Hilarious target, huh...? Puh. His cockiness faltered a bit, but he clenched his jaw and pressed on.
Eyes on the prize. He's trying to get a rise.
He tread for the little liquor cabinet tucked away here. Alastor may not drink anymore what with his delicate condition, but don't mind if daddy has a little drink...
"Never did." He selected a glass, a bottle, and poured. Little whiskey was nice right now.
"But oh, did I have lines out the door to have a little piece of the God of Entertainment." He looked down into the drink, swirled it.
"I had piles of love letters. Some of the creepier ones would send locks of their hair; their used panties, twice. I took lovers, but... nobody ever really grabbed me in a way that had me heading out and buying a ring."
He finally drank. "Don't tell me you're so old-fashioned you're subtly asking to wife up for the sake of the kid..."
"Oh, heavens no! Our Deal is far more meaningful and reliable than any nuptial vows," Alastor laughed, waving off the idea entirely as he took another bite of bread. Trying to ignore the sad state of his appetite - done in by something microscopic keeping him from eating anything substantial, anything he wanted--
His other hand remained where it lay, fingers slowly drumming along the seam of his coat. Despite his anger, there was... a frustrating something else bubbling in his head emotion-wise over this... child. No longer his, but at least of his blood.
What would Maman have thought?
"I ask because I wonder if you have any idea what you're getting into! It's been far too long since I was a young boy watching my neighbor's even younger kid for an hour or two."
"Not a fucking clue!" He replied with a laugh. He can admit it. He never had kids, didn't have neighbors who had very young children to mind. Babysitting was what the young ladies did to make some extra money. He and the boys mowed lawns.
God, but what would his old man think? Maybe elbow him, snicker. Boys will be boys, sow their wild oats and all... oh, but his mother would absolutely tan his poor fucking hide. If you know what's good for you, Vinny, you'd best show some responsibility-
"But we've got the whole Information Superhighway at our disposal!" The cables extended, weaved around the chair like so many vines as he returned to the desk, seated atop and crossed one long leg over the other.
"Gotta wonder, though," he added breezily. "Is 'the glow' real...? Will the Radio Demon have an extra shine as our little bundle grows?"
"Your little bundle," Alastor corrected quickly, eyebrow quirking. It was a technicality, but he'd strictly adhere to it - not a chance of breaking that Deal until things were in the clear.
After a beat to consider the question, though, Alastor hummed in thought and scratched at his scalp where his antlers had yet to grow back.
"I wager there might be some changes. I'm already not growing my antlers back." Hopefully nothing too humiliating becomes obvious.
"Not a bad trade, I should think," he replied, and lifted his eyes to the massive window behind the desk, at the swimming creatures that drifted beyond within the immense tank.
"No forks, sure, but a glow that'll outshine this dingy-ass Ring and the prettiest little bump you've ever seen..." He chuckled low, but then with a brief startle, he quieted.
Cleared his throat, and masked his face- as much as he could, anyway- with his drink.
It takes Alastor a second to even understand what Vox is getting at, but it hits him after a beat with a radio feedback whine. Pallid cheeks flushed a bit darker against Alastor's will, an ear flicking.
But the things that Vox had growled at him, those feverish thoughts that had been so pleasant to hear to his heat-addled mind... even with his mind clear, they didn't seem SO bad--
"You sound entirely too pleased," Alastor growled, teeth glowing as he spoke through them clenched tight in an attempt to bite back the embarrassing feelings and replace them with a scowl.
Ever the cinephile, there were scenes he enjoyed privately. Some were of utmost domesticity, and despite knowing he would never, ever have anything remotely close to that for himself, it was nice to have a fantasy.
One of which probably involved running around Hell, jamming cigars in people's mouths and guffawing away in paternal pride, but others? Others involved rolling in after a hard day's work and winding his arms without a word around another's middle, getting the mental battery recharge that way. But he couldn't let people get too close in life; even reading through his adoring fans' letters, each of them promising the picket fence, the life he would have dreamed of, countless children, he knew that if they knew the truth and what he'd need to do to ensure the silence, these 'lucky ladies' would quickly change their minds.
...But it'd be easier if his partner was just as twisted as he was, right...?
Nah. Fantasies stay fantasies.
