Chapter Text
Heat is to be expected. His wound is still angry and raw. His green soul stitches are barely holding the abscess closed. But the shimmering warmth building in his pelvis isn't from a holy unhealing wound.
It's the beginnings of rut. With a touch of horror Alastor realizes that in the haze of knitting his own skin back together he'd completely forgotten to take his biweekly suppressants.
Panic floods his body, washing away any lingering pain and ache from his most recent wound. It's much too late to try taking the pills and hoping they work after the fact. Alastor isn't so deluded to think that's a possible solution. No, he's too far into the beginning stages to stop it completely.
He's going to have ride it out. Alastor grits his teeth and hisses franticly upset static. It's been decades since he's had to suffer through a rut. It's always so miserable and disgusting. So much bodily fluids and dipping in and out of sanity. He loathed to give up control, even to his own stupidly animalistic body. It often forced him to act foolish and needy. He still remembers early on in his days in Hell how Rosie would coo over his hormone driven desires. Calling him cute. Calling him pathetic. Never again.
But if not her, who else could he go to? Sure, he could try containing himself to his bedroom here at the hotel but if someone idiotically opened his door, and knowing the guests and staff they would, he's not sure what he would do to them. Tear them apart? Pull them into his territory and God forbid breed?
Alastor would rather kill himself than come out of his rut haze with Angel Dust in his bed. No, he can't stay here. He needs some place without people. Or with better security.
The deer sinner starts pacing, idly digging his claws into his hair to have something to focus on other than the ever growing sting of arousal shimmering to life in his gut. There has to be somewhere or even someone to help him handle this disastrous problem.
Mimzy? The old girl is a beta so it's not like she'd trigger any crazed need for breeding or a slug fest over territory. But Alastor doesn't want to reveal himself to her. How pathetically soft and tender he gets under the hormones influence. He knows she'll take it to heart. As if him acting out on his instincts meant she actually meant more to him than an amusing acquaintance. As if his hormone induced actions meant something as sickening as love.
Alastor gnashes his teeth together in frustration, turning a tight circle to continue pacing. As he walks past his cracked mirror something in its fractured reflection catches his attention.
Sitting innocently on the table lies a pill mic. Alastor stops moving, hands dropping tentatively out of his hair. It's more decoration than anything at this point. The internal wires fried one too many times from drunken tantrums.
He approaches the table slowly as if the microphone will jump off the wooden surface and bite him. Its metal is cold against his rut hot hands. He carefully turns it over and finds what he's looking for.
There, on the underside, almost small enough to overlook, are two letters lovingly scratched into the handle. AV. A tender red claw brushes reverently over the letters.
Alastor stares at the letters, transfixed. A tsunami of emotion crashes into him. It drowns out the boil of need within him like a ill-fitting balm. His smile twitches erratically into a wide open grin.
He laughs, disbelieving and irritated, before he crumbles, clutching the microphone to his chest. The solution presented itself so easily, if only Alastor is willing to lower his pride enough to take it. He finds that he is. He's not sure if it's relief coursing through his veins or resentment for tumbling back into such a bad habit.
Alastor's body heaves with manic laughter. The longer it goes on the more it sounds like sobbing. He slams the pill mic into place on his table and steps back with a heavy exhale. Moments later a pool of shadows opens under his feet and Alastor squeezes his eyes shut, resigned, as if he's going into an unwinnable battle.
He drops into his shadows and lets them pull him to his destination without giving himself a chance to second guess this vexatiously convenient solution.
The tower is relatively quiet. Velvette and Valentino have both clocked out for the night, boasting merrily about hitting the town and bar hopping for the next who knows how many days. They both tried their hand at convincing Vox to tag along but he's still clinging to the burst of productivity caused by witnessing his greatest enemy's defeat.
He's too wired up to relax. The princess of Hell's hotel has more or less ruined the anticipated sale of their angelic security. Damn near wiped it off the map. But Vox is certain he can cook up enough fear-mongering propaganda to get the project back on its feet.
Though as the hours pass by he does wonder if it wouldn't hurt to take a break. His spine is protesting his shrimp position so at the very least he should stand up and walk around for a bit.
Vox stands, ignoring the wave of static that washes over his face as he stands up too fast, and pushes away from his massive terminal. The lights from Pentagram City shine exotically in the background.
He takes a few paces toward the window before he senses something wavering on the edge of his signal. His footsteps echo around the empty room as he comes to a sudden stop, straining his audio processors to pick up on any other anomalies.
Out of the corner of his eye he swears he sees something move, small and quick, and he whirls around to face it. Only to be met with his own snarling reflection in his terminal screens. He studies himself, shoulders slowly relaxing. He's tired, faint teal bruises starting to show under his eyes. With a bone weary sigh Vox reaches out to shut his terminal down. As his hand hovers over the off button a shadowy figure lashes out of the darkness.
Vox yelps as something solid collides into his back and knocks him onto the floor. He manages to cushion his fragile screen on his forearms but landing so harshly on the hard ground winds him.
Sharp claws pin his one of his shoulders down. The other takes up residence on the back of his casing, dangerously close to his ports, ensuring Vox can't lift his head away from the floor.
"Who the fuck—" Vox snarls. Electricity jitters from his muscles and wires writhes from within his spine, ready to erupt from his back and spear whatever imbecile decided to ambush him in his own tower.
"Always so vulgar," A familiar voice chides. Vox's processors stutter to a shocked halt. Little blue bolts tickle the air. "Is this really how you treat guests?"
Alastor is straddling him from behind, thighs bracketing Vox's hips, dead set on keeping the television demon pinned beneath him. His claws stray closer to Vox's ports almost curiously. Vox's screen heats up fast enough he feels the burn from through his sleeves.
"Get off me, you old timey prick!" Vox howls, thrashing with his whole body. The wires splintering from his spine smack uselessly against his suit jacket, not given enough power to tear through the fabric.
The weight lifts off him reluctantly. Vox scrambles up and away, turning sharply to get eyes on the red haired bastard who'd broken into his home. His screen cuts in and out at the sight before him.
Alastor is disheveled. Clothes in disarray. His hair is sticking out every which way like he's been running his hands through it. His eyes are wild and static shrieks unbearably from his chest.
