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The guest bedroom Lucifer had modified for this meeting was a lot cozier than his office had been. No overly large desk to separate the sinners from the saints – however fallen they might be. Just a set of comfortable sofas, and Lucifer pacing in front of a merrily crackling fireplace, brows furrowed and hands clasped behind his back.
He jerked to a halt as soon as Charlie entered, gaze dropping to Alastor's limp and back up again so quickly he nearly missed it. A shadow passed over his face, and he gestured at the larger of the sofas, inviting Alastor and Vox to sit.
Well – whilst he might normally have tried to decline Lucifer on principle, Alastor couldn't deny he was grateful to cross the few paces separating him from the plush seat, trying not to appear as though he was leaning too heavily on Vox's shoulder as he lowered himself to the couch, letting go and falling the last few inches with a soft whump.
Unable to cross his knees without risking another protest from his thigh, he crossed his ankles instead and tucked them against the base of the couch, legs turning towards Vox when he sat down – the pair of them taking up less than a third of the three seater couch, so closely together were they situated.
It seemed Vox was rather unwilling to part from him, even for a moment – and after that painful reminder of how much worse things could be for him whilst in the elevator, Alastor was not inclined to argue over that choice as Vox relaxed into the back of the seat, knees falling open and one of them pressing against Alastor's leg, signal buzzing against his own.
He slung an arm casually over the back of the couch – nothing to see, here, just a man taking up the space he was rightly entitled to – his claws brushing Alastor's shoulder where his hand hung off the cushion.
Wanting to lean into Vox, stopping himself only because that would be yet another display of weakness in front of Lucifer, Alastor sharpened his smile and cast his bright gaze around the room, as though he were merely a guest invited over for afternoon tea.
At the thought, his stomach growled.
Loudly.
There went any semblance of dignity, then – he'd not eaten since the brunch he'd dragged Husk to, before Vox had shown up and they'd made their way to the hotel for the start of this whole debacle. And it seemed as though his body had had quite enough of trying to heal his various aches and pains, fuelled only by a grilled sandwich and a black coffee.
Lucifer’s gaze fell to his middle, giving his stomach the attention it was demanding, and Alastor’s smile tightened on his face, static whining in the air.
“Apologies, all! Between my various adventures today it seems I’ve not had time to prepare a meal of any kind. I shall do my best not to expire from starvation whilst you lay down your verdict on my fate,” Alastor announced, playing his laugh track in the background.
Ever the showman, he wasn’t going to let a simple thing like hunger pangs slow him down.
Lucifer frowned, staring at him as though trying to work out how serious he was being. Alastor could practically see the gears turning in his mind, the slow grind of them as he came to a decision.
“What would you like to eat?”
Alastor tried in vain to hide his surprise – he blinked, once, and his static sputtered in the air as his smile froze on his face.
He hadn’t been expecting Lucifer to actually offer to accommodate him in any way.
His first thought was to ask for the most off-putting thing imaginable, just to see if Lucifer would arrange it. Raw meat of some kind, preferably of the fellow sinner variety – but then the more sensible side of his brain kicked in, the side that had been decidedly absent for most of the last twenty-four hours.
Sometimes logic had to take precedence over pettiness, as depressing as that was to admit – and if he hadn’t had time to eat, it stood to reason that Vox hadn’t, either. So whilst they had the option of ‘whatever they liked’, they might as well take advantage of that and get something to fuel the both of them. Demonic healing worked better when one wasn’t on the brink of passing out from hunger, after all.
“Dumplings,” Alastor decided for them both. “Preferably from the non-cannibal menu. Vox here never did take a shine to my dietary habits.” His grin widened as he tilted his head in Vox’s direction, simultaneously bringing attention to the fact that Vox wasn’t going to be ignored, here – and implying that he expected Lucifer to provide enough for him, too.
There was a twinkling sound in the air, a puff of red – and a coffee table appeared between the sofas, laden down with enough food to feed at least ten more people than were present.
Lucifer didn’t do anything by half measures, it seemed – though no caviar mountains made an unscheduled appearance.
Steam wafted into the air from the various plates on offer, and Alastor’s mouth watered – this was good quality food, probably from one of the more expensive restaurants in the culinary district. Or perhaps Lucifer had a private kitchen and staff available? It wasn’t important where it had come from, really – Alastor’s stomach growled again, and he swiped up a plate before Lucifer had even taken a seat opposite them, sinking onto the couch next to his daughter.
