snez fiend

“Tssch’u! Kzzsch’iew!” 

He’s beginning to look annoyed about pausing to sneeze every once in a while, and truth be told, Alastor finds that even more endearing.   

“Only sometimes? I've been told that it's my constant default,” Alastor answers, once he’s capable of it. “And bless you, darling.” 

The sarcasm gets him a chuckle in answer. 

“Yeah, you're right. You're a prick twenty-four seven.”

Vox says it in such an affectionate tone, he might as well be voicing something completely different. Luckily, Alastor has never been known to blush, and certainly not over something as simple as implied affection. Besides, it’s far too soon into their rekindled dalliance for that.

“Thank goodness; my reputation remains steadfast.” 

But he does love their little games. And judging from the way Vox is gazing back at him, this encounter isn't over yet. 

Even the way he looks at Alastor is different from the way it’s been in years past, though there’s something to be said for it. In this moment, it’s quieter, as if Vox is trying to puzzle him out. Contemplative. Long gone are the days where he and Vox sat and contemplated anything together, let alone without going at each other's throats, so to be regarded like this makes him feel a bit…anxious. 

“Did you really think I’d forgotten what you liked?” Vox says after a moment. 

Alastor crosses his legs, in need of something to do while he thinks of a response. That wasn't a question he'd expected to leave Vox’s mouth; it takes him a second to think of what he’s talking about. 

Then it hits him. Vox has to be referring to the first day that he’d played prisoner, as part of their little orchestrated deal. When Alastor had been caught in the act of watching Vox and Valentino through the reflection in the tower window, after things had become interesting to him. That had been downright humiliating, and even now he feels his face burn somewhat from the memory. 

“I…did.” 

It’s the truth. After so many years apart, and all that time spent with a partner so different, Alastor didn't hold much faith that Vox recalled the way they were intimate at all. Or, at the very least, he thought he wouldn't remember it as fondly. He wouldn't blame him for not remembering – he was allowed to spend the time they were apart however he chose. Though Alastor supposes a part of him would feel a tad disappointed if Vox didn't look back on it with the same fervor that he does. 

He hears Vox scoff, and looks up to find the other man rising to his knees on the mattress. Alastor’s breath catches in his throat as two blue claws tilt his chin up. In an instant, their faces are only inches apart – the heat and static of his old partner sending thrills through him. 

“I didn’t. Trust me.” 

Alastor closes his eyes when their lips meet again, the ache between his legs more prominent than ever. He’s never been one to proclaim that he needs sex, certainly not, but even he can only take so much anticipation. Every minute shift of Alastor’s thighs lets him know how wet he is, and only his arousal keeps it from feeling disgusting. 

Still maintaining their kiss, Vox’s hands trail back to his hips, suggesting, and they tumble back the way they always did – Vox against the headboard and Alastor in his lap. Once he’s comfortable there, Vox breaks it off to look up at him, scowling with no real energy behind it. 

“Do you have any idea how annoying it was to think about you every single time I had to sneeze, whether I was turned on or not? When I was jerking off, when I was on air, when I was fucking Val – every time?” 

“Fuck,” Alastor blurts. 

The very idea of that – of Vox’s mind jumping to him, over the course of decades – makes him want to be touched so badly it hurts. Of course, Alastor thought of him that way often in the time they were apart. But to think that Vox thought of him every single time he – ? 

Oh, there’s no hope for him now. 

“Mm-hm.” 

Vox tugs at his hair, using it as a handle to expose the side of his neck, and laps at the sensitive skin there. He kisses and sucks and bites, chuckling when that forces a tight gasp from Alastor, his breath hot. 

“I seem to remember you liked to ride me like this, do all the work yourself,” he says, oh so casually. Uttering the words close enough to Alastor’s left ear that it trembles. “You just looooved being in control. Liked to tease me about lying there underneath you, even when I wanted to move and fuck you back so damn bad.”

Vox pauses, swallows, opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else. But in lieu of words, his breath hitches, and he stifles two sneezes almost silently over Alastor’s shoulder. Fuck, he can still feel how his body lurches. The static between them builds as well, a quiet surge of electricity. 

“You were – quite good at lying there,” Alastor manages, certainly not looking down at their laps to get a glimpse of Vox’s hardening cock. He isn’t leaning into the pressure of it, desperate for something to ease what his body’s now screaming for. 

The look on Vox’s face is almost sympathetic. 

