Chapter Text
Alastor had the whole thing planned out. He was calculating, measured, even methodical. Vox was easy, and Alastor could play him like an old, predictable fiddle. He’d had his fun, cozying up to Vox’s “partners,” egging him on in his egotistical drive to be number one, even over the only people who valued him and saw his worth.
He’d gotten out of his contract, like he knew he would, and while there had been the humiliation and violation at the start, he would come out on top. He always did. Vox would celebrate, Vox would lay his hands on Charlie and they would fight this out like the old rivals they were.
Vox’s hands stopped just above Charlie’s shoulders, not touching yet. His cables dragged Alastor and his chair over to the stage next to him, and Vox backed away from Charlie, placing his hands on Alastor’s shoulders instead. Alastor’s brows furrowed, his smile tightening as he craned his head back to look up at Vox questioningly.
“Did you really think I was that stupid, old friend? That I don’t know all your little tricks by now, your fondness of wordplay.”
Slowly, some demons from the audience were climbing to the stage, and Charlie was tense, backing away from them, trying to reason. Foolish girl, there was no reasoning with the mindless, which Vox’s captivated audience currently was, eyes red and swirling with his hypnotic gaze playing on every television. Alastor strains against the cables binding him to the chair for the first time since his captivity, but both they and the cyan chains of their deal kept him in place, something akin to panic starting to blossom in his chest.
“Charlie–”
“Aww, what? Worried about your little friend?”
Blue claws carded through his hair, making his skin crawl as they suddenly gripped onto his ears, earning a yelp despite himself, mortifying in a way that he couldn’t really think about when he saw Charlie slowly getting overpowered and outnumbered.
“How about this, Al. Let’s make a new deal. You like deals, don’t you?” Those fingers were crawling up and down the back of his neck now, one hand still tightly wrapped around his ear, causing his body to shudder with the unwanted memory of being shocked in Vox’s office not that long ago.
He’s tempted to tell Vox to go fuck himself, but he hears a yell of pain from Charlie, and despite the fact he isn’t exactly attached to any of those pesky hotel guests, he can’t help the way his throat closes up just briefly at the idea of someone he sees so much potential in having it thwarted by Vox, let alone just to best and mock him.
“Name your terms.”
“Fantastic.”
Vox laughs, jovially. His new minions do not stop their attack, though the severity of it has lessened. Alastor finds breathing mildly difficult by this point, something he hadn’t experienced since the first time he’d had a close call in his long string of murders back home in New Orleans.
Vox walks around the chair until he is facing Alastor properly, petting his ears again. Alastor wanted to rip off his own skin, but he has to focus, even if his eyes cannot leave the sight of Charlie, sobbing as she is all but forced to take down one of Vox’s new pets.
“Your soul, and you, being mine. I will own you completely.”
“Like Valentin owns Angel?” He snorts at the thought.
“Oh, an even tighter leash. None of that “only in the studio” nonsense. When I say completely, I mean completely.”
“Fuck you.”
“Hey, sure. Have it your way.”
Charlie yells out in pain, and Alastor strains again to no avail.
Charlie had potential. If there was someone who may be able to knock Vox off the pedestal he’d made for himself, it was her, once she’d hardened enough. He had no reason to panic, Charlie was strong, and any second now, Vaggie would probably intervene, or some others of the little gaggle Charlie surely brought with her.
Where were the others? Even with them, they were overpowered. They were outnumbered. Vox was now the strongest sinner in Hell, decreed by the princess herself, all at Alastor’s behest.
“I suppose we can just get rid of the princess, and your little pets…”
Charlie yells out again, and Alastor turns his head when he hears a thud behind him.
“Wanna know who all came here? There’s Niffty and Baxter, the little traitor, and your little pussycat is on a rescue mission for Val’s whore, along with said whore’s little friend. You know, really just about everyone from the hotel is here. ”
Charlie lets out an anguished, screaming wail, and Alastor finally turns his head.
Vaggie is there. She is dead, on the ground, mangled and dead eyed. It wasn’t the sight of death that disturbed him, or even who it was, beyond the knowledge that the primal threat was very real.
“And then I can just reap what’s left–”
“Deal– We have a deal. Just– Let them go.”
“Who specifically?”
“The hotel residents.”
“Ah, can’t let Angel go, I’m afraid. He’s all Val’s.”
“Then rest of them! Just– The ones I own, Baxter, Charie– And the rest. And you can have my soul, the exact terms you wanted, just freeing them, and– not touching the hotel in your little war against Heaven! All very reasonable, right? Right, old friend?”
The cables loosen on Alastor and he holds out his hand, shaking despite himself as he heard a yowling sound not too far.
“Oh, Al.”
Vox grips his hand, shakes it hard once, twice.
“It’s a deal.”
Alastor is gagged again, and Vox pets his ears in some faux affectionate way that made his skin crawl.
“No projecting your voice like last time, yeah? Nod yes if you understand.
