sexy guys and tickle fics

S̵u̸n̷d̴a̶y̴ ̵N̷i̵g̸h̶t̶?̶

The night air is as unpleasantly humid as per usual.

Alastor stabs the shovel into the dirt once more, tossing the mess behind him. The hole is likely around 3 feet wide now, surely enough to fully cover the man’s body, a rude gentleman that had made a particularly distasteful comment at the speakeasy.

It’s a routine Alastor has done a thousand times over, hardly something he has to question or think about at this point. 

The coolness of the night air after a kill gives him time to think, muscles automatically moving through the motions of excavating a hole large enough to fit an adult man.

In just a few days from now Alastor will be attempting to contact the other side to propose a deal for his soul. He’s been feeling on edge lately, perhaps getting a bit too messy and slightly careless with his kills, and the thought that his time as a free man will be coming to an end soon is something he can’t quite shake out of his mind.

Before that happens, he needs to secure his future in Hell. Alastor is fully accepting of the fact that’s where he’ll be ending up, and he has no qualms about that in the slightest.

As long as he can be ranked amongst the highest demons, he’ll have the opportunity to continue his fun and enjoy his afterlife.

Alastor’s mind is snapped away from his thoughts as he hears a noise nearby, something that sounds far too much like footsteps for comfort.

Certainly not an animal, by the sound of it. Too heavy and intentional. It’s human.

Well. He supposes he can add a second kill to the evening. Best for nobody else to see this and start running their mouth about some strange man digging a hole in the woods in the middle of the night.

With a sigh, he straightens himself out and turns around with shovel in hand, eyes narrowing into the darkness in search of whoever has stumbled into his dumping ground.

What greets him isn’t what Alastor is expecting to see.

The form is almost blurry at this distance, though certainly larger than any man he’s ever met. Likely standing at 7 feet tall, if he had to guess. And the head is… glowing? How odd.

Alastor blinks and shakes his head before taking a few steps towards the odd figure, feeling a strange sense of familiarity and dread curling in his stomach.

The figure starts to become clearer the closer he gets, squinting his eyes as realization hits him. “...Vox? What in the world are you doing here?”

The figure stands unnervingly still, a flicker of static crossing over the television screen covering his head. The voice is clearly Vox’s, yes, but it sounds almost distorted. Wrong. “I’ve seen it all, Alastor. You really thought that this wouldn’t catch up to you?”

Alastor stiffens at the words, his grip on the shovel handle tightening as he stares at the flickering static. Only one thought is running through his mind.

Kill him. He knows too much. It’s too risky. Kill him.

As much as Alastor attempts to will his body forward, to carry out the process he’s done a thousand times over, he feels frozen in place.

The staticky figure says nothing more, standing there with flickers of static that make it difficult to concentrate. The sound burrows under his very skin, adding to the dread knotting in his stomach.

The idea of killing the man standing in front of him shouldn’t even spark a second thought, let alone this sensation of nausea so intense he feels like he can barely stand up straight.

Silence settles between the two for a long moment before the figure takes a step closer to Alastor. “Well? Do it, then.”

Alastor wants to. He thinks. He wishes he fucking could. Does he? He doesn’t know. He knows he should. So why can’t he lift the damn shovel? Why won’t he?

Vox’s clawed, warm hand lands on Alastor’s where they’re gripping the handle hard enough to tremble. 

Alastor can’t find the will to yank his hand away like he’s trying to convince himself he wants to.

Vox speaks again, squeezing his fingers gently around Alastor’s. The distortion finally clears from his voice, sounding much more familiar and almost casual. “Let me help you, then. With the body, I mean. That guy looks pretty heavy to be dragging around by yourself.”

---------------------------------

Sunday Morning

Alastor’s eyes snap open, staring up at the ceiling of the bedroom. It feels like his heart is thrumming against his chest despite how deeply he was asleep only seconds ago.

What a ridiculous dream that was. This is exactly why he’s never bothered with sleeping in Hell when he normally doesn’t have a need to. The brain conjures up bizarre little scenarios.

He lets out a breath and sits up, having fallen asleep in the armchair. The room is still dim with barely any light shining through the window, clearly early in the morning. His eyes trail over to the bed, finding Vox sound asleep and snoring quietly. 

Well, at least he hadn’t been awake to see him wake with a start. He would hate to have to dance around the specifics of what has him so antsy. 

