Chapter Text
There was something to be said about time.
Even in a place as stagnant and ruthless as Hell time marched ever forward, ruthless. Wth its march it brought with it a multitude of new things.
Alastor had never thought radio would ever go into a downswing, but as television and picture shows became more and more prevalent, he found himself .. ignored.His friend was becoming more popular. That should make Alastor happy.
It didn’t.
He hated it.
Oh, of course, there was no ignoring him. When he broadcasted one of his special numbers he reminded Hell that he was still the Radio Demon, infamous and horrifying.
And yet, his numbers dwindled with each regular broadcast he had.
Alastor rubbed the bridge of his nose as he reformed in the newly named “Vee Tower”, Vox’s new little pet project.
“Vox, my dear!” he called as he strode into his penthouse suite. “How are you this fine evening!”
The place smelled of soldering irons and sulfur, not that most of Hell didn't smell that way. Vox stood over one of many R&D experts in his employ. The imp was goggled up and completely focused on the top secret technology under his hands.
Vox's head swiveled on its stand when Alastor's unmistakable voice called out to him. So much more convenient, this modern setup he'd recently installed. Much, much easier to operate than the bulky tube TV of the past. The new TV suited him, Alastor supposed, though he didn't much think TV suited anyone.
"Well, if isn't my favorite podcaster!" Vox welcomed his friend with all the warmth and charisma of Johnny Carson during his finest hour. He intercepted the other sinner before he could get too close to the table. Top secret was top secret, after all. "Early for our dinner meeting, I see."
Alastor’s smile twitched minutely as Vox stopped him from seeing .. whatever it was he was working on. “Pardon! Early? I am always on time, not a second too soon or too late,” Alastor admonished, tucking his hands and microphone behind his back. "And besides! I am incredibly curious for what it is that you found the time to call for me for! What with all your projects and plans.”
"And I'm incredibly curious to see the look on your face when I unveil to you the what I've been pouring half of our budget into~" Vox whispered theatrically up against one of Alastor's sensitive ears, his smarmy grin taking up most of his screen. "I can trust you to keep it all under your hat, no?"
Alastor’s ear flicked and smacked Vox in the face as he rolled his eyes fondly.
“Of course you can, dear. It wouldn’t be beneficial to me to ruin your plans!” he chirped. “When will you be finished with it? It’s all you’ve been talking about for months!”
"Randal here was just finishing the final inspection!" Vox declared giddily, all of his fingers steepling together in a decisively sinister display. "Months? Try years. A dream come true for Voxtek, but more so for yours truly."
“Oh? Not another one of your 'get rich quick' schemes, I hope,” Alastor teased, laughing alongside his laugh track. “Well, I’m excited to see, then!”
"Why don't you go get started without me? There's wine chilling on the table. Maria will be up with dinner soon."
Alastor primly took his seat, crossing his ankles over one another as he watched Vox scurry to the scientist. His favorites, as usual. Vox was terrible at hiding how -- what did the new sinners say? Down horrendous? -- he was for Alastor.
Alastor almost pitied him! Honest.
Shockingly, there was more than just Alastor's place setting at the table Vox gestured to. Normally, Alastor was the only one served for fairly obvious reasons. What was Vox going to do, rub the venison against his screen?
After today, though, that would be a thing of the past. Vox rubbed his hands together as he returned to his scientist's side to receive his report.
There was some murmuring, Vox's voice more insistent than that of his researcher, who was clearly adept at using the low, soothing tones necessary when reasoning with someone who didn't know what they were talking about.
Vox dismissed the imp with a barked 'make it snappy' before he hurried away. Vox, a look of displeasure twisting his mouth, straightened his lapels and tie as he strode over to Alastor in a soured mood.
"You'll have to forgive me, I have to see to this. Don't go anywhere?" Vox tapped Alastor on the tip of one tapered ear.