Beef, pork, chicken, vegetables – every kind of dumpling one could ask for. Alastor piled his plate high with a variety of options, pausing only when he saw that Vox hadn’t moved to take anything.
Too busy watching the king with a narrow-eyed gaze, Lucifer blissfully unaware of his scrutiny as he looked at Alastor’s steadily growing pile of food with something between awe and disgust.
Hmph.
It wasn’t as though Lucifer hadn’t seen him devour multiple loan sharks whole – compared to that kind of meal, this was rather reserved in comparison, but it would certainly suffice. And in any case, Alastor wasn’t planning on morphing into his monstrous form anytime soon, so this was quite satisfactory.
Seeing that Vox wasn’t about to take any initiative to prepare his own meal, Alastor briefly put his plate down, swiped up another, and filled it with one of every option – save for the dumplings which contained mushrooms. If memory served, Vox was not a fan. He shoved it into Vox’s hand, dumped a pair of chopsticks on his lap when his signal sputtered, and picked up his own plate again, unprepared to delay any longer.
Lucifer waited until Alastor was contentedly chewing on a pork and shrimp dumpling before speaking up. Almost as though he’d wanted the opportunity to talk without interruption, and Alastor narrowed his eyes in slight annoyance at the deliberate ruse, the dough of the dumpling working its way into the gaps between his teeth and forcing him to keep his mouth shut.
“So. First of all, I guess – uh, I guess we owe you an apology. Seems wild to be apologising to the guy who was killing the people my daughter was trying to help – but then again, by killing them, you were helping them. For selfish reasons. And without telling anyone what was going on – but you couldn’t. So... Look, this whole thing is – it's a mess, but we messed up by leaving you alone, earlier. I want you know that that I really, really wouldn’t have wished that on you, even if you are a massive thorn in my side. If – if you’ll let me, I can heal some of the damages that my – that Lilith caused.”
Lucifer’s sentence started off filled with authority, as though everything he’d said had been rehearsed ten times over in his mind. It was only when he got to the last of it that he stumbled over his words, something almost lost passing behind his eyes.
Next to him, Charlie bit her lip, arms folded across her middle and squeezing tightly as her knees pressed together.
“Dad…” she prompted, and Lucifer let out a heavy sigh, shoulders curling forward as he tucked his own hands between his knees.
He didn’t look very much like the King of Hell, right now – he simply looked like a man having to face the harsh realities of knowing how far gone his estranged wife truly was.
In truth, even Alastor was almost tempted to sympathy.
But only almost.
Alastor swallowed his mouthful of food, running his tongue over his teeth to get rid of any stragglers, but before he had a chance to speak up, Lucifer was off again. The man really could fit about ten minutes worth of conversation into ten seconds – he could give Vox a run for his money.
“Right, right. I think – you probably deserve a bit of an explanation. I guess you're wondering, did I know anything about this? She's my wife, after all, so how could I not? And – look, to be clear, I had no idea she had you prisoner. I didn't even know you'd met her, let alone made a deal with her. But... everything you've said, about her wanting sinners to get into Heaven, wanting to form some kind of army up there... it's not... well, it's not impossible to believe,” Lucifer sighed again, dragging his hand down his face, circling it around to the back of his neck. It looked as though all of his ten thousand years had hit him at once, as exhausted as both Vox and Alastor were.
Yellow eyes fixed on Alastor, alarming in their intensity. Alastor met his gaze, unblinking, and slowly picked up another dumpling, just as deliberately transferring it into his mouth.
Vox's signal hummed against his leg, amusement dancing through it – tinged with a hint of wariness. As if Alastor needed any warning that they ought to still be wary around the king – after having been nearly concussed by him that very morning, Alastor was well aware of that fact.
“Lilith always – she never accepted Heaven's decision. And when Charlie was born, and the exterminations started... look, maybe it wasn't my finest moment, but all I cared about was keeping Charlie safe. I made the deal with Heaven that Hell-born wouldn't be touched – so they could never come after her. But... but...” he trailed off, shame darkening his eyes as they dropped to his own knee, his knuckles clenching against white trousers.
Alastor cocked his head as Charlie took a breath, putting a hand on her father's.
