v o x . p o p u l i . v o x . d e i

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.

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.

And yet the biting profanity from Alastor was exactly what he needed to hear to get his own sense of relief. He needed to feel the kick and resistance of his companion. That he wouldn’t give in- some proof he wouldnt turn into something that had the strength of wet paper. Hell was a fucked up place, and there was evidence of what the passage of time did to everyone down here.

Vox wouldn’t allow it. Not while he was present.

He grunted quietly as he felt the claws track along his back and realized the direction his groin would take this sooner rather than later if this continued.

“You’re fucking mine.” He breathed in a hoarse baritone. His head angled in a way that sort of disrupted his breath and voice, all in the name of keeping mouth contact.

Vox pushed his tongue deeper into the others mouth, crowding it with his fat purple cyan tongue. It would feel like he was choking on it, and that’s what Vox wanted.

The screen that had been a rather muted color was not so slowly ramping up in brightness as his adrenaline built. His screen going from a muted navy, to a deep lit cyan.

“I should fucking- bite your neck up-“ he hissed out in the same voice. Able too with his tongue still occupied but pausing to sound winded periodically all the same.

“—bind you up with my cords- that you like so much~”

A slight gag at the further intrusion of that tongue was the only protest that Alastor gave, not accustomed to it as he once had been prior to Vox's rise and then fall. It had not been that long - but long enough where he had to adjust, slightly, to the sensation that in some ways he sorely missed. The bullying; the pushiness - it was all so quintessentially Vox that he could not help but find a familiar frustration in his forcefulness, claws biting hard against the other's shoulders to stake his own claim... until he felt as though it was not quite enough. Not with the threats that Vox was making as Alastor's teeth scraped over that strange appendage in his mouth. Whether it drew blood or not, he did not quite seem to care.

But his mouth's current occupation was nothing that would keep him silent, his usually cold stare suddenly hot with a mixture of passion and desire that not a singular being otherwise could ever get out of him. Only the other overlord was able to leech it from him in this way, a crackle of his feedback reverberating in his throat as words seeped from him, no matter how full his mouth was.

"Bind me?" He spoke, teeth closing a bit more insistingly against Vox's tongue, each point of his jagged fangs lit with each word that swept from his voice. "You underestimate the mutuality of this agreement."

Said in almost a purr, he was not so helpless beneath the other's bullying, darkened tendrils beginning to seep from his back and through the metaphysical matter of the sofa upon which they lay like a leak of too much ink that slid down along the fabric and up towards Vox's limbs. Around his legs and arms they twined like eager serpents, until one bound itself to Vox's arm, another around his midsection, a third latching onto the thigh which had imprisoned Alastor into the spot where he lay, and the final beginning to sneak tenderly around the television's throat.

"You are mine," he hissed lowly in turn, static lacing through each word that dripped from him with such stark conviction, no longer redirecting his gaze anywhere except but where it belonged - squarely on Vox's eyes; on the screen that threatened to blind him with its intensity.

"And if anyone so much as dares to try to reap your body or your soul from this plane again - from me -"

Distortion of his voice and the blackening of his sclera was, hopefully, enough of an indication of how serious his words were - and if not that, then the sudden presence of the bright and bold red X shining squarely in the middle of his forehead, pupils ticking with their characteristic dials hopefully would.

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.

The cigarette held gently in his mouth and sighed out as a barely forced exhale. His pupils moved to see the hand that was stretched forward to be received. Something boiled in him wanting more than just gentleness. They weren’t gentle. They were never gentle. This would never be nice. Or feel nice. Or look pretty. Or be understood between them. They had an eternity and look what they had fucking done with it in a century.

“Shut the fuck up you red fucking pompadour.” He hissed and swatted the hand away with a backhand roughly, and in the same motion grabbing Alastor’s shirt in a handful over his chest and yanking him closer. Then snubbed out the cigarette against the skin in an objectively visible part of the deer’s neck.

“I’ll kiss you like I fucking mean it. But if you keep rattling like one of those purse dogs I’ll tear another handful of your chest out.” Vox said much quieter and much closer as he held the proximity with the shirt grip.

“That shit ends now. Got it?”

He didn’t wait for an answer- and even if the deer had objected and thrown a tantrum- Vox wasn’t going to stop what he’d started.

