One sleeve at a time, and a smooth of the material. A little tug closer as it moved over the shoulders to cover, and a sweep of fingers to ease the collar into proper position.
The buttons were fastened from the top and down. He had no issue at all with them, even with claws as large as his, but took a little extra time at the last three over the stomach.
The last was where his hands remained, and he quirked a brow with the question. His eyes raised from his finished task to lock a gaze.
The grin was easy. "...I think you'll appreciate your accommodations. Would you like to have a little peek, or am I reserving that for the big day...?"
"I may as well see what I'm working with..." Alastor hummed, looking down at the hands lingering at his middle. Be patient, Vox, you'll get plenty of time with them...
"Hah! I figured you'd be a little curious, so I've had the changes done for a couple of weeks now!" The thread of electricity between his antennae rolled and flowed like lava in a lamp.
"You'll just have to see~" Well, now he was outright giddy. He looped an arm around one of his and moved along to the elevator.
"It's just a little something I've hashed together. I've taken a few liberties with the aesthetic, you understand, but you don't need to be married to it or anything! Hell, all three of us Vees have changed our look and brand just about every decade, so it's not too much of a stretch if you wanted to jazz things up whenever!"
Huh. He didn't press a button or anything. The doors just opened. But would anyone be surprised if he just had a hook up to the entire structure somehow...?
"It's just a couple floors up from here."
Had he wanted Alastor to join the team? Certainly. Had he been dreaming of introducing him to his very own slice of the tower? Oh my fucking god YES.
Wireless, connected, sleek, smooth... Alastor knew not to be surprised since nearly everything in Hell these days was either in this state or was utterly broken, but there was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind anyway. It makes you forget that you're on a lift.
It bothered him. Or maybe he was just hung up on the storm of feelings in his chest - he really was going to be unable to defend himself. And because of that, unable to freely roam or act however he pleased. He was trapped, again.
...Well... maybe not exactly. His mother wasn't trapped by his birth, was she? Obligated, responsible, but...
...
Alastor nearly asks aloud what do you think your mother would have thought of this?, but stops himself. He still can't know what Vox will want to use to try and pin him down, to blackmail him into owning him or... anything along those lines. Was he excited for his child? He seemed it... but then again, he and Vox were both actors.
...Well. It's best to assume for now that he was honest. And if so - that meant the good behavior should be met with a reward.
In the privacy of the elevator, Alastor unlooped his arm so he could turn that screen face towards him - and planted a little kiss to it, whether Vox was ready for a kiss or not.
"For the record, I like that you're enthusiastic about the baby."
Standing in the lift did nothing to settle the jitters. He hadn't had these weird butterfly feelings in... ages. Like he's a fucking kid again. It was weird, but it felt kind of good.
But he was driving himself insane, and he knew it. Too often, he felt himself pulled in two different directions: Wanting to gloat and rub it in just to see what he'd do, but also jump around and practically pass out over how real it all was.
The first was so easy, like breathing. The second was always so risky, practically opening his rib cage and painting a big target on his heart for a man who thrived on such games, who would happily reach in and carve the biggest piece for himself. And the part that twisted him up the most was that, deep down, he enjoyed that absolute freak immensely, for as much as he made remarks or scoffed about it.
It's fine. This is fine. He could roll out the red carpet, the bravado, reveal the arrangements he'd made while letting the thought of the photos that would be sitting in his coat pocket by the day's end burn a giddy little hole in his circuits. He could always wait until he was alone, look over them, admire them, wonder what more they'd become as they got bigger and--
Fingers seized his screen, and the growing snow over his monitor's background refreshed. He blinked his confusion. The red eyes widened- as if they needed to get any bigger- with the touch that followed.
He was not ready for a kiss. But there was no protest, only the owlish blink and his body going stiff.
...Wait...
What?
"You... you do?"
The problem with his ribcage analogy was that he was deeply fond of a man who had the means of prying that bastard open with his own two sets of claws, with little to no effort at all.
"I do!" Alastor affirmed, wiggling Vox's screen a bit for fun with the light pinch he had on the corner. "For all the joy I find in making people scream and squirm in terror, that doesn't apply to little innocents - however sinful and oafish you are doesn't matter so much if you adore them."