“But mom isn't Hell-born.”
The realisation hit Alastor like a blow.
He'd somehow never put that much together – oh, he knew their story, everybody did – but to hear it put that way, to have the facts presented like this...
If he had been with somebody, trusted somebody – loved somebody – enough to sacrifice everything else he had in life, only for that person to make a deal that would put him at risk...
Well - he might be a little miffed about it, too.
“Lilith is human. So very human,” Lucifer muttered, purple lids sliding shut for the briefest of moments, not quite hiding the pang of longing in his gaze. “Humans were never meant to live for ten thousand years – and especially not like – like this. It would warp anyone. Look at Adam – you think he was always so reckless? And he's been in Heaven this whole time. Lilith didn't – she never liked that I gave up on you.”
His voice was quiet, now, and when he said 'you', Alastor had a feeling he wasn't referring only to the pair of demons in front of him.
Vox's frequency pulsed, moments before he spoke up.
“So – forgive me, your majesty, if I'm missing something here. I'm sure it's all very sad, very moving – kicked out of Heaven, yep, gotta suck – but what the fuck does that have to do with her keeping Alastor prisoner? With torturing him, tricking him – all to get sinners into Heaven?” Vox asked, all business. He clearly wasn't interested in any of the details surrounding her motives, not unless Lucifer started getting to the point.
No wonder he didn't come to the Overlord meetings very often.
Lucifer's expression hardened – then turned exhausted once more.
“Right, right. It's – she always wanted to inspire sinners, encourage you to rise up against Heaven. The exterminations put a bit of a stop to that, plus I thought she'd – she'd moved on. When we had Charlie. But having Charlie just made her more protective. Lilith was not a bad mother!” Lucifer insisted, as though it was important for them to know that.
Charlie kept her hand on his, though she was looking away, clearly lost in her own memories. It was obvious that some of this was new information to her, too, and Alastor couldn't imagine it was very pleasant finding out about it alongside your hotelier-slash-occasional confidante - and an almost total stranger.
“I don't know why she's doing this. I don't know why she's involved you – unless it was just that it was convenient, or she had one of her... less stable moments when you met. All I can do is guess, and until I have a clearer picture, I want you to stay at the hotel, Alastor. And I want somebody with you at all times. If your... uh - friend isn't able to stay here, then we'll have to think of something else. We'll need to let people know that the reason you were killing the guests was because it was the final step towards redemption... but... I don't want to tell them Lilith ordered it,” Lucifer admitted, a faint golden blush rising up behind the red circles on his cheeks.
Vox snorted derisively, jabbing his chopsticks in Lucifer's direction – the ends of them still perfectly clean, since he hadn't bothered to take even a single bite of food, yet.
“You don't wanna drag her name through the mud? Fine. Alastor doesn't want people knowing he was working for her, either. You think your reputation will suffer? What's it matter? You're the king, your position is untouchable. But if word gets out that Alastor was working for somebody else? Doing things he didn't want to do? God, they'll go for his throat. No,” Vox barked out, speaking on Alastor's behalf, putting words in his mouth – but none of them were particularly distasteful to his palate, so he settled back against the couch, grin widening as he watched this play out.
The fact that leaning back just happened to jostle Vox's arm onto his shoulders was nothing but an added bonus. Pure happenstance. And nobody could prove otherwise.
“Say it was for redemption – fine. But you have to work out a way to announce it without putting him at risk. You've done enough of that, today. Look, give me a few hours - I'll come up with a convincing story. The only people that need to know the full details are people you trust, implicitly. And I fucking hope you're not stupid enough for that number to need more than two hands to count,” Vox added with a glower, Alastor's static brushing over his arm and communicating his approval of his plans.
Something warmed in his chest at the sight of Vox once more taking charge, of thinking ahead – of speaking back to Lucifer, of all people, and all in his defence. He was so fiery like this, such tempered rage.
Where Alastor's anger tended to writhe within him like the shadows he manifested, burning him up from the inside until it exploded, uncontrolled – or froze inside him into an icy rage – Vox's fury was that of a finely honed blade, so delicately crafted that one barely saw it coming. Directed perfectly, so cutting and clever.
A stark contrast to the way he'd overloaded the city during their on air argument.