Vox’s ofher hand grabbed Alastor’s throat and pulled him closer roughly, then adjusted to hold onto the jaw right on those scars. First unintentionally, then very intentionally. He waited just long enough to witness the other reach for the kiss, or convince himself the other did.

(On top of asking for it)

Before crashing their mouths together violently. Teeth immediately.

It didn’t take Vox more than a moment to turn and push Alastor into the couch underneath him. Holding himself up with one knee on the couch, and holding Alastor down with the same grip on his shirt at his chest.

Alastor had never expected anything like softness to enter into the equation except by happenstance. If given a choice between them two, anything established between them would always be forged in fire, blood, anger, and pride. That was simply their nature - what they had fallen into Hell for to begin with. Their egos fought, as did their personalities. And while Alastor had stumbled over the reality of Vox's mortality; the understanding of how dedicated he felt compelled to be to the other given all that had occurred... the way he was insulted and then refuted, only to then be pulled in closer, rough and biting - it reminded him of those facts.

They were both teeth and claws, worn away by the passage of time and the formation of calloused hearts.

In a way, that was a comfort.

Alastor hissed when the cigarette was burned against his furred flesh, teeth bared in a near snarl that was not necessarily directed to Vox out of anger so much as an animalistic desire to not be seen as weak. His anxiety did not make him any less of a force - and he could sense that the television was trying to siphon it out from where it had been smothered in fear and trauma.

"Fuck you," he snapped in return, even as his jaw was grasped, those claws matching up with the scars that Vox had left what felt like ages ago.

He did not mean the words - but he knew that it was what the other wanted. The bite, fashioned with teeth that pricked at the other's mouth once they were pulled into the clashing of mouths that finally gave Alastor the relief he needed; the crackle of a spark between them which felt like a root.

A strained noise rattled in his throat as the kiss brought about a sense of familiarity and reassurance, no matter how violent it was, feeling his lips bruise from the biting of Vox's teeth and the sudden upending of his world as he was pressed down into that couch.

So much for the food. He'd not even had a moment to get it started - now entirely distracted as he felt Vox's weight rest atop his own and that tongue press into his open mouth. Alastor should have expected as much, but he found that he did not mind, his teeth parting to permit the other that entry as his arms came around to grasp the other by the shoulders, claws digging into what bits of Vox's flesh he knew could take the abuse without worsening his other injuries. Cognizant of that, even now.

But he would make Vox bleed in other places, taking ownership of whatever stings his claws left as he tried to pull them flush together.

It was his right to leave marks against that navy skin.

And yet the biting profanity from Alastor was exactly what he needed to hear to get his own sense of relief. He needed to feel the kick and resistance of his companion. That he wouldn’t give in- some proof he wouldnt turn into something that had the strength of wet paper. Hell was a fucked up place, and there was evidence of what the passage of time did to everyone down here.

Vox wouldn’t allow it. Not while he was present.

He grunted quietly as he felt the claws track along his back and realized the direction his groin would take this sooner rather than later if this continued.

“You’re fucking mine.” He breathed in a hoarse baritone. His head angled in a way that sort of disrupted his breath and voice, all in the name of keeping mouth contact.

Vox pushed his tongue deeper into the others mouth, crowding it with his fat purple cyan tongue. It would feel like he was choking on it, and that’s what Vox wanted.

The screen that had been a rather muted color was not so slowly ramping up in brightness as his adrenaline built. His screen going from a muted navy, to a deep lit cyan.

“I should fucking- bite your neck up-“ he hissed out in the same voice. Able too with his tongue still occupied but pausing to sound winded periodically all the same.

“—bind you up with my cords- that you like so much~”

“I don’t die.” He said again, this time with put on conviction. And probably apparent. It seemed Alastor’s long standing charade wasn’t the only one to be showing cracks.

Vox grumbled quietly to himself coming to the conclusion he couldn’t really save that one. Better to just move on. So he leaned forward and grabbed the cigarettes that Alastor had placed there before. Lighting one up for himself and fiddling with the paper edges for an extra second before he caught himself and refocused.

He had forgotten briefly- or his brain had boarded up- the instance in the road of cannibal town. And he zoned out a bit thinking about it again now. Until he blinked it away a long moment later. His own gaze flitting away from the other just for a second before Vox wrestled himself back into obedience.

“..we don’t need to go into that and that didn’t mean anything. but I- I can b-e different….” His voice suddenly stuttered towards the end— his brain caught up to translating the words past the the thin veil they both clung too. Accepting at least to some 6foot pole degree.. that maybe something could be made exist on this new… agreement between them.

