△ on the air △

Vox let go of his bite, and lifted himself upright again, letting go of the tendril nearest his neck, and the cord moved to coil beneath Alastor’s tail. Lifting his butt up.

Fuck it had been so long— his skin was prickling with anticipation. One of the cyan claws twirled around Alastor’s tail, feeling how it wiggled and how the fluffy fur was so dense and almost slightly curly.

The pants were still in the way. At least Alastor was feeling better. That would make this an easy fix~

Vox dragged his claw along the seam until it caught a stitch, and then angled his claw, and tore his pants open in one motion. A quick repeat took care of the underwear beneath. Both pulled to the side and out of the way.

Then used his other hand to push his left leg down to open the space wider. His tongue was dripping with his bright saliva, drooling something fierce in record time.

He had little preamble besides the positioning, diving right in to eat Alastor out. Working his tongue further and further in as he worked the radio open. It had been so long. He wanted to make the other scream- and babble his praise. He craved the ego boost like the one fix he hadn’t been able to sate.

Honestly, he sort of lost track of time- it might have been a few minutes or several. The way he could feel Alastor’s stomach and thigh muscles flex when he found a good spot was extremely encouraging. He would have loved to drag at least one orgasm out of Alastor before the main course.

He should not have been surprised when Vox began to take the route they had traveled many times before now. That mouth of his was more insistent than even Alastor's own, but in the heat of the moment, he was certainly giving no protest to the act. Later, however, he would further lament the poor treatment of his clothing; discarded like it was nothing. He could refashion it- remake it with his will alone. But that did not mean that he wanted to have to.

Irrelevant, now.

Because that tongue was pressing deeply into him whether he enjoyed the path taken there or not, his hooves planting themselves against Vox's body for some purchase as the intrusion brought about its usual beats of rippling pleasure that surged its way up and along his spine. His breath came in hot, panted exhales, practically curling into himself as he tried to not lose his control so rapidly under the ministrations of Vox's wet mouth.

Anyone else might have been beaten for their audacity - and Alastor would not have responded so quickly; so well. But this was Vox. As he'd illustrated earlier...

He was different.

It had been too long.

As the minutes passed, Alastor found himself cresting much more rapidly than he'd anticipated, a full tremor coursing through him as Vox found the particular point within him to elicit such a response. Though he was not quite to the point where he could permit himself to whine or moan, the sounds were barely contained behind the last vestiges of his self control and stubborn pride. But regardless, that first peak slammed into him with little regard for whether or not he was ready for it, his claws digging into the fabric of the sofa beneath them now that Vox was not quite close enough for it as his spine arched up and off of the place where he lay.

He might have been embarrassed about making the small mess that he did against his still clothed belly, but Alastor lacked the wherewithal, simply finding solace in the fact that they were here again - and that he could cement himself so tightly against Vox in spirit that it provided heavy reassurance to his psyche.

Those tendrils had not retracted; were holding tightly to Vox as though it was the only real way that he could keep the other rooted with him, there and then as he breathed heavily, the channel between them opening once more to similarly wrap his signal against Vox's.

There was no specific imagery he was transmitting this time. Just waves of relief; comfort and appreciation. And a yearning that he had not permitted himself to feel until now, now that it was being sated.

But he was not done.

An Exception Has Occured

"Old man admits to liking stim toys, twenty-twenty-six." Came out of her in her dry humored way.

She just had to wait for him to drift away from that spot to slip the next folded bill note.

"...I do not know what a 'stim toy' is."

But she seemed to get him in one, and with the slinky pocketed, Alastor resumed his trek through the store, though nothing else seemed to quite capture his attention as much as the trinkets he'd already pilfered.

"Ah - with the classic little open and shut of its cover. I've had a few of those over time. I've not needed one for quite a while, but-"

Alastor paused, turning to give her a little bit of a curious stare.

"Has your metaphysical hunger been sated for the moment, or were you here in search of more? Because if you are just trailing around after me now, I might be inclined to feel rude."

"This isn't a split personality thing...look I'll explain it later..."

One of her ribbons reached up to most bright colourful world she could find. She didn't care too much about the content more the vibe she got from one simple look at the orb. She then offered it towards the red deer with a small look of determination. Something that carried over from when she wore the mask from before. Still lingering even now.