Alastor tsk’d, brushing Vox’s hand away from his ear, watching his friend go with a raised eyebrow. Vox shot finger guns at him as he backed away, and in a clear display of just how eager the demon was to get everything underway, he chose to allow his form to dissolve into raw electricity and zap into the surveillance system so he could speed along to the laboratory that awaited his arrival.
He looked over at the researcher with a look that clearly said what can you do, then shook his head in fond exasperation. He’d been given permission, so he felt no shame in tucking into the fare himself.
His venison was barely seared, warm and bloody, just like he preferred, and he hummed happily as he partook, inclining his head to Maria as she arrived with the wine.
Minutes went by. The wine was poured, Alastor's glass refilled each time it reached half-empty. Maria came by with the cold course -- oysters.
Alastor was starting to get frustrated.
And tipsy.
He declined the next refill, stabbing into an oyster with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary, but he wasn’t known as a patient man. He was losing what little he had to his friend’s neurotic tendencies.
If Vox made him wait any longer, he’d leave. Alastor swore it.
Vox's distinctive stride finally approached the room, his heels clicking on the slick, futuristic tiling of the corridors. There was a new lightness to his step, a hurried pace like a child closing in on a well-earned reward.
Unseen, pale hands lacking a single claw reached up to once again straighten his bowtie and smooth a hand through his hair -- honest to goodness hair, jet black with a streak of silver cut close and tidy but just a touch long at the front -- very James Dean.
Vox rounded the corner into the room, his smile blinding, handsome and wide. Only, it did not cut across the pixels of a flatscreen monitor. His teeth were not the visual manifestation of zeros and ones. His wet tongue ran across each one, savoring the sensory input that zinged along his new, unfamiliar limbs.
He slid a hand into the pocket of his immaculately tailored slacks as he slowed his gait, coming up to Alastor with a swagger he'd not held in his body for decades.
Alastor sat up as—
“Vox?!” he exclaimed, smoothly pushing up and out of his chair. He circled Vox like a shark smelling blood in the water. “This is what you were working on? How delightful! You had nothing but complaints about what Hell had changed you to.”
"Well, when I used to look like this," Vox gestured to himself, so fucking smug, so sickeningly pleased with himself if he shat himself right that instant he would do his best to bottle the smell and sell it in exclusive eau de parfum. "I had good reason, didn't I?"
“If you are asking me to fluff your already massive ego, you will find yourself sorely disappointed,” Alastor said with an eye roll, taking his seat again and crossing his legs. “You do cut a nice figure though, I suppose I’ll give you that.”
Vox preened, turning left and right, catching his reflection in the enormous windows that boasted one of the best views of the entirety of the Pride Ring. He rolled his jacket off of his shoulders so he could once again appreciate the broadness of them, recalling how many hands had thoroughly enjoyed gripping them in life.
Ah, well. Enough reminiscing. "Tell me more about how much you enjoy my figure," Vox coaxed, sticking his tongue out at Alastor. Some of the wetness evaporated and he could feel it.
Alastor gave Vox a flat look, choosing instead to take an oyster shell and tip the meat back into his mouth.
“No! I don’t think I will. You seem more than capable of doing it yourself, if your peacocking is anything to go by," he said, smiling cheekily at Vox, taking his wine in hand again and raising it to his friend. “A toast to you then Vox, congratulations on figuring this out.”
"Do you know what today is?" Vox changed topics abruptly, as he was wont to do. He snatched up his glass, suddenly impatient to pour wine for himself. He was about to taste wine. Taste something.
In his eagerness some of the wine splashed out of the glass and he cursed, flicking his hand to try and free it of the drippy stuff, eyes widening at the sensation.
Alastor’s smile twitched minutely at Vox’s bad manners. First time being human again did not excuse him from being well put together or poised.
Then again, it was Vox.
“I am afraid I don't. Do remind me, dear,” Alastor mused, taking a small sip of his own wine to complete his toast and setting it back down, picking up his napkin to dab off the wine on Vox’s hand. Vox held still to let Alastor mommy him, unable to keep the grin off his face as he watched. He didn't care about being sloppy so long as he could experience what it felt like.