"Should I not be?" He shrugged a shoulder and the smirk was cocky. "I imagine there are plenty of Sinners out there who would KILL to be in our position right now. We're pioneers, you and I!"
Crackle, pop. Alastor wrestled his smile, trying to will the embarrassment away. But - a part of him was taking some... strange... pride and delight in how excited and proud Vox already was about this.
"We ought to be suspicious of this," Alastor warned, trying to pull himself out of those rosy thoughts. "Surely I am not the only Sinner to have such an animalistic curse. And moreover - we have no idea what sort of hellspawn we're making."
...But with the Goetia, the hellhounds, the imps... there's likely enough to assume it at least might not be an inherently Bad Seed. Maybe. Alastor is sure that their child is doomed to at least be a sinful, deranged fiend in their own right - but giving them the freedom to do so came first.
"...And if they have a television head, I am going to kill you. Repeatedly."
This was unprecedented as far as he knew... what COULD come of this? Still, he wasn't about to be a sourpuss about this. Radio and video was the perfect combination... they were going to be unstoppable.
Why? Because that's what he believed. This situation was insane, but he was more curious as to how this would all go. They were under his protection thanks to the Deal, and unlike the countless souls he owned, he needed to really look into this one. He needed to do some research. Because how the fuck does anyone raise a kid? He hardly remembers how his parents were.
But the thought was gone with his remark. Vox spluttered out a laugh. "Shit, promise me a good time, will ya...?"
The grin sharpened, and his voice smoothed. "...Besides, if my genes really won out...? I put a little shark pup in you~"
Alastor's claws gripped into his coat over his middle before he could stop himself, ears flattening back - those words shouldn't have sent a jolt up his spine the way they did. What's gotten into him? He hated it - hated the way he didn't have control over those reactions.
"A shark pup would be fine... but if a clone of your square head is what I have to content with, then I'm going to break your pelvis with my bare hands so you will suffer too."
Then again, Vox sounded like he'd probably enjoy that. Alastor stood from the seat, placing his claws on either side of where Vox was seated so he could loom closer.
"For every pain I'll take my pound of flesh from you. To remind you that I am no less the predator to your prey."
Oh, he saw that. He chuckled and offered a small wiggle of eyebrows before Alastor reiterated the threat. His hands planted atop the desk as the other rose, and he really, honestly hoped the deer's senses weren't quite so keen with the way the Media Overlord's pulse quickened, heart beating around like a bird in a cage.
Vox even scooted back an inch or two as the other loomed, and helplessly his eyes flicked down to the Radio Demon's mouth before swiftly moving back up to his eyes again.
The you promise? was right there on the tip of his tongue, waiting to fly free.
But he caught that bird, squeezed it tight for being a nuisance, and rammed it back into the cage.
A metallic claw reached up, slowly hooked against Alastor's bow tie instead as he took one breath, then another. He centered himself, even if there was brighter cyan across his screen, he managed a grin.
"...So moody," he replied at a near whisper, tone husky as he gave a small tug.
"You only just started this pregnancy, but if this is how you're gonna be? You really do wear it well."
One of Alastor's clawed hands reached up and grabbed at the monitor as he was tugged - he growled darkly, pressing the claw of his thumb against the thin glass with half a mind to just punch a hole straight through.
"Don't you d̴̯̐ì̶̹s̸͖̆r̶̹͊ȅ̶̳s̵̱̀p̴̼̈́e̸̝͊c̴͓͗t̸̤̽ me-- you little w̶̻͉̒̀ͅḧ̴͖́é̶̢̡͉̟̞͎̈̌̀̔͝ļ̸̛̺̹̦̗̟̔̈̇͑̏̚͝p̵̘̰̮̮͖̫̙̗̞̒̈̓̋͑͘!"
Crack, crack, crack...
That stupid, vulgar, ANNOYING smug look on Vox's face was PISSING HIM OFF - being called moody as if his rage was any different than it'd always been, just because of his state. He wanted to shatter that face and chew into it like rock candy, tear out wires, thrash until he worked all of that rage out of him...
The growl, the grab, the pressure against the seams of his monitor... myriad colors bloomed beneath the pin point of that claw, scattering liquefied crystal while pressuring each minuscule filter.
Vox should be recoiling in fear, begging for his life, knowing full well others had been killed for far less. Instead his bravado was fading... or was it amping up...? To a shallow, heated pant of excitement as Alastor's rage grew.
