mila

RADIOSTATIC NATION i have finally finished writing my alastor in heat smut fic! if you decide to read it lmk what you thought! :3

Summary:

“You're in heat,” a statement rather than a question. Alastor was promptly made aware of how agonizingly sticky his skin felt.

“Your attentiveness to detail never fails to astound me! Bravo! Do you want a reward?”

Hell had unusual yet cruel ways of punishing sinners. Some had their greatest fears used against them, sentenced to an afterlife of terror and misery. Others were granted a body mocking their death, an unpleasant reminder of why they were there to begin with. And not to mention the acid rain, violence in the streets, a plethora of soul-binding contracts, herpes, and the sweet cherry on top of the steamy pile of bullshit an average sinner may experience in hell – the yearly exterminations.

Alastor pondered what in the ever (un)living fuck did his current state intend to symbolise. The end goals were meaningless – he could by no means get pregnant (that he knew of, that is… he had no intention of ever finding out).

Was it a mockery of his asexuality? His sex repulsion? A play on his power-thirsty tendencies of having complete control over everything by making him vulnerable to such animalistic urges? If so, the punishment did its job well, leaving Alastor a shaking, pitiful mess.

He'd congratulate the creator of such a creative yet barbaric damnation, not without tearing their hand off in the process, of course, had it been possible for him to get up. By literal means, naturally, his cock had no issue with such a thing as it was already rock hard.

Believe me when I say Alastor had done everything to make it stop. Masturbating, sex toys not even Angel dared use and that’s saying a lot, watching Valentino's strange porn, straight-up ignoring the problem – name it all, he'd tried it, if not numerous times before.

Well, everything but the thing his aching body longed for.

He never gave in to the carnal desire, no matter the clawing desperation and torturous pain which always accompanied his heat – a metaphorical and literal pummeling for further disobedience of ignoring the body's involuntary yearning.

Relief would always come, sooner or later… and Alastor would rather a second bullet pierced his skull than engage in any sort of intimate activities with anyone. No one could ever see the Radio Demon in such a pathetic state.

Even so, the knowledge of why he had to go though such torture didn't make it any easier to handle. Alastor despised how his physical form betrayed his consciousness, how the hunger for intimate contact altered his state of mind. He could not stand how it reduced him to a helpless, quivering mess, instincts overriding his long established behaviors, habits, fueling his fear of control slipping through his clawed fingers like sand.

Sweat droplets trickled down his every limb, heartbeat at a constant race of pumping blood to pool down in the area between his crotch, prolonging the subsistence of his erection.

What a fucking joke the universe had decided to play on him. The permanent grin of his strained as a knock on his bedroom door sounded all of a sudden. Another aggravating issue – the grasp on his demonic powers was weary, resulting in unsavory circumstances, such as his shadow failing to warn him of an intruder's presence in advance, till they slithered their way into the privacy of his own four walls.

Vox stepped inside with a nonchalance an Alastor in other circumstances would annihilate for, and the Radio Demon found he could do nothing but stare at the tall figure with a gaze he aimed would convey a wordless statement of “fuck off forever”.

Simultaneously, his claws sank deep into the mattress he was sitting on. What was he doing in the Hotel anyway? …Thank the lord above that Alastor had his problem hidden by a rather fortunately placed blanket.

But Vox was perceptive. Or preferably, he simply had eyes. A mere fool would figure something was up and Alastor would rather not flatter Vox with cheap compliments.

Alastor was drenched, hair stuck at an awkward angle to his damp forehead, face tinted bright red, breathing heavily, and fuck, did I mention how he never lost his composure? To any bystander he looked almost ill.

Or maybe it was Alastor's sudden strange ability of keeping a composed facade that gave him away, as not one sardonic insult, attack nor venomous remark had been thrown Vox’s way yet.

Vox paused almost comically, eyes darting up and down over his slim, shirtless frame and Alastor felt his skin crawl at such a display of unfiltered debauchery. An unwanted tingle of want accumulated under his briefs and Alastor bit down hard, a mental plea purely conceived by a man in a lust-driven headspace stifled just barely in the back of his dry throat. Fuck me.

Vox’s face flushed pink, taken aback by Alastor's compromising position. He'd never seen him without his signature jacket, let alone like this – bereft of his shirt, long limbs gracefully tangled in the white sheets.

Vox felt like how he imagined a Victorian man would feel seeing a woman's ankle for the first time with how he reacted to Alastor's exposed beige skin. He'd seen and experienced much more scandalous things in both his lifetime and afterlife, but because this was Alastor of all people whom he was gaping at, it felt almost too intimate. And this was coming from someone in a long-term on-off relationship with the literal porn demon – Valentino.

The television demon tore his gaze away, sparing Alastor the discomfort of being stared at; trying and failing to speak with a light-hearted tone, as if this was a situation of a daily occurrence.

“The fuck is up with you?” Vox’s upfront straightforwardness and colorful language never failed to baffle Alastor. He’d almost deem it admirable and courageous had it not been for the blatant naivety it in actuality stemmed from. Vox trusted Alastor would simply leave him unharmed and oh, the error in that statement left a delicious feeling bubbling in Alastor's gut, a distinct, far more familiar type of thirst, one of a quite murder-y nature in contrast to the lecherous kind.

To give Vox credit where it was due, Alastor in his current state was, in fact, unable to cause any real harm, not without publicly displaying his raging erection to all of Hell, that is, and hey, wouldn't that make for an interesting news article!

Radio Demon spotted ROCK HARD during Hotel killing spree (photos included). More on page 5!

That's assuming there'd be any survivors left after such an incident, the chance of which being almost none.

But not zero and yeah, no, to hell with that. Alastor would rather chew off his own hoof, which, on second thought, is not a particularly meaningful declaration coming from a cannibal deer but it's what the fuck ever.

Alastor watched as Vox tilted his head sideways and right! Alastor had allowed his thoughts to run freely while Vox eagerly awaited an answer, expression growing gradually more worried by the second. He should fix that.

“Nothing is ‘up’ with me,” Alastor eventually replied, tone firm but said far too late to play off as a rude dismissal of the man before him.

The vague answer only further troubled the TV demon and Alastor internally cursed himself out for such transparent behavior. His mask was slipping and Vox could read him like a book, suspicious of his state and all he'd done is utter a single sentence. A lock of red-black hair entwined around his index finger and Alastor had to fight the urge not to tug down hard.

“What appalls me is how you appear to believe you are welcome in my room without as much as an invitation. Tsk. Whatever happened to your manners, Vox?” He added, hands raised in a dismissive yet unnaturally open gesture.

This was good. Ask him questions, draw his attention away from his sorry state. Provoke him, push Vox away, make him leave. Before his bodily urges sprout a mind of their own and do something he'll regret.

“I didn't come here of my own accord, you prick. Charlie called me in,” Oh? Now he had Alastor's undivided attention. Since when were the two on speaking terms anyway?

“Said you haven't been leaving your room. Claims she's worried sick, everyone is,” Vox added with a theatrical gesture devised to ridicule. He was well aware of what his words evoked in Alastor. The familiar bitterness of someone pitying him. Alastor might as well retch up his innards.

“After your fight with Adam…,” he trailed off, digital eyes meeting red pinpricks of what had been pupils. A warning.