“And of course I'm staying here. I can't be here twenty-four seven – I still have a company to run. But I'm not letting that bitch at him again,” Vox growled, his static curling over Alastor so thoroughly, coating every inch of him with such suddenness that the fur on his ears stood on end, his tail straightening under his belt.
But it wasn't – wasn't suppressing his own signal. Alastor weaved it over and around and through Vox's, marvelling at the way the two intertwined. On Vox's head, a spark fizzed on the end of one antenna, racing down it to dart over his casing. Alastor sent a thread of his own static questing up Vox's body, catching the spark and smothering it before it managed to jump into one of his ports.
“That – that is, if Alastor's okay with that,” Vox faltered, the scowl on his face softening when he turned his screen to tilt it in Alastor's direction, suddenly uncertain.
“I already ordered a bed for your house. I can get it redirected here,” he added in a low murmur - low enough that perhaps Lucifer and Charlie wouldn't pick up on what he was saying. Alastor swallowed, his heart rabbiting away in his chest once more, the blasted thing.
Vox was asking if he could spend his nights here. Away from Vee Tower.
More importantly-
Away from Valentino.
It might not be the best look for his business – but it was difficult for Alastor to muster up enough worry for Vox's company, too grateful was he for the offer. Lilith's latest visit had left him far more shaken than he might like to admit, and the idea of her finding him alone again was not one he could bear to contemplate just now.
“I can provide anything you need,” Lucifer spoke up, his hearing apparently too good for a mutter to escape his notice. “And the offer to heal you still stands – the superficial wounds, at least. I think it's a good idea for you to get some more rest before we try anything with the steel.”
Alastor's ear twitched, the idea of letting Lucifer's power anywhere near him making his skin crawl.
He turned to the king, drumming his claws along his microphone as he hummed with thought, as though considering the offer, already knowing full well what his answer would be. Charlie looked as though she knew it, too, her face already set into a sad kind of acceptance.
“I've no desire to have your magic molesting me, I'm afraid. Though perhaps-” Alastor paused, stilling his fingers on his cane, acting for all the world as though he'd just had the most marvellous, unexpected, completely unplanned for thought. His grin sharpened as Lucifer's look turned wary.
“Perhaps a drop of Angelic blood might speed up the healing process? Help me recover my strength? It certainly seemed to do wonders, last time.”
It might be pushing his luck – and he had precious little of it to spare, of late, but the idea of getting that heady taste again, straight from the source...
Lucifer's mouth twisted, the man wincing at the very suggestion of it.
“Oh, sure. If you want a temporary fix that'll probably just give you an addiction to the stuff, go right ahead. It's not a solution, Alastor – no matter what your cannibal friends say,” Lucifer scoffed, unconsciously answering the question of whether more of the blood was a viable answer to his problems.
Alastor's tongue darted out to wet his lips, not entirely convinced he was right. He had felt so powerful last time, like he could take on the world. Like the steel in his chest was a paltry matter, barely worth a second thought.
Vox's signal jarred him from his thoughts, pinching at his nape and making him jolt.
Hmm.
Perhaps what Lucifer had said wasn't without its merits, after all. He didn't want to end up as reliant on it as Husk was on alcohol. Especially considering how miserable he seemed now that he had stopped consuming it.
“I'm – I'm glad you're back, Alastor. I'm sorry I attacked you without listening to what you had to say. That wasn't – it's not the sort of message I want to be sending here,” Charlie interjected, looking so dejected at the memory that it was impossible to hold a grudge over it.
She was only doing what she needed to do to protect her people, after all. It was an instinct that would prove useful - if Alastor was truly going to try and turn her into the leader Lilith needed.
The thought made a bitter taste rise up in the back of his mouth – or perhaps one of the dumplings simply hadn't agreed with him. He surely couldn't be feeling guilty about this additional plan of deception – could he?
“My dear, even if you had listened, I doubt anything I would have been able to say would have satisfied your need for answers. I can certainly see how things looked, after all,” Alastor dismissed, all forgiven and forgotten, whisky under the bridge.
A tentative smile graced her face, hopeful and a little bit tired.
It seemed that was a trait they all had in common – it had been an eventful day, and the few hours of rest Alastor had snatched earlier were wearing off, the debt collectors of sleep catching up to him and pinning the notice to his proverbial door.
He needed a proper night's rest – or he would be living with these injuries a damn sight longer than he would like.
