"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.
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.
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...
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.
His eyelid twitched. Two of his cables slithered along, winding around the Radio Demon's legs. Broad arms went around his middle, claws curling against the sweater. A palm pressed covetously against the belly.
If Valentino wanted a demonstration of just how Alastor was in bed, how he got to be in his present conditions...
"Well, then I'd have to consider if maybe having one less Vee in Hell should be added to my schedule..."
Leaning back against Vox, Alastor grinned - there was such a satisfaction in making the man so possessive, his stomach twisted in pleasant little knots with that possessive paw covering the entirety of the bump.
Those hands really are so large... something about imagining the little fawn in the palm of his hand was..........
He was leaning, oh god, he can't believe this was happening...!! His heart could barely take it now, beating hard enough in his chest with mingled this and adrenaline from the teasing that there was no way in HELL Alastor couldn't feel it. But he didn't care...
But his old friend was being the absolute worst right now, and his knee started bobbing a little again. He lowered his face against the other demon's hair, growling: "...You know damn well I would..."
That heart was pounding... Vox was letting off a harsh, buzzing signal... those hands were clasping him tightly...
...What a good mate you make, old pal...
"You'd kill your dear little friends for me?" Alastor chuckled at the thought, resting his temple against Vox's head and peeking at him from the corner of his eye. He gently caressed at the frame of the screen. "You're cute... hah. Good boy."
That harsh, buzzing signal seemed to smooth a little, just as he angled his head to nuzzle in contrast to his threats. He was by no means a good boy at all, but when he said it like that, he liked to believe that- in some twisted and satisfying way- he most certainly was.
He needed to stop.
He needed to slow down. His body was starting to feel so bunched up, so tight, enough that he wondered if he'd simply burst at the seams if he tightened up any further.
But wouldn't it be so easy to just... ask? Offer? Come to bed with me. Mine or yours.
He wanted to bite. God, he wanted to be bitten. The glass' contents were foul in his eyes now, for he had that taste that had him understand why Alastor did what he did regularly, a taste that was akin to the best wines he'd ever had pass his lips. ...Was that what he was like for him, when he went for the throat upon his desk...?
The throat... that's what hung in his mind as his eyes closed, and his teeth had found warm skin just beneath the other man's jaw. They wouldn't pierce, but they held. But it came with the smallest pulse underneath the buzzing signal of a madman twisted up in knots: An ask.
Because of Vox's face, because of his head, Alastor had to drop his shoulders and crane his neck for Vox to be able to press those teeth. Alastor's heart was racing, a bit... that rare hunger coiled in the pit of his belly, the smell and sight of blood on Vox's tongue, of that possessive growling...
When the teeth didn't claim, Alastor chuckled. Wonderful... even now, he waited. Like a dog with a treat balanced on his nose - exactly the way Alastor wanted.
"You're giving me too much power, Vincent..." he breathed, craning his neck even more to press the skin against the sharp teeth. "Bite."
Power given, indeed, but this was a matter of pride. Somewhere in his head, he saw Valentino's careless, clumsy hands running over Alastor's body. They touched in every wrong place, used too much pressure... but still, this imaginary scenario focused on the fact that Valentino was TOUCHING him...
He had countless demons in his employ. He could have anyone he wanted. ...Except Alastor. His mind spun as his teeth sank in, and the decanted blood was immediately overtaken with one of his favorite flavors.
Yet the growling hadn't stopped, even if his signal seemed to shift: It sought a connection, like a pair of unseen hands reaching out to clasp and hold. Something Val couldn't ever do.
His tongue buzzed, a mild electric tingle as they swept against the marks he'd made. He was already seeking another spot. Perhaps a shoulder... sometime, a thigh.
It'd be difficult to hide marks like these, but more importantly, there would also be no question: This infuriating, petulant brat is MINE.
The initial punch of fangs into his flesh sent a rush, but was something that Alastor expected - it was the way Vox's possessive signal washed over him, catching on his receptors, pulled a shuddering and gasping moan from the demon.
Alastor's heart was pounding... he could feel his pulse in the bite wound, in the tips of his ears, thrumming deep along with his signal transmitting that sensation of numbing, warm, buzzing static. The kind of static that made Al's skin prickle pleasantly...