“Now, I didn't think much of it, your tendency to leave without as much as a word has become quite prominent over time, don't you think?” A tactical jab at his seven year absence. Clever, Alastor thought. He instead shot him a condescending sneer in return.

“But since her Majesty insisted I speak to you,” Vox took a step forward, closing the door behind him with a slight kick of the heel, and Alastor's heart skipped a beat. Vox slowly broke the distance between them until he was met with the bedpost, which he'd then, in turn, leaned against. Alastor unconsciously stumbled backwards, stopping abruptly once his antlers hit the headboard. He felt cornered, felt like prey and Vox’s inquiring gaze lingering on his bare skin had his stomach brewing with self-consciousness.

“And hey, she might just be onto something,” Vox raised his eyebrows curiously and Alastor feared his heart might beat right out of his chest. Skin itching, Alastor couldn't for the (un)life of him tell whether the abrupt twitch of his frame was a foretelling of a potential escape or rather an attempt at grabbing the demon closer, pressing him flush against his unclothed torso.

He wanted to flee, touch, rip into Vox’s flesh, hold him close, devour his insides. An abundance of unsaid, contradicting musings abandoned for the simple action of gazing into his eyes.

Vox took another good look at him, as if one wasn't more than enough, and sighed, averting his gaze.

“Thought she was being overdramatic, but fuck. I mean, look at you,” he waved a hand in his direction. “You look like a mess. What are you even doing, all locked up in here?”

“Well, I was relishing in the pastime of a relatively pleasant afternoon before you,” Alastor pointed accusingly, “waltzed in, disrupting it with your presence and indefinitely ruining it. Kudos to you, old pal!” Alastor made an effort of sitting more upright, voice unnaturally jolly, and almost doubled over from the abrupt excruciating stab of pain between his ribs. Sharp claws pierced his palms, an attempt to conceal the agonized groan that almost slipped past his lips.

“Stop avoiding the question by feeding me your bullshit excuses,” the corners of Alastor's mouth twitched into something resembling a frown. Vox was too observant.

“The fact that I still have all my limbs intact after witnessing you like this is enough proof. Any other day you would've ripped me to shreds,” Vox snapped, aggravated.

“Like what,” Alastor gnashed his fangs, slightly overdoing it on the accent. He only realized the slip-up, once the words left his lips. He'd mistakenly given Vox a free pass to discuss his current condition, free ammunition, and shit, the knowing smirk on Vox’s face embodied the pit of vipers Alastor had unintentionally fallen into.

“For one, you're shirtless,” each word was said with a distinct cautiousness. Vox peered down, waiting for Alastor to either strike him or speak, he did not know which option was more likely to happen.

To Vox’s relief, it was the second.

“Perceptive,” Alastor tilted his head to the side. A droplet of sweat trickled down his neck. “Has it perhaps crossed your thick rectangular skull that I may not be in my usual attire as I'm in the privacy of my own bedroom? Your rude interruption was not anticipated,” the explanation was borderline excessive but he could not get himself to stop talking. He needed Vox to politely fuck off for the night, nevermind the Princess's distress, he's positive she could handle herself sans her quote unquote trusty hotelier.

“Had you warned me you were stopping by for a visit, I'd have taken better care of making sure I'm properly clothed.” Alastor added, making a move to fix his bowtie, hands pausing awkwardly at the realization that it had already been discarded. He'd been aiming for casual yet landed on graceless and Vox noticed, because of fucking course he did. Hours of watching surveillance footage made one quite familiar with another's behavioral patterns, no matter that the quality was 240p at best.

“Fucks sake, Al, you're shaking,” Vox stepped closer, ignoring him, an uncertain expression plastered on his face. This was the exact opposite of what Alastor predicted would happen. Where was this sudden tender behavior coming from? It was almost laughable if not so sad with how trustworthy Vox could be sometimes.

The screeching sound of radio interference was like nails on a chalkboard, threatening to burst out of him as Vox steadily closed their proximity. Alastor's heart pounded, alarm signals wailing in his head. Vox's attempt at kneeling beside the bed finally triggered a reaction from the demon.

Too close.

In a swift movement Alastor summoned a shadow tendril. Almost immediately it shot in his direction, wrapping itself around Vox's neck and muffling his startled shriek with a harsh squeeze to the throat.

He struggled in its suffocating embrace, claws lashing out but to no avail. Its iron grip hardened, Vox’s screen threatening to shatter, all air knocked out of his lungs at once.

“Al–astor–,” he squirmed helplessly, frantically shooting a wave of electricity, an unsuccessful attempt at defending himself. “Let me go, you psycho freak!”

Alastor’s shadow manifested itself, its smile twisting into the usual deranged bloodthirsty grin. It bore its razor-like teeth with a growl. Alastor commanded it to strike, not to kill, but hurt enough to make him go away, leaving a message not to mess with the radio demon, but…

…instead it nuzzled its head between Vox’s neck affectionately, inhaling his scent – a mixture of expensive cologne, burnt plastic and battery acid.

Alastor was mortified.

As was Vox.

The shadow wrapped its arms around him in a fond hug and what the fuck, Alastor had to do something about this, why were his powers not obeying him?!

Vox looked at him, a look of pure bafflement and that was when he abruptly fell to his knees as Alastor withdrew the tendril, the shadowy figure disappearing into nothingness. His form trembled uncontrollably.

To Alastor's shock, Vox did not flee. Hesitantly, he crawled up to his nightstand, massaging his sore neck, and if he didn’t know any better Alastor’d assume the stabbing feeling in his gut was guilt. And wasn't that the most surprising thing this day had to offer?

“You're hurting,” Vox’s voice was laced with a genuine concern, one which almost had Alastor hurling into his own lap with how piteous it made him appear.

“Go away, Vox,” he managed to utter through gritted teeth. His ears perked up with alert, a mirror of his discomfort. This was humiliating. And Vox was close. All he had to do was reach out and–

“I said; Leave,” Alastor would not allow such primal cravings to control him. He had to put a stop to this at once. He was above such things. Above all types of attraction, especially ones directed at his rival of all people.

Vox leaned in, pressing a hand to his sweaty forehead. It burned with pleasure and Alastor couldn't help but lean into its warmth, hating himself for it. He tried hard not to pay attention to the buzzing heat between his legs.

Luckily, Vox likely believed he was ill. They stayed like that for a few seconds and Alastor decided his best course of action would be to swallow his pride and play along with Vox's nausea-inducing doctor act by pretending to be sick.

That idea was cut short when Vox pulled his hand away and Alastor all but moaned at the loss of contact. Shit.

If Alastor wasn't already mortified he most definitely was now. And Vox’s horrified expression was like a punch in the gut.

It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. The answer clicked in his head and Alastor decided that the startled laughter that spilled out of Vox would haunt his dreams forever. The sound that escaped his lips was certainly not his proudest moment and Vox just had to rub it in, like alcohol into a fresh wound.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit,” he punctuated each word with a pause, a further merciless strike at Alastor's already crumbling ego.

A quick tug at the blanket, barely disrupted by Alastor's too-late frantic jump of protest, all but revealed the erection he had been hiding during their entire encounter.

Vox’s mouth was wide open, shaped into an “o”, a blue tinge of blush coating his screen. He tried to say something but was cut off as Alastor aggressively pressed a palm flat against his face.

