divinetree | It's not that complicated, no matter what they say

That was a weird, thick swirl. He accepted the glass, eyes narrowing further. Something in him screamed not to do it, but Vincent Whittman wasn't a coward.

He was just getting that taste when 'anemia' dropped. 'Craving' dropped. That taste was something he knew, of copper and bitters.

His eyes bugged. His body immediately reacted with a gag he managed to stifle before he went into a spittake. No part of him shied away from blood, but when you were expecting one thing, and instead there was another...

Vox managed a hard swallow, even if his stomach protested as he handed the glass back. OKAY. Okay! Not alcohol, but--

"God, you're fucking weird-- but whatever works, I guess, right??" He brought the back of his hand to his mouth to check for any spillage, found none, but now just had that taste linger on the tongue.

WHY ARE YOU SO WEEEEIRD evenifthatwaskindofhot

HE DID IT - Alastor laughed, that calm and jovial giggling he always had when he was relaxed. Made even more obvious with how the man's ears were laid back, rather than pinned - with a baggy sweater and a little fire going, it was probably hard NOT to be cozy.

"Hahahah! I can't fathom how you never got curious - or how you never just accidentally got a taste from the splatter zone."

Despite all that, the grin was mild as he rolled his eyes. "Pfft... you know as well as I do that blood flies where it wants. Any serial killer that's never even indirectly tasted the stuff needs to work on their technique."

He sat back and draped his arms over the back of the sofa. He looked away. "Besides, I've... tried it, y'know...? Intentionally."

Look, he was curious, and Alastor made it look tasty. So one day, after taking some stupid bastard out and when Al wasn't looking... he tried a bite. And played it off like he'd just gotten some on his face later.

"Did you, now!" Alastor chuckled, leaning in to peek at Vox's expression. Aren't you funny! "Before or after you died, hmm? You said you never got into the occult in life, so I assume it wasn't from learning any rituals."

"Bingo. It was, ahem, after." Definitely not looking at him!

"I mean, the guy was part fish, right? So I figured it'd be okay. Surprisingly chewy, like an overdone steak."

He quirked a brow and risked a small glance his way. "Don't know how you put up with it, when the food feels more like work."

"There's the power of it... the practicality - there truly is no better seasoning than hunger, I'm sure your family members have said before," since they'd also lived through the economic crash, and all. "The magic in consuming the flesh of a soul is addictive. Oh, and the intimidation factor! Hah!"

Alastor laughed a bit, letting out a wistful sigh.

"But of course I enjoy good food. I'm sure you understand - you enjoy good food, but love those greasy burgers as your less 'refined' palate."

There was a twisted logic to it that only a man like Vox and his background could understand and honestly appreciate. It was about sending a message.

But... it was good to hear him laugh, all told. Just laughing over things and not AT him, for once. It made a little flutter in his chest, from the setting to the... the this.

Vox gave a good-natured snort. "What- you've never craved and just wrecked a smash burger? There's nothing like it after a particularly shitty day. I'm sure there's something along those lines you save for days like those."

"A po'boy!" Alastor answered immediately, taking a sip of the blood. "Short of frying away every drop of water, it's hard to spoil fried shrimp or crawdads."

"A- ... poor boy?"

He'd mentioned something like that some time back, but he was wracking his brain on not only the context, but the definition. Perhaps he didn't think to ask, too ~~enamored~~ drunk to focus.

"Not a poor boy, a po'boy. A sandwich with fried seafood, a remoulade, some tomatoes... simple, but delicious. Louisiana had the best seafood around, bar none."

Many, many places claimed they did - Alastor wouldn't hear a whit of it. Nawlins or nothin', in his opinion.

"...Who gives a shit about simple? I'm hungry already!" He knew what remoulade was. He loved remoulade. But a shrimp sandwich with a tangy, spicy sauce? Or a crawfish sandwich? He could tear that UP.

"I'm... going to look into this tomorrow, I think. There's got to be some kind of place kicking around down here that's got that."

Alastor rolled his eyes a bit.

"Have to be VERY mindful of where that's sourced. Rules, rules, so many damned rules..." Alastor complained, twisting his wrist and summoning that pamphlet. It's already half marked up with extra notes tucked inside from his other reading. "I wager my Maman ate seafood PLENTY. ...But this isn't New Orleans - it's Hell. The food - and the people - from Greed taste wretched at the best of times."

He turned his eyes to the pamphlet. The snippets he got lined up with things he'd read, too. There were a LOT of rules of what was and wasn't okay, and that included a lot of seafood.