Vox sat there after that for a second, then noticed once again his gaze had fallen to fiddle with his cigarette again. When had he gotten so soft. So he forced his eyes to meet Alastor’s again, but his pupils were shaking a bit themselves. They had both torn at each others weaknesses and said things intended to cripple for a lifetime.

And yet the urge to be close— closer than this.. was still strong. Vox didn’t do forgiveness. How was he supposed to reconcile that. Alastor made him a fucking hypocrite once and he seemed to have a knack for it.

He knew a cover when he heard it. Vox was trying so desperately to convince himself, despite all Alastor had shown him, that he could not die, no matter what weapon was held up against him. The radio demon knew the truth - and Vox likely did too. But if the television permit himself to believe it, then it was likely he would not be able to recover from that reality.

So Alastor would permit him to live in that delusion, if it meant keeping him sound. It did not ease his own trepidation any, but only meant that he would have to try twice as hard and be three times as vigilant to ensure that Vox's brush with death did not reoccur. Even as Vox's voice faltered, Alastor did not interrupt him or refute him.

No, he would not die. Not if the radio demon had anything to say about it.

Their gazes met once more and silence seemed to grip heavily at their shoulders, words wanting to form on his own tongue and failing until the question was posed, and Alastor's pride again was prodded into a response.

"I am not shaking," he grunted, finally encouraged by even the slightest bit of banter to look at the other as boldly in the face as he could. The cold depths of his own gaze that might have looked dead to anyone else seemingly filled with something much more significant as he finally took another step closer, taking in a breath and releasing it - steeling himself.

When he spoke, it was not timid. It was resolved. And somewhat demanding.

"...Kiss me."

His hand reached out, offering it to the other.

"And mean it."

Alastor would not elaborate on what he meant by that. But he did not want just some throwaway contact between them; something that could be brushed aside and disregarded the second they had another inevitable fight. He needed something stronger; something more cemented and solid. Something reassuring. Even if it did not crest into the spoken word, he needed... something.

"You have to mean it." He reiterated, brow pinched in a serious stare as his claws remained outstretched for the other to take. And if he was pushed away or otherwise ignored...

The cigarette held gently in his mouth and sighed out as a barely forced exhale. His pupils moved to see the hand that was stretched forward to be received. Something boiled in him wanting more than just gentleness. They weren’t gentle. They were never gentle. This would never be nice. Or feel nice. Or look pretty. Or be understood between them. They had an eternity and look what they had fucking done with it in a century.

“Shut the fuck up you red fucking pompadour.” He hissed and swatted the hand away with a backhand roughly, and in the same motion grabbing Alastor’s shirt in a handful over his chest and yanking him closer. Then snubbed out the cigarette against the skin in an objectively visible part of the deer’s neck.

“I’ll kiss you like I fucking mean it. But if you keep rattling like one of those purse dogs I’ll tear another handful of your chest out.” Vox said much quieter and much closer as he held the proximity with the shirt grip.

“That shit ends now. Got it?”

He didn’t wait for an answer- and even if the deer had objected and thrown a tantrum- Vox wasn’t going to stop what he’d started.

Vox’s ofher hand grabbed Alastor’s throat and pulled him closer roughly, then adjusted to hold onto the jaw right on those scars. First unintentionally, then very intentionally. He waited just long enough to witness the other reach for the kiss, or convince himself the other did.

(On top of asking for it)

Before crashing their mouths together violently. Teeth immediately.

It didn’t take Vox more than a moment to turn and push Alastor into the couch underneath him. Holding himself up with one knee on the couch, and holding Alastor down with the same grip on his shirt at his chest.

He didn’t answer the inquiry about the pills. His hand moved up and bent one finger a few times in a beckoning closer manner.

The video demon couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen this radio demon so skittish. Over nothing.

Once the other moved closer. Vox tilted his head a bit just to level an investigating stare at Alastor. His blue pupils the most clear and calculating they had been since the incident.

“What the fuck is wrong with you..”

His antenna twitched a bit bouncing back and forth lightly. And despite himself he was talking quietly. Placating. He did want to know what rattled the other so much.

“For once in your life don’t fucking say some posh shit like ‘I’m just fine don’t fret.’”