“Don't you dare utter another word unless you wish for me to shred you into pieces,” a tone meant to intimidate, yet losing its weight from the slight hitch in his voice, as he drew in another shaky breath.

His threat was ignored because of fucking course it was, Vox would literally never shut up, especially when asked to. More laughter echoed throughout the room. The tension was suffocating, claustrophobic.

“I mean, hey, it’s a rather common occurrence here … but for it to happen to you of all people,” Vox trailed off, chuckling. Alastor hid behind his blanket, feeling rather small.

“Holy fucking shit,” the repetition was futile, a mere interlude as Alastor heard him perfectly clear the first time… but Vox made his point crystal clear, scale tipping to his side, power imbalance evident and Alastor truly felt at a loss of control, like a fawn cornered by bloodthirsty, hungry wolves.

“You're in heat,” a statement rather than a question. Alastor was promptly made aware of how agonizingly sticky his skin felt.

“Your attentiveness to detail never fails to astound me! Bravo! Do you want a reward?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Vox casually shot back, teeth sticking out in a grin. The wording likely wasn't intentional but Alastor still gulped in realization at the double meaning. And Vox, who was already paying close attention to his reactions, took notice.

“Huh,” Vox raised a brow teasingly, eyes half-lidded. “Though I bet you’d want me to do that, don't you, Al?”

“As appealing as watching you make an utter clown out of yourself sounds, I’ll have to turn down your greedy offer,” Alastor batted his eyelashes with mock innocence. “I've always thought of you as desperate, Vox, but this is a new low. Even for someone as filthy as you.”

“Don't you dare act like you have the upper hand here,” Vox scoffed, eyes darting to the sheets barely disguising Alastor's aroused state. He shuffled awkwardly, feeling exposed.

“You're an idiot if you think you can turn this against me…,” his arm brushed against Alastor's, sending a tingle down his spine. “Fuck, Al. You're all heated up.”

Each touch was akin to setting every individual cell of his aflame, but every second without physical contact felt infinitely worse. Alastor was certain he was losing his mind. Vox carefully traced his fingers up the demon's arm, a comforting motion, and Alastor simply let him.

“No wonder you locked yourself up here,” a soft tone. “You can't have anyone seeing you like this.” Alastor hummed in response, eyelids fluttering shut. The silence stretched into something almost comfortable.

“…Except for me?” Vox added quietly, uncharacteristically sheepish, a question on the tip of his tongue. Alastor strained to form a single sentence in response, struggling to glue his words into anything coherent.

“I can–”

“No,” Alastor spoke firmly. Refusals were his forte, after all. Much easier than putting together a messy explanation of lies and contradictions.

Vox sent him an irritated look, before trying again.

“You didn't even–”

“Vox. I know what you're implying and the answer is still no.”

Vox’s screen glitched with aggravation.

“I wasn't going to–!”

“I won't take pity sex from you, darling.”

“Can you let me finish, you pretentious asshole! I don't want to fuck you,” …the lie fell flat and even Vox didn't seem convinced by his own words. Alastor raised an eyebrow in disbelief, eyeing the half hard bulge of Vox’s pants.

“Okay, fine,” he raised two hands in mock surrender. “You got me there.”

“But!” the television demon raised a finger, stopping Alastor from talking. “I was gonna ask if I can help you in some other way.”

Alastor's ears were flat against his head, as he tilted it sideways, skeptical. Yet another bead of sweat trickled down his chest.

“I could bring you a glass of water at least. You are quite warm, after all.”

Vox moved to stand up, distancing himself from the demon. Without a second thought, Alastor frantically seized his wrist, claws digging into the delicate skin. Vox went still, gawking at him.

Alastor startled himself, brows shooting up. He loosened his grip on Vox’s wrist, dumbfounded by his own impulsivity.

“Stay,” it was a command. Vox slowly nodded. Alastor pulled him by the hand, guiding him to sit down on the edge of the mattress. The television demon obeyed, with a look of both anticipation and longing.

The weight of his actions caught up to Alastor, a wave of embarrassment washing over him. The idea of straight up murdering Vox right then and there crossed his hazy mind.

“I don't understand what’s happening to me,” he, instead, choked out in an almost sob. “I can’t– I don't want you.”

Vox frowned, seeming rather pissed. “...Okay? You’ve made that point rather clear seven years ago.”

“You don't get it! I don't want this,” he was almost frantic. “I don't want to want you,” Alastor mumbled into his palm, the confession heavy on his tongue.

“Alastor?”

The silence Vox was met with was heavy.

A plea.

“Please help me.”

„What,” Vox deadpanned, dangerously close to short-circuiting. Had the electricity permanently fried something vital in his brain, or was Alastor genuinely proposing they have sex?

„Do you want me to spell it out for you? Just get it over with before I reconsider,” Alastor let out an impatient, sharp sigh. The regret of his impulsivity was already beginning to creep in his bones. He wiped away a stray tear from his cheek in an attempt to appear far more composed than he really was.

„I’m all yours,” he added, voice lowering into something akin to a flirty tone, gesturing sarcastically to his exposed skin.

„I dunno, Al… you don’t seem in the right mind to consent,” Vox trailed off, uncharacteristically so for a show host of his caliber.

„As someone who hangs around Valentino so often, you’re displaying much higher moral standards than I’d have expected,” Alastor’s tone fell flat, nose wrinkling with a scowl. Sweaty palms met creased sheets, as he fought back a shudder.

Vox considered his words in silence, concluding that the two demons weren’t comparable by any reasonable metric. Valentino was a placeholder; someone Vox would fuck either as a way of persuading him to do something, or simply for the fun of getting his dick wet.

Alastor, on the other hand…

„This seems like a disaster waiting to happen.”

Vox felt as if he’d shot himself in the foot. He’d been eagerly awaiting this moment the past few decades, not even once anticipating for it to actually happen… for Alastor to surrender himself to his desires; to Vox, of all people. And now he was backing out?!

„I won’t beg for it, like Valentino’s whores so either you take the opportunity or leave it.”

The not-so-subtle shiver of anticipation countered his blasé tone, mind left dizzy with longing. Vox shifted his head sideways, contemplating his words with a sense of distrust.

„I’ve dealt with this before, I can handle myself perfectly well on my own. I needn’t be swaddled in your care,” Alastor finally snapped, finding himself feeling almost offended at Vox’s outright rejection of the offer. Years of unsolicited touches - Vox’s hand casually creeping around his waist whenever he had a touch too much whiskey, the accidental brushing of their knees during their personal late-night conversations, fingers lingering on his shoulders far longer to be deemed a friendly gesture…

Alastor wasn’t blind.

And now Vox was looking a gift horse in the mouth?

„Heh, and how’d that go? You found someone else to fuck you silly?”

Vox snickered in disbelief. He was not buying Alastor’s words, determined to expose the ulterior motive behind his actions. As it turned out in the past, there had always been one, despite his desperate attempts to convince himself otherwise.

„Maybe I did.”

A beat.

„…No the fuck you didn’t.” The TV overlord blinked, a flicker of envy passing over his features.

„Jealous you’re not my first?” The demon dragged out each syllable, taunting him. The conversation was beginning to shift away from his sorry state, at long last. His old friend was ultimately wrapped around his finger, like in times past.