Alastor stands up from the chair and stretches his arms over his head with a crack of the joints. The chair isn’t uncomfortable, though it does leave his limbs feeling a little stiff when compared to the softness of a mattress. He glances at the clock on the wall and sees that it’s barely past 5 AM, meaning Vox likely won’t be awake for a few hours. 

There’s a slight discomfort twirling in his stomach, not just from the dream, but simply from the amount of alcohol he had drank last night. It isn’t sitting with him well already, but perhaps a shower will wash away that discomfort.

And hopefully the memory of that dream.

Alastor walks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him with a twist of the lock. He glances in the mirror, seeing how unruly his hair had gotten throughout the night. What a mess of an overlord he’s become.

He turns on the water before slipping his claws into the waistband of the sweatpants, shedding the clothes and, with any luck, the feelings of the last 24 hours. 

With a soft sigh of static, he undresses himself before stepping into the shower. The feeling of the hot water against his skin is a pleasant distraction, letting his shoulders finally drop into something more relaxed.

What a mess this whole weekend has been. This wasn’t how he intended for any of this to go. He was supposed to spend the weekend prodding Vox into temper tantrums and laughing at his expense.

And now he’s… dreaming about him. And dear lord, he doesn’t even want to think about what had happened last night.

He really shouldn’t have drank so much. Surely that wouldn’t have happened at all if he were sober. 

Alastor snatches up the bar of soap and begins to rub it over his body, trying to push the thought out of his mind. But his thoughts have decided to be particularly stubborn this morning, replaying the sound of Vincent’s voice and those... tickle monster comments that he finds himself enjoying a bit too much.

He feels a flutter of warmth spark in his stomach, the butterflies returning to wreck havoc on his system once again.

Annoying, but... the thought is nice in its own way, isn't it? As much as he wants to deny the fact that he's enjoyed any of the times Vincent has tickled him, he knows that's a lie.

Alastor’s eyes slide closed and he lets his mind start to drift further, back to what had happened last night. The images playing in his mind of Vox’s fingers on his skin, the sound of his voice when he had used all of those juvenile phrases, add to the warm and fuzzy sensation that’s radiating through him.

All the other times Vincent has tickled him this weekend start sliding into his mind, the way he had pinned him down on the bed, the way he’d tickled him to smile wider for the camera.

He wonders if he can get Vincent to do it again. If he were to purposefully egg him on, would Vincent take the bait?

Of course he would. The man is too easy, so desperate for his attention.

Just as Alastor starts letting himself enjoy the idea, he’s shocked out of his thoughts when icy cold water starts hitting his shoulders.

Ah.

How long has he been in here?

Alastor straightens up his back and steps out of the direct line of the water.

Well, at least that line of thinking has stopped. Purposefully egging on Vox to tickle him? What a ridiculous notion. He really does need to get ahold of himself.

Alastor quickly cleans off the rest of his body, eager to get out of the cold water and back into warm clothes. Once finished, he shuts off the water and grabs a towel to dry himself off.

He ties the towel around his waist and quietly steps back into the bedroom, finding Vox still fast asleep in the bed. For the best.

As he glances around the room, he spots the dual suitcases Vox had brought along on this little trip. The one for himself, and the one he had packed specifically for Alastor. He hadn’t even touched the thing since arriving, he had no interest in whatever Vox had decided to bring along on this little escapade.

But he does need a fresh change of clothes. Wearing the t-shirt and sweat pants from yesterday doesn’t sound like an appealing notion to him. So he might as well see what the man had brought along.

Alastor walks over to the suitcase and kneels down, unzipping it as silently as possible and peeling it open. The first thing he sees haphazardly shoved inside is his red suit, likely full of wrinkles now. Typical, of course Vox wouldn’t take the time to fold it before stuffing it away.

He picks out the suit and sets it off to the side, seeing what lies beneath. There’s another pair of lounge wear just below where his suit had been stuffed, which he surprisingly finds himself feeling open to the idea of wearing.

He tries to tell himself it’s simply because his suit is full of wrinkles now. Not because he was starting to appreciate the looseness of the lounge wear.

Alastor slips himself into a fresh pair of elastic pants and t-shirt combo, brushing himself out and taking a glance in the mirror on the wall. His hair is still a bit damp and there’s a part of his mind still screaming that he looks ridiculous in such casual clothes.

But it will have to do for now. There are other things to be taken care of before Vincent wakes up.

Alastor pushes the suitcase back into place with his foot before making his way out of the bedroom and heading down the stairs. It is still quite early in the morning, but he’s hoping that the delivery he had placed an order for last night will be waiting for him at the doorway.