"...You're beautiful..."
It was out before he could stop it, the caged bird fluttering again in his ribs, tiny claws scratching at the walls.
Alastor froze, utterly bewildered at the statement.
It couldn't be. That had to be a play - some part of Vox's sick fascination with dominating him. Since when was Vincent an honest man?
Who could look his fury in the face and call that beautiful?
With a growl, Alastor climbed onto the desk and wrapped his other hand around Vox's throat, pushing him onto his back on the desk and pinning him underneath as his hackles rose, as the shadows deepened and threatened to bite. Still-- his mind was still reeling, too at a loss for words - so he pinned down Vox's head with both hands so he could lean in and tear out his throat.
His heart could leap out of his mouth as the desk was climbed, but it was stopped with the grip against his throat. The fine material of his suit had no gripping power against the polished desk top, causing his arms to slide out to his sides as he was pressed back, his drink sliding from the push and well out of reach. But his mouth had grown hot and impossibly dry... he could have used it.
His pupils shrank as he looked up, giving a slight wobble as they tried to read him. But he was always unreadable by design, wasn't he...? But there was no taking back what he said. In fact, the gaze went from confusion to unfiltered awe. He'd seen him menace overlords this way, both small-time and those nearly reaching their apex, and always watched with that same fascination from the screen of that old CRT.
But it was his turn, it seemed. The first bite brought with it a strangled gargle, one that turned bubbling and wet with the tear. His body jerked as signals garbled between head and body, find cotton collar of both undershirt and coat pitifully soaking so little of the blood before the rest began to pool. Yet something harkened back to weeks ago, of razor teeth piercing flesh... or maybe it did; he wasn't even certain.
Whatever it was brought a hand to shakily slide across the desk as his screen cycled between error messages and color bars, long fingers brushing along the knuckles of one of those claws that had a vice grip upon the monitor before settling to cover it.
The hand. The hand, again, why does he always do that?? It'd stopped for so long, but it's just like it used to be, back in those old days. Soft touches, far too soft to come from a murderer like either of them, and yet here he was--
Alastor swallowed the bite he'd taken, cords and muscle and all. Like licking a fucking battery, the coppery blood taste was at an impossibly intense level. With a growl, the Radio Demon was tempted to take another bite, to feast, he was so fucking hungry and this meat tasted right, would feed his pup, and...!
He paused when Vox's face flickered between error messages and color bars. The briefest glimpse of his eye.
He didn't go back for another bite.
Instead, frustrated, Alastor pressed his bloodied mouth against the screen - kissing? Attempting to, fuck, what was he even doing? Why did this stupid picturetube do this to him?
The pain was too much to bear, but any sound he could make was impossible. Even now, with his damnation bidding him not find the sweet release of a final death, things were already slowly stitching back together.
With the warm, albeit clumsy touch to his screen, his scheme slammed against his own frustrations. Would he have liked that partnership, touching just like this for all of eternity and even having a kiss tinged with gore? God yes. It's all he would have wanted. But surely this was a game, a way to dangle something else over his head and laugh about it later when he so much as brought it up.
But his touch lingered. As those error codes faded to snow and the channel struggled to return to his face and keep it steady, he angled and pressed in kind.
Gullible. Idiot. Fool. Fucking dunce.
...But if this was going to be the only time this would happen... he'll take it.
Is this it, Vincent? Is this what you wanted?? Or were you playing him for a fool?
The shift of the screen, the return of Vox's mouth - Alastor was clumsy trying to figure out exactly-- exactly how to kiss. Much less kissing a flatscreen! An oversized mouth that was mercifully not talkative, not jabbing at him for whatever inane insult came to the man's head, god, he always had such clever quips when he hit his stride--
He'd never quite get over how real Vox's teeth felt. Practically cutting his own tongue on them as he licked at the open mouth, feeling stupid but too stubborn to admit he had no idea what he was doing or why. As sharp and real as they'd been when they'd chewed Alastor up in the throes of rut, and... there was that feeling again. That heat, though far less intense and for once feeling like he wasn't completely insane because of it.