„So…,” Vox started, and Alastor had to control the manic laughter bubbling in the pits of his stomach at how hurt Vox appeared to be by this. „How often do you let someone screw you like this?”

Maybe at first glance (at least to someone who hadn’t known him as well as Alastor) Vox seemed unaffected, as if unbothered that Alastor had apparently let other demons sleep with him. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind before. Any initiation of intimacy from Vox had always been rejected with a hint of indifference, detachment even. So, the demon assumed the powerful overlord was untethered from relationships - from friendship itself - as he had so painfully driven home that fateful evening.

Vox felt sick to his stomach.

„…I don’t see why that matters.”

Ah. Alastor’s voice wavered, pupils darting to everything but the man before him. The words tumbled from his mouth too quickly to sound natural, and at this, Vox gave a weak smile, shoulders sagging in relief.

„Called it. I fucking knew you’d be a virgin,” He remarked, though he’d quite literally been on the verge of a nervous breakdown seconds ago.

„Val owes me so much money.”

Vox swiftly pulled his phone from his pocket - an attempt at texting Valentino the details about the unforeseen victory - when a shadowy tentacle lashed out from Alastor’s direction, sending the mobile device shattering to the ground.

„Hey!”

Alastor raised his shoulders innocently with a smug grin. He strove not to dwell on his former friend’s casual admission that he had discussed his private life beforehand - with the pathetic moth goon of all people. Instead, the demon attempted to flip the script once more and confronted Vox with his frenzied sex life.

„Say, old pal,” lips curling into a mischievous smile, the radio demon countered. „I’d say this is more of a first time for you, than it is for me.”

„…The fuck do you mean?”

„Ah, I just assumed you’re usually the one in the more… compromising position,” he flashed him a cheeky grin, light dancing around his eyes, yet not quite settling.

„Hah! S-seriously? Ahahaha,” Vox wiped a mock tear from his screen.

„Are you aware of how ridiculous you sound? You’re calling me a bottom - look at yourself! Sprawled across the sheets, pleading for me to fuck you like your life depends on it.”

„I’ll never let you live this down,” And just like that, Vox took hold of the demon’s frail wrists, pinning him to the mattress, despite Alastor’s thrashing and writhing in protest.

„The all-powerful radio demon reduced to a squirming mess; begging for someone to take the load off his shoulders and fuck him… and to think that I’ll be your first. Someone has to set the standards high.”

Alastor shifted under the weight, yearning for more yet still treading unfamiliar territory. Vox refused to break eye contact; eyes narrowing like a cat sizing up its prey.

„Now, now- don’t let this get to your head, darling.”

The grip on Alastor’s lower arms faltered and the demon took this chance to grip the edges of Vox’s screen, bridging the space between their faces.

„Consider yourself blessed to have this opportunity, so don’t take it as otherwise,” his breath was warm, a light mist forming on Vox’s screen.

„Funny, isn’t it? A demon like me, blessed by god himself. I must’ve really outdone myself in my previous life.” A jolt of exhilaration coursed through his veins, sparks crackling from his antennas.

„I am simply taking advantage of your presence - reluctantly, might I add,” the demon remarked, with an air of superiority... Or an attempt at faux condescendance; Vox instantly read through his all too familiar arrogance.

„Reluctantly, you say? Then what’s this about?” A startled gasp betrayed Alastor’s calm facade, as Vox invasively nudged his knee up against his prominent bulge.

„Don’t act all high and mighty, simply because I’m permitting you to engage in sexual intercourse with me,” each word of his was polished and clipped, like a broadcast in the airwaves.

Vox couldn’t help but grin fondly at this.

„Oh please. You make casual sex sound like a fucking public service announcement.”

„Always so vulgar,” Alastor was once again at a loss for words. The gravity of the situation was beginning to sink in. There was no going back now.

One by one, Vox started unbuttoning his shirt, peeking at Alastor every now and then to make sure they were still on the same page… and that he wasn’t about to get blasted across the room. His neck still ached from the shadow stunt Alastor had attempted to pull not so long ago. Much to Vox’s astonishment, Alastor was behaving surprisingly well despite the agonizing pain he was forced to endure.

„You’re taking too long,” the demon grumbled, primal needs overwriting his patience. With a flick of his wrist, Vox’s attire was gone, save for his black boxers.

„Someone’s in a hurry,” Vox huffed. The sudden drop in temperature was a surprising change; the chill gradually replaced with how quickly heat pooled in his crotch, gaze settling on Alastor’s tan body. He cursed under his breath.

„I can’t believe this is happening.”

„I can,” Alastor quipped.

„So, you have been imagining this before…,” Alastor opened his mouth to protest; Vox’s words were as far from the truth as possible.

„Tell me, am I living up to your expectations?” he added, clearly fishing for compliments, much as he always had as a freshly-in-Hell sinner, craving acknowledgement and praise from the far more powerful overlord.

„You repulse me,” Alastor sneered at the suggestion, clearly unimpressed with how slow things were going. Vox tried not to let the words sting as much as they did.

Instead, he seized Alastor by the face, clawed thumb grazing his jaw in a twisted sort of caress. Alastor’s ever-present smile stretched across his features, ears pressed flat against his head in a warning.

„Always been a sweet talker, haven’t you, Al?” Vox dragged a claw down the demon’s torso, stopping just at the waistband of his boxers. Vox’s gaze darted back to Alastor’s, locking eyes with him, daring him to do something - anything - that would prove to Vox this was all a cruel joke instead of reality. He seized the lack of a negative response as permission to try something risky…

„Not for long-,” Vox boldly smashed their lips together, eyes squeezed shut as he braced for an inevitable violent attack.

Much to his amazement, that moment never came. Alternatively, Alastor kissed him back, clawing his hands up his backside. His moves were stiff and hesitant, unsure where to go, ultimately deciding on resting his palms against the man’s lower back. Alastor’s inexperience was blatantly obvious, which only fueled Vox’s desire for him a hundredfold.

The TV demon’s pupils were blown wide as he eventually had to pull back for air, for fear of suffocating. Both men were panting, chests heaving heavily.

„Fuck, Alastor…” Vox gasped for breath. „You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

„Oh trust me, baby, I do. You’re not nearly as subtle as you think.”

Vox quickly shut him up with another hasty press of lips, and then another, smothering Alastor with relentless kisses. Alastor was having trouble keeping up, a flush creeping up his neck, as he shifted under Vox’s weight. After some effort (if this was to be his fate, then he might as well try a little) Alastor gave up, fending off Vox’s affection with a push against his chest. His hands were trembling with frustration. This was not nearly enough to satisfy him and he hated it.

„You really are hopeless. I’d feel sorry for you if it weren’t so entertaining to indulge in your pitiful attempts at pleasing me,” the words came out in a wheeze as he attempted to steady his voice.

„Yeah? Well, you're not looking too hot yourself, dumbass,” Vox spat out, slowly growing frustrated with Alastor’s attempts at ruining the moment for him.

„Though you certainly feel quite hot,” he added, gingerly palming Alastor’s erection at which he inhaled sharply. Vox teasingly eased a finger beneath the waistband, testing the waters. Alastor’s eyelids fluttered shut. Fucking finally. He longed for the moment to last an eternity, his heat ultimately receiving the deserved attention it so desperately needed…

A grab of Vox’s wrist stopped him from slipping his fingers in any further.