Vox flinches away at the sound. Alastor eyes glint even crazier. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I've run into…a situation." Alastor straightens, trying to minimize his already tarnished appearance. He bares his teeth in aggravation. "Unfortunately, I don't believe I'll be able to handle it alone as I usually have."
"And you're…What? Asking for my help?"
Alastor's ears pin to his head and he growls. It rumbles threateningly across his signal, "Are you seriously this obtuse?"
Vox quickly casts a glance around the room to ensure he doesn't back into a wall or something equally stupid. Messing with an enraged alpha never goes well and he'd really prefer not to have to replace his entire terminal again. Thanks Val.
"Look, I don't know what you're talking about. You broke into my tower! I should be growling at you!"
The deer sinner gets increasingly annoyed, shadows tangling ominously behind him. Vox doesn't dare take his eyes off the thrashing tendrils.
"Can't you smell me?!" Alastor snaps, throwing his hands out like it's obvious. Vox scowls and carefully flicks his sense of smell on. What comes through almost knocks him on his ass.
Rut.
Alastor is in rut.
A strong one too based on how overwhelming and agitated his scent is. Damp earthy pheromones are crackling dangerously between them. Something woody and faintly smokey underlines the almost oppressive sogginess of the smell. Fresh, wet, and swampy.
"Holy shit," Vox hisses out, dialing his sense of smell back before the consuming aroma filters into his systems. "You're in rut?!"
Not once has Vox ever been around Alastor in rut. He wasn't even sure the old fart had them. Back when they hung out routinely Vox always felt such humiliation notifying the Radio Demon of his impending unavoidable absence. Alastor used to wave him off, provide distant lip service about uncontrollable hormones that did nothing but make Vox feel worse about succumbing to his baser instincts. It would be years before Vox built the proper body to accommodate.
Alastor had always seemed so far above it. He never gave in to the nature that tormented so many sinners. A truly flawless alpha. Or so Vox thought.
Because now, here he is, seeking out Vox's help with something he hasn't experienced in all the time Vox has known him.
"I didn't know a geezer like you could even still get those," Vox settles into insulting and mocking, desperate to hold onto a single thread of normalcy in this completely insane situation. "You're hoping I have some omega bitch you can borrow for a week? Or is it a couple days?" Static blares a warning siren but Vox can't stop himself, words tumbling out in his uncomfortableness, "You look like a quick knot."
"I have no need for an omega." Alastor snarls. He takes a few predatory steps forward, trying to get closer, to box Vox in. "You've already promised to assist me."
Vox matches the Radio Demon's steps, creating an odd circling that feels as dangerous as it does exhilarating, "What the fuck are you talking about?" He would remember promising something so intimate, something so sappy and stupidly love sick as tending to each other during rut.
Alastor's smile darkness and he snaps his fingers. A contract on old looking parchment pops into existence between them. Vox goes a bit crossed eyed when the document is shoved into his face. He snatches it out of the air and quickly skims it.
His screen gets bluer and brighter the further into the contract he reads. It's been decades since they'd written up this deal. And neither of them ever called on it. So why now is Alastor trying to cash in?
"Is this some kind of trick?" Vox flaps the contract toward Alastor, scowling and hating how fast his heart is starting to beat. "I agree and then you laugh at me like you always do?"
"If you weren't so pitifully entertaining I wouldn't feel the need to laugh at you, old pal! You make it too easy." Alastor snaps his fingers again and the papers twist out of Vox's hand to float between them again. "You're simply the most amusing option I could use to handle this."
His words obviously impact the other alpha. Vox's lips peel back even further in offense but the hue of his screen gives him away. Some part of him is flattered, is interested in drawing Alastor's attention. He's always been so utterly predictable on that front.
A few well placed compliments and Vox would be eating out of Alastor's palm. A half smile encouraging his shark filled rants. The slight intrigued tip of his head to drive a bright line of blue under Vincent's eyes. Soft laugher and spilled drinks to coax Vox out onto the dance floor.
This is just another way to wind him up and watch him spin. It just so happens to be the solution to Alastor's problem this time.
Alastor watches with a lingering fondness as Vox seems to talk himself out of exploding just yet. He takes a deep, almost meditative breath, but glares at Alastor with a boringly straight face. "Are you going senile? I'm an alpha."
Alastor huffs, irritation swiftly overshadowing his fondness. "Yes, I am aware."
Vox's face scrunches up. His mouth furrows into a lopsided scowl. "You want to…spend your rut…with another alpha?" He slowly says, pausing and cringing like he's tasted something foul. Alastor doesn't think it's that big of an ask.
"What's wrong with that? You smell quite inoffensive compared to the rest."
In fact Vox doesn't smell at all. He hasn't for years. It's one of the few things Alastor regrets not being around for. The transformation must have been amazing. How many trails and errors had Vox suffered through to reach perfection? How much of his body now is machine? All of it? Is there still fleshy organs hidden within his system?
Part of Alastor wonders if it's possible to apply the same method on a more organic sinner. If someday he too could rid himself of this damned curse.
"You want to sleep with me because I don't smell like an alpha?" The conflicted expression on Vox's screen is delicious. Alastor wants to nuzzle into it and see if it would still be electrically fuzzy against his skin.
"Precisely!"
Vox twitches and his conflicted face drips into something darker and more intense. Alastor realizes he's going to have to sell this more than he thought.
"Our contract includes a non-disclosure clause. It matters little to me what you are and more that you keep your excitable mouth shut."
A scoff has Alastor's fur standing on end. Too dismissive to be acceptable. "Like I want anyone to know I'm contracted to fuck your roadkill smelling ass."
"On the contrary!" Alastor slinks closer, lets his scent leak from him like noxious gas, more than excited to prove he actually smells good. Satisfaction starts to buzz in his stomach as Vox hastily steps back. "It will be me fucking your ass."
The shocked expression on the TV's screen is too much. Alastor burst into laugher, hands coming up to push his hair away from his face as his body shakes with mirth and anticipation.
His rut has never felt this overwhelming before. His blood boils in his veins. Fever courses through him like a drug, ramping up his senses and driving him mad. He wants to bite. He wants to bury himself in something warm and breed. Every bone in his body screams for release.
