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."
That claw... a single gentle touch to his middle had Alastor shiver, and thanks to his physical contact, Vox undoubtedly noticed.
Still, he kept his composure... Alastor stared at Vox through half lidded eyes for a while before leaning in again, gently wiping at the blood smeared on the screen.
"And then you'll have your own child to make the following years even more of a hoot. I suppose I'll have to fight my way back in once I break the chains on me."
He couldn't picture Vox, with all of his rage and hatred, simply taking him in good faith. Nor could he imagine a child accepting him, honestly... poor pet didn't deserve a parent like Alastor.
...Not that Vox was particularly superior to him, especially not with his goons around, but...
He idly wondered how long it really had been since he was able to touch him at all. Each time was a grab, a claw, even the occasional biting when they were feeling particularly frisky. That was just their thing. While he didn't mind any of those things in the long run, ones like now- the shiver it elicited- had a way of burning an after image in his senses. That claw would burn with it for some time, that shiver buzzing in his nerves through his middle just the same.
Ages ago, he would have been happy to throw himself in front of Alastor, fight his hardest with everything he had and throw as many members of his flock as he could to guard The One That Fucking Mattered from Rosie. He would have made some grand declaration days beforehand, stowed away in some smoky bar, bidding them team up to take her down and REALLY show Hell what Radio and Video were capable of.
But he'd seen how that went. It was still the knife that was buried to the hilt in his chest, occasionally twisting by millimeters whenever he saw Alastor. It even twisted now, despite his softer touch and the way he looked at the deer now. It was momentarily unreadable, pupils unsteady, mouth a thin line.
...One that quirked with a humorless smirk as he jerked a thumb toward the cabinet that still sat before the doors, a stalwart bodyguard and perhaps chaperone for their present illicit activity.
"...Yeah. I can see that." Yet his tone was mildly playful, despite the turmoil flipping over and over in his guts.
He couldn't quite shake the weird melancholy at the idea of Alastor somehow disappearing, or at least lying low elsewhere while their kid sat nestled in his claws.
There was an impending melancholy already settled in Alastor's chest, but it didn't feel useful to ponder on it - after all, he'd simply be mourning something that couldn't be helped.
So instead, he focused on what lay beneath him right now - Vox was being softer. Around his middle, certainly he OUGHT to be - that's his pup, or pups. But the gentle touches... what was this man thinking? That bout of mania and the kiss seemed to have only soured his expression.
Hmm. He won't ever make that mistake again, then.
Instead, Alastor stayed where he was seated and started straightening out the blood-soaked shirt collar and bowtie, as if nothing had happened at all.
"What do you think of Magdaline, or maybe Odette? Marcel, Dorian... hah, knew a Dorian, he was a rare stand-up gentleman. Played the horn beautifully on jazz nights."
Vox had to give a half-hearted scoff with the adjustment to the collar and bow tie. Yeah. Definitely billing for the dry-cleaning.
But the question had him shoot a confused look at first. What was he asking? Did he know anyone with those names and- oh. Confusion glitched into amusement.
"Old-fashioned names. Why am I not surprised? ...Then again, I'm Vincent, so..."
Eh, whatever. Let's indulge.
"...I like Dorian," he admitted, but quirked a brow. "Didn't peg you for an 'Odette' kinda guy. I'm more an Audrey or Lucille kinda guy. If we're going with classics, of course."
"No 'A' names," Alastor established, pulling a handkerchief out from his own inner chest pocket to dotingly dab at Vox's face as if it weren't a complete mess because of him. "If we must have a 'V' name, I will only accept Vivienne for a daughter."
Edited (changed spelling for it to be even funnier) 2025-12-05 02:26 (UTC)
He offered no fight, but there was a brief visual glitch as each eye closed in the wake of the handkerchief wiping off the screen. It'd be streaky later, but that's why he kept a whole lot of polish stowed away in the tower for just such an occasion.
Also, what kind of name is Vivienne??
"Doesn't have to be a 'V' name. People change their names all the time down here."
A beat. "...I'm surprised you never thought to change yours."