There was no control in this situation. None whatsoever. He hated it, but--
With another frustrated growl, Alastor let go of Vox's screen and wrapped his arms around the other's shoulders, clinging tightly to him. Claws dug in deep, almost spiteful and angry as Alastor snarled into the bloodied shirt,
After the initial, cautious reciprocation bubbled up the curiosity. The fascination. He's... holy shit, he's not very good at this, is he...?
He'll stow that for later. For now, his tongue was a soft and glowing blue as it swept out, curled and caressed beneath the other demon's. The brush of the tip, brief and deliberate, was a wordless invitation to try that again sometime.
Once released, Vox took his first unimpeded breath, his trachea finishing its stitching. The muscle, the flesh would take a little more time. But it allowed for the small grunt of surprise from the sudden embrace, the...
...The possession, a word that made a silvery thread of electricity to dance between his diodes. The bite of claws, the tone wanted him to believe so much that this was something truly happening. Ah, but this is a game... his overly doting, and now this kiss, this claim over him...
He sees you, Alastor. So when his hands move again, settle against the other's back, he would return the embrace. Because game on.
Alastor's breath grew harsher, and he tensed, but that possessive grasp tightened. What was happening? What was happening to him? He hadn't felt this out of control of himself outside of a heat before--
The pregnancy. That must be it. It's making him weaker to-- to those touches.
...But then, why had they been so notable in the haze of heat, too?
Why had he tolerated the paradoxical feeling of them long, long before that?
"You insufferable, uncreative, clout-chasing trend-hopping bandwagoning unoriginalhack. You idiot. Icarus, a damned fool, a vulgar man...!" he growled into Vox's shirt, head spinning in anger. But there was no way he was letting go. Alastor's ears pinned back. "Stupid, oafish-- you're no shark, you're a remora..."
...Why was he remembering some stupid fish fact that stupid box head had blathered at him about??
His mouth opened in habit, ready to offer a correction to the type of fish that would stick to a bigger predator. But he blinked his surprise.
"...Huh. So you were listening."
All of his prattle about his passion, thinking for years after that he was talking to a brick wall came bubbling back.
He... remembered that? Just as he remembered Alastor's favorite songs, his favorite drink, and his favored dance moves both before and after the absinthe and whiskey hit-
Yet despite the string of insults, he too wasn't letting go. Muscle knit together, and flesh would gradually follow suit on his throat. Shit, he should bill Alastor for the dry-cleaning over the blood... he still all but burst a gasket over the bill sent to repair the damaged exterior of the hotel, after all. Fair was fair...
Forcing a laugh out of himself, Alastor let go of his death grip on Vox. He sat up, leaning back - and sat squarely on Vox's middle, pausing to laugh and run his hand through his hair. Rub a bit of the gore off of his face.
"Hah! Hahahah... talk about a mood swing," he sighed, leaning back over and tapping the half-shattered part of Vox's screen even as the cracks were slowly disappearing. "Sorry about that, old pal. Had a bout of insanity there. Nearly made you lose your head, hahahah!"
Really, he wanted to kick himself for that remark he made earlier. But it warred with the sight of Alastor straddling him like this, laughing and smearing a bit of his blood across his skin in a way that made the butterflies take off in his stomach.
All he wanted to do was put his face in his hands and scream. But he would endure, maybe do some recreational screaming during his scheduled break.
Not that he was really working right now.
"Mood swing. Right." He closed one eye a bit with the tapping- thanks, he can actually feel that in the peepers, you know-
But since he's feeling touchy, turnabout is fair play. A neon blue claw set at Alastor's abdomen, idly trailed along by an inch.
"...Gonna be a hoot of a year, huh...? Then again, you always made a hobby out of being Hell's biggest pain in the ass."
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sugaronthecream) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
divinetree2025-10-07 08:11 pm
no subject
Eyes on the prize. He's trying to get a rise.
He tread for the little liquor cabinet tucked away here. Alastor may not drink anymore what with his delicate condition, but don't mind if daddy has a little drink...
"Never did." He selected a glass, a bottle, and poured. Little whiskey was nice right now.
"But oh, did I have lines out the door to have a little piece of the God of Entertainment." He looked down into the drink, swirled it.
"I had piles of love letters. Some of the creepier ones would send locks of their hair; their used panties, twice. I took lovers, but... nobody ever really grabbed me in a way that had me heading out and buying a ring."