He makes his way to the front door and peels it open, his smile quirking wider at the box on the doorstep. There’s a large VoxTek logo stamped across the side, which hardly surprises him, but at least the package appears undamaged.

Alastor uses both hands to lift it up and kicks the door shut behind him, humming a pleasant tune under his breath as he walks into the kitchen. At least now they’ll actually have some real sustenance for the rest of their time here and won’t have to settle for overcooked oatmeal and takeout. 

He sets the box down onto the counter, opening it and beginning to put away the ingredients he doesn’t plan on using immediately. He pointedly ignores thinking too much about the photo hanging on the fridge, instead focusing on stuffing things inside and planning out what he’s going to prepare for breakfast.

Certainly something that will be far more appealing than Vincent’s attempt at oatmeal. Something that, hopefully, the both of them will enjoy.

--------------------

F̵r̵i̸d̶a̴y̴ ̵A̶f̵t̴e̵r̷n̶o̴o̴n̵?̵

The studio has been actual fucking Hell today.

Vincent has been working his ass off all day, dealing with scheduling changes and running all the way to the other side of town to report on an incoming flood warning. All because Mark called out, the prick. 

He should really stop stalling and 'take care' of that little problem. All he ever does is piss Vincent off. 

Because of how frazzled the day has been, Vincent knows he’s fucked a few things up along the way. He was almost 20 minutes late to one of his segments. He spilled coffee all over one of the recording set ups.

At least the day is almost over. Just a few more hours and he can go home, find something to eat, and pass out on the couch for the weekend. He needs it after today. He can deal with Mark next week.

Vincent shuffles a stack of papers in his hands as he makes his way down the hallway, heading back towards the recording room. Just as he starts to round the corner, he nearly collides directly with another employee, barely stopping himself in time.

“Vincent! Just the man I wanted to see.” 

Bob. His boss. Another one of the assholes around here he can’t stand, but he knows he needs to play nice for now. 

Vincent forces a smile onto his face, though it’s tight and strained. “Bob! What did you need?” 

“Heard about what happened today. We have to buy a brand new video camera because of your little accident.” The other man has a tone mixed with annoyance and mocking, which just pisses Vincent off more.

But he stays quiet. The sooner this is over with, the better.

Bob continues, “We’re gonna have to take that out of your paycheck. You know times are tough around here, Vince, and we can’t afford to pay for a brand new set up.”

Vincent’s fingers tighten around the stack of paperwork in his hands. Bob’s placement on his list of 'people to kill later' is quickly rising. He forces his voice into something cheery and understanding. “Oh, yeah, no big deal, Bob! It was my fault, anyway, so I get it.” 

“I’m glad we understand each other.” Bob pats his shoulder condescendingly before walking in the opposite direction.

Vincent’s smile falls the second he’s out of sight. God, everyone here is such a fucking prick. This is why he needs to be in charge of things around here. 

Even if he does spill coffee on the equipment. And end up late to half of his segments. Those things won’t matter when he’s at the top.

He just needs to kill off the rest of the competition. He’s just waiting for the heat to die down a bit. Truthfully, he's been a bit nervous to take out the next person on his list, especially after what happened last time. 

He had gotten a bit messy, sure, but the cops didn’t have a trail. He’s pretty sure. He hasn’t gotten called to any police stations, and he’s been dumping the bodies carefully, so surely he hasn’t fucked that up too.

Though his mind can’t help but supply the thought that he sure does fuck up a lot.

Ugh, this always happens. One moment he’s feeling on top of the world and ready to kill anyone who stands in his way of becoming the new god of entertainment, and the next he feels like a piece of shit who has no idea what he’s doing.

The feeling of a hand landing on his shoulder sends Vincent jolting forward, spinning around on his heels.

The sight of a man standing at easily 7 feet tall towers over him, complete with furred deer ears and a wide smile. Vincent blinks up at him.

“Alastor? What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Alastor smiles and tilts his head to the side, his gaze looking almost soft and approachable. “I couldn’t help but notice that pathetic excuse of a man threatening your income just a moment ago.” He bends over slightly to be closer to Vincent’s eye level. “Do you need me to take care of that man for you, my dear?”

Vincent shakes his head, taking a step back. He’s about to be late to one of his segments again, he doesn’t have time for this. “I can handle it. I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

There we go, there’s his confidence again. The God of Entertainment. That’ll show him. He doesn’t need this asshole’s help.