"Maybe I picked it in life! Maybe it's the name my mama gave me! What difference does it make, when the very syllables send shivers down everyone's spine? Who would dare to try and use the name Alastor against The Radio Demon?"
Vox, maybe, at the height of their violence towards one another. It seems as though that time is passing - entering a new phase of more bitter resentment and reluctant cooperation, maybe.
Gentle touches.
Speaking of touches... he was still sitting on Vox, still pinning him to the desk.
With a chuckle, Alastor picked up the knocked over bottle of tea and finally moved off of the desk, freeing Vox from being pinned down. With a snap of his fingers, green magic swirled around his bloodied companion and replaced his clothes with a new outfit. Something fun, something nice you'd find at a black and tan club. "As much as I adore seeing you coated in your own blood, my dear, you may have a much harder time being discreet."
...Was it weird to just be okay like this, in retrospect? He always liked a pretty little thing sitting on top of hi-- Can he NOT think with his dicks right now, they were having a conversation and Alastor is an asshole who is USING HIM and he needed to get his shit together-
Alastor slipped off the desk and he sat up, yelped a bit in surprise with the swirling magic, and...
Oh.
Vox's hands flew to the lapels as he looked down upon himself, sporting a gray like an approaching storm and a dark blue neck tie.
He snorted, and made a show of rolling his eyes. "...I guess I'm not billing you for my dry cleaning. This isn't gonna pull a Cinderella on me, is it? I've got a number of meetings today."
"Hmmm! That is a fun idea," Alastor chuckled, wiping more blood off of his face with the handkerchief and taking a sip of the tea. ...He noticed, idly, that even after swallowing cables and flesh, he didn't feel ill. Maybe he just needed to get a bit of anger out.
Eh. Not to dwell on it too long. Alastor tugged at his own coat, which had gotten covered in blood too - he didn't mind that nearly as much.
"I suppose with the news out of the way, a plan in motion and my appetite settling, I could leave you to it. I'm afraid I'll need to put my affairs in order as well - if I can't figure out how to disguise my appearance, that is. Time is ticking!"
And he doesn't exactly have a figure that would make even the earliest months anything but painfully obvious. The moment he started naturally filling out, it'd be dreadfully apparent - but hopefully he can work around that.
"Let me guess - per our Deal, you want daily updates? How invasive and detailed are you demanding~?"
To be mid-meeting and suddenly have his blood-soaked suit pop on would be a nice effect, but it'd drive away advertisers. Maybe for a private party or something.
"Don't you fucking dare," he added quickly, but a corner of his mouth twitched into a grin.
But it faded as he continued. God help him, his eyes trailed to Alastor's middle before it quickly glitched and was centered on his face again. With a frame like his, it definitely wouldn't take long before it stopped being 'oh, I just tucked into a big lunch'. He put a note in mind to get arrangements started by the end of the week.
...Fuck, he needed to break the news to Val and Vel, too. If Alastor was going to wind up hiding out here, it wasn't going to be remotely subtle. Valentino was blind as shit, but he had his moments of perception.
But the question helped him lock in. Nono, he had to regain control of the situation...! With a rub of his chin, he turned and strolled, made a little circle...
"Ohh, I wouldn't go that far! I'm a busy daddy. Once a week's fine to start, so long as you're eating and don't cause any trouble for any check-ups with the physician I pick out that can keep things discreet."
But once behind Alastor, he stepped in and moved to slowly wind arms around that middle, to get both hands upon the abdomen; a covetous hold for both the deer and their precious cargo.
"But once you really start showing, I'm gonna need those updates to increase. It's a delicate condition, you understand..."
Though Alastor didn't flinch, the slight radio speaker feedback came from him anyway - the hands on his middle made his stomach flip in a way Alastor hadn't experienced before, and he wasn't sure whether he hated it or not.
"You're degenerate," Alastor replied instead, rolling his eyes a bit and not pulling away yet. He had a favor to ask, after all. "You'll keep this physician you pick out from recalling anything outside of these meetings, won't you? Put your little hypnotist trick to good use for once."
'Degenerate' only earned a chuckle. You're having his baby, what does that make you, old pal...?