"We have to put the others back where they were. Though...I'll have to do the best I can...let's see...this one...over there...that one...here..."

Gangle hadn't paid attention to the order of the orbs when she came in too consumed by her own wonder of the space to fully track everything. Perhaps, she could try to get into Caine's headspace and try to think on how he would organise them? They were both creative! Either way she picked up the orbs that got moved around and tried to put them back into where she believed they would go. There, that was part of putting herself on the line for Alastor so he wasn't alone with their crimes.

"If you want to look around at anything else feel free. I do feel like we're overstaying now, perhaps if we make it to my hidden place we drop off the orb quickly enough so that Caine doesn't find it on us."

That was a vain hope at best, yet Alastor was right Gangle was full of optimism right now. She had to be despite how deep down she was one step away from freaking the heck out from all of this stress.

"Well, whatever you want to call it."

He would not argue, watching as she seemed to select an orb for herself, stepping over to peer closely at it once it was in her possession. To Alastor, it did not look any sort of special, his head tilting to one side as he tried to squint and understand the contents within. From his understanding, these were Caine's adventures - but not just any of them. Perhaps the ones that he had a tendency to hold onto were those that had some significance...?

Either that or he had more tucked away somewhere.

With the permission granted to him, he took the orb that she'd chosen and stared at it a bit more closely, gleaning nothing very important from it before he opened his maw to deposit it right into there.

Surely that would not come back to bite him.

With the deed done, he did not exactly offer himself up to assist Gangle in placing the orbs back in their rightful places. (Or the general estimation of what their rightful places were.) The little deer watched silently, only stepping away to glimpse into one or two more orbs which still told him very little.

These humans... Drawing so much intrigue and interest in these little worlds crafted just for them. What did Caine hope to achieve in harboring them so tenderly like this?

Silly, Alastor thought.

"Let's go then," he said, matter-of-factly, not wanting to risk getting caught too soon either and making his way back over to where they had placed the hole in the wall - and he paused to squint at it.

He doubled down then into the kiss. Letting go of the shirt to try and find and pin of of the deer’s wrists as he start. Vox didn’t pull back until he felt the first tendril touch his arm.

Shit— no no he wasn’t losing control in this argument—

His own cords popped out from his back, ripping his shirt, unlike Alastor’s conjured limbs. They immediately met the other’s and resisted the grip becoming something solidifying. But unlike Alastor, Vox had a fixed limit of four that he could produce. And he was immediately maxed out. The cord that gripped the tendril around his neck pulled down on it to keep the other from getting that ace in the hole… damn him for figuring that one out early on. Maybe he didn’t remember it.

One could hope. (Or hope not..?)

Vox’s face became a bit flushed in the center as the other’s speech pattern dropped further and became more intentional. He was not immune to shows of power like a peacock’s display. It made him a bit weak in his chest, some small portion of him wobbling a bit in thought of just giving way to the other. Something he would have done much easier before it all. He had an excuse to give in, one that no one could or would deny.

But this had been his flex— his show of power.

So he waited until the other was in the throes of his flex, then yanked on the limb over his own throat and tilted his head to lurch downward and bite down on the others shoulder. Marking was the only thing Vox knew affected the other. One for one maybe.

So he played his card as strong as he could and made an exaggerated sucking noise. Like he wanted to not only mark, but taste it.

Vox's fault was that he was still perceiving this as an argument to be won. Alastor had not seen it as that since the other had coaxed aggression from him a few moments prior. Now, this was simply a communication of understanding; a way to write their intent and meaning in blood and pain. His tendrils wound around the cords that revealed themselves and did not seem to balk at their attempt to wrench Alastor's hold free of Vox's limbs. But nor would they abandon their efforts, returning in a surge no sooner than the television believed himself to be free of their hold.

He absolutely did remember the secret that the other harbored about the tenderness of his windpipe. And while Alastor was not looking to immediately play that card, he knew that even the tease of it would be enough to spur the other into a quick act of defensiveness, lending further fuel to their mutual fire which felt like a breathe of fresh air after choking on the smog of their regret for so long.

