near the end, because it hadn't been working as well as usual and he decided he was practically a God so he didn't need it anymore.
In response, Hell practically gave him a lobotomy like he could've gotten on Earth if the humans had figured out what was going on.
Fucking haha, teehee. It was funny, okay? He can admit that. He would've laughed if it happened to anyone else but himself.
Vincent never thinks of his meeting with Alastor as lucky anymore, but he was grudgingly grateful it had happened. Because Alastor was more in tune with frequencies and sounds than the rest of Hell.
Mere seconds before those talons would've went through his chest, when Vox finally opened his mouth for the first time in Hell and tried to scream for mercy, The Radio Demon had paused.
"You have a delay."
He had sounded curious about that. Then he looked annoyed and his grin went smaller. He dragged the confused and scared shitless Vincent to his tower and gave him tools —- a repair kit.
"You and I might be alike," Alastor had explained. "It is..intriguing. Unfortunately, I do not know how to fix your technology. You will have to do it yourself."
His strange shadow had held the mirror up for him to watch himself go inside his head. Alastor just sat in a chair and watched as Vox sluggishly opened up his unit and dug around. He was being remarkably patient because a ten minute job took an hour.
Multiple wires had been loose and the moment he plugged them all in, it was like he had finally put on his prescription glasses after months of being without them. Things were clear again, his head was working properly.
He could speak without having to force himself. He was surprised he lasted so long in Hell without a voice, even if it had only been a week before he met Alastor.
He couldn't help it. He was filled with gratitude. He rambled so many thanks to the sinner who—
Who was going to kill him, he remembered.
"Oh, please. Don't stop talking on my account."
Instead of being upset at him for not shutting up, Alastor seemed delighted. His eyes were wide at the sight of him finally talking.
He also remembered the reason he was going to be killed.
Alastor had asked him something and he wasn't capable of responding fast enough for his liking. That was it. He had been rude to the Radio Demon, but it wasn't intentional, and now…
"We really are alike! Why, now your voice is practically pleasant to hear."
It seems he was forgiven for his transgressions. They went out for drinks that night. It became part of their routine. Alastor made time for him every day to talk to him.
So yeah. Vox had once been slow. He had been lobotomized by Hell and was so far gone he didn't realize what had happened to him.
Problem is, although he knew better now, although his wires were in properly, he was still once a human from the fifties that wanted to be great. He had just experienced the technological equivalent to a lobotomy and he didn't want to experience it again.
Yet. Every single day was thousands of new sinners spawning in Hell. It was becoming more and more overpopulated. Vox didn't care about the sheer crowdedness.
He cared about how far behind he was getting. How outdated and slow. Every day, it was like there was a new invention. Apparently Earth was really embracing the Information Age, and Vox could sense what was coming.
Everyone had a radio. More and more people had a television.
Something would be next.
He met Val after Alastor denied his partnership and honestly, that was what triggered his decision to upgrade his hardware.
Vox represented the future, after all. He had to keep up to date on everything.
Yet, he had experienced culture shock at the mere sight of what was clearly a manwhore pimp in a skirt, kissing both men and women and some sinners he wasn't even sure what they counted as.
People like Val didnt exist in his time. If they did, Vox never met them.
That night, he drank a lot. He was filled with liquid courage. He went over to the moth demon, who grinned at the sight of him.
Then he admitted he was feeling really goddamn stupid and didn't understand a single thing that he was witnessing about your entire existence. Can you please explain what the hell is happening on Earth?
The grin fell. But, Val didn't seem offended. If anything he seemed amused and equally curious. He poked his television head.
"What questions do you want to know, cutie? Hey, can you get porn on that thing?"
Vox ignored that term of endearment and confirmed that he could, if he wanted, and asked questions. He brought out a fucking notepad. People were leaving them alone. He had officially ruined the mood.
Val didn't seem to care. He looked like he was having fun, being able to rant about modern politics. He wasn't that into it outside of what influenced his community, he said, but —
Community.