He finally drank. "Don't tell me you're so old-fashioned you're subtly asking to wife up for the sake of the kid..."
no subject
His other hand remained where it lay, fingers slowly drumming along the seam of his coat. Despite his anger, there was... a frustrating something else bubbling in his head emotion-wise over this... child. No longer his, but at least of his blood.
What would Maman have thought?
"I ask because I wonder if you have any idea what you're getting into! It's been far too long since I was a young boy watching my neighbor's even younger kid for an hour or two."
no subject
God, but what would his old man think? Maybe elbow him, snicker. Boys will be boys, sow their wild oats and all... oh, but his mother would absolutely tan his poor fucking hide. If you know what's good for you, Vinny, you'd best show some responsibility-
"But we've got the whole Information Superhighway at our disposal!" The cables extended, weaved around the chair like so many vines as he returned to the desk, seated atop and crossed one long leg over the other.
"Gotta wonder, though," he added breezily. "Is 'the glow' real...? Will the Radio Demon have an extra shine as our little bundle grows?"
no subject
After a beat to consider the question, though, Alastor hummed in thought and scratched at his scalp where his antlers had yet to grow back.
"I wager there might be some changes. I'm already not growing my antlers back." Hopefully nothing too humiliating becomes obvious.
no subject
"No forks, sure, but a glow that'll outshine this dingy-ass Ring and the prettiest little bump you've ever seen..." He chuckled low, but then with a brief startle, he quieted.
Cleared his throat, and masked his face- as much as he could, anyway- with his drink.
"-Anyway, don't worry about it." Siiiiip.
no subject
But the things that Vox had growled at him, those feverish thoughts that had been so pleasant to hear to his heat-addled mind... even with his mind clear, they didn't seem SO bad--
"You sound entirely too pleased," Alastor growled, teeth glowing as he spoke through them clenched tight in an attempt to bite back the embarrassing feelings and replace them with a scowl.
no subject
One of which probably involved running around Hell, jamming cigars in people's mouths and guffawing away in paternal pride, but others? Others involved rolling in after a hard day's work and winding his arms without a word around another's middle, getting the mental battery recharge that way. But he couldn't let people get too close in life; even reading through his adoring fans' letters, each of them promising the picket fence, the life he would have dreamed of, countless children, he knew that if they knew the truth and what he'd need to do to ensure the silence, these 'lucky ladies' would quickly change their minds.
...But it'd be easier if his partner was just as twisted as he was, right...?
Nah. Fantasies stay fantasies.
"Should I not be?" He shrugged a shoulder and the smirk was cocky. "I imagine there are plenty of Sinners out there who would KILL to be in our position right now. We're pioneers, you and I!"
no subject
"We ought to be suspicious of this," Alastor warned, trying to pull himself out of those rosy thoughts. "Surely I am not the only Sinner to have such an animalistic curse. And moreover - we have no idea what sort of hellspawn we're making."
...But with the Goetia, the hellhounds, the imps... there's likely enough to assume it at least might not be an inherently Bad Seed. Maybe. Alastor is sure that their child is doomed to at least be a sinful, deranged fiend in their own right - but giving them the freedom to do so came first.
"...And if they have a television head, I am going to kill you. Repeatedly."
no subject
Why? Because that's what he believed. This situation was insane, but he was more curious as to how this would all go. They were under his protection thanks to the Deal, and unlike the countless souls he owned, he needed to really look into this one. He needed to do some research. Because how the fuck does anyone raise a kid? He hardly remembers how his parents were.
But the thought was gone with his remark. Vox spluttered out a laugh. "Shit, promise me a good time, will ya...?"
The grin sharpened, and his voice smoothed. "...Besides, if my genes really won out...? I put a little shark pup in you~"
no subject
"A shark pup would be fine... but if a clone of your square head is what I have to content with, then I'm going to break your pelvis with my bare hands so you will suffer too."
Then again, Vox sounded like he'd probably enjoy that. Alastor stood from the seat, placing his claws on either side of where Vox was seated so he could loom closer.
"For every pain I'll take my pound of flesh from you. To remind you that I am no less the predator to your prey."
1/2
Vox even scooted back an inch or two as the other loomed, and helplessly his eyes flicked down to the Radio Demon's mouth before swiftly moving back up to his eyes again.