It's inherently practical, you see, right? Deeply practical. ...Even if it does admit that Alastor cares for the child in his own way, too. Then again, he feels that's rather obvious - he'd gone this far already.
The elevator slowed and stopped at the floor, so Alastor re-looped their arms and closed his eyes.
"So! Show me what you've come up with. I won't mince words, though, brace yourself!"
That was the impression that he got. It was curious: He'd mentioned not crossing that line he'd never come back from when he confronted Vox with the results of their... uh... night... and had even seemed to follow through on making sure the pregnancy proceeded without a hitch. Vox couldn't entirely wrap his head around Alastor feeling something like this, but the guy was still altogether mysterious.
But he was also a serial killing maniac, and HE was excited for the baby, so anything was possible, right? Hahah.. ha..
Arms looped again, he felt his heart skip. It was showtime. He couldn't fuck this up. Somehow, this was far more nerve-wracking than standing in front of millions to talk up a new product.
Vox took a breath, let it out slow, and walked them through the doors as they opened. A few yards in, aaaand... stop.
"...Alright. Feast your eyes, and don't mince a damn thing!"
So what happens when a man makes a living space for a guy he's known for close to 100 years, and has all the wealth in Hell to make a dream a reality?
He creates a space that blends personal parlor and lounge. All is dressed in rich and warm browns and leather, with furniture that bits people to sit and wile away the hours, rugs that are plush, and polished wood floors that a man clearly spared no expense in getting as right as he could think of.
Paintings dotted the walls, photographs of musicians both from earth and in Hell, including a signed print or two from Lilith herself from her hayday. But there were paintings hung up here and there, depictions of the French Quarter and sprinkles of Bourbon Street. Hanging plants draped vines over shelves stuffed with books and a smattering of movies along countless genres, and there in one corner was a record player with a neighboring, sizely collection of records to pick through. Closer inspection could spy speakers tucked in throughout the space for a surround sound... including in, yes, a fully stocked kitchen through one of the doorways here, filled with almost obnoxiously modernized appliances, and a hanging rack of copper cookware.
"Alright, bathroom is over through that door, bedroom is attached. Windows are all one-way- I trust heights don't give you the willies, huh?- and I think I went a little overboard with plants in the bedroom...?" He pulled away.
"...But only a little! Still, anything you want out of here or put in, I'd say use the phone and dial my line, but-"
...Come on. That's redundant.
He hopped a few steps back and opened his arms for a little ta-da.
"Muh... Ma maison... est votre maison...!" JAZZ HANDS. Fuck you, he's only been studying French for the last 48 hours for this.
It was, in a word, gobsmacking the absolute care and level of detail that Vox put in... and all for him. This wasn't some cozy nursery, after all, this was... full of memories, despite everything being rather new.
Still, Alastor didn't comment at first... he took his time, walking into the room and running his claws over things. Really, was this how the rich men of his time lived? Couldn't be that far off. He'd best remember not to let it get to his head the way those bastards did.
Records, paintings... his gaze did linger on the images of his old stomping grounds. Familiar, but foreign all at the same time - paintings depicting the place from a time after he'd been killed, with a few familiar buildings and those wonderful green trolleys mixed in amidst the 'new'. The plants, too... alive, and some smelled rather nice, their potted soil giving the room an earthiness the way his favorite window to the marsh always did. Briefly, he reached out to the appliances in the kitchen, assessing what information they were collecting and sending - and dug deep scratch mark Xes in everything except the fridge.
"You can keep track of what's stocked in here but nothing else," Alastor conceded. Plus, if the whim struck him, he could put something that would make Vox yell at him in there later.
"...Chez moi and chez toi if you want to sound less like a pretentious prick or a clumsy high-schooler, by the way. And you still sound European, hah."
He helped himself to one of the couches, lounging back as Alastor made his assessment. He wouldn't follow and try to read what he did and didn't like, but with the way one of his knees bobbed, he was definitely restless.