His ears are flat to his skull as he nods. The demons fighting Charlie back off, and she collapses, crawling to Vaggie’s body, cradling her as she wails.
“Well, princess, this has been fun, but I do believe it’s time for you and your merry group fo bandits to fuck off.”
Husk is injured. Alastor strains against the cables binding him to the chair again, a distressed bleat muffled by his gag.
Charlie looks at him, and he narrows his eyes when he feels Vox’s hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently.
“Alastor here has just ensured you and your group survive the night, and your only safe haven is going to be that hovel. You better run along now, lest his sacrifice mean nothing!”
Charlie stands up, holding Vaggie’s bloodied, mangled corpse to her chest, tears running down her face.
Velvette drops off Niffty and Baxter next, Valentino laughing as he leans on her head.
“Oh, papi, how did you convince him?!”
“Alastor…” Charlie is weeping, and he hates the way it makes his chest tighten suddenly. She needed to get out of here, now.
“...I’ll get you out of here.”
“Haha! Sure you will. Get the fuck out of here, princess.”
Charlie leaves with rest of her gaggle, to go lick her wounds, to plan, to scheme the way he hoped he’d taught her enough of before this event, leaving him behind with the Vees.
With Vox.
Being back inside Vee Tower after all of this was dizzying. Angel had been given an opportunity to join the others, the way he always had, but today he seemed to not take it. His face was in his hands as Alastor was wheeled into the sitting room.
“Now, Alastor. I’m going to ungag and untie you, and you’re going to sit next to Angel, alright?”
Alastor nods, because there is not much else he can do, if anything. Vox now owned him. While Rosie owning him had been frustrating and not exactly fun in the past, it was predictable, and he knew he could rely on her for safety if nothing else.
He cannot rely on Vox for such a thing, especially when he is so focused on conquering Heaven, on becoming God. His best bet was to obey as much as was reasonable, until he had a reason or need to resist, he could play along and bide his time as long as he needed to. He would not be here forever. That simply wasn’t…
He was reassuring himself, he realized, as Vox releases him from the cables and then ungags him. HIs jaw is sore, and he swears there is some drool on his face.
He gets up, joints popping and cracking the whole time as he moves to sit next to the crumbled, mortified Angel.
“So! First order of business, we’ll need to get you out of this old tattered mess, and get you bathed and done up.”
Alastor’s smile is tight, and he keeps quiet. Angel looks over at him, eyes wet and miserable, and Alastor tries desperately to ignore the staring, the concern in those eyes.
“So, stand up for me, Al.”
He does so, not quite of his own obedience, but because Vox has commanded it, and he has no other option. He owns souls, he knows how this works.
This does not prepare him, however, for Vox undoing his tie, and then deftly hooking one claw into the very beginning of the high collar of his suit, at the very beginning of the shirt, and drag it down,ripping buttons and fabric all the way down to the waistband of his trousers, held up by suspenders. He snarls at the cool air touching his furry chest, and cannot help himself but flinch as the tattered remains of his waistcoat and dress shirt are shoved off his shoulders, yanked down so hard his suspenders snapped, leaving him topless. Alastor attempts to step back from Vox, and cables grab his wrists, holding him in place as Vox kneels down, slicing the laces of his oxfords as well, prying them from Alastor’s hooves.
“Stop it–”
“Shut it, Alastor. Oh, look at these…”
Vox cradles Alastor’s ankle, thumb running over the tops of his hooves, and he bleats at the sensation, mortified as the sound escapes him.
“Aww, it’s okay.”
Vox stays on his knees, claws hooking into the waistband of Alastor’s trousers and boxers, and with a sharp ripping sound, they are torn away like rest of Alastor’s clothes, leaving him bare and exposed to the chilled air of the sitting room.
Alastor backs away then, as the cables fell away in Vox’s wide eyes staring between Alastor’s furry thighs, focused on the thick mass of red hair there. Alastor backs away until his unguligrade knees press against the couch, and Angel is slowly standing up, eyes wide and trying to get in between them, only making the disgust and terror in Alastor’s chest worse, making his throat tighter. Okay, just a bit of humiliation done in the way of stripping. That was fine, that was something he could stomach, really. It would be over shortly, he’d be in the bath or shower and it would all just be an uncomfortable memory.
“He– Hey. C’mon, Vox, this ain’t–”
“You have a pussy.”
Alastor flinches, and Vox is up in a second, pushing him until he sits back on the couch, bare, fur raised, chest tight, eyes wide and smile straining against his stitches as Vox stares at him like a slab of meat.
“Ohh– oh my God. Al. Alastor, haha! Ha, oh– This is wonderful. I mean, it’s like we were made for each other.”
Angel, bless him, tries to get in between them again, but it takes nothing for Vox to backhand him out of the way, looming over Alastor, hands running over the fur of his arms, his chest and all too thin waist, feeling every inch of him while Alastor’s ears flattened and pitiful, distressed bleats escaped him.
