Alastor connected his signal to Vox's, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. Now that he knew he had more than basic radio powers, he'd started experimenting with them. However, he'd been hesitant to be so bold with Vox while he was healing.
The last time they'd fully connected was when he'd panicked upon seeing Vox having torn off his old head and blindly reconnecting his new one. He hadn't known how he'd done it then, but he'd been experimenting with expanding his radio connection abilities. If they could feel each other's signals, that had to mean there was more.
He said nothing, just allowing his signal to get across the "You're so good to me" on his mind.
And Vox would feel Alastor's equally manic obsession for him: the same enthusiasm, fixation, and adoration with the sensation of yours, yours, yours. Alastor might be Vox's equal now on paper, but he still considered himself as Vox's and was quite happy for that.
Was it toxic? Oh, undeniably. But what wasn't toxic in Hell?
He moved easily in step with Vox as if they'd danced their entire existences with one another. Not a step out of place, not a stumble on rogue furniture, even as Alastor's gaze locked onto Vox.
"It's overdue. I've been wanting to do this for so long."
Longer than the new contract. Longer than the lunch before the accident. Every waking moment he craves this, this connection, it's so fucking good, it's everything.
And yes, it is better than sex. And sex is pretty fucking good.
"HAHahahah! We are not revisiting the stitches, thanks!" Vox laughed loudly - thankfully laughing and yelling didn't hurt anymore. But he would gladly fucking skip another stitching session, thanks.
Once they're in the foyer, he'll snap, jazz kicking on and filling the room. It wasn't that vintage quality, but wasn't synthetic, either - Vox knew that if anything, he had to get recordings of actual artists and musicians.
He couldn't grab and toss Al, but he could swing them around and let Alastor spin - it had an energy that matched the tempo almost immediately.
Alastor often missed the snaps and pops of vintage recordings and sound systems. Subtle little reminders that the music was real, not just some manufactured, autotuned to Heaven and back tripe.
He closed his eyes, trusting Vox to guide him as he spun and swung with Vox as his signal hummed excitedly. Ah, it had really been too long since they last did this. There was always such a thrill of moving to the beat of the music with wild abandon.
Though lifting was off the table, Vox was feeling fantastic enough to kick and hop to the tempo, drastically reveling in his recovery. He forgot how much it fucking SUCKED being injured like a normal person. And now, when he took Alastor's hand for a spin, or to dip him, there was a potent connection making it all feel just so amazing.
Fuck, look at Alastor move - he was just as athletic, just as in time with the music, stunning as hell - things couldn't get more perfect than this.
Alastor dipped and swayed with Vox, swept up in the energy to the point where he was practically drunk off of that and the contact with Vox's signal.
He could practically feel the electricity buzzing through Vox's circuits as if they were his own. Whatever passed for a heart thudding in time with Alastor's own. The scent of ozone, metal, and plastic that was so distinctly Vox's.
And if Vox focused enough, he'd feel and smell those sensations as well. Unfortunately Alastor was noseblind to his own scent so he might not be able to pick that up.
He wasn't noseblind, but holy fuck - he could smell. Or rather, Alastor's senses registered in a nearly atrophied part of his brain that remembered how to connect smells - Alastor's feeling struck a chord, and Vox laughed in elation, wordless and euphoric.
The connection was everything.
If Heaven wanted to punish him for being a bastard, they should have never let him find Alastor. Because this, this dance and this connection - this was more bliss than he could ever ask for.
There were probably a lot of sensations he was picking up from Alastor that his brain had been unable to process for decades: smell, of course, but also touch in being able to feel texture, not just register numbers approximating it. Potentially even taste as well.
In many, many timelines, Vox was trapped in a purely audio-visual Hell, but in this one? This one he had a means of experiencing all five senses again.
Those other timelines are the real Hell - Vox feels like he's won the lottery four times over. Time slips by easily, song after song after song passing and his fans and sweat both working harder and harder to keep him cool. There's a throbbing ache in his side, but it's far too easy to ignore as they dance - it'd have to be Alastor that pulls them into a break, because Vox may never leave the zone.