In spite of himself, Alastor did not necessarily like to be ordered around, no matter if Vox had a specific span of control over him now or not. Pride forced his eyes to narrow, slightly, when Vox beckoned him closer, his suspicion provoked and desire to rebel against it strengthening. He swallowed it back, however, stepping a few inches closer to decrease the space between them as he met the other's gaze with his own - before his focus momentarily flitted to the side.

The imitation did not prompt a giggle from him now as it might have in easier days. Not while he was being investigated, his ears flattening back against his head as he released a slightly frustrated scoff.

"I've already told you."

Multiple times, he thought. Things were blending together now with the passing of stress-filled days.

"You saw what happened." And he'd heard what Alastor had said, amid their emotional moment out in the street. Unless he had already forgotten. But Alastor was loathe to repeat it, knowing that here, in the privacy of the apartment space between them, it felt heavier, much more like a declaration of something that he still was not certain he wanted to voice.

Not because he did not know for sure - but because there was a distinct concern that it would be spurned, or disregarded, or...

He did not know.

"It was different."

From what he'd always known - the flaying of flesh to sate his own gluttonous desires. That was not the same. Those were people who did not matter. Those were people and sinners and beings that he did not need for anything other than a momentary meal and appeasement of his darker urges.

This was Vox.

"You are different."

“I don’t die.” He said again, this time with put on conviction. And probably apparent. It seemed Alastor’s long standing charade wasn’t the only one to be showing cracks.

Vox grumbled quietly to himself coming to the conclusion he couldn’t really save that one. Better to just move on. So he leaned forward and grabbed the cigarettes that Alastor had placed there before. Lighting one up for himself and fiddling with the paper edges for an extra second before he caught himself and refocused.

He had forgotten briefly- or his brain had boarded up- the instance in the road of cannibal town. And he zoned out a bit thinking about it again now. Until he blinked it away a long moment later. His own gaze flitting away from the other just for a second before Vox wrestled himself back into obedience.

“..we don’t need to go into that and that didn’t mean anything. but I- I can b-e different….” His voice suddenly stuttered towards the end— his brain caught up to translating the words past the the thin veil they both clung too. Accepting at least to some 6foot pole degree.. that maybe something could be made exist on this new… agreement between them.

Vox sat there after that for a second, then noticed once again his gaze had fallen to fiddle with his cigarette again. When had he gotten so soft. So he forced his eyes to meet Alastor’s again, but his pupils were shaking a bit themselves. They had both torn at each others weaknesses and said things intended to cripple for a lifetime.

And yet the urge to be close— closer than this.. was still strong. Vox didn’t do forgiveness. How was he supposed to reconcile that. Alastor made him a fucking hypocrite once and he seemed to have a knack for it.

And something in his chest pinched when Alastor gave him that look. That huff of exasperation and consent instead of the sass and back talk that Vox was still waiting for. Couldn’t help himself from poking for.

The other looked so rattled. He couldn’t stand it. Didn’t Alastor know that he was stronger than this?? Alastor was better than this. Then a spook. He was untouchable. Infamous in days, not years like it had taken Vox.

Vox wasn’t admitting the other was better.. but why wasn’t he acting like it.

He kept quiet just brooding as he listened to the other fuss around and then eventually left the apartment.

While the other was gone, Vox scrounged up some stale scraps of some baggies and tossed the contents right down his throat. Whatever it was he wanted it.

Then he started pacing back and forth while waiting for the other to reappear.

When Alastor did, Vox was slumped way down on the couch, manspreading like the pros and drinking an espresso from a little ceramic cup that looked far too dainty in his claws. But he held it with practiced ease.

As he watched the red deer set down some spoils and then back to business- walk in and try to slide right by to the kitchen, Vox sighed quietly.

Food was easy. Food was simple. And while he had only regained a portion of his lost appetite, to make food was something so familiar and comforting that he felt compelled to hide in the practice of it for a while- until he had to gather himself and pretend to be normal once again; to not allude to what he knew was more and more obvious the longer that he and Vox remained around one another.

That he had been irreparably damaged by what he’d seen; what he’d done. And there was little to ease it, even if he’d been pleased and comforted by the other’s desire to keep him in arm’s reach, even in a roundabout way. That alone could not erase the blood and the poison and the sleepless nights or the “what ifs”. He could only hope to obscure it, as much as he could.