If Vox doesn't agree Alastor isn't sure what he'll do. He's not sure he'll be able to control himself if he's forced to leave. Their contract forbids unwanted sexual contact but the alpha inside of him is pacing like a captive tiger. Lying in wait for the perfect time to pounce. It's taking all his focus now to hold it back. If Alastor has to spend this rut alone he might truly go insane.
Vox squirms in place, eyes flickering over Alastor as if categorizing him. Alastor tries not to preen. He sneaks a few steps closer. Vox lets him.
"What happens if my scent flips on?"
Alastor leans in close, nose brushing Vox's screen. He can see the glow of his teeth reflected in the flat surface. "Ensure that it doesn't."
Vox stares him down for a few stretched out seconds before pulling back with a mean grin that doubles as snarl. "It won't. But I'm not into being torn apart because of another alpha's sadistic whims. I don't care that it's you. We need to have a safe word."
"Safe word?"
"It's a signal to stop."
Alastor raises an unimpressed eyebrow, "And pray tell, why wouldn't you just say stop?"
Vox's screen flares a pretty cyan. He sniffs and his gaze trails off of the Radio Demon as if he can't stand looking at him while explaining. "Sometimes that's the point. To tell someone to stop and they don't. That they just…take what they want."
The description isn't very detailed but deep in Alastor's gut coals starts to burn. Curiosity, he tells himself, nothing more. "And you think that will happen between us?"
"I don't know!" Vox yelps, his voice lilting higher in his embarrassment. He throws his arms out in exasperation. "Maybe! You've never had sex with another alpha, you don't know how crazy it can get!"
As obnoxious as it is Vox is right. He's the one between them with expertise. It's all over the news. Two alpha Vees spending their time together, 'bravely' suppressing their instincts to embrace each other.
Alastor can see it in his minds eye, the revolting moth with wings spread and bearing down on Vox with that ludicrous smirk on his lips. Four arms holding Vox against rumpled sheets and his eyes dizzy within his flushed screen. Their heightened scents mingling into something unrecognizable, something completely and disgustingly new. Them taking turns breeding and claiming each other. Teeth around vulnerable flesh. Hands roaming over skin that don't belong to them.
Jealousy is a new feeling. It's intense and debilitating with his rut shrieking and tearing those images apart in his conflicted brain. Vox belongs to him and him alone. At least while they're agreeing to do this.
"Fine then." Alastor's confident that he'll be in enough control to stop if he really has to. It's not like Vox has ever smelled threatening to begin with. If he does well enough he could completely blow the dubious moth performances out of the water. "The safe word is frown."
"Frown." Vox reiterates, a bit of humor slipping through his voice. "Yeah, alright. Our safe word is frown." He fidgets undecidedly before sighing, a big heave as he finally submits to Alastor's will. "Anything else you want to talk about before we do this?"
Alastor lets his grin span further than should be possible on his face. Beneath his pants his tail wags in anticipation. "Absolutely not! Now I believe we both need to be undressed for the next part, yes? Go ahead." It's hard not to let his alpha voice leak into his next command, "Strip, podcast."
A staticky whine bursts from Vox's audio processors and he winces away from his own sound, hands lifting up to his neck to undo his bow tie. Alastor matches his movements, untying his necktie as well. The TV Demon keeps his eyes adverted as he tugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over where he was sitting earlier.
Vox perks up a little when he finally lifts his head and sees Alastor undressing as well. The ashamed puppy eyed look melts into something curious and young. An expression Alastor occasionally dreams about when he's had enough to drink.
"Like what you see?" Alastor teases, already knowing the answer. His chest fluff peeks through the front of his partly unbuttoned dress shirt. The wound remains hidden for now. They can worry about that when, if, it comes up.
The roaming, hungry, digital eyes are answer enough. Vox struggles out of his shirt because he can't pull his gaze from Alastor's exposed neck and chest. He's never seen the other man so undressed. So vulnerable. So…open.
Alastor turns, keeping his wound from sight as he playfully lets his shirt sleeves slip down his shoulders. Vox's fans kick up another gear. Alastor can't help the giddy bubbly sensation fizzing in his guts. This is exciting. Charming almost. Nothing intensely embarrassing at all. Or at least so far.
Ruffles of fabric come from behind him and Alastor peeks over his shoulder. Vox stands in all his naked glory, flawless dark skin on display. There's small slits in his sides, three on each that flutter hard as he pants. The TV Demon's screen is a beacon of light in the otherwise dark room. He's staring at Alastor with blown pupils, waiting, watching, wanting.
The damnable tail wags and moves fierce enough to dislodge itself from his loose waistband. Alastor shoves his pants down and kicks them away, toeing out of his shoes as Vox inhales harshly behind him.
"You—You have a tail!" Vox chirps with glee, stupidly reaching out to grab at said appendage. Alastor whirls around and snatches the other man's wondering hand before it can make contact. The sharp motion puts them nose to screen.
Vox's eyes are huge and surprised but he doesn't try to pull away from Alastor's hold. If anything he seems to lean into the Radio Demon's space. A puff of breath tingles over Alastor's lips.
"Watch your fingers, pal. Or else you might wind up losing them."
The pout that takes over Vox's screen shouldn't be endearing. "Aw, what? No tail touching? I'll be gentle, I promise!"
"It's not about the gentleness of the touch, Vox." Alastor drops his hold on the television sinner, confident he won't make another ill thought out grab. "It's inhuman. Distracting. Best to just ignore it." The slightly glowing slits at Vox's sides pulls his attention again. "After all how would you feel if someone were to touch you like this?"
Viper quick Alastor stuffs his fingers into the intriguing blue gaps. He's careful not to catch anything with his claws. Vox's reaction is immediate. A strangled gasp reverberates between their shared frequency. His body arches into Alastor hands. Most interestingly his cock bounces with excitement, leaving a smear of glowing pre-come on Vox's bare stomach.
Inside the slits is humid and faintly wet. Almost like what he would imagine a pussy to feel like. Alastor tentatively wiggles his fingers. Vox squeaks and finally jumps away, screen bright cyan and searing with his deliciously obvious blush.
"Okay! P—Point made, you sadistic fuck." Vox runs a shaking hand down one of his sides. Alastor watches in awe as the slits flutter with the TV's breath. "No tail touching and no gill fondling."