Vox pulled Alastor flush against his body, reveling in the heat but slowing down as advised. The fatigue did catch up, making him a bit breathless, but he still smirked and relished the endorphins and pleasant little electrical signals.
"I guess so. And whiskey is the other half of the promise. We can take it slow, now," he purred, swaying in a slow dance and intertwining his fingers with Alastor's. Just a moment longer, even if it's a slower pace.
"What kind of man would I be if I left you wanting for more?" Vox buzzed in amusement, his free hand cupping Alastor's cheek. Fuck, he wanted to kiss him again.
Hey, he could just do that now.
Slowing their pace so they didn't knock teeth or squish Alastor's nose too much, the Overlord pulled his partner into a slow, steady, oddly patient kiss. He'd worked out a lot of his extra energy from dancing, seems like.
Alastor's signal shivered with pleasure as their lips -- or a close enough proximity in Vox's case -- connected. Slow and steady. Like a finely-aged wine.
There would be time for passion and fire later. They literally had all eternity.
As he pulled away, he joked, "I was wrong: Now you've spoiled me. I'll be utterly intolerable to anyone else."
"I'll make sure no one else could even compare to what I give you," Vox promised. Their dance finally wound down, and he pulled out the good whiskey - on the rocks, for himself. Temperature was a lot clearer to his senses and he liked the chill compared to how it made his body run just a little flush with heat.
"Darling, the last person who might have had even the slightest chance disappeared in the rearview mirror ages ago." Alastor tapped where Vox's nose would be on the screen.
He didn't judge the man for how he drank his whiskey. There was nothing wrong with a bit of ice. Helped mellow out the alcohol.
Alastor, however, drank it neat.
"Mmm..." he murmured after that first sip. "Gluttony really does have the best brews. I can't imagine one on Earth that could've come close." He chuckled. "Then again, most of what they were serving at the speakeasy was cut with God-knew-what."
Sitting on the loveseat, Vox sprawled out but patted his thighs, inviting Alastor to come take a seat as well.
"Yeah, rough times, I heard. When I was alive booze was back to legal and honestly, it'd end up being half of what suckers would stock in their nuclear bunkers along with oatmeal and water that'd go shitty and moldy in giant barrels," Vox scoffed, swirling his drink and enjoying the sight before taking a sip. "If you had a good head on your shoulders, you were living it up instead. Though my success down here easily overshadows what I pulled off up top."
Alastor boldly decided to take Vox up on the offer...and sat down sideways in Vox's lap.
"You know," he began casually, as if he hadn't just boldly used Vox as a seat, "whiskey in those nuclear bunkers was a wise idea. It can be used as both a drink and as a disinfectant."
Hot-- play it cool, Vox. He casually looped an arm around behind Alastor, giving a little extra back support.
"If the bunkers even worked in the first place. Duck and cover was pretty much 'keep people from having mass panic'. I'm still wondering when the shoe drops and all of Earth's population drops down here 'cause someone finally pushed the button."
"Oh they might have had some effectiveness, but doesn't it take decades for nuclear fallout to dissipate?" Alastor asked. He remembered one post-apocalyptic role set on Earth following Nuclear Armageddon. "One of us would be fine if starving by the end of it, but there's no way a living human would be able to outlast it."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
The last time they'd fully connected was when he'd panicked upon seeing Vox having torn off his old head and blindly reconnecting his new one. He hadn't known how he'd done it then, but he'd been experimenting with expanding his radio connection abilities. If they could feel each other's signals, that had to mean there was more.
He said nothing, just allowing his signal to get across the "You're so good to me" on his mind.
no subject
Alastor would feel Vox's almost manic feeling of obsession over Alastor. Enthusiasm, fixation, adoration, his, his, his.
Vox is already starting to dance with Alastor, the synchronicity making his whole existence thrum.
no subject
Was it toxic? Oh, undeniably. But what wasn't toxic in Hell?
He moved easily in step with Vox as if they'd danced their entire existences with one another. Not a step out of place, not a stumble on rogue furniture, even as Alastor's gaze locked onto Vox.
