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The restraints were a touch excessive.
Alastor was currently sat in his rolling chair; the same place he had been for the past 24 hours of Vox’s ever persisting victory tour. Arms pinned and legs locked, cables buzzing like they were actually enjoying themselves. It was to Vox’s chagrin that despite all this manhandling, Alastor still looked immaculate - albeit a little tired. Jacket unwrinkled, smile intact, posture dignified.
Vox paced in front of him, boots clicking rhythmically against the metal floor. Alastor could practically hear the sinner’s thoughts whirring around inside his metal casing, no doubt deciding what embarrassing spectacle would be made of him next. His old rival’s uncertainty was palpable. Every nearby screen showed a slightly different angle of Alastor’s defeat, as if the room itself was mocking him - or, more likely, stroking Vox’s ego.
“You know,” Alastor said cheerfully, “I’ve been tied up in far worse situations, but at least those hosts had the courtesy to offer refreshments.”
Vox stopped in his tracks and slowly turned with an incredulous look on his face, “You are not getting refreshments.”
“Oh, I wasn’t asking,” Alastor replied. “I was judging.”
Vox’s screen flickered with irritation, “You’re my prisoner, Al. You don’t get opinions.”
“And yet,” Alastor hummed, “here I am still having them. How curious!”
It was delicious how easy Vox was to wind up. Or, perhaps Alastor was just too well versed in what strings to pluck to set the man off. Either way, prodding Vox had fast become Alastor’s favourite pastime whilst confined to V Tower.
“You’re lucky I’m even letting you talk.”
“Well you did gag me earlier and frankly the silence was dreadful. For both of us, I’m sure.”
“That was for my sanity.”
“And how’s that working out?” Alastor drawled.
Static crackled in the air.
Vox straightened, folding his arms. “You’re being annoying. What do you want?”
“Ah! Clever boy. Progress already.” Alastor beamed. “Now, hear me out. Purely logically, of course - these restraints?” He wiggled in an exaggerated manner. “Overkill. I’m sitting. I’m behaving. I’m contractually obligated to be at your mercy. I haven’t cursed your servers, hijacked your broadcasts or turned any interns into dust.”
“…Yet,” Vox muttered under his breath.
“Exactly!” Alastor said, delighted. “Which means you’re doing something right! Marvelous job, Vox! So why not reward my good behavior?”
Vox raised an eyebrow. “By letting you loose? Yeah right. You might be my prisoner but you’re still a liability.”
“Oh no no,” Alastor said quickly. “Let’s not get dramatic. I’m not asking to roam free, even I know that’s out of the question.”
He leaned forward as much as the chair allowed, eyes fluttering in what could only be described as Alastor’s best attempt at being coy, “Just a few minutes every hour or so. I get uncomfortable sitting still and it’s dreadful for circulation.”
Vox stared at him. “You want me to loosen the restraints… because of circulation.”
“Yes! Health is very important. Wouldn’t want your captive to pass out. Terrible for public image.” Alastor paused. “Also, I’d stop humming.”
“…You’re humming?”
Alastor immediately began to hum a loud, off-key song that was probably not even a real song at all. The noise reverberated around the room, blasting from all available speakers with an ear splitting crackle.
Several screens glitched in protest.
“STOP. IT.” Vox snapped.
Alastor stopped instantly, smug. “See? Incentives.”
Vox wiped a hand across his screen. “You are unbelievable.”
“And you,” Alastor replied warmly, “are reasonable. Deep down. Somewhere beneath that god complex and our unresolved rivalry.”
Vox glared at him for a good while before his expression softened. He began to edge closer to his captive.
“You know… I might be willing to let you out of the chair. Permanently.”
Alastor’s ears perked up. “Why Vox, old pal, that’s the most sensible thing you’ve said all day.”
“But,” Vox continued, raising a finger, “you don’t get that for free.”
Alastor sighed theatrically. “Naturally. And here I was hoping for a charitable miracle...”
“I’ll let you roam this entire floor freely,” Vox smirked as he leant in, “For a blowjob.”
If Alastor was going to fuck with him - he was going to fuck with Alastor. There was something so terribly hilarious about offering up sexual favours to the radio demon. The old prude would be appalled at the very notion. He would scoff and chide Vox for such a a ridiculous request - there might even be a glint of embarrassment momentarily replacing his smug expression.