Vox cringed with the scratching. Yep. He knew the appliances would be a hard sell, but it wasn't exactly easy to get something a little less top-of-the-line... thought a man who spent a small fortune on paintings from earth. "Not everything is there to steal your identity or whatever else you're thinking. Only most of it."
He turned his head and shot a cheeky grin. It faltered with the language assessment.
"Well, shucks. Guess I'm fucked when it comes to any French-speaking shareholders, huh?"
"I'm still looking," Alastor rebuffed, checking the interior of the fridge. Hmm... the staples like milk and eggs, a good variety of bright green vegetables, and cuts of meat that made Alastor chuckle because they were very much meant to impress with how fine the cuts were. Did he find himself a butcher specifically for this? Cute.
"Missing celery - an important part of the holy trinity! Celery, onions and bell peppers," Alastor practically sang as he moved to the pantry. A glut of spices, some he'd never bothered trying to use before... QUITE the stock of prenatal vitamins, goodness gracious... oh? A little vase of flowers.
Without comment, Alastor chuckled, plucking one of the forget-me-nots out of the arrangement to give it a smell. Fresh... this fool probably spent a fortune just to get it from Earth from some hellborn doing their normal job in the meantime. Cute.
He tucked the flower into his breast pocket and checked the bathroom. "Mm! I'll need the bathroom floors with mats and the tub and shower with grips along the bottom - hooves are quite terrible on slick surfaces, and a slip actually matters now," he chimed. He never really fussed about bathing before, just taking a simple bath to wash off the gore at most and honestly preferring the convenience of magic to wick away grime.
A sugar daddy for hell's worst sugar baby, really-- Vox had mentioned the bedroom was maybe 'overdone' with the greenery, but Alastor could fiddle with the bedroom to his liking if need be. He paused at the bedroom door, claws letting out light metallic tinking on the handle.
"Hmm. Did I ever actually show you any of my rooms?" he paused, tilting his head and wondering. Maybe very, very early on... on one of those nights where they'd both gotten drunk as skunks and he'd indulged Vox's offer to walk him home like he needed the safe escort. Silly picturebox.
"Then again, you're so obsessed, I'd be surprised if you haven't taken a peek against my will."
"...I went through a few references, yes," he answered breezily, brushing past that O-word.
"But I wouldn't know how exactly to get my hands on some alligators this time of year." Wait. Was he kidding? Hard to tell.
"At any rate, I went as bayou as possible without risking water damage to the foundation. It needn't be said that I know my structural integrity involving large bodies of water and keeping them maintained."
"Cute. You really went all-out, even though you know this won't buy me into joining your little team," Alastor chuckled, turning the knob to take a better look inside.
The smell already feels right, before he's even fully opened the door.
Opening the door was stepping away from a lounge and mingled Bourbon Street. An antiquated radio was nestled on a filled bookshelf, filling a section that was just about the only thing that could be considered a bedroom.
Well, that, and the fourposter bed that had a willow growing up, around and over the thing from the wall, a magicked breeze causing the weeping branches to sway.
But there were only a few steps before hard floor and the awning of a ceiling gave way to earth and grass. Open air. Trekking along the posts of the bed and lazily making their way through the air were the small gold lights of fireflies, adding a sky of 'stars' to what looked to be a dense canopy above, more of those trees creeping up the walls through a chamber clearly glamoured to add more space beyond. It seemed enough for a modest walk.
He may have taken... a -few- peeks against his will. And boy, did he owe a good number of witches and a goetia a few favors...
Alastor is silent, for a prolonged moment. Everything... the bed, the bayou, the smell of it and the earthy nature of it all. Fireflies, even...! Fireflies, cattails, willows with spanish moss... he stared, looking at just... everything.
This was... touching. It made his heart ache - he MISSED this Vox, he missed this attention to detail, the eye for aesthetic and dedication to the task at hand...
"Why, Vox..." he eventually found his voice, peeking coyly over his shoulder, "... If I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to woo me."
...Fuuuuuck, it's too many plants, isn't it? There was insistence about it, the bird a massive nerd about what sorts of flora would exist in a place like this for authenticity-
Alastor spoke up, and it was like a dash of cold water to sober him from his thoughts. Though his stomach twisted in a knot from the tease, he immediately shot up from his seat and blew a raspberry, shrugging a little too tightly.