A yawn cracked his jaw, splitting his face near in half as the thought of sleep crossed his mind – jagged teeth catching the light, Lucifer turning a little green at the picture he painted. Vox was unphased – he'd seen it plenty of times before, even if not so recently, and Alastor felt his static poke playfully at his side.
He cut the other man a dry look, raising one brow and glancing pointedly at the food still in front of them. With a roll of his eyes and a slight smirk, Vox finally started to eat – leaving Alastor to discuss the finer details of the duty roster with Charlie as Lucifer excused himself to go clap another bed into existence in Alastor's rooms.
A slight hint of irritation ran through him at the idea – that Lucifer was going to be invading his space – but the man promised to enter no further than the doorway upon seeing Alastor's near grimace, the way his ears turned back. He supposed it would have to do.
Charlie didn't comment at the fact Vox's arm was still over Alastor's shoulder, and he let Vox's static sink into him, soothing nerves and aches alike, returning the gesture in kind by pulsing his signal up over the other man's head – blanketing out any outside interference.
A strangely domestic scene – in the midst of a rather tumultuous week.
Alastor's pile of dumplings grew steadily smaller.
* * * * * *
Lucifer had been right about one thing – he could provide everything they needed.
At least for the time being – many of Alastor's things were still at his home, but that was a problem to be dealt with later. When he had slightly more energy than an overworked housewife on her sixteenth straight hour of preparing for a business dinner party.
All he wanted at this very second was to slip into his pyjamas and crawl between the sheets of his bed – his bed, his actual bed. Not a couch, not the floor – a real, genuine bed.
A bed which had been moved slightly to the left of where it usually sat, to make room for the single bed added to his suite with roughly a foot of space between them, his nightstand separating the two.
Lucifer had provided the option – now it was up to Alastor and Vox to decide what they were going to do with it.
A set of pyjamas sat folded on the new bed – blue pinstripes with an occasional cartoonish television breaking up the pattern, which made Vox roll his eyes and Alastor snort, suppressing a laugh. He couldn't admit that he'd found something Lucifer had done amusing – it simply wouldn't do.
Vox's signal buzzed around him, seemingly having grown steadier over the course of the last few hours. When Alastor strode to his dresser and pulled out a set of black silk nightclothes, a thread of it followed after him, curling over his claws and up his arm. He smirked at Vox, pausing as he made his way to the bathroom – stopping at his side to brush his claws over Vox's wrist, static trailing in his wake.
The noise of Vox's fans increased.
“Let me know when you're... decent. If you need to use any of the facilities, please feel free,” Alastor murmured, his voice crackling for a moment before his filters settled. His heart hadn't returned to a normal rhythm ever since they'd returned to his suite, and the idea of spending the night with the man he'd grown so fond of became suddenly real.
He wasn't sure how one went about this sort thing. Everything was still very new, and though Vox had seen him without his shirt a handful of times, nobody had seen anything more than that. It didn't feel like the right time to be venturing into uncharted territory – the only territory he was really interested in exploring right now was the familiar space of his mattress.
Vox nodded, not questioning Alastor's request at all – and Alastor slipped into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him as he shed his clothing as quickly as possible, stepping into the black silk pyjamas and doing his best not to stumble as the pain of his leg flared up without Vox's signal suppressing it.
A sliver of trepidation wormed its way into the back of his mind, and he pushed it back – surely Lilith wasn't going to return. Not so soon – not with nothing but a wooden door separating him from Vox. He finished buttoning his shirt, turning in front of the mirror and twisting his head on his neck to ensure his tail was stuffed firmly under the elastic waistband of his pants.
They weren't as reliable as his belt – the horrible thing had a habit of slipping out during his sleep – so he could only hope that didn't happen while Vox was looking.
Why he was so concerned about it, he couldn't say. It was simply a part of his Hellish form he didn't particularly appreciate – the way it moved around, responding to his emotions – he might as well be waving a black tipped, red flag around announcing he was frightened, or excited, or any myriad of other feelings that others might use to manipulate him.
A few of the flying insects living in his guts made a weak attempt at flight.
It was unlikely Vox would do that – not after everything. Perhaps...
He shook his head. Now wasn't the time.
They were both hurt, exhausted, their brains and bodies overloaded with the stressors of the day. They'd just barely worked out kissing, let alone anything else. What they needed right now was rest – not further experimentation.