Now that would be a dream come true.
Before Vox had chance to throw his head back in unbridled glee at the notion of shutting Alastor down with such a vulgar offer, the captured man responded.
“Handjob.”
The word landed like a dropped microphone.
Vox’s screen glitched, static bursting across his face for half a second before he regained composure and snapped back into an aggressively wide smile.
“Handjob?” he echoed, voice pitching up in a way he absolutely did not intend it to. Vox scoffed, unreasonably annoyed that his attempt to rile up Alastor had backfired, “Shut the fuck up.“
“My dear Vox,“ Alastor chuckled, looking up at the man through heavy lids and fluttering eyelashes, “I’m haggling.”
Vox straightened, folding his arms as if that might steady the flicker rippling across his screen. He laughed, “You’re insufferable.”
“On the contrary,” Alastor replied, “I’m being remarkably reasonable.” He tilted his head, “Besides, you’re the one who brought lewd currency into polite discourse. I’m merely adjusting the exchange rate.”
For a long moment, Vox said nothing and just stared, the only thing filling the awkward silence of the room was the steady buzz of electricity. His expression twitched, then steadied and finally settled into something calmer.
“Fine,” he said at last, the word clipped, almost annoyed that it had left his mouth. “A handjob. That’s the deal.” He jabbed a finger toward Alastor, pressing it hard into the man’s wounded chest. “You give me a handjob and you get this floor. No tricks. No disappearing acts.”
Vox expected the man to start laughing then, to tell him this ridiculous conversation was over and that Vox was a degenerate for suggesting anything of the sort in the first place, but instead, Alastor’s grin widened just a fraction, clearly satisfied. “How wonderfully pragmatic of you,” he said smoothly. “I knew we’d find common ground.”
Alastor immediately felt his confines loosen, retreating cautiously as if they were ready to snap back into place at the drop of a hat. The radio demon rose slowly from the chair, rolling his shoulders and stretching his muscles; testing a long neglected freedom.
Vox cleared his throat, posture squaring as if professionalism alone could smother the implications hanging in the air. “Don’t get any funny ideas,” he said quickly. “This is a transaction. Nothing more.”
“Of course,” Alastor replied, as though they were discussing broadcast rights rather than… handjobs.
The tv demon’s professionalism in that moment was a facade, but it wasn’t like Alastor really needed any confirmation of Vox’s feelings towards him. He never had done. The man’s tells were embarrassingly obvious once you knew how to look. How the static spiked when Alastor entered his space, how Vox talked overly fast and loud, as if volume could mask his vulnerability, how his screen glitched when Alastor’s jabs hit a little too close to home.
Love. Obsession. Call it whatever word you like. To Alastor, it was a form of leverage. And leverage was useful.
He turned the thought over in his mind- Vox the great media overlord plagued by something so human. It was almost quaint.
Alastor walked forward, stopping just short of Vox’s personal space, eyes glittering with mischief. “I would never confuse business with pleasure.”
That earned him another buzz of static.
Alastor delighted in it.
Vox gestured toward a side corridor. “You’ve got your freedom. Take a lap. Prove you can behave.”
And with that express permission, Alastor began to stroll away with exaggerated leisure.
“How magnanimous,” he called over his shoulder, words echoing as he walked further away. “I do appreciate a host who honors his word.”
Vox watched him go, arms folded tight, his screen glowing a fraction brighter than usual.
Alastor returned after only a minute or two, but it was quite arguably the longest couple of minutes Vox had ever had to endure in his entire life. Or afterlife.
“Well!” The radio demon exclaimed as he triumphantly re-entered the room, “Shall we get to it?”
“W-what? N-now!?” Came the spluttered reply of a man who was barely keeping his nerves at bay.
“No time like the present.” Alastor said lightly, hands clasped behind his back.
The room felt immediately smaller the moment Alastor began to step into Vox’s personal space, drawing in close enough that Vox’s senses were sent into overdrive. The musky, nostalgic scent of his old companion filled the air around them, a light spark connecting their frequencies before they ever even touched.
Vox’s faux confidence faltered for just a beat as his back hit a desk. When had he even backed up this far?
“You’re awfully eager, Al.” He chucked lightly, no doubt another feeble attempt to mask his uncertainty.