That one had spawned the question that made him snap. What community, he asked, holding his pen up like he was still a news reporter. Val answered.
Val then had to sit there and look pitying at the sight of the television head having what was absolutely NOT a panic attack over finding out people up there pulled the religious stick out of their ass long enough to give men who wanted to kiss men a name.
To finally know that people like him were considered normal enough to be given a name, to have books written on about—-about some history and community he was not privvy to as human, because Vincent Whittman was perfectly straight and believed in God enough to donate to churches, thank you very much. He just hasn't found the right woman, don't worry about him, he'll find her one day! Now about his idea for a Shark Week…
For one minute, one minute, he thought he was normal just like those humans on Earth.
There are no friends in Hell, Vincent.
His head throbbed. He drank more alcohol, much to the delight of Val. Then, he had nasty and perverted sex with the moth sinner, for the first time and not the last time. He learned so much shit about himself that night, like how it felt pretty good to be fucked by a guy in a skirt who you were kinda worried was going to lay eggs inside you.
He didn't acknowledge all those questions with Val the next day. He changed the subject when the moth demon tried to bring it up.
Val had stared at him. Pity, again. Like Val thought he could ever understand Vox.
It was then and there that he decided he was truly getting tired of asking other sinners questions.
He needed to be smarter. Faster. Brighter.
Then Velvette came down and with her came the internet. He grabbed her the moment he found out about the sinner loudly bitching about a concept called wifi and how there was no computers around here.
Turns out, she knew exactly how to put wifi in Hell. She had specialized on such things on Earth, even if her true passion was fashion. She just didn't have the money, the power, the influence to do it to a place like Hell.
He and Val did.
When she explained what exactly would happen, how it would happen, Vox promised her the entirety of Hell at her fingertips.
The duo became a trio. They became the Vees.
With Velvette, his upgrades stopped being merely aesthetic.
Before they released it to all of Hell, he plugged himself into the internet.
It was horrifying beautiful.
One sinner joined. That was Velvette. Then another. Val. Then more and more and more, until finally, everyone in Hell except the outdated freaks in Cannibal Town was connected.
VoxTech. Trust us with your entertainment.
Better yet—-trust Vox with your data.
The internet became such a constant influx of information that taught him and kept him screaming for more and more, leaving him panting like he just ran a marathon.
Knowledge was food, now.
He could eat as much 'real' food as he wanted, but he was so, so hungry. There was food noise running in his systems at all times and it only got worse when social media was invented. What Velvette called doomscrolling for her was a binge eating session for him, but without any calories.
Even in Hell, you needed calories.
He could let himself waste away and all that would do is make him regenerate. But he had a reputation. He had to keep his back straight, his body in shape, his hands not shaking from not eating.
Just like drinking with Al, he made it into a routine.
Wake up at six. Eat and drink water within thirty minutes. Wake Val up at ten, force his stupid ass to eat through some annoying roundabout way if he hasn't, eat along with him either way. So forth.
That was the REAL secret to his success, he told the interviewers. Routine, routine, routine.
Then Alastor fucked up that delicate routine.
He disappeared.
He immediately changed it all. He constantly searched for Alastor in the beginning, determined to know what might've happened to the deer sinner. Val and Velvette were concerned about him. He had to go back to an act of indifference, eventually, but he very much tried to hunt him down.
He once liked the man enough to want an alliance. He was sexually attracted to him and ashamed of it and was never going to tell him, but he liked the man and he was genuinely fucked up knowing he was gone, even if they weren't friends anymore. At all. Whatever.
At one point, Val made him watch a porn video of Angel Dust. It was some lovey dovey vanilla shit, but Val was so proud of the script. Vox didn't remember the script or what happened in it because he wasn't even remotely attracted to the spider. He wasn't his type. But Angel Dust had some overly emotional line about love, he was blushing and everything, and it gave him a revelation.
He was in love with Alastor all those years ago. Fuck.
Luckily, Alastor was gone now so he could just….ignore it. Shut off that channel and pretend it wasn't something that made him twitch at the thought of, like he wanted to disappear just like Alastor did.