"Whaaat, like I don't know about your freaky swamp room preference? I told you I'd handle the accommodations, didn't I?" WOOING? Wooing. That's totally not what this is! It's a challenge, and he met it. Hopefully? That sounded like a positive appraisal.
"And the lack of gators is a bit sad, buuuut ultimately better for the baby. Well, well... I think this really is Just Right - I'll have my things in tonight," Alastor chuckled. He'd handle the move - he always used magic to move around the things he used the most, after all. The fireplace would look lovely in there, too.
His arms relaxed, enough to plant his hands on his hips and grin. 'Just Right', huh? And a couple of kisses, too. Hard work really does pay.
He wasn't keeping a tally, though! It was just... amazing that it happened twice... ❤️
"Oh, I think it'll go just fine. They're a flexible pair." He flipped a hand dismissively. Already there were questions of the renovations of this floor and he'd been kicking that ball down the road. But no longer!
"Now, I'll leave you be- I've got to make sure there are no proverbial fires to put out. ...And literal ones. I'm just upstairs, but you give me a little buzz if you need anything, m'kay?"
"I'll be off 'till the witching hour, myself - much to do before 'disappearing' again!" Alastor shrugged, melting into shadow. If nothing else, he's glad that so much of the floor was already damn near perfect - saved him quite a bit of work that he really wasn't keen on doing!
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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
The buttons were fastened from the top and down. He had no issue at all with them, even with claws as large as his, but took a little extra time at the last three over the stomach.
The last was where his hands remained, and he quirked a brow with the question. His eyes raised from his finished task to lock a gaze.
The grin was easy. "...I think you'll appreciate your accommodations. Would you like to have a little peek, or am I reserving that for the big day...?"
no subject
"I get a kitchen at least, right?"
no subject
"You'll just have to see~" Well, now he was outright giddy. He looped an arm around one of his and moved along to the elevator.
"It's just a little something I've hashed together. I've taken a few liberties with the aesthetic, you understand, but you don't need to be married to it or anything! Hell, all three of us Vees have changed our look and brand just about every decade, so it's not too much of a stretch if you wanted to jazz things up whenever!"
Huh. He didn't press a button or anything. The doors just opened. But would anyone be surprised if he just had a hook up to the entire structure somehow...?
"It's just a couple floors up from here."
Had he wanted Alastor to join the team? Certainly. Had he been dreaming of introducing him to his very own slice of the tower? Oh my fucking god YES.
God he hopes he likes it...
1/2
It bothered him. Or maybe he was just hung up on the storm of feelings in his chest - he really was going to be unable to defend himself. And because of that, unable to freely roam or act however he pleased. He was trapped, again.
...Well... maybe not exactly. His mother wasn't trapped by his birth, was she? Obligated, responsible, but...
...
Alastor nearly asks aloud what do you think your mother would have thought of this?, but stops himself. He still can't know what Vox will want to use to try and pin him down, to blackmail him into owning him or... anything along those lines. Was he excited for his child? He seemed it... but then again, he and Vox were both actors.
no subject
In the privacy of the elevator, Alastor unlooped his arm so he could turn that screen face towards him - and planted a little kiss to it, whether Vox was ready for a kiss or not.
"For the record, I like that you're enthusiastic about the baby."
no subject
But he was driving himself insane, and he knew it. Too often, he felt himself pulled in two different directions: Wanting to gloat and rub it in just to see what he'd do, but also jump around and practically pass out over how real it all was.
The first was so easy, like breathing. The second was always so risky, practically opening his rib cage and painting a big target on his heart for a man who thrived on such games, who would happily reach in and carve the biggest piece for himself. And the part that twisted him up the most was that, deep down, he enjoyed that absolute freak immensely, for as much as he made remarks or scoffed about it.