“I am simply a man of my word,” Alastor replied, leaning in just enough to make the words feel like a secret.
The air between them was thick, uncomfortably so. Vox didn’t dare move a muscle. And he couldn’t really; trapped between the solid desk and the one person that, despite his best efforts, had not fallen so willingly at his feet. Every instinct screamed to hold his ground and fight back against whatever this was, painfully aware of how deliberately close the powerful Radio Demon Alastor now was.
Vox was cornered prey.
Alastor lifted a hand, not touching, not yet. He let it hover, the pause intentional and cruel in its patience. Vox’s breath hitched, the tension winding tighter with every second that Alastor delayed.
“You seem nervous,” Alastor murmured, still amused by the entire situation, “this was your idea.”
His fingers brushed Vox’s wrist instead, a feather light touch that wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the growing ache in Vox’s chest, but was more than enough to be unbearable. Vox swallowed hard, caught between a desperate desire to touch back and the knowledge that doing so might upset the delicate balance of the situation.
It was only then that the unsettling realisation hit him- Alastor was enjoying this far more than Vox had ever considered he would.
Alastor pulled back just slightly, “Relax, my dear Vincent,” he said. “You’re so tightly wound, I fear you may snap.”
Vox knew with a sinking certainty, that whatever happened next, whenever Alastor decided it was to happen, it would be entirely on Alastor’s terms.
And Vox would willingly let him take control.
Alastor closed the distance at last.
Vox had been rigid, every line of him pulled taut, confidence held together by sheer force of will. The thread of his control was splintering with every passing second. His screen hummed softly, the glowing blush brightening just enough to give his embarrassment away. He had desperately been willing himself not to react.
Alastor’s hand settled against Vox’s chest flat and deliberate, feeling the vibration beneath his shirt. It had been an intimate touch not because of where it was, but because of how intentional it felt. Alastor’s thumb traced a slow, idle arc against the fabric like he was tuning a dial only he could hear.
“There we are,” Alastor had murmured, pleased. “Still standing.”
Vox exhaled shakily. “Are you going to get on with it or what? This is getting boring.”
A blatant lie.
“Oh, I disagree,” Alastor leaned closer, his breath ghosting across Vox’s screen, voice dropping into that smooth register that always made his lower stomach pulse. “You are fascinating like this.”
His fingers pressed in just a fraction more, grounding, claiming and pushing, making Vox acutely aware of every point of contact. Vox’s hands curled at his sides, knuckles tight as he fought the urge to reach out and grab that stupid, sexy cocktease by his stupid fucking ears. He could easily throw the bastard onto the floor and rut against him until he was satisfied. Tear that tailored suit from his skin and take and take until there was nothing left.
But he wouldn’t.
Alastor had felt it all: the tension, the restraint, the way Vox was barely holding himself together. Instead of pushing further he had paused, letting the moment stretch on until it ached.
“Such self-control,” he had said softly, almost as if he were praising the man. “Imagine if I were the one to make you lose it.”
Vox whined.
Fingers pressed ever so lightly against the front of the man’s trousers, a teasing touch that traced the outline of what was already an embarrassingly large bulge in the fabric. Truthfully, Vox’s arousal had begun long before Alastor had even stepped close to him, in fact, his traitorous prick had began to swell at the mere utterance of the word ‘handjob’ falling from the radio demons lips.
Alastor continued to touch experimentally for a few moments longer, up and down the length of his old friend through his pants. Vox choked out a laugh; a surprising thing that bubbled up deep from his chest, “If you don’t touch me properly in the next five minutes I’m going to jizz in my fucking pants.”
Alastor’s nose crinkled with disgust, “Charming.”
“Well, that’s not a handjob is it? If I finish like this-” Vox smirked, his breath ragged, “The deal would be void and we’d have to do this all over again…”
“I could just choose to go back to the chair…”
Vox’s eyes went wide at the thought, his hand shooting out to grab Alastor’s wrist, the one still grazing his straining erection, “N-no Al, please- I’m sorry. I need this. You know how bad I need this, don’t you? Come on…”
“Ah… what a delightful predicament,” Alastor purred, tilting his head. His voice was positively dripping with mock amusement, but underneath it, there was heat.