Then he reappeared.
It made him feel invigorated. Like there was meaning to his life. He wanted to hunt him down and ask where he's been, what he's done. Where has he been? Who cared? Who gave a shit? Vox did.
God. The memory of it was embarassing. The…the duet they sung, encouraged by Lilith's power that still thrummed through Hell after her disappearance. Life was one big musical in both Hell and Heaven, even if it wasn't on Earth.
Vox really, really wasn't stupid.
He was once slow and outdated and he got rid of that. Val and Velvette didn't have to explain things to him anymore. He knew things the second the internet knew it, and the citizens of Hell were almost just as addicted to the dopamine that posting about your life gave you as Vox was to knowing everything they wanted to tell.
Problem was, Hell was filled with cowards. Talking about Alastor didn't give others a thrill like it did for Vox. Thus, he didn't know he came back. No one fucking posted because they were afraid that if they did, the Radio Demon would come for him.
He knew everything, he had cameras everywhere, but the man he was once in love with…he knew nothing about right now. Val had to tell him and the sight of him at a hotel baffled him.
Alastor wasn't the type to believe in redemption. Vox knew that, because they had discussed it before the hotel was even a thought in any Morningstars head. He looked disgusted at the mere idea.
Neither of them wanted to go to Heaven. Vox knew that was a fact, because Vox knew Al too well.
He once knew too much about him and nothing about the world. It was the reverse, nowadays. But he still knew so much about Alastor and still had that information locked up and encrypted.
He once knew his favorite drink was a Sazarec and that if he was drinking plain beer it meant someone was going to die horribly because he was pissed enough he couldn't taste anything, not even the inexpensive beer that tasted good only to sinners who truly hated themselves. It was cheaper than Sazarec, so he would chug them down one after another.
Vox also had known all of his clothing was in silk because other animal-based textures felt like he was wearing his own skin and while that didn't necessarily make him uncomfortable enough to be a real weakness, it was rather distracting to feel like someone was touching you all the time.
He had even known what he looked like sleeping. He often took him home from the bar. Alastor would let his guard down around him enough to sleep, even though —- even though he must've guessed it before Vox ever realized it, right? He must've felt it even, when he clinged to Vox and dragged him into the bed to cuddle with him, claiming he craved warmth and he was so conveniently there.
For whatever reason, Alastor ignored the ridiculous and shameful hardness between Vincent's legs, the blushing, the overheating television. Sometimes, Vox would even feel his leg pressed against it. A complete accident. He would excuse himself to the bathroom and he'd come back and Alastor would have his back turned, snoring away, clinging to a pillow instead.
He had genuinely thought he was trusted by the man who called him Vincent. That rather than being normal, Vincent was…special to be considered so such trustworthy even though he wanted to do something wrong with that trust more and more each time they talked, each time they danced, each time they existed in the proximity of eachother.
There are no friends in Hell, Vincent.
Yes. Vox wasn't a fucking idiot.
He knew the truth of what was going on with his feelings. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew what he wanted.
He wanted to kiss him, he wanted to fuck him, fuck he would've thrown his goals and ambitions to the side to have those hands and eyes on him at all times.
He had no friends because he tainted his only friendship with an attempt at becoming something more because he loved everything about Al. He loved both Alastor the Radio Demon who tried to manipulate everyone around him and Al, plain ol' Al, who smiled at him like he was worth it.
Alastor died. He came back. But for a moment, he genuinely thought he died. Vox had enough. He was done with this game Alastor was playing. Coming back and leaving him, all over again.
Al, did you realize yet? Vox was fast nowadays.
Once, Alastor was in control, pulling him by his hand so gently to his fate —- laughter in a bar.
Now, though, his cameras were everywhere.
It was so, so easy to find a deer in the city, instead of an unplottable forest.
If you capture Alastor, are you going to fuck him? Are you going to kill him? Can I watch? Can I wear his fur as a new dress?