Alastor's not sure he agrees to the second part but he'll let it go for now. Anything to get the show on the road. Vox's enticing little display has reignited Alastor own feverous desire. He wants to rub all over Vox's smooth skin. He wants to paint his come across every inch of navy flesh. He wants his mate to smell like him down to a microscopic level.
Vox's eyes begin their slow appreciative scan of Alastor's now nude body. Alastor returns the favor, drinking in all flesh he's never been privileged to view before. The most he'd been able to get Vincent to remove was his then signature sweater vest. The rectangular nipples are perplexing. They're the same neon shade of blue as the gills. He wonders if they're sensitive or just there for show.
And of course the other most obvious and obnoxious feature on his picture box is his rock hard erection. Alastor studies it idly, not impressed but not knowing enough to tell if he should be disappointed either. It looks like a cock. Just dark navy and leaking faint glowing blue pre-come.
"Al…" Vox's concerned tone yanks Alastor eyes back up to the other man's screen. His eyes are glued on the revealed wound within the Radio Demon's chest fur. "Is that from—?"
Alastor straightens, bolstering himself, "It is. What of it? Problem?"
In the far reaches of his alpha polluted brain Alastor desperately hopes it won't be an issue. Such an obvious mark of loss. How weak he must appear to his potential mate. He'll go back in time and kill Adam himself if he loses Vox over this shortcoming.
But Vox doesn't look digusted or disillusioned. In fact his entire face softens, something caring and regretful. The expression only lingers for a few seconds before Vox seems to catch himself and force his gaze away. "It just looks like it hurts."
Alastor decides not to look this gift horse in the mouth and takes what he hopes are seductive steps towards the bedroom. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Vincent. Are you joining me in the bedroom or am I to take care of myself?"
He's been fully hard since the moment he pinned the television sinner to the floor. Pre-come knits into the fur on his stomach and itches annoyingly. He's more than ready to get into this. The quicker the better. The faster this is all over.
Vox follows after him like a lost dog, eyes big and pitifully hopeful. He climbs onto the bed and willingly spreads his legs. The sight triggers Alastor's instincts and before he's aware of it he's looming over Vox with a glimmering hungry smile. His dick aches with need.
He reaches forward, ready to plunge himself into his mate's eager and waiting hole.
"Woah, woah!" Alastor freezes, suddenly afraid he's hurt his mate. "What the fuck are you doing?" Vox yelps and squirms away from Alastor's reaching claws. His head bumps against the headboard in his haste to get away. Alastor blinks at him in dumbfounded confusion. He doesn't understand why the TV Demon is freaking out.
Vox scoffs in open disbelief, eyes blown wide. He shrieks out, indignant and a bit frightened, "You can't just go in raw! What the hell?! I'm not some frilly ass omega, you—you stupid knot head!"
Alastor's eyes darken and he lunges forward, claws digging into Vox's knees. He knocks his forehead into Vox's upper screen. It bonks his casing back against the headboard uncomfortably. "Do not call me that."
"Jesus," Vox clenches his eyes closed and helplessly turns his screen away. It does little to disguise how strongly Alastor's alpha voice effects him. "Just—Just slow down! You need to prep me first."
Vox slits his eyes open and blushes even harder at the starved look on Alastor's face. Bathed in harsh blue light the shadows on Alastor's sharp cheekbones look hauntingly inviting. Vox gestures nervously to the bedside table. "There's lube in the top drawer."
A tentacle lashes out from Alastor's back and yanks the drawer open. The contents rattle around and the tentacle flings items out in it's search for the tube of lube.
Vox watches with a touch of amusement. Alastor refuses to take his eyes off the television demon, making the tendril's search more difficult than it needs to be. Once the tentacle closes on something more tube-like it retreats like dog with its prize, depositing the lube in Alastor's waiting palm.
He pops the cap and freezes. He's never actually touched lube before. Usually if he had to handle himself he preferred it dry and rough. All the better to be over quicker. He's never put genuine thought into making getting himself off enjoyable.
How is he supposed to touch Vox? How does he make this good for the other man?
Vox gently takes the open lube from Alastor's hand. "You don't need a lot. Just make sure to coat your fingers. We'll start with at least two for now." He guides red claws into position and dribbles the surprisingly cold fluid on them.
It's oddly translucent yet viscous. Alastor shifts and tilts his fingers, staring almost hypnotized by the blue sheen displayed at certain angles, the traces of distorted light refracting from Vox's screen. It almost looks like the sky, the way Alastor remembers it.
The cap snapping close jolts Alastor back into the moment. He watches Vox lean over and place the lube on the bedside table. The flex of his muscles accentuates his fluttering gills and bright square nipples. Toxic neon blue. Alastor wonders if he tastes like sushi.
He awkwardly holds his lube coated hand up, "Now what?"
Vox's eyebrows furrow together, seemingly puzzled by the Radio Demon looking to him for instruction. "Now you put your fingers in me." He wraps his fingers around Alastor's wrist and guides it between his spread legs.
It a bit annoying how hard Vox is, cock stiff and at attention against his stomach. His balls are less offensive. Alastor hasn't decided yet if he likes the brush of them against his wrist or not.
The tip of his claw is set on the tight furl of Vox's most private place. Alastor almost doesn't believe he's being allow to see it, to touch it, to claim it.
"I just…push it in?" Alastor dares taps the sensitive spot and drinks up the full body shudder that glitches through Vox. His dick throbs when Vox's hole twitches hungerly in response.
"Y-Yeah. Slow. And then in and out for like a minute. Th-then add another."
Alastor can do that. He carefully puts pressure on Vox's entrance until it starts to give under the persistence. His claw slips in and Vox groans. Alastor's eyes snap to the other man's face and he watches with awe as Vox's screen brightens in strange pulses. His eyes are huge and half lidded, staring out at some spot over Alastor's shoulder. Lust builds in his dilated pupils. Alastor licks his lips and decides that maybe foreplay isn't as bad as he was always lead to believe.
He pumps his finger in and out, alternating his speed to find which touch Vox reacts to most. Tentatively he curls the digit on a hard thrust in and Vox's speakers whine as he throws his head back. Alastor slips a second finger in and keeps his pace languid.
"Enjoying yourself?" He can't help but tease. His own erection weeps with need but it's worth ignoring for this wonderful meal set out before him.
