bless your heart ❤️

Star Wars --

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Completed Series:

Proper Etiquette for Tea Tea with Honey*, Tea with Lemon*

You Should Be Resting, You Know Part One*, Part Two*

Ongoing Series:

For Once, Be Still Ch. 1, Ch. 2*

Stardust (And Other Varieties)*

A Moment of Refuge

Oneshots: 

I’ve Built My Dreams Around You 

If Kisses Were Snowflakes

Blazing Through It

Ahsoka Tano

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Oneshots:

Trouble that I Always Find

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BBC Sherlock

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Feather Touch

When We’re Under the Weather 

Red Dead Redemption 2 --

Oneshots:

Arthur Morgan

Oneshots: 

Safely Guide Me Home*

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Original Things 

Oneshots:

“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. 

What Alastor likes the most is the contradictory aspect of it all. On the hotel’s side, plush armchairs and stained glass windows reflecting impossible sun complement a large wooden desk and heavy four-poster bed, and his fireplace is always crackling merrily when he sets hoof through the door. Though Alastor doesn’t often entertain guests – and certainly not guests of Vox’s nature – never let it be said that he isn’t prepared with a decanter of whiskey and good music. 

Eventually, the thick rugs and hardwood floor give way to the bayou’s cool-toned, blue-tinted evernight, where crickets chirp and mosquitos buzz. Different birds call, and shifting eyes leer out from hidden places in near-stagnant water. A mother alligator rests near a log with her hatchlings, often waiting for Alastor to throw her scraps from his recent kills. The humidity shifts there, like walking into an invisible wall, the deeper into the magic bayou one walks. 

It’d been tricky to put it all together, yes, but well worth it to have a piece of home. 

“Whoa,” Vox mutters as he takes it all in. “Al, this is –”

Strange? Freakish? Bizarre? 

Alastor’s mind supplies any number of adjectives that he fears Vox might use to describe the place, suddenly self-conscious about showing this to him so soon after their tender reconciliation. 

“–Really fucking cool!” Vox says instead, grinning as he crosses his arms over his bare chest. The motion draws Alastor’s eyes there, just in time to notice the goosebumps breaking out. 

(And why does Alastor feel a small thrill of pride when Vox praises it? Ridiculous.)

“Well, it ought to be, I put quite a lot of time and energy into it.” 

With a subtle flick of the wrist, he motions for the flames in the fireplace to burn a bit higher; no sense in his picture box catching cold on top of all his other current miseries. 

“Now, if you’d do me the honor of getting on my bed…?” 

“Wh–? Oh, yeah! Hell yeah –” 

Vox almost trips in an effort to get to Alastor’s bed before he can, hopping on top of the covers and making the mattress bounce. The sight of Vox in his bed when he was certain they’d never do anything like this again is a bit of a mind flip. Just splayed out there, cock hardening again to fullness in his sweatpants atop Alastor’s plush red duvet. Practically wagging his tail, waiting for Alastor to join him. 

God, he’s an idiot. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make Alastor want him any less. 

He beams excitedly up at Alastor once he follows suit, reaching up to run his hands over Alastor’s sides. Their mouths meet again once, twice, thrice before Vox presses Alastor back down onto his cock, more suggestion than force. Alastor gladly ruts against him, feeling a bit more at ease in a space that he’s certain no one else can barge into. 

He’d missed this. He wants this. 

Reaching the level of excitement they'd had before doesn't take much time at all. Since Alastor's request to see him more forward, Vox seems keen to prove himself capable of it – one hand tangles in his hair, again still staying fairly gentle, while his tongue slides into Alastor's mouth. 

It’s slick, heated, and buzzing with static – a little detail that Alastor hadn’t quite forgotten, but he’d certainly forgotten how it felt when touching his own. He also hadn’t quite remembered how filthy open-mouthed kissing could feel, how wet and intimate. Vox takes every opportunity to suck on his tongue, to scrape it with his own teeth, until Alastor’s short of breath. 

“You like that, Bambi?” 

“I’d like it more if you didn’t call me that.” 

“Ha.” 