"Oh, Al... Good to know you've saved me a whole shpiel! You know I'm always good for the 'hypnotist trick'."
He could always use a little hypnotism during rougher days to induce sleep, even keep more nauseous days at bay--
No. His thought thread snapped. For all that he'd subjected the sheep of Hell to his 'shepardly suggestion', Alastor was always the single, solitary figure he just never could bring himself to use it on.
Perhaps it was because it would force a victory rather than defeating him legitimately and in a way Alastor could truly witness, a matter of pride. But there was a small, soft and embarrassing corner of him that wanted something... genuine, for once. He wanted to one-up Alastor, defeat him in any way he could possibly think of, make him eat his words and the pain he caused, but... Not like that.
"Good boy. I appreciate you're being so well-behaved to keep the child safe," Alastor mocked, reaching over his shoulder to pinch the corner of Vox's monitor the way a mother would pinch a child's cheek. "You wouldn't want to show all of Hell that you're incapable of taking care of your own, after all. How irritating would it be to have people questioning your competence in creating a safe environment."
Easy. The man was so, so easy. Hopefully his child could learn just how easily to twist their father around their finger, too... hmm, especially if they end up having a daughter.
"They can detest and question me all they like - it's you who's trying to sell the image of trust, after all."
Oh my god, the way his stomach twisted- There was the fizzle and pop of static with the way the colors shifted across his face, a bright cyan hue. It left him numb to the grab, the cheeky little pinch.
"I'm-" Whoa. Too lofi. Let's refresh with a blink, try that again. Pride. Cocky pride. That's his go-to way of smoothing the speed bumps-
"You realize I've had Pentagram City in the palm of my hand for over fifty years, right? I'm a household name. You focus on your end of things."
"I always do. That's why I came straight here, after all."
Well... in truth, he'd been panicked. There were probably quite a few other avenues he could've taken, each with their own risk and reward, including finding refuge with the bleeding heart Princess.
But in that moment, getting that confirmation for the upteenth time over, he found himself immediately rushing to Vox.
...Well, Vox was responsible for this situation - better end up here with this sacrifice of his secrets than spending the pregnancy endlessly dodging Vox trying to claim ownership of the child or trying to hide it from him. Yes, this was the path of least resistance.
"And look at that, you really were the right choice! Keep it up, Vincent, and maybe the year will go by with no extra complications."
Vox stiffened briefly, and made a face. He was particularly used to 'my dear' or 'baby', or an 'old pal'. It was just how Alastor worked. However, his real name was rare enough that he almost felt more wary for it.
"I can handle you and always have, even when you keep me guessing. I knocked you up, didn't I? It's just too bad the fighting can't really happen anymore... my victim sheet goes across the gender spectrum, but I can't say I've got the stomach for swinging at somebody in your condition."
"For once, we agree!" Alastor chuckled - he'd always drawn a line in the sand about kids. Kids were... kids. They were innocent - they hadn't dug themselves into their life paths, yet.
That's why this one, growing in him - he wasn't going to cross the line there. That was a strength that women had that Alastor simply didn't.
"So sweet of you to stay your hand when I lost my temper and tore out your throat. Though, darling, you should eat less trashy food - you've got a flavor to you besides the tang of electricity. Set a good example for your little one~"
Vox's monitor brightened a bit. He couldn't help staying his hand when he was being pushed back and climbed over, which soundly beat the fuck out of anything in the fantasies he totally didn't have, shut up--
"Keep that sometimes to biweekly and I won't begrudge you," Alastor poked at Vox, a black tendril pulling the box of fries from the desk.
"And research. I won't be able to keep books on me lest someone catch sight of me reading something suspicious - I have enough to juggle just reading up on pregnancy care itself."
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divinetree2025-10-07 08:11 pm
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...
1/2
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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Still, he kept his composure... Alastor stared at Vox through half lidded eyes for a while before leaning in again, gently wiping at the blood smeared on the screen.
"And then you'll have your own child to make the following years even more of a hoot. I suppose I'll have to fight my way back in once I break the chains on me."
He couldn't picture Vox, with all of his rage and hatred, simply taking him in good faith. Nor could he imagine a child accepting him, honestly... poor pet didn't deserve a parent like Alastor.