„Wait,” a sudden, crucial thought crossed Alastor’s mind. „Let’s make a deal first.”

Vox eyed him with an uncertain intrigue, urging him to get to the point.

„This,-” Alastor gestured vaguely between them. „-stays between us.”

„Ok,” Vox murmured, more to appease than to consent. As if he’d ever keep his mouth shut.

„I mean it. If you so much as mention this to anyone, I will tear you to pieces,” he threatened.

„Message received. My mouth is sealed,” Vox pressed his lips together noncommittally with a sideways glance.

„Then shake on it!”

„Ugh, fine,” Vox tentatively took his hand, scowling as the thought of keeping this day a secret from everyone gnawed on him. Despite his current state, Alastor’s every step had been carefully calculated in advance. Of fucking course it had.

The green light sealing their deal blinded the room for a split second, before vanishing completely. Vox blinked. Alastor weighed his chances of slipping into the shadows, abandoning the other demon in the murky depths of his cavernous room - utterly powerless to so much as allude to their profound encounter… had it not been for his dick twitching for more… and not to mention the excruciating pain spreading thoroughly across his lean figure.

That in itself triggered a prompt reaction from Alastor. Much to his shock, Vox’s boxers split at the seams as Alastor’s body had ostensibly grown a mind of its own, ripping through the fabric with a sharp snap.

Vox’s initial surprise was quickly replaced with a self-satisfied grin. Alastor’s stifled gulp had - of course - not gone unnoticed, as it drew yet another sarcastic remark. Turning a blind eye to Vox’s comment, Alastor took a moment to examine what exactly he was working with … and why the fuck was it so big? Throat tightening, the threat of a compliment escaping his lips was instantly crushed the moment Vox opened his mouth - no doubt to boast.

„Impressive, isn’t it?” eyebrows raised, Vox adjusted himself with an exaggerated care. He clearly got off on even the slightest sprinkle of praise, and Alastor was determined not to let him have it.

„Hardly. I’ve encountered far more… substantial specimens in my time,” he readjusted his monocle, gaze squinting in a faux attempt of getting a better look.

„Have you now?” Vox’s gleeful smile fell flat.

„Then again, the fact you’re lacking in more ways than one is scarcely a revelation. Always has been your strong suit. Good thing your ego makes up for it,” Alastor clapped his hands together, eyelids fluttering in mock innocence.

„This is your idea of pillow talk?” Vox answered flatly, nonplussed by how vindictive Alastor was being. The prick was getting on his nerves by now.

„Don’t strain yourself, dearest. I’m simply thrilled at the prospect of front-row seats to this performance of a lifetime. By all means, go ahead- and fail spectacularly.”

A canned prerecorded laugh track chimed in from Alastor’s staff.

„Fuck you, Alastor,” Vox said, defeated.

„Oh, have you already forgotten your role? How absolutely riveting! Especially since that’s exactly the part you’re meant to play!”

„That’s it,” the thin thread keeping Vox’s patience intact finally snapped. He tackled Alastor to the mattress, batting away the demons' clawed attempts to pry him off.

„What are-? Get your filthy hands- you fucking—!”

„I’m done - fuck - indulging your stupid mind games, Alastor—!”

They grappled for dominance - claws, teeth and frantic scratching. At some point Alastor had managed to wrench Vox off himself with an aggressive bite to his shoulder, straddling him, only for Vox to summon his wires, ultimately pinning Alastor to the mattress. Alastor’s ears drew back against his skull, catlike and tense.

„We’re doing this my way,” Vox declared.

His smile widened into something almost sadistic, fed by Alastor’s agitated state. The demon opened his mouth, words of protest on the tip of his tongue. The cables coiled around Alastor’s body constricted, wrenching him around. He fell flat on his stomach with a barely audible squeak.

„What a view,” Vox teased, running his fingers experimentally through Alastor’s tufted perked up tail. It twitched restlessly, each flick betraying what he truly felt. Alastor’s low, visceral groan went straight to Vox’s dick.

„Are you quite done yet?” Alastor interrupted, voice edged with annoyance. Vox only chuckled at his reaction and continued exploring the tail with a childlike fascination.

„You’re being difficult on purpose.”

„Much like you were,” Vox stated matter-of-factly.

He eased his palm up Alastor’s thigh, fingertips slipping beneath the boxers. With a sharp tug he pushed the fabric out of the way with deliberate ease.

Vox’s tongue skimmed up across the soft curve of Alastor’s backside, hands gripping firmly at his thighs. The sudden contact sent a shiver down Alastor's spine. A thin red streak of saliva glistened on Vox’s chin as he pulled back, eyes gleaming. Alastor buried his face into the pillow, a sharp flush prickling across his cheeks.

„…Is this really necessary?”

Vox’s grin sharpened, gears turning in his mind. „You tell me, Al… Unless you’re willing to beg for it.”

Alastor’s jaw worked, eyes narrowing to pinpoints at the realization of what he’d done. „Fuck me…,” he groaned, feeling defeated.

„That’s what I’m doing, yes,” Vox’s lips curled into a self-satisfied, smug grin. „Now, what was it that you wanted?”

A strained breath. „…Damn it, Vox.”

„That’s not an answer.”

An uneasy stillness filled the room, tension suffocating and so thick it could be sliced with a knife.

„…Please,” Alastor uttered under his breath. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

„Please what?” Vox’s excitement was palpable. The moment was intoxicating, greater than any drug-induced high.

„Clearly you know what I mean! Get on with it,” Alastor’s voice wavered, trembling with need.

„You’ll have to try harder than that.”

Alastor bit his lower lip, shame settling heavy in his bones. Fuck his life and fuck Vox for making him do this. And most importantly fuck him. Literally. Seriously, Vox should hurry the fuck up.

„Vincent… please. Please fuck me,” his voice came out a murmur, barely audible to the human ear. The plea felt alien on his tongue.

But Vox heard him. And honestly, with Alastor asking that nicely, refusal was never on the table. He spit on his palm, wrapping a hand around his erect length before saying:

„Well, why didn’t you lead with that?”

A frustrated comment caught at the back of Alastor’s throat, but Vox was faster. His pupils dilated in surprise as he felt Vox position himself, tip teasingly grazing the entrance. Vox’s breath shifted into a satisfied groan. Alastor bit back a yelp at the sudden intrusion, heat pooling inside of him. Once Alastor had adjusted and the unfamiliar stinging feeling of fullness had dissolved into pure pleasure, Vox inched closer, closing the distance.

“How does it feel?” Vox’s breath hitched as he spoke.

“Horrible. I hate it. I hate you,” he hissed.

Truthfully, Alastor felt perplexed with how well his body was reacting to Vox’s touch. The uncertainty of whether he hated the vulnerability of the situation or loved it had him feeling puzzled. It must’ve been a mix of both. And sure, it was mating season. And after years of negligence he was finally getting the proper treatment required to cure the agonizing pain he’d been in. The proper neurochemicals rewarding his brain were definitely responsible for the blissful state. He still hated himself for having to resort to actively participating in fulfilling his desires.

“Sure doesn’t seem like it.”

While still inside of the other, Vox reached out to grasp Alastor’s erect dick, tormenting him further with hands he couldn’t seem to keep to himself. Slowly, he began to move.

“Don’t– flatter yourself,” Alastor choked out. “I w-would’ve done this with anyone. You’re nothing special. Just convenient.”