Vox doesn't rise to the bait, too engrossed in the slowly budding pleasure. His eyes are a bit dazed and out of focus. His lips part with a subtle wet sound. His voice is achingly soft. It scratches against Alastor's wavering control like a physical blow.
"Mhm. Need m-more. Scissor me."
"What?"
Vox blinks a couple times, struggling to come up from his lustful state. He holds up his hand, exasperation bleeding through his earlier dopey expression. He opens and closes two of his fingers in a cutting motion, "Like this. You know. Scissors?"
Alastor experimentally mimics the action and gasps at how Vox's insides stretch around his claws. He drops his gaze to where their bodies meet. Amazed arousal floods his veins as he watches his fingers literally force Vox's entrance to accommodate him. His cock aches at the warmth clinging to his digits as he withdraws only to plunge back in.
"It's like you've never had sex at all." Vox grumbles, mostly to himself. Except Alastor is more or less right on top of him and hears every word. He stops moving his fingers and glares at the TV Demon. He watches Vox visibly buffer, dots finally connecting in his horny flat head. "Wait."
"Shut up, Vox."
Vox ignores the command and sits up so they're almost nose to nose. The position knocks Alastor's fingers in deeper due to the awkward angle of Alastor's wrist and his refusal to withdraw it. It takes all of his control to not pound into Vox then and there. "That's it, isn't it? You've never had sex."
Alastor sighs, breath brushing against the the other man's screen, resigned but doing nothing to refute the claim, "Don't say it."
"You're a virgin!"
The gleefulness in the statement has Alastor snapping his teeth threateningly where Vox's nose would be if the idiot had one.
Vox isn't deterred at all, face bright with discovery and a wide smile that hits a little too close to home. "You're a virgin and you want to have sex with me. I must be double dead!"
"You will be if you don't watch your mouth."
Despite the disgusting flare of nostalgia that overcomes him, Alastor finds himself getting even harder at the bubbly expression on the TV Demon's screen. Something about the soft glow under Vox's happily crinkled eyes pings Alastor's protective instinct.
He moves without conscious thought, pressing closer, blanketing Vox's squirming body with his own. To hide him away from prying eyes, to have their chests brush as they breathe, to cage him in with Alastor scent, to prove he is a capable and worthy mate.
Vox makes a surprised noise but doesn't fight the sudden proximity. Alastor stares into his wide eyes and resumes moving his fingers, instincts driving his wrist into something more brutal and demanding. He repeats the scissoring motion a few more times, caught up in imagining what his cock is going to look like in place of his fingers. A wider stretch. Would Vox's body accept his dick as easily as it had his fingers? How much tighter will it feel?
"S-Shit, Al. That's—Ah! That's good." Vox slides his hands up Alastor's arms, claws tangling in his fur and sending little shocks of pain through the Radio Demon's skin. His hands settle on Alastor's shoulders. He gasps and almost bumps their faces together. Alastor fights the urge to chase the exhale and fill the space with his tongue.
Instead of ambushing the television demon with a searing kiss, Alastor works his fingers frantically. He wants to be done prepping now. His dick has never been this hard or painful in all his years, alive and dead.
But then Vox squeaks. His whole body jolts and tightens like pure bliss around Alastor's fingers. His eyes go impossibly wider and he blinks stupidly at Alastor as if he's not even sure why that happened. It's quite a delicious reaction.
"Oh?" Alastor coos, nosing under the edge of Vox's casing and letting his hungry scent curl teasingly over the other man.
"It's…hah. Prostate." Vox answers breathlessly when Alastor pokes at the same spot. His hips seem to move on their own, rolling down onto Alastor's fingers, instinctively chasing pleasure.
It's such a pretty sight that Alastor can't help but keep jabbing at it and getting those delightful noises. Vox pants, twisting as if he wants to get away only to drop himself back into Alastor's clutches with needy whines.
"Ah, okay. Okay! Enough!" Vox clamps his knees together around Alastor's hips. "You're going to make me come before we've even gotten to the good part!"
A sinister smirk spans the Radio Demon's face. He wedges himself even closer, forcing his way between Vox's thighs and dropping his free hand to the other man's shoulder. The television demon's cock throbs, now trapped between their bodies. Notably Alastor doesn't stop moving his fingers.
"H-Hey!" Vox thrusts up, a weak attempt to dislodge Alastor, and gasps when it causes Alastor's curled fingers to catch on his inner walls. "Oh. Mm. Al—Al, hold on." He grabs uselessly onto the Radio Demon's wrist, doing nothing to stop the other man's movements.
"Isn't the purpose of this to get you loose?" Alastor says, pressing his mouth right against Vox's audio processors on the side of his head. "Get you ready for me?"
Vox's whole body spasms, hole clenching down and screen short circuiting. He comes back to a second later gasping adorably. Alastor doesn't let up, moving his hand faster, thrusting his fingers harder, daring to milk every second of this, wanting to wring every response possible from his stupid come hungry little picture box.
"I've heard that orgasm makes these kinds of things easier, yes?" He teasingly noses his way up Vox's casing. The electric field from the TV Demon's antennas tickles against Alastor's antlers. A fuzzy overwhelmed static Alastor wants to record for his private library. "Don't you want to be nice and open for me, mon chéri?"
The seductive words has Vox's cock head weeping glowing pre-come. Alastor watches in fascination as it slides down his length. He's tempted to have a lick, to see if Vox would be salty or sweet, but restrains himself. He doesn't need to touch Vox's erection to get over his rut. There's no need to give into his hormonal temptations.
He needs Vox loose, ready, wanting. So he redoubles his efforts in pounding his fingers into Vox's ass. He even sneaks in another finger. The thickness finally earns him a needy moan and the television sinner rocks his hips in time with Alastor's fingers.
"Just a little more, hmm? Or are you greedy? You want my entire fist up there?"
Vox's whine stutters and glitches adorably. His cock is practically quivering against his flexing stomach. Any second now. Alastor finds that special spot and cruelly curls his fingers, ensuring his knuckles punch directly into Vox's prostate.
With a warbled cry Vox comes, eyes squeezed shut, and paints his stomach with glowing blue semen. Alastor studies it in fascination. Bioluminescence is rare in Hell. Yet somehow it's very fitting that his attention whore of a picture box is one of the few with such an eye catching trait.