His business partners would ask those questions while he schemed to capture him. They knew of his hatred for Alastor. They didn't know the truth of what their relationship was like, they just thought it was some fucked up kink for him. That he'd get rid of him after fucking him or something, and that was all there was to it.
He spent so long plotting how to hunt the deer that he didn't expect what would really happen. All of his plans were thrown out the window in a matter of seconds.
Alastor called for him first.
Vox didn't even think twice. It was instinctual, really. He left Val lying there and ran to Alastor, like he was his eager dog.
It was a mistake. The biggest mistake anyone in Hell could ever make and Vox was the one who made it.
Vox was being punished and he felt like shit.
The first part wasn't unusual. Val and Velvette were constantly bitching at him. He even tried to apologize properly. They ignored him, saying they knew his script from heart and they'll consider listening when he's actually genuine.
This was different, though. It was a punishment from Heaven. Instead of being killed or tortured, they wanted to try and redeem him to see if truly, anyone could be redeemed.
A passion project. He was being reduced to a passion project for the Morningstar girl.
Yet, if he were truthful —- he expected this to happen somewhere deep inside him. He doesn't expect to be redeemed and he didn't like that they even thought that he wanted to be, but he suspected since the moment the Hotel opened he'd be dragged here kicking and screaming eventually.
Hell was Hell, after all. What better place to punish a sinner who didn't want to be redeemed than the Happy Hotel, now named Hazbin?
But that wasn't why he felt so goddamn awful right now. It wasn't guilt. He felt like he went overboard, yes, but he didn't feel guilty about any of it.
It's just…the Seraphim before him was weeping and it was so incredibly awkward. He kinda wondered if he should pat her on the back or something to calm her down, like his nice CEO act wasn't a complete act.
"You're just so, so sad."
People were watching them. Alastor wasn't in the room.
The Seraphim whose entire job was to bring people joy took one look at him and thought he was sad and pathetic to look at. Rude.
"Have you ever even been happy?" She asked, before he could say anything about her looking just as pathetic with that fake wing. She was clutching at her head like Vox used to when he got information overload.
Vox almost snapped at her. He even opened his mouth to do so. He wanted to kill her for daring to ask such a thing. Of course he was happy. People around him were mad at him, sure, but he was alive and well and —— none of that came out.
"Decades ago."
It was an admittance he didn't even know was in his head. He covered his mouth, eyes going wide. He didn't mean to say that. This bitch had to have done something. Can Seraphim force you to tell the truth, even if you didn't know it was the truth?
She cried even harder at his answer.
"I'm so sorry." She sniffed. "I didn't mean to force you to say it, it's just, I couldn't handle the sight of your soul and I needed to figure out a way to make you happy before I went nuts, and——"
Vox stared blankly at her as she rambled on.
She just made him admit to both himself and an entire room of sinners that hated him…that he had been depressed. If an answer like a week ago came out of his mouth, that would've been excusable, he thinks.
But. Decades ago. That wasn't just clinical, that was a lifetime. No wonder the Seraphim of Joy reacted like this, if she has some emotion sensing thing thing going on.
He realized he knew why he answered with that, even if it was unwilling. He wanted to run from the room to hide his shame from the world.
He felt relief that Alastor wasn't at the hotel today. He would've been laughed at if he figured it out, which he knew he would, because Vox figured it out instantly.
His sense of happiness since he came to Hell had been intricately connected to his one-sided relationship with the Radio Demon. How fucking pathetic.
Vox turned to leave. Charlie grabbed at his arm. He snarled at her and she flinched, but she kept her shoulders straight and didn't cower.
"Look, Vox, we want to help you." What a liar, this was an experiment. "We all saw you at the end of the battle. You're…"
He was fucked up, he finished for her in his head when she trailed off with a slight cringe. He had threatened to permanently kill everyone including himself all for the acknowledgement of a man who didn't even care for him.
"Listen, Morningstar." He pulled his arms out of her grasp. He put on a fake, fake smile. "My head fucking hurts. I just need quiet and I can't get that in here. I just want to leave for a few minutes." He paused and gritted out a promise. "I'll be back."