“Oh, Alastor. Sweetie. You’re not going to be so cocky here in a minute. I know what you look like when you’re needy.”

“I don’t need you,” he hisses, flicking his ears back. “And I don’t need –” 

But he’s interrupted. 

“I’m gonna sneeze again,” Vox tells him, complaining, and Alastor clenches on nothing. He whines. “Shit – it itches s-so damn bad, Al – h-hih –! Hih’ESSZZSSH’schu! IZZSZSS’schu! TSCHIEW! Fuck.”

Alastor plants his claws into Vox’s shoulders and ruts forward with a moan, biting the edge of his screen. Vox gasps at the contact, sparks falling from his antennae at the attention. It takes everything in Alastor to stay somewhat still, to not chase his pleasure then and there through his soaked underwear. He could do it; it’d just be humiliating. 

Finally, finally Vox isn’t trying to hold them back. His sneezes sound like him, how Alastor remembers. Natural, wet, breathy, and dramatic – that’s Vincent in a nutshell. Not some watered down, ideal version of himself. Just the authenticity that Alastor’s missed so dearly. 

“There we go…” Vox purrs, running a hand down his back. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

Curse him for sounding so smug, and being so right. When Alastor lets go of the corner of his screen, Vox is smirking at him. He brings his hand down to rest questioningly on the front of Alastor’s pants. 

“Want me to take these off for you?” 

“Yes –” 

He answers so quickly that Vox chuckles at him again, but doesn’t waste any time helping Alastor lift his hips and slide off both his pants and his underwear, tossing them to the floor. 

Now it’s Vox’s turn to be needy. Alastor repositions himself carefully on Vox’s thigh, feeling his arousal leave a wet trail against the other man’s body. As curious as ever, Vox traces a delicate finger inside the very edges of his folds – and swears when it comes away glistening. 

“Fucking Christ, Al,” he groans. “You’re s-s-soaked –hih! Kschh’ieww! Please – let me take care of you –” 

His cock sits mere inches away from Alastor’s opening, and if this were years ago, he’d only have to sink down and take it. But Vox has made these changes, and he isn’t sure if he can take all of it without pain. 

“I – I don’t know –” 

Vox takes one look at his face and knows what the issue is right away. 

“We’ll go as slow as you want,” he says, his voice dropping into that calm tone that he’d always reserved for when things were new or frightening between them. For a moment, Alastor almost wants to cry; it’s been so long since someone spoke to him like that. “You want me to open you up first before we try?” 

Leaning into Vox’s shoulder to hide his expression, Alastor nods, tail wagging. 

“Mmkay.” 

Carefully, Vox slides one finger to the center of his folds, tracing shapes up and down Alastor’s core before working his way inside. Alastor burrows in deeper, burying the little wanton noises that escape him into Vox’s neck as he starts working him open as he’d promised. Slow, slow in and out motions that don’t allow Vox’s claws to catch on anything delicate. The sensation is a bit strange, after going so long without it, but not unwelcome. Definitely eased along by how wet he is. 

“That feel okay, baby?” 

The question comes out breathless. Alastor has a feeling that he’s affecting Vox almost as much as Vox is affecting him, and there’s some satisfaction in that. Fervent kisses land on the side of his head, sharp with static.  

“Mmhm – it’s good, V-Vox –” 

He hates being reduced to a stammering fool, but it can hardly be helped. It’s difficult for Alastor to form words at all, when all his body wants to do is move against Vox’s hand. His hips haltingly follow the rhythm of the single finger inside of him, trying to get more on instinct. 

Sensing what he wants without having to ask, Vox withdraws his hand briefly to add a second finger, sinking back into Alastor’s heat with a low sound of want. Alastor gasps at the new thickness, squirming as he’s given time to adjust before Vox starts moving again. 

“Fuck, Al, you’re so fuckin’ wet for me,” he growls. “Don’t even know how you kept quiet about it for this long without asking to come – did you really want my cock in your mouth?” 

He pauses to ask, pulling back to see Alastor’s face. 

“N-no,” Alastor admits, pulling his ears back in embarrassment. 

Vox blinks, processing, then grins when he understands. 

“Ohhh, I get it. You’re an even bigger perv than I thought you were, huh?” He laughs low under his breath, sliding his tongue against the sensitive spot near Alastor’s ear. “You just wanted me to sneeze for you? Could’ve asked.” 