The you promise? was right there on the tip of his tongue, waiting to fly free.
2/2
A metallic claw reached up, slowly hooked against Alastor's bow tie instead as he took one breath, then another. He centered himself, even if there was brighter cyan across his screen, he managed a grin.
"...So moody," he replied at a near whisper, tone husky as he gave a small tug.
"You only just started this pregnancy, but if this is how you're gonna be? You really do wear it well."
no subject
"Don't you d̴̯̐ì̶̹s̸͖̆r̶̹͊ȅ̶̳s̵̱̀p̴̼̈́e̸̝͊c̴͓͗t̸̤̽ me-- you little w̶̻͉̒̀ͅḧ̴͖́é̶̢̡͉̟̞͎̈̌̀̔͝ļ̸̛̺̹̦̗̟̔̈̇͑̏̚͝p̵̘̰̮̮͖̫̙̗̞̒̈̓̋͑͘!"
Crack, crack, crack...
That stupid, vulgar, ANNOYING smug look on Vox's face was PISSING HIM OFF - being called moody as if his rage was any different than it'd always been, just because of his state. He wanted to shatter that face and chew into it like rock candy, tear out wires, thrash until he worked all of that rage out of him...
no subject
Vox should be recoiling in fear, begging for his life, knowing full well others had been killed for far less. Instead his bravado was fading... or was it amping up...? To a shallow, heated pant of excitement as Alastor's rage grew.
"...You're beautiful..."
It was out before he could stop it, the caged bird fluttering again in his ribs, tiny claws scratching at the walls.
no subject
It couldn't be. That had to be a play - some part of Vox's sick fascination with dominating him. Since when was Vincent an honest man?
Who could look his fury in the face and call that beautiful?
With a growl, Alastor climbed onto the desk and wrapped his other hand around Vox's throat, pushing him onto his back on the desk and pinning him underneath as his hackles rose, as the shadows deepened and threatened to bite. Still-- his mind was still reeling, too at a loss for words - so he pinned down Vox's head with both hands so he could lean in and tear out his throat.
no subject
His pupils shrank as he looked up, giving a slight wobble as they tried to read him. But he was always unreadable by design, wasn't he...? But there was no taking back what he said. In fact, the gaze went from confusion to unfiltered awe. He'd seen him menace overlords this way, both small-time and those nearly reaching their apex, and always watched with that same fascination from the screen of that old CRT.
But it was his turn, it seemed. The first bite brought with it a strangled gargle, one that turned bubbling and wet with the tear. His body jerked as signals garbled between head and body, find cotton collar of both undershirt and coat pitifully soaking so little of the blood before the rest began to pool. Yet something harkened back to weeks ago, of razor teeth piercing flesh... or maybe it did; he wasn't even certain.
Whatever it was brought a hand to shakily slide across the desk as his screen cycled between error messages and color bars, long fingers brushing along the knuckles of one of those claws that had a vice grip upon the monitor before settling to cover it.
no subject
Alastor swallowed the bite he'd taken, cords and muscle and all. Like licking a fucking battery, the coppery blood taste was at an impossibly intense level. With a growl, the Radio Demon was tempted to take another bite, to feast, he was so fucking hungry and this meat tasted right, would feed his pup, and...!
He paused when Vox's face flickered between error messages and color bars. The briefest glimpse of his eye.
He didn't go back for another bite.
Instead, frustrated, Alastor pressed his bloodied mouth against the screen - kissing? Attempting to, fuck, what was he even doing? Why did this stupid picturetube do this to him?
no subject
With the warm, albeit clumsy touch to his screen, his scheme slammed against his own frustrations. Would he have liked that partnership, touching just like this for all of eternity and even having a kiss tinged with gore? God yes. It's all he would have wanted. But surely this was a game, a way to dangle something else over his head and laugh about it later when he so much as brought it up.
But his touch lingered. As those error codes faded to snow and the channel struggled to return to his face and keep it steady, he angled and pressed in kind.
Gullible. Idiot. Fool. Fucking dunce.