There was no way to outrun all these sinners looking at him with undecipherable expressions. There was no way to outrun the Seraphim that wept in the face of his existence.
But Charlie nodded. She looked relieved.
"Thank you, Vox. For trusting us."
There was no trust involved in this. He truly hated this hotel and everyone in it.
He wanted it to burn and fail miserably. He wanted the experiment to fail. He would do anything to make sure it fails.
He turned and left.
There was a garden behind the Hotel. He didn't know where any of these rooms would lead, but at least a garden can't do much to him.
He stared at the bush of flowers. As a human, he never cared for flowers. He would just step on them and move on his way. But now, as a sinner, he kinda wondered what they must smell like to sinners capable of breathing through a nose and not a set of gills.
When was the last time he enjoyed the scent of flowers? It must've been when he was a child but even then, he didn't remember.
There was a noise from behind him. He wanted to scream at her. But he didn't look up from the flowers.
"For fucks sake, Morningstar, I'm not ready to come back yet."
Hands touched his shoulders.
Familiar hands.
He shot up straight and fixed his slumped posture. He tried to turn around, but Alastor kept him staring at the flowers by tightening his grasp.
"Although we both know I think infrastructure in Hell is lacking a certain something…." His voice was so close. "The flowers are nice, aren't they?"
"What are you even doing here?" Vox groaned. "Also, what the fuck? I'm a creep but you're allowed to touch me like this?"
"Well I know you enjoy it, so it's fine."
Vox didn't want to digest that statement. What a hypocrite.
The flowers in front of him looked like roses. But they were from Hell, so naturally everytime a breeze moved them a little closer —- they would snap at each other. Try to consume each other.
"I've been told of your little episode with the Seraphim."
Of course he did. Alastor let go of him. He tried to stumble forward, maybe to run. But instead, Alastor turned him around and pulled him into a familiar stance.
Once, they danced together. No, they did it frequently—-it wasn't just once. It was so many times that it just felt easy to do.
He watched the manipulative, cruel demon intertwine his own gloved fingers with Vox's metal talons.
Alastor stared at him with a smile, as usual. But it was subdued and not strained or manic. Vox knew this expression.
He was relaxed. Vox was not going to get killed, probably.
"What the hell are you doing, Al?"
Al moved his feet backwards. Vox followed.
They didn't have music but they both knew the steps. It was such a slow dance that it always made Vox feel embarrassed in comparison to things like swing, but they had done it so many times that even after all these years, it felt instinctual.
Vox would never lead in these dances. Vox simply followed, letting him get pulled along.
He had tried to hunt the deer, thinking he could be prey. He fantasized about him underneath him more than once. But the truth was —- Alastor had always been in charge. Even during these stupid, stupid dances.
"Well, I think that's obvious." Alastor laughed as he pulled Vox a little too close in a move that he always got flustered over. He felt his head overheat. "We're dancing, aren't we?"
"Why?" He felt an urge to pull his hands free. He knew this had to be a trick of some kind. Alastor hated him. He was not his friend, he was just a creep to Alastor.
Yet, in the dark of the night, they were moving so…intimately. No one was around. The only people to witness this was the two of them.
"I got what I wanted from you." Alastor answered, humming under his breath. "I do believe you are owed a treat for behaving so well. You even exceeded my expectations at times."
He was talking like Vox had been a student or even worse, a pet.
Vox finally tried to pull away. But his new body was his original body, just in different clothing. It was weak in comparison to the Radio Demon, who was now pulling him even closer.
He froze at the sensation of lips on his screen, followed by the pressure of movement as the demon spoke.
"You have been so good for me, Vox."
They once exchanged frequencies and Alastor never, never did it again. It wasn't on purpose. It was just them accidentally ending up on the same channel through sheer coincidence. But he could sense the frequency changing through his antennas.
"I just have one more task for you, one more request. Won't you open up?