"It's my birthday!"
“Ah! That’s what it is,” Alastor said, smiling at Vox, “I’m surprised you still count birthdays, what with this being where we will be for eternity, no real point in counting them.”
"Well, death day might be more apropos," Vox conceded, tempted to spill even more wine onto his hand if it got Alastor to touch him again. "When I fell, the number on the Extermination countdown was 101. Every time it hits that number, I celebrate."
Alastor settled back in his seat, inclining his head as his smile softened. “Well! There are worse reasons to celebrate I’d say!” Alastor laughed. There were better, too, but he wouldn’t pour on Vox’s day out of respect for his achievement. “Happy birthday, Vox.”
"I missed your toast," Vox hastened to say. "Let's do a new one." His eyes -- piercing blue -- sparkled as he raised his glass and stepped close. "To us."
That sounded .. suspiciously like it would lead somewhere. Vox’s voice was hopeful in a way that concerned Alastor.
“To us?” he echoed, toying with his wine glass. “What exactly do you mean?”
"Us! Look at us! Top of the world! Untouchable, inscrutable!" Vox was in rare form, riding the high of all five senses filling his processors -- no, his synapses --and body with tingling delight. "Fucking sexy and in our prime. Hell was the best fucking thing that happened to me. And I met you."
“I .. suppose I cannot deny that.” Alastor said, bitterness returning in full force. “You especially have been gaining more power and popularity, what with televisions on the rise on Earth.”
Frowning, Vox drank to his own toast the same as how Alastor had done for his own. Then he pulled a face. "What's with the attitude?"
Alastor held his hands up in mock surrender. “Just feeling a touch left behind is all, dear! I’ll get over it lickety-split, you’ll see!”
"You don't have to 'get over it'," Vox reminded him, his blue eyes narrowing in irritation. "We've been over this. Funnily enough, that's a topic I wanted to bring up tonight."
“Oh? What is there to speak about?”
"You're going to be difficult even on my birthday, aren't you?" Vox grumbled, even while he was absolutely fucking reeling from the explosion of moscato grapes over his virginal tastebuds. "Ughh, that's good wine."
“If it’s about appearing on your picture shows, then yes,” Alastor said, irritably. He motioned to his body, allowing the radio static glitch to warp his appearance to near unrecognizable levels, the sound of microphone shrieking and deer screaming filling the air before he stopped.
“I’ll remind you again. My face is made for radio, Vox.”
"It doesn't have to be that way!" Vox asserted passionately. He gestured to himself again. "Clearly! I could do this for you. You'd never glitch again."
Alastor blinked slowly, one eye and then the other, and then he tipped his head back and laughed.
“Oh! Vox! That was a good one!” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think I’d like that. I rather fancy this form. It certainly has its downsides, but the pros are far too great to give up! How are you sure my powers will work in a new body? How are you sure yours do? Hm?”
"How -- " Vox's button was pushed. "How dare you suggest I'm not thorough enough in my work to ascertain whether or not my abilities function?"
To elucidate, the room went dark save for the illumination from the bright whites of Vox's eyes.
Then his teeth, glowing in the inky blackness, like a Cheshire cat.
Alastor clapped slowly.
“Oh yes, bravo,” he said flatly, “This doesn’t change that I do not want a new body. I am plenty fine with the one I have. Well, now at least.” He gave Vox a look. “Besides, and this is not a slight towards you, but I do not trust that you wouldn’t do something to the body you’d make me.”
"What the fuck?" Vox exclaimed in bald-faced shock, looking like a disembodied face in the darkness. "Like what? Give you a tattoo? Make your dick tiny? What do you take me for?"
“I wouldn’t trust anyone, in fairness!” Alastor said, waving his hand as though to dismiss his shock. “You could try and put some control device in it! How am I to know? Surely you’d be wary, too.”