Back when they’d still been in their old rhythms (and Alastor had finally had the gall to request such a thing), he’d either ask Vox to touch the sensitive vents on either side of his head to coax out a sneeze or take matters into his own hands. The fact that he can bring it up like they’re discussing the weather leaves Alastor unsure if he should be scandalized or aroused. 

Regardless, all he can do is let out a long, tight whine in answer, thrusting against Vox’s fingers. There’s a pressure building in his abdomen as Vox bullies the spot inside him that Alastor’s useless at reaching on his own, and he wants it, wants to come, is willing to chase it down. 

“You’re so cute when you’re this wound up,” Vox practically coos at him. “C’mon, baby, move your hips. Faster. Chase it for me.”

Alastor doesn’t do it because he’s been told. He does it because he wants to, and that’s a very important distinction. Something that he’ll make clear to Vox more than once, after this bout of sex is finished. Matching Vox’s tempo does something incredible and agonizing to that ache inside him, and Alastor has to bite down on the other man’s shoulder to keep himself from getting embarrassingly loud about how it feels. 

“Fuck!” 

Vox hisses at the presence of teeth in his skin when he's bitten, but it’s laced with delight; the two of them are deviants through and through. 

“Yeah, that’s the spot, huh?” 

The palm of Vox’s hand goes flush with his body, squeezing Alastor’s clit, and he can’t take it one more second. The added sensitivity and pleasure push him right over the edge, his legs clamping around Vox’s wrist. 

“Good boy, god, you did need that,” Vox gasps, holding him tight tight tight with his free arm. 

“Vincent, yes, mmnh –!” 

The name leaves his mouth before Alastor can even think, and his face burns with embarrassment once he realizes what he’d said. But it’s too late – he’s coming, hard, uttering his old lover’s name over and over as Vox stares at him in wonder. Gently, Vox keeps moving inside him, coaxing him through a few more delicious pulses that have him whimpering and twisting with oversensitivity before the sensation finally ends. 

In front of him, Vox’s shoulder is wet with drool and a bit of blood from where he’s bitten down. Alastor can only lean against him for a moment, lapping up the blood in a wordless apology. Vox tilts his screen to kiss the side of Alastor’s face, something more tender than he’d expected, and they stay like that while Alastor catches his breath. 

After some time, Vox speaks again. 

“How long has it been since you, uh…?” 

“Since rutting,” Alastor replies, brusque, knowing that in this instance it’s easier to sate Vox’s curiosity than to let the other demon annoy him with more questions about it. 

Vox makes a sympathetic sound, because of course the man would still know what time of year he falls into rut. It's been so long for Alastor that in a month or so, it'll be time for him to rut again. 

“You want me to keep going? Make you come again before I–” 

“Just put it in,” Alastor huffs, turning his face away somewhat. He's blushing so hard he feels feverish. Knowing that he’s left his dignity behind long ago while they’re still in this strange spot with their relationship feels strange; Alastor isn’t sure how open he can be yet. 

It seems Vox’s ego can’t get any bigger; his smirk takes up the whole bottom half of his screen. Between them, his cock twitches, pre-come beading at the tip. He shifts his hips slightly, nudging it against Alastor’s stomach, and Alastor can’t help his soft intake of breath. 

“Needy and impatient.” 

“Vox –” 

“Alright, alright. No more teasing.” 

With a little rearranging, they’re in a position where Vox can actually get inside of him. Alastor shuffles forward on his knees, and Vox’s hands migrate to the backs of his thighs before lifting him up. Alastor gasps much louder than before when the head of the other man’s shaft nudges against his pussy. Vox’s arms don’t tremble as he holds Alastor there, flush against his body; if he had any rational thought to spare to the effort, he’d call him a showoff. 

“C’mere,” Vox growls, hungry. 

it started as a sexy caretaking thing with a vaporub chest massage and Val straddling Vox's hips. they're kinda fucking around more than anything, a little foreplay scenario, cause Vox isn't like sick sick, just snuffly enough to where Val was purring into his ear about how Vox should "be in bed" (but in a hot way).

on one rub Val goes down a little farther and brushes close to Vox's gills and Vox squirms away a little with a soft sort of laugh. "that's uhh a little low Val" he says cause his gills are sensitive today.

Val coos at him, "ooh yeah? too low?", and then slides down again before Vox pulls even further back, pressing into the bed.