“I'm good.” Vox's voice came through the door, and Alastor tugged the back of his long sleeved nightshirt down, trying to cover the bump that the much looser fabric of his pyjamas didn't suppress. There was a reason he wore his trousers so tailored – wore his coat whenever he left his private spaces. A well cut item of clothing could hide any number of undesirable features.
His hooves tapped softly on the tiles, the noise changing to a duller sound when he pulled open the bathroom door and entered his suite, floorboards going some way to muffle his tread. His smile went lopsided at how ridiculous Vox looked in the pyjamas Lucifer had designed for him – it certainly wasn't an outfit one might expect the CEO of VoxTek to be found in.
Alastor's frequency curled from his body, his eyes drawn up to Vox's antenna – bare, now, his hat set on the nightstand between the beds. A single spark jumped on top of one, and Alastor narrowed his eyes at it, stepping forward and raising his hand to the side of Vox's face, sending a pulse of static up to get it back under control.
Vox's smile went equally lopsided, screen darkening slightly.
How ridiculous – the pair of them, stood like this, clad in their nightclothes – and the tension in the air growing by the second. Alastor swiped his thumb over the side of Vox's screen, suddenly nervous.
He hadn't minded kissing Vox, earlier. Wouldn't mind trying it out again – but would that imply to the other man that he was trying to start... other activities? How would Vox see it? He didn't want to issue an invitation he had no intention on following through with.
Alastor had never been so uncertain about anything, before. Why was it that killing a man was leagues easier than kissing one?
His static whined in the air, and Vox raised his own hand, loosely curling his claws around Alastor's wrist – sending a ribbon of static curling up his arm, emanating reassurance, somehow – and Alastor's heart began to slow, ceased its wild galloping as though it had been trying to win a derby only he was entered in. He swallowed, tongue darting out briefly to wet his lips, and he couldn't miss the way Vox's eyes fell to the movement, his own signal skipping.
With a slight furrow of his brow, Alastor threw caution to the wind and dropped his hand to Vox's chest, pushing his palm against the TV demon's torso. Relief flooded through him when he felt the frantic thud of Vox's heartbeat under his touch – either the man had an incredibly high resting heart rate, and he needed to get that checked out - or he was somehow as nervous as Alastor was with this situation. Vox's thumb brushed against Alastor's wrist, over his pulse point – he hadn't let go, even when Alastor had lowered his hand.
“I think I'd like it if you kissed me again,” Alastor admitted, interference crackling over his words. His gaze rose from where it had been settled on his own hand, resting on the cartoonish pyjama top over Vox's chest, his eyes bright and curious. His ears perked forwards, towards the TV demon, betraying that curiosity – and he saw Vox's throat bob, watched as he blinked in surprise – felt the way his signal suddenly soared into a wildly buzzing dance of static.
“I think I'd like that, too,” Vox replied, his eyes too wide, taking up entirely too much real estate on his screen.
Only slightly less tentative than before, Vox leaned in – and this time Alastor tipped his own head forward, tilting it as his eyes inevitably squeezed shut against the brightness, static prickling at his nose moments before the oddly pliant material around Vox's mouth met his lips, moulding to fit, slotting together as his heart turned over in his chest.
He was still leaning rather heavily on his microphone with his right hand, so to compensate he slid the other up Vox's chest, wrapping his claws over the other man's shoulder for balance as he responded to Vox's mouth on his – gently parting his lips when Vox moved his, learning as he went and feeling things out. One of his own sharp teeth accidentally caught on the simulacrum of a mouth Vox had manifested, and Vox made a low noise of what might have been surprise – Alastor wasn't certain.
His ears pricked up at the sound regardless – a thread of warmth curling through him when Vox's hand once more crept up to the back of his neck, the tips of his claws pushing up into the shorter hair at his nape.
He wasn't sure when he'd moved, but he was suddenly aware of a pressure on the magnet in his chest, pushing against the TV demon's torso – and Vox's other hand had found its way to his waist, moving to circle behind his back.
Like stepping into a bucket of ice water, Alastor felt his tail wagging against the back of his shirt – so enthusiastically that it had already started to push its way up from his waistband – and he panicked, slightly – taking more of his weight onto his right leg than he ought to and stumbling when a jolt of pain ran over his nerves.