Vox snapped his mouth shut and threw the lights back on, his pupils telescoping down to pinpricks. He downed his glass, angry that he barely tasted it.
He turned his back to Alastor, pulling himself together. His hand felt sticky from the wine'd split. He balled that hand into a fist and then rested it on the window. He looked out at Pentagon City unseeingly.
"It makes no fucking sense to me. I offer you everything and you look down your nose at it all. Thanks for showing up. I should have seen this coming. You can go now."
Alastor raised an eyebrow, smile souring.
“Come now, did you genuinely believe I would accept your offer?” he asked in disbelief. “Vox, even if I did want to believe you have my best interests in mind, I enjoy this body. It’s mine and I’ve made it great.”
"Only you would shit all over my greatest goddamn achievement in life and death," Vox replied bitterly, all intention of making this a special night of joint celebration gone. "
“Pardon? How is my denying you making me a new body taking from your achievement at all?” Alastor asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve done an exemplary feat! And you’ve managed to address your dysmorphia. That is all well and good and I congratulate you. I simply don't want it for myself.”
Alastor’s praise was like a candle held to an iceberg. Vox wanted to soak it up and feel proud, but he found his chest hollow as Alastor’s words echoed in his head.
Vox’s forehead met the glass with a muted thunk. Then he did it again. And again.
Alastor rolled his eyes, standing in a fluid motion as he strolled to pull Vox from the glass.
“Now, now, no need to splatter your new body’s brains all over the windows, that would be a waste.”
Dejected, Vox hung his head, unable to even enjoy the fact that Alastor was touching him. He flinched from him, even, something painful squeezing his heart and making him grimace.
"What's a waste is all the time I spend trying to impress you," Vox admitted, giving up the ghost, in a sense. All this dancing around each other, all the signals subtle as a brick to the face. Why bother continually pretending the elephant in the room was not there?
Oh boy, here it came.
“You’ve impressed me plenty. Don’t drive your own achievements into the dirt simply because I didn’t take your offer!” Alastor said cheerily.
Vox put a hand to his forehead. Hell made every little thing warm. He was uncomfortable. His clothes felt too tight and his collar too stiff. He strode down the row of windows, tugging at his tie, discarding it carelessly to the floor. Temperature regulation wasn't so easy in this body, let alone emotional regulation. Chemicals and shit controlling his mood instead of a carefully constructed algorithm? Ugh.
To think that he'd been looking forward to this night for so long. Now, he just wanted it to be over.
"Thanks, Alastor."
“The least I can do for such a good friend!” Alastor said, trying to put enough emphasis on 'friend' that Vox would hopefully get the hint.
“Come, come, you’ve not eaten anything and barely had any to drink!” he said, ushering Vox into his seat and serving him food like a good host.
Vox slumped in his chair, but as a testament to how much of a baby he could be, the dutiful way Alastor was seeing to him after crushing his plans in one red-clawed hand was somehow, despite it all, sort of making up for it.
It was weird. Why hadn’t he left when Vox offered him the opportunity? Why was he still carrying on as if he took him seriously?
Vox wanted nothing more than for Alastor to take him seriously.
“I’m a vegetarian.”
Alastor paused, looking at the fare set out and then back at Vox.
“Then why on Earth is there so much meat on this table!” he asked, sighing in disbelief, taking Vox’s plate and setting it on his placemat instead, serving Vox some of the assorted non-meat options at the table.
“For you, genius!” Vox groaned long-sufferingly.
“Yes, I gathered as much, forgive me for assuming that you’d include things you could eat as apart of the first meal you would have in ages,” Alastor said, rolling his eyes, “Cease your whining, you will be fine.”
Vox always was when Alastor rejected him for the umpteenth time.
Vox moued like a child for a little longer before sitting up, pushing loose hair out of his eyes. He lingered in the action. Touching anything felt like magic.