It's fine. This is fine. He could roll out the red carpet, the bravado, reveal the arrangements he'd made while letting the thought of the photos that would be sitting in his coat pocket by the day's end burn a giddy little hole in his circuits. He could always wait until he was alone, look over them, admire them, wonder what more they'd become as they got bigger and--
Fingers seized his screen, and the growing snow over his monitor's background refreshed. He blinked his confusion. The red eyes widened- as if they needed to get any bigger- with the touch that followed.
He was not ready for a kiss. But there was no protest, only the owlish blink and his body going stiff.
...Wait...
What?
"You... you do?"
The problem with his ribcage analogy was that he was deeply fond of a man who had the means of prying that bastard open with his own two sets of claws, with little to no effort at all.
no subject
It's inherently practical, you see, right? Deeply practical. ...Even if it does admit that Alastor cares for the child in his own way, too. Then again, he feels that's rather obvious - he'd gone this far already.
The elevator slowed and stopped at the floor, so Alastor re-looped their arms and closed his eyes.
"So! Show me what you've come up with. I won't mince words, though, brace yourself!"
no subject
But he was also a serial killing maniac, and HE was excited for the baby, so anything was possible, right? Hahah.. ha..
Arms looped again, he felt his heart skip. It was showtime. He couldn't fuck this up. Somehow, this was far more nerve-wracking than standing in front of millions to talk up a new product.
Vox took a breath, let it out slow, and walked them through the doors as they opened. A few yards in, aaaand... stop.
"...Alright. Feast your eyes, and don't mince a damn thing!"
So what happens when a man makes a living space for a guy he's known for close to 100 years, and has all the wealth in Hell to make a dream a reality?
He creates a space that blends personal parlor and lounge. All is dressed in rich and warm browns and leather, with furniture that bits people to sit and wile away the hours, rugs that are plush, and polished wood floors that a man clearly spared no expense in getting as right as he could think of.
Paintings dotted the walls, photographs of musicians both from earth and in Hell, including a signed print or two from Lilith herself from her hayday. But there were paintings hung up here and there, depictions of the French Quarter and sprinkles of Bourbon Street. Hanging plants draped vines over shelves stuffed with books and a smattering of movies along countless genres, and there in one corner was a record player with a neighboring, sizely collection of records to pick through. Closer inspection could spy speakers tucked in throughout the space for a surround sound... including in, yes, a fully stocked kitchen through one of the doorways here, filled with almost obnoxiously modernized appliances, and a hanging rack of copper cookware.
"Alright, bathroom is over through that door, bedroom is attached. Windows are all one-way- I trust heights don't give you the willies, huh?- and I think I went a little overboard with plants in the bedroom...?" He pulled away.
"...But only a little! Still, anything you want out of here or put in, I'd say use the phone and dial my line, but-"
...Come on. That's redundant.
He hopped a few steps back and opened his arms for a little ta-da.
"Muh... Ma maison... est votre maison...!" JAZZ HANDS. Fuck you, he's only been studying French for the last 48 hours for this.
no subject
Still, Alastor didn't comment at first... he took his time, walking into the room and running his claws over things. Really, was this how the rich men of his time lived? Couldn't be that far off. He'd best remember not to let it get to his head the way those bastards did.
Records, paintings... his gaze did linger on the images of his old stomping grounds. Familiar, but foreign all at the same time - paintings depicting the place from a time after he'd been killed, with a few familiar buildings and those wonderful green trolleys mixed in amidst the 'new'. The plants, too... alive, and some smelled rather nice, their potted soil giving the room an earthiness the way his favorite window to the marsh always did. Briefly, he reached out to the appliances in the kitchen, assessing what information they were collecting and sending - and dug deep scratch mark Xes in everything except the fridge.
"You can keep track of what's stocked in here but nothing else," Alastor conceded. Plus, if the whim struck him, he could put something that would make Vox yell at him in there later.
"...Chez moi and chez toi if you want to sound less like a pretentious prick or a clumsy high-schooler, by the way. And you still sound European, hah."
no subject
Vox cringed with the scratching. Yep. He knew the appliances would be a hard sell, but it wasn't exactly easy to get something a little less top-of-the-line... thought a man who spent a small fortune on paintings from earth. "Not everything is there to steal your identity or whatever else you're thinking. Only most of it."