"Val" he says, warningly, and Val pouts at him before taking a closer look at his gills (he's definitely touched them before during sex so they're not off limits).

he can see that they're a little wetter than usual, tinged red with irritation, and if he listens closely he can hear a faint wheeze coming from them. "oh," he squeaks softly, and then gets another glob of vaporub on his claws "that's what this stuff is for anyway, yeah?"

Vox looks away from him, screen staticky with embarrassment from being scrutinized. "erm, yeah, I guess, just be careful" and Val smiles at him and leans down to kiss his screen before refocusing on the gills.

he's gentle and makes sure that nothing gets in them, just around the outside, and slowly Vox starts relaxing into it, even taking a few deeper breaths.

and then his breath catches and his sniffs sharply, hand rubbing at his screen. "ugh, fuck, Val, gonna... hehh... ehh.. ktzzzhh" it wasn't even a particularly strong sneeze, just sharp and quick and Vox's whole body tenses with it.

Val pulls his hands back and squeaks in surprise as mucus drips out of Vox's gills.

everything freezes for a second, Vox's eyes huge, and then "oh fuck, shit, f-fuck... s-sorry sorry... ugh, so fucking gross, sorry Val, didn't mean to..." Vox squirms frantically to grab some tissues and start mopping up the mess. his screen is burning bright in humiliation and glitching whenever he scrubs too hard into his sides.

Val pulls back, still sitting on his hips, confused at Vox freaking out to the point of apologizing. his wings shift anxiously and he softly says some comforting nonsense in spanish as he reaches for Vox's hands, pulling them away from being so rough on the extra sensitive area. "Vox... Voxxie, shh... stop.. it's okay..."

Vox makes a distressed mechanical noise and tries to pull his hands back "I-I'll clean it up, Val"

Val sighs and holds Vox's hands firmly with his top hands and he plucks a few tissues out with his lower hands and gently wipes up the rest of the sluggishly leaking out mess. "it's okay, babe, you're sick, and what's a little fluid between partners" he jokes softly

Vox grumbles and looks away. and then, to his horror, his breath hitches again. "Val, get off" he orders but Val stays exactly where he is, pinning Vox to the bed.

"mmm, no," he smirks and brushes the tissue lightly along Vox's gills, teasing "they look awfully stuffy, Voxxie, wouldn't it feel so good to let it all out?" he leans over Vox and licks along the edges of his screen

"fuck you" Vox snarls, but Val can hear more depressing emotions behind it. his chest heaves and as much as he tries he can't hold a sneeze back forever and it punches out of him, thick and heavy.

Val coos at him and takes his time cleaning him up, carefully wiping and dabbing through half a box of tissues before scattering kisses over the damp skin.

Vox trembles through the whole thing, choking back soft noises and fisting the blankets after Val lets his hands go if he promised to be good, while pretending to ignore it even happening.

when he's sure that there's not going to any more wetness for a while Val drapes himself over Vox, covering them both with his wings.

"thought we were gonna fuck," Vox mumbles, petulant and huffy and angry at himself, or maybe Val, for ruining things.

In the confines of his office chair, Alastor shifts, trying to get comfortable. The bright blue glare of Vox’s bedroom is beginning to hurt his eyes, and to say that he’s become cranky is an understatement. Alastor honestly doesn’t know how Vox puts up with all of this fluorescent light, day in and day out. It only reminds him yet again of the hustle and bustle of modern nonsense shoving electronics in the world’s face, always hurrying to replace itself with the next best thing. 

Exhausting. 

“Don’t tell me you’re getting bored, Alastor. We’ve been having so much fun together – haven't we?”

Vox’s voice brings him back from dissociation, and it’s a struggle not to growl behind the childish mask he’s wearing. 

Oh, it’s definitely been fun for Vox. Vox, in all his rush to claim that he’s won, hadn’t even stopped to think about why Alastor would offer a deal between them with so few caveats. Though that was what Alastor had been hoping for, he’d be lying if he said a part of him wasn’t also disappointed in the man. Unfortunately, that’s how low Vox has fallen. He doesn’t pause to think anymore, doesn’t try to dream. Alastor supposes he has people to do that for him, now. 

“What was your favorite part?” Vox continues cheerfully, stalking around from behind his desk to circle Alastor’s chair with his hands behind his back. Still, Alastor says nothing, only watches him walk. “The parade? The interviews? Oh, how about when we got smoothies at our old spot? Well, I guess I was the only one who got to have one.” 

Alastor cuts him an are you finished look that Vox understands perfectly. 