“Just give me more wine, I’ll drink until I pass out and maybe I’ll be lucky enough to forget this ever happened. I was looking forward to dessert,” Vox offered with a wrinkle to his nose.
“And what did you have planned for dessert?” Alastor asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste. He was not a fan of sweets at the best of times, and this—
God, they already acted like a bickering couple, why couldn’t —
Vox cut off that thought with a snarl that razored out of him.
He took a step back and stared at him. “Goodness, excuse me then.”
“That wasn’t at you,” Vox clipped. “It was at me.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“For wanting dessert.”
“And, I ask again, what is dessert?”
Vox slammed his wine, the sweet burst of flavors on his tongue serving to distract him from the reckless thing he was about to do. He leaned into the complete lack of self-preservation that having no software to manage it for him provided.
Vox stood and threw his arm out, sending meat and cutlery and china crashing across the floor. He grabbed Alastor by the lapels, jerking him close. Alastor let out a noise of surprise as he was bodily thrown onto the table, smile turning sour.
Vox slammed his hands into the table on either side of Alastor's head, boxing him in with his larger body. "You! I want you for dessert."
He felt angry. He felt.. he felt..
Fuck, he really was human again.
He felt hurt.
Alastor didn’t like this; the way Vox pressed against his body, the way he boxed him in as though Alastor would simper and fawn over him.
“How .. unfortunate,” Alastor said, taking a deep breath out of his nose, “Now remove yourself. It is out of respect for our friendship that I am not removing you personally, in this moment.”
"Really?" Vox was aghast. "Fucking nothing? I roll out the red carpet, I give you the best I can at every opportunity and look at you, not even a crack. What does it take to please you?"
Alastor’s ears pinned back against his head, glowering at Vox.
“Are you kind and courteous to me because you want to bed me?” he asked in disbelief, before he motioned harshly to his hips. “Ha! Well, sorry to disappoint! No reaction, I’m afraid.”
"No! Fuck you! That isn't it!" Vox defended explosively, biting the inside of his cheek. He tasted blood and it made him gasp, bringing a hand to his mouth to catch a drop of the dark red stuff on his fingertips.
Vox was watching everything fall apart right before his very eyes. He watched as his own blood splattered onto Alastor's ashen face with a morbid sense of fascination.
“Oh! How saintlike of you, then!” Alastor said bitterly, turning his face in annoyance as blood dripped onto his face and lips. “You are still kind to me for ulterior motives.”
Alastor sighed, reaching up to push at Vox’s chest, “Is it not enough for us to be friends? Get off of me.”
"It's not like that. I -- Alastor, I like you," Vox struggled to explain.
“I know,” Alastor said, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Vox, you are less than subtle about your wanting looks and lingering touches.”
"It's not about sex! It's about you," Vox gasped, grabbing Alastor's hand, pulling it away from his face. "Look at me, goddammit."
Alastor glared at Vox. Why was he still putting up with this shit?
“What?”
"You! You!" Vox felt like he was having a stroke. He was going to die again, right there, wasn't he? Either Alastor was going to turn him into dust or he was going to suffer an aneurysm. "Fucking Hell, you! Is it so impossible for you to comprehend that spending time with you, laughing, drinking, dancing, scheming, arguing, bitching -- might just result in me becoming invested?"
Alastor was sure he looked as out of his depth as he felt.
“I— yes?” he asked, helplessly looking at Vox as he all but panicked in the face of Alastor’s lack of romantic inclination. “I— Vox, I have never had a romantic thought for anyone before, not just you.”
Alastor stiffened with a screech of microphone feedback as Vox collapsed like a puppet off of its strings, groaning, shaking his head back and forth in denial. He thudded his head lightly against Alastor, over his heart, just as he had over at the window as if to say let me in, let me in.
This had gone far enough, and Alastor was incredibly uncomfortable. He forgot he could teleport, shoving Vox off of him with all his strength.