Vox pulled back, alarm going over his screen as the arm that had been so close to discovering that absolutely traitorous ball of fluff wrapped instead around his shoulders, taking some of Alastor's weight in one arm.
A chuckle welled out of him. Well – that was one way to ensure the mood was thoroughly deceased.
Alastor pushed into his cane, stepping back and gently using his other hand to remove Vox's arm from around his back, giving him a wry grin.
“Perhaps we ought to press pause on that action,” Alastor suggested, trying to be as surreptitious as possible as he twitched the back of his trousers up, trying to flatten his tail downwards to no avail – it seemed determined to be upright, dancing merrily around at the base of his spine as though it wanted to be found out. He smoothed the back of his shirt down as he circled around the other man, sending his frequency up Vox's chest and down his arm as he passed – a feather light touch - and Vox's own signal wrapped around it, gently concerned.
“Yeah. Might be a good idea to go off the air for now. Seems like your broadcast is done for the time being,” Vox gave him a soft smile, watching him with too much attention for Alastor's liking – he limped around the end of the bed and threw his covers back, setting his microphone between the bed and the nightstand as he lowered himself down, finally feeling slightly more at ease when he'd gotten his legs up and the duvet pulled up to his waist.
Vox nodded, climbing into the bed Lucifer had summoned as Alastor shuffled down amongst the pillows, laying on his side so he could watch Vox as the man shifted around, arranging his pillows until they were rather flat against the bed.
“Um – goodnight,” Vox muttered, flat on his back, screen facing the ceiling. Alastor drew his knee up, feeling the edge of the bed under his leg with how close to it he was. He reached out and flicked off the light for the room, plunging them suddenly into darkness before his eyes adjusted to the faint red light that crept in through the gaps in his curtains.
The sound of Vox's fans was a low hum in the silence, Alastor's static crackling around him adding an additional background noise. He missed the sound of his bayou. The silence was no longer something he could stand, these days, and after a few minutes of lying there, watching how still Vox was, he spoke up.
“Picture Box?”
His voice, though pitched low, sounded inappropriately loud in the near darkness.
“Yeah?” came the response, the TV demon clearly as awake as he was.
“Would it bother you if I put on some music?”
“No – not at all. Um – go ahead.”
So Alastor did – mentally sorting through his stations, settling on his favourite piano piece and sending the notes drifting quietly in the air.
It was several minutes of Alastor laying awake, staring at the side of Vox's head – listening to their ambient white noise and the music he'd set playing – before he spoke up again. Quieter, this time, his smile twisting and his ears falling back with something close to embarrassment.
“Vox?”
“Yeah?” Again, the answer came too quickly – despite their exhaustion, neither of them seemed capable of actually sleeping, when the opportunity was finally there and it was the one thing they were supposed to be doing.
Alastor's stomach twisted, discomfort winding through him.
“I can't feel your signal as strongly anymore.”
Admitting that – admitting that he wanted it, needed it – now that he no longer had the excuse of having just awoken from what might as well be called torture – it felt pathetic. His ears twisted forward when Vox sighed, the sound almost relieved.
“Thank fuck. I thought it was just bugging me. Um – how's this?” Vox asked, the slightly darker form of his hand in the shadows of the room reaching out across the space between the two beds. Less than two feet separating them, and given their equally lengthy proportions, it was a simple matter for Alastor to stretch out the arm he had against the mattress, claws curling around Vox's hand – feeling Vox's claws brush against his knuckles just the same.
Static jumped between them, frequencies briefly pushing against one another – before they settled, Vox's signal wrapping over his wrist and trailing up his arm, Alastor's doing the same, jumping along the edge of Vox's screen just as the wild sparks that appeared when he got upset did.
Some of Alastor's tension faded, and though the position wasn't the most comfortable, he found it easier to close his lids and keep them closed, this time. He had the brief, mad thought of offering Vox a space in his bed, but something held him back – fully clothed was one thing, but that felt a little too intimate for now.
This was enough for him.
An ear twitched at the once familiar noise of Vox's screen shutting off, the faintest electrical pulse sounding through the room, barely audible over the piano notes still playing. It was the only outward sign Alastor made that he was aware of anything – finally wrapped in his own bedding, in his own bed – with music playing and Vox's signal humming against his hand, even in his sleep – it wasn't long before he wasn't aware of anything at all.
~to be continued~