“But you must be tired from all the excitement. Don’t worry, I’m about to turn in for the night, too.”

His voice dips lower, suggestive. He shrugs off his coat first, tossing it on the bed, followed shortly by his hat. Free from confinement, Vox’s antennae bounce around more loosely, reminding Alastor of a time when they were far more telling of his emotional state. Next, he loosens his bowtie and cravat, steps out of his shoes. 

“Bringing back any memories, Bambi?” Vox purrs, his expression a little too close to hopeful to be truly seductive. 

Of course it is, but Alastor gives him nothing. He actually is tired of playing along, and being quiet is easier than acting, for now. There are a million things he could say, none of them helpful – half of which would only worsen his chances of succeeding with his plan. So he says nothing, watching Vox’s face drop, then sour. Alastor tries to tell himself that he doesn’t care. 

“Stuck-up old prick,” Vox mutters. (It’s an effort not to fire back with takes one to know one.) “Fine.” 

He pulls up a floating screen and jabs a few buttons before dismissing it, complaining to himself before sitting on the edge of the bed to pout. An awkward handful of minutes pass where Alastor watches the city through the massive windows. Vox may or may not be watching him. 

Then, the beeping of the private elevator before the doors come whooshing open. (Must everything in this wretched tower make a sound?) And through them walks someone who might step on his nerves more than Vox, or even Lucifer. 

Ah, Valentino. He hasn’t even opened his mouth yet, and Alastor already knows that whatever he has to say is going to be grating. His towering height does little to make up for his lack of contribution to any conversation Alastor’s ever had with the man. He doesn’t exactly feel like it was a coincidence that Vox went running straight into his arms after he and Alastor had their – their fallout. And gaining his power and influence from the porn industry? Really? 

But perhaps he’s being a bit too harsh. 

“Val, there you are,” Vox says brightly, jumping up to his feet like a puppy that’s just seen its master. 

Val is dressed down from his usual sweeping robe, wearing only a pair of tight blue shorts that leave little to the imagination. 

“Papí, I thought you’d never call,” Val answers, his voice just as sugary sweet. 

He lets Vox run his hands up and down his bare sides, making an exaggerated little noise of want. Vox leans up to kiss him, and the embrace lingers. His eyes are open to catch the look on Alastor’s face; Val’s are closed. 

Never mind. He hates both of them. Alastor can see an angle of his own reflection in the tower window, a muscle jumping somewhere near his eye. He feels his lip curl underneath the mask and tries to calm his breathing. 

This is exactly what Vox wants. 

Well, Alastor isn’t going to let him have it. He isn’t even going to entertain this anymore. 

Pointedly, he plants one hoof on the floor and spins his chair fully so that it’s facing the window, facing away from the two of them and their little show. He could see them behind him if he tried, but Alastor has no interest in watching. If they want to be…intimate, fine. It’s not like he can go anywhere, for the time being. But he’s not going to sit here and have it rubbed in his face. Alastor stares bitterly at his own reflection, trying to tell himself that this will all be worth it. The long game is all that matters. 

After a few seconds, he hears the two of them break apart. Vox’s familiar chuckle. There’s a pause as if both of them are looking at Alastor, and it makes the back of his neck crawl. 

“Ohh, I think we’ve upset him, Voxxy.” Val sounds less than bothered by the idea. In fact, he sounds like he delights in it. 

When I get out of this chair. 

“He’ll get over it,” Vox says easily. “Now, let’s get you out of those cute little shorts.”

Alastor sighs, turning his attention back to all the lights far below them in Pentagram City. He supposes it’s sort of like people-watching, letting his eyes follow all the little dots of the sinners down below. It’s something he likes to do in his spare time, when he’s actually free and out and about. Guessing at what they’re doing, where they’re going at this hour. Of course, Hell never really sleeps. 

At this rate, he’s not sure he’s going to get any rest, either. 

Try as he might, it’s rather…difficult to drown out the noises that Vox and Val are making behind him. Alastor has no clue if they’re always this loud with their lovemaking or if they’re just hamming it up for his sake, but either way, they’re making quite a racket. His ears have always been sensitive, and Alastor feels them twitch and jerk at every sound the pair of them see fit to make. 

Vox moaning at the edge of a kiss. Val prompting to be tied up tighter. Shared, intimate laughter that trails into something else as bodies no doubt meet. Wet sounds. Breathy gasps from Valentino, quiet Spanish that Alastor doesn’t catch. Rhythmic panting. The bed squeaking as they – move. (For Hell’s sake, Vox has how much money? One would think he’d buy a bed that didn’t make so much noise.) 