That wasn’t helped when he heard his name called, however, his ears shooting upright as he listened for the other, turning to abandon his food preparation temporarily to step over to where Vox had stationed himself.

“What’s wrong?”

There was a tension in his tone, heavy with anxiety he’d not been able to shake. It eased, only slightly, to see that Vox was not actively bleeding or otherwise in any real danger. Not that he could sense, anyway.

That did not keep his eyes from roving with some moderate concern over the other’s features, however. Searching for something, anything that would confirm his fears and throw him once again into crisis mode. Alastor could feel, too, the slight increase of his heart rate which he yearned to quell.

He didn’t answer the inquiry about the pills. His hand moved up and bent one finger a few times in a beckoning closer manner.

The video demon couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen this radio demon so skittish. Over nothing.

Once the other moved closer. Vox tilted his head a bit just to level an investigating stare at Alastor. His blue pupils the most clear and calculating they had been since the incident.

“What the fuck is wrong with you..”

His antenna twitched a bit bouncing back and forth lightly. And despite himself he was talking quietly. Placating. He did want to know what rattled the other so much.

“For once in your life don’t fucking say some posh shit like ‘I’m just fine don’t fret.’”

He was Preparing his next bait, ready to harp more on about Alastor speaking French, when suddenly the deer pivoted. And was suddenly back to telling Vox to order more food. Right after offering to get some. His mouth wrinkled and sank to the bottom of his screen. The ordering of food gradually moving toward being an unpleasant topic. Demanded often and never appreciated or finished or preserved. The radio had offered to fetch food himself not more than a minute ago. And now he was ordering ingredients? Valentino would make him French toast.

Then he felt Alastor move away before Vox had anticipated it. He had still been enjoying the proximity. Discretely. And losing it in this context made him groan and mutter.

“..I’m not delivering anything else here. It was suspicious as it was.” He rolled over to start to get up, slow going. And could feel his mood sinking back to sour rapidly. More to do with his broken morning routine and increasing need. So then the thoughts started..

Had he just offered himself up to be used again? Again?? “I need a phone..” he muttered out loud, mostly to himself. Maybe the Vees missed him… maybe they would apologize..Vox smacked the side of his head again to reset his thoughts.

"I thought that's what you were implying," Alastor responded, glancing back at Vox with a slight huff. Was that not why he brought up cooking? To try and keep Alastor there without venturing out? Maybe he'd misunderstood.

It was never easy to try and talk to Vox when he was half asleep.

With another small sigh, Alastor pushed himself upwards to his feet to find the phone that had been abandoned, retrieving it before bringing it back to the other.

"You may as well keep the thing. I hardly use it for anything." What point would there be now if Vox could simply recall him at any time? It was not as though the television were going to be texting him again as though nothing had happened. Satisfied as Alastor was with the current arrangement, he could not pretend that it solved everything.

"Don't order anything. I will go out like I intended to," he instructed, giving another stretch. "I need air, anyway." Besides, that would keep the other from having to invest any more money. Any time Vox ordered food, it was a bit of an unnecessary expenditure, if Alastor could simply venture out to retrieve something at no cost, save for a momentary flash of intimidation or charm. Whichever worked best.

The radio demon did not wait for the other's input as he was beginning to pull his clothes back on. Still lacking his coat, he would have to make do with his undershirt, for now. He could still make it look decent on its own, rolling the sleeves up to the elbow and taking a moment to use what energy he'd managed to cobble together from the meal the night before to straighten his hair to its more usual appearance. In his hand, his staff returned.

Certain that he still looked tired, Alastor spared the other a momentary lingering glance.

"Go back to sleep. I will wake you when something is ready."

There were some doubts that Vox would go back to sleep, given how he was certain the other was beginning to grow irritated with either the absence of drugs, a smoke, or something else. So it was better, then, that Alastor soon dipped out of the room - pausing only to sweep their mess from the night before into the garbage - before slipping out of the apartment altogether.

It would take some time before he was back, not bothering to announce himself as he took time to ease his own heavily burdened emotions by fixating on preparing food instead.

On the coffee table, he'd set more cigarettes down. More liquor. With the presumption that Vox could likely get his own drugs if he needed them, that was all the radio demon had collected. Much as he wanted to maintain some semblance of peace for at least a little longer, he refuted the title of errand boy.

This was for his own benefit.