“Anyone, huh?” Vox raised a brow but he was only half-listening, instead devoting himself entirely to the simple task of thrusting his hips.

As Vox set the rhythm, Alastor caught himself whimpering wordlessly into the pillow, a lone tear beading at the corner of his eye. Vox too couldn’t help the series of profanities slipping from his tongue, though that in itself wasn’t much of a surprise to Alastor – the man loved hearing himself talk.

As did Alastor, as he couldn’t help but voice yet another biting remark.

„It’s laughable how obvious you were back then. I a-always knew exactly what you wanted.” Alastor’s jaw was tight with restraint, pleasure slipping through the cracks. He hated the vulnerability; hated how his voice faltered - threatening to give him away.

„Yet you keep insisting I meant nothing to you,” Vox groaned - whether from frustration or pleasure, he couldn’t tell.

„One w-word from Charlie and you come crawling back, jumping at the chance to have me,” control lingered in his posture, forcing calm into his words.

„Look who’s talking,” the demon spoke through clenched teeth. Alastor’s derisive attitude had strained his patience to its limits. He’d force Alastor to admit he wanted it as much as he did. Hell, he’d break him if it meant never being talked down to again.

As Vox increased the tempo, Alastor’s snide comments had died down - his focus directed entirely on silencing the desperate moans escaping his lips. He had submitted himself entirely to Vox, toes curling with each movement.

Vox’s thrusts were getting sloppier the closer he got to climax. He was so close.

Had it not been for their position, Vox would’ve noticed tears of pure ecstasy beading at the corners of Alastor’s eyes. He was - quite literally - in hell, getting a taste of heaven.

A startled sob slipped out of Alastor against his will as he came undone, ropes of cum painting the bedsheets white. Exhaustion had his knees trembling, threatening to topple over, as he struggled to stay upright.

It didn’t take long for Vox to finish himself. A few uneven thrusts was all it took for him. Curse Alastor for being so attractive. Ideally, Vox would’ve stretched the moment out for all eternity.

But his fatigue was greater than his selfish needs... As Vox pulled out, Alastor tumbled onto his back, eyelids shut. Everything hurt and he felt unfamiliarly sticky. But what truly mattered was that the pain was finally gone. He could finally rest.

Alastor lay limp on the mattress, limbs slack, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The faint flush on his cheeks and disheveled hair made him look unbearably and achingly human. Vox’s chest tightened. He was alive. Spent, fragile but most importantly - entirely his. There was no going back now.

Carefully, Vox draped the previously discarded blanket around Alastor’s bare body, as if to shield him from the rest of the world. Fingers lingering, he pressed a reverent kiss to Alastor’s forehead. Something deeper tugged at him as he took a step back, gaze resting on the sleeping figure.

But more importantly - Vox was in desperate need of a shower.

____________________________________________

RADIOSTATIC NATION i have finally finished writing my alastor in heat smut fic! if you decide to read it lmk what you thought! :3

Summary:

“You're in heat,” a statement rather than a question. Alastor was promptly made aware of how agonizingly sticky his skin felt.

“Your attentiveness to detail never fails to astound me! Bravo! Do you want a reward?”

Hell had unusual yet cruel ways of punishing sinners. Some had their greatest fears used against them, sentenced to an afterlife of terror and misery. Others were granted a body mocking their death, an unpleasant reminder of why they were there to begin with. And not to mention the acid rain, violence in the streets, a plethora of soul-binding contracts, herpes, and the sweet cherry on top of the steamy pile of bullshit an average sinner may experience in hell – the yearly exterminations.

Alastor pondered what in the ever (un)living fuck did his current state intend to symbolise. The end goals were meaningless – he could by no means get pregnant (that he knew of, that is… he had no intention of ever finding out).

Was it a mockery of his asexuality? His sex repulsion? A play on his power-thirsty tendencies of having complete control over everything by making him vulnerable to such animalistic urges? If so, the punishment did its job well, leaving Alastor a shaking, pitiful mess.

He'd congratulate the creator of such a creative yet barbaric damnation, not without tearing their hand off in the process, of course, had it been possible for him to get up. By literal means, naturally, his cock had no issue with such a thing as it was already rock hard.

Believe me when I say Alastor had done everything to make it stop. Masturbating, sex toys not even Angel dared use and that’s saying a lot, watching Valentino's strange porn, straight-up ignoring the problem – name it all, he'd tried it, if not numerous times before.

Well, everything but the thing his aching body longed for.

He never gave in to the carnal desire, no matter the clawing desperation and torturous pain which always accompanied his heat – a metaphorical and literal pummeling for further disobedience of ignoring the body's involuntary yearning.

Relief would always come, sooner or later… and Alastor would rather a second bullet pierced his skull than engage in any sort of intimate activities with anyone. No one could ever see the Radio Demon in such a pathetic state.

Even so, the knowledge of why he had to go though such torture didn't make it any easier to handle. Alastor despised how his physical form betrayed his consciousness, how the hunger for intimate contact altered his state of mind. He could not stand how it reduced him to a helpless, quivering mess, instincts overriding his long established behaviors, habits, fueling his fear of control slipping through his clawed fingers like sand.

Sweat droplets trickled down his every limb, heartbeat at a constant race of pumping blood to pool down in the area between his crotch, prolonging the subsistence of his erection.

What a fucking joke the universe had decided to play on him. The permanent grin of his strained as a knock on his bedroom door sounded all of a sudden. Another aggravating issue – the grasp on his demonic powers was weary, resulting in unsavory circumstances, such as his shadow failing to warn him of an intruder's presence in advance, till they slithered their way into the privacy of his own four walls.

Vox stepped inside with a nonchalance an Alastor in other circumstances would annihilate for, and the Radio Demon found he could do nothing but stare at the tall figure with a gaze he aimed would convey a wordless statement of “fuck off forever”.

Simultaneously, his claws sank deep into the mattress he was sitting on. What was he doing in the Hotel anyway? …Thank the lord above that Alastor had his problem hidden by a rather fortunately placed blanket.

But Vox was perceptive. Or preferably, he simply had eyes. A mere fool would figure something was up and Alastor would rather not flatter Vox with cheap compliments.

Alastor was drenched, hair stuck at an awkward angle to his damp forehead, face tinted bright red, breathing heavily, and fuck, did I mention how he never lost his composure? To any bystander he looked almost ill.

Or maybe it was Alastor's sudden strange ability of keeping a composed facade that gave him away, as not one sardonic insult, attack nor venomous remark had been thrown Vox’s way yet.

Vox paused almost comically, eyes darting up and down over his slim, shirtless frame and Alastor felt his skin crawl at such a display of unfiltered debauchery. An unwanted tingle of want accumulated under his briefs and Alastor bit down hard, a mental plea purely conceived by a man in a lust-driven headspace stifled just barely in the back of his dry throat. Fuck me.

Vox’s face flushed pink, taken aback by Alastor's compromising position. He'd never seen him without his signature jacket, let alone like this – bereft of his shirt, long limbs gracefully tangled in the white sheets.

Vox felt like how he imagined a Victorian man would feel seeing a woman's ankle for the first time with how he reacted to Alastor's exposed beige skin. He'd seen and experienced much more scandalous things in both his lifetime and afterlife, but because this was Alastor of all people whom he was gaping at, it felt almost too intimate. And this was coming from someone in a long-term on-off relationship with the literal porn demon – Valentino.