And of course, through it all, their continued jabbering at one another. The yeah babys and you like thats and more papís that pepper through the sounds of bodies on bodies. 

Then. A sort of sound that normally lives tucked in the very back of Alastor’s memory, something he’s never forgotten about but only touches with gloved fingers when he’s feeling particularly pent-up or lonely. 

Vox’s breath hitching in a delicate, familiar way. A way that Alastor would know anywhere. All at once, Alastor finds himself sitting up straight – paying far too much attention. His ears twitch and hone in on the sound like they’ve been waiting for it. Maybe they have. 

But apparently, Valentino knows it too. 

“Oh, poor baby,” he simpers. “You starting up already?” 

Alastor feels his face burn, though he’s not really sure why. Is it jealousy? Embarrassment? Both? Fuck, he doesn’t know, all his mind can do is laser focus on the sweet little hitching noises Vox is still making. He always did have to be dramatic. 

Subtly, Alastor glances in the window to look at the reflection of the two behind him. As he’d assumed, Vox is inside Valentino, the latter spread out on the bed with one pair of his hands tied above his head. It frustrates Alastor that he can’t see Vox’s expression from here, but the way he’s paused everything also leaves him breathless with anticipation. Annoyingly, he can see Val’s – smirking a little, gazing up at the light of Vox’s screen. 

“Y-yeah,” Vox manages to answer. “S-ohh-rry, Val, I just – hih-! Hzzt-tschu!” 

Fuck. He might not be able to catch Vox’s expression, but the way his body lurches into that sneeze is very telling.

Alastor’s glad there’s something covering his own face. He isn’t certain that the look spread across it is anywhere close to normal anymore. He remains perfectly still, facing forward, but his vision is starting to strain from how desperately he’s watching this whole scene from the corner of his eye. 

Vox's body is…different. Watching it change over the years as the man's learned to ‘upgrade’ himself has been strange to watch, to say the least. Sure, he's sporting the latest tech – he's taller, more powerful and deadly – everything that an Overlord should be. 

But something in Alastor deflates a little to see every inch of him defined in lithe muscle. He truly isn't his sweet Vincent anymore, without that baby fat Alastor always loved squeezing onto. 

And what the Hell was that sneeze? Vox never used to sneeze like that. Soft and – and polite, carefully contained. (Cute, Alastor's mind supplies, and he violently dismisses it.) The Vincent he knew couldn't hold back to save his life. Said it made his head hurt. 

“Aw, salud, baby,” Val says in the same sweet tone, rolling his hips and drawing a soft whine out of Vox. “You must really love fucking me with that deer in the room, huh?” 

Vox only laughs a little in answer, sounding shy, but then. Then he turns his head to look at Alastor, and Alastor isn’t quite quick enough to pretend he isn’t watching the other man’s reflection. 

Their eyes meet in the glass, and whatever Vox sees there must be like adding gasoline to the fire. He keeps his head turned just long enough for Alastor to see that delicious pre-sneeze expression he knows so well, before turning back to Valentino and stifling hard into his elbow. Alastor watches as Vox drives into the moth demon with a needy thrust, the whole bed shrieking for mercy, and he’s a goner from there. What had once been annoying to overhear now becomes more than bearable, peppered with Vox’s desperate little hitches and sneezes. 

It seems that not much has changed in this regard, at least, since he and Alastor have parted ways. Alastor had never met someone who sneezed during sex, and it’s safe to say that Vox had never met someone who had an interest in sneezing. Just two peculiar people who thought that there was no one else who’d be willing to put up with them, until they found one another. 

That, and their similar personalities meant they’d gotten along quite nicely, and for some time. 

Until they didn’t. 

And now he’s tied to a fucking office chair, squirming in his seat as he listens to his ex-partner fuck some other man senseless. 

“Oh, god, Val – I’m – tssztz’schiew! EHT’schiew! Fuck fuck fuck –”

Vox really has grown powerful, because Alastor can feel the electricity shift in the air as the other man loses control of himself. Powerful enough, even, to breach the tight control Alastor always keeps over his own radio frequency – for the first time in decades, he can feel Vox brush up against him. Just the lightest touch, like the grazing of fingertips, but it’s there. 