But Vox leaned his arm upon the back of the sofa and canted his head, the smirk cheeky.

"D'aww," he cooed. "So grumpy. You have any idea how many runners I've got up top...? I rarely eat seafood from Greed."

The smirk spread to a full grin as he leaned closer. "...Say the word. I can get you a po'boy straight from the source by lunch tomorrow."

"I give you a couple of kisses as a reward and now you're even more eager to earn another? Aren't you cute!" Alastor teased back. Buuuut he won't argue about the po'boy - he'd probably enjoy it.

Instead, he relaxed back against the sofa, flipping open the booklet.

"It really doesn't get into how growing out makes your sides ache. Not enough to be painful, hardly anything serious, but just sore enough to be impossible to ignore."

...Is he having fun griping? Is it his little way of consistently Getting Back at Vox? Who can say!

His color brightened, and the cocky grin shrunk back into something bordering on fond. Calling him cute was to mock him, certainly, but it still never failed to make something flip in his stomach. Meanwhile, with just a little ping, he'd sent a message to a couple of inboxes in some little corner of Hell somewhere...

"I think they like to keep the expecting in some level of suspense. Experience the joy without being spoiled."

But okay. Okay, you brat... Vox rolled up his sleeves and took a little revenge of his own: A relatively broad arm scooped behind Alastor and he shifted, taking the deer into his lap.

"But there's a way around basically everything, if you do enough digging..."

His hands truly were ridiculous. But despite the claws and all, he still managed to find a way to manage them, including a gentle knead along his sides and the small of this poor, suffering demon's back.

God, he was glad to see the corset off...

Funny enough, he'd expected some offer or attempt to massage - but Alastor had not expected to get picked up and pulled onto Vox's lap.

He couldn't hold back the startled little bleat.

Alastor's ears pinned back, but he didn't say anything - those hands almost immediately felt nice, soothing tense and aching muscles. Just.

Don't. Ruin it. With a comment...!!!!

There was a moment of near-deafening silence; near, thanks to Bessie. But Vox's hands had paused in his surprise before he recovered.

...

But there was a snort of suppressed laughter, before the Media Demon had to bite into his lip to stop anything more.

"Don't."

He let out an annoyed LOUD EXHALE from his nose, but he refused to move.

"And don't you dare stop massaging."

Ohgod. Ohgod- he'd never had to trigger his own mute function so quickly (or at all, really), but he just managed before he'd potentially blow a circuit holding it back.

Forgive the bit of steam leaking from a vent in the back of his monitor. Fortunately for him- and Alastor's shortening temper, but mostly him- his hands hadn't stopped moving, questing for a troublesome area he should focus on.

"I can feel your body shaking with laughter, you--!!"

HARUMPH... Alastor pouted fiercely, the worst his temper could manage with the relief of thumbs pressing into the lower back muscles. He'd felt heavier in general... he hadn't realized how much his body wasn't used to ANY weight.

"Bastard..."

Welp. Busted. But he needed just a little more time before, with a great gasp, he turned his volume from 0 back to normal.

"Sorry... I'm sorry... seriously, I'm..." Another breath. The tears had been streaming down his face, but there was nothing he could do for it other than take one of his cables and dab them away.

"H-how's this...? Am I hitting a good spot...?" A sniffle. He was fine. He'll be right as rain eventually. Aw, don't be mad...

"Softer along the sides..." he finally mumbled, the tightness of his pinned ears easing a bit. "...You'll end up doing this quite often, in the months to come."

He glanced down, looking at his middle - the sweater swallowed up and hid everything for now, Vox's claws still very large and able to engulf him. Why did he have such big hands...

"...When touch is permitted, at least."

Aha, the sides. Liiiike... this...?

He really always was blown away with how... fucking small... his waist was. Or maybe his hands were fucking massive, who knows? Yet despite working those little knots out of the small of his back, ease a little tension in the middle, each run up the sides eased and was more a caress than anything.

"You know, I'm of half a mind to have you beg for it sometime..."

"Oh, don't play that game. I'll find out firsthand how skillful your moth's hands are instead," Alastor replied immediately - a little vengeful, yes, but maybe he wanted to hear Vox growl territorially at him.

"Or maybe you would enjoy that too much!"

"Don't you f̉u̦ͮcki̵ͬn̻͚̍g̫͔̎ dare!" Was a response just as immediate. It coupled with a brief clutch against Alastor's ribs.

"...I mean- his touch is rough," he swapped gears, immediately breezy. "He's also pretty handsy on a normal day, Mr. Touch-Averse."

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