The teeth in his shoulder pulled from him a deep and heady growl in response, claws that had not removed themselves from Vox's back digging in to the point where he knew they would leave pinprick wounds of their own. A gasp tore itself from him similarly, spine arching upwards until he could feel the press of their bodies flush against one another's. His tendrils assisted with keeping them rooted there, snaking their way to assure the proximity, even if Alastor had no immediately plans to choke Vox with the one that remained loosely draped around his neck.

Alastor knew he had already been marked once. To have the other making an attempt to do it again was, somewhere in his animalistic hindbrain, appreciated. Whether it was a cover for Vox's own uncertainties or not, that did not seem to matter, in the moment.

To be claimed was to be loved.

Or something like that.

Amid the flush of his own features, he did not think he was in quite the right frame of mind to come to such a conclusion.

"Don't toy with me," he finally managed to grate out, his tone slightly strained, but swarming with the distinct pitch of want. The appendage around Vox's middle gave a slight squeeze - needy as its master's lidded gaze made its way down to where he could see what he could of Vox's head.

Still, he just rolled his eyes.

"It's not that absurd that I don't want to strip down in the middle of a store. I thought you cared about decency or whatever..."

Even if it was deserted. This whole scenario was turning more and more ludicris.

Especially as Alastor agreed to try on the shirt Vox had picked out for him. Even if it was 'painfully 50s'. His eyes grew round with interest as Alastor seemed to acquiesce to the whim, which was- Wow. Okay. Unexpected.

His whole system kind of stalls when Alastor opens the first button of his shirt, then the next.

"R-right," he pretends he didn't just stutter as he moves to disrobing himself, tearing his eyes away from the stripping Alastor, though very aware of the movement and shuffling clothing in his periphery. Vox doesn't think it through, going for his pants first just to start the process, letting them fall down his legs, before zipping open the hoodie he's got on, he puts it to the side in a move akin to Alastor's, then gives in to a glance back at the Radio Demon.

He just barely catches that nasty brand at his back, wondering what the hell that is, before the bowling shirt covers it. As surprised as he is to have seen that he's also pretty sure Al won't be taking questions. So he files it away for another time.

By the time Alastor has put the shirt into position Vox is standing without a top on and his pants are still stuck around his ankles, trying not to look so much like he's ogling. He's not used to seeing Al wear anything so lose on his frame, or with such short sleeves. His lips pinch thoughtfully.

Then he considers his own state and jumps back into action, shaking his ankles free of the pants before quickly snatching the trousers Alastor had picked on for him and shucking them on.

"I care about propriety - not necessarily decency. If that were the case, I do not think I would be down here at all," Alastor griped in turn. Even after knowing each other as long as they had, Vox still had some preconceived notions as to how the radio demon behaved and operated - though he wasn't alone in that. Most individuals who thought they had a bead on how Alastor worked and functioned were generally wrong, and that was by design. He'd never once made an effort to draw people in close enough to be certain of any one thing, and thus had a tendency to remain an enigma, shrouded in assumptions and estimations.

It kept people guessing, at the very least. Like it was doing to Vox now.

Vox, at least, had the wherewithal to display a bit of intelligence in keeping his questions about Alastor's scarring to himself, as he would receive no real answers here and now. (Or in the near future, either.) Instead, he would stand and stare at the other dully, cocking his hip out slightly with his general effeminate stance as he watched Vox scramble to not look the fool that he was by simply standing there, pants down.

But the compliment, almost entirely devoid of snark or sarcasm, caught him slightly off guard -

And made him suspicious.

With the smallest of squints, he glanced from Vox down to the shirt, hands running slightly over the way it rested over his form. It was fairly loose - and casual. Both things he did not necessarily find himself wearing in public on a regular basis, only preferring the fit and style when he was alone in his room.

He hummed lowly in his throat, as though giving it some thought.

"If this is your attempt at indoctrinating me into your preferred style, you will have to try a bit harder than that," Alastor finally decided to say, not wanting to put any real stock in the statement, knowing that it could very well be some sort of trick to ensure that he himself looked as foolish as possible. But he had agreed to wear the stupid thing, for now, and so he did not make an effort to remove it, folding his now exposed and scarred arms across his chest while he waited for Vox to finish his own changing 'ritual'.

Which was taking entirely too long, he thought.