Alastor doesn’t bother looking for his eyes in the glass this time; he already knows Vox is watching. And though he doesn’t know what Vox might have read from him in the brief moment they touched, he knows it can’t be anything that does him any favors. 

Behind him, there’s the light sound of breathing as Vox and Val cool down from their escapades. He hears kisses on skin and the sound of something knocking against the wall – the rope, perhaps. Affectionate laughter. 

He's never wished more, before now, that his hearing weren’t quite so sensitive. 

“You hit the shower, babe,” Vox tells Val. “I’m right behind you.” 

“Mmm, don't take too long torturing your little friend. I might get bored all alone in there.” 

Valentino saunters his way into the bathroom, turning on the shower and blasting some upbeat music Alastor doesn't recognize. 

After a few moments, he risks scooting around in his chair, too curious to know what Vox is doing to just rely on a reflection anymore. 

As it turns out, Vox is holding his screen in his hands, eyes screwed shut. When he senses Alastor's eyes on him, he quickly straightens, folding his arms across his chest with a blush. 

“What're you staring at.” It’s not a question so much as an accusation. 

A note of triumph races through Alastor's chest. So he had been right, after all. 

“What's the matter, Voxxy?” he says at last, his voice seeping through the speakers in the room. “It looks like your head hurts. Wonder why that could be. Does Valentino not enjoy your little…quirks?” 

Vox blinks, a brief glitch of static flitting over his screen before he can collect himself. 

“Not that it's any of your business –”

“None of my business?” Alastor cuts in, approaching his limit. “You kept me in the room while the two of you – while the two of you fornicated –” 

“You're my prisoner, jackass!”

“And I suppose that means you're forfeiting all my rights, is that it?” Alastor’s antlers sprout, long and angry, shadows extending from where he sits bound to the chair. “Losing every scrap of humanity you ever had, just to brag about the things you could force me to do? Hell, you might as well have forced me to watch while you were at it –” 

“Oh, but I didn't need to, did I?” 

Fuck. 

Alastor bites his lip hard enough to taste blood, furious that he'd let himself be backed into this particular corner. 

“Yeahhh, that's what I thought.” Vox laughs. He gets to his feet, thankfully now wearing boxers at least, and strolls over to the chair. Not bothered by Alastor’s show of power in the slightest. He runs his fingertips up and down the back of the damned thing, teasing. “Somebody got a little hot and bothered over here, didn't they?”

“I'm sure that's what you want to believe,” Alastor says tersely. 

He’s hoping he can still talk his way out of this…but it doesn’t seem likely. Vox may not have all the charm and innovation he had when they were together all those years ago, but Alastor still doesn’t like the man’s tone. There’s something too cocky about it, like Vox knows something he doesn’t. Alastor’s always loathed not having every detail – and Vox is well aware. Neither one of them do well with not being in control, but Alastor’s the worst of the two, so no doubt having information that Alastor doesn’t is a real delight. 

The other demon leans in close, infuriatingly smug. Alastor can smell the sweat and the sex on him, the barest hint of a cologne he doesn’t recognize. 

“No, sweetheart, I think it's the truth. See, I saw your pretty little head turn so fast from abouuut…three different angles. Saw you watching and squirming for the whole show after I…got your attention.” 

Vox directs his gaze to the cameras mounted high in the room, and a flush of embarrassment so deep it almost feels like nausea hits Alastor like a tidal wave. Of course Vox would have cameras, even in a place as private as his bedroom. Why hadn't he stopped to think about that? Stupid. Stupid!! 

Frozen with the humiliation of being caught, Alastor again says nothing, only moving his eyes to glance up as Vox leans his weight deeper onto the chair. Looking so smug, his screen only inches from Alastor's face. 

“And to answer your question; no. He's not into it like you are. He'll tolerate it, but he thinks it's annoying after a while.” 

Vox's eyes slide to the side, as if he's being nonchalant about that little statement and any feelings he may have about it. 

“So. Yeah. You were right, holding them back still makes my head hurt.” He chuckles a bit, a self deprecating sound. “But…it’s fine.”

There are so many things Alastor wants to say. This time, none of them at all would work in his favor to free him from his deal. More than anything, they'd likely bind him tighter, and set him back further than ever from loosening his chains. 

But he so desperately wishes he could say what was really on his mind. 

“Good to know you still think about me, Al,” Vox says cheerfully, giving him one last glance before disappearing into the bathroom to join his lover. Their voices echo off of ceramic tile over the music, low and sultry as they greet one another again.