...But if this was going to be the only time this would happen... he'll take it.
no subject
The shift of the screen, the return of Vox's mouth - Alastor was clumsy trying to figure out exactly-- exactly how to kiss. Much less kissing a flatscreen! An oversized mouth that was mercifully not talkative, not jabbing at him for whatever inane insult came to the man's head, god, he always had such clever quips when he hit his stride--
He'd never quite get over how real Vox's teeth felt. Practically cutting his own tongue on them as he licked at the open mouth, feeling stupid but too stubborn to admit he had no idea what he was doing or why. As sharp and real as they'd been when they'd chewed Alastor up in the throes of rut, and... there was that feeling again. That heat, though far less intense and for once feeling like he wasn't completely insane because of it.
There was no control in this situation. None whatsoever. He hated it, but--
With another frustrated growl, Alastor let go of Vox's screen and wrapped his arms around the other's shoulders, clinging tightly to him. Claws dug in deep, almost spiteful and angry as Alastor snarled into the bloodied shirt,
"M̸̝͂̑̓͆̌̒͌̌Ȉ̷̼̣̦͝N̷̨͙̰̩̤̋̓͗̓͘̚͠E̵̻͇̲̬̥̊̽̿.̷̰̭͔̼͍̙̭̍͆ͅ.̶̨̠̻͉͎͉̠̿͛̃̂̓͜.̴̨͖̣̪̓̅́̈"
no subject
He'll stow that for later. For now, his tongue was a soft and glowing blue as it swept out, curled and caressed beneath the other demon's. The brush of the tip, brief and deliberate, was a wordless invitation to try that again sometime.
Once released, Vox took his first unimpeded breath, his trachea finishing its stitching. The muscle, the flesh would take a little more time. But it allowed for the small grunt of surprise from the sudden embrace, the...
...The possession, a word that made a silvery thread of electricity to dance between his diodes. The bite of claws, the tone wanted him to believe so much that this was something truly happening. Ah, but this is a game... his overly doting, and now this kiss, this claim over him...
He sees you, Alastor. So when his hands move again, settle against the other's back, he would return the embrace. Because game on.
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Alastor's breath grew harsher, and he tensed, but that possessive grasp tightened. What was happening? What was happening to him? He hadn't felt this out of control of himself outside of a heat before--
The pregnancy. That must be it. It's making him weaker to-- to those touches.
...But then, why had they been so notable in the haze of heat, too?
Why had he tolerated the paradoxical feeling of them long, long before that?"You insufferable, uncreative, clout-chasing trend-hopping bandwagoning unoriginal hack. You idiot. Icarus, a damned fool, a vulgar man...!" he growled into Vox's shirt, head spinning in anger. But there was no way he was letting go. Alastor's ears pinned back. "Stupid, oafish-- you're no shark, you're a remora..."
...Why was he remembering some stupid fish fact that stupid box head had blathered at him about??
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"...Huh. So you were listening."
All of his prattle about his passion, thinking for years after that he was talking to a brick wall came bubbling back.
He... remembered that? Just as he remembered Alastor's favorite songs, his favorite drink, and his favored dance moves both before and after the absinthe and whiskey hit-
Yet despite the string of insults, he too wasn't letting go. Muscle knit together, and flesh would gradually follow suit on his throat. Shit, he should bill Alastor for the dry-cleaning over the blood... he still all but burst a gasket over the bill sent to repair the damaged exterior of the hotel, after all. Fair was fair...
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Alastor growled, angry, frustrated - humiliated. He was acting like a FOOL. He had to regain control of the situation.
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"Hah! Hahahah... talk about a mood swing," he sighed, leaning back over and tapping the half-shattered part of Vox's screen even as the cracks were slowly disappearing. "Sorry about that, old pal. Had a bout of insanity there. Nearly made you lose your head, hahahah!"
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Really, he wanted to kick himself for that remark he made earlier. But it warred with the sight of Alastor straddling him like this, laughing and smearing a bit of his blood across his skin in a way that made the butterflies take off in his stomach.
All he wanted to do was put his face in his hands and scream. But he would endure, maybe do some recreational screaming during his scheduled break.
Not that he was really working right now.
"Mood swing. Right." He closed one eye a bit with the tapping- thanks, he can actually feel that in the peepers, you know-
But since he's feeling touchy, turnabout is fair play. A neon blue claw set at Alastor's abdomen, idly trailed along by an inch.
"...Gonna be a hoot of a year, huh...? Then again, you always made a hobby out of being Hell's biggest pain in the ass."
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