What was this feeling? What... it was similar but so different, feeling it when he was mostly sane. Mostly.
If you asked him, they were the sanest they'd ever been, even then.
As Vox bit into a shoulder, his hands roamed, a demonstration of how things were done right, not by some clumsy-ass moth. His signal warmed further as a palm settled, made a deliberate stroke around the belly, but the other was occupied with a slow, firm drag of claws along the thigh.
He still couldn't believe it, being so close like this, touching him like this... why would he ruin it by being too grabby? Oh, to one day touch those ears... but he had a much better prize at Alastor's waistline. He wore it so well...
Everything was... for once, not something that made him feel overly aware. The touch, the sensation, the flood of Vox's signal and how it fluxuated from possessiveness to satisfaction. And it was strong... Alastor felt bathed in the sound of it, like he were standing at the top of the antenna of his radio tower as it broadcast at maximum power.
It was warm. The gentle caress over the baby inside of him, the pleasant sting of being marked by teeth, the indulgent drag of claws over his thigh... all of it made Alastor feel as though he were soaking into a warm bath. His own signal softened to a buzz, not unlike the buzz he'd made when he was drunk.
Bessie's voice picked up a gentle, bluesy tune with her next song - such a sad little irony. Alastor let out a breathy chuckle as the record player crooned, Love, oh love, oh careless love...
Should he make a little remark, elaborate his chuckle, explain the laugh? Normally he would, but for once, Alastor simply let himself be flooded, let himself be tired, even as he felt the energy in Vox building and ramping up. Hah - they never were on the same page until they were dancing. ...Was that the proverbial butterflies in the belly, or were those kicks...? No, no... they'd just seen those limbs within the day, they weren't quite big enough for that...
"You're not feeling any kicking, are you?" he asked anyway, idly watching his own blood seeping into the thick fabric of his holiday sweater - red darkening into more red.
"Mm-mm," he hummed in the negative, though he flexed his fingers just a little, deepening the touch in the hopes that he'd feel something. But it was too soon, right...? Couple more weeks or so...?
"Want to, though." His voice a low rumble, he couldn't help the low buzz of his own satisfaction. The bickering, the resistance, so many of their games back and forth were always a gas even when he was at his angriest, but... this...
He was a touchy guy, a product of his upbringing. Yet somehow he managed to crave, to starve still for something like lounging on a sofa while holding a loved one someone.
"Mmm," Alastor hummed, something that sounded close enough to an affirmative. Despite the pressure, despite being so tightly held, Alastor didn't seem to mind - he was still somewhat melting in his relaxation against Vox. Bessie's lovely voice, the pips and pops of vinyl... the warmth of the signal from Vox... something about it all made his body accept the fatigue it'd been fighting for a while too long.
"Bond with your child," he added in a comfortable murmur, shifting a little to take just a bit of the weight off of his hip and ending up almost curled against Vox, "they'll need that connection with their father..."
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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
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!
no subject
"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...
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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...!!!!
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...
But there was a snort of suppressed laughter, before the Media Demon had to bite into his lip to stop anything more.
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He let out an annoyed LOUD EXHALE from his nose, but he refused to move.
"And don't you dare stop massaging."
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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.
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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..."
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"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...
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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."
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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..."
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"Or maybe you would enjoy that too much!"
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"...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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Dig those claws in, cut him up, claim him again--
Gah. Damn hormones, it must be them to blame.
"What if you had to sit and watch, hmm?"
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If Valentino wanted a demonstration of just how Alastor was in bed, how he got to be in his present conditions...
"Well, then I'd have to consider if maybe having one less Vee in Hell should be added to my schedule..."
no subject
Those hands really are so large... something about imagining the little fawn in the palm of his hand was..........
"You would kill for me~?"
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But his old friend was being the absolute worst right now, and his knee started bobbing a little again. He lowered his face against the other demon's hair, growling: "...You know damn well I would..."
no subject
...What a good mate you make, old pal...
"You'd kill your dear little friends for me?" Alastor chuckled at the thought, resting his temple against Vox's head and peeking at him from the corner of his eye. He gently caressed at the frame of the screen. "You're cute... hah. Good boy."
no subject
That harsh, buzzing signal seemed to smooth a little, just as he angled his head to nuzzle in contrast to his threats. He was by no means a good boy at all, but when he said it like that, he liked to believe that- in some twisted and satisfying way- he most certainly was.