The television demon tore his gaze away, sparing Alastor the discomfort of being stared at; trying and failing to speak with a light-hearted tone, as if this was a situation of a daily occurrence.

“The fuck is up with you?” Vox’s upfront straightforwardness and colorful language never failed to baffle Alastor. He’d almost deem it admirable and courageous had it not been for the blatant naivety it in actuality stemmed from. Vox trusted Alastor would simply leave him unharmed and oh, the error in that statement left a delicious feeling bubbling in Alastor's gut, a distinct, far more familiar type of thirst, one of a quite murder-y nature in contrast to the lecherous kind.

To give Vox credit where it was due, Alastor in his current state was, in fact, unable to cause any real harm, not without publicly displaying his raging erection to all of Hell, that is, and hey, wouldn't that make for an interesting news article!

Radio Demon spotted ROCK HARD during Hotel killing spree (photos included). More on page 5!

That's assuming there'd be any survivors left after such an incident, the chance of which being almost none.

But not zero and yeah, no, to hell with that. Alastor would rather chew off his own hoof, which, on second thought, is not a particularly meaningful declaration coming from a cannibal deer but it's what the fuck ever.

Alastor watched as Vox tilted his head sideways and right! Alastor had allowed his thoughts to run freely while Vox eagerly awaited an answer, expression growing gradually more worried by the second. He should fix that.

“Nothing is ‘up’ with me,” Alastor eventually replied, tone firm but said far too late to play off as a rude dismissal of the man before him.

The vague answer only further troubled the TV demon and Alastor internally cursed himself out for such transparent behavior. His mask was slipping and Vox could read him like a book, suspicious of his state and all he'd done is utter a single sentence. A lock of red-black hair entwined around his index finger and Alastor had to fight the urge not to tug down hard.

“What appalls me is how you appear to believe you are welcome in my room without as much as an invitation. Tsk. Whatever happened to your manners, Vox?” He added, hands raised in a dismissive yet unnaturally open gesture.

This was good. Ask him questions, draw his attention away from his sorry state. Provoke him, push Vox away, make him leave. Before his bodily urges sprout a mind of their own and do something he'll regret.

“I didn't come here of my own accord, you prick. Charlie called me in,” Oh? Now he had Alastor's undivided attention. Since when were the two on speaking terms anyway?

“Said you haven't been leaving your room. Claims she's worried sick, everyone is,” Vox added with a theatrical gesture devised to ridicule. He was well aware of what his words evoked in Alastor. The familiar bitterness of someone pitying him. Alastor might as well retch up his innards.

“After your fight with Adam…,” he trailed off, digital eyes meeting red pinpricks of what had been pupils. A warning.

“Now, I didn't think much of it, your tendency to leave without as much as a word has become quite prominent over time, don't you think?” A tactical jab at his seven year absence. Clever, Alastor thought. He instead shot him a condescending sneer in return.

“But since her Majesty insisted I speak to you,” Vox took a step forward, closing the door behind him with a slight kick of the heel, and Alastor's heart skipped a beat. Vox slowly broke the distance between them until he was met with the bedpost, which he'd then, in turn, leaned against. Alastor unconsciously stumbled backwards, stopping abruptly once his antlers hit the headboard. He felt cornered, felt like prey and Vox’s inquiring gaze lingering on his bare skin had his stomach brewing with self-consciousness.

“And hey, she might just be onto something,” Vox raised his eyebrows curiously and Alastor feared his heart might beat right out of his chest. Skin itching, Alastor couldn't for the (un)life of him tell whether the abrupt twitch of his frame was a foretelling of a potential escape or rather an attempt at grabbing the demon closer, pressing him flush against his unclothed torso.

He wanted to flee, touch, rip into Vox’s flesh, hold him close, devour his insides. An abundance of unsaid, contradicting musings abandoned for the simple action of gazing into his eyes.

Vox took another good look at him, as if one wasn't more than enough, and sighed, averting his gaze.

“Thought she was being overdramatic, but fuck. I mean, look at you,” he waved a hand in his direction. “You look like a mess. What are you even doing, all locked up in here?”

“Well, I was relishing in the pastime of a relatively pleasant afternoon before you,” Alastor pointed accusingly, “waltzed in, disrupting it with your presence and indefinitely ruining it. Kudos to you, old pal!” Alastor made an effort of sitting more upright, voice unnaturally jolly, and almost doubled over from the abrupt excruciating stab of pain between his ribs. Sharp claws pierced his palms, an attempt to conceal the agonized groan that almost slipped past his lips.

“Stop avoiding the question by feeding me your bullshit excuses,” the corners of Alastor's mouth twitched into something resembling a frown. Vox was too observant.

“The fact that I still have all my limbs intact after witnessing you like this is enough proof. Any other day you would've ripped me to shreds,” Vox snapped, aggravated.

“Like what,” Alastor gnashed his fangs, slightly overdoing it on the accent. He only realized the slip-up, once the words left his lips. He'd mistakenly given Vox a free pass to discuss his current condition, free ammunition, and shit, the knowing smirk on Vox’s face embodied the pit of vipers Alastor had unintentionally fallen into.

“For one, you're shirtless,” each word was said with a distinct cautiousness. Vox peered down, waiting for Alastor to either strike him or speak, he did not know which option was more likely to happen.

To Vox’s relief, it was the second.

“Perceptive,” Alastor tilted his head to the side. A droplet of sweat trickled down his neck. “Has it perhaps crossed your thick rectangular skull that I may not be in my usual attire as I'm in the privacy of my own bedroom? Your rude interruption was not anticipated,” the explanation was borderline excessive but he could not get himself to stop talking. He needed Vox to politely fuck off for the night, nevermind the Princess's distress, he's positive she could handle herself sans her quote unquote trusty hotelier.

“Had you warned me you were stopping by for a visit, I'd have taken better care of making sure I'm properly clothed.” Alastor added, making a move to fix his bowtie, hands pausing awkwardly at the realization that it had already been discarded. He'd been aiming for casual yet landed on graceless and Vox noticed, because of fucking course he did. Hours of watching surveillance footage made one quite familiar with another's behavioral patterns, no matter that the quality was 240p at best.

“Fucks sake, Al, you're shaking,” Vox stepped closer, ignoring him, an uncertain expression plastered on his face. This was the exact opposite of what Alastor predicted would happen. Where was this sudden tender behavior coming from? It was almost laughable if not so sad with how trustworthy Vox could be sometimes.

The screeching sound of radio interference was like nails on a chalkboard, threatening to burst out of him as Vox steadily closed their proximity. Alastor's heart pounded, alarm signals wailing in his head. Vox's attempt at kneeling beside the bed finally triggered a reaction from the demon.

Too close.

In a swift movement Alastor summoned a shadow tendril. Almost immediately it shot in his direction, wrapping itself around Vox's neck and muffling his startled shriek with a harsh squeeze to the throat.

He struggled in its suffocating embrace, claws lashing out but to no avail. Its iron grip hardened, Vox’s screen threatening to shatter, all air knocked out of his lungs at once.

“Al–astor–,” he squirmed helplessly, frantically shooting a wave of electricity, an unsuccessful attempt at defending himself. “Let me go, you psycho freak!”