And something in his chest pinched when Alastor gave him that look. That huff of exasperation and consent instead of the sass and back talk that Vox was still waiting for. Couldn’t help himself from poking for.

The other looked so rattled. He couldn’t stand it. Didn’t Alastor know that he was stronger than this?? Alastor was better than this. Then a spook. He was untouchable. Infamous in days, not years like it had taken Vox.

Vox wasn’t admitting the other was better.. but why wasn’t he acting like it.

He kept quiet just brooding as he listened to the other fuss around and then eventually left the apartment.

While the other was gone, Vox scrounged up some stale scraps of some baggies and tossed the contents right down his throat. Whatever it was he wanted it.

Then he started pacing back and forth while waiting for the other to reappear.

When Alastor did, Vox was slumped way down on the couch, manspreading like the pros and drinking an espresso from a little ceramic cup that looked far too dainty in his claws. But he held it with practiced ease.

As he watched the red deer set down some spoils and then back to business- walk in and try to slide right by to the kitchen, Vox sighed quietly.

“Pbth.”

Definitely the shoes were the disappointment. His eyes moved from the ears to Alastor’s mouth and moved his mouth around his face a bit.

Then closed his eyes again to be bitter in silence and in peace. The channel they shared was silent now, and Vox could never seem to find it if Alastor wasn’t already using it. Like the trapdoor disappeared behind him.

He spent a few moments proverbially poking around his thoughts to see if he could find it but nothing that seemed familiar. Alastor’s was always stronger when it was on, it was like fighting back the current of a hose to travel into the hose. Impossible.

Maybe if he just thought real hard about it. His face scrunched up slightly as he focused on his thoughts. Just willing Alastor to harbor the desire to initiate making out. Maybe sucking dick…

Then he was distracted and peaked his eyes open again,

“You should cook something. You were so keen to yesterday. Make some eldritch French toast or something. You’re French..” he smirked, closing his eyes yet again.

Vox knew he wasn’t literally French. But he spoke it. And that was close enough.

His hands moved up to itch at his chest. It had scabbed over in a lot of places and while it didn’t look as gorey, it looked no prettier. One big sprawling wound with stitches.

At least Alastor’s wound had been localized and a clean cut. Vox’s was varying degrees of shredded surface level damage on top of the uneven stitches. It would be a very noticeable scar- likely until he was reconstituted. It was much more obvious with the shape and placement of the epicenters.. that there had been three blasts. It was a miracle in itself that he had lived. Two to the chest and one to the face.

He had almost not noticed Vox’s strange contorting of his face as the television tried to narrow his thoughts in an effort to communicate nonverbally. He’d been distracted in his own right, giving a few more stretches to try and reduce the soreness of his own limbs that still ached with exhaustion and a desire to continue to rest.

But with no real hurry to return back to the hotel - everyone likely still convinced that he was sick - he was not concerned about not being able to convalesce more once they were fed and he was clean.

Eventually, Alastor did seem to spy Vox’s strange facial movements, and he raised a brow in both confusion and some surface-level concern. Was his screen still trying to establish a proper connection to his brain? It was anyone’s guess. But Vox did not seem to be successful in managing to communicate through whatever channel remained between them. Not while Alastor was unaware of it, anyway.

“If I recall correctly, you stopped me from cooking yesterday,” he said dryly. “And we’ve not exactly stocked up on groceries, save for whatever is stale and is still on the coffee table.” Probably bad by now. Or, at least, not at all appetizing. He’d not been in a mood to clean up at all.

“You don’t want me manifesting food. It won’t taste like what you expect.” And would likely not be good to eat, regardless. While he could get creative with liquor, Alastor had not quite dared to delve into the act of conjuring actual meals. It would be redundant for him. Energy out just to put energy back in. And it would satisfy nothing.

“And I am not French. I’ve never been French.” A roll of his eyes followed the proclamation before he was sufficiently distracted by the other’s wounds, glancing downwards at where they scored over his flesh. He did not wince at them this time. But absently, he found it a bit interesting.

They were similar now in that way too. His own new wound intermingling with the one that had been left by Adam all those months ago.

It was any wonder that either of them were alive, really.

“Order ingredients and then you will have your toast. But if you are doing that, then I am bathing first.”

Another stretch saw Alastor lightly pulling himself away from the other, though he was in not much of a hurry. His movements still felt sluggish- and he paused as he sat there on the edge of the bed, exhaling out a sound that was tinged with obvious exhaustion.