“GET OFF,” he snarled.
Vox grit his teeth when Alastor shoved him, his head spinning with panic and distress. The situation was spiraling out of control and he knew now that there was no going back.
Vox grasped Alastor's shoulders in both of his wide hands, then grabbed his face, fine red hair sliding against his fingers that somehow felt both coarser and softer than he imagined.
Alastor's lips were ruddy with Vox's own blood, the corner of his mouth smeared with the stuff. The sight shook the breath out of him just before he crushed his lips to his in a kiss so desperate it would put sailors coming home to their girls to shame.
Alastor hissed through his teeth, beating at Vox’s chest, the taste of blood repulsive in this moment instead of delicious.
Perhaps it would be better if Vox just exhausted this energy. Alastor relaxed in his grasp, stiff as a board, let him realize that Alastor would never reciprocate.
Vox drew back, huffing air over Alastor's bloodstained mouth, his tongue swiping away what redness remained. The cold hand of disappointment plunged into his guts when he took in the other sinner's expression. Vox felt about two feet tall.
But he wasn't resisting. Madly, Vox charged forward, using the opportunity when Alastor went slack to get his arms around him, pin Alastor's arms to his sides and press him further into the table with the weight of his body. He sunk his lips against Alastor's neck, kissing, biting, trying to illicit even the faintest reaction.
Alastor gasped, beside himself. It turned out Vox was an opportunist. Give an inch and he’ll take a mile.
That shouldn’t have surprised Alastor, but it did.
“Okay, enough of THIS!” he snarled, slamming the palm of his hand into Vox’s shoulder when he bit down, the feeling of saliva vile. “Remove yourself at once! I try to give you a boon and you decide to eat the whole cake!”
Vox's fleshy heart knocked up against his ribs like an innocent man throwing himself against the bars of his prison cell. If only he could get Alastor to -- to --
To what? He didn't even know. He was lost. This gross miscalculation was something he was going to pay for dearly.
Disgusting thoughts began to filter in through the crazed maelstrom of fear and misguided amorous inclinations.
Look him in the eye.
No, fuck no, fuck fuck fuck no.
Just to calm him down, just enough so that I can reason with him, smooth this over, salvage this.
Vox felt his stomach turn as his inner voice haunted him. It made too much sense and he hated it and he didn't want to do it.
Yet he found himself raising his head, flipping a switch that didn't exist so his left eye rolled back in its socket, swapped out for the candy swirl that immediately started turning.
Their gazes locked.
Alastor felt himself relax. The pulsing, beautiful colors soothing his mind, calming the screeching radio siren that was going off in response to the hypnosis.
Calm down, a voice cooed in his head, against the trashing of his static bones, against the jazz beat of his heart, against his very blood screaming for his shadows to writhe against it. Alastor’s smile relaxed to something dopey and soft as he sagged in Vox’s grip.
Vox was on high alert. He watched Alastor as a zookeeper might an unpredictable predator as a tranquilizer took effect. Okay. Okay. This was good, this was progress. This didn't scream impending doom. He could work with this.
"Heyyy," Vox began, liltingly, slowly and carefully releasing his hold on Alastor by degrees. "Take it easy, big guy, there you go. Feeling all right?"
Alastor felt as though he was underwater. His head spun pleasantly, like when he had been a teenager and he broke into his maman’s wine cabinet. He continued to feel better the more Vox let go of him, letting out a drunk little giggle as he flopped back on the table.
“I .. feel fine,” he slurred.
Vox's eyes were wide. Was Alastor that intoxicated? He didn't know him to be a lightweight. He picked up the wine bottle to investigate the contents, trying very hard to not freak out about his precarious situation.
"Yeah? You feeling sleepy?" Vox hazarded to guess.
“Hm.” Alastor took stock of himself. “Yes.”
"You wanna take a little nap?" Vox trashed the bottle, coming to peer at Alastor's face.
“I think I do.”
