Chapter Text
Aside from the obvious, the most glaringly blatant being the empty spinny chair, Vox is nearly bowled over by the intoxicating, musky aroma of pheromones that hit him like a freight train. Several small puddles of urine on the polished floor catch his attention and he scans one to get more information.
Estrus fluid is a mixture of urine and vaginal secretions from a doe during the peak of their breeding cycle. Behavioral clues of a doe in estrus include frequent urination to leave scent trails for bucks and keeping her tail parallel to the ground or flicking it.
Vox closes the informational file with a breathy growl, stooping to dip his claws in the liquid. It may as well be the elixir of the gods—the media overlord sniffs the secretions of his arch-rival with awe and reverence. At long last, the radio demon is…vulnerable.
His for the taking.
Fans whir to life in the overlord’s head, his gills expanding and contracting. Somewhere in the tower, an employee screams when they are ripped apart by the radio demon, followed by a loud crash.
Vox stays rooted to the ground, bringing the urine to his screen face and licking it with his blue tongue. Red drool forms at the corner of his mouth…the shark is closing in on its bleeding prey. His eyes close in bliss, cocks twitching to life in his pants.
Urine has never tasted so divine. There is the initial taste of tangy bitterness followed by a musky undertone of…
Sex…
Simply put, the bottomest bitch needs to be bred.
“Oh Alastor,” Vox growls, “you are so fucked.”
Alastor loses all sense of direction when the lights go out. Everything looks the same. He can’t remember if he has gone down one particular hallway or another. It’s all a maze.
“Fuck,” he growls, attempting to stand on shaky legs. He is pissing uncontrollably, leaving scent trails for his mate. If (when) Vox finds him, he will surely be publicly humiliated. “Think, Alastor, think.” But that is nearly impossible, especially when he is knee-deep in heat.
“Oh, Alastorrrr…” Vox’s singsong voice echoes, causing Alastor to perk up. His fluffy ears swivel, straining to pinpoint the location of his archenemy’s voice.
Finally, a coherent thought tears through his heat-addled mind. He needs to find a room and lock himself inside. Wandering about like this will only lead his enemy directly to him.
Alastor fights his own tentacles when they attempt to pin him down and fuck him, the effort of battling a treacherous body that would so easily surrender itself to his sworn enemy causing him to bugle like an elk in rut. He clamps a hand over his mouth, dragging himself on hands and knees towards yet another labyrinthine hallway.
An unfortunate VoxTek employee rounds the corner just as Alastor heaves himself up to his feet, the last thing they see before dying is the naked radio demon in full frontal glory.
He stops to hold his head for awhile before continuing, wiping blood from his eyes. Up ahead, salvation emerges from his blurry vision in the form of an elevator.
Finally, at long last, he can find someplace to hide until this damnable vulnerability passes.
“Alastorrrr, c’mon old pal, it’s not like I’m gonna hurt you…I’m just gonna fuck you good and hard as you should be…”
The radio demon turns his head to look back down the hallway, a doe in heat caught in the headlights—
“No,” Alastor growls, claws scratching on the floor as he picks himself up again. His pussy throbs with the need to be stretched wide open and filled, to be taken and owned, to be pumped full of sharks only to birth them like Vox’s good little broodmare in nine months—
N̸O̸!̴ ̴Y̴O̸U̵'̷L̷L̶ ̶N̸E̶V̴E̸R̵ ̴H̴A̸V̸E̴ ̵M̶E̸!̷!̶!̷ Alastor screeches through static, lurching to his feet and running to the elevator.
Vox turns the corner just as the elevator doors close and simply watches Alastor run (in vain) from him. This is a game of hide-and-seek that Vox doesn’t want to end. He’s allowing the radio demon to think he’s getting away.
The overlord inhales deeply, the pungent odor of his archenemy’s feral mating call permeating the air and overloading his senses. The fans in his head kick into high gear as he steps gingerly over his employee’s corpse and scans another puddle of piss.
There are higher traces of vaginal secretions, which means that Alastor’s tentacles are fucking him but it’s just not the same as being mated. Whether or not the bottomest bitch wants to admit it, his body is crying out for Vox. “I’m gonna fuck you till my cum spills from your mouth, you fucking brat. And this time, I’m never letting you go.”