Eager fingers move to the buttons of his tailcoat, undoing them as Alastor makes sounds of encouragement. Alastor takes over in the act of undressing himself, shrugging the tailcoat off and unbuttoning his dress shirt until he glances up to find Vox taking in his bare chest hungrily. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he says, tone laced with want. To Alastor's endless amusement, Vox has gone all bleary and sniffly once more – so of course, it's as good an opportunity as ever to tease him. 

“Yes, look at me,” Alastor purrs back, running a hand through the thick fur covering his chest, jutting out the implications of breasts he lost a long time ago. “Like something straight out of the porn shoots you put on in your tower.” 

Though he's being sarcastic, Vox is all but drooling. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, oblivious to Alastor’s joking tone. “You're so fucking hot, Al.” A pause to sniff again impatiently, his expression irritated for only a flash of seconds. “Now come here and let me keep those promises.” 

Oh, but he’s still so sweet. So eager to please, even if that’s meant smothering parts of himself, for the past few years. Just what will it take for Alastor to get him out of this aggravating new habit, this shyness? 

(And damn Valentino to a pit deeper than Hell for – for inflicting it on him!)

He has an idea. Something that Vox has never been able to resist. 

“Can I put my mouth on you before you do?” Alastor asks, in the most sugary-sweet voice he's capable of. Leaning forward even more in Vox's lap, he looks up through his eyelashes. “Please?” 

The please is really pushing it, but Vox either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Never has Alastor ever requested to suck a cock – as much as Vox has delighted in doing the same for him – but he's not going to defend his sudden change of heart. 

Alastor has to give him credit; he really, really tries to hold back. The struggle on Vox's face that occurs between fighting not to sneeze and trying to say something in response is such that Alastor's not sure which side will win, in the end. But he does know this – watching Vox hitch and hitch as he tries to form a single word is almost as good as sex. 

The act is downright erotic. Vox's breath catching, uncertain, as his body tries to decide if he's going to sneeze or not. Chest rising and falling in time, each little rapid gasp on full display.

Watching with a smirk, Alastor trails his fingers down to trace along the very edges of Vox’s gills, and they quiver, sensitive, seconds before he sucks in his first truly desperate inhale.

Then, at last:

“IZSS’schu! H-hih? Hih’TSCHIEW!”

He covers the sneezes with the back of his hand at the last minute, and their bodies lurch together with the force. Unfiltered pleasure sparks in Alastor’s radio frequency, too automatic for him to try and conceal it. Perhaps it’s better like that – let Vox notice just how much of an effect he has. Make it obvious for him. 

“Bless you, my dear,” Alastor sighs. 

There are so many things he wants to say. For now, though; the simple unraveling of tension between them, built up after years and years. 

Rising to his knees, it’s his turn to hook his fingers in the waistband of Vox’s pants. The sound Vox makes in response can only be described as a whine. Between the cradle of their bodies, his cock stands at attention, straining the material of his sweatpants with a telling wet patch. Vox stays nice and still, eager, lets him do it like getting undressed by Alastor is what he’s been waiting for, and – 

This is not the penis that Alastor left him with, at all. 

“What on Earth is this.” 

Vox has the nerve to giggle at him, albeit nervously. 

“It’s…an upgrade?” 

His voice pitches up at the end, as if he isn’t sure whether or not it is. Alastor certainly isn’t convinced. 

Vox’s cock is still the same deep blue color as Alastor recalls, but at least an inch longer than the one he’d had before, and much thicker. Perhaps he ought to have guessed that this would be one of the first things that he would have wanted to ‘improve’. Alastor isn’t sure he can roll his eyes hard enough to express how irritating he finds it; Vox’s penis was fine. Perfectly adequate for penetration. More than adequate, in some instances. 

“If you say so,” Alastor replies in the driest tone he can manage. 

Without further ado, he situates himself atop the thing and gets to work. Never let it be said that Alastor is a quitter. The shocked gasp that his first wet, noisy suck elicits from Vox is almost worth the ache he knows it’ll set in his jaw later. 