It occurred to Vox that Alastor might not be in a fit state to walk. Jesus fuck, how had he allowed this mess to happen?
"You want me to take you home?" he asked, trying to be as normal as possible.
“I do.” Alastor said, hugging himself. “I am uncomfortable, and I do not want to be here.”
Vox heaved a sigh to hear the ugly truth. There was a stone in the pit of his stomach and as he gathered Alastor into his arms to see about getting him back to his radio studio. The sinner hissed like an angry cat as Vox picked him up, looking distinctly disgruntled and angry.
Vox had the distinct feeling that he had fucked absolutely everything up.
"Are you ever going to forgive me?" he asked, quietly, in a moment of honest anxiety.
“I don’t know,” Alastor said. “I don’t know. Our relationship is comfortable. I enjoy it, but you want what I cannot give you and I dislike how you push and disregard when I tell you to stop.”
The Alastor Vox knew was returning, or maybe he'd never gone anywhere to begin with. Vox felt gross, he felt like he'd sullied something sacred. He felt uncomprehendingly stupid. "I won’t touch you any more than I have to. And if you never want to see me again after this -- "
The suggestion got caught in his throat halfway through saying it. It paralyzed him, robbed him of all his nerve.
“I’ll see how I feel in the morning. Perhaps I will never want to see you again. Perhaps I will want to destroy you,” Alastor said, hugging himself again, as though doing so would protect him. “Or perhaps I will be magnanimous enough to pretend this entire evening did not happen.”
Vox stilled at that last.
... evening did not happen.
He closed his eyes -- his real, honest to goodness eyes.
What a fucking disaster.
"I don't suppose saying 'I'm sorry' might help?"
“Not at this moment, no.”
"Heard." Vox, like a man walking the green mile to the gallows, got a good grip on Alastor to take him home.
Driving, it took 22 minutes to get to the radio tower from the Vee Tower. Vox knew this precisely as he had visited Alastor's little den of deceit more times than he could count. Tech upgrades had to be installed by somebody, after all, and Alastor was not inclined to permit strangers into his space, let alone some plebeian tasked with replacing his precious equipment. Vox was the only one to be trusted with such important things. Besides, that way, if Vox bungled it he had access to the culprit for a good bitching out.
Vox made it halfway there.
At the ten minute mark, Vox paused at a red light. It was quieter than usual in this part of Pentagram City and it allowed for him to hear the deep, even breathing of the passed out Radio Demon in the passenger's seat. He glanced at him, insensate and oblivious to the world, wondering if it was the last time he'd ever see his face.
Talk about bungling something. Vox had fumbled the ball so hard he dreaded the morning. Alastor made it very clear, even through hypnosis, that the future could be very cold and bleak where they were concerned.
Not that there was a 'they' to begin with.
Vox rubbed his forehead wearily, heaving a huge sigh as the niggling voice in the back of his head chewed on his brain, whispering.
So don't take him home.
"What the fuck else am I supposed to do?" he exclaimed aloud to absolutely no one. The light turned green. Vox didn't hit the gas.
This just needs time. Time heals all wounds. Nobody can stay mad at you as long as you play your cards right.
It had been true enough in life. Get her flowers, get her a diamond tennis bracelet. Take the slap, take the tossing of the vase at to the head, listen to it shatter against the wall. Take her in hand kiss her until she sags. Lift her dress, make her moan, make her yours. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Vox banged his head against the steering wheel in agony. This was the most important relationship in his opulent, successful, miserable life and it was falling apart like kindling to ash. He glanced at Alastor again, teeth gritted so hard he wondered if the fresh enamel might crack under the pressure.
He tried to imagine his life without him.
"FUCK!" Vox screeched. Alastor didn't even flinch, he was so wasted.
Now Vox hit the gas, turning the steering wheel to the left until it couldn't anymore, the wheels screaming across the pavement as he flipped a bitch and zoomed back to his tower to do a very stupid, very desperate thing.