Alastor tries not to sound too desperate as he asks, "Was that enough, my dear? Are you prepared for me now?"
Vox's eyes open at different intervals and he has to blink several times before he manages to get them to focus on Alastor. He sounds starstruck, "Yeah, yes. I'm ready. Go ahead, big guy."
The goofy nickname shouldn't have Alastor nearly purring in pleasure but his alpha instincts are starting to out pace his conscious thought. He pulls his fingers out, careful not to nick his mate with his claws, and swiftly replaces them with his cock.
Alastor takes his time pressing his aching dick into Vox's willing entrance. He savors every minuscule twitch and whimper, every flicker of heat across Vox's face. It's warm and tight and intense. He's never felt such pressure on his member before. It's almost painful.
"Oh, Alastor." Vox gasps, hooking a leg over Alastor hip. He arches his back and forces Alastor deeper. "M—Move. C'mon." Alastor looks from where they're connected to Vox's face. He smiles, mirror perfect of the Radio Demon's own exhilarated smirk, "Fuck me."
Those are the magic words apparently because Alastor is dragged under the tidal wave of alpha instinct. He looses sense of himself as sinks his claws into the bedding on either side of Vox's hips and starts pistoning in and out with feverous force.
Moans and growls tumble out of Alastor's mouth as he chases his pleasure in the sweet tightness of his mate's ass. Vox is so good, flexing and squeezing him so lovingly, inner walls clinging like they never want Alastor to leave. It's tight and hot and mind blowing. The perfect place for his fawns to grow.
He can't help but praise his mate for his flawless body, "Amazing. Ah, Vincent. Your insides were meant for me." Vox glitches, vocalization lost in a wave of static. He latches onto Alastor's shoulders and pulls him closer, eyes watery and looking at him so reverently.
Alastor plows forward, dizzy with such sharp expectant need, "Meant for my fawns." He growls against his mate's fuzzy screen.
The little zaps of pain coming from Vox's antennas only serves to push Alastor faster, harder, further, in his mate. He nuzzles into Vincent's screen, spreading his scent, marking his mate with his powerful, intimidating smell. "Mine. Mine. You're mine."
"Alastor!" Vincent cries out, his claws digging in hard enough to draw stinging lines of blood. His thighs clamp around the Radio Demon's hips. His cock is hard and dripping against his stomach. Beyond his weeping dick there's a slight indentation of Alastor inside of him. Just the smallest bulge in his stomach. Evidence of how deep, how far Alastor truly is inside of his mate.
Alastor nearly howls at the sight. He's so good he's made his mate erect again. He did that. He's filling Vox up. He's providing and pleasing his mate. His pace starts to stutter, balls drawing up tight in warning, "Vox. I'm going to—fill you up—my fawns. M—Mine."
"Please!" Vox pleads. He crushes Alastor into his chest, clenching down so hard it leaves Alastor breathless. Who would he be to deny his mate when he asks so beautifully?
He comes so forcefully his vision spots and his arms give out. Vox's plush chest catches Alastor head as he rides out his orgasm. His seed spills satisfyingly inside his mate. He closes his eyes and lies in bliss as his hormones dip back into something managable.
Alastor pants and struggles not to shiver out of his body. Now that he's coming down from the hormone induced haze, he hates how sticky and sweaty he is. He hates how his muscles ache and how pleasantly warm it is inside Vox. He hates how little he minds.
He didn't pop his knot which means they're far from done for the night but Alastor is exhausted enough to take a break. He angles his hips to remove himself from the oddly still TV Demon underneath him.
"Ohohoh no," Vox singsongs breathlessly, grabbing onto Alastor's shoulders, claws scratching more thin lines of tingly pain. His ass clenches down almost unbearably and Alastor actually gasps. The sensation sends sparks of sharp pleasure over his overstimulated skin. Red drool leaks from the corner of Vox's mouth as he smiles, all promise and sinister teeth. "We're not done."
With an expert roll Vox has their positions reversed without a second of Alastor slipping out of him. The Radio Demon gurgles in surprise, still not quite over his first orgasm and confused as to where this is going.
"I haven't come like this yet." Vox says cheerily, like he's not completely rewiring Alastor's sex drive. He doesn't mind the view from underneath the television demon's flexing thighs. The smug smirk and excited cyan glow from his screen just riles Alastor up further.
It's almost agonizing how quickly he hardens. Vox hums and squirms, re-situating, before planting his hands firmly on Alastor's chest. His claws carefully bracket the angelic wound. Blue framing jagged red. The touch lingers softly. Almost tender. Alastor's stomach flips at the unwarranted affection.
Then Vox starts moving.
Stars burst in Alastor's vision. He must be making the most embarrassing noises as Vox rides him into full hardness if the insatiable grin on the man's screen is any indication. Everything is tight and warm and unfairly perfect. Vox bounces up and down, teasingly pulling almost all the way off Alastor before plunging right back, deeper and harder each time.
Alastor growls in pure pleasure when his cock finally hits Vox's prostate and causes the TV Demon to wail and readjust to guide Alastor to ramming that spot repeatedly. He grabs frantically at Vox's thighs, growing hungrier due to the subtle flex of muscle under Vox's skin.
"Ah! Al—Alastor!" Vox whimpers and grinds down in a filthy circle, drawing a whine from the Radio Demon. Vox's eyes are barely slit open in his bliss. Alastor wants to pull them out of the man's screen and feast on them, to taste Vox's pleasure and add it to his own expanding well.
Instead of tearing out such beautiful eyes, Alastor rockets his hips up, drawing blood from Vox's thighs with his ferocious thrusts, and pushes as hard as he can.
Vox's heat welcomes him, squeezing so tight it's almost impossible to shift out, and Alastor snarls and fights to get deeper, to sink so far inside of Vox he's irremovable.
The swell of his knot burns at the base of his cock. Vox senses it too and renews his efforts in having Alastor pierce his prostate. The television demon's thighs flex and bleed as he bobs eagerly on Alastor's dick, wedging the other alpha's inflating knot past his rim with a heady moan. His own claws draw blood. Parallel lines next to Alastor's angelic wound.