...Not that Vox was particularly superior to him, especially not with his goons around, but...
"You can't keep me away for good~"
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Ages ago, he would have been happy to throw himself in front of Alastor, fight his hardest with everything he had and throw as many members of his flock as he could to guard The One That Fucking Mattered from Rosie. He would have made some grand declaration days beforehand, stowed away in some smoky bar, bidding them team up to take her down and REALLY show Hell what Radio and Video were capable of.
But he'd seen how that went. It was still the knife that was buried to the hilt in his chest, occasionally twisting by millimeters whenever he saw Alastor. It even twisted now, despite his softer touch and the way he looked at the deer now. It was momentarily unreadable, pupils unsteady, mouth a thin line.
...One that quirked with a humorless smirk as he jerked a thumb toward the cabinet that still sat before the doors, a stalwart bodyguard and perhaps chaperone for their present illicit activity.
"...Yeah. I can see that." Yet his tone was mildly playful, despite the turmoil flipping over and over in his guts.
He couldn't quite shake the weird melancholy at the idea of Alastor somehow disappearing, or at least lying low elsewhere while their kid sat nestled in his claws.
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So instead, he focused on what lay beneath him right now - Vox was being softer. Around his middle, certainly he OUGHT to be - that's his pup, or pups. But the gentle touches... what was this man thinking? That bout of mania and the kiss seemed to have only soured his expression.
Hmm. He won't ever make that mistake again, then.
Instead, Alastor stayed where he was seated and started straightening out the blood-soaked shirt collar and bowtie, as if nothing had happened at all.
"What do you think of Magdaline, or maybe Odette? Marcel, Dorian... hah, knew a Dorian, he was a rare stand-up gentleman. Played the horn beautifully on jazz nights."
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But the question had him shoot a confused look at first. What was he asking? Did he know anyone with those names and- oh. Confusion glitched into amusement.
"Old-fashioned names. Why am I not surprised? ...Then again, I'm Vincent, so..."
Eh, whatever. Let's indulge.
"...I like Dorian," he admitted, but quirked a brow. "Didn't peg you for an 'Odette' kinda guy. I'm more an Audrey or Lucille kinda guy. If we're going with classics, of course."
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Also, what kind of name is Vivienne??
"Doesn't have to be a 'V' name. People change their names all the time down here."
A beat. "...I'm surprised you never thought to change yours."
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Vox, maybe, at the height of their violence towards one another. It seems as though that time is passing - entering a new phase of more bitter resentment and reluctant cooperation, maybe.
Gentle touches.
Speaking of touches... he was still sitting on Vox, still pinning him to the desk.
With a chuckle, Alastor picked up the knocked over bottle of tea and finally moved off of the desk, freeing Vox from being pinned down. With a snap of his fingers, green magic swirled around his bloodied companion and replaced his clothes with a new outfit. Something fun, something nice you'd find at a black and tan club. "As much as I adore seeing you coated in your own blood, my dear, you may have a much harder time being discreet."
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Alastor slipped off the desk and he sat up, yelped a bit in surprise with the swirling magic, and...
Oh.
Vox's hands flew to the lapels as he looked down upon himself, sporting a gray like an approaching storm and a dark blue neck tie.
He snorted, and made a show of rolling his eyes. "...I guess I'm not billing you for my dry cleaning. This isn't gonna pull a Cinderella on me, is it? I've got a number of meetings today."
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Eh. Not to dwell on it too long. Alastor tugged at his own coat, which had gotten covered in blood too - he didn't mind that nearly as much.
"I suppose with the news out of the way, a plan in motion and my appetite settling, I could leave you to it. I'm afraid I'll need to put my affairs in order as well - if I can't figure out how to disguise my appearance, that is. Time is ticking!"
And he doesn't exactly have a figure that would make even the earliest months anything but painfully obvious. The moment he started naturally filling out, it'd be dreadfully apparent - but hopefully he can work around that.
"Let me guess - per our Deal, you want daily updates? How invasive and detailed are you demanding~?"