Alastor chuckles softly, clearly unaffected by the rejection. “Oh, is that so? Well then, let me offer another idea. One I believe you may be interested in.” 

He lifts a red clawed hand and places it on Vincent’s shoulder with the lightest of touches, those sharp claws barely even grazing the fabric of his suit.

Their eyes lock for a moment and silence sits between them, warmth starting to pool in Vincent’s stomach. The sound of Alastor’s voice when he finally does speak sends adrenaline through his veins.

“We’ll do it together.”

----------------------

Sunday Morning

Vox blinks his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. He feels a headache coming on almost the instant he opens his eyes, definitely from the amount of alcohol he drank last night.

And that dream. About Alastor offering to work together.

That’s probably the alcohol’s fault, too. But at least it wasn’t like the dream he had yesterday. This one felt… kinda nice. 

He stretches out his legs before slowly sitting up, bringing a hand up to rub at the corners of his screen. What time even is it? 

Vox glances over at the clock on the wall, seeing that it’s nearing 7 in the morning. Earlier than he usually gets up, but at least he didn’t sleep in half the morning.

As he glances around the room, he checks the armchair for Alastor. But it’s empty. Alastor is awake already? And he’s not even in the room anymore?

Fuck. Did he leave entirely? Or is he snooping through more of his shit again?

With a groan, Vox pushes himself out of bed. He quickly runs to the bathroom, flushing out the excess alcohol from last night and wiping his screen down, before he starts heading down the stairs to the lower level.

He fully expects to see Alastor messing around with something, but he hears something else. The sound of… sizzling?

Is he setting something on fire? What the hell is he doing?

Vox follows the noise to the kitchen, coming to a full stop in the doorway when he spots Alastor. He’s standing by the stove, fully absorbed in cooking something in a pan.

The fuck? Since when do they have food?

Alastor’s ears perk up at the sound of Vox’s footsteps, glancing over and spotting the man standing in the doorway with a confused look on his face. Adorable. “Ah, there you are! I was wondering when you would wake up.” 

Vox blinks, taking a few steps closer and peeking into the pan full of scrambled eggs. There’s already a plate full of freshly cooked sausage set on the counter alongside a serving of biscuits and gravy. 

“What-? Where the fuck did you get all this?” Vox gestures to the spread of food, though he can already feel his stomach rumbling, despite his confusion. It looks amazing. Alastor always was a good cook.

Honestly, that’s one of the things he’s missed the most about his friendship with Alastor. He actually likes cooking, and he’s damn good at it. 

Alastor gives a nonchalant shrug, leaning his hip against the countertop. “I simply noticed your complete lack of food when I came downstairs last night for a midnight snack. So I used that little device of yours to place an order to restock your cupboards.” 

Vox is completely stunned silent for a moment.

Alastor willingly used his tech. To order food. In the middle of the night.

Who the fuck is he talking to right now? Is he still dreaming?

“Okay, hold on. You ordered food? On the VoxHome? By yourself?” Vox can feel pride starting to override the confusion. The old man isn’t completely stuck in his ways, apparently. Vox can’t even find it within himself to care about the money charged to his credit card.

Alastor’s ears flick at the questioning, turning his gaze from Vox and back down to the pan full of eggs. “Yes, yes, quite the shock, I’m sure. I’m not entirely incompetent when it comes to your little devices. I simply prefer not to use them.” 

He lets out a soft sigh before conceding, “I suppose it was rather helpful. Delivered within only a few hours without ever having to leave the home.” The admission almost pains him.

Vox is absolutely beaming with pride with every word that comes out of Alastor’s mouth. “Yeah, that’s why everyone uses them! All drone delivered, too. Reaches all the way to the very outskirts of the Pride Ring.” 

Alastor shifts away from the stove to begin pulling out plates from the cupboard, loading one full of the sausage, eggs, and biscuits. “I find it unlikely I will have a use for them again.” He hands the plate of food to Vincent, his ears perking up with interest. “Now do go sit down. I didn’t prepare all of this for you to stand there staring at it.” 

Vox takes the plate, feeling his antennae start to spark. He lets out a slightly flustered laugh, quickly losing the confidence he had just felt when Alastor is doing something so nice. “Right, yeah. Thanks.”

Alastor loads up his own plate before joining him at the dining table, sitting across from each other. He’s quite pleased to finally have something to fill his stomach other than processed food, whiskey, and butterflies. A home cooked meal will be quite the palate cleanser.