"I missed this," he said.
no subject
Longer than the new contract. Longer than the lunch before the accident. Every waking moment he craves this, this connection, it's so fucking good, it's everything.
And yes, it is better than sex. And sex is pretty fucking good.
no subject
Not that Alastor was thinking along those lines, but if Vox wanted to try, he'd do it.
"Just let's not tear those stitches even if they have healed quite a bit already."
He thought it was fun when Vox tossed him around, but those stitches likely wouldn't think so.
no subject
Once they're in the foyer, he'll snap, jazz kicking on and filling the room. It wasn't that vintage quality, but wasn't synthetic, either - Vox knew that if anything, he had to get recordings of actual artists and musicians.
He couldn't grab and toss Al, but he could swing them around and let Alastor spin - it had an energy that matched the tempo almost immediately.
no subject
He closed his eyes, trusting Vox to guide him as he spun and swung with Vox as his signal hummed excitedly. Ah, it had really been too long since they last did this. There was always such a thrill of moving to the beat of the music with wild abandon.
no subject
Fuck, look at Alastor move - he was just as athletic, just as in time with the music, stunning as hell - things couldn't get more perfect than this.
no subject
He could practically feel the electricity buzzing through Vox's circuits as if they were his own. Whatever passed for a heart thudding in time with Alastor's own. The scent of ozone, metal, and plastic that was so distinctly Vox's.
And if Vox focused enough, he'd feel and smell those sensations as well. Unfortunately Alastor was noseblind to his own scent so he might not be able to pick that up.
no subject
The connection was everything.
If Heaven wanted to punish him for being a bastard, they should have never let him find Alastor. Because this, this dance and this connection - this was more bliss than he could ever ask for.
no subject
In many, many timelines, Vox was trapped in a purely audio-visual Hell, but in this one? This one he had a means of experiencing all five senses again.
no subject
no subject
"I think we're hitting your temporary limit, darling," Alastor said playfully. "Might be time to sit down."
Temporary limit. Because Vox was getting stronger every day. That stab wound wasn't going to keep him down forever.
no subject
"I guess so. And whiskey is the other half of the promise. We can take it slow, now," he purred, swaying in a slow dance and intertwining his fingers with Alastor's. Just a moment longer, even if it's a slower pace.
no subject
no subject
Hey, he could just do that now.
Slowing their pace so they didn't knock teeth or squish Alastor's nose too much, the Overlord pulled his partner into a slow, steady, oddly patient kiss. He'd worked out a lot of his extra energy from dancing, seems like.
no subject
There would be time for passion and fire later. They literally had all eternity.
As he pulled away, he joked, "I was wrong: Now you've spoiled me. I'll be utterly intolerable to anyone else."
no subject
no subject
He didn't judge the man for how he drank his whiskey. There was nothing wrong with a bit of ice. Helped mellow out the alcohol.
Alastor, however, drank it neat.
"Mmm..." he murmured after that first sip. "Gluttony really does have the best brews. I can't imagine one on Earth that could've come close." He chuckled. "Then again, most of what they were serving at the speakeasy was cut with God-knew-what."
no subject
"Yeah, rough times, I heard. When I was alive booze was back to legal and honestly, it'd end up being half of what suckers would stock in their nuclear bunkers along with oatmeal and water that'd go shitty and moldy in giant barrels," Vox scoffed, swirling his drink and enjoying the sight before taking a sip. "If you had a good head on your shoulders, you were living it up instead. Though my success down here easily overshadows what I pulled off up top."
no subject
"You know," he began casually, as if he hadn't just boldly used Vox as a seat, "whiskey in those nuclear bunkers was a wise idea. It can be used as both a drink and as a disinfectant."
no subject
"If the bunkers even worked in the first place. Duck and cover was pretty much 'keep people from having mass panic'. I'm still wondering when the shoe drops and all of Earth's population drops down here 'cause someone finally pushed the button."
no subject
no subject
no subject
His static buzzed as something occurred to him. He set his glass of whiskey down.
"I almost forgot! I've been experimenting with my powers! The shadows have been most helpful on that front!"
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)