He opened his mouth without a single ounce of hesitation.
A tongue went inside his mouth, intertwining his own, and the radiowaves flowed through his system. The waves that sung of old music and culture took over the internet and he felt truly and utterly content.
Yes. As he let Alastor lead — for the first time in a long time, he wasn't starving.
Vox had fantasized about Alastor below him so many times. He dreamed of gaining power and control over their relationship and punishing him, making him scream and beg for forgiveness. Sometimes they were fantasies where consent was involved, but more often lately he just wanted to inflict violence on the deer. Get his revenge. Violate him completely.
The truth was, those were just fantasies.
He thinks something deep inside him knew that if this was ever going to happen —- it wasn't going to happen like that. You were just daydreaming, Vox.
"Look at you." Alastor's voice laughed at him. The sound wasn't cruel. He was genuinely delighted at what he was witnessing. "You are so responsive and it's all for a mere shadow."
Vox could not see. He was told to turn off his screen, so he did. It was in lieu of a blindfold.
He already knew it was Alastor's shadow touching him. It had always touched him like it liked him, but Vox would get so squeamish at the sensation. The sentient shadow felt like a spilled bottle of ink that would stain him.
Even though it felt so good, the shadow enveloping his dick wasn't what he was begging for.
"Al, please…"
Touch him. Consume him. Take your sharp teeth and bite into his skin and make him bleed.
"Just a little more." Alastor promised like he knew his thoughts. "You're being rewarded, Vincent. This isn't a punishment. I do want to see you feel good."
It felt like a punishment. He wanted to be touched by Al, not the shade.
Vincent, though. Right now they were Al and Vincent, not Vox and The Radio Demon. The shade was pleasuring him, but it felt like the worst case of edging because this isn't what he needed.
He wasn't even close to coming. It felt almost painful, this denial.
Then it stopped. He sobbed in relief and also disappointment. It was going to end and even though it was a shadow, at least something of Al had been touching him.
A weight sat on his legs. A shadow doesn't have weight like that. A hand touched his screen and turned him back on.
Alastor was fully clothed. But he was touching him, sitting in his lap. He had this vague fear in the beginning, that if he turned off the screen he would turn it back on and the entire hotel would be watching him.
Instead, it was only Al and Vox in the room. There wasn't even some old camera recording him. They were alone and this was a treat, not a punishment, as Al said.
He watched as a gloved finger pressed against his dick. He didn't grab it, but he trailed a finger down it. Vox shuddered at the sensation. He could've came right there, he thought.
Vox didn't want it to end, though.
"What do you want, Vincent?" Al asked, finally. "Out of all your disgusting fantasies towards me — what do you want the most?"
He didn't even have to think about it.
"I want you inside me." He whispered. "Fuck. I want to die at your hands, Al."
It wasn't even his finally acknowledged depression saying that one. He wasn't depressed. No, he was happy right now. He was so fucking happy he could burst.
He just thought in that moment that if he had to have a permanent death, it would be such bliss to be at the Radio Demon's hands while he was getting fucked by him. Is that really a crime? It even felt romantic, to him.
Alastor didn't look upset at him. His ears relaxed. They had been stiff when he asked that question, like he almost didn't want to hear the answer.
"Now Vincent, that isn't disgusting at all." He said, sounding disappointed. Yet, he once knew the man before him. It was teasing. "That's just normal."
Yes. He was normal. He felt like all of this was completely normal.
The gloved fingers trailed further down from his cock to his hole. There was — god, Alastor wasn't using lubrication. He could tell he wasn't planning on it. The sting he felt was going to truly hurt once he gets to two, three. Maybe four. He doesn't know how big Al was, he never checked that. The tail thing had been a fucking lie, he just wanted to mess with everyone.
Thing is, he thinks if Al had used lubrication, it would've felt…disappointing.
He wanted Al inside him without any barriers. In this moment, a false lubricant would've just pissed him off.
An idea came to mind.
"Take off the gloves."
"You will tear. My nails might even cause damage."