The jolt of pain combined with the sheer warmth enveloped over his entire cock pushes Alastor over the edge. He snarls and snaps his teeth as he thrusts with all his might. Vox cries out and tightens impossibly more. Alastor spills inside of him with a roar of triumph. Vox's body accepts him, manages to hold all his come, and allows Alastor's knot to tie them together for the foreseeable future.
"It's not—I need," Vox whines, tears and drool smeared on his screen. He looks half mad, eyes wild and desperate. Alastor leans up and licks at his fuzzy screen, chasing the electrical sting of his tears. "Alastor, please!"
And it's not like Alastor can reject his pitiful mate's plea. Not when he sounds so pretty crying out the Radio Demon's name. So he pulls Vox closer, moans as it shifts him around inside, and starts thrusting again.
Vox mewls and shakes, his body still pathetically trying to ride Alastor, his thighs trembling with effort. Alastor has mercy on him and angles his cock to hit Vox's prostate. It only takes a few hard thrusts to have Vox screaming as he paints both their stomachs with his glowing come.
Almost immediately Vox goes limp on top of Alastor. His screen burns a bright blinding blue before clicking into black. Alastor huffs a faint laugh, both in glee and amusement. He'd made Vox come hard enough to blue screen. He's an outstanding alpha, pleasing his mate to the point of unconsciousness.
The weight of the TV Demon squishes him into the mattress. He raises his hands off Vox's sluggishly weeping thighs to move the man off but he hesitates.
It would be more bothersome to shove Vox off himself. His warmth wasn't that irritating. Plus with his knot they're tied to each other for at least another thirty minutes.
Alastor lets his eyes slip closed. He wraps a courteous arm around his bed mate's waist. Just to make sure the other sinner doesn't tumble off the bed. Not for any other particular reason. That would be ridiculous.
Either way Alastor holds Vox against his chest and lets the TV Demon's humming vents lull him into a meditative state.
He doesn't mean to fall asleep.
" —stor, Al. Alastor, hey. Wake up, sleepy head." Vox's voice pulls Alastor from the empty void of rest. It's obvious from the weight pressing down on him that Vox is still contently lying on top of him.
He doesn't bother opening his eyes. He's too warm and comfortable to even think of moving. "What."
"I want to shower before we go another round."
Alastor pries one eye open to express how stupid he thinks the other alpha is for that statement. Vox looks unguarded, almost fond, his mouth slightly upturned into a shy smile. Gentle blue light emits from his screen, comfortable in the darkness.
The expression bristles something old and nostalgic inside of Alastor's chest. He doesn't like it. "Then go."
Vox's mouth flattens almost uncomfortably. The softness in his gaze melts away. The loss of it feel almost worse. The air temperature seems to drop a few degrees.
"I can't. You're holding onto me."
And Alastor is. He looks down in abstract shock to see his own limbs curled possessively over the TV Demon's body. He'd unconsciously clung to Vox in his sleep like the man was a well loved teddy bear.
The earlier comforting warmth spikes into dangerously boiling shame. It's a horribly telling to be so wrapped up in another person. It's something an outsider could easily mistake as fondness, as something as sickening as love. It's his cursed alpha hormones fault for forcing him to act so tender with whatever willing body was around.
Alastor yanks away as if burned. The sudden movement pulls his now flaccid cock free of Vox's ass and leaves them both gasping. Alastor hadn't even realized he was still inside the other man this entire time. He misses the comforting warmth immediately.
"Did you—I mean," Vox drops his legs over the side of the bed and glances back at Alastor, that timid glow still marring his screen. "Want to join me?"
His attempt at sexy fails humiliatingly short though Alastor senses the TV Demon isn't trying very hard. It sounds more defeated than coaxing. Like Vox fully expects to be rejected but is trying anyway. To keep up appearances or because of built in routine with that wretched moth. Whichever it is Alastor doesn't care for it one bit.
Vox is meant to be his for the duration of his rut and he won't take to his…partner defaulting to someone else's pleasure. It's his job to satisfy the other man, to make up for the intrusion, to prove himself worthy of his mate's body and time.
Except Vox isn't his mate. This whole situation is a mean to an end. Enemies with contractual benefits. A deal being utilized and nothing more.
"Don't use up all the hot water." Alastor says instead of an answer. Vox takes the unspoken rejection either way, faint hope dimming out and leaving his expression tight and tired.
"Yeah." A single stagnant word. Something twists uncomfortably close to regret in Alastor's chest. Vox stands, back facing Alastor as he walks out of the bedroom. "I won't."
Alastor hates how sick he feels now that he's alone. How empty and stifling the large room is without the other alpha's presence. His hormones dig sharp claws into his mind about needing to provide, needing to be there, needing to satisfy his mate. But those aren't his real feelings. He doesn't want to be tied to Vox for every second of every day. That sounds like genuine torture.
He rolls over and forces his gaze away from the doorway. It doesn't matter how he greedily stole as many hours from Vox as he could justify in the past. Whether it was their snarling and fighting or drinking and dancing, Vincent had always been Alastor's first choice when seeking company.
It wasn't often that Alastor found himself lonely. Or at least lonely enough to go searching for entertainment out of an animalistic sense of dread and loathing. Vincent acted much like a balm for those spiraling thoughts. His bright screen and even brighter smile chased Alastor's emptiness away and poured something lighter, impossibly happier, in it's place.
Even as their acquaintance ship went up in flames, the burn of it felt better than being alone. It ignited a resolve within Alastor to give as good as he got. It opened the opportunity to let loose. No other sinner could have handled the punishment he doled out to Vox.
Even now their fights are some kind of desperate release, feelings spilling out and finally expressed through their predictive destruction. The excitement of being met blow for blow. The stunning equality of it all. Being understood and challenged soothed whatever ravenous beast that lived in his withered heart.
But that's all it was. All it could ever be. Alastor didn't want more. He wasn't a greedy pest like Vincent. He never overstretched his reach. He hadn't felt the need to. He was satisfied.
It was all his damned alpha instincts tangling these disgustingly complicated feelings together.
"Shower is all yours," Vox says from the doorway. Alastor lifts his head from the pillows and watches the other man walk into his closet to presumably get dressed. The slight bounce of his ass almost has Alastor launching out of the bed to chase after him.