Vox is eager to dig in immediately, stabbing a sausage link with a fork. “It looks amazing. Way better than shitty oatmeal.” As soon as he brings the food to his mouth, the words prove themselves true instantly.

Fuck the war. Alastor’s cooking is gonna send him to Heaven.

Alastor lets out a pleased hum as he begins to fork his own food. “A cardboard box would be more appealing than that monstrosity you prepared yesterday.” The light tone in his voice makes it clear that he’s teasing, there’s no heat in it.

Vox rolls his eyes lightheartedly, but he doesn’t return a jab. Not when there’s still plenty more food on his plate.

At least Alastor seems like he’s in a good mood. Especially considering what happened last night. Vox is hoping that he was too drunk to even fully remember it.

After a few moments of silence, Vox speaks up again. “What time did you even wake up to cook all of this? I didn’t hear you get up.”

“Around 5 in the morning.” Alastor pulls his biscuit in half as he talks. His ears give a small flick backwards, reminded of the dream that had stirred him awake in the first place. “Though I would still much prefer the option not to sleep at all.” His eyes glance down to the angelic steel bracelets on his wrists with a hint of annoyance, but he makes no further complaints about it.

Vox’s gaze follows the glance down to the angelic steel, feeling a slight bit of tension rise in his chest. He’s sure that the sensation of being without his powers is likely uncomfortable, especially after Alastor has spent almost a century as an overlord.

Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take them off.

But then he could just disappear into shadows and go who knows where. He could use his powers to start fucking with him again, or worse, start a fight.

Though… Vox isn’t entirely convinced that Alastor would actually do those things. Not when he’s been acting so… so… soft.

Vox hardly even realizes he hasn’t taken a bite of his food in a while, lost in his own train of thought and staring at one specific corner of the table.

Alastor glances up to see Vox staring into nothingness, feeling a slight tension rising off the man and souring the air between him. The man is likely thinking about yesterday, and Alastor is not eager to have a discussion about that.

He scoots his chair back with a loud squeak, picking up his own nearly empty plate. “Well! Are you finished?” He reaches down to pick up Vox’s plate himself.

Vox snaps out of his daze at the sound of Alastor’s voice, sitting back a bit and allowing him to take the plate. “Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks.” 

Alastor swiftly takes both of their plates away and deposits the scraps in the trash can. Feeling eager to not allow Vincent to stew in his thoughts for too long and start a conversation, he offers a suggestion. “Perhaps we could take a stroll around the premises. You have yet to give me a tour of the outside.” 

Vox perks up at that, always eager to show off. “You know, that’s actually a great idea.” He pushes himself up to his feet without question. “There’s a spot that overlooks all of Pentagram City. One of the best spots in all the Pride Ring.” 

Alastor hums, dropping off the empty plates in the sink before starting to follow Vox towards the door. “One of the best, hm? We’ll have to see.” 

The two make their way outside onto the back porch, Vox starting to walk towards the field. Alastor follows alongside beside him, thankful for the distraction.

The view of Pentagram City is vaguely visible from their current position, only the tallest buildings visible. V Tower is among them, towering over most other buildings in the entire city.

Vox looks at the top of his tower as they walk, his claws giving a small twitch of discomfort.

This is their last full day here. Tomorrow, they have to head back down there, head back to the tower, and go back to how things were.

Back to the arguments. The fighting and bickering. Valentino and Velvette finding every way possible to piss him off. Focusing on the war and getting Hell to support him instead of the cheerful Princess.

The idea of anything going back to normal between him and Alastor after this feels… wrong. How could they possibly go back to normal? They’ve been playing games, laughing together, watching movies, tickling and petting each other like they’re lovers instead of enemies.

He doesn’t want to go back to the fighting. Spending the past few days with Alastor has actually been… fun. Why would he want to go back to the fighting when they’re finally starting to feel like friends again?

How will Alastor even act when they get back?

Even though Vox’s feet are still moving, he’s hardly paying attention to the view anymore. He takes a breath before trying to put on a casual tone. “So… today’s our last full day. Tomorrow we go back down there.”

Alastor’s static quiets at the observation, not answering immediately. Why does the comment make him feel nauseous again? 

He forces his own feet to keep moving forward with Vox. “Yes, I suppose it is.” He doesn’t offer anything more than that, unwilling to address the question they’re both thinking.

Alastor finds that he isn’t exactly eager to return to the bickering either. Not genuinely, anyway. He will always enjoy poking the man for a reaction, however. That won’t change. Just... maybe with a poke on the ribs this time instead of an insult.