He turned his head and shot a cheeky grin. It faltered with the language assessment.
"Well, shucks. Guess I'm fucked when it comes to any French-speaking shareholders, huh?"
A beat.
"My pretentious prick French aside, soooo...?"
no subject
"Missing celery - an important part of the holy trinity! Celery, onions and bell peppers," Alastor practically sang as he moved to the pantry. A glut of spices, some he'd never bothered trying to use before... QUITE the stock of prenatal vitamins, goodness gracious... oh? A little vase of flowers.
Without comment, Alastor chuckled, plucking one of the forget-me-nots out of the arrangement to give it a smell. Fresh... this fool probably spent a fortune just to get it from Earth from some hellborn doing their normal job in the meantime. Cute.
He tucked the flower into his breast pocket and checked the bathroom. "Mm! I'll need the bathroom floors with mats and the tub and shower with grips along the bottom - hooves are quite terrible on slick surfaces, and a slip actually matters now," he chimed. He never really fussed about bathing before, just taking a simple bath to wash off the gore at most and honestly preferring the convenience of magic to wick away grime.
no subject
Wait, right there. It was supposed to be there. Were they slacking? Who was responsible for this? SHOK.wav was getting another snack--
He lifted his head in surprise. Now there was something he'd forgotten. "Oh, shit, that's right...! Hold onnn..."
Hum, hum, hum... order here, place that, set amount... new person to get celery and put the fear of him into them...
"Done. Ha! Easy. Fixed tomorrow." Please. He's Hell's Greatest Sugar Daddy.
no subject
"Hmm. Did I ever actually show you any of my rooms?" he paused, tilting his head and wondering. Maybe very, very early on... on one of those nights where they'd both gotten drunk as skunks and he'd indulged Vox's offer to walk him home like he needed the safe escort. Silly picturebox.
"Then again, you're so obsessed, I'd be surprised if you haven't taken a peek against my will."
no subject
"But I wouldn't know how exactly to get my hands on some alligators this time of year." Wait. Was he kidding? Hard to tell.
"At any rate, I went as bayou as possible without risking water damage to the foundation. It needn't be said that I know my structural integrity involving large bodies of water and keeping them maintained."
no subject
The smell already feels right, before he's even fully opened the door.
no subject
Well, that, and the fourposter bed that had a willow growing up, around and over the thing from the wall, a magicked breeze causing the weeping branches to sway.
But there were only a few steps before hard floor and the awning of a ceiling gave way to earth and grass. Open air. Trekking along the posts of the bed and lazily making their way through the air were the small gold lights of fireflies, adding a sky of 'stars' to what looked to be a dense canopy above, more of those trees creeping up the walls through a chamber clearly glamoured to add more space beyond. It seemed enough for a modest walk.
He may have taken... a -few- peeks against his will. And boy, did he owe a good number of witches and a goetia a few favors...
no subject
This was... touching. It made his heart ache - he MISSED this Vox, he missed this attention to detail, the eye for aesthetic and dedication to the task at hand...
"Why, Vox..." he eventually found his voice, peeking coyly over his shoulder, "... If I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to woo me."
no subject
Alastor spoke up, and it was like a dash of cold water to sober him from his thoughts. Though his stomach twisted in a knot from the tease, he immediately shot up from his seat and blew a raspberry, shrugging a little too tightly.
"Whaaat, like I don't know about your freaky swamp room preference? I told you I'd handle the accommodations, didn't I?" WOOING? Wooing. That's totally not what this is! It's a challenge, and he met it. Hopefully? That sounded like a positive appraisal.
Shut up, it's not wooing. The flowers were.
no subject
"Good luck telling your partners," he chuckled.
no subject
He wasn't keeping a tally, though! It was just... amazing that it happened twice... ❤️
"Oh, I think it'll go just fine. They're a flexible pair." He flipped a hand dismissively. Already there were questions of the renovations of this floor and he'd been kicking that ball down the road. But no longer!
"Now, I'll leave you be- I've got to make sure there are no proverbial fires to put out. ...And literal ones. I'm just upstairs, but you give me a little buzz if you need anything, m'kay?"
no subject