Alastor digs his claws into the bedding and bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. Vox isn't his mate. This is a means to an end. These unfortunate lustful thoughts belong to his inner alpha and not himself. It doesn't matter how badly he wants to take a bite of Vox's pert behind, he simply won't do it. He can't let his hormones win.
He practically flees the bedroom and beelines to the lavish bathroom down the hall. The shower controls are easy enough to figure out. Alastor steps under the frigid water and shivers as the remnants of attraction washes down the drain.
Stubbornly his alpha instincts remain. Idle unnecessary thoughts of how well Vox took his knot, how his belly bugled with Alastor cock, how eager and ready Vox was to shelter his fawns, filter past Alastor's weakly upheld denials. Vox's whines and cries of his name, the expression of pure want, of such certainty that Alastor would give him what he needed, only proves to excite him.
Despite being too tired to fall under his insticts sway, Alastor's dick lifts to half mast, as if searching for the comforting warmth of Vox's insides.
"Insatiable beast," Alastor scolds his own member, wishing not for the first time to not have to lay embarrassed eyes on it.
He thinks of how Vincent might react, how calloused claws would cup him, just as gently and carefully as he rested his hands on Alastor's wounded chest. He imagines Vincent's claws curling around him, giving fluttering kisses to his cock head as he pumps teasingly slow, trying to draw out needy whines. He pictures Vincent opening his mouth, the perfect wet cavern and sticking his glowing tonuge out.
Alastor comes into his fist with a muted moan and lets the cold water drizzle over him. It takes forever for it to wash the mess from his hand.
As the drain gurgles Alastor wonders if Vox found their tryst as enjoyable as he had. He'd caused the television sinner to blue screen. Surely that meant something. Or perhaps that was something he was used to, having slept with the Overlord of Porn uncountable amount of times. How could Alastor ever truly compare?
It had felt strangely good, even through the fog of hormones and instincts. Not even as frightening as he had always imagined. He didn't feel any different having lost his virginity either. Sore maybe. Cranky because of the hormonal come down. But surprisingly…satisfied.
He could only hope he managed to give Vox the same experience. As per their deal of course. One of the main clauses commanded that both parties got off. So really Alastor fufilled his part of the bargin. No need for pesky feelings to involve themselves in a done deal.
It hadn't meant anything. Just a shockingly nice means to an end. No harm, no foul. He could manage the rest of his rut like this. It might even pass by faster with an engaging partner at his beck and call.
Decision settles his turbulent mind and Alastor walks confidently back into the bedroom. He hadn't bothered to dry off. He's certain Vox doesn't own a hairdryer. His fur is dripping wet as he comes to stand beside the bed.
Vox is seated on the edge of it, dressed in loose silk pajama pants and nothing else. His gills flutter slightly as he breathes. Drool pools in Alastor's mouth.
He clears his throat and croaks out, "Clothes, Vincent."
Vox tips his head to the side and regards him like a confused dog. Alastor refuses to find it endearing. He gestures to the TV Demon's frankly obscenely large closet. "Unlike some other perverted freak, I don't sleep in the nude. I need clothes."
"Your clothes are on the floor over there." Vox answers with a touch of hesitancy. "Why do you want mine? You're not one of those secret nesting alphas, are you?"
"It's fairly rude of you to assume I would be comfortable sleeping in my day wear." Alastor steps over to where his clothes are. They are quite a mess. Wrinkles have already begun to set in. He'll have to have Nifty iron them. He expertly folds them in the mean time, stacking them on the top of the bedside table. Small puddles form under his hooves. "And no, I am not a what you call a 'secret nesting alpha'. Even if I was, it's not like you would have any problem with it."
Vox ignores the jab to ask dumbfoundedly, "You want…to stay here tonight?"
Alastor stutters to a stop, staring at Vox from the other side of the bed. It's irritating how good the man looks in his silky pajama pants. Even the embroidered sharks have a certain charm to them. Not to mention the thinly veiled hope shining through his wide mismatched eyed gaze.
It's just rut brain, Alastor scolds himself, Vox isn't actually cute.
"Unless you rather I leave—"
Vox jumps up, antennas comically smacking his screen at such a fierce movement. He holds his hands out as if to physically prevent Alastor from teleporting away. "No!" His screen flushes a brilliant blue that stands out like a lighthouse in the darkened room. "I—I mean no. You don't have to leave." He drops his hands a bit sheepishly, eyes redirecting to the mattress separating them. "The bed is big enough for us both."
Alastor refuses to let the pondering expression on Vox's face snag his already compromised heart and he stomps his way over to the TV Demon's closet. Everything thankfully lacks the usual overwhelming alpha pheromones Alastor usually finds unbearable in this state.
Yet tucked near the back is a large sky blue sweater that calls to him. Alastor tugs it off its hangar, catching the slightest whiff of something metallic. He holds it up to his nose and gives it a hearty sniff. Under the metal there's a lightness. It smells like a storm brewing, air becoming heavy in anticipation of rain, a strangely earthly scent.
It smells heart-achingly familiar.
Alastor finds he likes the new subtly of Vox's scent and pulls the sweater on with awkwardly shaking hands. One sleeve immediately slides down his shoulder. The hem comes down to mid thigh. It's soft, like a cloud. Comforting. Undeniably Vox's with the obligatory shark printed on the front.
He decides it's good enough to sleep in and walks out of the closet. Vox is already under the covers and turned to the side. It doesn't look comfortable. His dim screen is angled awkwardly and it flares slightly as Alastor approaches.
The bedding is warm from Vox's body heat as Alastor crawls into the empty space. He hunkers down on his side, mimicking the other demon, backs facing each other. His spine tingles with awareness. They're probably only a few inches apart.
"Goodnight," Vox whispers over his shoulder.
Alastor resists the urge to invade Vox's personal bubble and tuck his nose into the TV Demon's neck. He wants to scent mark. He wants to cuddle. But he won't. It's just his rut brain trying to force his hand. He won't give in. He's stronger than that. He is better than his instincts. This is just a means to an end. Nothing about it is even real.
He keeps his back to Vox. Silence stretches over them. The faint crackle of static, their two frequencies brushing over each other cautiously, slowly dims as sleep claws its way into their minds.
It's a shame how empty the bed feels despite both of them laying on it.