He was Preparing his next bait, ready to harp more on about Alastor speaking French, when suddenly the deer pivoted. And was suddenly back to telling Vox to order more food. Right after offering to get some. His mouth wrinkled and sank to the bottom of his screen. The ordering of food gradually moving toward being an unpleasant topic. Demanded often and never appreciated or finished or preserved. The radio had offered to fetch food himself not more than a minute ago. And now he was ordering ingredients? Valentino would make him French toast.

Then he felt Alastor move away before Vox had anticipated it. He had still been enjoying the proximity. Discretely. And losing it in this context made him groan and mutter.

“..I’m not delivering anything else here. It was suspicious as it was.” He rolled over to start to get up, slow going. And could feel his mood sinking back to sour rapidly. More to do with his broken morning routine and increasing need. So then the thoughts started..

Had he just offered himself up to be used again? Again?? “I need a phone..” he muttered out loud, mostly to himself. Maybe the Vees missed him… maybe they would apologize..Vox smacked the side of his head again to reset his thoughts.

“You can’t leave… unaccompanied.. and little miss cannibal queen has no jurisdiction on me.. so if I’m not going… you’re not leaving..”

He explained almost uncharacteristically quietly with little spaces now and then. And his hands moved about in the air over top him as he explained the safety net he had thought up.

“..and if she tries to find a loop hole… I can just… recall you.. at my whim…”

It was almost endearing.. but he had dodged answering why.. and then the shit eating grin returned.

“To shine my shoes or suck my dick…” he giggled lightheartedly to himself, then his mouth opened in another very wide yawn.

Euch his head was going to start splitting open with this headache if he didn’t get some alcohol soon.. he hadn’t drank in.. nearly two days..

His delight at his own humor wrinkled on his face at the first pangs of migraine. The blurry vision in a vague ‘C’ shape in his vision was foreboding.

Very carefully opening his eyes again he found Alastor’s face, and was immediately struck with the urge to kiss the other again- the curls and waves framed the ears so nicely. And they pivoted forward and back and swiveled like little sentient radio antenna.

He was staring a bit too long at the ears before looking away when his stomach gave a very angry growl. He would need to find food to eat again.. maybe some of the food from yesterday was still good.. but he wished he had something sweet. He could often times coerce Valentino into cooking something. Maybe he could get the same from Alastor…

Exhibiting more patience than he might have at any other moment, Alastor waited for something to come to fruition as a result of Vox's thoughts. On another occasion, he might have grown frustrated and simply dropped the subject, but given all that had happened... he did not feel up to being that much a brat so soon after they had seemingly come to some sort of... understanding.

It was not quite a straight forward answer once he did hear what Vox had to say. No, there was no explanation as to why so much as a how. But, Alastor thought, maybe that was good enough, blinking down at the other in something akin to surprise for the confirmation that the deal had been purposefully crafted that way.

To keep them together.

He took in a breath and then released it steadily, opening his mouth to say something - Only to be met with Vox's jest, the wind effectively taken from Alastor's sails as he released a small sigh instead.

But he could not be angry. Not when, instead, all he could really feel in the moment was relief. That which Vox had been looking for the night before - and in spite of himself, the radio demon's smile remained easy-going and soothed. Much more than it had been for a long while now, those long ears that had captured Vox's attention so readily settling back in a relaxed state atop his head.

"Unfortunately for you, your provision did not involve me being a butler. So sorry. Your shoes shall remain scuffed."

He was not very sorry, giving a small exhale of a chuckle.

"Yes. I am hungry. As are you, from what I hear." Because he had not missed that rumble of a growl. And he knew Vox well enough to understand that there were likely other things the television must be craving by now. Painkillers did not quite have the same oomf as whatever other addictions he harbored. And even then, they hadn't quite gotten to the painkillers before they had fallen asleep.

"I can find something nearby. If you are not so stringent as to keep me from doing so. But after that, I need a bath."

“Pbth.”

Definitely the shoes were the disappointment. His eyes moved from the ears to Alastor’s mouth and moved his mouth around his face a bit.

Then closed his eyes again to be bitter in silence and in peace. The channel they shared was silent now, and Vox could never seem to find it if Alastor wasn’t already using it. Like the trapdoor disappeared behind him.

He spent a few moments proverbially poking around his thoughts to see if he could find it but nothing that seemed familiar. Alastor’s was always stronger when it was on, it was like fighting back the current of a hose to travel into the hose. Impossible.