The hill that Vox is heading towards start to come into view, the one that’s high enough to overlook the entirety of Pentagram City. “There it is.” He picks up the pace a bit, trying to leave the discomfort behind with his footprints.

Just as they’re nearly about to start the incline, a loud noise startles the both of them.

Scream rain. Again.

The loud CRACK echoes through the air before it starts pouring rain, no warning given whatsoever for the change in weather. 

Vox stiffens instantly and turns on his heel, immediately throwing his hands over his head to try to block out the water from getting into his screen. “Oh, great! Of fucking course this would happen now!” He heads back towards the mansion quickly without even looking back.

Alastor isn’t as bothered by the rain, but he is bothered by the way Vincent looks genuinely distressed. He follows suit, turning on his heel and speed walking back towards the mansion. “I suppose we should have checked the weather after the storm yesterday.” 

“You’re telling me.” Vox scoffs, pressing his palm down over his antennae to protect them from the water. 

Fuck. He hasn’t been caught in the rain in years. He really doesn’t want to deal with his screen powering down now. This is their last day here! He wanted to enjoy it, not spend it powered off!

As Vox’s steps pick up the pace, the toe of his shoe catches on a fallen branch, likely a broken straggler from the storm yesterday. His arms instinctively shoot out to the sides as he loses his balance, about to end up face first in the wet grass.

Alastor’s hand snatches Vox’s elbow, stopping him from tripping. “Do watch your step, Vincent. I’d hate for you to ruin that screen of yours.” He doesn’t let go of Vox’s arm even as he stabilizes, instead picking up his own pace and dragging Vox with him.

Vox lets out a grunt as he’s dragged along, his free hand going back up over his head to block out the rain. “Hey, I was using that!” 

He isn’t really upset about having Alastor hold his arm, though. It feels nice.

Even if he can feel his screen starting to glitch from a few drops of water seeping into the seams of his screen.

The two approach the back of the mansion, Alastor using his free hand to slide open the glass door and tug Vox along inside. He shuts it behind them and finally lets go of Vox’s elbow, watching the rainbow colored glitches that are flashing across his screen.

Well, that won’t do. If this is their final day, he isn’t going to spend it with Vincent powered down the entire time.

Alastor steps towards the hallway and calls back over his shoulder, “Let me fetch you something before you short yourself out.” He disappears around the corner, heading for the bathroom to grab a few hand towels.

Vox walks over to the couch and sits down on it, trying to wipe the condensation off of the areas he can reach. He hates that this is the body he got stuck with. If this is what fucks up their last day here, he’s going to be pissed.

It takes no longer than a minute before Alastor returns to the living room with towels in hand, joining Vox on the couch. He takes the initiative and brings a towel up to his screen, starting to gently dab at the edges. “Let me do it. You’re just spreading it around and making more of a mess.”

Vox stills his hands when Alastor starts dabbing the water away, blinking and trying to shake his head. “No, I can do it, just give me the-”

“Oh, do quiet down.” Alastor doesn’t release the towel, trailing it along the creases between casing and screen to soak up the water. 

Despite the coolness of the water still lingering on Vincent’s screen, Alastor can feel a bit of warmth starting to rise near his palm. And when he lifts just the corner of the towel to inspect the feeling, he sees the cyan rising onto his face.

He’s blushing. 

The sight makes Alastor’s smile soften, scooting just an inch closer as he wipes down the area. “There. Isn’t that better?”

Vox scoffs and rolls his eyes, using every inch of power he has to not start sparking from the fluster of having Alastor so close to him. Touching him. Taking care of him.

Fuck. They can never go back to normal.

Alastor’s free hand shifts where it’s resting on the couch, knuckles skimming against Vincent’s leg by accident. Instead of pulling away like he might have a week ago, he leaves his hand there, letting his fingers rest against his leg.

Comic starring Alastor, Velvette & Vox Just gonna start with a shoutout to @kranklekrick for giving me the motivational boost by encouraging me to do this comic after a conversation that sparked the idea of turning off Vox' face with a remote control. Thank you~ I have never drawn Velvette before. AND when I first did I wanted to try giving her a 20s inspired outfit since she's babysitting hanging out with Alastor at the moment. Somehow she found a documentary that they both could enjoy; fashion history and inspiration for her, jazz and nostalgia for Al. (She may look bored, but the fact that she's not on her phone says otherwise).