Having Vox at his mercy like this was intoxicating, the pleading, the begging for Alastor’s touch - so desperate for him. Alastor knew sex was a powerful bargaining chip but he had no idea just how easily he could make the tv demon succumb to his, self admittedly non-existent, wiles. Alastor could get Vox to do pretty much anything like this; he was certain of it.
Now that was an exciting prospect!
“I must say, either choice has its… consequences.”
Barely a second went by before Alastor, ever the altruist, carefully removed the hand pressed against Vox’s chest and began to slowly unbuckle the man’s belt. Vox heaved out the breath he had been holding in, body positively thrumming with need.
The radio demon carefully shimmied down Vox’s pants and underwear, just enough to free his hard cock from its cruel confinement. Alastor considered the man’s genitals for a moment; dark blue and larger than his own, but rather ordinary in its appearance - he didn’t know what he had been expecting to be honest. With Vox’s strange habit of upgrading himself every decade Alastor was surprised the thing wasn’t luminescent or monstrous in size.
Vox watched on with a pained expression as Alastor simply observed him, “I- I can’t take it anymore. Alastor… please…” His voice, trembling and raw, was almost a confession, an offering of every fragile piece of control he had left.
Alastor’s grin widened as he finally wrapped his hand around Vox’s shaft. He gave his member a slow, steady pump from tip to base, squeezing just enough to get Vox’s toes curling in his boots, “Oh, I know you can’t,” he purred. “And that is why this is so delicious.”
Alastor pressed his thumb against the tip of Vox’s erection, swiping through the precum that had gathered there before pumping his fist up and down the length once more. Vox couldn’t help but whimper at the sensation.
Alastor leaned closer, letting his breath warm the edge of Vox’s frame. “So desperate,” he murmured. “So obedient…”
Vox could barely respond between his strained moans, each aborted plea broken and frenzied, “Alastor please- don’t stop… I’ll- I’ll do anything… need you…”
Alastor’s eyes gleamed like a predator’s at the confession, though Vox was too far gone to notice any of that. Vox’s body writhed under the radio demons ministrations, hips bucking up enthusiastically into Alastor’s hand as he gasped against the man’s shoulder.
“Such a good boy.” Alastor growled.
The praise was received well - Alastor could
tell by the noise that ripped its way out of Vox’s throat. A couple pumps more was all it took to have the man suddenly still, back arched fully from the desk, hips flush against Alastor’s body.
Vox’s screen flashed all at once, so blindingly bright that Alastor winced. A high pitched whine tore from Vox’s speakers as his internal fans kicked into overdrive, heat flooding his systems faster than they could compensate.
“A‑Alastor-” Vox’s voice glitched, splitting into overlapping channels. His screen turned to static, the image of Vox’s face tearing and reforming in jagged fragments. Grain burst across his screen in violent waves as sparks jumped from his antennas.
Alastor froze.
Oh!
Vox had just orgasmed.
That was… interesting.
“Well now,” he said cooly, a little perturbed by the thick white gloop now coating his hand and jacket. “You’ve got yourself in quite the state, haven’t you?”
Vox’s entire body trembled violently. “C‑can’t c‑cool down- don’t- don’t leave-” His screen flickered, briefly going black before flaring back to life.
Alastor clicked his tongue, more amused by Vox’s pathetic display than displeased, “Oh no, no, no,” he murmured, thumb pressing firmly against the side of Vox’s overheating casing. “If you break, the game ends. And that simply won’t do.”
The touch was firm, it was an anchor. Vox’s twitching slowed just a fraction and it was enough for him to reach out and cling to Alastor desperately. His fans roared as they struggled, screen warping as his systems fought to stabilise.
Alastor leaned close, voice low and controlled, “Breathe,” he commanded softly. “Focus. On. Me.”
Vox obeyed instinctively, clinging to the sound, the pressure, the presence. His glitches didn’t stop but they grew less frequent, steadily becoming erratic flickers instead of violent spasms. Heat was still rolling off him in waves, but now it seemed much more manageable.
“There we are,” Alastor crooned.
He eased his grip just enough to remind Vox of what he was being allowed.
Vox’s screen finally stabilised to display a warped, glowing image of his face, eyes unfocused and utterly undone.
“That-,” Vox breathed, voice still glitching. “Was fucking awesome.”
Alastor rolled his eyes and let the tv demon drop to the floor.