Maybe if he just thought real hard about it. His face scrunched up slightly as he focused on his thoughts. Just willing Alastor to harbor the desire to initiate making out. Maybe sucking dick…

Then he was distracted and peaked his eyes open again,

“You should cook something. You were so keen to yesterday. Make some eldritch French toast or something. You’re French..” he smirked, closing his eyes yet again.

Vox knew he wasn’t literally French. But he spoke it. And that was close enough.

His hands moved up to itch at his chest. It had scabbed over in a lot of places and while it didn’t look as gorey, it looked no prettier. One big sprawling wound with stitches.

At least Alastor’s wound had been localized and a clean cut. Vox’s was varying degrees of shredded surface level damage on top of the uneven stitches. It would be a very noticeable scar- likely until he was reconstituted. It was much more obvious with the shape and placement of the epicenters.. that there had been three blasts. It was a miracle in itself that he had lived. Two to the chest and one to the face.

He felt Alastor shift, then move more abruptly. His own awareness dragging back to himself and looking over toward the deer without moving.

Those ears were moving around like crazy. Did he hear something..?

Now Alastor was staring at him. Was he missing something? Vox took a much deeper inhale from his vents and did his best to rouse himself more so he could focus. He was so comfortable though..

And then the question- but said like a clarifying question.. go with him? To heaven? Because that was their deal. Was the deer going senile?

Vox squinted at Alastor confused and mostly asleep.

“..What?”

His voice was also hoarse and low with residual sleep. But Vox was distracted from investigating more. Staring at the other. The bedhead looked so… appealing… on the other with the curls and waves all over. Not magically straightened.

Vox craved kissing him. But he resisted. He said it was his ego. Unwilling to cave to the forbidden fruit so easily without some sort of apology. (For what even he was unsure.) He wouldn’t be the one crawling back. That he was certain.

No, he'd expected as much. Questioning Vox so quickly after his waking was not going to yield any particularly helpful results. And even if he were fully conscious, he did not think the other would provide him with an answer that helped him to fully comprehend exactly why he'd done what he'd done. So he took a moment before he responded for clarification, breathing out a little as he tried to not seem so... high strung about it.

It was done, regardless. But he still did not get what was in it for Vox. If Alastor were forced away, then Vox would be required to drop what he had, if it meant that he were forced to accompany the radio demon. Nothing had said that the deal would not compel them in whatever way it could to ensure that the specifics would be upheld.

"The provisions you gave," he said after a few long seconds.

"You said that I would not leave the pride ring unless you were with me."

His brow furrowed, slightly, unable to truly frown as he wanted to. But regardless, his gaze was questioning - still baffled by this realization and not knowing exactly how he should feel about it. Especially if Vox had seen it as a sacrifice rather than something he was doing willingly.

"...Why?"

There was still little hope that the other would be honest with him. What did he have to gain by doing so?

“You can’t leave… unaccompanied.. and little miss cannibal queen has no jurisdiction on me.. so if I’m not going… you’re not leaving..”

He explained almost uncharacteristically quietly with little spaces now and then. And his hands moved about in the air over top him as he explained the safety net he had thought up.

“..and if she tries to find a loop hole… I can just… recall you.. at my whim…”

It was almost endearing.. but he had dodged answering why.. and then the shit eating grin returned.

“To shine my shoes or suck my dick…” he giggled lightheartedly to himself, then his mouth opened in another very wide yawn.

Euch his head was going to start splitting open with this headache if he didn’t get some alcohol soon.. he hadn’t drank in.. nearly two days..

His delight at his own humor wrinkled on his face at the first pangs of migraine. The blurry vision in a vague ‘C’ shape in his vision was foreboding.

Very carefully opening his eyes again he found Alastor’s face, and was immediately struck with the urge to kiss the other again- the curls and waves framed the ears so nicely. And they pivoted forward and back and swiveled like little sentient radio antenna.

He was staring a bit too long at the ears before looking away when his stomach gave a very angry growl. He would need to find food to eat again.. maybe some of the food from yesterday was still good.. but he wished he had something sweet. He could often times coerce Valentino into cooking something. Maybe he could get the same from Alastor…

Closest match: Psylliodes chrysocephala genome assembly, chromosome: 4 Common name: Cabbage Stem Flea Beetle