Alastor stumbles out of the elevator, his own tentacles tripping him. He drags himself around the corner behind some tall crates and lets his tentacles degrade him. His moans are somewhat muffled by the tentacle in his mouth, only to be amplified when four tentacles, two in his pussy and two in his ass, absolutely positively make a whore out of him.
He picks up on the soft electric hum of the elevator in the nick of time, biting clean through the tentacle in his mouth. Never before has he had to fight his own body like this. He hates having to do so but it’s better than being made into a public spectacle.
The tentacles promptly disappear and Alastor is left breathing hard on all fours in the basement of the Vees tower.
“Hide, you damn fool.” It takes every ounce, every last fiber of his being, to stand up and search for a final escape route when his eyes land on a door that is hidden in the shadows behind all the crates. Since the basement has the layout of a warehouse, Vox will hopefully be too busy checking out what’s behind all the other doors and this humiliating episode of weakness will have passed.
Alastor holds in the piss that threatens to spill out, relieving himself only when the double doors are securely locked and closed. He chooses a corner furthest from the door, crouching down so that not even the splash can be heard against the floor. A tarp covering some crates is used to cover up the piss, hopefully masking the scent.
There is not much else to do except to wait this thing out so Alastor curls up on a corner of the tarp only to realize that his socks are drenched in piss. He removes them and his shoes, scrunching his nose in disgust at the smell. (If Vox does find him, hopefully the odor of piss will deter him).
Finally, Alastor wearily curls up on the tarp, tucking his legs underneath his body. To take his mind off his predicament, he stares at his hooves. They are small and red, with dew toes behind his slender legs. He yawns tiredly, pupils dilated in his crimson eyes, face flushed, his breath coming in short pants. His body needs, craves—
He groans in frustration, puts his head down, and shuts his eyes, unexpectedly falling into a restless sleep.
BANG!
Alastor wakes up with a bleat of surprise, the sound seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. He isn’t sure if it’s a door slamming or something falling over.
Sensing that Vox is close by, Alastor keeps absolutely still and silent.
Moments go by then minutes.
The silence is louder than his cruel rejection of the overlord who is scenting him like a predator on the trail of its prey.
“Alastorrrr…where are you…”
Claws gently scrape the door, accompanied by the clicks of Vox’s shoes.
“Where is my itty-bitty, little deer, hmmm? Are you in here?”
Claws tap on the door, followed by a slow, drawn-out scratch. “Alastor…” Vox inhales deeply, speaking breathily on the exhale. “You know I can make you feel good…stop running from me…you’re only making me harder when you do…”
Alastor dares not make one sound, not even to shuffle on the tarp to position himself to pee yet again. He clenches his jaw in an effort to stop the flow that starts to trickle down his leg then stands as quietly as possible to walk to the designated corner.
Relief, as far as urinating, is fleeting. Alastor knows nothing can soothe the throbbing between his legs except Vox.
Maybe he can make a deal with Vox…but what?
His mind is feverish, his thoughts are scattered.
After listening intently to the sound of Vox’s footsteps fading in the distance, Alastor curls up on the tarp once more, focusing on his hooves.
The urge to urinate isn’t so frequent and his body is starting to regulate itself again. Silly little deer. All that worrying for nothing.
“Alastorrrr…” The double doors open gently, the slow, measured footsteps that follow causing Alastor to move abruptly, the tarp crunching loud as thunder. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…god I can taste you in my teeth, Alastor…just give in to me, for fuck’s sake. I won’t hurt you.”
Vox hones in on a stack of crates in the back of the room, his dicks practically tearing a hole in his pants when he sees a small red hoof pulling back behind them.
Alastor huddles behind the crates, hugging his knees to his chest. He knows he is fucked yet he clings to the small chance that Vox will simply lose interest.
Vox walks to Alastor calmly, hands clasped behind his back, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his bottomest bitch like exquisite perfume.
Alastor feels a large clawed hand alight on his shoulder, delicate as a feather. Power surges through that hand, more than enough to snap his bones with ease.
Vox leans down, his face nuzzling a fluffy ear. “You know, I’ve always admired your spirit, Al. It’s really quite inspiring.” He notices Alastor tense up, an ear flicking imperceptibly. “Never more than now when you’re…”
Claws tap gently on Alastor’s bare shoulder then Vox breathes the last word into his ear. “…cornered…”