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"Don't you fucking dare," he added quickly, but a corner of his mouth twitched into a grin.
But it faded as he continued. God help him, his eyes trailed to Alastor's middle before it quickly glitched and was centered on his face again. With a frame like his, it definitely wouldn't take long before it stopped being 'oh, I just tucked into a big lunch'. He put a note in mind to get arrangements started by the end of the week.
...Fuck, he needed to break the news to Val and Vel, too. If Alastor was going to wind up hiding out here, it wasn't going to be remotely subtle. Valentino was blind as shit, but he had his moments of perception.
But the question helped him lock in. Nono, he had to regain control of the situation...! With a rub of his chin, he turned and strolled, made a little circle...
"Ohh, I wouldn't go that far! I'm a busy daddy. Once a week's fine to start, so long as you're eating and don't cause any trouble for any check-ups with the physician I pick out that can keep things discreet."
But once behind Alastor, he stepped in and moved to slowly wind arms around that middle, to get both hands upon the abdomen; a covetous hold for both the deer and their precious cargo.
"But once you really start showing, I'm gonna need those updates to increase. It's a delicate condition, you understand..."
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"You're degenerate," Alastor replied instead, rolling his eyes a bit and not pulling away yet. He had a favor to ask, after all. "You'll keep this physician you pick out from recalling anything outside of these meetings, won't you? Put your little hypnotist trick to good use for once."
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"Oh, Al... Good to know you've saved me a whole shpiel! You know I'm always good for the 'hypnotist trick'."
He could always use a little hypnotism during rougher days to induce sleep, even keep more nauseous days at bay--
No. His thought thread snapped. For all that he'd subjected the sheep of Hell to his 'shepardly suggestion', Alastor was always the single, solitary figure he just never could bring himself to use it on.
Perhaps it was because it would force a victory rather than defeating him legitimately and in a way Alastor could truly witness, a matter of pride. But there was a small, soft and embarrassing corner of him that wanted something... genuine, for once. He wanted to one-up Alastor, defeat him in any way he could possibly think of, make him eat his words and the pain he caused, but... Not like that.
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Easy. The man was so, so easy. Hopefully his child could learn just how easily to twist their father around their finger, too... hmm, especially if they end up having a daughter.
"They can detest and question me all they like - it's you who's trying to sell the image of trust, after all."
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"I'm-" Whoa. Too lofi. Let's refresh with a blink, try that again. Pride. Cocky pride. That's his go-to way of smoothing the speed bumps-
"You realize I've had Pentagram City in the palm of my hand for over fifty years, right? I'm a household name. You focus on your end of things."
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Well... in truth, he'd been panicked. There were probably quite a few other avenues he could've taken, each with their own risk and reward, including finding refuge with the bleeding heart Princess.
But in that moment, getting that confirmation for the upteenth time over, he found himself immediately rushing to Vox.
...Well, Vox was responsible for this situation - better end up here with this sacrifice of his secrets than spending the pregnancy endlessly dodging Vox trying to claim ownership of the child or trying to hide it from him. Yes, this was the path of least resistance.
"And look at that, you really were the right choice! Keep it up, Vincent, and maybe the year will go by with no extra complications."
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Vox stiffened briefly, and made a face. He was particularly used to 'my dear' or 'baby', or an 'old pal'. It was just how Alastor worked. However, his real name was rare enough that he almost felt more wary for it.
"I can handle you and always have, even when you keep me guessing. I knocked you up, didn't I? It's just too bad the fighting can't really happen anymore... my victim sheet goes across the gender spectrum, but I can't say I've got the stomach for swinging at somebody in your condition."
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That's why this one, growing in him - he wasn't going to cross the line there. That was a strength that women had that Alastor simply didn't.
"So sweet of you to stay your hand when I lost my temper and tore out your throat. Though, darling, you should eat less trashy food - you've got a flavor to you besides the tang of electricity. Set a good example for your little one~"
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"...I eat fine!!"
A beat.
"Sometimes you want a burger, though...!"
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"And research. I won't be able to keep books on me lest someone catch sight of me reading something suspicious - I have enough to juggle just reading up on pregnancy care itself."
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