It wasn't an immediate denial. It was just to make sure that Vox couldn't go back on what he wanted.
"Do it."
Tear him open and make him bleed, let his blood cover him. He was going to come inside him, he knew it, there was no condom in sight. At least let Vox stain him in return. Mark him, somehow.
"Of course, dear."
He took off the gloves and as he expected, it was painful. So fucking painful, he doesn't want to see what his body must look like down there. It was going to make for an extremely awkward repair session later, if he doesn't just self regenerate.
Alastor pressed inside him. Their shared frequency intertwined and, oh. That definitely made the pain worth it.
Songs. Culture. News. Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure. Screams of the Overlords that Al damned over the years. More pleasure.
All of it was filling every inch of his existence. Everything that made up Al was consuming him because even though he had called him outdated, the sinner on top of him was the Radio Demon.
Television and wi-fi could never truly compare because even though they were shiny and new—-it all came back to radiowaves.
"Honestly." Alastor listened to all the commotion happening. They could hear them even from upstairs. "You'd think this hotel never experienced a power outage before."
Yeah. Thats right. He came so hard that he triggered yet another Hell-wide power outage.
He was absolutely going to get yelled at by the other Vees later. Probably stopped them from doing more damage control. But whatever, it was fucking worth it. Ten out of ten, no criticisms here.
"I don't get it."
"Hm? What don't you get?" Alastor handed him a cloth. Vox didn't grab it because he was experiencing major post-orgasm confusion and he thinks his limbs aren't working right now.
"You hate me, so why…"
"Have I ever told you I hated you?" Alastor asked, sitting next to him on the bed. He started wiping sweat from the body of the sinner he just fucked. He always kinda assumed Alastor wouldn't know what aftercare even was.
"Bitch, you outright said you hated me touching you in front of the entirety of Hell."
Alastor sniffed at that. Offense. Irritation. "Vincent. Do you not see my arms?"
Vox glanced over. He had nice slim arms. He didn't get what that had to do with anything.
"It seems I have to give you an anatomy lesson. Again. See this?" Alastor gestured at the darker fur on his forearms, extending to his hands. "This section is sensitive. The fur covering it is thin."
He guessed that a long time ago. He always wore long sleeves, even when they first met. His gloves even had covers for his claws.
"My shoulders, meanwhile, are covered in brown, thick fur. What does that mean, Vincent? What have I told you before about my body?"
Vox tried to think, but the sex had been really good and he couldn't think properly. Alastor made a sound of disgust at him.
"I dislike animal-based textures on my fur. Silk is tolerable. But you, Vincent. Your skin feels like a shark. Even though my clothing, I can feel your —-"
"Sharks have rough skin." Vox realized, horrified at the realization Alastor jerked his head in a nod. "Me touching your shoulders all the time felt like sandpaper."
"Correct. I hated that. I would tolerate it while drunk, but I truly did hate it."
Vox kinda wanted to cry now. He thinks he might if Alastor answers the next question in the way he is beginning to suspect he might.
"You never said you hated me."
"Correct."
"But you said we weren't friends. Why would you say that if you didn't hate me?"
"Do you really think I am so…easy that I would do any of this with a mere friend? Even back then, do you think I would do any of that with lets say, Mimzy?"
No. He can't see Mimzy and Alastor cuddling or….
Oh. What a motherfucker. He realized exactly what had happened that night.
"Fucking wordplay! I hate you so much!"
He sat up despite the pain in his entire body. He clutched at his head. Alastor cackled.
He was so stupid.
"You let me believe you hated me for so long just because you wanted to fuck with me!"
"Again. That was just your assumption. I had nothing to do with any of that."
He was so goddamn stupid.
"I fucking loved you and you left me and you let me hate you and—-"
"Vincent." Alastor's grin was wide. "We are in Hell, sweetheart. What else do you expect from your fellow sinners?"
Vox was stupid for falling in love with Alastor once, but he was even stupider now because holy shit. Holy shit.