“Val, get your bitch out of here!”
Valentino is frowning as he does it, grumbling under his breath the entire time, and Alastor clenches hie eyes hut, the reassurance and comfort of a familiar face gone, and he couldn’t tell if that was relieving or worse.
“Oh, it’s okay, baby. No need to be so nervous. I’m not gonna do anything to you. I’m a gentleman, you know. Traditional, in some ways.”
Alastor bleats again, thrashing and stamping his hooves when Vox’s hands held onto his hips, thumbs massing into his flesh.
“Shh, shh. It’s alright.”
Cables wrap around him, binding him in place to the couch, thighs parted after a bit of struggle.
“I just wanna look, Al. C’mon…”
Vox is on his knees again, and Alastor shakes is heads, straining against the cables, and before he can actually get the word “no” out of his mouth, cables wrap around his mouth to gag him, muffling his bleats and protests, still not allowed to project his voice.
Vox’s hands on his thighs, petting the fur as he gazes between them, at the red curls of hair there, covering his cunt. His hands travel upwards, and Alastor’s bleat turns to screeching, hysterical static. Vox pays it no mind, claws gently parting his lips, and for just a brief second, his thumb brushes against Alastor’s clit.
Alastor goes entirely silent, breath caught in his throat, eyes wide as he stares down at Vox in genuine horror.
Vox doesn’t even look at him, finally pulling his hands away, pressing on Alastor’s thighs for support as he pushes himself up to stand.
“Inspection’s over. Velvette will get you a bath.”
Vox bends down, picking up the tattered remains of Alastor’s clothes.
“And you’ll have a new wardrobe after, too, don’t worry about these old rags.”
Velvette does not give him any reprieve, no robe to cover himself, and he feels paraded, even if the Tower is empty save for the Vees and Angel besides himself, as he is led to the bathroom. The tub is already filled, and she does help him in when his hooves keep slipping. He stays curled in on himself as much possible the entire way there, trying to conceal himself, preserve a sense of modesty.
He is quiet as she lathers him, still thinking about Charlie’s scream, the way she cradled Vaggie’s body to herself in near hysterics. He thinks of Angel’s sobbing frame next to him while Vox chattered and laughed. He thinks of Husk’s yowl and limp, Nifty’s split lip.
He dissociates through the bath, he realizes, once he is out and being blowdried, fur fluffed and brushed through.
He is given no shoes, no proper clothes or underwear, wrapped in a thin, silky white slip, nearly sheer, and he looks at himself in the fogged up mirror with disgust, at the way the dress-like undergarment holds onto him like a well fitted glove, at the way it looks as though he is being sent to bed in lingerie.
“You’ll be in your own room for now. Vox’ll move you into his later.”
“How pleasant of you all.” He realizes his voice is hoarse.
“Don’t make this harder on yourself than it already will be, Alastor.”
His hair is brushed out, curls rehydrated by some product Velvette used, and he stops looking in the mirror, feeling sick to his stomach.
The nausea does not go away even as he is led to his room, connected to Vox’s by a pair of sliding doors with sheer paper like material that Vox could see his silhouette through. He wonders how this is any different than being in Vox’s bedroom, but he will not complain about these small mercies, not while he has to renavigate everything under Vox’s control.
The bed is a simple one, a double pressed against the wall. The room has one window overlooking the city, facing the distant sign of the hotel. He tries not to look at it. He sits on the bed with its pastel yellow bedding, and he pulls a blanket around himself for some coverage. Velvette rummages around the wardrobe, and he knows much of it involves her magic from that crackling sound and the blackberry smell it leaves behind. When she is done, she comes over, motioning for him to stand.
He does so, after a brief moment of hesitation. She pulls back the tightly tucked bedding, and points.
“Lay down. Vox is going over your expectations tomorrow, and you’re gonna want your rest.”
“I don’t–”
“Lay down, or I’ll call him in here to make you.”
He glares, but ultimately caves in. He didn’t want a repeat of what happened in the sitting room. He lays in the bed, and Velvette tucks him in almost gently, like a mother to her child. It is a humiliation on top of everything else that had happened that day, the upheaval of the plan, his soft spot and hopes for Charlie manifesting into his own entrapment. A selfmade prison.
“Drink this.”
He looks down at the mug, a dark tea blend, and he hesitates, but he knows any resistance will be met with Vox’s force, and he needs some reprieve, some time to scheme, to make his way out of here, and so, he drinks it.
Velvette does not leaves after he drinks it, though she does take and hold the mug, watching him.
“...What?”
“Your life is about to change. Drastically.”
“I figured as much.”
“It’ll be better if you learn to accept it. Resistance will get you nowhere.”
His eyes narrow, but it doesn’t last long, as his limbs feel heavy and his head light. He feels exhausted, and Velvette comes over, gently pushing his shoulder until he is laying down fully. Her tone is almost gentle as his vision fades in and out of focus.
“Goodnight, Alastor.”