"That sweater does you no favors."

anonymous ⧐ So obviously it's subject to change if a vox ever decides to do warrior cats rp with you, but just baseline, did stagtooth have a horrible "not friendship" breakup with brightstar. (I send the brightstar ask, forgot to say that is the coolest possible name you could have made for vox) OOC ASKS.

Oh yeah. I imagine they had a similar falling out, where Brightstar (probably known as something else entirely as a rogue) and Stagtooth were originally rogues together and Brightstar had it in mind for them to go and start their own clan together - outside of the rules that the clan cats have to adhere to and away from the reach of Starclan. Where they would BOTH be leaders instead of one leader and one deputy. But as ideal as that sounded, Stagtooth knew that Brightstar would have ambitions for something greater, and eventually would try to position himself as the more powerful of the two. The disagreement likely resulted in a fight between them, where Brightstar tried to insist that it wouldn't be that way and Stagtooth could only ever see it as the only outcome. Stagtooth gave him the two nicks in his ears during that fight and they parted ways, though I imagine it hurt them both to do that. Brightstar eventually founded his own clan, as he'd intended to, ant put himself at the forefront of it, surrounding himself with other cats that were skeptical of Starclan's rule and law, while Stagtooth has embedded himself into a traditional clan, looking to find some sort of belonging and security for himself. He misses what they had, though.

Paused to summarize and dig through memory. "Television didn't quite grab my interest yet, I had trouble parsing the sameness of the grayscales visually. But I enjoyed the radio plays that played when I was doing overnights in a stakeouts. Or, ya know, drinking at home."

Even a fairly lukewarm reception or recollection of her favorites was enough to maintain his rapt attention, nodding along, though he could not seem to conjure up the name of which play or show she was speaking of in particular. He'd have to go digging about to see what he could find.

"If they are still to your liking, I'm sure I could dig up a few from my archives for you to listen to in your free time," Alastor offered, much more cheerfully than anyone else might have pulled from him with any other subject matter. "I've got a rather extensive collection in a variety of genres - not just my preferred mysteries, though that is typically my specialty. I've also got historical dramas, comedies, news hours, science fiction... And even a few romances for those so inclined." But she did not strike him as the sort.

It got a polite nod as it retreated to its ambient-light dictated position.

Recovering more of himself, he did manage a grin for Alastor at that little flirtation. "Offering someone immortal such a rare treat as novelty? Quel délice absolu." And how utterly addictive, too. Especially since death didn't have quite the same hold on Alastor either, these days.

"Oh, well you could always slum it with me, and we could just break into some half-abandoned tenement building, but I thought that being so cramped might put a dampener on this indulgent mood of yours," he teased back, setting off on their route. He had a good head for directions once he was oriented in a place, so his phone retreated back into his pocket.

"I suppose that must get tiresomely monotonous; at least here you stand out much more vibrantly."

"I spend more than enough time slumming it than I would like whenever I am away from the hotel," he said with some honesty, given the corners of the city that his 'work' often ferried him off to. Pentagram City was certainly not all glitz and glam, with its own urban sprawl of destitute areas and even those cordoned off with the specific purpose of being a place for chaos and anarchy. "I will take the preference of your selection, thank you."

Alastor followed behind the other more slowly once they were walking, not in any particular hurry as he permitted his eyes to wander. Since being given license to venture up to the surface by Vox, he'd not had much an opportunity to explore, though most of the modern additions to the day's environments did not immediately hold much interest for him.

"You must be fairly well off to drop so much money on a whim," he mentioned after a few minutes of their stroll, ensuring that he remained at Rene's side, matching his stride as well as he could with his much longer legs.

𖦏 𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙄𝙑𝙀:  ENEMY 

𖦏 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙎:  INJURED

Shok.wav growls low. He blinks his large glowing eyes at the [ ENEMY ]. The biomechanical shark huffs. He was not given permission to eat. How disappointing.

...He shall be thankful that it seems he is not to be so rapidly made into an hors d'oeuvre on this particular afternoon, no matter how his fur is bristled in tension and alarm for being approached by the creature at all.

"Er- I do not speak shark, if you are meaning to tell me something," Alastor says, still unmoving from where he stands. The radio demon doubts that the beast has anything particularly profound to say, but...