Alastor’s shadow manifested itself, its smile twisting into the usual deranged bloodthirsty grin. It bore its razor-like teeth with a growl. Alastor commanded it to strike, not to kill, but hurt enough to make him go away, leaving a message not to mess with the radio demon, but…

…instead it nuzzled its head between Vox’s neck affectionately, inhaling his scent – a mixture of expensive cologne, burnt plastic and battery acid.

Alastor was mortified.

As was Vox.

The shadow wrapped its arms around him in a fond hug and what the fuck, Alastor had to do something about this, why were his powers not obeying him?!

Vox looked at him, a look of pure bafflement and that was when he abruptly fell to his knees as Alastor withdrew the tendril, the shadowy figure disappearing into nothingness. His form trembled uncontrollably.

To Alastor's shock, Vox did not flee. Hesitantly, he crawled up to his nightstand, massaging his sore neck, and if he didn’t know any better Alastor’d assume the stabbing feeling in his gut was guilt. And wasn't that the most surprising thing this day had to offer?

“You're hurting,” Vox’s voice was laced with a genuine concern, one which almost had Alastor hurling into his own lap with how piteous it made him appear.

“Go away, Vox,” he managed to utter through gritted teeth. His ears perked up with alert, a mirror of his discomfort. This was humiliating. And Vox was close. All he had to do was reach out and–

“I said; Leave,” Alastor would not allow such primal cravings to control him. He had to put a stop to this at once. He was above such things. Above all types of attraction, especially ones directed at his rival of all people.

Vox leaned in, pressing a hand to his sweaty forehead. It burned with pleasure and Alastor couldn't help but lean into its warmth, hating himself for it. He tried hard not to pay attention to the buzzing heat between his legs.

Luckily, Vox likely believed he was ill. They stayed like that for a few seconds and Alastor decided his best course of action would be to swallow his pride and play along with Vox's nausea-inducing doctor act by pretending to be sick.

That idea was cut short when Vox pulled his hand away and Alastor all but moaned at the loss of contact. Shit.

If Alastor wasn't already mortified he most definitely was now. And Vox’s horrified expression was like a punch in the gut.

It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. The answer clicked in his head and Alastor decided that the startled laughter that spilled out of Vox would haunt his dreams forever. The sound that escaped his lips was certainly not his proudest moment and Vox just had to rub it in, like alcohol into a fresh wound.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit,” he punctuated each word with a pause, a further merciless strike at Alastor's already crumbling ego.

A quick tug at the blanket, barely disrupted by Alastor's too-late frantic jump of protest, all but revealed the erection he had been hiding during their entire encounter.

Vox’s mouth was wide open, shaped into an “o”, a blue tinge of blush coating his screen. He tried to say something but was cut off as Alastor aggressively pressed a palm flat against his face.

“Don't you dare utter another word unless you wish for me to shred you into pieces,” a tone meant to intimidate, yet losing its weight from the slight hitch in his voice, as he drew in another shaky breath.

His threat was ignored because of fucking course it was, Vox would literally never shut up, especially when asked to. More laughter echoed throughout the room. The tension was suffocating, claustrophobic.

“I mean, hey, it’s a rather common occurrence here … but for it to happen to you of all people,” Vox trailed off, chuckling. Alastor hid behind his blanket, feeling rather small.

“Holy fucking shit,” the repetition was futile, a mere interlude as Alastor heard him perfectly clear the first time… but Vox made his point crystal clear, scale tipping to his side, power imbalance evident and Alastor truly felt at a loss of control, like a fawn cornered by bloodthirsty, hungry wolves.

“You're in heat,” a statement rather than a question. Alastor was promptly made aware of how agonizingly sticky his skin felt.

“Your attentiveness to detail never fails to astound me! Bravo! Do you want a reward?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Vox casually shot back, teeth sticking out in a grin. The wording likely wasn't intentional but Alastor still gulped in realization at the double meaning. And Vox, who was already paying close attention to his reactions, took notice.

“Huh,” Vox raised a brow teasingly, eyes half-lidded. “Though I bet you’d want me to do that, don't you, Al?”

“As appealing as watching you make an utter clown out of yourself sounds, I’ll have to turn down your greedy offer,” Alastor batted his eyelashes with mock innocence. “I've always thought of you as desperate, Vox, but this is a new low. Even for someone as filthy as you.”

“Don't you dare act like you have the upper hand here,” Vox scoffed, eyes darting to the sheets barely disguising Alastor's aroused state. He shuffled awkwardly, feeling exposed.

“You're an idiot if you think you can turn this against me…,” his arm brushed against Alastor's, sending a tingle down his spine. “Fuck, Al. You're all heated up.”

Each touch was akin to setting every individual cell of his aflame, but every second without physical contact felt infinitely worse. Alastor was certain he was losing his mind. Vox carefully traced his fingers up the demon's arm, a comforting motion, and Alastor simply let him.

“No wonder you locked yourself up here,” a soft tone. “You can't have anyone seeing you like this.” Alastor hummed in response, eyelids fluttering shut. The silence stretched into something almost comfortable.

“…Except for me?” Vox added quietly, uncharacteristically sheepish, a question on the tip of his tongue. Alastor strained to form a single sentence in response, struggling to glue his words into anything coherent.

“I can–”

“No,” Alastor spoke firmly. Refusals were his forte, after all. Much easier than putting together a messy explanation of lies and contradictions.

Vox sent him an irritated look, before trying again.

“You didn't even–”

“Vox. I know what you're implying and the answer is still no.”

Vox’s screen glitched with aggravation.

“I wasn't going to–!”

“I won't take pity sex from you, darling.”

“Can you let me finish, you pretentious asshole! I don't want to fuck you,” …the lie fell flat and even Vox didn't seem convinced by his own words. Alastor raised an eyebrow in disbelief, eyeing the half hard bulge of Vox’s pants.

“Okay, fine,” he raised two hands in mock surrender. “You got me there.”

“But!” the television demon raised a finger, stopping Alastor from talking. “I was gonna ask if I can help you in some other way.”

Alastor's ears were flat against his head, as he tilted it sideways, skeptical. Yet another bead of sweat trickled down his chest.

“I could bring you a glass of water at least. You are quite warm, after all.”

Vox moved to stand up, distancing himself from the demon. Without a second thought, Alastor frantically seized his wrist, claws digging into the delicate skin. Vox went still, gawking at him.

Alastor startled himself, brows shooting up. He loosened his grip on Vox’s wrist, dumbfounded by his own impulsivity.

“Stay,” it was a command. Vox slowly nodded. Alastor pulled him by the hand, guiding him to sit down on the edge of the mattress. The television demon obeyed, with a look of both anticipation and longing.

The weight of his actions caught up to Alastor, a wave of embarrassment washing over him. The idea of straight up murdering Vox right then and there crossed his hazy mind.

“I don't understand what’s happening to me,” he, instead, choked out in an almost sob. “I can’t– I don't want you.”

Vox frowned, seeming rather pissed. “...Okay? You’ve made that point rather clear seven years ago.”

“You don't get it! I don't want this,” he was almost frantic. “I don't want to want you,” Alastor mumbled into his palm, the confession heavy on his tongue.

“Alastor?”

The silence Vox was met with was heavy.

A plea.

“Please help me.”