Fact is, even though he's ranting, none of this is putting him off. If anything he feels like he could go for a round two or even three.
"You manipulative, toxic asshole." Alastor examined his own nails like he was getting bored. Oh fuck no he wasn't. He wasn't letting him.
He grabbed Al on his stupid sensitive shoulders. Alastor let out a radio screech and narrowed his eyes. But he didn't move away.
"You and I have a lot to learn about eachother, Al." He licked his lips, showing off his sharp teeth. "You aren't the only asshole in this room. Since we were 'friends', I have become even better at what I do."
"Hm."
"Fuck. I almost took down all of Hell!"
"Yes. I was there, in case you forgot."
"And now I swear to whatever fucking god is in charge of this place," He practically salivated as all those cruel fantasies came to his mind. "I am going to make you leave this place a mess. You won't be able to walk for a week. No. A month. You think you damaged me? I will destroy you and that stupid skinny ass of yours."
Alastor paused at that. He glanced at the door. He sighed.
"Very well." He conceded. "However, at least try to make it interesting."
The Alastor shaped shadow appeared out of nowhere. It grabbed him and pulled him away from its master. He swore at the sight of Alastor summoning his stupid portal, getting up off the bed and walking into it.
"No! Fuck you! I deserve some revenge!"
"Perhaps, but you and I both know it's more entertaining when a chase is involved." Alastor stepped forward and waved behind him. "Good luck trying to keep up, Vincent."
He was gone.
The chase was on.
He down the stairs of the Hazbin Hotel two steps at a time. The other Vees had turned off his ability to travel through electricity waves so he couldn't escape from the therapy sessions, so he had to do this the old fashioned way.
"There he is! Bastard, the power has been out all night!"
"Vox! I am so, so sorry for—-"
He stopped only briefly to talk to Emily, ignoring that cat bartender bitching about the power.
"Listen. I seriously don't care anymore, though if you do it again, I will absolutely figure out a way to sue Heaven and I know for a fact none of you have lawyers." He said quickly, grabbing at her shoulders. At least this chick's shoulders didn't seem to be as sensitive, though she did wince slightly at his claws.
Al had to be so special, didn't he?
"Now. Has Al come this way?"
She looked blankly at him. He snapped his fingers in front of her, snapping her out of it.
"Emily, Em, whatever. Work with me."
"Ah….he left through the front door…"
"Thanks, you freaky-ass empath." He gave her a two fingered salute and ran, shouting over his shoulder for the Morningstar chick to hear. "I don't know when I'll be back, but don't worry, I'll be back! Don't look for me!"
He didn't want redemption, but he was about to have the best fucking sex of his life. Probably frequently if he stayed here. If he gets redeemed in the meanwhile, sure, whatever. But he's dragging Alastor with him to Heaven, if that happens.
He made a missile once. VoxTech knows how to pirate from Heaven. He can probably figure out the logistics of dragging the Radio Demon up there.
For now, he opened the door and stepped out, ready to hunt.
"Huh." Emily spoke in the silence. "His aura was….weirdly happy."
"I…That's a good thing, right?" Charlie asked with furrowed eyebrows, looking at the door. "That has to be a good thing? Maybe the hotel is helping him more than we think?"
"He hasn't even had one therapy session with you." Vaggi pointed out, crossing her arms. "He has to be planning something."
Niffty walked past them pushing a cart of cleaning supplies and looking like she was living her best life.
"Niffty, please don't tell me the toilets exploded again." Vaggi groaned at the sight of her. "Whenever you get like that, something bad happened."
"Oh, that happened too though I already cleaned it up." Niffty confirmed with a giggle. There was a sigh of relief at that. "No, this is for Alastor's room."
"Did he kill something again?" Lucifer snorted into his drink at the mere idea. "Lemme guess, there's blood everywhere because he brought in another deer? Some good ol' cannibalism once more even though we keep telling him not to stain the carpets?"
Niffty shook her head with a happy expression.
"No, but there's a looooot of cum on his bed. It's really gross!"
Lucifer choked on his drink.