He needed to stop.
He needed to slow down. His body was starting to feel so bunched up, so tight, enough that he wondered if he'd simply burst at the seams if he tightened up any further.
But wouldn't it be so easy to just... ask? Offer? Come to bed with me. Mine or yours.
He wanted to bite. God, he wanted to be bitten. The glass' contents were foul in his eyes now, for he had that taste that had him understand why Alastor did what he did regularly, a taste that was akin to the best wines he'd ever had pass his lips. ...Was that what he was like for him, when he went for the throat upon his desk...?
The throat... that's what hung in his mind as his eyes closed, and his teeth had found warm skin just beneath the other man's jaw. They wouldn't pierce, but they held. But it came with the smallest pulse underneath the buzzing signal of a madman twisted up in knots: An ask.
A plea.
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When the teeth didn't claim, Alastor chuckled. Wonderful... even now, he waited. Like a dog with a treat balanced on his nose - exactly the way Alastor wanted.
"You're giving me too much power, Vincent..." he breathed, craning his neck even more to press the skin against the sharp teeth. "Bite."
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He had countless demons in his employ. He could have anyone he wanted. ...Except Alastor. His mind spun as his teeth sank in, and the decanted blood was immediately overtaken with one of his favorite flavors.
Yet the growling hadn't stopped, even if his signal seemed to shift: It sought a connection, like a pair of unseen hands reaching out to clasp and hold. Something Val couldn't ever do.
His tongue buzzed, a mild electric tingle as they swept against the marks he'd made. He was already seeking another spot. Perhaps a shoulder... sometime, a thigh.
It'd be difficult to hide marks like these, but more importantly, there would also be no question: This infuriating, petulant brat is MINE.
no subject
Alastor's heart was pounding... he could feel his pulse in the bite wound, in the tips of his ears, thrumming deep along with his signal transmitting that sensation of numbing, warm, buzzing static. The kind of static that made Al's skin prickle pleasantly...
What was this feeling? What... it was similar but so different, feeling it when he was mostly sane. Mostly.
no subject
As Vox bit into a shoulder, his hands roamed, a demonstration of how things were done right, not by some clumsy-ass moth. His signal warmed further as a palm settled, made a deliberate stroke around the belly, but the other was occupied with a slow, firm drag of claws along the thigh.
He still couldn't believe it, being so close like this, touching him like this... why would he ruin it by being too grabby? Oh, to one day touch those ears... but he had a much better prize at Alastor's waistline. He wore it so well...
no subject
It was warm. The gentle caress over the baby inside of him, the pleasant sting of being marked by teeth, the indulgent drag of claws over his thigh... all of it made Alastor feel as though he were soaking into a warm bath. His own signal softened to a buzz, not unlike the buzz he'd made when he was drunk.
Bessie's voice picked up a gentle, bluesy tune with her next song - such a sad little irony. Alastor let out a breathy chuckle as the record player crooned, Love, oh love, oh careless love...
Should he make a little remark, elaborate his chuckle, explain the laugh? Normally he would, but for once, Alastor simply let himself be flooded, let himself be tired, even as he felt the energy in Vox building and ramping up. Hah - they never were on the same page until they were dancing. ...Was that the proverbial butterflies in the belly, or were those kicks...? No, no... they'd just seen those limbs within the day, they weren't quite big enough for that...
"You're not feeling any kicking, are you?" he asked anyway, idly watching his own blood seeping into the thick fabric of his holiday sweater - red darkening into more red.
no subject
"Mm-mm," he hummed in the negative, though he flexed his fingers just a little, deepening the touch in the hopes that he'd feel something. But it was too soon, right...? Couple more weeks or so...?
"Want to, though." His voice a low rumble, he couldn't help the low buzz of his own satisfaction. The bickering, the resistance, so many of their games back and forth were always a gas even when he was at his angriest, but... this...
He was a touchy guy, a product of his upbringing. Yet somehow he managed to crave, to starve still for something like lounging on a sofa while holding
a loved onesomeone."...You'll tell me, yeah...?"
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"Bond with your child," he added in a comfortable murmur, shifting a little to take just a bit of the weight off of his hip and ending up almost curled against Vox, "they'll need that connection with their father..."
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