“God, baby – you don’t h-have to –” 

Alastor wouldn’t consider himself an expert in oral sex, no. But he does know that Vox is relatively easy to please, at least when their past sexual encounters are taken into consideration. He pauses from where he’s suckling (pleasant-tasting, artificial) pre-come from the tip of Vox’s cock to look up at him with sultry eyes. 

“Oh, but I want to.” 

As if Vox had bothered him by speaking up, he resumes what he’d been doing, testing to see how much he can take before bobbing his head slowly. 

“Jesus, fuck –” 

Vox bucks forward, just the slightest amount, hooking his ankles around the back of Alastor’s legs to hold him in place. Sparks fly off his antennae and onto the mattress as he shudders, whimpers, clenches his fists. They both know that if he claws through Alastor’s bedclothes, Vox will find himself deposited on the ground – perhaps banished to the swamp. 

And there’s a sort of…pleasant disconnect to doing this. Though the sensation of actually sucking Vox’s dick isn’t something he’d choose first, being in the midst of it makes it easy for Alastor to let his mind drift. He keeps his tempo, jaw wide, tongue pressing at the glans on the underside. All the while, Alastor keeps his gaze locked firmly up, breathing through his nose. 

Sure, he’s doing the work. But Vox? Vox is putting on one hell of a performance. 

Even without the cute little hitches and flurry of half stifles, Alastor would be tempted to say that he’s an erotic sight. The man can’t seem to decide whether he wants to lean up and watch everything or lay back and enjoy. He’s restless, mouth open, eyebrows slanting down into familiar bliss. 

“F-fuck, Al - hih’NXXGT’schiew! Oh, fuck, baby, that’s s-so good, please don’t stop – TZSZSCH’schu-t’schu –”

“Mmmnh,” Alastor moans, pressing his own hips into the mattress. 

He’s fond of all of Vox’s sneezes, but he has a soft spot for when the other demon gets really worked up. They tend to stack on top of one another in a rapid, almost kittenish way. Alastor can tell he’s getting lost in it now, focusing less on trying to stifle and diminish the damn things and unravelling in pleasure. 

“Gonna m-m-make me c-come,” he manages through a glitch, static still flickering on his so-called state of the art screen. (Alastor recalls how wrecked he used to be after something like this; CRT head smoking and whirring as he overheated from the simplest touch.) “Al, honey, I’m gonna fucking finish if you d-don’t move –” 

Alastor works him harder, faster, hollowing his cheeks and giving him the sharpest grin he can with his mouth as full as it is. Vox arches up, breath coming in short, desperate gasps — 

As promised, he comes hard, throwing an arm over his screen with a long, low whine. The lights flicker harshly in the room with every pulse, and a faint thrill of static courses over Alastor’s skin as he pulls off to avoid swallowing. Though he’s never loved the mess, Alastor strokes him through every pulse, satisfied when Vox’s hips jolt. 

He forgot how much work this all took. Alastor finds himself content to just lie there for a few minutes, letting his breathing stabilize after the excitement. 

Vox is no better off. He’s still putting out enough static to make strands of Alastor’s hair drift, his stomach spattered with come as he pants through the aftershocks. Tentatively, Vox reaches down to comb fingers through his curls, as gentle as if he didn’t have his cock down Alastor’s throat only moments ago. 

The words I like that, Vox, keep doing it will never make their way out of Alastor’s mouth. But he does let himself melt against the mattress, unable to help a small, content hum. 

Though Alastor is incredibly out of practice, he does recall the importance of aftercare when something like this occurs. He sends his shadow lurking off to collect a pitcher of water and two cups, along with a washrag before Vox gets too sticky. 

“Thanks, bud,” Vox says to the shadow as it drops the rag in his lap. They always were congenial with one another; the little nickname makes his shadow’s ears perk up, and he rubs himself against Vox once happily before returning to Alastor. 

Peaceful quiet is something he thought he’d never share with Vox again, but for a few minutes, they partake. Sipping water, neither one of them pressed to move – Vox naked and Alastor still clothed, save for his unbuttoned shirt.

Alastor can’t help but break the silence. Waiting any longer would feel too much like domesticity, and he isn’t sure how he feels about toeing that line so soon after their reconciliation. 

“Well,” he sighs. “Some dom you turned out to be.”