lynn_dor

Vox had sworn he was only stopping by for a drink.

Just one.

Just to see if Alastor might show up tonight.

And then, like clockwork, the Radio Demon swept into the bar, red coat glowing under the chandelier, smile wide and sharp but eyes softer than usual — unfocused, even.

Vox froze on his barstool, fingers tightening around his glass.

“Oh no,” he whispered to himself.

“...he’s drunk.”

Alastor spotted him instantly. As if tuned to Vox’s frequency.

His grin widened.

“𝘝𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵~!” Alastor sang, voice warm and wobbly. “There you are, mon ami! I thought I heard static!”

Vox nearly rebooted on the spot.

Alastor swayed toward him, placing a hand on Vox’s shoulder — too warm, too close, too intentional for a sober Alastor.

Vox’s screen flickered blue, then pink, then static.

“A–Al, you’re— you’re drunk.”

“Drunk?” Alastor gasped dramatically. “Nonsense! I am… perfectly…”

He squinted at Vox’s face.

“…you have very pretty pixels.”

Vox made a strangled modem noise.

Before he could recover, Alastor tugged him by the tie.

“Dance with me.”

Vox’s voice cracked. “W-WHAT?!”

“Mmhm.” Alastor hummed, guiding him toward the small open floor where a slow violin piece played. “Come now, Vincent… indulge me.”

It wasn’t a request.

Vox followed — because of course he did — and Alastor slid a hand around his waist. Vox’s internal fans nearly exploded.

“Is… is this okay?” Vox whispered, trying not to stutter.

Alastor rested his head briefly against Vox’s chest — the briefest, softest touch — then looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

“If it weren’t,” he murmured, voice low and unusually honest, “you would not be here, chéri.”

Vox’s screen went full neon pink.

They swayed together, awkward at first — Vox too stiff, Alastor too loose — but gradually falling into rhythm. Alastor’s fingers traced idle circles against Vox’s hip. His head tilted up lazily.

“You’re warm,” Alastor murmured. “Like a radio freshly tuned.”

“You’re… holding onto me,” Vox breathed.

“I know,” Alastor admitted, leaning in closer. “Only because I trust you.”

Vox’s code nearly crashed.

He swallowed hard, voice trembling.

“Al… you’re going to forget you said that.”

Alastor chuckled, breath ghosting Vox’s neck.

“Perhaps. But you won’t.”

Vox held him tighter.

“No,” he whispered.

“I won’t.”

And for the rest of the song, they danced — one too drunk to hide how soft he could be, and one too in love to pretend he didn’t adore every second of it.

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